Carlisle was on the scene the moment he heard Chief Swan had been shot. Charlie was stretched out on the pavement, lips parted as he labored for each breath. Carlisle collapsed beside him, the anguish at seeing the man like this tearing at his heart. Charlie's gaze flickered up to his face. His mouth moved, but all that came up was a cough of blood.
“Charlie.” Carlisle reached for his hand and squeezed.
“Doc,” Charlie croaked back. “You're here.”
“I'm here,” Carlisle agreed. His other hand brushed Charlie's stubbled cheek. His already pale skin had gone waxy, cold sweat gleaming.
The smell of his blood was thick in the air. Always sweeter than other humans, it now held a bitter edge as it pumped out of Charlie's body. Carlisle shook, wanting to stop it. Slicing through his sorrow was the foreign heat of rage. He wanted to find the person who shot Charlie.
“Hey.” Charlie's fingers twitched around his hand. “Stay with me.”
“That's my line,” Carlisle retorted with a forced smile.
“I'm... okay. Just a little cold.”
“Not as cold as me,” Carlisle argued.
“Yeah.” Charlie chuckled weakly, dissolving into another bloody cough. The blood rimmed his mouth and slid down the sides of his chin.
Carlisle leaned down, cradling Charlie's face in his hand. It didn't matter now, if he indulged. His tongue slid out, tracing over Charlie's lips. The taste of it on his tongue made him groan. It was exactly as sweet as it smelled, rolling over his tongue like mulled wine. But Carlisle noted it only for a moment before turning his attention over to the texture of Charlie's lips against his tongue. How soft they felt, how pliant.
Charlie's fingers pushed into his hair, nudging him closer, and he complied, sealing their mouths together in a full kiss. It was slow, exploring, acting like he had all the time in the world to get to know this mouth. When Charlie parted his lips for air, Carlisle dipped his tongue inside. Charlie moaned, fingers curling a little tighter. Sucking his own blood off Carlisle's tongue and mouth.
It was hard to pull away, but Carlisle managed it. Charlie's eyes were glassy staring up at him, his cheeks now a little flushed.
“You... picked a hell of a time... for that,” he said.
“I know. I'm sorry.”
“S'okay.” Charlie's thumb brushed across his cheek. “It... helped. I... can't go, now.”
“Oh?” If his heart worked, Carlisle imagined it would be racing. “That's all it takes? A kiss?”
“Yeah.” Charlie gave his hair a tug. “Better give me another, doc.”
Carlisle obeyed, shaping their lips into something fiercer. Demanding.
isaac loves the way your eyes roll back. when you're mad at him or simply for sarcastic measures.
but mostly when he's pushed you back onto the nearest surface, worshipping the sopping heat between your thighs.
but it fills him with a sense of pride when your eyes roll so far back, he can see only the whites. its all because of him. you're quivering beneath him all because of the flick of his tongue.
isaac is smart.
it doesn't take him long to figure out how to make you gasp and cry for more. he's attentive.
he's studying each reaction and now, he's learnt a technique to get you to make those noises that always have him straining in his pants.
he isn't ashamed to admit he's cum untouched just from eating you out.
today was just like any ordinary day. except it wasn't.
it was an unspoken oath isaac had taken. swearing he'd never start anything he couldn't finish in his dorm room.
there were always interruptions.
he had even calculated the probability of various scenarios that could take place if the two of you had gotten nasty in his room.
thats why. his lab at the top floor of iago tower was where you always found yourself.
isaac claimed to love how private and intimate that space could be apart from being just a place of inventions. it was the place in which he had made you cum countless times.
however on this very day, there was no other option. iago tower was shut off for some repairs and your roommate had her whole group of friends over.
it was a nightmare for isaac night. why you may be wondering?
well because for the first time he didn't think he could hold out for one more day without tasting you.
you would laugh at the very poorly disguised hormones coursing through his veins.
it takes less than a minute for him to break his precious oath and he's shutting the door, ushering you towards his bed. you know how this always ends...
.
the sight infront of you has your back arching. his head buried against your cunt. it doesn't help that he's gripping your inner thighs. groaning rather loudly as he enthusiastically laps at your folds.
that when you feel it. the tip of his tongue slows down to trace out letters.
its exhilirating and its downright filthy.
"spell for me."
his voice raspy and breathless. offering you a sight of his face. nose glistening with slick and his lips swollen from his eagerness to draw out a second orgasm from you.
he gives a firm smack to your thigh, and you shiver. shyness hitting you harder when you hear how fucked out your voice sounds.
'...I"
he licks a straight line from your entrance all the way to your throbbing clit. stopping there to suck lightly on the bud of nerves.
"...S"
you manage to choke out. swirling over your folds with just the right pressure.
"..A!"
thighs clamping on either side of his head at the sensation. flicking over your clit teasingly.
"...A"
"...C"
your fists messing up his covers as you tugged. hands flying to grip his hair. unsure of whether to push him away or pull him in.
but you find yourself unconciously pushing him deeper against your cunt. the bridge of his nose rubbing deliciously over your nerves.
he doesn't stop you. infact the moan that escapes him has you rutting up against his hot mouth.
you feel his teeth brush over the skin, he hisses when your thighs cage him in. thrown over his shoulders to keep you open for him to devour.
"M...?"
you whisper out. jaw dropping. his tongue pushes into you fully. nose poking at your clit. you notice his eyes squeezing shut. eyebrows furrowed with intent and an undying loss of control.
"I..."
"..N"
you cry out, desperately tugging at his scalp. his moans vibrating into you.
"..E!"
"thats right. mine."
theres a loud knock on the door. followed by more consecutive knocks.
it sounds like the door was opening. it startles you and you lift your head up.
about to say something but you fall back down into his pillow. writhing in overstimulation as his thumb comes up to rub slow circles on your clit.
isaac's right hand raises up faster than lightning. slamming the door shut with his telekinesis and holding it there. its an unbearably hot sight to witness.
the knocks continue and you whine when he loudly slurps at your wetness.
it has an uncontrollable moan escape you. its hard to remain quiet when you were being forced-fed a piece of heaven.
his left hand moving up swiftly to shove two digits in your mouth. pressing down on your tongue to muffle your noises even though he continued his movements.
a chair noisely scraps across the floor and towards the door. it gets lodged under the doorhandle. a makeshift lock. it has your heart racing with the thought of his roomate walking in and stumbling on a sight like this.
he moves his wrist and a pen on his desk starts magically moving. scribbling away on a piece of paper.
it falls on the floor and you catch a glimpse of what was messily written.
'Gomez, Fuck off.'
the paper slides across the wooden floorboards disappearing under the small gap between the door and the floor.
the knocks stop abrubtly.
it doesn't take long for isaac to lose it. mouthing at your cunt with growing desperation. his hips grinding into the mattress.
groaning like it was the best damn meal he had eaten in a long while.
Tags ✶ arranged marriage, infidelity (briefly), mild angst, eventual polyamory, threesome, shameless smut, p. in v. sex
Wordcount ✶ 5,545
Soon after your marriage to Gwayne, he notices the love between you and your twin Jacaerys, and decides to invite him to your marriage bed.
Gwayne Masterlist ✶ Jacaerys Masterlist
To taste the salt of the stars in the sea. To love another more than oneself. To know this, is to know everything.—Anne Michaels
Duty was sacrifice, you had learned early on in life. It meant sacrificing personal preferences or indulgences for long-term stability, alliances and peace, and it was a notion you were familiar with as you had seen your mother and father share friendship rather than love, and occasionally caught the tail end of disputes over appearances.
You knew you were a Velaryon by name and little else, save perhaps the love Ser Laenor had for you and your siblings—your twin brother Jacaerys shared this knowledge, one you both kept close to your hearts. Love was sometimes meant to be sacrificed on the altar of keeping another house close, and of appeasing relationships, whether they be political or otherwise.
This became painfully clear to you when your grandsire King Viserys arranged a match between you and the Queen’s younger brother, Ser Gwayne. It was unexpected, and perhaps a bit unconventional, motivated by the discontentment of House Hightower about Prince Aegon being passed over as heir.
You were a bride of appeasement, more Targaryen blood given to the Hightowers, but the motives of your match did not worry you as much as your chances at happiness within such a marriage.
Upon learning the news you had feared Ser Gwayne would be much like his father Ser Otto. However as you were sent to Oldtown to wed him, you were delighted to find out that it was not the case. He did share his father’s sharp way with words and his good education, but he was much gentler. You were almost ashamed of yourself at how enchanted you were with your husband, who was as beautiful as he was galant, with fiery red hair and piercing eyes.
Your wedding night was a delight, although the lack of pain could be explained by the fact that you had lost your virtue to your own twin, Jacaerys, given time and time over in the weeks before your departure for Oldtown. The love the two of you shared had always been apparent, but it had burst into uncontrollable flames at the news that you would be taken from him—Jace was proud and protective, and you loathed to leave him behind.
However you did as you were bid by the King, swallowing your sorrows and ignoring the longing that bloomed like a bush of thorns as the months passed. They were only soothed by the tentative happiness you found in this arranged marriage. Over the months you grew to learn of Gwayne’s ways, of his keen mind and his sharp sense of humor, and a friendship grew that soon turned into trust and the first embers of love.
You found yourself caught between the two loves that inhabited your heart as your twin flew across the realm half a year after you had come to Oldtown and spent a fortnight as a guest. Gwayne was delighted to entertain a prince of the realm, and seeing the two young men side by side troubled you greatly—you felt as though your very soul was split into two.
“I would not break my vows to Gwayne, Jace,” you pleaded one evening as Jace found you alone in one of the parlors and pulled you into a tight embrace. “He is a good man, and although I suspect him of knowing I was not a maid upon our wedding, he has never brought it up against me.”
“Does he please you? Keep you happy?” he asked against your cheek, his breath still heavy from your kisses, his lips flushed a dark pink.
You nodded silently, and the crestfallen look on his face as he pulled away made guilt curl deeply in your gut. “Do you love him?” he asked, his voice wavering.
“Not in the way that I love you,” you pleaded, curling your hands in his doublet, feeling him slip through your fingers. “You are my twin, another half of me.”
“But you have grown to love him, as a wife loves her husband,” Jacaerys pressed, and despite your heartbreak, you found no lies in his words.
“I know this must come as a betrayal to you, and I am sorry for it. I did not mean for it to happen, you know I came here intent on resenting him!” you hissed, and your twin smiled gently, pained.
