Hello friends, I'm Lilith and this is my new blog. You can simply call me Lily or whatever you fancy. I'm 18 but behave like a kid in a candy store for fictional men and well real men. Anyways, I decided to create a main post for all my fanfics. I' am a new author, so I don't have everything updated, but I have so many ideas, but I am always open to request and suggestions. <3
-Most of my writings are not suitable for those under eighteen, if you are a minor, please DNI!!!
RECENTLY UPDATED FICS: Bring Me to Life - Frank Castle Daughter of Winter - Matt Murdock
Requests Open!
Things I do write: smut, dark romance, angst, dubcon, and other thing that are considered really heavy. All my fics will have warnings on the content they contain.
Things I don't write: p3d0 shit. Gross.
If you don't like my content, do not interact with it, you can block.
I have some rules:
No disrespect will be tolerated especially toward any of my followers and myself. You will be blocked.
No MAGA talk will be tolerated here; I don't agree with it so please get the fuck out.
I will not tolerate racist or sexist comments to my followers, or myself.
If you don't like my content, do not interact with it, you can block.
claiming to have writer's block while simultaneously using ai to write your fics is fucking crazy by the way !!! let your imagination run, ai is killing your creative spark. that's why you feel like you have writer's block.
HAHHAHAHAHA AI ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS-
IF I WAS USING AI BITCH MY CARPAL TUNNEL WOULDNT HAVE KICKED IN. IF IMMA USE A FUCKING PLATFORM LIKE AI THEN IMMA USE IT TO MAKE SURE I GOT DATES RIGHT. BUT GOOGLE EXIST SO I USE THAT.
I WRITE ALL MY SHIT MYSELF AND HAVE BEEN PLANNING MY SHIT FOR MONTHS BEFORE I EVEN MADE MY TUMBLR BLOG INTO A WRITERS BLOG. I CONSTANTLY UPDATE MY BLOG BECAUSE IM NEW.
In all seriousness what the fuck are you talking about-
My dream has always been writing but I’m also not fluent in English so I have always been surrounded with people telling me I can’t do it. They are many times were I have gaven up writing and I’m a college student. College and writing go in hand. I have given up my wrist power for this but you think it’s AI. I stay up till 6 AM planning, outlining, and drafting,but right it’s “AI”. These are MY ideas not anyone else’s. As far as I know I’m the only one who writes this shit for THIS blog. They aren’t multiple people who help me write or proofread and edit. ITS ALL ME.
Why do you think everything is messed up. Why do you think I haven’t posted a chapter of daughter of winter in weeks because I came up with Jace and Helaena fic so I focused on that. I have so many idea and the THREE I have posted are nowhere near the main ones. SO YEH I HAVE FUCKING WRITERS BLOCK BECAUSE IM THINKING OF A MILLION DIFFERENT THINGS AT THE SAME TIME. WHY DO YOU THINK I UPDATE MY BLOG ON HOW I AM. BECAUSE I FUCKING WRITE EVERYTHING-
So for your information it’s not ai, if there are mistakes I’m sorry. I’m not fluent in English so I don’t often times know if I did it 100% correctly. I don’t have anyone to proofread for me or edit. It’s just me on this blog. I understand where you are coming from. And I won’t lie and say I’ve never used AI because I have.
But not to write MY things.
And if I have used an AI platform if would have to be google. Because truth is the marvel and hotd universe is difficult to remember. So yeh I look up dates, would you rather I get it all wrong and change everyone’s story completely?
I don’t wanna do that so I don’t. I write my things, I have the carpal tunnel and back pain to prove it. I have the messed up sleep schedule and writers block to prove it. If you don’t wanna believe that then I’m sorry and all grace to you.
18+ MDNI i'm ovulating! :: simon riley x fem!reader
ever since you and your husband, simon, decided to have children, you've been on each other nonstop, fucking on every surface in the house and knocking over several expensive items while lost in the heat of the moment. doesn't matter. he'll replace them with the ungodly amount of money he has in his account.
he'd bend you over the counter every time he finds you in the kitchen cooking, a thin sundress hugging all your delicious curves just right, images of your swollen belly flooding his mind, full and round with his seed. the food is forgotten every single time. only you and putting a baby in you on his mind.
he'd fold you in half when you're in bed reading, wearing only a tank top that gives him easy access to your tits and leaves your belly exposed and a pair of shorts that accentuates your perky ass. he'd tear them off you and put your legs over his shoulders as he splits you wide open for him.
he finds you absolutely irresistible in every state. you know it as a fact. it bleeds over in his every word and action. yet it doesn't make your worries go away. still, your mind wanders. would he ever get tired?
you push the thoughts away. a feral need bubbling inside you as you think about your husband, his scarred lips on your hot skin, bulky weight pressing you into the mattress as his burly arms cage your body beneath him, broad shoulders holding your legs beside your ears, a large rough hand wrapped around your throat while he's buried to the hilt inside you.
you're ovulating. and you need him right now. so you call him. "si, i need you." and he's on his way. doesn't matter that he's on base in an important meeting. he's leaving right away, ignoring price's shouts of protest. he'll understand when simon tells him later. his wife needs him. and there's nothing more important than that.
you're pouncing on him as soon as he walks through the door. he catches you with ease as you wrap your legs around his waist, kissing him with an untamed desperation.
"sorry, si. i know it was important—"
"doesn't matter, love."
"by the way, i'm ovulating."
"bloody hell, woman. lead with that next time."
immediately, your mouths are on each other, lips and tongues latching onto one another, kissing, nipping, biting every part of skin you can find, covering in saliva and marking each other, hot and heavy, your hands moving desperately across the other's body to grab every piece of flesh.
you're discarding each other's clothes when you mention it. breathing shakily as your movements subside, looking away from his intense eyes, you finally tell him.
"si, i'm worried that it becomes a chore."
he stops.
looking you over, an expression of utter disbelief takes over his face.
"a chore?" he finally speaks, voice laced with subtle mockery.
you look into his eyes for a moment, only to shy away again and look down.
he guides you to lay back on the bed as he hovers above you.
leaning in, dangerously close, his lips graze yours. he grabs your jaw to make you look at him, eyes darkened as he speaks in a deep voice.
"you think fuckin my wife is a chore for me?"
you don't dare to respond.
his lips capture yours briefly, only to slide down to your jaw, then your neck, coating your skin in a string of saliva as he glides down to your collarbone, tracing its line with his lips as his hands find your breasts, squeezing as if it's a warning to your previous words, his calloused skin a delicious contrast on your silky smooth one that makes you go wild. his lips wrap around your hard nipples, sucking and licking as you moan softly for him. he chuckles at your reaction, causing heat to spread across your cheeks.
he grabs your hips, kissing your exposed belly and covering the expanse of it with his hand, gently touching as he thinks about filling you up, all soft and swollen with his seed growing inside you. his hard cock throbs at the mere thought of it, dripping precum onto the sheets as his hips jerk forward involuntarily and he humps the mattress.
his lips reach your mound and he stops just above your slit, lifting himself up on his hands. his adoring eyes marvel at your beauty, drinking in the literal work of art splayed out before him. his pupils are blown out, eyes completely black as he looks at you and leans in, rough fingertips sliding up and down your wet slit, spreading your arousal along your folds.
"you think i'd ever get tired of this pussy?"
you gulp audibly. his hot breath fanning against your lips, he cups your pussy with one large hand, his middle finger sliding through your folds and teasing your entrance.
you gasp. "please, si..."
you grasp his shoulders in a desperate hold as he goes on teasing you.
"please what, darling?"
a sly smirk spreads across his face, only adding to your frustration.
"please. i need you inside me, si." you beg, "please, si. need your cock so bad."
in that moment, he thinks you're the most beautiful you've ever been, pleading so sweetly for him, sprawled out beneath him like an offering, all for him to take.
his lips are on yours in an instant, spreading your legs further apart and pushing your knees to your chest before propping them over his shoulders.
he slides into you so easily, your soaking wet pussy ready to take him in, thick throbbing cock splitting your needy cunt open. his lips never leave yours as he lets out a groan into your mouth, mixing with your whiny moans as you're all stretched out by his fat cock.
