#do roses cast shadows?

[l-e-morgan-author]

my current wip list

Hands Made for Gentleness is about my two dear idiots Vaniah and Anneka, who get married to dodge an arranged-marriage law. Vaniah is incredibly traumatised by events in his past. Anneka discovers this as time goes by. It's a story of healing, mainly, and mental health. Boatload of trigger warnings (Vaniah is severely depressed, suicidal and all that goes with that, while Anneka is in recovery from anorexia) but I love them so much and I love the energy that's between them. At this moment I'm writing a scene in which they're arguing because Vaniah abruptly shut down a kissing scene without explanation and the conversation afterwards got mildly heated. Also they basically end up in a QPR more than a traditional romantic relationship and I love that for them. They're late twenties or so during this novel. First draft.

Patience, Changing is about Patience and her adopted sister Rhona. Patience is my autistic darling, Rhona is my current Discord pfp and anyway I love them. They have interpersonal conflicts that form the nucleus of the novel, but they work them out in the end. Teenagers, and absolutely no romantic relationships in this story which I love. Also it's set in my home city of Melbourne. First draft.

To Kindle a Flame is the first book of an embarrassingly big series. I first wrote the earliest draft for camp nanowrimo or nanowrimo itself, 2017. It started out as one book, in fact started out as a simple response to a concept outlined and failed to bring to a satisfying conclusion by a Christian book by someone in my denomination - In Search of Life by Anna Tikvah. I loved the concept (girl has questions about life, turns to the Bible and reads it, things happen), but then Verity never questioned that the Bible was true, which seemed wack to me. So I started writing a story in which my main character (Adira) found a copy of the Bible and then began to read it, but the whole time she's questioning it. It turned into about 300k of messy drafting (I've drafted it uhh three times by now and am gradually working on overhauling it, grabbing what bits I can and then finishing the draft, ideally this year) and has become a story about mental health, choices and the way people figure out beliefs. In the Gospels there's a line in which Pilate says "What is truth?" - that's basically the tagline of To Kindle a Flame. It's also dystopian. It's my beloved baby. Anyway I'm normal about this story. Also Adira is autistic. Oops. I didn't intend that. I just looked at her character one day and went Yet Another Autistic Character Ay. xD It's also set in Melbourne, but aforementioned dystopia renders Melbourne unrecognisable. I've done a bunch of worldbuilding on her. Also features the character who was the first openly queer character I ever wrote - Tom, who's bi, though he ends up married to Adira and never has a mlm relationship during the story (has prior - in the story he's side B). Somewhere between first and second drafts.

Do Roses Cast Shadows? was the most recent nanowrimo, and I got a grand total of 12k into it. I uh. Don't know what's going on really. I don't recall much, but I'd like to get back to it someday. My characters are Wren and I can't recall the male main character's name.

They Told Me To Name My Demons is a poetry collection I'm working up to publication someday. It's about Christianity, suicidality, depression, autism and identity. I plan to include 100 poems and 7 prose pieces, of which I've so far written and somewhat edited 84 poems (might have a few more, I haven't crossreferenced with my phone lately) and 4 pieces of prose. The title is from a blog post I read years ago and then wrote a poem in response to. Most of the poems have been written in the last year or two. I chase inspiration where I see it. First draft.

Sparks Under Heaven is a collection of five short stories/novellas, all connected to To Kindle a Flame (one features Adira, two her grandfather, one someone another character knew in his youth and the other focuses on an event from To Kindle a Flame but from someone else's perspective). I've had it professionally edited but the edits are sitting there still waiting to be touched, largely. Second-last round of edits before I self publish.

Through Lightning, Through Thunder was nanowrimo 2022, the happiest novel I've ever written and absolutely beloved. It features Taira (rabbit), Paddy (fox), Sheba (lynx), and various less important characters. It started out life as a Narnia fanfic, focused around my original characters with occasional mentions of the Four. It was 15k. Then I fleshed it out into a full original novel, 100k-and-counting. Oopsie. The good guys are trying to stop an evil dragon being resurrected (based on the Witch scene in Prince Caspian). In the end everyone lives happily ever after. Yay. Second draft.

