summary: working as in house counsel means you've become very acquainted with jack abbot and his little scrawl of a signature. god help him.
content: sexually explicit content, age gap, swearing, medical inaccuracy obviously--sue me I'm in law not medicine, blood and wound mentions but this is a medical show so
total wc: 42,468
status: ongoing
godlight (wc: 16.7k) | the first friday of every month you make your way down to the emergency department with a stack of insurance claims in hand to harass robby with, and you leave through the stairs with jack abbot, fresh off his shift and half a step behind you, muttering something lowly in your ear that makes you laugh.
hey, siri (wc: 3k) | you become privy to some abbot-sponsored healthcare fraud.
ornithological jurisprudence (wc: 3k) | bothering jack abbot is your specialty, fuck whatever your actual job is.
goldilocks (wc: 5k) | jack has trouble sleeping. you don’t make it any easier.
saint jack (wc: 14.3k) | abbot decides it's your turn to fix what's broken and, lucky for you, he's there to talk you through it.
mel portrait, also from a week or two ago! i love mel and her character so so much, im so exited to see her in the next show! also the flowers in the background are a sunflower and moonflowers... i feel like she is a little bit of both <3 shes complex ok!!!
ᯓ★ “ I WANNA FUCK WITH THE LIGHTS ON ” — clark kent.
MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
NOTES: this movie isn’t out yet but i can’t wait that long to take advantage of my superman kick and fuck this man. unfortunately i don’t know much about his characterization other than the trailer content.
WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ explicit sexual content ノ size difference ノ dick riding ノ objectification ノ p in v ノ praise ノ clark has huge dick syndrome.
“Just… take it slow.” CLARK KENT encourages, but it’s said more so for himself than you. A large, flattened palm emphasizes his instruction, gesturing for you to relax without grabbing you to take over your actions. You stop, his eyes flickering to meet yours questioningly, until he takes a shot in the dark. “Please.” It’s delightfully endearing, and it loosens you up a little.
“It’s not that, Clark, I’m just—you’re just so… you know,” Big. You try to hint at it without blurting it out. Hovering over his lap too long, a tremor builds in your thighs, and you bite down onto your lip as you let it pass through you in a shudder.
His expression adjusts as the realization dawns on him, “Ah,” he exclaims thoughtfully, and he tests the waters, bringing his hands to your body to rest in comfortable places. Your waist seems appropriate, and your fingers fiddle with the muscle in his shoulders as you keep chewing your lip. “Do you want me to take over?” the question is punctuated with a shift of his hips, arranging himself in a better position to begin, but even the marginal movement has you whining with need. It alerts him, tensing up instantly as he freezes while your pretty face twists in pleasured agony. You’re still wrapped around his reddened tip, and it’s a burning kind of stretch that makes you wish you could just shove him in all the way—at the cost of ripping you in half.
Through your heavy lids and thick eyelashes, you manage to meet his gaze with darkened pupils that don’t want to cooperate. You hum a pitiful “uh-huh” while you nod your head, signaling to him that he’s right. His thumbs on your torso stroke at your skin comfortingly, big hands clamped around you as he raises you. The lip of his head catches on the rim of your pussy, and you suck in a breath as an emptiness replaces what used to be filled.
“We’re gonna take it nice and easy,” Clark talks you through it, but even his exhale hitches when cold air hits his slit. Carefully, he lowers you back on, feeding his dick back into your silken walls before taking it away again—all to introduce your hole to his size little by little. The method chips away at your tightness, and you try to follow his movements with yours even if you’re weak in the knees. “Wanna look at me, duchess? Let me see your eyes?” He tilts his head, his curls falling over his forehead as he chases your gaze. You do your best to peel your eyes open one-by-one, granting him his wish as you pant through your open mouth taking his cock one agonizing inch at a time. The sight of you barely holding on when he’s not even halfway in, stretches a smile onto his face, and if you were more coherent, you’d say it’s one of pride as well as endearment.
One hand cautiously releases your side, while the other takes your weight entirely, bobbing you up and down as if you were no heavier than a fleshlight. His other slides between you two to seek out your pretty bud, resting his thick fingers on your thigh while his thumb comes to stroke at that clit. The new sensation slicks you up as quickly as it occurred, and you gasp at how elevated it all feels from a simple action like that. “That’s what you were missing. Right, baby? It’s hard to loosen up without it. You’re so tight…” You know he didn’t say it like it’s a compliment, but it makes your insides jump anyway. Your muscle contracts and suddenly he can fit a lot more in. “Does that feel good?” he asks, his thumb leisurely circling your bud as your pussy drools around him.
Desperately, you nod your head with a couple of “mm-hmm’s!” that lead him to speed up—introducing you to more of his length as he picks up the pace on petting your clit. Your hands abandon gripping his shoulders for stability and instead overlay his. Yours are dwarfed by him, but he takes your guidance, absorbing how you’re putting pressure on his knuckles and replicating it against your poor pearl, getting puffy from the stimulation and the lack of getting railed. It all lights a fire under your ass, and your body moves for you, bouncing in place to try and force more of his cock into you. You can’t overpower the Superman, but he does let you take it all down to the hilt—his strength making a sex toy out of you.
Tags • arranged marriage, courtship, romance, fluff, wedding night, mild smut (no p. in v.)
Sent to marry King Jacaerys shortly after the end of the war, you are delighted to find out the young monarch wishes to make an effort in courting you before your wedding.