“He is a decent man and an accomplished knight, I am glad you are able to find love in this arrangement,” he replied, holding on to his values and beliefs, no matter how shattered his heart was. “I should take my leave tomorrow, surely your lord husband will not begrudge me for returning to my duties on Dragonstone.”
That night you cried into your pillow, biting your lips against the sobs that threatened to alert your husband as he settled to sleep beside you. “What has you so crestfallen, my love?” Gwayne asked, curling at your back, but you could not answer.
He held you as you cried and did not pry, even though he burned to have his doubts confirmed. He had known of your closeness with your brother early on, such was the way of twins, but he suspected your bond to run deeper. He had had suspicions since a banquet held for Prince Daeron’s name day while the two of you were courting, a mere month before your wedding.
He had walked into charged situations a couple of times, always feeling like he was walking in on the tail end of a conversation he was not privy to. It did not help that your twin Jacaerys had spent the banquet looking like he was caught between fury and heartbreak, and was much more curt to him than he ought to be.
Gwayne knew the Targaryens to have queer customs and hold strange traditions, and he supposed the natural bond between dragon twins would favor such an attraction, yet he feared to consider it. You were his lady wife, a young woman of character whom he had learned to adore, and he did not want to suggest such an outrageous thing if it was not the truth.
You had eventually fallen asleep, but as the morning came Gwayne could see you had not rested much, no doubt plagued by what was causing you sorrow. He kept himself busy for most of the morning as the prince’s departure was being prepared, allowing you as much space as he suspected you required to tell him your goodbyes.
He was making his way down to the outer courtyard where the prince’s dragon, Vermax, was waiting, when his eye was caught by two familiar figures hiding in an alcove. The corridor was deserted, and Gwayne stopped dead in his tracks, surprise and something akin to anticipation curling in his gut as he watched the pair of twins.
He waited with bated breath, and finally, the inevitable, irrevocable occurred—Jacaerys pressed a kiss to your lips, and you surged up against him. It was unmistakably a lover’s kiss, passionate and hurried, and it made his heart ache to witness it. His loins stirred despite himself, and he lowered his eyes as though he was the one being caught in a compromising position before taking a few steps back.
He kept his eyes on the two of you, making sure that he was not seen, long enough to see you push away and turn from him, your hands rising to your face. He walked away, heart hammering in his chest—the confirmation of your bond with your twin did not pain him, he was surprised to find out, but instead left him curious and strangely incensed.
He could not deny the Prince was handsome, with a temper and a wit that he found most entertaining. He was the perfect mirror image of you, with sharper features but the same elegant way to his movements. The pair of you made a striking sight, and Gwayne had considered commissioning a painting of the two of you, to offer you for your name day, only for him to share in the pleasure of gazing upon beauty.
To see the set of you in the flesh would make an enticing sight, and Gwayne was nothing if not a collector of pretty things.
Jacaerys had been surprised to receive an invitation from Ser Gwayne, rather than you, especially since it demanded that he keep his visit a secret—a surprise for his wife who had been rather morose in recent weeks, the letter said.
“I’m afraid your usual rooms are unavailable, my prince, as a leak from the attic has made its way along the wall,” Gwayne explained as he led him instead to the main quarters upon his arrival. “I have had the rooms next to ours be prepared. After all, you are such a frequent guest, you might prefer a more permanent quarter.”
“Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” Jace replied politely as he was led into a large room decorated with refined taste.
Embroidered tapestries of various shades of green and blue hung on the walls, no doubt reminiscent of House Florent, and numerous settees and lounging armchairs were available. Facing the hearth, a wide poster bed with curtains was pushed against the wall—the one where, on the other side, his sister shared a bedchamber with her husband.
“You ought to call me by my name, we are brothers by marriage after all,” Gwayne said amicably, his head bowing slightly, although there was an edge to it that turned Jace’s blood cold.
As the man left him to settle and the door to his new rooms closed behind him, Jacaerys rested against them, shutting his eyes against hot tears—there was hardly any doubt left now, the man knew of the feelings he held for his sister, and was intent on tormenting him for them.
However he could not say a word, or chastise him, for fear of revealing his own sister and thus endeavored to bear the concealed japes. He held his tongue through supper, forcing himself to be agreeable for his sister’s sake, but you could tell something was amiss.
Fear of accusations kept him quiet, biting his own tongue—he knew the truth being put into words would be considered a betrayal at the least, and indecency at the worst.
“Jacaerys behaved rather strangely today,” you commented later that night as you removed your earrings and set them down in one of the little dishes on your dresser.
“Did he?” Gwayne hummed, dipping his face into the back of your neck, pressing kisses to the freckles that bloomed there.
“Yes,” you answered nervously. You wet your lips and swallowed, feeling your mouth go dry. “You have not quarreled with him upon his arrival, have you?”
“I would have told you. But enough about your brother now, my love,” Gwayne replied gently, pulling you toward the bed and onto his lap before toppling you onto your back. “I have missed your radiant disposition, and now that he is here and all is well, I am intent on enjoying it…”
“Are you saying my mood is linked to my brother’s presence?” you asked, biting your lower lip, as your husband pressed you to the pillows.
“Very much, but I wouldn’t dwell on it. You are twins after all,” he said before pressing a passionate kiss to your lips, cutting off any reply you could have had.
It wasn’t long before you were both rid of your robes and your husband was buried deep inside of you, rocking smoothly in and out of your tight heat, pulling delighted sighs from your parted lips.
Gwayne seemed particularly incensed, focused on dragging the head of his cock against the spot he knew made you unravel. The bed creaked as he picked up speed, and you covered your mouth with the flat of your hand to silence your moans.
“Let me hear you, my love,” he said, taking your wrist in hand and pressing it to the pillow, intertwining your fingers.
“He will hear us,” you gasped, already conscious of the way the bed knocked against the wall with each of his thrusts, the very wall where on the other side, Jace slept.
“Let him hear,” Gwayne replied, then dipped his head to suck one of your nipples into his mouth—he knew how sensitive you were, to the point that he had once brought you to your peak by this mean, without a single touch between your legs.
Shame curled in your core along with your pleasure, and you found yourself caught between your fear of revealing yourself, and the utter temptation of the situation. You knew of your husband’s sense of teasing and flair, but this went beyond what was proper. However your body decided against your reason and apprehension, and soon you were lost to the pull of Gwayne’s mouth and the drag of his cock against your sweet spot.
The more sighs and moans fell from your lips, the harder your husband was thrusting into you, sweat pearling at his temples and pleasure turning his freckles into specks of fire—a jolt of heat went through you as he found his peak once you had reached yours, his groans and whimpers louder than usual.
Such passion left you languid and unwilling to part from your pillow too early the next morning, encouraged by Gwayne, who seemed invigorated. “Stay abed a while if you wish, I shall entertain our guest,” he pressed into your temple along with a kiss.
His vigor carried into the training yard as he invited his good-brother to a sparring match, a way to shake sleep from their frames and get their blood pumping before breaking the fast of the night. Jacaerys agreed, albeit hesitantly, but his competitive nature soon took over.
A grin etched onto his graceful features, Gwayne was taunting him with his training sword just as he had taunted him the night prior, drawing moans and wails from his sister while Jace laid awake, unable to do anything but listen and wait it out.
Shame was still heavy in his stomach as his desire remained unsatisfied—the peak he had drawn from himself at the sounds of your coupling had barely scratched the surface of his longing.
He put his frustrations into fending off Gwayne’s attacks, their swords clashing swiftly, and into his own attacks, which were perhaps too bold and vicious for the training yard. However Gwayne was taller and seemingly amused by Jace’s anger, and his frustrated mood eventually became his own downfall as he grew clumsier, until he found himself defeated.
“Have I done something to anger you, my prince?” Gwayne asked amusedly as he held the point of his sword to Jace’s chest, who was lying into the dirt, resting on his elbows.
“Not at all, ser,” he replied, falsely cheerful.
Footsteps echoed in the small staircase leading down to the training yard, and your joyful tone resonated when you leaned over the railing, smiling at the sight of your brother refusing to take your husband’s outstretched hand. “There you are,” you called. “Breakfast is being served in the solar.”
The meal was a tense affair, and neither your husband nor your twin seemed inclined to speak. Instead they seemed caught in some sort of silent confrontation, Gwayne looking rather amused and conniving while Jace only appeared more upset with each passing minute.
Hot tea was served, along with sweet cakes, and you focused on pouring the hot beverage through the small sieve instead of the two men’s silent sparring.
“I have an offer,” Gwayne suddenly announced after a sip of tea, startling both you and your twin. You watched as your husband licked his lower lip, then his gaze raised to Jacaerys, piercing and clear. “Join us,” he simply said.
“Join us where?” you asked, a confused smile pulling at your lips as nervousness grasped your heart slightly.
“He knows what I mean,” he replied rather solemnly, his eyes fixed on your twin who rose abruptly, pushing from the table. Jacaerys was white as snow, looking both rattled and furious, and your smile vanished from your face.
“This jest has lasted long enough, you might have amused yourself but I cannot—” he started, and Gwayne interrupted him gently.
“Do ease, my prince. I mean no offense,” he said, and it seemed to rather spook Jace even more, who swallowed unshed tears.
“I don’t understand,” you pressed.
“I am aware of the bond you two share. I witnessed your—” Gwayne said, then licked his lips, gesturing with his hands as though he was picturing the scene again. “Your parting kiss, the last time your dear brother visited.”
Your heart sank at this revelation, your breath vanishing from your chest; your mouth dropped open to catch it, but instead you choked on it, your hand reaching for Jace’s arm. You could not look at your husband, for shame consumed you, and you feared to see revulsion on his handsome features.
“I should not have toyed with you to this extent, my prince, it did not mean for it to seem so cruel. Please forgive me,” he said, and you could hear no lie in his voice—your gaze rose to him and through your tears, you tried to decipher his intentions.
Jace shook his head, looking down in shame. “You had every right. She is your wife.”
“And she is your twin,” Gwayne said with conviction, as though it explained everything. “I understand it pains you to be parted, and I am not completely unfamiliar with Targaryen customs.”
“Husband, what are you saying?” you said with waveringwords, wiping your tears on your sleeves. Across from the table, Gwayne was looking at you tenderly, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“I have always prided myself on being a generous lover. I would not stand between the two of you, be the reason why your love remains… unfulfilled,” he explained, then a small smile appeared on his face, kind and benevolent. “Although I can only guess it was fulfilled, in the past.”
“Before we were wed, never after,” you rushed to reassure him, but he did not seem to give your words much thought.