"fuck! look at this greedy pussy," he breathes in between kisses, bottoming out inside you, "so fuckin wet and desperate for me."
giving you no time to adjust, he starts thrusting in and out ferociously, yet with the meticulous precision of a man on a mission.
"fuckin swallowing me whole, baby." he grunts, "like you were made for me."
his relentless assault on your needy cunt leaves no room for you to breathe, only choked out moans slipping through your lips.
"fuuuck, siiii.... ahhh—"
"fuckin pussy was made for me." he groans in your ear, "made for me to fuck. all mine. forever."
his strong hips slam into you, heavy balls slapping your ass repeatedly as your wet pussy squelches to accommodate his hefty size. the obscene sound echoing through the room.
"gonna breed this pretty pussy, love." he hisses, "so fuckin tight f’me. so, so lovely. "
your hands run across his muscular back and biceps, nails raking over his skin as you lose your mind entirely in an overwhelming state of bliss.
you're a fucked out mess, your hair splayed all over the pillows, skin dampened with beads of sweat, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure and mouth falling agape with broken moans as your husband ruins you.
"fuckin look at you, love." he says, " you're so fuckin beautiful."
"siii, please— ahh..."
"i know, baby. i know. let it out. let me hear you."
of course you obey, letting him hear your desperate moans as you beg him to fill you up.
"you think i'd ever get tired of this?" he says, delivering a particularly sharp thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs, "think again, sweetheart."
he reaches over, large hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding in a secure grip. his eyes are fixated on yours, darkened with lust, yet filled with an unspoken sincerity.
"tell me what you want, love. want me to breed you? huh?"
"yes— yesss plsss sii ahh— fill me up... breed me"
a familiar sensation starts approaching, a tightness coiling inside your belly, your moans and whimpers turning higher, walls growing tighter around him, signaling him that you're close.
"let go for me, baby. cum on my cock."
he's fucking you so vigorously your head spins wildly, fat tip reaching far deep inside you and slapping against your spongy cervix over and over again.
in less than a moment, you're flooded with an all-consuming sense of pure ecstasy, screaming his name as your muscles convulse and shake beneath him, your soaked cunt clamping down on him and creaming around his shaft.
"that's it, love. give it to me. good girl." he groans, "so fuckin tight, baby... ahh— gonna milk me dry."
his thrusts turn faster and shallow as he reaches his peak. he holds your trembling body tighter and fucks you through your high as his own orgasm approaches. a deep growl escapes his throat as he empties his balls inside you. it's filthy how much he cums. loads and loads of thick white cum painting your womb, his seed filling you up to the brim, plugged up by his cock still seated inside you. and he hopes that it will finally take this time.
⋆ He punishes you by pleasing himself right in front of you when you have misbehaved, not letting you touch him even for a second.
⋆ Loves to indulge in wax play, letting the hot wax drip onto your sensitive skin, calls it 'feeling the fire of the dragon.'
⋆ He will just edge you for a long time, bringing you close to your release and then stopping. Because he can last a while, he enjoys driving you crazy by bringing you right to the brink of orgasm and then making you wait, ensuring you climax together for a more intense experience.
⋆ He loves to praise you when he's in one of his softer moods: 'My perfect wife,' 'That's it, stay like that for me, my sweet,' 'You're doing exactly what I wanted.'
⋆ He's a big fan of clear instructions because what Daemon wants, Daemon gets: 'Keep your eyes on mine' 'Hold still' 'Ask properly.'
⋆ Is addicted to the way you gasp when he wraps his hand around your throat, lightly putting pressure with the pads of his fingers.
⋆ Groans, moans, whimpers, there's never a moment when he's quiet.
⋆ He devours your pussy like he owns it :), like a man starved. The wet spit runs down his chin, making a beautiful mess all over your thighs.
⋆ Daemon is obsessed with your mouth, often putting his fingers in it, not even necessarily in a sexual way. He just loves seeing how willingly you open your mouth for him, always eager to please.
⋆ Before battles, he loves to have you bless Dark Sister. He is transfixed by how you take the hilt of her into your mouth, licking all around without breaking eye contact once.
⋆ Afterwards he carefully inserts the hilt inside of you and fucking you with it oh so slowly, your juices coating his second favorite girl. The image imprinting itself in his mind, keeping him company even at the darkest of times.
⋆ When he has fucked you a bit too rough and maybe got a bit carried away, he will then switch up and make love to you so gently that it has you questioning your sanity. "Avy jorrāelan, ñuho glaeso hūrus." -I love you, moon of my life.-
Hello Friendssss!!!! (Safiya Nygaard reference somebody plz get that)
So unfortunately, I am experiencing severe writer's block. But that does not mean I am giving up on writing! It just means it will take a LOT longer than I expected and most likely longer than you all expected! I'm so sorry about that!! But I will be alternating between fics!
So, for "Bring Me to Life" (Frank Castle x OC), I will be writing, specifically in story building. I want to expand the story past the twenty-eighth chapter! Mostly because this story is a romance and, given Frank's history, it needs building! So, I will be writing on that, just more on the plot than just the chapter!!
Now, "Daughter of Winter" (Matt Murdock x OC) will also be in story building as I want to make it accurate to the MCU. (In a way.) Now this story is DARK. Lots of heavy topics that may trigger things, but not in the cnc way, if you will. Just trauma, a lot of it. Like Frank's, if you will. And this fic will be extremely long, again, a slow burn, and it's not just about Matt. Lots of characters and backstories and all that fun stuff. Basically, a damn novel :0 (so if you can't handle long shit, I'm sorry) [blame my weird ahh mind cuz it be running]
Okay now Jacaerys Velaryon! The smut one-shot is still uhm... without smut. I blank every time, to be fairly honest... and I can't help but think it's ass. BUT... I'm TRYING, I PROMISE!!!
Now, "The Dragon Prince & The Good Princess" (Jacaerys x Helaena) is still being built. The fic is going to be a little bit more based on the books, at least in ages. Still figuring it all out, but it will be a bit of both! So don't freak out if there are some differences! And I'm sorry, but you will get a nice and protective (but still chaotic, reckless, and bat shit crazy) Daemon Targaryen, aka The Rogue Prince! So, if you were expecting evil uncle daemon then.... no! And I promise to make sure y'all aren't lost! Which is why this might be my hardest and longest fic to make! This takes a lot more plot building, story building, timeline building, and a shit ton of studying to make it an enjoyable read for y'all. So, I am working on that, and will continue, I SWEAR!!
And something else to know about me and my crazy ass fucking mind, is I have more fic ideas roaming in my head that i can't get out-
So, I would be thinking about something new every day and write about it for months!! And then obsess over it and then focus on only that. (Hence, how all of my fics came to life.) So right now, that's also what is going on through my brain. Which is why, to make everyone happy, I will be alternating! It will take a while, and sometimes I will focus on certain fics, BUT they will all get done! So, if I'm gone, then don't worry, I'm most likely writing about the plot or smth. Or just doing research on the plot and world or coming up with new shit and obsessing over that... BUT writing nonetheless (and don't worry, I have @kastlechic98 to keep me in check). Or getting ready to go back to college (kms frs I don't want to go back)
Anyways, I hope you guys understand me and still stick around for the journey! I hope you guys have a wonderful day/night wherever y'all are, and I'll talk to y'all soon!!!! Anyways, enough yappin', toodles! <3
We see Jace and Helaena enjoy the bliss of married life but what is the calm if not before the storm?