Jacaerys Masterlist
Lady of all beauty is a rose upon a thorn.
—Christina Rossetti
In his two decades of life, Jacaerys had never imagined he would find himself bearing the weight of the crown so soon. He had thought of long decades at his mother’s side, learning from her ways and seeing her build a new order where a daughter could inherit from her father as easily as a son.
War had brought its own set of hopes and doubts, but despite his fears, Jace had not imagined he would find himself climbing the steps to the Iron Throne instead of his mother, his family ravaged and the future of his line resting on his own shoulders. Slain by her own brother’s golden beast, months before he was himself poisoned, Rhaenyra had left her eldest son a line of conduct to follow,
Jacaerys would not lament on the past, on the destruction that had taken place, but instead would work towards peace and would build a long-lasting security. He would read everything he could on his ancestor King Jaehaerys and learn from his wisdom, so that he might be called wise in his old age—despite his dark hair and the rumors that stuck to him, he would prove them wrong.
He would be a prosperous Targaryen king in his own right. A white-haired king and a woman had not satisfied the realm, so perhaps a dark-haired dragonrider would.
His first priority was to rebuild trust in the realm, and to protect it against the harsh winter that had settled over the land. In order to achieve that, he needed gold, livestock and grain, resources which the West possessed in great amounts. Therefore, within a few weeks of his settling in King’s Landing, the eldest daughters of Western lords were called to the capital.
You had never been to the East, and the possibility that you would not return to your home slightly frightened you. But it was an honor to be considered for a future queen, and as you were presented to the young King Jacaerys, you endeavored to put your best foot forward.
His decision had been swift, and when your father had announced the King had chosen you as his bride, you had felt both honored and alarmed. You had barely spoken a word to him, and only a proper greeting—rehearsed words and a low curtsy. You knew politics played a bigger part in this choice than your beauty or what he could have been told of your character.
You would be queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the queen of peace and reconciliation, your father assured, and while the mission was one you took on with pride, you were unsure your marriage would be truly harmonious.
Thus your trunks were packed for the short journey from the guest quarters to the royal floors, as you were immediately awarded the queen’s apartments. The young king’s choice was final, it seemed, still you expected so small amount of animosity. Your father had been bold in his decision to support King Aegon, and while you stayed away from passing judgement on his allegiances, you now feared they would have repercussions on your future.
However when you entered the royal floor, the atmosphere was welcoming. You could tell the hallway had been freshly swiped, and flowers had been placed on the columns and railings. As the doors to your new chambers opened, you were greeted by the smell of soap and more flowers—roses, to be exact.
“The king sends his apology, that he could not be here to greet you,” a maid said, her eyes low. Never before had anyone showed you this amount of deference, and you knew it would take you a while to get used to this feeling. “He requested a bath to be drawn for you in your new chambers.”
“That is most kind,” you replied gratefully, in case your words would be repeated back to him.
He did not seem like an irritable man, but instead painted the picture of gallantry and thoughtfulness. You had been surprised at how dark his hair and eyes were, but pleased at how luscious his curls looked, and the warmth of his gaze on you as you had been introduced to him had made you shiver.
The rest of the day was spent settling in your quarters, with more maids than you had ever had, moving furniture and decorations around on your orders, helping you with your bath and clothes, and doing your hair with care. The attention felt nice, but you were still on edge, eager to see your intended again, and learn of when the wedding would take place.
You were relieved when a page came in the afternoon, informing you that you were expected for supper by the King, and your maids fussed over you again, tending to your hair and presenting you with gowns to choose from.
In the end, it was dressed in the colors of your house and with your hair flowing over your shoulders that you met with the king. You would be his wife no matter what impression you made, and his choice had likely been influenced by your dowry and not your beauty—there was no need to pretend you were her to seduce him.
“Lady Tyrell,” Jacaerys greeted when you were brought to the king’s quarters. He was still settling himself, and you were his first guest in what would likely be his apartments for decades to come. It felt strange to be alone with a young woman he did not know, especially one that would become his most intimate companion.
“My king,” you replied reverently, curtsying to him, and he felt himself flush. You were lovely, and although his choice had been made for the good of the realm, he had to admit your beauty did not leave him indifferent.
“There is no need for such formality,” he said, then licked his lips, crossing his arms at his lower back. “I apologize for not greeting you in your rooms earlier, I thought it best to allow you to settle. I did not wish to overwhelm you.”
“How thoughtful of you, my king,” you replied with a small smile. He could not say whether your reserve was shyness, or an attempt to be polite in order to hide your contempt. He hoped he could be agreeable to you, and that you might come to enjoy his company, in time. He suspected this new situation might have been confusing for you, and
“We are strangers to one another, but we will be married soon. I intend to treat you with care, you shall not want for anything. Even though this marriage is one for political appeasement, I would like to build a sincere trust between us.”
Surprise spread over your features, along with delight, and Jacaerys cherished seeing it. Jacaerys gestured to the dinner table that had been prepared, inviting you to sit opposite of him. He had not enjoyed a proper supper with a guest in months, and it felt good to have some normalcy in his life again. As you sat in silence, your hands primly folded on your lap, it became obvious you were waiting for him to start the conversation.
“I believe we should talk about the unpleasant topics right away, so that we may move on in harmony,” he announced slowly.
“Of course,” you blinked, likely surprised. He loathed to put you in such an uncomfortable position, but he knew how devastating unsaid words could be, and how much damage they could do to a dynasty.
