#Emerald Under Sapphire

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Yay for spodumene! Spodumene varieties are lesser known in the gem trade than many of the more famous gem species (I admit I'd never seen it before studying my diploma) and kunzite and hiddenite are probably the most desirable.

(@theproblemwithstardust I know you probably know more about this than me but here's the breakdown for anyone who is interested...) Oh but also below a keep-reading because I also rambled ^^;

pure spodumene without any impurities is clear Many gemstones would be colourless if they were completely chemically pure. Their colour comes from trace amounts of other chemical elements which are not intrinsic to the chemical crystal structure of the mineral itself - these are called allochromatic or 'other-coloured' gems!

For example, pure corundum (aluminium oxide) is colourless (we'd call it white sapphire! If it contains traces of iron and titanium this colours it blue, and we call it sapphire. If it has impurities of chromium it is coloured red, and we call it ruby!

Gemstones where the colour is caused by an element intrinsic to the crystal structure are called idiochromatic or 'self-coloured'. Examples include peridot (magnesium iron silicate) and pyrope-almandine garnet (iron aluminium silicate)

pink/purple gem varieties [of spodumene] are called kunzite and the color is caused by trace amounts of Mn Manganese as a colouring element in gemstones often produces a pink to orange colour palette depending on the surrounding crystal environment. It causes the pink of spodumene var. kunzite and beryl var. morganite as an impurity (allochromatic gems), and the orange of spessartine garnet and pink of rhodonite and rhodochrosite as an intrinsic chemical element (idiochromatic gems)

the color is very prone to fading in uv light A great tip for any pink or light purple stones is to keep them away from strong light! Their colour can fade from prolonged exposure to ultraviolet radiation, and you wouldn't want to spoil your beautiful gem collection - so tidy your jewellery away nicely and maybe stop keeping your rose quartz crystals on the windowsill in full sun :')

Fun fact I did my own experiment with zircon based on a paper I'd read about reversing the colour degredation caused by UV exposure. I was so excited I forgot to take before and after photos! The great news is (in zircon at least) you can reverse the colour change by exposing the stone to incandescent light (which is typically accompanied by infra-red radiation - ie/ the kind of light bulb that emits heat!) But I'm getting distracted from spodumene...

The dark green variety is hiddenite, NOT kunzite like it is labeled here and the color is due to trace amounts of Cr and possibly V My memory hack for learning this gem variety was that hiddensite is like Hiddleston like Tom Hiddleston who wore green as Loki in the Marvel films :P So yes the chromium-coloured green variety of spodumene is called hiddenite!

Many lesser known gem colour varieties get referred to as 'colour famous-cousin' for ease of explanation - it's not gemmologically correct but it often happens particularly when it comes to trying to sell these things! Lots of people wouldn't know prasiolite, but they can imagine what you mean when you say 'green amethyst'.

That said, there are times it is correct to do this! Sapphire occurs in every colour except red (because if it's red, we call it ruby), but any other colour is referred to as 'colour sapphire'. So it is correct to say pink sapphire, yellow sapphire, purple sapphire! If you just say 'sapphire' we assume you mean blue :)

the pale green/yellow gem variety of spodumene [is] called triphane Oh exciting! I didn't know this! ^_^

Not spod related but we also learned in mineralogy that bixbite is an outdated term since it’s so close to bixbyite. we just call it ‘red beryl’ but I’m not sure what it is like in the gem world!) The proper way to refer to it would be beryl var. red beryl, but if you said bixbite we'd still know what you meant! :) This is also a gem which would be misnomered as 'red emerald'...

Naturally occuring red beryl is very rare, and typically occurs in small sizes not suitable for faceting as gemstones. That said, these things can be created synthetically and synthetic hydrothemal red beryl is another stone which shows FAB orange/pink pleochroism!

ps. I think a lot of the pictures in the original post are colour enhanced, it's a fun guide but maybe go speak to your friendly neighbourhood gemmologist if you want to know if they're actually representing the colour correctly!

By LabradoriteKing on Pinterest

[tomriddleslove]

Theodore Nott is 100% the doting type of lover.

Not at first, though. He was terribly scared of falling in love, because all he had as a frame of reference was his mother and father. In my eyes, the only love Theodore received as a child was from his mother, from the way she’d comb his hair to the way she’d heal his wounds if he ever got hurt. Naturally, that means when Theodore fell in love with you, he did the very same things.

He’d show his love for you in the way he carries your favourite sweets in his bag for whenever you’re feeling bad. The way he fixes a plate for you at dinner before he does it for himself. The way he makes you take a break when you’re overworking yourself.

He stares at you dumbfoundedly the first time you do the same for him. He freezes, and he doesn’t know what to say. He practically almost runs away, leaving you to think you’ve done something wrong. See, for Theodore acts of service are like the purest form of love. When you do the same for him, you’re declaring you love him irrevocably, and he thinks he doesn’t deserve that.

So he ghosts you. For a day or two. And those two days are hell for him. He cannot get over the idea that he isn’t deserving of your love. After a small confrontation in his room, and a few tears, you assure him he is worthy of it. That’s the very same day he knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. You made Theodore feel as though loving him was as easy as breathing. And it was, how couldn’t it be?

The next day, Theodore took you out to hogsmeade and you both browsed some pretty little rings. He wanted to get you a promise ring, and you fell in love with a beautiful emerald cut sapphire ring. It’s undoubtedly an engagement ring, far too expensive to be anything else. You marvelled at the display whilst he paid for the small gold one you had chosen as the promise ring.

When you both go to grab a butterbeer. He slips out under the guise of having to go to the bathroom.

He returns back no more than 5 minutes later, with his wallet considerably lighter, and one sapphire ring encased in a ornate black box.

Biding it’s time in his drawer, until the day you wear it on your ring finger.

[theorist-fox]

Takes practice

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Crossposting from AO3.

Part 1 >> Part 2

In my feel-good romance era. Usually more of a slap me pull my hair touch me there, there, there - no more talking. But not today. No SIR.

The bit regarding the satellite phones and telemarketers was inspired by the first chapters of Shadowed by Tarajanee. Absolutely adore that work and I thought those scenes at the beginning were lovely!

Word count: 13k

Summary: Simon is deployed for the first time since the beginning of your relationship. Instead of finding purpose in keeping the world clean, he finds it in keeping himself alive, because he's never been this eager to come home.

18+

CW: smut!!! dry humping, mutual masturbation, thigh fucking, P in V. Fluff, this is very fluffy. Soft Simon Riley, Simon is absolutely fucking whipped. Self-deprecating thoughts, intrusive thoughts, angst if you squint so don't squint and you'll only get yearning and love making.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon doesn’t remember your eyes.

He’s been clawing at his face, both literally and metaphorically, because each time he closes his eyelids to succumb to exhaustion, he sees your face.

And you’re pretty. So much. He envisions the curve of your smile and how your lips part to give way to your teeth. The lines at the corners that scrunch your nose and how it flushes when it’s too cold out. He has memorized the shape of your brows for every expression. Knows the line of your cheekbones and how they swell under your eyes when you smile.

Your face is lovely, even when he conjures it in his head. But when your form breaks through the mist, he gets startled every time. Because he can’t see your eyes.

It's like a mock picture of you. A mimicry gone bad. You’re there, fresh and real, whispering sweet words to him, tossing a quip, or moaning breathlessly as he remembers the way he’s fucked you, but your eyes are carved out. Blank spots instead of the windows to your soul, like everyone always seems to chatter about.

Sure, he remembers the shape of your eyes, and if he takes deep breaths, cancels out Johnny’s blabber blaring from his cot, and enters a deep meditative state, he might be able to draw their outline.

But it’s the shade he misses. Are they sapphire, dark, and cryptic? Or frostbite blues. Emerald, maybe. He ponders, but he’s not sure. Brown, like his? Chocolate, with swirling hazels like golden speckles. Stormy grey. Charcoal black. Amber. Gold. Fucking crimson.

He doesn’t know.

But it's only been three months since he left.

And it’s been six months since Simon has taken you on his bed and fucked his name into you. Six months since he’s finally tasted your skin and imprinted your flavor on his tongue. 

It’s your fault, he thinks, if now everything he eats tastes bland. Nothing sweeter than the salt of you. The dichotomy is not lost on him. He’s a rational man, and figures easily that skin can't be sweet, especially not after he made you sweat by pounding you into the mattress. Yet he might have lost a marble or two after that, because now not even honey can compare.

Which is why he’s moved his things in your room. Just because it’s bigger, he told you. No other reason, really.  

Fucking liar. 

But again, you’re as saccharine as you taste. And maybe not as naïve as he thinks. Because ever since that night, six months ago, your hands often intertwine with his own when you guide him to bed – your bed. 

And that’s how he found a nightstand full of his things on the side closer to the doorway of the room. There’s the book you’ve lent him and a re-filled plastic bottle of water right next to it, one that he should probably throw away like you constantly tell him. Something about microplastics, but fuck if he knows. Because ever since that night, he’s lost a bit of his logic, a lot more of his sanity: you can speak for hours on end and he wouldn’t hear a damn thing if not for how your voice vibrates against his eardrums, sending tingles down his spine. 

Surreptitiously, his things have started to appear in your room. He doesn’t have much, a phew photos of his family are shuffled with your trinkets. Plain, white frames stuffed in between your smiles on pictures you’ve taken with friends. 

A frame of his medals, the ones you insisted he kept, nailed to the wall next to your PhD certificate. 

Tidy, onyx wardrobe polluted with pinks and greens. Breathable cotton and faux furs. Fuzzy fabrics that leave a rainbow of synthetic hairs on his clothes. He doesn’t bother to pluck them off, it’s just another piece of you he’s lucky to carry around.

His old bedroom turns into a storage room. Filled with boxes of forgotten things and broken appliances you can’t be bothered to fix. 

And he promises to tinker a little with the vacuum, so you won’t have to spend money on a new one and use your savings for your guilty pleasures. That book you saw when you went out together for groceries? Consider it yours. The cooking classes you wanted to attend at that restaurant you’re always raging about? He’s already bought you a pristine new apron. 

And maybe he’ll take you there, too. Ask for a more secluded table where he can still spot the door, so he can also uncoil the muscles of his back and use his eyes only to look at you, instead of having them dart around for dangers.

But fuck, he can’t do any of that now. 

It’s his first mission after that night, six months ago, and Simon is already feeling withdrawal symptoms. You’re worse than morphine on a dying man; you leave him aching for something he knows he can have because you're so obviously there, but he’s so stupidly far away.

And he can’t even tell you where he is. Can’t even give you some peace of mind. Can barely call you, because Johnny’s been hogging the satellite phone to talk to Lord-knows-who.

The Scot is not selfish, Simon knows he would only have to ask, and the bulky device would practically materialize in his hand. But Simon also knows that if he dared, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Because in the years spent in the task force, he’s never needed to call anyone. 

Can’t call the dead, now, can you? 

And now, popping a question like that would only raise suspicions. It would have his mates up his arse until his head would split in half.

But it’s been six months since that night. Three months since he left. 

And that pocket of time he’s managed to spend with you, uninterrupted, almost made him accustomed to civilian life. To the lack of his mask and the AC of the flat breezing against his face. The taste of homecooked meals. The constant presence of another soul (a beautiful one at that) in his same space. 

With you, he’s never parched – of anything. You feed him mind, heart and body, showering him with that innocent love you so easily dispense, allowing him to bathe in it. 

He’d listen to your never-ending chat for days. His mind has always roared with sounds, yet the more noise you make the more you silence it. Baffling, really, how he’s spent his whole life looking for quiet and found it in the loudest person on earth.

He’s always sated with your kisses, your words, your quick mind and razor-sharp wit, your moans and your mewls, and God, anything you were willing to give. Your lips, your spit, the juices he makes you drip, and the ones he makes you spray. He dreams of cupping your clit with his mouth as he ravages your cunt with two thick fingers until you’re splashing on his tongue. He’d drink you dry, if you’d let him. 

And oh, you have. 

There’s  the wonderful catch. These are not wishes; these are memories. Too real and fresh ones for them to be just another one of his daydreams.

Finally, after three months of pondering – or better, yearning – he realizes that every skin-prickling migraine his mates would induce is worth the sweet, sweet sound of your voice.

He’s disgustingly sweaty. He tugs at the lip of his collar and grimaces when he feels the cotton unstick from the dampness on his chest. 

Johnny's sitting idly, enjoying the few days of break from mayhem. Just a handful of hours allowed, really, enough to get them back on their feet – tactical planning, refill of their resources. Boring shite like that. But at least it’s a breather all right.

“Got the phone, Johnny?” He grumbles.

And Johnny would love to act as none the wiser, but his eyes peek from behind the sketchbook he holds in his hand. The smirk that curls at his lips has Simon roll his eyes. 

He makes a beckoning gesture with his fingers, giving him a pointed look. “Johnny.”

“L.T.” He responds in kind. “Callin’ the landlord?”

Simon levels him with a deadpan look that could freeze the desert they’re stuck in. “Sergeant.”

Bastard’s too cunning for his own good.

Johnny drops the sketchbook immediately, showing the lieutenant his palms in defense. The cheeky bastard that he is doesn’t manage to conceal the absolute fascination in his eyes. He’s studying his superior as if he’s staring at another species.

And Simon doesn’t blame him. He’s like a sock that’s been turned inside out, the negative image of himself. All that gloomy energy turned blinding light, ever since he’s had a taste of what life could be with you in it.

But alas, no one wants to have the Ghost up their arse, so Johnny looks around the messy area around his cot and plucks the girthy satellite phone out of it.

Simon picks it up by pinching the tiny antenna on its side. It prompts Johnny’s smirk to broaden. 

“Haven’t done anythin’ with it.” He quips, letting it hang in the air for a second longer. “Or have I.”

Simon grunts a noise of disgust. “Spare me.”

He finds a secluded spot in the area they're occupying. There's nothing around them but the rubble of a city that has been torn by war and time. The sight is dour, and the silence echoes a dark past he hasn’t witnessed. Even so, the remains of the buildings are tall enough to offer their lot some cover. 

He slides with his back against a wall, knees spread wide. 

He knows your number by heart, his thumb presses each button with newfound resolve. Only when he brings the phone to his ear, does his determination falter. Because he hasn't contacted you in any way, shape, or form for three months. So, what if you’re livid, now? You’d have every right. He’d understand if you’d rip him a new one through the receiver. He just hopes you didn’t spend these days rethinking your choices. 

God, you’ve infected him with this overthinking bullshit.

“Hello?” Your voice breaks through the fog in his brain, like a hand wiping mist from glass, and his own breath threatens to choke him. He’s speechless for a moment, forgetting how to function properly.

Just your voice has sent his mind into overdrive - burnt his synapses to ashes. 

He reckons he’s completely fucked.

“Hello?” You repeat, sounding a little more annoyed. 

You grumble something about telemarketers having lost the decency to call at a reasonable hour. And when he doesn't answer again, he hears you sigh. Your voice gets all clinical, then, as if you were trained to repeat the same script over and over. “Listen, if you’re trying to sell me somethin’, my husband’s not home – he takes care of that stuff.”

He snorts.

“Your husband?”

Silence.

There’s a sort of shifting sound, he gathers you might have removed the phone from your ear and checked for the number on the screen. He can practically see your eyes squinting at the phone.

He hears you gasp, and he hints at a smile. Fucking hell, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s done that.

“Simon?” You venture.

“Hello, love.” 

You squeal, and he pulls the phone away from his ear with a grimace. But he’s tired of lying to himself – his heart is soaring. 

"Christ. Made my ears ring," he deadpans.

You chuckle, sighing afterward, as if a weight has been lifted from your chest. God, you’re a dream to listen to. If only he could also look at your face right now, just bask in the way your smile would light up the room. 

“Serves you right,” you chide him, as if that could ever be a punishment. “Could’ve called a little earlier than three months in. Was already looking for a new flatmate.”

He’s eternally thankful for the skull mask, even if it’s soddened with his sweat because if anyone were to walk by, they wouldn’t see how his face has softened. 

“Yeah?” He sniffs, “Made a new flyer and all tha’?” 

“Oh yeah,” You agree flippantly. There’s a shuffling sound that reminds him of bedsheets. “Made sure to add my boyfriend left me as a footnote.”

The corners of his lips twitch minutely. 

“Thought it was your husband who wasn’t home.” He retorts. “Got a stash of ‘em, then?”

Your chuckle is a breath of fresh air. He wants to have it imprinted in his eardrums, replacing the aggravating tinnitus. 

“Oh, y’know,” you sigh dramatically. “Bit o’ this, bit o’ that. Keeps things interesting.”

“Gotta have a chat with the lad, then.” He taunts, “Set some rules.”

“Good luck with that. He rarely listens.”

He hums fondly. It’s all he can give you, right now. 

He’s new to this, relationships have never been his forte. For the first time in his life, he’s having someone else guide him. It’s hard, he won’t deny it, having another set of hands grasp the wheel, instead of his own. But he’s letting you, however slowly. You’re understanding, and you’re allowing him to leave his foot on the brakes. You never push him, you go at his pace – even if it’s blatantly annoying, how sluggish his movements are. Yet you don’t seem to mind, and he’s eternally grateful for it.

“How…” You start. He can tell you’re unsure, whether or not you can ask these things. Whether or not he can answer them. “How are you?”

His eyes soften. 

“Good,” he reassures you. “’S hot.”

You hum. “North Africa.”

He clicks his tongue. “No.”

“Okay.” A beat. “Middle East?”

Eh.  “No.”

You gasp. 

“You’re throwing me off guard, aren’t you? You said it’s hot, but it actually isn’t.” You say cleverly, even if you’re aware it’s most likely untrue. “North America, then. Like - Canada.”

“Drop it, maybe.” He offers gently. “Making a fool o’ yourself.”

“Alaska.” 

“Love.”  He warns, but his voice is kind. “Wastin’ time.”

“Mh, the script has changed, I see.” You tease him, and he can tell you’re smiling, by the way your voice comes. “Thought you were gonna hit me with the classified.”

“Like to keep you on your toes.”

“Been on my toes for three months.”

His heart clenches a little. He doesn’t want that. Doesn’t want you to live on the line like that. He wonders if you’ve ever felt like this, in the four years he’s lived with you without having anything tethering each other, if not a casual friendship. Were you ever afraid when he left for his deployments? Or is this new to you, like it is for him?

“Fixed the vacuum, by the way.” You tell him lightly, as if sensing the tense air your comment has instilled. 

He silently thanks you for breaking the silence when he couldn’t. A gentle huff of relief travels through the receiver. 

“What was the problem?” He asks, even if not really fussed about the state of the thing.

“Fuck if I know.” You shrug. “Gave it a few whacks and it started working again.”

He fails to keep in a huff of laughter. “Fucking hell, ‘s tha’ what you’ve been doing, then? Hitting appliances?”

“Fixing appliances.” You correct him. “And stress baking. Lots of it.”

“Work’s botherin’ ya?” 

“S’fine.” You sigh sweetly, as though that could give him some peace of mind. “Everything’s fine over here, you don’t have to worry.”

Selfless angel, you are. He would have to be daft not to realize that you’re probably leeching your heart dry at the thought that something might happen to him. He feels like a fool for not having contacted you sooner, even when he had only a minute to spare.

His pride be damned.

“��M sorry I didn’t call earlier.” He apologizes, because the least he can do is hope you forgive him for being like a baby deer on ice about all this. 

“You called.” Your voice is soft. “’S what matters.”

He knows what you mean. He’s alive, that’s what matters. He’s faring good enough to chat with you, that’s what matters. He’s missing you as much as you’re longing for him, that’s what matters. 

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His offhand runs across his face and he has to rip his own head out of his arse before the thoughts overwhelm him. 

How can he put you through this?  He should’ve left three weeks in, four years ago; should’ve let you share your home with someone more reliable, one who didn’t have a blade oscillating above his neck.

And yet at the same time, he can't let go of you. 

You’re so good to him, you’re the drop of water in a life that’s always felt arid. You made his barren heart flourish without even trying – he didn’t think anyone could, he thought he was bound to be frozen soil, not a garden. But here you fucking are, with your tiny watering can, nourishing the earth and causing it to sprout.

He’s selfish. He is. There is no karmic balance in his reasons. The scale tips in his favor through and through, because he’s sure you’re not gaining anything from this relationship, if not a spike in anxiety and its hand around your neck.

“How long?” You ask, seemingly unable to bear the silence.

"Few weeks." He croaks and clears his throat when he notices how cracked his voice sounds. “Be back in three. Could be two, if things go to plan.”

The silence on your end is deafening. Unwittingly giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“Countdown starts, then.” You reply with that sunshine in your voice. Sunbeams through ominous clouds. “Gonna tally the days on the wall with one of your can openers.”

He snorts. “Lotta money to fix.”

“We can put ugly wallpaper over it,” you propose. “So the next person to rent the place will remove it and a whole kidnapping slash ghost story will spread around the neighborhood.”

You’re crazy, he thinks, but not unkindly. His heart squeezes in his chest.

“Fucking numpty.”

“Fucking numpty, or fucking numpty, derogative?”

He smirks. “Former.”

“Wonderful.” You say with a pinch of a smile he can’t see, sounding all smug.

However, nothing nice can last forever, not in Simon Riley’s plane of existence. He spots his captain approaching him, fiddling with the boonie hat in his grasp while his other hand lazily dries droplets of sweat on his forehead.

“Gotta go.” He mutters. Waits a bit. Shuffles through his thoughts and decides to swallow his pride, because you deserve at least that much. “Missed you. Still do.”

You're silent for a moment longer before you give him a last glimpse of your voice. The one he'll hold onto like a lifeline for the next three – hopefully two – weeks. 

“Miss you too.” You say gently. “Come home soon.”

And he’s back suddenly. 

Earlier than expected, at that – one week only. Price was all business, a few days after he caught him sneaking a phone call. Telling him things like “Need you at HQ. Work with Laswell, make sure classified intel stays classified”. And when he questioned why would he send his sniper and lieutenant to do a job an analyst should do, Price answered with a curt “Because I can trust you”.

Honestly, what could he have said to that? Even if it smelled fishy from afar, his reasoning sounded mostly reliable. Because you would send your most trusted to deal with sensitive information, right? And if Simon were a bit more daft and a bit less intuitive, he would've shrugged it off. 

But it was plain as day when his boot landed on British soil, duffel bag in hand. When his phone pinged after he turned off airplane mode, and a text popped up:

[Unknown number]: Take a few days off for the jet lag. 

That he realized the ploy his teammates had concocted. To be honest, he wasn’t as resentful as he thought he was going to be. There was lingering thankfulness – somewhere, deep below layers and layers of stoicism.

[You]: Time zones aren’t that different. 

[Unknown number]: Take a few days off to just rest, then. 

[You]: Not that tired. 

[Unknown number]: Never took you for one to question orders. 

[You]: Never took you for one to put personal life before our job. 

Simon waited patiently under the overhanging lip of the hangar. The Kevlar of his glove crinkled as his fingers curled around the hand of his duffle bag. The rain creates a gentle buzz against the metal.

It took a while for the other bubble to appear, as if the other person – most likely Price, judging by the vocabulary used in the texts – was thinking about the right thing to say.

And the right thing it was, when the words fluttered on Simon’s phone screen.

[Unknown number]: About time you put yours first, though. 

Simon, for once, agreed.

────────────

The keys slide into the keyhole with familiarity. He turns it three times, content to see you’ve locked the door all the way. When he steps in, the flat is quiet, but he isn’t expecting otherwise. It’s late at night, the hands of the clock that’s hanging above the telly mark somewhere around three in the morning, but it’s too dark to be sure. 

He's ever so gentle when he closes the door and gingerly sets the duffle bag at his feet. 

The first thought popping in his head it’s you. You’re not expecting him to be back so soon, and he has this trepidation in him that wants to command his feet to the door of your bedroom only to see how you’d react to his unexpected presence.

But he takes a moment to digest this new feeling. 

It's hard to realize that, finally, you're not dreading something. For the first time in an excruciatingly long while, Simon isn't afraid. While his brain is rigidly wired in a way that makes him refuse to acknowledge his vulnerabilities, the heart knows best.

And he is scared. He’s always been scared, ever since his mother granted him the possibility of walking this earth. Being excited to live has never been his strong suit, but he’s learning. He’s trying. 

Takes practice, to accept you’re worth your happiness.

So, as a novice learner, it’s a little jarring to realize that when his feet land on the hardwood floors of this house, there's no need for fear. He can tuck the dread away, stuff it in a pocket, and close the flap, all the while being sure no harm will come his way. Certainty that with you there’s no need for all that, for vigilance – he can unravel the knots, and simply feel what comes, because it's not going to hurt him. 

You could never.

Hooking a finger under the hem of the balaclava, he snatches it off his head and lays it on the shelf next to the doorway. It’s soaked in rain, but he’ll wash it tomorrow. And he’ll use your fabric softener, so it’ll smell like your sheets. 

The flat looks awfully dull with the lights off. The bright colors are mere shades of grey, and while he’ll never admit it out loud, he truly thinks the orange of the eastern wall brightens the room as you've told him. The thought itself baffles him – Simon Riley now knows a thing or two about home design. You’ve changed him in ways he never expected. 

However, the thing that shocks him even more than his newfound knowledge of home interior embellishments, is when the smell of baked goods bullies its way into his nose. His mouth waters in a Pavlovian response. 

Right.  

Stress baking. 

He kneels to unlace his boots, before toeing them off gently, making sure they won’t thud against the floor and disturb your sleep. Then, he practically floats to the kitchen, still unbelieving at the idea that he gets to come home and find delicacies as such ready to eat. Sometimes, in the span of life he decides to call the “Before you”, he’d snatch a few MREs from the stash in base and eat them once back in his flat. 

Easy, quick, and edible. Even if they taste like cardboard.

And now he gets to walk into a kitchen that smells like blueberries and buttercream and black tea. He gets to grab a lumpy muffin from the tray on the kitchen island and sink his teeth in its golden and blue fluff. The flavors erupt on his tongue, from the saccharine spongy cake to the sweet tang of the blueberry juice as the fruit bursts under his teeth.

He selfishly hopes your stress baking will last for a few more days.

Nevertheless, while he’d gladly eat the whole tray if it were up to him, there’s something he craves more than a full stomach. And you're currently waiting in the other room, probably tucked under the duvet because the British weather tonight is rigidly cold. 

He shrugs off his wind jacket and drapes it over the backrest of a kitchen chair. He can’t afford to take any steps backward. The coat rack is just a few paces back from the kitchen, nailed to the wall near the entrance, but he really doesn’t care. That handful of seconds is too precious to waste.

The steps he takes through the dark hallway are measured and silent; years of special forces training have taught a man his size how to be what his callsign implies.

Discreetly, he turns the knob, trying to make sure he won’t wake you with a startle because the door has barged open. However, the one caught by surprise it’s him. Because you’re not asleep, even if it’s three in the morning. 

Oh, he wants to give you a proper earful – sure, he's not your father, and if you're so keen on staying awake up until this hour on a weekday, then it's your funeral. 

Does it help school the unruly necessity of keeping you as healthy as can be? Absolutely fucking not. You’re a heathen and he hates you for it. 

But now you’re resting your back against the headboard, cross-legged on the bed. Satin blue navy camisole paired with matching shorts, big headphones on your ears, and your laptop on the mattress. You’re typing away. He’s sure you’ve pushed back an assignment from work and now you’re running out of time.

The room is dark, the only light being the screen of your computer casting your silhouette against the wall behind you. It’s silent aside from the patter of rain on the windowpane – you haven’t closed the blinds because Simon knows you love the moon flooding your room with gentle light. However, tonight the clouds are dominating the night sky, but the lampposts across the street are doing what the moon can’t, and you seem to favor that over complete darkness.

It’s clear you haven’t noticed him yet, music blaring in your ears and eyes focused on the monitor. But he’s seen you all right. And your eyes are cast downward, your lashes like annoying curtains depriving him of what he's been missing for the past three months. 

In spite of how muffled his movements have been, you seem to notice a shift in the air. Something that makes your skin prickle, a pair of eyes that shouldn’t be in the same room, nor in the same flat – not now, at least, when he should be mummified in Kevlar and breathable cotton somewhere in the desert. He's secretly proud of how easily you seem to feel fluctuations in the environment. Makes him take a breath of relief, that your reflexes aren't dull even when your senses are already busy.

You lift your head swiftly, and he helps you focus on him by flicking up the light switch. The sudden brightness makes you squint, but you blink it away and finally clock him at the door. 

And your eyes are the color of the sun, he thinks. How could he forget, that they’re the color of a bonfire when it's cold out. Of yellows, oranges, and those occasional sparkles of green when the wood is not dry, but still burns to keep him warm.

Realization paints your face with stunning colors: darkening cheeks, eyes shaped like crescent moons under the pressure of rising cheekbones. Mouth curving beautifully, and it seems to catch your teeth. The smile stretches your lips abruptly, morphing your face in spare seconds.

He sees it happen in slow motion. You rip your headphones and carelessly toss them on the bed, your laptop is skewed to the side so quickly that he instinctively reaches out a hand to prevent its fall. Thankfully, the stars are on your side tonight, and the balance tips it on the mattress, instead of the floor. 

You’re a little hurricane, scurrying off the bed and kicking off the sheets. Getting on your feet and almost slipping in the attempt to reach him in as little time as possible. A tornado of limbs envelops him in the blink of an eye. He barely has time to react that you’re already coiled around him like ivy– arms, legs, and all.

Luckily, the doorway is right behind him, and he manages to tumble back and lean against it. Your arms are vines around his neck. Your legs are roots encircling his waist. You seem to grow on him, supplying his wretched heart with the sap of life you carry – symbiotic. He feels like he can breathe again and has been doing it wrong all this time.

He helps your balance by keeping a firm hold around your waist with his arms, encapsulating you in his warmth. Lean fingers spread on your back, yearning to touch as much as he can reach.

“Easy,” he rumbles. His voice is hoarse because whatever reaction he'd imagined, all this fussing surely wasn’t it.

Your fingers thread through his hair and tug lightly at his scalp. He’s silently apologetic because it must be wet with both rain and sweat, and he's sure the smell wafting from him isn't exactly cologne-worthy. But you don't seem to care, because after you've thoroughly inspected the crook of his neck, your face comes back into view.

Your eyes are the color of joy.

“Welcome back.” You whisper, as if it’s a secret between you two. And you kiss him because surely you must want it as much as he does. A flutter of lashes brushes his cheekbone when you tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Nails scrape at his scalp in the gentlest of ways. 

Simon feels your smile before he sees it. “You taste like blueberries.”

And he exhales against your lips. “Found ‘em waiting for me in the kitchen. Baked for an army, y’ have.”

You peck his lips once more, as if you couldn’t fathom a second longer without having them on yours. “Figured you’d be hungry. MRIs can’t be that tasty.”

"MREs,” he corrects. “And you’re right. They ain’t.”

Simon is not sure he’s ever received such a warm welcome, or such warmth in general. He’s not going to complain, of course, but that doesn't mean it leaves him any less rattled each time.

He gently sets you down at the edge of the mattress, standing between your legs – which you’ve pliantly spread to make room for him.

You gesture with your hand from left to right, "Potato, Po-tah-to."

"One is food, the other is medical equipment," he deadpans.

You glare up at him, as if to ask what the hell he wants now – it's three in the morning. Can’t be arsed to correct vowels at three in the morning.

“Potato.” You enunciate it better now, and it steals a lazy grin from him. “Po-tah-to.”

After having flicked your forehead at your insistence, he reverently lays his hand on your cheek and spreads his fingers into your hair.

“Alright?” You ask him.

“Mhmh,” it’s his only reply.

If only to feel you more, he guides your face to his belly. You seem to appreciate the gesture because you're already nuzzling his shirt, fisting it at his back for good measure. Simon feels your back expand and deflate under his palm when you breathe. Feels the rhythmic thump thump of your heart at his fingertips.

You’re life in its purest form. 

Face first into his abdomen, your voice is obviously muffled, but he hears it clearly anyway. "You smell like a sewer, mate."

He snorts, and lightly tugs at your hair, enough to make your head tilt back. He squints his eyes at you. “Cry ‘bout it, mate.”

Simon bends at the waist as you chuckle. Places a kiss on the crown of your head. Your eyes flutter closed and so do his. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but you two. The world muffles its noise to favor the sound of your breaths. The rain patters against the windowpane. Your laptop has gone into standby mode so now the screen is dark. The mellow light on the ceiling, a pale yellow, is like your discreet personal spotlight. 

Then, he reluctantly pulls away, and you chase him for more, pouting when he doesn’t seem to come back. But when he starts to undress, your scowl is easily replaced by a lazy grin. To increase the dramatics of the moment, you lean back on your elbows and wiggle your brows at him, “Well, well.”

You’re not subtle at all with the way your eyes follow a trail down his back, how the muscles fold when his hand reaches to the collar of his shirt and pulls it off his head. Curves and muscles and the indent of his spine. Skin freckled with scars you never ask a thing about because you're kind and you’re giving him time to open up on his own.

He’s put on some weight ever since your relationship has transitioned into something more meaningful, including feelings he still doesn’t have the guts to acknowledge. His abs are not as defined as before, they’re tucked under a layer of fat he’s not really accepting as of lately. The scar running across his stomach and its other companions only add to his self-deprecating streak.

He eyes you briefly as he unbuckles his belt, searching for what he’s sure is going to be a grimace, but he's met instead with the stupidest look he’s ever witnessed. Slow blinking at his form the more he undresses himself. Lips parted as if you’ve tried and failed to catch your jaw.

And that gives him the right to take those thoughts and shove them into the fear pocket. Sew it shut. No need to fear a thing, if you look at him that way.

You bite the tip of your tongue between your teeth. "Givin' me a show, lieutenant?"

The corner of Simon’s lips tugs upward and the sudden self-hatred sublimates under the warm adoration in your eyes.

“Cheeky little thing,” he rumbles, letting his khakis pool at his ankles. He steps out of them and shrugs them off when they catch his feet. 

One last step, and he’s already hooking a finger under the hem of your blue camisole, slowly lifting it up. There's an impish gleam in your eyes that promises trouble and he would love nothing more than to drown in whatever disaster you're planning.

He stands between your legs only in his underwear and after you’ve shut the laptop and placed it on your nightstand, your hands immediately come to rest on his stomach. Simon sighs at the touch.

“You’re a menace,” he says gently when you drum your fingers up to his chest.

Honestly, he hopes you don’t care if he smells like a cocktail of grime and sweat and rain, because, as much as he wishes for a hot shower, the sight of you melts whatever need away. 

Your eyes travel downward, taking a generous eyeful of him. However, he knows you’re not just ogling; you're searching him for wounds. 

Bandages. 

Sutures. 

Anything  that might tell you whether he's hurt or not. 

Obviously, Simon knows you want to ask. But you’re sensible when it comes to his job. In spite of the jabs about all the “Classified” he’s given you as answers, he knows you don’t hold a grudge against him. He also doesn't like to bring work at home, taking pains to leave his safe space untainted by it – instead, he lets you do the detective work yourself. 

A sweet sigh leaves your lips when you settle on the fact that he's unscathed, and you lift your arms up to help him take off your top.

"A menace?" You quip, feigning offense. "M’not the one looking naked and yummy."

“You’re about to.”

You don’t look away from his eyes when his fingers pull your top up and off. The camisole is gently removed past your head, the satin leaving your hair a little staticky. 

“A menace,” he murmurs once more, his tone softer now as he tosses the garment in a vague direction.

You wrap your arms around his waist, propping your chin on the hollow between his ribs, taking in his face as the sight that it is to your eyes. He doesn’t have the energy to question why, and just basks in the adoring attention and in the well-deserved skin-to-skin contact.

"How was it this time?" You ask gently.

His arm drapes over your shoulders, slowly stroking at your skin. A tender kiss to your hairline has you automatically sighing. You do it every time he kisses your head. He's mentally taken note of how his lips press a button of sorts that makes it all wash away, like suds under the jet of water.

“Same as always,” he murmurs, keeping his tone low and soft for your ears only. 

You hum in acknowledgment. "So?"

He smirks, a curve hidden in your hair. “Classified.”

You scoff and playfully slap his butt. He pulls back with a newfound glow in his eyes.

“Not Full Metal Jacket, if you’re wondering.” 

You hum, deciding to play along. “Spies involved?”

He snorts and tucks a rogue lock behind your ear. “Sure.”

You poke his chest as you make your definitive guess. “Three days of the condor!”

His eye twitches when, amongst the myriads of films you’ve ever watched in your life, you quote the one with the CIA involved. He has to flatten his face into something more neutral. Surely yours was a clear shot in the dark that somehow hit the right spot – even a broken clock is right, twice a day. Still, your blind guess doesn’t leave him any less distressed.