AO3
As she lay in bed, on top of Jace, her head in her husband's chest, listening to his heart, Helaena thought of the one and only time she had been to Dragonstone, in her old life. During her father's birthday, she was very young, and Jace and Aemond had just been born that year. They all had taken a day trip, for the most part she had been ignored by everyone, she had eventually made her way to the beach where she encountered Laenor alone, and had sat down to observe him work on his boat, he had offered to take her in a boat ride, but then her mother had arrived , she had apparently "Looked for her everywhere and was worried sick" so she had snatch her withoutg even looking at Laenor and had taken her away.
Now here she lay, at Dragonstone, in a room that belonged to her, enjoying the warmth of her husband's body, the warmth she had craved, fantasized for years, with the man she had always waited for.
As Jace's fingers slightly caressed her back, she is brought to the present, he gently kissed in her head as he nuzzled her, she had to make herself hold her tears back, how could he so easily made her feel so loved, how is it that withou words, without even trying he had given her all the love none of her family could.
She closed her eyes and buried herself more into his chest. Jace had found this so amusing and adorable that he had chuckled and squeezed her closer to him. "Shall we go?" he asks.
"Yes," she answers softly, her hand placed in the center of his chest, enjoying the beating of his heart, "I think I'm ready."
"Perfect," he says, playing with her hair. "Everyone will be waiting for us to break our fast," he says and looks out the window, "It seems like it's an appropriate time now, we woke up everyone at a dreadfully early hour of the morning," he jests lovingly with a smirk.
Helaena's face turns red with embarrassment, and she gently pats him on the chest.
"Shall we go see our children?" he offers, and she nods. As they get off the bed, she sits at the edge of it, nerves consuming her. Were her children here as perfect as they were in her old life? Did they like the same things? Are they the same person? Instinctively, she touches her belly. Was she with child here, too?
"My love," Jace calls for her attention as he kneels in front of her, "Do you feel ill again? Are you nauseous?"
She shakes her head, "It's all fine," she answers him and puts her hand on his cheek, caresing his face, "It's perfect," she whispers before kissing him again.
They both stood up and as Jace searched in the chests for some cloths, she went and picked a beautiful light blue dress with golden embroideris of Dreamfire, she took her night gown off and stepped into the fabric of the dress and was surpised by the light and smooth texture of the dress, she smiled and hugged the dress a bit, could this life be kinder to her? she tried lacing the back of the dress by herself but found some struggle, "Jace? Husband coud you help with the dress?" she asked standing infront of a mirror.
She saw Jace approach her through the mirror and felt his hands on her back, "But of course, my dear," he answered as he kissed her cheek and then continued to make his way down her neck, giving small bites that would leave no mark and undoing the laces of her dress.
Helaena went bright with a blush and laughed, embarrassed, "Jace! I meant help to lace it closed! " She laughed and started squirming, the sensation of his kisses new but not unwelcome.
Jace chuckled and continued, this time making kissing noises every time, "Oh my dear wife, but how can you ask me this when you look so beautiful without any dress on?" he asked her, making eye contact through the mirror, he unwrapped a hand from her waist and caressed her cheek down to the neck as he graced her skin with his fingers lightly, feather touches, she shuddered in pleasure, and her eyes closed.
"We have been married for two years and yet I can't help but want to make you mine at all times of every day," he whispers to her as he turns gently turns her head and kisses her.
She felt entrapped by the sensation of being desired. Jace's kisses were intoxicating, and it made her feel drunk; her head felt clouded by emotions she didn't understand. She had never felt anything like this. The one time Aegon and she had consummated the marriage had been a night full of terror and tears.
A spark of clarity hit her while thinking of Aegon and the only good thing he had ever done for her, her kids. The children, she wanted to see her kids, "The children, Jace," she whispered out of breath, " I want to see them," she said.
Jace exhaled and nodded before leaving a last kiss on her neck and helping redo the buttons she had undone, and finishing her dress. "You look radiant," he complimented her and kissed her hand.
They walked out of the room, and there was Ser Erryk waiting for them. He greeted them with a smile and bowed, "Morning, your highness," he said, "How are you feeling, princess?" he asked helaena.
"Uh, better, Ser Erryk, thank you," she said, a bit frazzled by the kindness and the genuine concern in his voice. Like he cared for her, she looked around looking for Ser Lyonel, while cold and serious, somehow she felt like his presence would bring her some comfort.
"Ser Lyonel is resting and will be back in once he is ready," Ser Erryk said before any of them could ask anything. He had probably guessed that was who helaena was looking for. They both nodded, "Thank you Ser Erryk," Jace spoke and resumed his way to the next room, he knocked the in the door and a woman opened it, " Your highness!" she said with a huge smile, "It is wondeful to see you are well after last night!" she opened the door wider and moved so they could go in. "The little lady is ready to be fed, and the little lord is being bathed and getting changed," she told them as she went to pick up Jahaera from the carpet.
"How did they sleep?"Helaena asked as she received her baby girl, admiring her curls, her finger twisting them. "Oh, perfect your grace!" she said as she received little Jahaerys and handed him to Jace.
"You see?" he whispered to her as he kissed her cheek. "Our babes are alright," he said as she made ridiculous faces at their little boy.
"Yes, I can see," she said, smiling down at Jahaera, so small, so fragile, a few tears escaped her eyes as she leaned down to kiss her forehead. Oh, her little girl, she hugged Jahaera closer, and her little baby just cuddled closer to her, feeling loved and safe, her mother's embrace making her feel happy.
Jace himself felt the sting of tears; he blinked quickly, "Helaena, my dear, can I hold our daughter now?" he asked in a playful tone.
Helaena laughed and nodded, separating from her little girl and letting Jace get her as he passed her Jahaerys. "Oh my sweet sweet boy," she murmured, kissing his head and smelling him, the aroma of a babe and the scent no one could smell but her, the scent of someone who was alive and was meant to live for long.
"Oh, your highness is so sweet, seeing you be so happy," the maid said as she wiped her tears away. Helaena smiled shyly at her, but at seeing her, something passed through her mind, a sense of knowing; this was someone she knew. She thought about it hard, and finally, a memory appeared.
This woman was helping her into her wedding dress, but not the same ugly dress her mother had made her wear when she married Aegon. This dress was different; it was ivory, there were red details, and gold. She looked every part of a princess, and behind her was the same woman with a huge smile and tears in her eyes.
" Thank you…" she thanked and trailed off, still trying to remember this woman's name.
"Thank you, Monira," Jace approrted, smiling.
"I'm happy to tell you, your highness, I shall be back to your service after Kari comes back from her time away for her sister's birth," she said, "Once she is back with the babes, I will be happy to be back at your side," she curtseyed.
"Oh, I am glad," she said, smiling, "I am quite pleased, "she expressed, and was surprised by the genuineness that statement had from her part. "It will be nice to have some help with getting dressed."
Jace made a noise of indignation, "Oh, I apologized, am I not good help your highness?" Jace jested
"Jacaerys, when I asked for help with my dress, I need you to tie the lace it, not un do it." she answered back with a huge smile.
"You wound me, my dearest," Jace put a hand in his heart with their son securely positioned at his hip.
Helaena shook her head in good faith and rolled her eyes playfully.
Monira's laugh took them out of their small moment, and they both looked at her, "Oh, Your highnesses, I think you'd better get to the dining hall, I am sure everyone must be waiting," she offered as she cleaned toys from the floor.
Both blushed and nodded, "Yes, thank you, Monira," Helaena said as they walked to the door.
As they made their way through Dragonstone, Helaena admired every small detail, every nook, every window, memorizing what their home looked like. Once they arrived at the hall, they heard everyone before they saw them, laughing voices. Helaena fidgeted with her fingers nervously. She had never been alone with any of them, and now suddenly she lived with them? They were her family?
Ser Erryk went ahead of them and announced them before they walked in, "Good morrow," Jace announced as he walked to their mother and kissed her head. She offered a loving smile and asked for Jahaera. The girl squealed in joy at seeing his grandmother and went into her arms happily.