“Your father supported the usurper,” he stated factually, seeing your surprise turn to shock on your graceful features.
“That he did, my king,” you replied, contrite, but Jace would much rather offend you now than have the topic come haunt him later on.
“A transgression I have chosen to forgive, though I may never forget,” he said, then took a careful sip of wine, gathering his composure again. He hoped his hands were steady, as he was still unused to assert himself even though he would likely not be questioned. “We must move on and build peace together, and the realm shall be stronger for it. What say you?”
You swallowed, your eyes fleeting about the room, clearly measuring your words. He wished to say you were granted the permission to speak freely, but he refrained, curious to see what your natural answer would be to your king and intended husband.
“I would ask that you not judge a daughter by the sins of her father,” you replied primly once the initial shock of his statement had passed, and he rather enjoyed the dignified way with which you held yourself. “And I agree, peace must come from this union.”
“I am glad we agree,” he said, then licked his lips again. “Though my counselors advise me to wed you as quickly as possible, I think it best not to rush into it,” he announced. Confusion and disappointment crossed over your face before you could control them—you were a pure beauty, and your emotions played on your features with an honesty that moved him.
“I would take the time to get to know you, first,” he clarified. “I wish to court you properly, as though I was still a prince and not the king.”
“But you are the king,” you replied with an amused smile, the tense set of your shoulders relaxing, and it was only then that you took your first sip of wine.
“A concept still foreign to me, I’m afraid,” he answered as he finally tucked into his meal and you mirrored him, and this simple act of sharing a meal brought him more joy than he had expected. “A few months ago I was merely a prince, and my mother’s claim was still challenged. We both need some time to adapt, don’t you think?”
You nodded around a small mouthful of roast and didn’t answer, although in truth you were grateful for this time to adjust. You had not thought the young king would be so open with his emotions, nor so honest in his words. Hearing your father’s faults put so bluntly had been unexpected, but you understood that he could not afford to dance around issues—and you were grateful he considered you enough of an equal to speak in such a direct way to you. You now would only have to wait and see if his efforts would hold the courtship period.
In the following weeks, you were delighted to find out that King Jacaerys had not lied. Every morning, fresh roses were delivered to your chambers, occasionally with a handwritten note. Those gifts were not the only ones, as scented oils and soaps came in baskets, and you felt more pampered and cared for than ever before, even in your lord father’s castle. You had never dreamed that an arranged marriage could come with such attention, and from the king, no less.
You also came to know that a crowning ceremony was being planned following your wedding, so that the lords and ladies of the court, as well as the people of King’s Landing, might see you crowned as their queen. It made you hold your head high and glow with pride as you walked about the castle, becoming familiar with its hallways and staircases, its halls and gardens.
As you adapted to life in the Red Keep, a particular aspect caught your attention—the cats roaming the corridors, chasing the mice. “The previous Hand had cats brought in after the ratcatchers were hanged,” Jacaerys had explained to you one evening as you took a stroll after supper, your hand on his arm, your steps falling in rhythm with one another.
You had always enjoyed cats whenever you had the chance to interact with them—one of your old aunts kept a few of them when you were a child, but your father never tolerated them under his roof, as they made his throat itch. You had fond memories of sunny childhood afternoons, lying on the rugs with your aunt’s furry companions, brushing their fur and listening to their soothing purrs.
One particular morning a few days prior to the wedding, it was not a maid but the king himself who delivered a present to your chambers. You were still dressed in a nightgown and a robe, your hair loose over your shoulders—for you intended to see you in such a casual state was both unnerving and exciting, but his private, pleased smile was enough to settle your nerves.
“I noticed your interest in them as we were walking together earlier this week,” Jacaerys explained as a golden cage was deposited on the table. It was too large to contain a bird, and when the page carrying it stepped aside, you noticed what was inside—a kitten. “I’ve been assured this one is of good breeding, and free of illness. You may keep it as a companion.”
You were so surprised you could not find your words, and Jacaerys shifted his weight under your silence, nervous to know if he had misjudged. It was not completely unusual for ladies to keep pets, but hounds were more common, and it was not often done in the capital.
“I hope you’re pleased,” he added as a maid opened the cage and handed you the small animal. The cat immediately curled in your open palms and you cradled it to your chest, bending your neck to touch the softness of its fur with the tip of your nose. Jacaerys found the image properly endearing and his chest ached with longing—he selfishly longed to feel your tenderness for himself.
In the last few weeks he had found in you such a sweet companion, a calming presence and a bright mind, and he thanked the Gods for putting you on his path. His choice had been one for political reasons, but it had turned out to be a blessed one, and now he wished nothing but to fulfil your every desire, only to see you glow with happiness.
“I am, my king,” you said as you finally turned to face him fully. His eyes were soft where they were fixed on you, and you felt warm under such attention.
“I do not wish for you to feel alone,” he explained, almost meekly.
“Thank you,” you replied, handing the kitten to your maid, then taking a rushed step towards him. You stopped yourself, hesitating, but the yearning look on your intended’s face spurred you on. You could only hope your maid turned or averted her eyes, because before you could lose your nerves, you had looped your arms around his neck.
Jacaerys sighed sweetly when you pressed your lips to his, gently and tentatively—behind you, the soft sound of the cage being locked and the retreating footsteps of your maid were drowned by the rush of your own excitement in your ears.