[Inklings story] is about Hadassah, autistic darling of my heart who is thrown through a portal and discovers a found family on the other side, essentially. Downtrodden autistic but becomes happy and confident. First draft.

The Time Travelling Midwife is about Felicity, ALSO autistic (surprise!). I haven't got very far with this one either, it exists mostly in vibes in my mind. It's best summarised as the story with the time travelling midwife, who travels in time, is an angel, tries to stop evil from prevailing and when it does eventually through the building of the tower of Babel (mainly facilitated by one of her colleagues), her time travelling powers are taken away and she ends up settling somewhere in the 1900s and having a happy life. First draft.

Only the first and second are in active development right now. Please ask me about any part of any thing of this post. I copied and pasted directly from the Discord in which I rambled about them.

If I've forgotten any wips that you know about please tell me, lol. And this is only about full length novels or collections, not shorter stories.

[harveyguillensource]

Harvey with some of those things that humans use for smelling, rhymes with hoses.

[punkcherries]

sonic prime so cool ............

[luna-azzurra]

Some tips on the do’s and don’ts of adding more description to your Writing

Do‘s:

Make your writing come alive by describing things that appeal to the senses. Instead of saying "It was a beautiful garden," you could say "The garden was filled with the scent of fresh roses, the sound of buzzing bees, and the vibrant colors of blooming flowers."

Instead of just saying what something is like, show it through your words. For instance, instead of saying "She was sad," you could describe her actions and surroundings to show her sadness: "Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared out the rain-streaked window, clutching a crumpled tissue in her hand."

Instead of using general words, get specific. Instead of saying "He drove a car," you could say "He drove a sleek, black convertible, the wind tousling his hair as he sped down the open highway."

Keep your writing interesting by mixing up short and long sentences. Don't always write in the same way. For example, "The sky was dark. The trees swayed in the wind. It felt eerie," could be improved by adding variety: "Dark clouds gathered overhead, causing the trees to sway ominously in the gusting wind, casting an eerie feeling over the landscape."

Use your descriptions to set the mood of your story. Instead of just saying "It was a scary place," describe the setting to evoke fear in your readers: "The abandoned house loomed in the moonlight, its broken windows and creaking doors whispering of unseen terrors lurking within."

Don't just drop descriptions randomly into your writing. Make sure they fit naturally into the flow of your story. Instead of stopping the action to describe something, weave it into the narrative: "As she ran through the forest, the branches clawed at her skin, leaving scratches like whispers of the dangers lurking in the shadows."

While descriptions are important, don't forget to keep your story moving forward. Don't spend too much time describing things at the expense of the action. Find a balance between describing the scene and keeping the plot moving.

Don't:

Using too many adjectives can make your writing sound cluttered and overwhelming. Stick to the essentials and choose your words carefully.

Don't forget that dialogue and interactions between characters are key parts of your story. Use them to reveal personality and move the plot forward.

Don't repeat yourself. Once you've described something, trust your readers to remember it. Don't keep saying the same thing over and over again.

Sometimes, what you don't say can be just as important as what you do say. Let your readers read between the lines and draw their own conclusions.

Avoid using tired old phrases that everyone has heard before. Try to come up with fresh, original descriptions that will grab your readers' attention.

Be mindful of the pace of your story. Don't slow things down with long descriptions in the middle of an action scene. Save the detailed descriptions for quieter moments when the pace naturally slows down.

[yeostinys]

Cry For Me

Pairing: DomCEO!Hongjoong x SubSecretary!Reader

Genre: Smut 18+, slight angst, PWP, Office!AU

Notes: Cheating (don’t do it yall. this is just fiction), Unprotected sex (wrap it up!!! do not try this irl, it is pure fantasy!), explicit language, dacryphilia kink, humiliation, degrading, power fixation, Hongjoong lowkey manipulates (but for the better ig lol)

Word Count: 13k (condensed some ideas to bring down the word count LOL)

Authors note: This is pure horny imagination and in NO WAY, reflects on the characters in real life! If you do not like this type of content pls ignore or block me.

