#Roll Through the Ages: The Bronze Age

[karamazovposting]

Considering tattoos became fashionable between European aristocrats in the late 19th century and Tsar Nicholas II himself had a massive dragon tattoo on his right arm (that he got done during a trip in Nagasaki in the early 1890s), it's not completely anachronistic to imagine Dmitri Karamazov as having one or multiple tattoos.

Do whatever you want with this information, I'm just saying.

[androxys]

The idea that comics are constantly rebooting, or have too many characters, or are too lore-laden to be accessible to new readers is a statistical error. Legion of Super-Heroes Georg is an outlier and

[eyesxxyou]

First Smoke 🚬

💨・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 2.5k

synopsis. you were everything logan shouldn't want. young, religious, and innocent. you were sweet to everyone. and you've never been touched. logan wants to be your first everything.

warnings. age gap relationship (reader is 21, Logan is nearing 50) , religious reader, innocent reader, smoking, shotgunning smoke, dubious consent, dry humping, spanking, a bit of toxic relationship dynamics, logan is not a good person, not edited

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

You’ve always been attracted to Logan Howlett. From his strong build—broad shoulders, the fine lines of veins on his arms—to his carefree disposition. You liked the way he carried himself, confident, lumbering, like his dick was too big between his legs. You especially liked his belts. The thick, worn, leather. The large buckle was always either silver or bronze, engraved with a design.

It was a worldly lust, one you shunned for many years growing up. One you tried to pray away. A test from God to see if you could remain devout. And for a while, you were doing so good. You kept your left for him down, you prayed for the strength to face him everyday.

And then he offered you a drink.

You were back the next day, and the next, and the next. All with the promise of great pleasure and even greater corruption. You prayed every night for forgiveness and went back to commit more sins, more atrocities against your body. You never let Logan take your virginity, but he did penetrate you with his fingers nearly every day. You’ve seen his erect cock, long and thick, 8 to 9 inches of solidity, while he jerked off while fingering you. He came on your belly, just nearly missing your cunt.

You sat like a pretty, little doll in Logan's garage in white stockings with flower designs on them, a white dress dotted in lilacs that went down to your shins, a white cardigan you knitted yourself, and your iconic mary janes heels. You fiddled with the pearl necklace sitting delicately on your collarbones while your heels clicked and your cardigan fell slightly off your shoulder.

Logan was shirtless, the muscles of his sweat covered back flexing as he rummaged through his toolbox. He was beautiful, sun-kissed, pants hanging low on his lips with that thick belt of his. His hair stuck slightly to the nape of his neck.

After a moment, he grunted, closed his toolbox, and reached into his pocket for a lighter while going over to grab a cigar. He placed the thick thing between his lips and flicked his lighter.

“Isn't that dangerous, Mr. Howlett? Lighting a cigar around grease and oil and gasoline?” You ask softly, watching him take a long drag before blowing the smoke. He looked at you with a quirked brow. “Don’t worry about it, doll.” He sat down on an old chair across the garage out of the sun, fingers motioning you over to sit in his lap as you always did. He loved you in his lap, your frame so pretty on top of him, the way you squirm.

Your eyes flickered to the open garage door, rolled up all the way to let the waning sunlight in. “I can't, Mr. Howlett. Someone will see us.” And that someone will recognize you as the pastor’s daughter and inform your father that you were caught in his lap. Canoodling with not only a man, but a man twice your age. He’d never let you out of the house again.

Logan glanced out of the door. “Nah, we’re hidden behind the bike.” A lie that fell too smoothly from his lips. You both were in the corner, in the shade. Eyes would glaze right over your bodies. No one would notice you two unless they were truly taking the time to look. People rarely ever did.

You seemed to calm a little at his words and carefully made your way over to his little corner where he lounged. Logan offered out a hand to keep you steady as you hiked up the skirt of your dress a little and straddled his thighs. You placed your hands on his chest to balance yourself. You liked the hair on his chest that led down his rock solid abdomen. There was a single vein leading down below the belt.

You looked back over your shoulder at the open garage door, eyeing the street as a car passed by. Logan noticed the worry pressing wrinkles to your face, the doubt in your eyes and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him instead of the street. Smoke came out of his nose slightly, “stop worrying.”

He took another long drag of his cigar and watched with amusement as you eyed the thing curiously. “You don't want none of this, baby. It’s too strong for you.” Logan’s hand stroked your thigh through your stockings. Your lips unintentionally formed into a small pout. You were used to being told no in your life, but Logan never did. You liked the freedom that came with being with him, even if that was at the expense of your soul. You were making dealings with the devil.

Logan sucked up smoke into his mouth and grabbed you firmly at the back of the head, pulling you in to press your lips to his. He blew the smoke between your lips and let it fill your mouth and billow down your throat. Breaking away, began to cough into the back of your hand.

“I told you; too strong for a little babydoll like you.”

The taste lingered on your lips and in your mouth, smokey, bitter. How could he possibly enjoy this stuff? He smoked and drank like it was nothing but you had remained abstemious your entire life, you weren't accustomed to the taste yet. More importantly, your lips had tasted his lips. He had so suddenly stolen your first kiss from you.

You whispered to him, “that was my first kiss.”

“Oh baby,” Logan leaned forward, chuckling softly. “That wasn't a kiss. I can show you what a real kiss looks like.” He took his cigar from his mouth, enjoying the way you shuddered as his prickly facial hair brushed against your cheek. He kissed you because he could, because he wanted to, because he knew if he didn't steal your first kiss from your delicate hands, someone else would. He had to take everything from you, be your first everything, possess you wholly.

You were awkward, squirming, unsure of what to do with your mouth, your tongue. Logan held you by the hips, pulling you ever closer, tasting of smoke, whiskey, and bad decisions rolled into one. His tongue pressed to yours, tracing and exploring every crevice of your mouth. He was not gentle with you. You were no child, you could handle it.

Your lips tasted like a medley of fruit from your lip balm and toothpaste. You were fresh, clean, so terribly pure that every lick of his tongue against yours, every orgasm he drew out of you dirtied you in the mud of sin. Your hands were clawing at his shoulders, your hips pressed down into his lap with the help of his hands.

Another car went past and you leaped away from his kiss, panting. “Someone’s going to see us, Mr. Howlett. My father will kill both of us.” Logan didn't seem to care all that much. He pulled the skirt of your dress up and pulled you down until your body pressed flush with his. Your little cunt pressed right to the large buckle of his belt.

He reached between your legs and found a weak spot in your stockings, jabbing his finger through and ripping the lacy fabric through the middle to access your pretty center. You were wearing another pair of cotton panties, white, with a little bow on the front. “Mr. Howlett.” You whined at your ruined article of clothing. You’d never be able to explain it to your parents. “Listen to me. We can't, not here.”

“We'll be fine, doll.” He grunted, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. Logan was so much stronger than you, his hand forcing you to press yourself down onto him, your cotton-covered clit catching along the design of his buckle. You gasped, shuddering, your eyes growing heavy. Your hands on his shoulders, rubbing his chest. You weren't like you were before. Timid. Afraid. You were scandalous in a way you never thought you would be. You took the time to grind your hips against his buckle, finding just the right ridge to play with your clit.

How he's tainted you.

Logan leaned back, smoking with a serene smirk while he watched you take your pleasure against his belt. It was quite the show. Your fingers against his solid chest, your eyes fluttered to a close, the way you humped him almost like a desperate bitch in heat. Dulcet moans passed your lips like a song, silky and sweet with a touch of depravity.

“Oooh– Mr. Howlett~” You liked all the bumps and ridges of the design on his buckle, the way it all tickled your pussy at just the right spots and angles. Logan stroked your hip with his free hand, smoking with his other. You were all whiny and squeaky, already falling apart in his lap. He’s made you something monstrous, disgusting. And you liked it.

You were soaking through your panties. Any other time you would have been humiliated, the sin of your lust. But oh, you were hitting all the right spots and you couldn't hear anything beyond the ringing in your ears. Someone could have walked right into Logan's garage and witnessed you pleasuring yourself on his belt of all things and you would have hardly noticed.

Logan, thoroughly amused, took a long drag from his cigar and blew it into your face. You felt a little hazy, whining a little. “Stop.” He did it again, smiling and chuckling lowly as you squirmed. “I can get the whiskey out again, doll. You seem to enjoy yourself better when you’re drunk.”

You shook your head. “Nuh uh, let me– let me keep going. I'm…enjoying myself– just fine.” You squeaked as you found a little nub to rub your bundle of nerves across. You could feel everything as if you didn't have any panties on at all. Your underwear stuck to your cunt like a second sink, so thin that it might as well not be there in the first place.

You were a sensitive little thing. Getting you to cum was an easy task. A few clicks at your clit, a few dirty words in your ear, and you were melting into a puddle in his lap. This time, you were doing it all by yourself, showing off all you had learned. But there was nothing quite satisfying about that. Logan liked his unwavering control over you.

So as you teetered towards the edge of relief, Logan grunted, “Don't you cum until I tell you to.” There was a warning hidden behind his voice. There would be consequences if you disobeyed. You were used to obeying, you just found a new master to serve. 

You cried softly. “No, no, no, ‘m so close,” you slurred, rutting your hips like a wild animal. Logan tapped his cigar off the side of the chair before placing it back between his lips. “Don't you dare, doll.” It threatened unknown possibilities, an infinity of punishments. “I’ll march you out into the street and finger you in the front yard. Everyone will see you for the slut you are.”

He’d never actually do it. Logan would like to keep the sight of you cumming to himself alone, but the threat was enough to keep you at bay, to keep his firm control over you.

You shook your head wildly, still rubbing and humping, tears pricking your eyes. “No, please–” You wept at the thought of being ousted from your community, disowned by your family, made to be some shameless whore on the street. A man like Logan would never marry you. He'd never make you his wife. He liked playing with the hearts of little girls like you, who didn't know any better.

So you try your best not to cum with tears streaking your face, tears that only make Logan harder. You look so pretty when you cry. Partially from pleasure, partially from fear, maybe some pain. Your legs trembled with the weight of an orgasm denied.

You went like this for 2 orgasms. Your pussy rubbed red and puffy through your panties, a wet patch on the crotch of his pants from your dripping cunt. “I can't! I can't, Mr. Howlett.” You were sobbing hysterically. Your entire body shook violently with your next orgasm that rushed you like a freight train and came with a hot flash throughout your entire body.

Logan watched you cum on his belt, pussy pulsing and rubbing. You almost went cross-eyed, how cute. Your cheeks were dripping wet with salty tears he could just lick right off your face if he so desired. He liked seeing you cry, liked the way you sobbed like you had no sense.

You were panting, aching, nearly fell right off his lap if he didn't catch you. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry. Please don't take me to the yard. My– my family will never look at me the same.” You murmured out your words, still crying like a baby.

“I ain't gonna take you to the yard, doll.” Logan, thoroughly amused by your panic, guided you to lay over his lap with your ass facing the open garage door. “I am gonna give you a spanking though.” He smiled at the whimper you let out; his hand flipping up your skirt to reveal your ripped stockings and soaked through panties.

You were reminded of when you were a little girl, in your father's lap when he would spank you for doing something bad. You wiggled and writhed with anticipation, fingers gripping his thigh. Logan soothed his hand over the soft skin of your ass as he gripped great handfuls of flesh into his palms.

The first one came with a great ring of skin against skin. You yelped, lunging forward. More tears, more childish crying. Logan rubbed the spot where he spanked you to soothe the pain. “Quiet down. You don't want anyone to get curious, do you?” You shook your head with feverish intent. You couldn't have anyone looking this way, watching you get spanked, reporting back to your father.

Logan raised his hand and brought it down against your other asscheek. You bit your lip to stifle the sob that threatened to leave you. You did the same when he spanked you again and again, biting so hard you could taste the metallic beginnings of blood.

In total, Logan spanked you 15 times before he deemed it enough and let you up. You were shaking like a startled dog, your once neat, pinned up hair now ruined, your dress wrinkled, your stockings ripped. You were a beautiful mess. His beautiful mess. He was ruining you.

“Come here, babydoll.” Logan coaxed you towards him as he put out his cigar in the ashtray nearby. He took you by the hips and pulled you back into his lap. You were so small and meek, you didn't even fight.

Logan brushed your hair out of your face, carefully fixing it back up with various bands and clips until it looked reasonably neat again. He was gentle for once, taking your chin in between his fingers, and he kissed you. He was tender with that too, licking the blood from your bottom lip with a smile.

Logan always had a habit of destroying his favorite toys.

[astrxq]

Hiii I saw that with the requests still open, if you're picking it up you could write something in which the reader joined the group of bastards to try to tame a dragon, she ends up taming Vermithor, Jace was already nervous about the idea of bastards taming dragons then when he discovers that a girl tamed the biggest dragon he becomes more nervous about the situation, perhaps the appearance of the reader that led him to this judgment (short and delicate) over time she proves worthy and Jace ends up becoming affectionate for her, despite his behavior at the beginning being quite rude towards her...if possible, the two even end up having a relationship pls

Dragon's Embrace

jacaerys velaryon x dragonseeder!reader

words: 20k

notes: non-canon events. ooc... kinda mean!Jace. idk a few arguments, mentions of death, wounds and war. not really enemies to lovers. kissing, making out, m!masturbation, talk of wounds.

The High Valyrian words rolled off your tongue with surprising ease, each syllable a flicker of ancient power. You sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of Dragonstone's great hall, your silver hair catching the light from the nearby braziers. Around you, a couple of other dragonseeders – bastards with the blood of Old Valyria flowing through their veins – repeated the phrases in unison.

"Sōves," you murmured, tasting the word for 'fly.' Your mind drifted to Vermithor, the great bronze beast you had somehow managed to tame. Even then, weeks later, it seemed impossible that the second-largest dragon in the world heeded your commands.

To your left, Addam recited the words with quiet confidence, his dark hair gleaming in the firelight in comparison to yours. Ulf, seated nearby, stumbled over the pronunciations, his face flushed with frustration and too much wine.

And there, lurking in the shadows at the edge of the hall, stood Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. Jace. Queen Rhaenyra's eldest son and heir. His dark eyes scanned the group, lingering on each face with barely concealed suspicion. When his gaze fell on you, you felt a chill that had nothing to do with Dragonstone's perpetual dampness.

"Again," the Maester intoned. "Sōvegon. Ilagon. Dracarys."

You dutifully repeated the words – fly, land, dragonfire – your mind half on the lesson and half on the brooding prince. You had noticed his growing unease as the dragonseeds proved their worth, claiming mounts that had been riderless for years. But it was your success with Vermithor that seemed to truly rattle him.

A girl, his age, with the features he lacked – silver hair and a bone structure that could only belong to a Targaryen.

You had heard Ulf mock the Prince, knowing he could be hanged for treason, mentioning his dark hair and questioning his heritage. Ulf’s careless words – “the prince might not be a true Targaryen at all” – dripped with a venom that seemed to hang in the air like a curse. And while Ulf was quick to dismiss it as drunken rambling, you couldn’t help but wonder if the Prince’s wariness of the dragonseeders was out of fear, rather than hate.

The shadows cast by the flickering flames danced across Jace's face, revealing fleeting glimpses of his thoughts. His posture was rigid, a prince’s bearing that spoke of duty and the burden of expectations. When he turned away from you and strode toward the far end of the hall, you felt a pang of unease. It was as if he were a storm cloud, his presence casting a shadow over your achievement. 

"Do not forget the inflection," the Maester advised, his voice a rasping whisper that seemed to echo off the stone walls. "High Valyrian is not merely spoken; it is felt, breathed, and lived."

You nodded, trying to push aside the disquiet his gaze stirred within you. Addam’s voice rose, clear and untroubled, as he continued the recitations, while Ulf's attempts grew increasingly erratic. The wine must have dulled his senses, for his slurred words were a stark contrast to Addam’s precision.

A sound of metal scraping against stone drew your attention to the Prince’s direction. Jace was examining a set of ceremonial swords displayed on a nearby rack, his fingers tracing the engravings with a careful, almost reverent touch. The contrast between his practiced indifference and the raw emotion simmering beneath the surface was palpable. He was both a prince and a young man grappling with his place in a world that seemed to have shifted beneath his feet.

You glanced sideways at Addam, who met your eyes with a nod of mutual acknowledgment as he repeated the words, his pronunciation far more advanced compared to yours. Ulf, however, was lost in a haze, his mind far removed from the lessons at hand.

Jace's approach was inevitable. His footsteps were deliberate, each one echoing off the stone as if he were trying to measure the distance between himself and the rest of the world. His dark eyes finally locked onto yours, the weight of his stare a palpable force. The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating.

Jace’s voice broke the silence, sharp and clear, cutting through the murmurs and distractions of the hall. “Enough of this,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of impatience. The usual rhythm of the lesson faltered as everyone turned to face him.

“The High Valyrian lessons are important,” Jace continued, his gaze fixed on the Maester, who nodded in acknowledgment. “But we are at war. The true value of the dragonseeders lies not in their ability to recite ancient tongues but in their readiness to fight.”

You watched as Jace’s fingers drummed rhythmically against the hilt of one of the ceremonial swords. His frustration was evident, and you could sense the tension in his posture, like a taut string waiting to snap. 

“We need to be preparing for battle,” he said, his eyes sweeping over the group. “The dragons are our strength, but it is not enough to simply ride them. We must train as if our lives depend on it – because they do.”

Addam’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, his focus shifting from Jace to you. 

Ulf’s head lolled to one side, still clearly affected by the wine. He mumbled something incoherent, and you could see the disdain in Jace’s eyes as he glanced over at him. The prince’s patience was wearing thin, and he was not in the mood for leniency.

Jace strode purposefully to the center of the hall, his boots echoing sharply against the stone. “You will take your lessons outside,” he declared, his voice resolute.

You could feel a mix of apprehension and excitement in the air. The idea of training outside was both daunting and exhilarating. The raw elements of the world would push you to your limits, but it would also forge you into a more formidable force.

The Maester sighed, his expression a mixture of resignation and understanding. “Very well, Prince Jacaerys,” he said. “We will arrange for the lessons to be held in the training grounds.”

“Which one’s this, again?” Ulf leaned his body to yours, his breath smelling of wine as he spoke.

Jace glared.

“It is the prince, Ulf.” you replied.

“Ah! The young prince!” Ulf hurried to stand, almost stumbling as he walked towards the prince. He was stopped from the attempted hug by Jace’s arm on his torso, making him take a step back. 

Jace’s face was a mask of barely contained irritation as he eyed Ulf with a mix of contempt and concern. “I suggest you keep your distance,” Jace said, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable edge. The prince’s warning was clear: he would tolerate no nonsense, not from the drunken Ulf or anyone else.

You felt a rush of embarrassment on Ulf's behalf, even as irritation prickled at your skin. His drunken antics were becoming a liability, and you knew they reflected poorly on all the dragonseeders. Your eyes met Jace's for a brief moment, and you saw a flicker of something in his gaze as you gently but firmly guided Ulf back to his seat.

"My apologies, Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. "Ulf is... enthusiastic about his training."

Jace's lips twitched, almost forming a smirk before he schooled his features back into their stoic mask. "Enthusiasm is one thing," he replied, his tone dry. "Sobriety is another. See that he's fit for tomorrow's outdoor session."

You nodded, accepting the responsibility without complaint. As Jace turned to leave, his cloak swirling dramatically behind him, you couldn't help but wonder at the conflicting emotions his presence stirred within you. There was admiration, certainly – for his dedication, his strength of purpose. But there was also a lingering resentment at the way he seemed to look down on you and your fellow dragonseeders.

The Maester cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to the present. "Well," he said, his voice tinged with resignation, "I suppose that concludes today's lesson. Rest well, all of you. Tomorrow will bring new challenges."

As the group dispersed, you lingered, helping Addam gather the scattered scrolls and tomes. He shot you a sympathetic look. "Don't let the prince get to you," he said softly. "He's under a lot of pressure."

You sighed, running a hand through your silver hair. "I know. It's just... frustrating. We're risking our lives for this cause, same as him. Why can't he see that?"

Addam shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe he does. Maybe that's what scares him."

His words stayed with you as you made your way through Dragonstone's winding corridors to your modest chambers. The castle was a maze of dark stone and flickering torchlight, every shadow seeming to hold secrets. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, though whether by ghosts or spies, you couldn't say.

Sleep came fitfully that night, your dreams a chaotic swirl of dragons and dark-eyed princes. You woke before dawn, your body tense with anticipation for the day ahead. As you dressed in sturdy riding leathers, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the polished metal of your water basin. Your silver hair gleamed in the early morning light, a stark reminder of the heritage that both elevated and isolated you.

The training grounds were shrouded in mist when you arrived, the first hints of sunrise just beginning to paint the sky. You were surprised to find you weren't the first one there – a solitary figure was already moving through sword forms with fluid grace.

It was Jace.

You hesitated, unsure whether to announce your presence or simply wait for the others to arrive. But before you could decide, Jace spun, his practice sword coming to a stop mere inches from your throat. His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in recognition.

"You're early," he said, lowering the wooden blade.

"As are you, Your Grace," you replied, striving to keep your voice neutral.

Jace regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he tossed you a practice sword. You caught it reflexively, the weight unfamiliar in your hand.

"Show me what you can do," he said, falling into a fighting stance.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback. "I... I'm not trained with a sword, Your Grace. My skills lie with dragons."

"And if you're unseated in battle? If your dragon is injured? Will you be of no use then?."

His words made sense, but you couldn't shake the feeling that this was some kind of test. Still, you had never been one to back down from a challenge. You mimicked his stance as best you could, trying to recall the few times you'd seen swordplay up close.

Jace didn't give you time to overthink it. He lunged forward, his wooden sword a blur. You reacted on instinct, bringing your own blade up to parry. The impact jarred your arm, but you managed to deflect his attack.

"Not bad," Jace said, circling you slowly. "But you're too tense. Relax your shoulders."

You tried to follow his advice, but it was hard to relax with his intense gaze fixed on you. He came at you again, this time with a series of quick strikes that had you stumbling backward.

"Footwork," he barked. "Mind your footing!"

You gritted your teeth, frustration building. You were aware that he was testing you, to see if a dragonseeder – a bastard – was as capable as him, he was making himself respectable. 

You struggled to keep up with Jace's rapid movements. His strikes were precise, each one designed to expose weaknesses. The early morning mist seemed to thicken around you, adding to the sense of suffocating pressure. Your breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, the wooden sword feeling like an alien extension of yourself.

“Focus,” Jace commanded, his voice cutting through the mist. “Your footing is off. You’re overcompensating.”

You adjusted your stance, trying to follow his instructions. Every time you thought you had a handle on it, Jace’s next attack would force you back into defensive maneuvers. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, seemed to search for any sign of weakness or hesitation.

“Remember, you’re not just fighting with a sword,” he said, his voice low but intense. “You’re fighting for your survival. For your place here.”

A pang of frustration shot through you. The implicit challenge in his words was clear: prove your worth or be dismissed. You wanted to shout back, to remind him that you had tamed Vermithor, that your bond with the dragon was no small feat. But you swallowed the words, channeling your frustration into your movements.

Jace was relentless. He pressed the attack, pushing you harder with each passing moment. His precision was almost mechanical, each strike aimed at testing your limits. Sweat dripped down your brow, mingling with the mist and making it hard to see clearly.

When you stumbled and nearly fell, Jace stepped back, his sword lowering slightly. There was a brief moment of silence, filled only with the distant sounds of the castle waking up.

“If you cannot wield a sword,” he started, breathless. “Then you are of no use in the battlefield.”

Your chest heaved with exertion, anger and frustration warring within you. Jace's words stung, but you refused to let them break you. With a deep breath, you steadied yourself and met his gaze.

"With all due respect, Your Grace," you said, your voice low but firm, "a dragon is worth a thousand swords. I may not be a master swordsman, but I have tamed Vermithor. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

A flicker of emotion passed across Jace's face – surprise, perhaps. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, you spoke again. 

“And I believe you’ve been in as many battles as I have.”

Jace’s eyes narrowed, a storm of conflicting emotions playing across his face. For a heartbeat, it seemed he might retort sharply, but he halted, as if reconsidering. He dropped his sword next to your feet, indicating he was taking his leave. 

“If you falter in battle, the dragons will not be enough to save you,” he said.

You stood there, breath coming in ragged gasps, your grip on the practice sword tightening as you fought to steady yourself. The mist around you seemed to thicken, shrouding the training grounds in an almost tangible silence.

Jace’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his expression inscrutable. Then, with a final nod, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the distant castle, his cloak billowing behind him like a stormy banner.

"Hey."

The voice startled you, and you whirled around to see Addam approaching, his own practice sword in hand. His eyebrows rose as he took in your disheveled appearance and the two swords at your feet.

"Was that Prince Jacaerys I saw leaving?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

You nodded, bending to pick up the discarded swords. "He was... testing me, I think."

Addam's expression softened with understanding. "Ah. And how did that go?"

"About as well as you'd expect," you said wryly, picking up the swords from the ground. "I'm no swordsman, Addam. I'm a dragonrider."

He took the sword, twirling it experimentally. "We're both, actually," he corrected gently. "Or at least, we need to be. The prince isn't wrong about that."

You sighed, knowing he was right but still feeling the sting of Jace's dismissal. "I know. It's just... frustrating. We've proven ourselves with the dragons. Why isn't that enough?"

Addam was quiet for a moment, his gaze distant. When he spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful. "Think about it from his perspective. We're bastards, given power that even he, a trueborn prince, doesn't fully understand. It must be... unsettling."

You considered his words as the two of you began to warm up, moving through basic sword forms. Addam was patient, correcting your stance and grip with a gentleness that stood in stark contrast to Jace's intensity.

Ulf arrived last, looking worse for wear but mercifully sober. The Maester appeared shortly after, clutching scrolls and looking decidedly out of place amidst the clanging of practice swords.

The day's training was grueling. You alternated between physical drills and lessons in High Valyrian, your mind and body pushed to their limits. Through it all, you couldn't shake the memory of Jace's dark eyes, the challenge in his gaze.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you found yourself alone once more. The other dragonseeders had retired to the great hall for the evening meal, but you felt drawn to the cliffs overlooking the sea.

The wind whipped your silver hair around your face as you gazed out at the horizon. In the distance, you could see the massive form of Vermithor circling lazily, his bronze scales catching the last rays of sunlight. 

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled you from your reverie. You turned, expecting to see Addam or perhaps the Maester, but instead found yourself face to face with Prince Jacaerys once more.

His dark eyes swept over you, taking in your windswept appearance and the way you stood so close to the cliff's edge. For a moment, something like concern flickered across his features, but it was gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

"You should be at dinner," he said, his tone clipped and formal.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to keep a hint of defiance from your voice. "As should you, Your Grace."

Jace's jaw tightened, and you braced yourself for a reprimand – or perhaps, a push. He was quiet for a long moment, the only sound the whistle of the wind and the distant crash of waves against the cliffs below. When he spoke again, his voice was hard. 

"Riding a dragon is dangerous," his voice sharp. "Don't forget that. One moment of weakness, one lapse in control, and he could burn this entire island to ash."

You turned to face him fully, your eyes narrowing. "I'm well aware of the risks, Your Grace. But I also know that Vermithor would never harm me. Our bond–"

"Your bond," Jace interrupted again, his voice sharp, "is based on blood and chance. You're a dragonrider because of your Targaryen ancestry, not because of any special skill or worthiness."

His words stung, more than you wanted to admit. You clenched your fists at your sides, fighting to keep your voice steady. "Then why did you allow us to attempt to claim the dragons in the first place? If we're so unworthy, why take the risk?"

Jace's eyes flashed with anger, but also something else – uncertainty, perhaps. "We need every advantage we can get in this war. But make no mistake, your loyalty will be tested. And if you're found wanting..."

He left the threat unspoken, but it hung in the air between you, as palpable as the mist rolling in from the sea. He glared. You knew he’d heard Ulf’s mocking of the dragonseeders and their Targaryen claim, having joked about being owed the same opportunities as the prince simply because of illegitimacy. 

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze steadily. "I am loyal to Queen Rhaenyra and her cause," you said firmly. "I would never betray that trust."

Jace studied you for a long moment, his dark eyes seeming to search for any hint of deception. Finally, he gave a curt nod. "See that you don't," he said. 

"You speak as if our bond with the dragons is nothing but a fluke," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within you. You clenched your fisted hold on your skirts, trying to remain calm. 

Jace's eyes narrowed at your words, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "A fluke? No. But it's not the grand destiny you seem to think it is, either. You're a tool, nothing more. A weapon to be wielded in this war."

His harsh assessment hit you like a physical blow, but you refused to let him see how deeply his words affected you. Instead, you lifted your chin, meeting his gaze defiantly.

"If I'm a weapon, Your Grace, then I'm one that chose its wielder. I could have claimed Vermithor and flown far from here, far from this war. But I didn't. I chose to stay and fight for Queen Rhaenyra's cause. That has to count for something."

For a moment, something flickered in Jace's eyes – surprise, perhaps, or a grudging respect. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of cool indifference.

"Words are wind," he said dismissively. "It's actions that matter. And so far, all you've proven is that you can sit on a dragon's back. That's not enough."

You felt your temper flaring, the frustration of the day's training combining with Jace's dismissive attitude to push you to the edge of your patience. "Then tell me, Your Grace, what would be enough? What do I need to do to prove my worth to you?"

Jace seemed taken aback by your direct challenge, his brow furrowing as he considered your words. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, as if he wasn't quite sure how to answer.

"Prove your worth?" he finally said, his voice low and intense. "Prove that you're more than just a bastard with a lucky bloodline. Prove that you understand the weight of the responsibility you've been given. Prove that you're willing to sacrifice everything for this cause. Prove that you will not attempt to usurp mine and my mother’s claim because you share Targaryen blood."

It was almost as if he spoke more to himself than to you. You weren’t blind, his dark hair and sharp features reinforced the claim of bastardy of the Prince, and you understood the weight of his words. His unspoken insecurities about your place in this war – the way your bloodline might stir fears of rivalry or discord – were laid bare in that moment.

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm.

"I understand the weight of this responsibility better than you might think, Your Grace," you said quietly. "Every time I mount Vermithor, I'm acutely aware that one wrong move could mean death – not just for me, but for countless others. I don't take that lightly."

Jace's expression remained impassive, but you thought you saw a flicker of something – curiosity, perhaps – in his dark eyes. "Fine words," he said. "But words alone won't win this war."

"No," you agreed. "They won't. But neither will distrust and division among our own ranks."

For a long moment, Jace simply stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, you turned on your heel and strode back towards the castle, leaving him alone with the wind and the waves.

You pretended not to notice his stare as you walked away, his eyes glued to your loose silver hair and his mouth flinching an angry frown.

________

The following days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and frustration. True to his word, Jace had moved the dragonseeder training outdoors, and the elements seemed determined to test your resolve. Rain lashed against your face as you struggled through sword drills, and biting winds made it nearly impossible to concentrate on your High Valyrian lessons.

Through it all, Jace's presence was a constant, looming shadow. He watched your every move with critical eyes, quick to point out flaws and slow to offer praise. It was as if he were searching for any excuse to prove that you and the other dragonseeders were unworthy of the power you'd been given.

One particularly grueling morning found you paired with Addam for sparring practice. The two of you circled each other warily, wooden swords at the ready. You had improved since that first humiliating session with Jace, but you were still far from comfortable with a blade in your hand.

"Remember," Addam said quietly, "keep your guard up and watch my footwork."

You nodded, grateful for his patience and support. As you began to exchange blows, you found yourself settling into a rhythm, your movements becoming more fluid and natural.

"Better," a voice called out, and you stumbled, nearly dropping your sword as you realized Jace had been watching. He strode towards you, his own practice sword in hand. "But still not good enough. Step aside, Addam. I'll take it from here."

Addam hesitated, glancing at you with concern. "Your Grace, perhaps–"

"That wasn't a request," Jace said sharply, and Addam bowed, retreating to the sidelines.

You squared your shoulders, trying to prepare yourself for whatever test Jace had in mind. He didn't keep you waiting long, lunging forward with a speed that took your breath away. You barely managed to parry his first strike, the force of it sending shockwaves up your arm.

"Too slow," Jace barked, pressing his advantage. "A real enemy won't give you time to think."

You gritted your teeth, focusing on staying on your feet as Jace's attacks came faster and harder. Sweat stung your eyes, and your muscles screamed in protest, but you refused to yield.

"Is this how you'll defend yourself if you're unseated?" Jace taunted, his dark eyes glittering with a mix of anger and something else you couldn't quite name. "Is this how you'll protect your dragon?"

The mention of Vermithor sparked something within you. With a surge of strength you didn't know you possessed, you pushed back, your wooden sword clashing against Jace's with a resounding crack.

For a moment, surprise flashed across his face. Then his expression hardened, and he redoubled his efforts, driving you back across the muddy training ground.

"Better," he said, his voice low and intense. "But not good enough. Not nearly good enough."

With a lightning-fast move, he knocked your sword from your hand, sending it spinning away. Before you could react, the tip of his practice blade was at your throat.

"Dead," he said simply, his chest heaving with exertion. "And your dragon left riderless, vulnerable to our enemies."

You glared at him, frustration and anger boiling within you. 

"If you can't keep up, you'll be left behind." he said.

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving you standing alone in the mud, your practice sword hanging limply at your side and Addam’s apologetic eyes meeting yours.

As the days wore on, Jace's challenges became increasingly difficult. He seemed determined to push you and the other dragonseeders to your breaking point, as if hoping to prove once and for all that you were unworthy of the dragons you'd claimed.

One morning, he announced that you would be flying a series of complex maneuvers with your dragons. The sky was overcast, threatening rain, and a chill wind whipped across Dragonstone's craggy peaks.

"The enemy won't wait for fair weather," Jace declared, his dark eyes scanning the group. "You need to be prepared to fly in any conditions."

You exchanged a glance with Addam, who looked as apprehensive as you felt. Ulf, on the other hand, seemed almost eager, a dangerous glint in his eye that made you uneasy.

As you made your way to where Vermithor was waiting, you couldn't shake the feeling that Jace was watching you. When you turned to look, you caught him quickly averting his gaze, his jaw clenched tight.

Mounting Vermithor, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. Whatever challenges Jace might throw your way, this was where you belonged. The great bronze dragon rumbled beneath you, his scales warm against your legs.

"Sōvegon," you murmured, and Vermithor launched himself into the air with a powerful thrust of his wings.

The wind howled in your ears as you climbed higher, the ground falling away beneath you. You could see Addam and Ulf on their own mounts, keeping pace on either side.

From the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Addam and his dragon, gracefully cutting through the air. Addam seemed more at ease with each passing moment, his form moving with practiced ease, his commands to Seasmoke calm and assured. A glance to your other side revealed Ulf, struggling to maintain control over Silverwing, who was clearly restless. The dragon's erratic movements were a stark reminder of the challenges that came with taming such powerful creatures.

Jace stood on the ground below, his gaze following your every movement with a critical intensity. You could feel his scrutiny like a weight on your shoulders, but for once, it didn’t seem to impede your focus. Instead, you channeled the pressure into your flying, pushing Vermithor to execute the complex maneuvers Jace had outlined the Maester to teach.

When you landed, the ground felt solid beneath your boots, a welcome contrast to the swirling winds of the sky. Addam and Ulf followed closely, their expressions reflecting a mix of relief and exhaustion. Ulf’s face was flushed, but his dragon seemed to have calmed, at least for now.

Jace approached, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a lilac hue to them. You braced yourself for the usual barrage of criticism, but to your surprise, he merely nodded, his face a mask of contemplative silence. 

You held back a prideful smile as his attention turned to the Maester’s corrections on Ulf’s pronunciation to help him control his dragon, knowing that you’d exceeded Jace’s expectations. 

________

Jace couldn’t sleep.

The night was restless, a tumult of thoughts and emotions swirling within him. He lay in his chambers, the heavy tapestries of Dragonstone’s stone walls casting long shadows across the room. He tossed and turned, the silken sheets tangling around him as if trying to restrain the turmoil within.

His mind replayed the day’s events on an endless loop. The sight of you, mounted atop Vermithor with such ease and grace, had struck him with an unexpected intensity. It was a raw, unsettling mix of admiration and envy. Your fluid movements in the sky, so effortless, contrasted sharply with the years of struggle he had endured to achieve the same mastery. It wasn’t just your skill that unsettled him – it was the ease with which you seemed to command the dragon, the naturalness of it.

Jace’s fingers clutched the bedclothes tightly, his knuckles white. The image of your silver hair cascading like a waterfall behind you, the fierce determination in your eyes as you navigated the winds, ignited a fire within him. 

It was a fire that he was unprepared for, one that was fueled by a mix of desire and frustration. 

He thought of your beauty, how it shone even in the harsh light of training. You were everything he was not. A dragonrider born of Targaryen blood, your claim was untainted by the bitterness of his own struggles. His mind was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions – an ugly, fierce jealousy tempered by a begrudging respect.

The ache of his own inadequacy gnawed at him. The more he scrutinized you, the more his insecurities surfaced. You were the embodiment of everything he could never be – confident in your heritage, untarnished by doubts. It was a cruel irony that you, an illegitimate Targaryen, could be so effortlessly perfect in a role that he had fought so hard to master.

Jace's breathing became uneven as he imagined the way you had ridden Vermithor, the way you’d handled the dragon with an ease he had once yearned for. The sight had stirred something primal within him, a frustration that was both physical and emotional. 

He could feel the heat rising in his body, his mind unwilling to acknowledge the true nature of the desire that had taken root. In a moment of reckless abandon, Jace’s hand drifted beneath the sheets, his touch unsteady as he tried to quell the overwhelming sensation. 

His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm echoing the throbbing ache between his legs. He was painfully aware of how the sight of you had roused such an intense response, one that he could neither ignore nor fully comprehend.

The more he thought about you – your commanding presence on the dragon, your fierce retorts, the way you had held your own against his relentless testing – the more his frustration mounted. 

Jace’s hand grew more insistent, his movements fueled by a mixture of anger and longing. The room seemed to close in around him, the cool breeze from the window doing little to soothe the heated tumult within. 

He cursed under his breath, the sound of his voice mingling with the soft rustle of sheets and the distant, rhythmic crash of the waves against Dragonstone’s cliffs. A quiet moan left his mouth as he tried to angrily remind himself to stop thinking about you.

His efforts were useless. 

His thoughts wandered to how you would look and feel under his own hands. The combination of tactile details – the smoothness of the leather riding attire, the grip of the gloves, the precise knot of your hair – created a vivid, tantalizing picture that his mind couldn’t escape.

It was a cruel irony that what drew him to you with such fervor was also what separated you from him. 

Eventually, the intense heat inside of him subsided, leaving him with a deep, uncomfortable emptiness. Jace laid back, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and stared at the darkened ceiling. The overwhelming urge to understand the complex emotions he had experienced gnawed at him, but for now, he was left with the stark reality of the night’s revelations. 