His hands came to rest on your hips as he pressed back into the kiss, his lips molding into yours. Mingling breaths and gentle presses were all there was, until one of his hands left your hip to come cradle your face, his fingers splayed behind your ear and his thumb caressing your cheek.
You surrendered to the sweet press of his tongue, reciprocating his gentle passion. The two of you kissed slowly, as though you had all the time in the world and nothing else on this earth mattered but the taste of the other and the warmth of your embrace.
“I am glad this gift pleases you, my lady,” Jacaerys murmured against your lips as he pulled away. He didn’t wish to break your embrace, to burst this bubble the two of you found yourself in, where all the troubles of your stations were forgotten.
“It pleases me greatly, my king. But more so than the gift, is the fact that you wished to please me,” you replied. “You have been so good to me.”
“Which is no more than you deserve,” he said, pressing one last parting kiss to your lips before he excused himself back to his council, and left you to tend to your new furry companion.
The next few days were spent lounging on the carpets and sofas of your quarters, entertaining your kitten with feathers and threads, enjoying its quiet purring and fiery personality. Only the dressmaker interrupted your peace, reminding you of the event that would take place in less than a week—the gown that was being made was in the color of your house, with floral embroideries and pearls, and you dreaded as much as you looked forward to the day you would wear it.
“How do you think he will be?” you asked one night as your maid was braiding your hair, twirling a feather between your fingers, your kitten playing on your lap. “On the wedding night,” you clarified when she made a questioning noise.
“He has treated you so kindly, I don’t expect him to be so different in the bedchamber,” she risked answering—you saw her bite her lip in the mirror in front of you, and you chuckled.
“Neither do I, but I’m afraid he’ll have… expectations?” you frowned slightly.
“I’m sure he will guide you, my lady,” she reassured you, and as she caught your eye in the mirror again, she added. “My queen.”
“My queen,” was the way Jacaerys addressed you as soon as the doors closed behind the two of you after the wedding banquet—he sounded reverent and almost breathless, which flustered you more than a thousand compliments ever could.
The crown upon your head was made of roses carved in gold and rubies, a magnificent prowess of craftsmanship that he had commissioned for you. This very public declaration of his devotion to you had moved you to tears, and the way he was looking at you wearing it shook you to your core.
“My king”, you replied, and this time your words made him shiver. There was an edge to them—they were no longer words of simple reverence and respect, now they were tinted with something akin to passion, and it made his chest ache and his loins stir. Now they were spoken as his equal and not simply his subject.
“You are very beautiful,” Jacaerys said, trying to gather his composure. It was the first time he found himself alone with a woman in such an intimate setting, and the duty that was expected of him on this night made his stomach flutter with both nerves and excitement.
“Thank you,” you answered sweetly, looking up at him from below your lashes. “How do you want me?”
Jacaerys swallowed, glancing at the bed, then a table where a pitcher of wine and two cups had been set. “Is something the matter?” you asked in a quiet voice, visibly sensitive to his discomfort.
“I must confess something to you, and I hope that you will not find me lacking, or foolish,” he sighed, taking a tentative step towards you—he was relieved when you met him halfway, curling your hands around his in a soothing gesture. He already adored your gentleness, and how intuitive you seemed.
“I would never,” you replied assuredly, even though your own hands were shaking slightly. He gripped them firmer, his thumb caressing the back of them, enjoying your soft skin.
“I have never been with a woman before,” he said in one breath, looking down at your joined hands, forcing himself to push through his shame. “It seemed in poor taste to engage in acts that could lead to unwanted consequences, outside of marriage. Therefore I never… explored, if you would pardon me the expression.”
“Oh,” you gasped when he had finished his explanation, and the full meaning of his confession dawned on you.
“I am afraid I have as much experience as you, which I assume is none,” Jacaerys said as he finally looked up, his cheeks flushed and his teeth worrying his lower lip.
“You are correct in your assumption,” you replied with an embarrassed chuckle, but you did not pull away. Jace’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, still worried that his lack of experience had displeased you.
“You are not disappointed? I suppose you expected me to guide you, to take over. I cannot.”
“The last thing I am right now is disappointed,” you assured him with a teary smile, pulling your joined hands up to your chest, clutching them in a precious display of emotion. “In truth I am delighted. I did not think of this as a possibility, but now that I know, I would not have it any other way.”
Jacaerys breathed a brief sigh of relief, but still his nerves did not lessen. “We do not have to—”
“I want to,” you were hasty to reply, only to flush as you realized what you had said. “I mean, I would like to try, if my king is so inclined.”
Jacaerys smiled, warm and genuine. “You do not need to be so formal with me anymore. Might I ask that you call me by my name, now that we are husband and wife?” he requested. “Out there I am the king, but behind closed doors, I belong to you.”
“You prefer to be called Jace, do you not?” you asked timidly.
“Indeed,” he replied, licking his lip, and you longed to kiss him again. “Perhaps we should…” he suggested clumsily, one of his fingers tugging at the edge of your collar where your joined hands were still pressed.
It was with a shy smile that you let go of his hands, only to reach at your back and start pulling at the laces of your wedding gown. The two of you undressed in silence, facing one another but barely looking up from the plush carpet. Soon your dress, corset and shift were pooled at your feet, and for a moment you kept your eyes downcast, listening at your respective breathing, loud in the silent room.
You trembled as you uncrossed your arms from your chest, baring it to his gaze, but instead of looking upon you he reached for your closed fists and weaved his fingers with yours. He stepped forward instead of pulling you to him, placing one of your hands on his chest.
