summary: when the prince of dragonstone visits the north on a diplomatic mission, you begin to notice just how close he and your husband are. the last thing you expect is for him to set his sights on you, and for your husband to be content to let him see.
warnings (mostly in order of appearance): afab!reader, Mallister!reader, canon divergence (no dance, but it comes kind of close), discrimination? (reader is looked down on for not being northern), consumption of alcohol, canon typical views of gender and sexuality, sexual tension, piv sex, fingering, descriptions of m/m, implied emotional affair/leftover feelings between cregan and jace (reader isn’t super jealous and is MOSTLY into it), wet dreams, exhibitionism/voyeurism, threesomes, hot springs sex, dry humping, minor angst as a result of miscommunications (cregan is VERY emotionally repressed and has a hard time vocalizing his feelings as a result), oral sex, cucking, cunnilingus, implied gender envy (jace and reader), three way kissing (challengers style!!), m/m/f, blowjobs, sloppy seconds, perfume oil as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, cum eating, dom!cregan, switch!reader, switch!jace, top!cregan, bottom!jace
word count: 29.6k. don't ask me how.
a/n: alexa, play i want my boyfriends to kiss by ashnikko.
Matters of business and pleasure, Cregan had told you. Diplomacy.
Diplomacy was why Queen Rhaenyra was sending her eldest son to the North for a diplomatic tour on behalf of the crown. Her son, beloved in the North, by virtue of his friendship with your husband.
You had always known of the pair’s close bond. Years ago, when the continent was on the brink of war, Jacaerys had flown to Winterfell in hopes of reinforcing Cregan’s oath to his mother. He had hunted with Cregan and they had exchanged tales of boyhood. They had bonded so fiercely that they had made a blood oath. When Jace left, and the world remained right side up, so did their bond.
You had wed Cregan a year after, and came to know only of his dear Jace in the form of their correspondences and a scar across Cregan’s left palm. It was endearing, to hear your husband speak so gently of his friend.
Cregan had been made a man far too soon, in your mind. His tumultuous rise to lordship had yanked him out of being a boy straight into the world of harsh, emotionless Northern men, and had hardened him similarly. You hadn’t seen him smile–truly smile–until 3 months into your marriage.
But as Jacaerys dismounted Vermax, and strode towards the small crowd of bannermen and servants gathered to greet him, you watched your husband light up. Cregan—who usually demonstrated as much emotion as a wet woolen sock left to freeze solid in the snow—had grinned like a boy, embraced his old friend in a tight bear hug.
And then the prince turned to you.
His eyes passed you up and down, in a moment that felt both too slow for comfort and too fast to savor. His brow twitched, and then he glanced briefly at Cregan. The expression wasn’t doubt, nor critique. You wouldn’t come to understand the emotion in his gaze until later in his visit.
“Lady Stark,” He said gently, “How lovely it is to at last meet the woman who has warmed my dear friend’s frozen heart.”
He took your gloved hand in his. His gaze didn’t break from yours as he pressed a dedicated kiss to the leather.
“Prince Jacaerys,” You answered, curtsying, “I could say the same to you. You were there first, after all.”
Genuinely, there had been no jealousy in your reply. How could there be? You loved Cregan as he was, but knew few loved Cregan instead of Lord Stark of Winterfell. Anyone else who saw into the window of Cregan’s soul was a dear friend of yours, no questions asked.
“Please, my lady,” He insisted, “Call me Jace. All of my friends do.”
WEEK ONE.
You noticed the intricacies of their dynamic almost immediately. It was not necessarily hard to miss, not even for the feeblest of minds. Anyone who had spent an hour in the presence of Cregan Stark knew he was a man of few words, with a disposition as icy as his homeland. There were very few things that brought him joy, and even fewer that brought him visible joy.
Jacaerys was one of those things. At his welcome feast, your husband had sat at the front of the room, you at his left, your guest of honor on his right. Feasts were only your strong suit in the planning stage. You ran the household in a highly organized manner and had mobilized the entire castle in preparing for Jacaerys’ welcome. Once the event came, however, you were happy to fade into the background. You were sure others would be happy too.
Tonight, all eyes would be on your visitor. To honor the occasion, you had worn one of your finer gowns for the affair—a warm, heavy silver gown with deep purple embroidery, displaying the joined colors of yours and your husband’s houses.
It was no surprise to you that the prince was happy to lap this attention up. He was heir to the Iron Throne, of course. He had been primed for all eyes pinned on him since birth. He radiated light—a light so bright it was contagious, transmittable only to your husband.
In the two years of your marriage, you had learned one thing: smiling was rare. It was rare between the two of you, but the absence of a smile did not mean he was displeased with you–a trait you had struggled to cope with in the early days of your union. Cregan was naturally stoic and spent most of his time preoccupied with matters of state and the Wall. His brow and lip were always turned downwards. The weight of responsibility made it hard to do otherwise.
When he smiled, it was small, or it was the consequence of a gentle laugh. It happened most often when he was tired, when he had just woken up, when he was sated, or when he was full of love. They rarely lasted. He would fall asleep or get up, and you would be left trying hopelessly to render the moment immobile.
Smiling from Cregan was rarest in front of everyone. He was a master of composure, born from years of projecting security and worthiness of his claim to be Lord of Winterfell. Jokes did nothing. He did not sing songs with the rest of his men. Cups loosened his shoulders, but not his lips. Not until after he was back in your bedchamber.
And yet, when he stood to make a toast, he smiled graciously. A hush fell over the room as he loomed over the guests of the hall. An unexpected sight indeed.
Some would suspect flattery—but this was Winterfell, not Highgarden. Northerners were hardly men of lip service. Others would suspect graciousness—no, Cregan Stark did not need to flatter his guest, but he did need to show the Prince of Dragonstone that he was welcome in the North.
That would leave only honest, unabashed happiness. From Cregan Stark. Warden of the North. Something few expected. And while you knew the prince was one of your husband’s favorite people, you couldn’t have expected that he would be smiling at his welcome feast during his toast.
“To all gathered here tonight,” Cregan’s voice boomed across the hall, “Let us all raise a toast to our prince, and to his mother. Treat him as you would your fellow Northerner in these coming weeks. Drink, eat, rejoice. Long live the queen!”
“Long live the queen!”
Cups were raised to the future king and his mother. Ensuing cups were filled, and refilled. Once he sat down, Cregan seemed content to sit between his wife and his prince and let them lead the conversation. Jacaerys was incredibly easy to speak to. He regaled you with tales of his correspondence with Cregan, life on Dragonstone, his childhood in the Red Keep. Every now and then, Cregan would interject, with a comment, a rebuttal, or an inside joke, which would send Jace into fits of laughter, especially as the prince sank deeper and deeper into his cups.
Cregan and you continued drinking too, albeit Cregan handled his wine far better than you and Jace. Not that he was impossible to sink. You could see his eyelids growing heavy, his shoulders dropping the tension, his body settling into his chair as the night progressed. Your laughter grew higher in pitch and frequency. The hall was warm and welcoming, something rarely felt this intensely in your home. While you had grown to love Winterfell over the past few years, you knew that its doors opened this widely for a very precious few. This was a welcome that had to be earned.
The party remained lively. The singers took up a spot in a far corner of the room, and the men took women into their arms to prance about the open space.
“Do you indulge Lady Y/N in dance at these feasts often, Cregan?” Jacaerys asked, and you stifled a laugh.
“He would sooner take the black,” You joked, “And besides, Cregan is a fine warrior, but a terrible dancer.”
Cregan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. “I’m glad you find this insufficiency of mine humorous, wife,” He conceded, before looking at Jacaerys, “I seem to recall you are fond of dancing.”
You smiled, looking at the prince gleefully. “You dance?”
He bobbed his head up and down, noncommittal in his answer. “I wouldn’t call myself a dancer, necessarily. I’ve learned the dances at court.” His expression turned smug. “I am certainly more capable than he is.”
Cregan scoffed, shaking his head. “I should have pledged for Aegon. Look at how you repay me.”
You stiffened at Cregan’s remark, only to relax when Jace burst out laughing. Cregan’s eyes were warm. Swallowing down your nervousness, your gaze flickered between them both. The Year of Tension—the final year of the late King Viserys’s life, and the two moons following his death where the realm teetered between peace and war—had been three years past now. Many still grew awkward when discussing the crisis of succession. Evidently, not Jace, who scoffed right back at your husband.
“And then what?” Jace quipped, “Vermax was right there. We would have made you the warmest Northerner in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.”
The prince moved his eyes back to you. “Come, my lady,” He said, standing and extending a hand, “If my friend will not indulge you in a dance before the night is over, then the pleasure shall be mine.”
You looked at his hand, and recognized a scar matching your husband’s. He led you to the dance floor, with no protests from Cregan. He seemed to watch you both with a deep interest. Jace faced you, and allowed you to come to him. One hand placed itself on his shoulder, and when you lifted your palm, he brought his to yours. A moment later, his hand landed on your waist, a gracious and polite distance between you both. A moment later, the music began.
“Are you happy to be back in the North?” You asked, beginning to move in tandem with him. Jace smiled.
“I am. It is an honor to be received in such a way, especially as an outsider.”
He said outsider the way most Northerners said it. Like an insult.
“You understand, yes?”
Shrugging as best as you could amidst the dance, you had to agree. “Many had their doubts when I wed Cregan. That the only woman suitable for Cregan Stark could be one bred by the North. Some were particularly vocal. To some, I’m a Northerner now. I’ve slowly started to think of myself as a Northerner. My children will be Northerners someday, and I will die in the North, most like.”
You paused, thinking about the friction you still came face to face with. “But some will always consider me to be an outsider. It can be admirable, I suppose. How united they are. Gods know they could use the unity down in the Riverlands.”
“Do you miss it?” He asked, breaking eye contact briefly to eye his feet. “Cregan told me you kept the Seven after your marriage. I imagine it must get lonely.”
“It can be.” You did the same, looking down at where your feet fit in between his as the dance continued. “But I am grateful. Many a husband would have demanded I take their gods instead. Not only did he welcome me to keep mine, but he has repurposed use a room in the southern wing of the castle as a room of worship. My own personal sept, if you will.”
“Do you keep a septon?”
“No,” You replied, almost sad, “There are few willing to make the long journey, only fewer wishing to preach to only one. Some visit, and stay for some moons. Not many.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.” Jace nodded affirmingly. “I can see to it personally that one be stationed here at Winterfell, if you would like.”
Immediately, you shook your head. “This is the North,” You said resolutely, “Ultimately, I must respect their customs. The servants in the castle are wary of the septons when they visit—they are wont to preach. I’m sure you know.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I do. My brother Lucerys and I were often on the receiving end of the preaching, when we were boys in the Red Keep.”
You smiled at the newfound warmth on his face, different from the happiness at being in Winterfell. A vicarious pride, happy to gush about his family. “How is your brother?”
Jace beamed, ever the proud eldest son. “Luke is well, thank you for asking. He’s soon to be seven and ten, and is likely a constant in the hearts of the young ladies at court. He spends most of his days out on the Velaryon fleet with our grandsire and has become adept at sailing.”
“A true Velaryon, indeed. You must be proud of the man he’s become.” You smiled, “I’m sure he will one day make a grand Lord of the Tides.”
“I agree, and I am proud, as any eldest brother can be. Extremely so,” Jace said wholeheartedly.
The music swelled. He knew the steps of this dance well, it seemed, and suddenly you seemed inclined to believe he had downplayed his proficiency. He spun you with one hand and grabbed your other hand mid-spin. The two of you were now facing the same direction, Jace guiding you with his hands on yours.
You looked up, focusing back on Cregan. He was watching you both lazily, one hand around the goblet. Gray eyes shifted ever so slightly, and you knew he was locking eyes with you. He clenched his jaw. Your breath hitched, fighting to maintain your composure and remember the steps to the dance.
I adore you, you wanted to call from across the room, keep looking at me like that and it will kill me from want, and I will die the happiest woman in the world.
Jace let go of your hand, finishing the spin, returning to the beginning of the sequence of steps. He had yet to stumble or hesitate. When he pulled you back in, it was closer now. He exhaled, and you felt it on your cheeks.
“You are exceedingly humble, my prince,” You sighed, looking up at him, “You are extremely graceful.”
He hummed, hand landing back on your waist. “You are too kind, Lady Y/N. Besides, someone has to dance with you, yes?”
A giggle fell from your lips. “You say that as if it is the ultimate tell of a marriage—whether a husband will dance with his wife.”
“Not necessarily.” Jace shook his head. He spun you around again, and when you saw his face next, he too was looking at Cregan. “As long as you are suited to each other’s company. As long as his character fits yours—which by the sound of his letters, they do.”
You blinked, watching him watch your husband. He seemed oddly transfixed. “We are quite happy. A-after two years…”
You craned your neck, searching for your husband. Cregan was still watching. This time, however, his gray eyes held just above you, over you.
He was watching Jace. And when you looked back at Jace, he was holding his gaze firm. Subtly, his hand tightened against your waist. You hardly noticed, until you began to slow as the music calmed.
“...I believe we understand each other quite well.”
The music ended moments later. The couples around you came to a stop, and when the applause began, Jace finally looked back at you. He smiled, but his eyes were unreadable.
“It brings me much joy, that you and my friend have a happy marriage. You are very lucky.”
“Thank you, my prince.”
He led you back to the table, and the three of you retook your previous conversation. Cregan had drained another cup by then, a servant stopping by to refill it as you and Jace sat back down. When you sat, his neck craned to stare deeply at you. His gray eyes shone in the candlelight, pupils wide and dilated. You could feel your heart skip a beat, waiting for him to say something.
“Yes?” You asked. He shook his head, raking up and down your figure.
“Nothing, pet.”
He did this often. Staring just to stare. The closest thing to adoration he would allow himself in front of others. Any man could look at his wife. None of them could look at you the way Cregan did. A profound longing, soliloquizing with a silvery stare all the things he could never bring himself to say out loud.
The conversation picked back up, at Jace’s insistence. You tried your best to continue, to remain active in the conversation, but it was the point of the night where Cregan’s intentions were beginning to bleed through, thanks to the drink.
The most telling of all was when Cregan’s hand moved past his plate, past his cup, beginning to inch towards yours, and by the gods—this tactic of his never failed to hit you like a young maiden.
How ridiculous it seemed, that he could exert such power over you. His hands rarely ever touched yours on nights like these. He would make a game of drawing his hand near and pulling away before he could ever actually touch you. Coming close and inching away, like waves lapping at the side of a ship.
You’d never have taken Cregan for a tease, when you first married. And you supposed, in a way, he wasn’t truly. Not in the original sense of the word. You rarely had to tell him off, rarely had to shove sneaky hands away. He didn’t grab at you in front of his advisors, for which you were grateful. But small things like these, in a hallway or at supper…
The unfairly tantalizing push and pull of something as miniscule as whether or not he would touch your hand. A side glance without actually turning his head, one with hooded eyes from either the drink or the suggestion of something more, once he had you all to himself. Anything more than touching was always relegated to the bedchamber.
No, Cregan’s teasing lied mostly in the negative, the promise of more without ever even giving anything in the first place. Not until the only eyes placed upon you were his own. He loved these things, how he could see your pupils dilate or your breath catch. And when the time finally came, when his hands found their way between your legs, he loved the evidence of just how much he affected you.
Where they found themselves inevitably, at the end of the night. Once the lords and ladies had sung their goodnights to the three of you and welcomed Jacaerys back to the North. Cregan had led you up the stairs with a hand at the small of your back and had pressed you up against the door of the bedchamber the second it closed behind you.
Nights with your husband tended to reveal his more brutish nature and true strength, hidden beneath layers of furs. He could be loving and tender every now and again. But often, Cregan seemed to need to prove himself worthy of the Stark name. A wolfish nature would emerge on nights like tonight. Bite marks on your shoulders, breasts, hips.
Even then, he was rougher than usual tonight. You never complained. Not when he drove himself into you with a force that pushed the air from your lungs, using rough hands to push your thighs up to your chest, and slot himself between them. Not when he took a thumb to your pearl and swirled it in circles until you sang so beautifully for him. Not when he bent down to press a bruising kiss to your mouth, giving you a moment to recover before he parted and asked for “just one more, my girl. Let your husband show you how much he loves you.”
When he spilled in you finally, and lay his head on your chest, you racked what was left of your mind to wonder what may have triggered an appearance from the wolf. Whenever he was challenged, he liked to take it out on you. Whether the challenge had been issued by one of his advisors during council gatherings, a lesser lord at an audience, or by you during an argument, Cregan seemed to revel in using your body as an outlet to release his frustrations.
But who had challenged him that night? Everyone had smiled at him all night long, especially with his guest of honor at his side. There were no attempts to provoke him, not in front of Jacaerys.
Which left Jacaerys himself. Jacaerys, who landed just outside of Winterfell atop a hulking bright green dragon, who had temporarily displaced your husband from his pedestal of most important man of the room. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stroked Cregan’s sweaty hair.
“I had not realized the prince triggered such envy in you,” You murmured, looking up at the canopy of your bed.
“Jealousy?” Cregan spoke against the skin of your breast. It briefly sounded as though he was a child caught doing something he should not have been doing.
“Aye,” You said gently, “You don’t get like this often. Only when you get angry, or jealous. Or if I work you up, which I cannot imagine I did tonight.”
“No, you didn’t,” He hummed, “Very well behaved. And the feast was beautifully planned.”
“Do not coo at me like I were a pup,” You grumbled, pushing gently at his shoulder. “Besides, I was not about to provoke you in front of your friend and our future king. Or do you think so poorly of me?”
Cregan rolled off of you gently, and you puffed out a sigh when you felt him leave you. He propped his head up on his hand, the other tracing the curve of your breast.
“No, and I know you wouldn’t. You didn’t work me up, love.”
“Did it anger you when I danced with him?”
“Anger?” Cregan shook his head, frowning as if you had just spoken in tongues. “I was not angry at all. Nor was I jealous.”
You scoffed. “You were looking at each other like two horned deer about to spar. What a fight that would have been.”
Your husband tilted his head. It looked like he was holding back a smile. “Is that what you think it was?”
“Don’t deny it,” You huffed. Cregan smiled now, waving his hand.
“There is nothing to deny, because it is not true. You misunderstand, love. You’ll see.”
And see, you did. But it was not unsettling.
By the end of the first week, none of it seemed strange to you. You didn’t think it strange when Jace accompanied you both on a tour of the armory, and Cregan’s fingers brushed Jace’s when Cregan was showing him how to use a crossbow thought to have belonged to Torrhen Stark’s daughter. Nor when Jace passed by your husband in a small hallway, and instead of waiting for precedent, for Cregan to step to the side for a Prince of the Realm, Jace took it upon himself to brush past, gently nudging Cregan to the side by brushing his hands along Cregan’s waist.
What befuddled you was that even through all of this, you never felt a drop of jealousy. Even when you noticed the nature of Cregan and Jace’s relationship: the long bouts of eye contact, the unspoken conversations, the laughter, the way they seemed to orbit too close to each other. If anything, it only spurred curiosity. Every movement was now artwork for you to repaint in your mind. Every conversation became a dead man to dissect, and you the maester.
You waited, admittedly, for the twist in your chest, the urge to cling to Cregan, the ugly bloom of green in your heart that would turn your impression of the Prince of Dragonstone ugly and unpleasant. It never came. Instead, you were left with the strangest desire to push them closer. Like when you played with your dolls as a girl, and made your princess kiss her knight. You almost wondered if there was something wrong with you.
Because there was no knight or princess to be seen here. In their place stood your husband and a prince of the realm.
You sat with the doubt, but not for very long. Mostly because you had a spectre of a thought, one that could never be put into writing or spoken into words. A hunch. An inkling.
That if you truly were to push them closer, they would not protest.
Your husband was, for all intents and purposes, an emotionless wall of a man. Until it came to you. You could read him like a sailor could the stars. You had lived and learned his tells over the course of your alliance. The twitch of his lips, the flexing of the joints in his fingers. Whenever Jace was in the room, you could feel it. Taste it.
Jace would crack a joke, smug and wry. Bring up an old memory, or something they had discussed in a letter. His head would tilt back with an air of pride expected from the heir to the Iron Throne, and in a moment anyone else would miss, a fraction of a second, Cregan’s eyes would glance down at the span of his neck.
Every now and then, if Jace veered too close, you could make out the smallest dimpling of Cregan’s right cheek. Immediately you knew what from: gnawing on the inside of his cheek. Because he couldn’t bite down on what he really wanted to. You knew this look—you had been on the receiving end of it at feasts that dragged on for too long, or council meetings that grew too boring.
What you hadn’t anticipated was the prince turning his attention to you.
•❆·. ❆ .• ·• ❅ ·❆.
The end of the first week came to a close in Cregan’s private study. Cregan had sent you off to bed without him, and together with Jace, they had opened an old cask distilled in Karhold many years ago. The final day of the first week had been slower, and had left time for the old pair to finally have some time on their own.
The conversation began as normal as ever. Debriefing the first few days here at Winterfell, rehashing memories, discussing politics and logistics. Until Jace decided to change the subject.
“Your wife is a wonderful woman,” He said genuinely, “Your match was well suited.”
Cregan smiled at his mentioning you. “It did not always feel that way.”
Jace swirled the liquor in his goblet. “Oh? No?”
Cregan sighed. “The arrangement was made before we ever met. We had no time to become familiar before—”
“Before you became familiar.”
“Not—Jacaerys.” Cregan flashed him a look, but it was not threatening in the slightest. Jace snickered, and Cregan felt his chest grow warm.
How he had missed this. There were few in Winterfell with whom he could simply joke with, like this. He was always the most needed man in the room, here. Everyone wanted something from him, always. Not Jace.
Not in a way Cregan would have complained about, anyway.
No, here in this room, he could simply be Cregan. No one to lord over or wrench power away from. He supposed all of that fell on his prince’s shoulders. He returned to the question he’d asked himself for years: who took all of that from Jacaerys?
“Lord Tully took it upon himself to arrange the match,” He continued, “I think Y/N’s father was positioning things to have her wed Lord Oscar.”
Jace raised his eyebrows. “He’s around Luke’s age, I’d wager. He was so young back then.”
“Aye,” Cregan agreed, “And not keen on taking a wife at that time, certainly not one several years older than he. No, Oscar Tully wrote to me instead, and one of my men who’d ridden to Riverrun once and held court with them all around that time told me she was beautiful, and I thought it time.”
“I take it Lord Mallister didn’t care which great lord got his eldest daughter, just that a great lord had her,” Jace quipped. Cregan shrugged, somewhat indifferent at the mention of his father in law.
“He seemed overjoyed at her match with the Warden of the North.” Cregan sat down opposite him, lost in thought. When he spoke again, his tone was downturned. Regretful.
“We had a misunderstanding, the night of the wedding. I believe I’ve told you.”
“You thought you’d frightened her.” Jace crossed his arms, trying to recall the story. “And she thought you resented her.”
Cregan sighed, mournful of the entire affair. He pinched the bridge of his nose, recalling the distance he found in you back then. “Everything went… well enough that night. It was wonderful. Then in the morning I opened my big idiot mouth and said something I should not have. We did not lay together for another three moons after. She looked at me as if I had threatened to bite her head off.”