“Sorta.” He offers through gritted teeth.

And you don’t push any further, sluggishly resting your cheek on his belly.

"Were you more Robert Redford?” You mumble with half-closed eyes, "Or Faye Dunaway?”

Relief washes over him and he can’t help but huff. Plops a hand on top of your head and smooths down to the ends of your locks, rolling them between the pads of his fingers.

“Faye Dunaway, love.” He rumbles. “No question.”

You playfully tighten the hold around his waist, and with a tug, he's pulled down onto the bed. Simon knows he could easily win whichever battle if you’re the opponent, but he’ll always pretend to struggle just to humor you. He’s careful though, so he props himself on his forearms to avoid crushing you with his bulk. 

Gently, you kiss his nose but he doesn’t pull away, instead allowing the kiss to be reciprocated on your cheek. He reaches out for the switch next to the headboard and turns off the lights. 

Your eyes are the color of a summer’s night. 

They’re dark but twinkle with starlight. Pupils blown and the glowing halo of your irises around them like an eclipsed sun. The light coming from outside seems to favor you, creating shapes around your face able to turn you into a dream made reality.

“I’ll call in sick tomorrow.” You tell him, nose to nose. 

“Won't bother anyone, will it?” He asks mindfully, although he cares very little if your co-workers might get a little miffed about your last-minute call.

You shake your head softly, causing your noses to brush. “Nope, they’ll understand.”

And so, he unfolds, rolling onto his back and taking you with him. Your head is guided by a big hand to rest on his chest. He fits you perfectly into his side, making sure every piece of you adheres like glue to his skin.

“Y’need a shower?” You murmur in his skin, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers are tracing mindless patterns on his chest, skimming over hair and the odd scar here and there.

“Tomorrow,” he replies quietly. “Sleep now.”

“Alright,” you whisper. “Wake me up when you do, yeah?”

“Sure.” He says, looking down at the top of your head. He leaves a kiss in its ruffled mess.

“G’night, love.” He breathes. 

You murmur it back, and fall into your slumber.

────────────

Simon opens his eyes with his heart thundering in his chest. He doesn’t know why, and likely pegs it to mere habit. Three months stuck in hypervigilance will have your body unconsciously overreact at the most subtle of changes, even if there are none.

There’s too much light in the room for it to be night, and a single look at the window tells him the sun is just shy of rising. 

During the night, you must’ve moved around and he must have followed you, because now he has your back to his chest. An arm slung around your waist, the other tucked beneath your neck. 

He gently tugs the duvet a little higher, over your shoulder, and spends the next few minutes just looking at how peaceful you look.

Next to a killer. 

His stomach churns wildly. 

You’re home,  his heart says. You’re not a killer here. 

A shame, truly, that his brain doesn’t agree in the slightest. Two organs fighting like separate entities, and the whole brawl is happening inside of him, mercilessly tearing his flesh apart. 

But it’s already broken, isn’t it? What else is there to shred. 

Yet he’s home and you’re comfortable next to him. So how broken can he be, really?

Torn. Shredded. Lookin’ like you went through the grinder and barely came out of it alive. 

He forces his eyes shut and buries his face in your hair, nuzzling your nape. 

Pretty thing, she is. Who the fuck d’you think you are, mh? 

A sharp inhale. Breathing you in. You smell sweet enough for the sounds in his head to buzz out. Not silent yet, but quiet enough for him to have a breather.

You don’t know how long it takes for his body to expel the exorbitant amount of adrenaline produced in three months of deployment. How his back cracks when it hits the comfortable mattress of yours and his bedroom, after having spent way too much time packed like a sardine on sordid cots or much-too-small sleeping bags.

How he fucking hates it, when you feel so soft and untouched, while he has more scars than bloody years on his back. 

Not right. Ain’t fucking right to you. 

His hand snakes from your waist to follow the curve of your arm. He follows the bulge it makes under the comforter. The rain has turned into a light drizzle, allowing the sound of his skin brushing over yours and the shuffle of the blanket to echo in his ears.

He scoots impossibly closer, pressing your back against his chest hoping your skin would mold with his. Nose buried in the crook of your shoulder; kisses light as breeze following the length of it. 

You smell so good you disarm him. He sighs as if he’s been utterly defeated, lost a battle he didn’t even know he was fighting. 

His mind hushes, finally. His heart unwinds itself – springs let loose, pulse calm. 

There’s you. The way your breaths come. Your limbs stirring at the gooseflesh left by his kisses. The rising sun lapping at your skin. The rise and fall of your back. 

It’s calm.

Your head turns slightly, looking over your shoulder. You must only see his eyes, lazily glancing at you through pale lashes.

Yours are a dawning sun.

They’re soft and gentle, pale yellows and blues, peeking above the sheer horizon of sleep you’re trying to overcome. Idle, slow, but most welcome.

“Hey,” you croak, blinking the drowsiness away. “You okay?”

He hums a quiet yeah in your skin. Hasn’t even noticed his hand returning to your stomach and pulling you in, angling you against his lap. 

And fuck him, but he’s sporting the hard-on of a lifetime. 

He knows you’ll understand that he’s been deprived of such pleasures for three months, but it doesn’t make him any less embarrassed. A hand in his pants, while he hid somewhere more private in the middle of nowhere was a temporary fix that fixed very fucking little. Especially not after having been spoiled by you.

Simon doesn’t necessarily want to fuck you, now. Sure, his dick might have a head of its own, and he wouldn’t complain against it were it to happen, but he still has control of his actions. And now he just wants to feel you, whether inside or out doesn’t matter – as long as it’s you.

Nevertheless, he isn’t expecting you to have much different plans. Naturally, he isn’t going to protest.

Your ass tentatively presses against his length, the satin of your shorts sliding easily along the cotton of his boxers. You’re still so sleepy – he sees you digging a knuckle in your eye, nostrils flaring as you let out a big yawn. 

Were you aware of what you were doing, or were you being a goddamn minx?

“Well, good mornin’,” you murmur, a lick of a smile on your lips. “Brought me a souvenir from bumfuck nowhere?”

Minx it is. 

He snuffs out a chuckle by harshly pressing his lips against your shoulder, sewing his lips shut. Unfortunately, his chest rumbles against your back and you catch it before he manages to catch himself. 

Your hand goes to rest above his own on your stomach, fingers intertwining. 

Soft skin on both sides: palm to your belly, knuckles to your hand. He’s sandwiched in bliss. Three months away, barely any contact, and all he apparently needed to alleviate some wounds was just a handful of hours spent asleep in your presence.

His lips part slightly. Kisses turn wetter and teeth bite at your neck, his tongue darting out to subsequently soothe the ache. Your hand has already guided his own to your breast, and your mouth is breathing sounds he’s missed.

And he tells you, because why should he hide a thing from you.

“Missed ya,” he croaks, voice a little shaky for reasons unknown. He could look in his head (or his heart) and find them – surely, they’re there. But he figures the present feels much better than the jumbled mess inside.

Reasons can wait.

“Let me feel you, yeah?” 

Your head bending backward to his face is the answer you give him, back pressed flush against his chest. You guide his hand up and squeeze it around the fat of your breast to assert your approval. 

But he’s not satisfied with that. Needs your voice to tell him it’s alright, that you’re not under some sleep-induced spell. That you’re fine with having him feel you, and you’re not just offering yourself because he’s been away for so long and you want to give him some sort of reward.

Simply, that you want him as much as he wants you.

His voice is raspy and low, “Words, love.”

"Please," you whisper and vigorously grind your ass against his groin. “Touch me.”

He hisses and presses forward too, meeting your movements. 

He’s still a little out of it, senses overrun by the general fatigue clinging to his muscles as the aftermath of deployment, his bones weary and getting accustomed once more to the comfort of a bed instead of a cot. 

Mind absolutely quiet.

He flicks his thumb over your nipple. Rolls it between thumb and forefinger. Your shuddering breath prompts him to pull at it, and it causes you to arch your back off of him, pressing further against his painfully hard cock. 

He grunts against your shoulder, hand busy teasing your breasts and hips rutting against the plump flesh of your ass. You grind back against him, working in tandem to relieve at least some of that ache. 

Each movement is a languid stroke of fabric that gives him enough pleasure to cause his resolve to falter. When he turns your head sideways, leaving your tits to grasp your jaw, he loses it. Your flushed cheeks, lower lip trapped between your teeth, the whites of your eyes still a little red from sleep.

Lips on lips, slotting together like magnets. 

Too long. 

Too damn long. 

Sure, he kissed you when he came back, a bunch of hours before. But this is a whole other thing. The connection behind it, the pinch of your brows conveying the same desperation he has. Hands grabbing at flesh, bodies grinding against each other. Tongues dancing privately. Eyes closed to shut the world out. Moans and pants, dotted with the occasional curse slipping from his lips when the length of his cock catches the cleft of your ass.

His palm slides down and crosses the threshold marked by your shorts. He’s awfully delighted to find out you have nothing underneath them. Feels blessed when his middle finger slides down your cunt to find it impossibly wet. 

“Oh - Simon,” He hears you whimper, and he almost comes in his briefs then and there because he has no right to hear you say his sullied name with such devotion behind it. 

Seemingly feeling the need to respond in kind, your arm blindly reaches behind, and you slip it between your butt and his groin. Your hand is soft as it palms his cock, the cotton of his boxers an annoying barrier. 

The tip is leaking tremendously, and he should be embarrassed about the obvious wet spot he must be sporting on his briefs. However, he can’t even manage to concoct the thought that your fingers are already fumbling with the elastic band of his underwear and finding their way in.

Simon shudders when your warm hand curls around his shaft. 

You glide your hand up, collecting precum on your palm, before sliding back down again – velvet skin being pulled over the head to steer clear of overstimulation, and then down once more. Similarly, he crooks his finger to gather your wetness and uses it to roll idle circles around your clit. 

And it goes on, and on, and on, and on. It’s slow and drawn out, both of you wanting to reach that high but at the same time don’t – cutting off pleasure doesn’t seem fitting, when both of you have been starved of one another.

He bends the arm beneath your neck to pull your head back, next to his own, cheek to cheek. Simon’s hips jerk to blatantly fuck your fist, yours flow with the movement of his fingers circling your clit, stroking yourself against his hand.

He starts getting antsy, however, when he notices that he can’t properly reach you. Can’t have you unravel on his fingers like he’s done so many times before. Simon wants – needs – to see you unfold and squirm under the pressure of his hand. Needs to have you cream on his fingers – as simple as it’s primal.

He murmurs against the shell of your ear, “Need to stretch you out, love.”

And – goddamn you, you whine. Your hand doesn’t stop its languid movements, but it further slows down, as if you needed all of yourself to cooperate and form a single thought.

“Jus’ do it, I missed you.” You whimper, breathy and high-pitched. “Won’t hurt much, I promise.”

Simon sucks in a sharp breath, closing his eyes because your voice has gone straight to his cock and he needs to disassociate for a second to recollect himself.

You’re a temptress, even in your loving, tender desperation. And how sweet it is to know that he isn’t the only one craving those intimate touches he can only give you. You’ve had your fair share of relationships and lovers, but has he? Some quick ones, enough to get rid of natural aches. Definitely not with a connection so deeply ingrained. 

And he tastes, then, the beauty of mutuality. Of giving and receiving. 

He retreats his hand and prompts you to do the same. Helps you take off your shorts and pulls his cock out of his underwear. He holds you still with one arm around your waist, palm flat against your lower belly to angle you better. 

Gingerly, he guides the tip to your slit, dragging it upward until it catches your clit and you hiss, and then down to your hole. Back and forth, happily realizing that he has, in fact, made you wet enough to make it hurt less. And while he tends to be open to many requests made under the bedsheets, anything that causes you pain is a huge, firm no in his book. 

Which is why he’s a bit hesitant now, pressing chaste kisses against your shoulder, trying to soften the ache that will inevitably come. A juxtaposition, really, to his cock dragging a raw, slow dance down your cunt.

It’s then that you turn your head in the pillow to groan against the fabric, and your legs clamp together and essentially choke him between the plush of your thighs.

The sensation is initially a sharp jolt that makes him spout a series of curses under his breath. But then the glisten of your cunt mixed with the precum you’ve diligently smeared all over him, with your folds and your plump thighs wrapped around him in a warm, wet hug – he sees the appeal. 

And thrusts. Shamelessly – once, twice, thrice. Snapping harshly, only to draw back slowly. Grunting to your skin. Chest vibrating against your back.

“F – fuck,” he manages to choke out, wringing his eyes closed to regain some control over his actions and failing spectacularly.

Your moans don’t help. They perfectly align with the slap of his hips against your ass, with the wet noises of your sodden cunt against his cock. It’s as filthy as it’s fucking wonderful, and he’s terribly afraid he’ll finish before he can even fit the head inside of you. 

The grip he has around your waist only tightens, leaving you breathless by the second. Simon has his mouth next to your ear, giving you the privilege of hearing even the smallest breaths he exhales. 

“You’re so fuckin’ soft,” he whispers, panting from the effort. 

Curiously, he takes a peek over your shoulder as he fucks your thighs, catching the flushed head of his cock stroking your clit and appearing each time he thrusts in. It’s fucking debauched and he loves it to bits. So much that he groans and rolls his eyes, struggling not to paint your thighs with his spend.

“Need to fuck you,” he hurries, choking on the words. “Now, love.”

Rapidly (and reluctantly), he pulls out of the pillowy, snug space your thighs had inadvertently created for him, almost hissing when the cold air hits the sensitive skin of his cock, coated in yours and his arousal. 

“On your back, swee’heart,” he gently guides you down, adding a brisk yet tender “C’mon.”

And you comply, feeling almost like a ragdoll in his hands. Lips parted and slick as they form small Yes’s to convey the same ache he feels. It takes him less than a breath to place his mouth over yours again. 

As he hovers above you, thick arms on each side of your head and chapped lips crashing against your own, he slots his hips between your legs. The softer flesh of the inside of your thighs is still wet from when he’s buried his cock between them. He feels the fluids stick to the skin of his hips.

Taking his time, he lets a hand wander down your chest, flowing to your belly until his fingers reach your core – where you’re wet, and warm, and still pressing up against his cock, searching for friction.

He plunges a finger inside, making the movement of your hips stutter and your mouth gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“Gotta stretch you out," he repeats languidly, because he cannot - for the life of him - put words into sentences without thinking about the structure beforehand.

He’s aware he’s big. It used to chub up his ego when he was younger and brash, but now he can’t be arsed about it. Big or small, he’s learned that it’s how you use it – and to be frank, he hasn’t used it much before you.

But he knows it’s going to hurt if he just puts it in with little to no preparation. He hasn’t seen you in three months, and you can trust him when he says he’s as ravenous as you are and can’t bloody wait to be inside you where he’s warm and blessed – but causing you pain? When it can be avoided so easily (and he can make it feel good, too)?

Absolutely not. Categorical. 

He wants you to indulge in the blissful touches and the highs he can bring. Needs you to associate him to kindness and soft breaths and how much he hungers for you – he'll gladly eat you up, but only if you say so. 

“’S not gonna hurt,” you mumble again, sounding a little drunk in the effort to convince him. “Please.”

Your eyes flutter to him, and they’re this dark pool he can’t seem to navigate. Lust overflowing like fat, miry tears that can’t fit in the space of your sockets, and then something even darker – longing. You’re looking at him as if it's the first time you’re seeing him.

He gets it, then, how good you’ve been at hiding it so he wouldn’t hurt at the thought of hurting you. He must've unconsciously taught you a thing or two, by wearing stoicism, neutrality, and more tangible skull masks. 

You’ve missed him body and soul. 

You’re there, eyes heavy and full, begging for him to come back to you. 

How long have you been waiting for me like this? 

“Oh, love,”  he breathes and kisses you again.

A long finger inside, pushing against the place he knows makes your eyes water.

“M’sorry,” he whispers, thumb steadfast on your clit, as if he could apologize just by using his fingers because words tend to fail him when he needs them the most.

And so, he slides in his ring finger too, feeling the momentarily tight fit and the subsequent way you relax to welcome him. Your lips part to sharply breathe in, eyes scrunching close at the stretch. He can feel your hands stiffen against his back until they travel up his spine and tangle through shorn blond hair. 

You’re keeping him close, with your forehead pressed to his almost to the point of pain. Your noses are in the way of the onslaught you’re causing on his mouth. Strained, heavy pants brush his lips when you part from him to breathe, before lavishing him with attention again.

You’re always good with words. You always know what to say, and yet you’re being extremely quiet – it worries him more than the look you have in your eyes. 

“M’sorry.”

For being away. 

For not telling you where I was. 

For leaving you to wonder whether I’d come back, or not. 

For not calling. 

I’m sorry. 

“M’so sorry.”

My girl.  

His hand cradles the back of your head as if he could get you any closer, and he fucks you with his fingers.

“Don’t be,” you reply, your voice so faint and lost in the sounds of your bodies he has to perk his ears for it. “You’re home.”

My sweet, sweet girl. 

And he buries his face in your neck, leaving wanton kisses that have very little erotic power to them. He’s just trying to taste you, really. Trying to commit you to memory again, conveying fierce apologies to your skin. 

He can feel you clench around him, almost sucking him in, each time his fingers reach deep.

“Fuck, need to see you come.” He murmurs to the skin of your neck.

Thumb aching, he replaces it with the heel of his hand. A continuous and tortuous curl of his fingers inside of you, palm cupping your cunt and rolling against your clit. His cock aches when you whimper and stifle it by biting into his shoulder. A sharp exhale. Skin sweaty and pressed against his chest. Hands tugging at his hair. 

“Don’t-” You croak. “Just- just fuck me, Si.”

He groans because stop being stubborn, will ya?

“I’ll cum the moment I get in, swee’heart.” He tries to reason and almost loses it at the raunchy, squelching sounds caused by his fingers between your legs. "Lemme take care of you before tha'."

But it's like talking to a wall.

"'s fine, love. I don't care, yeah?" Your hips move against his hand, but at this point, he gathers it's just a natural body response to pleasure. “You’ll take care of me tomorrow, and the days after that.”

Just when he’s about to rebut, you sandwich an arm between your bodies and curl soft fingers around his cock. The simple act makes him stop his motions, and he feels you pulse and clench around his fingers.

“Please.” You whisper, voice like silk. 

He crumbles, then, at the sight of your eyes. Watery and glossy and wide – lust a long-forgotten thing. 

He nods briefly when he surrenders. A jerky movement of his jaw as he swallows thickly. Doesn’t dare to avert his gaze from yours when he retrieves his hand and loves to catch how your brows pinch at the sudden emptiness inside. Sloppily, he coats his stiff cock with your wetness with a few weak pumps.

His eyes stay on you, as he goes in blindly, guided by touch only, and drives the tip to your hole. Tries to gauge your thoughts by the expressions on your face, and fails miserably, for once, at keeping his own concealed.

Barely aware and in control of what his face is conveying, he gathers you must appreciate it because you shift your palms to cradle his cheeks. He doesn’t know why you do it because there’s nothing on this godforsaken planet that could make his attention swerve to any thoughts but how beautiful you look when your lips stroke his own with featherlight pressure.

And he slides in, comfortably easy. Feels your puffy lips stretch to welcome him whole, inch by inch. Piece by piece of him, in every way you want to interpret it. 

His jaw is locked tight because as soon as your walls envelop the head of his cock, he already feels himself shutting down. His eyes close – he can’t afford to look at how you morph for him. How your pussy swallows the first inches of his cock, puffy clit begging to be touched and lavished. How your mouth parts against his own to yield soft moans and breathy whispers that encourage him to please, please, please go deeper. 

He can’t. Stubbornly thinking he must last long enough to give you some pleasure or it will all be worthless. And so, it’s a repetitive dance: an inch in, and a full pull out. Stop. Another inch, and pull out. 

It’s driving him fucking mental.

“Let go,” you say, tearing his head out of the gutter. “Look at me, and let go.”

He can’t exactly decide whether you’re being the devil on his shoulder, or an angel sent from heaven – either way, the aim is to ruin him. Yet it doesn’t matter when he opens his eyes, and you look so beautiful his heart cracks, with a thin layer of sweat on your brow and the sheen of his spit on bitten lips. 

You don't have to tell him twice at this point, because the way your hands force his face steady so he keeps his eyes on you does most of the trick. His resolve crumbles at breakneck speed.

He bottoms out, pushing his pelvis flush against yours. Your eyes roll back at the same time, legs going stiff and tight around his hips. He does a tentative roll that causes the coarse hair on his groin to press against your bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," you breathe, your voice cracking at the edges. He echoes it right after you, or at the same time – he's not sure, but in his defense, he's not confident about a single thing right now.

If not how absurdly scorching you are, all wrapped around him.

With that, he hooks one arm around your waist and tucks his other hand behind your head. He holds you close like you might slip away, and he’s sure as hell not taking any chances.

He fucks you slowly, deep thrusts that fill you up all the way, and greedy love bites on your neck. Open-mouthed kisses at your throat, sliding up to your jaw and cheeks, all the way to your lips. Truthfully, he’s both trying to get his senses chock full of you, and keep his mouth shut so no words spoken while in ecstasy escape.

The slap of his hips against yours drowns the taps of the morning drizzle against the windowpane. He’s got your face buried in the crook of his neck, and your pants echo in his ears like a fucking promise that threatens to unravel him.

Each thrust has him fully sheathed inside of you. It fills him with primal pride and fuels his pleasure, because you take him so fucking well he can't help but think he's modeled you in his perfect image. He grunts against you and tugs at your hair out of sheer desperation to hold on – just a little longer.

But you’re swearing in his ear. Breathless fuck’s whispered like a curse and a vow at the same time. You shift your hips to change the angle and that makes him hit even deeper and he swears he hears you whimper in that telltale way he knows well.

He lifts your hips up and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

And he absolutely rams into you.

“Christ I missed you.” He rumbles and his voice cracks while your moans rise in pitch and your nails scratch his back. “Fuckin’ thought of you," Thrust. "Every bleedin’ day.”

He’s rambling now, intoxicated on the feeling of you. His words are slurred and strained and, deep down, there’s a more sober version of Simon Riley cursing at himself for speaking his heart out.

Luckily, it’s drowned by the slap of flesh against flesh and the wet sounds of your cunt milking him dry. 

Finally, he thinks, he's using his strength not to wield a heavy M4 or to ram against hostiles, but to fuck you on his cock – knee-deep in the mattress for leverage.

He lets go, like you asked.

He murmurs in your ear (Fuckin’ beautiful), words alternated with heavy pants (An’ all mine) and the animalistic grunts of a man cocooned in bliss (All fuckin’ mine).

His hips stutter and he knows he’s close, but you’re not even nearby, in spite of how he can feel you clench around him, sucking him in. And God, the guilt that fills him almost makes him stop even if he has that sweet, sweet release just around the bend.

But you won’t have that, naturally. 

Your fingers thread through his hair, clammy and sticking out weirdly because he’s sweaty and hot. He feels his head being shifted to the side, so you can look into his eyes.

And oh, how can you look at him like that? How is he even deserving of it – fuck you and your relentless ways to crawl under his skin and make him feel like he’s worth a damn, with your eyes glossy and hooded. A thick veil of admiration, fondness, and you. 

You, you, you. 

Where have you been all his life, with this color in your eyes?

“Come inside.” You plead tenderly, breathless and raspy, as he pounds you into your own bed. Your fingers smooth back rogue strands that are sticking to his forehead. “Please come inside.”

And you crush his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. One that marks his demise. He’s falling hard into your embrace, figuratively and literally, too.

He uses whatever shreds of strength he has left to ram into you as if his life depended on it, punching gasp after heaving gasp out of your beautiful lips into his hungry mouth.

It works like a spell because he feels the familiar pressure building at the base of his cock. Syrupy hot warmth runs down his legs to the tips of his toes. Tingling. Tightening. Burning so good he thinks he's melting within you.

Suddenly, his head spins, and he groans in your parted lips as he ruts into you one last time – until he has you filled to the brim. His eyes slam shut as he spills inside of you – cock pulsating and hot. 

His high takes its sweet time, canceling out all background noises and only leaving your sweet breaths to fill in his ears, and the pounding of his heart. 

Simon unceremoniously drops on you like dead weight, allowing your legs to return around his waist. His lips slide off yours until his head is tucked in the crook of your neck. He’s absolutely spent, but there isn’t enough fatigue in this world that could keep him away from you. You’re sweaty and he’s worse, but he doesn’t see why, in the haze of his orgasm, he shouldn’t have his lips reach every inch of skin he can.

His kisses are lazy – a stark contrast from the desperation he’s displayed until now. 

He feels safe. He feels at home, still buried deep inside of you, feeling the come that couldn’t fit inside ooze out and onto the bedsheets. A bummer to clean, he’ll realize when he’ll get his sanity back.

And he wants to tell you so many things when he feels your hands skimming down his back in a soothing dance. Wants to tell you how you’ve flipped his life, with the ease of tossing a coin – heads and tails. Opposites so striking you should be deemed a witch. 

He was in deep fucking shit before you offered your smile. Inching closer and closer to dead-ended alleys and dark, murky thoughts that could only lead to dreadful places.

You gave him something to yearn for, something to miss when he's away, and something to cherish when he's here. 

There’s nothing he can do to return the favor but love you in equal measure. 

It’s not the first time the word love has come up in his head when his mind was lost in memories of you. And while he’d rather not dwell on it now, while you hold him to your chest as he comes back to his senses, he knows the time will eventually come.

Yet he doesn’t dread it. Not one bit.

Fear pocket sewn shut. Finally. 

He lifts his head to look up at you and finds you doing the same – he’s sure he’s thoroughly fucked in the best way imaginable. 

“I’ll take care of everything later,” you say, reading his thoughts. “You okay?”

It takes him a while to respond. Mental gymnastics to reawaken the parts of his brain that are still tingling in the afterglow. 

“Never better, love.” 

“Sleep?” You offer, as if he isn’t still buried inside of you and effectively crushing you under his weight. 

You don’t seem to mind, and so he trusts you and doesn’t either.

His eyes are half closed as he slides down to rest his head in the valley of your breasts. "Y' didn't cum," he mumbles, leaving an open mouthed kiss on the fat of your tits.

Your fingers brush through his hair to keep him close, and when your nails scrape at his scalp he feels gooseflesh rise along his arms. 

"'S fine," you whisper gently, and he's struck by the earnestness in your tone. But then you quip, "I'll have ya on your knees tomorrow."

And he scoffs. "Makin' it sound like a punishment."

You purse your lips and land a kiss on the crown of his head. "Then stop complaining."

He grunts something he himself can't even discern. 

“Y’need to piss first.” He grumbles mindlessly, as if the thought of you standing up annoys him but he knows a UTI is even more aggravating.

You snort. “Charming."

And he responds in kind. "Chivalry's dead anyway."

There's a few seconds of silence only broken by your quiet chuckle. "I’ll wait for you to fall asleep, then ‘m off to the loo. Deal?”

He grunts in agreement, liking the compromise you’re offering. “Deal.” 

And his head stays quiet. Sleazy hands and raging voices cease, silenced under the thunder of your heartbeat.

“I missed you.” He thinks he hears you whisper, your voice thick and wet. He closes his eyes with his head on your chest. “’M so happy you’re home.”

────────────

Simon wakes up with shy sunbeams peeking through the blinds and brushing his brow. You must’ve closed them when you woke up, to shield him from the sun.

He blinks idly, momentarily lost in that phase between sleep and waking life, still unsure of where he is. His mouth is pasty, and his eyes struggle against sunlight. The duvet is up to his chin, and it smells of grapefruit-scented softener, and of you. The pillow is a little wet, and he embarrassingly notices that it’s because he’s drooled on it – he smacks his lips once, twice, but his tongue might as well be a dried-up cinderblock.

It has been a long time since he’s slept like this. Since his mind has shut down and left him alone. Since his night has gone smoothly, sleep comatose and dreamless – nightmare-less.

And you’re not there, but that’s okay.

Because he hears your music from the kitchen, kept at a low volume so you won’t wake him up. The clanking of utensils frames the beat, pans and pots being moved around as you hum to yourself following the melody. The smell of eggs, sausages, potatoes, and fresh veggies – a full English. Wafts of that disgusting coffee you drink in the morning intertwined with the softer notes of the tea you’re brewing for him.

You were right: he is home.

And he can’t see your eyes, but that’s okay too.

He guesses he’ll never remember their exact shade, Simon’s fine with it. No better thing than to discover you once more, each time he gets to come home.

They change with you, following the flow of whatever you allow to show, and of what he’s learned to read. They’re the color of that life he’s unwittingly always looked for. That life promising a pocket of peace for himself. Chock full of love and nice things he’s always been deprived of.

A balm to both his ancient and newest wounds.

He has never shared a single story about his past, never told you why his body is like a tattered book whose tale is as horrific as it looks. But you don’t mind, and he doesn’t know why because he’s firmly set on the idea that you must know someone inside out to be sure you care.

And it’s then that it hits him, that you do know him – better than anyone. You know the man he is. You want the man he is now, the man he will be one day – as mental as it sounds to him. His present, and his future. And sure, his past might have made this man you know, but he’s not the same Simon under his father's thumb or the one felled by Roba’s tortures.

Although he’s not sure he can reopen certain sutures without the wounds bleeding all over the floor, he'll try. He’ll clean up, if he must, knowing that you’ll help him have each injury scab over again. 

What baffles him is that you’re not saying he has to. You’re saying he can. And this choice you’re giving him is a privilege he’s never had the chance to bear.

He can tell you everything, and you’ll listen. He can keep it to himself, and you’ll stay, accepting that there will be places of him you’ll never venture – and to you, that is fine.

As long as he stays, too.

There are no words he can use to express his gratitude. He can only love you – and it might take him a while to acknowledge that he’s capable, but he already does love you.

You appear at the door as he’s lost in his own head, still tucked under the duvet. Strips of sunlight cross your form, curving around the beautiful shape of you.

“Good morning, you.” You say, with a smile that reminds him of the sun.

Lazily, he offers one of his own to you. It’s lopsided and he thinks not quite as beautiful. 

He hopes you forgive him for it: takes practice to be happy, and he’s still learning.

And so, he smiles, and looks at you like you're the most tangible form of joy he's ever witnessed. 

His voice is raspy from sleep, and soft from you.

“Mornin’, love.”

[hungwy]

A frighteningly old man, he has creases everywhere on his face and bushy grey eyebrows which cover his eyes. A leathery grandfather wearing a wide brimmed straw hat and a shirt of grey cotton which only half buttons up. He is hunched over in the field up to his ankles in terrible dirt. The share of the plough is encrusted in sparkling jewels. From sunrise to sunset the old leathery man plows bad dirt with the bejeweled plough. He is his own workhorse. He doesn’t know rest; the plough always waits impatiently for his hand. He knew rest once when he was young, all the young know rest well enough, but he has forgotten it, so now he cannot be said to know rest. He has worked so hard that even in sleep he only has painful dreams of the plough. Work is relieved by pain, and pain relieved by work. He is a widower but his house loves him despite being so dusty. It treats him kindly but he does not know it. It is the only thing that cares about him now. His mattress smiles sadly in the broken bedframe when he sleeps on it. It bends deeply enough that he is nearly upright in bed, like sleeping against a tree. "Grandfather, old man, you’ve been out plowing too much. You care so much about making use of this silly plough. Now the soil is not even good to work. You should be playing cards with the other old men at a small table on the sidewalk. You should be getting worked up over the wording of a song and you should sing it properly yourself. You should refuse to try a new drink when offered. You should say something only an old man would be allowed to say. Your stubbornness is deeply misplaced. You are out here, working endlessly and fruitlessly using a silly jewel-encrusted plough. There are no profits to be made now with such constant work. What have you done this whole time, grandfather, old man? Have you enjoyed anything? Is everything such a sad labor to you? To be so blind by work to forget rest, this is no good. Life is built, lived in, renovated, lived in, changed slightly, destroyed, rebuilt, lived in, died in. To only build and build and build, that is to build an ever-growing tower of a life that is never lived in, one which will crumble without care. Walls and floors and furnishings must be added, and what’s more, enjoyed. Come back from the fields, old man, leave that silly plough to rot in the rain now. Please, rest your skin and bones, you have baked in that sun every day for 80 years. And for what? More work? What little rest you have left, please my friend, make use of it." This is what the house wants to say to him. But its walls groan in the wind instead; its tin roof chatters in the rain. In the morning fingers of sun reach into the windows and grope ratty mats and dusty carpets and recoil at the glass of a photo: a much younger man with slicked back hair and a kerchief around his neck. Is that a smile on him? Where did it go? One can find old words in the corners of the house which that once young man had uttered. None of them belong to the old man now, they are forgotten; only fresh wistless sighs bounce lively like rats across the floorboards when he eases himself into the broken bed. At night, the plough waits. It always waits; there is something to be done when the plough waits. Even at night he should be working. Its shape is seared into the old man’s thin dreams. Every dream it gains more jewels; a sapphire, an opal, an emerald, a pearl. It does not make the work better, and the jewels are so buried under soil that they do not even make the work nicer to do. The jewels coax him back to the plough, to work one more day, for one more jewel, for one less moment of rest. The house sits alone from sunrise to sunset and creaks under the weight of the dust.

[yandereunsolved]

🐉 Yandere Aemond Targaryen w/ platonic yandere Alicent Hightower (part 2—requested) 🐉

↝ (part 1) ᝰ.ᐟ

You had left to do your daily duties after he pulled you aside and confessed his true intentions. You seemed so frightened of him in that moment. You simply asked to be excused and continue your work. Aemond would say it broke his heart, but it did not. It only strengthened his will and resolve to make you his. 

He would have to face his mother and ensure your hand in marriage to him. Aemond once said that he would have gladly married Halaena; only now does he see the foolishness in those words. Hopefully, his mother will see the foolishness as well. His heart yearns for no other, and he will slay as many as needed if denied you.

His hand nearly slipped from the knob of her chambers. His heart had nearly halted to a stop. He cannot say he has ever felt a fear quite like this, not even when he was disfigured. His hand absent-mindedly touched his eye patch. A lovelorn grimace appeared on his pale face. He opened the door with another new sense of vigor. 

His single step within his mother's chambers commanded great respect, like that of the dragons the Targaryens pridefully ride. The maids looked up in panic at his intrusion. They were fixing the queen's auburn strands and her emerald gown. Even at the cost of a possible scolding or death at the hands of the queen, they quickly left her chambers without so much of an indication of Queen Alicent allowing them.

"Mother," the words hung on his tongue loosely, his expression blank but betraying a hint of anxiety. "I have an urgent matter I wish to speak to you about."

"Yes." Alicent answered quickly, with a wistful warmth evident in her tone.

"Yes?"

"The maid," jealously and vitriolic animosity clear in her curt wording.

The queen stood up and glared at her son. Her steps were quick, and her single action fierce. It took him a moment to register the stinging ache on the edge of his face. His mother had just struck him, as she often did to Aegon. 

"Idiot boy. You want to marry that maid, correct? You have gone about it all the wrong way." 

His ability to speak left him, and with it was a pit of shame that only grew with the impact of the hit.

"Aemond, speak. Use your words if you want them so badly."

"I—how did you know?" He manages to croak out. He tries to maintain his crumbling visage of indifference.

"They are special. They may have been born among the common, but they are destined for nobility." Alicent hissed. She had to refrain from slapping him again because of such an asinine inquiry.

"That does not answer—"

She cut him off. "Hush, son. I am the queen. I am entitled to know everything that goes on within these walls. I know you have fancied the maid for a long time. You have gone about it all wrong. Still, I will give you their hand under one circumstance. You must woo them and treat them with the care they deserve. If I see you raise your voice or your hand to them, even in a moment of rage, I will make sure they are taken from you."

Aemond's head spins with her agreement, his thoughts scattered around his mind like the bones of Vhagar's victims. He had to clutch onto the side of the wall. His one violet eye narrowed at his mother. He somewhat feared the silly little woman, but he had to regain his ground. Through dawn and dusk, he is a man that has come of age. Asking for your hand through his mother was nothing more than a formality.

"They are mine, regardless. I do not intend them any harm; abuse would be the antithesis of my love for them."

Alicent seemed to stare into his soul and see the truth. Her shoulders relaxed, and she returned to her proper, queenly persona.

"Good boy. Listen to my words, and they shall be yours. I will not hesitate to order your brother to strike you down if you disobey."

"You have made that abundantly clear." He has to restrain himself from rolling his eye. His sapphire one nearly rolled in his socket.

"I will keep an eye on them, which means they will end up visiting my chambers once a week. I am sure I can get them more smitten with you." Alicent chuckles, but it is more like a court member's snarky laugh than that of a proud mother. "That confession of yours, just when the sun rose, was absolutely disastrous." 