"Oh, Helaena dear, how do you find yourself this day?" her sister asked as she walked closer to them,
"I am fine, sister," she said, smiling. Daemon stood up suddenly, and it took all of helaenas power not to flinch or step back. " Ah, where is my little dragon?" he said as he grabbed Jahaerys out of helaenas arms.
He stood next to helaena and gave her a small side hug, "I am glad you are feeling better, niece," he offered, and as quickly as he had hugged her, he had let her go and went back to his seat next to Rhaenyra.
"Please eat, we can hold the kids while you enjoy breaking your fast. We finished not long ago; we were waiting for you."
"Oh, you should not have, sister," Helaena argued as she took her seat next to Baela.
"Of course, the best part of the day is seeing all of you together at the table," she said, smiling.
"Helaena, how are you?" Beala asked, holding her hand, "I was worried sick when I heard you woke up last night, frightened."
"I apologize for the disturbance last night," she said to the table rather than only to Baela, how meberrasing that the whole castle had been up and around for her dreams.
"Nonsense, sister," she said, her thumb caressing her hand, "We all care! What did you see?"
"Baela, I would not.."Jace said, placing his utensils down
"What?!" Baela asked with her eyebrows going up, annoyed at Jace.
"We should probably discuss this somewhere else," he said as he took a sip of his cup, eying the staff around the room.
"And why should we not talk about this here, nephew?" Daemon asked from across the table.
"Because this is information we do not want certain people knowing," he answered.
"Fine, we will talk about it later," Daemon rolled his eyes and proceeded to play with Jahaera, while Rhaneyra rolled her eyes at her husband's dramatic attitude.
Baela and Luke laughed at Daemon, but Baela still turned her head to check on Helaena.
"I am fine, truly Beaela." She reassured her with a smile.
"Your grace!" Elinda yelled, rushing into the room holding a letter in her hand high. "Your grace!"
"Elinda, what is it?" Rhaenyra stood up quickly, Jahaera at her hip.
" There is an important letter, your grace," she said out of breath, handing her the parchment. "It's from Kingslanding, the maester said it might be important because of the king's health."
Rhaenyra quickly passed Jahaera to Elianda and opened the seal, reading the contents of the letter. As she read every word carefully, one of her hands flew to her mouth. "How could this be?" she thought to herself as she shut her eyes.
" Rhaenyra" daemon stood from his seat, " What is it? Is it your father's health? Is he okay?!" He asked one question after the other, his tone drenched in worry.
"No, no, father is fine," she answered, shaking her head, eyes still shot as she felt nausea overtaking her. How could she break this news to her family?
" it's.. It's Luke," she said, making her way to a chair and using the back of it for support.
" What?" Luke asked from his seat, looking at her mother, uncertain.
Rhaenyra exhaled. Gods give her strength for what is to come next in her life. " Vaemond has challenged Luke's claim to the Driftwood Throne," she spoke, opening her eyes and looking at her boy.
" CAN HE DO THAT?!" Jace yelled in frustration.
"Why would he do that?" Helaena asked.
" What does grandmother say of this?!" Baela looked at her father for answers.
" Rhaenyra, " Daemon called. He passed Jahaera to Jace and went to her wife's side.
"It's starting daemon." She whispered, frightened, she held her husband's hand and leaned her forehead against his. " The war has begun."
" Rhaenyra," Daemon called this time more softly, worried for his wife. He looked back at the table, " You all have duties to attend," he said, " go and we shall reunite for supper and plan for traveling," he instructed
"But Daemon," Jacasrys started, but Daemon shot it down with a look.
Jace cleared his throat and nodded, standing up and fitting Jahaera in his hipwalking to Elinda to retrieve his son. "Helaena, I'll take them to Monira. If you wish to be with Baela, I can meet you at the adragon pit," he said, a small smile on his lips, but worry still filled his eyes.
"Yes, of course," Helaena nodded and saw them walk away. Helaena's heart hurt because she knew the pace and safety she felt would not last; she remembered these days quite clearly in her mind. The days dragons took to the sky before they danced.
Summary: When King Viserys overrules Queen Consort Alicent and betroths Princess Helaena Targaryen to Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the court expects nothing more than a political compromise. Instead, two gentle souls find themselves intertwined amidst a family already beginning to splinter. As duty slowly gives way to affection, Jacaerys and Helaena begin to change their minds about love—and, perhaps, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms.
Warnings/Tags: Alternate Universe – Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Court Politics, Family Conflict, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Domestic Moments, Eventual Romance, Protective Jacaerys Velaryon, Soft Helaena Targaryen, Protective Daemon Targaryen, Canon-Adjacent Character Deaths (only if applicable), Eventual Light Smut (wayyy later chapters), 18+ for explicit chapters only.
when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.
whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
—emily brontë
fandom; house of the dragon
pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n)
warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man.
word count; 15k+ (oops)
notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors!
requests; are open !
the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.
you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.
after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.
jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.
in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.
away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.
it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.
rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.
and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.
for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.
going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea.
your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.
silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.
silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.
your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.
but, to you, flying is freedom.
there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.
silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.
“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”
she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.
a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.
you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.
long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.
a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.
but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.
vermax.
and jacaerys.
your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.
she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.
the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.
eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.
“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.
you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.
you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.
despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.
you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.
you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.
“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”
it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”
“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”
for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.
you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.
“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.
he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”
you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.
“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”
you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.
he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”
“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.
you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.
he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.
“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”
you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.
he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.
oh.
oh.
you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.
you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.
“jace…”
“brother! there you are!”
luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.
“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”
“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you’d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.
“luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”
the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.
in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”
luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.
“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.
it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.
“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.
“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”
luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.
“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.
well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.
jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.
after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.
king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.
he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.
you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.
you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.
he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.
you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.
heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.
it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.
he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.
“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.
his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.
he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.
the feast has started by the time jace arrives.
his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.
you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.
as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.
luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.
it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.
it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.
his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.
it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.
the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.
he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.
he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.
his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.
perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.
“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”
jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.
“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.
he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.
you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.
it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.
jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.
gods, i want him.
the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.
“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.
“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.
he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.
you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.
of course, you’re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.
you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.
jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.
you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.
“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.
you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”
jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”
you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.
“is there something on my face, princess?”
jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.
“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”
his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.
“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”
jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.
“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”
you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.
oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.
jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.
he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.
when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.
the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.
for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.
because you are avoiding him.
yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.
jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.
he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.
perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty.
he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy.
it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.
he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.
so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.
“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”
“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.
“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.
“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”
his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.
“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.
he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.
you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.
“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.
your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”
“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.
you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.
“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”
wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.
you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.
“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”
he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”
your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”
he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.
“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”
“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"
“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”
you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.
he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.
“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.
“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”
you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.
he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.
he’s in love with you (!).
it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?
but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.
only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.
you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.
the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.
he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.
he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.
you are finally, blissfully, alone.
you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.
“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”
he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.
it’s always been him.
you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.
“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”
he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”
he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.
“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.
he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.
“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.
arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.
one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.
“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.
“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”
“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.
“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.
“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.
he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”
his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.
but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.
“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.
when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.
“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”
it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.
“look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?”
“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”
he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.
“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”
his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.
“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.
“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.
jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.
he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.
he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.
he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.
“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.
“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”
with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.
your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.
“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”
he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.
“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”
you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.
you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.
“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.
emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.
“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.
“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”
“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”
you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.
“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.
“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”
you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.
“fuck, jacaerys—”
he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.
“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”
your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.
with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.
your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.
jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.
“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.
“fine.”
you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.
“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.
you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.
his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.
the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.
he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.
“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”
it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.
“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”
he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.
“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”
understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.
“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”
jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.
“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”
you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.
you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.
you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.
“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.
“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”
jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.