“You always were such a poet, Lord Stark.”
“And you have always loved to make fun,” Cregan bit back, straightening his posture. Jace finished his drink, and Cregan poured himself another one.
“She seems transfixed with you now,” Jace observed, “Always watching you. She is exceedingly… warm towards you. Though neither of you say it much.”
“Sometimes she is of fewer words than I,” Cregan conceded, “But there can be such joy in a shared silence when there is no pressure to fill it. We speak freely when we want.”
Jace was silent as he mulled over Cregan’s words. The prince looked over to where his friend was sitting, taking note of the fond expression on his face. He opened his mouth. Hesitated. But pressed on nonetheless.
“I’ll admit, it’s not what I would have expected from you.”
Cregan tilted his head towards Jace, gaze turning firm. “This came because it was expected of me.”
Jace pursed his lips. “I would have expected someone more talkative than you. A bit more willing to push.”
They held each other’s eye, and the air turned tense. The topic was a seal that should have remained unbroken. Cregan took a deep breath.
“Someone like you?” He asked, in that low gentle tone he took when he already knew the answer to the question he was asking. The seal gave way, peeling Cregan’s walls back until what was left was a man Jace had known much closer, once. Someone he remembered quite frequently, late at night. He lifted the goblet and drank, but did not look away. Cregan squared his shoulders.
“Have you considered that it may have been good for that moment in time,” He said, “But would not have suited me long term?”
“It was never suitable for either of us,” Jace countered, setting down the goblet, “And we did it anyway, Lord Stark.”
“Jacaerys,” Cregan mumbled, “You are being unfair.”
He had misstepped, he realized. “Do you take me for a spurned lover, Cregan?”
Cregan stared back at him, wordless. Cold gray eyes that had been warm not five minutes ago caused Jace to reevaluate his words. At the realization, Jace shook his head. He held up his hands in truce, offering a small gentle smile to boot. “I do not mean to turn this into a grudge or an argument. Truly. I just wondered…”
He watched Cregan’s jaw clench when he trailed off, feeling something warm and familiar bloom in his chest.
“Wondered what, my prince?” His tone was gruffer, words clipped. This was dangerous territory. In another life, his teasing likely would have burst into something that would have had Jace’s toes curling, legs raised towards the sky.
His smile turned sly. “Your wife is beautiful,” He said, tracing his fingers up and down the intricate details of the goblet, “Any man can see that.”
“Jace.”
The prince licked his lips, watching Cregan’s nostrils flare. Already, he seemed to know what Jace would end up saying. How delightful, he thought. Another opportunity to tantalize him.
“Would you be willing,” He said slowly, “Would she be willing…?”
Cregan’s voice dropped a dangerous octave. “Jacaerys.”
He blinked once, twice. The subtlest fluttering of his lashes. “Yes, my lord?”
Cregan’s knuckles were white against the tip of the armchair. Jace had known those knuckles very well, once. He had committed the ridges of them to memory. He would commission sculptures of them for his own personal collection, if Cregan had allowed it.
A pity. If this was how Cregan reacted to Jace asking him to fuck his wife, he doubted he’d say yes to that.
Cregan drained his cup, standing. “I ask you to leave my lady wife out of this conversation. I would not leave her to the devices of other men in our own bedchamber. She would not allow it.”
Before he could move to leave, Jace stood, making quick work to block Cregan’s path to the door with his own body. Cregan froze, hovering dangerously close.
“Who said anything about our being alone?” Jace shook his head, grinning. “How unimaginative, Cregan. That I want simply to ravish your wife and make a cuckold of you in your own home.”
“Is that not what you’re asking of me?” Cregan said, voice dangerously close to a growl.
At this, Jace shook his head again. His smile widened, showing teeth that would strike if he had the chance, the permission. The permission could not be granted by either person in this room. They both seemed to understand this. It did not mean they wanted it any less.
“I was of the understanding that cuckolds do not participate. I would not want her without you there. I want both of you.”
If Cregan asked him to leave, he would leave. Leave the room, leave Winterfell. He would walk into the snow, climb atop Vermax, and return to Dragonstone at this very moment. If Cregan punched him, he would perhaps also welcome it. He was well aware of how out of turn it sounded, noble hierarchy be damned.
It seemed Cregan had not considered this a possibility. His mouth opened, then closed. He studied Jace’s gaze, seeming to look for any inclination that he may be joking. The entire time, Jace held firm.
When Cregan found none, his eyes travelled down to Jace’s heart-shaped lips. Jace’s heart hammered in his chest.
“One night,” Jace suggested, “The three of us. You and her, as the gods intended it. Her and I, you and me, as we intend it.”
Cregan took a deep breath, brows furrowing. His tone seemed to waver, simmering with apprehension. “Jace…”
“One night, and I will never ask you anything of the sort again. I know you love your wife,” He insisted, “And ours is long past. But do you not also think back on how we once were? How good we could make each other feel, and wonder whether or not we could ever do it again?”
“My duty is to my wife.” He looked away, but from here, Jace saw no denial. He craned his neck downwards.
“I would wager gold,” Jace murmured raspily, “That if I were to grab you right now, your cock would be hard.”
Jace didn’t move, but Cregan’s hand shot out to stop him before he could, wrapping against Jace’s slender wrist. Cregan was facing him again, and Jace lifted his head. How close they had drifted in the past few minutes. He could feel Cregan’s body heat radiating off of him.
Cregan’s hand felt like a brand, heat starting at his skin and melting through his flesh until it burned at his bones.
“Where has this greed come from, my prince?”
“Search your memories,” Jace answered, “I have always been like this. Only the last time, you bent me over in the middle of the Wolfswood to satisfy me.”
Cregan licked his lips. Jace watched the glide of his pink tongue with the rapt attention of a rabbit suddenly aware of a wolf.
“Your… idea,” Cregan began, “It interests me. I must admit it.”
Jace smirked, but it was premature. Cregan let go of his wrist, and straightened his posture. He jutted his chin out, probably trying to feel even taller than he already was.
“I have never known my wife to look at another man, however,” He said, sounding rather proud at this. “Her eyes have never wandered, nor have mine. Our vows are resolute.”
Jace swallowed, starting to prepare to apologize, to patch his ego. He wondered how cold it was in the skies at this hour of night.
“But we have never been issued a challenge of this sort,” Cregan finished, and Jace’s brows began to raise.
“Challenge?”
Finally, Cregan smiled. It was small, lopsided. Jace felt his heart stutter, wondering how many times Cregan had given you this smile. What a privilege, to be on the receiving end of it for the rest of your days.
“If you can entice my wife,” Cregan murmured, “I will broach the subject with her.”
“I’ll charm her. Just as I charmed you.”
Cregan shook his head. “You don’t know Y/N like I do. She has a will made of steel.”
“So did you, I recall.” Jace had done this once. He could do it again. He raised a hand slowly, placing it in the center of Cregan’s leather doublet. Jace pressed down, searching eagerly for a restless ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. He found it, feeling the beating of Cregan’s heart against a three-year old scar that spanned the middle of his palm.
“All it took was some pouting and some wine. And you folded the moment I pressed my lips to yours.”
There it was, Jace realized a moment later. Looking at Cregan, however, he would not have guessed such an uneven pace.
“I will say again,” Cregan said, slowing down his cadence, “You—do—not—know—her.”
Gods, how familiar this felt. Jace loved to push. Years past, Jace would poke and prod at the sleeping wolf, hoping desperately to wake. His antagonizing would lead to a pay off in teeth-clacking kisses, a pleasing soreness in his lower abdomen, and bite marks on his nipples (and once, his left ass cheek).
“No, but I know you.” Jace leaned forward. Cregan smelled of pine and bittersweet liquor. “I know your methods. All I have to do is inspire. Create a fantasy worthy of making her thoughts stray.”
Cregan remained silent. This proximity was dangerous. Jace knew that Cregan could also feel the way the air moved differently at such a short distance. When he tried to meet his brown eyes with Cregan’s gray, he found them turned just below his nose. Jace swallowed.
The Lord of Winterfell watched as Jace’s lips pressed together to hum, then turned upward.
“Besides,” Jace murmured, wanting so terribly to just lean forward and reunite. “I have already made your eyes wander. And it has not yet been a week since I’ve returned.”
Cregan bit his lower lip, and paused for a beat before stepping away. The sweet moment was gone, torn away, but deep down Jace knew that he had reached the end of this path. They could not pass this wall without crossing into the realm of dishonor. He wondered if Cregan’s heart was beating as hard as his own.
And still, he grinned hungrily. Bracing. Willing.
“What more can it be to make hers?”
WEEK TWO.
Whatever initial anxiety you’d had prior to the prince and his dragon touching down in Winterfell seemed to melt away as you became better acquainted with him. The first week had been largely focused on the North as a whole: Jace had met with representatives from the likes of the Dreadfort, White Harbor, and Bear Island. A small envoy had been sent from the Wall to discuss the needs of the Night’s Watch with the prince. One more grand banquet was held that week, the planning leaving you too preoccupied to join your husband and his guests.
This second week, however, felt more focused on Winterfell. Thus, as the Lady of the household, Jace’s attention turned to you. You walked the grounds with him speaking of the logistics of granaries, food distribution, expectations for your servants.
Many men would scoff or roll their eyes at the womanly duties of running a household. Not Jace. He remained attentive, clearly listening, asking genuine questions. Others, when they made it this far, would take it upon themselves to saddle you with recommendations you did not need. You do not need this many servants to do the washing, they might say.
And they would turn their lips if you answered genuinely: perhaps not, but I would rather have a few more servants than needed than to deprive these people of coin to feed their families. Winter is hard enough.
Instead, Jace would listen to you speak. He would mull it over, then ask. When you offered your rationale, he would consider it—actually consider it, not pretend that he valued your insight.
“You are incredibly receptive, Your Grace,” You said, “Some men have very strong opinions on how I run my household.”
“What know I of running households?” He answered, tone tinged with offense on your behalf. “Much less Northern ones at the height of winter.”
“You would be surprised.” Your smile held no joy. “You’d think I was Dornish, the way they think I know nothing about a long winter.”
He tilted his head. “Have you ever challenged their notions?”
You sighed, tracing a piece of embroidery over your skirt. “The septons say grace is of utmost importance. I would rather turn the other cheek than argue.”
Jace frowned. “How heavy it must be, to carry all of it in silence.”
With resignation, you looked at him. The freckles across his cheeks, just below eyes tinged with empathy.
“It can be.”
Jace crossed his arms, rubbing them up and down slowly. Despite the furs draped across his shoulders, he still seemed cold. Or perhaps it was more for comfort. You couldn’t be sure.
“I held back like you, once,” He said after a moment of silent rumination. Brown eyes met yours. His dark, curly, rather un-Valyrian hair fluttered in the wind.
“When the knife comes for you, holding it by the blade will only you more. There must come a time when you turn it on whoever you’re duelling with.”
You didn’t ask him what he meant by that. You didn’t think you needed to.
There was a refreshing frankness about him, one that was exceptionally rare around these parts. Many Northerners seemed to use honesty as an opportunity for jaggedness. Honest to a fault, particularly brutal at your lowest. Jace’s honesty was nestled in kindness. The intention behind it was entirely different. It was comforting and not reproachful. He did not seek to pick apart your every action and your sex was not immediately discrediting to him.
It was pleasing and surprising. He seemed to be molded by gentleness that you would not expect of a dragon prince, and seemed to genuinely like you as a friend. Not just as the wife of his friend and political ally.
They had to have spoken about you, you assumed. What man did not speak of his wife to his closest friend? What friend did not offer advice or insight in return?
Honesty was never lacking in your husband. He was not normally one to hide things from you, not unless he knew you’d delight in the surprise. That being said, there was a difference between honesty and openness. While Cregan was not lacking in the former, he certainly did the latter. Pulling truth from him was easy. Pulling the whole truth, however, and asking him to lay his emotions bare, was worse than removing an arrow from a wounded man.
So, whenever you wanted his truths laid bare, his heart on his sleeve, you waited until you both returned to the shared intimacy of the bedchamber. Right before it became too late, and Cregan blew out the candles so that you may both rest your heads together.
And so it came when he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Sitting behind him on your knees, brushing out his long, dark hair. His shoulders were slumped and his breathing was slow.
Lax, your man. At rest from a world that demanded so much of him, with someone who demanded only his full self. Tonight, the latter was not the scarier option.
“Does he like me?” The peace in the room was so resounding that your murmur felt like yelling into the void. “Do you know what he thinks of me?”
Cregan didn’t turn, seemingly content to let you brush through his hair. His low tone seemed weighed down with sleep. “Who? Jace?”
“Hmm,” You confirmed, “He has been incredibly kind.”
“Has he, now?” He rumbled mirthfully. You frowned. He knew you had worried over the crown prince’s approval. Why did he seem to be teasing you all of a sudden?
“I… yes.” You worried at your lower lip, lowering the brush. The loss of sensation was what finally made him turn back to you. He had a smile to match his previous tone, but when he saw the unsteadiness in your brow, the nibbling at your mouth, his face changed. His eyes filled with warmth, and a hand came up to caress your cheek.
“Why would he not like you then, love? If he has been so kind, as you are telling me.”
You looked downward, suddenly unsure. “I don’t know. I just… I want him to like me. I need him to like me, Cregan. He had a spot in your heart before I did. I cannot have us at odds.”
He shifted his position to fully face you now, pulling his legs onto the bed before pulling you into his lap.
“My anxious little wife,” He whispered, “So desperate for the approval she has already been given. One she never would have had to earn.”
“He likes me then?”
He shook his head, but not in denial. “He does. But I wish the opinions of others would not worry you so.”
“I care not for the opinions of others,” You huffed, “I care for the approval of our future king and your dear friend.”
Large hands caressed your sides, warming your skin through the fabric of your nightgown. You wrapped your arms around his neck, analyzing the details of his face. Ones you already knew but would be happy to stare at again and again. A small scar at the top of his cheekbone from sparring in his youth. The soft stubble on his chin. A mole near his jaw.
“He’s quite taken with you, love,” Cregan whispered, tension in your chest releasing at his admission, “He says you are quite capable at running our home. He considers you gentle. Graceful.”
Your cheeks went warm. “Does he really?”
He nodded. “Beautiful, too.”
“Oh.”
He stifled a laugh. “Are you blushing?”
“I—no.”
“You’re blushing,” Cregan said, boyish and teasing, “I just told you Jacaerys Velaryon thinks you’re beautiful, and you’re blushing.”
You straightened your posture, trying to push yourself off of him. “Well, it is quite late. Let us sleep, husband—”
He finally laughed, and you wanted to smack him. He pulled you in closer, despite your squirming, and gave you a chaste kiss. “Worry not, Y/N. It does not offend me.”
“Enough of this foolishness, Cregan. It is time for bed.”
He laughed, reveling in your bashfulness. “You asked me—”
“Hush. Bed.”
Throughout the week, Jace’s attention remained fixated on you. Walking the grounds with you, engrossing you in conversation on a variety of topics, from history, to your taste in wines, to snickering about your husband’s habits. He seemed to slowly come closer as your bond grew. Standing at a respectful distance at the beginning of his visit. Closing the distance with every passing day.
It did not dawn on you until the end of your third banquet, halfway through the second week. The night grew rather late, again full of dancing, singing and well roasted meat. Drinking games accelerated the chaos of the night. Jace had even convinced Cregan to partake in one—a game of tongue twisters and limericks, which he had inevitably lost.
By the end of the night, you were swaying on your feet. While Cregan was not, he was clearly not in possession of all his wits. You retired while there were still a few lords and ladies insistent on seeing the rest of the game through, Jace lingering with them.
His touch was innocent enough to the onlookers. Lingering on your hip, steering you up the stairs. A lord gently taking his lady wife to bed. How noble, how chivalrous. As you went up the stairs, yours and his steps seemed to echo a little louder than they usually did.
And then, once the lull of the party was far away enough, you rounded a corner, and he pinned you up against an alcove in the wall. You froze, unsure what to do. You weren’t going to turn him down, but gods, you couldn’t think of the last time he tried to ravish you in an empty hallway where anyone could walk past.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” He growled against your neck, “and I am the luckiest man in the world.”
“Cregan—what are you—”
“What do you think, pet?” A hand slid down your side, finding your hip under your dress and hiking it around his waist. With a finesse you did not usually expect from him, he slipped past the hem of your dress. His touch trailed up your ankle, past your stockings and thigh, searching, searching, and oh, finding…
“Cregan,” You whimpered, trying to stay quiet as his fingers came to glide through your folds. Your hands clung to his back.
“Let me,” He pleaded, restrained and throaty that made you clench around nothing, “I could take you right now, if you let me.”
“They will hear—” He chose your protest to plunge a finger in, thick and teasing.
He brought his mouth up to your ear. “Let them.”
Your head tipped forward, back pressing into the cold stone of the wall. Your lips yearned for the skin of his shoulder, his collarbone, but he was still fully dressed. You chose instead to press your mouth against the fabric of his doublet, trying hard to stifle your keening as he explored your walls.
His fingers began to speed their pace, pleasure rolling up your body, starting at your core and travelling up your torso, down your legs. You let yourself imagine it, a deep shiver taking over your person
His lips took your earlobe into his mouth, suckling gently. You could feel him pressing against your thigh, and you furrowed your brow. Whatever madness had possessed your husband, it had spread to his fingers, and you gasped against the thick gray wool at his shoulder when he pushed another in.
“Do you want me to?” He pulled you closer with his free hand, and you couldn’t hold back the cry that came with being impaled further on his digits. “To fuck you up against this wall, and let Lord Glover hear how good I make you feel?”
You couldn’t find your words, eyes screwing shut as you imagined what he was suggesting.
And when you opened your eyes, you found you didn’t need to. Peeking from around the corner, in the dark, you saw him: dark curly hair, slightly dishevelled from a night of drinking. Dark eyes trained on your face. You could feel it, at the base of your spine, and it spiked when you realized who you were looking at.
“Fuck—”
“Tell them, Y/N,” He demanded, free hand digging into your side, as if he wanted to break past the dress and melt his skin into yours, “Tell them who’s going to make you cum like this.”
Jace stepped out from behind the corner, and when your eyes trailed downward, you could see how hard he was. He wanted you. You wanted him.
“I—”
Cregan bit down on your neck, and a cry wrenched from the back of your throat.
“Jace!”
You shot up in your bed, heart threatening to break out of your chest. Cregan stirred by your side, but did not wake. You clutched the blanket to your bare chest, remembering how the night had ended. The three of you had retired together after a third round of drinking games. You and Cregan had walked Jace back to the chamber he was staying in, and then when you returned to your own, Cregan had pinned you to the ground, hiked your skirts up and fucked you until the embers in the hearth burned low.
Your eyes drifted back to your husband, who looked so unbelievably peaceful at your side. He was naked under the covers, and you willed your breath to steady. A hand brushed your hair out of your face. Your voice was trembling as you whispered into the cold air of the bedchamber.
“Father, give me strength.”
You tried to ignore the dream. A figment of your imagination. All the time around your guest and his proximity to your husband had clearly caused a lapse in your subconscious. Yes. Yes, this is what you told yourself.
This was all happening in your mind. Jace was not really closing the distance. It could not be.
At the end of the week, he took you to meet his dragon. Cregan had ridden to Wintertown that morning to settle a land dispute, and had left you alone in Jace’s company. The pair had joked with each other before your husband’s departure in such a manner that had you peeling your eyes to watch the twitch of gloved fingers against reins, the furling and unfurling of lips.
Gods, how they had crafted a work of art together. A mosaic of seemingly innocuous looks and turns of phrase. How you wondered what the grout that held it all together was made up of. The promises whispered into the tiles as they had dried. And whether there was still room in the center of it all, where you could carve perfectly sized shapes of your flesh and shove them in between.
“Mind your manners, my prince.” Sarcasm from Cregan was seldom heard, but Jace had unfolded corners of your husband you scarcely knew existed. His lips threatened to curl up as his men began to ride off ahead of him.
“Of course, Lord Stark,” Jace had answered, “I know how to share. Do you?”
Cregan had said nothing. His fingers seemed to tighten their grip on the reins. A breath later, his eyes landed on you. You felt a ball of nerves grow in your chest.
“Take good care of our guest, wife. I’ll be back before dark.”
And then he left.
The guards had shown you where Vermax was resting—a large, empty barn meant to stack provisions tens of feet high into the air, emptied ahead of the prince’s visit to accommodate the large creature. Most days, the beast spent his time flying, stretching his wings, always returning to his rider and the attendants who had ridden up prior to Jace. A devotion you would never know. A blood oath Jace would rather die than live without.
“Cold then, are you, old friend?” Jace asked Vermax, stroking his snout affectionately. The dragon leaned its head into Jace’s touch, letting loose a sound that sounded like a complaint.
“Ever spoiled, my Vermax. I know, I know,” Jace cooed, speaking to him as if he were a pet cat and not one of the most powerful creatures in the world, “Only two more weeks, and then we can return to Dragonstone.”
He spoke to the dragon as if they drank together, or were hunting friends. Mouth tipped open in awe, you realized that that was what they were. Brothers spanning species. Metals forged together in the fire, into the ultimate weapon. Jace turned back to look at you, a smile spreading across his face as he took note of your expression.
“Come say hello, Lady Y/N,” Jace suggested, and you eyed the dragon warily.
Women of the Riverlands knew how to hunt and how to respect the wild animals they hunted. You knew the likes of bears, deer, wolves. Quite literally, this was an entirely different beast. A being bred from blood magic and scales that glittered like emeralds. You had only seen dragons twice before this, and only ever from overhead. This was the closest you had ever come to one.
You took half a step before your body became too tense to move forth. “Y-your grace. Are you sure he’ll let me…”
“He can feel my trust in you,” Jace explained, nodding encouragingly, “We share an emotional bond. I trust anyone he trusts, and he the same.”
Vermax let loose an excited growl, and were your feet not glued to the ground, your bones would have jumped from your skin. Jace tipped his head back, laughing as if Vermax had told the greatest joke Jace had ever had the pleasure of hearing.
“He can feel your apprehension, which he appreciates.”
Your brows furrowed, looking up at Vermax. His glowing, orange eyes peered back down of you, and you forced yourself to keep his gaze.
“He… appreciates it,” You said flatly, trying hard not to jump back “Well, I’d scarcely take joy in offending him.”
“Dragons consider gentle hesitation as a sign of respect,” Jace continued, still petting Vermax’s side, “Oftentimes those who have never so much as seen a dragon think they can tame them with their touch. It never ends well, I have seen it myself. They are not lap dogs, my lady.”
You wanted to laugh, looking back at Jace. “Are they not? I hadn’t realized.”
The Prince of Dragonstone seemed to be enjoying himself far too much for your comfort. He stepped away from the dragon, in your direction. “There is a fine line, funnily enough. Hubris aggravates them. Excessive displays of fear make them impatient.”
His smile faded, but his expression remained warm. Beckoning you closer. “Come. He won’t harm you while I’m here.”