Instead he turned his piercing gaze to Jacaerys once more, who appeared to be frozen in his spot. “You are quite pleasant to look at, if you would allow me to say so, my prince,” he started. “And you might blame my vanity and frivolity, but I take immense pleasure in collecting handsome things.”
“Are you suggesting Jace joins us, in our bed?” you asked hesitantly, your grip on your twin’s arm tightening.
“Yes, that is one option,” Gwayne replied, bringing his teacup to his mouth once more. “If you would prefer me not to be present, I’m sure I can find duties to attend to.”
“You would give us leave to…” Jacaerys said, sitting back down tentatively, his wrists turning in your grasp until your fingers intertwined.
“To live your love as you wished,” Gwayne continued, his eyes briefly glancing at your joined hands atop the table. “You have a permanent residence here if you so wish it, and are welcome to my wife’s bed as much as you desire.”
The pair of you watched him, slightly amazed at the proposal, and you almost wanted to laugh at the surreal situation your husband had pushed you into. “Although we might need a second room… A man needs a bed to sleep in, if his is occupied,” he added with a touch of humor, hiding his smile in his cup, and you bolted from your seat to round the table, coming to his side.
To his surprise, you dropped to your knees, grabbing his free hand and pressing it to your lips. “Husband, I thank you, and I am in your debt,” you vowed.
“You are not, my love,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Anything to keep you happy.”
The darkest hour of the night later found you and Jacaerys huddled under soft, silky sheets, defiling your marital bed, with your own spouse’s enthusiastic permission.
That fact alone was a thrill you had never expected, and the utter joy of being reunited with your twin had only added to it. Jacaerys had taken you a first time with unconcealed longing and relief—you could hardly believe you were one with him again.
The languid kisses of your afterglow had slowly turned passionate again, and he was teasing his length along the cleft of your cunt when a quiet knock startled you. You both untangled yourselves and sat up, pulling the sheets at your waist—it’s Gwayne, you whispered to Jace, who relaxed slightly.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” your husband said in a quiet voice, as though he was entering a sanctuary.
“Not at all,” you replied, sitting up against the pillows, your flushed chest bared to both men’s gaze—it was unfamiliar to be so exposed, but you felt safe while in their company, even though you were still amazed at the ease of your husband in this situation.
“I simply came to fetch—” he said, reaching for the dresser, but your twin interrupted him.
“You might stay,” Jacaerys offered tentatively.
“The bed is large enough for three to sleep, I suppose,” Gwayne said, sitting at the foot of it. The room smelled of sweat and musk, and the scent got stronger at its source, where it was permeating the sheets. His loins stirred as he leaned against the bedpost, considering the two of you.
“If sleep is what you wish to do then we would not keep you awake, but that was not what I had in mind,” Jacaerys said with the hint of a mischievous smile.
“A most enticing offer,” Gwayne remarked as he stood up and rounded the bed, pulling the armchair he kept near his bookshelf closer. “By all means then, carry on, if you do not mind a spectator for now,” he said as he sat, crossing his legs at the ankles, resting them on the edge of the mattress. “I did interrupt you, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” you said, biting your lower lip as a genuinely happy smile pulled at your lips.
“Would you show me what I interrupted?” he asked then, his tone darker.
Jacaerys and you shared a smile, then a deep, slow kiss before he settled atop you again and pushed into you in one, smooth stroke. The slight stretch was comfortable and you allowed yourself to sigh aloud, sinking back into the sheets as your twin thrusted into you.
“By the Gods you are a marvelous sight,” Gwayne murmured—the long lines of Jacaerys’ legs and back were cradled between your creamy thighs, your knees hooked at his hips, your ankles curled together. Your twin’s dark curls fell into his eyes as he thrusted into you, and you were quick to push them behind his ears, holding his head like a lifeline.
With his eyes Gwayne followed the path of your hands, from the luscious mane to the back of your twin’s neck, then down the wave of his spine, pressing down his lower back, guiding his thrusts. He uncrossed his legs, unable to help his own hands wandering, up his thighs and in the crook of his hips were his cock was filling. He pressed his palm down on it, parting his lips on a breathless sigh and your gaze turned to him.
“Husband,” you called in a whine as Jace sucked a kiss into your neck—the sight of your spouse watching your own twin take you while he teased himself was proving to be your undoing, and you could hardly remain coherent, let alone alert.
You closed your eyes, surrendering to Jace’s mouth and hips, and to Gwayne’s gaze and words. “The pair of you are the most beautiful, most arousing sight I have ever laid eyes on,” he praised, and Jace’s back erupted in shiver under your hands. Your fingers tightened at his hips, your cunt clenching around him as you whimpered.
“Harder,” Gwayne suddenly ordered, pulling a grunt out of Jace as he sped up, and you couldn’t help the way you fluttered around him, as he obeyed the orders of your husband. One of your hands flew out, grabbing and pulling the sheets in frustration when you could not reach him.
“My sister wants you to join us,” Jacaerys gasped, his eyes throwing a dark look over his shoulder, and Gwayne felt a thrill at this glimpse of the prince’s fire.
The way he had referred to you didn’t go unnoticed but instead of making possessiveness erupt in him, it sent another shiver down Gwayne's spine—to see his precious jewel in the arms of another man was heady and addictive, and he knew he would be forever changed by it.
“What does my prince want?” he replied, almost a croon.
He did not wait for an answer, instead he unfolded his long frame and pushed from his seat, working the laces of his shirt and trousers easily—they came off in soft sounds drowned by the subtle creaking of the bed and your sighs of pleasure. You whined again as your husband stood in all his glory, his long fingers cradling the length of his cock loosely, working his hand from the nest of red curls at its base to the weeping tip.
Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Jacaerys slowed his pace, unwilling to see it end too soon. Restraining himself was agony, especially under the watchful eyes and praiseful words of your husband, but as he followed your gaze, a thrill went through him.
He had never been one to find charm in a man, but he had to admit the Hightower lord was a lovely sight to behold, and he could not fault you for falling for him. His pale skin was flushed pink at his cheeks and chest, his red hair falling into his eyes, his slim frame quivering slightly as he stroked his cock slowly.
“Your prince wants you to take your place at your princess' side,” he instructed gently, and grateful tears came to your eyes. Gwayne smiled and complied, letting go of his cock as he came to sit on the side of the bed where you could finally reach him.
Your nails scratched his arm in an effort to pull him to you, and soon he was stretching his long frame alongside yours. You clenched around Jace’s cock as Gwayne slanted his mouth over yours, kissing you with expert passion.
“Watch as I make her come undone,” Jace whispered, incensed by the way your body was growing taut under his, a sign of the mounting pressure in your core. “What a marvelous sight indeed,” he added with unconcealed awe, witnessing the obvious love between you and your husband.
He dipped his head slowly, allowing either of you to push him away, and as neither of you did, pressed his lips to the corner of yours, where they were still locked with Gwayne’s.
The older man made a pleased sound, then broke the kiss only to press his lips to the side of Jace’s jaw, chaste and tender. “How does it feel to be inside of her again?” he asked, both serious and teasing, and the sight of both your lovers hovering over you was proving to be your undoing.
“I am on my knees with gratitude,” he answered impertinently, and Gwayne chuckled.
“Gods have mercy, please,” you whined, rocking your hips desperately, grinding your core against your twin’s abdomen—his pace was torturously slow, only just enough to make you dance on the edge.
“She does beg prettily, doesn’t she?” Gwayne asked—he was the most brazen of the two, but you could tell a fire laid dormant behind Jace’s eyes. Your embraces had always been forbidden, hurried, but now that you were free to explore your love and enjoy each other’s skin, you were curious to find out what sort of passion lurked in his bones.
Gwayne’s hand curled around his own cock again, his mouth dropping open on languid sighs. Your eyes flitted between his face and that of your twin, unable to decide, until you finally closed your eyes to the onslaught of pleasure as Jace picked up his pace. You could tell from his soft grunts and the subtle shaking of his thighs that he was reaching the limit of his patience.
Gwayne bit his lip, heat flashing through him and making his cock throb in his hand as you arched your back, sweet moans falling from your mouth. He saw the moment your twin brought you to your peak, your moans turning to silent screams, your thighs quivering around his hips—Jace was groaning through his teeth, and it was with a sob that he pulled out as soon as you settled again, spending across your belly in violent ropes of white.
“Gwayne,” you whimpered, looking down between his legs as the last quivers of pleasure shook you.
You looked aside at your twin in slight hesitation, but he smiled and stretched his slim frame along your side. You leaned into him as he curled a hand under your thigh, inviting your husband to take the place he had been enjoying mere seconds ago.
“I would not overwhelm you,” Gwayne whispered as he kneeled between your parted knees.
Jacaerys watched, a scalding blush erupting all across his face. You smiled at him, bright and victorious, as Gwayne found his pleasure in the cradle of your hips, burying his moans in your neck. You were wet and pliant under him, languid from your recent peak, and you welcomed Jace’s gentle kiss as Gwayne rocked into you.
“Skorkydoso gevie se lanta hen iksā hēnkirī. Zȳhon perzys iksis isse zȳhon ōghar, issa iā sȳz iderennon syt ao. How beautiful the two of you are together. His fire is in his hair, he suits you,” Jacaerys said, tender and solemn.
“Perzo vūjita. Kissed by fire,” you crooned, your fingers tangling in Gwayne fiery strands, pulling them gently as he stilled in your arms. He had not an inkling of what your twin had said to you, and what you had replied, only that the High Valyrian had rolled off him like a lover’s caress.
He groaned as he spilled inside of you, aware of the dragon prince’s envious gaze on him, and the mere idea of allowing him the same pleasure next time was a thrill. He longed to watch the two of you again, to praise and guide you, and to see your reaction as he encouraged your twin to spill inside—that particular taste of the forbidden was one he would not deny himself, or Jacaerys.
He knew it would be glorious to watch, as would many other kisses and caresses. His mind was reeling, filled with them and he was eager to share them with the two of you. “May this night be the first of many,” he sighed as he laid at your side, a bone-deep satisfaction spreading along his limbs.
Mindless of the mess on your skin, you curled at his side, resting your head on his shoulder as Jacaerys molded along your back, hooking his own chin over your shoulder. Gwayne’s arm laid trapped under you, his fingers reaching along the side of your twin’s neck and upper back. The young prince shivered, pressing his hips into you as Gwayne teased the curls at his nape tentatively.
“How many nights of this will there be?” Jace asked, and you smiled at his need for reassurance.