Pt. 2 | Pt. 3

———————————————————————

As you stepped into your apartment, the night sky cast a deep blue glow through the windows, shimmering like a vast ocean. The warm glow of the sensor lights flickered on, illuminating the entryway and casting soft shadows on the walls. You paused for a moment, a frustrated sigh escaping your lips, echoing in the stillness of the room.

It was the fifth time this month that your boyfriend had canceled on you, and each time felt like another nail in the coffin of what once seemed like a blossoming romance. The disappointment settled heavily in your chest, making each step toward the kitchen feel more burdensome than the last.

With a determined resolve, you made your way to the fridge, the familiar chill greeting you as you opened the door. Your fingers closed around a half-filled bottle of wine, the label slightly crumpled from the many times it had been hastily put back. You pulled it out, and reached for a glass. You stare blankly as you poured the wine, watching as the dark liquid rose to the rim, glistening in the soft light. Without hesitation, you brought it to your lips, taking a few deep gulps, each swallow both comforting and numbing. As the warmth spread through you, tears began to prick at the corners of your eyes, a familiar sensation that you had tried so hard to push away.

The memories of the past 2 years flooded back—Siwoo’s laughter, the shared moments that now felt like distant echoes. But lately, he had become a stranger, his warmth replaced by an impenetrable distance. You had tried to reach out, to bridge the growing gap, but each time ended in disappointment. Now, standing in your quiet apartment, you felt a profound sense of loss that had settled deep within you, leaving you feeling numb, as if you were merely going through the motions of life without truly living it.

You quickly wiped your tears away, the salty tracks on your cheeks feeling foreign yet familiar. With each brush of your fingers, the sadness that had threatened to overwhelm you twisted into something sharper—anger.

*Ding.*

The sudden sound pulled your attention away from your thoughts. You turned your head toward your phone, its screen lighting up with a notification. The sight of Siwoo's name, accompanied by a little heart, made your heart sink further.

Siwoo <3: I’m sorry I cancelled again. Please don’t hate me. I’ll see you on your lunch tomorrow.

You stared at the message, the words blurring momentarily as your vision wavered. Another empty promise. With a shaky hand, you raised your glass to your lips, the bitter taste of the wine filling your mouth as you took another long gulp. It was a poor substitute for the warmth you once felt from Siwoo's presence.

You couldn't bring yourself to respond—not now. You needed a few moments to gather your swirling emotions, to avoid lashing out with the hurt and anger that simmered just beneath the surface. The silence of the apartment enveloped you, amplifying your racing thoughts and making the weight of his message all the more suffocating.

Once you finished the rest of the wine bottle, you felt the tension in your shoulders ease just a fraction. You turned away from your phone, not wanting to see another message or another reminder of the chasm that seemed to grow between you. With heavy steps, you made your way to the bedroom.

You plopped down onto the bed, the soft sheets cradling you in their embrace. As your body sank into the mattress, fatigue overtook you, pulling you into a deep slumber. In the quiet darkness, you hoped for dreams that could somehow soothe the ache in your heart, if only for a little while.

———

The next day dawned with a muted light filtering through the curtains, the world outside still waking up. You rolled over, disoriented for a moment, before the reality of the day ahead crashed over you. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, the remnants of last night’s indulgence weighing heavily in your mind.

As you shuffled to the bathroom, the headache from downing that last glass of wine throbbed at your temples, a persistent reminder of your restless night. You cursed under your breath, regretting the decision to finish the bottle in a moment of vulnerability.

You quickly went through the motions of your morning routine. Your job as the secretary for one of the most well-known CEOs in the Creative Arts Institution required precision and poise, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil that had kept you up late. You dressed in a tailored blouse and a pencil skirt, the fabric smoothing against your skin as you adjusted the collar. The mirror reflected a professional exterior, yet you felt anything but composed inside.

After applying a touch of makeup to mask the fatigue in your eyes, you gathered your things—laptop, planner, and the ever-essential cup of coffee that awaited you in the kitchen.