Moving too suddenly around the dragon, in your opinion, Jace swept forward and closed the gap between you both. He stepped behind you, a hand coming up to the small of your back to guide you. The other traced your arm gently, starting from your elbow and ghosting down until his fingers wrapped themselves around your wrist.
His touch was light. His palms were cold, calloused from years of dragonriding. He lowered his voice to a murmur, speaking from over your shoulder.
“Here,” He offered, using his grip to raise your hand, “Let me help you.”
With Jace as your guide, Vermax lowered his head. You could feel the dragon’s hot breath warming the space, being pushed low with his exhales and moving up as the heat from within him expanded before rising up into the rafters of the barn. The smell of smoke filled your nose.
“Slowly.” Jace’s mouth was both too close and too far away from your ear. “Though he’s harmless, right now at least.”
“Is he as gentle as you, my prince?” You asked, and he exhaled–an almost laugh with such a specific sound you didn’t need to see him to know he was smiling again. He sounded closer now.
The emerald dragon was inches from you now, rumbling low. You could feel the sweat beginning to form in your hairline.
Jace’s lip pressed itself to your ear. Your eyes fluttered shut, and his voice lowered itself to a whisper.
“Whoever said I was gentle, Lady Stark?”
Scales in your palm, pressing up into you. Fingertips at your knuckles, holding tightly. Your eyes opened, and it fell into place for you as you peered up at Vermax, now nuzzling into your palm.
“You are one,” You murmured, awestruck.
Jace nodded proudly, the movement vivid against the side of your head. “He is mine own brother in all but blood. Were one of us to die, the other would feel a hollow in our chest the rest of our days.”
“Does that scare you?”
This time, Jace doesn’t nod. You heard him swallow. He let loose a shaky breath, now too looking at his dragon. His hand prompted yours, and you began to scratch the tip of Vermax’s nose. Vermax let out a pleased huff, but it did little to assuage Jace.
“It is my worst fear,” The prince admitted, “One so strong I’ve lost count of the nightmares it has brought me.”
Your head turned to look at him then. Emotions danced in his eyes—pain, admiration, adoration, all for his dragon. He looked so young, still. Even if it was winter, and the sun was dull and dim, freckles still spanned his sharp cheekbones and angular nose. If you wanted to, you could probably count every single one. Gods, did you want to.
With a purse of your lips you realized just how close he was. Jace wasn’t looking at you, however. And Vermax, despite pressing into your palm, was looking at Jace.
They have known each other for a thousand years, it would have seemed. There was some sort of conversation happening here you were not physically capable of being privy to. It was all too familiar, you thought, and your lips turned up before you could help it.
This drew Jace’s attention. He raised an eyebrow, smirking. Face to face now, still behind you. Pressing close. Too close. “What?”
“This is a talent of yours, Jace. Holding entire conversations with your eyes.”
He shook his head. “It is a bond between dragon and rider.”
Your eyes widened, gaze curious but not prying. “Oh? Since when is my lord husband your dragon, then?”
Jace looked surprised for a moment, before scanning your face. Dark eyes lingered on your lips a beat too long, causing your breath to hitch.
“Is that jealousy I hear, Lady Stark?”
Now you shook your head with a wry smile. “Not at all. I’m simply curious.”
Jace’s forehead tilted forward, ever playful. His breath fanned your face. “Ask away, then. I am an open book.”
“You may be an open book, Prince Jacaerys,” You murmured, blood roaring in your ears, “Yet my lord husband seals himself shut until you are at his side.”
“What can I say,” He whispered, nose ghosting across yours, “I’ve a gift for opening people up.”
If either of you moved half an inch closer, your lips would touch. This was an exquisite torture. Surely, this was crossing someone’s line. Yours, Jace’s, Cregan’s. At some point they merged. Stopped being lines and curved, woven into a circle.
You exhaled steadily. Vermax, suddenly disinterested, stepped away. Jace didn’t let go of your hand as you lowered it. His other hand—when had it moved from the small of your back to your hip?
You were warm. The dragon was warm—surely, this was why. You should have stepped away. Jace should have stepped away. This was hardly proper.
“You and my husband share the strangest bond,” You pointed out, “One I’ve seldom seen between men.”
The statement was a question you didn’t need to pose. Jace hummed, raising his eyebrows. Goading. Expecting. The hand on his hip began to rise.
“Is this an accusation, my lady?” His low tone held no malice, hand tightened against your hip. The rise and fall of his chest pressed up against your back told you everything you needed to know. He wanted this as much as you did.
“Not in the slightest, my prince,” A third time, you shook your head, slower. More deliberate. Using the movement to brush the tip of your nose against his. A small smile graced his pretty lips, lips now so close to yours anyone from afar would think the worst of Lady Stark and The Prince of Dragonstone.
His nose pressed harder into yours. Your mouth tipped open, nearly trembling with anticipation. Every second grew infinite.
“No?” Jace murmured, eyes trained on your parted lips, “What should I take it for, then?”
He dragged a finger across your wedding band. You felt your mouth go dry.
An invitation, you wanted to say. A door I want you to open.
He would have kissed you. Or you would have kissed him. Someone would have stumbled in the next few seconds, you knew it to be true. Your blood was running too hot and the pupils of his dark eyes were too dilated. You were two objects in unstoppable movement in the direct line of each other’s fire. The collision would have been inevitable and ruinous and you would have welcomed it with open arms.
But then Vermax’s head snapped up, grunting at something behind you. Jace, feeling his dragon’s altered state, split from you. You jumped at both of their movements, perfectly in sync with each other. And when the pair of you turned, your eyes landed on one of your guards, who looked incredibly uncomfortable at the entire ordeal.
“Y-your grace, Lady Stark,” He said, “Lord Cregan has returned.”
You cleared your throat, hands smoothing out your dress. At your side, the prince clasped his hands behind his back. He clenched his jaw, and any hint of his playfulness was gone.
“Yes. Yes, of course,” You sighed, heart pounding, “Thank you, Ser Justin.”
•❆·. ❆ .• ·• ❅ ·❆.
The whole ordeal left you with an ever growing sense of anticipation and dread. At dinner—tonight a smaller affair between some of the higher ranking lords and ladies who had come to visit—you sat at Cregan’s side. He sat at one head of the table, Jace at the other.
The table was long enough to where you could easily avoid conversation with him. You hardly spoke a word to him the entire evening. You could hardly speak a word to anyone. Somewhat naively, you hoped to make it through the evening without anyone noticing.
And then Lady Umber opened her mouth.
“You are rather quiet tonight, Lady Stark,” She pointed out, the table quieting to listen to her speak, “I hope you are not fatigued by the large number of guests.”
“Not in the slightest, Lady Umber,” You answered, painting on a smile, “The conversation flows so well amongst you all tonight I am happy to simply listen.”
“How glad I am that we are such a source of entertainment.” Her tone was dripping with knives disguised as niceties. “I take it after all these years we are still novel to you.”
You set your knife down, taking a deep breath. You glanced over at Cregan, who was eyeing Lord Umber with a silent urge to wrangle his lady wife. Lord Umber looked as though he was about to break into a sweat. You felt something take hold of you, starting in your chest and spreading through your shoulders.
Lord Umber stammered, “Wife—”
“Two years is a long time, Lady Miranda,” You said, trying hard not to stumble over your words, “Though I’m sure after all of yours, it feels quite short.”
Silence. Lady Umber’s eyes widened, and for half a moment, she looked like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing with no sound to accompany the movement. The rest of the table grew deathly still. The sound of silverware scraping against plates all but disappeared.
Your eyes found Cregan’s again. Even he seemed surprised, but not angry. His stare held a subdued wonder, one brow raised in bewilderment. He looked across the table, and you didn’t need to follow his gaze to know who he was looking at. You swallowed, unsure of what to say or do. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on you as the person who had taken control of the moment. And here you were, unsure of where to take it next.
Thankfully, you weren’t the one to decide.
Jace snorted so hard into his goblet of wine that it broke the tension entirely. He was bright red, having held back so hard from laughing. But now, he could no longer handle it, hastily setting the cup down and covering his spluttering with his other hand.
Your mouth fell open, face burning profusely. Then, at your side, the impossible happened. Cregan coughed, looking down at his plate.
Everyone’s heads turned to look at him.
He nodded once, clenching his jaw. When he looked back up, eyes trained in the prince’s direction, his mouth twitched.
And then he laughed. Once, twice, and before you knew it, his shoulders were heaving.
Awkward laughter erupted at the table. Some unsure, some genuine. Most in disbelief. The chain reaction of your challenge, Jace’s choking, and finally Cregan Stark laughing. Actually laughing.
When you looked back at Lady Umber, she was clearly fuming. But she had lost.
And perhaps, for the first time, you had pushed back. Refused to turn the other cheek.
You sat an inch higher for the rest of dinner. And when you finally looked in Jace’s direction, you stared at him until he was the one to break eye contact.
•❆·. ❆ .• ·• ❅ ·❆.
“I cannot believe you said that.” Cregan lifted his elbows out of the hot water, resting back on the dry stone not submerged in the hot spring. You shook your head, thinking back on your behavior.
He didn’t sound upset at all. Rather, he still sounded surprised. In awe. His head craned, the candlelight bathing him in a soft light that stole your breath.
“I’m proud of you, Y/N. It was about time you bit back. You’re a wolf now, after all.”
You leaned into his side, giving him a gentle peck on his upper bicep, just below his shoulder.
“Thank you,” You mumbled against his skin.
You kept your face there, feeling the warmth of the muscle against your cheek and forehead. When your eyes closed, all you could see were a pair of brown eyes and freckles you wanted to map out like the stars. You cleared your throat nervously.
“There is… something I must ask you. About the prince,” You said softly, not meeting his eyes. Rather, you remained buried against his arm. Cregan made a face, brow quizzical.
“Has something happened?” He asked. You didn’t know whether or not to answer his question. When you remained silent, his mouth turned upwards. He considered the possibilities, before making a curious observation.
“You could hardly look at him during dinner. He couldn’t stop looking at you.”
Sometimes you wished he’d remain incurious. A fundamental impossibility, a pipe dream never to come true, considering your husband’s disposition. Much like the wall, nothing got past Cregan. He may well be the end of you one day.
His lips found the crown of your head. You continued looking at the steam rising up above the water. When he spoke, his voice was low, raspy.
“Ever the seducer, our crown prince.”
Your head snapped in his direction, surprised eyes meeting his knowing ones. He gave a small half-smile. No anger, no joy. If anything, he looked sympathetic. As if Jace had also once pinned Cregan between himself and Vermax and delighted in blurring lines. Chest hollow, you were slowly realizing that it was more likely than not. You swallowed.
Pity. From Cregan Stark. A rare sight, indeed. Though tonight certainly seemed the occasion.
“Has he made you uncomfortable at all?” Cregan asked, searching your face for fear or discomfort. Half of you wanted to kiss him breathless. The other half was moments away from bursting into tears. Any other husband may well have accused you of temptation. Brazenness. Whorishness. Cregan’s first concern was your own wellbeing.
“No, not at all,” You said immediately. “He’s very… persuasive.”
At this, his expression morphed from a somewhat-smile to a genuine one. “May I ask what happened between you both today?”
A peace banner. There was no threat of anger from him, you realized, and you relaxed. Your shoulders sagged, guardrails you hadn’t knowingly put in place. He just wanted to know.
“I… We almost kissed,” You admitted, “He was trying to get me to pet Vermax, and he grabbed my hand, and then…”
“Almost?” If you hadn’t known better, you might even think he sounded disappointed. “What stopped you?”
You bit your lip. “Ser Justin came in to announce your return.”
Cregan reached for your hand under the water. The air was not tense. Awkward, more like. Cregan was never one to talk. You were always the one to coax it out of him. When it was your time to be silent, it rarely proved productive.
“Are you angry?” You asked, placing your free hand on top of his. When you looked up at him, his gaze was warm, and he shook his head.
“Not at all,” He answered, “Were it any other man, maybe. But our prince has always been very… what did you call it? Persuasive. So long as you did not feel coerced, I won’t fault you. He may be our prince, he may be my friend, but you are my wife.”
His reaction was as jarring as it was relieving. You needed to know. You could hold back no longer. “Did you ever…?”
Cregan licked his lips, and hesitated for a beat. Eventually, he replied. “Him and I? …Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Seven. At least.”
Your eyebrows shot up. Cregan looked like he wanted to laugh.
“Have you ever known me to be sated easily?”
You couldn’t argue with that, even if you wanted to slap that smug look off of his face.
“I suppose I’m just… curious.” You swiped a damp strand of hair off of your neck. “Clearly, you care a great deal for each other. I didn’t realize just how much.”
“He is our future king,” Cregan remarked, “I am Warden of the North.”
He said it as if this was meant to explain all of it. You didn’t want to tell him that you doubted Jace behaved this way with Jason Lannister, Warden of the West. When your face didn’t change, he sighed.
“When we first met,” Cregan began, “We were on the brink of civil war. You remember.”
You nodded. “I remember when my father received the raven notifying him of Vermax being spotted flying over the Twins.”
“I had become so preoccupied with matters of running everything. All that… all the loss, all the anger, all the fighting. It made me numb. I truly hadn’t realized how it had… hardened me. When he came to Winterfell, I accepted him as my guest, and I renewed my vow to his mother. My men and I invited him to hunt for three nights—it was summer still. How could we not? He was the prince. Impending war be damned.”
You said nothing, waiting for him to continue. “None of us expected any fun. The mood was bleak. We hardly knew him. But he put on his best spirits, and he charmed us all. He was smart, gracious. Humble, which none of us expected from a southern prince.”
Cregan’s mind was seemingly far away, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “And one night, we’d all had too much to drink. Everyone else had gone to bed. The fire was burning low, and he was sat right next to me. He looked so… pretty.”
At this, your eyes softened. “It just happened.”
“It was so easy to speak to him. That never happens—you know my character, love. It didn’t even occur to me that I wanted him until he kissed me. Like I hadn’t even considered it to be an option.”
You thought of Cregan when you’d first met him. He was gruff, closed off, easily the coldest man you’d ever met. You’d been convinced he didn’t even like you until a few months into your marriage, when he stumbled into your bedchamber drunk mumbling, “I missed you today. And I wish I could tell you that without the drink.”
You thought of your husband as a little boy, small and unsure and stifled by an uncle who would rather be rid of him entirely, all for the sake of control of the North. What that did to him, what retaking his birthright would have entailed for a young boy forced to become a man far too early. What all of that and the death of a little brother could do. You pressed a kiss to his hand, and he hummed at the gesture.
“Do you love him?” The question left you before you could think twice. When it was out in the open, you decided to press. There was no taking it back now. “If he had been the princess of Dragonstone, would you have asked for his hand?”
Cregan looked down at the water, where your hands were joined. He squeezed, gentle but insistent. Affirming. “I suppose… I suppose there may have been a time where I thought myself to be in love with him. I care for him still. Deeply, in ways that I cannot say I’ve ever cared for any other man. But I would not have married him, even if it had been an option.”
You tilted your head, and Cregan acquiesced without you even needing to ask. “I married you out of duty, yes? We’d never met until you arrived at Winterfell.”
“Yes,” You said, “And I thought you hated me.”
He sighed regretfully. “And I’ll spend the rest of my days making it up to you. But Jacaerys and I had different duties at the end of it all. I am Warden of the North. He is our future king. Those two titles cannot merge, not without one of us giving something up—which neither of us would do. Regardless of the circumstances, it would not have worked.”
You swallowed, a lump beginning to grow in your throat. Under the water, his hand with the scarred palm began to burn. “So you married me out of duty. But you love Jacaerys.”
“What? No.” The rebuff was immediate, bitten out. He frowned, and you bit down on your tongue. This had taken a turn you hadn’t wanted it to.
Here it was, you realized. That awful shade of green in your chest you’d wondered so much about, turning your heart from deep red to brown to a bright, flaming green. Suddenly, the image of Cregan and Jace seemed much less enticing. You wished you hadn’t thought about the green so, wished so badly to yank it from the root and toss it into the fire.
“Gods, I wish I were better at this,” Cregan muttered to himself, before opening his eyes to look at you again. “No, love. You are not a placeholder. You’re my wife, and I love you so differently than how I loved him.”
He moved to be in front of you now, grabbing you by the shoulders. Forcing you to look at him, though the determination in his eyes did little to assuage your confusion.
“I would never have asked Jacaerys to marry me, not if he weren’t heir to the throne, not if he were a woman,” He told you, “Fundamentally, it would not have worked. The only way it would have worked would have been if Jacaerys were a Northern woman born to a noble house, bound to no one but his father. And then he would not have been Jacaerys, would he?”
You blinked. “What?”
“What?”
You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Officially declaring surrender, completely lost. You wondered if Cregan was more lost than you were—he seemed on the verge of distress.
“So…” You shook your head, chest clenching. You took a shaky breath, hating the way your voice sounded on the verge of cracking. You started to pull away. “So then would you or would you not have—I… C-Cregan, do you not–?”
His grip tightened on your shoulders, head shaking furiously. “No,” He said with gritted teeth, “No. I love you, Y/N. My soul is yours.”
“But–”
He groaned, the top of his head leaning into your chest. “This isn’t… I don’t mean—fuck, I’m sorry.”
He pulled you into his lap, large hands cradling you gently. A position the two of you had taken a hundred times in this exact same spot. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, ignoring the low heat in your stomach that always pooled there. Your muscles knew what usually came next: joined bodies moving in such a way that caused water to spill onto the floor. Not now. It could wait.
When Cregan met your eyes, he looked pained. Like he wished he’d never spoken. Your husband, who never spoke much to begin with, who guarded his emotions the way a starved wolf guarded a kill.
He grabbed your arm, then interlaced your fingers. His wedding band glittered in the light. The scar brushed against your palm. You didn’t want to think about how the ring could be taken off.
“I loved Jacaerys differently then, before I loved you. It’s different from the way I love him now,” He explained slowly, clearly searching and painstakingly choosing each word. “A-and both of those forms of love are vastly different from the way I love you, the way I’ve loved you since we married. I can’t quite put it into words. I don’t know that there are enough words in the Common Tongue for me to fully describe it, and I don’t know I’d be able to if there actually were.”
His face scrunched up, trying to articulate his thoughts clearest. Your heart was in your throat the entire time, but you dared not interrupt him.
Finally, his eyes opened, clarity interlaced with fear. He took a deep breath before he placed his final verdict.
“My vow to him is my sword. My vow to you is my heart. And my heart will always come before my sword.”
Your lips parted, eyes brimming with tears. No longer from jealousy, or the fear that you were nothing to Cregan but a second choice. You brought a hand to his cheek and he pressed into it desperately, longingly.
“Cregan,” You whispered, smiling, “I love you.”
His eyes closed at your touch, sighing when your forehead touched his. “I love you, and I’m sorry if candor escapes me. I do not mean to dishonor you, wife. It has never been my intention.”
“No,” You cooed, “No, thank you for telling me.”
“Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
Sighing, you gave him a gentle, chaste kiss. When you pulled away, you studied him. His gray eyes were darting frantically across your expression, searching for any leftover doubt or anger. A hand slid down his shoulder and landed just above his sternum, pressing into the skin, caressed by the hair on his chest. Underneath, where his heart lay, you could feel it hammering quickly. You almost wanted to laugh.
“Honesty is the only thing that scares you so,” You mumbled, “A wildling horde south of the wall would not cause your heart to falter this way.”
“I can slay a wildling horde,” He whispered, “Matters of my heart, decidedly not.”
Your hand lingered on his chest, the other beginning to scratch at the baby hairs at his nape. He hummed contentedly—this was one of his favorite forms of contact. Deeply soothing, comforting, one he had never known until you taught it to him.
“You needn’t answer if you wish not to tell me,” You began, “But can I ask how it’s different? Not the emotion. Rather…”
You cleared your throat, feeling an awkward heat crawl up your neck, reaching your cheeks and temples rather rapidly. You reached for his hand out of comfort, but grew even warmer when you saw the scar. “I know… how it works, between two men. Did he… did you…?”
It was his turn to watch you struggle for words now, and for all of his struggling earlier, he seemed quite amused to let you writhe like a fish.
He bit back a grin. “Did I what?”
You scrunched your lips together, unsure of what to say. With every word, his smile grew and grew until he was holding back laughter. “Who… well. Cregan, I’ve no better way of putting it. Who was the scabbard, and who was the swo—?“
At last, he could no longer resist, and a laugh escaped him. He laughed and all the previously tense air evaporated from the room, and then he laughed some more.
“You’re wondering who stuck their cock in who,” He said once he’d settled, “Is that it?”
You gasped, swatting at his chest. He seized your hand, pressing it back into his chest, rubbing over your knuckles. “Vulgar man,” You chided affectionately, but then quickly added, “…Yes.”
“I had no preference. I think I would have enjoyed it.” He answered candidly, “But he seemed rather keen on being bent over. Not quite something you’d expect from a prince.”
“Oh,” You sighed, cheeks burning brightly, “Oh, I see.”
“He tried to kiss you.” Bringing the conversation full circle, his hands slid down to your hips. “And you liked it.”
Wordlessly, you nodded. Cregan huffed, looking as if suddenly everything made sense.
“What if I told you…” He eyed your lips, tongue darting out to wet his own, “The prince… propositioned me, shortly after his arrival?”
Your eyebrows shot up. “He attempted to seduce you?”
“Not exactly. I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen. No, he suggested the three of us share. That for one night, the three of us indulge in each other. You and I. Him and me. You and him.”
Oh. “A-and what did you say?”
“I wasn’t sure what to say. Ultimately, I told him I would make no attempt to force the idea on my wife unless you seemed interested. It would seem his grace has taken upon itself to lay his plan into motion, with or without me.”
“What a scheme,” You murmured. The heat in your lower stomach had returned now, spurred by the mental images Cregan had built you. Him sprawling Jace across the forest floor. The three of you, together, tangled in bedsheets. And Jacaerys Velaryon, beautiful Jacaerys Velaryon, lips swollen from kissing and covered in sweat.
“How unfairly he plays, and how he underestimates us, love. Do wolves not wander in a pack?”
You furrowed your eyebrows, thinking back to everything that had transpired over the past few weeks, now with the knowledge you’d just acquired. Jace’s history with your husband. His propositioning you and Cregan.
If his attempt with Cregan had been anything like what he had done with you, you had to agree with Cregan’s choice of words. Unfair. But not necessarily cruel, or manipulative. No, this was a game to Jace, and he was eager for the two of you to play along.
“What say you now, husband?” You searched his face. “Now that his intentions are laid bare.”
He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and looked at you for a good long while. Then, his hands, still on your hips, pressed down, water moving around you.
Your breath hitched, feeling the hardness of his cock catch against your core.
“I believe it speaks for itself,” He replied. “But only if you wish for it, too. You are my wife, and you come first.”
“You like the idea of the three of us together,” You remarked, almost astonished.
“I cannot lie.” His hips shifted upwards, and you gasped at the pressure, of the sensation of him catching against your entrance. “How pretty the two of you would look on your knees, with both of your lips around my cock.”
Your hips responded in kind, hands scrambling to find purchase on his shoulders. “Cregan.”