Summary: it was never supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be a long and healthy marriage like it always was. That was until your husband lost his temper on date night and a certain ex-marine stepped in.
warnings/tags: 18+; this series contains a lot of sensitive content, including violence (domestic as well), angst, grief, fluff, and eventual smut.
song inspo: Run Cried the Crawling - Agnes Obel
a/n: hellllo friends, its been soooo long since I've posted a chapter! I deeply apologize for brief disappearance but I'm back. Now for the poll did a couple day ago had finally ended and Jacaerys Velaryon had won said poll. Luckily I have begun working on it so stay tuned for that! I have many ideas for fic so I will be making a lot of polls and I hope you see them and let me know what you think and REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Anyways enough yapping, enjoy friends! <3
Sleep hadn't come easy to him, not anymore at least. Especially since the woman at the bar. Rather-
Elena.
She had a name now, Elena. But calling her "the woman from the bar" felt easier. It was less personal, that was good. Castle didn't need any more attachments. The photographs had been enough attachment. Matter of fact, it was already more than he could afford.
That made her real.
Which made it hard to pretend ignorance was enough, especially when he shut that laptop down. Even when he tried convincing himself that he was reading too much into it.
What bullshit.
Frank shut his eyes in frustration as he reached for his now cold coffee. The bitter liquid ran down his throat like liquor, burning. And it didn't help that the apartment was quiet except for the local morning news muttering from the television. Talking about the same bullshit.
Traffic.
Weather.
Politics.
But Frank didn't give a damn. No, because the only thing that repeated in his mind was-
Elena Moretti.
Again, of course.
The mug quickly hitting the stained coffee table as his hands then ran across his face. "Jesus Christ..." His voice low and tired. Irritation ran through his veins because it didn't make sense how affected he was. One woman.
One stranger.
A stranger who managed to follow him home.
8:31 AM
The Moretti rose above Midtown like every other one. Made out of steel and glass and built by men who wanted the world to know they'd won. A monument corrupted by pure money.
A monument of lies.
Frank sat across the street inside his company truck, engine off and his second cup of coffee, cold. Again. But that didn't matter, not now. It didn't matter because what he was watching was far more important. And it wasn't the building.
No, he needed to watch the people entering the building.
He needed to see the security, the executives, the delivery drivers, and the secretaries. The so-called simple things gave away the pattern. And their patterns led to routines. Routines were what kept people alive. Especially men like Daniel Moretti. A man who developed a consistent routine, a man who believed that he was untouchable.
But unfortunately for Daniel, every building had its weakness.
Every wall had a weak point.
Frank watched Daniel Moretti walk inside surrounded by employees.
Laughing
His body relaxed as he shook hands and smiled. It looked genuine but Frank knew better. It was the kind of smile that Frank trusted less than a loaded rifle.
11:26 AM
Clean.
He was fucking clean.
Frank let out a sigh of frustration as it sunk in. He had spent the entire morning digging. Going through Daniel's business partners, old lawsuits, campaign donations, political connections, former employees just to get nothing.
It was all perfect.
Frank hated perfect.
Because perfect meant expensive.
And expensive meant lawyers and well, lawyers meant secrets.
Lawyers and their secrets meant leverage.
Leverage on their employees. Over business partners.
Or wives.
It meant that Daniel probably had leverage on Elena.
But it wasn't just the lawyers that made it difficult. No, the lawyers could be taken care of. No, the problem was bigger and louder, and innocent.
The people.
The public who saw Daniel Moretti as their sponsor, donor, friend, and idol. The people who believed in him, because the truth was...Daniel Moretti was one good fucking actor. Shit if Frank was still in the Corps, if he was still a husband and father, he would've believed Moretti.
From the outside, he wouldn't have reason to doubt the man. But unfortunately for Moretti, Frank knew better. He knew that his "empire" would fall. Because in the end, everyone bleeds.
And they bleed red.
2:51 PM
The rusty bell above the diner door chimed softly as Frank stepped inside. Frank felt a tug in his chest because the damn place hadn't changed a bit. After all these years it still had the same cracked vinyl booths, the same burnt coffee that tasted like motor oil, and the same waitress who barely looked up before filling another mug.
And of course, he spotted him immediately.
Detective Eddie O'Connor sat in the far corner with last week's newspaper folded beneath one elbow. The retired marine sat familiar to Frank despite the gray around his temples, the reading glasses hanging around his neck, and the fact that he looked smaller.
Older.
"Castle." Eddie's voice came out stoic. He didn't bother standing as he was one of the few people who knew Frank was alive and semi functional. Frank slipped into the booth across from him. "You look like shit." Eddie's voice dry as he looks at a tired Frank.
"You look retired." A laugh escapes the detective's mouth before quickly replying, "No shit, I earned it." Frank chuckles nodding.
"Coffee?" a young waitress says, clearly new. Frank nodded and gave polite smile; poor girl looks terrified. With the coffee poured and the waitress scurrying off, Frank reaches into his jacket pocket pulling out a small paper.
Placing the paper face down onto the cool diner table, he slides it towards the detective. Eddie sighs at his secrecy and lifts the paper to examine it.
A photo?
A photo of New York's finest businessmen.
"You know him?" Frank asked, eyes flicking toward the photograph. "Sure, who doesn't know the guy," Eddie says honestly. "Best businessman in New York, donates a shit ton of money, funds scholarships, youth center, hospitals, and even run a foundation for teen mothers. Big family man-"
Eddie stops himself as he looks at Frank, taking him in. Taking in the way he grips his mug, the way his jaw clenched, and the fact that he hasn't looked him in the eye this entire time. "What about him?" He asks hesitantly. Frank doesn't answer immediately, instead he places his hands on the diner's table.
Cold.
Grounding.
"You ever heard his wife call the police?" Eddie straightens at his question but quickly shakes his head. "Any domestic disturbances?" Eddie frowned but finally answered.
"No."
Frank couldn't help looking out the window. Angry because he knew the answer, he knew even before he walked into the diner. So, as he grounded himself, looking at the traffic crawling outside, the Christmas decorations hanging from the streetlights, it was peaceful.
Perhaps too peaceful.
"What about complaint from employees?" Eddie thought for a moment but frowned. "Not that I can remember."
"Lawsuits or Affairs?" Eddie leaned towards the table, chuckling. "Nothing serious." Frank leaned back against the vinyl seat of the booth, rubbing his hands over his eyes because...of course. He was clean, they had not a damn thing on him.
"You fishing?" Frank didn't blink, "I'm just asking O'Connor." The detective couldn't help but let out a belly laugh, "No... you're asking like your already convinced." Silence settled between them. Eddie knew something was up; Castle didn't just ask question just because...no Castle needed help. Eddie was already risking his retirement by even agreeing to meet Castle. "I've met Moretti twice," he says honestly.
"Nice enough." Frank scoffed, "There it is."
"What?" Eddie sighed. ""Nice enough.""
"I shook the guy's hand at his fundraiser-" Frank looked straight into Eddie's eyes, clearly desperate for a lead. For anything really. "Which fundraiser?" Frank had checked everything he could find, but his makeshift equipment could only go far. "He owns a foundation that helps women who suffered against domestic violence-"
"Jesus Christ-" Now it's Frank's turn to let out a belly laugh. Because...the fucking irony, like he was a saint. Like he didn't beat his wife. "You seen something Castle?" Frank sighed, taking a sip of his coffee.
"I met his wife."
Eddie sighed, "And?"
"It never reached her eyes that's all..." Frank said shrugging it off. Frank glanced up at the Detective and let out a groan because well he wasn't very convinced with him. "Fresh bruising on her wrist, she tried covering it, didn't work very well. She apologized for things that weren't her fucking fault. Flinched when he spoke-"
"You know that's not evidence Castle-" Frank scoffed, because he knew it was just instinct. But there was a fucking reason he hadn't been able to go a goddamn day without thinking about.
About her.
"You know how many wives I've seen who looked scared?" Frank's eyes lifted. "Hundreds." his voice was soft, and uneasy. "And?"