He sighed when you pressed your palm to his heart, spreading your fingers on his soft skin. Finally, you allowed yourself to look up from the wall you had been staring at, following the line of your arm until you were seeing the expanse of creamy skin under your hand. Your new husband was slim, and his delicate build rather reassured you—his pale skin was spattered with occasional freckles, and a shameful thought about kissing them crossed your mind.
Jacaerys forced himself to breathe slowly as he watched you explore his body with your eyes, and soon he was doing the same, letting his gaze roam your bare skin. From the shape of your breasts to the swell of your hips, you looked as perfect as he could have ever imagined, and the task of pleasing you seemed daunting. He was afraid of scaring you, or soiling you with his inexperienced desires.
He sighed out loud when your hand started traveling from his heart to the center of his chest, then down until you could curl your fingers at his side. You flushed as you looked down, seeing the shaft that hung between his legs, and for a moment your stomach clenched in anxiety, unsure how such an appendage was to fit within you.
You seemed to lose your composure for a moment, but fortunately your husband was here to comfort you. Jacaerys closed the space between your bodies, pressing gently into you as his lips pressed to yours. You were quick to respond and open beneath him, your hand drifting to his back, pulling him in as you kissed him. The hot line of his body against yours intoxicated your senses, and a low heat appeared between your thighs, an ember waiting to be fanned into a flame.
His kiss was more passionate than usual, but just as careful, as he guided you to the bed. As you lowered yourself to the sheets and he followed you laying down side by side, you melted into his kiss as his hands roamed your body. You were delighted to find as much pleasure in touching him as you were receiving from him touching you—palms pressed into soft skin, fingers mapped freckles and curves, and mouths chased the sweetest spots to kiss, murmuring half-formed words.
Jacaerys breathed a shaky whimper as your knee slid up his hip, pressing his shaft to your core. He could already tell he would not impress you by his performance, and for a moment he was even afraid he would not last until he was inside of you to spill. It felt as though his skin was stretched too tight over his bones, each of your careful touches a blaze across his nerves.
“Maybe we shouldn’t—” he whispered, even though the tremors in his body suggested nothing but desire.
“We do not have to,” you suggested timidly, the feeling of his shaft twitching against your core making you ache sweetly. “We do not have to fully consummate… Not tonight, anyway.”
“Would you think terribly of me if we did not?” he asked after a moment of quiet contemplation, your hips still slowly rocking against his. “I do not know if I’m quite ready. I would make you feel good, if that is all that we do.”
You breathed a sigh of relief, hiding your shyness in the crook of his neck. “I simply want to feel your skin on mine,” you confessed, one of your hands reaching up to tangle in his thick curls.
You gasped as he grew bolder, no doubt made more confident by this agreement between the two of you. You closed your eyes and allowed your instincts to take over, as well as the pull of his body against yours, pressed tightly until you were almost one.
Jace’s head spun as you wrapped your legs around him, your ankles locking at the back of his thighs, using them as leverage. His length trapped between the two of you, the glide of your bodies made easy by your own desire, and your soft sighs of pleasure were enough to make him feel like he was flying. He reveled in how you trembled, and in the way your hips ground back into his.
He murmured encouragements in your ear, kissing your shoulder lovingly, and you grew bolder, seeking the sweet peak you knew would soon erupt between your thighs. You had never thought you would feel such a thing in his arms, only ever in the privacy of your own chambers, alone and in shame.
“You’re so beautiful,” Jacaerys sighed, his voice wrecked by his own pleasure, and the awe of his tone was your undoing. You cried out, moans that were soon swallowed by a kiss, as your peak took over your body, waves of heat crashing over you as your core pulsed.
You could hardly comprehend what was happening, clinging to him as your bodies rocked together a few more times, then stilled. You chuckled as he murmured an apology, reaching for a corner of the sheets to wipe the mess on your stomach.
A reverent sort of silence fell over the two of you—overtaken by emotion, neither of you trusted your voice not to break nor their words to carry out your thoughts properly. You nestled against his chest, ear pressed to his thundering heart, and your body turned loose and pliant as its hammering slowed down.
It felt good to be held in the cradle of another’s body, and tucked along the slim frame of your young king and husband, you found a place of rest and comfort.
You had not consummated your marriage in the way the Faith and law were expecting you to, but you had found something more precious that night—trust and tenderness, on which you would build the rest of your marriage.
Dividers by @/saradika. Thank you to @still-jon-snow for brainstorming this fic with me ♡
Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, this is how we keep stories alive on this platform. Likes and comments are equally appreciated.
Word Count: 2,500
Notes: 18+, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, no use of y/n. Unprotected sex, creampie, two short mentions of blood, vaguely described near-death situations, porn with vague plot, established relationships, post-sex banter. This is my first time writing for Ekko; please be gentle with me, haha 💙
"Easy, easy, easy," his burning breath tickles the back of your neck, firm hands squeezing your hips so tightly that you can hardly move. But the adrenaline firing through your nerves still has you wriggling in his grasp. Hopelessly so, as he pushes into you. Pussy fluttering around his cock. Not sure if you want to press into him or jump away from the stretch.
"Ekko," the shape of his name is the only thing you know. Speech and language comprehension evaporating milliseconds before his pelvis meets your ass.
And with it, you've lost all control over your own body. Already squirming back into him before you're even ready. Shit, but Ekko's still not moving, calloused fingers digging into your skin, so tight that you know it's going to leave bruises that he'll fuss about later.