“Don’t lie to me, Y/N. Don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it, whether I made him beg while pinning him to the bed, same as I have with you. Which I did. Grabbed him by his hair and made him plead to let him cum.”
Your breath weighed heavily in your lungs. Out of nowhere, the air seemed to weigh a thousand stones. The heat radiating off of the water was certainly not helping.
“Answer me,” He said softly, firmly. Looking for your voice, you nodded.
“Can you blame me?” Gritted teeth, fluttering eyes—two more things you could pin on Cregan. “You look at each other so lecherously.”
He huffed, eyes locked on your breasts as your hips began grinding down onto him in earnest. “We do not.”
“Oh, you do. I’ve been watching.”
“That’s all you ever do,” He grunted, “Maybe you should do more than just watch.”
“Something—ah—something would need to happen in order for me to do that.”
He grinned, yanking you closer. Before his tongue forced itself into your mouth, he said against your lips, “That can be arranged.”
•❆·. ❆ .• ·• ❅ ·❆.
WEEK THREE.
This week was a tour of Wintertown and some other villages nearby, and decidedly more laid back. There were no tourneys to be had, hunts to embark on, or great festivals to curate. Winter was here, and threatened to come for you all if you decided to spend more time outside than remotely necessary.
Jace and Cregan heard petitions coming from the smallfolk that had travelled in advance to see them both. To speak with the Warden of the North was one thing, to do it while the Prince of Dragonstone was sitting at his side was another thing. They heard petitions for hours, and even insisted on staying an additional two after seeing the amount of people who had yet to be heard.
The week was strangely absent of them, then. You were preoccupied with your daily work and overseeing the planning of Jace’s farewell banquet, the grandest of them all. You saw them in small glimpses. Cregan in the morning or Jace at meals. Glimpses of both of them in the courtyard.
You weren’t sure if Cregan had spoken to Jace. How unfairly he plays, he had said, how he underestimates us. Jace had expected to be playing two different one-on-one games. He didn’t know that he was actually only playing one, and was outnumbered on the turf.
So when Jace passed you by, you allowed yourself to look. Really look at him, and to let him see that you were looking. And when he noticed you one morning in the middle of an empty hallway, he stopped, stepped forward and took your hand in his.
“Lady Stark,” he said. He raised your hand to his lips, staring intensely as he pressed a kiss to your glove. “You look lovely today.”
“Thank you, my prince,” You answered, “You look well.”
“I’m beginning to grow accustomed to the cold.” He rolled his shoulders back, seemingly at ease.
“It can be jarring at first.” You thought back to your first few weeks at Winterfell after the wedding. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be warm again, and that was at the end of summer. “We’ll make a Northerner of you yet.”
He laughed, and looked like he wanted to reply. His opportunity was stolen by a maid of yours, who rounded the corner and smiled when she saw you.
“Milady! Giselle has found the linen napkins you were asking for,” She called, “Shall we have them pressed?”
You gave Jace a regretful nod of your head, before replying, “Thank you, Greta! I’ll be right over to have a look at them.”
It was then that she seemed to realize who she was in the presence of. She noticed Jace, and immediately turned bright red before stumbling into a curtsy.
“My deepest apologies, your grace,” She stammered, “I-I didn’t see—”
“Worry not, my lady,” He said genuinely, “The work of a maid is a never-ending list. Carry on.”
Her eyes flickered nervously between you and Jace. You nodded in agreement. “All is well, Greta. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
She left, clearly still feeling awkward. When she was gone, the air felt lighter. “Thank you for not frightening my staff, Jace.”
“I could never. I’d rather they blush than tear up, and I’ve done the former twice already.” He studied your figure.
“Twice…” You took a steady breath. “Do you plan on teasing my staff any further?”
“Not necessarily. But if we drop the pretense, I might do more than tease you.”
“What pretense?” You gave him a coy smile, tracing the threadwork on your gloves. “Is there a game afoot?”
He stepped forward. You stepped back, eyes never breaking away from his. At this, Jace tilted his head.
“You are so brave, suddenly.”
“And you are so bold, Prince Jacaerys. You are a fountain of temptation.”
He licked his lips. “How pretty it sounds, my name falling from your lips.”
“I’d argue my husband’s name sounds even prettier.” Jace raised his eyebrows, taken aback at your sudden bite. You laced your fingers together, before gracing Jace with a curtsy of your own.
“I must go now, your grace.” You stepped past him, aiming to follow Greta’s direction. You landed a foot away from him, and stopped to lean in close.
“But perhaps one night you might listen for it before you leave us.”
You did not look back when you walked away. But you could feel him watching.
•❆·. ❆ .• ·• ❅ ·❆.
He took you up on it that night. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You had issued a challenge, and Jace had simply taken you up on it.
You were in Cregan’s study, going over some documents regarding the household budget. The fire burning behind you, he had brought you onto his lap to look them over.
A knock at the door, following the heavy wood swinging open. You scrambled to stand, but widened your eyes when one of Cregan’s hands tightened on your hip, holding you in place. Jace stepped into the room, and for half a moment you wondered if you had been double crossed.
Then you craned your neck to meet Cregan’s eyes, and he nodded. Then, he looked at Jace. You watched his brow twitch subtly as he raked his gaze over the prince, and the grip he had on your side did not loosen. You stiffened, anticipation tinging your senses.
“Your grace,” Cregan greeted, “The hour grows late.”
“I can see that.” Jace jutted his chin in the direction of where you were sitting, zeroing in on Cregan’s hand on your hip. “If you are preoccupied, we can reconvene on the m—”
“Not at all,” Cregan interrupted, shifting you in his lap until you were perched entirely on his right thigh. “We were just finishing our own conversation. Was there something troubling you?”
“Safety, along the Kingsroad.” Jace shook his head and shifted his posture back and forth. “Though it seems you have something different on your mind.”
“Speak freely, my prince,” You murmured, setting the ledger down on the desk in front of you. Jace moved forward, his gait cautious. Still, there appeared to be a silent excitement about him. You looked down at your fingers. Were you trembling or were you just cold?
Cregan studied Jace’s trajectory, and when the prince’s path began to trace around the desk, he shook his head.
“Sit, Jacaerys.” Cregan took an authoritative tone. He refused to look away as he grabbed your hand and placed it upon his chest. The hand over yours squeezed gently, and you forced your shoulders to loosen. “What can be done about the Kingsroad?”
You attempted to pay attention to what Jace was saying—something about harsher sentences for those caught thieving. You tried to think of what would come next. Something was building, surely. What, you could not be sure.
This was entirely uncharted territory for you. Cregan had mostly kept everything contained to your bedchamber, as you tended to prefer. You’d had sex in this room once, because Cregan had been very convincing. Up until two weeks ago, you had never considered any man other than your husband. Here the challenger stood in front of you, a dragon prince with a gaze that might as well set you on fire just as much as the beast that had carried him here.
You knew that if you wanted to, if you were to stand up right now, or to push Cregan away, he would understand. He would lay the game to rest and promise to never pick it back up again. There was no threat of coercion or pressure from him. And because you trusted your husband’s judgment so well, you knew that it had to have been the same for Jace. There was not a single hair on your body that doubted the notion.
You could say no. You had every freedom to do so. But did you want to?
You’re a wolf now, Cregan had told you a few nights ago. And that same night, he’d also said, do wolves not wander in a pack?
You were a wolf. You were his Lady Stark, a woman belonging to the North now. Not because you were given to the North or because it had taken you. You had welcomed the becoming of your own volition.
Before that you had been Y/N Mallister, and while eagles were just as fierce as wolves. But they were solitary birds.
And you and Cregan were one pack.
Your body relaxed. You leaned into Cregan, who understood immediately. The game moves forward.
Jace continued speaking, but Cregan leaned into you. His eyes closed, and he took a deep inhale against your jugular, taking in the smell of your skin and perfume oils. On instinct, you leaned your head back, letting him take it in. Jace’s voice faltered, trailing off in the middle of talking about a scourge of muggings near the Dreadfort. Cregan opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow.
“We’re listening.”
Jace interlaced his fingers, fixated on Cregan nosing along the expanse of your neck. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Cregan insisted, closing his eyes again, “There seems to be a network of bandits along the stretch of Kingsroad nearest to the Dreadfort. Go on.”
Jace licked his lips, before lifting his gaze, meeting yours. You wondered whether the look in his eyes was jealousy or impatience. Sliding your hand from Cregan’s chest to the shoulder closest to you, you held firm. Surprisingly, that sensation of jealousy you had felt the night in the hot springs had returned. But you did not shy away from it, did not let it stop you from having your fun.
You were putting your hands on your husband, you were hoping to convey, and Jace would lay hands on him and on you because you allowed it.
He certainly didn’t seem offended by it. He shifted in the chair, legs parting slightly. Then, he cleared his throat and began speaking again.
“Yes. Lord Bolton had told me when he spoke to me last week…”
Cregan’s lips met the base of your throat, and you inhaled sharply. Another hand gripped his shoulder, and your eyes fell shut. You could hear the crackling of the fire behind you and the depth of Jace’s voice, but the only sensation at the forefront of your mind was Cregan’s gently chapped lips just above your collarbone. He pressed a few kisses around the area before deciding on which spot he preferred best and anchoring there by opening his mouth and biting down. You let out a hmph at this, loud enough to cause Jace to falter once more.
“Lord Cregan,” He glowered, breath growing heavier, “You are forgetting yourself.”
There was no threat in the statement. Bait, more like.
“I remember myself plenty.” Cregan spoke against your skin before biting even harder. You gasped, reaching for the back of his head to push him closer. “I’m sure you remember me too, my prince.”
You heard Jace shift again in the chair, but did not open your eyes. He asked, “What good is memory when the experience is right in front of me, here in the present?”
Your eyes opened when you heard him get up in the chair. He took one step forward before Cregan sat up straight to look at him dead on.
“No.” You knew this tone. This was Cregan at his most domineering, typically reserved for nights he wished to prolong the most agonizing pleasure you’d ever felt in your life. “No, you watch tonight. You will sit there while I fuck my wife, and you will thank me for it. You will thank her for it.”
You never knew you could feel your cunt jump, but then, you also didn’t know forcing the future king of Westeros to watch you fuck your husband had been an available option to you until about five minutes prior.
Jace’s mouth fell open. He blinked stupidly. And then he laughed, sitting down. It was just as Cregan said, the near immediacy of his submission to your husband. Not quite something you’d expect from the Prince of Dragonstone.
He let loose a heavy breath, eyes growing darker. “Yes, Cregan.”
Cregan maneuvered you, forcing you to stand, nudging you towards the desk. You placed both hands on the wood, a slight bend to your back. Less than five feet away, Jace sat in the chair, fingers laced back together. His mouth was slightly ajar, tongue darting out to swipe across his lower lips. They were so pink, you wanted to finally kiss him.
But right now, that was not a call you were allowed to make. Cregan had made the command, and it would hold in stone until he changed his mind. If he changed his mind.
Cregan pressed his chest to your back, draping his broad shoulders over your frame. A hand snaked up your front, landing in a place where calloused fingers spanned your neck and your chin. He placed a wet, worshipping kiss just below your ear, and his hips rocked against your backside.
He was halfway to being hard already. His hand slid down your neck, other hand meeting at your chest to fondle your breasts over your dress. His body heat was radiating off of him so intensely you thought the fire would probably be cooler.
“Did you know I used to bend him over like this, love?” He asked in your ear, loud enough for Jace to hear. “One of the last times I had him, I took him just like this in the Wolfswood.”
Gods, that mental image should not have ignited what it did in you, but it did, and you keened at the thought. Jace chuckled.
“That’s exactly how I felt,” He said, lingering his gaze on Cregan’s hands.
“What a memory,” You panted, pushing your chest into your husband’s hand, “Describe it to me.”
“Why tell you when I could just show you?” Cregan pulled up the back of your skirt, holding it in place with one hand. Your entire body felt like a furnace, dragging your eyes up and down Jace’s person, listening for Cregan’s movements. You tried to conjure up the idea.
The end of summer. Cregan’s hair had been shorter when you met him. Had his hair been shorter then, when he took Jace up against a tree? Was he just as muscular then? What about Jace?
You could vaguely imagine two young men exploring each other in the Wolfswood, after weeks of learning and mapping out each others’ bodies. Two young men who had grown into the lords of the realm. The crown prince submitting to the Warden of the North. And if Cregan was truly showing you what had happened between the two of them, you could hear Cregan shuffling onto his knees…
He parted your legs, and your eyes widened when you felt his tongue lick at your slit from behind. He tugged on your dress, and you understood what he wanted. You grabbed the hem of your skirts, clutching the fabric for purchase. His giant hands grabbed your ass cheeks, spreading them apart for better access. You gasped, other hand sliding papers around the desk in search of something to hold you to the earth. You would float out the window otherwise.
“For someone so terrible with words, he certainly knows how to use his tongue, doesn’t he, Lady Stark?” Jace flashed a smug grin at you as your head fell. He spread his legs again, and you saw it then—the bulge in his pants, and the twitching of his hands on his thighs.
You just watch. You groaned, fully realizing the extent of Cregan’s dominion over Jace, his actions, his body. How quickly he had retaken it.
“Lady Stark?” Jace’s voice rose slightly. “Do you agree? Now that he’s showing you how he prepared me for his cock?”
You nodded, biting back a whimper as Cregan changed the movement of his tongue, delving into you. “S-so good,” You said.
“He licked me just like that. He had some stubble that time. A most pleasant ache.”
“Oh gods.” The room filled with the sound of your frenzied panting and the wet, insistent sound of Cregan’s mouth against your mound. This was perhaps the most aroused you’d ever felt in your life.
Jace laid back in the chair, eyes hooded. From under your skirts and behind the desk, he probably couldn’t see what Cregan was doing. But your sounds and his own experience had to have been indication enough.
“I bet I’ll be able to hear when he puts a finger in.”
“I wonder if—” You bit back a keen, “–if it feels the same for me as it does for you.”
“Probably not,” Jace mused, “Gods, that I could get wet like you. Poor Cregan’s face was drenched in spit by the time he was done with me. He looked lovely like that. So messy.”
Cregan hummed from behind you at the same time he decided to brush his fingers against your clit. Your voice jumped in pitch, and Jace nodded.
“I was right.” He sounded so excited about his theory being proven true. He licked his lips. “I always loved how thick his fingers were. Perfectly r–”
“Rough,” You finished for him, nodding in agreement. You pushed your hips back against Cregan’s face, teeth catching your lower lip in hopes of staying quiet. “Gods, Cregan…”
“And when he finally puts his cock in, it’s such a relief, isn’t it? Like an itch you can’t scratch on your own. I swore I could always feel him in my stomach—”
“Fuck!” Your head tossed itself back, feeling a few strands of hair beginning to stick to your forehead.
“What do you want?” Cregan asked, voice muffled from between your legs. He pressed down on your clit even more insistently. The paper under your hands crumpled as your fingers curled. You weren’t quite sure how you were still standing.
“Tell him,” Jace jeered, almost singing, “Tell your husband what you want him to do to you.”
You opened your eyes again to look at Jace once more, and your lower lip trembled from the pleasure. Your hips began to rock against Cregan’s face. His other hand squeezed your ass in a manner you knew would leave bruises. You would never shy away from this.
He shook his head back and forth between your legs, trying his hardest to get in closer. Your knees buckled, crying out his name.
“Tell him.” Jace’s voice was dripping with desire. “Beg him for his cock. Just like I did.”
“Cregan… Cregan, please fuck me.”
He pulled away, giving you a moment to catch your breath. You yelped when he smacked your ass.
“Soon, pet,” He said, too gentle for someone who had just been fucking you with his tongue, “Come for me first.”
And then he stuck his face back into your pussy, beginning to flick your clit in tandem with the rhythm of his tongue. You jolted, unsure if you were moving away one movement from the sheer overwhelm or into the other from the pleasure. You could feel your lower stomach growing taut, a building pressure underneath the tight, tight heat.
Now, you were fully fucking back onto Cregan’s tongue, whines spilling from your lips. You could feel his hot breath on you.
Your eyes cracked open and you landed back on Jace. You couldn’t count how many times you had done it already, but every time felt like the first. You would revel in him looking you up and down every single time. How ready he looked to strike had he not been shackled by Cregan’s words alone.
You swallowed a lump in your throat, eyes fluttering from the pleasure of Cregan lapping at you like a parched hound. Trying your damnedest to hold eye contact and keep them from rolling up into your skull. Your jaw hung slack, searching helplessly for words to string together.
Jace didn’t need to hear them. He seemed to recognize what you wanted to ask for. Perhaps he had struggled to ask for it himself, then, and was taking it upon himself now to be merciful.
“Cum.”
The ecstasy started at the crest of your head and dripped its way down your spine in such a way that it caused your back to curl in on itself. You held back a sob, body trembling at the sensation.
Cregan stroked you through all of it, prolonging your agony. He hummed too, clearly enjoying the tightening of your thighs against his head and your moaning into the hot, heavy air of his study. He kept at it until you were actively trying to run from him, too much to handle.
He squeezed your thighs in reassurance before he stood. When he reappeared behind you, he grabbed you by the chin, smearing your face with your own release. His lips found yours in a sticky sweet kiss, tasting your own musk on his tongue. You moaned into his mouth, pushing back in a redundant effort to bring him closer.
When Cregan parted from your mouth, he smiled triumphantly. His chin was still gleaming.
He nudged your cheek with his nose. “And to think that was only the beginning.”
You almost keeled over. Cregan gripped your chin again, repositioning your head in Jace’s direction.
“You really haven’t moved,” Cregan murmured, almost surprised, “You’ve settled down since then.”
“I had my reasons for restlessness back then,” Jace offered, very much an understatement. He shrugged. “Times have changed.”
The next moment, he tilted his head. “Are you really not going to let me touch her? Or you?”
“If you keep up the act, maybe,” Cregan answered, wrapping his arms around your middle. Palming again at your chest. “If I could get her out of this dress faster, I’d let you suck on her tits. They’re divine.”
Jace hummed imaginatively, and you had to hold yourself back from ripping at your bodice. You rather liked this dress.
“I told you, she’s beautiful,” Jace eyed your cleavage. He ogled your chest, which was still heaving from Cregan’s mouth, and now his hands.
“Yes, well,” You huffed, growing impatient, “She is right here. Ready and waiting.”
Cregan chuckled against your cheek, kissing the flushed skin before pulling away. “‘M here, pet. I’ve got you.”
His palm met the small of your back to bend you back over the table. Trousers were unlaced, your skirts pulled back up. Your breath hitched. You realized, once more, that this was actually happening.
His weight returned to your back, slotting himself where he had so many times before. He moved against you like it was a birthright, like he knew this was where he belonged. The main difference was sitting right in front of you, painfully hard. Jace groaned quietly, his hands tightening into fists on his thighs.
Cregan reached a hand back, and then you felt him at your entrance. Teasing you by sliding his cock up and down your slit. You clenched around nothing, desperate to feel him fill you.
“Don’t tease,” Jace grunted, taking a deep inhale through his nose.
And for once, Cregan was the one inclined to obey. His head squeezed through your entrance, and the two of you groaned at the pressure, at your togetherness. Cregan gripped your hips, and your head rolled back onto his shoulder. His eyes found yours, noses bumping gently against each other.
The solace he allowed for this brief moment as he slid into you was an eternity in itself. One hand remained on your hip, the other slid between your stomach and your sternum. Whether it was to hold you up or if it was a subtle show of dominion, possession, you couldn’t be sure. Both. Could it not be both? Darkened gray eyes the same color of a turbulent storm raked over your face, flushed and burning. You mewled softly when he bottomed out, jutting your chin out in search of his lips.
Here, in this small bubble, it was just him and you. It would always be him and you.
“Cregan,” You sighed, barely above a whisper. He groaned your name softly, seemingly in agreement.
He jerked his head at the third in the room, and you were reminded of Jace. When he reentered your sight, he did not seem offended at the sudden exclusion. His eyes were full of admiration and reverence, breathing heavily at the erotic intimacy on full display in front of him.
“You’re beautiful,” He whispered. He was talking about you both.
“Cregan.” Your voice was reedier, insistence dripping off of it.
Cregan grunted again. He placed his mouth by your ear. The warmth of his body was rolling off of him, even despite the fact that you were both still clothed. “You wanted to know how I fucked him, Y/N?”
“Yes.” Your brows scrunched together, nodding frantically. “Please move.”
Cregan drew his hips back, sliding out until only his tip was inside of you. Jace’s tongue slotted itself on the inside of his cheek, the skin stretching as it rested there.
“I let him feel every vein on my cock when I put it in him,” He explained, sliding in at an agonizingly slow pace. “I teased him until he was begging for it. I let him squirm. Almost like you were, just now. He sounded a bit more desperate. ”
He bottomed out again, punching the air out of you. He practically spit the next word out, aimed directly at Jace, who grinned at the sound.
“Whorish.” The hand on your sternum slid down, just above your womb. Then, he pressed down, and you gasped, feeling him at both sides. “I let him feel me so deep in him, I wanted him to feel me in his throat. I wanted to eat him from the inside out. Tried to fuck back on me, I didn’t let him.”
He held still for a beat. Two. All the air felt sucked out of your lungs, and Cregan’s tongue snaked out to ghost along your earlobe, and then he lowered his voice to the quietest, lowest whisper he’d had all night.
“Not you, Y/N. You do everything I say. You’re so sweet, my love.”
He slid out again. And when he fucked back into you, the slow, measured, torturous pace was gone, replaced with a forceful, quick one that filled the room with a wet, obscene plap plap plap as his fat balls slapped against your pussy.
Your body seized in his clutch. “C-Cregan!”
“I know, pet,” He growled, low tone dripping with faux sympathy, “I’ve got you, little thing.”
You shifted onto your tiptoes, fighting for a better angle. You were fully sweating now, overheating in the warm, thick fabric of your dress. His force continued to wreak havoc on your lungs, and combined with his body lumbering over your back, it almost felt like you were suffocating, choking on your husband’s essence.
His hand grabbed your chin, forcing you to look back at Jace in the chair, who was clenching his jaw now, nostrils flaring with every deep heave of his breath. You wanted to say something, either to him or to Cregan, it didn’t matter. The pleasure was fogging your brain so beautifully that someone, anyone needed to hear it, but your words were gone.
“Think about him,” Cregan commanded, “Look upon our prince and imagine him taking my place.”
Jace’s eyebrows shot up, arousal so clearly painting his features. He was flushed, hair dishevelled, trousers wrinkling from where he had gripped them so clearly. And he was still so hard, tenting the dark, rich fabric. You wanted it in your mouth. You wanted to tear the fabric from his body and take him into your throat, to let him wrap his fingers in your hair and take and take and take and take—
“Say his name.”
You clenched down so hard on Cregan, his exhale turned into a moan, throaty and hungered. Your hips tried to push back, movement involuntary and animal, but he held you in place.
“No,” He scolded, “No. I held him in place, so I’m holding you in place now too. Now do as you’re told.”
“J—” You choked out, breath coming out short and shallow, “Jace.”
Jace’s head tipped back, groaning quietly into the air. His hips shifted upwards, humping like a dog at something that wasn’t there. A reprieve he was not allowed to receive.