“It is as I said. I would not keep the pair of you apart,” Gwayne said, his eyes fluttering close as you nuzzled into him. The combined smell of his sweat and that of Jace was slowly lulling you into a state of near slumber, your limbs growing heavy, pressed between their bodies.
Jacaerys pushed himself on his elbow, his head resting atop yours, close enough for Gwayne to feel his breath when he spoke. “Surely rumor will stain us,” he whispered regretfully.
Gwayne said nothing, instead glancing at a tapestry in the corner of the room where he knew a hidden door laid, used by the previous generation to connect the two rooms that used to be nurseries. “I will protect you,” he replied, and you made a small sound of approval. He kissed your forehead at that, his face pressing closer to Jace’s for a moment.
“Many men in this realm find their pleasure in the arms of whores or mistresses. Many ladies find similar contentment with lovers,” Gwayne explained, reaching up with his free hand to tuck a stray curl behind Jace’s ear—the young man stayed still, not leaning into him, but not rejecting the touch either. “It is the way of the world, but this is different…”
“We came into this world together, we belong together,” Jacaerys said, his hand curling possessively at your hip, his tone sealing the finality of this arrangement.
Gwayne only smiled, a gentle laugh building in his throat—he would gladly keep the two of you here, wrapped in lace and silk until the end of times, simply for the thrill of seeing twin flames dance together, and the selfish desire to know the intimate ways of dragons.
Dividers by @/saradika
Author's Note: Thank you to all the anons who gave me the idea for this fic, and even for some of the scenes. Thank you for all the asks, the unhinged thoughts, the wholesome ones... This fic is yours ♡
Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for reading the smut over and making sure it make sense.
Tags ✢ post-Dance, grief/mourning, arranged marriage/political marriage, enemies to lovers, falling in love, eventual romance, eventual smut, angst with a happy ending
Wordcount ✢ 3,515
Summary ✢ Jacaerys is crowned king as his mother perishes from her wounds shortly after retaking the Iron Throne. He makes a match with you, the last daughter of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower, to secure peace and rebuild the Targaryen dynasty.
Jacaerys Masterlist
Chapter One ✢ King of the Ashes
The Great Hall had once been a symbol of power, of the supremacy of the House of the Dragon, however now it felt as though it carried the weight of a dynasty in ruins.
On the day after the morrow they would burn two enemies side by side, returning them to the ashes in which dragons made their nests, as was appropriate for two children of House Targaryen—Rhaenyra and Aegon would rest underground in the Sept, a symbol of what war could bring.
While the prospect of his mother sleeping her eternal sleep under the same floor as her treacherous brother enraged Jacaerys, he knew it was a show of honor the like was expected of a true, wise king.
Never in his ten and nine years of life had Jacaerys thought much about the sort of king he would make. After all, he had thought the crown was decades away, a lifetime, when his own children would have been grown and his mother would have been trembling and frail, passing into the mercy of the Gods.
Instead the Stranger had taken her in her prime, through dragon fire that had burned her flesh and rotted her core until she had eventually succumbed to it. Or perhaps it was the grief of losing another son, that in the end had been too much to bear. Many in the Red Keep suspected that the loss of Queen Helaena and their youngest son had been what had driven Aegon to madness, until his own men had taken pity.
Only the Gods knew the truth of it, now all there was for Jacaerys to understand was that the two rulers, legitimate and usurping, who had sat the throne after Viserys were now dead, and the crown had landed on his head.
Under the looming presence of the Iron Throne, Jacaerys paced the marble floors, attempting to make sense of the utter devastation around him. The high ceilings now felt suffocating, as though the very sky was crumbling over his head.
“I should not be there,” he said outloud, almost to himself, or perhaps to the Gods, but his faithful friend Cregan Stark still answered his call of anguish.
Wrists resting atop the pommel of Ice, which he carried at his waist these days, the young lord was watching over him as Kingsguard would, with the sort of silent presence that reminded Jacaerys that he was not alone in carrying his grief.
“This is your rightful place, my prince,” he reminded him with the steadfastness he had come to expect from the northerner.
“No it is not. It shouldn’t be, not by decades at least,” he resisted, and Cregan knew him to be right.
Upon answering the call of the Dragon Queen, never would he have imagined that he would see a great dynasty fall to its knees in such a short time. Dragon riders had risen and fallen as quickly as the tide and as unpredictably, and he feared that it was only through sheer fate that one legitimate heir remained.
While it was not in his character to contemplate potential ruin, he knew the face of the crown could have been a child not even a decade old, would Jacaerys have drowned along with his dragon at the Gullet.
“Why have the Gods allowed it? Why allow my mother to die but me to survive?” Jacaerys lamented, the healed wound in his shoulder throbbing then, a pulsing burn from an arrow that had scarcely missed his heart—in that instant he almost wished it had not, and had allowed him to rest at the bottom of the sea with Vermax, instead of standing to inherit ruins.
“It is not for us to know,” Cregan replied, knowing it was no comfort. Then he cleared his throat, meaning to lead the young king to where he was expected. “They are waiting for you.”
Jacaerys turned to him then, his eyes rimmed with red and his face gaunter than a man of his age should be, the face of a man who had seen the Stranger many a time. “I cannot rule.”
Cregan stepped forward and put a heavy hand on his shoulder—still, the touch felt like the comfort of a brother, the sort Jacaerys sorely missed, and he leaned into it for support. “Then allow me to counsel you. We have been friends, haven’t we?”
Jacaerys nodded, swallowing heavily—the battlefield forged strong friendships, bonds of brotherhood the like he would have never imagined beforehand. “We have,” he confirmed. “There is no one else I trust.”
“Then believe me when I say, you will be a fine king,” Cregan replied, and it planted the seed of an idea in him, that perhaps not all of it was a curse—perhaps this was the call of destiny, no matter how painful, and he only had to answer it. “One I will gladly bend the knee to.”
The Red Keep had been your birth place, and now you were certain it would be your resting place. It had now been a fortnight since Rhaenyra had taken the Iron Throne once more, returning to King’s Landing with an army several thousands strong, made of Rivermen and Northerners, only to find that the revenge she sought had already been taken from her. Aegon laid cold in his bed, and she followed mere days later.
You had been confined to Maegor's Holdfast, kept under close watch in your rooms most days, as though you were more than you were, more than a woman and instead a danger to the unlikely king now wearing the crown. You had never had to think of yourself as a political pawn until your brother Aegon, having taken the throne once more, had summoned you to the capital. You had obeyed your king, but in the span of a few weeks, he had perished and left you and your mother to face the consequences of his actions.
You loathed him as much as you loathed Rhaenyra and her brood. It was a cruel turn of fate, almost a cruel sort of poetry, that both pretenders to the throne had perished in the pursuit of it, leaving their heirs to scrub their blood from the stone floors and rebuild the dynasty they had destroyed, or pay the price of their pride in their own blood.
All those that had betrayed Rhaenyra’s faction were now facing justice, and you feared you were only waiting for the executioner’s blade. You wondered whether your nephew’s own sword would do it, or if he would entrust the task to his most loyal man, Cregan Stark. Perhaps they would show mercy and send you into exile, to become a Silent Sister.
Death or eternal silence,you knew what you would rather endure.
Thus you waited for the Stranger in the room that had seen your childhood and little else, as you had been sent to Oldtown for your education once the first spring of your womanhood had bloomed. The Faith of the Seven now rooted you and guided you, and you clung to prayers as not to fall into madness.
On the third night of his reign, it was not the hand nor the blade of justice that came to you, but Jacaerys himself, and you wondered whether the following morrow would be the last dawn you would see.
You stood abruptly as he entered, glancing towards the guard at the door with dread. “Rest easy, you have nothing to fear from me,” Jacaerys assured you. He was dressed in regal clothing made of black, the velvet layer on the inside of his cape a deep red. His hair fell to his shoulders in dark curls, nearly black in the low light of the candles.
“Don’t I?” you asked, openly weary and hostile. “Where are my niece, and my mother?”
“Confined to their own rooms,” the young man replied with what seemed to you as regret.
You noticed that he was not wearing the crown, but his head was bowed as though it was weighing on his neck, a constant presence. “Might I see them?” you inquired, but it sounded more like an order you were giving him.
“Your niece, yes,” Jacaerys conceded.
“She’s a motherless child. Surely you would not have her be confined alone,” you insisted, and it seemed to convince him.
“You will be escorted to see her,” he offered, but it did little to appease you.
You approached him in careful steps until he could see the unshed tears glimmer in your eyes, your brow furrowed in concealed anger. You were trembling, ever so slightly, and when he searched your face for any familiar flicker, he found none—you were his blood, and yet nothing tied the two of you together but hatred.
“What will happen to us, now?” you inquired, gauging him. Standing face to face, you were reminded then of the years of your childhood, and you wondered whether the boy you had known then was still within reach, or if he had perished alongside his kin, replaced by a man you did not know.
“Nothing, for the time being. You are to be confined until trials have been run,” he explained.
Hope burst in your chest then, a starving dragon freed from its chains taking to the skies, ready to burn the lands around it. “And after that?”
Jacaerys looked pained then, a frown between his brows. “I do not know,” was all he answered, and he looked like a child, frightened by his own crown and unable to yield the power he possessed, and you hated him for it.
“Why have you come, then, if you do not know of my fate?” you accused, your burning tears pearling at the corners of your eyes, your simmering rage like a silent sob caught in your chest, and he did not have any more answers for you.
Once Jacaerys had left, leaving more doubts and fears behind, you realized you had only addressed him in questions. There was a rage inside of you, and a primal fear that was no doubt similar to that of a beast caught in a trap, forced to eat through its own leg to free itself.
You only had blunt teeth, but you still hoped you could sharpen them in due time.
Over the last pair of years, Jacaerys had sat at many a council of war, at the Painted Table in Dragonstone, but always as a councilor himself, advising his mother—it was only now that he realized how comfortable such a position was, making the decisions without having to enforce them, or without having to consider their consequences.
Now he was the one standing at the head of the table, leading men that sat in front of their marble ball as though they had paid a price for it and ought to claim them with pride, when in truth they had been named because they were alive and breathing.
Corlys Velaryon was still abed from his wounds, but the men who had advised his mother during her last days were now serving him, waiting for him to name his council as he wished. All of them were taking their orders from a king young enough to be their son or grandson, one or two failing to conceal their contempt for that fact, and Jace wondered if such was the fate of all the kings that had preceded him.
However what Jace lacked in years lived, he made up for in the devastation he had seen. In many ways grief was his experience, more so than strategy and governance, and he supposed it forged a man just as well.