"And half of them weren't even being hit. Half of them were sick, depressed, grieving, addicted, terrified, of losing custody, terrified of money, having affairs, or just...pretending."
Frank could feel his jaw click as he heard the last word.
"Pretending"
Bullshit.
Because he knew Elena Moretti was not pretending. You can't fake that shit; you can't fake that look.
"You can't build a case on somebody looking tired..." Frank couldn't even argue because Eddie was right. Eddie was thinking like a cop, like a detective, he was thinking legally. But not Frank Castle. No... never Frank.
But not Frank... no Frank thought like a devil dog.
Like The Punisher.
Like the man who'd survived Afghanistan and Iraq because he trusted that feeling in his gut. He trusted that before he could ever trust what he could prove.
"You really think he's hurting her?" Eddie said watching carefully. Looking for something to go off of. but Frank continued staring out the diner and across the street. At the Christmas light glistening in the streetlights, and the family sitting on the bench.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Because they believed home was the safest place in the world.
"I-... I think she's surviving him."
His response had been so quiet, Eddie almost missed it. The detective couldn't help but let the words linger between them. "I wish I had something for you." Frank nodded "So do I."
Detective O'Connor had known Castle for a long time, but after Maria and the kids, and that girl Amy...he had never been so invested in saving someone so much as now. Eddie couldn't help but wonder...if Frank was just feeling, guilty? He knew Frank blamed himself for a lot of this and did a lot of things without so much as a second thought. So why was he hesitating now, why wait? He was the Punisher after all... and the Punisher didn't wait for much. He did it loud, messy and quick. Except now.
Now he was being... careful. That had to mean something, right?
The detective couldn't help but hesitate. But eventually he reached his hand in the breast pocket of his suit and pulled out an old business card. Sliding the card face down across the table, Frank stared at him, almost confused. Flipping it over, he let out a small smirk. It was a private investigator's contact. "I can't open a case but, Jack owes me."
Frank looked down at the card again, holding it like it was going to disappear. "You didn't get that from me today and you never fucking saw me today." Eddie said sternly. "I appreciate it." Frank said in a genuine tone, and getting ready to stand when-
"Frank." He looked back. "If you're wrong..."
"I know-" Eddie cut him off, "And if you're right..."
Frank's jaw tightened, and his fist clenched slightly at his side. "...Then don't wait for paperwork."
Eddie sighed, shutting his eyes because...he knew what that meant. He knew that that look meant something more than anger or hatred...he knew that meant resolve. And Eddie hadn't seen that look since...
Maria.
-------------------------------------
The cold December air hit Frank like a punch as he walked out the diner. But he couldn't help but embrace it. It felt nice to feel something other than heat, which he felt often especially in times like this. Times when he had to be that person again, times where all the pain came rushing back like a wildfire. So, standing in front of his pickup truck, he just stood there. Letting the cold air... ground him.
With a frustrated sigh, he sat in his truck, hands on the wheel rethinking it all. Then reaching into his front jean pocket, he pulls out another photo.
Elena's.
Holding in his hands, analyzing it.
Analyzing her.
"Hold on." he mumbles.
Because right now, that's all he can offer. Just a promise.
And behind him Detective O'Connor watched through the diner window until the pickup truck disappeared into the traffic. Then with a sigh he looked back at Daniel Moretti's smiling photograph lying forgotten on the sticky table.
previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter
artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt
chapter summary: Matt's been going out as Daredevil.
series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil
notes: old devil Matt... hehe
word count: 3.9k
"I want to fill my mouth with your name. I want to eat you whole."
- Pablo Neruda
The penthouse had fallen into a strange rhythm lately. Blooming springtime during the day. The Devil at night.
You noticed it most in the little things.
Matt leaving dinner half finished because his hearing caught something blocks away or Peter called him with a lead. The faint bruises blooming across his ribs for the first time a few days ago, and the private rooftop access door clicking softly shut at two in the morning.
Twice this week. Then three. Not every night like years prior, but certainly more than you'd ever witnessed. The case was tightening around all of you now.
Tonight the studio had followed you home. Your laptop sat open across the marble kitchen island beside several handwritten recipe notes. Dilly slept sprawled dramatically across one of the dining chairs like a tiny exhausted CEO.
Soft music drifted quietly through the penthouse while you worked. Updating the EverSweet website. Editing photos and scheduling posts. Your newest syrup launch for the bar had officially sold out in two days. Two. The bar now had "Made With: EverSweet Specialty Syrups” printed directly onto the cocktail menus. Your stomach still flipped every time you stopped by to visit.
An hour and a half later the rooftop door opened. You looked up instantly from the couch. Matt moved down the steps a lot slower tonight. His footsteps heavier. Breathing rougher. He stepped fully into view clad in the suit, but you could still see the damage peeking through. Bruising along his chin and a split lip. He was holding onto one side too carefully. Your stomach turned immediately and you stood. “Matt.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re limping.”
“...mostly okay.”
You walked him toward the master bathroom without another word. This had become familiar to you now, the antiseptic and warm washcloths. The song and dance of him pretending he wasn’t hurt and you ignoring the pretending entirely.
Matt sat on a plush bench against the wall across from the twin sinks, while you cleaned blood from the edge of his mouth carefully. His hands rested loosely against your thighs that were partly between his while you worked. Tired. Quiet. It felt like he was watching you while you worked, in his own way at least. “What happened?”
“The warehouse raid.”
You paused slightly. "You guys did that tonight?"
Matt nodded once and your stomach dipped. “Peter and Luke?”
“Fine.”
You relaxed slightly. Matt’s fingers stroked absentmindedly along the bare backs of your thighs while you pressed along his torso, checking for bruising near his ribs. You muttered to yourself, "Okay- Good," when you didn't find any tender spots that made him wince.
"You're going out a lot more."
Matt was quiet for a moment. “We’re close.” There it was again, the sharpness underneath him lately. The Devil pacing. You pressed into a spot gently against his hip and Matt hissed softly through his teeth. Well, found the bruise. “Sorry," you winced.
“Don’t apologize.”
You glanced up at him and immediately your brows scrunched up in concern. Because exhaustion sat all over him tonight. Physical, yes, but also soul deep. You brushed the damp hair back from his forehead gently. “You need sleep.”
Matt’s hands tightened slightly around your thighs. “I need to finish this first.”
Your chest ached a little. Sometimes you thought he came home just open enough to let you put him back together again.
The bathroom was quiet except for the soft drip of water into the sink where you had the used cloths soaking, Matt's labored breathing, and the faint creak of leather every time he shifted beneath your hands. The Daredevil armor still covered most of him, black and red and distressed from use. The mask sat discarded on the bench next to him.
You dabbed carefully at the cut near his jaw again with salve. Matt’s hands tightened slightly around your thighs, clearly an involuntary twitch this time. Tense. You felt it immediately. “So what happened?” you asked softer now. Matt was quiet for a long moment. “We were too late," he said roughly. Your chest tightened.
“We had the location, schedules... We knew they were there.” His jaw flexed hard. “But something must've tipped them off.” You paused your hands. Matt's gazed landing somewhere over your shoulder now, not really present in the bathroom anymore. “When we got inside," his voice roughened slightly, empty.”
Oh. You felt your heart sink immediately. “They moved them?” Matt nodded once. His gloves fingers flexed unconsciously against your thighs again. “Hours earlier maybe, everything was scrubbed clean.” The frustration under his skin was palpable now. Sharp. Restless. So angry at himself.
You stepped closer automatically. Matt finally turned his head toward you then. And there was fear in his eyes beneath everything. Of failing, running out of time. His jaw tightened once before he spoke again, quieter this time. “Every night I tell myself we’re one step closer," he paused, “But every night they’re still out there.” His hands tightened against your thighs.
And every time I leave...” he swallowed. “...I wonder if this is the night I don’t make it back to you.”