“Y/N,” He murmured, eyes fluttering shut.
“You want her,” Cregan said, “You want me.”
Jace’s words emerged, pulled from behind gritted teeth. “I do.”
“What do you want?”
“Anything—” You’d never heard him sound so desperate. How quickly he’d gone from pretending to be in control to showing that he’d never really had it in him at all. “Everything. Her cunt on my mouth and your cock in my ass and her tongue in my throat and—and—”
“My fingers against that little spot in your hole, yeah? The one that makes you cry like a girl?”
Jace’s hips jerked, and he nodded. “Yes. Gods, yes. I miss you inside me.”
“You’ll get it. Soon. Be patient.”
You moaned, the conversation in you bringing back that sweet shade of green that you’d felt in the hot springs. Except the jealousy wasn’t aimed at Jace, and it didn’t have the bitter aftertaste. The jealousy enveloped them both, a jealousy that you hadn’t been there, that you hadn’t seen them rut against each other in the woods or to watch Cregan fuck Jace with his fingers until tears spilled from his pretty brown eyes. When you spoke, you almost weren’t aware of it.
“Y-you too, Cregan.”
He twitched inside of you. He seemed to know what you wanted, but needed the confirmation.
“Me?”
“Say his name too, Cregan. Pretend I’m him.”
At that, they both moaned. Desire. Adoration. Surprise. The melody filled the room and travelled down your diaphragm into your stomach, compounded by the shift in Cregan’s movements.
Animal instinct seemed to recognize your request first. His thrusting turned brutal and mean, befitting of a spoiled, antagonizing prince that needed to be ground into submission. When his brain caught up to his body, he groaned again, and fisted a hand in your hair. You yelped.
“I—Fuck,” Cregan slurred, “You feel so good, my sweet boy—”
Your cunt clenched unexpectedly. My sweet boy. You could be his sweet boy.
“Jace,” You whined.
“Jacaerys.” Cregan drew out every syllable, savoring this flavor of his prince’s name, one he had not tasted in a very long time.
The both of you dissolved into each other quickly. Cregan continued to pound into you, and you managed to fuck back onto him, despite his best efforts to hold you back. You reached for your skirts, the movements clumsy and jerking. You searched for the hem, trying madly to reach past it. When you did, you immediately found your clit and swirled your fingers, rutting into the movement like a rabbit.
Jace’s name filled the room until it no longer held meaning, until it sounded abstract, until it rose in pitch, grew throatier, and was cried out by the both of you. All the while, the man whose name it was stood watching, jaw gaping, cock aching, as the two people he’d been yearning for peaked in their shared pleasure. And in that shared pleasure, they shared a single word, a single idea, a single thought: him. Jace, Jace, Jace, Jacaerys, Jace.
He watched your back tilt upwards, pushing against Cregan until you bared your neck and your head fell onto Cregan’s shoulder. Your breasts strained against the neckline of your dress and your skin seemed to glow when the firelight hit the sheen of your sweat just right. He watched Cregan’s lip curl, looking more beast than man, before burrowing into your neck and calling Jace’s name against your carotid artery.
His eyes sank down, to where you had lifted your skirts to rub at your clit, and where Cregan fucked into you once, twice, before burying himself as deep as he could in you, likely hoping that he would spill right up against your fertile little womb. He remained fixated on the sight, like if he stared hard enough he would be able to see through your skin and watch it happen.
When you came down, you were trembling in Cregan’s arms, his broad chest searing into your back. Your breathing was labored, loud, groans marking your every exhale. You could feel just how much Cregan had filled you, and braced yourself for the walk back to your quarters with his spend dripping down your thighs and stockings. He stayed in you, enjoying your warmth for a little longer.
You cracked your bleary eyes open. Jace shifted in the chair and considered his next action. A few seconds later, he stood, and walked slowly towards the desk. Cregan hadn’t told him he could move. But Cregan seemed almost as ruined as you, hair mussed and fingers curled into the fat of your hips. He lifted his head from your neck ever so slightly to watch the prince approach, and said nothing. Jace seemed willing to take his chances.
He leaned over the desk, finally seeing how Cregan had ruined you up close. The corners of his lips, which were pink and swollen from biting them, turned upwards. One hand came up to trace your face, thumb swiping across the apple of your cheek. His touch felt akin to someone stoking a dying fire. He flashed a glance at Cregan before looking back at your own mouth.
And then he leaned in, and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle but deep, like he was trying to drink up any remaining pleasure that might have been left in your body. Your neck craned, chasing after the taste of Jace’s mouth as he swiped his tongue against your lower lip. You folded immediately, mouth falling open and a hand coming up to his chest. Finally, you wanted to say. You’re here. I’ve been waiting for you.
You heard a sound leave Cregan’s throat, needy and absolutely involuntary. You had never heard him make a sound like this. How new everything felt suddenly. A spot you had never seen before, on a map you had studied a thousand times.
So quickly Jace came and so quickly he was gone, parting from your lips with a fond phantom of a smile. You blinked slowly, finally able to trace his features without fear or apprehension. You watched as his eyes, nearly blown black from how wide his pupils had become, shifted from your face to another just below yours.
Wordlessly, his neck shifted downwards, brown eyes meeting gray at a closeness now unmarred with risk or potential betrayal. Jace raked his gaze over Cregan’s face, spent, sweaty and flushed with release. A sight he had seen in person years ago, and seen most recently in his dreams when he was at his loneliest.
Cregan leaned in first. Jace simply met him halfway.
Your breath caught at the back of your throat as you watched your husband kiss his best friend, chiseled jawlines moving in tandem, tongues lapping at each other. You felt your core pulse, and Cregan groaned into the kiss, brows creasing. Jace’s second hand rose to Cregan’s face, mirroring the position it had taken along your own skin.
They savored each other for longer than Jace had kissed you, and you let it happen. Your chest was full of all of the moments over the past few weeks, every question, every what if. Moments where you had watched them brush against each other or meet each other’s gaze, in such a manner that had you trying to string together a narrative, evidence, a theory, anything, that indicated something like this.
The proof was right in front of you. And you were happy to catalog every second.
When Jace pulled away, he flickered his eyes between both of your faces, both so close to his. You watched his brown eyes simmer with something you could not name. Then his gaze turned calculating, and then it turned sly. He applied a gentle pressure to your cheek, at the same time he did to Cregan. Pushing the three of you even closer, which seemed almost impossible.
Cregan made a face. “What—”
“Shh,” Jace whispered, “Let me.”
He pushed again. You would run out of room. Your mind pulsed as it tried to identify what he was trying to do. When the side of your face not held by Jace met Cregan’s, you seemed to understand.
This won’t work, you thought, desperately hoping you were wrong, surely, he can’t mean to—
The corner of your lip met Cregan’s, and then Jace’s mouth descended on you both.
The sensation was strange. A rhythm you hadn’t quite danced to before. You tried to mimic Jace’s movements, but Cregan was motionless at your side, and you wondered how this was meant to work.
Jace’s skin was softer. You could feel some stubble off of your husband, the slight dryness from prolonged exposure to the cold.
You would have pulled away. You almost did, worried the moment would turn awkward.
Until Cregan reached over to grab at the back of Jace’s head, and his other hand reached over to the one the prince had on your face. He pressed the three of you even closer—a difficult feat—and opened his mouth. His tongue darted from your lips to Jace’s. You jolted, realizing that you could feel Cregan’s tongue against Jace’s mouth, because you were there too.
Something clicked into place. Something frantic, primal, ancient. Jace opened his mouth. You opened yours. And when their tongues touched yours, you understood then why many said good things came in threes.
Three noses bumping into each other. Three pairs of lips navigating a familiar sequence, this time with an entirely new component to it. Best of all, three tongues flicking against each other, two of them licking into the third, then switching places. You and Cregan pushed into Jace, you and Jace pushed into Cregan, they pushed into you. The three of you tangled together in a delicious, frenzied cycle, needing still to be impossibly closer.
You whined against their mouths when you felt Cregan’s cock twitch inside you. You knew what would happen if you kept at it. He would get hard again, and this time, no matter what he said, you would not be able to hold back and demand Jace join, despite how spent you were. They would press you between them, bodies so hot that you would inevitably melt into the two of them, drip down their chins and their throats, and cease to exist as a person.
This had to end. You did not want it to. While your spirit was willing, you felt your body utterly ruined. You relished it for a few moments longer, before pulling away, lips wet and panting. Your eyes fluttered open, watching them pull away too.
Cregan was breathing heavily, face bewildered, but not unsettled.
“I–” He licked his lips, trying to commit your combined tastes to memory. “Where the fuck did you learn that?”
Jace had the audacity to look sheepish in his reply. “Some Lyseni courtesans were guests at court last year. They can be very, well, creative in their pursuits of pleasure.”
You laughed once, breathless and still trying to process what had just transpired.
“You’ll kill me,” You muttered, “Both of you are going to kill me.”
•❆·. ❆ .• ·• ❅ ·❆.
The next few days were a blurred build up to the night of Jace’s farewell feast. You were filled with a seemingly perpetual arousal, kept on the precipice of the best kind of waiting. You returned to your host of administrative tasks, but found the occasional sweet reprieve at being cornered by either of them in an empty hallway or disoccupied study.
“My lady, the napkins have been pressed as you asked.”
At night, the kissing, gods, the kissing. The three of you, late at night after the work was done, would return to Cregan’s study with an excess of Dornish wine. When the three of you were drunk enough, you would sit in one of their laps and do nothing but alternate kissing each other. You would sit in Jace’s lap, brace your hands on his firm chest, and grind yourself down onto him, feeling his hard cock through your smallclothes and his trousers. Or, you would sit in Cregan’s lap and let him drag his teeth against your neck while Jace claimed your mouth with his own. Regardless, you would be reduced into a whiny stupor from the visual and physical stimuli descending on you.
“Lady Stark, will you still be wearing the violet gown tonight?”
If the hour stretched late enough, one of you would eventually crack, and ask Jace to show you that Lyseni kissing again. You came twice during this, mind hazy from the hours of grinding against them and the drawn out state of arousal they had placed you in. This strange new union was always a forceful push enough that would have you falling apart in someone’s lap.
“Lady Stark?"
And other times, you would watch, transfixed, as he and Cregan swapped spit lazily for minutes at a time. You had gripped your goblet with such a force that you were positive you would bend the fine metal, unable to look away as your husband and the prince moved mouths and bodies languidly against each other. As if you were analyzing, studying, preparing yourself to reach out and slot yourself between them both—
“Milady?”
You snapped back to where you were standing, in the middle of the banquet hall where preparations were well underway for the farewell feast. You blinked, meeting eyes with the woman who had just been trying to get your attention.
“Hm?” You raised your eyebrows. “Oh. Yes. Yes, thank you, Rose.”
She nodded sheepishly, and walked away. You pursed your lips, trying to forget about it. A fruitless endeavor. You were on the verge of becoming rabid. You had begged and pleaded for more. It never came.
“Please,” You murmured achingly, “Touch me. Both of you.”
Cregan shook his head.
“He asked for one night. That’s all I’m willing to share you for. You’ll get it when the time is right, pet.”
If not tonight, when? It had to be tonight. Jace was set to leave on the morrow, good weather permitting. They had taken such a hold on your brain that you found yourself retracing parts of your body that they had traced. A hand on your ribcage where Jace had placed his in the barn with Vermax. Tracing your collarbone with your fingers, where Cregan had placed a bruising kiss while you had been sitting in Jace’s lap a few nights ago. Running your tongue across your teeth, where you had felt both of their own tongues tracing the night it had all started.
Gods bless Lyseni courtesans, you thought distractedly.
The rest of the evening was spent in a similar daze. You made your rounds in the kitchen, taste testing sauces, soups, and the sweet creams that would be drizzled on the desserts. You headed up to bathe, attended by your maids as you stared into the distance.
You were dressed in the deep violet gown you had asked them to press for you, with a neckline low enough to garner attention but not too low as to be immodest. They placed silver pins in your hair, and dressed you in your favorite set of jewelry: a silver pendant with amethyst stones inlaid delicately against the metal, with earrings to match. A gift from Cregan for your wedding.
You met Cregan at the bottom of the stairs. He walked you down the hallway, a hand on the small on your back.
“Thank you for planning everything,” He said, “Everything has been delightful.”
“It’s been busy, but I was happy to do so.”
“Tonight will be exciting.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Will it?”
A voice from behind you replied, “I certainly hope so.”
The pair of you turned to see Jace. He was a vision in crimson velvet, a dark sash draped over his shoulder, pinned in place with a silver dragon pin. His hair was perfectly curled, sword at his hip. The only word that came to mind was regal. When he smiled, his chin turned upward, carrying himself with all the grace and pride befitting the heir to the Iron Throne.
“Your grace,” Cregan greeted, “Are you ready?”
“I am.” Jace’s eyes landed on you. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”
He didn’t need to specify what for. For a second, you glanced at Cregan, who was just as smug. Something you didn’t really see from him.
You took a deep breath. “I… Yes.”
To say the next few hours were excruciating would have been an understatement. And yet, it made total sense.
The entire night was wrought with an evolution of that initial dynamic you had been so keen to observe when Jace had first arrived. If Jace brushed past you, without fail, he would gently readjust you with delicate fingers on your waist. “Pardon me, Lady Stark,” he whispered every time, loud enough for only you to hear. Your little secret.
There was no shortage of drinks, of this you had made sure. You had also brought out a gift Jace had sent ahead of time before his visit—several cases of wine from The Reach and The Arbor as a thanks to the lords and ladies of the North for receiving him. At dinner, he raised his cup to the North, its people, and his gracious hosts, Lord and Lady Stark. When Jace mentioned you, Cregan squeezed your thigh under the table, and you grew rigid as a brittle wooden board, ready to snap at any moment.
As the drinks flowed, they were the final ingredient to a potent and dangerous concoction. The first ingredient had been the heat of the room, the hustle and bustle of the conversation and the music blending together as you took it all in. Next, the pace you had taken all day long, running here and there to make sure everything was perfect and ready to go. Worst of all—strongest, too—had been the mounting expectation of whatever was going to happen once this was over.
You searched the ballroom for a tall frame draped in dark furs. Dark hair partially tied up. There, speaking with two of Lord Bolton’s sons, he stood tall, poised and elegant like a wolf before a hunt. You held back a sigh. Your husband, your Cregan, your man. He looked beautiful, though he would reject the word outright. Men were not beautiful, he might say.
Or maybe he wouldn’t. Not anymore, you hoped. There was no need to shy away from it now that the truth was out in the open. He was Cregan and he was human and he had been in love with Jace once and he still loved him, but he also loved you. He was capable of holding both of those loves and they were not at odds with each other. Quite the opposite.
Cregan Stark. Your husband. Lord of Winterfell. Lover of princes and ladies alike. Your heart felt full.
“I told you. You are very lucky.”
Around you, your guests started to pair up. The singers were preparing for another number. Jace looked at you knowingly, and held out a hand.
He raised an eyebrow. “Will you indulge me one last time, Lady Y/N?”
You placed your hand in his. “How could I refuse?”
When he positioned himself, he pulled you closer than he had the first time. Your chests were nearly touching. The music began, and he immediately took the lead. You grinned.
“You know this one.”
Jace nodded. “It is one of my favorites.”
He moved with you around the hall, not even needing to watch where he was going. Instead, he remained trained on your face. You felt your face grow warm from the attention.
“Have you enjoyed your time in The North, Jace?” You asked, blinking up at him.
“I have,” he conceded. “I have learned so much more than I did my first time here. And I leave with a new friend. You have been so welcoming to me, my lady.”
He paused, considering his next words. The next time he spoke, he leaned in, lowering his voice. “Especially considering the… behavior I exhibited initially. I imagine that were I a woman, you would have assumed the worst.”
“Your being a man did not matter,” You confessed, “I assumed it within the first few days of your being here.”
This surprised him. “I… You did?”
You laughed. For once, you seemed to have the upper hand with him. “I know my husband. I saw the way he looked at you, and how you looked back. I’m not quiet because I don’t like speaking. But because when you’re silent, you hear every whisper, my prince. Even those that might not be spoken aloud.”
Jace blinked. He seemed stunned, unable to find something to say. The Prince of Dragonstone, words stolen away by Cregan Stark’s meek southern wife. You beamed, triumphant. A moment later, you tilted your head, success giving way to something more genuine.
“Will you miss him?”
Jace lifted his gaze, fixing on one point in the room. You watched his eyes and neck move, coordinating with his feet to keep his eyes on him. You didn’t even need to look to know. Jace watched Cregan with the serenity of someone who had held something once, and come to terms with not being able to hold onto it forever. That was what you saw when they stared at each other, you realized.
Finally, there was a name for it. Peace. A bond forged from mutual respect and absolution. Whatever had once taken root was no longer there. They would never resent each other for it. If anything, they would care for each other even more. When he looked back at you, you saw yourself reflected in that peace.
“Yes and no,” He answered clearly. “I will miss my friend. But I feel as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders having been here after so long. It was a confirmation I hadn’t realized I’d been searching for. I have you to thank for that, also.”
He spun you around, but you didn’t look away from him as you made a face. “Me?”
Jace nodded, smiling. “I knew coming here how much Cregan loved you. He’s never been good with emotions, but his tone when writing about you was so warm, and… meeting you, spending time with you and him, I see why. I see how he cares for you, and you him. I leave here knowing his heart is safe with you. Just like I know how yours is safe with him.”
You smiled back at this, heart swelling even more. “Thank you, my prince. It has been an honor and a pleasure to be your host, and an even greater pleasure to gain your friendship.”
The dance slowed to an end. The room burst into applause, and when you looked up, Cregan was watching you both, seemingly ignoring one of the Bolton boys as he attempted to keep Cregan’s attention. The emotion on his face could only be labeled as affection.
The two of you watched Cregan apologize to the Boltons, brush past them, and cross the room. He seemed to part the onslaught of guests as he walked through them. People would see him, bow their heads, and step to the side. When he landed in front of you both, he held out his arm. You let go of Jace’s hand.
“The night grows long,” Cregan mused, “And the prince has a long journey ahead of him on the morrow. Shall we say our goodbyes and escort him back to his quarters, wife?”
You felt your mouth tip open. It was here. You paused for a beat, then nodded. Jace clenched his jaw, then smirked.
The three of you made a quick round to bid your guests a restful evening. Everyone seemed quite understanding that Jace was feeling tired. The entire time, when you were not speaking, you bit down on your tongue. Lest your teeth rattle with anticipation.
Cregan led you and Jace up the stairs. The ascent was slow, quiet. The symphony of your steps bounced off the stones, echoing throughout the stairwell.
“The music was lovely,” You murmured innocently.
“The food was marvelous.” Jace echoed your tone.
Your trio rounded a corner and you found everyone’s slow walk speeding up. Compliments were paid to your organizational choices. Another flight of stairs. Your thighs tensed with exertion and excitement. By the time you hit the top of the staircase, Jace grinned.
He grabbed your hand, then he grabbed Cregan’s. Cregan chuckled quietly, and you found yourself breaking into giggles as well.
“I’ve been waiting for this for weeks,” Jace admitted. Then, he broke into a light jog, taking you and your husband along with him. The drinks, the arousal, the warmth in your chest. All three of these had your head tipping back in joyful, girlish laughter. This was everything you had been wanting, and all of your clothes were still on.
Jace’s door appeared at the end of the hall. He let go of your hands only to open it, and once you were all inside, they pounced on you. How they seemed to move so in sync, you could not say. You had been wound up so tightly you could no longer tell which way was right and which way was left.
Cregan’s mouth landed on yours, and you immediately opened yourself for him. Pure instinct, letting him lick into your mouth with hot breaths against your mouth. Rough and demanding. He grabbed at your sides, squeezing your hips. Jace stepped behind you, tracing open mouthed kisses along the side of your throat, moving up under your ear. His hands slotted themselves over Cregan’s hands, calloused hands brushing even larger calloused hands.
You reached behind you to fist Jace’s curls between your fingers, and rubbed Cregan’s chest in front of you. Already, your heart was pounding. Cregan pulled away to nip at your collarbone, and as if reading Jace’s mind, you craned your neck in pursuit of his heart-shaped lips.
Jace’s kisses were not as aggressive as Cregan’s but they were just as deep. He did not immediately demand you open his mouth to slide his tongue against yours, but rather he spent time courting your lips, then teasing with a quick slide of his tongue against your lower lip. When you bit down on his lower lip, he took that as permission. Only then did his kisses grow faster, humming against your lips when you sucked on his tongue, desperate to get it deeper in your throat.
His front pressed up against your back, and there, nestled between your buttocks, you could feel something poking you, growing more and more insistent with each passing moment. His hands moved away from Cregan’s at your side and slid up your back, trying to find the laces of your bodice. He parted from your lips to fully concentrate on undoing the problematic knots, and you wrapped both of your arms around your husband’s neck.
Cregan immediately straightened, moving his hands down to squeeze at your ass. You gasped, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck.
“Who goes first?” You asked breathlessly.
“Me,” Cregan responded immediately, “I fuck you first, then Jace fucks you.”
You sighed, bodice becoming looser as Jace successfully undid the laces. “When do you fuck Jace?”
They froze. Cregan gaped at you, then looked at Jace.
Jace cleared his throat. “I–”
Cregan raised an eyebrow. “You–”
“What,” You asked, taken aback at their surprise, “I ask to watch you stick your tongues down each other’s throats, can I not watch my husband stick his c—”
“I didn’t think you’d want to see the… well. The whole of it,” Jace answered.
Cregan snickered, a hand gripping your chin. “Oh, she wants to see the hole of it, Jace, I promise you.”
“She continues to surprise me.”
“I’m not surprised at all,” Cregan sighed after a moment, rubbing his forehead against yours, “Gods, you greedy little thing.”
You leaned forward, needing someone desperately. He kissed you again, groaning as you began to unbutton his black jerkin. The vest fell to the floor quickly, leaving him in his thick, gray, cotton doublet. Cregan helped you with the buttons on this one when you pulled away to watch your fingers, which had started to tremble with excitement.
“Easy, pet,” He murmured fondly as his chest was revealed, “We’ve not even touched you yet.
That could not remain true for much longer, you thought, as your bodice and skirts finally gave way thanks to Jace’s ministrations. They pooled at your feet, leaving you in your slip, stockings, and boots. Jace took you by the hand and pushed you back to sit gently on the bed.
Your boots were unlaced. Two pairs of foreign hands pulled down each stocking, and then they parted your legs. You were left to lift your cotton slip and pull it over your head. It left you the first to be naked, you realized as you laid flat on the bed. Cregan was right behind you, and Jace’s clothes remained in place.
The pair of them hovered above where you needed. You propped yourself up on your elbows and found yourself with Jace’s eyes dragging slowly up your body, twinkling in the firelight all the meanwhile.
“You’re unreal,” Jace mumbled, “Sculpted in the image of Mother and Maiden alike.”
“O-oh,” You sighed, a shudder traveling down your spine. You had never been told that before.
Cregan nipped at your bare thigh, before touching Jace’s cheek. “So this is how you southerners seduce women.”