Before the war he had never realized what came with being king—the grief, knowing the crown had only been passed on because the previous monarch had perished. It was all the more burdensome knowing his mother had barely reigned, and never over peace.
Since Cregan’s declaration of devotion, he had had the time to contemplate the sort of king he would want to be, the sort of legacy he would want to leave behind, whether his reign would be long or short. What mattered to him most was not to assert his authority or to be admired—he needed to rebuild and to leave the crown strong for his heirs. His reign would not be for himself, but for those who come after.
With such a conclusion he sat before his council that morning, Cregan at his right where the Hand would usually be.
Roland Westerling, an older man with a calm disposition, handed a roll of parchment to Jacaerys, the seal of which had already been broken, a golden stag. “Lady Elenda Baratheon has accepted your terms of peace,” he informed the council as soon as they were all seated.
“Nearly half of the great houses in the land are now ruled by babes and their mothers as regents,” Unwin Peake commented, as though this simple fact held an inherent flaw.
“I will gladly deal with these women. They might make wiser rulers than their husbands, who took to arm against my mother,” he said, unrolling the parchment and reading it over quickly before passing it along to Cregan. “Lord Roland, your daughter Joanna now rules House Lannister, does she not?”
“Indeed,” Roland answered with a slight smile of pride. “Loreon is a boy of barely five.”
Once great, powerful houses with proud men at their helm, the Lannisters and the Baratheons were now led by women, mothers of their heirs who would now lead the very men that had marched to war refusing to bow to a queen, and Jacaerys would laugh at their fate if he could summon the mirth.
“There is still unrest in the Reach, I’m afraid,” Thaddeus Rowan said. “Those who remain loyal to the Greens are loath to settle, however the Hightowers are now ruled by a boy of seven and ten. He might easily be reasoned with.”
“Summon him to King’s Landing. I will receive him,” Jacaerys decided, to which Roland took note.
“He has made a rather unusual request to the High Septon,” Thaddeus continued with an appalled expression on his face. “He has asked for permission to wed his own father’s second wife, Lady Samantha Tarly.”
Jacaerys frowned—while there was no blood between a boy and his step-mother, it was still highly unusual and perhaps distasteful, especially since Oldtown was the cradle of the Faith. “How do you know of this, my lord?”
“Lady Sam is my niece, by my sister,” Thaddeus supplied.
Without a word, Cregan gave Jacaerys a slow tilt of his head. “The Tarlys supported my mother, as did your house, did they not?” Jacaerys asked Lord Roland. “Did Lady Sam’s loyalties lie with my mother?”
Thaddeus observed Jacaerys for a moment. “Indeed.”
“Write to the High Septon in my name,” Jacaerys then decided. “Have him grant the marriage.”
As soon had he given the order, barely breathing after his words, that Unwin Peake cleared his throat. “While we are speaking of marriage, your grace, there is a matter we must discuss,” the man said, sharing a look with the other lords that spoke of a preceding agreement. “I loathe to be the one to say it, but a young king shall need a queen and heirs.”
“My brothers are my heirs,” Jacaerys protested.
“The future of the realm partly rests on you securing a long-lasting peace,” Roland said. “While we have come to understand that an informal betrothal was made in childhood between yourself and Lady Baela Velaryon, she might not be the wisest match.”
Baela and himself had been children together, and while the expectation had been for them to marry, he cherished her friendship and had rarely considered the prospect. “A marriage is an alliance, a political calculation,” he continued.
Cregan crossed his hands atop the table and leaned forward. “What do you suggest?” he asked, but Jace could tell he already knew what point they were about to make, and he braced himself.
“The breach between the two branches of House Targaryen may be mended,” Thaddeus offered carefully. “Were his grace to wed the remaining child of King Viserys and Alicent Hightower.”
Horror rose from the pit of his stomach, settled only when he caught eyes with Cregan, whose gaze was calm and direct—without a word needed between them, the northerner gave him a slow nod, and with that, his fate was sealed.
Evening was falling, a heavy veil over the Red Keep, made of darkness and cold wind. Winter was settling and the days were darker and shorter, plunging the castle in a grim atmosphere that lasted from the end of the afternoon to the late morrow.
Supper was still an hour away when you were summoned to the king’s quarters. The room was brightly lit with candles and a fire, perhaps even more than was comfortable, as though Jacaerys was attempting to keep the darkness at bay. You stood near the threshold while he remained further into the room, arms clasped behind his back like a soldier at attention.
“I have asked you here to present to you a proposal I hope you will agree to,” he announced, the words sounding rehearsed, empty of all sincerity. “The realm is shattered and House Targaryen is in ruins, but together we might unite it.”
As soon as the words had left his mouth, you knew you had come to hear. “Will you wed me, and put an end to this bloodshed once and for all?”
Your answer came like the crack of a whip. “I may not.”
“I understand that this is not what you would have wanted, however—” Jacaerys prepared his arguments, but you did not let him speak.
With a raised hand, you silenced him. “You misunderstand me. This has nothing to do with what I want, but what I can do,” you explained, your face contorting in anguish.
“I don’t understand,” he said, cutting you off as though he suspected what was coming and desperately wanted to keep it at bay, but he could not have known, you thought.
Rage rose in your throat, acrid and burning, but you swallowed it down. You wanted to curse your brother out for putting you in such a vulnerable position, but damning the dead would do you no good, and you did not wish to betray your king’s memory in front of the man who had replaced him.
“A few days before Aegon died, he took me to wife in a secret ceremony,” you admitted, tears clouding your eyes, and Jace’s heart ached in sudden pity. “Ask the Septon and he shall confirm.”
“Aegon is dead, a widow is permitted to remarry,” he countered, and he could tell from your face how impatient you were becoming with him.
“I have not bled since,” you clarified. It had been two moons now, but the Maester could not say with certainty until the quickening, and your morrows remained without any sickness, yet you doubted, dreading the child that might be inside of you.
Jacaerys blamed his naiveness. “Are you implying—”
You looked upon him severely. “I may be carrying Aegon’s child, yes,” you said, and this simple but devastating truth rang loud in the room—it could be your salvation, as much as your downfall.
“This changes everything,” Jacaerys whispered, and upon noticing the subtle way you were trembling, once more inhabited by fear in his presence, quickly made his promise. “No harm will come to you, you have my word. I shall keep your secret until you are certain either way.”
You knew you should have been grateful, but you hated the mere thought of owing him any sort of gratitude. It was just as well that he ignored your tears, much as he had done the day prior, as though he sought you out not to converse with you, but to shout into a void that echoed back to him.
Jacaerys waved you away, crumbling once the doors shut and he was alone once more. He might have been young and uncertain of himself, but he knew what would happen if you were to birth a son.
Aegon’s supporters were still many, and his reign was still too fragile. Power often turned loyal men into self-serving traitors ; he could still easily be toppled, be murdered in this very room as Aegon had, and a babe placed upon the throne in his stead.
Unable to bear the storm inside of him he took hold of the crown resting atop the mantle of the hearth and threw it at the wall, wailing until his voice broke.
Grief held him by the throat, an invisible hand that felt like that of the Stranger choking his breath from his very neck. The wounds on his shoulders ached and throbbed anew, as fresh in his mind as the day they had been inflicted.
“What should I do, mother?” he pleaded to the night. “What would you have me do?”
Alone and broken, the young king wept.
Author's Note ✢ Dividers by @zaldritzosrose. Feedback is always appreciated. Ask in the comments if you want to be tagged in the next chapters. Chapter two will be posted next Saturday, July 11th.
you woke up as he kissed you, soft at first, almost sweet. but his hand was already sliding down your body, his rough fingers slipping between your thighs before you were fully awake. you made a sleepy sound, trying to cuddle into him, and that's when you felt it, the cold press of silicone against your clit.
"rafe?" your voice came out confused.
"shhh baby," he murmured against your neck, clicking the vibrator on low. "just let me."
you moaned before you could help it, your body responding to the sudden pleasure. he pushed inside you slow, filling you up while the toy buzzed against your sensitive and swollen clit. it felt good, too good, and you were already clenching around him. "fuck, rafe, that's—"
"i know, honey." he cut you off with a kiss, starting to move inside you. "that's the point." the pleasure built fast. too fast. your hands gripped his shoulders as your back arched, and you came with a broken cry, your walls fluttering around his cock. but he didn't stop. he kept fucking you, kept the vibrator pressed right where you needed it least.
"wait, wait—" you gasped, trying to push his hand away. "it's too much, rafey."
"no it's not." he pinned your wrist above your head, his pace never slowing. "you can take it."
your second orgasm crashed built inside you before the first had fully faded. tears slipped down your cheeks as you shook beneath him, a loud moan came out of you. he watched you fall apart, his eyes dark and hungry, and he didn't let up. "r-rafe, seriously please, i can't—"
"you're gonna." he pressed harder with the vibrator, fucking you deeper. "you're gonna keep coming for me until i say stop."
your pussy was soaked, making wet squelching sounds with every thrust. you were already overwhelmed, oversensitive, and he was right, he made you come again, a third time, your body jerking through it as a sob broke from your lips.
"good girl." but he didn't even slow down. his hips kept slapping against yours, the vibrator never leaving your clit. you were shaking so hard you could barely breathe, every nerve inside of you on fire.
"please, rafe, please stop, i can't, i can't do another one" you begged, your voice cracking. tears were streaming down your face now, and you tried to move away, but his weight pinned you down. "yes, yes you can, baby." his voice was low, almost gentle, but his eyes were cold. "you're doing so good for me. just one more. give me one more."
"no, no, please" you sobbed, but your body betrayed you. the fourth orgasm ripped through you again, violent and uncontrollable. you screamed into his shoulder, your nails digging into his back as you shook around his cock. "that's it." he groaned, fucking you through it. "that's my girl."
you were a total mess. soaked, shaking, crying. every muscle in your body was tense, and the vibrator felt like fire against your clit. but he still didn't stop. he turned the toy up a notch. "rafe, no! i swear i can't—" you barely choked out, trying to clamp your thighs shut. he forced them open with his knees.
"you can and you will." he thrust harder, faster. "you're gonna come on my cock until i'm satisfied." the fifth one came without any warning, a sharp and painful surge of pleasure that made your vision go white. you couldn't even scream anymore, just a broken whimper as your body tensed up, pussy clenching so tight it almost hurt him. rafe groaned, pace finally faltering.
"fuckkk, there you go." he pressed down on the vibrator, grinding it against you as he came inside you, hot and thick. you felt every pulse of his release, your oversensitive cunt milking him dry.
when he finally pulled out and turned off the toy, you were limp, gasping, tears still wet on your cheeks. he kissed your forehead, soft and possessive. he smiled down at you, a perfect mess, all wrecked just for him. "see, baby? you can take it."