The shadows on the walls seemed to mock him with their silent judgment.

He finally closed his eyes, trying to silence the storm within. The echo of your voice, the sharpness of your defiance, and the image of you riding Vermithor continued to dance at the edges of his consciousness. Sleep came reluctantly, a fitful rest punctuated by dreams that blurred the line between reality and the fantasies his mind could not fully grasp.

________

The following morning dawned gray and dreary, the sky a brooding expanse of clouds that mirrored the restless turbulence of Jace’s mind. You awoke feeling the weight of the previous day’s exhaustion and frustration still heavy on your shoulders. Sleep had been elusive, leaving you with a vague sense of unease that clung to you as you dressed in your training clothes.

Dragonstone seemed to groan under the oppressive weight of the clouds. As you made your way through the castle's winding corridors, your boots echoed loudly against the cold stone. The chill in the air made the castle feel even more somber, its narrow hallways and flickering torchlight adding to the oppressive atmosphere. You braced yourself for the day ahead, knowing that Jace’s scrutiny would likely be even sharper after yesterday’s performance.

Your breath misted in front of you as you took in the scene – Addam and Ulf were already there, their dragons waiting nearby. Ulf looked more subdued than usual, his face a mixture of apprehension and exhaustion.

Addam’s eyes met yours with a nod of encouragement. “Good Morrow,” he said, his voice carrying a note of camaraderie despite the weather.

“Morning,” you replied, your voice subdued. The cool air bit at your cheeks, and you could see the steam rising from the dragons’ nostrils as they shifted impatiently.

Jace appeared at the edge of the training grounds, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked with purpose. His gaze swept over the assembled dragonseeders, his expression unreadable. You noticed a subtle shift in his demeanor, a stiffness in his posture that spoke of inner turmoil.

The Maester, joined by one of the guards, called the group to attention with a sharp, commanding tone. “Today, we’ll be working on endurance and control. Dragons are powerful, but they are not invincible. You need to be able to ride them through the worst conditions, maintain your composure, and execute your orders flawlessly.”

The rain began to fall more heavily, drumming against the stone and making the practice swords slick and unwieldy. Jace’s eyes flickered to you, a brief flash of something that might have been residual frustration or something more.

“Pair up,” Jace instructed. “Addam, you’re with Ulf. I’ll work with you.”

You felt a mix of apprehension and determination at his command. Addam and Ulf moved to their positions, their dragons snorting and stamping in the growing downpour. Jace approached, his demeanor as stern as ever.

“Ready?” he asked, though his voice carried a note of distraction. 

You nodded, gripping your practice sword tightly. “Ready, Your Grace.”

Jace’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, and you couldn’t quite read the expression in them. Then, without further ceremony, he lunged forward with surprising speed. The wet ground made each movement more challenging, and you found yourself slipping and struggling to keep your footing.

Jace’s attacks were relentless, his wooden sword a blur of motion. You fought to maintain your balance, your arms burning with the effort to parry his strikes. The rain pelted down, making it difficult to see clearly and adding an extra layer of difficulty to the already grueling exercise.

Jace shouted over the roar of the rain. “You need to adapt to the conditions. You can’t afford to be thrown off by a little water.”

You gritted your teeth, pushing through the discomfort. Each parry was a battle in itself, the wet sword slipping in your grip, the muddy ground threatening to send you sprawling. Jace’s intensity didn’t waver, and you could feel the weight of his expectations pressing down on you once again.

As the minutes ticked by, exhaustion began to set in. Your movements grew sluggish, your grip on the sword less sure. Jace seemed to sense your fatigue, and his strikes became more focused, each one designed to test your limits.

“Steady,” he said, his voice cutting through the rain with a fierce edge.

You knew he was right, and you pushed yourself harder, fighting through the rain and mud to meet his relentless assault. The clashing of swords, the splashing of rain, and the shouting of commands became a cacophony that drowned out everything else.

Finally, with a final, decisive strike, Jace knocked your sword from your hand, sending it skittering across the ground, he took a step forward, accidentally causing you to slip on the muddy floor. The practice sword at your throat was a cold, wet reminder of your defeat as well as your now soaked and dirtied skirts.

“Dead,” Jace said, repeating his words from the other week, his voice heavy with a mixture of frustration and something else that you couldn’t quite place. “And your dragon left riderless.”

You sat there, drenched and panting, as Jace stepped back. The rain streamed down your face, mingling with the sweat and mud. Your chest heaved with exertion, but you refused to let the frustration show. Your stomach burnt with rage, seeing Jace’s defeat as mocking, like all of his tests seemingly focused on only you for the past weeks.

Jace’s eyes softened ever so slightly, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something in them – perhaps an understanding, pity, or a grudging respect. 

Feeling the Maester’s eyes on him, he extended his hand out for you to grab. 

You looked up at Jace, your breath coming in heavy, visible puffs against the rain-slicked sky. His hand extended toward you, glistening with raindrops and a subtle, yet unexpected gentleness. The muddy ground beneath you was cold and unforgiving, and you hesitated for a moment, fighting the surge of anger and frustration that had been building inside you.

With a deep breath, you reached out and grasped his hand. His grip was firm, and he pulled you up with surprising strength. As you stood, the rain continued to pelt down, streaming off your hair and soaking your clothes. Jace’s eyes remained locked on yours, and you could sense the conflict swirling within him.

"Thank you, Your Grace," you said, your voice steady despite the exhaustion and lingering anger. There was an edge to your tone, but you forced yourself to keep it respectful.

Jace’s breath heaved, matching your panting in exhaustion. His fingers lingered on yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the contact fleeting yet unexpectedly warm. The touch was gone almost as quickly as it had come, and he pulled his hand back abruptly, as if struck by the realization of the gesture.

Jace cleared his throat, his voice regaining its authoritative edge. “Best get cleaned up before our leave at dawn.”

In the warmth of the castle, you peeled off your drenched garments, the cold air of the corridor biting at your damp skin. The sound of the rain became a distant murmur as you headed toward your quarters, where a hot bath awaited you. The steam rising from the water seemed to promise a moment of solace, a brief escape from the relentless pressure of your training.

You sank into the bath with a sigh, the warmth enveloping you like a comforting embrace. The heat helped to soothe your aching muscles and eased the sting of the rain-soaked bruises that marred your skin. As you soaked, the events of the day replayed in your mind. Jace’s stern demeanor, his seemingly endless expectations, and the fleeting touch of his hand all jostled for attention in your thoughts.

The knock at your door was almost imperceptible, but it was enough to rouse you from your reverie. It startled you from your thoughts, and you quickly rose from the bath, wrapping yourself in a simple, damp robe. The warmth of the water still clung to your skin, but the cold air of the castle’s corridors nipped at your exposed shoulders.

You padded to the door, the sound of the rain growing louder in your ears as you approached. Thinking it was your assigned handmaid, you swung open the door with expectation. The sight that greeted you, however, was far from what you had anticipated.

Jace stood in the doorway, his cloak still damp from the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. His eyes met yours, and for a brief, disconcerting moment, the stern facade you had come to expect softened, revealing something more vulnerable beneath.

“Your Grace?” You stammered, confusion and surprise evident in your voice. You instinctively tightened the robe around yourself, the simple garment feeling inadequate against the unexpected intrusion.

Jace’s eyes flickered over you, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze. He cleared his throat, not meeting your gaze. “I wanted to speak with you,” he said, his voice more subdued than usual. “I assume now is not a good time?”

At your silence, he cleared his throat again, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll come back later if now is not the best time.”

You hesitated, your mind racing to reconcile the image of the harsh, demanding instructor with this more vulnerable figure standing in front of you. 

“No, it’s… it’s alright,” you said, your voice wavering slightly. You stepped back to let him in, the act feeling both awkward and oddly intimate. “Please, come in.”

Jace entered, his movements measured and deliberate. He glanced around the modest quarters, the flickering light from the single candle casting long shadows on the walls. The steam from the bath still lingered, adding a sense of warmth to the otherwise chilly room.

His back was to you as you shut the door behind you, you took your chance to fix your robe again. 

As Jace turned to face you, his eyes briefly flickered over your form before quickly averting his gaze. The silence between you was thick with tension, broken only by the steady patter of rain against the windows.

"I..." Jace began, then paused, seeming to struggle with his words. "I wanted to speak with you about today's training."

You nodded, maintaining a careful distance between you. "What about it, Your Grace?"

Jace's jaw clenched, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words. "I may have been... overly harsh," he finally said, the admission clearly costing him.

You felt a flicker of surprise at his words, but it was quickly overshadowed by the frustration that had been building for weeks. "Overly harsh?" you repeated, your voice taking on an edge. "Is that what you call it?"

Jace's eyes snapped to yours, a hint of his usual fire returning. "I'm trying to apologize," he said, his tone sharpening.

"Are you?" you countered, emboldened by the privacy of your quarters and the lingering warmth of the bath. "Because it sounds more like you're trying to justify yourself."

Jace took a step forward, his eyes flashing. "I'm doing what needs to be done to prepare you for war. Do you think our enemies will show mercy? Do you think they'll care about your feelings?"

"And what about you, Your Grace?" you shot back, your voice rising. "Do you care about our feelings? Or are we just weapons to be sharpened and discarded?"

Jace's face contorted with a mix of anger and something that looked almost like pain. "You don't understand," he said, his voice low and intense. "The responsibility, the weight of it all–"

"I understand more than you think," you interrupted, taking a step closer to him. "I understand that you're pushing us – pushing me – harder than anyone else. Why is that, Your Grace? What is it about me that threatens you so much?"

Jace's breath caught, his eyes widening slightly at your boldness. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, but instead, he seemed to deflate slightly.

"You don't know what it's like," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "To have everything you are questioned, to have to prove yourself every single day."

You felt a pang of sympathy, but your anger was still too fresh to let it go entirely. "And you think we don't?" you asked, gesturing to yourself. "You think being a bastard with a dragon makes life easy?"

Jace's eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of vulnerability in them. "You have what I've fought for my entire life," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "The Targaryen look, the natural bond with a dragon... it all comes so easily to you."

You shook your head, frustration building. "Easily? You think any of this has been easy? I've worked just as hard as you, Your Grace. The only difference is, I don't feel the need to tear others down to prove my worth."

Jace's eyes flashed dangerously. "You have no idea what I've been through, what I've had to endure–"

"And you have no idea what I've endured!" you shouted, your control finally snapping. "You've judged me from the moment I arrived, pushed me harder than anyone else, all because you see something in me that you can’t accept in yourself!" 

Your voice echoed through the small room, reverberating off the stone walls. The tension between you both was palpable, thick enough to cut through with a sword. Jace stood there, stunned by your outburst. His eyes burned with a mix of emotions – anger, frustration, and something deeper that you couldn't quite place.

He stepped closer, his face inches from yours. "And what exactly do you represent?" he growled.

"Everything you fear you're not," you said, your voice low and intense. 

Jace's breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you. Instead, he stood there, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on yours. The tension between you was palpable, a living thing that seemed to crackle in the air.

"You know nothing about me," Jace said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"And you know nothing about me," you replied, matching his intensity. "Yet you've judged me, pushed me, tried to break me. Why, Your Grace? What are you so afraid of?"

Jace's eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something – doubt, perhaps, or a hint of remorse. But then his walls slammed back into place, his expression hardening.

"This conversation is over," he said, his voice cold. "I expect to see you ready to depart at dawn."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of your quarters, leaving you standing there, your emotions a tumultuous storm. As the door slammed shut behind him, you let out a shaky breath, the weight of the confrontation settling over you like a heavy cloak.

You sank onto your bed, your mind reeling from the intensity of the argument. Despite the lingering anger and frustration, you couldn't shake the image of Jace's eyes in that final moment – the vulnerability you'd glimpsed, the pain that seemed to lurk beneath his harsh exterior.

________

As the first light of dawn crept over Dragonstone's craggy peaks, you stood at the edge of the castle's courtyard, your breath misting in the cool morning air. The events of the previous night weighed heavily on your mind, the echoes of your heated exchange with Jace still ringing in your ears. You adjusted the straps of your riding gear, trying to focus on the task at hand rather than the turmoil of emotions swirling within you.

The sound of approaching footsteps made you stiffen. You didn't need to turn to know who it was; Jace's presence was unmistakable, carrying with it a weight of unspoken tension.

"Your Grace," you said, your voice carefully neutral as you turned to face him.

Jace stood before you, his dark eyes unreadable. The vulnerability you'd glimpsed the night before was gone, replaced by his usual mask of princely composure. Yet there was something different in the way he carried himself, a subtle shift that you couldn't quite place.

"Are you prepared for the journey?" he asked, his tone clipped and professional.

You nodded, meeting his gaze steadily. "Yes, Your Grace. Vermithor and I are ready."

For a moment, Jace's eyes flickered to the dragon behind you, a mix of emotions flashing across his face too quickly for you to decipher. When he looked back at you, there was a hint of something almost like respect in his gaze.

"Good," he said, his voice softening slightly. "We have a long flight ahead of us. Stay close to the formation and be prepared for anything."

You couldn't help but notice the absence of his usual harsh criticism, the lack of a cutting remark about your abilities or your place among the dragonriders. It was a small change, but a noticeable one.

"Of course, Your Grace," you replied, surprised by the lack of hostility in your own voice.

Jace opened his mouth as if to say something more, then closed it, seemingly thinking better of it. Instead, he gave a curt nod and turned to address the rest of the group.

As he walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you. The tension was still there, crackling beneath the surface, but it felt different now – charged with a new kind of energy that you couldn't quite name.

You mounted Vermithor, settling into the familiar grooves of his scales. As you waited for the signal to depart, your eyes were drawn once again to Jace. He stood tall and proud, every inch the prince and leader, but now you could see the weight he carried, the pressure that bore down on his young shoulders.

As the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, Jace gave the signal. With a powerful thrust of his wings, Vermithor launched into the air, and you felt the familiar rush of exhilaration as the ground fell away beneath you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden gust of wind that buffeted Vermithor, causing him to dip slightly. You instinctively tightened your grip, leaning into the dragon's movements to help him stabilize. As you regained your balance, you caught Jace looking back at you, a flicker of concern crossing his face before he quickly turned away.

The journey continued in relative silence, broken only by the occasional shout of a command or the distant rumble of thunder. You knew you were heading towards enemy territory, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold air rushing past you.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, Jace signaled for the group to descend. You guided Vermithor down, following the lead of the other dragons. The clearing Jace had chosen was small, barely large enough to accommodate all the dragons, but it was well-hidden by a thick canopy of trees.

You dismounted, your legs stiff from hours of riding. As you stretched, trying to work out the kinks in your muscles, you noticed Jace approaching. His face was set in its usual stern expression, but there was a hesitancy in his steps that you hadn't seen before.

"We'll camp here for the night," he announced to the group. "Set up a perimeter and tend to your dragons. We move out again at first light."

As the others busied themselves with their tasks, Jace's eyes met yours. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension from the night before hanging in the air between you.

"Your flying has improved," Jace said finally, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "You handled that wind gust well."

The compliment, small as it was, caught you off guard. "Thank you, Your Grace," you replied, searching his face for any hint of mockery or condescension. But his expression remained neutral, almost carefully so.

He nodded, straightening his posture before walking towards Addam, who was already working on the makeshift tents.

The night settled in around the camp, the sounds of the forest a constant backdrop to the low murmur of conversation and the occasional snort or rumble from the dragons. You found yourself unable to sleep, your mind too active with thoughts of the day's journey and the impending dangers that lay ahead.

You sat up, wrapping your cloak tightly around you against the chill night air. The embers of the campfire glowed softly, casting long shadows across the clearing. Your eyes were drawn to the edge of the camp, where a solitary figure stood silhouetted against the starry sky.

Jace.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you rose and made your way towards him. He turned at the sound of your approach, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword before recognizing you.

"Your Grace," you said softly, coming to stand beside him. "I hope I'm not intruding."

Jace shook his head, his gaze returning to the darkness beyond the camp. "No," he replied, his voice equally quiet. "I couldn't sleep either."

You stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. Finally, you gathered your courage and spoke.

"About last night," you began, but Jace cut you off with a raised hand.

"We don't need to discuss it," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "What's done is done."

You nodded, accepting his words but feeling a twinge of disappointment. Part of you had hoped to clear the air, to perhaps reach some kind of understanding.

Jace's profile was cast in a soft glow, the shadows accentuating the lines of his face. His eyes, usually so hard and unreadable, now seemed softer, more contemplative. The silence between you stretched, heavy with the weight of your mutual regrets. 

"It's beautiful here," you said softly, almost to yourself. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting pale silver patterns on the ground. "Hard to believe we're heading into battle tomorrow."

Jace glanced at you, his expression softer than you'd ever seen. "It's always like this before a fight," he murmured. "The calm before the storm. It makes you appreciate the small things… even if just for a moment."

You could feel the weight of his words, the weariness of a young man who had seen too much, felt too much. Despite your differences, despite everything that had passed between you, you found yourself wanting to offer him something, anything that might ease that burden.

“I apologize for my tone yesterday, it is no proper way to speak to the prince.”

He didn’t meet your eyes as he shook his head, grip tightening on the sword on his side. “My anger was misplaced.” 

Jace's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, the darkness beyond the campfire's reach seemingly mirroring his own internal struggles. His shoulders were squared, but there was a weariness in his posture that spoke of more than just the physical exhaustion of the day's journey.

"I shouldn't have pushed you so hard," Jace said after a long pause, his voice carrying a rough edge.

You turned to him, studying his profile in the dim light. There was a rawness to his admission, a vulnerability that seemed out of place against the backdrop of his usual princely demeanor. "We all have our burdens to bear," you said quietly.

Jace's gaze dropped to the ground, and for a moment, the shadows of the forest seemed to swallow him whole. 

The shadows around you deepened as Jace stood silent, his expression lost in thought. The night air was cool, tinged with the earthy scent of the forest and the faint crackle of the dying campfire. The weight of unspoken words hung between you, thickening the silence.

Jace finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he were confessing something he had kept buried for too long. "I've been told all my life that I must be strong, that weakness isn't an option for someone in my position. But the truth is, strength comes at a cost. It... it's lonely."

The admission caught you off guard, revealing a side of him you had never truly seen before. He was the prince, a leader, someone who had always seemed so unyielding, so focused on his duty. But beneath that armor, there was a young man who had been forced to grow up too quickly, who had been carrying the weight of expectation for as long as he could remember.

"You don't have to bear it alone," you said softly, your voice filled with an earnestness that surprised even you. "We may be warriors, but we’re also human. We can be strong and still lean on each other. That doesn't make us weak; it makes us stronger."

Jace's gaze lifted to meet yours, and for the first time, you saw the flicker of something in his eyes – relief, perhaps, or gratitude. It was subtle, but it was there, a crack in the armor he had worn for so long.

"I'm not used to this," he admitted, his voice low and uncertain. "Letting people in. Trusting them with... with more than just my commands."

"You don't have to trust everyone with everything. Just... start small. We’re all here for the same reason, facing the same dangers."

Jace looked away, his jaw tightening as he considered your words. The silence stretched between you again, but it was different now – less tense, more reflective.

"I pushed you harder because I saw potential in you," he finally said, his tone more measured. "The silver-haired Targaryen bastard girl who claimed Vermithor." he quoted the whispers that ran in the towns and the halls about you.

He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I don’t have the hair or the eyes that mark our bloodline. I don’t look like them, not like you do. And because of that, some people question whether I truly belong – whether I’m really worthy of the name 'Targaryen.' Even if they don't say it outright, I see it in their eyes, hear it in the way they speak to me."

Jace's words resonated with a deep-seated pain, one that came from being constantly measured against a standard he could never fully meet. You could see the struggle etched into his features, the way his identity had been chipped away by years of doubts and whispers. You grew up with the same feeling.

"I’ve had to fight for every shred of respect I’ve earned," he continued, his voice growing rougher, more raw. 

He glanced at you then, his eyes holding a flicker of vulnerability, as though he was finally letting you see the part of himself he had kept hidden from everyone else. "You, with your Targaryen look, your natural bond with Vermithor – everything that was supposed to be mine by birthright, you have. And I envy you for it.”

His gaze flickered to yours, searching for sincerity in your words. There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath. “It made me push you harder, made me want to test your limits. For that, I apologize.”

You listened, the raw honesty in his voice catching you off guard. Jace, the ever-stern prince who seemed unshakeable, was confessing something deeply personal. His envy, his insecurities – they were laid bare before you, revealing a man struggling to reconcile his sense of duty with his own humanity.

"I never wanted to outshine you, Your Grace," you replied softly, your tone gentler now. "I’ve only ever wanted to do my part, to prove that I belong here, just like you. We’re all fighting the same battles, even if they look different."

Jace's shoulders sagged slightly, as though the weight of his burdens had grown heavier with his admission. But there was also a sense of release, like a pressure valve slowly easing open. He took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

His frustration flared for a moment, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. How could you compare your childhood to his? How could you understand what it was like to have your very claim to the throne questioned every day of your life, simply because of illegitimacy? 

But then he stopped himself, the sharp retort dying on his tongue. He looked at you more closely, taking in your beauty. Your silver hair, once a source of pride for those who bore it, had become a symbol of isolation for you. It marked you as different, as other, just as his dark hair had marked him. The whispers, the sidelong glances, the subtle digs – perhaps they weren’t so different after all. 

He wondered if you, too, had tried to hide your hair when you were younger. Had you ever thought of cutting it off, of trying to blend in, just to avoid the stares and the whispers – just like he had? 

His anger faded, replaced by a quiet understanding that settled deep within him. Before he could speak again, you interrupted. 

“Your eyes have a pecs of lilac in them,”

Your words hung in the air between you, soft and unexpected, like a breeze that carries away the last remnants of a storm. Jace blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in topic. He hadn’t expected you to notice such a small detail, let alone comment on it. His eyes – his Targaryen eyes, though dark – held traces of that lineage in their depths, a subtle glimmer of lilac that hinted at the blood he carried, despite what the whispers said.

He looked at you, truly looked at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you standing there under the stars. 

"You're the first to ever mention that," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of disbelief, as if he wasn’t sure whether to accept the observation as a compliment or a revelation.

The fire crackled softly behind you, casting flickering shadows across Jace's face. His fingers loosened their grip on the hilt of his sword, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding released.

“Lilac,” he repeated, almost to himself. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s barely noticeable,” you replied, your voice equally soft. “But it’s there.”

Jace’s lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close enough to hint at one. His gaze held yours, the distance between you shrinking as the night deepened around the camp. His eyes, once guarded and stern, now softened as he processed your words. It was as if that small observation, something so easily overlooked, had breached the walls he had spent years constructing.

"You seem to see things others don't," he murmured, his voice almost lost in the whispering wind.

You shrugged your shoulders, you eased yourself down beside the campfire, the warmth of the embers a welcome contrast to the chill of the night air. Jace settled next to you, the earlier tension between you seeming to dissipate into the quiet intimacy of the moment. The firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that played across the forest clearing.

You started talking about the following day, the conversation slipping into the familiar rhythms of strategy and preparation. Jace listened intently, nodding as you discussed potential scenarios and contingencies. The wariness between you had faded, replaced by a shared focus on the task ahead. 

The warmth of the fire, coupled with the soothing hum of Jace's presence, began to weave a calming spell over you. Your words grew softer, more hesitant, and the exhaustion of the day began to take its toll. You found yourself leaning slightly against Jace, the weight of your head coming to rest on his shoulder. He did not move away, allowing the small gesture of closeness that had begun to form between you.

Jace’s body, though tense from the day’s travel and the weight of his responsibilities, seemed to relax as you drifted into sleep. His breathing evened out, and the night seemed to embrace you both, holding you in a fragile moment of peace.

The warmth of the campfire, combined with the gentle rise and fall of Jace’s breath, lulled you into a deep sleep. You were unaware of how the hours passed, lost in dreams that seemed to blend with the soft glow of the embers and the subtle presence of the prince beside you.

But the peaceful interlude was not to last. The sound of Ulf’s unmistakable voice pierced through your dreams, a sharp and playful contrast to the calm of the night. His voice was loud and mocking, carrying the unmistakable cadence of someone who reveled in mischief.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the prince and his shadow, all cozy by the fire!” Ulf's voice carried a teasing edge. “Should I come back later, or are you two planning on making this a nightly tradition?”

You stirred, blinking awake to find yourself still nestled against Jace, whose own eyes fluttered open with a groggy confusion. The warmth of the campfire seemed to have been replaced by a rush of embarrassment as you quickly disentangled yourself from Jace’s side.

Jace looked at you, his face a mix of surprise and embarrassment, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. You straightened yourself, trying to regain your composure, while Ulf’s laughter continued to reverberate through the clearing.

You shot Ulf a look, your cheeks flushing slightly. “Ulf, must you be so loud?”

Ulf’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the reaction he’d provoked.

Jace cleared his throat, a more serious expression returning to his face as he rose from the ground. “Enough, Ulf. We have a long day ahead of us. Let’s focus on the tasks at hand.”

You exchanged a glance with Jace, the earlier intimacy of the night still lingering in your thoughts, even as the responsibilities of the day pressed upon you. Almost immediately, you got up to stand next to a readied Addam, his battle armor already on, a sword smaller than Jace’s hanging from his hip.

The camp was abuzz with activity as the dragonriders geared up for the impending battle. Dragons roared and snorted, their breath forming clouds in the chilly air. Jace moved among his men with purpose, his usual commanding presence restored. He glanced at you occasionally, his gaze unreadable but not unkind.

The journey to the enemy stronghold was uneventful, the clouds rolling in thickly as if they, too, anticipated the day's violence. When you arrived at the battlefield, the sight was grim. The ground was churned into a muddy mess, dotted with the remnants of previous skirmishes.

You could see Jace at the forefront, his stance firm and resolute as he surveyed the battlefield. The sight of him, standing tall and unwavering despite the looming threat, stirred something within you.

Hours passed in battle, you could feel your arms and legs begin to pain in exhaustion, you were sure your hands would grow to be calloused because of the sword. You’d lost Addam, you realized, and Jace. You could only make out the figures and the armors of the men on your side, and yet there was no sight of your known faces.

As the battle raged on, you caught sight of Addam in a tight spot. He was surrounded by enemy forces, his movements increasingly desperate. Without a second thought, you signaled to Vermithor and descended toward him, determined to aid your comrade.

The sight of the enemy closing in on Addam made your heart race. You urged Vermithor into a steep dive, your focus entirely on clearing the way for Addam. In the chaos, a sudden burst of enemy fire caught you off guard. You tried to maneuver out of the way, but it was too late. The attack struck your side, sending a searing pain through you as you struggled to stay conscious.

You heard Addam's shout of alarm, saw his face twisted in concern as he fought off his attackers. With a grimace, you pushed through the pain, landing awkwardly near Addam and helping him fend off the enemy. The effort took everything you had, your vision blurring as blood seeped from the wound in your side.

By the time the immediate threat was subdued, Jace had arrived, his eyes scanning the battlefield before landing with the precision and authority of a seasoned leader. He saw you slumped against Addam, the blood staining your clothing, and his expression turned to one of furious concern.

________

"What were you thinking?" Jace's voice cut through the din of the tent the second your eyes opened, his tone harsh as he rushed to your side. "You could have been killed!"

You winced at the pain as Jace's hands gripped your shoulders, his eyes flashing with anger. "I was just trying to help Addam," you managed to say through gritted teeth, the adrenaline of battle fading, leaving only the sharp sting of your injury. 

Jace's face was a mask of frustration, his gaze shifting between you and Addam. "You’re not supposed to throw yourself into danger recklessly," he snapped. 

The intensity of his anger was palpable, and though it was directed at you, it was clear that it stemmed from a place of deep concern. 

Addam, now safe but visibly shaken, looked at you with a mix of gratitude and worry. "You didn’t have to do that," he said quietly, helping you to sit as the maesters were alerted of your awakening to tend to your wound.

Jace paced back and forth in the tent, his anger radiating off him in palpable waves. His earlier softness seemed to have evaporated, replaced by the stern, unyielding demeanor you'd grown accustomed to during your training.

"This is exactly what I've been trying to prevent," he snapped, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch. "Reckless behavior, disregard for orders, putting yourself in unnecessary danger. Did all those lessons mean nothing to you?"

You felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. The connection you'd felt with Jace by the campfire, the understanding you thought you'd reached, seemed to have vanished like smoke in the wind. His dark eyes, which had shown glimpses of warmth and vulnerability, now blazed with disappointment and frustration.

"Your Grace, I-" you began, but Jace cut you off with a harsh gesture.

"No excuses. You could have compromised the entire mission. Did you even consider the consequences?"

His words stung, each one feeling like a step backward in the relationship you'd hoped was improving. You lowered your gaze, unable to meet his intense stare. The progress you'd made, the understanding you thought you'd reached – it all seemed to have crumbled in the face of his renewed anger.

As the maesters entered to tend to your wounds, Jace turned away, his posture rigid with barely contained fury. You couldn't help but feel that you were right back where you'd started – a disappointment in his eyes, someone who couldn't be trusted to follow orders or make the right decisions.

The silence in the tent was thick with tension as the maesters worked on your wounds. You could feel Jace's presence, a storm of barely contained emotion, even with your eyes closed. The pain of your injury seemed almost secondary to the ache in your chest at his harsh words.

As the maesters finished their work, Jace dismissed them with a curt nod. You braced yourself, expecting another barrage of anger. Instead, you heard him let out a long, shaky breath.

"Do you have any idea..." he began, his voice lower now but still taut with emotion, "...what it would do to our cause if we lost you? What it would do to–" He cut himself off abruptly.

You opened your eyes, surprised by the shift in his tone. Jace stood with his back to you, his shoulders rigid, hands clenched at his sides. When he finally turned to face you, his expression was a complex mix of anger, fear, and something else you couldn't quite name.

"Your Grace," you said softly, wincing as you tried to sit up straighter. "I never meant to–"

"To what?" Jace interrupted, his voice rough. "To throw yourself into danger? To disregard everything I've tried to teach you?" He ran a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "You're more than just a soldier, more than just a dragonrider. You're..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle with his words.

You waited, heart pounding, as Jace visibly wrestled with his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost vulnerable.

"You're important," he said finally, meeting your eyes. "To the cause, to... to all of us. I can't have you risking yourself like that."

The admission hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You could see the conflict in Jace's eyes, the battle between his role as a leader and his personal feelings.

"I couldn't let Addam die," you said quietly. "Not when I could do something about it."

Jace's jaw clenched, but some of the anger seemed to drain out of him. He moved closer, sitting on the edge of your cot. "I understand that," he said, his voice low. "But we need you alive. I–" He hesitated, then continued, "I need you alive."

The intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. For a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this small, quiet space.

"I'm sorry for worrying you," you said softly. "But I'm not sorry for what I did."

Jace's lips twitched, almost forming a smile despite himself. "I know," he said, shaking his head. He reached out, hesitantly, and took your hand in his. 

You looked at your joined hands, then back up at Jace's face. The anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but it was tempered now by a deeper understanding, a connection that couldn't be easily broken.

As you looked at your joined hands and then back up at Jace's face, you could see the complex mix of emotions playing across his features. The anger that had initially flared was now tempered by concern, relief, and something deeper that made your heart quicken.

Jace's thumb absently traced circles on the back of your hand, the gentle touch at odds with the tension still evident in his posture. His eyes, dark with their hidden flecks of lilac, searched your face as if trying to memorize every detail.

"You should know better," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. 

The words were not the scolding you expected, but something softer, almost pleading. The gentle brush of his thumb against your skin sent a warmth through you that rivaled the heat of the fire that had crackled between you the night before. 

Jace’s gaze didn’t waver from yours, though a flicker of something – perhaps pride, perhaps something deeper – flickered in his eyes at your words. He shifted slightly, bringing his free hand to rest on the edge of the cot, as if steadying himself.

“You’re brave,” he said, his tone hushed, as though the words were not meant to be heard by anyone but you. “Too brave, perhaps. And too important to lose.”

The weight of his admission settled between you like a tangible thing. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but hold onto the connection that had formed between you, tenuous yet strong. 

His words, “I need you alive,” echoed in your mind, carrying a significance that went beyond the battlefield.

The harsh reality of your situation, the war raging outside, seemed to fade away as Jace leaned in closer. His hand tightened around yours, as if anchoring you both in this fragile moment. The heat from his body, the warmth of his breath as it fanned across your face, chased away the lingering cold from the injury and the battle.

And then, just as you thought he might say something more, something that would change everything, he leaned back slightly, releasing your hand with a reluctance that you could almost feel.

“You need to rest,” he said softly, the stern commander reasserting itself, though the gentleness in his tone remained. “We’ll talk more when you’re healed.”

You nodded, though a part of you longed to reach out and pull him back, to hold onto the moment that had passed between you. 

After what felt like hours of patching and cleaning your wounds, Jace had managed to slip through and speak with you. He refused to let you back into the battlefield – specially with a gash on your side – but when you insisted on the need for Vermithor’s advantage over the enemy, Jace had reluctantly agreed, but only after making you promise to stay airborne and avoid direct combat.

________

The battle was over, but the aftermath lay heavy on the land, a tapestry of mud and blood woven with the remnants of conflict. The once-vibrant battlefield was now a somber expanse, littered with the debris of war. Exhaustion clung to every soldier, every dragon, every inch of the ground. As you mounted Vermithor, the gash on your side throbbed with each movement, a sharp reminder of the earlier chaos.

Jace’s gaze was fixed on you, his eyes carrying an unspoken command. "You’re still too weak to fly alone," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument. "I’ll ride with you."

You wanted to protest, to assert your independence, but the weariness that settled deep in your bones made you reconsider. The sharp sting of pain with every shift in position, the bruising fatigue that had crept into your limbs, and the sight of Jace’s determined face all contributed to a reluctant acceptance of his offer.

As you climbed onto Vermithor’s back, Jace followed, settling himself behind you with a firm yet gentle touch. His warmth pressed against your back, a reminder of the closeness you had shared earlier. Vermax, with its deep green scales shimmering in the dimming light, followed closely behind, the dragon’s eyes scanning the horizon with a vigilant gaze.

The journey back to Dragonstone was slow, each beat of Vermithor’s powerful wings a measured rhythm that spoke of both strength and weariness. Jace’s arms were steady around your waist, his presence a solid anchor against the turbulent sea of exhaustion and pain. The rhythmic whoosh of the dragon’s wings was soothing, a constant and reassuring pulse that contrasted with the chaotic clamor of the battlefield.

Jace’s breath against your neck was warm and steady, a comforting presence that eased the sharp edges of your discomfort. Occasionally, his fingers would tighten slightly, a silent reminder that he was there, that he cared. The quiet between you was filled with an unspoken understanding, a deepening of the connection that had sparked amidst the chaos.

When Vermithor landed, the soft thud of his massive body against the earth was both grounding and comforting. Jace helped you dismount, his hands steady and careful as he guided you down. The pain in your side flared with the sudden shift in position, but the presence of Jace, his unwavering support, provided a solace that tempered the discomfort.

"You did well today," he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of both praise and relief. "We’ll get you patched up and then, you can rest."

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion in every fiber of your being. As the maesters took over, tending to your wound with practiced efficiency, Jace remained close, his presence a steady source of comfort amidst the flurry of activity. The tenderness in his eyes, the concern etched into his features, spoke more than words ever could.

Addam made it a point to stay by your side, along with Jace and a bored Ulf.

Jace’s gaze was unwavering, his attention split between the maesters and you. His expression was a complex blend of concern and relief. Each time you glanced up, you found his eyes fixed on you, offering silent encouragement. His earlier sternness had softened, replaced by a more personal, almost tender vigilance.

Addam lingered nearby, his face showing a blend of gratitude and worry. Ulf, as usual, was there too, leaning against a nearby pole with a smirk that seemed to suggest he found the whole situation amusing.

“Just a flesh wound,” Ulf quipped, trying to lighten the mood as he fiddled with a small dagger. “You should see the other guy.”

Jace shot Ulf a sharp look, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. “This isn’t a time for jokes, Ulf.”

“Just trying to make things less grim,” Ulf said with a shrug, though his voice lacked its usual bravado. “Can’t be all brooding and maudlin all the time.”

The maesters continued their work with a practiced efficiency, and soon enough, the immediate pain began to ebb. They wrapped your wound in clean bandages, applying a soothing ointment that smelled faintly of herbs. You winced slightly as they finished, but the relief was palpable.

Addam and Ulf were soon shooed out by Jace, who insisted on staying with you for a little while longer. The place was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of the halls. Jace sat beside your cot, his presence a calming constant as you drifted into a fitful sleep.

He stirred as you moved, his eyes moving to meet yours with a look of relieved affection. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice gentle and laced with concern.

“Better,” you replied, though your voice was hoarse. “Doesn’t hurt as much.”

Jace’s lips curled into a soft smile, though the exhaustion in his eyes was still evident. “That’s good.”

Jace’s smile was soft, a faint curve of his lips that warmed the exhaustion etched in his features. You could see the toll the weeks had taken on him – the weariness in his eyes, the lines of tension that hadn’t fully eased from his face. Yet, there was something else in his expression, a quiet relief, as if the sight of you awake and coherent had lifted a weight from his shoulders.

“Rest,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he feared disturbing the fragile peace that had settled over you both. “You need to regain your strength.”

You nodded, feeling the heaviness in your limbs, the dull throb in your side where the maesters had tended to your wound. The pain was still there, a constant reminder of the battle, but it had dulled to a manageable ache, thanks to their skilled hands and the calming presence of Jace at your side.

“Stay with me?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could think to hold them back.

Jace’s eyes softened further, a mix of tenderness and something deeper flickering in their depths. He didn’t answer right away, but the way he reached out, his hand finding yours and holding it gently, spoke volumes.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, his voice steady, unwavering. His thumb traced small circles on the back of your hand, a soothing gesture that matched the comforting rhythm of his breathing. “Not until you’re well, and even then...”

He trailed off, the sentence left unfinished, but the weight of his words lingered between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. Even then, he wouldn’t leave. Not unless you wanted him to.

The quiet that settled between you was different now, not the heavy silence of exhaustion and pain, but a peaceful, shared moment of understanding. The flickering light from the lantern cast soft shadows across Jace’s face, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes.

As your eyelids grew heavier, the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rise and fall of his breath, became the last things you were conscious of before sleep claimed you once more. You knew, even as you slipped into the depths of rest, that when you awoke, he would still be there. His presence was an anchor, grounding you in a world that had been so violently upheaved.

And when you did wake again, hours later, the first thing you saw was Jace, still by your side, his head bowed in sleep, yet his hand never letting go of yours.

You stirred, the movement bringing a sharp reminder of your injury, but the pain was more bearable now, the throbbing a distant murmur rather than the sharp, immediate agony of the previous day.