“Only the exceptionally beautiful ones,” Jace argued, flicking his eyes between you and Cregan, “You use it too much and it becomes blasphemy.”
You licked your lips seeing them both slotted between your legs. “This is already blasphemy enough.”
“Quite true,” Cregan said, moving his hand to the back of Jace’s head, “And it’s about to be even more so.”
Cregan’s lips wrapped around your pearl. Jace’s mouth landed at your hole, immediately beginning to lap at your wetness as if he hadn’t seen water in days.
The simultaneous pleasure, courtesy of two of the most powerful men in Westeros kneeling at your feet to worship at your altar. Such a devotional was unlike any other.
The difference in their kisses translated almost perfectly to this. Cregan enjoyed a bit of force when pinning you down like this. “I know she can take it, she’s taken worse,” was his rationale. Jace, for all of his teasing and mastery of making you want, was as gentle as he was needy. He seemed to understand that this was new to you too, but that this would be his only chance to lap at you.
They switched places, tongues touching as they moved around your pussy. Jace moaned when it happened, and between watching it happen and feeling the vibration against your core, you cried out, head falling back. Now, it was Jace’s turn to suck softly on your clit, while Cregan decided to stick his tongue inside of you and fuck you with it. You couldn’t make up your mind on where to focus—at this rate your mind was gone, turned to mush, leaking out of your cunt and being soaked up by their mouths.
Cregan’s hands squeezed at your thighs and Jace had one hand on your hip. You were so focused on your own pleasure you didn’t see Jace’s free hand land at the front of Cregan’s trousers, cupping your husband’s hardness with a restrained vigor. Cregan’s hips pushed into Jace’s touch, and he grunted into your pussy as Jace began to squeeze his bulge.
Jace slid his tongue down to where Cregan’s was. He stuck his tongue into your walls as well, holding back a humbling moan when he felt the tightness of your cunt forcing Cregan’s tongue up against his own. He could take it no longer, delving his hands under the dark wool of Cregan’s trousers.
Jace wrapped his hand around Cregan’s hard cock, remembering the weight of his thick, veiny member, before cupping his fat, heavy balls. Jace’s touch had Cregan groaning into your hole, causing you to gasp out, reaching for both of their heads. Your orgasm was approaching embarrassingly fast, and they got the message when your fists landed in their hair. You hung one leg on their respective outside shoulders, heels digging into their shoulder blades.
Closeness. What a funny word. How could it be that something was too much but never enough?
Cregan’s hand rose up to meet yours in his hair. His index finger tapped your wedding band. Your head rose, face screwed up in pleasure, and saw them both joined together inside of you. A different form of Jace’s Lyseni kiss. The sight was more than enough. You descended into your pleasure, hips bucking against their faces as you demanded for more, for them to stop, for them to keep going, for someone to fuck you, for this night to never end.
Jace was painfully hard. Between Cregan’s cock in his hand, and now you reaching your peak all over him and your husband’s tongues, he could no longer bear it. As you came down, he realized that he’d be relegated to the side yet again before being allowed to participate. He would not be able to just sit idle while watching the two of you again.
You lay limp on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to regain your bearings. They pulled their mouths away, and you let them go. Your eyes fluttered shut for barely half a second, before you heard more kissing, Cregan grunting, Jace gasping.
You lifted your head with a speed you didn’t think you still had, only to find Jace’s hand in Cregan’s pants while Cregan gripped Jace by the scruff of his neck. Like he was a pup who had just been caught misbehaving. If the hand pumping his cock was the misbehavior, Cregan didn’t seem eager to correct it. You whined at the sight, so ready to watch the prince fall apart on Cregan’s cock.
Your sound roused them both. Cregan’s movements slowed, and his eyes cracked open. He found you staring at the both of them, chest rising and falling with need. He jerked his hips into Jace’s hand, and for a moment, you almost understood what it was like to be Jace the very first night it had all happened.
Jace opened his eyes to look back at you, and he bit his lip. He looked at Cregan, who was watching you as well. Jace spit into his other hand, moving to wrap it around Cregan’s member, before leaning over to suck on Cregan’s jugular. Cregan inhaled sharply, hips thrusting into the prince’s hands.
“Go to her,” Jace murmured against his skin, “Fuck her and I’ll ready myself for you.”
They stood, shedding their remaining clothes as you moved further back on the bed to make room for them both. Soon, the pair were just as naked as you were, moving to the edge of the bed closest to where you were. Standing next to each other, you could not help but compare.
Jace’s muscles were different from your husband’s. Where Cregan was stocky and strong, the muscle was hidden beneath a small layer of plush skin, which was very common in Northern men. Foolish southerners would call it “pudgy”. You called it very, very attractive. His long, thick cock stood at attention, red and willing, hefty balls sagging beneath.
Objectively, Jace was prettier. He was leaner, lighter. Better for riding. His slimness did not necessarily mean fragility—his arms and thighs were well sculpted from years of training, and his shoulders and chest were dotted with freckles too. While his cock was slightly smaller than Cregan’s, it was, like the rest of him, a bit prettier than your husband’s. Pink at the tip, with a generous upward curve that left your mouth watering.
Cregan tilted his head. “Have you had enough of your ogling?” He asked, nodding once. “Lie back.”
As Cregan crawled onto the bed, Jace walked to the vanity on the far side of the room. He heard you and Cregan kiss as he inspected the vials spread across the grain of the wood, before landing on a vial of perfume oil. He grabbed it before returning to the bed, setting it on a table right next to the mattress.
When Jace’s head hit the pillow next to yours, Cregan took it as permission to hike your legs around his waist, one hand propping himself up against the headboard. He took himself into his hand, pumped his cock a few times before sliding it up and down your slit, gathering your wetness along his tip.
“Cregan,” Jace said softly, “How many times have I told you not to tease?”
They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Cregan clenched his jaw, and you could finally tell what was being said. So did Jace, who immediately lowered his eyes.
“Prepare yourself for me,” Cregan said finally, nodding at the vial Jace had grabbed, “Give her something pretty to look at.”
A moment later, Cregan entered you, and did not give you a moment’s reprieve. His pace was immediately fast and rough, and you reached for his arms to find purchase on something. Cregan’s hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to turn your head to where Jace was lying, currently opening the vial.
“Watch him,” He ordered, “You love watching, don’t you, love?”
You nodded as best you could with your head in his grip, eyes pinned to Jace’s form as he came onto his knees, pressing his face against the pillow. His fingers glistened with oil, and a faint smell of jasmine hit your nose. Your mouth fell open as he lifted his fingers up and behind him. From where you were, you couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but the face he made and accompanying sound that escaped him seconds after left nothing to the imagination.
“Good boy,” Cregan praised, before looking back down at you. You felt yourself clench at his words. Cregan’s pace continued, your hands tracing whatever part of your body you could land your hands on. His broad back and shoulders, hairy chest, or strong plush biceps, you needed something to hold onto as you watched the Prince of Dragonstone finger himself open in preparation for the cock you were currently speared on.
“See normally,” Cregan mumbled into your ear, “I’d have him just like that, but I would be the one to put my fingers in his pink little hole.”
Jace nodded, lip curling up in pleasure. “His f-fingers are quite long,” Jace answered, “Not sure if you’ve noticed.”
You keened. “Yes,” You agreed, “Quite—ah!—quite talented too.”
Jace groaned. You watched his arm begin to speed up. From atop you, Cregan watched slack-jawed as you both compared notes in front of him. He thrust even harder a few times, desperate to drive the breath from your lungs. The movement pushed you into the pillows, back arching into him.
“C-Cregan,” You cried, whining as the harsh thrusting slowed into deep grinding, “Gods, s-so good.”
His lips crashed into yours, so bruising and demanding and so very much Cregan, you tightened your legs around his waist. His weight on top of you was almost crushing, but the way he draped himself over you as he moved languidly in and out of you had you enveloped in a blanket of pleasure and veneration radiating off of his being into yours.
Across from you, Jace was already pressing a second finger into his ass, his other hand wrapping around his cock as he watched Cregan fold you in half. The sound of your cries was soft and needy, but you didn’t complain or try to run from Cregan’s force. You soaked it all up, thirsty and wanting.
When Cregan pulled away, he groaned against your open mouth. “Soon,” He told you, “And after I fill you up, he’ll fuck you too.”
You snaked a hand between you both, rubbing at your nub with a mounting need. You looked back at Jace, moan wrenching from your throat as you watched him, moaning into the pillow, flush covering his delicate freckles. There was a sheen across his forehead and cheekbones, lips forming a delicate little o-shape. Jace’s eyes locked with yours, and you wanted so badly to reach out and touch him. You were rendered immobile beneath your husband’s weight.
You looked down at Jace’s pink cock. He seemed to have found a good rhythm, fucking his cock into his hand and then fucking back onto his fingers. When you realized that he was matching the thrust of his cock into his hand up to the rhythm of Cregan’s hips, your eyes screwed shut, pleasure building impossibly high.
“Cregan,” You called, bucking your hips up into his, “Please.”
“It’s alright, love.” He nodded against your neck, hips beginning to stutter. “Me too. I’ve got you.”
He thrusted a few more times, movements out of rhythm but still so deep inside of you, until his grunts turned into long, drawn out calls of your name. When you felt him spill his hot seed, cock pulsing inside of you, it tipped you over the edge as well, clit pulsating as you pushed your fingers into the sensation. There was always so much, and this time was no different. You looked up at him, vision blurred, to see his hair mussed and a bead of sweat dripping down his nose. It landed on your cheek, and he wiped it away.
Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Jace shift. He whimpered when his fingers left his hole. He moved closer, eyes trained on where you and Cregan were still connected.
When Cregan pulled out of you, the three of you twisted your necks to watch Cregan’s creamy, white seed spill out of you. You sighed, lower belly warm as he dragged a finger through his release, smearing it across your cunt. He pressed a kiss to your temple.
“Keep them open,” He murmured in your ear, rubbing your thighs. “You’ve been such a good little hostess, wife. How kind of you to gift our prince your tight little cunt.”
His words caused you to clench down on nothing, and Jace groaned when more cum spilled out. Cregan rolled to your side, letting Jace take his place. Jace’s lips landed on yours, deep but not demanding. His eyes studied your face, the flush of your skin as it travelled down your shoulders and tits.
“My lady,” He whispered, cock poking at your entrance, “Can I? Let me—”
“Yes, fuck.” Your voice was breathy, shifting your hips to catch the head of his cock. The two of you gasped at the sensation. Cregan sighed next to you and both of you shifted to look at him. Your eyes were wide, Jace’s were hooded. Waiting. He had held the reins for most of the operation. Was it any wonder the two of you deferred to him?
Cregan looked between you both, before his lips turned upwards. “Well, go on,” He goaded, “Or does our prince need to tell me where to put his cock?”
Jace swallowed, shaking his head. He grabbed one leg, slinging it over his shoulder. Your chest lurched at the angle, and Jace slid into your pussy. An involuntary sound spilled from his lips, a similar whine coming from yours. You were so—
“So wet, Y/N,” Jace growled, licking up your jawline, “Is that you, or is that his cum?”
“Both,” You said, “It’s both of us.”
Jace’s thrusts were slow and controlled, but still had a way of wrenching soft whimpers from your lips. His lips descended on one of your nipples, and you buried your hands in his hair. You opened your chest to give him better access, nodding desperately as he grazed his teeth delicately across the hard nub.
His hips tried different angles, each one hitting better than the last, until he shifted his movement to the left ever so slightly and let out a breathy laugh when you clenched around him and moaned his name.
“Jace,” You said, “Oh, right there, my prince, please, please, please.”
Jace hit the spot again, experimentally, and he pinned your wrists to the bed to stop you from curling in on yourself. He grinned, groaning softly.
“No, you’re not going anywhere.” His pace became faster, your head beginning to writhe back and forth on the pillow. You were so sensitive, but Jace was just beginning to let his more merciless nature show.
“You’ll sit there and take it and show your husband how obedient you are, hmm?”
Your hands balled into fists, unable to touch Jace where you wanted. You wanted your fingers in his mouth. You were sure he would accept them willingly. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked more black than brown, and his brows were furrowed in concentration, nose scrunched up ever so slightly as he chased after his own pleasure. He tilted his head, eyes widening.
“Yes? Answer.”
“Yes!” You nodded, unable to deny it. “Yes, yes, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“She always gets desperate when she’s sensitive,” Cregan told Jace. Your head turned, spotting him lying on his side. His cock was half hard, and beginning to swell again. A man starved, his eyes did not settle in one place for very long. Between your face and Jace’s, your tits, where Jace was fucking into you, there was simply too much to take in. “She doesn’t know whether to run from it or let it happen. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”
You chewed on your lip but nodded. The observation was true, but to be teased like this made the faintest shame brew in your chest, and even worse, the shame made your pussy clench. Jace gasped at this, gripping the headboard with one hand and your clit with the other. Your body tensed up as Jace used the headboard for leverage, swiping his fingers across your nub, doubling the sweet anguish traveling through your veins.
Cregan began to stroke himself again, spurred on by the sudden mania overtaking Jace and being taken out on you. His two favorite people, making each other feel so good right in front of him. The two of you looked so beautiful, your eyes rolling back up into your head as Jace’s head tipped back, revealing the creamy expanse of his neck. He almost wanted to cum again, but knew to save it for what was to come.
Jace groaning your name, you moaning Jace’s. Gods, what a sight, what a sound. He didn’t think he would ever forget tonight.
His hand left your clit to grip the leg not propped over Jace’s shoulder, and then he hauled it up to match. The angle allowed him to reach even deeper, and the curve of his cock proved sweet in ramming up against that warm, spongy spot inside of you that had your legs beginning to tremble. This much pleasure could not be good for your body. Surely, you would combust.
“Oh, fuck,” Jace grunted, returning his fingers to between your legs. A fire licked up your mound and shot straight up your spine, fingernails digging into your palms. You bucked against Jace’s movements. He pressed a kiss to one of your ankles before his pace turned harder, rhythm slowing just enough to maintain precision—an effort in vain.
“Jace, I’m going to—”
“Yes,” He nodded, “Can I—please, inside—”
“Yes,” Your legs slid off his shoulders, immediately wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass cheeks, “Yes, Jacaerys, cum in me too.”
Your words pushed him over, paired with the insistence of your legs. Jace could not have escaped even if he wanted to, he realized as his balls tensed up. His arms wrapped around you and yours wrapped around him. His ache crashed into yours, and the two of you hurtled into release, writhing against each other in the aftershocks.
He buried his face between your breasts, hips bucking wildly as his seed mixed with Cregan’s. The thought had him thrusting weakly as his orgasm died down, trying to extend the sensation in his lower stomach for as long as possible.
He pulled out of you, cock beginning to soften, and remained draped over you, panting against one of your breasts. He flicked his tongue against your nipple, and you almost shoved him off. You were too weak to actually see it through, twitching against Jace’s lean frame as he pressed kisses into your hairline, damp with sweat.
“Gorgeous,” He whispered into your skin, “Doing so well for us, pretty girl.”
Jace lowered his mouth to yours, lazily tangling his tongue with your tongue in the brief interlude before the final act. You felt Cregan stand from the bed, too engrossed in the taste of Jace’s lips to actually focus on what your husband was doing.
The prince pulled away, and you cracked your eyes open to see Cregan at the foot of the bed, gaze dark, shoulders squared. Jace twisted his head. They exchanged a glance, and then Jace looked back at you. He gave you one final kiss, before crawling backwards until his buttocks met the tops of Cregan’s thighs. You moved to sit up, but Cregan shook his head.
“Come here.”
You raised your eyebrows, eyes darting from side to side. “Me? What are you—”
“Look at the mess his grace made,” Cregan murmured, hand sliding up Jace’s spine. The prince shuddered, eyes falling between your thighs. Your cunt was ruined, he realized, swallowing thickly. Cum was oozing out from your hole, your clit was swollen, and Cregan’s cum, previously dislodged by Jace’s fucking you had smeared across your folds.
“Should he not be made to clean it up?”
Your thighs twitched, mouth gaping. You looked at Jace, who seemed near close to drooling like a hound. When your eyes returned to Cregan’s face, there was no room for argument. Still, you tried.
“I can’t—”
“But you will.” Cregan’s hand nestled into Jace’s hair, giving it a light tug. “And he will be good and clean you up. You can take one more, pet. I know you have it in you. You always do.”
You almost hesitated, before spotting where Cregan’s fingers were tangling themselves in Jace’s hair. Your lower lip found itself pinned down by your teeth, but not out of apprehension.
A few moments later, you slid down the bed, at the same time as Cregan walked to the nightstand. He took the oil and smeared it over himself. When he stood behind Jace again, he rubbed the remainder all over the prince’s hole. Jace jumped, before craning his hips back.
Cregan smiled crookedly before applying a gentle pressure against Jace’s hole with his thumb. It gave almost immediately, welcoming Cregan back in greedily. He dipped his thumb in and out too slow for comfort, and Jace’s forehead made contact with one of your parted thighs.
He toyed with Jace’s hole a little longer, gauging whether or not he was ready for Cregan’s cock, now fully hard again. He wasn’t sure how long he would last, having came once already, on top of watching Jace fuck you. When he pulled his thumb out, he also pulled the softest whimper from the back of Jace’s throat.
“Please,” Jace said, one hand reaching back to spread himself open for Cregan, “Please, I need you.”
Cregan bent down, slotting a wet, open mouthed kiss between Jace’s shoulder blades. He gripped himself, pressing the head of his cock right up against Jace’s asshole. All of the air still in Jace’s body left him, leaving only anticipation that bled from every pore on his skin.
“Put your mouth on her.” The command was said quietly against Jace’s skin. “Then I’ll fuck you, my sweet boy.”
Jace exhaled shakily at the name. He had not been called that in years. He licked his lips, looking back at your cunt. Your tired eyes were watching him fondly, a hand reaching for his cheek. You took a trembling breath, before falling in line with what Cregan wanted.
“Eat,” You whispered sweetly, beaming when he pressed his face into your palm, “Be good for us.”
The silver of your wedding band was cold against his cheek. A miniscule oasis from the layer of heat that had blanketed the room. He shut his eyes and allowed himself one more moment to enjoy the cool metal on his skin. Then, he turned, and placed a dedicated kiss on your palm. When he drew away, he lowered his neck, and his tongue lolled out of his mouth to trace a long stripe from your hole to your clit.
The sensitivity was too much. You jumped at the wet warmth of his tongue, and Jace splayed a hand over your lower stomach, pinning you in place. You shivered, scar touching your skin. He licked you again, and then began to dip his tongue into your folds.
“Fuck!”
Jace hummed against your folds, half-hard member twitching at your expletive and the mixed flavor of his own cum and Cregan’s. He canted his hips back, unable to form words anymore.
Cregan chose mercy. He pushed in, forcing Jace to gasp against your cunt. His eyes burned as he stared unblinking at how he slid into Jace’s tight hole, jaw clenching as he gave Jace a moment to adjust. The prince was still as tight as he remembered him. Jace seemed to disagree with the decision.
“Ngh, move.” This was the most princely he’d sounded since coming into the room, his demand bitten out and gruff. Jace brushed his nose against your clit, and you tangled both hands in his hair. Cregan lifted his eyes, landing on your debauched, sweaty face, and you nodded.
Cregan bottomed out, reaching for Jace’s slender waist. He was going to need the leverage. He held Jace in place as he slid out, and then began to fuck the prince with an abandon Cregan hadn’t expected of himself.
The three of you were falling apart. This drawn out session had stripped the three of you to your most animal senses. Humping, grabbing, moaning, licking. Titles were seemingly gone, and what was left were three sweaty lovers in search of a reverie so prolonged it verged on painful, still delicious enough to keep at the pursuit.
Cregan’s hands tightened around Jace’s waist. Jace groaned, hoping desperately he’d have bruises to further commit the night to memory. He angled his hips upward, knowing how close Cregan he was to his prostate. He knew Cregan was looking for it too. All Jace had to do was guide the way.
When he found it, Jace’s voice cracked. The timbre of his voice gave way, leaving a whiny mess still dipping his tongue into your hole. His whimpering and the accompanying vibration had you crying out too. The praise spilled out of you, a woman possessed.
“That’s it,” You said, “Take it, Jace. I know you can do it, darling. Take it like I did.”
Cregan, yearning for that mythical closeness, rested his knees against the mattress, stomach pressing against Jace’s lower back. He began mouthing at Jace’s shoulders, showering him with affirmations every time his lips were detached from his skin long enough. Cregan’s hips never let up.
“Just as tight as I remember, sweet boy,” He growled, “‘M going to fuck you until you’re begging me to stop.”
“Never stop,” Jace pleaded, lapping at your clit, “Don’t want you to.”
“No?” Cregan’s hands slid to his front, tweaking at Jace’s nipples, before sliding a hand down to grip Jace’s twitching, ruddy member. “Even like this?”
Jace cried out again, wrapping his lips around your clit. Your back arched off the bed, tugging so intensely at Jace’s pretty locks that his scalp ached sweetly. Your entire body was trembling now. Jace was wrecked, pinned between you and your husband as Cregan took and you were made to give.
The three of you, connected. You and Cregan, slowly suffocating Jace with your love. And Jace, in the middle of it all, unable to do anything but accept it all. Even as his a knot began to form in his lower stomach, ass tightening with Cregan still inside. When he clenched down on Cregan, Cregan’s hips bucked, before retaking the rhythm he was still trying to hold onto.
“Feel too good, Jace,” He groaned, “‘M not gonna last.”
“Cum in me,” Jace demanded, lifting his mouth off of you, “Let me feel you in me when I leave.”
Cregan drove himself into Jace even harder, final orgasm now in view. He cupped Jace’s balls, squeezing, as if attempting to coax Jace’s cum out of them. Jace reattached his tongue to your clit, two fingers sliding into your painfully sensitive hole, trying to find more of the sticky, creamy cum they had both placed so lovingly in you. Your body was no longer your own, you realized with a pleased satisfaction. They had taken control of it and decided how to position it, how to fill it, when you’d had enough.
“And you,” Jace murmured breathlessly into your skin, “I want to feel your pussy squeeze around my fingers one more time.”
His words triggered an avalanche, starting with you and ending with Cregan. Your vision turned white, body stiffening for a beat. Then, your body jolted, cunt clenching helplessly around Jace’s digits. He suckled on your clit through every single wave of painful pleasure, until you were sobbing, trying weakly to push his head away.
Jace let his head fall back on your soft thigh. He couldn’t tell if you were the one trembling or he was. His eyes squeezed shut, feeling the familiar tug in his balls. He bit down on your thigh when he came again, cum spilling over Cregan’s fist, his own walls fluttering against Cregan’s incessant pounding.
Finally, Cregan wrapped himself on Jace, burying himself the deepest he’d been in the prince all night, shuddering on top of him as he spilled more of his warm, sticky cum into the heir to the Iron Throne.
The three of you rode out the final waves until it hurt, room smelling of sweat, sex, and funnily enough, jasmine. The only sounds were those of the crackling wood of the hearth and three different staccatos of breath.