———

As you step into the tall building, the morning sun filters through the glass façade, casting geometric shadows across the polished marble lobby. The familiar bustle of your colleagues greets you, their voices merging with the gentle hum of fluorescent lights. You nod and smile as you greet in response. You make your way to the elevator, its silver doors glinting in the light. Pressing the button for the top floor, you mentally prepare for the day ahead, trying not to show your exhausted emotions, mentally and physically. When the doors slide open, you step into the expansive hallway lined with art. At the end of the corridor, you enter the grand office door. You walk to the enormous desk adorned with a gold plaque that reads “CEO Kim Hongjoong” and set down the iced Americano you picked up on your way in. You reach into your tote bag and retrieve a neatly organized file folder. Flipping it open, you scan through today’s itinerary, noting the key meetings and tasks that lie ahead. Once satisfied with your briefing, you close the folder and return it to your bag. You head to the front desk positioned just outside the CEO's office, and begin your morning tasks. Every day in the office has settled into a rhythm, a familiar routine that feels almost automatic.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim!” “Hello, Mr. Kim!” The greetings echo as your colleagues bow slightly, their respect palpable.

You rise from your chair, straightening your blouse, and offer a nonchalant nod, masking the exhaustion lingering just beneath the surface.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” you say as you bow, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Hongjoong approaches, his expression warm yet focused.

“Hello, Y/N. Have you prepared everything for today’s schedule?” he asks, moving past you toward his office.

“Yes, you have a meeting in an hour with a client…” you begin to relay the itinerary, following him inside. He settles into his chair, taking a sip of the Americano and nods in response.

“Also, I dealt with the complaints from the last exhibition. Everything’s been taken care of, just like you wanted,” you add, your tone casual, though the weight of your own issues tugs at your thoughts. Hongjoong looks up, a smile breaking across his face.

“That’s why I have you as my secretary, Miss Y/N. Thank you so much.”

You nod, the compliment momentarily brightening your mood, but it’s fleeting. You bow again before slipping out of the office. As the door closes behind you, you take a deep breath, pushing the worries from your relationship to the back of your mind, ready to tackle the day ahead with practiced indifference.

Throughout the morning, you flit in and out of meetings, accompanying Hongjoong as he navigates a flurry of tasks. The office is a hive of activity, and you move seamlessly between conversations, taking notes and organizing files, but the weight of your personal life hangs heavy in the back of your mind.

You glance at the clock on your desk: just thirty minutes until your hour break. A sigh escapes your lips, and you reach for your phone, hesitating. Siwoo’s message sits unread, a lingering question mark in your thoughts. You know you should respond, but the uncertainty of his invitation makes you hesitate. Is it pettiness that keeps you from reaching out, or a defense mechanism to shield your heart from further pain? You shake off the intrusive thoughts, forcing yourself to focus on the tasks at hand.

*Ding.* Your phone buzzes, drawing your attention. It’s another message from Siwoo.

Siwoo <3: I won’t be able to make it today. Something came up at work. Sorry.

You scoff under your breath, a bitter taste filling your mouth. His absence stings, but you’ve braced yourself for this—after all, it’s become a pattern.

Just then, Hongjoong’s voice crackles through the telephone intercom on your desk, interrupting your spiraling thoughts. “Miss Y/N, please come to my office.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, rising from your seat with a practiced smile as you make your way into his office.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Kim?” you ask, your tone polite, carefully masking the frustration beneath the surface from Siwoo’s message.

Hongjoong leans back in his chair, his expression serious.

“I know you have your hour break in twenty minutes, but I just got off the phone with a potential client. They want to meet over lunch in a few minutes, and I need you to tag along to take notes. If you can wait on your break for another hour, I’ll cover your meal if you accompany me now.”

His words feel more like an instruction than a request, and you nod in response, pushing your personal frustrations aside.

“Of course, sir. Shall I call the chauffeur now?”

“No need,” he replies, grabbing his briefcase. “We’ll take my vehicle. I’ll drive.”

You nod and follow Hongjoong out of the building.

You settled into the passenger seat next to Hongjoong, the sleek interior of the car enveloping you. The rhythmic clicking of the turn signal punctuated the silence, while the soft murmur of the news on the radio served as a gentle backdrop.

“Miss Y/N, is everything alright?” Hongjoong's voice cut through the quiet, steady and attentive. You turned to him, slightly taken aback by his directness.

“Y-Yes, sir. What makes you concerned?” you replied, a hint of surprise coloring your voice. His eyes remained fixed on the road, focused yet perceptive.