"Mhm." His lips tightly pursed.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"We are on the same side. There is no need to fruitlessly argue. I am far more clever when it comes to my words anyway."

The queen was already tired from her earlier meetings. Her son had already agreed to her wishes. There was no more need to chastise his prideful words. Such is the way of men.

"You two will make a perfect coupling." She brings her hands up and cradles his face. Her left hand nurses the red mark that she left. The traces of her previous rancor are gone. "I love you, my son."

"As do I."

Aemond nursed his mental and physical wounds that night. He caressed his body and imagined it was your own hands that replaced his. Tears, both delighted and sorrowful, escaped him as the hour of the ghosts approached. His impatience and sexual frustration were at their peak. He needed you to belong to him. He needs you now. He can no longer appease his internal beast with mere glances at your tantalizing skin and fleeting touches.

Queen Alicent convinced you to marry Aemond that night. She invited you to a private dinner and spoke to you with saccharine-coated phrases. You fancied him; you were simply skittish due to the fact he revealed his obsessive tendencies. She assured you that his proclamations were hyperbolic; he was simply ecstatic and impulsive, losing the true meaning of his pure and healthy love.

She's much smarter than Aemond in that aspect. You will never know how deep her motherly love runs for you. You are like the child she always wished she had bore. You did not drink your nights away or fuck whores; you were not the runt of the litter fighting tooth and nail to be considered strong. You were grounded; you may lose yourself in your mind sometimes, but you still had a grasp on reality. 

You are perfection, quintessential to the both of them.

[belphegorey]

⌜sapphires, mammon⌟ his little human looked so pretty in gold ships ⎯⎯ mammon x fem!reader tropes ⎯⎯ vaginal sex, blushing mammon, dick piercing, scenting, size kink, praise, marking, pact marks, lots of greed

Gold. It dropped down your skin in silken cloth, caressing your body in the thin layer and making you shimmer. Necklaces and bracelets glittered like the finest of treasure on your body. Earrings dangled with more carats than anyone could afford.

The tantalising speck in your eye reflected the same ore. Your wicked smirk taunted him in more and more of the golden decadence you were encased in. The finest of prizes. The treasure all pirates would hunt for, the gift all people would die for, the only thing Mammon would kill for.

Rings hung on your fingers. Rubies, emeralds and diamonds galore. The jewel within the golden earrings, he realised, were perfect sapphires. His chest grew tight as they glittered under the chandeliers. “ Your eyes ,” you had whispered them on your first day in the Devildom, just after Mammon had given you his completely grand tour of the House of Lamentation, “ they’re so blue .”

Mammon could still recall his scoff. You had been so strange. Sure, he had only listened to you for an hour by that point, but he had decided you were not worth his valuable time. Most of his mind had been occupied by whether or not his stocks had lowered during the day. “ They are not blue ,” it had felt like an insult to him at the time. He hadn’t even acknowledged the sheer intrigue upon your beautifully shining face — whereas it was all Mammon could think of now, “ they are like… sapphires. Sapphires and gold. ”

You had nodded with a faint little smile. It was the first smile he had seen of yours. Mammon could describe each expression on your face, and the variety of your grins in great detail, but that one was the most valuable in his mind. Rare, special, and one you had shown him first. “ Sapphires and gold .” Yet again, his mind was occupied with profit, including whether or not he could find a way to sell you as an experiment to Solomon, but even then Mammon had felt pride seeing your soft expression just for him. The first time he had felt something positive toward you, a blissful premonition of your shared future. “ A beautiful combination .”

His tongue tied into knots. It was the worst torture he could have ever endured. Any punishment from Lucifer paled in comparison as he watched you descend into the room with the same small smile on your face. His skin burned hot and the rings around his fingers, one of which you had given him as a gift, did nothing to cool his fire. All his brothers stood around him, watching and praising your every movement, he was sure that Beelzebub had slipped drool onto the floor beneath them. Mammon scrunched his nose to ignore the stabbing in his spine.

His. It was what fuelled him. Greed was what flowed in his veins and blossomed in his throat. You were his. You dressed up in the finest of materials for him . You wore sapphire earrings for him . The little smile on your face was only for him . His brothers were not who you were looking for. They were not the ones who protected you and listened to your every story.

“You look darling, my love,” Asmo moved forward in a movement similar to that of a dance. His steps were delicate and smooth as he whisked you away from Mammon’s eyes. You had gone with him like a true ballerina, performing with your typical delicateness and respect. Mammon was sure that he could hear the growing orchestra of the human ballet play out in his head. Did that make him Hilarion to your Gisele? His fingers twitched as he noticed Diavolo and Barabatos greet you with smiles.

Everyone was watching you. Had you been anyone else Mammon would say it was because of the scarcity in your outfit. He knew better. You were the treasure that sparkled in eyes. No jewel, no car, not even his precious Goldie, were comparable to you. You were his human. He was your demon. Your first demon.

Mammon would not allow himself to just watch you be flaunted by his brother. He jumped to action, the orchestra in his mind crescendoed to a glorious triumph, and Mammon made his way across the room. Your golden dress and the sparkling smile guided him forward, the itching in his back of wins that threatened to burst through fuelled him further. Your eyes, lit brighter than the chandeliers above you, found him and your smile returned. Big, toothy, mischevious. The hand weighed down in glorious rings ran softly against your hip, the jewels catching the light gloriously.

Temptress. You were no worse than one of Asmodeus’ succubi. Mammon loved it. Your tantalising gaze licked at his greedy veins and pressed him to act further. To let loose. To properly remind everyone who you were meant for.

“I’m glad you could make it, Mammon!” Diavolo’s regular grin greeted him while Barbotos stood to his left, arms folded in the usual servant manner. Both of them stared into his body, Mammon could feel the eyes as they fell to the flood of green surging off his soulless body. He attempted a smile to placate the royal before him, but your sparkling person kept poking at the corner of his eye. It felt just wrong to look away from you, especially when the hungry gaze of all the higher demons in the Devildom were staring right at you. “Lucifer had said you would be working tonight.”

He had never been so lucky in his life. It was his own curse to step with misfortune haunting his shadow. His modelling job would always run overtime and Mammon would be left hanging from the roof tied in electric cables as punishment for his tardiness. But not that day. Not only did it finish early, a feat in itself, but Mammon was allowed to witness you in all golden glory. “I was gonna, yeah, but we finished early so i’m able to come and celebrate ya.”

He felt your hand before he properly realised you had moved to stand right beside him. Your touch was feathery, slowly running across his back to tug on the belt loop along his hip. The fire beneath his skin was red hot, your touch was the ice he needed to cool down. A shudder ran down Mammon’s spine as you leaned into him, he felt the fire rise on his cheeks at the stance. So blatant, so obvious, it showed that he was dangled on your arm. Him. No one else.

“But,” you sighed and finished your demonus with a low gaze on the floor. One of the fingers you had caught around his belt loop reached for his hand, linking his finger to yours. His lips were sealed tight as the blushed tortured his physique, “it is a shame but I need to steal Mammon for the night. You won’t mind if we leave a bit early, right?”

Diavolo waved off your worry with a hearty grin, moving with your lie though Mammon (and he was sure you as well) knew that he caught your lie easily. “So long as you come over for afternoon tea with Barbatos and I this week, it will be fine.”

“Of course,” you grinned with a wickedness he could only compared to Satan, though that in itself was like a cat. Your chest pressed into his arm as your grin only grew further. “Should I bring over some cakes?”

It was Barbatos who answered the question; with only a simple shake of his head. “That is unnecessary. I will make sure to prepare both yours and the Young Lord’s favourites for our tea.”

“Delightful! I’ll see you both then,” you bid them both a sweet goodbye with a wave of your fingers. Mammon felt himself stuck in a frozen manner as you pulled him away to the door of the castle. All he could register was the cooling touch of your hand holding his own and the sparkling treasure gracing your body.

Mammon was not one for sharing. He never shared his favourite meals. He never shared his time with you. And he certainly did not share his possessions. The gold bars he kept hidden in his safe, the necklaces and bracelets he never intended to wear and Goldie herself were only meant for him. Yet, he needed to see you dressed in his finest possessions.

It sounded glorious. His bed covered in cash and jewels, with his most important treasure laid in the centre, covered in the jewellery he hoarded and nothing else. Just waiting for him to touch. Begging for him. Needing him.

Your visage for the night’s gala was just a little treat for the reality of his dream.

“Where are ya takin’ me?” He tugged on your joined hands in resistance and grimaced as the collar of his suit choked on him. Mammon wanted nothing more than to follow your every step, but his own attitude had to intervene. The door of the castle opened and granted Mammon a warm breeze through the Devildom night. The moons were tall in the dark sky, shining bright enough to make your jewellery glitter.  “Lucifer is gonna punish us. Nah, he is gonna punish me and then say I took ya myself.”

You giggled and he felt his tongue tie together. He loved that noise, more than when the slots would make that fantastic winning chime. “I just had a thought,” you stopped walking and turned around to smile at him. His hand was still caught in yours, and you pulled him in so that your chest pressed together. “Everyone is with Diavolo, so we have the house to ourselves…”

Evil temptress. You were pure evil! Mammon groaned and hid behind his free hand, the blush burning red on his cheeks. “You can’t say that kinda stuff,” he whined into his palm, and your resounding giggle only made him whine louder. It was wicked and you knew it! Maybe you really were part succubi. “It’ll gimme ideas.”

You moved his hand from his face, lips dangerously close to touching him. Mammon was frozen once again. Does he do it. Does he grant himself the kiss he had dreamed of? He needed it, more than he needed the newest 666 Lexura (on Lucifer’s dime) but he couldn’t if you weren’t wanting it. Mammon would wait for an eternity for you. “And if I want you to have those ideas?”

From then on, it was Mammon who led you to the House of Lamentation. The searing burn of his skin was nothing to the icy touch you offered, he needed it all over his body. Your hand was tightly gripped in the veiny grasp of his fist, but you no made no cries.

There was only gleeful laughter as you ran along beside him. Mammon didn’t allow himself the pleasure of moaning over your beautiful laugh, not when he knew what was awaiting him inside the large doors it the house. As much as he did love your laugh, he was just dying to hear your moans instead.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you look so determined,” you whispered it into his ears as he fumbled with the handles of the front door. Stupid faulty lock. Stupid prank from Belphegor to annoy Lucifer. Your lips were inches from his ear, more teasing speech sounding like the song of sirens to lure him in, “want me that bad?”

No speaking. If he spoke Mammon knew he would mess everything up and wake up from the dream he had to have been having. Instead he successfully pushed the front door open and whisked you away to his bedroom. Where you belonged.

It all just felt so right having you inside his space. Your scent has gotten so faint over the days it had been since your movie night together. The aura you held, so mischevious in its purity, tainted by his pact. He could see the black blemish along your soul all around you, burned by the mark along your sternum.

And yet, it just fuelled him so much more. It was all his. You were his. You were dressed up all for him, ready to be coated in his treasure, and smiling at him in wait for his next step. You stood in front of his bed, fingers trailing down the golden dress you tortured him with. It would be so easy to push you back onto the mattress and ravage you as he had desired for far too long.

Mammon was sure that his breathing was ragged and shallow, he must have resembled a monster. His hair was messed from his own awkward hands as he tried to stay calm and the tingling of his wings still taunted his back in wait. One more step and the control over himself would combust.

He was always weak when it came to you.

“Mammon,” you whispered his name like it were a crime. So soft spoken, not wanting to break the bubble. Your mischief, the teasing, it had gone. All that stood left before him was the radiating greed from your form, drowning his mind in the finest of liquor, “I need you.”

Snap . He heard the crack of his wings hitting the air before Mammon properly felt them extend from his back. They tore through the suit he wore as he pounced on you, your back falling to the mattress under his body.

You were so small. He was not the largest demon, but there was something in the sheer difference in your frames. Your face was cast in his shadow, your alluring eyes large as you stared up at him. There was no fear when his claw tore through the front of your dress.

Instead, there was a bright smile, the one he loved, when you realised what he was doing. “Yours, Mammon,” your hands found his hair and the horns protruding from them, pushing your chest closer to his face. The torn gold along your chest had revealed your glorious body to him, but most importantly, the mark that made you his.

“Mine,” the word was like a growl on his tongue as he watched the mark. It glowed in his presence, even more of the glorious gold that he loved. “Had to watch ya be shown off. I felt sick watchin’ but I couldn’t look away from ya, Treasure.”

You lifted a leg around his hips to press yourself against his erection. Mammon felt his cheeks go red from the shame but your shaky moan at the touch melted it away. His greedy little human, it felt amazing to know he was not the only one desperate. “Did I look pretty for you?”

“So so pretty,” he pushed up the skirt of your dress, letting the long material bunch at your waist. He wouldn’t let you take it off, maybe not for a long time. His colour was just too beautiful on you. “Gonna need you to wear this every day.”

You shuddered against him as Mammon ran a long finger along your cunt. No underwear. He had always heard Asmo talk about how you couldn’t wear panties with some clothes, but he just thought it was a lie. And yet, you were on display for him just like that. “That may be hard since you tore the front,”

“Ain’t no one else seeing you in this.” No. No, he couldn’t be having that. Even if you were in an outfit that covered all your skin under hundreds of layers, Mammon would still prefer it for his eyes alone. The wet heat on his fingers made his head spin in horny glee, the sweet smell of you making his eyes roll. “Just for me from now on. Got it? Me.”

You pushed against his seeking hand, rubbing more of your slick onto his palm. His erection throbbed in his pants. He needed to feel you. Feel all of you. “I sound like a doll then.”

His wings flapped and Mammon bit his lip. Doll. That worked. He rather liked it. “My doll, though, not my brothers,” he dug his head into the crook of your neck. Your smell was so strong, it streamed from every pore in your skin, he felt intoxicated. The growing lust, the overwhelming greed, even the licks of pride that often made his face scrunch were delicious from you. “Need ya really bad, human.”

You stroked his hair and rolled your hips against him. “Then, have me,”

The soft words had spurred action within you both. Mammon had gone into his back while you adjusted yourself to straddle him, his erection flush against his toned chest and leanings beads of white. Your eyes never strayed from his dick, he felt like glowing under your approving gaze.

“You have piercings?” Mammon nodded with a smirk, shining from the wetness he could feel growing on his thighs. You liked it. He should have known you would.

Your hand gently went to grasp his cock, thumb running along the golden piercing beneath the head. His moaned through his teeth at your curious touch. You did it again, gauging his reaction and milking another bead of precum from his slit.

Mammon noticed the bite of your lip, the slow grinding of your hips and the flooding lust in the air. He wanted to show off for you, tease you, and simultaneously ask if you wanted him to get more. “I really like it,” you eventually said, rubbing your palm against him as you lifted yourself into the air.

He dug his fingers into the mattress beneath him. It was happening. The thing he had craved. Something Mammon would have sold all his belongings for. You. He got to have you!

You aligned his dick with your entrance, whimpering as he entered. Your golden dress had fallen down and hid the act from his eyes, which may be a good thing because Mammon knew he would never be able to tear his eyes from it. He groaned as you slid down the shaft, taking more and more of him in such a slow movement that it felt torturous.

Until, he was completely in you, pushing you and stretching you out. He could feel your cunt tight and warm around him, throbbing in need for only his touch. Your face was scrunched in desire as your lip wobbled. His little human. All full.

“Doing so well, Treasure,” he moaned the praise into the air, his hand right on your hip. The glow of his pact mark fuelled the flames inside his body, only triumphed as your tits slipped from the torn dress. Mammon couldn’t help himself. “My human. Lookin’ all pretty for me,” he continued to whispered all the praise he had ever thought of when it came to you, moving himself up and closer to your chest.

When his mouth kissed the skin around your breast, your body shook as you moaned. He graced his fangs to see your reaction — it was just as needy as the last. You began to move on his dick, bouncing up and down while you pulled on his hair.

More marks. He wanted to leave enough marks on you that no one would dare go near you. Mammon squeezed his hand in your waist as he bit gently on your chest, and to his surprise you giggled through your shaky moan. “Am I your property now, Mammon?”

“Not property,” he was quick to dismiss that. You were his, but not an object. You were his favourite treasure, someone to worship. “You’re mine though. Don’t ya forget that or else.”

Your movements were that of a succubi. You’d managed to get him nice and deep inside you, threatening his control over just filling you up with his cum each time, then pulling him out so just his tip would kiss your opening.

And yet, your face was angelic and oh so sweet. Mammon was enamoured. “I won’t ever forget,” he couldn’t help but nuzzle into your neck again. It felt so safe. Mammon kissed your neck as he moved his other hand to your hip, moving your body with your bouncing, adding just the slightest bit more speed.

His favourite doll. His sapphire and his gold. His.

© belphegorey 2024 ⌜18+ banner from @/cafekitsune thank you <3⌟

[fairytalesandlegacies]

Trust Fall

• Author: fairytalesandlegacies • Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy • Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader • Warnings: 18+ Characters | NSFW | MDNI • Word Count: 23.5k

Summary:

A heady rush of defiance and determination surges through your veins, lighting up all your nerve endings like a live wire, and in your eagerness to rebel against the enchantment, you end up doing the complete opposite of Sebastian's request, hands sliding under the fabric of his cloak and slipping it off of his shoulders in one swift, fluid sweep, silk-lined wool pooling at his feet as you dive straight for his necktie, making a fine mess of the striped emerald and silver satin in your eager attempts to loosen it, fingers curling around smooth silk and giving it a gentle tug to urge him closer, unraveling until it's completely come undone, spilling into the hood of his cloak. The words kiss me ring out inside your head, desperate and longing, and for a moment, you can't tell whether it's his voice or your own imagination, caught up in a fantasy you've been playing out inside your head for the past two and a half years. Or: Sebastian Sallow teaches you how to fight against the Imperius Curse late one night, and in the process, some long-kept secrets are revealed.

✨ Read On AO3 or below the cut ✨

Trust Fall

After a whirlwind first year filled with dragon attacks and crumbling ruins, keepers and keys and hidden passageways, bonds of friendship forged in secrets and fire, daring quests and trying trials to prove your worth to wield an ancient form of magic only few can see, you should have expected your final year at Hogwarts would be anything but uneventful — and that suits you just fine.

Though, eager as you are to move beyond the confines of the castle and take the wizarding world by storm, there's a part of you that isn't quite ready to leave this place you've come to call home just yet, a part of you that's still got a few more noteworthy memories to make. Luckily for you, you've got a best friend who certainly knows how to make things memorable.

Ever since that thrilling excursion to the Restricted Section back in your fifth year, the two of you have been sneaking out of your common rooms almost nightly to go on all sorts of daredevil adventures — midnight waltzes through the Forbidden Forest in search of the legendary unicorn den, swarms of lacewing flies fluttering all around you like traces of dark magic; summer nights spent sneaking out of the sweltering confines of the castle and stealing away to the lake for a refreshing swim, diving down to its depths to see if you can catch a glimpse of a pod of mermaids or the eye of the giant squid, exploring cavernous grottos hidden beneath the waterfall, turquoise and sapphires made of pure light dancing across the surface of the water by the glow of your wands.

And of course, just last autumn, the night the two of you flew to the top of the Astronomy Tower to make wishes on a shower of shooting stars, bright sparks of silver and gold lit up in his warm brown eyes as he'd gazed up at them with a wide smile on his face and slowly counted to eighteen — one wish for each year he'd been alive. You suppose it would've been a truly breathtaking sight to behold, only you were too busy gazing at something far more beautiful, charting constellations of your own design in the sun-kissed freckles that dapple his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Luckily, you didn't have to wait long to get your second chance, a flurry of snowflakes swirling down from the sky the night the two of you snuck back up for an encore in celebration of your birthday a few months later, green and silver scarf wrapped around both of your shoulders to keep you warm as you blew out candles lit by an overzealous Confringo cast and shared bites of a slightly lopsided cake he'd insisted on baking himself (though you suspect the only reason it was actually edible was because he'd had help from the house elves.) You never told him, but it was the best birthday you've ever had.

That's just how it was with him. Sebastian Sallow had a way of making every moment feel like an adventure.

And tonight is no exception. An owl asking you to meet him at your usual spot wakes you from your bed at a quarter 'til midnight, and the next thing you know, you're following his Disillusioned form down a candlelit corridor, traversing well-worn paths you've come to memorize like the back of your hand. You assume you're off to the Undercroft as per usual, but the longer you follow, the more it seems Sebastian has other plans (either that, or he has no idea where he's going and is simply feigning confidence — wouldn't be the first time.)

"Sebastian," you hiss, but he doesn't seem to hear you, moving ahead at the same steady pace.

You try again.

"Seb—"

"Bash—"

"Oi, Sebastard!" you call out in a series of escalating whispers, running through your rolodex of well-loved nicknames until he finally hears you, a wrinkle in the hood of his cloak catching under the candlelight as he turns his head in your direction.

"Yes, darling?" he whispers back, and you don't need to see his face to know that he's smirking underneath his cloaking charm. You're suddenly very glad for your own Disillusionment Charm — even though you know he only does it as a joke, purely to rile you up, it still makes you blush up a storm every time he calls you that. Thankfully, you have a lot of practice brushing it off.

"Did my Quaffle hit you a little harder than I thought during last week's match?" you tease, relishing every opportunity to gloat that you were the one to score the final goal and lead your team to victory. "Undercroft's the other way entirely."

"Have a little more faith in me, darling. I know exactly where we're going," he reassures you, cocky as ever. "We're simply taking the scenic route."

"I wouldn't exactly call this scenic," you snicker, casting your eyes around the bare stone walls of the corridor you're currently sneaking down.

"Are you sure about that?" he counters, throwing open the unassuming double doors at the end of the passageway with a graceful flick of his wand.

What lies beyond steals your breath away, shivers akin to a haunting melody in an empty cathedral dancing across the back of your neck as you step into a corridor bathed in glittering golds, greens, and blues, kissed by silver in the light of the full moon spilling through wall-to-wall windows, a mosaic of painted glass depicting star-strewn skies over tempestuous ocean waves, fields of wildflowers dotted between snow-capped mountains, and twisting ivy redolent of the Scottish countryside curling in curtains around a sprawling scenery of a vibrant, lush green forest.

At the very end of the hallway, you spot a familiar fixture — the Serpentine Beast Window, leading right out into the middle of the Defence Against The Dark Arts Tower. How extraordinary — a whole corridor hidden inside of a window. Nearly three years here and you're still discovering new secrets about the castle, despite all your eager exploring back when you first arrived.

"Stumbled upon this little beauty earlier today and immediately thought of you," he says softly, and then quickly clears his throat. "I mean to say, I thought you would like it. And, judging by that little dip in the outline of your cheek that can only mean you're wearing your signature dimpled smile, I'd say I was right."

You turn to face him, exchanging one beautiful scenery for another, wondering just how many of your mannerisms he's got memorized, and could know to look for even when you're nearly invisible.

"And look," he adds with a smug smile, pointing toward the little alcove with the familiar clockwork fixture sat just beneath the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom as the two of you peer around the corner. "You see? Told you I knew exactly where I was g—"

Without warning, a bat-like figure emerges from out of the blindspot of the alcove, and the two of you immediately fall silent.

"Impertinent piece of— I know there's a secret room hidden behind here, if I could just—" Headmaster Black curses, flitting agitatedly back and forth in front of the clockwork cupboard, muttering all manner of incantations to try and figure out a way inside.

In your panic, the two of you bolt back behind the corner you've just rounded, hastily squeezing into a little recess in the wall of the corridor. You've never been the most graceful of people, tripping over your own feet and nearly falling flat on your face in your eagerness to escape, but Sebastian is well prepared for it, reaching out to steady you, grabbing ahold of your waist and pulling you into the little hideaway. Next thing you know, you're pressed right up against him, caged between the cold stained glass wall and the warm, heavy weight of his rapidly rising and falling chest, heart beating like the wings of a wild thunderbird beneath it.

You've never been this close to him before, but even though he's nearly invisible, you've all but memorized his every feature, so it's easy enough for you to map them all out — from the sharp curve of his jawline to the devil-may-care sweep of his hair, to the plush pink pout of his lower lip, and— uh oh, you're definitely staring. And maybe it's just a trick of the light, but you could almost swear he was too, that little telltale flicker as his eyes snap back up to meet yours.

Ocean blues filter through his Disillusioned form as the aquatic landscape bleeds through from behind him, making him look as though he's one with the water, moonlight dancing along the edges of his outline, igniting him in a soft silver glow. Sebastian was right, it is very beautiful in here…though you'd wager it's less to do with the colorful mosaic and entirely due to the man standing in front of you, lips a mere breath from yours, close enough to lean forward and—

Oh, you really need to sort out your priorities. If you're not careful, your less-than-pleasant headmaster will catch the two of you sneaking around past curfew, and that's worth two poltergeists on a good day. This is no time to be thinking about your best friend's lips, wondering whether they might taste like the strawberry sugar quills he'd snuck the two of you after dinner, or the spearmint toothpaste he uses every night before he goes to bed…

The sound of distant footfalls headed down the opposite corridor snaps you out of your reverie, accompanied by the dulcet tones of your irate headmaster, evidently giving up in his attempts to break past the barrier into the place that's been your refuge for the past two and a half years, until all you can hear is the sound of the Defence Tower's crackling Floo flames and the frenzied staccato of both of you trying to steady your breathing.

"I think we're safe now," you tell him, whispers disguising your breathlessness.

"Hmm?" Sebastian replies with a distracted hum, gaze snapping back up from the shape of your lips for the second time in as many minutes.

Sebastian shakes his head, and for a few nerve-wracking seconds you hold your breath in fear that he can feel the sudden jump in your pulse as he leans in even closer in an effort to peer around the corner, before giving you a quick nod of affirmation and slipping out of the passageway, taking what's left of the air in your lungs along with him. The glass wall against your back suddenly feels a lot colder without Sebastian's warm weight against your chest, and for a brief moment you wonder whether you've gone mad, wishing that Black had hovered around for just a little bit longer.

"Yes, it would appear so…for now, at least," Sebastian grouses, lips twisting into a frustrated scowl. "But if Black's been sniffing around the Undercroft, then it's only a matter of time before he works out how to get inside, and that means it's as good as lost to us as a safe haven. I'm…not sure where else we could go," he says, sounding genuinely heartbroken by the notion of having to cut this little nighttime rendezvous short.

You're about to join him in his lament, when a spectacular idea comes to you.

"Oh!" you exclaim, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth when the outline of his eyebrows shoots up in alarm.

"Sorry, got excited," you explain. Sebastian's lips quirk up in fond amusement.

"Follow me," you whisper, taking him by the hand and leading him up the staircase directly across from the hidden corridor.

"Where—" he starts, but you cut him off with a cryptic, "You'll see."

Without another word, Sebastian follows you up several flights of stairs, twists and turns leading you past Charms and up through the Astronomy Tower, sleeping portraits tutting at the two of you along the way.

"Can't believe I didn't think of it before, but, well…I've only just discovered it, and we've always had the Undercroft, so I didn't think…aha! Here we are," you whisper excitedly as the two of you round one final corner, coming to a stop between a blank stretch of stone and a tapestry of Barnabas The Barmy.

Sebastian looks at you like you've gone mad.

"Darling," he drawls, the affectionate moniker dripping with the urge to tease you senseless. "That's a bare stone wall."

"Are you sure about that?" you ask in a mimic of his playful prodding from earlier, lips quirking up in a smug smile at Sebastian's gasp of surprise as an ornate doorway bleeds into view, sprawling across the stone wall like fast-growing ivy.

With a confident smile, you breeze through the door and into a spacious moonlit room decorated in a blend of botanical greenery and gothic architecture, ceiling enchanted to reflect the world outside, sky full of stars glittering through an array of blossoming vines suspended from the illusion of a skylight.

You haven't quite finished setting everything up just yet, so it's still a little messy in some areas (a seemingly endless struggle to coax the paintings and fixtures to hang just right) but you're fairly happy with what you've done with it so far. A handsome writing desk strewn with stacks of dusty old textbooks, half-finished essays, inkwells, broken quills, and a bowl magically enchanted to fill with fresh fruit whenever you enter the room (courtesy of your friend Deek, who'd noticed you missing meals one too many times because you were too wrapped up in one of your projects, and decided to intervene) sits in one corner, while a potioneer's station with a trio of burners and a potting table with nearly-sprouted dittany and mallowsweet sits in another, a whole empty corridor just waiting to be filled with anything your heart desires (your own private library, perhaps) nestled in between.

"Is this…the Room Of Requirement?" Sebastian whispers from beside you, awestruck expression on full display now he's no longer cloaked by his Disillusionment Charm. "I thought that was just a myth."

"So did I," you chuckle, lifting your own with a casual flick of your wand. "…until a fortnight ago."

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyes narrowing.

"Hang on," he says, tone changing from fascinated to guarded in the span of a few words. "You've known about this room for two whole weeks and you haven't told me?"

You can't but feel a little pang of guilt over how hurt he sounds.

"Come now, it's not like that," you assure him, reaching out to take his hand. Despite his sudden shift in mood, he immediately takes it, fingers slipping easily between your own, sighing as you rub soothing circles along his thumb.

"Like I said, I've only just found out about it," you explain. "Professor Weasley showed it to me after I spoke to her about wishing I had a quieter place to study for my N.E.W.T.s. — suppose she took pity on me, seeing as two out of three of my only years here have been plagued by nerve-wracking exams — let me turn it into my own private study, and decorate how I please. She made me swear not to tell anyone, but…well…you're my best friend, Seb, of course I was planning on telling you. I just wanted to wait until I'd finished setting everything up first," you finish, eyes narrowing at one of the paintings above your desk set several inches above the others at an odd angle.

"You are a wonder, you know that?" Sebastian laughs, warmth flooding back into his features as he gazes down at you with a fond smile, giving the palm of your hand an affectionate squeeze. "You've got all these professors fooled into thinking you're this saintly, rule-abiding student, yet here you are, sneaking out past curfew with the school's biggest mischief-maker to learn forbidden magic in a secret room you swore you'd tell no one about. We do so adore restricted areas, don't we?"

"Forbidden magic?" you repeat, arching a curious eyebrow.

"Why do you think I invited you to meet me tonight?" he says, lips curving up in an impish grin. "I've got another spell I'd like to show you."

Your eyes light up in excitement, eager as the day he taught you Confringo.

"But first, I think you owe a tour of your secret private study, starting with…whatever those are," he says, curious gaze flitting between three magnificent archways connected by an imperial staircase just across the way, slivers of gold waltzing between the branches of two majestic oak trees twisting around the entryway of the first, a lullaby of birdsong and gentle ocean waves echoing from the bright, hazy doorway of the second, climbing vines curling like serpents around water-logged trees cloaked in mushrooms and moss, casting shadows like Celtic filigree across the marble floor as the soft silver glow of magically-conjured moonlight spills down the steps leading up to the entrance of the third.

"Oh, you mean my vivariums?" you reply with an air of feigned nonchalance, smiling at the way he gazes at them with all the wonder of a small child discovering magic for the first time. "Forest, swamp, coastal, or grasslands — where would you like to start first?"

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyebrows arched in astonishment.

"You mean to tell me there's an entire ecosystem in each one of these?" he asks.

"Well, of course," you answer. "Each beast I've rescued deserves to feel right at home, wouldn't you agree?"

"You've got magical beasts in there?" Sebastian huffs out around a disbelieving laugh.

"Would you like to meet them?" you ask, lips curling up in a bright smile.

"Would I like to— is that even a question?" he asks, jubilant.

"Please, lead the way." Sebastian sweeps into a low, theatrical bow and is nearly knocked off his feet as you eagerly tug him by the hand toward the first of four doorways, stepping from the serene moonlit study into a lush green forest teeming with birdsong and honeybees, lit by the soft golden glow of warm summer sunshine.

"—should really check on everyone anyway. I set up an automatic feeder and a toy chest in each one, but they still need to be brushed on occasion so I can collect all their feathers and fur," you ramble, but your idle chatter is lost on Sebastian as he stands there in the middle of the forest clearing, gazing awestruck at a pair of unicorns — a bright white female and her little golden foal, coats adorned with a series of swirling spirals that seem to shimmer in the sunlight — trotting toward you in the distance.

"I— I can't believe it," he breathes. "After all that time we spent searching, you finally found the unicorn den."

"Do you remember that mooncalf den we found in the middle of the Forbidden Forest that one time?" you prompt, smiling at the memory of one of your many midnight forays.

"How could I forget? The way you cooed over them. Adorable," Sebastian teases you with a fond smile.

"Fifty paces east and we would've found it," you tell him, delighting in the impressed look on his face.

"Huh," he muses softly. "All that time, we were so close. Funny how often that seems to happen."

You watch his gaze drift down to your entwined hands and settle there for a moment, heart thundering to the beat of swiftly approaching hooves. Before you can think of anything to say, you're pulled out of the intimate embrace by the arrival of your unicorns, the bright white female nearly knocking you off your feet in her enthusiasm to greet you. She nuzzles at your shoulder before shooting Sebastian a curious glance, her little foal hiding behind her. You've never brought anyone else into your vivariums before, and she has every right to be wary after everything she's been through.

"It's alright. Sebastian is safe, I promise," you assure her in a comforting whisper, reaching up to stroke along the bridge of her nose. She huffs out a breath and closes her eyes, shaking her head in an effort to get you to reach a little bit higher. After a moment's deliberation, she approaches Sebastian, bowing her head and allowing him to touch her. Sebastian shoots you a wary glance, asking your permission. You give him an encouraging nod, and slowly, carefully, he reaches up to gently stroke along the same path, letting out a delighted laugh when she huffs and nuzzles against his shoulder in turn.

"This is Hazel," you tell him with a soft smile. "A lovely woman by the name of Betty Bugbrooke bonded with her when she was just a foal, came to visit her in the forest every week. But one night, they were attacked by wolves, and Hazel ran off scared. Betty worried she might be injured, or worse— that poachers might have gotten to her. She asked if I could find her, give her a safe place to recover. It was only after I brought her here that I realized she was—"

On cue, the little golden foal takes this moment to make his grand entrance, squeezing in past his mother to head-butt Sebastian in the stomach, eager for attention.

"Oof," Sebastian laughs, raising his other hand to gently stroke the foal's mane.

"And this is Hazel's son," you chuckle, glancing back and forth between the two boys. "I haven't thought of a name for him yet — he was only just born last week. Perhaps you could help me name him?"

"You'd let me?" Sebastian asks, pleasantly surprised.

"I think it's only right. He seems to have taken quite a shine to you," you smile as the little foal head-butts Sebastian's outstretched hand.

"Either that or he thinks my fingers are carrots," Sebastian laughs.

"I don't think he's quite figured out how to work the automatic feeder just yet," you venture, glancing back at the row of little wooden crates by the entryway and making a mental note to double check you've conjured the spellcraft correctly. "Would you like to feed him while I brush Hazel?"

"Sure," he says, glancing warily at the automatic feeder, not quite sure how to use it himself. "Should I just—"

Before he can finish asking, you lift your wand and produce a fresh bag of beast feed similar to the ones you've used in class, handing it off to him before conjuring your brush and heading toward Hazel.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Sebastian reaches into the bag and lifts a handful of food into the air, where it floats between himself and the foal, who eagerly reaches forward to chomp at the pieces. Sebastian chuckles fondly at the hungry little unicorn and sets about trying to figure out a name for him, listing a few choices out loud and asking him what he thinks of each one in turn.

"What shall we call you?" Sebastian muses, tapping a finger against his chin. "Oh, I know! How about a wood-themed name to match your mother? Let's see…how do you feel about Hawthorn?"

The golden foal snorts and shakes his head.

"Alright, I'll take that as a no," Sebastian chuckles. "Hmm…how about Rowan, then?"

The little foal stamps his front hoof in even deeper disapproval.

"Well, we can't very well call you Dogwood," Sebastian laughs.

Hazel lets out an impatient snort as she waits to be brushed, bringing your focus rather sharply back to her. You breathe out a hasty apology, but she merely gives you a look like she knows exactly why you were so distracted.

"Hush, you," you admonish her with a small smile, reaching up to brush the tangles out of her long silver-white mane.

Hazel lets out another huff like she's sighing at you, glancing over to watch Sebastian playing with her son, red-faced and laughing as the two of them chase each other across the clearing, before turning back to level you with another pointed look, nodding her head and nuzzling her nose into your shoulder, and you think it might just be the closest anyone's ever come to getting a unicorn's stamp of approval.

A little while later, the two of you are sitting at the edge of the forest by the toy box, discarded cloaks laid out underneath you like a makeshift picnic blanket, watching Hazel and newly-named Willow chasing an unpoppable bubble around the clearing, when Sebastian lets out a long, slow, contented sigh and leans his shoulder into yours.