Jace’s head was still bowed, his dark hair falling in disheveled strands over his forehead. He looked peaceful in his slumber, the tension of the past days momentarily eased. His fingers were still wrapped around yours, a quiet testament to the unspoken promise of support that had lingered through the night.

You shifted slightly, careful not to disturb him, and he stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. There was a moment of disoriented surprise in his gaze, quickly replaced by a soft, relieved smile.

He shifted slightly, brushing his hair back with his free hand. You tried to sit up a little, but the movement brought a wince of discomfort.

“Careful,” Jace said quickly, his hand tightening around yours. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

You nodded, sinking back into the pillows with a grateful sigh. 

“The maesters said you’ll need a stick to support you while you heal,” he repeated, glancing briefly at the corner of the room where a simple wooden staff leaned against the wall. “It’s just a precaution, but it should help ease the strain on your injury.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, squeezing Jace’s hand gently..

Jace’s eyes softened at your touch, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a comforting rhythm. “I owe you many apologies” he said quietly.

The words seemed to carry a weight that went beyond the simple apology, touching on something deeper and more profound. “For the way I’ve treated you these past months.”

You blinked, surprised by the confession, but the sincerity in his voice was undeniable. You could see the turmoil reflected in his eyes, the shadows of frustration and regret that spoke of unspoken battles fought within himself.

“I’ve been... difficult,” Jace continued, his voice faltering slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “I let my envy and confusion cloud my judgment. I saw what you could do, what you were capable of, and instead of acknowledging it, I let my insecurities get in the way.”

You squeezed his hand gently, the gesture meant to offer comfort as he navigated his feelings. His admission was unexpected, but it spoke of a profound self-awareness and a willingness to confront his own failings.

“I was jealous,” he admitted, his voice growing quieter, almost lost amidst the soft rustle of the room. “And I didn’t know how to reconcile that with... what I felt.”

There was a raw honesty in his confession that made your heart ache. The realization that Jace’s harshness had stemmed from his own internal struggles added a layer of complexity to your understanding of him. It wasn’t just a matter of respect or authority – it was deeply personal.

You took a deep breath, letting his words settle within you. The apology was unexpected, but it was a crucial step toward understanding the shifting dynamics between you. The revelation of his jealousy and confusion didn’t excuse his actions, but it did offer a window into the complexity of his emotions.

Jace’s fingers tightened around yours as you spoke, the weight of your words mingling with the burden of his own revelations. The flickering lantern light cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the vulnerability that had become so evident in his gaze.

“I didn’t understand why you were so hard on me,” you continued, your voice steady despite the pain. “I felt like I was always under scrutiny, like my every move was being judged.”

“I know that my actions hurt you,” he continued, his voice soft yet firm. “And I regret that deeply.”

You let his words sink in, feeling the truth of them settle within you. There was still a part of you that carried the hurt from those months of tension and misunderstanding, but Jace’s willingness to confront his own flaws and his desire to make amends touched something deep inside you.

“I’m not asking for forgiveness right away,” he added, his voice a gentle murmur. “But I hope you’ll be able to see that I’m trying to change.”

You squeezed his hand again with a small nod of your head, his fingers moved to trace patterns over yours. 

________

The pain from your wound had dulled to a manageable ache, but the stiffness in your side reminded you of its presence with every movement. When you attempted to rise from your cot, the wooden staff Jace had spoken of the night before was already by your side, a silent companion to aid your steps.

You reached for it, and just as your fingers closed around the polished wood, Addam’s familiar face appeared by the door. 

“Morrow,” he said, his voice gentle as he offered his arm for support. “Council’s called. They want you there.”

You nodded, the weight of the day settling on your shoulders. “Help me up?”

With Addam’s help, you eased yourself to your feet, gripping the staff tightly as you found your balance. Your wound protested the movement, but you swallowed the discomfort, knowing that there was no time to indulge in weakness.

As you made your way to the council, each step was deliberate, measured by the steady rhythm of your staff tapping against the ground. Addam’s presence beside you was a comfort, his hand hovering near your elbow in case you faltered. 

The council tent was already filled with the familiar faces of your comrades. The air inside was thick with the weight of decisions yet to be made, the tension palpable as discussions buzzed low and serious. Jace stood near the center, his back straight and his demeanor composed, though his eyes softened when they found you.

“Glad you could join us,” he said quietly as you approached, his gaze flickering briefly to your staff before returning to your face. There was no trace of the vulnerability he’d shown you the night before, but you could sense the shift in his demeanor, a gentleness that hadn’t been there before.

You nodded in response, taking your place at the table with a small sigh of relief as you eased into the chair. The council members turned their attention to you, the murmurs quieting as they awaited your input.

One of the older commanders spoke first, his voice gruff yet tinged with concern. “Given your injury, it’s too risky to have you ride Vermithor into battle. We need you to recover fully before you’re back in the field.”

The words, though pragmatic, carried a sting of frustration. You’d always been one to lead from the front, to be where the action was fiercest. But you also knew that, in your current state, pushing yourself too hard could lead to greater harm.

“What do you suggest?” you asked, your tone even despite the undercurrent of disappointment.

Jace stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. “There’s another task we need handled – something that doesn’t involve direct combat but is crucial to our strategy. We’ve received reports that the mood among the smallfolk in King’s Landing has been... shifting. We need to gather information on their sentiments, to understand what’s happening within the city walls.”

You frowned slightly, considering the implications. The smallfolk’s loyalty could be a powerful force, swaying the tides of public opinion and, by extension, the decisions of those in power. If unrest was brewing in King’s Landing, it could be both an opportunity and a threat.

“And you want me to go to King’s Landing?” you asked, the weight of the task settling in your chest.

Jace nodded, his gaze steady on yours. “You and I will go together.”

You held back the smallest of smiles that urged to show on your face at the thought of being paired up with Jace again, this time in a more calm setting. 

A murmur of agreement passed through the council, and the meeting continued with discussions of logistics and preparations for the journey. Jace remained close, his presence a steadying force as the details were ironed out.

As the council dispersed, and you found yourself standing once more with the support of your staff, Jace lingered beside you. 

“If you feel it’s too arduous, you must rest.” he said softly, his concern evident even through his professional demeanor. “We’ll take it slowly. I’d rather have you well than risk aggravating your injury.”

You nodded, appreciating the care in his voice. “I’ll manage,” you assured him, though the stiffness in your side was a persistent reminder of your limits.

The pre-dawn air was crisp as you and Jace prepared for your covert mission to King's Landing. You both donned simple, nondescript clothing, far removed from your usual attire. Over these, you draped heavy cloaks with deep hoods, the fabric rough but ideal for blending in with common folk.

Jace handed you a length of cloth, his eyes meeting yours briefly. "For your face," he explained, demonstrating by wrapping a similar piece around the lower half of his own face. 

You took the cloth from him, your fingers brushing against his as you did. The touch was fleeting, but it carried a spark that sent a subtle shiver down your spine. The intimacy of the moment, the proximity of his body to yours, made your heart race. You felt the warmth of his breath against your cheek as he helped you adjust the cloth, and the proximity stirred a deep, unexpected longing.

The cloth was soft and slightly coarse, its earthy hue blending with the dark colors of your cloak. Jace’s fingers were gentle as he wrapped it around your face, his touch both firm and tender. You could feel the heat of his body radiating against your side, a stark contrast to the cool morning air.

As he finished securing the cloth, his hands lingered just a moment longer than necessary, his fingers grazing the edges of the fabric with a lingering touch that made your breath hitch. His face was close to yours, his eyes focused intently on the task at hand, yet you could sense the subtle intensity in his gaze.

"There," he said softly, his voice carrying a reassuring warmth. "Now we’re ready."

You nodded, trying to steady your racing heartbeat. The closeness of his presence was intoxicating, and you struggled to mask the flush that crept up your cheeks. The brush of his fingers, the warmth of his breath, it all conspired to make the moment feel charged and intimate.

Jace stepped back, his eyes sweeping over you with a quick, assessing glance. The softness in his gaze was tinged with something more, something that mirrored the emotions roiling within you. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken feelings and a shared understanding.

With a final nod, you both made your way to the stables. Jace mounted Vermax first, then extended his hand to help you up. You settled behind him on the saddle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his waist for security.

"Hold on tight," Jace murmured, his body tense against yours as Vermax spread his wings. “Tap my shoulder if you’re hurting.”

With a powerful leap, Vermax took to the air. The sudden rush of wind threatened to tear away your hood, but you held it in place with one hand, the other still firmly gripped around Jace. As Dragonstone fell away beneath you, the vastness of the sea stretched out ahead.

The journey was mostly silent, the wind too loud for easy conversation. But there was a palpable tension in the way Jace's body remained rigid, alert to any potential danger. Your own senses were heightened, aware of every shift of the dragon beneath you and every subtle movement of Jace's body.

As you and Jace approached the gates of King's Landing on foot, having left Vermax far behind, the bustling crowds provided excellent cover. You both adjusted your disguises one last time, exchanging a nervous glance.

"You feeling alright?" Jace murmured, his voice low.

You nodded, feeling a flutter of nervous energy. As you joined the flow of people entering the city, you stayed close to Jace, your shoulders occasionally brushing. The guards at the gate seemed bored and distracted, barely glancing at the steady stream of travelers.

Jace placed a protective hand on your lower back as you passed through the gate, guiding you forward. The touch, though brief, sent a jolt through you. You caught his eye, seeing a flicker of something intense in his gaze before he looked away.

Once inside, you both breathed a sigh of relief, stepping to the side of the busy street. Jace leaned in close, ostensibly to adjust your cloak, but his proximity made your heart race.

“We should make a stop at a tavern first, so you can sit. Maybe have something to refresh ourselves with.”

Jace guided you with practiced ease, weaving through the throng of people while keeping you close. The weight of his hand on your back was reassuring, and every now and then, his fingers would brush against your side, a gesture both casual and intimate.

The tavern Jace chose was a modest, unassuming place nestled between larger buildings. As you entered, the warm, dimly lit interior was a welcome contrast to the cool morning air. The scent of ale and roasted meat mingled with the faint aroma of wood smoke, creating an atmosphere of comfortable familiarity.

Jace led you to a quiet corner, away from the main hustle of the tavern. You eased into a seat with a sigh of relief, the discomfort in your side lessening as you finally rested. Jace took a seat opposite you, his gaze scanning the room with a practiced vigilance.

Jace ordered two simple meals and a couple of mugs of ale as you shifted to comfort for your wound. As the innkeeper went off to prepare the order, Jace’s attention returned to you.

“How are you holding up?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You managed a small smile. “I’m alright. Just glad to be off my feet for a bit.”

Jace’s gaze softened, a mix of relief and admiration in his eyes. He reached across the table, his hand brushing against yours for a brief moment. His thumb lightly grazed your fingers, a gesture so intimate that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how strenuous it would be.”

“It’s not too bad,” you assured him, though the truth was that the strain of the journey was wearing on you. 

As you ate, Jace continued to observe the room with a watchful eye. His attention was sharp, taking in every detail of the patrons and their conversations. You could sense his focus, his determination to gather information amidst the seemingly mundane activity of the tavern.

You hoped that no one recognized the prince while his face was uncovered by the cloth. A few curly strands had fallen to his forehead, revealing more of his features. He was a handsome man, it was a known fact about him, and the thought of being recognized made your stomach turn in anxiety. 

“So, what are we looking for?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his expression serious. The warm glow of the tavern's lanterns cast flickering shadows on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his features and the intensity in his eyes.

“We need to listen for any hints of unrest or dissatisfaction among the smallfolk,” he began, his voice low and deliberate. “Rumors, complaints, anything that might suggest a shift in public sentiment. It could give us a clearer picture of the stance in the city and help us understand if there’s something brewing beneath the surface.”

As you ate, the door to the tavern swung open, allowing a gust of cool air to sweep through the room. You glanced up to see a man storming in, his face flushed with anger. He was a burly figure, his clothes worn out and his expression set in a scowl.

The man approached the bar with a determined stride, his voice rising above the murmur of the tavern. “I’ve had it with this place!” he roared, slamming a mug onto the counter. “The food’s been slacking for weeks, and I’m sick of excuses!”

The innkeeper, a wiry girl with a tired look in her eyes, tried to placate him. “We’re doing the best we can,” she said, her voice strained. “The shortage of resources is affecting everyone. The prince regent’s policies–”

“The prince regent!” the angry man interrupted, his voice filled with scorn. 

Jace’s attention snapped to the scene, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened as he processed the man’s outburst.

The innkeeper, looking flustered, tried to calm the man down. “I’m just a servant of the Crown’s orders. It’s not my fault–”

“It’s not just your fault!” the man retorted, his anger palpable. “But you’re the one we have to deal with every day. We’re struggling out here, and all we hear are excuses. The prince regent’s policies are driving us to the edge!”

Jace’s expression hardened, his eyes locked on the angry man. 

You glanced at Jace, catching the flicker of determination in his eyes. He seemed to be weighing the implications of the man’s words, his mind clearly racing with thoughts and strategies.

“Sounds like we’ve hit a nerve,” you murmured, leaning in slightly so Jace could hear over the ambient noise.

Jace nodded, his gaze never leaving the scene at the bar. 

Eventually, after what seemed like ages of complaints from the man, still fuming, he stormed out of the tavern, leaving behind a trail of murmured conversations and uneasy glances.

After a while, Jace signaled for you to leave, and you both prepared to make your way back to the safety of your lodgings. The streets of King’s Landing were still bustling with activity, but the weight of the information you had gathered hung heavily in the air.

As you exited the tavern and stepped back into the cool evening air, Jace’s hand once again found its place on your lower back, guiding you through the crowded streets.

You, leaning on your staff, moved with a deliberate pace. Despite the comfort of the bustling market, you still felt the nagging stiffness from your wound. 

At one stall, a vendor with a grizzled beard and a jovial demeanor was offering stolen gems. Jace nudged you gently, a subtle invitation to enjoy the brief moment of everyday pleasure.

The vendor, noticing Jace’s interest, gave a friendly nod. “Good day to you both,” he said, his voice warm. “Fine weather for shopping, isn’t it?”

You leaned closer, examining the gems with an appreciative eye. The sunlight caught their facets, casting brief, colorful reflections on the stall’s wooden surface. Despite the circumstances, there was a certain charm in the way these stolen treasures seemed to capture the essence of the market’s spirit, although you could hear people’s desperation for the merchant’s fish only a few feet away.

Jace’s hand brushed against yours as he reached for a particularly vibrant sapphire. You looked up to find him watching you with a soft smile, his gaze carrying a hint of mischief.

“You want it?” Jace’s smile widened slightly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “If you like it, it’s yours.”

The vendor’s eyes widened, anticipation for some coins evident on his face.

“It’s beautiful,” you said, your voice tinged with genuine admiration. 

Jace’s hand lingered near yours, the closeness of his touch amplifying the warmth you felt. “Then it’s yours,” he said, his voice playful yet sincere. “A small token of appreciation for your help today.”

The vendor, still eagerly watching, cleared his throat. “Aye, a fine piece it is.”

You glanced at the vendor, then back at Jace, your heart fluttering at the simple act of kindness. “Are you sure?” you asked, though the gleam in Jace’s eyes made it clear he was entirely serious.

Jace nodded, his smile unwavering. “Absolutely. Consider it a gesture of gratitude.”

You took the sapphire, feeling its cool weight in your hand. The vendor’s grin widened, clearly pleased with the transaction.

“Thank you,” you said softly to Jace, feeling a surge of affection for him. Although half of his face was covered, you could see his eyes wrinkle up to a smile as he handed coins to the vendor, mumbling something and giving him some extra ones.

As the day wore on, you and Jace moved through the city, gathering snippets of conversation and avoiding contact with any guards. The bustling market you had enjoyed was quickly becoming a place of hurried whispers and hasty exits. The clamor of vendors packing up and the hurried footsteps of people hurrying to their homes filled the air.

Jace's hand was firmly clasped around yours, his grip tightening as he guided you through the crowded streets. The sudden presence of guards moving purposefully through the city sent waves of unease through the crowd. Their commanding voices and stern expressions made it clear that they were enforcing an early curfew.

"Come on," Jace urged, his voice urgent but low. “This way.”

He guided you swiftly through the narrowing alleys, his grip firm and reassuring. The streets, once crowded and lively, were now eerily quiet as people hurried to their homes. You could hear the clanging of armor and the distant shouts of the guards as they enforced the curfew.

Jace led you down a narrow alley, its walls closing in around you. The dim light filtered through the high buildings, casting long shadows on the cobblestones. As you reached a secluded corner, Jace pulled you behind a stack of crates, his eyes scanning the alleyway for any sign of pursuit.

The proximity of his body, the urgency of the situation, and the adrenaline coursing through you all combined to create a heady mix of emotions. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face, his heart pounding against yours.

You panted, the wound stinging at your side because of the running and the lack of rest during the day. When he noticed you wincing, almost wailing in pain, he softly shushed you.

“We need to stay quiet,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

You nodded, your heart racing not just from the danger but from the intense closeness of the moment. His gaze locked with yours, a look of fierce determination mingled with something deeper, more intimate.

As the sounds of the guards faded into the distance, the tension between you and Jace grew palpable. His eyes softened, a flicker of something that went beyond the urgency of the situation. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you in that narrow, dimly lit alley.

He leaned in, moving the cloth away from his mouth, reaching for yours as well. His breath warm against your ear as he spoke in urgent, whispering tones. “Are you alright?” His voice was barely more than a murmur, filled with concern.

You nodded, though it was clear that the pain was sharp. “Just... give me a moment,” you whispered back, trying to keep your voice steady despite the throb in your side. You could feel the steady pulse of Jace's heartbeat through the proximity, each beat syncing with the rhythm of your own nervous pulse.

Jace’s hand rested lightly on your shoulder, his touch gentle but firm, offering support. “We’ll stay here until the coast is clear,” he said, his tone soothing as he kept a vigilant watch over the alley. His fingers traced a comforting pattern on your back, the touch both grounding and tender.

The closeness of his body was overwhelming. The small space behind the crates allowed for little separation, and the soft brush of his clothing against your skin was electrifying. Every shift, every breath, seemed amplified, drawing your attention to the intimacy of the moment. The warmth of his body against yours was both reassuring and intensely distracting.

You caught the flicker of his eyes as he turned to face you, their intensity softened by concern. “I didn’t mean to push you too hard,” he said softly, his voice trembling slightly. “I just... I want to make sure you’re safe.”

You met his gaze, your heart racing for reasons that went beyond the danger of the situation. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though the truth was that the pain was more pronounced due to the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through you. “It’s just... the pain.”

His fingers tightened slightly on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your neck in a soothing motion. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“It’s not your fault,” you assured him, your voice faltering slightly as the proximity made it hard to focus. 

Jace’s gaze lingered on yours, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow space. The intensity of the moment, the urgency of their escape, and the closeness of his body created a charged atmosphere that made your heart pound. His face was mere inches from yours, his eyes locked with yours in a silent exchange that spoke of shared emotions and a growing connection.

As the pain in your side began to dull slightly, you allowed yourself to relax, if only a little. The tension in your muscles eased, and you leaned slightly into Jace’s comforting presence. The tight quarters of the alleyway seemed to shrink even further, narrowing the world down to just the two of you.

Jace took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Once the guards are gone, we’ll move again. But for now, we must stay quiet and keep ourselves hidden.”

Minutes passed in quiet anticipation, the sounds of the city’s night life serving as a backdrop to the cocoon of intimacy you shared. The pain in your side slowly became a more distant murmur, overshadowed by the electric closeness of Jace’s body and the warmth of his gaze. The sounds of the street faded into silence, the only faint sounds coming from the tavern’s glass clinking from some of the guards and the brothel. 

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your body responding to the warmth and closeness in ways you were trying to suppress. The soft brush of his clothing against yours, the gentle pressure of his hand, and the heat of his body made it almost impossible to focus on anything but the way he made you feel. His proximity, the intensity of his gaze, and the intimate setting created a heady mix of desire and connection.

As the silence stretched between you, the world outside seemed to blur, leaving just the two of you in the narrow alley. The flickering light from the street cast shadows across Jace’s face, highlighting the sharp angles and soft contours of his features.

You tried to suppress the wave of desire that surged through you, reminding yourself of the critical nature of your mission. The sensation of his hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his body, and the closeness of his gaze created a magnetic pull that was difficult to resist. 

You shifted slightly, attempting to distance yourself from the overwhelming proximity and regain some semblance of control.

His thumb continued to brush lightly against your neck, a tender gesture that seemed to defy the urgency of the situation. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again, his voice a soft murmur that carried an undercurrent of worry and care.

You nodded, though your voice was barely more than a whisper. “I’m... I’m fine,” you managed to say, though the truth was that the proximity was making it harder to think clearly. “Just need a moment.”

Jace’s eyes searched yours with a mix of worry and something deeper, his thumb brushing against your neck in a tender, soothing motion.

“Are you sure you’re alright–” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, when you, feeling overwhelmed by the closeness and the surge of emotions, took a breath and made a decision.

You leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Before either of you could fully comprehend what was happening, your lips met his. The kiss was sudden, fueled by the intensity of the moment, and it seemed to silence the world around you. His eyes widened in surprise, but that shock quickly gave way to something more primal and eager.

Jace’s response was immediate and fervent. His hand, which had been gently resting on your shoulder, slid to your neck, pulling you closer. The kiss deepened as his lips moved against yours with a hungry, passionate urgency. You could feel the heat of his body, the thrum of his heartbeat, and the way his touch seemed to electrify every nerve in your body.

Jace's hands gripped you with a fervor that matched the intensity of the kiss, his fingers pressing into your back as if to draw you even closer. His mouth moved with a determined, almost desperate rhythm, as though he wanted to savor every second of this unexpected, profound intimacy.

Jace’s tongue brushed against yours, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. His kiss was a torrid mix of heat and longing, each touch of his lips and flick of his tongue adding to the overwhelming intensity. His hands, now gripping your back with a firm, almost possessive hold, pulled you closer, making every brush of his skin against yours feel electric. 

The desperation in his movements matched the deep, primal need that surged between you.

You felt his breath coming in quick, ragged bursts, mingling with yours as the kiss grew even more fervent. His lips were warm and demanding, parting yours with a force that made your heart race faster. The kiss was wet and passionate, a tangle of tongues and fervor that made it impossible to think of anything but the overwhelming need you both seemed to share.

Jace's hands roamed over your back and neck, his touch both urgent and tender, as if trying to convey everything he felt in that single, intense connection. The closeness of his body against yours, the heat radiating from him, and the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat created a heady mix of sensations that made the kiss feel all-consuming.

Managing to pull off the hood of his cloak, your hands found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft, tousled strands as you pulled him closer, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

When you finally broke apart, both of you gasping for air, the alleyway seemed to have transformed. The dim light from the street filtered through the narrow passage, casting an ethereal glow on Jace’s face, which was now flushed with a mix of surprise and desire.

He looked at you with a mix of wonder and urgency, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “I–” he started, but his words faltered as he struggled to regain his composure.

You met his gaze, feeling a rush of vulnerability and exhilaration. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you knew the apology was unnecessary. The kiss had been as much for you as it had been for him, a release of pent-up emotions that had been building between you.

Jace’s expression softened, and he shook his head slightly, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t be,” he murmured, his voice low and intense. 

Finally, the sounds of the guards’ patrol receded into the distance, leaving you and Jace in a quieter, more serene moment. 

“We need to...” you whispered, your voice trailing off as you tried to regain your composure.

Jace nodded, his expression a mix of determination and tenderness. “Yes,” he said softly, his voice carrying a new, intense undertone.

With a final, lingering look, Jace stepped back, his hand sliding reluctantly from your back. The warmth of his touch lingered, a reminder of the connection you had just shared. He straightened his cloak and adjusted the fabric around his face, ensuring that his disguise remained intact.

You did the same, pulling your hood back up and securing it around your face. The urgency of the situation reasserted itself as the sound of footsteps echoed faintly in the distance, a reminder that the city’s dangers were far from over.

Jace took your hand once more, his grip firm but gentle. “We’ll need to move quickly,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Follow me.”

You both reached the city gates with a cautious optimism. The guards were preoccupied with a scene unfolding nearby – a drunken man who refused to leave the gate area and kept stumbling into their path, much to their exasperation. The guards’ frustration provided a crucial distraction, offering you a window of opportunity to slip past them.

Vermax’s eyes glowed softly as he recognized you both, and with a gentle nudge of his snout, the dragon seemed to sense the urgency of your return.

As Dragonstone’s silhouette loomed on the horizon, you could feel the weight of the long day lifting, exhaustion taking over you. 

The familiar surroundings of Dragonstone welcomed you, the cold stone walls and the scent of the sea providing a comforting reminder of home.

You both took a moment to gather yourselves, the quiet of the castle grounds a soothing balm after the frenetic pace of the night. Jace’s gaze lingered on you, a soft smile playing at his lips as he took in the relief and exhaustion etched on your face.

“Get some rest,” he repeated, his voice gentle. “I’ll check in on you later.”

Neither of you made a move to leave. Instead, Jace stepped closer, mumbling. “I hope this is alright, too.”

Before you could fully process his intent, he leaned in again, his lips finding yours with a gentleness that belied the urgency of the situation. The kiss was soft and lingering, a tender caress that conveyed more than words ever could. His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate warmth, each touch a reminder of the connection you had shared in the alley.

You responded with equal tenderness, your hands reaching up to cup his face as you deepened the kiss. The warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips, and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat created a cocoon of intimacy that was both comforting and exhilarating. The kiss was a balm for the exhaustion and the stress, a moment of pure, unguarded connection amidst the chaos.

“I’ll be here if you need me.” he said again, his voice a soft whisper as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. 

You nodded. With a final, lingering glance, Jace stepped back, his hand slipping from yours as he watched you make your way into the castle.

The echo of Jace’s voice, soft and reassuring, lingered as you made your way into the castle. Each step felt heavier with the weight of the day’s trials and the emotional intensity you had just shared. 

As you lay in bed, the soft rustle of the linens was the only sound breaking the stillness. The warmth from the fire seeped into the room, and you found solace in the quiet. The day’s exhaustion made your limbs heavy, and the steady rhythm of your breathing gradually lulled you toward sleep.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Kid

Arsenal Women x Teen!Reader

Summary: You join Arsenal Women at age sixteen

Moving to England hadn't exactly been your plan when you started to play football.

To be honest, there hadn't been a plan at all, seeing as you were four when your parents first signed you up for your local academy in Sweden. It was just an excuse to keep you out of the house, so your parents didn't have to take time off work to look after you when school finished.

It helped that your school was partnered with the academy so a representative would come and walk all the academy students there and back.

Football may have been a convenience but it was clear to everyone that you were somewhat of a prodigy. Linköping Fc signed you as soon as they could, forcing you to make the move from your tiny town to the city.

Your parents were more than happy to finance the move - the kind of parents that happily parent from a distance but brag to all of their friends about how smart, how talented their daughter was.

You were happy to be rid of them.

You were even happier to get the callup for the National Team for the World Cup.

Your chest thudded in your throat when you received the call. You hadn't thought you would get the call-up, not when you were so young, so you had been at a café with some of your school friends when your phone rang.

You had picked it up absentmindedly and almost passed out from shock when Peter revealed he wanted you on the team.

The World Cup came and went and the bronze medal you won stayed with you. You had flat-out refused to give it over to your parents, who wanted to put it in the trophy cabinet in a house you no longer lived in.

The high of the World Cup bled into the high of getting a call to sign for Arsenal.

You hadn't even really thought about it.

You just accepted.

Which was how you had gotten here, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you waited for Stina to lock her car and walk in with you.

●～●～●～●～

You couldn't help but look at your jersey in awe. Your number combined with your last name on the back of an Arsenal jersey felt like a dream come true.

"There she is," Amanda said when you finally wandered into the meeting room, free from media duty. She pushed out a chair that was clearly meant for you at the table she was sitting at.

You sat in the seat awkwardly, suddenly feeling shy and awkward.

"This is y/n," Amanda said to the others, presenting you to them like you were someone really exciting.

"Hi, y/n. I'm Jen."

You didn't tell her that you already knew who she was, who they all were. You just sat there and let everyone introduce themselves to you because that was the polite thing to do.

"Hi."

"You're young, aren't you?" Asked Kim, even though you knew that she probably already knew that.

You nodded though. "Yeah." Your voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm sixteen."

"But she's a superstar." It was nice of Amanda to butt in. It saved you from having to speak.

"I think we know that," McCabe said with an eye roll," I think we all saw that match-winning goal against Australia."

You winced slightly as you snuck a glance to McCabe's other side where Catley sat, the very defender that you megged before scoring your goal.

Your eyes widened in horror when she made eye contact. "Sorry." You looked down at your lap, hiding your shaking hands under the table.

"Don't sweat it, kid," Catley replied with an easy grin," No hard feelings. It was a good call." She smirked at you. "Though, the deer in headlights look you had after it went in was pretty funny."

Laughter rang out through the group and you relaxed marginally, groaning at the reminder. Everyone you knew had sent that picture to you and you knew for a fact that it was still circulating the internet as a meme.

●～●～●～●～

It was easy to settle into life at Arsenal.

You were still shy and awkward off the pitch but you fit in well with the other girls and Lina, Stina and Amanda were always ready to sweep you away when they noticed you getting too overwhelmed.

Somewhere along the way Catley became Steph and McCabe became Katie.

You weren't really sure when that happened but it was a welcome change from when you first joined.

"Come on, kid. You've been studying too much," Katie said as an arm dragged you away from your laptop to where the others were playing FIFA.

You were dumped between Less and Vic while Lina laughed.

"She's always studying."

You rolled your eyes. "Just because you don't have to go to school anymore, doesn't mean that I don't."

"Online school isn't really school," Cloe said before swearing when Gio scored another goal," It's like...school without the deadlines."

"Except the deadline is before Christmas," You replied with a huff," I have essays to write, Katie! Let me go!"

"Don't let her go, girls," Katie said from where she was curled up with Caitlin.

Alessia mockingly saluted as she bracketed you in her arms while Vic pinned down your legs.

"Less! Vic!" You squawked as you tried to wiggle away from them.

Their holds were unrelenting and made even worse when Kyra popped up out of nowhere, digging her fingers into your side and tickling you like you had personally offended her or something.

"Stop! Stop!" You laughed, tears running down your face as Kyra remained unrelenting. "Cait-Caitlin! Caitlin, help!"

Caitlin looked at you thoughtfully, humming to herself before giving you a faux look of sympathy. "Sorry, y/n, I can't. You see, I'm still holding a grudge against you for grabbing that bronze medal." She winked to let you know she was joking.

"Oh, come on!"

●～●～●～●～

It took you nearly two weeks of being in London to meet the ACL squad and it was only because Kathrine slid in for a tackle at the wrong time and hit your ankle.

You hadn't even been on the ground for that long but it was enough that Jonas sent Gio to take you to the physios to get it taped up with an extremely apologetic Kathrine following after you.

"I'm so sorry," She was saying when Gio shepherded you into the room," I'll make up for it. How does one of those big jelly baby packs sound?"

"I'm not allowed to eat them," You replied," Stina said that they'll rot my teeth."

"Fine, fine, I'll think of something. How about dinner? I'll buy you dinner for your cheat day. Just tell me when."

You rolled your eyes, having no intention of doing so but still nodded.

"What's up with all this commotion?"

You had to admit, seeing Leah Williamson in person made you feel a little starstruck and you immediately retreated into yourself.

Gio jerked her thumb at Kathrine. "Kuhl hurt the kid and seeing as we need the kid, Jonas wants her ankle taped."

"My ankle's fine," You said stubbornly but allowed a physio to usher you onto the bed between Goldie and Wienriother. You gave them both one of your trademark awkward smiles as you let the physio pull off your boot and socks.

You didn't want to look at your ankle, already knowing it was bruised by the way that you saw Goldie wince sympathetically at you while the physio moved away to grab some ice.

"That looks nasty," She said," Does it hurt?"

"Not too bad."

"I'm Teyah, by the way."

"y/n."

"I know." She smiled at you. "It's nice that there's someone younger than me and Naomi now."

You looked down bashfully. "Happy to be of service."

Next to you, Weinriother laughed. "Don't mind Teyah, she's just glad no one will call her kid anymore. I'm Laura, by the way."

"And I'm Beth!" She leaned over Laura to shake your hand before indicating to where her girlfriend was being worked on. "That's Viv, she's a little prickly sometimes but if you ever need some peace and quiet, I'm sure she wouldn't mind you sitting with her."

You nodded, still feeling a little awkward even though the tension had disappeared.

"You're living with Stina, right?" Leah asked," How's that going?"

"Good," You replied, focussed on the way that the physio was moving your ankle," She lets me play music on the speakers while I study."

Leah laughed. "I live right round the corner. If you ever need a break, feel free to pop in. I reckon I'm more fun than Stina anyway."

●～●～●～●～

You hated asking for help.

You hated it even more when you had to ask for help on schoolwork.

You were smart. You knew you were smart. If there were two things that a lack of parents in your life gave you, it was excellent football skills and the ability to solve your own problems.

But this maths section in your textbook was causing you more pain than a Katie tackle in training ever could.

You glanced around the room. The media room was almost always empty at this time of day - the two and a half hour window between morning training and the gym session.

Almost everyone lived close so headed back home to rest before coming back. Stina had asked if you wanted to head back home with her but you decided not to, needing to finish your maths homework.

Lina had asked if you wanted her to drop you off on her way to her own place as well but you didn't relent.

You hunkered down in the media room with your textbook and, after just over an hour, your eyes stung like you hadn't slept in three days.

You glanced around again and finally swallowed your pride.

"Frida?" You asked the least intimidating person in the room," Can you help me?"

She looked up from her phone. "What is it?" She dragged your textbook towards her. "Oh! I can help!"

Despite her optimism, within a few seconds, it became clear that Frida could absolutely not help you. The more she read through your problems, the deeper her frown got until she was holding a pencil between her fingers and mouthing the question to herself as if that would help her understand.

She looked positively ill when she looked up at you before she cleared her throat. "Lia? Do you know how to do fancy algebra?"

Lia, from across the room, sighed as she approached. "I used to be quite good at algebra," She boasted," What's the problem?"

"Algebra," You deadpanned, shoving the textbook and your notepad at her," Help."

To her credit, she got further than Frida did, jotting down her working out before falling at the last hurdle - just like you did. She frowned. "Give me a second."

She rewrote all of her work but still ended up stumped at the same place as before.

"Kim? Jen? How were you at maths in school?"

Kim and Jen tried to help as well but it was like the blind leading the blind. You were going around in circles.

"When are you going to need this in life?" Kim said, drawing a line through her most reason equation and sighing.

"Unless you want to be an engineer, never." Jen sighed and flipped the book shut. "You don't want to be an engineer, do you, kid?"

"I'm happy playing football."

●～●～●～●～

If you weren't doing schoolwork at every spare moment, it was safe to say that you napping.

Back at National Camp, it wasn't uncommon to find you curled up in bed or with your head in Frido's lap while everyone watched a movie.

It seemed that your need to nap every moment you weren't occupied had carried over to England.

It got a little embarrassing the first few times you had been caught napping in the communal space. It was even worse when you woke up to Viv staring down at you with an unreadable look on her face, taking in your form curled up under your travel blanket.

You had smiled nervously as she stood in front of you, unmoving.

When Beth appeared through the door a moment later, Viv shushed her sternly and tucked your blanket up over your shoulders again, taking a seat nearby with a book.

Beth, it seemed, hadn't been able to keep her mouth shut about it so your constant naps had just become an expected thing and, after Leah had accidentally woken you up and gotten yelled at by Viv for it, the team tended to just leave you alone.

You were slightly delirious and warm when you woke up from your nap, eyes fluttering open and then shut again.

The low murmur of chatter let you know that contrary to when you started your nap, you were now no longer alone.

You were still quite confused, brain still thick with sleep, but you could recognise Sabrina's Canadian-accented English so you gathered that the keepers had finished their morning practice and had found you asleep in the media room.

You also recognised that your head was now slightly elevated so one of them must have moved your head into their lap while you slept. That was nice. Sometimes you would wake up with a crook in your neck from sleeping on the beat-up sofa that Leah swore she was one bad back away from replacing herself.

Your eyes fluttered open again, blearily blinking.

Across from you, Naomi laughed. "The kid's awake."

"I'm not a kid," You said stubbornly even though you were," You're not that much older than me."

"Still older," Naomi replied.

Next to her, Sabrina laughed.

That meant that Manu was sitting with you, your head in her lap. She laughed as well, jolting you slightly as you clutched your travel blanket tighter around your body.

You yawned.

"How long until gym?"

"Hour and a bit," Came Manu's answer.

You hummed and yawned a second time.

"Don't tell me you're going back to sleep," Sabrina said.

"Fine. I won't tell you."

●～●～●～●～

You spent the first few matches stuck on the bench.

You were young and not as experienced as your teammates so it made sense that you would be stuck there for the time being. Besides, it made you feel a little bit better that Kyra was stuck on the bench as well so you had someone who acted younger than you to muck around with.

"Chin up," Laia said with a grin, an arm thrown over your shoulder as she walked onto the pitch with you for warmups," You're starting today. Aren't you excited?"

"You look more excited than me," You replied a little sourly," I...I feel a little sick if I'm honest."

"You'll do great."

"So long as you tie your boots correctly and don't trip," Noelle said in way of greeting.

Your cheeks lit up in flames instantly at the reminder of training a few days ago when Beth had snuck up behind you and made a stupid sound in your ear. You had jumped into the air in shock and your laces weren't tied correctly so you tripped over your own feet and went tumbling to the ground in a way that made you look clumsier than Alessia.

"Don't be mean," Lotte chastised as the four of you passed a ball around," y/n knows how to properly tie her laces." She sent you a teasing smile and a shrug. "Besides, I'm sure she'll have some of the older girls lining up to make sure they're done properly."

You huffed as you kicked the ball back to her. You spun on your heel. "You're all mean," You declared," I'm gonna warm up with Vic and Less."

●～●～●～●～

The ninety minutes of your debut match were gruelling.

The ball went back and forth between the teams. Every shot that went in was equalised quickly. Everyone was growing tired, especially when five minutes of extra time was awarded and Katie was one dirty tackle away from earning herself a yellow card.

You took a moment to catch your breath, pulling up your socks before breaking into a sprint.

The opposing team's defence was in shambles and you could see their goalkeeper getting antsy.

A long ball from Katie fell neatly into Alessia's feet and she began her run.

You followed after her quickly as the opposing defence broke their line. It was carnage for a moment as you both approached the box.

The goalkeeper came off her line ever so slightly as the defence mobbed Alessia, who passed quickly to you.

Your foot moved automatically as you chipped the ball over the goalkeeper's head and into the back of the net.

Your instincts got you the goal so when your brain finally caught up, you were sporting the same look on your face as the one you had when you won against Australia.