Best part of the All Souls series is that Diana thinks she's a totally normal person but with an outsider's perspective it's easy to see that she and Matthew are clearly Freak4Freak
One shot | Established Relationship | Angst | Masterlist | WC: 1k
a/n: A little angst while I finish up a request I got on Klaus x art student
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
The bedroom was silent except for the soft tap of rain against the windows. Klaus stood by the balcony doors, staring out at the storm-darkened courtyard below, tumbler of bourbon untouched in his hand. Behind him, Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The distance between them, barely spanning ten feet of physical space, felt insurmountable.
"So that's it?" Her voice was quiet, strained. "You've made your decision."
"It isn't a decision, love." He didn't turn to face her, or rather couldn't. "It's a reality we've been avoiding."
"We haven't been avoiding anything. I've been perfectly clear from the beginning."
"Yes. You have." He took a long swallow of bourbon, welcoming the burn. "And I foolishly believed time would change your mind."
Y/N's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Because my mind is the problem here? Not the fact that you want me to become something I've sworn I never would?"
"I want you to live!" The words burst from him, sharp and raw. He finally turned, the careful mask slipping. "Is that so terrible? That I want a lifetime with you that lasts more than a handful of decades?"
"I want to live too. As a human, as myself." Her voice cracked. "Why isn't that enough for you?"
Klaus set the glass down with deliberate care, fighting for control. "You know why."
"Because you're afraid."
"Yes." He admitted it plainly and brutally. "I am terrified, Y/N. I am terrified of watching you grow old while I remain exactly as I am. I am terrified of watching illness take you, or an accident, or simply the relentless march of time. I am terrified of standing at your grave, knowing I will exist for centuries after with nothing but your memory."
Tears spilled down her cheeks now, but she didn't look away. "And I'm terrified of losing my humanity. Of becoming a creature that craves blood and violence. Of watching everyone I love grow old and die while I stay frozen." She wiped at her face. "I'm terrified of becoming a monster."
The word hung between them, heavy and damning. "Like me." His voice was soft, dangerous. "A monster like me."
"That's not what I said."
"It's what you meant." He crossed to the dresser, movements tightly controlled. "It's what you've always meant, even when you were too kind to say it aloud."
"Klaus—"
"You look at me and see what you're afraid to become. The violence, the bloodlust. The darkness." He yanked open a drawer, pulled out a shirt. "You love me despite what I am, not because of it. And you fear becoming like me more than you fear death itself."
"That's not fair."
"Life rarely is, sweetheart."
He began packing a bag, movements efficient and cold.
"What are you doing?" Alarm replaced some of the hurt in her voice.
"What needs to be done."
"You're leaving? Just like that?" She stood, hands clenched at her sides. "We have one fight and you walk out?"
"This isn't a fight, Y/N." He didn't look up from his packing. "This is an impasse. You will not become a vampire. I cannot watch you die. There is no compromise to be found."
"So you're giving up on us?" That stopped him as he straightened, finally meeting her gaze directly.
"I gave up the moment I fell in love with a woman who would rather die than become what I am."
The words landed deep in her chest. Y/N flinched, taking a step back. "Klaus, please. We can figure this out. We still have time—"
"Time is precisely what we don't have." He zipped the bag closed with finality. "You're twenty-three. In the blink of an eye, you'll be thirty, then forty. I'll watch the lines form around your eyes, see your hair turn gray. And every moment of it will be torture, knowing what's coming."
"So you'd rather just leave now? Cut your losses?" Anger flared through her grief. "That's the great Klaus Mikaelson solution? Run away?"
His jaw tightened. "I'm trying to spare us both decades of pain."
"By inflicting it all at once?" She stepped forward, gripping his arm. "Klaus, listen to yourself. This isn't a solution. This is fear talking."
"Then I am afraid." He pulled away from her touch. "I have lost everyone I have ever loved, Y/N. Everyone. I cannot, will not, stand by and watch it happen again when there is a choice."
"It's my choice. My life."
"And my heart." His voice broke, just slightly. Just enough. "Which apparently counts for nothing."
She recoiled as if he'd struck her. "How dare you. How dare you make this about me not caring enough. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone."
"Just not enough to choose me."
"That's not—"
"It is exactly what this is." He slung the bag over his shoulder. "You've made your choice, love. Now I'm making mine."
He moved toward the door but Y/N stepped into his path, tears streaming freely now.
"Don't do this. Please. We can talk about it. Find another way."
"There is no other way." He reached up, cupping her face one last time, thumb brushing away tears that were immediately replaced. "I would burn the world to ashes for you, but I cannot bear to watch you die. Not when there's an alternative."
"Klaus—"
"Goodbye, love."
He stepped around her, every muscle in his body screaming at him to turn back, to stay, to find some solution that didn't tear his heart from his chest. "Niklaus!" Her voice broke on his full name, desperation clear. "If you walk out that door, don't you dare come back."
He paused in the doorway, shoulders rigid. "I wasn't planning to." And then he was gone, footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving Y/N standing alone in a room that suddenly felt cavernous. She sank to the floor, arms wrapped around herself, and finally let the sobs take her.
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
Thank you sm for reading <3 all likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated :)
One shot | Established Relationship | Smutish | Masterlist | WC: 3.7K
Summary: Studying anatomy is hard…luckily Klaus's extensive knowldege makes for an enticing study method
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
The anatomy textbook lay open on the bed, pages covered in Y/N's frustrated notes. She'd been at this for three hours trying to memorize the placement of organs and the names of bones and even the way everything connected in the human body. Keywords: Trying.
"I give up," she groaned, flopping backward onto the pillows. "The radius and the ulna are the same thing. Bones are stupid. Who needs this many bones?"
Klaus looked up from his easel where he'd been working on a landscape, a smirk playing at his lips. "You do realize you're saying this to someone who's broken most of those bones in other people, love. I could probably draw you a detailed anatomical chart from memory."
Y/N sat up, eyeing him suspiciously. "Are you seriously telling me that your extensive knowledge of torture has made you an anatomy expert?"
"A millennium of creative violence does provide certain educational benefits." He set down his brush, wiping his hands on a rag as he crossed to the bed. "What specifically is giving you trouble?"
She gestured helplessly at the textbook. "All of it? The bones in the arm. Where the liver actually sits. How the ribcage protects things. It's all just...words on a page. I can't visualize it."
Klaus picked up the textbook, scanning the pages. Then he set it aside and reached for her hand. "Then let's make it more interesting, shall we?" His voice dropped lower, taking on that dangerous edge that always made her pulse quicken. "Close your eyes."
"Klaus..."
"Trust me, sweetheart. This is educational."
She closed her eyes, feeling the bed shift as he moved behind her. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, thumb pressing against her pulse point.
"The radial artery," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Right here. Can you feel your heartbeat under my thumb?"
She could. Her heart was doing complicated things that had nothing to do with anatomy and everything to do with his proximity. His fingers traced up her forearm, pressing gently.
"The radius bone runs here, along the thumb side of your forearm. And just beside it..." His other hand traced a parallel line. "The ulna. Two bones working together to let you rotate your wrist. Like this."
He demonstrated by turning her hand palm-up, then palm-down. “Now you'll remember," he said, voice thick with amusement. "Because you'll think of this every time you look at that textbook."
"That's cheating," Y/N breathed.
"It’s effective teaching." His hands slid higher, fingers trailing along the inside of her elbow. "The brachial artery branches here. Major blood vessel. Very dangerous to sever. I've seen men bleed out in minutes from a wound right here."
"You're supposed to be helping me study, not giving me nightmares."
"I'm doing both." She could hear the grin in his voice. "Where's the humerus, love?"
"Upper arm bone. Runs from shoulder to elbow."
"Good girl." His hands moved to her shoulders, thumbs pressing into the joint. "And here's where it connects to the scapula. Feel that? The way it rotates in the socket?"
He guided her arm through a slow circle, and she was acutely aware that this was the least educational anatomy lesson in the history of education.
"Now," Klaus said, his hands settling on her ribcage, "tell me what organs the ribs protect."
"Heart and lungs," she managed, though thinking was becoming increasingly difficult with his palms warm against her sides.
"And where exactly is your heart, sweetheart?" His hand slid to rest over her left breast, palm flat against where her heart was hammering. "Right here. Between the fourth and fifth ribs, slightly left of center. I can feel it racing."
"That's because you're being distracting."
"Am I now?" His thumb traced the curve of her bottom rib. "The liver sits here, on your right side, just beneath the ribcage. Largest internal organ. Extremely vascular, which means—"
"It bleeds a lot if damaged. I know. I read that part."
"But now you'll remember it." His hands spanned her waist. "Because you'll remember this."
Y/N opened her eyes and turned her head to find him watching her with that intense focus that still made her stomach flip even after three years.
"This is the worst study method ever," she said.
"Is it working?"
She grabbed the textbook, flipping to a diagram of the skeletal system. "Radius is thumb-side forearm bone. Ulna is pinky-side. Humerus is upper arm. Scapula is shoulder blade. Heart between fourth and fifth ribs, left of center. Liver right side, beneath ribs."
Klaus's grin was absolutely wicked. "See? Effective. You're going to ace this exam." He pulled her into his lap, textbook and all. "Now, shall we discuss the skeletal structure of the hand? I have very strong opinions about metacarpals."
"Of course you do."
But she didn't pull away. And when he started explaining the twenty-seven bones in the human hand while tracing each one on her palm, she actually retained the information. Even if he was using a thousand years of creative violence to help her pass anatomy.
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
Klaus was sprawled across his bed the following evening, reading a first edition of Byron's poetry. One he'd acquired directly from the source back in 1816. That’s when Y/N burst through the door with her anatomy textbook and a determined expression.
"Take your shirt off."
He lowered the book slowly, one eyebrow arching in amusement as a slow smirk spread across his face. "Well, love, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but generally there's a bit more preamble. Perhaps some—"
"I need to study muscles," she interrupted, already pulling sticky notes and markers from her bag. "You have muscles. Take your shirt off."
The smirk faltered slightly. "You want me to...what, exactly?"
"Be my anatomical model." She was flipping through the textbook, completely focused. "Yesterday you helped with bones and organs. Today I need to map muscle groups. The trapezius, deltoids, pectoralis major, all of it. So. Shirt. Off."
Klaus set the book aside, genuinely caught off guard for possibly the first time in decades.