"I have to admit, it's a wonder I've seen you at all these past two weeks," he says with a soft chuckle, gazing out onto the golden horizon, mesmerized by the way the sunlight kisses the surface of the lake. "I could easily stay like this forever."

He turns to look at you, sunlight dancing in his warm brown eyes just like the stars had that night on the Astronomy Tower.

"Here…with you."

Breath catches in the back of your throat as you look at him, eyes trailing down the curves of his freckled cheeks to land on his lips again. Here in the soft afternoon light, his freckles are more pronounced than ever, each one a kiss from the sun. You imagine him spending his summers running around outside, tearing through the countryside on all sorts of rollicking adventures, tending to the gardens and livestock in the village on his quieter days. Perhaps that's how he developed such a sturdy build, broad shoulders straining against the sleeves of his button-up, rolled halfway to his elbows, baring toned, freckled forearms that flex with each flick of his wrist as he guides the moving path of the unpoppable bubble.

You feel your body start to lean forward of its own accord, eyes fluttering closed, but manage to stop yourself before you do something monumentally stupid like kiss your best friend in the middle of a magically-conjured forest clearing.

"Ah, but then you wouldn't get to see the rest of my vivariums," you quickly recover, jolting yourself out of the moment.

"Merlin, I forgot," Sebastian shakes his head, seemingly coming out of his own little reverie. "This is just one of three."

"Four," you correct him with a small smile. "The doorway to the grasslands sits just above the entrance to the Room Of Requirement."

"I didn't even notice," Sebastian marvels. "I was so preoccupied with the three right in front of me."

You slowly get to your feet, dusting grass off the edge of your skirt.

"Well then, are you ready to see the next one?" you ask, holding out your hand.

"Absolutely," he says, taking your offered hand, though he does most of the heavy lifting as you help him to his feet. You expect him to let go once he's standing, but he only holds on tighter, slipping his fingers back in between yours. You can't help the rush of warmth that surges through you at the contact.

"Shall we take the scenic route?" you ask, inclining your head toward the darkened forest just ahead.

"Is there any other way to travel?" Sebastian quips back, eagerly following at your side.

Jobberknolls and fwoopers fly overhead, weaving between the autumn-kissed treetops as the two of you make your way through the thicket, while kneazles chase rolling puffskeins through the leaf-strewn undergrowth. As the two of you trudge along, the forest itself grows darker and darker, fading from the warmth of a golden summer's day into a misty moonlit night, the ground beneath your boots becoming steadily more uneven and unforgiving, solid dirt and gnarled tree roots giving way to soft, muddy earth dotted with moss and mushrooms, puddles of water stretching between patches of grass and tall, swaying cattails, until you reach the very edge of the forest, opening out onto the swamplands.

Sebastian lets out a sharp gasp, faltering for a moment when he sees two skeletal, horse-like creatures with wingspans the size of a Hebridean Black swoop down from the night sky to land at the edge of the forest, one pitch black like the sky above, one as bright as the moon.

"You have thestrals?" he whispers, equal parts amazed and apprehensive.

"There's a den just north of here," you tell him, giving the palm of his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Absolutely riddled with poachers, last time I checked. It's not safe for them out there anymore, at least not at the moment. So, Deek asked me to rescue a mated pair."

"Deek," Sebastian repeats, the name somewhat familiar. "That's that house elf that's friendly with Professor Weasley, right?"

"The very same," you reply with a small smile. "He's the one who helped me set up my study, in fact; encouraged me to rescue as many creatures as I could, give them a safe place free from the threat of poachers."

"Which is how you ended up with a mated pair of thestrals," Sebastian concludes, sounding both amused and impressed.

"Gomez and Morticia," you answer with a cheerful nod.

Sebastian glances at you, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

"It's what I've taken to calling them," you say with a small shrug. "Suits them, don't you think?"

Sebastian watches the pair of bad omens curl up together under the shade of a weeping willow, Gomez stretching out his wings to wrap around Morticia's shoulders like a protective shield, before leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against hers.

"It certainly does," Sebastian replies with a soft smile.

He turns back to look at you, teasing grin returning in full. "Came up with names for all of them, have you?"

"Of course," you reply with a jovial smile. "It would get awfully confusing if I didn't, especially with an entire herd of— aha! There they are, right on cue."

One by one, all seven of your mooncalves emerge into the clearing, moonlight dancing in their big, bright blue eyes, webbed feet splashing through muddy puddles as they all come hurdling toward you, jumping up and down, enveloping you in a cuddly circle. You greet them all by name — Millie, Mooncake, Marzipan, Vanilla Bean, Snickerdoodle, Pancake, and Jellybean — giggling and cooing over them as you ask each one how they've been, who's hungry, and who needs to be brushed.

Too wrapped up in your little herd to notice the way Sebastian's lips curl up in a soft, smitten smile as he watches you, heart fluttering inside his chest at how utterly adorable you are, how big and pure your heart is. Of course you'd have a whole herd of them. He shouldn't have expected anything less.

"Where on earth did you find them all?" he asks, huffing out a laugh as one of the braver ones comes sniffing around his ankles, peering up at him expectantly.

"Poacher camps," you explain, upper lip curling in a scowl. "Every so often, I'll come across an encampment near their den in the forest, catch them before they manage to steal away with their quarry. They mostly use cages with level one locks, so they're easy enough to pick while their backs are turned, but it's not exactly the quickest process. So far, I've only been caught twice. Managed to duel my way out of trouble without too much fuss — nothing a vial or two of Wiggenweld couldn't patch up — and more importantly, without any mooncalves getting hurt in the process. Poachers scare pretty easily when they find out a student knows Confringo — thanks for that, by the way."

You look up from your little herd of mooncalves to find Sebastian staring at you in astonishment, mouth hanging open like you've just revealed some grand secret double-life, so distracted he doesn't even notice the muddy paw prints saturating the knees of his trousers as Jellybean jumps up to nose at his pocket, searching for treats.

"You—" he falters, breath coming out in a disbelieving laugh. "You're amazing, you know that? I wondered where you'd been disappearing off to whenever you weren't with me. Speaking of which…I'd like to come with you next time, if you'll have me. Help you fight the baddies, keep these little ones safe," he says, leaning down to stroke the top of Jellybean's head and letting out a contented hum when she closes her eyes and makes a high-pitched squeaking sound.

"I take back every time I've ever teased you for going soft over these little gremlins. I can see now why you like them so much," he relents, chuckling as Jellybean purrs and nuzzles her head against the palm of his hand, eager for more scritches.

"Aren't they wonderful? They're so sweet and soft and silly," you laugh as you watch a trio of little ones chasing after a tiny floating moon conjured from the toy box with all the fondness in the world. "Oh, I just love them so much."

"Is that what it takes to earn your love? I'm at least one out of three of those things," Sebastian chuckles under his breath, eyes growing wide the moment he realizes he's just said that out loud.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," you say, struggling to hear anything over the sound of Snickerdoodle happily crunching away as you feed him a handful of treats.

"Nothing," Sebastian lies, summoning a handful of beast feed from out of your bag with a flick of his wand. "I was just asking Jellybean here if she was hungry."

At the mention of food, all seven of your mooncalves come gallivanting up to surround you both, floating toy moon immediately forgotten.

"Alright, easy there, I promise I won't let anyone go hungry," Sebastian reassures them, laughing as their little pink tongues poke out to tickle the palm of his hand. There's no Hazel to tease you this time as you stand there, rooted to the spot as though you've just been Stunned, one breath away from sighing like a lovesick damsel as you watch Sebastian dote on your mooncalves, heart threatening to burst with the overwhelming love it carries.

You wait until the very last mooncalf has huddled in with the rest of their herd and laid their head down in the tall, swaying grasses to drift off to sleep, fur brushed and bellies full, before making your way to the next vivarium. Together, the two of you wade through knee-deep swamp water littered with lily pads and lotus flowers, cloaks soaked and caked in mud and moss, until you reach the mouth of a darkened cave, shards of moonstone jutting from floor to ceiling like rows of shark's teeth.

Led by the glow of your wands, the two of you carefully make your way through the cavernous passageway, a kaleidoscope of colors bursting across the walls each time your light shines through a cluster of crystals, until eventually, the light at the end grows bright enough to outshine even the strongest of light spells, a symphony of crickets and tree frogs and echoes of dripping stalactites giving way to the soft cries of seagulls and gentle ocean waves, moss giving way to seaweed, until the muddied puddles of the swamp meet little whirlpools of sea water.

Together, the two of you step out into a bright, hazy world lit by golden sunlight streaming through fluffy white clouds stretched across a brilliant blue sky, ocean waves crashing against massive weather-worn rocks surrounding you on all sides.

After thestrals and unicorns, Sebastian really shouldn't be surprised to learn that you have hippogriffs too, but he gasps in disbelief all the same when two of them come swooping down from the sky to land right in front of you, eager to be brushed and fed.

They're wary at first, only used to you, Natty, and Poppy from your daring rescue weekend last, watching Sebastian with a kind of cautious curiosity as he dips into a low bow, warm brown eyes fixed first to Highwing's golden gaze, and then Caligo's piercing bright blue. After a moment, the two of them bow their heads, allowing Sebastian to come stand beside you and brush them, Caligo affectionately nipping at the hood of Sebastian's cloak when he sneaks him a few extra treats from your bag of beast feed.

"Keep that up, and I bet he'll let you ride him in no time," you chuckle, plucking another loose feather from Highwing's bright white plumage and stowing it in the pocket of your cloak.

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyes wide with excitement.

Your lips quirk up in a smug smile.

"There's nothing quite like the view of the castle grounds from the back of a hippogriff," you sigh, mischief dancing in your eyes as you cast him a playful grin. "Want to see for yourself sometime?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Sebastian quips back, lips pulling up into a brilliant smile.

"Is it just the two of them in here, or are there any other surprises I should know ab—" Sebastian barks out a startled laugh as a bright white diricawl bursts into existence right beside him.

"Oh, hullo Gwyneira, nice of you to join us," you chuckle as the squat little bird marches up to the automatic feeder, bobbing and weaving without a trace of fear between the hippogriffs' taloned feet, and steals three helpings' worth of food before disappearing again with an audible pop.

You didn't think Sebastian's face had room for any more freckles, but after a long stretch of sitting at the edge of the beach, dark gray trousers rolled up to his knees, wool socks and worn leather boots discarded in favor of dipping his toes into the sand, tempting the water to come up and kiss the soles of his feet, you're proven quite wrong, a ruddy hue settling into the hollows of his cheeks as he squints against the blinding sunlight and watches in fascination as Caligo and Highwing take to the skies.

Eager to see where they're off to, the two of you make your way a little further east, where a large formation of rocks leads up a steep cliffside covered in a thick coat of lush greenery, cracked and crumbling steps ascending to the ruins of an old castle. It's a bit of a climb that's hell on both your knees, but the view at the top is well worth it, sunlight spilling over a landscape that seems to exist forever in the golden hour, rolling grasslands teeming with billywigs and honeybees buzzing about a colorful sweep of wildflowers, surrounded on all sides by majestic, snowcapped mountains.

Sebastian gazes out onto the horizon, elbows resting against the edge of the wooden guardrail fencing in the highest outlook of the clearing, mesmerized by the way the sunlight hits the glittering golds of Highwing's feathers and the cool blues of Caligo's as the two of them soar across the mountain range, when a flash of bright red wings swoops by overheard, wind curling its fingers through his hair.

"Is that— oh, there's no way," Sebastian gasps in unbridled excitement.

"Oh, did I forget to mention I have a phoenix?" you reply cooly, though your proud, beaming smile gives you away.

"Incredible," he says, a little breathless as he watches the legendary bird soar across the mountainous landscape. "Absolutely incredible."

He turns to look at you, sunlight catching against the back of his frame and igniting him in a soft golden glow, fixing you with a smile that's somehow even softer as he adds, "Every time I think I've seen everything, you always find a way to surprise me."

Sunlight spills across his features as he holds your gaze, kissing brand new freckles into the curves of his cheeks and the bow of his lips, and in that moment you've never been more jealous of the sun, longing to follow in its lead.

You're shaken out of the moment by a series of curious squeaks and whines, turning in time to see a family of nifflers eagerly waddling up the path toward you, keen to sniff you out and see if you've got anything valuable to nick. You introduce Sebastian to the felonious foursome — the infamous Irondale Pilferer, Calamity, his partner in crime, and their newborn twins, Mischief and Rascal. Sebastian greets them with a friendly smile, crouching down to tickle Mischief's belly and laughing when a handful of coins comes spilling out of her pouch. You tell him he's more than welcome to pocket them…if he can manage to keep them out of her brother's clutches.

Sebastian lets out a deep, contented sigh as he gazes out into the distance, watching as the sun slowly starts to slip beneath the mountains, bathing the clearing in hazy shades of citrus and rose.

"Blimey, how long have we been in here?" he laughs, glancing down at the edges of his nearly-dried cloak. "It feels so real in here, I'd honestly forgotten we're still in a room inside the castle, and haven't just traversed the whole of the highlands in the span of— what, a couple of hours? This place feels never-ending, it'll be a wonder if we ever manage to find our way back."

He glances over at you suddenly, a worried crease settling into his brow.

"Do you know the way back, or do we just live here now?" he asks, huffing out a nervous laugh.

"Come along, lost boy. Let's get you home," you tease, fixing him with a fond smile as you take him by the hand and lead him down a curved, winding pathway that twists around the cliff face of the clearing, tall grasses and fragrant wildflowers weaving between the pickets of the worn wooden guardrail, down down down until you reach a magnificent waterfall spilling out into a vast, glittering lake on the periphery of a familiar terrain.

As you climb down the last moss-covered boulder and make your way across the clearing, you spot Hazel curled up around her little foal, the two of them softly dozing under the shade of an oak tree, gentle sunlight spilling through its branches in a lazy waltz across the lush green grass.

Hand in hand, the two of you step back through the doorway opposite the edge of the forest, and into the heart of your starlit study.

Sebastian shakes his head like he's coming out of a trance, glancing back toward the sunlit doorway to double check it hadn't all just been a dream.

"An entire world — sorry, four entire worlds — existing inside a single room in the castle?" he marvels, breathless laughter rushing out of him as he glances around the study. "And you managed to set all this up in just two weeks?"

"Well, I had a lot of help," you're quick to assure him, not wanting to take all the credit. "From Deek and the room itself."

"But you're the one rescued all those creatures, and you chose all the decor, didn't you?" he insists, playfully knocking his shoulder against yours.

"I suppose that's true…" you relent, lips curving up in a proud smile as you glance around the room, sleek mahogany bookshelves lining nearly every wall, just waiting to be filled with all your favorites, moonlit sky casting shadows on the polished marble floor through the twisting greenery adorning the skylight up above.

"It's magnificent, by the way…your private study," he tells you, voice soft and low as he turns back to look at you.

"Our private study now, if you'd like," you correct him, mesmerized by the way the moonlight dances in his eyes.

"A secret room that's just ours alone? Oh, I like the sound of that very much," he says, voice close to a whisper now as he keeps his steady gaze fixed on yours.

It's easier to catch this time, now you're no longer under the spell of a Disillusionment Charm, the way his eyes trail down to your lips and linger there, just for a moment. Your tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip in instinctual anticipation, and you could almost swear you hear his breath hitch, hand gripping yours a little tighter.

And oh, you're going to do something very stupid if you don't snap yourself out of this right now.

"So," you prompt, embarrassed by how breathless you sound. "You promised to show me something forbidden tonight?"

Sebastian blinks, eyebrows jumping to his hairline.

"What?" he blurts out, half shocked disbelief, half breathless laughter.

Ah. You just clocked the way that sounded. Brilliant subject change. Spectacular choice of wording right there.

"You— you said you had a spell you wanted to show me?" you clarify, cheeks burning at the eager look in his eyes.

"Oh," Sebastian breathes, shoulders sagging a little. He shakes his head to try and clear it.

"Right, we should—" he falters, suddenly nervous, hand slipping out of yours as he makes his way into the middle of the study. (You try very hard not to mourn the loss, the space between your fingers a little too empty without his to fit perfectly between them.)

The look he gives you as he stands opposite you is apprehensive, posture worse than usual as he ducks his head down in an effort to appear smaller.

"So…" he starts, lips pulling up in a wincing smile. "I trust you remember a little spell called…" he swallows. "…the Imperius Curse?"

All the air rushes out of the room like a Dementor's kiss, fear lancing through you like slivers of ice, leaving pins and needles in its wake.

It's been over a year since the catacombs. You thought he'd put all that behind him.

"Sebastian…" you say his name like a warning.

Sebastian puts his hands up in surrender.

"Allow me to explain," he says softly. "Please."

You purse your lips, eyes narrowed. After a moment's deliberation, you let out a sharp sigh and give him an impatient look, your silence giving him permission to continue.

Sebastian breathes a sigh of relief and nods in gratitude.

"Okay, so…hear me out," he starts. "You and I have both known what we wanted to do since the end of our fifth year, yeah? But getting Outstandings in our O.W.L.s is only the beginning. If we're to have even a shot at surviving life as Curse-Breakers, then we need to be prepared for what's out there."

"Even— no, especially— all the things the school deems too dangerous for us to even know about. Honestly, what's the use in Defence Against The Dark Arts if they're not going to teach us how to properly defend ourselves against the Dark Arts?" Sebastian scoffs, rolling his eyes as he riles himself up over his longstanding disdain for the curriculum.

Your lips twitch into a small smile in spite of yourself.

Sebastian shakes his head and lets out a wearying sigh, reeling himself back in, gaze softening as he turns back to look at you.

"Listen, I know you didn't want to learn it last time…but this time, I really think you should," he insists, solemn conviction laced with an undercurrent of soft, desperate pleading. "Not for the purpose of using it on anyone, but so you can understand how it works, the kind of power that comes with wielding it, and most importantly, how to fight against it, so that if anyone is ever fool enough to cast it on you, you won't be so easily subject to their whims."

A shudder runs through the both of you at the very thought, Sebastian bristling with a kind of fierce protectiveness you've only ever seen him display for a few choice souls — his twin sister, his oldest friend, and you.

"And the other two curses?" you ask tentatively, voice low and quiet as your vision swirls with sparks of acid green and crackling carmine, a phantom burst of pain unlike anything else in this world rippling across your abdomen as the memory of cold stone beneath your hands and knees overwhelms you. "Would you have me fight against those, too?"

"No!" Sebastian says a little too sharply, terror flashing in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, grounding himself.

"The only one I feel even remotely comfortable casting on one another is the Imperius Curse. In the right hands, it's the only one that isn't inexorably harmful…the only one anyone's ever been able to fight against. With the other two, it's really just a matter of…of dodging it," he swallows thickly, a flash of guilt tightening his jaw. "Or…or enduring it."

Sebastian's expression darkens and you know he's thinking back to the Scriptorium again, his reaction so raw and visceral it's as though you're back on a different stone floor, tears drenching the hood of your cloak as he'd clung to you, shoulders shaking in violent, body-wracking sobs.

It's not as though he's made peace with what happened with his uncle, or that he feels more remorse for one grievance over the other. You suppose it's just a little easier to contend with your past mistakes, to quiet the voices of all the people you've wronged, when you don't have to look one of them in the eye every day…when they've been nothing but kind and loyal to you, and all you did in return was repeatedly let them down.

And you know, because he's told you countless times now, that there isn't a single day that goes by where he doesn't wish it'd been him instead, that he should've fought harder against your refusal to cast it on him. But that's an empty regret, because even if you had to go back and do it all over again, you still never would have let him be the one to take it.

"I'll never cast that spell on you ever again," he says, broken, choking. "Once was already too much. I'm so—"

"I know you are," you tell him softly, the same words you've repeated countless times since that quiet little moment in the Undercroft at the end of your fifth year.

You'd kept in touch over the summer, too eager to hear from him to follow through on any half-baked notions of needing space. And a good thing, too — Sebastian, it seemed, was just as keen to hear from you in return. He'd written dozens of letters — two, three, four, sometimes five times a week, if his owl was feeling up to it (though according to one of his letters, she'd start biting his fingers if he ever reached for his quill a sixth time in the span of a single week.)

He never veered toward the topic of your magic or what happened down in the catacombs, content to talk at length about the mundanities of your day instead, asking after your fancy new life in London living all on your own in the flat Fig had left you in his will, commiserating over the hardships of settling a late loved one's affairs. He never seemed bored in the slightest, even when you felt you were droning on about nothing, always happy to hear what you've been up to, even on the days you never left the house. To Sebastian, it seemed no subject could be exhausted, especially when it came to you.

In each new letter, he'd oh-so-casually ask about one of your favorite things, from sweets to flowers to the muggle authors you'd grown up reading, and every week, you'd find a little hand-wrapped parcel among his many letters — a box of sugar quills or a chocolate frog he'd picked up in Hogsmeade the weekend before, a bright blue jobberknoll feather he'd found at a nearby den and fashioned into a quill, fresh honeysuckles and hyacinths from his neighbor's garden pressed between the pages of a quote he'd scribbled down from one of your favorite books, along with an essay on why he liked it.

He'd been keen to keep you up-to-date on how he'd been faring too, eager to keep busy and make himself useful, helping his neighbors with various errands and tasks they might need done, tending to livestock and community gardens, helping to fix up the hamlet in the wake of loyalist destruction. He spoke like he was desperate to prove himself, prove he was keeping his word. A few times, you couldn't help but giggle at the way he sounded like an overzealous suitor trying to woo his intended, keen to sell up his accomplishments.

At first, you'd thought it was simply because he was lonely, that you were his only correspondent, but then Ominis finally broke his silence in July (insisting in his letters to you that given the choice between his family's company and Sebastian's, he supposed he'd rather tolerate the latter, and not because he missed the impish bastard, or anything — his words) followed by a tentative hope you're well from Anne in August. Though she hadn't quite been ready to forgive him back then, Anne was still anxious to know how her brother was faring, not-so-subtly asking if you'd heard from him in her owls to you, and, according to Anne's letters, getting an earful from one of her former neighbors.

After Anne left Feldcroft, she'd kept in touch with one of the neighbors she'd always been closest to — a kindly old woman who used to send over home-cooked stews when Anne and Sebastian first arrived on Solomon's doorstep, and who'd apparently been singing Sebastian's praises all summer for all the hard work that nice young man had been doing to help cut back on the gnome infestation threatening to overtake her rose garden.

Evidently, there were only so many times Anne could bear to hear about that poor boy's crumpled face every time the old woman mentioned Anne's name in passing, how sweet it was that he missed his twin, but wished her luck in her travels as she took a much-needed respite to mourn the loss of their uncle, opting to stay behind and look after the estate, that she'd finally broken and decided to send him a letter. Just one line — hope you're well — but to Sebastian, it was everything.

And yet, the frequency with which he wrote to you never wavered. If anything, it'd given him even more to talk about.

You remember how excited he'd been for term to start back up again — it was all the two of you seemed to be able to talk about in the days leading up to September. You'd grown so used to his presence, even if it was only through letters, that the stroll through Diagon Alley felt rather lonely without him, as did the train ride from King's Cross (though an afternoon of stories, snacks, and Exploding Snap with Ominis, Poppy, Natty, Garreth, and Amit certainly made for a lovely journey through the countryside) but seeing as he could easily get all his supplies in Hogsmeade and simply use the Floo Network to travel to the castle, it seemed rather silly to invite him to come all the way to London, just to go all the way back.

You remember the way the floor fell out from underneath you the first time you saw him again — teeth as white as a Patronus Charm against the sun-kissed glow of his skin, an impossible surplus of freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, spilling into the curves of his dimples as his lips pulled up into a bright smile, warm brown eyes lit up like afternoon sunlight across the forest floor, somehow even taller and stronger than he'd been only a few months prior as he'd rushed toward you and lifted you off your feet in a dizzying hug, shivers dancing down your spine as he'd buried his face into the crook of your neck and whispered, "Merlin, I've missed you."

By then, you'd finally begun to admit to yourself that maybe, quite possibly, you might have developed something of a small crush on your closest friend. This moment clearly endeavored to whack you round the back of the head with it.

Laughter caught like honey in the back of your throat as you'd pulled back to look at him, cheeks burning like you'd just hugged a living Confringo blast, and said, "Thought you'd be sick of me by now. We only wrote each other every day."

But Sebastian's sincerity only grew stronger.

"Never. Much as I looked forward to your letters, it's not the same as getting to see you in person. Merlin, can't believe it's been almost three months since I last saw you. You look—"

Sebastian paused, eyes lingering on the silken spill of your hair as it cascaded down your shoulders, longer now and out of its usual braid, the healthy glow that had blossomed across your cheeks from all those downtown strolls in the warm summer sun, same bright eyes, same soft smile you always seemed to reserve just for him.

"I sure hope the end of that sentence is good," you'd teased in the wake of the silence that stretched between you, momentarily worried you had some leftover pumpkin pasty on your face, or forgotten to repair a singe in your cloak.

But then Sebastian had let out the softest laugh, ducking his head in a sheepish grin and peering up at you through his lashes. And Merlin, how your heart raced.

"That's one word for it. Good. You look good," he said softly.

He looked at you for a moment longer, lips pulling up into a soft — dare you call it adoring — smile. And then he shook his head, and in the next instant it was gone, replaced by something sharper, cheekier.

"Though it appears you've somehow gotten even shorter since the last time I saw you," he added in a teasing lilt, lifting his arm and settling it atop your head as though you were a particularly moody armrest.

"Or you just shot up over the summer, you bloody tree," you'd quipped, wriggling out from under his arm, only for it to fall around your shoulders and stay there until they called for everyone to take their seats for the start of term feast.

Sebastian's laughter lanced through you like a bolt of lightning, and you spent far more time than you'd care to admit lying awake later that night wondering whether he'd planned it.

The next morning, you awoke to find him waiting for you bright and early outside of your common room, in the midst of a heated debate with the eagle doorknocker over the answer to the riddle when is a door not a door?

"When it's ajar," you'd answered as you stepped out into the corridor, eagerly accepting the freshly-baked croissant held out in his hand.

"That's—" Sebastian blurted out, flustered. "How is that more of a correct answer than a portrait? Ever heard of the Fat Lady? The painting of the ticklish pear? The doorways to both the kitchen and the Gryffindor common room are literally hidden behind a portrait. So technically, my answer was correct."

You'd never seen a doorknocker look so exhausted.

"Does this little serpent belong to you?" the bronze eagle asked you as it cast a wearying glance at Sebastian.

Now that's one hell of a riddle.

"I— yes. He's with me. Sorry," you answered quickly, turning on your heel and steering Sebastian down the corridor before the doorknocker decided to exact vengeance by locking you out of your common room later that night.

You glanced over at the serpent in question, shit-eating grin spread across his ruddy cheeks.

"Sebastian," you prompted as you took in the sight of him, out of breath as he greeted you with a cheeky hello you. "Do you know how many staircases it takes to get from Slytherin Dungeon to Ravenclaw Tower?"

"Oh bloody hell, not another riddle," Sebastian groaned.

"Seventeen," you replied, cheeks aching from the effort of trying not to laugh. "Seventeen staircases. And you climbed all of them this morning just to…what, argue the merits of what makes for a good riddle with my house's doorknocker? You do know I could've just met you in the Great Hall, right? You didn't have to go to all the trouble."

The redness in the hollows of his cheeks spread like wildfire across the bridge of his nose, nearly drowning out the smattering of freckles there.

"Well yeah, I could've just waited downstairs," he brushed it off with false bravado. "But I figured it's only right I escort my charge to her first day of classes. It is a special occasion, after all."

"Is it, now?" you asked, smile growing even wider.

"It is," he quipped. "Did you know it's officially been one whole year since the day we met?" he asked, puffing out his chest with a kind of pride that made your stomach swoop like you just fell through the vanishing step in the grand staircase.

"You mean since I knocked you on your arse?" you teased around a mouthful of warm flaky pastry and rich chocolate.

Sebastian pouted at you and made a grab to take back his croissant, barking out a laugh when you shrieked and proceeded to shove the entire thing into your mouth.

"The very picture of grace," he'd mused, smile fit to bursting as you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Speaking of which," he added, smile turning sly. "I think it's high time we had a rematch, wouldn't you?"

"Eager to make losing to me a yearly tradition?" you smirked.

"You wish," he snorted, smile fond as he rolled his eyes. "Meet me in the Undercroft after your last class, and we'll set the record back to rights."

"I look forward to sweeping you off your feet again," you countered with a playful smile.

Sebastian's eyebrows drew up the slightest fraction, lips pulling into a soft, amused smile as he let out a sound that was half hum, half laughter.

"Here's hoping one of these days I can manage to do the same," he'd mused, all the air rushing out of your lungs in a single breath as he took a step closer and reached out to swipe his thumb across your lower lip.

You had half a mind to wonder whether the duel had begun early, whether he'd been practicing wandless, nonverbal spells over the summer, and had struck you unawares with a combination of ice and fire charms, heart pounding in your chest as you watched his tongue dart out to lick a dab of melted chocolate off the edge of his thumb, darkened gaze locked on yours the whole time.

"See you then," he said, the low hum of his laughter stirring something that felt an awful lot like wings in the pit of your stomach, threatening to burst out of you and chase him down the corridor as you watched him walk away.

It took you five whole minutes to find your way to your first class, despite the fact that he'd literally walked you to the door.

You were still in a bit of a daze when you'd strolled through the sliding gate several hours later, hair wild from a particularly humid session in Potions brewing your first-ever N.E.W.T. level Draught Of Living Death, a streak of dirt on your nose from wrangling a screaming mandrake into a fresh pot of soil in Herbology — at least, that's the excuse you'd told yourself when Sebastian caught you off guard in the middle of your rematch, knocking you off your feet with a well-timed Depulso that had absolutely nothing to do with the way his forearms flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

The spell hit you directly in the stomach and had you gasping like you'd just been struck by a charging graphorn. You vaguely registered the clattering of a dropped wand against worn stone, and in the next moment, Sebastian was on his knees beside you, hands reaching out reflexively and then faltering in midair, like he wasn't sure what to do, whether he was allowed to touch you.

You'd laughed it off, relieved for that first rush of air back into your lungs, head swiveling to where he kneeled beside you, preparing to see a sheepish grin, a wincing apology made less effective by a triumphant, gloating smirk, but all you saw when you looked into the eyes of your best friend was sheer terror, and you knew in an instant where his mind had gone.

Sebastian's gaze flitted between your eyes and the place you'd been hit — the very same spot his Cruciatus Curse had struck you less than a year prior.

"Oh Sebastian, it's okay," you reassured him, wincing at the slight wheeze to your voice. "I'm fine, see? It wasn't anything like—"

Sebastian's lower lip trembled, and in the next moment you'd been pulled into a tight embrace, shaking in his arms as seismic sobs wracked his entire body, an endless chorus of I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me spilling from his lips.

You'd held him back just as tight, assuring him between gentle strokes of his hair that you'd long forgiven him, that you knew he didn't have a choice.

"But I did have a choice," he argued, pulling back to fix you with a red-rimmed scowl. "I led you down there. I insisted. I'm the one who got us into that impossible situation in the first place. I made so many terrible choices, and all that time I let myself believe it was worth it because I thought I was doing the right thing. But in the end, all I did was hurt the people I—" he faltered, swallowing around a sharp burst of nerves that only had half to do with the guilt welling up inside him.

"I've had all summer to relive what I did to you…to everyone," he whispered softly, haunted by ghosts both living and dead as he'd looked into your eyes.

It's the same way he looks at you now, desperate and pleading for forgiveness you've already granted him, absolution he still won't allow himself.

You know how much he regrets it, how deeply it haunts him, even now. You know he's changed, learned from his past mistakes, determined never to repeat them. You know you can trust him. So if Sebastian wants you to learn one of the Unforgivable Curses, then you have to trust that it must be for good reason.

"So you're telling me it's actually possible to fight against the Imperius Curse?" you ask, still wary, but, you'll begrudgingly admit, curiosity effectively piqued. "How in Merlin's name did you ever learn how to do that?"

Sebastian lets out a breath he'd likely been holding that entire time, some of the tension unraveling from his shoulders as his lips pull into a smile like he's relieved you're still standing here with him, eager to share in something new he's learned like it's just another trip to the Restricted Section.

"Well, as you may have noticed, our dear friend Ominis is not exactly thrilled about our choice of career," Sebastian starts, and you can't help the small smile that curls across your lips as a litany of passive aggressive comments about how he'd better not see the two of you anywhere near the Janus Thickey Ward when he starts his residency in June, comes flooding into your memory. Sebastian clocks your smile and his lips twitch into one of his own.

"Keeps lamenting about how he wishes we'd choose something less dangerous," he adds, rolling his eyes in a show of fond amusement. "But that if we absolutely must, then he'd rather we go in fully prepared for what's out there. I'd assumed he was just going to help us practice a few defensive spells, offer to teach us some of the healing charms he's been learning shadowing Nurse Blainey. Imagine my surprise when Ominis Gaunt, self-proclaimed opposer of anything to do with the Dark Arts, offers to teach me the ins and outs of the Imperius Curse."

That certainly does surprise you, helping to put whatever remains of your unsettled nerves at ease. You know Ominis would never agree, let alone be the one to suggest practicing dark magic unless he truly felt it would be beneficial, unless he truly believed Sebastian could be trusted with such a thing.

"We've been practicing nearly every night in the Undercroft for the past several weeks," Sebastian goes on to explain. "I'd have told you sooner, but I didn't want to risk subjecting you to such a spell until I'd grown comfortable using it myself, fighting against its effects. Now that I have…would you like to see how it's done?"

A frisson runs down your spine, and you're not entirely sure whether it's thrill, fear, or some strange combination of the two. You swallow, only trusting yourself to nod.

"Alright then, draw your wand," he instructs, taking a few tentative steps closer until he's standing right behind you, gentle hands wrapping around the wrist of your dominant hand and bringing it into the air alongside his own.

"We'll begin with the wand movements so you can establish muscle memory," he says, warm breath ghosting across the back of your neck as he speaks in a low, soothing voice, sending shivers that have nothing to do with the forbidden magic you're about to perform racing down the length of your spine.

Together, you aim for the opposite wall, following his directions as he speaks them aloud. Arc up…left…up at a sharp diagonal to the right…and then straight back down in a figure four.

After you've completed your first circuit, Sebastian takes a step back and allows you to practice a few more times on your own, making sure you've got the movements just right.

"Good," he says, sounding impressed, but not altogether surprised. "Perfect form, in fact."

You can't help the automatic smile that curves across your lips at his praise.

"Now to put it into practice," he prompts, drawing his own wand from the inside pocket of his cloak and turning round to face you.

"Do you trust me?" he asks softly, fixing you with a serious, almost pleading look, like if you answer no it's as good as casting Crucio.

"You know I do," you answer automatically. Because even though you're still a little nervous at the prospect of delving into darker forms of magic, there's no one you'd rather learn it from.

Sebastian's eyes crinkle in a grateful smile, before quickly shifting back to something more serious.

"Alright then," he says, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Prepare yourself, I'm going to cast it on you."

"I'm ready," you tell him, standing with your spine a little straighter, wand at your side.

"Imperio," he intones, wand flicking through the air in the pattern he'd just taught you.

The effect is instantaneous, a serene sort of blankness settling over your mind like you're floating through the clouds, a comfortable warmth akin to dozing off in front of the fireplace spreading throughout your entire body. Then, clear as a bell, you hear Sebastian's voice ring out inside your head, instructing you to walk over to your desk and bring him back an apple from the bowl set atop. Without even questioning it, you do so, legs moving of their own accord.

"Finite," he says as you come to a sudden stop in front of him, a bright red honeycrisp apple held out in offering in the palm of your hand. The floating high disappears instantly, leaving you feeling out of sorts, a little dazed as you stare down at the apple, almost as if you'd dreamed you'd gone to fetch it.

"How are you feeling? Are you alright?" he asks, checking you over like he's the one preparing for a Healer's career. "It can be a little overwhelming when you first experience it. Part of why I asked you to bring that," he adds, pointing down at the apple. "The sugars will help you recover."

Sebastian's always had a bit of a sweet tooth, but the sudden uptick in the sheer amount of sugar quills you'd seen stuck between his teeth as of late suddenly makes a lot more sense. Slowly, as though testing the bounds of being back in control of your own limbs, you lift the apple to your lips and take a small bite, mulling over his question.

"It was…strange," you decide, aware that's the biggest understatement of the century. "I know I should've been scared, but instead I felt oddly serene."

"That's what it does to you," Sebastian nods solemnly. "Lulls you into a false sense of security. Tricks your mind into complacency, like you're merely a vessel and someone else is steering the ship."

"I can see how it earned the name unforgivable," you agree with a grimace. "I reckon the only reason I'm not nearly as unnerved as I should be right now is because I knew you were the one casting it."