Your face softened instantly and you set the tin of salve down, taking his face carefully between your hands. “Nothing,” you said firmly. Matt’s brow furrowed slightly and you leaned in closer. “Nothing keeps you from me.”
His breathing caught. Hearing his own words reflected back at him like that nearly undid him. Your thumbs brushed gently over his stubbled cheeks. “You hear me?”
Matt stared at you for a long second, like he couldn’t quite believe someone could have so much faith in him. Then, almost sheepishly, “You really believe that.” You smiled, “With everything I have.”
His eyes closed for a moment, letting himself borrow your certainty because he’d run out of his own. When he looked at you again, the panic had eased. “I never used to think about coming home.”
Your breath hitched.
“I’d finish whatever needed to be done.” A quiet breath. “If I came back, I came back. Now I-” His expression softened in that way it only ever did with you. "...I just hear your voice every time I leave.”
You felt your eyes sting immediately, leaning in to kiss his cheek tenderly.
The room fell quiet again. You ran your fingers gently through his still damp hair while he leaned into your touch without thinking, his breathing finally evening out. The tightness around his shoulders slowly unwound beneath your hands as you scratched his scalp lightly, his eyes fluttering shut.
You brushed the hair back from his forehead carefully. Then, completely against your better judgment, you huffed softly. Matt blinked, brows furrowing. “What?” You looked away, suddenly shy. “Nothing.”
“Princess.”
You groaned quietly. “I’m was thinking about how I just... just patched up the guy who was on my middle school binder.” Matt went still instantly. Then quietly, “Ah.”
You immediately laughed harder. “Oh my god- Don’t sound so smug.”
Too late. The corner of his mouth had already started pulling upward. Because yes, he remembered that conversation vividly. Long before you knew. You, trying on beautiful clothes for him while casually admitting, “...I had the biggest crush on Daredevil growing up...” while Matt nearly choked to death internally. You shook your head laughing. “I cannot believe I confessed that to you before I knew.”
Matt leaned back slightly on the seat against the wall as you covered your face briefly, openly enjoying himself now. “You know,” he said casually, “I don’t think I ever asked, what exactly it was that you found so fascinating about Daredevil.” His grin widened when your heart sped up nervously. “You never actually elaborated.”
“I am absolutely not elaborating now.”
“No?”
“No.”
Matt hummed thoughtfully, “I seem to remember you saying it was a very serious crush.” He tilted his head just enough that you knew he was listening to every tiny change in your body language. “So… was it the acrobatics?” You stayed stubbornly silent. “...The suit?”
Your heart jumped, and you crossed your arms like you could hide it. He chuckled quietly. “The suit,” he repeated with entirely too much satisfaction.
“I was a teenager.”
“Mm.”
“Teenage girls aren’t exactly known for their nuanced appreciation of vigilantism.” Matt’s hands slid slowly from your thighs to your waist. Interested now despite everything.
“No?”
“No. I mostly thought you looked…” you trailed off. Matt waited patiently, smugly. “…cool.” His smirk widened instantly and his hands tightened on your waist a little.
“That’s not what your heartbeat is telling me.” You sighed dramatically. He can patch himself up next time. You huffed and finally admitted, "Fine, hot. Can we please never speak of this again?”
“Absolutely not,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “I’ve been dying to ask you that.” His smirk lingered for another moment while his thumb absently traced the patch of your bare skin under the hoodie. The amusement faded just a little.
“Honestly,” he murmured, “I spent a long time worrying the reality wouldn’t live up to whatever version of Daredevil you’d built in your head.” He tilted his head down. “That seeing this,” he removed a hand from you and his fingers brushed the suit, “would scare you.”
You stepped closer immediately, fingers tracing lightly over the armored chest, and his hand made its way to your cheek. “You could never scare me.”
Matt studied you carefully, and you smiled softly. “Besides. I think we've established that teenage me would actually pass out right now.” Matt laughed quietly under his breath, low and warm. Then his hand slid gently beneath your jaw. "And present you?"
Your breath caught slightly. Because the suit always did something unfair to his voice. Matt went utterly still. And a slow, understanding smirk spread across his face.
"Princess." Your stomach flipped. Matt's thumb brushed slowly across your lower lip. And quieter now, "Do you want me to put the mask back on?"
He tilted his head, studying you for one long second after asking, then he reached for the helmet. Your stomach flipped immediately. The movement alone did something to you now, the familiarity of it, the ritual of the Devil putting his face back on. But this time not to leave you. For you.
The mask slid back into place, and God, you actually felt your knees weaken. The red lenses glinted as he stood, reaching for you, and began to walk you backwards slowly.
The suit clung to him like a second skin. The deep crimson and black leather molded over dense armor plating, the chest and shoulders reinforced with segmented black kevlar. Scuff marks and dried blood streaked over it like war paint. The horned mask sat low over his face, the glossy red lenses catching the low light and giving nothing away. Beneath it, his jaw was tight, mouth pulled back in a faint smirk that made the sharp line of his stubbled jaw stand out even more. He looked darker like this, and the lower part of your stomach clenched in anticipation. Holy fuck.
“You like this a little too much, sweetheart.”
Your breath caught. Because his voice had shifted subtly with the mask on. Lower, roughened by the mask and whatever was still thrumming under his skin. Dangerous in a way that curled heat low in your stomach. Matt’s gloved hands tightened at your waist. Possessive.
You laughed nervously despite the heat rushing through you. “This feels unfair.” Matt continued to walk you back, stalking slowly. Predatory almost. Like every sense he had had locked onto you completely. “You know what I think?” he murmured. Your back touched the bathroom counter. “What?”
“I think if we'd met like this you would’ve followed Daredevil into an alley without a second thought.” You made a scandalized sound immediately. “That's not true.”
Matt chuckled lowly beneath the mask, leaning in until his nose brushed your temple. “Your heartbeat says otherwise, angel.” Oh. Your face burned instantly. “You can’t keep using that against me.”
“I can. And I will.” The gloves slid slowly up your thighs beneath the oversized hoodie. Your breath hitched and Matt’s head tilted slightly.
He somehow looked smug even through the mask. His plush lips still curled into a pleased smirk. His tongue peeked out, licking over his bottom lip. You heard him inhale sharply, likely at your growing arousal he'd picked up in the air. And suddenly he moved, quick enough to make you gasp. One second you were against the counter, the next lifted effortlessly onto it. Your legs parted automatically around his hips as Matt stepped between them. One gloved hand braced beside your head on the mirror while other gripped your thigh.
Jesus. The broadness of him like this. The armor. The adrenaline still humming beneath his skin. Your fingers curled instinctively into the strange material covering his back and shoulders. “You're still keyed up from earlier aren't you?” you whispered. Matt exhaled slowly through his nose. "Little bit.”
You could feel it now, the tension thrumming under the controlled breathing, The leftover violence. But with you it transformed into something else entirely. Focus. Obsession. Matt leaned down slowly until the front of the mask brushed your forehead lightly.
Your hands slid up his shoulders automatically as Matt kissed you. Or tried to. The mask made it awkward enough that you burst out giggling against his mouth. Matt groaned immediately, “You’re ruining the mood. I thought you liked the suit.”
“I do. I just didn’t think through the logistics.”
Matt chuckled softly too now. Warm and breathless, finally loosening up. Then he tilted his head to adjust the angle and kissed you properly. Deep immediately. The taste of rain and copper and Matt flooding your tongue. Your hands slid to cup the sides of the mask instantly while his gloved hand gripped your thigh harder, other hand still planted on the mirror.
The taste of him still lingered when you pulled back just enough to breathe. Your fingers slipped to the hem of the hoodie and you tugged it off in one clumsy motion, leaving you in just the thin camisole beneath.
You reached for him next, hands dragging slowly over the armored chest padding and then lower, until your fingers found the lower clasps of the suit. You worked them open with shaky determination, and the second you got him free, Matt’s head tipped back with a rough exhale. “You’re making it very difficult to think,” he grunted, voice thick.