The final whistle rang out as you stood there in shock.

Half a moment later, the team crashed into you.

Less made it to you first, pulling you in for a tight hug before everyone else converged on you.

You felt a bit like a dog, with the amount of head pats you were receiving but the blinding smile on your face more than made up for it - especially when Viv meandered over and gave you a hug and congratulations.

"Come on, l/n!" Katie cheered as she dragged you through the victory lap. "Party tonight! I'll pay for the drinks!"

"She's sixteen," Lina reminded her.

"I didn't say we had to go out to a pub! It's legal for sixteen-year-olds to drink at home! What do you say, kid?"

You laughed. "Good luck getting Stina to agree."

[diejager]

could you write something for stepdad alejandro and dbf rodolfo?🩵

Cw: stepcest, praising, worshipping reader, fluff, barbecue, cheating, tell me if I missed any. Note: I stuck with the “canon” age, meaning Rudy and Alejandro are in their late 30s or early 40s.

Mexican summers were always warm - warmer than what you were used to when you were living farther up - with it’s blazing sun and vivid fauna that seemed to glow under the heat and clear blue sky. Thankfully, the air wasn’t stale, neither dry nor humid, but a equal temperament with a soft breeze that cooled the sweat that clung to your skin. You hadn’t dared wear anything other than your bikini when you stood in the busy backyard barbecue your mom and your stepdad had decorated and filled to have guests and friends alike over in the mids of a beautiful July. Unlike many of the older women who covered up in a dress or loose pants out of traditionalist convenience, their children - a cousin or a friend, young adults who were as rambunctious as you - were unabashedly prancing around in thin-strapped bikinis and low trunks, all happy to take in the warmth on their bronze skin. 

Some people you knew, others you didn’t, Alejandro often invited his ragtag group he called Los Vaqueros to every barbecue if he could, his bright and joyous smile lifting the corners of his lips while he flipped the spiced beef kebab he left marinating yesterday. You couldn’t say you knew them very well, boisterous and proud people, but you were familiar with his right-hand man, sweet Rudolf who seemed to loved pampering you as much as he adored you. A man of softness and tender praises, the rough texture of his fingers carefully holding your hips, massaging the fatty rolls and whispering compliments, affectionate confession about how pretty and perfect you were.

“Muñequita, ” Rudy mumbled, pulling you towards him by your waist in open affection, letting others see how close he was to you, arm wrapped around your back and cheek pressed to yours, a smile lighting up his face with every flustering words he let slip down his tongue, “Are you free tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, lashes fluttering from how close his lips were to yours, his minty and warm musk filling your sense as much as it drowned out all your thoughts, “Why?”

He chuckled at your flustered and glazed expression, your lips pulled in a small and adorable pout while you clung to him, leaning your weight into his side as if you attempted to stand closer and closer to him despite being wrapped up in him arms:

“Ale and I were thinking of taking you out. That new restaurant you mentioned? We managed to reserve a table.”

“What?!” You turned to stare at him, gaping admiringly, “I- How’d you even do that? I’ve tried so many times and they always seem to be booked!”

“Well, Ale pulled some fa-”

“Honey!” Your mother called out to you from her side of the garden, surrounded with friends near the food table, “Could you go down and get more beers?”

“Of course, Ma!” You clambered out of the pool, water dripping down your thighs while you patted yourself dry, “Sorry, Rudy, I’ll be right back.”

You caught him smiling at you before you slipped through the kitchen door, carefully stepping down the basement-turned-man-cave’s stairs to get the beers out of the fridge. Finding the right pack, your bent down to rummage through the back to reach it when you felt hands grasp your hips. You jolted, eyes wide as you peered over your shoulder-

Only to see Alejandro’s shit eating rain, wild and blazing, smirking down at you with his crotch pressed to your ass. You swallowed thickly, watching the corded muscles of his arm flex and his swimming trunks hanging low, a bit of trimmed hair peaking out to tease you. 

“Thought I’d come down and help.”

Your body burned under his lidded gaze, thick and heavy, weighing you down with a churning in your core,

“Seems like more than just help.”

He laughed, a low bellow that rocked you forward, his shoulders shook and eyes gleamed so brightly, but mischievously. He was like the sun, hot and boisterous, and Rudy the ocean, all embracing and calm.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 1st

Day 1: Handjobs // Temperature Play // Breast Worship

Marcus Acacius x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Handjobs, allusions to imbalanced power dynamics, mentions of blood/death, cum

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The moans of the wounded and the tired men can almost be ignored through the thick fabric of the tent. The heavy spices hang in the air, burning flagrantly in the smoldering copper pots you keep lit. Wanting to mask the odor of death and blood. To keep this space free of the oppression outside the tent flaps. 

Marcus groans, his chest heaving and making the water ripple as he throws his head back. “More.” He grunts, his voice raspy from shouting orders during the bloodiest and most hard fought day of this campaign so far. 

Sitting in hip deep water, the blood had been washed away, the dirt and grime of battle swim in the wooden tub outside the tent. This bath is for pleasure. This moment is for him. 

His cock slaps against the small pouch of his belly as you let him go, reaching for the vial of warmed, scented oil to add more to your hands. After so many months in his service, you know what he wants. 

Marcus Acacius is a man who holds himself tightly bound by the code he has lived by. That had been instilled in him by someone who was proclaimed to be the greatest of all the Roman generals. A man who he unfortunately could not live up to his memory, at least in his own eyes. 

Your hands are slicked together, sliding easily when you lean forward to wrap your hands around the thick length of his cock and pull another deep groan from him. 

He looks gorgeous, wet curls hanging slightly as his head tilts back, throat exposed and vulnerable. Eyes closed as a murmured curse passes through his lips. His cock twitching when you squeeze him gently, feeling the vein pulse to the heavy beating of his heart. 

The skin rolls easily. Silky velvet draped over steel, a wonderful contradiction of feelings. Something so hard shouldn’t be so soft, and something so soft shouldn’t burn so hot it feels like Vesuvius in your grip. 

The head of his cock is so raw, leaking the fluids that you smear over it with your thumb, making him hiss and the water slosh as his hips jerk up. His skin looks bronzed in the soft light from the candles and you squeeze him again. 

“Shit!” You bite your lip when he curses, watching his face and his cock with equal fascination, the emotions playing over his features are riotous and changing from one moment to the next as you stroke his cock. As you give him what pleasure he is willing to take from you. 

Up and down, your wrist twists as you pump him, feeling the need building in his body. At the same time other muscles start to relax. His breath catching and becoming short, heavier. 

“Relax dominus.” You coo softly, making his eyes fly open and he reaches down to grab your wrist, stilling your hand.

“Marcus.” He pants, dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that would have you shrinking back if he wasn’t holding you. “Do not call me that. Use my name.”

“Marcus.” You whisper his name quietly, as if you are afraid someone outside may hear it and punish you. A foolish fear, since Marcus would be the one to find offense if any was to be had, but one that is very hard to overcome. 

He relaxes his grip on your wrist and slowly starts helping you pump his length again before letting go. Water drips off his hand and arm as he pulls it back to drape along the edge of the tub and leans back again. Your own name falls from his lips quietly, poised in praise and approval as his eyes slide closer again. “Good girl.”

The wet sounds of his cock in your hand draw your attention back down to his length. Making you wonder how he would feel inside you. How he would taste. Things that he did not allow to happen, and he had only reluctantly let you touch him like this. 

His cock is thick and a good length, enough that you cannot cover all of it when your fingers are around it. The long strokes of your hand have to be quick, the pace steady to build him back to where he had been before you had erred. 

On your knees beside the tub, you wish to crawl in there with him, to mount him. Instead of letting your hand glide up and down his cock, you want the walls of your cunt clenched tight around him. Still you continue to caress his throbbing cock, sliding your other hand down so you can cradle the soft fullness of the balls that are resting below his length. 

His grunts and groans are growing louder, his hips starting to roll towards your hand. The edge of his jaw tightening as he hisses. You don’t miss the way his fingers curl around the edge of the tub, trying to hold onto his composure. He doesn’t like to give up control and that’s exactly what he is doing with every flick of your wrist and downward stroke as you burn the fires in his belly. 

He’s close. You can feel it in the way that his hips tilt, his stomach ripples as it tightens and releases. As if he is trying to stave off his pleasure. To drag it out and make it even sweeter while you pump his cock again and again. His groan breaks, your name on his lips right before his cock twitches violently in your grip. 

Hot spurts of his seed shoot out of the tip, painting his chest while his panting breaths makes his chest heave. Your hand is coated, the thick, creamy seed sliding down into your fingers as you work him through it. Wanting him to work every drop of his pleasure out of his cock until he is spent. 

His cock starts to soften in your hand, his hips dropping back to the bottom of the tub and he exhales in pure relief as he lets the pleasure rush through his system. His head is not dropped down to his chest for a long moment until he lifts it, looking into your eyes with a guilty sense of gratitude that you wish you could soothe away with soft kisses and words. You don’t though, slowly releasing his cock and pushing your hand under the water to wash his seed off your skin so you can pick up the soft cloth to wipe it from his chest. 

Your job is to serve the general and for now, he only requires you to give him pleasure with your hand.

[wosoamazing]

‘Bass Boat’

Lucy Bronze x Bronze!R Leah Williamson x Bronze!R | Barça Femeni x Bronze!R

Your Bass Boat was your first gymnastics academy, the one you went to when you didn’t even understand what gymnastics was, when it was all about fun and friends.

Warnings: Abuse by coaches (verbal)

Notes: Inspired by Bass Boat Zach Bryan. Let me know what you think about it and what you want in a part 2 (if you want a part 2). 1.6k words

“Teeny,” Lucy said as you opened the door to her apart and you sprinted towards her before jumping into her arms, clinging on for dear life. Keira trailed behind you, rolling your suitcases into the apartment. You didn’t want your sister to pick you up from the airport, the risk of you breaking down in the airport was all too high, so you employed Keira, your sister’s ex to pick you up.

“I’ve got you, you’re okay,” Lucy told you as she held you tightly, waiting for you to break down, “it’s okay,”

“It’s not okay Luce, she-she-she-” you tried to get it out but you couldn’t, sobs wracking your body, Lucy sat on the couch, placing you in her lap, still holding you tightly, as you shattered in front of her, your whole world crumbling around you. 

She had been by your side for a lot of disappointment you’d face, however this was different. This wasn’t disappointment, this was years of bottled up frustration, and anger boiling over due to the addition of the current rage you had.

To think that she was there when you were 8 and you’d missed out on your first states competition. When you were 15 and told you were too young to go to the olympics, but a boy on the men’s team was the same age. When you were 19 and told you were too big to go to the olympics, yet you were the skinniest kid up for selection. To think that you’d never actually missed out on states. To think that you were never too young. To think that you weren’t too big. To think that one woman had managed to pull one of the biggest power plays seen in gymnastics, and that you were at the centre of it all. It boiled her blood and she couldn’t even begin to understand how you would feel. To have dedicated your entire life to one sport, to then find out that you never had just missed out on qualification. But that one woman, the person you trusted, the person who was meant to have your back, was sabotaging you. To know you could’ve gone to 3 olympics plus the upcoming olympics, the number of states and nationals and worlds you would’ve gone to. Should’ve gone to.

Your coach was harsh, but so was every other elite gymnastic coach that got their gymnasts to win gold. It was the norm, still is to a degree.

You were a star, and how do you make a star shine even brighter? 

You berate them. It’s not acceptable, but it’s accepted. To go to the olympics you needed to be verbally abused, belittled, told you weren’t good enough. It worked, it was known to work. Yeah it wasn’t good for mental health, but as long as you stuck those landings and hit your skills, it didn’t matter, right? Of course it didn’t, all the abuse washed away when you won a medal, or made it into a major tournament.

But what happened if it went too far? What was too far? Where was the line? What was the punishment? No one knew. 

They never got that far, the athletes always having cracked under the pressure, or given up, or injured out. No one had survived that amount of pressure and criticism until now. And what for? To find out it was all fake. No one had been this badly affected by a coach's actions until now. And for what, what did one, as a coach, gain out of the situation.

The biggest question that was floating around was how does a coach get away with something like this? How does one manage to fly so far under the radar whilst doing something so corrupt? They had done many rounds of coach investigations during your time, starting with the suspicious coaches and working their way through them all with a fine tooth comb, obviously it wasn’t fine enough.

You woke up the next morning completely disoriented, you’d obviously fallen asleep at some stage and Lucy had put you into the spare bed, your head felt heavy and your eyes sore, meaning despote how much you wanted to forget last night you couldn’t. In an attempt to forget about the fact you cried an ungodly amount last know you rolled over and picked your phone up off the bedside table before opening it and started filtering through the hundreds of notifications, most of which you just scrolled straight past, but there were roughly 5 you hovered over. They were from Leah, your relationship with Leah was… complicated. You’d had a few flings here and there with her over the years, however after the last one it was different, you both continued to message each other, almost every day, you’d seen each other since then, going on weekend trips together, you’d even shown up at one or two of her matches. But you didn’t really know what it was you had, and neither did Leah. It was so much the fact that the messages were from Leah but more what she had asked.

Are you okay?

That was a loaded question. Would you ever be okay? How does one recover from such an event? How does one begin to get their life back and come to terms with the fact that they could be a three time Olympian but because of one person they weren’t. Gymnastic GB, England Gymnastics and London City Gymnastics were all bringing cases on your behalf, but how does one even begin to quantify the past 20 years of one's life, what does one expect from a case like this.

Tears were about to start falling out of your eyes again when you heard a knock at your door, “come in,” you said, voice breaking slightly.

“Oh Teeny, I’m sorry, what can I do to help?” Lucy said as she sat down on the bed next to you, pulling you into her side.

“Distract me,”

“You could come to training, I’m sure they’d understand,” you nodded, it was a good distraction, “okay, well we’re going to leave in 15, you can eat breakfast there, or there is an up & go in the fridge for you,”

“What am I wearing?”

“Something comfortable and not hot. Activewear?”

“That I can do,” you smirked at her before pushing her out of your room so you could get dressed.

“Vamos Chicas,” Ona yelled as she walked ahead of you.

“We’re coming,” you grumbled before quickly following after her.

“I could’ve sworn that it was you, Lucy. She sounds so much like you,” Ingrid laughed as Mapi tried to slink off from beside her, “I can see you María, you may go talk to little Bronze but you will not, and I repeat will not, ask her to teach you how to backflip, you will get injured or Alexia will make you do laps or if you’re lucky maybe both with happen” Ingrid grilled her girlfriend, who nodded before continuing to seek you out.

“She isn’t going to listen to that you know,” Lucy laughed

“I know, but at least I can say ‘I told you so’ when she complains,” Ingrid admitted as Alexia joined them.

“Bon dia,” Alexia chimed.

“Mhmm, Bon dia,” Lucy said, slightly less enthusiastic.

“Com és ella? (How is she?)” Alexia asked, the team knew you were coming and Lucy made sure to tell them, well more like threatened them to not mention it to you.

“That’s a bit of a loaded question. I don’t know, she’s okay, trying to just distract herself from it, they still have no idea what they are going to do about it,” 

———

“Mapi, què dimonis estàs fent? (what the hell are you doing?)” Alexia asked as she joined you and Mapi on the pitch.

“Aprendre a retrocedir, (learning to backflip)” Mapi replied back

“María Pilar León, what did I tell you?” Ingrid shouted from the tunnel before Alexia could reply.

“No pedirle a Little Bronze que me enseñe a hacer una voltereta hacia atrás (Not to ask Little Bronze to teach me how to backflip),” Mapi stated guiltily.

“Seriosament (seriously),” Alexia rolled her eyes, “voltes ara (laps now),” Mapi groaned before she set off running, leaving you standing there confused, “laps now,” Alexia repeated herself this time in broken english.

“But- I-,” you tried to argue back.

“Això t'ensenyarà a no confiar en Mapi, ni tan sols a escoltar-la” Alexia said.

“This will teach you not to trust Mapi, or even listen to her,” Ona translated for you.

—

The team sat on the sidelines as they did some Strength and conditioning work, whilst they watched you and Mapi do your laps.

“Vamos Chica,” you smirked as you lapped Mapi for the second time, it was the one Spanish phrase you knew the meaning to. 

“She’s fit,” Frido said, slightly stunned.

“Well she is an athlete,” Lucy snapped at her Swedish teammate slightly, however Frido took no offence, knowing how stressed Lucy would be at the moment.

“És gimnasta. Les gimnastes són com màquines (She’s a gymnast. Gymnasts are like machines),” Alexia said and it was safe to say no one ever expected a sentence anywhere near the one Alexia had just said to ever leave her mouth.

[mj0702]

The other Bronze – Part 2

For my Bubs and @cyclingbigirl who demanded a part 2

Keira woke the next morning, you draped half over her body. Your right leg was across her lower half, your face was laying on her shoulders, your right arm was over her chest, gripping onto Keiras left sleeve. As carefully as she could, she fished her phone, making a selfie of you and her. She saw that she had 6 unread messages from Lucy, asking about her little sister and if everything was alright. The last message not even 15 Minutes old, so Keira decided to just respond with the picture. A minute later her phone vibrated again

Lucy: “Someone is cuddley”

Keira chuckled and texted back “Aren't all Bronzes cuddley around me?”

Lucy: “My Brother too, Keira?! Seriously? Don't you have any shame?”

Keira: “Maybe ;)”

Lucy: “Kinda disturbing, but whatever... she okay? You okay?”

Keira: “She misses you – a lot... just a fair warning.. she's not to keen on Ona, so keep their time spent together to a minimum in the beginning”

Lucy: “She doesn't even know Ona... what is her fucking Problem?”

Keira: “Language, Lucia... she doesn't really have a Problem. You know she always struggled with Change – she feels guilty for our breakup and just needs time to get used to you dating again”

Lucy: “I'm sorry... not only for the swearing – I think I didn't realized just how much it affected her... still affects her... thank you for watching out for her too, Kei... it really means the world to me”

Keira: “No need to thank me, Lucy... you know I love her just as much – so... brunch?”

Lucy: “You think you can get her up and presentable in an hour?”

Keira: “Oh please – I tell you the same as her yesterday... I'm not you – I'm not a push-over”

Lucy: “Oi!! I'm not a push-over”

Keira: “With her you always were... and still are”

Lucy: “One Hour starts now, Walsh... tick tock”

Keira laughed lightly, not even bother to respond, before she started to softly stroke over the younger Bronzes face.

“Wakey wakey” she whispered in your ear. Your nose scrunched up and you pressed your Face deeper into Keiras shoulder.

“Come on, Bitsy.. time for brunch” the older Woman said smiling, knowing that the promise of Food always gets the Bronze women going. Food and Caffeine. Your nose scrunched up again, but at least your head moves a little bit, looking sleepily at Keira.

“Breakfast?” you ask, your Voice thick with sleep.

“As soon as you up, showered and presentable” the older woman smiled.

“Noooo...” you whined sleepily, your head laying back on her shoulder.

“Yes” she said in the same tone as you “Your sister said you won't be presentable in an Hour... you really want to prove her right??”

Keira also knew, like the whole world does that the Bronze Family was highly competitive. You were up in a flash and a minute later Keira heard the Shower going. The older Woman laughed loudly, standing up herself, walking into the Kitchen starting on the Coffee.

15 Minutes later the youngest Bronze emerged from the Bathroom just covered in a Towel “Kei?? Clothes? Please?”

“I bet your Sister would be so happy to see you parading through town just covered by a short Towel ” Keira laughed “Here” she pushed a cup of Coffee in your Hands before walking back to her Bedroom looking for some Clothes.

She came back with a white T-shirt and some of her kit shorts “Up to wear my number for a change?” She smirked at you.

“Replacing the old Bronze with the newer, younger, sexier Model, are we?” you smirk back, but grab the offered shorts nonetheless.

45 Minutes later, Keira and y/n stood outside the little Place, Alexia mentioned the other day, waiting for the Rest of the Girls to arrive.

“Gosh she got so slow since she hit the 30” you rolled her eyes as your Sister obviously was late. Keira burst out laughing next to you.

“I don't think it has anything to do with her age...” she smirked, waiting for you to catch on. You look at her confused, until you realized what she implied, gagging loudly. The older woman laughing again loudly.

“You're her ex, you shouldn't talk about her having sex so easily... especially NOT with me” you gagged again.

“Who's having Sex?” a voice behind you asked, startling you.

“Speak of the Devil” you mumbled before turning around, your facial expression neutral “You're glowing... disgusting”

“Excuse me?” your Sister taken aback by your “greeting”

Keira just keeps on laughing, her hands on her sides, as she bends over trying to control herself. “You heard me, Arse Biscuits” you grumbled.

“Oi” your Sister said upset, taking a step towards you “watch your gob, wee shite”

Keira sensed that the two of you start to push each other so she interfered, knowing Ona – who arrived with your Sister – didn't know how to handle the two of you in situations like this.

“Both of you... take a step back” Keira said sharply. You and your Sister not reacting, staring at each other. You were so close to each other that your noses were nearly touching - Keira firmly said “Now!”

Lucy and you snapped out of it and you both took a step backwards. Keira looked at Ona, who stood there with a shocked Face “Don't worry... normal sibling behaviour between them – you just need to know when to intervene. And you need to be strict about it, because they're both hot headed and stubborn” she smiled.

“Okay” Ona said, her voice unsure, looking from Lucy to you and back.

“You'll get used to it” Keira chuckled and patted Onas back.

“You calm again?” Keira asked the two Bronze sisters

“Yes” both of them mumbled ashamed

“Good... then let's go inside, I need something to eat” Keira said, leading the Way.

Just as you all sat down, Mapí, Alexia, Ingrid, Patri and Pina joined the Group, all squishing themselves around the small table. Since the table was originally for four People and now there are nine, you got shoved around until you ended up getting placed on Lucys lap by Mapí, claiming she reserved the seat you were sitting on before you even arrived.

Lucy tried to shove you off her lap just for you to look at her with puppy eyes holding onto her shoulder “There no seats left”. Your Sister groaned, but laid her arm around your back

“The things I let you do” she rolled her eyes, but you could see a smile tugging at the corner of her Mouth.

“Love you too, Luce” you mumbled quietly

She squeezed your Side lovingly, before joining the Conversation at the Table, while you just looked around the small Place, taking in the Atmosphere – the Conversation was in Spanish anyway, so it was not like you could follow it.

“Cariño?” Alexia looked at you expectantly as you looked at her confused.

“Yes?”

“Did you hear what I said?” the Barca captain looked amused

“No?” you admitted ashamed.

Alexia laughed before repeating her question “I asked for how long you're staying”.

“Oh... Mum said I can stay until Lucy gets tired of me...” you shrugged your Shoulders

Your Sister grabbed her Phone grinning “Wait, let me get an Uber for you”

“KEIRAAAA!!!” you yelled down the Table “LUCY IS MEAN AGAIN!!!!”

“Lucy!!” Keira scolded your Sister.

Lucy looked at you “You little backstabbing...”

Before she was able to finish you grinned wickedly, shouting again “KEIRA!!! She's calling me bad names”

“LUCIA!” Keira warned and Lucy knew it's getting to a point were she was in serious trouble.

“I didn't do anything!!!!” she defended herself annoyed.

Alexia just starred at the two of you, as you wore a shit eating grin your Sister looking like a kicked puppy, Mapí high-fiving you over Ingrid.

“You two are really children, aren't you?” the Barca captain asked amused.

“She brings out the worst in me” you grinned, taking your Sisters head into a headlock “Noogie!!” you laughed.

Lucy hugged your stomach, standing up, lifting you in Process, swearing at you, while you locking your legs around her waist. You didn't let go of her Head, laughing loudly as Lucy began to spin herself to get rid of you.

Meanwhile, Keira rolled her Eyes then looked at Ona “Now you should interfere... otherwise they will take the whole place down rough housing”

Ona looked at her shocked “Me?”

Keira grinned “Yeah you... they're your Problem now... welcome to the Bronze Family”

Mapí started to cheer you on while Ingrid tried to keep her in her seat so she wouldn't jump on Lucy to help you win. Ona tried to get your and Lucys attention, but it was no use, since she was still to reserved about you. Lucy managed to get you to let go of her, now having you in a light headlock. “Dear bloody Christ” Keira swore under her breath, turning to Ona “Watch and learn”

The Englishwoman stood up, walked over to the wrestling pair of Sisters and just grabbed both of you by the Ear before dragging you outside. Both of you stumble after Keira begging her to let go, but in secret you knew better that your plea would fall on deaf ears. Keira lead you outside the small restaurant, coming to a scattered halt outside.

“Are you two actually completely bloody mad??” she scolded the Sisters

“Sorry” you mumble and looked to the ground embarrassed

“You're going to be sorry, y/n Bronze... Mapí won't be the only one doing laps today” Keira said angry before turning to Lucy “And you... don't encourage her behaviour... you're the older one – you should be the grown up”.

Lucy looked guilty and started do fiddle with her fingers “I know... but she started it”

“Did NOT” you immediately exclaimed.

“Quiet.. both of you” Keira said sternly “I don't care who started it... we're in public.. what if Fans take pictures or god forbid a Video... and just as a small information, Lucia... Your new Girlfriend is very taken aback of your behaviour right now... I mean I knew what I was getting into when we started dating. I knew the two of you beforehand and knew your Actions, but she doesn't... I know you genuinely love each other and it's your weird language of love rough housing around, throwing insults at each other, but Ona can't understand it.. so either both of you pull yourself together OR I'm going to make sure the two of you will only have supervised visits – supervised by me”.

Both of you looked very guilty, not knowing what to say.

“Are we clear?” Keira hissed out at your silence.

“Crystal” Lucy and you said simultaneously.

“Good” the other Woman nodded.

“Do I really need to run laps?” you asked carefully, shuffling your feet.

“Yes” Keira said strict “But don't worry, you'll be in good company... Mapí and your Sister will join you”

“I'm doing what?” Lucy looking at Keira confused.

“You really didn't think that I punish her and you'd walk, did you?” Keira raised an eyebrow.

“You can't make me do Laps” Lucy said.

“True.. I can't.. but Alexia can and I'm VERY certain that she's on my side this Time” Keira smirked wickedly, before rentering the small Restaurant.

You looked at your Sister “How fucked are we?”

“Very...” Lucy sighed out “When she really involves Ale, than we're very VERY fucked”

“We could bolt?” you suggested

“You can... I need to be at Training at 3pm... it's my Job” your Sister shrugged “I can say you just bolted, when I didn't look”

“Naah” you smiled “We survived angry Keira before... Tobronzher”

Your sister laughed “Still the most stupid word you ever came up with... it sounds nothing like together”

“You still understood” you shrugged your shoulders

“I should talk to Ona” Lucy said contemplative.

“I really didn't want to cause trouble Luce” you said apologetically

“I know... and you didn't really.. I should have talked to her beforehand... our bond is special and Keira was right... she doesn't know how the two of us work...” your Sister said encouraging. You just hummed.

“Why don't you like her?” Lucy asked softly.

“I don't know her...” you said reflecting “... so I don't know if I like her or not”.

“You didn't even gave her a Chance” your Sister said, but it wasn't accusing or angry – it was simply a fact.

“When Luce? When did I had a chance to get to know her? Yesterday when I walked in on you? Or yesterday evening, when we sat like... 15 Minutes at the same Table, where you choose to drift off to your own World with her, which is okay, really.... or today, where we sat like half an hour together and all of you started speaking Spanish – even you – and I starred at the Wall? You didn't really put up an effort to introduce us too, Luce... you called me Devils Spawn the first Time we met... probably freaked her out” you said, shrugging your Shoulders sadly.

Lucy realized that you were right “I'm sorry.. I'm sorry for not realizing how stupid I acted.... I'm going to make it up to you, I promise”

“I'm not the one you have to make up anything... I know you my whole life... I know you... but you should probably talk to her” you said.

“Dinner tonight... only the three of us?” your Sister asked hopefully.

“You... should talk to her first... if that's okay for her” you said carefully.

“I know I’m going to sound like an egotistical asshole in a second, but... you're my SISTER... you will always come first...” your Sister said and pulled you into a tight hug.

You hugged her back and mumbled into her shoulder “But she's your girlfriend...”

“She is... but your feelings will always be important to me... so if she says no, which she won't, I know she won't, than that's one thing... but if YOU say no... than that would really hurt” Lucy said, not letting go of you.

“I'm not saying no... but.. I need time?” you said carefully “I need time to process the whole situation...”

“That's okay... you want me to talk to Keira if you can stay at hers? Or maybe Alexia” your Sister offered.

“I'm not staying with the Scary Woman” you exclaimed shocked.

Lucy laughed out loudly “She's a big softie... she acts all scary when she's mad or on the pitch... but in private... mushball... oh... and she has a girlfriend, so you don't have to be scared she would take advantage of you... you will leave Barcelona still a virgin...”

“Oh please... THAT ship sunk long time ago” you mumbled and rolled your Eyes.

“EXCUSE ME??” your Sister screeched out surprised.

“Nothing” you answer quickly and try to push passed her.

Lucy grabbed your Arm, making you look at her “Who? When? Where? Why?”.

You knew it was no use in lying, so you answered reluctantly “Won't tell you... my Birthday... very classical in a bed... because it felt right?”.

Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose “Please tell me you were careful, used protection and you're definitely not pregnant”.

You looked at her with a shocked impression, before recovering “This... Person... wasn't... a dude?” you said carefully, not knowing how your Sister would react.

“A girl?” Lucy asked surprised. You nodded, but didn't meet her eye. “Hey” Lucy grabbed your chin gently and make you look at her “it's okay.. I mean... I'm gay... Publicly gay”

“I just... never told anyone” you mumbled ashamed.

“I feel honoured you told me, Bubs... did she... look after you?” your Sister asked carefully, knowing this wasn't really a Topic you should discuss in Public.

“Still is...” you admitted softly, started to play with the hem of Keiras shorts, a soft blush covering your cheeks.

“Good...” your Sister said, hugging you again before pulling back looking at you shocked “Oh my God... it wasn't Keira, was it??”

“What?” you looked at her confused

“Was it Keira?! The one who... you know”

“Oh my bloody God NO... god you're disgusting! NO!! That's wrong on SO many levels” you exclaim shocked.

“I KNOW it would be wrong... Just the way you said that the person was still taking care of you and you started to play with your shorts, which are actually Kei's shorts... so...” your Sister stuttered.

“Did you actually just listened to yourself?! I wear Keiras shorts, because I slept AT hers with my clothes still at your place...”

“Oh god... that was like a major shocking confusion just now... We should go eat something” your sister sighed out relived.

“You better not bring that up again.. that was just SO wrong” you shake your head.

“Do I know this person?” Lucy smirked as she held the door open for you

“Drop it, Lucia” you said annoyed but with a smile on your face

“So that's a Yes then” she grinned back at you, walking inside after you

“I said drop it... I won't tell you” you smirked

The two of you made your way back inside, immediately getting spotted by Keira, Alexia and Ona. You just sat down, you on Lucys Lap again and started to grab some Breakfast stuff. Keira smiled slightly before returning to eat her Cereal with Yoghurt and Fruit, while Alexia and Ona look at you baffled.

“What happened with the two of you?” Alexia asked confused

“What do you mean?” you mumble, chewing on a piece of Toast with tomato on it which your Sister offered you

“Stop talking with your mouth full, Y/n” Keira scolded you

“Like.. 10 minutes ago, you were basically pulling each others hair, nearly biting and now you're sitting here like nothing happened” Mapí looked at you puzzled.

“That... was 10 minutes ago?” you answered and looked like you didn't see a problem

“Again... welcome to the Bronze Family” Keira smiled at the Spaniards “One moment they're at each others throats, next they share food”

“You know what their problem is?” you ask your Sister confused

“No... on the other Hand I don't care” she shrugged her shoulders, pushing more food in front of you while eating the slightly healthier version of brunch.

After all of you finished your food you left the small restaurant all walking roughly in the same direction before it was time to go separate ways.

“See you later” Alexia said smiling before turning to Mapí “Want to run your laps before or after training?”

“You were serious about that?” the younger player exclaimed, her eyes growing big.

“When did I ever joked about you doing laps?” Alexia said, pulling an eyebrow up

“After, if that's okay” Mapí mumbled defeated, her head hung low

“Don't worry, Mapí... you won't be alone... Lucy and Y/n will join you” Keira smiled wickedly

“I think it's a little unfair that young, unfit1 me needs to keep up with world class players... Lucy can do my laps too...” you said innocently

“Nice try” Keira looked at you impressed “But no”

“Aaaawww maaaan” you groaned out

“If I need to run, you will too” your Sister growled

“Then it's settled” Alexia said grinning “The three of you, laps after training”

Lucy, Ona and you started to walk in the direction of Lucys apartment as you nudged her side

“Why do we want to run after training? Isn't it counterproductive to run when you're already tired and sweaty?”

“Theoretically it is a bad decision, because we’re already tired.... practically... we can use it as part of recovery AND it's a little cooler later in the afternoon...” your sister explained, while smiling slightly.

“Ah...” you say understanding “And how many laps do we need to run?”

Lucy started laughing “If Alexia is gracious maybe five”

“WHAT? FIVE?” you shriek and look at your sister shocked, which caused even Ona to chuckle

“Bubs... Alexia can make Mapí and I run... she can't make you run” Lucy winked at you

“Then why am I running laps with you and Mapí?” you looked at her like she’s growing a second head.

“Because you pissed off Keira?!” your Sister provided an answer

“Ah... yeah... I forgot about that” you said defeated

As you arrived the apartment, Ona wanted to say goodbye but got pulled inside by Lucy while you make your way to the kitchen.

“We need to talk” Lucy mumbled to her girlfriend

“¿Estás rompiendo conmigo?” Ona said sadly

“¿qué? no claro que no!!!” Lucy exclaimed shocked

Ona just shrugged her shoulders and looked up at Lucy sadly. Lucy took a step closer to the younger catalan woman taking her face in her hands.

“¿Por qué crees que rompería contigo?” your sister asked her girlfriend softly

“Necesitamos hablar suele ser un paso muerto” Ona said a little unsure

“I don't understand anything... could you please switch to english??” you yelled from the kitchen, where you prepared yourself a sandwich

“This is a PRIVATE conversation...” your Sister yelled back “... so get lost”

“Then don't hold your PRIVATE conversation in an open space like the living room, which is right next to the kitchen... your apartment ist very open” you answered, gesturing around the apartment.

“Are you seriously eating again?? We just had breakfast” Lucy exclaimed as she saw the sandwich “... and I told you to get lost, I want to talk to Ona... privatly”

“It's not like I understand anything” you rolled your eyes

“Los dejo a ustedes dos... No quiero entrometerme” Ona said quietly

“No te quedes... por favor” Lucy said a little desperate “Ignórala... lo siento, puedo enviarla a su habitación si te hace sentir incómodo”

“No, you should enjoy your time with your sister” Ona smiled but her eyes show sadness

“Thank you” you said, chewing on your sandwich, completely oblivious to what’s happening.

“I told you to get lost” Lucy growled at you and you noticed it was serious

“I don't know where to go... you never showed me around” you said annoyed

“Here” your sister reached into her pants pocket, pulling out some money “Here are 20 Euros, find the next Starbucks and buy yourself an Iced Chocolate Frappe... or something else without caffein... just PLEASE leave”

“Wow you really love me” you said sarcastic “It feels like I'm 13 all over and you wanted me out of the House so you can have “quality time” with Keira”

“I want you out of my apartment, because I need to speak to my girlfriend in private and you eating like harvester doesn't help... take your phone with you, god only knows Mum will kill me if you get lost in Barcelona because you took a wrong turn and ended up in La Mina – IF you get lost or need to get picked up, phone me.. or Keira! Be aware of pick pockers and don't interact with groups of spanish guys... DON'T GET KILLED” your Sister said, already pushing you towards the front door and outside

“I... hey...” you tried to protest but it was no use, since you found yourself already outside of the apartment

“Lucy... I need SHOES” you knocked hard on the door, which promptly opend and a pair of shoes were tossed outside.

Part 3 is in the making 😅

[loveshotzz]

I hope I’m not late for request this🥹:

[inside one muses’s office] with AIRWIY!Steve? And reader give him his first blowjob?🥹

So this one got a little out of hand, but 🥺 I love him and he deserves the best head in the world if you ask me. Thank you for your request! 💕 I hope you like it!

older!steve x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ age gap, new established relationship, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, smidge of size kink, smidge of daddy kink, finger sucking, swallowing.

wc: 2.8k

A/N: This request is apart of my completed series All I Really Want Is You, but can be read as a stand alone. For those that read the series this takes place shortly after chapter ten.

It was supposed to be a nice lunch in his office on your day off. You weren’t supposed to be giving him elevator eyes from the other side of his desk while he complained to you about his day. But no one had warned you about what middle of the work day Steve looked like. Not quite as dishievied as the end of it when he’s checking his mail, but not put together like when you see him leave his house through your bedroom window when the sun is barely touching the sky. More importantly, you didn’t know about the glasses.

The thin silver frames sit perched on the end of his nose with hair that looks like he just started running his hands through it. The slicked back style it began the day in still sticks to some of his auburn locks while the rest develop a crazed mind of their own. He had popped open the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt, revealing a matching tank top underneath and the beginnings of the soft dark thatch of hair that covers his chest. His sleeves are rolled up to the middle of his forearms, and the tan he still has left over from the last few days of summer makes his skin look bronzed. The scruff that lines his jaw is thicker today than he’d usually allow too, but that’s because he’d forgotten his razor in your bathroom the last night he slept over. 

God, he was handsome. 

“Wrapping up at the end of a season, especially one where we didn’t make it to the finals has been nightmare, honey.” He rubs his eyes from under his glasses leaning back in his seat. 

He was stressed too.

The leather squeaks with his movements, and your gaze finds its way to his newly revealed waist. His black dress slacks are pulled tight over his thighs, and the silver buckle of his belt gleams when it hits the sun spilling in from his office windows. 

“Just one more week till your vacation,” you remind him gently, your fingers playing with the hem of the sundress and you catch the way his eyes track your movements, wetting his lips.

“One more week till I get to have you all for myself.” He counters, making you giddy at the thought of your first trip together to New York, “enough about my day though. Let me get a better look at this pretty dress you’re wearin’, is it new?” 

There’s heat flickering behind his gaze when he gestures for you to stand in front of him, something a little mischievous in his grin that makes your skin buzz.

“Yeah, I got it at Lost Girls after work the other day. I’d been looking at it for a while through the window, thought I’d do something nice for myself.” Your nerves make you ramble as you get up, but Steve thinks it’s cute. He thinks everything you do is cute.

“It’s really, really nice baby,” he praises when you get in front of him letting his eyes roam all the ways it hugs your curves just right, like it was made custom for your body and his slacks get a little tighter. “You look so beautiful, give me a little twirl.”