His hips swivel. Stars sparkle in your vision, backdropped by his half-muffled groan. His sweaty forehead falls onto your shoulder, breathing hard through his nose. Mutters something. Sounds like your name.
You think it's your name. Maybe it's not. You don't get time to linger on that because all of a sudden, he's drawing back, and you can't think of anything but the overwhelming emptiness that takes over. He stops just before his tip slips out of you. Lingers there for a second before—
"Ah!" You squeal. Jerking forward. His hips flush with your ass again. And he's already moving again, and fuck—
Alive. He's alive, and he's right here, curled around you. Pistoning into you like one of you might disappear if he doesn't. But you're here. Head resting against the concrete floor. Ass high. Clenching helplessly around his cock as it strikes a familiar bundle of nerves.
You're here. He's here. Not down in the lanes. Not dodging bullets and throwing punches. Here. Heart pounding so heavy in your chest that it's in your ears. Masking the patter of the rain against the glass and the distant sound of your cries echoing through abandoned halls.
"Ekko." Repeating again. Blindly pawing behind yourself, brushing his chest, then his lower belly, looking for—
He pins your wandering hand next to your head. Clammy fingers laced between yours. "I've got you, baby," his thrusts are so sharp that his own voice wavers with the motion. "I've got you."
You don't know what you're doing. Pitchy little whimpers fall off your tongue, tilting your head to rest against his forearm. He's so deep, you don't know if you can even breathe, and oh, you don't know what changed, but his balls are smacking against your clit. Little sparks of heat jolt up your lower belly, exploding in the back of your head.
"Fuck, there you go," Ekko's hissing, "keep clenchin' around me like that."
You couldn't stop even if you wanted to. Your poor little pussy involuntarily spasming around him, legs trying to close despite his body being wedged between them. Can't do anything short of kicking your foot, like that'll somehow ease the pleasure.
The hand on your hip disappears. Instead, curling around your waist, cinching your bodies closer. He's so warm. Still smells like oil and something distinctly metallic, the scent of the workshop clinging to him like a bad memory, but a familiar warmth remains underneath. Gentle, like the kisses that pepper up the back of your neck and the hips that have begun to slow.
"Wanna see your face." He must mean it as more of a warning than a request because you don't voluntarily flip over. You don't even move a muscle. That's all him. Spinning you onto your back, the frigid floor biting into your skin as he slips his cock back inside. You can see it this time. The obscene sight of his fat cock disappearing between your parted thighs, pussy lips practically hugging him.
You reach for him, outstretched arms hanging in the air for mere milliseconds, before Ekko caves and falls into them. The ends of his hair brush against your forehead, just light enough for it to tickle, and it's only when you're this close that you can truly drink in how he lights up when you giggle.
"'s my hair getting you again?" He whispers; you're so focused on the split in his bottom lip that you nearly miss it.
"Just a little bit," murmuring, letting your arms loop around his shoulders, broad and delicately chiseled. You think the gods were showing off when they sculpted him.
"Lil' bit?" He parrots in a feather-light tone, nuzzling your noses together. A kiss, all of their own. A perfect distraction for the lazy thrust that punches the air from your throat.
You should have known he would do this. Too hungry for your expression to let you keep your back to him for long. Him and his swollen, bruised left eye and smeared paint, streaks of white decorating his cheeks and upper lip. That might be dried blood clinging to the side of his neck, and the sleeve of his shirt is mangled in such a way that you wonder how much of that fight was actually playing in his favor.
Thunder booms overhead, rattling the crumbling frame of this old building, swaying with the wind in such a way that you can feel your body tilting with it. You'd worry about it if not for the weight of Ekko's body on top of yours, his mouth wandering across the side of your jaw. Leaving little kisses in his wake, just in case he gets lost.
Your nails dip into the muscle of his shoulders. Legs curling around his waist the best that they can manage. Securing him to you in the only way you know how.
"I'm not going anywhere," he's hiding a secret mind-reading device somewhere in one of those pockets. You know it.
All of that effort to keep him from moving, and yet he still manages to lift himself a few inches. Breaking through your grasp with mesmerizing ease, his forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, properly hovering over you now. Noses brush. His hair is bumping your forehead again.
Electricity rockets up your spine.
"There," gasping like a fish out of water, your eyes rolling back. "There, Ekko—mmh!"
There's a grin emerging onto his face, the corners of his lips twisting with that devilish glint that only comes about when he's just found a breakthrough. And oh, you shouldn't have told him because now he's repeating it. Maintaining that same torturous angle, the tiny pieces of scrap metal in his pocket clinking together as his fat tip kisses into those little nerves, over and over and over.
It's so faint that you nearly question if you're making things up in your head.
The semblance of a moan, slipping through Ekko's parted lips like the beginnings of a melody. There and gone in the blink of an eye, the only indication it was ever there in the first place is the way he immediately forces his mouth closed.
But one of your hands are traveling to his cheek, your thumb gently pressing on his bottom lip, urging it open again. And who has he ever been to deny you something as simple as this?
Heat races up your lower belly. Twisting, spinning around like one of his damn hoverboards, rocketing through your veins. It's the kind of sensation that has your skin prickling, back arching off the cold ground and up into Ekko's big, warm body, your shivering legs clinging to his frame. The thump of your heartbeat rises into your ears, the strings holding you together winding tighter and tighter, breaking apart one by one until...