Carefully, Cregan pulled himself out of Jace. Jace, boneless, fell forward, nuzzling into your thigh. You carded a hand through his sweaty curls, attempting to soothe after all of your yanking. You felt the mattress dip behind you. Cregan had slid onto your side of the bed, lying behind you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder. He looked utterly spent, heart still hammering just under his sweaty chest.
When Jace had regained his bearings, he crawled up to be level with you and Cregan. He wrapped his hands around your waist, and looked at you both. Cregan had one hand splayed across your lower back, and used the other to slide up Jace’s arm. All your touches had turned tender, now. Any tension or desire had bled into each other late into the night, leaving only fondness and a feeling of completion. A circle being closed.
“If Aegon the Conqueror had done this instead,” Jace decided, “I believe the North would have fallen much faster.”
Cregan swatted his arm. Jace caught his hand, scars brushing. You giggled, sleep beginning to settle over your body.
“I mean it. If he’d just bent over for Torrhen Stark–”
“Jacaerys.”
As your eyes fluttered shut, you smiled between their bodies. It was cold outside, but you had your husband at your back, and a prince of dragon blood at your front.
For the rest of the night, there would be no cold to be spoken of.
•❆·. ❆ .• ·• ❅ ·❆.
minors dni. if i didn't tag you, it was because i couldn't see an age anywhere on your blog <3
synopsis: you're supposed to be healing. mark's supposed to behave. but neither of you are very good at following the rules—and once he starts, he can't stop.
warnings: smut, rough/dominant mark, mark being a perv, sub!reader, fem!reader, dirty talk, breeding kink vibes, possessive behavior, praise, overstimulation, soft obsession, light pain kink (due to injuries), oral (fem receiving), oral-to-pentration transition, unprotected sex, creampie, getting caught by cecil
wc: 6k
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The room smells like antiseptic and blood.
And you—still beneath it all—you.
Your sweat. Your skin. Your wrecked body calling to him like a fucking siren.
Mark shouldn't be hard right now.
You're hurt. You're bleeding. You almost died. And still, all he can think about is the way your legs are spread—like a dare.
Like a death sentence.
She's hurt. She's half-naked. She almost died. And I'm standing here like I'm about to fuck her in a hospital bed—because I am.
You're sprawled across the GDA medbed—bruised, bandaged, breathtaking. The remnants of your tank top barely cling to you, the shredded fabric sliding over your ribs. The gauze across your side is already bleeding through. One thigh's propped up slightly, bruises painted like ink across soft flesh.
And that stupid fucking blanket is hanging off your hip, one tug away from falling.
You look like sin.
Mark's hands are curled into fists. He tries not to breathe you in again—tries to look away from your thighs, from the blood, the curve of your waist—but his eye betray him.
Everything about you pulls him in. It always has.
Dangerous? No. You're catastrophic.
"You keep staring," you murmur, dry.
Mark's fingers twitch at his sides, his jaw clenched.
Of course I'm staring. Look at you. Fucking look at you. All wrecked and smug like you know what you're doing to me.
"Sorry," he mutters.
"No, you're not."
You don't even open your eyes. Just let your head tip back like you can sense how close he is to breaking.
"You could've died," he says.
"You say that every time."
"You keep almost dying."
"And yet," you breathe, finally cracking one eye open, "here I am. Breathing. Chest rising. Skin flushed. Guts still inside."
A smirk curls your lips. "Guess you'll have to deal with that, won't you?"
And that's it.
That's the moment Mark snaps, hitting him all at once—the fear of losing you, the aching need, the way you're taunting him, bleeding and beautiful.
And he breaks.
"Fuck it."
He's on you in seconds.
Not rough. Not angry.
Just urgent.
Desperate.
I'm not even pretending anymore. I need her. I need to taste her. I need to mark every fucking inch of her until she remembers she's mine.
His mouth crashes onto yours, fingers cradling your face, threading into your hair like he's afraid you'll vanish beneath him. You kiss him back without hesitation—tongue sliding against his, slow and warm and unbothered.
She tastes like heat. Salt. Blood. Fuck, she tastes alive.
"You—fuck, you don't know what you do to me," Mark groans, pulling back just enough to breathe.
His hand slides down your side, reverent.
You flinch slightly when he grazes the bandage on your ribs.
He freezes instantly.
"Not the left side," you murmur.
"Okay."
So he kisses the right instead.
Then just below it.
Then lower.
And lower.
Still, you don't stop him. Still watching him with half-lidded eyes like you're curious what he'll do if you just let go.
She's letting me. She's letting me see her like this. Letting me touch. Letting me taste. I'd drop to my knees for her every fucking time if she just asked.
Mark tugs the blanket down.
You're wearing black panties—thin, snug, and soaked.
And holy shit.
He nearly groans out loud just from the sight.
Fuck. Fuck. I can see the shape of her cunt through these. She's wet. She's wet for me.
"Do you—" his voice cracks. "Do you want this?"
You prop yourself up on one elbow. "What do you think?"
"I need to hear you say it."
You look him dead in the eye.
"I want your mouth between my legs."
Mark chokes on the air, feeling his cock throbbing.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Don't come in your pants, don't fucking come just from that—
He kisses your knee.
Then the curve of your thigh.
His mouth lingers on every bruise like he's trying to erase them with his tongue, every slow press of his lips a prayer to whatever god let you survive.
Finally, finally, he kisses you right over your panties.
"You smell so fucking good," he breathes, inhaling shamelessly. "Been thinking about this for weeks."
You huff a soft laugh. "Knew you were a pervert."
"Yeah," he groans, dragging his nose along the crease of your thigh. "I am. And I'm so gone for you. I'd lick this pussy through cotton, denim, Kevlar. Doesn't matter. I want it like I want air."
I'm a fucking mess. I'd sniff this pussy in public. I'd lap it up in front of a goddamn mirror just to watch myself beg.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and drags them down slow.
And when you're bare?
He dives in.
Tongue flattening against your slit. Then a slow, wet stripe all the way up to your clit. He groans—low, filthy, addicted.
She's warm. Sweet. Salty. Fucking perfect. Mine. This pussy's fucking mine. I could die with my face buried here. I want it on my face, on my chin, want her dripping down my neck. Want to fuck her and lick it off my own cock.
You gasp, hips twitching.
Mark grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you.
"Don't move," he mutters against you. "Let me make you come. Just this once. Let me be the only one who ever gets to see you fall apart."
Then he sucks your clit into his mouth and moans like he's about to lose it.
Lapping. Sucking. Breathing against your folds.
I'm gonna make her scream. Gonna make her drip. Gonna make her beg.
You're panting now. Your fingers curl into his hair.
"Don't stop," you gasp.
"Say my name," he groans into you, tongue circling. "Say you want me."
"Mark—fuck—keep going—"
And that's all he needs.
He starts eating you like a man possessed.
Tongue dragging. Mouth sucking. Breath heavy through his nose as he fucks you with his mouth like it's the last thing he'll ever do, loving the way your hips jerk.
She's shaking. She's coming. She's falling apart just for me. God, I need this. I need her. I need her to come again. Again. Again—
You break.
Your orgasm hits hard, gasping, hips bucking off the bed—and he doesn't stop. He moans into your cunt, nose buried in your folds, licking you through it, chin soaked, tongue fucking you through the aftershocks.
I'm gonna make her come again. I don't care if she's twitching. I want her ruined. I want to fuck her full and then clean it all up with my tongue.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are glistening.
He swipes a thumb across his mouth and licks it clean, pupils blown wide.
"You gonna let me fuck you now?" he pants, voice raw. "Or do I have to make you come again first?"
You didn't say anything. Just watching him through lazy lashes, breathing heavily.
You looked like you knew.
Knew he's seconds from ruining every promise he made to take it slow. Knew how hard he's been since the moment he walked in. Knew you had him.
And let him see everything he needs in your eyes.
She's mine. Mine. And I'm about to fuck her like I'll never get the chance.
He runs a hand through his hair, ragged.
"I shouldn't."
You arched a brow. "But?"
He groans. "But I will."
Mark stands between your legs, breath shaking, hands trembling at your hips.
She wants me. She wants me now. After everything—after almost dying—she's giving this to me. Letting me have her. Letting me fuck her.
He shoves his pants down to mid-thigh, cock springing out and slapping against his abdomen—thick, flushed, and leaking already.
You glance at it, brows lifting. "You've been hard this whole time?"
He grits his teeth. "From just looking at you."
You hum. "Bigger than I expected."
Mark groans, fisting his cock once. Beads of pearl leak at the tip and smears down his shaft as he strokes. Your eyes linger on it, almost curious.
"You're evil."
You grin. "You love it."
He does.
He fucking does.
I love that she teases me. I love that she ruins me. I love that I'm this hard and she hasn't even touched me yet.
Mark slides two fingers between your folds.
You're soaked.
Dripping from the orgasm he just gave you. Warm, wet, swollen.
He nearly whimpers.
"God, you're soaked."
"You made me come," you say, voice lazy. "What did you expect?"
Mark presses the head of his cock to your entrance. His breath catches.
"You sure?"
are you sure?
You shoot him a look. "If you don't fuck me right now, I will break your nose."
That's all it takes.
He slides into you slowly—but he's so thick, so long, the stretch pulls a sound from your throat that's a half-growl, half-moan as your hips twitch.
Mark groans deep in his chest.
Holy fuck. She's tight. She's squeezing me like she doesn't wanna let go. Warm. Hot. Velvet. Fucking heaven.
You're panting, nails digging into his forearm.
"You're too big."
He pauses, buried halfway.
"I can stop—"
"Don't you dare."
He growls low in his throat and bottoms out, cock buried to the hilt.
Fuck. Fuck. She's wrapped around me. All of me. I could die like this. I could stay like this forever.
His forehead drops to yours, breathing hard, trying not to come on the spot.
"You feel—Jesus—you feel perfect."
You clenched around him on purpose, smirking.
"Mark?"
He swallows.
"Yeah?"
"Fuck me like you mean it."
And he does.
He snaps his hips forward, and you shout.
Hard, deep, fast.
No warm-up. No mercy. Just raw, hungry, desperate thrusts that shake the bed and jolt your body with every slam.
Your injured body rocks with each stroke, but you didn't stop him. You gripped him tighter. You moan louder. You meet him thrust for thrust.
You take him like you were made for it.
"You're gonna break me," you gasp.
He growls. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"You're the pervert—"
"You're the one taking me so fucking well—like your pussy belongs to me."
He pulls out halfway, slams back in, again and again, wet slaps echoing in the sterile room, your slick coating his cock.
He grips your thigh, pushes your knee up, angles deeper—and hits your spot.
Your back arches with a strangled cry.
"Mark—fuck—there, right there—!"
He doesn't stop.
He drives into it over and over, mercilessly, grinding his cock deep inside your soaked, pulsing cunt until your eyes roll back.
"Right there?" he pants, drilling into your spot again. "You want me to keep hitting it? Wanna come again on my cock?"
You moan. "Yes—yes—yes—"
"Say you want it," he pants.
"I want it—"
"Louder."
"I want your cock, Mark—I want you to ruin me—"
That's it.
He loses it.
She wants to be ruined? Then I'll fucking ruin her.
Mark grabs the headboard with one hand, the back of your thigh with the other, holding you down while he pounds into you, cock pistoning like he's trying to claim you from the inside. Wet slaps echo in the sterile room, your slick coating his cock as he pounds you ruthlessly.
Your cries get louder. Needier.
He watches your tits bounce with every thrust, watches your face twist in pleasure.
"Come for me," he growls. "Come all over this cock."
You do.
You scream.
You come so hard your thighs seize and your cunt clamps tight, pulsing around him in waves that make Mark sees stars.
And even then, he doesn't stop.
He keeps going.
Thrusting through it.
Grinding into your g-spot like he's chasing another orgasm before you can breathe.
She's not done. I'm not done. I'm gonna fill her. Gonna come inside her. Gonna make her leak for days.
He leans down, panting into your mouth.
"Can I—fuck—can I come inside?"
"Do it," you gasp.
"You're not on anything."
"I said do it, Mark—"
That's all it takes.
He slams in deep—one last time—and lets go.
He spills into you in thick, hot pulses, filling you to the brim, groaning against your neck, body shaking from the force of it.
You can feel it—his cum flooding your cunt, thick and hot, dripping already.
He doesn't pull out.
Not yet.
He just lays there, panting over you, cock twitching inside your drenched, used hole, both of you ruined.
You brush a hand through his sweaty hair, breath catching.
"Still a pervert," you murmur.
Mark grins against your skin.
"Only for you."
And you both know it's not over.
Because he's still hard. Still inside you.
Still hard.
Still twitching.
You're trembling beneath him. Bruised, wet, leaking, Your chest rises and falls with ragged gasps, skin flushed, sweat clinging to every dip of your body.
I just came and I'm still hard. Still deep. Still obsessed.
He doesn't move.
Doesn't pull out.
His cock throbs inside your slick, cum-stuffed cunt, and he feels your walls flutter around him again—like your body can't tell if it's sated or starving.
"Mark..." you breathe, voice raw "You're still—"
"Hard?" he murmurs against your neck, dragging his nose along your collarbone. "Yeah."
"You just came—"
"I know." He grinds his hips, slow, thick, deep. You jolt beneath him, overstimulated. Your moan is hoarse.
"And you're still dripping."
He can feel it. His cum, hot and thick, slid down your thighs, coating your pussy, soaking the ruined medbed beneath you.
He growls low in his throat.
"I filled you up," he murmurs. "But it's not enough."
You twitch—your leg jerks involuntarily when his cock shifts inside you again. Your body is too sensitive, your pussy so raw and full and wet.
Yet, you laugh, broken and breathless. "That's the pervert talking again."
He pulls out halfway—only to slam back in, thick and wet and deep.
"That pervert wants to watch it all leak out just so he can fuck it back in."
He fucks it back in.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
You gasp, head tipping back.
Mark groans. "That's it. Take it. Take every drop like the good girl you are."
His hand trails down to your thigh, spreading you wider. His other slides under your back, lifting you just slightly, angling you so he can go deeper.
You whimper.
Fucking perfect. She's already wrecked, and I'm still hard. Still hungry. Still not done.
Your body twitches with every lazy thrust. You try to close your legs—but he grips your knees and pins them apart, burying himself deep again.
"I said lie back," he growls. "Be good. And let me finish the job."
"Mark—"
He cuts you off with a kiss—sloppy, wet, claiming.
You try to breathe, but he doesn't give you the space. His tongue slides past your lips, tasting you, owning you, devouring you.
And then—without warning—he flips you.
I want to see her face while I fuck her stupid. Want to watch her drool and sob and smile while I stuff her full again.
You gasp as he drags your hips back, hands firm, strong, urgent. He pulls you to your knees, forces your ass up, presses your chest to the sheets.
Look at her. Fucked dumb. Covered in bruises and cum and still so fucking tight.
You barely register the position shift before his cock slams back in.
You scream.
"F-Fuck—Mark—there—!"
He pounds into you from behind, skin slapping skin, each thrust harder than the last. Your ass ripples with every impact. Your arms tremble. The bed jerks beneath you.
Mark watches it all.
Your back arched. Your mouth open. Your thighs shaking.
She's mine. Mine. No one else gets to see her like this.
His hand wraps in your hair, yanks your head back so he can whisper into your ear:
"You wanted round two, baby? Then fucking take it."
He slams in again—wet, filthy, relentless. Your pussy's so soaked now that every thrust squelches, obscene and loud.
He watches your juices drip from our slit to the sheets. Watches his cock disappear into your cunt again and again.
"You're—nnngh—you're disgusting."
"You're soaked."
"I just came."
"You're gonna come again."
He fucks you faster, sloppier. His cum is squelching out around his cock now, coating your thighs, dripping off your ass, pooling under you.
It's filthy.
You let him rail you into the mattress like it's what your body was made for.
"You like this?" he groans. "You like being fucked so full you can't hold it?"
You nod desperately. "Yes—yes—Mark—please—"
He groans, hips jerking harder.
She's begging again. Already. And I'm just getting started.
His hand grips your jaw and pulls your face back to him.
"Say it again."
"Please—Mark—please don't stop—"
He fucks into you hard—one perfect, brutal thrust.
Your legs give out.
And then you come.
Again.
A sob rips from your throat as your pussy clenches, your body locking up around him, slick gushing down your thighs.
That's what does it.
Mark gives you everything again.
He slams deep—hips flush—cock pulsing as he comes inside you again, moaning against your neck, spilling himself into your already ruined cunt.
More. Hotter. Thicker.
Your body jerks with the force of it, and he keeps grinding in, like he's trying to push it in deeper.
You both collapse.
His chest on your back. His arms around your waist. His cock still inside you.
Neither of you speak.
There's only the sound of your breaths, your pulse, your soaked skin sticking to his.
His mouth presses to your shoulder, reverent.
"I'll do it again," he whispers.
You don't answer.
But your cunt clenches around him.
And Mark grins.
Eventually, he pulls out. You wince. His cum trickles down the inside of your thigh. Thick and white. Coating your folds. Sliding over your ass.
Holy fuck. That's mine. I did that. I filled her up and she's still leaking.
Mark swears softly under his breath and grabs the nearest towel, but his eyes are locked to your pussy. The stretch. The swollen, wet curve. The pink glistening between your thighs.
I want to push it back in. I want to use my fingers. My tongue. My cock again. I don't care how tired I am. I need to ruin her again.
"Sorry—here, I've got you. Just let me—fuck, you're dripping."
He presses the cloth between your legs gently, kissing your knee.
"Still okay?" he whispers, voice hoarse.
You hum. "Better than okay."
She's going to kill me. Fuck me to death and I'll die smiling.
He wipes you slowly, carefully, holding your legs open, watching his mess drip out of you.
He groans. "I don't wanna waste any of it."
You scoff. "Don't get ideas."
"I already have them," he grins, tossing the towel and crawling back up beside you. "Let me hold you."
"You're heavy."
"I'm warm."
"...Fine."
You let him spoon you from behind, his hand gently palming your bruised waist, thumb grazing your stomach.
"You're mine," he murmurs, pressing his nose into your hair. "No one gets to see you like that but me."
"Jealous?"
"Territorial."
"...Pervert."
"Yours," he murmurs. "Until you beg me to stop. And then I'll stop being a pervert. But now?"
He rolled his hips, letting you feel his already hardened cock grind against your lower back.
Slow.
Heavy.
"i'm not done," he growls.
"Mark..." you breathed, fingers curling against his shoulder. "You came—twice."
"So?" His voice is low. Wrecked. Dangerous. "You're still wet."
His hips grind against yours, cock dragging against your oversensitive walls, slow and thick. You twitch—gasping.
"I'm not done tasting you," he murmurs against your throat. "Not until you forget your own fucking name."
"Mark—" your voice cracks, almost a plea.
He growls.
"Say it again."
You bit your lip and shook your head.
Wrong move.
He grabs your hips, pulls out halfway, and slams back in hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs.
"Say it."
"Fuck—Mark!"
"There she is."
He fucks you slow—agonizingly slow. Each thrust drags slick down your thighs, your overstimulated cunt gripping him so tight he hisses through his teeth.
"You gonna tell me to stop?" he rasps. "Or you want me to keep going?"
"You're obsessed," you pant, nails dragging down his back.
He leans in, lips brushing your ear.
"I'm in love."
You freeze.
Just a second.
That's all he needs—because the next thrust steals your breath.
Harder now. More focused.
He's not fucking you just to fuck you. He's making a point.
That you're his.
That your body remembers him.
That no matter how hard you fight it—you melt for him.
Every. Damn. Time.
"You think I can stop now?" he groans, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat. "After feeling you come around me? After watching your eyes roll back? After hearing you beg?"
His cock slams deep—your moan cuts off.
"You're fucking soaked, baby."
His fingers find your clit again—rubbing it in tight, filthy circles.
You jerk, twitching, trying to squirm away.
He holds you still.
"Nope," he growls. "You don't get to run."
"Mark—I—I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His voice softens for just a moment. "You can take it. You always take it."
You whimper—just a little.
That makes him snap.
He flips you—hands on your waist, dragging your hips back, forcing you onto your knees on the medbed. You barely register the change in position before he's inside again, deeper now, angled just right to hit that sweet, devastating spot.
You cry out—loud.
"F-Fuck—there—!"
He pounds into you from behind, hands gripping your ass so tight it stings.
"Yeah?" he pants. "That's it? That's the spot?"
Your response is a broken sob of pleasure.
He leans over you, his chest brushing against your back as he whispers into your ear:
"Still so tight," he pants. "Still clenching. God—like your pussy knows me now."
His balls slap against your soaked cunt with every thrust. Your legs shake. Your arms tremble.
Your body is wrecked. Ruined. Perfectly fucked.
But you don't beg him to stop.
You take it.
You want it.
"Such a good girl," he pants. "Letting me use you like this. Letting me fill you up again and again."
"Please—Mark—please—"
He doesn't stop.
He growls your name like it's a prayer, a curse, a vow.
And then he grabs your hips—thrusts deep—and stays there.
You gasp.
He's not moving.
"W-Why—"
"I want you to feel every drop when I come inside you again."
"F-Fuck—"
Your cunt clenches around him, trembling, overstimulated, raw and needy.
And then you break.
Your fourth orgasm rips through you like a storm—your entire body locking, hips jerking, breath stuttering into a silent scream.
That does it.
Mark slams deep and stays, cock twitching as he empties inside you a third time—hot, thick spurts that flood your already ruined pussy.
He slumps forward, chest to your back, arms wrapping around your stomach, anchoring you.
Neither of you spoke.
Not for a long, long time.
You're shaking. You're leaking. You're full.
He doesn't pull out.
Not yet.
He kisses your neck. Your shoulder. The back of your ear.
And then—softly, like it's a secret—
"I'll do it again."
You smirk, dazed.
"...Round four?"
Mark grins against your skin.
"Oh, baby."
"We're just getting started."
The room still reeks of sex.
Of sweat, blood, and something filthy—something primal. The medbed's a mess. Your thighs are coated. Your body's trembling. And Mark?
Still inside you.
Still hard.
Still buried to the hilt.
You're slumped against the mattress, one cheek pressed to the pillow, your ass tilted up, both legs shaking from being fucked into another dimension. Your cunt is raw. leaking. Full.
Mark leans over you, lips brushing your spine. His cock twitches again inside your overstimulated pussy.
"...I think I blacked out," you rasp, voice hoarse and barely audible.
Mark lets out a short, ruined laugh, dazed. "Yeah. You clamped down so hard I—"
The door opens.
Both your heads jerk up.
"Mark, I need an update on—"
Cecil.
Fucking.
Stedman.
Stnading in the doorway.
Holding a folder.
Pausing.
Looking right at you.
Your entire half-naked body spread out across the GDA medbed, bruised, flushed and dripping. Hickeys across your neck. Bite marks on your shoulder. Cum leaking out of your cunt.
Mark is behind you. Also half-naked. Also covered in sweat. Cock still buried inside you.
Still hard.
Still twitching.
No one moves.
No one says a word.
Mark slowly lifts his head, mortified.
"...Sir."
Cecil doesn't even flinch.
He stares.
Long and hard.
Then exhales through his nose like he's been through Vietnam and this somehow ranks worse.