Your face burns like it’s the middle of June at his request, and the golden emerald of his eyes get darker from behind his lenses. The air around you both turns electric when your already short hem flutters out around the tops of your thighs, spinning around twice for him, just enough to give a glimpse of the red lace that hugs your ass cheeks underneath. 

“You gonna be wearing this tonight when I pick you up for dinner?” He asks with big hands reaching out for you, begging you to get closer.

“I didn’t know we had plans tonight.” You giggle letting your wedges carry you to the space he made for you between his legs. The cedar and spice of his cologne envelopes your senses when you get close enough for his hands to find the back of your thighs pulling you to him with a squeal.

The whites of his teeth show when he looks up at you with a smile that steals your breath away, squeezing at the soft dough under his palms.

“What kinda boyfriend would I be if I didn’t show you off any chance I got?” The pads of his thumbs swipe against the hem of the lace that meets at the curve of your ass, butterflies in your stomach because you’ll never get used to hearing him say that.

“Yeah, I’ll wear it, handsome.” You agree, making him hum in approval. 

He lets you run your fingers through the soft silk of his hair, silver strands showing themselves to you in a mess of dirty blonde and auburn as you scratch along his scalp. Steve groans at the feeling and it goes straight to your core, his long fingers tightening around the plush of your thighs, leaning his forehead against the soft pudge of your tummy with his eyes closed.

“Fuck,” He mumbles against you, the wheels on his chair roll him closer as his hands grip higher, warm palms finding the dough of your buttcheeks when you scratch at the nape of his neck. 

You watch the way his shoulders slump, the muscles in his body finally starting to unwind from your touch. You want to unwind him more.

“Steve?” His name comes out in just above a whisper, your nerves threatening to get the best of you. 

“Hmm?” He hums in response, too lost in the feeling of your nails dragging over his scalp.

“Let me take care of you.” Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tug a little at his roots asking him to meet your gaze. 

“Honey,” It doesn’t sound like a protest, and it doesn’t feel like it either when his nails dig half crescent moons into the backs of your thighs, staring up at you with wide eyes.

You remember the empty hallways on your way up. Everyone was gone for the season, including Richard.

“You’ve been working so hard, you deserve it.” You cup the side of his face, your body buzzing when he leans into your touch. “Will you let me?”

“I - “ Wetting his lips, Steve glances at the door before bringing his attention back to you, “yeah, okay, shit, yeah.”

You hold his heavy lidded gaze with a confidence he’s never seen before as you drop to your knees, the nails that were just in his hair dragging along his thighs and it sends him reeling. He doesn’t know how long you’ve thought about this.

The carpet is rough on your freshly lotioned skin, the bottom hem of your dress pulling up over the tops of your thighs. Leaning back in his chair, the new angle gives him the perfect view down the deep heart shaped neckline of your dress. The necklace he got you on your first date shimmers just above the swell of your breasts and it makes his cock press into the metal of his zipper. He wishes he could take a picture of you right now.

“You want this baby?” His voice comes out gruff when he asks, the gold inside his eyes darkening to something almost black as he runs a hand through his hair.

“You have no idea, just how bad I want it … daddy.” Looking up at him through thick lashes, you punch the air out of his lungs in a low exhale through his nose when you don’t hesitate to start working at the silver of his belt buckle.

“Fuck, you can’t say - ” He huffs out exasperated, contemplating taking a half day so he can spend the rest of it in bed with you. 

Leather squeaks underneath him when he lifts his hips to help you tug his pants down. The hard outline of him strains against his briefs, mouth watering when you notice the darkened spot where he’s already leaking into the black cotton. More confident now, your palms find purchase on the tops of his hairy thighs, leaning forward you let heat of your breath make him twitch, earning a low groan when your lips trail like a ghost behind it.

“Can’t say what?” Your tone drips innocence, your bottom lip tugging down against the covered head of his cock before lifting your gaze with a mischievous smirk, relishing in the sharp inhale he takes through his teeth. 

“I think you’re gonna kill me.” He almost laughs, running a hand over his face. Pushing up his glasses in the process he settles his heavy gaze on you with a lazy grin as they slide down the slope of his nose.

You hum, glossed lips twisting at the corners as you hook your fingers in the elastic of his briefs, giving them a gentle pull to signal what you want. Steve gives it to you without any hesitation, the full weight of his cock slapping against his stomach making your thighs press at the thought of being stretched by it. The pink tip swipes against the hem of his button up that sits rucked up at his belly button and you don’t think you’ll ever be immune to just how big and pretty he is.

“That wouldn’t be very nice of me huh?” you tease looking up at him with a pout.

“Nuh-uh” He mumbles, face crumpling a little watching your fingers try to wrap around the base of him, the tips of them just barely meeting on the other side. The grip he has on the armrest of his chair, stretches his skin so tight the whites of his knuckles start to show.

“And, I wanna be nice,” he feels like velvet in your hand, the pad of your thumb tracing the large vein that runs up the side, before swiping over his sensitive head. You collect what he’s already given to you with enough pressure to make his toes curl inside his wingtip dress shoes.  

Leaning forward, you slowly let your tongue run the length of him, feeling the way he twitches against the muscle before paying extra attention to what’s weeping for you, swirling your tongue around the tip. Salty and little sweet from the way he drinks his coffee in the morning, you hum pleased when he hits your taste buds. 

“God, honey.”

You don’t give him any warning when you wrap your lips around him, a greedy tongue flattening along the underside. Gagging when he hits the back of your throat, you still try to open up just a little more, your hand keeping up with what you can’t reach.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve’s jaw goes slack, eyelids growing too heavy to keep open at the heat of your mouth enveloping him. His head pushes further into his chair while he fights to keep his hands from flying to the back of yours.

Scooting closer, you feel him spread his legs even more, and your hand that’s not wrapped around the base of his cock, slides down his thigh. The blunt ends of your nails dragging through the rough curls that cover it.

“That’s - that’s so - shit, you’re making me feel so fucking good.” He grunts, finally working up enough strength to pry his eyes open to get a look at what he’s dreamed of a million times alone in the shower. “Always so good to me baby.”

You moan at his words, the praise drowning out the dull throb in your knees from the hard floor, and your throat opens up just a little more, the tip of your nose a ghost against his thick happy trail.

“You like that?” The tone he uses is deep, like someone laced the honey it’s always had for you with cinnamon. “You like when I tell you how good you are?”

Hollowing out your cheeks, you suck even harder, the wetness between your legs only getting worse when he lets out a strangled groan. You slowly work up the length of his cock with tight lips, before releasing him with a loud ‘pop’. For a second Steve thinks he might add more to the shining mess that covers your face, spit still connecting your chin to his sensitive head. 

You drag your teeth over your swollen bottom lip, his dark eyes tracking the movement when it pops back into place, twitching in your hand that hasn’t stopped pumping him. He thinks he likes this better than your gloss. You nod in response with a smile and he can’t believe is a little shy. 

Leaning forward, he wipes your chin with his thumb before tracing where your teeth just were with the pad of it. His eyes darken even more when your mouth opens, strawberry lips wrapping around him with no hesitation.

Yeah, you’re going to kill him. 

“Fuck, look at you,” He pushes down on your tongue, watching the way your thighs press under your dress sucking on the digit with the same force. “I’m so lucky.”

You moan around him, the motions of your wrist getting faster, and the urge to taste him becomes unbearable. With a gentle scrap of your teeth you let go of his thumb, pushing up on your knees to beg for a kiss. The wheels of his chair clink against the hinges when he eagerly accepts your request, one of his hands finding the back of your neck pulling you closer to lick into your mouth without a second thought. 

Your teeth scrape together, tongues battling for dominance while the stubble that lines his jaw threatens to rub your skin raw, but you don’t care. The inside of your thighs start to get sticky and the large vein that runs up the side of his cock pulses against your palm with the need for your attention. It’s the only thing that can get you to pull away from his lips that won’t stop devouring yours.  

It’s with new determination that you take him back into the heat of his mouth, doing your best to take him deeper down your throat than before. He moans your name loud enough that you’re sure anyone in this part of the building would hear if they were actually in their offices. He lets a big hand find the back of your head this time, while both of yours find the tops of his thighs. 

Your cheeks hollow again while your tongue wraps around as much as you can get, more spit, more slick to bob in rhythm with the thrusts of his hips. The tip of him catches at the back of your throat, and the way it squeezes his head when your reflex hits makes his toes curl, fingers burying themselves in your hair to keep you there.

“Oh, that’s - that’s it- take the whole thing. Shit. You’re gonna make me cum baby. Just like that, don’t stop, don’t stop. Good girl, good girl.” 

Each snap of his hips gets as desperate as his babbling, like he’s completely forgotten he’s still at work. One of your hands leaves his thigh to cup his balls that have been screaming for attention since the moment you walked into his office in that dress. Rolling them in your palm is the final touch that makes his vision go white behind his eyes, body tensing and face going slack just like his jaw. 

“Baby, baby, baby.”

Twitching, he spills hot down the back of your throat and you try to swallow as much of it as you can before it dribbles down your chin, dripping onto your chest. His full weight falls back onto his chair, the wheels it’s on moving just enough to have him slide half soft from the warm velvet of your mouth. He tasted even better than you’d imagined, promising yourself you were going to do this again to him after dinner. 

Chest heaving, a breathy laugh escapes him, and the hand that was buried in your hair runs through his before his eyes open up back to their normal golden brown. His cheeks flush pink when he gets a look at the mess he made of you, and it only deepens when you collect the spend that found its way to the swell of your breasts with the pads of your fingers before sucking them clean.

“I think I’m gonna take a half day.”

[megamindsecretlair]

Runaway Lover, Part 1

Pairing: Big Stunna x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. ANGST. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female and male receiving) teasing/mocking, cum play/swallowing, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, referring to female anatomy as she, all consensual. Use of n-word. Mentions of God, Christian leaning. Sorry if I missed some, I'm rushing, just let me know.

Summary: On a girl's trip with your friends to Punta Cana, getting some much needed rest before spring semester, you bump into Stunna and a whirlwind romance rocks you to your core.

Word Count: 9,326k

Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: This is a wonderful ask from @melaninpov. I'm sorry if this wasn't what you had in mind, I've been watching romance movies all day and this turned sweet unexpectedly. Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe @westside-rot @melaninpov @twocentuar @blackpinup22 @babybratzmaraj @theyscreamsannii @kiabialia

“Are you sure this isn’t too short?” You asked your friends. You stood in the bathroom of your hotel suite. The bright, fluorescent lighting in the bathroom highlighted everything. Everything. You wore a simple gold dress with intricate bronze and burnished orange swirls. It was a tad too short and showed a tad too much.

You weren’t a prude but you were also unused to showing…so much. You tugged at the short sleeves, the low neckline, and pinched the areas around your sides. You weren’t sure why you packed the damn thing, but you were drinking while packing. Something you vowed to never do again.

“You look so hot!” Your friend, Stella, said and moved closer to you and faced the mirror. She wore a violet dress with sparkling beads woven in to make it look like she wore a dress made of stars. It fit her deep ebony skin perfectly and brought out the subtle jewel tones in her skin.

You bit your lip, tasting the sweet lipgloss you dabbed on your lips. Abusing your lips was your worst sin and you avoided putting anything on them but tonight, you were all about new experiences. Hopefully. 

“I should change,” you said. You pushed past Stella’s calls out for you to stop and that there was no need. 

Angela appeared in the doorway and trapped you in the bathroom. “Damn girl!” You said. Stella’s sister was gorgeous in a marigold bodycon dress that hugged all of her curves and showed off her perfectly round ass. Truly, an apple bottom that she claimed was her best feature. 

Angela preened under the praise but did not lower her hands from the door frame. “You’re not changing. None of us are changing. We only have two days left before it’s back to fucking school and we’re going out with a bang. They better be throwing us out before the trip is over,” she said. 

She pushed you back into the bathroom. Thank goodness the space was big enough for all three of you. There were wide tile squares on the floor, a discarded hotel towel on the floor to keep you all from slipping, and two large mirrors over a double sink. 

Angela and Stella finished up their makeup and demanded that you applied more gloss. Stella handed you a clutch to match your dress and told you to take the gloss with you. 

You accepted it with a roll of your eyes. You’d likely go through the entire tube before the night was over. You were constantly at battle with your anxiety. Ya’ll really didn’t fuck with each other but it was like a toxic ex that didn’t know how to leave you alone. You could block, skip, and hop away from it but it was always lurking around the corner.

“Alright! Let’s go!” Stella yelled, getting you two pumped for the night’s activities. You all put on your matching heels or sandals, grabbed purses and clutches, and tucked in last minute items you may need, and headed out of the door.

Punta Cana was a balmy destination spot with plenty of resorts. The trip there had been uneventful but you and your friends had stayed glued to the windows, snapping pictures of the local plantlife, hills, and palm trees. 

At the resort, you couldn’t help looking around in wide-eyed wonder, taking in the people and accommodations. You had been here for a few days enjoying the beach and accompanying swimming pool at the resort. 

Everyone was friendly and open and a staff member was always around waiting to answer your questions. The goal of the trip was rest, rest, and more fucking rest. You were approaching your final year of school. After this spring semester, you were officially a senior and would have to enter the dreaded world of adults.

Stella and Angela kept up a steady stream of chatter on the ride down the elevator about what they were most excited for. The adults only resort was a breath of fresh air. No kids running around and no harried parents running after them. 

Tonight, you were going to the club in the resort. So far, your activities have kept you from that venue. You rode ATVs and did a snorkeling tour off the shore of the beach. You also climbed into a boat to watch the local marine life. That part was your favorite.

Angela had to remind you that you were in fact young and it was okay to enjoy yourself. Half the time, you didn’t know where your anxiety came from. You could be having the time of your life and then boom! Your anxiety was snatching your breath away and warning you of an invisible threat. No matter how many times you asked for proof or begged to know what the threat was, your anxiety only shook its head and repeated the warning tone: danger, danger!

You shoved your anxiety in the recesses of your mind. You were not in danger. There was no threat. You were only here to have a good time. 

On the main floor of the resort, the wide open arches and large windows let in enough of the view that you saw the moon ascending the sky. Sunset was losing its grip on this part of the world. Swirling colors of lilac, tangerine, and amber dotted the sky as night approached. The ambient lighting outside began to turn on one by one.

Stella looped her arms through yours and Angela’s arms and pulled you toward the entrance to the club. The music reached you first. Hotel guests were spilling in and out of the place so it must be a popular spot. 

You swallowed around the huge lump in your throat as you pushed inside, flashing your wristbands that confirmed your age and the amenities you paid for. The staff member waved you in with a polite smile and soon you were entrenched in the booming club.

The space itself was huge with plenty of dancefloor area. The upbeat, fast paced music got everybody dancing and shaking their hips. There were pillars stationed around the room holding up the ceiling but other than that, it was pretty much open. There was a bar area on a raised platform filled with tables and chairs. 

Most were all occupied as people looked over the railing at the brave people down below getting it on in various states of fancy clothing. Dresses flew through the space. Heels clacked on the floor. Hands were in the air in an undulating wave like the waters that crashed on the shore. 

There was a heavy smell of liquor and sweat and some type of sweet perfume in the air that tried to combat it. There was no way to combat the funk so it ended up smelling like sweet sweat. But that was to be expected with so many people in one room shaking what the Lord gave them. 

You and your friends made a beeline to the bar, immediately ordering sugary drinks that would go straight to your head. Alcohol was never a proper solution to anxiety. However, you’d take anything for a release from its shackles for the night. 

As you waited for your drink, you bounced your shoulders trying to get your body to catch up to your mind. “Naw, show us what you got, girl!” Stella said. She whistled and encouraged you to dance a little more, shake a little more.

Fuck it. You couldn’t let your anxiety win this time around. You started getting into it, shaking your booty faster and then backing away from the bar. You felt the rhythm of the song, waving your hands and getting your whole body into it.

You backed up one more step and tripped, your body flying to the right. You shrieked, hands reaching out to catch your fall. However, you didn’t fall. Strong arms encircled you. It took a few moments for your mind to catch up to the fact that you weren’t kissing the nasty club floor. 

Your heart roared in your chest, causing stops and starts that made you shake all over. The strong arms pulled you back to standing, righting yourself on your wedges. “Thank you,” you said.

You looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes you had ever seen. Those eyes were framed by a long face, wide nose, and a trimmed dark beard. He had a big smile with perfect, symmetrical teeth encased in hollow grills.

The man had rich, deep golden brown skin that he showed off with a collared navy shirt and black jeans. His upper arms were bulging with muscles, straining against the short sleeves of his shirt. 

He was in a word: devastating. 

“Are you okay?” Sound finally filtered past your racing heartbeat. The way he looked at you gave you the indication that he had asked it more than once. You bit your lip and nodded. You forgot how words worked. 

“Are you sure you didn’t twist anything?” He asked. His voice felt like what hot chocolate on a cold evening tasted like. It warmed you up from the inside out, awakening places that didn’t usually awaken for anything other than your favorite celebrity and brownies.

Your mind was slow, fuzzy around the edges, as it dawned on you that he was pointing to your feet. You moved each leg, leaning on him while you lifted your legs and moved them in a tiny circle. 

You looked back into his eyes and nodded again. “Good,” you chirped. 

He smiled slowly. Fuck, you could watch him smile for the rest of your days and never get sick of it. He was so damn cute. And hot. A dangerous combination that had you acting like Helen Keller. ‘Cept you could plainly see how divinely sexy he was. 

“Can I buy you a drink to apologize for ruining your dance?” He asked.

You smiled and ducked your head, cheeks warming up from the embarrassment of dancing in front of him. You looked down at his hands secured around your arms, at your hands on his. 

You started to move them but he held on a little tighter, unwilling to let you go. “I…kind of already ordered one,” you said around the thick lump in your throat. Come on! Get it together! What the hell was wrong with you? 

“Oh, are you here with someone?” He asked. He still didn’t let you go. 

You licked your lips, the sweet taste of manufactured strawberries coating your tongue and snapping some sense back into you. You nodded and looked towards your friends. They were openly gawking at you. 

“My friends,” you finally said. 

“But no guy?” He asked. 

You giggled and shook your head. “No girl?” You asked.

He smiled and shook his head. “I’m Stunna,” he said. 

You told him your name. He said a few times, rolling the syllables around his tongue like one did to a lollipop. You focused on his mouth and the way he said your name. As if he had been saying it his whole life and never wanted to stop. 

“If I can’t buy you a drink, can I get your number? You from the States?” He asked. 

Anxiety reared its huge, ugly, monstrous head. You were nervous to just…abandon your friends. Let alone your drink. With your luck, you lived on complete opposite sides of the country. You nodded, to give him an answer about the States. But were too nervous to tell him where. To even hint at the possibility that you could occupy the same city and there wasn’t a national alert about it. 

You were sure that he caused a storm of women wherever he went. You would have noticed if he lived around the Bay. You knew that you’d feel him in your blood, taste him in your veins if you lived in the same area. Certain that you would have bumped into each other already. Seen each other somewhere. 

“I should probably get back to my friends. I’m sure your friends are missing you as well,” you said. You reluctantly withdrew your hold on him. Your small claim for the time being. Relinquishing that hold hurt. 

He nodded. As you turned to leave, he swiftly caught your hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed your fingers. “Save a dance for me? I wanna see more of them moves.” 

A nervous giggle pushed against your rib cage, threatening to spill over. You swallowed it back down and bit your lip. You didn’t want to keep turning him down but your stomach twisted and turned. Danger! Threat! 

There was nothing threatening about the man so you figured that you needed away. You needed space to breathe and think. Time spent away from his spicy cologne that tickled your nose. 

You nodded once more. What were the odds that he’d find you again in this club? If your friends weren’t at the bar, you wouldn’t know the first place to look for them. 

Stunna let go of your hand and backed away, giving you a small wink before turning back to his friends. He was surrounded by a group of guys, all hot in some way or another? Damn. You checked out his back side as you walked back to your friends. 

“The hell you doing back here?” Stella asked.

“What’s happening? Why aren’t you sitting in that man’s lap?” Angela asked. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked. You grabbed your drink, the glass sweating from sitting so long. How long had you been talking to Stunna? And why did you feel like you wanted to run right back into his arms?

You took deep gulps of the fruity concoction, letting the alcohol seep through your system and chase away your anxiety. The cold from the drink burned away the lump in your throat. Being away from him helped. It helped in a way that was foreign to you to name or identify. 

People didn’t have physical reactions to others right? Like that was a thing made up by romance movies to get people’s heads in the clouds and sell more candy in stores, right? 

Your friends hounded you for answers to their questions, wondering what you spoke about and why you weren’t still talking to him.

“I didn’t want to abandon you for some guy. This is a girl’s trip. A relaxing trip,” you said.

“You better relax on that man’s dick! Like you saw him right? Like you saw the way he looked at you? Girl, please tell me she’s not that oblivious,” Stella said, leaning her head on her sister’s shoulder.

Angela tossed her hands up as if she were preaching to a congregation. “Father God, grant your child the gift of sight because she’s clearly blind,” Angela said. 

You laughed, rubbing your forehead at their embarrassing shenanigans. “I’m not oblivious!” 

“I pray that I’ll never do some dumb shit like her, Lord. Smite her and send the nigga my way, because damn,” Stella said. She looked behind you and you panicked, standing in her way to not bring attention to the fact that you were discussing Stunna. You risked a glance over your shoulder.

Stunna was sitting down at a table, faced in your direction. He lifted his glass to you and you smiled, turning around and immediately dropping it. The drink wasn’t helping. Butterflies flapped tiny wings in your stomach. He was killing you. 

“What happened to new experiences?” Angela asked.

“Not that damn new,” you muttered, sipping more of your drink. At this rate, you’d need ten drinks to calm the wings in your stomach. 

Stella groaned dramatically, throwing her arms across your shoulders. “As sweet as it is to worry about us, you see us every damn day. How often do you run across someone that damn fine in real life? In real life? He belongs in a magazine or on TV or some shit,” she said. 

That was the fucking truth. “He probably lives on the East Coast or something,” you said, waving Stella off of you. You were too hot. There were too many people here. Too many clusters of hot breath, sweat, and body heat raising the temperature in the room to dangerous levels. 

You sipped more of your drink. You tapped your foot against the hard floor, vibrating with energy that had nowhere to go. Nothing to do but zip up and down your body and twist your insides. 

“So? You ain’t trynna marry the nigga. Just get down,” Angela said and bent low, shaking her hips. Stella joined her, sticking their tongues out. Stella turned around and bounced her booty against Angela. Angela mimed hitting Stella’s ass and you laughed, waving them away.

“You two are a hot fucking mess!” You screamed. They continued to dance and giggle, shaking their ass and proceeding to make you wish the floor swallowed you whole. 

“Since our girl is romantically deficient, let’s get on the floor,” Stella said. You finished your drink and followed your friends to the dance floor. 

You started out stiff, not wanting to bump up against anyone. You didn’t need a repeat from earlier. Your friends noticed your reluctance and each took one of your hands. They began to swing you around. 

You smiled, falling for their obvious charm. You loosened up and relaxed. The drink finally did the trick and you surrendered to the music. You closed your eyes and felt the thumping beats, the instruments, and sultry crooning of the singer. 

You danced and laughed with your friends, relishing the feeling of being young and carefree. This was what you had been chasing this entire trip. This feeling of being present and in the moment. 

You began to twerk as the music changed, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Your friends cheered you on. You placed your hands on your knees and got lower. Someone sidled up behind you, not one of your friends you were sure. 

You shrugged your shoulders and kept dancing. Now was the time to keep living in the moment. You could dance with someone that wasn’t in your immediate comfort circle. You couldn’t always hang onto your friends like a barnacle. 

Large hands circled your waist and you leaned back into a lean but strong frame. The stranger felt like a man and a good dancer on top of it. Able to match your changing moves. The stranger grabbed your hands and spun you around to face him.

Stunna grinned at the surprise on your face. “I thought I told you to save me a dance,” he yelled to be heard over the music. 

“What took you so long?” You asked. 

“Like that?” He asked, exaggerating his words. You nodded. He matched your nod and then spun you back around. You giggled, breathless at being spun around like a doll. He pulled you around the dancefloor dancing to the fast-paced music with ease. Now it was you that was having trouble keeping up with him.

You faced him now and your hands were in each other’s, dancing with complicated turns and twirling limbs that made you feel like you were on Dancing With the Stars. The song finished and you waved your heads. “I need a break!” 

Stunna grinned, flashing those damn grills. You stared at them, wondering if he took them out during sex. Was he the type to go down on a woman? Stunna winked as he if sensed the direction of your thoughts.

He placed his hand on your lower back and led you back to the bar. You ordered some water and he made you order a drink. “Since you don’t wanna give a nigga your phone number,” he said with a show-stopping smile. 

You rolled your eyes. “Why do you want my number?” You asked. You drank the water bottle at his nudging.

“So I can hear that sexy ass voice in my ear,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes playfully and played with the paper around the water bottle. “You’re so bad,” you said. 

He shrugged his shoulders, calling your name like he was savoring the taste of it. “I’m still right though. I want to keep talking to you,” he said.

You could practically feel your friends on your shoulders like little devils pushing you to give him your number. What harm could it do? You held out your hand for his phone. He dug it out of his pocket and handed it to you.

His total focus on you while you entered your number was unnerving. You couldn’t help giggling as you put in your number. He reached out and trailed a finger down your arm, raising goosebumps in its wake. You messed up on a number and giggled in his direction.

“You’re distracting me,” you said. 

“Yeah? Good. But make sure that number right,” he said. He peeked across the screen as you backspaced and entered your number correctly. 

He smelled like his cologne, sweat, and whatever drink he had throughout the night. You handed his phone back to him. You fanned yourself with your clutch while he looked at his phone. 

He smiled and tapped a few times. “There, now you have my number,” he said. 

The butterflies returned to your stomach the longer you spent in his presence. He liked that he could fluster you so easily and tried his damndest to keep doing so. Your cheeks ached from all the smiling you did. 

You talked more about yourself and your friends and why you came to the D.R. He told you that he was out here celebrating for his friend’s wedding. The wedding had already passed, cheaper during the week, so they were spending the weekend celebrating with friends.

“It’s nice of you all to come out here and celebrate with them,” you said. Stunna turned his head to the side, he didn’t hear you. The music seemed to get louder and even though you yelled, he couldn’t hear you.

Stunna scooted closer to you and yelled in your ear. “Wanna go outside?” 

You looked at him and nodded. You couldn’t hear shit, but you were pretty sure you could hear your friends whooping for joy as Stunna took your hand and led you outside of the club.

Your ears popped as you reached the quiet interior of the lobby. There was a stark contrast between the two rooms and your ears rung. You shook your head, trying to clear the ringing. Stunna did the same, shaking his shoulders too for good measure.

Being out in the lobby, the base temperature felt like frost at the top of a mountain. You shivered as it highlighted buckets of sweat rolling down your spine and between your breasts. 

A drop of sweat rolled down Stunna’s arm and you followed the movement as it trailed down a prominent vein. Stunna still held your hand and you walked out of the resort, past the open pool that shimmered with light from nearby lamps. 

You walked along the concrete pathways heading down to the beach. Before you stepped onto the sand, you leaned down and took off your wedges. Stunna took off his boots, and rolled up his pants legs. 

“Looks like I was smart to wear a dress,” you said and giggled at him. 

“Damn smart. I’m glad you did. Your body in that dress, hmm,’ he said and rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Stop,” you chuckled and shook your head. He was incorrigible. 

“Naw, I can’t. Your ass looks amazing. Thighs I just wanna squeeze. Lips I wanna kiss,” he said. He stood up to his full height and you stared at him.

Soft moonlight fell over his features on one side of his face. The lamps gave a warm glow on the other side. He was light, soaking it all up and reflecting it back out to seem like he had an inner glow. 

You sighed, staring at this work of art before you. You wanted to pinch yourself. You stepped closer but Stunna only smiled, grabbed your hand, and you took off down the beach. You spent time walking up and down, warm sand digging between your toes. 

You talked more, learning about him and how much he loved to read. You shared that passion and spoke about books you’ve read and favorite authors. He took your recommendations seriously, pulling out his phone to add books to a list on his phone. 

“Come back to my room,” he said.

You shook your head. “Won’t your friends be looking for you?” 

“Naw. I got my own room. I ain’t sharing shit with them nasty niggas,” he said.

You laughed, moving away from him as the sand made you trip up. Stunna pulled you back to his side. “See, yo clumsy ass need somewhere to sit. Come sit in my room,” he said. 

You were back in the same position from earlier when he rescued you from falling. He gripped your elbows, standing close enough to lick, and your hands were on his arms. He was too close, surrounding you with him. You couldn’t think past him. When you looked up, all you saw was him. 

You waited to feel panicked and shaky. To warn you to step away and flee from him. It never came. “If I go back to your room, I doubt we’ll just be sitting,” you said.

“I never said that. That’s yo nasty mind,” he said. He licked his lips. “But I like the way you think. You wanna come sit in my lap?” 

There were no reservations. No warning bells in your head. No screeches of noise or racing thoughts to prevent you from biting your lip and nodding. From grabbing his hand and watching each other as you left the beach and headed inside. 

You didn’t talk as you leaned against one another in the elevator. He placed a kiss to your head and you melted even further into him. The elevator softly dinged and the doors opened to his floor. He stayed in the building next to your room. You were sort of relieved. Had he stayed in the same building or even on the same floor, it would have been too perfect. Too obviously a set up by God or whoever was out there listening. 

Stunna swiped his keycard once he got to his room and opened the door. You walked inside the cool room and turned on lights. 

He had a suitcase on the couch of his suite, open to reveal some clothes he packed. He had shoes strewn about but for the most part, he was a clean guest. He closed the door and you turned to look at him. 

You placed your shoes on the ground next to his, marveling at the contrast between your sizes. It looked oddly perfect sitting side by side. You ignored that runaway thought as you quickly texted your friends that you would be late to the room. It was a good chance to not wait up for you at all if this night went how you were expecting.

Stunna watched you place your clutch on the TV stand. He moved about the room, cleaning up but it wasn’t necessary. Just bags and bottles of water that were on the nightstand. 

“I’ll wash off this sand,” you told him. 

“I’ll go after you. Take your time,” he said.

Take your time, yeah right. If you took long enough, you would summon your anxiety like an ancient deity out for your blood. You quickly went to the bathroom and freshened up a little, running the bath to clean off your feet. You didn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. If you did, you would chicken out. 

You didn’t want to chicken out. You wanted a wild story. A story to tuck in your heart and bring out as the years passed and you lived your life. A story that you held on to when you got older and your partying days was nearing its end. 

When you left the bathroom, Stunna had lowered the lights to make it more intimate and softer. He opened the curtains revealing a balcony that overlooked the ocean. He stood outside, twisting caps off of water bottles. He also had a bottle of Hennesy on the small table outside. 

You approached and he smiled when you did. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

He went to the bathroom to clean off the sand. You stepped out fully and enjoyed the breeze kissing your skin. You sipped some of the Hennessy, enjoying that sweet burn. The ocean waves crashed against the shore but from this height, you saw further than you did in your room. 

Few stars were able to wink in and out behind dark clouds in the sky. The half moon shone down onto the beach and over the resort. Stunna returned and wrapped his hands around your waist, leaning against you. 

He grabbed the cup from your hands and finished the rest. He kissed his way along your exposed neck, sending shivers down your spine. You sighed and relaxed into him. He made no move to do anything else, no roaming hands or nasty words. 

“You are so gorgeous,” he said.

You turned in his arms and faced him. “I’m done talking. Kiss me,” you said.

He grinned, flashing those damn golds that have been driving you crazy all night. “You sure?”

You wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him closer before you lost your nerve. You finally tasted him, tasted the bite of Hennessy on his lips. His lips were warm and wet and his tongue dived into your mouth. You moaned as he explored, running his tongue along yours and along your teeth. 

Stunna’s hands gripped your arms and moved lower, cupping your ass and squeezing tight. You growled from how good it felt. How wonderful it felt to be in his arms. Stunna hissed in between his kisses, like you were both on fire but he was willing to risk kissing you through the flames.

Your back was against the railing and he pushed into you, rubbing his erection against your tummy. You moaned. 

“Keep moaning like that and I won’t be able to control myself,” he said against your lips. You opened your eyes to look at him. 

“Don’t control yourself,” you said. 

He laughed and licked his lips. He sat down in the closest chair and pulled you into his lap. You straddled him, wobbling a bit since his stance was so wide. Your legs draped on the outside of his and he spread his legs so that he could spread you wider. 

His hands searched under your dress so that he could cup your ass directly. Dig those skillful fingers into the meat of your ass. He spanked one cheek and you jerked in his lap, your pussy rubbing against the fabric of his jeans. 

He growled, fingers seeking your wet heat. When he found your clit, he had no mercy. He began to run his thumb around the sensitive nub. You scooted higher on his lap, needing the friction of his jeans to help speed your arousal along. Not that you really needed it. You were already dripping for him. 

“Mm, so wet. You always sit your pretty ass on strangers and let them finger your pussy?” He asked around kissing you. 

“N-No,” you moaned. 

He suckled on your bottom lip and your pussy throbbed. He was working some type of magic between your legs. Some type of spell that threatened to rip you into pieces. 

“No? You telling me that this is all for me?” He asked. “I get to be the one to play with you?” 

“Yess,” you sighed against his lips. 

“Then I should feel special that you’re soaking my fingers already and I’ve yet to feel you?” 

“Shit,” you sighed. Your arms were wrapped completely around his neck, holding onto him and keeping him close. 

He kissed your neck, licking it, while his fingers finally dipped into your entrance. You shook with a long moan, throwing your head back as pleasure rolled through you in cascading waves. 

“Nasty little girl, aren’t you?” He asked. 

“N-No,” you whined. 

He chuckled. “You letting me play with your pussy. And it feels so good gripping my fingers. Bad little girl,” he growled against your throat. 

His other hand snaked up your body until he gripped your throat. Your eyes rolled to the back as he squeezed with force. He brought your head closer so that your foreheads were touching. 

His fingers increased in pressure and he drove them into you. Effectively fucking you with his fingers. “Say you’re a bad girl,” he said. 

Your breathing was heavy and slow, not pumping enough oxygen into your brain. Or perhaps it was him. Perhaps he was some type of demon, stealing the oxygen from your lungs as your orgasm swam to the surface. 

You couldn’t make your words work. The words stuck to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. Your mouth moved, working double time as he stuck two fingers inside and rolled your clit with his thumb.

“Say it if you wanna cum,” he said.

“I wanna,” you whined. 

“You wanna what?” He asked. “Shit, you’re so fucking wet. Can’t wait to taste you. Do you taste as sweet as you look?” 

You whined and gyrated your hips. Why couldn’t you say anything? Why couldn’t your mouth work to speak? 

“I wanna cum,” you finally choked out. You leaned your head back. He allowed you to do so and he kissed your neck around his fingers, dipping low to kiss your chest and just above your breasts. 

“Say you’re a bad girl if you wanna cum,” he demanded. 

You were close. Incredibly close. “Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you moaned.

“I’m waiting,” he whispered against your skin. Blowing air across your chest, around the pools of saliva he left on your skin. 

“I’m bad. I’m a bad girl,” you moaned.

“So bad,” he agreed.

“So bad. You make me feel so good,” you moaned. 

His fingers never stopped pumping into you. Your legs squeezed his and your eyes shut as you cried with your orgasm. Stunna continued to pump his fingers as you came, cooing against your skin. 

“So pretty when you cum,” he said. When you were done and slumped against him, he withdrew his fingers. Shivers still wracked your body. He moaned while he suckled on his fingers, licking up your essence.

You watched him as he closed his eyes and savored your taste. You licked your lips watching him. He cleaned his fingers and gave you a wink. “You okay?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I wanna taste you too,” you said. 

He grinned. “Get on your knees,” he said. You slid off of his lap with a lopsided smile. The balcony floor wasn’t entirely comfortable, but you were too focused on him unzipping his pants. He released himself from his pants and briefs. 

Your eyes widened. You couldn’t possibly fit the whole thing in your mouth?! 

Stunna chuckled and moved to put his dick away but you gripped his thighs. “I said, I want to taste you too.” You glanced at him as you took him into your mouth. He gave you an impressed smirk, licking his lips at the look of you taking him deep within your mouth.

You couldn’t fit all of him like you thought. But you got enough of him down. You hoped that your inexperience didn’t show. You’ve sucked dicks before but he was probably used to throat goats. Used to women taking him down to the base, fondling his balls, or knowing what the fuck to do.

You only knew that you wanted to keep going. Wanted to please him. You drooled on him and released him to get some air. Using both hands, you twisted his long shaft and then suckled the head of his dick back into your mouth.

His eyes opened and closed, back bowing off of the chair, as he groaned. His hand palmed your head and pushed you down on his dick, pushing you past your limit until you choked. He eased up, but you took him how he wanted. Your saliva helped your hands twist around his dick and coat his tip.

“Gahh damn. Fuckin’ nasty,” he groaned. You made a pleased sound in the back of your throat and continued to take him deeper and faster. Your sloppy, wet suckling was loud in the quiet air. 

You slurped him, drops of precum hitting your tongue. You suckled him all down, glancing at him periodically to see the ecstasy on his face. The pleasure you were bringing him. 

“Gonna bust,” he groaned.

“Wanna taste,” you said around his dick. 

His breathing turned choppy before he tensed. You felt his orgasm travel up his shaft before he moaned, releasing his cum in your mouth. You continued to milk him for every drop you could. You swallowed him all down. 

He pushed at your shoulders to stop, sounds escaping him that you never heard from a man. “Too good,” he panted.

You grinned. You wiped at the corners of your mouth. “You’re dangerous,” he said.

You blinked up innocently at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said. 

His eyebrows raised and he chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Remember you said that,” he said. 

He scooted the chair back and stood up, helping you to your feet. He pushed you into the room and closed the balcony door, leaving behind a tiny crack to still let in the breeze from the ocean. 

He unzipped your dress and dropped it to the floor, sighing at the look of your body. You never felt so cherished during sex. You weren’t expecting love and all that crap whenever you took someone to bed. It was more like an overwhelming itch that needed to be scratched.

After the deed, your anxiety returned with a vengeance and you were the first out of the door. No one wanted to deal with an anxious mess after getting off. 

With Stunna, there was none of that usual nervousness or shyness holding you back. You just wanted him. 

Your soaked panties went next. He knelt down, doing all the work of removing it. He kissed along your spine and back, the globes of your ass, and the back of your thighs. You shivered at the attention. The care with which he removed your panties.

He stood back up and unhooked your bra, freeing your breasts. He eagerly grabbed them from behind and rolled your nipples between his fingers. He pulled you until you leaned back against him.

“Can’t wait to get these in my mouth. I wanna be a gentleman, but fuck. I just want to break you,” he said.

A vicious tingle spread around your thighs. “I never asked you to be a gentleman,” you said.

He chuckled. “Fair, but I don’t wanna scare you away,” he said. 