"That's exactly why I wanted to be the one to teach you," he says with renewed conviction. "In order to learn how to defend ourselves against it, it's important to practice with someone we trust."

"Which is why," he adds with a wry chuckle. "You're going to be the one casting it on me next."

Your lips part in surprise. Even though you knew it was coming, it still catches you off guard.

"Are— are you sure?" you ask warily.

"Course I am," he reassures you with a confident grin. "As I said, it's important to know what it feels like from both sides, understand the kind of power you wield."

You stare at him for a moment, mulling it over, and then give him a curt nod, taking a few steps back to allow enough room for a safe cast.

"Remember, you have to mean it," he reminds you, stowing his wand in his pocket and standing in front of you with his arms behind his back. "Concentrate. Think the command very clearly in your mind."

You take a deep breath as you square your shoulders, assume your stance, and raise your wand.

"Alright, I'm going to cast it," you tell him, giving him the same warning he'd granted you.

"I'm ready," he assures you in an echo of your words.

"Imperio," you say aloud, and a warm weight like you've just been handed the reigns to the carriage of Helios himself settles into your dominant hand. The effect on your intended target is immediate, spine straightening as he stands to attention, an eerie green glow flickering to life in the heart of his warm brown eyes.

You nearly lose your nerve when you see it, an overwhelming, all-consuming realization that you're completely in control of another human being settling into the pit of your stomach like lead, terrified that one wrong move could potentially hurt your dearest friend. But then you remind yourself that he's the one who asked you to cast it on him, that you're learning this spell for a reason, and so you close your eyes and clear your mind, focusing on the task at hand.

Walk over to the desk and bring back one of Highwing's feathers, and then place it behind my ear, your own voice rings out inside your head, clear as crystal. You open your eyes in time to see Sebastian already on the move, watching with a kind of macabre fascination as he does exactly as you'd commanded.

"Finite," you say the moment you feel the quill gently slide into place behind your left ear — though at first you wonder whether you've done it right, when Sebastian doesn't immediately withdraw his hand, instead letting it linger to brush back a lock of hair and tuck it behind your ear to join the bright white feather. You're saved from worry when he clears his throat a moment later, the bridge of his nose dusted in a curious shade of pink.

"A perfect first cast," he tells you, and although you don't necessarily want to be proud that you'd gotten such a dark spell right on your very first try, you can't help but preen a little at his praise.

"Now, I want you to try it again, but this time, let's focus on recitation," he says, backing up a few paces and resuming his stance from before. "Think the words very clearly inside your mind and watch as they come spilling out of my mouth as though we were a living ventriloquist act," he quips, lips curling up in a wry smile.

Used to his rather dark sense of humor in light of things he should probably take a bit more seriously, you merely smirk and roll your eyes.

After another steadying breath, you lift your wand and cast it again, beginning with a simple, "Hi, my name is Sebastian Sallow, and I'm a seventh year Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," watching in equal parts wonder and horror as he repeats every word you'd just been thinking in perfect recitation.

That's what an utterly ridiculous idea comes to you, and, curious to test the bounds of the enchantment beyond mere facts and figures, you instruct him to say something you know he never would of his own accord.

"Hello, I'm Sebastian Mallowsweet, and cockroach clusters are my favorite treat in all the world! I can't wait to buy a whole barrel from Honeydukes the next time I'm in Hogsmeade," Sebastian repeats in a bright, cheerful voice that makes you giggle so hard you nearly slip up and lose your hold on the spell, but not before you get him to add in a hearty, "Perhaps I'll share some with my best mate, Duncan Hobhouse, the bravest man I've ever known."

"Finite," you manage between poorly-stifled bouts of laughter.

"Oh, that's just cruel," Sebastian chides you with a playful scowl, shaking himself out of the enchantment.

"I'm not sure what's worse, the image of a whole barrel of cockroach clusters, or the idea of voluntarily spending time with Puffskein Dunkein," he adds with a sharper shudder toward the latter. "Rest assured I'll get you back for that heinous slander."

At this point you're a lost cause, laughing so hard it's like you've downed a dozen shots of giggle water, shoulders shaking as you struggle to regain composure. Try as he might, Sebastian can't even pretend to be cross with you, lips quirking up at the corners in a fond smile.

"It's a power feeling, isn't it?" he asks softly, giving you an appraising look, curious to see how you'll answer.

"Is it bad that I sort of enjoyed it?" you ask, wincing as though you've just admitted something wicked.

Sebastian studies you for a moment, choosing his next words very carefully.

"There's nothing wrong with the thrill that comes with learning a bit of forbidden magic," he says thoughtfully. "As long as you're responsible about how you use it."

"Some people learn that lesson through trial and error," he continues, lips twisting into a self-effacing frown. "And to some, it just comes naturally. Given that I am speaking to the person who had the chance to take one of the most powerful sources of magic known to wizardkind and keep it all to herself, but chose not to…I think it's safe to say you've more than proven yourself."

Your lips pull up in a small, grateful smile.

"And let's not forget one very important caveat: I gave you full permission to cast it on me and make me say whatever you wanted," he reminds you. "So let me ask you this: would you ever cast it on me without my consent?"

"Of course not!" you answer without hesitation, scandalized by the very thought.

"There you go," he says with a reassuring smile. "So, no, you're not a bad person for enjoying that little moment of power, because in the end, all you did was make a friend say something silly."

"But the kinds of people who usually wield this type of spell…well, let's just say their intentions aren't quite so whimsical," he says, grounding you back in a sharper reality, the chilling warning like a gust of wind through lantern light, reminding just how dark and twisted the path through the woods can be.

"Which is precisely why you're learning it," he says with bright conviction. "So you can understand the dangers of it, learn how to fight against it."

"Now, with your permission, I'm going to cast it again, and this time, I want you to try to break it, alright? Concentrate on channeling your own wants and needs, making your own voice louder than the one giving the commands."

You give him a firm nod of affirmation, wand held steady at your side.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Ready," you reply.

Sebastian raises his wand.

You brace yourself for it this time, try to shake yourself out of the fog the moment it hits. Just before you slip under, you see Sebastian's lips curl upward in a mischievous smirk, dark eyes glinting with mirth. It doesn't take long for you to figure out why, when, true to his promise to get you back for your little cockroach clusters prank, the words, "Sebastian Sallow is the best in our year — a dueling champion, clever as Merlin, graceful as a phoenix on the wind," come tumbling out of your mouth without your approval.

You concentrate all your effort on trying to break his hold on you, your own voice snorting with laughter inside your head as you recall that first day in Defence Against The Dark Arts when you'd knocked that cocky little smirk clean off his face with a single blow. Dueling champion, my arse.

That little burst of your own laughter grounds you, gives you clarity, strengthens your resolve to push back against the commanding voice inside your head, until you feel the curse's hold on you start to weaken, little by little, like the steady tick tick tick of an unlocking charm, before all the right tumblers and springs click into place.

Spell broken, you decide that the best way to get Sebastian back is to take his own ostentatious accolades a step further, hand over your heart as you pretend to swoon, sighing, "Devilishly charming, too. I would gladly spend hours charting constellations in the freckles that adorn his handsome face."

"With my lips," you add with a salacious wink to really drive it home, delighting in the way his whole face goes up in flames, burning brighter than a Confringo blast.

(The fact that it's all true is irrelevant. The point of the thing is to tease him, and judging by the stupefied look on his face, you've succeeded.)

"I—" Sebastian falters, embarrassingly breathless. "Hang on, I didn't tell you to say any of that!"

"That's right!" you exclaim, doubled over laughing for the second time in as many minutes. "I'd already broken your hold on me, that was me having a lark," you tell him, beaming with pride.

Sebastian looks relieved and disappointed all at once.

"That's…that's amazing," he manages. "Broke free from the enchantment on your very first try. You really are something special, you know that?"

You sweep into a low, theatrical bow like a performer on a stage, lips curving up in a smile when he snorts with laughter.

"Alright now, don't get cocky," he chides with a playful roll of his eyes. "While that was excellent for a first try, I still managed to get in a few commands before you broke the enchantment. So, we're going to keep practicing until you're able to completely throw it off from the get-go, alright?"

"Yes, professor," you tease him, stifling one last bout of giggles as he levels you with an admonishing arch of his eyebrow, though the fond upturn of his lips gives him away.

"Cheeky," he chuckles, shaking his head.

You can't help but stick your tongue out at him, further proving his point.

"Now, as you'll have no doubt noticed, fighting off verbal vs. physical commands requires different levels of concentration and technique," he continues, assuming a professorial stance in spite of (or perhaps, unconsciously, because of) your playful commentary. "One is merely a matter of holding your tongue, but it's a different game entirely having to fight for control over the entire rest of your body."

"With that said, I'm going to cast it again," he warns, wand at the ready. "And this time, I want you to practice fighting against a physical command."

"Ready?" he asks, checking in one last time.

"Ready," you nod, back straight as you prepare for the incantation.

"Imperio," he says, and in an instant, that same serene blankness creeps in, only this time, it's like you can make out distinct shapes in the fog, growing clearer and clearer the harder you focus, the more you ground yourself, holding fast to your own thoughts, your own feelings, your own desires.

His task is simple — button his cloak and straighten his tie.

You feel your feet start to move toward him, hands raising to complete the command, when—

No, your own voice rings out, loud and clear. I don't want to do that.

Your hands settle over the front of his cloak, pausing as they inch closer to the open clasp.

Button my cloak and straighten my tie, Sebastian's voice calls out again, more insistent this time. But the voice that answers — your voice — is so much louder and stronger.

No, you stand your ground, snapping back with a triumphant laugh. No, I really don't think I will.

In fact, that's the last thing I want to do right now, you muse, lips curving upward in a cheeky grin.

A heady rush of defiance and determination surges through your veins, lighting up all your nerve endings like a live wire, and in your eagerness to rebel against the enchantment, you end up doing the complete opposite of Sebastian's request, hands sliding under the fabric of his cloak and slipping it off of his shoulders in one swift, fluid sweep, silk-lined wool pooling at his feet as you dive straight for his necktie, making a fine mess of the striped emerald and silver satin in your eager attempts to loosen it, fingers curling around smooth silk and giving it a gentle tug to urge him closer, unraveling until it's completely come undone, spilling into the hood of his cloak.

You can't help but notice how pretty and pale his throat looks beneath it, adam's apple straining with each swallow, caught on the edge of a soft, stuttered groan as you slide your hands up the length of his chest, fingertips dancing across the back of his neck and threading through the soft chestnut curls at his nape. Your eyes follow the movement with a needy, yearning kind of hunger, consumed by the thought of how much prettier it would look littered with pink and purple bruises in the shape of your lips.

A sharp intake of breath sends your senses into overdrive, head swimming in an intoxicating blend of spearmint and strawberry sugar quills lingering on the edge of his lips and the tip of his tongue, and suddenly all you can focus on is how badly you want to taste it. The words kiss me ring out inside your head, desperate and longing, and for a moment, you can't tell whether it's his voice or your own imagination, caught up in a fantasy you've been playing out inside your head for the past two and a half years.

Whatever remains of the enchantment's hold on you is immediately withdrawn, sobriety washing back over you like a sudden plunge into a freezing lake, stumbling forward as Sebastian takes a few cautionary steps back. Instinctively, he reaches out to steady you, gentle hands prying yours from around the collar of his button-up shirt. He holds them there between the two of you for a moment, and then slowly glances down, letting out a small gasp when he realizes he's touching you, and immediately pulls away like he's just been burned.

He looks at you like he's afraid of you, eyes wide with panic and shame, a fiery red heat blossoming in the hollows of his cheeks.

For a moment, you're terrified you've crossed some sort of line, turned his stomach with the regret of having to eat his own words, all that lavish praise he'd bestowed upon you, all those gallant notions of a natural proclivity for responsibility, moral compass thrown off course by the magnet that always seems to pull you toward him.

Your mind reels as you struggle to process what just happened, one little moment changing the course of everything in the space of a few seconds. It all happened so fast — one minute you were fighting against the enchantment, and the next, your hands were in his hair, all sense lost to everything but how soft it felt beneath your fingertips, swept up in the way those warm brown eyes fixed on yours like he burned for you, sunlit warmth and dulcet sugar ghosting across your lips with each breath, and suddenly all you could think about was how desperately you wanted to kiss him, so focused on channeling your own thoughts and feelings into a shield to defend yourself against the curse, you unwittingly summoned everything you've ever wanted to the surface, all those long-held desires you've tried so hard to keep buried, unearthed.

You open your mouth to apologize for getting carried away, scrambling to come up with a reasonable explanation that doesn't involve spilling your deepest secrets, pouring your heart out to the man who's held it captive for years, hoping like hell the connection severed before he heard those stupid little words ring out inside your head, that you haven't completely ruined your friendship — but before you get the chance, he's the one who starts talking, a litany of apologies falling from his lips at a dizzying speed, promising you that he would never, ever use Imperio to make you kiss him of all things, begging you to trust him.

You blink in surprise. What's he on about? Of course you trust him. That was never in question. He's mischievous, certainly, a silver-tongued charmer when he wants to get his way, but you know he would never do anything as villainous as use potions or spells to try to get someone to…to…

Oh.

So you hadn't imagined it, then.

His thoughts. His words. His voice. Wrapped so sweetly around those two little words.

Kiss me.

Not a command, but a subconscious desire, just like yours.

Sebastian wanted you to kiss him.

A mad, blissful smile spreads across your face, heart pounding in your throat as it threatens to leap right out of your chest. Your lips part, willing the right words to come, to assure him it's more than alright, but his anxious steamrolling doesn't give you the chance.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian cries, agonized. "I'm so sorry. You have to believe me, I would never take advantage of you like that. I swear to you it wasn't intentional, I just got carried away in the moment and it sort of slipped out. Beautiful girl tugging at my clothes like that, soft hands running through my hair, the way your eyes sort of burned when you looked at me, I—"

His expression softens to something you'd dare call smitten, lips curving upward in a big, goofy grin as he plays it back, and then quickly shakes his head, admonishing himself.

"Merlin, there I go again," he sighs, wincing in embarrassment as he chances a glance at you, an earnest longing burning in his eyes that makes your heart ache with the need to reach out and touch him. "I've tried so hard for so long to keep my feelings in check, because I know you don't feel the same way, and the last thing I want to do is jeopardize our friendship, so I—"

You're certain the end of that sentence would've been lovely and heartfelt, but you'll never know for sure, the rest of his words swallowed in a soft, surprised oh as you rush forward, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against his. It's soft and small and tentative, hands gently cradling the sides of his face to keep you both steady, but when you pull back a moment later, Sebastian looks at you like he's just been Confunded, his face an adorable blend between shocked and hopeful, sun-kissed freckles spilling into the curves of his dimples as his lips curve into a bright, blissful smile.

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it's gone, replaced by apprehension and disbelief.

"Wait," Sebastian falters, holding you back at arm's length and looking you over with the same care and consideration he'd shown the first time he cast the curse on you, concern etched into his narrowed eyebrows. "Are you still under my spell?"

You can't help the smirk that curls across your lips at his choice of wording.

"In a manner of speaking," you reply, sly smile turning soft as you reassure him, "but not in the way you're thinking."

Sebastian blinks at you, confused.

"Then why would you…do that?" he asks, like he genuinely can't believe you'd kiss him of your own accord.

"Because I wanted to," you tell him, and the weight of it makes you laugh like you're about to cry. "I've wanted to kiss you for so long, Sebastian, you have no idea."

Sebastian's breath comes out in a sharp burst, redolent of that same euphoric laughter bubbling up inside your chest.

"How long?" he asks.

"Since you took the fall for me that night we got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section," you tell him, smiling fondly at the memory.

"The first time, that is," you add with a wry chuckle.

Sebastian lets out a disbelieving laugh, raking a hand through his hair and grinning at you like he would gladly go back and do it all over again.

"And you?" you ask tentatively, hardly daring to believe this is actually happening.

Sebastian's lips pull up into a playful smile.

"About five seconds after you knocked me on my arse during our first duel."

Now it's your turn to let out a surprised laugh. All that time you spent thinking your feelings were one-sided, and he's the one who fell first.

"It took you five whole seconds?" you tease, slipping easily back into your usual banter, reveling in the fact that you can freely flirt with him now.

Sebastian snorts with laughter.

"Yes, well…if you'll recall, I was rather stupid back then," he heaves a dramatic sigh. "After all, it took me two and half years to finally work up the nerve to kiss you."

"I'm the one who kissed you," you remind him, quirking an amused eyebrow at him.

"Ah, still besting me, I see," he chuckles, warm breath ghosting across your lips as he takes a step closer.

"Oh, but I wonder…do I still have the power to knock you on your arse?" you tease in a soft, low murmur.

His eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep down to your lips, tongue darting out to lick his own in anticipation, before slowly trailing back up to meet your eyes.

"Every time you smile at me," he replies with a cheeky smirk.

"You charming bastard," you chide him, laughter swallowed up in another kiss as he leans forward to press his lips against yours.

"Mmm, that reminds me," Sebastian murmurs in between stolen kisses, smiling against your lips as you let out a needy whimper, already addicted to the way he tastes.

"So, earlier…when you called me devilishly charming and told me you wanted to — what was it — chart constellations in the freckles that adorn my handsome face…you really meant that?" he teases, positively beaming.

The look on his face is so smug, you're torn between wanting to knock him on his arse again, and wanting to kiss the stupid smirk right off his stupid, handsome face. (Though you already know which one is going to win out.)

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh. "Yes, I think you're handsome and charming—"

"Devilishly so."

"Yes, yes, you absolute menace. I think we've well and truly established that I like you," you wave him off, rolling your eyes in fond amusement. "Now, shut up and kiss me."

Sebastian chuckles under his breath and starts to lean forward, stopping just short of your lips, making you let out another impatient whine.

"Just one more thing," he says, remnants of mint and sugar ghosting across your lips as he leans in close, voice dropping to a low, prowling murmur. "You are, without a doubt, the most breathtakingly beautiful person on the face of this earth, and I consider it a goddamn tragedy worse than the falling out of the founders that I've gone this long without the pleasure of reminding you every single day from the moment we met."

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, spellbound by his words, heart aching to leap right out of your throat and build a home inside his chest right next to his own, and then you're rushing forward, closing that hairsbreadth distance that might as well be the space between two mountains, crashing your lips against his and kissing him senseless.

Your hands are everywhere, tugging at his shirt, threading through his hair, pulling him as close as possible. So lost in the intoxicating touch and taste of him that you don't realize you've been steadily moving backwards until your backside collides with the sharp corner of your desk. You let out a startled gasp that quickly turns to laughter, head lolling against Sebastian's shoulder as your own shake with self-effacing mirth.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern akin to a battle with an ashwinder and not a piece of inanimate furniture. You manage a small nod through your laughter.

"Damn desk, bruising my girl," Sebastian scowls, the words my girl sending a thrill like a bolt of lightning right through you.

You let out a surprised giggle as he picks you up and gently places you on top of the desk, settling between your thighs.

"The only kind of marks you should ever have on you are the ones from my lips," he whispers in between soft, slow, teasing kisses up the length of your neck, sucking a bruise against your pulse point that has you curling your fingers through his hair and moaning his name.

"Always hoped I'd hear you say my name like that," he murmurs in a deep, rumbling growl you can feel thrumming between your ribs like thunder.

Eager to return the favor, you thread your fingers through his hair and give him a gentle yet insistent tug, delighting in the way it elicits a rough, guttural moan in the back of his throat, pulse point jumping beneath your touch as you run your tongue along the curve of his adam's apple.

You're fairly certain one of the buttons goes rolling off under the desk as you tear open his shirt and splay your hands across his chest, pleased to find a whole new canvas of well-earned muscle teeming with sun-kissed freckled dotted between soft patches of chestnut hair, uncharted territory just begging to be mapped out with your lips.

By contrast, Sebastian is equal parts gentle and nervous. Clumsy, trembling fingers work the buttons of your blouse and the lacings of your bra until you're completely bare before him, the flowing fabric of your sleeves hanging loosely off your shoulders. For several long moments, all he can seem to do is stare at you like you're a miracle made real, licking his lips in anticipation as his eyes rake across your breasts.

Sebastian's gaze flickers up to yours, a silent plea. You let out a soft breath, nodding eagerly. In the next second, he's pressed in close again, warm hands skimming up the length of your torso before gently settling under the swell of your breasts, holding you like you're a precious artefact, pleasure sparking low in your core as hard-earned callouses graze across your nipples with a perfect texture.

Sebastian lets out a soft hum as he feels them pebble against the palm of his hand, eyebrows arching in a kind of curious fascination as he glances down at his own hands like he's just performed a spectacular bit of magic. Freckled cheeks curve into an eager smile as he ducks his head down, pressing a series of tentative, exploring kisses from the soft slope of your breasts down to the pale peaks of your nipples, taking one of them into his mouth and applying the gentlest bit of suction as he swipes his tongue across the sensitive bud, grinning in triumph as you let out a lurid moan and arch into his touch.

He pockets that bit of very useful information for later as he slowly makes his way back up toward your lips, eager to kiss you again, peppering fevered kisses across your collarbones and up the length of your neck, not wanting to miss a single inch of skin. Within seconds, he's captured your lips in a searing kiss, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gently cradling your cheek as he kisses you breathless, groaning into your mouth as you pull him flush against you, soft breasts pressed against the hard plane of his chest, heathered skirt hiked up around your hips as he cages you in.

Sebastian's rapidly growing hardness is an insistent pressure between your thighs, sparking your own arousal in a pleasant ache that pulses through your core with each touch. In an effort to get even closer to you, Sebastian shifts, and the head of his cock inadvertently grinds between the gusset of your underwear, sending shock waves of pleasure that have you gasping into his mouth, white-knuckling the sleeves of his shirt.

You can't take it anymore. It's too much and not nearly enough all at once. You need more of him. You need all of him.

"Sebastian," you sigh, breathless between kisses. "Do you— do you have protection?"

"Protection?" Sebastian pulls back to look at you, eyebrows arched in a look of adorable confusion.

"From what? I doubt anything will attack us while we're in—" he stutters as the tip of your finger curls into the waistband of his trousers and gives a suggestive tug forward.

"Oh," Sebastian's eyebrows jump in surprise.

"Unless you don't want—" you immediately pull back, feeling foolish.

"Oh, I want," he insists, drawing you back toward him, voice rough and pleading with exactly how much he wants. "I was just caught off guard. I wasn't expecting—"

Sebastian falters, nerves ramping up again.

"You have to know, when I asked you to come out with me tonight, I wasn't expecting any of this."

"I know you weren't," you reassure him with soft, gentle strokes through his hair. "I trust you, remember?"

Sebastian nods, breathing out on a sigh of relief.

"But, yeah…if you're asking me to be honest…stick a pin in trying to be a gentleman," he lets out a sheepish laugh, one of his hands coming up to attack a phantom itch on the back of his neck. "Then the answer is a resounding, embarrassingly keen yes. I very much want to."

"I do too," you admit with a shy giggle, fingers curling under the collar of his shirt to draw him in for another, softer kiss.

The moment the words leave your mouth, two small crystal phials appear next to you on the desk, labeled in pristine print across each side: infecunditatem temporalis, XXIV h. — temporary infertility, lasting twenty-four hours.

The two of you stare down at them for a moment, blinking in surprise, and then slowly pick them up.

"Well, that's handy," Sebastian remarks with a breathless laugh. "This room really does think of everything."

"Cheers," you murmur softly, instinctually linking arms the same way you've always done for every shot of Firewhisky and post-match Butterbeer toast, before downing your respective phials in one swig.

You set them back down on top of the desk and glance up at one another, suddenly nervous.

"I've never done this before…have you?" you ask, not entirely sure you want to know the answer. You've always been exceptionally close, but you doubt he's told you everything.

"Ah well, you know me…" Sebastian starts with a cocky upturn of his lips, and then immediately deflates, letting out a long, slow, defeated sigh. He knows he'd never be able to lie to you, but a part of him momentarily considers whether he should, irrational fear mingling with a deep-seated insecurity that you'll be put off when you find out he has no idea what he's doing. He's researched, of course. Extensively. But it's not like he's ever put it into practice.

"No," he sighs, admitting it like it's some kind of flaw. "Most I've ever done is kiss someone…and that was back in fourth year…on a dare."

He doesn't miss the way your shoulders relax, relief in the form of a small smile curling across your lips, and suddenly he's very glad he never did anything for the sake of just getting it over with, rebounding his hopeless feelings with some faceless stranger wishing it was you, giddy with a heady mix of nerves and excitement that he'll get to be your first.

And if he's very, very lucky, your only.

"And since?" you nudge, keen to hear him say it.

Sebastian's lips quirk up in a playful grin.

"There's only one person I've wanted to kiss since then," he says, leaning forward to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

"Only one person I've imagined lain on their back as I fall to my knees and bury my lips between their thighs," Sebastian confesses in a low, hungry growl, punctuating each word with a searing kiss as he slowly works his way down the length of your body, mouthing at your neck, between your breasts, across the ticklish plane of your stomach, until he's on his knees in front of you, gazing up at you like you're a brand new constellation in a starless night sky.

"You've no idea how badly I've been longing for a view like this," he says with an appreciative groan, kissing a hungry trail up your inner thighs. "Makes the view from the top of the Astronomy Tower look rather dull by comparison."

You can't help the blissful laugh that escapes you, legs trembling beneath his eager lips. Sebastian pauses his ministrations to look up at you, eyebrows arching in lighthearted indignation.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say something funny?" he admonishes, nipping playfully at your inner thigh and making you let out a sharp peal of laughter.

"No, it's just…oh, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm just…pleasantly surprised, is all," you giggle.

"Whatever for?" he asks, rising back up to meet you. You throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him close, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"You hear stories…about men who absolutely refuse to do that sort of thing, yet seem to expect it from their partners," you explain, thinking back to all those hushed conversations you'd overheard in the girls' lavatories, whispered in the dark before bedtime. "I suppose a part of me has always wondered whether you'd be the same. More of a taker than a giver in the bedroom."

Sebastian leans back to look at you, lips pulling into a frown.

"On the one hand, I'm insulted you think I'd do anything short of worship you," he says, diving back in to press a series of hungry kisses up the length of your neck that have you shaking in anticipation of such a promise.

"But on the other," he counters, pulling back to fix you with a teasing smirk. "It's nice to know you've spent a great deal of time thinking about what I'd be like in the bedroom."

A carmine blush creeps across your cheeks as you remember all the times you'd done far more than just think about him, careful to draw your curtains and cast a silencing charm so no one would hear you when you called out his name.

If only he knew…

…come morning, you'll make certain he does.

"Speaking of which—" Sebastian prompts, eyes darting around the room with an appraising frown, before landing on the desktop underneath you, broken quills and crumpled sheets of parchment hastily shoved aside to make room for your — ahem, more amorous ventures.

"This room might be fine for study and spellwork, but it's not the most romantic of places. I can fix that," he says, giving you a wry smile as he offers you his hand and helps you down from the desk.

"Just close my eyes and picture what I want, yeah?" he asks, looking to you for reassurance. You nod in encouragement, slipping your fingers between his and giving the palm of his hand an affectionate squeeze.

Sebastian closes his eyes and concentrates, summoning two and a half years' worth of fantasies to the forefront of his mind. A moment later, there's a soft grind of stone, and the two of you glance up in time to see a marble statue of an owl that's always sat in the alcove between the grasslands and the coastal vivarium twisting into an invisible recess in the floor, revealing a brand new corridor in its wake.

You let out a startled laugh as Sebastian scoops you up into his arms and carries you down the corridor, lulled by the excited thrum of his heartbeat as you bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms around his neck. In just a few short strides, you arrive at the end of the hallway, where a handsome set of oak doors adorned with elegant swirling filigree in blossoming flowers and twisting vines, crescent moons and little stars, springs to life like fast-growing ivy.

You reach out to turn the handle, and for a moment, you're plunged into total darkness, the room beyond an unfinished painting, transforming before your very eyes the moment the two of you step inside, polished floorboards rippling into place like piano keys playing an arpeggio, walls and ceiling a patchwork puzzle as they slowly piece themselves together.

Brushstrokes in deep ocean blues and dark verdant greens turn the heart of the Forbidden Forest under a midnight sky into a painter's palette, dozens of paper lanterns lit by softly flickering candlelight floating all around you like fireflies, bathing the room in hazy hues of silver and gold as they mingle with the light of the crescent moon trickling down from up above, ceiling enchanted to look as though it opens out onto the heavens, night sky glittering with thousands of shooting stars.

A trail of your favorite flower petals leads to a cozy alcove bed cradled between two recessed bookshelves brimming with pristine leather-bounds the two of you will no doubt spend hours perusing at leisure, gossamer curtains woven with intricate stars and crescent moons spilling down across the silken sheets.

The gentle cadence of rainfall taps its fingertips against the glass of an ornate three-paned window set just above the bed, painted in a perfect replica of the sprawling landscapes from the hidden corridor he'd shown you earlier in the night, while a crackling fireplace dances merrily in the heart of a cozy reading nook complete with two plush armchairs tucked together side by side.

Sebastian lets out a contented hum as the last little details of the room settle into place, glancing down to gauge your reaction, eager to know what you think.

"Oh, Sebastian," you whisper as you gaze around the room, candlelight dancing like flecks of gold in your eyes. "It's beautiful."

Sebastian beams. Of all the times you managed to leave him utterly spellbound tonight, it's a point of pride to finally be able to elicit the same response from you.

"Trust I've been dreaming of the perfect place to be romantic with you for quite some time," he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your cheek.

You gaze up at him adoringly and lean up to kiss him, butterflies taking flight in your stomach when you feel the hard press of his uncontainable smile against your lips.

"Now, where were we?" he whispers, whisking you away to the cozy alcove bed at the heart of the room and gently setting you down at its edge between the star-strewn curtains.

As though he can't stand to be parted from you for a second longer, Sebastian sweeps forward to capture your lips in another breath-stealing kiss, gentle hands sliding across the curve of your jaw to thread through the hair at the back of your neck, cradling the back of your head as he kisses you slowly, deeply, savoring every second.

He takes his time peeling off the layers of your clothing, unwrapping you like a gift, hands sliding between bare skin and soft cotton until your blouse comes spilling off your shoulders to pool around your waist, eager lips following its trajectory as he presses a series of adoring kisses down the column of your throat, tongue darting out to smooth across the tender, claiming bruise he'd left on your pulse point, smirking at the way it jumps beneath his touch, gently palming at your breasts as he makes his slow descent.

Where before he'd allowed himself a small taste, this time Sebastian indulges, falling to his knees and burying his face between your breasts, pressing lavish kisses in time to the beat of your heart, before taking the nipple he hadn't had the pleasure of tasting earlier into his mouth and applying a gentle suction, delighting in the way it elicits the same sinful response from you as it did before.

Not wanting to neglect either of them, Sebastian tries to mimic the same technique on the one not currently occupied by his mouth with his fingers, gently kneading the pebbled peak between his thumb and index finger. Clearly it's the right move, because the moment he does both in tandem, you let out a sharp gasp, arching your back in an effort to get even closer to him, fingers curling around the sleeves of his shirt and gripping tight.

Sebastian chuckles, a low rumbling laugh that vibrates like a crackle of thunder inside your chest as he worships every delectable detail of your breasts, until a series of pink and purple bruises in the shape of his lips starts to blossom across your skin. The sight of it stirs something primal inside him, little reminders lasting well beyond tonight that let everyone know you're his.

Sebastian would gladly spend the rest of his days buried between your breasts, but the curious, insatiable, thrill-seeking side of him is eager to keep exploring, map out every inch of your body with his hands, lips, and tongue until he's memorized every single way you love to be touched, keen to know what other addictive sounds he can get you to make.

He presses a trail of kisses down your torso, smiling when you giggle and squirm beneath him as his lips tickle the curves of your stomach, pausing when he reaches the waistline of your skirt.

"Lay back, darling. Let me take care of you," he insists in a low whisper, sending heat like an inferno straight to your core. You do as he asks, hair fanning out across the sheets, a cool press of silk against your fevered skin.

Deft fingers carefully work the buttons at your waist, unraveling your wrap-around skirt until it's laid out flat beneath you. Hands shaking from a mess of excitement and nerves, Sebastian carefully hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your knickers and slowly slides them down your legs, breath hitching when you tilt your hips to help ease them off, giving him a glimpse of your backside.

"Fuck, you're stunning," he says with a wrecked, desperate groan that has you blushing like you've just downed a shot of Firewhisky, laid bare beneath his hungry gaze as he takes a moment to drink you in.

"Can I touch you?" he asks in a quiet, almost pleading voice.

"Please," you tell him, just as desperate.

Nervous, gentle hands slide up along the outside of your thighs, smoothing over the curves of your hips before settling in the space between, breathing out on a soft, stuttered gasp as his fingers thread through the soft patch of curls at the apex of your thighs.

He skims a finger featherlight along the seam of your lips, testing the waters before delving deeper, a low groan rumbling in the back of his throat when he feels how wet you already are for him. Heat pools low in your belly as he slides between your folds in an achingly slow tease, sending shivers like shock waves rolling down the length of your spine, working you into a frenzy as careful, calloused fingers graze your clit.

Once he's satisfied you're ready to take him, fingers coated in your slick, Sebastian slips down to rub teasing circles against your entrance, driving you to the point of madness, canting your hips with soft little whines, until finally, he relents, slowly sliding his ring and middle fingers inside you and curling them in a come hither motion that has you gasping and writhing above him.

"Is this— is this alright?" he asks, concern bleeding through breathless exhilaration.

"It feels amazing, Seb," you manage, yours words barely more than a stuttered moan as his fingers twitch inside you. "Please don't stop touching me."

Your soft gasps and moans guide him to where he needs to go, thumb rubbing heady circles against your clit as his fingers curl in that blissful breath-stuttering way inside you. He works you into a maddening frenzy, pressure slowly building like an arrow being drawn across a bowstring, and Sebastian can't help but let out a low groan each time you flutter and tighten around him. If this is how incredible you feel against his fingers, he can't even imagine how amazing you're going to feel around his cock. Though that particular pleasure will have to wait just a little bit longer, because Sebastian isn't anywhere near finished with you yet.

You let out a needy whine as that delicious pressure suddenly disappears, only to be replaced by a sharp burst of breathless laughter as Sebastian grabs a handful of your backside and hauls you closer to the edge of the bed, coaxing your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face between your thighs.

"Forgive me, darling, but I need to taste you," he groans, tongue darting out to delve between your folds.

"Sebastian," you cry out as a burst of pleasure sparks through you, hands fisting in the sheets. Sebastian lets out another loud moan as you call out his name, tongue gliding down to lick at your entrance, burying himself deep enough to taste your pleasure at the back of his throat, before sweeping back up to capture your clit in a blissful blend of gentle suction and the sinful swirl of his tongue.

Slowly, carefully, he slides his fingers back inside you, curling them against that sweet spot deep within you, lips and tongue working in perfect tandem to worship your clit with the same eager attention he'd given your breasts.

You've never felt so feral in all your life, hands clutching at the sheets as you writhe above him like a wild animal in heat, Sebastian's name spilling from your lips in a flurry of sighs and soft, keening moans. With a contented hum, Sebastian reaches up to gently pry your fingers from the bedspread, lacing his own through yours and giving the palm of your hand an affectionate three-pulse squeeze, encouraging you to hold fast to him instead, not wanting to miss a single detail of just how wild he makes you.

Your other hand follows suit, seeking him out, chestnut curls even softer than the silk sheets as you curl your fingers through his hair and give him an insistent tug, and oh, he really likes it when you're a little rough with him, so desperate and needy for his touch that all you can think to do in that moment is pull him even closer, the low, throaty moans he makes every time you do only serving to heighten your pleasure as they vibrate through your core like rolls of thunder.

He brings you crashing over the edge, wrecked and breathless as you call out his name, begging him between stuttered sighs that you need him to be inside you, now.

Sebastian lets out a soft, blissful breath as he presses a few more kisses to your inner thighs, and then slowly rises to his feet, gaze locked on yours as he swipes the pad of his thumb across his lower lip, tongue darting out to lick the last of your release. The sight is obscene, riling up a primal pride deep within you that only makes you want him even more.

You sit perched on the edge of the bed, reaching up to slide his button-up shirt off his shoulders and running your hands down the length of his torso, soft curves over hard-earned muscle, freckles scattered amidst soft patches of chestnut hair like a star-strewn sky through a forest canopy, pausing to take a steadying breath as you reach the waistband of his trousers. Hands trembling from a mix of nerves and excitement, you carefully work the buttons to relieve him of his trousers, the last layer of clothing left between you.