“That’s kind of the point,” you whispered back.
You looked up at him through your lashes while your hand wrapped around the thick, heavy length of his cock. He was already so hard and flushed it made your stomach flip. You gave him one slow stroke from base to tip, thumb brushing over the head, and Matt made the prettiest sound, a half moan, half whimper that vibrated low in his chest.
“Fuuck,” he breathed, hips twitching forward into your hand. Another stroke and he grunted, the sound low and rumbling. His gloved hand tightened on your hip, thumb still stroking soothing little circles even as his body jerked.
“Every time I took a hit tonight,” he admitted, voice rough and gravelly, “I thought about coming home to this.” Another stroke pulled a low grunt out of him. “To- Aah, to you.”
You smiled softly, twisting your wrist just a little on the upstroke. “I can tell," you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the edge of his jaw, "You sound so pretty when I touch you like this.”
Matt let out another groan, his hips rocking into your hand in tiny, desperate movements. He was clearly trying to hold still and failing. The sight made your cunt clench around its current emptiness.
He only lasted another few seconds of your hand before something in him snapped. With a sudden, rough motion, Matt grabbed your thighs and yanked you hard to the very edge of the counter, dragging you right up against him. The movement knocked a surprised gasp out of you. He slid the crotch of your panties to the side unceremoniously.
One gloved hand stayed locked around your thigh while the other gripped the base of his cock, guiding himself. He didn’t give you any warning, just shoved his cock inside you in one smooth thrust. The stretch punched shaky moans out of both of you. Matt’s head dropped forward again, and he nosed affectionately along the side of your neck, mask brushing your skin. His hands were shaking, his lips parted around short, rough breaths as he pulled back again. His bottom lip was so plump, red and slick with a little blood where he’d dragged his teeth over the reopened split.
Matt didn’t wait after that, and every thrust knocked the breath from you. You grabbed at the armor on his shoulders, fingers digging into the leather. The stretch was almost too much, the angle so deep it felt like he was hitting the very end of you with every drive of his hips. “Fuck, Matt-” you gasped, thighs tightened around his waist, “You’re so deep.”
He made a rough, hungry sound at that, one gloved hand sliding up your body until it wrapped loosely around your throat. He just held it there, feeling your pulse race under his palm. “Yeah?” he rasped, voice thick and distorted. Another hard thrust punched a sharp cry out of you, and he groaned again, hips stuttering for a second. “Taking it so well, sweetheart.” You squirmed, trying to shift your hips back when he slammed especially deep, the head of his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur. Matt’s hand on your throat tightened just a little, enough to hold you in place.
“Where are you going?” he murmured. “Stay right there. Let me have you.” The command came out rough, almost unrecognizable under the mask. You whimpered, hands scrabbling at his shoulders again. He was so deep it felt like he was slamming against your cervix with each roll of his hips, and every time you tried to twist away from the intensity, his hand on your throat gave a gentle squeeze that made you moan instead.
“Matt-oh my goddd- too much,” you babbled, voice shaking. The muscles in your legs kept twitching as you grabbed at him like you couldn’t decide if you wanted more or less.
He chuckled low and dark at how worked up you already were, the sound vibrating through the mask. “Already shaking so much. You like it deep like this, don’t you?” You nodded helplessly, another breathy whine spilling out of you as he kept the same punishing pace. You were spiraling fast, the white dancing across your eyes already shocking you.
“I- I’m gonna-” you barely got the words out before it hit you. Your climax crashed over you suddenly and intensely, your whole body seizing up as you clenched rhythmically around him. A high pitched, embarrassed cry echoed off the bathroom walls while your thighs shook around his hips.
Matt made a surprised, pleased sound and slowed just a little, hips grinding deep as he felt you pulse around him. He groaned low at the feeling. Then he let out a soft, breathless chuckle beneath the mask. “Already?” he asked, voice low and teasing. His hand loosened around your throat so his thumb could stroke gently over your jaw. “God, princess… that was fast.”
Your face burned even as the aftershocks rolled through you. Matt didn’t stop moving. He kept thrusting, grinding into that same spongy spot, but his grip on your throat eased into something gentler. Just holding, feeling your pulse flutter under his glove. After that first orgasm your body had gone soft and loose, limbs heavy, head tipped back against the mirror.
Every thrust pulled a quiet, breathy little whine out of you, and you weren’t squirming anymore. You just took it, thighs lax around his hips, hands resting loosely on the armor at his chest like you were too spent to do anything else. “My sweet girl,” Matt murmured, voice rough as he leaned close enough to brush his mostly covered nose into your cheek. “So pretty like this.”
You made a soft, needy noise in answer, hips rocking up to try to meet him in lazy little rolls. Managing to tilt your head enough, you pressed a clumsy wet kiss to the corner of his mouth. Matt made a quiet, affectionate sound at the gesture. His other hand slowly slid between your joined bodies. The moment his gloved fingers brushed over your clit you jolted, a shaky protest slipping out. “Matt- n-no, I can’t again,” you breathed, voice hoarse, “Too much…”
Matt let out a low, amused chuckle. His thumb stayed right there, rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit even as you weakly shook your head. “You can’t?” he echoed, voice dripping with mock disbelief. Another especially deep thrust made your breath hitch. “You just came all over my cock in under a minute and now you’re telling me you can’t come again?” His thumb pressed a little firmer, drawing a helpless whimper from you. “That’s cute.”
Your face burned, but your body stayed pliant beneath him, hips still rocking up instinctively even as you protested. Matt’s hand on your throat gave a gentle, affectionate squeeze. “Thought you were my good girl,” he teased, voice low and playful. “Guess I was wrong.”
You made a soft, embarrassed sound, thighs twitching around him, but you didn’t push his hand away. Matt kept the same slow, deep rhythm, his thumb working your clit in steady circles while he thrusted into you in perfect rhythmic strokes. “Tell me who’s making you feel this good,” he said, voice rough but still teasing.
“Y-you are.” you managed, barely more than a whisper. “Who?” He gave another hard thrust, thumb circling faster. You whined, fingers curling weakly against his chest.
“The- nngh- The Devil is-”
Matt groaned, clearly pleased. His hips snapped forward a little harder now, the fat girth of his cock stretching your walls with every thrust. “Say it again.”
You tried, but the words dissolved into a broken moan as the combination of his cock and fingers finally pushed you over. The second orgasm hit you like a freight train. Your whole body seized up, back arching against the mirror as you came with a loud cry. Your thighs trembled violently around his hips and you clenched down on him so tightly it forced a guttural moan out of Matt’s chest.
He kept fucking you through it, his fingers still working your clit as you shook and whimpered beneath him. Every thrust dragged another helpless sound out of your throat while you stayed soft and pliant in his hands, too overwhelmed to do anything but take it.
“Fuck, that’s my good girl,” he rasped, finally pulling his hand from between your legs so he could grip your hip instead. His hand now held you steady as he chased his own release, his thrusts turning rougher, less measured. You were still making soft, helpless little cries with every thrust, too sensitive and floaty to do anything but take it. “I know, angel. Almost-" he grunted, "Almost there.” He lasted only another minute. With a few jerky thrusts he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low groan, his cock twitching inside you as he ground you down onto him. His grip on your throat and hip tightened just enough to keep you in place while he rode it out, breathing hard and ragged.
Matt stayed there afterward, head tucked into your neck as the storm in him finally settled, his gloved thumb gently stroking your jaw as you both caught your breath. His hand left your throat and instead cupped your cheek, gloved thumb stroking tenderly over your cheek.
“You did so good,” he murmured, voice low and a little hoarse. An embarrassing, barely audible whine was all you managed in response. His thumb traced over your lip affectionately before he spoke again in something closer to his usual voice. “I’m sorry, sweetheart… I know that was a lot. My perfect girl.”
notes: anyone need anything? water, snacks, tranquilizer?