"Come on," Ekko hums; he picked up the signs long before you did, "give it to me."
The final string snaps.
Your vision blurs. Toes curling as your orgasm takes you by surprise, cumming around his cock without any further warning. And god, Ekko just keeps working you through it. Maintaining that same overwhelming pace, battering your poor, spasming walls, every brush of his length against your nerves pushing you higher and higher into the clouds above.
And you must stay up there for a good minute. Drifting amongst bullets of rain and blinding sparks of lightning, completely and utterly weightless. Heaven, if only for a few fleeting moments.
"Keep going," you don't intend to be so quick about urging him on, but you can't help yourself. Not ready for the emptiness that comes with him pulling out.
Foreheads thunk together without the slightest hint of grace, and his biceps shudder with the effort of keeping his body up, gradually working back up to a choppy rhythm. Mouths clash. Not necessarily a kiss, but it's a touch of lips all the same, drinking in his heated panting as if it's the only thing keeping you alive.
You can't help the way your cunt clenches around his cock, walls almost too sensitive for those short, jerky thrusts. And he whines. Eyelashes fluttering, shivering so hard that you can feel it wracking through him. Fuck, and he's whimpering again. Long, low noises that grow pitchy at the ends.
Close. He's so close.
Your palms curl around his cheeks, staining themselves in the remnants of white paint that clings to his handsome face. The color smears as your hands roam down his neck and across his shoulders. The tips of your nails gently glide against his skin, swirling indistinct shapes, drawing another shiver out of him.
"You gotta, your legs," Ekko sputters, his tongue flimsy in his mouth. "Baby, I can't pull—"
In an hour, you'll have to deal with the cleanup and regret ever saying this. But he's here, and he's alive, and you're alive, and god, life is too short to deny yourself of the simple pleasures. There's no point in stopping that simple, troublesome little phrase from leaving you.
"Cum in me."
You think you can see the final spark exploding behind those sweet brown eyes of his. The final straw before it all comes crashing down, his face twisting as his orgasm washes over him and his motions screech to a sudden halt. Hopelessly burying his head into the crook of your neck, hot breath threatening to melt you away.
Faintly, you're aware of the sensation of his cock twitching inside of you. Pumping rope after rope of hot cum into your sensitive pussy, painting you white. A sticky mess that you'll have to feel dripping out of you the whole way back. As if your post-sex waddle and his unusual displays of public affection aren't enough to tell everyone what you've been up to.
God, he's gonna wait until you're reunited with everyone to lean over and ask if his cum is still in you, isn't he? Always too eager to see you flustered.
...maybe you should flip the script and bring it up to him, first. Leave him the stuttering mess, for once.
"I can hear the gears turning in your head," Ekko's lazy chuckle vibrates against your neck and up your spine, makes your head spin something fierce.
"You need to get your ears checked," but the fire in your half-assed reply is lost the moment he lifts himself up again.
Even now, with the embers of pleasure still twinging the corners of his eyes, his gaze still manages to collect a semblance of worry. His big, warm palms trace over your face, looking for something. Anything. A scratch. A bruise. A splash of blood. The slightest hint that you've been hurt. That he let something hurt you.
And he finds it.
You knew he would. With Ekko, it's not a matter of if but of when.
It's nothing but a minor cut. One that's your own fault, really. You hadn't seen the shard of glass sticking out until after you reached through the broken window, chasing your weapon before it could get out of your sight. A slice you didn't truly feel until now, so sore that it aches when he presses a kiss into it.
One of these days, he'll engineer a way to heal with kisses alone, just to prove a point.
"I'm okay," repeatedly tapping him on the cheek, working a fleeting smile out of that stoic face. "I promise."
And then that smile turns upside down. "I still don't like seeing you hurt."
For someone so strong, it sure is easy to pull him back down to you. All it takes is one little tug on the wrist for him to melt into you like ice on a sweltering day. Kissing him is like feeling the first drop of rain after the heatwave, the pressure of his lips enough to draw the tension from your shoulders and the worries from your head.
"So how do you propose we get back home, hm? Mister 'I Can Fly Through Zaun With My Eyes Closed.'" Your smile is painfully evident in your voice, maybe a little too eager to bring up the very thing you overheard him muttering last week.
His eyes roll, head shaking with it. But...
"There's an underground tunnel that will get us halfway there," he says it with such confidence that you don't need to wonder if he's thought this through or not. Knowing him, it's circled around his mind a dozen times now. "It'll at least get us past the chem-barons without being spotted. We should be good once we get past them."
"Should we start heading that way then?" You ask, letting your thumb trace over his cheekbone, stroking away the dirt that has long since smeared there. There's certainly more where that comes from, pooling around his collar and decorating the jacket he's discarded a few feet away, but it's the thought that counts. Right?
Ekko's eyelashes flutter. A thought flashes behind them.
"Not yet," he starts, "let's just..."
The sentence never finishes, left hanging like old laundry, but you've got a sneaking suspicion of what those final words were meant to be. There aren't many topics that steal the wind out of his sails quite like this, and almost all of them involve you.
"Few more minutes?" You find yourself saying, after a moment.
He nods, eyes sparkling with his sudden, newfangled smile. "Just a few more minutes."
Lie. From the moment he gets his head on your chest, he's a goner.
He never lasts more than a minute once he's gotten settled, and his cock still being lodged inside of you doesn't really indicate that he's ready to move anytime soon. Still connected, in spite of the occasional oversensitive shocks and the overbearing danger of being caught like this. In the top floor of an abandoned building, with the chem-barons still warring with each other down the street.