"You're serious."
"Dead serious. I have an exam in three days and I still can't tell the difference between the flexor carpi radialis and the flexor carpi ulnaris."
"Those are in the forearm, love."
"I KNOW." She looked up at him with those eyes that had been wrecking his composure for three years. "Which is why I need a three-dimensional reference. Please?"
He couldn't quite suppress his grin as he sat up and pulled his henley over his head in one smooth motion. "You know, most people would just use diagrams."
"Most people don't have a thousand-year-old vampire boyfriend with perfect muscle definition." She stepped closer, textbook in one hand, sticky notes in the other. "Now hold still."
For the next twenty minutes, Klaus discovered what it was like to be treated as a living anatomy chart. Y/N circled him with scientific precision, comparing his actual musculature to the diagrams in her book. She pressed her fingers against his shoulder, feeling the way the deltoid connected, her touch clinical but maddening.
Klaus's breath hitched. It was subtle, just the slightest catch, but enough that he had to close his eyes and concentrate on maintaining his composure. Legendary self-control, and here he was, undone by her fingertips tracing the contours of his shoulder.
She scribbled "DELTOID - raises arm laterally" on a pink sticky note and pressed it onto his skin, completely oblivious to the effect she was having.
Her fingers moved to his chest, mapping the pectoralis major with careful attention. Klaus kept his eyes firmly shut, jaw tight.
"You alright?" she asked absently, not looking up from her textbook.
"Perfectly fine, love." His voice came out rougher than intended. "Just...focusing."
Another sticky note landed on his chest. Her palm pressed flat against his sternum as she smoothed it down. His breathing definitely wasn't steady anymore.
She moved to his back, and he felt her fingers trace the line of his trapezius from neck to shoulder blade. The touch was exploratory and entirely innocent in intent. But it was driving him absolutely mad.
"This is absolutely ridiculous," he muttered, more to himself than to her.
"This is effective studying. You said so yourself yesterday."
"Yes, but yesterday I was the one doing the teaching. This is different."
"How so?"
"Because yesterday I got to touch you. Today I'm supposed to sit here like a statue while you—" He broke off as her fingers found the tricep. "Bloody hell."
She patted his shoulder absently, already moving on to label different muscle groups. By the time she'd covered his arms, shoulders, chest, and back with sticky notes, Klaus looked like he'd been attacked by an overeagerly organized student, and his self-control was hanging by a thread.
Then her eyes landed on his paint supplies.
"Oh, that's perfect."
"What's perfect? Y/N, what are you—"
She'd already grabbed his cadmium red and a fine brush. "The book shows the muscles in different colors to distinguish them. If I outline them on you, I can see exactly where they start and stop."
"Absolutely not."
"Klaus, please? It'll wash off."
"I'm a hybrid, not a canvas!"
But she was already uncapping the paint with a look that meant arguing was pointless. He sighed, resigned to his fate. "You're lucky I love you."
"I know." She dipped the brush in red paint. "Now flex your arm."
Klaus sighed, obeying her commands snd she just...stopped. Stared. Her eyes fixed on the way his bicep curved under the skin, the definition of muscle that came from a millennium of fighting.
Klaus's eyes opened. The corner of his mouth twitched. "See something you like, sweetheart?"
She blinked, cheeks flushing. "I'm studying."
"Studying requires looking at the textbook occasionally." His smirk widened. "You've been staring at my arm for fifteen seconds which I would know because I counted."
"I was comparing it to the diagram."
"The diagram is on the table behind you, my love"
Her blush deepened. "Shut up."
"Make me." His voice dropped lower, teasing. "Or are you too busy admiring the brachialis? Perhaps the biceps brachii? I can flex again if you need a longer look." He flexed again, deliberately slow. "What happened to clinical detachment, love? All that scientific focus?"
"I hate you," she muttered, but she was fighting a smile as she finally pressed the brush to his skin.
She traced the bicep, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. The paint was cool against his skin, her touch feather-light as she followed the muscle's contour from shoulder to elbow. Klaus watched her work, and despite the torment of sitting still while she touched him so innocently, there was something quietly perfect about this moment. The little furrow between her brows and even the way she muttered anatomical terms under her breath.
She switched to blue for the triceps, yellow for the deltoid, and green for the pectoralis major. "There," she finally announced, stepping back to admire her work. "Perfect. Now I can actually see how everything connects."
Klaus looked down at himself covered in paint outlines and sticky notes, looking like the world's most ridiculous anatomy lesson.
"I look like a child's art project."
"You look educational." She was already taking photos with her phone from different angles. "This is going to help so much."
"Thrilled to be of service," he said dryly.
She laughed, finally looking up from her phone to really look at him. "Thank you. I know this is weird."
"Weird doesn't begin to cover it, love." He plucked a sticky note off his chest. "But if it helps you pass your exam, I suppose I can endure the indignity."
"My hero," she teased.
"Speaking of which." He stood, paint-covered and sticky-note-decorated, and closed the distance between them. "Since you've quite literally decorated me, I think it's only fair you help clean it off."
"I was going to let you shower—"
In one smooth motion, he had her lifted over his shoulder. "Klaus!"
"You put it there, sweetheart. You're helping wash it off." He was already heading toward his bathroom, her protests dissolving into laughter. "Consider it additional anatomy study. I'll even quiz you on muscle function while we're at it."
"That's not how studying works!"
"It is now."
The shower turned on, steam immediately beginning to fog the glass. Klaus set her down just long enough to start pulling sticky notes off himself, dropping them in a colorful pile on the bathroom counter.
"This is going to take forever," Y/N protested, but she was already pulling her sweater over her head. "Some of those paint lines are really detailed."
"Then I suppose we'll be here a while." He stepped under the spray, colored water already running down his chest as the paint began to dissolve. He held out his hand. "Coming, love?"
She took it, stepping into the shower with him, warm water cascading over them both. "You're going to quiz me, aren't you."
"Absolutely." His hands were already working shampoo through her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. "What's the largest muscle in the human body?"
"Gluteus maximus."
"Good girl." His hands slid down her back deliberately, finding exactly that muscle and squeezing with intent.
She gasped against him. "Klaus—"
"What? I'm being educational." But his smirk was absolutely wicked. "And what does the sartorius do?"
She tried to focus through the distraction of his hands still kneading her backside. "Flexes the hip and knee. It's the longest muscle in the body."
"Excellent." He pressed a kiss to her temple, then without warning, lifted her effortlessly against the shower wall. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as the water streamed over both of them.
"What muscle did I just use to lift you?" he asked, voice dropping lower. Her brain scrambled to function while pressed against tile, held up by nothing but his strength.
"The—the deltoids helped. Biceps. Core muscles for stabilization."
"Very good, sweetheart." One hand slid up her thigh, squeezing the muscle there. "And what muscle is this?"
"Quadriceps," she breathed.
His hand moved higher, fingers tracing, caressing. "And this?"
"Adductors. Inner thigh."
"Mmm. You're doing so well." His lips found her neck, teeth grazing. "What about here?" His hand splayed across her ribcage.
"External obliques."
"Perfect." The word rumbled against her throat. "See how much better you remember when there's proper motivation?"
"This is—" She lost her train of thought entirely when his thumb traced circles against her hip. "This is not proper study technique."
"Isn't it? You're answering every question correctly." He shifted his hold, demonstrating his point. "What muscles am I using now to keep you exactly where I want you?"
She was trembling, and not from the cooling water.
"Deltoids, biceps, pectorals for...for holding. Core strength. Gluteus maximus for hip extension and—oh god—"
"Keep going, love. You're doing brilliantly."
"I can't think when you're—"
"When I'm what?" Pure innocence in his tone, completely contradicted by the way his hands were mapping her body. "I'm simply providing hands-on education. You said you needed a three-dimensional reference."
“I did?”
“Mhm. And you're going to ace this exam,” he finally lowered her back to her feet, though his hands remained at her waist. "Because every time you look at those diagrams, you're going to remember this. Aren't you?"
Her legs were unsteady, her heart was racing, and yes, she was absolutely going to remember every single muscle group now. "You're very pleased with yourself."
"Extremely." He tucked wet hair behind her ear. "Now, let's actually wash this paint off before the water runs cold. And I expect you to identify every muscle I use while doing so."
"You're going to make me work for this, aren't you?"
"Always, sweetheart." His grin was devastating. They stayed in the shower until every trace of color had washed away, Klaus continuing his relentless anatomical quiz while she scrubbed paint from his skin, both of them laughing when she got an answer wrong and he found creative ways to help her remember the correct one.
By the time they finally emerged, wrapped in towels with the bathroom thick with steam, Y/N had successfully memorized twelve major muscle groups and several creative applications thereof. And Klaus had a pile of sticky notes on his counter that he absolutely was not throwing away, along with the private satisfaction of knowing his girlfriend would never look at an anatomy textbook the same way again.
· · ─────────── ·· ────────── · ·
Klaus drove into her, his hands gripping her hips as she lay beneath him. But something felt off. Her responses were all there. The usual soft gasps and the way her body arched but her focus wasn't. Her hands weren't clutching at him desperately as they usually did; instead, they were...exploring. They were focused and dare he say too focused as they traced patterns across his shoulders and down his spine.
He slowed his movements, watching her face. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, her brow furrowed in concentration that had nothing to do with pleasure.
"Are you..." he began, disbelief coloring his tone, "Are you studying my musculature while I'm fucking you?"
Y/N's eyes snapped to his, a guilty flush spreading across her cheeks. "What? No! I'm—" she broke off as his expression darkened. "Maybe a little?"
Klaus stilled completely, still buried inside her, his jaw tightening. "Let me understand this correctly," he said, his accent thickening dangerously. "I have you naked beneath me, my cock inside you, and you're using this opportunity to mentally catalog my trapezius?"
She bit her lip, fighting a smile despite the tension. "It's just...they're right there," she explained weakly as he drops his head into the crook of his neck "And they're so well-defined when you're holding yourself up like this. I can see exactly where the latissimus dorsi connects to—"
"Oh my god." Klaus lifted his head to stare at her in utter disbelief. "I'm literally inside you and you're thinking about anatomy."
"It's your fault!" She tried to defend herself, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. "You made me use you as a study model and now I can't stop thinking about it!"
"That was supposed to help you pass your exam, not ruin our sex life!"
"It's not ruining—"
Klaus cut her off with a growl, pulling out of her entirely and flipping her onto her stomach in one fluid movement. Before she could protest, he'd pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. "If you insist on treating me like an anatomy lesson," he murmured against her ear, his free hand sliding beneath her to lift her hips, "then I'll make certain it's one you won't forget."