You take a moment to drink him in, eyes raking down the length of his body in hungry appraisal, letting out a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his generous length, before slowly sweeping back up to meet his gaze again, thrill and desire outweighing any apprehension over his intimidating size. You understand now how he must have felt when he first saw you — every inch of him is absolutely stunning.

You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, sending the two of you tumbling backward against the pillows, giggling and grinning as you cling to one another. Sebastian kisses you, soft and slow, his body a warm, comforting weight as he settles between your thighs, hovering above you. The two of you breathe in on a stuttered gasp as he takes himself in hand and slides the head of his cock between your folds, coating himself in a combination of his saliva and your release, hesitating as he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Ready?" he asks with a steadying breath, heated gaze locked on yours.

"Ready," you answer, just as breathless as you tilt your hips in invitation.

With a broken, blissed out moan, Sebastian slowly sinks inside, stuttered breaths ghosting across your lips as he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against your own, hips stilling the moment he hears your soft gasp from underneath him.

"How're you feeling, love? Are you alright?" he asks with an edge of panic to his voice, terrified at the thought of hurting you. He keeps still as a statue, giving you a moment to adjust to the sheer size of him.

It's indescribable — the most incredible pressure, a pleasant ache like kneading sore muscles, building and unraveling tension all at once; a feeling of fullness after a life spent starving; a kind of magic even more timeless and powerful than the rarity thrumming through your veins, wonderstruck by how perfectly he fits inside you, like the two of you were made for each other.

"More than alright," you reassure him with a breathless, euphoric laugh. "I feel amazing."

Sebastian lets out a sigh of relief.

"Merlin, that's one word for it," he breathes out on a blissful laugh, eyes rolling back at how amazing you feel wrapped around him. "You're perfect."

He leans down to kiss you, soft and slow and sweet.

"I'm going to start moving now…is that alright?" he asks after a few quiet moments, voice straining like it's been torture holding back.

"Please," you sigh, coaxing him closer as you wrap your legs around the small of his back.

Sebastian sets a slow and steady pace, achingly tender as his hips rock against yours in long, languid thrusts, pressing soft little kisses to your cheeks and the corners of your lips as he moves above you, whispering between kisses how beautiful and breathtaking you are. He's careful and controlled, each move dulcet and deliberate like a slow dance between the sheets, determined to make this perfect for you, determined to get it just right, because it has to be. Because this is you, and you are everything.

He's been dreaming of this moment for years, and a part of him still can't believe it's really happening, that he actually gets to be with you. He's spent the better part of the last two and half years convincing himself you'd never feel the same, that he was lucky just to call you his friend, selfish to want more, that he didn't deserve you…though that never stopped him desperately wanting you all the same.

He understands now why they call it lovesick — feverish blush prickling at his skin, heart beating like a staccato as he moves above you, hands trembling as they gently cradle the back of your head and draw you in for a slow, sweet kiss. It's all-consuming, burning through him in equal measures of fiery fervor and glowing embers, like he's just swallowed an Incendio charm. Incurable — though this is one life sentence he'll gladly serve.

It's overwhelming how amazing you feel wrapped around him, soft hands threading through his hair and tugging ever so gently, legs locked around his hips to keep him anchored in your depths, shallow gasps and stuttered ohs whispered in between soft sighs in the shape of his name as you gaze up at him like he is everything to you.

It would be all too easy for him to lose himself in the euphoria of finally getting to be with you, and Merlin, he wants to.

He wants all of you. It's like he can't get close enough, a primal hunger to fuse himself with you, body and soul, bury himself inside you like treasure, climb inside your chest and build a home inside your heart, dive down to your depths and spill all his secrets inside you, long-held confessions of how deeply he's fallen for you.

The words bubble up inside his chest like steam inside of a screaming tea kettle, burning his throat as years worth of messy, nerve-addled feelings threaten to spill past his lips. He wants to kiss the words into your skin, knit his love so deep within you, you feel it in your bones, with each pulse of your heart, his name a subliminal sigh with each breath you take, until you're inextricably woven together, until he's an irrevocable part of you, just as you are for him.

He aches for you to be his, because he's so desperately yours. He'd shout it from the top of the Astronomy Tower, from the stars themselves, if he could.

But if he does…he's afraid you might actually hear him. And Sebastian can't have that. He can't let you know the true depth of his feelings. Not yet. It's too soon, too much for something so fragile and new. He knows he can be a little intense, a little overwhelming. When Sebastian loves, it's fierce and unwavering, and as much as he wants to tell you, show you, how deeply he loves you, he's afraid the intensity of his feelings will drive you away.

He supposes that's one of the many reasons he's always been so drawn to more fiery forms of magic. After all, they're just like him. Fervent. Insatiable. Incendiary. Kindred — kindling — spirits. Cast with the best intentions — to protect and keep warm — but one wrong move, too much, and it becomes dangerous, destructive.

Sebastian has spent his whole life being told as much — that he's too much. Overzealous. Unrelenting. Reckless. Doesn't know when to stop. Breaks everything he touches. Loses everyone he loves.

He can't lose you too.

He's a wildfire, and you— you're a forest teeming with birdsong and greenery, and he's terrified that with one wrong move he'll burn you to the ground, when all he wants to do is keep you warm.

So he holds himself back, concentrates all his efforts into taking it slow, swallowing a symphony of lovesick confessions and pouring the softest version of his love into every touch, determined to make this perfect for you, determined to get this just right. Because maybe, if he gets this right, he'll actually be lucky enough to keep you.

"So perfect," he sighs as he moves above you, soft and sweet.

"Tell me what you need, love," he urges between stuttered breaths and slow, languid thrusts. "To make this perfect for you, too."

You can tell he's holding back — each touch a little too gentle, a little too careful, a little too reserved — and you think you know why, because you know him.

Sebastian Sallow has never done anything halfheartedly, so when he loves, it's without reservation — fiercely, deeply, perhaps a little madly.

You also know that he's lost just about everyone he's ever loved.

Though you've never actually spoken the words out loud, you know that he loves you too. It's always been there, unspoken, thrumming beneath the surface of every interaction.

You can hear it in the silence of a lazy afternoon spent cloud-watching under the shade of a flutterby tree in the summoner's courtyard, splayed hands edging across the grass until you feel the accidental brush of his pinky finger against yours.

In little gestures played off as teasing banter, covert hands sliding stacks of toast and chocolate croissants across the shared desk of your first class, wrapped in scribbled notes admonishing you for missing breakfast after yet another sleepless night.

It's in the way you wish each other goodnight, stretching out the moment with hastily stifled bouts of laughter and stolen glances over your shoulders as you watch him make the long trek back from Ravenclaw Tower to Slytherin Dungeon, hesitant to part after yet another nighttime lark, despite the fact that you know you'll see each other the very next day.

In the way he insists on coming along with you on some of your more daring ventures, pushing down his deep-seated fear of spiders and instinctively stepping between you and a thornback ambusher seconds away from incapacitating you with its venom.

You've always known Sebastian loves you, but up until tonight, you've always thought it was in the same way he loves Anne and Ominis. Fond. Familial. Kindred.

That was before you'd felt the weight of his lips against yours, the tremble in his hands as he'd pulled you close, the beat of his heart thundering in time with your own.

Now that you know it runs even deeper — not just friendly or familial love, but romantic love, too — it adds a whole new layer of vulnerability. And if he loves you the way you think he does, the same way you love him, then you know why he's holding back. Because when someone is your whole heart, the prospect of losing them is that much more terrifying.

This is a man who has endured more pain and loss than most people could even dare to imagine. This is a man filled with more fear and guilt than anyone should ever have to bear. Afraid to fuck up again. Afraid to hurt you again. Afraid to lose what little remains of the people he loves. Afraid to let himself have what he wants, because deep down, he still doesn't think he deserves it.

Afraid that he is too brash, too broken, too intense, too much for anyone to ever want, the weight of his grief too heavy for anyone else to carry, spirit too bright and burning for anyone to ever want to get close enough to touch.

And maybe he is. Maybe he is too much. But that's never stopped you wanting all of him just the same. If he is an untamed beast, then your heart is a vivarium, a home built for an occamy at its full potential. For you, he could never be too much, because you could never get enough of him.

He's a wildfire, but you've always been drawn to his warmth, his light, bright sparks lighting up your coldest, darkest nights. You wouldn't just walk through his flames, you'd dance in them, safe in the knowledge that you'll never get burned.

Because he's a wildfire, but you are a hurricane, and you're more than a match for his heat.

So when he asks you, soft and sweet, what you need make this perfect for you, that's exactly what you tell him.

"You. Just you," you sigh as you lean up to press a trail of kisses in between the freckles that dapple the pale column of his throat. "I want all of you, Sebastian. Please, show me how badly you've been wanting me all this time, too. Don't hold anything back. I can take it…anything and everything you're willing to give."

Sebastian's hips still as he pulls back to look at you, lips parted in surprise.

"Are— are you sure?"

You lean up to kiss him, slow and deep, your answer little more than a sigh against his lips.

"I'm yours, Sebastian. I've always been yours," you whisper. "Now all you have to do is take what's yours."

Sebastian gazes at you, stunned for a moment, breath catching in his throat. And then his eyes darken, and that charming smile that's always made you weak in the knees curls across his lips, adoration burning like the heart of a wildfire in his irises as he keeps his steady gaze locked on yours.

He laces his fingers with yours and pins your entwined hands above your head, holding you captive, using them as an anchoring point as he begins driving into you with rough, zealous thrusts that hit deep and steal your breath, his other hand coming up to smooth across your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss, swallowing his own name as it falls from your lips in a stuttered sigh.

"Like this, love?" Sebastian groans, the hard line of his smirk pressed against your lips. "Is this how you want me fuck you?"

"God, yes. Please, Sebastian—"

"As you wish, darling," he growls, picking up pace even faster, his thrusts coming even rougher. "You've no idea how badly I've wanted to have you just like this."

"Tell me," you urge, voice barely more than a whisper.

A litany of lovesick confessions spill from his lips in between desperate, hungry kisses: how deeply he adores you, how beautiful you look laid out beneath him, how amazing you feel wrapped around him, how you must've been made for each other with how perfectly you fit together, how he's been dreaming of being with you like this for so long and he can't believe he's lucky enough to actually have the real thing.

How he'd love nothing more than to keep you forever, make you his in every possible sense of the word (because he's yours, he's always been yours, every beat of his heart belongs to you and you alone) wants you to feel the ache of him throbbing between your thighs days after he's made love to you, a constant reminder of what you've done together; wants to leave claiming bruises all over each other's necks so that everyone will know you belong to one another.

You tilt your head back, bearing your neck in offering, and Sebastian lets out an appreciative groan, swooping down to leave another mark right below the first, fire dancing in his eyes are he pulls back to admire his work.

"Mine," his voice rumbles through you like thunder as he presses the word into your pulse point.

"Yours," you sigh, leaning up to graze your teeth along the column of his throat, eager to claim him in return.

It's enough to drive him over the edge, burying his face in your neck and breathing in deep, greedy lungfuls like you're a burst of fresh air after a life spent drowning, praising you between hungry kisses. How he could gladly spend the rest of his life right here between your legs. How wild you drive him with the sounds you make, the way you call out his name.

"I've wanted to hear you say my name in every possible way — in laughter, in sighs, in gasps…in screams," he says with a prideful smirk as he gives a rough snap of his hips that hits deep enough to pull his name from your throat in a sharp, breathless gasp.

Sebastian lets out a low, throaty chuckle that sends shock waves straight to your core, heating burning every inch of your skin like a shot of Firewhisky as he tells you how badly he wants to watch you come undone beneath him, feel you wrapped around him as your body clings to him, see himself reflected in your eyes as you call out his name, to know that he's the only one who can make you feel like this, take you apart just to be the one that completes you.

The hand that's spent all this time tangled in your hair, gently pressed against the curve of your cheek, comes down to wrap around your waist, tilting your hips upward and pulling you roughly against him, the new angle giving him access to an even deeper sweet spot inside you, each thrust causing the space where you're connected to grind against that sensitive bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body as he keeps a steady, consistent rhythm, buried to his hips between your thighs, building you to climax until you're crashing over the edge, fingers laced with his as you fall together, fluttering around him, pulling him in even deeper, an endless chorus of I love you, I'm so in love with you, I'm yours falling from his lips as he spills deep inside you, calling out your name like it's a sacred prayer and you're his salvation.

Sebastian collapses against you, panting against your neck and pressing lazy kisses to your cheek before rolling to the side to lay on his back. You're barely able to get out a breath before he's pulling you into him, coaxing your head onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a protective hold, burying his face into the top of your hair and breathing you in with deep, contented sighs.

The words he'd said to you as he'd fallen over the edge repeat inside your head like a mantra, pulling your lips into a bright, blissful smile.

"Sebastian?" you ask as you snuggle in closer, heart full.

"Yes, darling?" he asks, still breathless but utterly blissed, voice muffled by your hair.

"I love you too."

You feel his whole body relax, exhaling on a long, slow, contented sigh that almost sounds like a sob toward the end, like he's relieved to hear you say it out loud.

"D'you know," he says into the comfortable silence after a few moments, lips pulled into a bright smile as he glances over at you. "I've seen entire ecosystems co-existing inside a single room tonight — bloody hell, I saw a phoenix — and all of that still couldn't even hope to compare to being with you," he marvels, still a little breathless. "To think, we could've been— I mean, two and a half years. I can't believe it took us this long to finally act on our feelings."

You lift your head, a playful look in your eyes as you gaze up at him dreamily.

"We just took the scenic route," you tell him, smiling as you lace your fingers together and press a kiss against each of his knuckles in turn.

Sebastian's chest rumbles with laughter as he nuzzles in even closer, pressing kisses to the top of your crown. You do the same to his chest, charting constellations of your own design in the sun-kissed freckles you find there, falling into a deep, comfortable sleep before you have the chance to name them all.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

hello!! i humbly ask for some price fluff… maybe sleeping on his chest or something or getting ready for bed

—Hum Me A Tune, Blue-Eyes

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You listen to his heartbeat as he keeps you to his chest, his breath tickling your hair.] ❞

Your eyes are half closed and drooping farther by the second, a warmth so bone-deep blooming beneath the skin that it fully encapsulates your consciousness.

John keeps your head against his chest, one callused hand on the back of your skull and massaging in small circles. You hear him hum under his breath as he watches you; his own lids teetering up and down.

In the background, the gentle sound of the record player spits out Beethoven.

"You're makin' me sleepy," you whisper, nuzzling against John's chest and his shirt with a large sigh. The man grunts, and you feel his lips meet your scalp in a deep kiss. He smells like linen and beard oil.

Into your hair, John mutters, "Good." It's more a purr than anything else as you shiver at the sensation of his body grumbling from under you.

The living room is the picture of a Saturday afternoon—dishes in the kitchen sink, laundry in the basket to be put away; the couch you both lay on sinking with your combined weight. Sun streaming through the curtains.

You've forgotten how you both ended up in this position in the first place. Not that it mattered to you now.

"Like you here." The Brit huffs, the blue of his eyes dim and content. Pools of molten sapphire. It's as if whenever he holds you everything else falls away into a sheen of contentment.

There's no war here with you on his chest—no gunfire or yelling orders. Just the heat of your body and the swell of lungs as your chest bares down on him. John's lashes flutter.

"Course you do," you tease, slowly, before kissing his clothed chest. John stifles a chuckle, his lips curling along your scalp as his breath tickles your hair. His hands spread out along your back—curling as a snake would. Tight and firm. You don't mind in the slightest. "Careful, Captain...don't go sleeping on duty."

Briefly, you peek up at him through your addled haze. He lays a kiss on your forehead and his lips twitch as you continue. Such a greedy cuddler. "We still have sheets to put on the bed, y'know."

There was no way the both of you were leaving this couch. Not with John's large hands caressing your spine. Not with how you fit atop him so perfectly with your dead weight and adorable sleepy blinks.

This was fucking heavenly.

"Fuckin' hell," the brunette grumbles; he hikes you farther up as you let him drag you like a stuffed animal with a tiny grunt. John sighs, settling you. "Bloody forget about it. You're not movin' an inch."

"That a promise...or an order?"

"Both." You smile, letting his large lungs raise you up and down as if sleeping atop a grizzly bear. Maybe, you thought, you were.

"Sleep, Love," John whispers. "I'll be right here with you."

And as you close your eyes fully and slot your head under the man's chin, the gruff brunette joins not seconds later into the state of oblivion. Soft inhalations; greedy hands that anchor like steel. A scrape of beard hair against your ear.

The house settles, the music plays, and the two Lovers sleep; dead to all else except one another's arms.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[nappingmoon]

nanami finds your perfect engagement ring -of course- but he is torn on the decision of the accompanying bands. he revisits the jeweler over weeks, standing before the glass and comparing the rings in the display to pieces of your favorite jewelry from past photos. they would all look so gorgeous and each unique ring aspect reminds him of a different part of you and, rather than leave any option behind, he gets a bunch. some have little emeralds, because the pop of green just compliments your skin tone so well. another is simple, just a band for your quieter days, when things get overwhelming. one stack of rings joins together like a little sun, and even with all the diamonds set in it, it cannot even hope to match half of your sparkle.

he gives each one to you on a different date. one night, he takes you for a beach stroll. you've just finished dinner at the most beautiful restaurant on the coast and as you walk hand in hand, your sandals in his free hand, you're focused on the sensation of the sand between your toes, and how the water feels lapping up before receding. when you turn around, he's got his eyes fixed on you. his gaze is soft and full of nothing but adoration and you watch him sneak his hand into the pocket of his pants before pulling out a stunning little band, decorated with small pearls. "kento, you did not!" you squeal, giddily making your way back to him, leaving small divots in the wet sand. you throw your arms around his neck without thought, and he grips on to the ring hard while his arms come around your back, intent on not dropping it. he replaced the sapphire embellished ring with the new one, perfectly fitting around your sparkling engagement ring. the blues were cute by the water but the pearls brought in such an elegant aspect. after taking a moment to admire it, you rise back to your tippy toes and bring your husband in for a kiss.

he smiles against your lips, pleased. "i take it, you like the ring?" he asks, as if he had even a smidge of doubt.

"it's perfect, my love." your response is echoed by the waves, the soft rumble of the ocean glittering under the moonlight only strengthening the resolve in your voice.

[tallulah477]

Birthday Gift

Kinkmas Day 2: Titty Fucking

Pairing: Prince!Human!Neteyam x Maid!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Tit fucking, Slight dirty talk, Slight possessive/obsessive behavior and language, Cumming on chest/tits

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Dedicated to @tsewtx for creating this fantastic AU. Love you, Wren! Catch up on Royalty AU here!

Summary: (Royalty AU) Prince Neteyam receives a lot of fine gifts for his birthday, but the only thing he really wants is you on your knees and your perfect tits around his cock.

Prince Neteyam always receives many gifts for his birthday.

He is recipient to the finest jewelry, made from precious metals and adorned with a multitude of diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires. Amongst the small mountains of gold and silver crafted pieces, hang other pieces of lavish clothing - soft, silk dress shirts in multiple colors, intricate waistcoats that look like they took a lifetime to create.

A new pair of leather riding boots that would look good on him, but that look amazing on you. 

“C’mon, y/n,” He mumbles, dark eyes glittering with desire as they trace along your standing figure. “Show me the new things I own,”

You stand in front of him, clad only in an unbuttoned emerald green silk shirt that falls halfway down your thighs and the leather boots that hug your legs until just below the knee, the little buckles on the sides clanking with each step you take as you walk uncertainty towards him, giving him a small twirl when he silently moves his pointer finger in a circle. 

He grins at your hesitance. So many years of doing this with him, being his good girl, his whore, the perfect little maid for his majesty - and you’re still so shy, like somehow you’re not 100% positive that he's completely and utterly obsessed with you. 

“You don’t have to be bashful,” He says, leaning forwards so he can rest his forearms on his thighs as he gazes at the expanse of soft skin on display, both between the gap of the shirt hem and boots as well as the tempting sliver of smooth, markable canvas shown between the open button down. “You know you’re the most beautiful woman alive.”

The flush on your face and the way you can’t meet his eyes make his cock even harder in his trousers. The hard length pushes at the tight material, threatening to burst the seams. Neteyam stands, eager to be closer to you, to touch you, and relieve some of the pressure. He crosses the room, tall figure towering over yours as he stares down at you, eyes filled with heat as he grips your jaw in his large hand, possessively. 

“You look so pretty in my clothing,” He murmurs, tilting your head up so your plump lips brush against his. 

“Thank you, your highness,” 

Neteyam’s lips are warm against yours as he kisses you, the soft press of his mouth against yours is enough to make your breathing stutter no matter how many times it’s happened before. His lips slide across your cheek, laying gentle kiss after gentle kiss along the heated skin as he makes his way to your ear. His breath is hot against the curve as he breathes, “Are you going to be a good girl for me and give me my present?”

You nod, voice struggling to manifest when he nibbles on the shell of your ear, and you’re just able to force out a squeaky, “Yes, highness,”

He kisses you again, this time a little harder, a little more needy. His free hand moves to brush the soft material of the shirt to the side, revealing one of your breasts to his hungry gaze and brushing his thumb over your hard nipple, before pulling back and biting his bottom lip with a wicked smirk. 

“Undress me then,”

His long fingers tease along the sensitive skin of your thigh as you work carefully on undoing the clasps of his shirt. Your delicate hands push the material off of his broad shoulders, revealing the toned expanse of his chest and your eyes can’t help the way they zero in on the excited rise and fall of his chest and the muscles that shift under his skin. The necklace around his neck shifts in time with his breaths, the small thin golden band he had made for you years ago threaded through the chain lays next to his heart - exactly where it should be, he tells you, until he’s able to put it on your finger officially. 

The metal glistens in the low light of the room, contrasting beautifully against his dark skin, but your eyes are pulled away from the sight when his hand cups your jaw again.

“Going a bit slow, aren’t we?” He chuckles, lips brushing against yours with each word. “You know it’s not fair to tease the birthday boy.”

His hands grip yours, warm palms dragging your own across the strong muscles of his chest and down the flat planes of his stomach until they reach the waistband of his pants. He keeps one of your hands there, and your fingertips gently caress the skin just above the fabric. He guides your other hand down further until you’re cupping his bulge, feeling the thick hardness in your hand.

“Feel how hard I am for you?” He murmurs, hand tightening around yours to make your fingers curl around him through the taut material. “Need you so much.”

“I’ll take good care of you,” You promise. 

Your hands expertly work at the fastenings on his trousers, his length jumping out and slapping against his belly, long and thick and beautiful in its glory. His cock is familiar to you - intimately familiar in the way that every part of your body knows the shape and size of it by memory. Every ridge, vein, and curve - engraved in your brain and heart.

He prefers to fuck you. Is obsessed with the feeling of your tight heat wrapped around his cock like a warm hug he never wants to be released from. He loves to feel the way your pussy clenches around his length, wants to feel your nails raking across his back as he ruts into you, hear your pretty mewls when he pounds your cervix before he floods your insides with his release.

He wants you on your back, or on your stomach, or on your side - it doesn’t matter. He wants you anyway he can have you, just as long as it’s you with him, crying his name as you cream all over his cock.

And he’ll get that. Soon. But for now, he wants this. 

He kicks his pants off, suddenly impatient as he stares down at you. He pulls you towards him, catching you off guard with the force of his tug as he sits on the chaise at the foot of his bed, and you fall onto his lap with a shocked yelp.

“Teyam!” You gasp, and his nickname falls from your lips without you even catching it. 

“Be a good girl and give me what I want, okay?” He grunts, ripping the silk shirt from your body and leaving you entirely bare to his hungry gaze, save for the boots still hugging your legs. “On your knees. Now.”

You rush to comply - the firm, authoritative timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine as you slide off of his lap and onto the floor. Neteyam leans back against his bed, the weight of his body supported on his forearms as his upper half lounges against the soft covers. His thighs are spread wide to accommodate your position between them and his cock pulses at the view.

It’s not a new sight, but it’s still his favorite sight.

You on your knees, staring up at him with those eyes, batting your long lashes at him with a combined look of shy maiden and sex vixen that makes him want to slide his hand in your hair and push your face into the ground so he can bury himself inside you from behind until the sounds you're making match the expression on your face. But no - he has a plan. He made you promise to give him whatever he wanted for his birthday, and he wants this.

“Come on, y/n,” He says, and he’s trying to be calm, trying to stay the golden, level headed prince that he should be, but even he can hear the whine in his voice. “Put them on me. Want to feel them,”

His breath feels like it's stuck in his lungs when you kneel up, hands cupping the sides of your chest as you lean closer and closer to his throbbing erection. His shirt and boots are not the only thing he’s put you in tonight. The fine jewelry of intricately made necklaces and rings he’s received throughout the day also adorn your perfect body. Three very expensive necklaces of varying lengths hang from your delicate neck, the regal blue stone on the longest one hanging beautifully just above the valley of your breasts. 

The feel of your tits enveloping his length has him reeling, the soft pillowy mounds molding around his cock like they were made to cradle him between them. Your hands hold your breasts together tightly around him, the rings on your fingers shining in the light are a variety of mixed metals and glittering jewels, and he decides then and there that he never wants to wear them himself. He only ever wants to see the beautiful jewels on you. 

It’s good, so good - the feel of your breasts massaging his heated length. But he needs more. 

“Spit on it,” He groans, and it’s taking all he has to not just fuck up into the tight space. There’s already a wet line along the opening of the valley from his precum and he’s obsessed with the way your wet skin glistens in the low light of the room. “Spit on it, y/n. Get it all wet and slippery so I can fuck them.”

The sound that rips out of his throat when you do is almost a whimper. His cock twitches when you let the glob of saliva fall from your tongue and onto the flushed tip, the spit coating the head and running down the sides and into the warm and newly wet embrace of your breasts. 

You do it again, adding more wetness to the mix to help with the slide as you glide yourself up and down his shaft. Neteyam lets out a punched out moan, hands balling into fists next to him as his head tilts back in pleasure, eyes fluttering closed for just a second before his head snaps back up, intent on not missing a second of the breathtaking image in front of him. 

Your nipples are just peeking out from the cage of your fingers, two hard buds pointed tantalizingly between your pointer and middle fingers and he mourns the fact that he can’t both fuck your tits and suck on your nipples at the same time. His hips kick up, abs flexing as he rocks into the tight space, and the tip of his cock nudges the blue gem of the necklace with each thrust. 

“So good for me,” He moans, reaching out to run his thumb along your bottom lip. He lets out a shuddering breath when your tongue comes out to swipe against the pad of his thumb. “Yeah, do that. Put your tongue to good use,”

Neteyam’s eyes roll back into his head at the first feel of your tongue on his swollen tip. He rocks faster, hips now completely off the chaise as he fucks your tits with vigor, your tongue lolling out to lap against the head every time it reappears back through the cradle of your breasts. 

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” He grunts. “So perfect for me.” 

The sensation of his cock tapping against the wet muscle is driving him wild, and he can’t help but watch in wicked satisfaction as your own eyes hood in pleasure at the taste of his precum coating your tongue. He knows you, knows you better than anyone else ever will or ever could. He knows that if he were to sink his fingers between your thighs, you would be dripping for him. 

“You were made for me,” He breathes. He can feel his stomach tightening as his orgasm barrels closer and closer. “Made just for me. Mine. My good girl, my whore.”

You hum in agreement, nodding enthusiastically as your responding moan vibrates through your tongue and against his cock. But it’s not enough. He needs the words - needs to hear them confirmed in your sweet, soft voice. 

“Say it,” He demands. His mind is reeling, desperately trying to decide where he wants to cum. He wants to mark you everywhere - wants to cum on your pretty tits, paint them white with his release and watch as it drips down your gorgeous body. He wants to cum on your face, marking your beautiful features as his just so he can have an excuse to take you to the large tub across the room and wash your entire body clean, only to dirty you up again before you’ve even stepped out of it. He wants to lace his fingers in your hair and drag your head down, sheathing his cock in the warm embrace of your throat and mark you from the inside - it would be less messy, and you wouldn’t be able to wash it off afterwards. “Say it, y/n,”

“I’m yours,” You whisper, thighs unconsciously trying to rub together as you desperately try to keep up your pace and the pressure of your chest against his length. “Your whore,”

“F-fuck!” Neteyam whimpers. “Fuck, fuck,”

In the end, he chooses your tits. He stands abruptly, nudging you back slightly so he can stand properly in front of you and finishes himself off, fisting himself furiously as you gaze up at him with those innocent eyes of yours that just make him want to wreck you even more. He cums with a guttural groan, ropes of white shooting from his swollen tip and landing directly on your heaving breasts.

You look stunning - like a beautiful, fucked out goddess brought to Earth just for him to have and cherish. His cock twitches in interest as he continues to stare at you, and your hooded eyes look up at your Prince in awe.

If you thought you were getting any kind of a break, you were wrong.

**Special thanks to @neteyamsyawntu for the prompt!

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @anastasia1777-blog @localjasmine @tsewtx @skywonder @neteyamswillow

[jacespookiebear]

ೃ࿐ 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡: 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 7

summary : you are the youngest daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Aemma Arryn. Outlived your mother and your older twin brother, Baelon, in childbirth. You were titled as (Y/n) “The Undying” Targaryen.

pairing : jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!reader

warnings : incest, tension, sexual content, age gap (reader is about 2-3 years older), jace is about a year older in this fic, misogyny, self-harm, violence, angst, teen pregnancy, birth, meraxes is alive and thriving with vhagar :D

Masterlist

It was the big day. Your wedding. Well you could say your weddings. You had decided to keep it quick, you would marry under the seven while you were all still in King’s Landing. The happiest look on your step-mother’s face when you said this, smothering you in kisses before letting you be attended by Lysanna.

“How are you feeling?” Lysanna asked, placing your hair in a pretty hairstyle with braids crowning your head with the silver snood tucked underneath that she placed on your hair, curling all of the hair that was left down with her hands. You took a deep breath in to breath it all out, you were getting married in an hour, you never felt so nervous in your entire life. But it wasn’t official until you got married at Dragonstone. This could be seen as practice, except it was seen as real to your step-mother.

Lysanna helped you of your night gown and started lacing the wedding gown tight around your waist, it looked marvelous. “I am alright. I do hope it’ll be quick.” you answered, playing with your rings once again, twisting them up and down your fingers.

Lysanna let out a “hmph” before talking, “You truly look like a Princess on her wedding day.” The words danced around your mind, the anxiety wasn’t going down anytime soon. “Drink some water, please.”

About to ask if Lysanna needed help with changing once you sipped out of your cup but noticed quickly that she had already finished readying herself. You both walked to the celebration hall instead of the Sept. You let Lysanna enter the hall to join the rest of your family, you were waiting for your father to join you by your side, “my sweet daughter, you look beautiful.” he kissed your cheek as your handmaiden came over to place your House colors cloak around your shoulders, it had your sigil as well. The doors had opened and everyone turned to see who was revealed, you stepped inside to begin walking towards your soon-to-be-husband. Both of your families separated on each side, feeling a tug at your hand, you turned to your father who gave you a smile to which you return with a slight one. Your main focus was on Jace, his attire contained of black and gold, the gold appeared to be more darker than the gold that was on your dress. His jewelry seemed to ones that were once owned by his father, the sapphires and emeralds shining from the light on the windows.

He looked very dashing and seemed like Daemon had to help which made you smile even more. You had arrived walking down the aisle and stood next to Jace, he held no smile or emotion on his face. You understood why, he’s forced into a wedding he had no desire for. He held dislike for the Faith and you knew this. Your guilt was starting to come back.

You kept your eyes on the Septon who spoke for minutes that seemed like hours about the Faith and how you should devote yourself to the Seven. You turned to look over to your family, your sisters were smiling ear to ear and looking genuine. Daeron was also smiling and only nodded towards you once you gazed at him, mouthing to you, “you’ll be okay.” Aemond looked rather emotionless to you as well, you planned on speaking to him before you would have to leave. As for Aegon, he was staring off to space and not caring for the wedding at all, he was absolutely drunk and everyone could tell from the way he was always losing balance until Otto shoved him to act right. Daemon was holding onto Luke and Rhaena to keep them by his side while the Septon was speaking, you swore you saw Rhaena squeezing Daemon’s arm.

It had finally came to taking off your cloak. You gently took off the cloak by yourself, not wanting to worry your father since he already had use most of strength to walk you down and give you away. You folded it slowly, setting it on the ground next to you and Jace.

As well as Jace took off his cloak, with House Velaryon and Targaryen colors and their sigils on the cloak, he draped it over your shoulders. You held the cloak close to you, not wanting to let it go. After placing the cloak on you, he spoke his vows, “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife,” he finished.

You gave him a genuine smile before starting your vows, “With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband.” The Septon now granted you both were married, “You are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” he finished, closing the book. You both connected hands and slowly, you reached to kiss him on the lips. It was more of a peck than a kiss, it was your first kiss— you had no idea what you were doing. Lowering your head in embarrassment, trying to hide your head away from him but it did not help.

Alicent was the first to clap, smiling happily during the whole ceremony. Everyone all followed to clap but not as enthusiastically as your step-mother. You and Jace walked down together, hand-in-hand, not making any effort to speak to one another. You separated ways to head to your chambers to change, you were traveling back to dragonstone for your real wedding that was happening rather very soon. Though, this time it’ll only be you, Jace, and the rest of Rhaenyra’s family that will be attending.

So once you changed into your evening gown, you left the room as Lysanna called out your name, confused on where you’re going. You began to look around the castle for Aemond. To finally talk to him, to finally hug him, to finally-

“Sister?” Aemond called out, suspiciously, you turned to look to your side and found him standing by the corridors. His eyepatch was black, as dark as the midnight sky, his hair was getting more longer and his scar was healing day by day. He was getting older, and you weren’t here to see it. Immediately, you reached over and hugged him tightly. Sighing into the hug, he was rather left confused as you began to mumble.

“I have wanted to hug you ever since I arrived. Why have you been avoiding me, Aemond?” Removing yourself from his warmth, you stared into your brother’s eye, he pursed his lips and stared at his feet instead. Still grasping both of his hands and searching his face for an answer.

“I was afraid that..” he mumbled, afraid to finish his sentence. “that you have hated me after what had happened.” Finally answered, your eyes filling with tears and took him back into your arms. On your tippy toes, placing wet kisses all over his head, you knew he hated being babied by you but he let you do so. “My sweet brother, I could never hate you. You are my young brother and now we both ride the eldest dragons.” Holding his chin between your fingers, he no longer possessed chubby cheeks, his jawline was more defined.

The thought of you both riding Vhagar and Meraxes in glory was a great one, Aemond rubbed his thumbs on your waist as to soothe you both. “Marriage does not suit you, sister.”

You shook your head at his statement, you knew that as well. Your marriage was falling apart already, even your brother could see it. “I know.”

“It’ll get easier,” he muttered, “I shall be here for you.”

“Thank you.” you calmly said. Exchanging final goodbyes, you hugged him one last time. Your luggages were already packed since last night and they were out in the carriage. You bid farewell to your other family members, especially Helaena who had just received news from the maester that she was pregnant, you felt so distraught and disgusted that you can’t be here to help her. She was younger than you and was already having children. Promising her that she could arrive on dragonback to dragonstone anytime if she needed you or Rhaenyra.

“I’m so glad I got to see you sister,” Helaena whispered, the sadness was wretching your heart, at that moment you wished you could ask Rhaenyra if you could stay in King’s Landing just for a few months but you knew that was less likely to happen.

Giving her cheek a long and deep kiss before parting, “My sweet, you will see me again.” You felt like you were reassuring yourself more than to Helaena.

The ride back to dragonstone was a long and silent one. Rhaenyra and Daemon stayed inside the boat while you watched over Luke, Rhaena, and Liz who were playing with the wooden figures that belonged to Luke. All of your dragons flying above your boat, screeching to each other. You were nearly five feet away from Jace, sitting by the chairs that were next to the crashing waves, neither of you speaking. The silence was killing you, he was making no effort to talk to you but you could say the same for yourself.

You were wishing you were riding on Meraxes right now, you barely had any time now with her and you knew she missed you deeply. The ever so elegant dragon would always wail outside of dragonstone for your attention, poor girl, she was getting old and your time with her was ticking. But, she wasn’t alone. She was spending most days with Vermax, who would always try to play with her, her patience always ran out quick with the smaller dragon but would usually let him lay with her after he hunts dinner around the island for her.

Finally for what felt like hours, you all arrived on dragonstone. Letting Rhaenyra and Daemon step out of the boat first, you came out second while helping the younger kids. Turning to look over at the rocks, the preparations for your wedding were being made and they were quick with it. You were feeling rushed to change, you wanted to take it all slowly, this was your actual wedding and yet you weren’t as excited as you hoped to be.