You groan, dropping your face back into the pillow. "For fuck's sake—"
"This isn't what it looks like." Mark blurts.
Cecil raises a single eyebrow. "Son. It exactly looks like what it looks like."
Cecil slowly turns to you, deadpan.
"You do realize you're on government surveillance, right?"
You blink.
"What."
He gestures at the corner. "Thermal cameras. Body monitors. Vital sensors. Whole nine yards. And unless I'm mistaken, we just clocked four orgasms, three ejaculations, one dislocated bed railing, and a sudden spike in your heartbeat that almost triggered a defibrillator call."
Mark makes a small dying noise.
You just glare.
"I said don't stop. I didn't say invite your boss."
Cecil pinches the bridge of his nose.
"I was coming to tell you she's cleared for fieldwork in seventy-two hours," he mutters, already turning back toward the door. "Not that you took it as an invitation to field test her flexibility."
"I'm still injured," you mumble into the pillow, hiding your face.
"Clearly not enough to stop you from reverse cowgirl while bleeding internally."
Mark groans.
Cecil turns at the doorway. "Also? You're on cleaning duty. Bed's broken."
He pauses.
"And for the record?" He looks at Mark with one absolutely withering glance. "If you're gonna rail someone so hard they lose brain function, maybe next time... lock the damn door, kid."
He walks out.
Slams it shut.
Silence.
Mark stares at the wall.
"...I'm gonna die," he whispers into your back.
You wheeze.
"You better not," you mutter. "You still owe me round four."
Mark groans again. Deeper. Filthier.
"Oh my god."
You reach back, slap his thigh. "Round four, Grayson."
He grabs your hips.
And thrusts.
Hard.
You scream into the pillow, laughing and moaning all at once.
Your body is limp. Breathless. Shaking.
But Mark—Mark is still hard inside you.
Still thick. Still pulsing. Still possessive.
The aftermath of round three clings to your skin like oil. His cum slicks your thighs, your stomach, the inside of your cunt—wet, warm, and never-ending. And he's not stopping. Not even close.
"You're insane," you gasp, voice hoarse, barely there.
Mark's lips are pressed to your spine, panting against your sweat-slicked skin. His cock throbs deep inside you—so deep it feels like you'll never be empty again.
He doesn't answer.
Just groans.
Long.
Low.
Starved.
I could stay inside her forever. Just fuck her slow until she begs me to stop—then keep going anyway.
"...Still warm," he rasps, hips rocking slow. "Still tight."
God, I can feel her twitching around me. Like her body wants me again. Like her pussy knows it belongs to me.
His fingers dig into your hips, bruising. His forehead rests between your shoulder blades. You can feel the tremble in his thighs, the possessive heat pulsing off of him like a second skin.
And then—
Then he moves again.
Slow. Sinful.
Dragging himself out of your swollen cunt inch by inch, just to slide back in with a filthy, squelching sound that makes you gasp intot he pillow.
"Mark—" Your voice cracks. "Please—"
"Still begging?" he groans. "Even after I fucked you full?"
Look at her. Limp. Leaking. And she still wants more. Fuck, I'll give her more. I'll break her open and stuff her full again until she forgets her name.
Your fingers curl against the sheets. Your whole body twitches.
"You wanted to be ruined," he growls. "So let me finish the job."
And then he starts fucking you again.
Hard.
Sloppy.
Obsessed.
Every thrust punches air from your lungs. Your tits bounce. Your bruised rubs ache. But all you can feel—all you want—is more. More of him. More of this. More of the way he fucks you like he owns you.
"You're still dripping," he snarls. "Fucking hell—look at you. Look at how much you needed this."
My cum's still leaking out of her and I can see it. Thick. White. Mine. Coating her thighs like a brand.
His cum leaks around the base of his cock with every thrust. You're soaked. Ruined. Splattered with it.
"You gonna come again?" he pants against your ear. "Gonna come with my cock still inside you? With my cum still inside you?"
You choke on a moan.
"F-Fuck—Mark—"
He grans your hips and slams into you, voice breaking.
"Say my name. Say it while I'm still fucking you like this."
Her voice—saying my name like that—fuck, I'd come just from that. I want to record it. Play it in my fucking ear every night while I jerk off.
"Mark—Mark—Mark—!"
"You're fucking mine."
This is mine. All of it. Her throat, her moans, her cunt milking me like she never wants to let go.
He grabs a fistful of your hair, pulls you up until your back arches against his chest, his cock still buried inside you from behind.
"You forget your own name yet?" he growls against your throat.
You shudder.
"Because I'm gonna make sure you do."
Then he starts pounding up into you, your ass bouncing off his thighs, your cunt a soaked mess around him. Every thrust hits that sweet, broken spot that makes your knees go weak.
His voice is ragged now—like he's losing it.
"I'll fuck you until you can't think straight. Until you forget what it feels like to not have me inside you."
You're babbling. Barely coherent. Tears sting the corner of your eyes—not from pain, but from overstimulation. From how good it is. How full you are. How utterly destroyed he's making you.
Mark bites down on your shoulder, groaning like an animal.
"You wanted round four, baby? You want everything?"
"Y-Yes—"
"Then take it."
He throws you down again. Flips you on your back. Crawls over you, cock still inside.
He stares down.
You're flushed. Wet. Shaking.
And smiling.
"You're such a fucking pervert," you whisper.
Mark's pupils are blown black. His body is tight, trembling above you. He lowers himself, cups your face.
And then—
His voice drops.
"I love you."
You freeze.
Just a second.
Then—
"I know," you breathe.
And then he kisses you.
Hard.
Deep.
Like it's the last thing he'll ever do.
Your breath's caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. Mark's lips are still on yours—feverish, clumsy, needy. His cock is still inside you. Throbbing. Dragging against your too-sensitive walls like he's trying to write his name on you.
You're so full.
His cum's already leaking out from round three, but he hasn't pulled out once. Just stayed there. Pressed deep. Obsessesd.
"I meant it," he murmurs into your mouth. "I love you."
You breathe in shakily, eyes fluttering. Your legs twitch around his hips.
"Mark—"
"Say it back."
You pause.
Then—soft, broken— "I love you."
Something breaks in him.
Fuck, I'd give her everything. My name. My life. My goddamn soul. Just to hear her say that again with my cock still inside her.
He growls, low and guttural. And then he moves again.
Slower now—but harder. Meaner. His cock drags out soaked and then slams back in until your thighs shake around him. Until your breath comes out in little gasps.
I should stop—but I can't. I don't want to. I want to make her come until she forgets how to walk.
He grabs your wrists. Pins them above your head.
"You love me?" he grits, thrusting again. "You love being fucked like this?"
You moan—nod. You're so wet it's obscene.
"Say it again."
"I love you—f-fuck—I love you—!"
He lets go of one wrist. Brings his thumb down to rub tight, filthy circles against your clit while his cock pounds up into you like a goddamn sledgehammer.
"I'm gonna make you come again," he pants. "I want to feel you squeeze me. Want to feel this perfect pussy milk every drop I give you."
You whine.
"Mark—"
"Yeah? Right there? You like that? You gonna come for me again?"
Your body locks up. Your thighs squeeze around his waist, your back arches hard—and then you shatter.
Slick floods around his cock. You're convulsing—again—wrung out, tears in your eyes, mouth open but no sound coming.
Mark doesn't stop.
"Oh my god," he groans. "You're still coming."
He slams in again. Harder. Rougher. His hips stutter. His voice turns desperate.
"You're milking me—fuck—I can't—"
You grab his arm—claw into his shoulder—
"Do it," you whisper. "Come inside. Again. I want to feel it—please, Mark—"
He slams in and stays.
Thick.
Buried.
Deep.
His cock jerks once, twice—
And then he's coming.
Hard.
So fucking much.
You feel every pulse. Every rope. Every drop of cum flooding into you like your pussy was made to take it. Your belly aches with the heat of it, your whole body shaking beneath him.
He moans into your mouth, still grinding his hips, like he wants to push it deeper. Like he's trying to mark you from the inside out.
"I love you," he says again. "You're mine. Mine. Fuck—"
His forehead presses to yours.
You both breathe like you just survived something.
And maybe you did.
He pulls out slow.
You whimper.
His cum spills out of you—wet, hot, shameless.
He watches it and groans.
God, I want to lick it all up. I want to see it on her tongue. Taste it from her pussy. Watch it drop onto my hand just so I can push it back inside.
Then—reaches down, spreads your thighs wider, pushes two fingers back in, curling them to keep it from leaking.
"I'm keeping it in," he murmurs. "Every drop."
You twitch. "Pervert."
"Yours," he smirks.
Your legs won't stop trembling.
You're boneless beneath him, soaked in sweat, skin sticky with bruises and spit and slick. Your pussy pulses with the aftershocks—raw, full, dripping. You can still feel him leaking out of you. Still feel his fingers there—gently plugging it back in.
Mark's forehead rests against your temple.
His voice is hoarse. "Didn't mean to get that hard."
You snort, exhausted. "Liar."
He laughs quietly, arm wrapping tighter around your waist.
"I did," he admits. "You looked too good. All bruised and bandaged and half-naked. And your mouth—God—your mouth was saying stop but your eyes said keep going."
"They didn't."
"They screamed it."
You hum, too tired to argue.
He shifts slightly and you wince, a soft sound escaping.
"Too much?"
"No," you rasp. "Not enough."
Mark groans and drops a kiss to your shoulder.
"You're unbelievable," he mumbles. "Most people want a nap after getting railed."
"Nap after round five," you mumble.
His cock twitches against your thigh.
"...Don't say that unless you mean it."
You crack one eye open. Smirk. "You're hard again?"
"You were clenching," he huffs. "You know what that does to me."
You roll onto your back—barely—pulling him with you. He drapes an arm over your waist, nose burying in your hair.
You both breathe in silence for a minute.
"...It smells like sex in here."
"Yeah," Mark grins into your neck. "Like you. And me. And all the filth we just did."
You feel his cock throb again. He's not even inside, and he's still hard. Still aching.
"Don't even think about it."
"I wasn't," he lies instantly.
If she clenches around me one more time, I'm gonna fuck her into the mattress and come until she's dripping for a week.
"You're twitching.
"So are you."
"...Pervert."
He kisses the shell of your ear. "Yours."
His hand slides up under your ruined tank top. His palms rests beneath your ribs—warm. careful.
You sigh. Sink into him.
"I love you," he murmurs again, softer this time.
You whisper it back.
And finally, your eyes start to flutter closed.
And outside, Cecil orders every camera wiped, every log erased... and a hazmat crew for medbay three.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
a/n: heyooo! sorry for being inactive! i was out on vacation with my family and i didn't have time to post anything ;w;
but don't worry! i'm back and i have a looooot in my drafts that i'm itching to post soon! >:)
tags: afab/fem reader, cam girl! reader, rough sex, maybe ooc mark + more beneath the cut!
camgirl reader & mark who's soooo eager to join her in a stream. he's so big and he looks so disgustingly sexy in nothing but his boxers and a mask that covers just his eyes, for his privacy you know.
but, everything is on display. his muscles, the grooves and dips in his skin. the way his lips always curl into a smug smirk when he's sitting with you in front of your setup. the touchy hands that grab handfuls of your thighs and breasts.
the ego rush of being the only one who gets to know how hot and wet you get around his dick has him freaked up. it makes his vision swim and him selfish.
mark's got your legs spread for the camera, so people can see his fat head slip through your cunt and the way you squeel because he slaps the tip on your clit just to make you squirm.
you don't really get to use toys, in fact, you feel as if you've become the toy. you get used and manhandled as mark sees fit. for the stream you invite him on, you're just his living fleshlight.
the prettiest hole he can fuck. glistening with spit and cum, always mindlessly mumbling and whining because he's so deep you can feel him in your stomach. does the thing guys do in porn, forcibly grabs your hand and puts it on your own abdomen. the bump of his cock makes you feel dizzy, its like he's trying to split you in half with how deep and how hard he pistons his hips.
i think mark has honestly just been waiting for this. like the moment he finds out you do streams, he's over the moon when you ask him if he'd like to join you. its not being possessive, it's being territorial. he wants everyone to know that he fucks you good. that its not just a show anymore when his hips are mercilessly knocking into your ass.
mark even holds your face up for the camera. letting it capture every moan, whimper and blissed out expression.
"c'mon, show 'em how good you feel," he whispers in your ear, voice husky and dripping with pleasure. "let your fans see how good i fuck you, yeah?"
and mark doesn't even need to stop, immensely gifted with stamina and endurance. superhero perks, you know? he can go until you're just a writhing heap in his arms, pumping load after load into you and watching it spill out when his dick slips out.
"you're my cocksleeve sweetheart," he moans, covering your neck with open mouthed kisses. "you're supposed to keep this inside."
and he fluidly gathers the mix of spit and cum with his fingers and shallowly pushes it back inside. he doesn't need to be precise because he'll just fuck it back in anyway.
your viewers get jealous, some of you and some of mark. regardless, they pay handsomely to see you be overstimulated and put through the mattress like its nothing. they think mark is some kind of monster, but really, he's the very same guy who wants his hair played with before you sleep.
mark is your boyfriend. sculpted by the gods and a ridiculous sexual fiend when he wants to be. he loves you to pieces, but he'll be damned if he won't fuck you within an inch of your life.
tags: reader is afab but not really explicitly gendered, kind of exposition heavy, reader is a cam girl/cam boy, light discussion of porn, and masturbation
it's not really surprising mark jerks off. he's just a person, not a paragon of saintly attitude and disposition.
he can be mean, he can be pretty disgusting sometimes, it's what most people are occasionally. in the normal ways— like forgetting their manners from time to time or cracking an insensitive joke.
he's not innocent, not really anyway. he knows his way around the internet. knows which accounts on twitter to look at. its all part of the routine he's developed over the influx of hormones simmering within himself.
mark knows what he likes and what he absolutely can't stand. he always skips videos with excessive moaning, and refuses to watch hardcore kink videos because he's not really ready or interested.
he skims through couple videos sometimes and gets a little miffed at the fact that he's getting off to kissing and missionary. other times he just browses. it feels more like a chore than an outlet. he's probably gone miles and miles by just clicking and browsing. scrolling, if he's on his phone.
eventually he comes to find cam sites— they're pretty straightforward and in-your-face generally speaking. he's not even that far from the banner and almost a dozen of people are scantily clad or naked.
your video is somewhere down the line. you're not really in lingerie, just in an oversized t-shirt and panties. they hug your figure nicely, and you're just groping yourself.
mark is early, he learns, and you usually like to stretch out the teasing foreplay part of your streams. taking your sweet time to remove your shirt, and either peel or kick off your panties. moving slow like molasses.
part of what mark enjoys seeing in porn is probably authenticity. there's always a form of vunerability in porn. in the way people grind and moan and keen. he likes to see someone who's honestly enjoying themselves and you do exactly just that.
flick your nipples and laugh, muttering that it doesn't really do anything for you, but that it probably turns someone on. it's charming, and incredibly attractive in a way mark isn't very familiar with.
he's half hard when you finally decide to use your toy— tentatively, just one. set aside usually, just within reach so when you decide you're sick of preening for the camera you can finally get off.
the show isn't fancy, but mark cums anyway. he's satisfied when he does. you're still writhing and mewling when he tucks himself back into his boxers.
he likes things simple, that way they're easy to understand. mark commits your username to memory and drops by whenever he feels like it.
mark learns that you like to interact with your chat sometimes. a swarming insatiable mess of horny idiots all vying for your attention no matter how short it might be.
he usually forgets about the chatter. he isn't paying attention to random people comment about how pretty your ass is or how they want you to stick your tongue out when you cum, all he focuses on is fucking his fist to the rhythm of your bucking hips and cumming in sync.
it usually goes that way, until he's watching you entertain questions from viewers. you get a few strange ones that you don't really pay mind to, but someone starts the conversation of people you'd fuck.
of course celebrities make the list, but mark doesn't expect the conversation to talk about heroes.
"immortal?" you laugh, a little out of breath as you slowly work your way up and down a dildo. "too old, and he's not cute!"
mark grimaces, the mental image isn't cute either. a selfish and sick part of him refuses to share, but he doubts immortal even knows how to look up pornsites. he probably pages through magazines or something.
you go quiet for a bit and squint at the screen, "of course! why wouldn't i? invincible is ripped like hell."
mark's face grows hot, incredibly flattered. he gets hard when you spout out little comments about how you'd lick his neck and let him fuck your throat sore.
mark's liking for you had been mostly out of how pretty you are and how easy it is to watch you come apart. but now he knows how big of a fan you are for invincible, and he's never gonna pass up on watching you ever.
stuck writing from my phone for now so sorry for the crap
so we aaall know the trope of the variants all losing their version of reader & then immediately coming for them during the invincible wars but what about this
variant!mark who can’t even LOOK at reader during the war. he’s sick seeing them—like just that act alone is a betrayal of HIS you. the one he sees every time he closes his eyes. the one he talks to in his sleep. the one who’s photo he kisses every morning
variant!mark who is so devoted to you that no other version could ever compare. he doesn’t care how identical you look, how similar your personalities—he knows with every aching beat of his heart that it’s still not you
you are not replaceable, and will live on, untouched, beautiful, and alone on the dark hill in his mind, forever
tags: just another lengthy blurb, fluff highkey, generic hcs thrown around + more beneath the cut!
i really really want to experience going to mark's dorm room and seeing all the silly trinkets or the rumpled sheets he's smoothing out when he thinks you aren't paying attention. or the diligently hung posters mark has on his wall using like sticky tack because he doesn't want to wrinkle or ruin the paper. later on the more you visit he eventually has them framed (he has the money for that kind of thing).
visiting him in his dorm and he's just splayed across the mattress comfortably until he sees you. so he sits up, and scoots to the side to make space for you.
"c'mere!!!" he laughs, patting the empty space beside him and catching you in an embrace when you fling yourself across his mattress.
you'd go to visit him around lunch and end up staying the entire day, stretching until night. there's usually not much mark does within a day, but when you stay over he plays games with you on his laptop, he makes you watch a niche animated movie from an equally niche comic series and tells you about how it serves as inspiration for seance dog.
speaking of seance dog, he reads you the comics and uses voices for the characters. sometimes pausing to tickle and wrestle you in bed because he can't stand the way you look at him and the way you attentively listen even if you aren't as interested in comics as him. he gets mad cuteness aggression so he obviously needs to shake you around a little.
his dorm is messy in a realistic way. he has a textbook opened at a random page on his desk. there are notebooks piled up by the side, with a random ballpen on top, still uncapped. he has a shelf full of memorabilia and merchandise, but the respectable kind (or whatever william says) so only one action figure and a bunch of limited edition comics neatly sealed in plastic and some compendiums laying around.
the way mark grayson is so rideable? yeah most definitely.
he’d be all flustered underneath you, toned arms holding your hips in place as you grind into him. the friction is delicious, air thick from making out for hours. — hours
just because mark just wanted to hold you, feel you on him; he wanted to let you take what you needed.
you relished in the slowburn; you loved the shallow breaths he’d give you, the flex of his abs as he tries his best not to roll his hips into yours every single time you moved even just a bit.
the way he’s start to get impatient the closer you get to finishing just because he’s antsy to get his clothes off and flip you over. the way he would urgently grip your thighs, pleading with those big ole brown eyes of his to finally let him fuck you.
author’s note: first time posting for the Invincible fandom so let me know if this is any good. i haven’t written in years lol. send me whatever your heart desires, i’d like to get the creative juices flowing. (and make friends!! <3)
“mark,” you whine, hiding your face with a hand, “too much, too muc—“
you have a quick fuse and tend to get overwhelmed. you’re not used to this kind of pleasure, never really let yourself explore the more exhilarating parts of the human experience. but mark discovered how you came so easily during sex and thought it was so cute. what was even better was seeing how many he could pull from you until you broke.
he shakes his head, smile coming onto his face. “then why are you still enjoying it, baby?”
you always have tears clinging to your lashes, cheeks wet from spit (or from warming up his cock in your mouth or maybe from him slapping it against your cheeks or all of the above). it happened every single time he fucked you. he loved how fucking messy you got, all the spit, the tears, the sweat, the hush of wetness he’d get from fucking his fingers right against your sweet spot, coxing orgasms from you over and over again ‘til you’d squirt all over his fingers.
your skin would flush warm and hot in the prettiest way, pouty lips loose and crying his name like a prayer. perspiration sticking to your skin, he loved to smell the sweat on you, the mix of sex in the air. and god, you loved that wild look in his eyes, a predator eyeing its prey.
you hiccup, trying to get the words out. “‘because icanthelpit.”
mark kisses your nose, finding your inability to respond properly endearing. his lips take yours again and he pulls on your lower lip, murmuring, “wanna try that again, sweets?”
he is so used to going again and again, his stamina impossibly high from years of superhero training and pushing his body to the limit. so this? it’s nothing compared to what he usually puts his body through.
the difference between his half-alien body and your human one always made itself very apparent, the fact that he could do so much to you and barely break a sweat made your sex throb at the thought. the power difference appealed to you, only because you know that he’d never hurt you, at least not in a way you didn’t ask for.
the bedsheets wrinkle in your clutch, your breath stuttering as you try to string out a cohesive reply. mark knew that it was always so hard for his poor babygirl to try to talk to him when you’re so out of it.
“b—because i can’t help it,” you whine, refusing to make eye contact with him. shame makes you dizzy, intimacy intoxicating you, and mark is the root of all this.
he has a playful smile, clearly enjoying seeing you tremble and cry. he basks in your ruined state of tear stained cheeks and lips red and raw from biting down on them. he reaches your face with a firm grip, fingers pressed into your cheek, cupping your whiny little mouth with his hand as he forces you to look at him.
as much as he loved it when you behaved, when you were a good little girl. he also loved it when you were a tinsy bit bratty. teasing him until he snapped was secretly something so exciting to you. (of course he knew. he knew you too too well.)
and when you refuse to meet his insatiable gaze. you feel him watching you like he wanted to eat you alive. his appetite for you insatiable.
he taps your cheek hard, pulling a gasp from you, your skin flushing with warrmth you know he’ll be able to see.
“look at me,” mark growls, canines peaking out from behind his lips. you could help but think that it suited him with his selfish appetite.
your head moves towards him, looking at him through your lashes. eyelids heavy with want as you heed his demand.
“good girl.”
his cock twitches inside you, the sight of you beneath him so little and submissive for him is such a turn on. his balls tighten at the fact that you voluntarily let him push you around like this, let him use you how he wants.
your walls clench down on him, a reaction to his reaction as if you were begging him to keep going. your nipples peaked and hard from arousal, imploring him to pull and pinch at them ‘til he found out if you’d cum on his cock just from that stimulation alone. he loved staying inside you if that meant he could just feel you writhe under him.
but if he were being honest the hardest times for him to hold back are when he’s working your tight cunt open with the sensitive tip of his dick, letting your swollen, pretty little puffy cunt drool all over him while he kisses away your moans. or when you finish around him, shaking and babbling about god fucking knows what because you’re so stupid when he’s fucking you dumb.
mark loves the fact that you crumble so easily the minute he’s worked himself up into you; you are his and everything he does to you is just what you asked for.
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