“I’m a big girl. I can use my words when I need to,” you said.

“Yeah? Get on the bed then. Hands and knees, bad girl,” he said. He smacked your ass, hard and you did as instructed. You climbed into his bed and got on your hands and knees. 

You were too far away however. He grabbed your hips roughly and pulled you to the edge of the bed. He gripped himself and shoved into your inviting pussy with one savage thrust. His grip on your hip prevented you from escaping. You tried to lean forward, but he held you in place.

He pressed on your back until your chest was against the bed. Your ass was high in the air, giving him total access to you. He smacked your ass. 

“You been talkin’ mad shit all night,” he said. He began to stroke, delivering hard and long thrusts that immediately found your G-spot.

“Oh shit!” You cried out. 

“That’s my shit.” You heard the pleased grin in his tone. How did he find it so fast? 

He continued to stroke, hitting your sweet spot over and over with military precision. He smacked your ass with one hand while the other kept a firm grip. “You ain’t so bold now. A little dick shuts you up?” He asked. 

You couldn’t speak. He was slamming into you so hard, just the way you always dreamt of. It brought tears to your eyes. Most guys were afraid to be rough. Afraid of catching a case once you asked them to go a little deeper or stroke a little harder. 

Not Stunna. He drove into you, seeking something you couldn’t name. It didn’t take long before you were convulsing, shaking on his dick. 

“Talk to me, then. Say somethin’ else,” he said.

“Achgg,” you moaned, eyes rolling. 

Stunna continued to work himself inside of you. His dick speared you. Nearly split you in half. You bounced back on his dick, giving as much as you got. 

“Fuck,” he moaned. “Don’t let me stand in your way. You take what you need from me,” he said. 

Wet, smacking noises filled the room. The sound of your combined fucking pushed another orgasm to the surface. Your ass clapped on his thighs. Your screams were sure to draw the attention of his neighbors. 

He leaned forward and wrapped his hands around your throat. “Fuuh,” you moaned.

Both of you matched each other’s intensity. He pulled you by your throat to swallow every long inch of him. Your desperate thrusts sounded like thunder against his skin. 

“Goh, goh, fuh,” you chanted in rapid succession. 

“So good, so good. Pussy feel so good. You were made to take this dick, weren’t you? You were made for it,” he groaned. 

Your hands feebly held onto the bed in front of you but there was no use. This was so intense and passionate that your orgasm crushed you into a tiny ball and flung you into a tornado. You screamed until you were hoarse. Drool leaked out of your mouth with your whiny cries. 

Stunna continued to hold your throat and pound, chasing his own climax. “Greedy ass. Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned. 

You were shaking as you rode out your orgasm. As soon as you ended, he began. He flooded your pussy with his cum, roaring like an animal as he climaxed. Your body twitched and spasmed on his dick. His dick hit something deep inside, too deep to know what. But it hit a natural reset. 

Stunna let go of your throat and held onto your hips to keep from falling on top of you. You both panted, harsh breaths filling the room. You sniffled as you recovered, brain quiet for once. 

Stunna slipped out of you and he leaned back to watch his cum slip out. He panted and his breaths fell across your ass and pussy. 

“Fuck,” he said. 

You agreed. You never felt something like that before. Possessed. Owned. It was a feeling you would spend your entire life trying to find again. Would you be able to? 

Both of you were too wobbly to move. As if with your dual climaxes, you had entered a new plane of existence. Being back in the real world sucked. It seemed foreign. You were changed by the experience so why hadn’t the world changed? 

Stunna left to go to the bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth. You cried at the sensation. “Shh, shh, I got you,” he said.

The rough fucking was everything you needed but you were fucking sore. You ached. It felt too damn good for you to complain though. He gently cleaned you up, wiping you down and wiping off some of the sweat. 

You curled up into a ball, trying to will yourself to move. To get dressed and make your escape. You felt like the sex police would descend from the ceiling and arrest you for upsetting the natural law of the universe. 

You couldn’t move. You felt too raw, too exposed. You focused on your breathing, on drawing air in and then out. Stunna returned from the bathroom and you cringed at the picture you must make.

“I’ll leave just as soon as my legs work,” you mumbled. 

Stunna chuckled. “Can you stay?” He sat on the bed in front of you. You were too afraid to look in his eyes. You didn’t know if you were over exaggerating the moment. You wouldn’t be able to bear it if you felt like your world tilted on its axis while it was just Friday night to him. 

Stunna laid down on the bed and lifted your chin with his fingers. “Please, stay,” he whispered.

His eyes swirled with emotion. As if the moment you left, this would all disappear from memory. Until he wasn’t sure if he dreamt this or it was real. It only mirrored what you were feeling so you nodded and he grinned. “What you need?” 

For your skin to feel like it wasn't going to slough off the moment you unfurled. You looked at him with wide eyes. He nodded as if he understood the turmoil inside of you. He stood up and then came around to lay behind you. His hands came around your arms and knees, pulling you into the heat of his body.

You sighed. Exactly what you needed. He pulled the covers over you, wrapping you in a tiny cocoon of heat. You drifted off to the sound of his quiet breathing. The last thing you felt was a tiny kiss behind your ear. 

In the morning, you yawned and stretched. Stunna was asleep next to you. Somehow, you were laying properly in the bed, head on a pillow and his hand draped across your tummy. You watched him in the early morning light. 

This was dangerous. Ludicrous. It was crazy to feel this type of connection with someone else. Someone so obviously built for you yet it couldn’t last. Tomorrow you were flying back home. On Monday, it was back to classes. 

After taking a peek at the edge of the universe, how did you go back to normal? How did you carry on and keep this in your memory bank? 

You had to get out. You lifted his hand to scoot away from him. Away from the oppressive heat that made sweat pool behind your knees. 

Stunna groaned and sniffed, pulling you back against his side. “Where you think you going?” He asked. 

You giggled. “Back to my suite,” you said. 

“You was gonna sneak out? That’s cold,” he said. His deep voice was rough from sleep and it made your pussy flutter. Really? After all that last night, she was still ready to go?!

“Sneak is such an ugly word.” You sighed as he finally cracked one eye open and looked at you.

“At least let me get you breakfast. You can get changed and meet me right back here,” he said.

You laughed. “What if I have plans?” You asked.

“You do. With me,” he said. 

You shook your head. “You’re crazy.” 

He grabbed your hand and linked your fingers together. Your hands were perfect against each other, skin tones perfectly aligned. 

“Please? Text your friends and tell them you’re safe. When do you leave?” He asked.

“Tomorrow,” you said.

“See? Give me one last day until we can figure out when we’ll see each other again.” 

You sighed. You couldn’t say no to that face. Those eyes. You bit your lip and nodded. He grinned, peppering you with kisses all over your face. 

He ordered room service and ate you out before it came up. He moaned and suckled while he did so, grinding his hips into the bed like he wanted to bury his face into your pussy forever. 

When the food arrived, you talked and ate and laughed, sharing more details about yourself but not personal information like the fact that you were in school or where he was working. You talked through safe subjects but all the information you gathered about him, you held it close to your heart. 

Each passing moment spent with him carved out a section of your heart and replaced it with a gorgeous, sexy man named Stunna. You did make it back to your room where your friends gushed over your night. You still had no words but you squealed while you showered and begged their forgiveness while you planned to spend the day with Stunna. 

They encouraged you, admitting that in a move that surprised no one, they found their way to their own flavor of the day. They agreed to come back to the room at a decent hour to pack away their shit and figure out their flight. 

You spent the rest of the day with Stunna, outside of his suite, walking around the resort. It had a small gambling area where he tried to show you how to play poker. He was a very sweet teacher, but you couldn’t make heads nor tails of the rules. You were more of a spades player, but good luck finding that shit here. 

You shared desserts and walked along the beach, sitting in the sand in between his legs and talking some more. Stunna stole kisses throughout the day, unwilling to leave your lips for the second it took to breathe and join back together. 

As night fell, you ate dinner with him and found your way back to his room where you slowly peeled each other’s clothes off. Where you feasted your eyes on his skin. Gasped as he entered you once more and you gave each other untold amounts of pleasure.

Where he held you like he loved you but fucked you like you stole something from him. You came, looking into his molten brown eyes, nuzzling your cheek against the stubble on his chin. He came with your legs pinned to the mattress and his dick threatening to fuck you into the mattress, the floor, and the next floor down. 

You kissed and cuddled while you talked about talking to him every day. He entered you again while you were stubborn, saying you might be busy. 

“Naw, this shit belong to me now,” he said while he thrusted into you for the…third time that night? Fourth? Who kept count while his delicious dick was inside you and you felt whole again? Complete. 

“It belongs to me,” you said.

He grinned and bit your nipple, then licked away the sting. He continued to nibble across delicate skin, moaning when he found your other nipple and tugged with his teeth. You hissed and your back curved, giving him all the access he wanted. 

“Do we have a problem?” He asked.

“Do we?” You countered.

He grinned and then slipped out of you, only to hike one of your legs up in the air. He reentered you from the side, slamming into you until you were crying and shaking on his dick, screaming out his name. 

“Stay talkin’ shit,” he groaned as he filled you up once more.

Saying goodbye to him was the hardest shit you ever had to do. It was like you both knew that even with talking every day, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as lying next to him and feeling him take up space in the room, in your heart, in your pussy. 

He kept tugging you back for one more kiss, asking if he could walk you to your room. You were blinking back tears. You didn’t want to leave him. But you couldn’t stay either. Both of you had places to be, lives to get back to. 

He leaned in the doorframe, holding your hand and not letting you leave. You smiled. “Stunna, you have to let go.” 

“I’on want to,” he said.

“It’s not forever,” you said, trying to sound hopeful. Your words only sounded sad. He sighed and rubbed his head on his arm. 

“I know. I know.” 

He pulled you close to him, capturing your lips with a devastating kiss. You licked his lips, committing the taste and smell of him to memory. “Not forever,” he said.

“Not forever.” 

You turned and snatched your hand. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have the strength to leave. A cold numbness seeped into your bones as you made the trek to your suite. Stella and Angela commented on how melancholy you seemed.

How could you explain it? That you possibly found your soulmate in Punta Cana and had to leave him here? To be happy with texts and phone calls? Poor substitutes to hugging him, cuddling him, kissing him, fucking him? 

You told them that you were all fucked out to explain it now. Ask you in a week. When your heart wasn’t broken and the pain was less intense. Less potent. 

They left you alone to wallow while you all packed up your things and souvenirs. The ride back home was uneventful. You weren’t up to the usual plane shenanigans of talking and comparing in-flight meals. You didn’t feel like eating at all. 

You texted Stunna that you arrived safely and even spoke to him on the phone. But it only hurt worse. “C’mon, we said not forever,” he said. 

The bastard was right though. Hearing his voice in your ear helped but it wasn’t the same.

“Not forever. I just want you here,” you said.

“I know. We did a few things backward, but when we’re comfortable, we’ll arrange something,” he said. 

You talked until you absolutely had to go to sleep to get ready for class. Luckily, your first class of the day was in the afternoon. You had a chance to recover from the plane ride and time difference.

Everything was dull. The California sun was dull. The campus was boring. Students felt like aliens to you, playing and existing in a world that ended for you back in Punta Cana in Stunna’s arms. 

You sighed, not for the hundredth time, as you dragged your carcass across campus and to your class. Settling into your literature class, you didn’t share this with Stella and Angela. You were left to look out of the window, mind far, far away.

Your pen tapped on the desk, picturing that accidental bump into Stunna over and over again. Act of fate? Accident? How could you meet the love of your life only for you to be ripped away from him and planted back into your normal life like nothing was wrong? 

The door opened and you assumed your teacher came through. Whatever.

“Sorry, I’m late. Not used to the campus yet.”

Your head whipped around and there he was. Stunna stood at the front of the class wearing a deep brown sweater over chocolate colored pants. The sleeves were rolled up revealing his smooth forearms. 

He wrote his name on the whiteboard and your heart seized in your chest. Panic made your heart pound against your rib cage, practically screaming to be let out. You sunk in your seat. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

Stunna turned around and smiled at the class. When his eyes found yours, his jaw dropped and he stared. He stared and stared and you didn’t know what he was thinking or what he was going to do.

He cleared his throat and smiled at the class, introducing his real name. Not that you thought Stunna was his real name, but it was the name he usually went by. His eyes kept returning to yours.

You…slept with your college professor. Your life was over. Ruined. How the hell could you fall in love with your professor? And what the hell were you going to do now?

The Secret Big Stunna Files | Part 2 | Part 3

[florencemtrash]

Flame, Shadow, Beast : Flame

Azriel x Reader x Eris

Summary: Years after Eris frees you from his father’s prison, you’ve managed to find a new love, new friends, and build a life for yourself in Autumn. But when a certain Shadowsinger stumbles upon your home, dragging in painful memories of betrayal and longing, you’ll have to face the things you left in the past and make choices about the future you want.

Warnings: Fluffy Eris x Reader and our favorite monster, Bryaxis, makes an appearance.

Flame, Shadow, Beast: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

It was a cruel irony that winning a war was the easiest part of ruling. Eris thought about it often, doubts invading his rare moments of quiet; Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe the lives of thousands of Autumn Court members - both those loyal to him and to his father - hadn’t been worth the weight of the crown now sitting on his head.

The wood and gold had been harvested from the body of one of the Old Gods to whom some of the rural folk still owed their ultimate allegiance; the rubies had come from a land beyond the western seas as a declaration of war back when they’d been ruled by a more ancient race of beings - the predecessors to the Blood Rubies the Summer Court was so fond of doling out. Eris wondered if he’d ever get used to carrying so much history on his body. 

The sun had barely crested over the treetops, blanketing the forest floor with streams of liquid gold, when he came across your village. The first fae he saw - a female with short elk horns extending gracefully from her temples - nearly dropped her basket at the sight of him. Eris gently bowed his head in greeting and her face flushed as crimson as the red garment dye that stained her hands. 

“My High Lord,” She breathed out, dropping to her knees despite the prickling straw that perpetually littered the roads.

Heads of varying shades of chestnut and scarlet appeared behind closed windows like candlights. During the harvest months everyone woke and slept with the sun. 

One by one fae streamed out of their homes, each of them carrying tribute in the form of freshly baked bread, baskets of apples and peaches, sheepskin cloaks, and barrels of mead. 

“Stand.” Eris gently commanded them as they fell to their knees, “We’re just passing through.” He could see the hesitation in their eyes. They feared disrespecting him. 

Eight years of being High Lord and he had yet to perfect the delicate balance between distance and familiarity with his people. 

Halvor coughed from beside him, eyes raised from beneath the shadow of his bronze helm.

Get off your horse and talk to them. His eyes said, repeating the mantra that you liked to say around the royal pair.

Eris understood and dismounted with grace and power. With his scarlet and gold riding cloak, flaming hair, and ruby crown he looked like the spirit of Autumn come to life - all sharp edges and burning stoicism. He was a living fire.

But fire could give warmth as much as pain - nurture and grow as much as it could raze the world to the ground. So Eris took his time to speak with the people. He sampled their mead and ale, complimented the pixies who wove threads of warm oranges, yellows, and reds with their nimble fingers, and visited the rolling fields of corn, barley, and wheat that waved in the brisk breeze. The gray-tinged sky above tasted of power and freedom. 

Under Beron’s reign, the fruits of the fields would have fallen entirely under the purview of the High Lord with little remaining for the people who tended the long grasses. Now that they were allowed to own their own land and keep what was due to them, the air was lighter here, happier. It was the first harvest in a long time where they’d feel comfortable enough to celebrate properly.

The mask ebbed away, leaving him feeling lighter than he had in ages as he walked through a town.

A familiar face stared out from behind the small crowd that had gathered by the wheat fields. Talk of this year’s harvest festival rose in the air until everyone could taste the spiced rum, roasted pistachios, caramelized apples, and pumpkin with fresh cream on their tongues. It was still months away, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t get excited now. 

Eris broke away - an easy task when they parted ways for him like a hot knife through butter - and approached your smiling figure.

“I was wondering what was taking you so long.” You said, clasping your hands behind your back and smiling at Eris.

“So you came all this way just to investigate?” Eris arched his brow. You were no stranger to these people (and much beloved), but you preferred to keep to your little cottage beyond the town.

“Surprisingly, yes. For you, I would come all this way. And,” You shook the small parcel in your arm, “For Aliona’s candles.”

He grinned and offered you his arm, which you accepted, and quietly began to walk back to where Halvor had been dutifully waiting with the horses… and taking more than a few samples of drinks from beside his stead. 

“I also wanted to make sure he hadn’t killed you in your sleep yet.” You said, tilting your head towards his brother. 

“Careful, Y/n.”

Halvor was the youngest of Autumn’s trueborn sons, and had grown to become Eris’s second over the course of the war and the years that followed. Cruelty was still hammered into his bones - a disfiguring mark left by their father - but disloyalty was not one of his many negative traits. He’d been the only one to come to Eris’s aid in the war, and subsequently the last of Eris’s brothers to survive. That counted for something in your book.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it seriously, but I could’ve poked fun in a better way.” You said softly, gently leaning into his side. He forgave you quickly. He could never stay angry at you - he wasn’t even sure it was possible.

Halvor tipped his head towards you, eyes the color of freshly brewed coffee staring at you with mischief.

“My Lady.” He said half-mockingly, sweeping out his arm into a shallow bow. 

You rolled your eyes. “How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“Why not? Is my brother not a good enough romp for you? If you want better company I could-” 

Eris cut off his words with a growl of warning. Halvor only tipped his head back and laughed - a grating sound that eight years of peace under Eris’s rule still hadn’t managed to file away.

“We’ll be walking to her home from here.” Eris said, slipping into his High Lord voice, “Try and keep your distance and be on the lookout.” Halvor nodded, turning serious at the shift in his brother’s voice. There were countless enemies who would be happy to snatch the crown away from a new, as of yet untested, High Lord.

He followed obediently, keeping his distance as you and Eris both bade farewell to the townspeople. 

You lived on a patch of land too far to even be considered the outskirts of town, but you were a familiar face to everyone. A healer by trade and Eris’s most trusted advisor and friend, you were the one they called upon in the dead of night when evil whispered nearby or sickness fell upon them. 

Evaldre, they called you in one of the Old Tongues. The exact meaning had been lost to time, but it spoke of someone cherished and highly regarded. Some of the bold ones even went so far as to call you “Our High Lady.” 

Ten years ago uttering those words would have meant the swift swing of a sword on one’s neck. If High Lord Eris knew of it, he never seemed to mind.

Bryaxis waited for you on your doorstep, pleasantly lounging in a patch of light and watching the gentle fall of crisp leaves from the trees above. Both Eris and Halvor’s horses groaned low in their throats, hooves pressing into the soil to stop before the clearing. Halvor whistled at them to move forward, but they refused.

“It’s that devil dog of yours,” Halvor said, dismounting and tying off the pair on a low hanging elm branch, “Makes them anxious.”

He whispered words of comfort to them, sliding his hands along their thick necks until they stopped bucking against the reins. Eris had his dogs and Halvor had his horses.

“He’ll stay inside then. Wouldn’t want you to have to walk back to the Forest House with your tail between your legs because you lost the horses.”

Eris smirked when Halvor threw an obscene gesture your way. 

The dog in question, black as night with shining silver-blue eyes, stretched and nuzzled into your outstretched hand as you reached your front door, Eris following closely behind. 

“Will you be long?” Halvor called out to Eris, raising his eyebrows suggestively with his hyena grin. 

“Go home if you’re so impatient. I can make it back on my own.”

“I’ll wait til noon.” If Eris was finished by then, it would mean they took care of business… if Eris wasn’t finished by then, it would mean they were taking care of other business, business Halvor would do no good sticking around for. He snorted at the thought, then lost himself in imagining the other females he might be able to seduce back at the Forest House.

You both passed through the enchantments woven into the wood of your home, feeling a rush of power pour over you like water over stone. 

Eris snapped his fingers and the candles you’d placed on your dining table and mantle burst to life, fluttering about like dancers. The fireplace followed suit, sending a wave of warmth throughout the house. Firelight bounced off the rich velvet and creams that adorned your home - a cleaner mimic of the Autumn lands that existed behind the walls and flooded in through the open windows.

The Forest House was a place of luxury, massive enough that it would take you an entire morning just to walk from one end to another, and filled to the brim with treasures of gold, bronze, and enough precious jewels to sink a ship. It was a palace fit for a High Lord. But this was a home, so he took off his crown and hung up his cloak.

“What happened to him?” Eris said, kneeling on the ground and giving Bryaxis a well-deserved scratch behind the ears. The millennia-old creature closed his eyes in satisfaction. “The last time I saw him he was a cat.”

You chuckled, bustling about in the kitchen for a tea set that would match and piling pastries on a plate. The smell of browned butter and strawberry rhubarb jam waltzed in the air.

“He’s been experimenting with new forms.” You said, smugness and pride warming your chest. Not so long after Eris had freed you from the mountain and given you a new home, Bryaxis had found you, drawn to your power. Twin bargain tattoos snaked up from the bridges of your feet to your ankles like vines up a trellis - the first promised that you would do no harm to one another in exchange for dual protection, the second allowed you to take a portion of his power, giving him to opportunity to mold his being into a form that could experience the world in a more physical sense. 

Gone was the shapeless creature of shadow and nightmares. Enter Bryaxis the wolf-dog (and occasional housecat) who still radiated enough power to scare away any creature (wicked or otherwise) that dared to disturb the peace of their home. But he could curl up by the windows and watch the night sky uninhibited, and in his heart he was a creature of violence and simplicity in equal measure.

“I like this one better than the cat.” Eris said with a grin, for the monster had copied the shape of one of his prized hunting dogs. Bryaxis seemed to growl in appreciation when Eris straightened up.

He sighed in contentment, feeling the stress of his crown melt away when you wrapped your arms around his middle, burying your face in the crook of his neck and breathing in the scent of cedar, smoke, and cinnamon.

“Hello.” He murmured softly, turning in your arms and pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Hello.” You whispered, brushing your lips against his with a sigh, “I missed you. Where have you been all this time?” The finished reports on your desk, much like your empty bed, had been waiting patiently for Eris’s next visit.

He hesitated, pulling away to look at you. He brushed aside a few stray strands of hair that had fallen out of your braid. “The Night Court.”

You stiffened, “Keir?” 

He shook his head, frowning, “Rhysand.” 

You blinked, and he saw darkness pass through your eyes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.” 

Twelve years. 

You’d been Beron’s prisoner for decades before. Then you’d escaped and managed a couple of years of peace. You’d found a home and a family… or so you thought. And then twelve years ago you’d been betrayed - handed back to the now deceased High Lord on a silver platter and trapped beneath the mountain for four years. It made your blood boil to think about the people who helped put you there. 

“You’ve been dealing with them for years now,” You forced out in a diplomatic tone, “It’s good for you to have allies, especially strong ones like them.”

“Y/n-”

“You should've told me. I don’t want you to worry about my feelings when it comes to these things. Autumn comes first and-”

“I’ll always worry about you.” Eris said, tilting your chin up and catching the moisture gathering in your eyes that you’d furiously tried to blink away, “And there’s no choice between you and my Court. You belong here. To protect Autumn - to protect you - are the same thing, my love.” 

Your cheeks burned at the careful way he spoke, the sincerity in his voice he reserved solely for you in moments like this.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Y/n. I promise it won't happen again."

Fury burned in his stomach, a continuation of the anger that had steadily been eating away at his patience during his visit to the Night Court. To see the Inner Circle look so safe and happy in the bubble they’d carved for themselves in Velaris, naive to the pain and suffering they’d caused you, had made him want to burn The House of Wind to the ground. Alliance be damned. 

He hated them nearly as much as he had hated his own father. 

“I don’t want to think about them.” You declared, setting your jaw and smoothing away the lines of anger that had formed on Eris’s forehead, “To hell with them.” 

Eris smirked, loving the determination that settled in your eyes as you dragged him over to the living room and finished setting up the tea that had started to whistle on the stovetop. You would carve out a space for yourself in this world and be happy, even if it killed you.

“To hell with them.” He repeated.

Business and pleasure. The two were impossible for him to separate, which is why he cherished time spent with you. The pair of you spoke easily together, seamlessly transitioning from discussions of grain reports, treaties, and trade deals to banter about the Harvest Festival and the latest court gossip. Halvor was long gone, and Bryaxis off hunting, when the talking ceased and Eris found himself comfortably spread out on your velvet couch, shirt unbuttoned, and head resting in your lap as you wove your fingers through his hair.

He opened his eyes, lazy and slow, and quietly took in your features - the slope of your nose, the gentle curves of your cheeks and lips as you smiled at him, the contentment in your eyes that shifted into deep thought. 

He waited for you to share them with him.

“I’ve been thinking about your proposal.” You said carefully and he froze beneath your hands.

“You-you have?” Eris swallowed and sat up, keeping his distance even as he dared to hope. You’d both been keeping your relationship secret, visiting each other under the guise of court business and court business only. It had certainly started out that way, but things had quickly shifted into something far more intimate and worthy of secrecy… Then Eris had asked if it could stop being so secret.

You nodded, searching his face for something more than the neutral mask every High Lord learned to master. 

You moved onto his lap, laying your hands on the sides of his face as his eyes widened ever so slightly, “My answer is yes.” 

“Yes?” He asked in disbelief. 

Yes to living with him. Yes to going to court with him. Yes to showing the world that he was not alone in his duty. Yes to being by his side wherever either of you went.

No more hiding in this house on the outskirts. No more being afraid of what had happened in the past. No more loneliness.

“Yes.” 

He shuddered under your touch and suddenly he was everywhere. His hands roamed the expanse of your back, pulling at the fabric of your bodice. Red locks as vivid as flame got knotted beneath your fingers, and his body pressed flush against yours, desperate for any contact as his chest continued to shake with laughter. 

You stayed with him on that couch, neither of you wanting to bother with the effort of walking the extra twenty steps to your bedroom, as articles of clothing were hastily torn off and allowed to float onto the floor in crumples of fabric.

A growl from just outside your front door, low and gravelly enough to shake the ground, woke the two of you up. The sun was kissing the horizon on its way down, lateral rays of light streaming through the window and splashing onto the bookshelves and walls like gold paint. Eris groaned with displeasure, pulling you flush against his chest when you dared to draw yourself up on your arms to look at the door. 

You giggled against him, pulling a rare smile from his lips when he felt your laughter. 

He was all warmth and color beneath you as you shouted at Bryaxis to give you more time alone. He could practically hear the rolling of eyes with the huff that Bryaxis gave out. But he eventually trotted away to find a patch of soft grass from which to watch the sun set.

“It’s good to know a murderous beast like him still has a sense of humor.” Eris quipped, practically humming with pleasure when you melted into him. “You would know. You can be funny sometimes.” 

“Sometimes?!”

“Sometimes!” 

“You must give me more credit than that.”

“I will not.”

“You must. Your High Lord demands it.” Eris said, puffing out his chest and deepening his voice.

“Your High Lord demands it.” You parroted in a silly voice that made Eris chuckle and kiss you again.

You laid in the silence for as long as you could, until the sun was once again buried in the ground and the calls of the Forest House could not be ignored. With every piece of clothing Eris pulled back on his body, the vulnerable joy that came from being with you seemed to dim. 

Was he a lovesick fool for asking you to come to court and be with him? Was the protection of a High Lord worth the dangers that came with it? Lucien had been the first of their brothers to fall in love and he had paid for it dearly. Sometimes Eris had nightmares that you would suffer the same fate.

Eris watched you as you laced up your bodice with quick fingers, fixed your hair, and smoothed your skirts. You looked heavenly in the light of the fire. You were everything he could have dreamed of and more… because you were real… and you loved him as fiercely as he loved you. Which meant he could lose you.

“Y/n.” He whispered your name like a prayer, drawing your attention. You drew close to him, pressing your forehead against his as he took a deep breath, “What you’re agreeing to… you know what it will mean, don’t you?”

You closed your eyes and nodded. This was no light decision and it was why you’d taken three months to come up with an answer for him. 

“It will mean people will come for me, and never stop coming for me, just to hurt you and to hurt this Court.” Eris flinched, but you wouldn’t let him open his mouth to dissuade you. You’d given this much thought, and your decision was made.

“It will mean constant scrutiny from the other Lords and Ladies. A life spent in a house known for its history of cruelty and disloyalty. A life that will never fully be my own.”

Eris was beginning to think he’d truly made a terrible mistake in asking you to be with him. But before that cold mask of his could fall over his features, you grasped his face in yours hands and forced him to look at you.

“But it will also mean a chance to be with you. A chance to lead alongside the first person to give me a real home - a real family. A chance to continue to build and protect what I love. I love you, Eris, and I love Autumn, and I’ll be damned if I don’t protect what I love.”

Eris clenched his teeth, holding back the emotion that threatened to spill out like a ruptured damn.

“I won’t be like this at the Forest House.” He said, hating the truth of the words that fell off his tongue, “I won’t be able to show who I truly am when I’m around others, at least not for now. They’ll call you foolish, or cruel, or wicked for being with me. I can’t promise you an established and worthy court. I-”

“Then we’ll build it ourselves.” You said fiercely, pouring your power into the words, “We’ll build a new court, a new life for ourselves and everyone here. I know you’ll do everything you can to fix things, even if it breaks you.” You whispered the next words reverently against his lips, “Let me help you. Let me do it with you.” 

Eris let the tears run rivers down his cheeks, even as he set his jaw, and stared resolutely into your eyes.

“Let’s do it then. Together.”

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______

Author's note:

*shouts from the mountaintops* I just want Eris to be happy! And I want him to have someone he trusts that can rule alongside him!

That's it. That's the note. Oh and let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters.

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @nightless @mmb-09 @thesnugglingduck @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @logankemaek @the-sweet-psycho @a-frog-with-a-laptop @flameandshadowx @applerubyy

[liz-allyn]

bittersweet: sugar + vice vol. 2 (pt 2) [mob!tasm!peter x fem!reader]

summary: "okay. about last night..." [mob!peter parker x oc!MJ] continued immediately from part 1 "Love on the Brain").

words: 5.6 k

tags: fluff and angst, my favs. food. stupid wealthy person antics, jealousy, boundaries, some world-building, PG-13 references to spicy memories from Pt. 1.

Part 2 - Bittersweet

The doorbell chiming yanked Honey unceremoniously out of her morning grogginess as she exited the bathroom. The bell tolled through her throbbing headache, causing her to squeeze her still-gummy eyes tight. She could only think of one word.

Peter.

Honey felt slightly guilty for throwing him out of his house last night. Even if it was an extravagant house. Even if it was at the top of an unconscionably expensive, 5-star hotel, where he could easily afford another place to stay. 

Very slightly.

Even if she threw him out immediately after the most outstanding sex of her life.

Worrying her lip, she debated her next move. She let out a long sigh, tugging on the lapels of the spare bathrobe she'd found. She forced her legs to move, retracing the steps buried in the lust-filled haze of her memory. 

Impatient, the door chimed again.

Her gait was more of a ginger waddle, and every muscle beneath her neck felt like it was made of jelly. Her body beneath the waist hummed. She could describe it as falling between a tender tingle after a deep tissue massage and the aching burn she'd imagined would follow a CrossFit session at the top of Everest. 

Images from last night flooded Honey's brain. How Peter had pleasured and defiled her. He bent her body deliciously, fitting her to and around all of his aching needs while elevating her toward a new stratosphere of ecstasy. 

She stowed those thoughts away. There would be a time for them later. Probably later that night. Maybe even in a week, after her body finally recovered.

For her own dignity's sake, she would not let the morning after Peter Parker walked back into her life be that time. 

She stepped towards the entrance and saw the tattered remains of the clothes she wore last night scattered in the dining area. Shredded like a wild animal had gotten to them. 

She averted her eyes, grinding her teeth as the door chimed again.

"Alright!" she hissed. "Hold your horses––!"

She gripped the doorknob and swung open the door, clipping her tone immediately.

A wide grin beneath a thin mustache and furrowed, silver, bushy eyebrows greeted her.

"Good morning, madam," the older gentleman stated.

He wore a crisp, fitted white uniform and a pleasant smile. She blushed immediately, gathering her bathrobe tighter at her chest, and gawked at the seven uniformed hotel staff in the hallway. 

The man who greeted her had a warm, olive complexion with bronze freckles. Sunspots dotted his face, blended together the tiny wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. "Pardon our intrusion."

Honey jumped out of the way without much time to react as the gentleman dutifully led the staff into the penthouse. Wide-eyed and tongue-twisted, she stared with wide eyes as the man motioned for his staff to follow. 

The scent of coffee filled the entryway as a young man rolled in a cart. It was stacked with an impressive display of cream, sweeteners, and tea bags circling two gooseneck, stainless-steel coffee pots. Her eyes followed the kid as he passed, her stomach growling at the familiar aroma of fresh Colombian coffee beans.

Honey opened her mouth to speak but hushed again as a middle-aged woman in a double-breasted white uniform pushed in another cart stacked with silver serving platters with cloche dome tops.

She could feel the steam wafting off the cart and had just enough time to move as she saw two more women, each with their own cart of linens and sizzling serveware, following behind. 

Honey's stomach growled while her gaze followed. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut short again. Two more uniformed women walked in wearing matching steel-gray housekeeping dresses. The sleek dark fabric was contrasted with white cotton trim on the short sleeves and the high, Peter Pan collar of the dress.

They moved like a rising surf—fluid, swift, and unstoppable—as they crested and split in opposite directions. They were gone again in a flash. 

Honey barely had enough time to see them disappear before the heat of the subsequent presence was at her back. Her head snapped to the open doorway, and immediately, her face fell flat.

Peter.

His lithe form leaned against the doorframe, and she was sure he would've occupied the entire space had it not been an oversized 8-foot door.

Peter's presence came with a lightness Honey was unused to. Specifically, the light beige Ralph Lauren suit over a lilac button-up.

"Mornin,' sunshine," he drawled through a lopsided smirk. 

The sunshine seemed like it was radiating from him. Sun rays reflected off the linen of his suit. A quick coy smile revealed a flash of his white teeth. His eyes glowed warm amber hues, highlighting the roasted chestnut of his hair. Despite it being freshly cut and combed and his waves being tamed with hair product, a stubborn curl peeked over his forehead, like a flower leaning towards sunlight.

Like the flowers in his hand. He held a thick bouquet of mostly yellow daisies and ivory roses. In between the perfectly crafted arrangement, stalks of delicate, purple flowers protruded from the thicket. They brought out the lilac in his shirt.

She reexamined it again.

Not lilac. 

Lavender. 

"M'surprised you're up this early," Peter dreamily murmured, observing her with starry eyes.

Honey looked down at the flowers pressed against his chest, then back at the gold in his gaze. She observed the gentle curve of his smile.

Honey's face was the polar opposite, with icicles to prove it. "I'm surprised it wasn't the cops at the door." 

It was like popping a metaphorical bubble. Or one of his lungs.

Peter's eyebrows dipped as he pulled his lips into a frown. She turned her back to him smoothly, letting the door swayed open behind her. The door creak followed the sounds of her retreating steps.

Peter shot a quick glance toward the sky. He dragged in a breath and let his shoulders sag. Somewhere in his mind, the phrase 'Well, what did you expect?' echoed. He let the air out of his lungs, and turned on the unflinching charisma.

He followed her— because, of course, he did— meandering in with something of a swagger.

"Y'know, that's a good point," he said matter-of-factly, "now tha'cha mention it." He studied her from behind, watching her pad through his home, searching for the rest of her clothes. 

Peter continued, slyly. "I'm surprised they didn't show up last night. All that screamin' you did when you were ridin' me..."  He couldn't see the embarrassment on her face, but he noticed the way her back stiffened. "Surprised they didn't think a wild animal was on the loose," he added, lips curling with satisfaction.

"Congratulations!" she replied, her tone bright with feigned enthusiasm. "You went thirty whole seconds without bringing up your dick! What. An. Achievement." She pointed expectantly towards the dining area. "Are you hosting a party to celebrate your success?" 

She observed the kitchen staff curiously. They were in prime form, quickly and quietly retrieving plates, serve dishes, cutlery, and linens from the cart. They flowed through their movements, like synchronized swimming. Her gaze drifted towards the housekeepers spraying and wiping down the table surface with cleaner. 

Heat spread across her skin as she recalled how they had desecrated that spot just hours ago.

Blinking the memory away, she watched the servers step in place of the housekeeping staff. They tossed a linen tablecloth flat over the surface, setting the table for a fancy breakfast.

"Brunch for the Royal Family?" she commented.

Peter peeked over to see the flush on her cheeks, the way her skin heated up as she looked away from the dining table. Setting the bouquet down, he smirked. He knew exactly what was on her mind.

"A queen, actually," he shrugged, suppressing the faint curl of his lips. He wasn't here to gloat. "More of a date, really." He watched her next move intently.

"Well, that's my cue," Honey muttered. "I outta get going. Especially if you plan on eating anyone else out at the table." Her chin held high, she turned her back to him once again.

A strangely familiar sound— like a sharp, slick whipcrack— echoed from behind. She felt a tug on her midsection, then went flying backward. The force yanked Honey off her feet—just as it had the night before. She landed in Peter's arms with a shocked squeak.

"What the fuck?" she shrilled, grasping at the foreign substance on her back. It suddenly occurred to Peter that they hadn't discussed what Peter was using to reel her in, like many aspects of his complicated life.

He turned her towards him like manipulating a doll. Smugness and affection layered on his expression, like the cat that ate the canary.

"What is that?" Honey gawked. As she pulled her hand away, she inspected it closely this time. Shimmery, silver twine made from gossamer threads tangled around her fingers. "Jesus— is that... coming out of you?"

"No," Peter chuckled, amused by her horror.

She observed him, confused by his immunity to the web's stickiness as he casually tossed the string aside. While she was distracted, he gathered her close to his chest. At any other point, she would've fought him—because, of course she would. Her curiosity drove her attention.

Her eyes were on the black leather cuff around Peter's wrist. He'd worn it many times before. Honey just assumed it was an odd piece of jewelry. Maybe he didn't like the feeling of $30,000 designer watches on his skin. 

Now, the glint of a tiny metal device hidden beneath the leather caught her eye. Her eyes darted to his other wrist, spotting another device as his fingers enveloped her shoulders. 

She blinked curiously between the balled-up silk, to the leather cuffs, and to the hotel employees. They didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. They were likely instructed not to see anything.

Eyes still wide, she blurted, "Seriously, what the fu—?"

A fierce kiss silenced her. Peter smashed his lips to hers, capitalizing on the slight part of her mouth, and slipped his tongue inside. If he could've inhaled her into his lungs, he would have. He noticed faint pressure from Honey's palms against his chest, stubbornly resisting, as usual. The tension drained slowly as she succumbed to his grip. 

Maybe she quit wanting to escape him. 

Maybe she realized he was inescapable.