Being rushed into a bath once you entered your chambers, your handmaidens were scrubbing you down harshly, making you moan and wince in pain as they mutter their apologies for being quick and rough. Their hands were forcing you into many positions to scrub other parts of your body, Lysanna was by your side, washing your hair with much more of a gentle touch and rinsing off the suds with colder water.

“Careful! Her skin is tender now!” Lysanna scolded the handmaidens, who were smearing your now smooth skin from the endless scrubbing with rose oil. They were all treating you like a child taking a bath for the first time, you were overwhelmed by how much a hurry they seemed to be. It felt like your wedding was already happening while you were still naked.

You mindlessly stared outside the huge window, silencing biting your lip from how cold their hands felt on your skin, they were making sure you smelled lovely like usual— lathering you in so much scented oils, you felt yourself almost become lightheaded from the varieties of smells. Though, you appreciated the massaging your young handmaiden was doing on your shoulders.

But you couldn’t stop the chills that wouldn’t leave your body, shivering with your teeth clattering. Lysanna wrapped yourself in your robe to pat the wetness down. “You all may leave now. I’ll handle her wedding robes.” Lysanna ordered, the handmaidens bowed and left your chambers for you to finish being attended to.

“Aw, Y/n! They’re lovely.” In her hands were the robes you would wear to your wedding. Not paying attention like Liz was, still looking out the window until she forced your attention back. Blinking your eyes to see clearly, you were struck with awe, the seamstress seemed to add more details to them. They were still the dark blue and black color you had tried on. The ends were blue but as they traveled up it became darker then black at the upper body area, The end of the robes, the arms, and the top of the first layer, were covered in the dark blue color but had Meraxes and Vermax sewed in.

“She added the dragons..” you breathlessly sighed, holding the robes in your hands.

Lysanna nodded without speaking another word, turning to untie your bath robes and left it laying on the ground. Making sure your body was dry enough, she wrapped the upper robes around you, tying the fabric to tighten your waist, adding the last layer over your stomach and shoulders, letting the black belt wrapped around the ends of the first layer to blend in. Finally, she had adjusted the lower bottoms of the robes to reach your feet, just in case you weren’t able to walk freely in it.

“You look like an Old Goddess,” she breathed, you were almost convinced to believe her once you saw yourself in the mirror, but you realized the headpiece was missing.

Turning around to look around for it but Lysanna caught on and stopped you, adding the silvery headpiece on top of your head. She decided to leave your hair unstyled, your natural curls were already making you look so beautiful.

Again you looked in the mirror, you looked ethereal. The headpiece was adding everything together. And Lysanna couldn’t agree more, standing by your side with her hands clasped together, she looked happy for you. You both were interrupted by the at knock at your door, revealing your sister. She was struck from your beauty, her face could show it.

Rhaenyra walked to you and Lysanna, kissing your cheeks softly, “Oh, my sweet sister. You look so magnificent.” Her eyes were becoming watery, “You look perfect,” she insisted, smoothing her palms on your cheeks, “Jacaerys will fall to his knees once he sees you.”

You choked on what to say. Instead, pulling her into a hug, gently to not hurt the baby. She chuckled, “I love you, sister.”

“And I love you too, sister.” you answered her, you were afraid of what she will say once she found out you and Jace were in a rocky relationship right now. But you didn’t want to think about that right now. Your mind was mainly focus on the wedding that was about to happen.

“It is time,” she said quietly, eyes meeting yours. She left your embrace to exchange some words with Lysanna, they both smiled warmly to each other until she left a kiss on Lysanna’s forehead.

Taking huge breaths of air, Lysanna and your sister walked you to the rocks by the shore, you heard waves crashing as you walked closer and closer to the rocks. Jace was already there with Luke, Rhaena, and Daemon present, Daemon helping him with his robes before walking over to help Rhaenyra go down the steps carefully.

You met Jacaerys in the middle of the ceremony, the same place that took place for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding as well, the Septon was standing there with a dagger and chalices on the rock table for you both. The anxiety of having to cut each other’s arms and lips came to you, you began pinching your arm to ease your nerves. Jace noticed this and rubbed your arm to comfort you.

You turned to look at him, his eyes fell onto you. You couldn’t help but melt at the fact that he was possibly warming up to you, just a little. As you all listened to the words of the Septon, you mindlessly dozed off again until he handed Jace the dagger, you were rather scared. Scared to be cut and with full warning and intent as well, he tried calming you once more by pinching your lips to make the cut so you wouldn’t feel it as much. The cut was small but deep enough for blood to draw. You appreciated the fact he did this to help you, you felt tears swelling in your eyes as you made eye contact with him, nodding to him that you were fine— he looked stoic but you knew he was nervous, afraid those were tears of pain. He then brought his remaining hand to place his thumb to your lips, collecting the blood and tracing the liquid on your forehead. His eyes were watching for any sign of discomfort from you but you only nodded again and smiling to reassure him once him.

Once he had finished, he handed you the dagger, and you repeated what he had just did. If he was nervous, you were 10x nervous, shaking as you made the cut on his lip, you made sure it was a light scratch but still, worried as you cupped his face to apologize. As if he was still a child who was hurt during training but your imagination disappeared once he placed his hand on your hand— to let you know he’s fine. You ran your thumb over his lips, smearing the blood to make sure you grabbed enough. You drew a symbol on his forehead, once you finished, you sighed with relief that it was over. You felt good, the hard part was over.

The Septon then handed your lover the chalice. You took the dagger and began cutting at your left palm, wincing in pain from the deep cut you had made. You were never good with pain, realizing you had a low tolerance to pain compared to your family, always have been. With the pain lingering as you squeezed your hand over the chalice, you wanted to wince in pain, letting your blood drip into to the cup. Jace repeated what you did after handing your other hand the chalice for you to hold, he held no reaction once he cut into his right palm unlike you, you were almost envious that he didn’t feel no pain. You could hear Luke, in the background, hissing from the amount of blood that was being shed. You put the cup under his hand as he squeezed, your blood mixing with his in the chalice.

Began to drink from the chalice after speaking repeated vows from the Septon. The taste was bitter and very much like iron, you were not disgusted by it, it was rather natural considering you have the blood of the dragon. Dragons drink blood, afterall. Finishing your sip, you gave it to your lover. Though, you were rather okay with the taste, Jace wasn’t. His face screwed with bitterness and slightly squinted from the horrible taste, you wanted to giggle at his reaction but remained composed.

With blood coating his lips and tongue, he then brought his hand to cup your cheek once more before leaning in to kiss you. More confident than the last time, you leaned in as well. Your lips connecting and this time, you dipped your head back to kiss him once more, pressing your bloodied lips onto his soft ones— cupping both of his cheeks with your hands, staining his right cheek with blood from your cut.

Jace was rather confused from your sudden kiss, part of him wanted discontinue it for that he was still upset with you but this was something he had longed for years. The feeling of your lips was becoming addicting to him, his eyes immediately closing and savoring the taste of your lips. Forgetting that your family was behind you, he pulled you closer to him, his arms around your waist so protectively, he was scared to let you go. You both finally parted to breathe, panting heavily as you looked back into his now opened eyes, your lips were swollen from the long kiss and immediately created distance from him, afraid you crossed the line of boundaries.

As you were about to apologize, you heard claps being made by Rhaena and Luke. Realizing they were all there and watched the passionate kiss, you panicked and became even more embarrassed. You couldn’t really the say the same for Jace, instead of embarrassment— you swore you saw lust in his eyes, like he was about to kiss you again.

“Let’s wash your face and have you ready for supper!” Lysanna interrupted your intimate thoughts, as you wiped the smear blood on your looks, you were being scurried back into the castle while your eyes were trained on Jace, you neither spoken a word to him throughout the weddings or the trip back but you were able to speak so much through your actions.

Lysanna brought you to a whole other chamber, it was rather bigger and you were surprised. The bed was more bigger, seems to be the same size as Rhaenyra and Daemon’s— you knew it was your now shared chambers with Jace. It appears your handmaidens had already brought some of your collected art pieces and artifacts into the chambers to hung them up during your wedding. She brought out a wet cloth and started wiping your face very carefully in order to not hurt your wound.

“Was I okay?” you suddenly asked, blurting the question out without any context. You meant how you looked during your wedding.

Lysanna gave you a confused look to which you gave a pleading one in return. She unwrapped your robes and gently pressed her fingers on your palm, the one with the wound. Applying a bandage to wrap around your hand. “I am lost by what you mean.” Turning around to find an appropriate gown for you to wear.

Sighing, “I mean, did I present myself..” trying to find the perfect way to describe your question, “did I do alright?”

“Well, you certainly looked like you were in love,” She spoke, looking through your closet, still deciding for you to wear. Lysanna then let out a contented gasp, pulling out a white and golden gown that had sheer patterned sleeves and sheer designs on the skirt with the same patterns. “Were you faking it?”

Inserting your arms into the sleeves, you fiddled with the skirt while she laced the strings behind the gown. You were remembering what was happening in the wedding, leaving yourself feeling slightly panic and flustering from the sudden and passionate kiss you shared with Jace. His lusting eyes that were laying upon you wasn’t helping your case, it left you wanting to finish what you had started.

“No. I wasn’t.” shaking your head, looking at yourself in the mirror while she help put your half of your hair into double braids before connecting them across the back of your head and leaving the rest of your hair alone.

Lysanna smiled and nodded her head, leaning away to take a good look at you. “Good. It looked real.” Giving her a genuine smile from her response, it held no lie to it. She went over to your vanity and gave you jewelry to pick and wear. After you had finish adding earrings and a necklace, she held your hand to ease your nerves and lead you to the dining hall. She walked with reassurance and confidence, you were envious from the way she was able to look so proud but yet again she wasn’t the one who had just got married. She had no reason to be nervous or scared like you.

You entered the dining hall, lifting your skirt to step down carefully. Your family was already there, eating and conversing with one another. Rhaenyra looked up from her seat in the middle end of the table, gave you a smile. You sat by her side, Lysanna joining you all by sitting next to Rhaena and Luke, they begun laughing at silly jokes that Rhaena babbled.

“The ceremony was absolutely beautiful,” Rhaenyra praised, as Daemon handed you a cup of wine. You were hesitant to take it but still took a small sip. “It is good to be back in Dragonstone.” Quickly nodding at her statement, you felt more at home here. But yet, you missed your siblings dearly, remembering what you had saw with Helaena and Aemond.

“Your trip to Winterfell is on the morrow, is it?” Daemon asked, seemed to genuinely be interested to know more. He shown more fascination and interest in you and your life, it was a kind gesture and made you see him in a different light.

You were excited, none the less. You were finally visiting the north, you longed for this opportunity. Ever since Lysanna spoken stories of the cold land, you had wanted to see it for yourself. To feel snow, to make snow angels, to find direwolves, you were truly about to explode with excitement. “Yes! But I still have many things to pack. Lysanna, as well.”

“It’s alright. I had it all packed for you.” Jace suddenly spoke up, still eating his dinner as he paid no mind to you. You looked over to his side, appreciated at the fact he went out of his way to do that for you.

Warmly smiling to yourself, the fear of him hating you washed away. He cared for you, no matter what. “Thank you.”

“You looked like a goddess, cousin! I hope to look as beautiful as you in my own wedding.” Rhaena happily chirped, her eyes filled of hope while Daemon gave her a non-threatening stare from how she already declared wanting to be married.

You laughed at how eager she sounded, “That’ll be a long time, I assure you.” Daemon announced, Rhaenyra sighed from his response as Rhaena frowned. But you knew he meant well, he just doesn’t want to see her grow up so fast.

Finally finished your meal, you got up from your seat and walked towards Rhaena and placed a sweet kiss on her forehead before giving her and Luke a bear hug. “My sweetlings, so sweet to me. Be good to your parents.” they both were so young and already speaking of such topics. You just wanted to pocket them in your coat and take them everywhere with you. “May I visit Meraxes?” you asked Rhaenyra, whipping her head around as she gave you a quick nod, laughing with Daemon. The night was still young and you took the advantage to find your old dragon.

Placing one last kiss on Rhaena and Luke, you whispered to Lysanna to take them to bed soon. Leaving the hall to grab your cloak, you begun to walk out the castle with such hurry, looking across the island and ran in such pace to seek warmth and comfort from Meraxes. Upon your arrival, she turned her head to greet you, mewling loudly to declare how much she missed you, you knew your family had heard her. Holding onto her so tightly, hugging her by the side of her large head, she affectionately leaned in your touch. Compared her size to you, she barely leaned in just to not hurt you.

“Shijetra nyke, Merakses. Ēdan issare tolī nūmāzma naejot ao.” (“Forgive me, Meraxes. I have been to cruel to you.”) She seemed to understand you so easily from the way she wailed, huffing and puffing as you scratched underneath her mouth. The least you could do for her is let her rest for the remainder of her days, her entire life— all she ever knew was war and evil schemes that she was forced to be played in. You never thought about using her like that, she was too old for that now.

Perhaps that is why Meraxes picked you, maybe it wasn’t only because you had reminded her of the Queen Rhaenys, the way you would be silly around her, danced and played in the empty fields with her when you were younger reminded her of the old days with Rhaenys. Reading Aegon’s Conquest to Meraxes in High Valyrian so she would understand, she felt like she was in paradise and wanted to stay by your side until it was her time to rest for eternity. Never having to be at war again, having the opportunity to fly freely with you, relaxing in the deep lake with you was pure bliss.

If Meraxes could speak to you, she would thank you for rescuing her. For having the opportunity to live a peaceful life, living in where she was born, with other companions such as Caraxes, Syrax, Vermax and Arrax.

You placed your coat underneath you, instead of riding with her, you decided to rest with Meraxes instead. It would not be wise to sleep out here, you would worry your family but if you spent more time away from your dragon, you would’ve gone mad. “Hemtubis īlon kipagon syt Ropatasōnar. Ao se kesan ūndegon sōna syt se ēlī jēda.” (Tomorrow, you and I ride for Winterfell.) your words slowly becoming a whisper, dozing off to slumber— but your dragon’s low huff almost woke you up. Closing your eyes, your head resting near her clean, silver scales. Her large wing protectively resting above you, not strictly above to not suffocate you.

While you peacefully slept without a worry right by Meraxes’ side, your husband wasn’t so peaceful. He sat by the edge of your shared bed in your new shared chambers, wondering where you were. You weren’t in your old chambers either, the last time he heard you were with Meraxes. Getting up from his spot on the bed, wrapping his bare torso and arms with a night robe to look for you outside, letting the knights know he will be searching for you. Jacaerys was rushing down the steep hill, the rocks, and sand to find you— almost stepping in holes from time and time. He easily found Meraxes, she was the largest dragon afterall, she was easy to spot.

Jace wanted to feel angry, you never alerted anyone about how long you would take. He’s off looking for you around the island as always, but he couldn’t help the growing nervousness in his chest for your safety, worried you could be injured. No matter how much anger Jace holds over you, you still have him wrapped around your finger so tightly that no matter what you do, he would always find his way back to you. And the worst part is, you were unaware of this fact.

Once he reached Meraxes, she quietly mewled towards him, Jace patted Meraxes— she was sleeping so peacefully while you were laying right next to her, shivering in your sleep, arms curling tightly by your chest for some warmth, your cloak nor Meraxes could save you from the cold winds. You looked so peaceful and beautiful until he looked clearer. Your face was not only dried with tears, your teeth clattering together and your brows furrowed .

Without a thought, he quickly unwrapped his robes and wrapped it over you. For a brief moment, you were no longer shivering and began leaning into Jace’s warm embrace, he was known for being a literal walking furnace. He was wearing nothing now besides his breeches while you were layered comfortably but yet held around Jace’s arms, he couldn’t help but feel butterflies roaming inside his stomach from your touch. He decided to breathe into your palms from how cold they unusually are.

From the much movements around you and the sudden warmth, you began to wake up. Rubbing your eyes and mouth slurring, your eyes slowly widen from the view of Jace holding onto you protectively. At that sight of your husband, you were shocked to see him.

“What are you doing here?” you slurred your words, unintentionally, wiping the dried tears from your cheeks.

Jace tried to keep his eyes from looking back at you, “I was worried about my wife.” he stated simply. You grew quiet from his words.

You mumbled, “Oh..I apologize for worrying you, I must have woken you from your slumber,” your voice shaky. You were afraid you had made him mad even more but he shook his head.

He rubbing your forearms with a gentle touch. “I stayed up waiting for your return to our chambers. I had wondered if you went back to your old chambers.”

You looked at him for a moment, before more tears ran down your face, from the thought that he thinks you didn’t want to be with him, share chambers and share a bed hurt you. “Why would I abandon you,” you whispered, you were not asking, you knew the answer. He looked at you with guilt on his face, probably for even assuming you wouldn’t want to be near him during the night.

“It was foolish of you to be out here so late in the night.” he scolded, “you could have become sick just by staying out here for a bit.”

“I’m so sorry, Jacaerys,” you apologized, though, you weren’t apologizing about staying out here. He knew why you were apologizing, it felt all too real for the both of you. You were finally gonna speak your truth, speak your feelings. “I already failed you as a wife. Your future Queen. You hate me so much and it is my fault.” You had let out a sob, one that was a cry for help. All he could do was just listen to you belittle yourself as you continued to explain. “We were once close, do you remember? You always had your nightmares and crawled in my bed, excusing yourself as only wanting to protect me during the night.” Jace chuckled at the remembrance of the memories you both shared together. Remembering it like it was last night. “To see you hurt over something I had caused broke me deeply..of course I love you, I love you so much it hurts my heart to see you slip away from me. I don’t like to see you with another lady, and I don’t like to think about how you could have been betrothed to someone else who isn’t me. Your love and devotion for me is all I can ask for. But..please, you must understand why I was scared to marry, my mother was forced to squeeze out children until she died. Knowing that will be me someday, frightens me, worries me that I may not give you an heir.”

As you finished, Jacaerys laid there— with so many thoughts running through his mind. You love him, and yet he never thought about how it was like for you, his sadness breaks you down to the point you’re a wreck because you love him. He noticed, he noticed how much quieter you become during and after the betrothal, and how you barely even made the effort to wish farewells to your family as you went on the boat.

Realizing now, imagining you dying in childbirth frightened Jacaerys so much to the point his hold on you tightened. To lose you, especially to childbed, it put the poor boy in shock.

Jace pulled you closer to him, both of you becoming sweating from how hot under the robes and cloak were, “You’re not my nephew anymore, you are my husband. And I need to start seeing you as my husband.” Suddenly he looked down from the touches you placed on his left hand, he watched you took off the ring your father, his grandsire had left to you. The ring he had worn as a wedding ring with his wife, your mother— the rings that represented their love for one another. You placed the ring delicately onto his ring finger, twisting it around occasionally. It now belonged to him.

“I love you, Jacaerys,” you sobbed, rushing to press your hands on his bare chest. You were an emotional wreck. But yet, he didn’t know what to say. “Please speak to me.” Gods, your voice was breaking his heart. Why can’t he speak? He loves you so much. He would do anything for you. He would go as far as to kill for you.

Placing his forehead against yours, finally gaining the courage to speak, “You and I were meant to burn together.”

Without hesitation, he roughly grabbed you by your silvery hair and placed a rough kiss onto your lips, you quickly returned the kiss with such eagerness. The kiss almost knocked the winds out of you, you weren’t expecting Jace to be so rough but you didn’t care. Pulling away to catch your breath for a quick moment before reaching once again to his lips, your tears continued to fall from your eyes, mixing into your lips— making the kiss become wet.

His hands falling to grip your waist, laying on top of you as he moved once again behind to unlace your gown, in such swiftness, your gown was slowly coming off and you immediately shivered from the strong winds. Jace broke the kiss to set your dress aside but once he placed it next to you both, his eyes laid upon your bare body— you had changed tremendously over the years, you were now a lady and Jace could see that quite clearly from the way your breasts were much more fuller and the sides of your body were now curvier.

From his wandering eyes, you were becoming embarrassed. Was he disgusted by you? Were his expectations ruined? You felt like curling up into a ball and hide away.

Reaching to cover yourself with your arm, feeling even more embarrassed that you had to hide your breasts away. Before you could even react, his hands placed your arms above your head, Jace’s lips came down onto yours again, this time more sweeter than the first one. You brought your hands down to bury them in his hair, as you moved your lips against his.

His tongue swiped across your lips, wanting to deepen the kiss. You opened your mouth with slight hesitation, but it soon disappeared and replaced with lust— moaning at the newfound feeling of his tongue. Jacaerys moved away to place sweet kisses all over your neck, pulling you into him more harshly, hips smashing into each other. Without your gown on, you could feel everything, his body heat, and every part of his body. You were whimpering in seconds from how he began to place lovebites on your shoulder and collarbone.

His hands moved up your body, going up and down on your hips before resting his palms on your breasts, gently massaging the soft, ample mounds. When he lightly pinched the sensitive buds, you let out a moan, pulling on his hair as he continued to graze your nipples. Jace groaned, taking it as permission, he dipped his head into your chest before he began to suck harshly, even began nipping your buds to earn more sounds from you. To think this was his first experience with you, you would have thought he was skilled at this. But no, neither of you had touched someone like this before, and it felt good. The relief washing over you when you would be losing your virtue to Jacaerys and not someone like Aegon or an old High Lord who wouldn’t even thought once about your pleasures and desires.

Both his hands continued to pinch at your skin, while you started whimpering. Traveling up to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin. You were withering away into ecstasy as he continued. His hands drifted from your chest, down your waist, slowly as you could feel his hands on your thighs, he retrieved away from your neck, admiring the work he done with the lovebites scattering all over your neck, collarbone, shoulders, and your breasts.

“Jace…” you whined. Clearly frowning from the loss of heat that his body provided for you while he was exploring your body.

The way you were already missing his touch was starting to get Jace feeling worked up, your pity eyes and your pouty lips was just the icing on top of the cake. He wanted to have his way with you right then and there, pleasuring the both of you so eagerly but he knew he would have to be patient. Your pleasure absolutely comes first. Though, he was glad you both were far away from the castle, your family wouldn’t have to hear you both.

“W-What are you doing?” You asked, confused but still remained to lay on your cloak. Shifting uncomfortably, wondering if it was over already, if it was only just in the heat of the moment. Your thoughts were cut short when Jacaerys spread your thighs apart, groaning at the sight that was laid in front of him and the feeling of the fat of your thighs in his hands. Letting out a shocked gasp from the cool air blowing into your cunt.

Jace looked up to you, not exchanging any words but the look on his face was asking for your permission to continue. You nodded, allowing him to dive his head between your legs. He gave your cunt a wet kiss before bringing his fingers to slip through your folds, groaning at how wet you are, you subconsciously brought your hand to grip the wrist to his wandering hand, that was smearing your wetness all over your cunt.

He gave you a light smile from how easily wet you were. Wanting to tease you some more, “All for me, my love?” you were feeling rather more embarrassed than you ever were with Jace. You couldn’t muster anything to say back, as an result Jace lightly smacked your cunt— loudly yelping at the impact, it frightened Meraxes who was still besides you both. You had started realizing where you both were, right by the ocean and way too close to your dragon, who seemed to be very annoyed by the loud and erotic noises you both were making.

“C-Could we take our affairs into our- ah! Jacaerys!” you cried out, as you were trying to suggest going back inside, he continued to spread your lips with his tongue, lapping your juices from your dripping hole. He began moving his tongue in and out of you with his fingers patiently moving towards your clit to rub it slowly before it started to fasten. You propped yourself onto your side, wanting more.

The lewd squelching noises had only made you feel warmer and turned on. You gave out and fell on your back once more, babbling with soft whimpers— you could not control your voice, expressing how much it feels good. With his tongue still inside you, it made your skin burn, had your toes curling on his back as your thighs wrapped around his head, your hands gently yanked at his hair to pull him away from your cunt, it was beginning to become too much for you, sending vibrations through your body. “J-Jace..too much..”

While trying to escape his grasp, his hands removed themselves from your nub and moved to your sides— holding your hips down, allowing him to gain control again, rather than letting you move away from his face. Whimpering from the tight hold Jace has on your hips, he decided to pull you more closer to him, deepening his tongue inside your cunt. With his fingers again, he rubbed tight circles on your clit, it brought you a different kind of pleasure, the feeling of your stomach turning, like something snapped.

He hummed against your cunt, acknowledging that you were close, deciding to replace his mouth and to slowly add two fingers inside. Thrusting them in and out of you, careful not to hurt you but that thought quickly disappeared after he heard you babble the loudest moans you ever let out tonight, “Please..don’t stop, ñuha vēzos.” you whimpered out. To hear that nickname come out of your mouth after so long made his cock hard, fastening his pace before adding another then another. The cold feeling of the ring that was still placed on his finger, thrusting inside you had you falling apart. It was a newfound feeling that you seemed to already become addicted to, adding more to your pleasuring.

With his face pulled away from you, lips dripping with your juices, but his fingers never stopped, the pleasure continuing, “It’s alright. Let go, ñuha hūra qēlossās,” he urged, as he dove back to kiss you messily, aggressive like the first kiss you had shared with him, driving his tongue into your mouth, he happily swallowed your moans and whimpers that you were letting out, his thumb ferociously rubbed your clit to help you cum quicker, it felt so good.

You listened to his words. You tried to let go, allowing yourself to relax and enjoy the pleasure he was giving you. It was soon that you felt that same feeling that was building in your stomach, it felt like a tight knot snapping. You pulled harder at Jace’s hair, in silence, pulling your mouth was away from his, a thin string of saliva connecting. You saw white stars in your vision, desperately trying to come down from your high. Your vision and hearing were lacking, giving Jace a small huff when he tried to call your name, you could barely hear him.

He pulled his fingers out of you, your hole was left clenching nothing as it leaked out all of your juices. Slowly regaining your vision, you gave Jace a hazy smile, and reached up to pull him closer to you. Letting out a mewl at the way he cupped your breasts, firmly, smothering them in sweet kisses.

With his hands on your breasts, you wrapped your legs around him again, finding familiar pleasure in the friction of rubbing yourself against him through his breeches. Jace let out a relaxed sigh from the endless grinding. He looked up to see you, you were too deep in pleasure to notice him pulling himself away, and lowering his breeches. His cock sprung up, he re-adjusted himself on top of you. He was rather bigger than you imagined. Deep in your thoughts, you didn’t notice how he moved his tip down your slit to collect your wetness, mixing it with his pre-cum to make his cock even more wet.

You tried to fix yourself as you can while still drowsy from your previous orgasm, bringing your hand to hold him, carefully. Your hand was gentle, not wanting to squeeze him hard— you wrapped it around his length, and his eyes were closed as he hissed at your touch, his stomach was tensing up.

“Gods,” he strangled, you looked up to him and his face contorted in pleasure. You moved your hand and replaced it with your tongue, placing his whole length in your mouth, you began to gag on his cock but you wanted to bring some pleasure to him, like the good wife you are. Continuing to move your head slowly, you were getting the hang of sucking him off. The surprising act had Jace shocked, to see you trying to please him so eagerly.

The thought of just letting you suck him off until he released in your mouth made him feel excited, but that wasn’t what he planned. As much as he didn’t want to, he gently pull your mouth off him. He wanted to be inside you. Retrieving yourself away, frowning as you wiped your mouth, to your disappointment, Jace gave you a smile and placed a wet kiss on your neck, “Forgive me, my love but I want to feel your cunt.” you clenched at his words, nodding and allowing him to tuck your curls behind your ear, guiding you to lay back down on your cloak.

He wrapped his own hand around his cock, now wet enough to line himself at your entrance. Placing your arms around your husband’s shoulders, making him come closer to you in the hopes of having some sort of reassurance, as you laid craving his cock. Jace slowly pushed himself inside you, working his cock into your cunt. The stretch was rather more bigger than with his fingers, whining as your nails dig into his back— your legs wrapped around his hips, tightly. The feeling was uncomfortable, you couldn’t breathe properly nor move. He continued sliding inside you, settling himself comfortably until he had your approval to start moving again.

Jace leaned into your neck, breathing in your scent and groaning at the feeling of finally being inside you. How he waited for years to wed you. He stayed quite snugged in you, eventually, bringing his head up to meet your eyes. He could see the hold of discomfort in them, to relief the mild aching—he brought his fingers down to your clit again, rubbing circles, recklessly, in hopes to help you find pleasure. As his fingers remained on your nub, your body had began to relax and erupt in pleasure once more. You closed your eyes, rocking yourself back and forth to bring more. You moaned at the feeling of Jace bringing himself in and out of you. Slowly thrusting back into you, never taking his hand away from your clit, instead he started to rub your nub even faster, making you feel more heat.

As he continued to slide in and out of you at a cautious pace, you were begging for more. Babbling at your husband to go faster, he complied without a word. Bringing your legs over his shoulders, you both could hear your skin clapping together. His pace was rather brutal and hard, but oh gods, it felt so good. Your head fell back, mouth left open as Jace continued his harsh thrusts. Blood dripping from his back, the feeling of your nails digging deeper into his skin almost made Jace collapse from how good it felt. Wanting to quiet his groans, he began to nip at your neck, you were clenching tightly around him, “Don’t stop! Please! Please! Ah!”

His pace quickening as you bounced against him, lost in the pleasure. Your mouth laid open, your moans beginning to become too loud. Jace swore the knights that were on nightwatch could have heard you. Removing his fingers from your clit, Jace stuck his fingers in your mouth to hush you, immediately you began to suck on them so desperately as your eyes rolled back so far.

The tight knot in your stomach came back, falling over from the feeling again. Crying out for Jace with his fingers still in your mouth once his thrusts slowed down. You took his fingers out of your mouth, afraid you would bite them by accident. Not sure on where to place them, he decided to wrap his hand around your neck and began to squeeze. The feeling was unfamiliar but it felt amazing, you felt yourself liking the newfound feeling as you were beginning to feel dizzy during your high, about to pass out from the way he was constricting your breath as he continued fucking you.

Your high ending, becoming very sensitive to the continuing movement inside you. “Please..inside me..” you choked, wanting to feel his cum inside you. You felt his thrusts stuttering, more messier. Jace wanted to pull out, spill himself on your breasts but hearing your words, he complied. Without saying anything back, he thrusted one last time, deeper this time. Spilling his cum inside, not wasting a drop while thrusting all of it inside your leaking cunt. You both moaned in unison at the feeling, taking his hand off your now bruised neck, replacing it with his face to rest on your neck, kissing it gently as he continued to spill inside you. Oh, it felt so good, the feeling of his warmth filling you. With strong arms around you, carefully Jace pulled out of you, both of you hissing at the loss feeling and you whined, clenching around nothing, wanting him to stay inside you forever.

Jacaerys pulled away, finding his breeches and bringing it to your thighs to clean you up right away. Wiping away the cum and saliva that was dripping down your stomach and thighs. You looked up at him confused, and upset he was using his only clothing. “My love, what will you wear now?” Rushing to stop his actions with your hand, Jace shook his head and only continued until you were clean. Slightly wincing from the sensitivity down there.

“Let me attend to you.” he ordered, he was not asking. Without wanting to start a disagreement, you nodded. He had you turned to the side to wipe away any sand that sticked to your body and placed you gently back down on your cloak. “I’m sorry, I was too harsh with you.”

You melted further into the cloak, eyes growing tired, his sweet words made you shake your head and only smile sweetly. “It is fine. I don’t mind, it was me who was too harsh with you, my love.” Bringing his hand to cup your cheek, he felt himself growing guilty from your words. He didn’t want your first time to be something that you felt you had to be punished for. He would never be that cruel to you, he wasn’t someone like Aegon. He was your devoted husband, who would go to great lengths to protect you. The sweat across your body and face, the tired look on your face, the bruises and marks on your body. This was not what Jacaerys wanted for you, but you were just happy to finally have his forgiveness, you tried to reassure him that you wanted it just as much as he wanted it. Happily humming once he placed his robes around you, slipping underneath the robes, taking you in his arms once again. You laid your head on his bare chest, finding warmth and comfort.

He was smoothing your hair out, tangling his fingers. Your braids had became messy and unkept but it didn’t matter to Jace. “My sweet wife..” he whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead. The guilt never went away, not once, remaining in his mind as he tried to sleep. “I am fine, my love.” you urged, trying to make sure he knows you are well while you were still awake. He gave you a sweet smile, to help you believe he is not worried anymore. As he began to hear the soft snores coming from you, all Jace could think about how unfair he was to you. He let his anger get the best of him, remaining bitter and sour to you when you tried to apologize once. As you tried to win his affections back, letting you wither in sadness. You were never cruel to him.

It was never that big of a deal, he thought. for you to feel the need to always be there for your step-mother. Of course it wasn’t, you were just trying to make everyone happy. Was he only mad because he was just envious? Envious that he and his family weren’t the only ones you held such strong familiar feelings for? No matter what the outcome was, whether your family bullied his mother, or accused them of being bastards, or even taking your freedom from almost everything that you felt you had to leave— you would always be tied to Alicent and your other siblings because of your connection to them.

All his life, Jacaerys tried to catch all of your attention. Wanting to be the one who caught your eye, never finding it fair that you mainly laid your eyes on your other family. Always comforting Aemond, reading with Helaena, chasing Aegon around incase he made a fool of himself, or when you were busy with writing letters back to Daeron.

Jace thought once you were married to him, you would finally realize you only needed him in your life. You didn’t need Alicent, or your brothers and sister. If you had ask him to take you away and settled down in Essos or Pentos, he would’ve gladly packed a bag and ride off with you on Vermax while knowing the risks that came with it.

You were enough for him. So why wasn’t he enough for you?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Atleast they made up😍 kinda- but omg I’m never writing smut again that was tiring and scary (I’m lying..) HOLY SHIT THAT WAS SO LONG LMFAO

taglist (woohoo!): @sigynxlokiwifelover @l-3-e @audigay @urmomsgirlfriend1 @cold-v0dka @cookielovesbook-akie @theoriginalwife000 @xoxovenusquinn(would not let me tag u:( @ghalakgx (would not let me tag:( @neenieweenie @classysassynabitsmartassy @generousbearwolflight @gariben @si1versamurai @deltamoon666 @aemondssiut (would not let me tag u:( @thelastemzy @ryantryan6969 @topazy @starogeorgina @infinitleyethereal @speedypeter @dramaroomrat @potatolady189 (would not let me tag u:( @zzz000eee @parkchaeyoung1997 @jaehyunyah

[draconesmundi]

Happy Dracones Monday! Firedrakes!

Happy Dracones Monday! This Monday we're looking at four dragon species at once, the firedrakes! Here they are, approximately to scale with eachother.

The glitterdrake is the smallest, the size of a large lizard or small cat. They live in laurel forests on Macaronesian Islands, in the Atlantic near Africa. Glitterdrakes aren't based on mythology; I put them on Macaronesia because I couldn't find Macaronesian dragon mythology but I am trying to put dragons EVERYWHERE on the map. Also, putting these dragons on an archipelago of islands means I can have a lot of island subspecies and colour morphs - glitterdrakes represent colourful fantasy dragons, so having them come in every colour (sapphire blue, ruby red, emerald green, royal purple, burning gold, shining silver etc.) was important to me.

The Welsh dragon is smaller than the other European firedrakes at 1.5 meters. They are no less fierce - there aren't any common firedrakes in Wales as a common firedrake cannot maintain a territory there for long. Originally I had the Welsh dragon as a subspecies of the common firedrake, but decided that this dragon had so much personality and folklore that it could get it's own chapter.

The common firedrake is found in Western Europe, 4m long. When designing these I noticed in a lot of heraldry dragons don't seem to have horns? Ears yes, but hornless? Also I noticed that dragons in heraldry tend to have the dorsal finlets from the back of the head to between their shoulders, but no further, which is something I have kept for all my firedrake species.

The viridian firedrake is the largest firedrake species, over 5m long. They are found in Eastern and Southern Europe, and in Russia. I based their appearance on old storybook illustrations to make them look very 'classic', which is why they have horns and cheek frills compared to the more heraldic and hornless common firedrake.

Rant about the term 'firedrake' under the cut! :)

In other creative works, these are called 'classic dragons', 'European dragons', 'true dragons' and 'Western dragons', but I am not a fan of these terms - 'true dragon' implies other dragons are untrue dragons, which is nonsense. 'Western dragon' or 'European dragon' is largely accurate (the 4 legged 2 winged dragon design is common in Europe and the West) but there are other Western and European dragons (wyrms and wyverns) and I find these terms confusing when other types of dragons are taken into account. Also, some Asian dragons also have 4 legs and 2 wings. 'Classic' dragons... serpentine and wyrmish dragons are more classic than 4 legged 2 winged firebreathers, etc.