He entered her again, the new angle drawing a genuine gasp from her lips. "Now," he continued, his voice conversational as he established a punishing rhythm, "since you're so interested in muscle function, let's discuss what's happening right now."
His hand released her wrists to slide down her back, following the curve of her spine. "The erector spinae," he informed her, fingers tracing the muscles along either side of her vertebrae, "contracts to arch your back just like this."
His hand moved to grip her hip, fingers digging into the flesh there. "The gluteus medius," he continued, punctuating the words with a deep thrust that made her cry out, "stabilizes your pelvis while I'm taking you."
"Klaus," she moaned, all thoughts of studying forgotten as her fingers clutched at the sheets.
"No, no," he chided, reaching around to cup her breast, thumb circling her nipple. "Pay attention, love. This is educational. The pectoralis major," he squeezed gently, "so sensitive to touch."
His other hand slid between her legs, finding her center with ease. "And here," he murmured, circling the bundle of nerves with his fingers as he continued to move within her, "is where all those nerve endings converge. Fascinating bit of anatomy, wouldn't you agree?"
Y/N could only respond with incoherent sounds of pleasure, her body trembling beneath his expert touch.
"I asked you a question," he prompted, slowing his movements until she whimpered in protest.
"Yes," she gasped out. "Fascinating. Please, Klaus—"
"Please what?" His voice was silk wrapped around steel. "Continue the anatomy lesson?"
"No!" she cried out. "Just...please."
He leaned down, his chest pressed against her back, lips at her ear. "I want to hear you say it," he demanded softly. "Tell me where your attention is now."
"On you," she breathed. "You. I swear."
He smiled against her skin, satisfaction evident in the curve of his lips. "Good girl," he praised, resuming his earlier pace. "Now, shall I demonstrate what happens when these muscles contract all at once?"
His fingers moved faster against her center, his thrusts becoming more intense as he drove her toward the edge.
"Klaus!" she cried out, her body tightening around him as release crashed over her.
He followed her moments later, his own release punctuated by a low groan against her neck. They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breathing. After several moments, Klaus rolled onto his side, pulling her against his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her arm as their breathing returned to normal.
"So," he said finally, amusement coloring his tone, "did that help with your studies?"
Y/N turned in his arms to face him, her expression sheepish but satisfied. "Definitely," she admitted. "Though I'm not sure I could explain any of it on an exam."
"Perhaps not," he agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I guarantee you'll never look at a muscle diagram the same way again."
She laughed, burying her face against his chest. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"
Klaus shook his head, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "Next time you need to study," he suggested, pulling her closer, "perhaps just ask me to pose for you properly. Less distracting for both of us."
"Where's the fun in that?" she countered, but he was already pulling her on top of him, all thoughts of anatomy lesson forgotten as her lips found his once more.
Can I just say, the smut section of those Isaac headcanons had me feeling things I should not be feeling at work 🫠
I am going to very much need you to expand on those when you have the time 🥵 that desk scene in particular
18+ | cannibal
link to headcanons
synopsis: your boyfriend Isaac likes working till late at night, he gets a little hungry and…oh…you’re the closest snack.
warnings: ORAL (DESCRIPTIVE MENTIONS OF BEING ATE OUT), fingering (kinda) , licking, no cannibalism i was being dramatic, p in v, love bites
a/n: AMEN SISTER (or whatever you like being called) the downbadness ive got rn for isaac is insane.
Isaac Night was a genius, who could dispute it? Some called him the greatest DaVinci to ever walk Nevermore, a whole lab had been built to cater to his needs. He spent hours upon hours up there tinkering and testing new inventions, up till the dead of night. It was no wonder he’d get famished, but thank god you were there…his sweet partner that never declined to satiate him.
Issac dragged a long stroke of his tongue over your clothed pussy, his hands spreading your thighs apart as he knelt before you. He would never be caught reverent to anyone else. He lapped at the lace of your panties, as if he was restraining himself to simply smelling the sweetness of your slick, sucking at your clit through the fabric.
“Isaa-I- Isaac,” you breathed out, chest heaving as a warmth ran down your body, pooling at where he was ravenously pressing kisses to.
“shh…don’t…we haven’t even gotten to the good part…” he whispered, glancing up at you.
Isaac moved his hand from your thighs, thumb rubbing up and down your clit before yanking the fabric to the side, taking a moment to watch your wetness flow onto his crafting desk. He wouldn’t condone any mess, so he’d have to clean you up, of course… He licked the fluid up like he was thirsty and you were the only remedy. His tongue was as masterful as his hands with crafts, artfully dipping between the lips into your warmth. Isaac was by no means a quiet eater, more so moaning into your pussy and messily painting his face in your wetness.
You felt the length of his tongue slowly enter your pussy, taking all your willpower not to whine too loudly, instead opting to let quiet whimpers out. He paused, moving to look up at you to your dismay,
“You like that?” He tilted his head innocently at the noises you were making.
“Ye-yeah you bastard- keep going,” you shot him a withering glare. He laughed, a cold, fickle sound that reverberated through the lab before he abruptly stood up, hand clenched as he raised it. You felt your body get pressed down by a force, so that you laid back down against the desk. You watched as Isaac climbed on top of you, with your thighs still spread and pretty cunt still exposed. He shifted, pushing your legs up over his shoulder to fold you into a mean, nasty mating press.
“I’m full,” he whispered in your ear, shrugging as he pulled at his pants, freeing an already erect cock. He looked down at you, getting full view of the whorish expression you made as he pushed his length between your lips. He frowned, groaning a little as your walls immediately clenched around him, “But you’re hungry too, aren’t you?” Isaac smirked, roughly bullying his cock deeper into your hungry cunt. He dipped his head down to nuzzle at your neck, tongue slithering out to lap at your neck and collarbones, sucking to create little love bites. His hips pressed into yours, his motions all rough and apathetic like the only thing he was focused on was making a mess of your guts. Your walls clenched around him one final time, effectively milking his dick for all it was worth, his cock shooting ropes of cum, filling you up. He panted like a madman, slowly moving off you as he pulled his pants back up and tugged at his lab coat. He watched you on the desk, his cum dripping out of your pussy. What a pretty artwork he’d made…
isaac loves the way your eyes roll back. when you're mad at him or simply for sarcastic measures.
but mostly when he's pushed you back onto the nearest surface, worshipping the sopping heat between your thighs.
but it fills him with a sense of pride when your eyes roll so far back, he can see only the whites. its all because of him. you're quivering beneath him all because of the flick of his tongue.
isaac is smart.
it doesn't take him long to figure out how to make you gasp and cry for more. he's attentive.
he's studying each reaction and now, he's learnt a technique to get you to make those noises that always have him straining in his pants.
he isn't ashamed to admit he's cum untouched just from eating you out.
today was just like any ordinary day. except it wasn't.
it was an unspoken oath isaac had taken. swearing he'd never start anything he couldn't finish in his dorm room.
there were always interruptions.
he had even calculated the probability of various scenarios that could take place if the two of you had gotten nasty in his room.
thats why. his lab at the top floor of iago tower was where you always found yourself.
isaac claimed to love how private and intimate that space could be apart from being just a place of inventions. it was the place in which he had made you cum countless times.
however on this very day, there was no other option. iago tower was shut off for some repairs and your roommate had her whole group of friends over.
it was a nightmare for isaac night. why you may be wondering?
well because for the first time he didn't think he could hold out for one more day without tasting you.
you would laugh at the very poorly disguised hormones coursing through his veins.
it takes less than a minute for him to break his precious oath and he's shutting the door, ushering you towards his bed. you know how this always ends...
.
the sight infront of you has your back arching. his head buried against your cunt. it doesn't help that he's gripping your inner thighs. groaning rather loudly as he enthusiastically laps at your folds.
that when you feel it. the tip of his tongue slows down to trace out letters.
its exhilirating and its downright filthy.
"spell for me."
his voice raspy and breathless. offering you a sight of his face. nose glistening with slick and his lips swollen from his eagerness to draw out a second orgasm from you.
he gives a firm smack to your thigh, and you shiver. shyness hitting you harder when you hear how fucked out your voice sounds.
'...I"
he licks a straight line from your entrance all the way to your throbbing clit. stopping there to suck lightly on the bud of nerves.
"...S"
you manage to choke out. swirling over your folds with just the right pressure.
"..A!"
thighs clamping on either side of his head at the sensation. flicking over your clit teasingly.
"...A"
"...C"
your fists messing up his covers as you tugged. hands flying to grip his hair. unsure of whether to push him away or pull him in.
but you find yourself unconciously pushing him deeper against your cunt. the bridge of his nose rubbing deliciously over your nerves.
he doesn't stop you. infact the moan that escapes him has you rutting up against his hot mouth.
you feel his teeth brush over the skin, he hisses when your thighs cage him in. thrown over his shoulders to keep you open for him to devour.
"M...?"
you whisper out. jaw dropping. his tongue pushes into you fully. nose poking at your clit. you notice his eyes squeezing shut. eyebrows furrowed with intent and an undying loss of control.
"I..."
"..N"
you cry out, desperately tugging at his scalp. his moans vibrating into you.
"..E!"
"thats right. mine."
theres a loud knock on the door. followed by more consecutive knocks.
it sounds like the door was opening. it startles you and you lift your head up.
about to say something but you fall back down into his pillow. writhing in overstimulation as his thumb comes up to rub slow circles on your clit.
isaac's right hand raises up faster than lightning. slamming the door shut with his telekinesis and holding it there. its an unbearably hot sight to witness.
the knocks continue and you whine when he loudly slurps at your wetness.
it has an uncontrollable moan escape you. its hard to remain quiet when you were being forced-fed a piece of heaven.
his left hand moving up swiftly to shove two digits in your mouth. pressing down on your tongue to muffle your noises even though he continued his movements.
a chair noisely scraps across the floor and towards the door. it gets lodged under the doorhandle. a makeshift lock. it has your heart racing with the thought of his roomate walking in and stumbling on a sight like this.
he moves his wrist and a pen on his desk starts magically moving. scribbling away on a piece of paper.
it falls on the floor and you catch a glimpse of what was messily written.
'Gomez, Fuck off.'
the paper slides across the wooden floorboards disappearing under the small gap between the door and the floor.
the knocks stop abrubtly.
it doesn't take long for isaac to lose it. mouthing at your cunt with growing desperation. his hips grinding into the mattress.
groaning like it was the best damn meal he had eaten in a long while.
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