Peter was the one who couldn't escape Honey. Nor did he want to.

Seconds turned hazy. Peter was dragged deeper into a maelstrom. The longer he tasted her tongue, the more his blood surged like the swell of the tempestuous ocean against a sea wall.

Lust filled his lungs and his brain with gale-force winds. 

Peter remembered last night, too. God, he was already half-hard just thinking about it.

Before he melted from the memory, he pried his lips away from hers. The act took all of his power-of-will. The most he could manage to sacrifice was a couple of inches of distance apart. Peter was already a mess, chest heaving. Honey looked just as wrecked—swaying unwittingly with shaky breaths.

Peter whispered to her, his voice dark, "You're outta your mind if you think I'm lettin'ya walk away." 

A pulse-pounding shudder racked through her body. Peter swore he could feel her pelvic muscles flutter in response. It triggered a sick feeling of validation of the sinful desire polluting his mind. For a moment, he felt free to wallow in its toxicity.

That voice always managed to subdue her. Peter locked this information away for later. 

He was also aware that he needed to touch her. He craned his neck a little further until his nose kissed hers. The action grounded them both. A flicker of levity broke through the lust, and his familiar smirk returned. "And you're batshit crazy if ya think I'm here for anyone else but you."

Honey gazed up at him owlishly, still locked in a haze. She only vaguely registered the breeze as the staff rushed past them. Her cloudy eyes found their way over to the dining table, now fit for a queen. Or a Good Housekeeping magazine cover. 

The door slam pulled her back to the present.

"I thought I made myself clear last night." Peter bit his lip as he said it, holding the sides of her face as he oozed with charm. His sultry eyes fawned over her. "M'not lettin' you go. Not again."

"Let me go, Peter." Honey's voice was firm with a stone expression.

Immediately, Peter's shoulders dropped a full inch, and his voice pitched into a whine. "Will'ya stop being so stubborn—?"

"Let me go, Peter."

"Fine. You're mad at me—Y'made'ya point. Now, can we just talk about this? Like adults? Just sit down—"

"Let. Me. Go. Peter."

Honey's voice seemed to echo as she said it, charged with an electrical current threatening to fry him alive. It was more than a sneer; it was an ominous rattle before a bite. 

Instantly, the teasing nature of their banter evaporated.

Peter blinked several times, like he'd been sucker punched. He was unsure of how to respond. A tick formed in his jaw as he observed her, watching intently, gears turning. Lips pursed together into a thin line.  

Seconds stretched out uncomfortably as she just stared back.

Honey's spine as she stood in front of him—stood up to him—was steel. The little line between her brows popped out like a switchblade, her eyes skewering him just as deeply.

If she was afraid of Peter's unreadable expression, she didn't show it.

Seconds ticked on in their stalemate, during which dozens of scenarios played out in Peter's mind. At least a dozen of those scenarios were inappropriate ways of... making her do it. 

Didn't matter what it was. 'It' could easily be anything Peter wanted. 

He had the power—not just metaphorically.

Peter had enough strength in the upper half of his pinky to simply bend her to his will.

Peter's throat felt so tight it began to ache. A dry swallow rippled through his neck. Then, he made his choice.

His hands opened, releasing her with a forlorn expression. The moment he did, Honey took a giant step back—a recoil. He could've sworn he heard a faint gasp fill the gap they formed, like she'd been holding her breath.

In terror, he realized with disappointment.

Honey curled her arms around herself. His eyes dropped to the floor. 

That look cut him deeper than any blade could. 

"Honey," he said softly, emotions lodged in his throat. Burning mist clouded his vision. He wasn't here to cry, either. But his heart felt heavy all the same. "I just wanna talk."

"I thought you wanted to have breakfast with me."

"I do—!"

"Then ask me!" she snapped, frustration heating up her words. "Ask me! Instead of dragging me around like you're some…some caveman!"

Peter glanced up. The way she spat out the last word gave him pause. 

He studied the pout on Honey's lips. The angry scrunch in her nose. Arms crossed, jaw firm. She glared up at his tall stature, looking courageous and formidable. At the same time, her eyes betrayed her vulnerability. She was desperate to be heard.

Honey had demolished every obstacle placed before her. Even if the obstacle was him, she made it look (and him feel) three inches tall.

The ferocity of her gaze could intimidate a tiger.

Simultaneously, the butterfly wings of her lashes could charm a viper. 

The bow of her lips could force a king to his knees.

How can she not know this? Peter mused with wonder. How on earth was she unaware of how much power she possessed?

Significantly more than he could ever have.

Honey could make Peter do anything.

"If I had five minutes left on this planet," he began, eyes brimmed with an ocean of unspoken words, "I would want them to be with you."

A pause filled the room, consuming all of its oxygen. Peter held his breath in anticipation.

A surge of terror tightened in his chest, but it was tangled with something deeper—an overwhelming sense of adoration. To the outside world, they were two halves of the same sunset, golden rays that kissed a dark, cold earth. 

Honey gazed at him intently. "I would like that," she said.

And he finally could breathe again.

"—But I can't."

Honey stated it matter-of-factly. As if she didn't just reverse the planet's rotation. Peter's gaze dropped to the floor as his heart shattered. He was close to falling apart entirely.

"I can't… I-I…" her words trickled out, trying to support her stance with a lack of conviction. Or direction. Or sense. "I have things to do." 

That sassy tone of hers was back. Peter lifted his eyes to hers, "Oh?"

She shrugged, "Important things."

"Oh," he nodded along, furrowed brows in a serious expression.

"Yeah." She mumbled, almost too quiet to hear. She fidgeted with her fingers, threading them together, until finally, she grasped her arms into a comforting hug. "Like normal people."

The last part was meant to be a jab. "Normal?" Peter replied with decorum.

"Like… taxpayers."

"Hmm."

"—and moms…" she gulped dryly, "on TV." 

Peter nodded conspicuously as if he were fully supportive of her bullshit. His patronizing politeness only frustrated her further.

"Okay, like most people have things to do," she argued harshly, "like bills to pay, people to see—

"Bills."

"And chores! Tasks. Responsibilities."

Peter snorted with feigned enthusiasm, "Wouldn't know anything about that."

"Well, I have a job to get to," she blurted, solidifying her position. "I need to go home and shower and empty my dishwasher, bring my clothes to the laundromat—"

"Uh-huh."

Frustration carved out her tone. "And you know what else? You don't get to hijack my whole day just because you found a couple of hours in your schedule, Peter!" 

He had nothing to say to that.

"And before you ask," Honey pointed a polished fingernail at him, "don't get hung up on last night! You're still in the dog house." She turned to leave but stopped to add, "Or… people house!" 

A moment passed, but she still wasn't done.

"If I had a dog, you would be it!" she growled. "Outside, in the winter, in a tiny wooden shack of shame!" 

Then…

"–Not that I would ever do that to a dog, but maybe a-a cold-blooded— if you were a turtle, or…wait, that doesn't work— A fish! You'd be on your ass! Or fin— is that Portuguese linguiça sausage?" 

Her demeanor had flipped like a switch, from cold to curious, as soon as the smell of food hit her. It was as if the entire conversation had never happened until that point.

Peter couldn't help but smile. "From that place you like," he confirmed, his tone enticing. 

She paused, silent.

Mused.

Deliberated.

"Alright. First—sausage," Honey blurted out, 

decision made. The irritation in her tone seemed directed at herself.

"Then," she warned, "you're in the turtle-fish house!"

She spun on her heel and sauntered towards the buffet as if she'd dropped a mic.

"Okay, so hit me," Peter said.

Honey glanced up at him. The look she gave suggested she was willing to do exactly that.

They sat at opposite ends, so far apart at the dining table that it was almost comical. Only a few minutes had passed since they agreed to sit and eat together. It might as well have been years. Every moment was packed with awkward silence.

Straight-faced, he lifted his arms, extending them in a welcoming gesture. "Let's hear it. I know you got questions. I got answers. Let's go."

"Oh?" she lifted her eyebrow as she pinned him with a mocking glare. 

"Yep," Peter shrugged, maybe a bit too aggressively. "Let's hear 'em. Fire away."

A tension-filled moment of silence settled between them. The whole time, Honey skewered him with her glare. Then—

"Where should I start?" she spat hotly like lava erupting from a volcano. "Should we start from the top? Gimme three hundred words on how you spent your summer vacation." Each word sizzled off her tongue. "Or should we rewind a bit and talk about the ropes of glue shooting out of your body?!" 

An amused laugh burst from his lips, his teeth flashing wolfishly. "I mean… yeah—" he smirked. "When ya put it like that, I'd be willin' t'give you a demonstration—"

"Grow up, Peter!" Honey snapped, her fork clattering on the china.

The accused straightened his shoulders and mouth into a line. 

Contempt filled her incredulous glare. "Y'know what? Let's talk," she sneered, her anger releasing. "Let's talk about you since you're the center of everyone's universe. You, right now. Peter Parker, the Boss." She was flippant, each word intended to pierce his prideful armor. 

"What's been goin'on in your world, huh?" she questioned, pleasant in her tone. "How's crime?" She said it like referring to a common relative.

Peter shot her a brief glare, only encouraging her patronizing. 

"Must be good," she remarked. "What's the mortgage on a ten-thousand-square-foot condo in Manhattan nowadays?"

"Wouldn't know," he shrugged, picking his fork back up to take another bite. He pondered quietly as he chewed. "I bought the whole building."

The crassness of his declaration gave her pause. Honey hated how cocky arrogance looked as good on him as one of his Ralph Lauren suits.

"You bought— a hotel?" she asked in confusion.

Peter's eyes slid over to hers, looking like the devil as he brought a coffee mug to his lips. His eyes were twin flames, burning into her like he was trying to ignite a fire in her belly. Sipping a hot beverage seemed like a lewd act. 

Depraved thoughts filled his skull as he laved his tongue across his scorched lips. He pulled the mug away, and his mouth glistened. He watched Honey's reaction expectantly. 

"Yup," was all he said.

She stared at him, face unreadable. Not the kind of way she stared at his hands or his mouth.

"I suppose…" she crooned in a silky voice that edged on seduction and trepidation. For a moment, Peter's belly flipped with the excitement of a fisherman sensing the first slight tug on a lure. "The fact that Wilson Fisk used to own it had nothing to do with that decision?"

A bucket of ice water had been dropped on him. Coldness stabbed his heart and splintered his bones. 

That name.

The name that paralyzed him. Made his hair stand up on end, even after all these years. She exposed a nerve with just a couple of words.

"Oh," she said knowingly, reading him like a book. "Are we still afraid to say his name?" 

Peter's own words echoed back at him.

"...We don't say his name..."

Peter traveled to the day he rescued Honey from Fisk's men. He remembered inexplicably snapping at her, his hackles raised at the thought of what Mayor Wilson Fisk could do—what he had already done—to Peter's family. What depraved violation he would have done to this unassuming, bright-eyed girl. 

Unassuming, only because she had no idea at that point that she was his. 

The memory blurred and morphed into a twisted reflection of the current moment. 

Innocent. But smart.

Trying to ignore the sudden pulse behind his eye socket, he lifted a shoulder and dropped it. Peter's practiced indifference returned to his face. He returned to his plate, calm and collected. "I'm layin' down plans—"

"With Carol?" Honey finished, eyes narrowed into slits.

Peter's eyes shot to hers, and he looked truly confused momentarily. His expression only seemed to anger her further.

"Is that who you're 'layin' down plans' with?" she asked lividly. There was no concealing it. Honey's eyes were sharp enough to cut his throat.

"What?" Peter blurted out. "Carol??"

God, he hoped he didn't look as stupid as he sounded.

"Yeah!" Honey hissed back, hopping to her feet. The chair creaked loudly across the marble floor as she shoved it away. “Carol. Fucking. Danvers.”  Honey spat each word out like they were sour. "I believe that's her full name, no?"

Peter's brow arched, bewildered. Confused.

"'America's Sweetheart'!" she added through gritted teeth, pushing her fists into the table. The plate clattered at the impact. "Captain America?" she said as if to aid his memory. "You know?"

He blinked. 

She bordered on shrill. "The one with America's Ass?"

Of course, she referred to the former Air Force pilot who became a TikTok sensation, a pop star, a fashion model, and a feminist icon. Everyone's favorite.

Typically, Honey wouldn't resort to bashing another woman, avoiding the "cycle of patriarchal misogyny which pits women against each other," to quote her sister. But deep within her fiery eyes, jealous voices conspired against her rationality.

Meanwhile, Peter's eyebrows squished together, as if he couldn't quite grasp what language they were speaking. "Wha-What're we talkin' abo—?"

Her glare was razor sharp. "What's Carol laying down, huh? What's she like?"

Peter stared back with eyes like saucers and an empty thought bubble next to his head. "She's… Fine?" 

It took less than one second for him to deeply regret his answer. 

"Oh, I'll bet she is!"

Something wild sparked in Honey's eyes like a crackling bonfire. She rounded the table marching towards him. "Y'think I'm stupid? I follow Deuxmoi, asshole!"

Peter let out a long groan, practically dragging his fingernails down his face. "Honey—"

"Don't 'Honey' me!" she sneered, adding a mocking dramatization of his voice. She threw her hands up in front of her face as if waving them at an invisible breaking news chyron. "'Carol Danvers spotted at 1Oak last night with alleged Syndicate crime boss Peter Parker... Is Captain America About to Break Bad?'"

Frustration filled his tone, "That's—! That was noth—"

"Oh, don't gaslight me, Peter!"

"I'm not!" 

"Don't gaslight me about gaslighting me!"

"That was all TMZ bullshit, and you know it!" Peter shot back, now on his feet as well. She pursed her lips together, shaking her head in disbelief. Peter took a steadying breath. "Yes," he admitted, more composed, "I met her at a club, yeah. Because that's where she wanted to meet! I had a business proposition–"

"Business?" she bitterly laughed, crossing her arms. "You two goin' in on a new restaurant? Hipster gastropub called Peter's Cockpit?"

"Jesus Christ, Honey, I didn't fuck her!" he exclaimed in a near whine, waving his arms like a windmill. "It was—" he fumbled over his tongue. "Nothing else happened! No one is in anyone's… cockpit…" 

He winced at his own words. Raw memories from last night flared up in his chest. "Where d'ya get off accusin' me, huh?" he interrupted, suddently. "What about you and Pedro, eh?"

Honey's eyes bulged out of her head in shock.

Peter was referring to, of course, the sexy, hazel-eyed waiter that flirted at the restaurant the night before. Clearly, Honey didn't see the correlation. 

"Pedro!?" she bellowed in disbelief.

"Pedro!" Both of their voices echoed off the stone of the lavish suite.

Honey groaned so loudly, it was a roar. "Pedro's gay, you dunce!" 

Peter's brows furrowed as he considered this. "Come again?" 

"I've known him since junior high! He helped Becca get her first job when she was 15. At that very restaurant!" 

Silence.

Peter blinked, a trench forming between his eyes. 

More silence.

"So. You're... not... ...into him?"

Honey scoffed at the question with a rueful chuckle. He sensed she would've laughed if she hadn't been so furious. "Seriously? I've seen rainbows that were straighter!"

He felt his skin fluster. The thumping percussion inside of his chest leveled out to a dull thud. His heart ached all the same.

Peter's eyes rested on her. She stayed rigid, arms wrapped tightly around herself in a way that reminded him of a tree fighting to remain upright in the wind. A cherry blossom braving an early-spring cold snap.

Her eyes were cast to the side, and filtered sunlight gave her an ethereal glow. Anxiety reflected across the color of her irises.

"Did it hurt?" Honey asked, barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head at her question, glancing briefly at the shimmer resting on her lower lashes. Her voice was meek but raw with unspoken emotion, like a wave of tears being held back. "Thinking I wanted him?" He recognized her attempts to look anywhere else but at him.

Peter's chocolate eyes softened. "Did you want it to?" he questioned gently. Not an ounce of judgment thrown her way. "Hurt me?"

His beautiful girl swallowed dryly, blinking the shimmer away. Her eyes wandered to the floor. "Maybe," she replied thoughtfully, discovering it herself. 

Peter hadn't expected her honesty but wasn't surprised. If anything, he found it disappointingly refreshing. 

He watched her fidget with her hands. "Regardless," she said, clearing her throat. "I guess now you know how it feels." 

Shame brimmed her gaze as it bounced off the walls and floor. Peter considered her expression, silently reading all the emotions she could not conceal.

"Carol isn't what you think she is," Peter said, matter-of-fact. His ferocity had calmed, and his arrogance had dissipated like a storm cloud. Tiredly, he ran his hand back through his hair. "Matt heard that she might be making the leap into politics. People are saying she could make a play for Congress. Maybe even the governorship." 

Honey stared at him in silence. Waiting.

"I was hopin' I could convince her to stick a little closer to home," Peter sighed with a half-shrug and a dim spark of hope in his smile. "Somewhere... maybe like City Hall."

Honey arched a brow, processing. "Mayor," she said, contemplative. "You want her to run against Fisk." 

He looked sheepish now, pocketing his hands. "Lotsa people think she could win."

Honey's eyelids narrowed. "Do you even vote?" 

"She'd have mine," Peter replied without hesitation, then his eyes snapped to hers. "And no," he added, muted but coy. "Before you say anything, that wasn't a euphemism. Or an objectification of any of her..." The words dwindled as he struggled to form the right word. "...Assets."

Peter cringed after saying it, and he could've sworn that her eye twitched.

"I wasn't lying, Honey," he added. His heart was in his throat. "Last night. When I said, 'There wasn't anyone else for me.' I meant it."

She was silent momentarily, but a million words bubbled up behind her glassy eyes. "There has to be something else for me," she whimpered, vocal cords tight. 

Her vulnerability was in plain sight. No further posturing. The heartbreak in her voice felt like a knife jammed between his ribs.

"I can't—I-I just can't..." Honey struggled, losing her composure. 

"I don't…" Peter muttered half-consciously. Terrified at the realization. "What-what are you saying, you-you don't wanna be with me?" 

The tears bubbled up again on her lower lash line. Her plea ground out miserably, voice breaking, "There has to be more to me, to my life, than just being… yours."

He blinked at her, confused.

"I can't belong to you, Peter," she replied. Tears glided down her cheeks, now flooded with raw emotion. "I can't belong to anyone else." 

His Honey shivered before him, choking back sobs. She barely looked strong enough to stand.

And that's when it hit him.

The sharp contrast between the woman who stared him down and the shivering girl before him became apparent. It was day and night, fire and fear.

Fear.

"Mari."

The word snapped her out of her downward spiral. Wide-eyed and caught off guard, Honey's gaze flicked up to his.

Peter gazed at her with a worried line between his brows. He focused on her eyes, made impossibly brighter from tears. The sight broke his heart.

Peter took a careful step forward, the way one would approach a wild horse. The slightest twig snap might send her running.

"I'm not trying to put you in a cage," he offered gently. Saying those words were painful, in a nauseating way. "Not again."

The gentle relief he spotted in Honey's gaze tore through his sternum. Peter couldn't decide whether he would rather bleed out or trap her away beneath his ribs.

Peter's hands itched, desperately wanting to close the gap between them, wipe away her tears with his thumbprints, and blanket her with his hold. Vigilantly, he kept his heels glued to the floor. He'd like to think he did so out of respect for her wishes and not with fear that she'd run away from him.

"I'm— I'm not," he babbled, dread filling him. Everything felt suddenly upside down. Reversed. He was a stranger again, with a frightened girl trembling in his bathtub. The thought terrified him. "If-if-if that's what you think—"

"I love you so much," Honey declared, clear as a bell. His heart was in his throat again. He swallowed it down, afraid he would empty his stomach in front of her. "I really do."

The opposite emotions tugging at his psyche felt like an ax swinging downwards, severing thick brush with a satisfying whistle. They culminated in a wet chopping sound—the split of his heart in two pieces.

"It's the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." She dabbed at her chin with the back of her hand, taking a measured breath. "Sometimes I think that it's all I have left."

His heart sank. "But it can't be, though. " 

The knowingness of his voice pierced her further. "It can't," Honey replied gently. Sorrow weighed down the corners of her mouth, though he could tell she was still trying to smile. "I need to love myself." The last word had her lip wobbling.

Peter tightened his jaw, trying to channel the energy of his agony into something other than tears.

"For now," Honey added. The soft reassurance flickered like candlelight, providing the only warmth he could hold onto.

Peter locked his jaw and nodded slowly, understandingly. The more he thought about the equation, the more sense it made to him. 

It wasn't about him.

He declared, resolved. "You're the boss."

A/N: Go ahead. Let's hear it. If you loved this, reblog. If you thought it could be better, give it a like. If you hated it, do nothing. Thanks to my muses, now and forever. 🦌 Back to S&V Masterlist • Back to Main

Thank you for supporting fanfic authors by reblogging and keeping the community healthy. ♥️

[neesieiumz]

𓆩☆𓆪 | 𝚂𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙵𝙵 ⸺ ⚞𝙴𝚁𝚆𝙸𝙽 𝚂𝙼𝙸𝚃𝙷 ⚟

⸻ synopsis ⫸〖 when your home gets flooded out by a bad storm, it's only right for sheriff erwin smith to help you out, right love?〗

⸻ warnings ⫸ sm*t. fluff. minors do not interact. part ii of the gold rush anthology. sheriff!erwin. bar-owner!reader. canon-age Erwin. reader is in her late twenties, or early thirties, however, you wanna see it. afab reader. female reader. black-coded reader. soft-dom!erwin. fingering. squirting. titty-sucking. full-nelson position (yes, can you tell I have a fantasy that I really wanna do?) soft-dom!erwin. he's also really stressed out in this. he also calls you "love" all the time. he also calls you a good girl during this as well. friends-to-lovers. p*rn with plot.

⸻ writers note ⫸ lol much like reiner's this took me like two months to write. y'all better pray it don't take me that long to do eren's or we're gonna have a problem!! I just hope you all enjoy this.

⸻ word count ⫸ 7.0k.

masterlist. | previous part in the anthology | next part in the anthology |

The bar was empty, the kitchen cleaned up, and all quiet as well. The air that once smelled of cheap beer and grease now began to fade into the smell of night dew and wet sand. You stood behind the bar, wiping down the few wet glasses to put away. Glancing out the door, seeing the moon and stars glowing against the midnight sky, sighing as your mind faded back to the events before. Back to the way Erwin and his men had rushed out of here. It has been chaotic for the people within this town. For the past two weeks, those bandits had been ravaging the town, escaping with no trace within the wind. You had overheard their frustrations from both the police force and Garrison boys and how they evaded their every movement. Wiping your wet hands against your dress, turning around to do a final count of the beer stocked behind you. It was a hassle, always being the last one, but you knew no one else could leave your bar the way you do. As you did so, you suddenly heard the door creak and swing open. Gasping, jumping in slight shock, grabbing the closest thing to you before a familiar voice hissed through the air. 

The very same man you were thinking about stomped right through the bar, face red, grumbling in anger. He wasn’t wearing his hat, probably left it at the office as he trampled on through. His bronze-brown vest was unbuttoned, showing off his buttoned-down shirt stained with sand and dirt stains. The smell of wet mud, rain, and sweat hit your nose but you said nothing as he made his way towards you, sitting right down at one of the bar stools. He let out a loud groan, reaching up, losing the scarf he tied around his neck. You let out a breath, not saying a word as you turned right back around, going to one of the beer barrels. Filling it with the one he drinks the most, before sliding it to him. Not missing a beat, he took the tall glass, downing most of it in one go.

“Thank ya kindly, love,” he said, slamming the glass down on the table. 

“Don’t go and break my glass, Erwin,” you joked, taking the glass and going to fill it. 

“My apologies, and no need for more, I’ll be too dizzy to head back home.”

You hummed, before lifting the glass up, sipping down the little you had already poured back into the cup. Erwin said nothing, watching as you licked your lips, shuddering slightly at the taste of the bitter wheat alcohol. 

“I don’t know how you boys can be drinking that shit all day,” a grimace took over your face. 

Erwin smirked, “it’s an acquired taste, could say the same thing about the fancy lil wine you’re always drinking.”

You rolled your eyes at that, smirking, “alright now Erwin..”

Rinsing and washing the glass, before taking the damp rag and wiping it down. Back facing towards him, you spoke once more. 

“Assuming from your attitude, you don’t have any good news about them bandits?”

Almost immediately, you could feel his mood dampen. He groaned, hearing sink further into the table. You glanced back at him, finding both of his large hands covering his face in further frustration. 

“I’m assuming that’s a no,” you said. 

He let out a softer sigh, before pushing himself up once more, looking at you as you shuffled around, still facing the back of the bar. 

“They’re tricky lil things, constantly evading my men,” he sighed, groaning as well as he sat up fully. 

“We chased 'em down to the big forest all the way out there, but we lost' em. Still don’t know how, not like there’s many places to hide up there. We even checked the big cave over there as well and all the possible trees they could hide in.”

Sighing, you placed the glass down with the rest of them before turning around and facing him fully. You leaned over the table, pressing your abdomen against the shiny wood. Using your free hand, you placed your pad on his cheeks, your longer fingers reaching his blond hair, while your thumb stroked his cheek. You could feel his smile form against your hand, smiling soon after that. 

“Kirstein’s been on my ass about finding them, they took a lot of his equipment and it was real expensive for him to buy new ones in the city. Told him to sell his wife’s jewelry and he looked at me like I got two cow heads.”

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped your lips, thinking about Jean waving his fist over at Erwin, before speaking, “You can’t catch em all Erwin in one night, plus them robbers real sneaky too. First we’ve ever seen someone like this. It’ll be alright, m’kay?”

He nodded his head, and you soon moved your hand, lifting your body upright once again. He glanced around the bar, seemingly noticing that there was no one else there but him. He glanced over at you as you placed the wet rag on the rack hanging from the counter, before stepping out from behind it. Erwin watched you begin slowly turning off the lights hanging around the bar, dimming down all the lanterns. 

“Lemme walk you home, love. Can’t have you out here at night like this.”

You couldn't suppress your smile as you dimmed the last lantern, nothing but the low light of the moon peeking through the door surrounding, darkness swallowing you two whole. 

You sighed, walking back to the bar to grab your bag, “if by home, you mean the motel across town then yeah.”

Turning around, jumping at the sudden tall figure right in front of you. He peered down at you, eyes slightly wide. 

“What you mean by that, love? Why you staying in a place like that?” He asked you.

Letting out a shaky breath, and taking a step back. Erwin was close, so close that it had your heart suddenly palpated a bit, heat suddenly flashing through your body. 

“Um..” your mind went blank for a bit, before resetting, “that storm a few nights ago put me out, my roof and walls leaking so I grabbed what I could and ran down to the motel. Was soaking wet when I got there too.” You slightly snorted at that last part but Erwin’s face didn’t change at all.

“Now why didn’t you tell me about this? I could have helped you?”

You crossed your arms, taking a deep breath to help calm yourself just a bit, “and do what? You and the entire damn force were worried about those bandits. You know I don’t wanna be a bother, Erwin.”

His large, coarse came up to your face, pressing it against your cheek. Your heart kicked back up as he took a step closer to you, stomping over the distance you had put between the two of you. 

“Now you know you could never be a bother to me, love.”

You couldn’t help the smile, looking up into his usually icy blue eyes, hardened from years on the job, that now had a softened look to them. You couldn't help but use your free hand, reaching up and placing it on top of his own. The two of you smiled at each other, before dropping your hands at the same time. Erwin turned around, heading towards the opened door together. 

“I don’t feel comfortable with you staying in the motel, especially with these bandits running around,” he mentioned as he opened the door, holding it open for you. 

Sighing, turning around to lock up the bar, “well, what would you have me do Erwin? Everyone else I know is packed full, and I’m not going into the forest late at night. The carpenter’s are stretched thin with everyone else and won’t finish with my place until next week.”

You put your keys back in your bag, turning around to look at him. His face was lowered, eyebrows furrowed in a look of pondering as the two of you walked through the almost silent town. You could hear a commotion in the background, most likely people having their own get-togethers as well.  

“You could come stay with me. Until they repair your house of course.”

Your eyes widened, head swinging to look at him. The two of you locked eyes as your heart dropped for a quick moment. Stay… at Erwin’s place…? You shuffled a bit as you thought upon the idea, the idea of you two sharing a space for at least a week. Just for a quick moment, a flash of a much more, racy sight of him had your heart pounding a mile a minute. 

“I really don’t wanna put you out like that Erwin,” you spoke up, shuffling and looking away from him, trying your best to be still with your beating heart

Cool hands reached out to your chin, pulling your head up to look at the 6’2 man. 

“Now what did I just say, love? You could never be a burden to me, and you could never put me out.”

With no other words, his other hand reached out, sliding your bag out of his hands before swinging it over his shoulders. He began walking ahead of you, taking a few steps before looking back at you. He jerked his head, motioning for you to follow him. With no other words, softly smiling as you turned and walked towards him, the two of you walking in step as you walked through the town. Despite the sheriff's office being in the center of town, Erwin preferred to live a bit of the way in the opposite direction away from the forest. He likes being near the main entrance of the town, just in case something happens. As you were halfway there, a large gust of sudden cold wind blew past the two of you, causing you to shiver a bit. Your arms crossed each other, your hands stroking them to create some kind of heat. Erwin must have noticed your actions as all of a sudden, you heard a ‘plop’ before a weight fell upon your shoulders. Looking around, you saw the jacket Erwin was wearing draped across your shoulders. You looked up at him, noting him pointedly not looking back down at you as he continued walking. You let off a small smile, snuggling into the warm jacket, sounding off a soft “thank you” before continuing to walk behind him. 

The two of you soon got to his home, a simple two-story house given to him by the townspeople, a thank you for all that he does. You followed behind him as he fished for his keys out of his pockets, unlocking the door and pushing it open as he did so. He gestured for you to enter his home first, stepping out of the way for you. Soon after, he walked in behind you, closing the door behind you as you stood in his dark living room. He carefully slid past you, his hands reaching out to your waist to stabilize you easily as he walked over to a corner. Soon the room began to illuminate, allowing you to look at the quaint and simplistic living room. There was barely anything in the living room, a simple couch, a table along with a record sitting in the corner. Erwin straightened himself before turning around and walking abc towards you. 

“Let me take you to where you’ll be resting your head, love.”

He took you by the hand, causing you to gasp as he took you towards the stairs, which you hadn't noticed right near the front door. He guided you up the stairs, your bag still sitting and swinging on his shoulders. Coming up to the second floor, he took you down a hall before pushing a door open. You tilted your body behind him, peeking into the place where he led you. It was a bedroom, presumably the place where you would be resting your head for the next week or so. It was simple, a bed on a wooden stand with a night drawer right beside it. You followed behind him as he placed the bag right onto the bed before turning around. 

“This is one of the guest bedrooms, mainly for Levi whenever he comes into town, but he’s busy working on another case.” 

You blinked, nodding along as he explained where some of the things are. 

“The bathroom is the door right here,” he said, gesturing to the only other door in the room. 

There was also a huge dresser, instead of a closet which was fine as well, better for you since you wouldn't be staying for long anyways

“There’s one more guest bedroom down the hall, but it’s unfurnished so it's just full of boxes. So the only other room you’ll see up here is my own room.”

You turned towards him smiling, eyes welling up with tears of appreciation, “thank you again for this Erwin, you really didn't have to.”

He approached you, his long arms reaching out holding you on the shoulders, “how many times do I have to tell you, it's not a problem, love. Now, make yourself at home.” He said, before letting your shoulders go. 

He gave one last smile, before walking towards the door, opening it, and walking it out. The moment he left, you let out a sigh of relief, fanning off the sudden heat of nervousness from your face. You crossed the room, sitting on top of the bed before reaching for your bag. This was all you had brought with you when you left your home, most of your things water-damaged from the storm. You unzipped it, before sifting through all your clothes and things before pulling out a few night dresses that weren’t damaged. 

The rest of the night was uneventful, taking a shower to wash off the smell of alcohol and food on my body before slipping under the cool sheets. Despite the obvious unused in the room, the sheets still smelled fresh, like they were recently cleaned. You smiled, relishing in the soft feeling, unlike the itchy blankets over at the motel. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

It had been three days since you had taken solace in Erwin’s home, and the two of you found yourself in comfortable waters so easily. At first, it was nerve-wracking being in such close proximity to him, but you soon found it easier the more he reassured you. He had shown you around in the morning after you had arrived, before personally walking you back to the bar to open up for the day. He would meet you at the end of the day, even if he had night duty, to walk you back to the house as well. His pure actions and gestures only made you yearn and pine for him more. 

As you stood in his kitchen, the bar closed up early to account for the sudden curfew the mayor had just put out. You knew Erwin was working hard and late nights, you would hear him come in late at night sometimes, your mind only tuning into his heavy footsteps creaking against the wood floors before falling back into your heavy sleep. And like clockwork, he would get up at the same time as you, to walk you to the bar. He would come in when it closed to walk you home before heading back to his office as well. You knew it was weighing over him, all this responsibility to bring peace back to your town, where more and more people were coming in from the city to experience the rush happening all over. 

You glanced over to your left, out the window, where you could see Erwin’s form hunched over, barely illuminated by the light inside the home. Sighing, you closed the pot of stew you were brewing, wiping your hands cleaning with a wet rag before walking out, towards the door. The breeze was blowing slightly, sand sifting out in the distance. The scenery in front of you was enjoyable, much more than what your own home would have to offer. The slight rancid smell of smoke pulled you out of your thoughts. Turning towards your right, seeing the blonde man hunched over the railing, a cigar in one hand, a glass of brown liquor in the other. 

“Those things’ll kill you, Erwin.” you spoke out, cutting through the slice of the night. 

His head turned slightly towards you, eyes staring right back at you. He smirked, lifting up his cigar before taking another hit. 

“This stress’ll kill me before these things do.”

You rolled your eyes, walking towards him, taking the space right beside him. The cigar smoke only smells stronger, so you knew this wasn't his first one of the night. He leaned back suddenly, throwing back the rest of his bourbon, pressing his half-burnt cigar into the railing, making another of what seemed to be numerous burn marks. Glancing behind you, at the small little area Erwin had set up on his porch, you found the bottle of bourbon along with a pack of cigars and another empty glass. You took a step back, grabbing the bottle and the glass before standing right beside him again. You poured yourself one before pointing the bottle towards Erwin, who looked down at the bottle, before holding his own glass out. You poured halfway to his cup, before placing the bottle on the railing beside you. 

You turned back towards him, tipping your glass towards him, and Erwin immediately clinked it with yours. You took a sip while Erwin basically downed the whole thing once more. Pulling the glass away, a scowl appeared on your face as you looked at the drink. 

“I still don’t know how you people drink this type of shit,” You spoke, reminiscent of when you took a sip of beer a few days ago, leaning down again the railing, holding the glass with two hands. 

He chuckled, shuffling closer to you, leaning over the railing as well. 

It was silent between the two of you, just taking in the scenery at the moment. The wind was blowing just a little harder than before, the air smelling just a bit humid from the past storms tormenting the town. You could see the Kierstein ranches in the distance, along with the forest where your friend and coworker lived as well. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind Erwin, you know I’m worried.”

His chuckle lightly echoed through the almost empty home, facing straight as he pushed himself up, “Hange’s been on me about getting these bandits. Luckily it seems they’ve stopped for now, but we still can't find whatever they’ve stolen. Towns ‘n a riot.”

You knew about the last part, as many angry men walked into your bar, cursing out both the thieves and Erwin for not finding their missing things. You were only lucky that your bar still hadn't been hit yet, but you couldn’t say the same thing for the other bars and pubs around town. You’d honestly never have seen anything like this, the way people have only confirmed three people yet they were able to flip a huge town like this on its head. You move your hand on his face towards his back, rubbing and caressing him trying your best to provide some solace. 

“Cut yourself some slack Erwin, there’s only so much you can do in this. I’m sure you are doing all you can.”

He only sighed, leaning back fully, looking up towards his ceiling, “but am I doing enough? There’s something I’m missing in this.” He shook his head, hand reaching up and basically slapping his forehead. 

“Fuck, I got a nasty headache,” he mumbled, before suddenly sniffing. 

He blinked, eyes furrowed in confusion, before turning back towards you, “you cooking something?”

You blinked, before the smell of char hit your nose, causing you to jump straight up. Squeaking as you raced inside, throwing the door open before running back to the kitchen. You reached the stove, grabbing the pot before moving it to an unused burner kneeling down, disconnecting the gas. You could feel Erwin’s eyes on you as you lifted the pot, sighing in relief as the smell of strong spices and herbs fully filled the air instead of a charcoal-burnt smell. Slowly you turned towards Erwin, locking eyes with his slightly concerned ones. 

“Want some soup?”

He smiled before standing up, you tried to tell him to sit down, as you didn't want him to do any to aggregate his said headache even further but he didn’t listen to you. He crossed the kitchen before standing right behind you, placing his hand on your waist as he reached up to the cupboards.

“‘Scuse me, love,” he said, opening the cupboards to bring out two bowls. 

His large hand rested right on your waist, letting an almost silent shaky breath as he squeezed it, bringing down the bowls to your level. Your hyperawareness only caused you to ache down there, your thighs squeezing together as he placed the bowls down on the counter. He helped you prepare the dishes, washing his hands before he did so. He grabbed the silverware along with two glasses of water as you ladled the food into the bowls. The two of you carried the food into the living room, rather than the fancy little dining room Erwin barely used. The two of you sat right next to each other, eating away at the late-night dinner you made. 

You did your best to keep Erwin’s mind off of work, and it seemed to have worked, the tense furrow on his brow reposting as you spoke of the latest gossip between the townsfolk, what you would hear day by day. How one of your long-time patrons’ had suspicions of his husband cheating, only for his husband and best friend to roll in two hours after he left. People have a lot of audaciousness is what he said after you told him about that. 

The soup you cooked soon disappeared between the two of you, along with the glasses of water as you spoke way into the night. Erwin had brought in the bourbon he was drinking, and the two of you shared the bottle, diluting it with water of course. You don’t know how it happened but the space you had put between you and the tall man had slowly decreased. Your thighs touching, shoulders grazing each other, the two of you unconsciously getting closer. 

“Oh, you got a little something here, love,” Erwin suddenly said, cutting into your giggles. 

Before you could say anything, his hand suddenly reached out to your face, his large hand cupping your face. 

With a slight sharp inhale, you could only look over at the side, seeing his thumb rub away at stains you had not seen from the corner of your eye. Erwin rubbed at it a little harder, but it seemed the smudge wouldn’t go away. He moved closer to you, leveling eye contact with you as his rough hands finally cleaned off the stain. By then, his face and you were so close together, your noses were barely touching. You let off a smile, thanking him for the help. He only smiled at your face, but his hand still rested on your face. Breathing deeply, as you closed your eyes, the scent of his sweat mixed in with his cologne, the smell of smoky vanilla bourbon, and cedar wood, along with the smell of blackened cigar smoke. It didn't deter you though. You could feel his presence get closer to you, the heat of his face radiating into your own. 