I went with 'firedrake' as a term for these dragons because 'drake', 'drachen', 'ddraig', 'drac', 'drak' and 'dreki' are all words for dragons like this in European languages, and because firedrake is a word used in literature like some translations of Beowulf and, of course, Tolkien's Legendarium (firedrake comes from Old English fȳrdraca). I think it's a good word that easily conjures up fire breathing four legged, two winged dragons without making them more 'true' or 'classic' than other dragon types or tying them specifically to 'European' and 'Western' countries.

In Dracones Mundi I really try to get a huge diversity of dragons across to the readers. There are around 68 dragon species in this project, only 4 of which are firedrakes. I want to show readers there is more to dragon mythology than "here is a western dragon, they are evil and associated with fire, here is an eastern dragon, they are good and associated with water" - I want to dig deeper. I want people to know about azhdarha, about cuélebres, about coameh. So I'm shining the spotlight away from these firedrakes and trying to make them a small part of a much larger discussion. :)

[novy2sirius]

Planetary Hora’s

Hora’s can be used to plan out your days and decide which hours you want to begin certain activities but you also have a natal planetary hour in which you born under. This can tell a lot about your life and the things that were going on around the time of your birth. It can even tell about your appearance

Go to astro-seek.com, find the sidereal chart chart section then click sidereal birth chart, and type your information in then scroll down you will see a section that shows what “hora” (which translates to hour) you were born in. I use fagan bradley sidereal

Sun Hora

People born during this Hora are more likely to attain fame in this lifetime than others. Even if they don’t attain fame in this lifetime though they will still attract lots of attention with little to no effort. They are likely to be known for or have lots of talents, having lots of generosity, being creative, being very confident, doing well in their workplace, and having a vibrant persona. Wearing Ruby gemstones can bring marriage/success into your life more quickly

Examples:

Alexa Demie

Charli Damelio

Moon Hora

People born during this Hora tend to be more strongly connected to the spiritual realm than others. They are very intuitive and have strong emotional intelligence. They are likely to have/be known for their caring nature, adaptability, cleanliness, love for the ocean, and for keeping their life very private. Wearing jewelry with Pearls on it can bring marriage and success more quickly into your life

Examples:

Megan Fox

Cindy Kimberly

Ariana Grande

Beyonce

Elvis Presley

Mercury Hora

People born in this Hora are more likely to gain social media fame than others. They are very curious people and love learning/hearing other peoples perceptions. They are most commonly known for/have lots of intellect, communicative talents/talents involving their voice, a youthful spirit/appearance, a slimmer build, have strong opinions, and are talented writers. Wearing Emerald jewelry can bring marriage and success more quickly into your life

Examples:

Addison Rae

Kim Kardashian

The Weeknd

Venus Hora

People born in this Hora tend to be considered very beautiful to a lot of people. Money comes to them when they need it most and they can gain money very quickly. They make great actors, singers, and models. They may be more materialistic than the other Hora’s. They are likely to be known for or have musical talents, good fashion sense, wealth/financial stability in life, and an abundant love life as well. Wearing Diamond or Opal jewelry often can bring marriage and success more quickly into your life

Examples:

Olivia Rodrigo

Florence Pugh

Zayn Malik

Dua Lipa

Mars Hora

People born during this Hora tend to be more masculine or dominant than others. They are very defensive of the people they love and will do anything to protect them. They often have or are known for their leadership abilities, sex appeal/sexual nature, strong physic/toned body, confidence, competitive nature, and being a passionate person in general. Wearing Coral or Cats Eye jewelry can bring marriage and success more quickly into your life

Examples:

Nicki Minaj

Rihanna

Bella Hadid

Vinnie Hacker

Jupiter Hora

People born during this Hora are usually very successful in life. The women that are born during this Hora tend to be praised by men for their attractiveness/beauty. Things come at ease to them more so than others. The downside is that they may at worst lack self discipline or may not have a very strong work ethic. They are likely to be known for or have an optimistic persona, being naturally popular wherever they go, having strong beliefs, and being intelligent as well as wise. Wearing Yellow Sapphire jewelry can make marriage come quicker/success in general come quicker for these people

Examples:

Madison Beer

Adriana Lima

Scarlett Johansson

Saturn Hora

People born during this Hora are usually forced to mature from a young age. They are likely to be successful, but usually later in life. They must work for anything they want in life unlike people born under the Jupiter Hora, but the pro to this is when they do work for something they will get what they want whereas other Hora’s may work hard and still proceed to fail. Their public image is usually unique. They tend to receive a lot of hate. They are likely to have/be known for their good work ethic, self discipline, mature decision making, and owning businesses. Wearing Blue Sapphire, Amethyst, or Hessonite can bring marriage/success into your life more quickly

Examples:

Theo Von

Lady Gaga

Pete Davidson

Doja Cat

[nikosaki]

“I want to use specific names for colours/shades but I don’t know many!” Hahaha sakira has got you! If you want to add colour to the objects or stuff in your writing you shouldn’t just write it like this

“Her dress was red” “His eyes were purple”

That makes your writing bland, it dumbs down the readers imagination during reading. Instead describe the colour like this

“Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day”

“His eyes could be compared to that of a raven’s deep violet eyes”

(tip: amethyst is an overused word, there’s a list of other purple words below you should check out)

You can describe colours using objects because it will give shape to the sentence but don’t always go too detailed. If you make one sentence with a lot of adjectives and everything then don’t over use it in the other sentence that’s is.

But remember to use a simile like “as” or “like” if you do use objects.

I already wrote “Her dress was like a cup of Rooibos tea under a sunlit day” so next time when I mention the dress’s colour again I am going to write something like this

“Her garnet dress flowed in the wind”

Why? Because simple sentenced always enchance the writing and gives reader a feeling.

now that we are done with how to write colours let’s see some synonyms!!

white- bleached , colourless , pearly , milky , snowy, ivory , salt , Lacey , linen , frosty, daisy parchment , porcelain, cotton , rice bone

black- ebony, midnight, jade , spider , coal , pitch black, void , empty, sooty , obsidian , metal, onyx , ink , crow

grey- shadow, ash , graphite , foggy, dove , silver , dull, cloud ,slate, iron, smoke, pebble

red- garnet, blush , Merlot , cherry , crimson, rose, sangria, bloody, berry , currant, terracotta, jam , merlot

orange- tangerine , ginger , apricot, autumn , spice , amber, rust, marmalade, pumpkin , carrot , clay, golden , copper , ochre

yellow- gold, canary , light , butterscotches, dandelion, honey , blonde, corn, saffron , ocher, buttermilk

green- beryl , viridescent , olive , emerald , pickle, leafy , sage , lime , pear , mint, mignonette, glaucous

blue- ocean , aqua , cobalt, navy , sapphire, admiral, denim , cerulean, indigo , lapis , peacock, aegean, azure , turquoise, cyan , arctic

purple - amethyst , raven , violet ,lilac , lavender, plum , magenta ,orchid , mulberry, heather, raisin, amaranthine , eggplant , iris , periwinkle

pink- blush , cherry blossom , taffy , peach, flamingo , rosey , salmon , fuscia, rosewood , pale red

IMPORTANT : remember to do GOOD research on shades!! You need to know which one you can use as an adjective and which one is a noun. If it’s a noun turn it into adjective, if it cannot be turned into an adjective then use a simile.

There’s more and if you know put it in the reblogs

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Love Once, Live Twice

Aemond Targaryen x F!reader [ONE SHOT]

warnings: fluff to angst to fluff, war, depression, s*icide, s*icidal thoughts, mentions of r*pe, character death, multiple character deaths, feelings of hopelessness, smut (not explicit), a happy ending tho!! Not proofread sorry

WC: 3.5k

You had met Aemond when you were little, after he lost his eye, Queen Alicent was looking for a lady-in-waiting to accompany her daughter as her daughter mostly stayed alone, lost in her world accompanied by non human creatures.

None managed to stay for too long, finding her too be odd and creepy, except you, you had always encouraged Princess Helaena's hobbies and showed genuine interest, and the princess great appreciated it.

You and her had grown close, and she had introduced you to her brothers, Aegon, Aemond and Daeron, Aemond was reluctant as first, he was insecure, his wound being fresh, he looked disfigured and he didn't want to frighten you.

But to his surprise, you didn't really care, you greeted him the same way as you had Aegon and Daeron and sometimes even sought out to him on your own to have a conversation or two and for the first time in his life, he felt that someone genuinely cared for him besides his mother.

Helaena had days where she just wanted to be left alone with no one's company, and you understood that and respected her privacy and her need for some alone time, the queen never really understood why because she thought you were close, but you had told her that regardless of whether they are close or not, the presence of people can sometimes be overwhelming, even if it's a close friends.

So you spent those days accompanying Prince Aemond, since you guys were closer in age, with him being only a few moons older than you, He had the same routine, train, study, eat and sleep, he would spend hours at the library after the teachings of the maesters to seek out knowledge of his own and you would often accompany him during those hours.

You both would bask in comfortable silence as you would read fairytales while he sat opposite and read about the histories and laws, you had tried learning but later realised that it bored you to oblivion, so you stuck to adventure, romance novels.

Those moments shared together in your childhood made your bond with all of them stronger, you had been the one to suggest sapphires for Prince Aemond to wear in his eye when he had healed and left an empty socket, he first considered emeralds, as they were green and he wanted to honour his mother.

You were surprised when he asked for your opinion, and your choice was the sapphire since you said it would suit his beautiful valyrian features overall better, and that it was also your favourite jewel.

And so sapphire it was.

Time passed by quickly and your and aemond's relationship blossomed more, you and helaena had also grown closer, she had grown quite fond of you, you both were good friends.

Aemond's nighteenth name day had passed and yours was coming soon, the prince had been receiving marriage proposals since his sixteenth name day but he had rejected them all, you hadnt really known why until your name day had finally arrived.

And under the godswood tree, after the procession of your name day had ended, which you had refused for it to take place but alicent said it was special and said that it was the least she could do for you, you went out on a walk before Aemond pulled aside and when the moon shone brightly he had given you a sapphire necklace before kissing you.

The kiss was soft and gentle, his lips moving against yours in gentle rhythm as you don the sapphire necklace around your neck, his hand wrapped around your waist while you held onto to his shoulder.

A shiver went through you when he pulled away and gave you a smirk, you slapped his chest lightly “what was that for?!” you whisper yelled and he chuckled before pulling you into an embrace.

“Mhm, is it wrong to show appreciation for my favorite Lady or her big day?” he felt his chest vibrate when his spoke, “You could've just gave me the gift and parted, yet you kissed me my prince, that is a very indecent behavior for an unmarried man and a maiden to partake in.”

“I intend to marry you, My lady.” he says and your heart stops for a moment before you pull away in shock and look at him, he looks down at you and cups your cheek, “Do not jest, My prince.” you say and grab his arms. He leans in.

“I am not, I do fully intend to marry you, I have wanted to, ever since I was of age, I rejected all those proposals because the one I had truly wanted was you, My lady. You have been with me through thick and thin, accompanied me since my childhood, and I assume it is safe to say that you have completely smitten me. I want to spend the rest of my days with you, with you as my Wife, the mother to my children.” you felt butterflies in your stomach at his confession, you embraced him again, in a silent agreement and also shyness, you felt him chuckle before he placed a kiss to your forehead.

Oh how you wished things would last like forever.

But they didn't.

They were not meant to.

You were aware of the growing tensions in between the targaryen family, and when viserys had finally died, hell broke free.

At first you thought things can be settled, and will go smoothly if rhaenyra had accepted the peace treaty, but she hadn't, and that was the final attempt in mending the drift between the house.

Your heart shattered into a million pieces when the maids had informed you that prince aemond had flown to storms end to give his hand in marriage to one of the baratheon daughters in order to secure their alliance. You knew it was foolish of you to hope that you and him would be endgame, you are never meant to be.

You remember crying to Helaena about it, she consoled you in her arms, your good friend and whispered loving words to you just like you had to her during all the time spent together, you were grateful for her.

You thought about confronting him when he returned from storm's end, preparing what you would say to him, but it wasn't how you had intended to take place.

The loud sound of doors slamming open and close in your chamber woke you from your slumber as you squint and sat up, legs dangling off the edge as you tried adjusting your vision to see more clearly, it was raining heavily outside, a tall figure strided towards you and fell to it's knees by your legs, pulling you by the waist before cradling it's face on your thighs, hands tightly wrapped around you, shivering, your nightgown getting wet.

“Aemond?” you questioned, noticing the silver blonde hair and the only response you got from him was a cracked sob, “I- i didn't mean to do it- i lost control. I- i didn't mean, im- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” you felt warm tears fall on your nightgown, soaking through the material before hitting your thighs.

“Shhh, it's okay, what happened Aem?” you cooed gently, shushing him as you brushed his hair in a way to bring him comfort, he finally lifted his face to look at you, you had noticed how soulless his eye was, the usual glint of light gone from it.

He swallowed thickly, “I'm sorry, for everything.” he said, and just then you were reminded of his betrothal, but decided to push that topic down for some other time and you sat quietly, waiting for him to open up.

“I killed him.” he says

Your froze before blinking and looking at him, “Killed who?” you asked confused, he took in a deep breath.

“Lucerys, My nephew, I killed him— I didn't mean- I just wanted to scare him— but— but— Vhagar was attacked by Arrax and I lost control, and before I knew it— lucerys was no more, his dragon was more— their pieces falling from the sky.” his voice cracked as he explained, his grip tightening around your waist.

Your blood ran cold, you knew what this meant, they would all find out in the morning and he would be named as a kinslayer, but that isn't what bothered you, it's the fact that his words would not be believed by anyone and that the blacks would strike the moment they found out.

“Come here, Aemond.” you lifted him up before pressing your lips to his, he lifted himself up, not breaking the kiss before pushing you onto the bed as he deepened the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, he bucked his hips against you.

“Do you mind? I know this isn't how—” before he could continue you hushed him and agreed that it was okay, you both needed this so desperately.

You spent the next few moments coupling, his hips thrusting violently into your cunt, as if he was channeling his anger towards himself in such a way and you took it and encouraged him to do so, it wasn't your first time, he had taken your maidenhead already, of course no one knew as all the times you've both spent intimately like this were done so in secret, he had neared his edge and spilt himself deep inside of you, sighing into your neck.

That night, you had comforted aemond to sleep, cleaning both yourselves up before propping yourself next to him, cradling his head between your chest as you whispered words of comfort and reassurance to him, pressing kisses on his forehead, you had never seen him vulnerable.

If you ignored the context, it would be a loving moment overall, but alas, it can't be that easy can it?

Things got worse.

A son for a son they said.

You clung tightly onto to helaena as he hugged the headless body of her son, jaeherys and weeped loudly, screaming and sobbing as the blood stained her dress, “my baby, my baby my baby” she kept whispering and cooing lovingly at the headless body, you hugged her tightly, she refused to let go of the body but you had pried her off for the guards to take it away from her.

You didn't attend the funeral, not being able to see the sad look on your dear friend's face.

Time passed by, and Helaena's condition only got worse and worse, she would scream and wail loudly, she was gone to madness, and you felt burning hatred for the blacks at this, poor Jaeherys, Poor Helaena, they had done nothing to them.

You lost any remaining of respect for them the moment someone had informed that their original plan was also to have Helaena and Jaehaera raped, but they had only succeeded in killing Jaeherys, You grit your teeth.

It was not until a few days later, in your chambers, when you were informed that Helaena had thrown herself from Maegors Holdfast.

You felt dead.

You watched as her body was retrieved from the spikes below, her face holding an odd expression of peace, you sobbed loudly, pushing through the guards and getting to her, the guards had tried to hold you back but you kept thrasing in their hold.

You screamed, begging them to let go of you, so you may hold your friend one last time, tears fell from your face down onto the ground before they all looked in pity at you before queen alicent gave a sad nod to the guards with tears in her eyes to let you go and they did.

You immediately cradled Helaena's head bought it into your lap, clutching onto it and crying loudly, you don't know how long you stayed like that, sobbing uncontrollably before you felt someone tug up at your arms and it was Aemond with a sad expression on his face, you let go of her and hugged aemond tightly, you didn't care what people thought at that moment, you sobbed loudly into his chest.

You knew he felt guilty, that everything was his fault, although you knew it was half true, you couldn't hear him treating himself that way.

That entire day was spent with you crying in his arms, him consoling you, you knew he was in pain too, he loved his sister a lot, you both mourned the loss together in each other arms.

Days, Weeks, Moons passed by

And with every loss, you lost a piece of yourself.

Aemond now ruled as prince regent due to Aegons terrible condition which showed no signs of getting better.

You were helpless.

You had always been helpless.

Even now, when you were informed of Aemond's death.

Aemond had told you about the witch he found when he slaughtered the strong house, Alys rivers was her name, she was a bastard of the strong house he said, she had told him that she would help him in defeating his uncle, daemon.

Who Aemond despised.

It was also the day you broke the news that you were carrying his child inside your womb, he was so happy, it didn't matter that the babe would be considered, he couldn't care less, it was also the day that he told you that he didn't want to marry Floris Baratheon, that it had always been you, and would forever be you, but he was forced to, as it was his duty, and you understood him.

You remember kissing him before he left, cradling his face gently, giving him a warm smile, he promised that he would return safely, and that everything would be alright.

You allowed yourself to hope.

One thing about war is that you should never hope.

Only fools hope.

You fell to your knees the moment you were informed of his death, frozen up.

How many more losses?

How many more?

You couldn't do this anymore.

You lost everything you held meaning for.

Helaena, Aemond, Queen Alicent who was lost to depression.

She loathed the color green now.

The people who you cherished the most.

You thought about ending it, just as Helaena had, but the dragon breathing inside you had stopped you so, your child.

You lost him, but he left a small fragment of himself behind, in your womb, your child, who was now growing with each day, your only solace in times of battle and war.

But alas, they wouldn't let you have it either.

The son of Rhaenyra, Aegon III, to quickly fix everything, he was wed to jaehera, was taken and put on the throne to rule, and in his rule, your execution was announced.

For carrying the seed of Aemond Targaryen, they would ensure that none of the green bloodline should carry forward.

When your head was placed in the guillotine, you thought about all the moments leading up to this moment now, tears streaming down your face as you prayed to the gods above, that if you were given another life, another chance, you would wish things played out differently.

Your last thought was of Aemond, the boy you loved and spent time with, you loved him dearly.

That was the final thing in your mind before everything went dark.

You woke up with a painful headache, groaning you turned over to grab your phone and check the time, 7:13AM, you sighed heavily before getting up from the bed and rubbing your head to soothe the ache.

You had the same dream again, although no matter how many times you tried to remember entirely, it would always be blank, you couldn't remember the faces, nor what went down, you just remember crying and feeling miserable.

You were visiting the ancient building of red keep not far from the city, from a few hundred years ago, it was last burnt down by daenerys targaryen before they managed to rebuild it and preserve it ever since, it became a tourist spot since there were no more targaryens to inherit it, and you would be going with your friends as a way to hang out and also make the time worth it since they were all history freaks.

You noticed a text from your best friend, Helaena. She asked if you were up and that you would be visiting the keep at 11AM, you had plenty of time you thought and got up and started your day slowly.

You remember meeting Helaena online last year, you both clicked immediately and she had come many times to visit you and recently moved into the city to further study in a nearby university.

You remember her telling that she had 3 brothers whom she cherished very dearly, she had blonde hair and silver eyes which looked very godly, it was only then she mentioned that she was of valyrian descent, and that her native home was in Lys, where back in history when Old Valyria was destroyed they all sought refugee to.

You snapped out of your thoughts and got ready, getting in your car and driving to Helaena's place and picking her up first before fetching the rest of your friends.

“Oh by the way! Remember how I said I had brothers?” Helaena asks and you nod, “Well one of them is visiting town today, and he said he'll directly meet us at the red keep since he was also here for tourism purposes!” she says excitedly and you smile at her, “That's great, hel!”

You had parked your car in the parking lot located underground the keep, you noticed many cars around, I guess it was to be expected as it is a famous tourist spot, although you would be considered a local, you had never visited the keep, you didn't know why.

You all made your way out before entering the gates, you noticed how familiar it felt to you, and you walked front, leading your group along and helping them not get lost, and after a while, you all decided to part ways and explore further and deeper.

You didn't know where you wanted to go, and so, you trusted your body to it and let your feet take you to where you wanted to.

They brought you to stand in front of a tree, which seemed to have been taken perfect care of, the godswood, they called it.

You were surprised how this tree managed to withstand such destruction, obviously there were noticeable changes than how it looked before which you found strange, as it was your first time seeing this tree. You were lost in your thought until a voice broke you out of it.

“Y/n...?”

Your body froze, and your heart started beating loudly, that voice.

You recognized it.

You slowly turned around to look at the source.

And then as if on cue, a strong wind blew your direction, as you felt your head pang in painful ways before you remembered it all.

The dreams you saw, weren't dreams.

Those faces were now complete, all puzzles fell into place together.

It felt like someone was trying to mix oil and water in your brain, the overwhelming memories of you.

You let out a sob.

“A-Aemond?” your voice cracked and tears dripped from his eyes before he smiled and rushed to you, embracing you tightly, you hugged him back, taking in his scent.

“I missed you, I missed you.” he hugged you tightly, afraid that if he let's you go, he would lose you again, slowly you were running out of breath so you pulled apart before smiling up at him.

“I missed you too.” you say, no other words were exchanged between you both, you basked in the realisation that Aemond was back, you felt him kiss your forehead.

“I promised I would return didn't I?” Aemond spoke, trying to joke, you punched his chest lightly, “Yeah, and what? It took you 500 years almost.” you rolled your eyes playfully and he chuckled at that

“I guess you two found each other huh...” you hear Helaena's voice and you look at her, a smile wounding up your face before you pulled away from Aemond and went and hugged her.

“How long have you remembered?” you asked, “This morning, I had a dream.” she says and you tell her the same thing.

“It seems the gods have decided to reunite us all again.” Helaena said and you smiled, you knew remembering your past life would also bring in the sorrow.

Helaena remembering that she lost her child, and you too.

But all that didn't matter now, she and you both knew it was a new life, and she currently didn't have sons, nor was she married to her brother, and neither was there war.

Things were different.

You smiled at that, the gods heard your cries and pleas, and acknowledged all of the pain you went through.

“You know Aemond, you better keep your word this time about marrying me, otherwise maybe I'll go on dates and get myself a boyfriend.” you say playfully and he nudges your shoulder at that.

“I'll kill him.” he says so seriously that it has you and helaena laughing.

Things were perfect.

And they stayed that way.

[runariya]

THE TRIBUTE • 1

pairing: alien prince!Jungkook x human tribute!female reader genre: dark romance, gore, alien!AU, survival!AU, slow burn, angst, S2L rating: MDNI, 18+ warnings: being chosen as a tribute word count: 3.2k

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

masterlist • 02

The fall of Earth wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t marked by fire or chaos that reigned for years, the kind of spectacle you might expect in an invasion. No, the aliens came quietly, without the usual drama of war. It began with whispers, transmissions intercepted by governments that never stood a chance. They arrived one day in ships larger than cities, hanging in the sky like indifferent gods, their presence screaming authority, and the sky cracked open completely and they finally descended, there wasn’t much left to fight for, really. The endless wars in the past had drained the Earth dry, and the alien empire had swept in to take whatever remained. The human race was too weak to resist, the shattered people in all cities too broken to protect themselves. So the world bowed, bent at the knee, in a way that had nothing to do with honour and everything to do with survival.

Their message was simple: Earth would continue, but under their rule. No destruction, no immediate casualties. Just quiet domination, the slow drip of submission. They called it mercy. They showed themselves as saviours—protectors, even. And somehow, despite the bitter taste it left in your mouth, humans believed them. Or at least, they didn’t fight one bit.

The royal family appeared everywhere, almost immediately, their images plastered across screens, on every corner, in every home. Prince Jungkook’s face in particular—a cold beauty—became a constant, a symbol of human survival. His name carried weight, and the people spoke it with reverence, though they were too afraid to admit the fear that simmered beneath. He was praised, all of them were, for sparing you. Sparing Earth from what, though? You were never told.

They broadcast it endlessly, the aliens, with their vibrant robes and strange customs, framed like some divine intervention, their vibrant colours contrasting the dullness that had consumed your live. While they basked in hues of gold and crimson, sapphire and emerald, humans were reduced to grey. Everything was grey now—the buildings, the streets, the sky, and the clothes you wore. It was as if the very life had been drained from Earth, leaving behind only muted shades of what the race once was. The grey uniforms became a symbol of submission, handed out without explanation, worn without protest. A world washed clean of individuality, of hope.

But the aliens—oh, they were different. Every glimpse of them was an assault of colour, a reminder of their power. Wherever they were shown, they brought with them the vibrancy humans were no longer allowed, flaunting their dominance with every shade, every rich fabric that swirled around them like a taunt and warning simultaneously.

Then there was the tribute system. No one spoke of it openly. No one dared. You were told from a young age that it was necessary, that it kept you all safe, but no one knew what it truly meant. Why, every year, a selection was made—human lives bartered like cattle. There was no resistance, no explanation, only the silent understanding that those taken were never seen again. And somehow, that became the new normal. The tributes vanished into the unknown space, and the earth continued in its quiet, grey monotony. 

We had been spared, they said. Prince Jungkook had spared us. But at what cost? No one dared ask.

You’re standing in a crowd now, one among many young humans, yet utterly alone, shoulders drawn tight beneath the weight of a thousand unspoken fears, but you keep your expression flat, indifferent. It’s easier that way. Easier not to feel anything at all. 

In the centre of the square, a screen hangs suspended between two decayed skyscrapers, flickering with static before the broadcast begins. You’re used to this routine, this cold display of power, yet the discomfort in your gut has never fully disappeared. And you’re sure, it never will. The emissary’s face appears, stark and inhuman, its features angular, skin pale like polished bone with robes in colours you only dare to dream of. Its voice, when it speaks, grates against your ears, the tone full of glee and dripping with fake warmth, as if this day is worth celebrating. 

It echoes across the crumbling square, sweeping through the huddled bodies of your fellow survivors. You’ve seen these broadcasts before, year after year, but this time feels different, this time *is* different. This time, it’s your name they call. 

“The tribute for Sector Seven has been chosen. Proceed to the transport at once.”

Your name lingers in the air like smoke, curling through your mind, clinging to the moment. The word ‘tribute’ isn’t one that carries any hope. It’s a word that’s always meant the end of something—of freedom, of choice, and most likely, of life. Still, there’s no time to let the weight of it fully sink in. You feel the crowd shift around you, parting like a tide as eyes slide toward you, pity laced into their avoidance. Some are grateful it’s not them. Others, too defeated to care.

It’s never you until it is.

For a second, the world slows down, your pulse thudding heavy in your ears full of loud static, but the moment passes. It always does. You move before your mind catches up, limbs stiff and mechanical, pushing through the parting crowd. No one stops you. No one offers a word of sympathy. This is the nature of things now: survival is solitary, and everyone knows better than to linger too long on the misfortune of others. Still, you catch a few murmurs from those who watch you pass, low and bitter, the sort of things you’d expect from a world this broken. They’re just glad it isn’t them.

Your heart is hammering, but you keep it all locked down beneath the surface. The last thing you need is to look weak. Not now when ever single step is being watched. Not when every single step brings you closer to something that feels disturbingly like an ending. 

The transport waits at the edge of the square, flanked by two of the empire’s soldiers. You’ve seen them before, standing rigid in their black armour, eyes hidden behind dark visors, their bodies almost too still to seem real. Like statues made of metal, empty of anything remotely human. As you approach, they don’t say a word, just gesture for you to board the ship. You pause for a moment at the threshold, the icy air from the interior licking at your skin, and for a heartbeat, you consider running. You won’t get far, but the urge is there, instincts flaring despite everything you know better. You’ve seen enough of these proceedings to know how it works: once chosen, there’s no refusal, no escape. You either go willingly or you’re dragged. Sometimes even killed, for what a human life is worth? Nothing.

Then you step forward. You have no choice.

The door hisses shut behind you, locking with a sound that reverberates through your bones. Inside, the transport is colder than you’d imagined, the scent of metal and machinery filling your lungs as you take your seat. You glance around, noticing the others who sit in similar silence, fellow tributes from the other six sectors—strangers, like you, plucked from whatever remained of their lives and thrown into this nightmare.

First, they don’t look at you. No one does. It’s easier that way, but you notice in an instant that you’re the smallest, the weakest, and it doesn’t help you keep the calm facade.

The transport jolts to life, the vibrations of the engines buzzing in the hollow space as it lifts off the ground. You try to settle yourself, to calm the rapid beat of your heart, but it’s impossible. Your fingers curl into the cold metal of the seat, knuckles white, as the city below shrinks away into the haze of clouds. There’s a finality to the way the world drops away, as if you’ve already crossed a line that you can never come back from, and in a way, it is.

The flight is long, though it’s impossible to tell how much time passes. You try not to think about what awaits you and close your eyes for a moment, blocking out your surroundings as best you can. Your mind drifts to the stories whispered among survivors—about what happens to tributes once they’re taken. None of the stories ever end well. Some say tributes are sold as slaves in the alien capital, while others suggest a more gruesome fate, that humans are used for experiments, their bodies discarded when no longer useful. But the truth is worse. It’s always worse.

But eventually, the descent begins slowly, the engines of the transport humming a low, ominous tone as the planet emerges from the veil of clouds below. The view from the narrow window is breathtaking, though it sickens you with the cruel reality of what Earth once was. Colours stretch across the landscape like a painter’s wildest dream—rolling fields of emerald green, rivers shimmering in shades of turquoise and cobalt, vast forests alive with every hue of autumn flame, though it is not autumn here. This planet pulses with life, chaotic and untouched, where nothing has been crushed beneath the fist of control. It is almost too much to bear. 

You glance again at the other six tributes, each taken from their corners of Earth. They still sit in absolute silence, their faces sunken, the knowledge of what is to come clinging to the air between you all like a shared sickness. From the strength in their postures, the way their muscles rest beneath their skin, you can see the warriors they’ve become, they are. They carry the defiance of continents long broken—one for each, their bloodlines ancient, their strength unremarkably deep. And then there’s you. The smallest, most fragile among them, bones light under skin that bruises too easily. Even among humans, you’re the weakest, and you can feel now their judging eyes on you, wondering how someone like you was chosen. 

The planet grows closer, the sky a vivid canvas of swirling pinks and golds, like a sunset that refuses to end. Yet, despite the beauty, despite the life that thrives below you, there’s a cold dread lodged deep in your being, one that rises the further you descend. You’ve heard the stories, the whispers of what awaits you on this planet. They tell you nothing directly, only that the arena lies somewhere in the depths of these vibrant lands, and within it, your survival is uncertain.

The transport shudders as it touches down, and you take in a silent breath, steadying yourself. The door slides open, and a gust of warm air rushes in, alive with the scent of wildflowers and soil, so different from the stagnant, metallic stench of the ship and earth. You step out, heart hammering, but your face remains impassive. There are soldiers waiting, but it’s the roar of the crowd behind them that hits you like a wall, an overwhelming volume of voices, cheers, and alien dialect twisted into strange pronounced syllables, all celebrating your arrival as though you were some kind of fallen star, a spectacle to be adored. 

The air pulses with their excitement, their bodies draped in vibrant silks that shimmer in the sunlight, arms outstretched, reaching for you, for any tribute who will acknowledge their praise, multiple cameras capturing every second of your arrival. Some of the others bask in it—grinning, high-fiving the aliens, taking selfies as though they are celebrities, lifted by the wild adoration, their smiles wide as they revel in this twisted reception. Others shrink back, shoulders hunched, their steps faltering as they cower beneath the push of all that attention, heads ducked low to avoid the eager hands reaching for them. 

But you—you keep your gaze forward, eyes locked on the path ahead, walking in a straight line behind the soldiers, schooling your face in indifference as best as you can. You try to give the madness no mind, let the noise wash over you like a storm you refuse to feel, to keep moving, refusing to be drawn into their chaos, not once glancing at the faces that strain to catch a glimpse of you. 

The city stretches before you, impossibly alive. Unlike the greys and browns of Earth, this place is a riot of colours—buildings that glow with warm light, spiralling upwards in organic, twisting shapes that seem to grow from the ground itself. There is no straight line here, no harsh edges or industrial steel. Everything is too perfect, too lush, and yet, beneath the beauty, you sense a hidden darkness, something far more sinister than the flowers and trees would ever reveal.

The palace comes into view not long after, a structure made of golden, glistening stone, it’s opulence disgusting you to no limit, and as you all are led inside, your eyes flit briefly to the faces of your fellow tributes. They hold themselves with the knowledge of their fate, some resigned, others still clinging to the fragments of hope that burn just beneath their skin. 

But you—what do you have but the defiance that hardens your jaw, that straightens your spine as the warmth of the palace washes over you? The silence here is rather oppressive, the sight of centuries of power pressing down on your fragile form. It feels like walking into the belly of the beast, swallowed whole by something vast and ancient, and all you can do is keep walking, keep breathing.

Prince Jungkook waits in the heart of it with seven nobly dressed men beside him. You’ve seen his image before every day multiple times, flashed across screens on Earth as if he were a god come down to walk among men. He’s a prince, they say, though it is not a title that means anything human. He does’t smile in those images, his face always carved from stone, eyes dark and unreadable, framed by robes of the richest, most vibrant colours—the kind that remind you of the flowers that no longer bloom on Earth. Here, in his palace, he is more imposing, more tall, more handsome than the images allowed. 

He watches you all as you are brought into his presence, though his eyes linger on you for longer than the others. His gaze is assessing, and as he takes in your small form, something flickers there—curiosity, perhaps. You’re nothing like the others, not even close. They are all built for survival, muscles honed and bodies strong, their hands made for fighting. But you... you are delicate, too easily breakable, and Jungkook sees it instantly. 

And yet, there is something in you that stirs his interest. You stand with a defiance that belies your fragile frame, your chin lifted high despite the obvious weakness of your body. He wonders how you’ve survived this long—whether it’s strength of mind or just sheer stubbornness that’s kept you alive. His curiosity piques as he steps down from his platform, moving with the grace of a predator who knows its prey has no real chance of escape.

Jungkook circles you all, the sound of his steps soft against the polished stone floor, his eyes never leaving your face. You can feel his gaze on you, piercing cold, as if you’re some strange creature he’s never encountered before. There’s no warmth in his presence, nothing that speaks of mercy or understanding. He’s power, pure and untouchable, and the thought of what he could do to you without even lifting a finger is enough to send your mind into survival mode. 

But you won’t give him that satisfaction. You won’t cower before him, no matter how small you feel beneath his gaze, his so much taller frame. Your heart races in your temples, blood rushing to your brain to keep alert, but your expression remains neutral, your hands clenched tightly at your sides, nails biting into your delicate skin of your palms. You’ve already decided that if this is where you die, you won’t die with your head bowed. Never.

Jungkook eventually stops in front of you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes you in with his head slightly tilted. There’s something almost amused in his dark eyes now, as if he finds your defiance intriguing, though he’d never admit it aloud. “Fragile,” he states, the word rolling off his tongue like an observation rather than an insult. “But not afraid.” 

His voice is low, almost a whisper, and it sends a tremor through you, though you refuse to let it show. He’s testing you, pushing to see where your breaking point is. You meet his gaze head-on, refusing to flinch under the intensity of it. 

“They say humans are resilient,” he continues, his tone almost mocking. “That you fight, even when there’s nothing left to fight for. Is that true?”

You don’t respond. You’re not sure you could if you wanted to. The intensity of his presence is suffocating, leaving you nowhere to escape, while his words challenge you, daring you to break, to bend under the pressure of who he is.

But you don’t.

“Fight,” his voice’s dropping to a whisper. “Or die. Those are your only options now.”

“Watch me,” you say quietly, your voice steady, though your heart feels like it might pound out of your chest. 

He tilts his head, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I will,” he murmurs, and the threat in his words lingers in the whole grand room. 

Without another word, he steps back, dismissing you as easily as he might a piece of furniture. You all are nothing to him, and yet, there’s a flicker of something in his gaze as he turns away. Interest, perhaps. 

The guards step forward, the seven men too, grabbing your arms and dragging you from the room. You knew this wouldn’t be simple. You knew there’d be danger. But now, standing on the precipice of whatever fate awaits you, the reality of it all begins to truly sink in.

They don’t take you far—just to a small, cold room with nothing but a bed and a single window that looks out over the sprawling city. The guards leave you there, locking the door behind them with one of the seven men, dressed as vibrant as everyone on this planet, standing right beside you.

It’s quiet now, save for the faint steps of the guards outside, but the silence is anything but comforting. And as you turn to face the man beside you, you don’t really want to know what will happen next. All you need to know is that the fight is coming like it always does.

And the next words coming from the man confirm just that—you, a mere human among alien gods, have been chosen to survive it. Or die trying. 

„I’m Namjoon, your trainer for the Tribute Game.“

masterlist • 02

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