Only one of the hoverboards is working, and its motor has a horrible stutter that only comes about when it's about to die. You're low on options and high on your delusion of safety.
And yet, you're tracing shapes between his shoulder blades, watching as his eyes fall closed for longer and longer expanses of time until they don't open at all. Lulled to sleep by the beat of your heart, still alive and pounding away in your chest, just like his.
warnings: smut at some points, pretty sure it's just a handjob and a few suggestive comments, that's it.
a/n: i still got one exam left but i managed to birth this. he's a very sensitive topic for me, do NOT even mention him to me I am SAD goodbye
Calls you a bunch of nicknames all day long but freezes the second you give him the same treatment. Call him pookie once, and he'll just stare back at you, not really knowing what to do.
He's slick when he wants to be: talking lower and lower so you have to get closer to him, placing his hands near your body but never actually touching you, staring right into your eyes and then glancing at your lips, letting his eyes wander over your figure until you're shifting under his gaze.
Still, he flirts but always waits for you to initiate actual contact, like kissing or hugging/cuddling (at least in the beginning). It's both a show of how much effect he has over you and a silent question of whether or not you actually want to touch him.
The casualness of your touch sends him reeling. He loves the way you'll just brush his cheek to remove some dust out of nowhere, pull a few of his locks back from his face when he's talking to you, or straighten his clothes for him while telling him what you want for dinner.
He gets bashful quickly whenever you start touching him or talking to him near his face, and after a while—even if you've been together for some time—he just gets overwhelmed by your closeness and almost always loses focus. You have to call him a few times so he can get his mind off your lips and try to keep the warmth of his cheeks under control.
He's clearly touch-starved, and you realize this because whenever you hold his cheeks or just brush your arm against his, he chases after it, his eyes glazing over and twitching slightly in place. You make it your personal mission to keep him as content as you can, and that means touching him all the time, at any moment, for no apparent reason.
Whenever he's wearing crop tops, you run your fingers over his skin until he's shivering and almost whimpering, his belly rising and falling rapidly with your warmth around him. His hands grip the nearby table, and he bites his lip, bucking his hips up to meet your hand. It can go one of two ways: you keep going until he's coming all over your hand, teeth biting into the skin of your neck as he works through the aftershocks, or you give him a peck on the lips and leave him all hot and bothered.
Either way, what bliss.
He likes holding your hand at all times: while he tinkers, while flying around, while having dinner, in bed before falling asleep. Sometimes you'll let go because it gets too clammy, and he proceeds to grab your other one. He kisses your fingertips and knuckles and lets your intertwined hands rest near his face for a second, just enjoying your warmth.
He's always touching you in some way and feels really good (proud) whenever you return his affections in public. At the same time that he gets shy and understands that his life is not all sunshine and rainbows, he still allows himself to enjoy these quiet moments, like he's a normal guy in a normal world.
One day, you're alone in his lab, applying the white paint he loves so much on his face, being so near and yet so far. When you're done, you hover in front of him, your hands still dirty, getting closer and closer by the second. He tilts his head up to meet yours, just a little, but just enough.
And then he needs a second, just holding you a few inches from him, taking his time to get ready for your lips. He wants to do it right, and he gets so worried about it that he almost forgets what he's about to do until you pull his hands up to your face and kiss his palms, telling him that it's okay.
He pulls you closer then, touching your lips with his own, incredibly warm, and then he lets you lead. Going with the flow is easier for him than taking the lead right away. When you touch his neck, trying to get as much of him as you possibly can, his eyebrows furrow, and he almost loses balance. Please, he thinks, keep touching me.
After that, whenever you kiss him, he's just a mess. He usually rests his hands on your waist, arms, or face, never letting them wander too far without being sure you're willing to go there too, and his face warms profusely whenever you take his hand and push it lower.
He also lives for the casual pecks throughout the day, when you're just passing by or when you're about to leave him to do something else. If you happen to wear lipstick, his cheeks will receive a colorful, sticky look from how much you kiss them. He might pretend to forget about it just to parade your mark around.
After a while into the relationship, he's not as fidgety, but still feels his heart race whenever you lean in to kiss him.
Whenever it's raining (and it's actually safe to go outside), he grabs you by the hand to run around in it, splashing you with the puddles on the ground, grabbing you and spinning you around until both of you are dizzy. Then he kisses you with wet lips and cold cheeks.
His favorite part is after, when the two of you take off your wet clothes to dry off. The intimacy of being able to take care of you in your most vulnerable state makes him feel good about himself.
He loves dancing too, pulling you to him even when there's no music, swaying from side to side—sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly—but always hiding his face in your neck to feel as close to you as he physically can. He especially loves it when you hold him back as hard as you can, singing along to a song or murmuring a melody you remember, as a reassurance that you need him as much as he needs you.
Taking naps around the firelight base, or just on the tree itself, his arm over your belly as your heads are turned in each other's direction. The warmth of the little sun that filters down there keeps both of you comfortable for a long time. Sometimes you wake up and it's already dark, making the two of you laugh.
He kisses your forehead and pulls you close, his head just above yours, hugging you tighter when you give him a light kiss on his neck. His heart beats in the same rhythm as yours.
it's been so long since I've felt loved that I can't even recall the feeling and it gets worse when I think about how toxic it was the time I thought I was loved
blakekathryn
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