You opened your eyes just in time as Erwin closed the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips harshly against your own. You gasped, the sudden intensity catching you off guard, the sudden pressure causing you to stumble back a bit. Reaching up to him, one hand reaching up to his shoulder and the other resting right underneath his jawline. He tasted savory, the lingering taste of your late-night dinner still on his tongue. It didn’t deter you, in fact, you only pushed against him, your panties beginning to soak as his arms reached around you, wrapping and picking you up with ease. He placed you right on his lap, his other hand leaving your face, sliding down your hips to underneath your bottom, cupping it before squeezing gently. 

You suddenly let go of the kiss, lips wet as looked down into his blue eyes, which seemed deeper in color than usual. His usual cerulean blues now looked more like royal blue as you pressed your hips against him. You could feel his hard-on pressing up against your panties underneath your thin dress. Your hands reached, running them through his blonde hair. He smirked, lifting his head to look up at you.

“Erwin,” was all you said before he kissed you again.

You were much more ready for his kiss, accepting it with equal pressure. Unconsciously, your hips began to move above him. His gentle squeeze turned brutal as you rutted into him more, your juices beginning to seep into his rough jeans. Your hands soon left his hair, sliding down his neck, your delicate touches only causing him to shiver against you. Your manicured nails soon reached down to his shirt, the first few buttons unfastened already. Unbuttoning the rest, your hands grazed over his muscles, over every ridge and every scar from years on the job. He shivered under you, letting go of the kiss for a quick moment. 

“So fucking long,” he groaned, moving up against your ear, “I’ve waited for this.”

Before you could say anything, Erwin cut you off, pressing his wet lips behind your ear, trailing down to your neck. Steadying yourself, digging your nails into his side as he reached your collarbone, nibbling away at it. The aching within you only growing, and sweat beginning to drop down your back, seeping through your thin dress. His head soon dipped to the valley between your breasts as your own hands slid down to his jeans, fiddling with the belt that held them up. Erwin’s large hands left your bottom, reaching under before grabbing at the fabric. 

You could hear a stretch, the sound echoing through the room as you gasped, lifting your head to glare at the sudden cool air breeze against your back. 

“Erwin! I really liked that dress!” 

He only chuckled, seeing the rest of the scraps falling off your body, leaving you and nothing but your drenched panties. He only groaned at the sight, his hands leaving you as they shrugged off his vest, unwrapping his scarf. You assisted him, gliding your hands underneath the sleeves of his shirt, before sliding the shirt off his body. Once off his body. You threw the shirt into an obscure corner, before facing him again. Erwin thumbed at your panties, hooking underneath the waist and thigh band before slowly pulling it down. Your arousal dripped as you clenched around nothing, resting your naked body against Erwin’s half-naked own. Gasping as cool air hit your clit as he pulled your panties down fully, your nails digging into his biceps. The around you was hot as you lifted your legs up as best as you could, helping him slide the clothing off fully of your body. 

Seeing as you were fully naked while Erwin was still in his jeans, your hands gently brushed down his arms, reaching to his belt before slowly beginning to unbuckle it. At the same time, Erwin leaned down towards you, lips pressed against your neck. Hands fumbling as you shivered, the feeling of his trailing down your neck, towards your chest. His own hands slide up and around your waist, sliding up your abdomen before reaching your breasts. His large hands reached your breasts, pushing and massaging them. His lips soon wrapped around your hardened nipple, before sucking away at it. 

“Fuck,” cursing and gasping as a rush of euphoria shot through you. 

The fingers on his other hand squeezed your other nipple slightly, just enough to increase the inciting feeling rushing through you. Your hands slide up, grazing against his slightly scarred back, reaching into his soft, blonde hair before gripping harshly. The sensitivity in your nipples only amplified as he sucked at it. You let out long breathy moans as he teased you, letting out a particularly high-pitched moan as he suddenly pinched and moaned at your free nipple. Soon after he let up, the cool air hit your wet nipple before moving his attention to your other one. His hand slid back down your body, sliding in between your legs, before slowly parting your thighs, revealing your drenched cunt. His long fingers slipped in between your folds, swiping up and down in between them before slowly pressing his finger against your clit.

“Erwin,” you gasped, pulling on his hair, causing him to groan, lips still wrapped around your nipple. 

His finger continued to press and slowly rub circles into your clit, collecting the juices that continued to seep out of you. Your hips ground against him, your body aching for more, something else to fill the need trying to build within you. Erwin’s actions taunted you, his finger slipping in between your folds, the tip of his finger teasing the entrance to your hole. Your back curled as he slowly, ever so slowly, pressed his fingers inside of your, your arousal making it easier for him to slip inside of you. Your hips jerked and buckled, craving more and more stimulation. As he moved his finger, his mouth let go of your nipple, before resting his head right on our shoulder, lips lined up with your ear. 

“More,” you cried, burrowing your face into his shoulder. 

He only chuckled, his raspy chuckle only rousing you further, “you know you have to relax for me,” he mumbled. 

Taking a breath, you tried your best to, release the hold you have in his hair, sliding them and crossing them behind his neck, holding him close. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, before pressing another finger inside of you, “open up just for me.”

The stretch was slightly painful, but as quickly as the pain came, it went. You cried out even louder against his ear as his thumb pressed against your clit. Erwin’s fingers moved up and down inside of you, just as he began to nibble and kiss along the outer part of your ear, his heated breath only causing you to shiver and shudder against him. You tried to move your hips along the movement of his digits before a loud smack rippled against your skin, the pain heated so gratifyingly against you. 

“Stop moving,” his voice was harsh, it caused your heart to skip a beat. 

You trembled in his hold, but his voice commanded you, taking charge as your movements suddenly slowed down to a complete stop. 

“Good girl,” he groaned before continuing his actions. 

You could only whimper as his words, combined with the increasing pace of his fingering only caused the aching feeling building within you to surge and skyrocket. You basically drenched his fingers as he made his way with you, fucking you with his fingers while playing with your clit. Letting a high-pitched moan, you curled over, forehead resting right against Erwin as heat surged up and built within you. Your already quivering body trembles further. 

Suddenly, before you could reach that high peak, Erwin suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you shivering, cold and empty. You couldn't help but whine in his arms as he lifted his hands up, his two fingers and his top knuckles covered in your arousal. He soon pressed his hand against his lips, tasting your juices before licking his fingers clean. Once finished, his now-free hand joined his other, gripping your ass. Without warning, he suddenly stood up, his grip around you only tightening to keep you up in the air as you shriek, your arms tightening around his neck and shoulders. 

“Erwin—” you shrieked as you were lifted up into the air. 

Below you, you could see his pants and boxers pooled around his ankles before looking up to look at him. With no warning, you leaned towards him, capturing him into another kiss as you could feel him lifting the lower part of your body up, readjusting him and yourself. You melted into the kiss, your arms sliding back to allow you to hold his head between your heads. His usual cleaned-up hair was messed up, slightly drenched with sweat. Saliva was exchanged between the two of you, tongues swirling within each other's mouths. 

For a moment, you let go of his kiss, lips still pressed against him as you whispered, “I need you inside me, please, please, please, I can’t wait anymore…”

Erwin didn’t say a word, only enrapturing you into another kiss. Eventually, you could feel the tip of his hard-on pressing up against you, parting your inner labia. You let out a restrained moan into his mouth. With no other warning, he pressed on, overwhelming you even further. You abruptly let go of the kiss as you let out an impassioned cry, tongue falling out of your mouth as you brace yourself. The intensity had you convulsing within Erwin’s arms, your shaking legs easily held together by his strong arms. You could hear Erwin grunting and letting off heavy groans as he began to bottom out into you. His motions started off slow, just like his fingering actions before, allowing you to get used to his large size. The heated pressure around adding on to the sweat dripping down your body as Erwin began to move. 

“Fuck,” he cursed in your ear.

“Erwin,” you called out his name, laying your head on his shoulder as your face twisted in intensity. 

He grunted against you before speaking lowly into it, “Move your head, wanna— fuck— wanna see your pretty face.”

His voice was thick and sweet, like the most delicious chocolate cake, it coaxed you, as you moved your head, your locs brushing to the side as you gazed into his blue eyes. His pace quickened, the wet smacks echoing through the room, adding volume to your already thunderous moans. It was overwhelming, Erwin was overwhelming, a man who commanded the space around him, you couldn't help but succumb deeper and deeper to his glamor. He ravished you, his restraint breaking more and more as he savored your expressions, your sounds, and even the way you smelled. Your juices leaked all over the both of you, his hips plunged into you, the tip of his cock hitting your very core. The two of you bring out the best and worst in each other. 

You cried out his name once more, your body lurching against him, “Erwin, ahh—” You were suddenly cut off by your own lewd moan, dripping in lust. 

Erwin let off a deep groan disguised as a chuckle as he felt you involuntary clenching around him, the sudden tightening pushing him to a whole new level. His once strong-rhythmic thrust became erratic in nature. 

“You gonna come for me, love?” He groaned in your ear, the grip he had on your ass bruise-worthy. 

Nodding your head erratically, you only had a moment’s reprieve before your climax came rushing at you at full speed.

“Aaaahhh,” you threw your head back in ecstasy as you went still for a moment, everything tensing over as your orgasm washed over you. 

Erwin wasn’t letting up, as overstimulation began to set within you, your recently mind-numbing orgasm not helping you. You could do nothing but hang off for Erwin as he basically used you like a fuck-toy until he had reached his own peak. With a few final grunts, you could feel him spilling inside of you. The room now only echoed with your heavy breaths. Slowly, you opened your eyes, looking at his drenched blonde hair before using what little strength you had to pick up your head. The two of you locked eyes before breaking out into soft smiles. The two of you placed soft kisses on each other, as he turned around before slowly lowering your connected bodies on the couch. He slowly lowered you there before easing himself out of you, a slight hiss leaving your mouth as he did so. You grimaced as you felt your mixed fluids beginning to ooze out of you. You bent down, picking up your panties before sighing at the scraps of your dress on the floor. 

The two of you cleaned up, with you walking around in Erwin’s shirt while he stood in nothing but his boxers. He helped you put away the soup, and clean up the bowls you used. Once everything was clean, he dimmed out the latent, swallowing you all in darkness as you waited for him by the stairs. You could see his presence right in front of you, before squealing as he suddenly picked you up, bridal style. 

You wrapped your arms around him, before speaking, “you always gonna pick me up like this?”

He hummed, as he made it to the top of the stairs, shifting his body towards his bedroom door. He easily opened it with one hand whilst still holding you up. His room was quaint, with not many decorations, the few you could see were mainly photo frames of him and his team of police officers. Erwin laid you comfortably on the bed, however before he could walk to the other side and join you. A loud knock echoed through the house, jolting the both of you. You looked over at Erwin whose relaxed expression now took on a more hardened one. He walked over to his dresser, grabbing a pair of sweatpants before slipping them on. 

“Stay here,” he told you, seeing as you were beginning to push yourself off the bed. 

His words were stern and clear, so you sat back against the bed, watching him exit the room. Outside, Erwin walked down the stairs before eyeing his front door. Besides him, he reached into a drawer to pull out his gun. He slowly walked towards the door, slowly placing his hand on the knob before looking through the peephole. Erwin saw the familiar figure, relaxing as he opened the door fully. 

Standing on his porch was his secretary, a person he was not planning on seeing until he went in for work the next day. 

Erwin placed the gun on the table near him,, “almost thought you were someone else, what are you doing here?”

She let off a little awkward smile before handing him a file, “for you, sir.”

Erwin blinked, before taking the file and flipping through it. The familiar notes and words had Erwin furrowing his brow.

“This is the Kierstein report… Jaeger was supposed to get this for me, yesterday.”

The secretary shrugged her shoulders, “you know Eren was never going to get it done, especially when it comes to Jean. So it was either get it done or get Jean on our ass again.”

Erwin sighed, smacking the file against his head slightly, the migraine that had gone away slowly returning as he thought about his most ambitious officer. 

“I’ll have a few words with him tomorrow, get home, go get some sleep.” He called out to her, beginning to close the door not before hearing a noise, resembling a giggle coming from her. 

“Oh I’ll definitely get some sleep tonight, I wonder if you will as well.”

Erwin stopped in his tracks, turning back towards his secretary before seeing her point toward his chest. Erwin glanced down only seeing small red and purple bruises littered all over his neck and upper chest. His secretary could no longer hold back their giggles, muffling them with her hand as Erwin felt a flush of heat run through him. 

“Just, just get home.” He said sternly, before slamming the door shut. 

He waited until he heard steps leading away from his porch before letting out a breath, leaning against his door for a moment.

“Erwin,” your sweet voice called out.

He looked up, seeing you standing at the top of the stairs. He could see the light from the hallway illuminating, allowing him to see you standing there, still in his shirt. 

“Everything okay?” you asked, beginning to take a step down. 

He nodded his head, before placing the file on his living room table and heading towards the stairs, “Yeah, just someone dropping off a report, I’ll be up soon.”

You nodded your head, fiddling with the buttons before slowly turning your body. He could only stare as you slowly unbuttoned each and every button, before slowly lowering the shirt, revealing the top half of your naked body. You said nothing, only giving him a knowing smirk before walking to the right back to his own bedroom. 

Erwin glanced over at the report, before looking back up the stairs where you had just stood before him, enticing him. With no other thought, he left the report on the table before scaling up the stairs, making it to his bedroom, and shutting the door behind him. 

taglist: @kanekisfavoritegf @daisynik7 @where-the-blackbirds-sing @nathalunalune @secretanimesimp @kentucky-fried-me @levin4nami @liv-vy @mortqlprojections @invisible-mori @desiray562 @liliorsstuff-blog @sophiiluvvs @magictrump @ventdavi154 @ircngirl @lostinbeidou @missmadness123 @introvered-violinist @dior-fawn @saway4ma @reallongwire @nerdy-simp-7120 @stareatceiling @ehveerivv @zzg0d @custard-exe @phillygraves @rapsgoddess @pumpkin-toffee @theemrsjaeger @sharkiebarkie @jnsa-17 @itmightbejo @chile-im-embarrassed

[stxrshxpxd]

“i enjoy watching you squirm”

pairing: young thranduil x reader

word count: 1.3k

prompt: prince thranduil and his childhood frenemy are harvesting apples in the woods, but things get a little tense and she starts feeling some stuff…

(this is a blurb i posted a while ago but i just reworked it and added a bunch of new stuff to it, for a school assignment :p so i figured i might as well post it here)

Having grown up being force fed a friendship with Thranduil, naturally I had grown to hate him. His father was of course The King, and my mother was a lady of his court. She simply could not have a daughter who was not in The Prince’s good graces.

The Prince had an unbreakable pride and sometimes smiled in ways that suggested he owned the very ground you trod. And I suppose he did, through means of his blood. However, it would be a day long from now that I cave to that notion.

As a boy Thranduil was a direct product of the confinements of a court. He had a hunger for the world, with the pride and arrogance of any young prince. Had he sworn he could fly, it is likely the Gods would have provided him with wings in the moment of leaping from the cliff.

Every chance he had to get on my nerves he took, and yet we had strangely bonded. Perhaps it was because we had always been the only children of our age in the court. Either way, I saw through him and he saw through me.

-

It was a golden afternoon with the sun hanging low in the sky as summer in the Woodland Realm was drawing its last breaths. The leaves around us had begun shifting colours, making it slightly more difficult to spot the apples we had been sent out to harvest.

As we trudged down towards the core of the apple tree grove, Thranduil had gotten a hold of a stray one and was carelessly slicing it in his hand with a small, sharp dagger. I glanced as he fed himself the slices and absently toyed with the knife, hooking his long finger into the bronze hoop at the end of it and swinging it around.

“You’re going to hurt someone,” I stated with a scowl, staring down at his careless hands. Rings adorned almost every single slender finger of his, each one shinier than the next.

The Prince looked at me, pulled out of his daydreams, and he smiled darkly as he secured the dagger in his fist instead. The rings gleamed in the setting sun.

“Are you frightened?” he asked with a curl of his lips and watched me through his dark brows. I scoffed and rolled my eyes.

“You could not hurt me even if you wished to,” I countered, but before I had the chance to lay my dismissive eyes back on him he had shoved me by the waist and caged me in against a massive oak tree behind me, the sticky blade of the dagger pressed to my cheek and his height hanging over me. Always one head taller. The half sliced apple had dropped from his hand in an instant and my lower ribs had taken its place in his palm.

“Could I not?”

The serene forest around us filled with the sound of my breath falling from my parted lips. Thranduil stared back at me with a smirk as his forehead brushed against mine and his fist tightened around the dagger, its blade on the verge of sinking into my skin. His one brow twitched, awaiting my response.

“Do it,” I challenged and raised one of my brows as well, my fingers soundlessly grazing the hilt of my own dagger at my hip. He licked his lips and flashed his playfully smug smile for a second. Just like when we were little elves. Play-fights and wrestling matches were always the pillars of our early kinship, and there were many times we had returned home at sunset with mud, grass and blood stains all over, expecting disappointed stares and sighs. We were toying with war before we knew the true meaning of the word.

“I do not wish to hurt you, mellon nin. I merely enjoy watching you squirm.”

Something burned and tingled inside me at his words but I scoffed again.

“I do not squirm,” I replied and forcefully shoved him off of me, to which he laughed and sheathed his dagger again, securing his long, pale hair behind the soft points of his ears.

“At least you’re never bored with me at your side.”

Thranduil hooked his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in for a tight half-hug. I smiled viciously up at him and jabbed my blunt dagger hilt into the relaxed flesh of his side, making him wince in pain and let go of me.

“And you’re never safe,” I joked and took a step to my side, desperately chasing that strange tingling feeling away. His calm laughter loomed behind me as I picked up the pace and took a right turn towards the apple grove.

The clearing housed a handful of ancient apple trees, massive with twisting trunks and branches drooping with the weight of its fruit. The tall treetops had parted to reveal the sky to us, painted in lavish oranges and pinks. At the northern horizon stood the tops of the Grey Mountains, Ered Mithrin, bathing in the last sunlight of the day.

Thranduil planted his feet soundlessly at my side. Always an arm’s length away. Our elven hearts had settled peacefully in our chests, instinctively pious towards the beauty in the nature of our land. There was not a trace of smugness left in The Prince’s smile now. This was his finest of forms; reverent and sincere.

“A mountain needs no tongue in order to speak to you, ears in order to listen, nor arms in order to hold you,” he quoted a proverb of old, his voice smooth like the soft breeze that danced past us. He was one with the woodlands. His sharp nose was a steep mountain wall, his sleek muscular build a young tree and his eyes were icy lakes in the winter.

We began stuffing our woven sacks with apples from the mossy ground.

“What do you make of the Lady Calathiel of Lothlórien?” Thranduil asked after a beat.

I stopped to glance at him, unsure of how to respond. He avoided my gaze, continuing to pick apples. I knew he had encountered the elf maiden on a visit to the Golden Wood of Lothlórien and I knew she had left an impression on him, having pestered me with lengthy recalllings of their conversations. However, I had not known his mind still dwelled on her. It had been nearly two moons since his visit.

“I do not know her,” I said in truth.

“I mean to propose to wed her.”

He continued picking apples absently and I continued standing still, my bones frozen in shock. He had never before shown this type of interest in anybody, save for his own reflection.

I suppose I had never imagined a life where Thranduil was not constantly at my side, where we were not always two halves of one - albeit dysfunctional - whole.

The Prince peered up at me now, putting a hold on his harvesting for a moment and standing up straight again.

“Oh, melda, you must not worry. You will always be the elf maiden of my sweetest dreams,” he cooed, mocking my stunned silence. His smirk dripped of conceit again. I snapped out of my shock and narrowed my eyes at him.

“I can not wait for the day you are the Lady Calathiel’s burden in my stead.”

Thranduil chuckled as I steered my eyes away and began gathering the apples at my feet, ignoring the burning sensation in my core.

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: you hadn't been sure what to feel after demanding Ajay bring the others. bring everyone. it'd been reckless, stupid. Wally you had figured had been fine, perhaps even Ajay too, but everyone? it had either been the dumbest thing you'd ever done or the smartest. thankfully, you'd learned enough about the others to know what topics to avoid and which to use to your advantage...

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.22

You sat in the dining room, the French doors closed for privacy. Your family was in various positions around you as they helped you study the pile of file folders your mother had exhumed from the enormous wooden chest in the basement.

The dining room itself was large yet cozy, eclectic, lived in; it was where your mother brought her clients for readings and spiritual counsel. A round table took up the middle of the room; a tea tray and plates of finger foods were placed in the center where a hokey crystal ball normally sat. Shelves along the back wall were stuffed with books from the Barnes & Noble witchcraft section, boasting titles like, "A Witch's Guide to Garden Magick," and, "Spells & Incantations for a Better Life."

The plum-colored ceiling was decorated in constellations that Andrew had painted the week before your mother began marketing herself, and the wood floor was covered in a layer of Persian rugs thrown here and there that had absorbed the heavy musk of the incense your mother burned during sessions.

It was a beautiful room, to be sure, and you hated every inch of it. All the frivolous bits and bobs that encouraged people to believe a lie mocking you from their perches. Portraits of people who meant nothing to your family; taxidermized crows and owls and foxes. A mounted stag's head, because why not? It added to the rustic, sorcerous atmosphere.

"What about Rhonda Botezatu?" Ginny inquired around the stem of her cigarette holder. She was done up in a silk kimono, purple hair peeking out from beneath a bronze turban. An homage to Old Hollywood starlets who'd aged into roles they'd rather die than assume. Her thin fingers and wrists were bedazzled with chunky costume jewelry, but her neck remained bare. Apart, of course, from the delicate silver pendant she rarely removed.

You couldn't help smiling at her. She was absolutely marvelous.

"Rhonda..." You began, trying not to peer down at the notes. "Died April 1964. Murdered by Alfons Manfredo, the guidance counselor. She was really into Beatnik Culture and was going to study Engineering at UC Berkeley." You wilted, looking down at the yearbook photo paperclipped to Rhonda Botezatu's dossier. Rhonda stared up at you, the hint of a smile on her lips, clever eyes bright beneath layers of eyeliner and mascara. Your heart lurched.

"I used to watch her and her younger sister, Daria, when she was a child. Her parents were neighbors." Ginny divulged, using her cigarette holder to point out the window as if to indicate the exact house. "Her older sister, Yetta, was a pain. Refused to babysit; too busy husband-hunting, but Rhonda was a hoot. Questioned everything." Ginny chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Pecked at me all day, asking this and that. Couldn't shut her up unless I put on a record and let her dance out all that energy." Her eyes went distant, a fond expression settling into her features. "Precocious. Would've changed the world if she'd been given the chance."

Your mother huffed, hovering over you as she rifled through the mound of documentation. "You skipped Janet Hamilton."

"Ooh, that idiot," Ginny slumped forward dramatically, an impression of being utterly disgusted by something. Your mother cleared her throat with intention, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny sighed and rolled her hand regally in your direction, "Alright, chicken, tell us what you know about her."

You stifled a giggle into the back of your hand, sharing a fond look with Andrew at Ginny's antics. "Okay, Janet. She died in 1960, but...I didn't see how...did I miss that?" You asked, scanning the sheet of paper you'd pulled from the dossier.

"No, sweetheart," Nanna assured, "There's no record of it that I ever found. Of course, by the time I started gathering information, a lot of time had passed." You could tell she was trying very hard to search her memory. Unfortunately, however, it seemed she kept finding only blank spaces.

"It was an accident of some sort," Ginny piped up. "Broke her neck somehow. Falling down the stairs, I think."

Nanna frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I vaguely recall some mention of it...honestly, you'd think I'd remember." The laugh that bubbled out of her was strained, tinged with disbelief. "She was my math tutor." A glance at Ginny to confirm, "I could've sworn it happened right before I started middle school."

"Don't look at me," Ginny scoffed, "Maybe you should scribble it down before you forget to again." She looked at Andrew, roping him into the joke, "You need to get your mother checked out, Drew, before she starts forgetting your birthday."

Positioning her reading glasses just above the tip of her nose, Nanna plucked the paper from your hand, adding, in beautiful cursive, a note about Janet's death. "You did forget his birthday last year..."

Ginny took a quick sip of her sherry, rushing to defend, "Oh pish, I did not. I told you, the gift was delayed." And then, as a side note, "Poor Reggie really is losing his mind," though she didn't sound worried about her old friend cum antique dealer. Rather, it was a pitying statement of fact, said in the manner most elderly people use when discussing each other's senility. She put her sifter down and whipped a taunting stare at Nanna, "You know, Babbigail, had either of you listened when I suggested you try the Sudoku, you wouldn't be losing your marbles quite so early."

"Oh, baldercrap," Nanna retaliated, "I'm just as sharp as I've always been!" She narrowed her eyes, mock-accusing, and presented to the room, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were cheating."

"Cheating?"

"I wouldn't put it past you to use spells all willy-nilly for your benefit."

Nanna winked at you when Ginny scoffed, outraged, straightening her spine and puffing out her chest, "Oh, how very dare you! My own sister!? Implying I would ever turn my back on the Circle!" She lifted the back of her bejeweled wrist to her brow, "Judas!"

You and Andrew dissolved into fits of laughter at the theatrics. Ginny and Nanna bickered often, always making a show of it for everyone's entertainment. It was one of many reasons that you were glad you were all under the same roof, even when it got crowded sometimes.

Behind you, your mother wasn't as amused by the performance, scoffing as she patted your head, reminding you to, "Focus, sweetheart, you only have two days to memorize all of this." She flashed an annoyed look between Nanna and Ginny, "If you two are finished, maybe we could get back to it?"

Ginny sagged sideways against the back of the chaise longue, waving dismissively with her cigarette holder, "No need to get worked up, Alice. The girl has plenty of time to sort all this out." Still, she gestured for you to move on to the next student.

Bernadette King, died in 1969 after tragically falling from a height in the old gymnasium. Then Dawn Burton, died in 1972 by accidental electrocution. Next was Yuri Vyarheychyk, a transplanted Belarussian boy who'd somehow fallen head-first into a kiln during a pottery lesson in 1978, succumbing to severe burns before the ambulance had arrived.

"Are you guys sure I should go there?" You asked, face twisted in concern as you absorbed the seemingly endless pile of information on the table, evidence that too many awful things had transpired at Split River High before now. "It sounds kinda dangerous."

"You'll be just fine," Ginny said, "You're too important. The Awen won't let anything happen to you." It sounded like something a great-aunt was obligated to say, those reassurances that you were the 'most specialist of special children.' In a world where you'd witnessed something profoundly horrific take someone you'd considered more special than yourself, your great-aunt's statement was of little comfort.

Nanna reached across the table and petted your hand affectionately, tacking on, "You have nothing to worry about. We've all attended and we're just fine. Your sister actually really enjoyed herself."

You gave her a tight smile, "If you say so," then accepted the next dossier Andrew pulled out of the pile.

"We're getting into the 80s, now." He informed, eyes twinkling as he stared over your head at your mother. "Starting with the totally hunky football star—"

"Don't start," Your mother warned. You could feel the look on her face, something eye-twitchy and vexed.

Andrew snickered, rising to the challenge, and tapped his finger on the photo clipped to the front of the folder. It drew your attention down to a face that—your breath caught, an unusual warmth blossoming within you as you took in the young man grinning up at you from the photo. The print in the top right corner said his name was 'Walker Clark'. He was...hot. Like center-of-the-sun hot. Soulful, brown eyes, kissable lips, hair swept back in a perfect 80s poof.

Andrew whistled, long and punctuating, forcing a blush to rise on the arches of your cheeks. "I think girly's got a crush," He ruffled your hair obnoxiously, "Aurora had the same reaction when we put her through the paces. 'He's so hot, oh my god,'" He mimicked in a high falsetto, "'If I could see ghosts, I'd literally ask him out, I don't care.'"

"Rory had to do this too?" You wondered, eyes never wavering from Wally's handsome face.

"Of course she did, chicken. Everyone has to. Even your grandmother had to and she can't see ghosts." Ginny explained.

"But why? If Nanna and Rory can't see ghosts, what does it matter?"

Nanna smiled sweetly at you, "Understand, dear, abilities don't always manifest fully at an early age like yours did. Before Aurora entered high school, her empathy was very subtle. Then, in her junior year, out of the blue, she could identify each ghost without batting an eye. If the Ciorcal of the Craft allowed it, I bet she would've had whole conversations with them without needing to see or hear them."

You knew Aurora's empathy was acute, how she could wield it like a weapon or a gift depending on her mood. You'd never tell her, but you found it pretty remarkable. Almost envied her for it. Your life would be much easier if you couldn't see the dead.

"That's why we do this, chicken. It's a contingency, just in case our powers manifest late or they mature faster than we have time to do something about it." Ginny elaborated and it made sense. Similar to Aurora and Nana, Andrew hadn't had any indication that he would develop Connectedness until much later, but now he gleaned incredible things from objects on command.

You didn't realize you'd been staring at Wally's photo the whole time, not once looking up to acknowledge those around you, until Nanna leaned over and voiced, "He was very handsome, wasn't he," obviously having been observing your predicament, "And so respectful. His mother and I were in a book club together with some of the other moms from the school." Suddenly, her tone shifted, turning solemn, "Bea was hard on him, though. Drove him to be the best." She sighed, "I really felt for him."

You listened with half an ear, more interested in pondering what Wally had felt about the pressure his mother supposedly put on him. Had he been equally as motivated? Or had he buckled under the weight of expectation? A tiny sliver of your soul yearned to have the chance to ask him, ignoring for the moment the Rule that your whole family lived by.

"Come on, sweetheart," Your mother's voice interrupted your thoughts, "we have a lot to go through and 2004 is going to be tricky." She flipped open Wally's folder, thus forcefully removing his face from your line of sight, doing for you what you hadn't been able to do for yourself. You exhaled a shivery breath, swallowing thickly as you accepted the first of three typewriter-typed pages. Your mother pointed to the third line of the second paragraph, "Alright, let's start here..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Ajay had smuggled you into the school and up to the roof, managing to keep you from being caught. There had been one close call when Barry had treaded around a corner, flashlight up, demanding to know if anyone was there when your sneaker had squeaked against the linoleum. You'd watched in fascination as Ajay had manipulated his ghostliness to his advantage. He'd marched right up to Barry who, as a living person, had been unconsciously driven to avoid the invisible obstacle, his brain having fed him some rationalization or excuse that had sent him on his way. Piece of cake.

Presently, you stood near the roof's edge, fidgeting nervously as Ajay helped two people over the raised side of the portal, one after the other. You gulped, your heart beating faster and your palms clammy as you took in who they were. Rhonda Botezatu and Charley Morino. Fuck...shit... Instantly, you regretted telling Ajay to bring everyone. God, could you get more stupid!? This was such a bad idea, your mother's voice reverberating inside your skull threats of squalls and storms and ill-fated summonings. Despite the desire to stand your ground and do this for Simon, your soul trembled in despair, unable to shake the feeling of failure after years and years of being told not to let them know you can see.

You squirmed under Rhonda and Charley's attention, your eyes flicking up to their faces and then back down to your shoes as your nerves began to fray. God, Simon, you fretted, I hope it's worth it. 'It' being all the possible repercussions you could face should anyone discover what you'd done. And the more who knew what you could do, the more it was likely that someone would find out.

As you contemplated your friend, a shadow flickered over Rhonda's shoulder. A there-and-gone impression of movement that had wobbled like hot air rising from a desert road. You squeezed your eyes shut and opened them again, seeing nothing to indicate what you'd witnessed had ever occurred.

"Isn't that the chick Wally was hung up on a couple of years ago?" You heard Rhonda ask Charley as they approached. Strangely, they moved as if they intended to make room for someone else between them, but, as you checked on Ajay's progress at the portal, you didn't see anyone else emerge.

"I'm not sure..." Charley answered her, openly studying you through slitted eyes; suspicious, cautious, clearly unsure what he thought about you. Still, he emanated a warmer, more welcoming aura than Rhonda who was all attitude and cool eyes. "If it is, we owe him a massive apology."

Rhonda didn't seem to agree, "She'd better make it up to him. Took him forever to stop sulking."

You were both pleased that Wally's friends had his back and cowed at the reminder that you'd basically gaslighted him in sophomore year, and Rhonda seemed keen to hold that against you. Surreptitiously, you kept peeking behind Rhonda and Charley, willing the universe to be kind and deliver Wally's fortifying presence to you. With him beside you, you felt you could handle Rhonda's cutting remarks and Charley's weighted stare.

As if on cue, the connection began to rumble and roll inside you, rising with more interest as you felt Wally get closer, and your heart started to pound for an entirely different reason.

"So," Rhonda started as she stopped two feet in front of you, arms crossed and expression tightly controlled, "You can see us."

You didn't know what else to say apart from, "Yep," wincing as it fell out of your mouth.

Rhonda's glare turned lethal, "And you didn't think that maybe you should try and help us?"

"I—"

"Oh, no, wait, that's right, you decided to help Ajay and leave the rest of us to rot, is that it?"

Charley reached out and touched her arm, sending her an expression of warning before returning his attention to you. "I am curious about why you decided now was a good time for a big reveal?" He asked in a roundabout way, tone sprinkled lightly with denigration.

That, at least, was a simple answer. "Simon's in trouble and I want to help get him out of it."

"Right," Charley looked at Rhonda, briefly seeming to cast behind her, then looked back at you, "The o t h e r living person who can see ghosts. Are you guys part of the same coven or...?"

As sarcastic as he sounded, you sensed his genuine interest and decided to expand on—wait, "Simon can what?"

Ajay's words from earlier flew out of the ether and into your head: "Everyone just got over Charley keeping Simon a secret." Well, fuck me sideways. At the time, you'd been too distracted by the fact that Ajay knew about you and Wally. Then that, of course, had been eclipsed by Ajay's purported friendship with Aurora that she'd never bothered to disclose. With all those thoughts vying for attention, your brain had swiftly filled in the blanks about Charley and Simon with something that made enough sense to keep you from poking at it. Charley, you'd guessed, had kept Simon a secret like most teenagers keep their crush a secret from their friend group. To avoid getting teased.

Thinking about it now, you realized that was the second-most idiotic thing you'd ever come up with after encouraging Ajay to give you an audience with a bunch of ghosts you were supposed to avoid like the plague.

"Are. you. fucking. k i d d i n g. me!?" You dropped into a crouch, top half folded over your knees as you dug your fingers into the back of your head, wholly and utterly defeated by the endless siege of fuckery that had been unleashed since last Friday.

"We'll take that as a 'no'," Rhonda remarked, sounding as though she was checking her cuticles. "So, what are you? A necromancer or something?"

"No," You said miserably into your knees. You rose, rubbing your temples as you tried to process everything while simultaneously explaining, "And I'm not a witch, either, so you can forget about that coven bullshit."

You were getting riled up, angry, confused; Simon could see ghosts, too? Seriously? That could have made the conversation you and he had had on the swings a helluva lot easier, dammit. But, nooo, he'd kept that to himself. And, honestly, fuck Aurora, too, because you'd spent the last three years of your life on edge and constantly alert when you could've, maybe, given fewer shits?!

Another odd, shadowy flicker distorted the air almost directly in front of you but you ignored it, your frustration gaining momentum because, fine, yeah, you hadn't said anything to Simon either, but what the fuck anyway—!

Just as you were about to scream into the void, a warm, calming sensation swept over you, the familiar scent of Wally's cologne and the pomade he used in his hair curling under your nose like a cartoon wafteron. You tilted your head up, eyes immediately locking on his, and the tension seeped out of your muscles. Wally's steps were measured, his jaw tight, shoulders squared as if he was fighting to control himself from jumping on you.

Right. Ajay had insisted that you and Wally act as if you'd never interacted. Earlier, it'd been easy to agree, the connection subtle and at ease; now, you weren't so sure. The syrupy-slick sensation lulled you into a dreamlike fog, transfixed by Wally's closeness. You watched Wally's throat bob when he swallowed, eyes drifting to his lips before slowly tracking back up to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

"Hi..." You said, voice catching as Wally neared.

The others observed with assorted expressions of confusion and intrigue, Rhonda asking, "Whaaat the hell is happening?" to which Charley replied, "I have no idea..."

Ajay explained on your behalf, tone entirely put-upon, "It's the cRaZiEsT tHiNg. I noticed it before. Like they have some kind of mYsTeRiOuS cOnNeCtiOn drawing them together..." Glimpsing at him, you saw Ajay's features had flattened, his demeanor projecting exactly how done with everything he was, yet you couldn't find it within yourself to care. Wally was right there, gazing at you with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.

The flicker appeared again, though, unlike before, an almost physical energy came with it, arcing outward from its source into your front, forcing you back a step. A look of alarm spooked Wally's face. He lurched forward a step, simultaneously bringing his hand up as if to place it on something.

What happened next happened so quickly that you almost didn't catch it. As soon as Wally's hand made contact, a featureless silhouette popped into existence. You couldn't make out who they were, could hardly register anything as you stumbled backward another step in surprise, the back of your leg hitting the low ledge that lined the roof. From there, gravity took over, pulling you down as you teetered precariously over the wrong side of the ledge. Everyone reacted at once, Rhonda and Charley reaching out, Ajay yelling and grabbing the silhouette, and Wally—

"No!" Wally shouted as he leapt forward, grabbed you by the front of your sweater, and hauled you tightly against him before you plummeted several meters down onto the concrete below. He whirled around, planting himself between you and the ledge, his nose in your hair, heart hammering under your palm, panting from the adrenaline rush. His embrace was viselike, keeping you together as a jolt of fear shot through you.

"Are you okay?" He asked, eyes the size of saucers as he cradled your face in his big hands.

You peeked helplessly up at him, a lump in your throat and pressure behind your eyes, Jesus Christ, you'd almost joined them in the afterlife...but that wasn't the thought that blared in your head like an air raid siren.

"Do it again." You commanded, breathless, gripping Wally's arms and encouraging him to turn around. "Touch whatever you just touched again."

He blinked at you, dumbfounded, obviously not understanding what the hell you were on about.

"Whatever you just did," You instructed, "do it again," placing your hand on his shoulder to show him what you meant. Although he continued to stare at you like you'd grown a second head, he released you and moved back. You marveled as he stepped forward a few feet, picked his hand up, and then placed it down seemingly in midair. Except it wasn't midair. It was a shoulder that became visible under the weight of Wally's hand.

He shot you a peculiar expression, eyebrows drawn in doubt, "Uh...like this?" And then he stepped aside.

You gasped, going very, very still as your mouth fell open and your eyes bulged, a single, quivering utterance tumbling out of you. "Holy shit."

Everyone, including Wally, watched you in wonder, completely oblivious to the miracle that had just occurred. Everyone including—

"Maddie!?"

💀___________________________

PART TWENTY-ONE - PART TWENTY-THREE

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