“My top employee—my secretary—has been unusually quiet lately. You seem a bit off,” he remarked, expertly navigating the car into a parking lot. His concern was genuine, and you felt a flutter of warmth at his attention.

“I apologize if I gave that impression today, sir. I assure you, I’m alright,” you replied, straightening in your seat, trying to project confidence. Hongjoong parked the car and turned to face you, his expression serious.

“Y/N, I’m not just talking about today. You’ve been like this for a few days now. I don’t want to pry, but if something is bothering you, please let me know. You never slack off—well, not that I’ve noticed—but you’re a vital part of our team. If you’re not at your best, it affects us all, especially me. Let’s tackle any issues together, professionally.” His words carried a weight of understanding that took you by surprise.

You hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal.

“I… I apologize, sir. It’s just some personal issues in my relationship. I promise I won��t let it interfere with my work,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to your hands in your lap. You feared that honesty might blur the lines of your professional relationship.

Hongjoong regarded you with a thoughtful expression, his brow slightly furrowing. “Problems in your relationship?” he asked gently. You nodded, keeping your head bowed.

“Yes. I appreciate you asking,” you replied, feeling a rush of gratitude mixed with apprehension.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said, his tone shifting back to his usual professional demeanor. “Let’s get to work.”

The next hour unfolded at a high-end restaurant, its luxurious ambiance creating the perfect setting for a business meeting. You sat next to Hongjoong, across from two potential clients, the atmosphere charged with opportunity. As they discussed plans for an upcoming exhibition, you diligently took notes, your mind sharpening as you transitioned into your role.

Hongjoong exuded charisma, ordering champagne and an array of exquisite appetizers while skillfully guiding the conversation. You admired the way he balanced authority with approachability, creating an atmosphere of collaboration.

———

As promised, Hongjoong granted you your hour break once you both returned to the office. The day had been packed with meetings and conversations, but you had already eaten at the restaurant, so instead of lingering in the bustling atmosphere of the office, you decided to find solace on the rooftop.

Ascending to the rooftop, you pushed open the heavy door, the cool air hitting your face like a refreshing wave. You walked over to one of the bistro tables, the metal surface gleaming under the midday sun. You sank into one of the chairs, letting out a deep sigh that released the pent-up stress from the morning. In your left hand, you cradled an iced Americano to keep you alert. In your right, you held your phone, its screen illuminating your face as you contemplated the text messages from Siwoo.

He should be off work by now, you thought, scrolling through the thread of messages. You hesitated, biting your lip, unsure of how to approach him. The uncertainty had lingered in your mind for days, and it felt like a weight on your chest. After a moment’s deliberation, you resolved to take initiative and give him a call.

You tapped his name, and set the phone on speaker. As the phone rang, the sound echoed in the serene space around you. It rang for what felt like an eternity until finally, you heard his voice on the other end, slightly breathless.

“H-hello? Y/N?” Siwoo stuttered, his tone hesitant.

“Siwoo, what are you doing?” you asked, trying to sound calm, though your heart raced with anticipation.

“Mmm, n-nothing much, just working out. I-I went to the gym after work,” he replied, punctuating his words with a grunt that surprised you. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. Since when did he ever work out?

You decided to push forward, hoping to reconnect. “Do you want to come over tonight? I’ll make dinner,” you offered, softening your voice as if trying to coax him back into your world.

“A-ahh, probably not tonight. I have to finish some work at h-home,” he stuttered again, his voice strained, as though he were struggling for breath.

Disappointment settled in your stomach, but you pressed on. “I can come over then, yeah? I’ll make you your favorite dish?” You mentally kicked yourself for even suggesting it, a flicker of doubt reminding you of all the times he had flaked out before.

“N-no, Y/N. I-It’s okay. A-ahh!” Siwoo grunted loudly, and a chill ran through you at the sound.

“Siwoo, what’s going on?!” You raised your voice slightly, urgency creeping in.

“I told you, Y/N. I’m working out. We can’t see each other tonight; I’m busy. I have to go,” he snapped, the finality in his tone cutting through the air like a knife. The line went dead, leaving you with only the echo of his voice. Your heart sank, a familiar ache running within you.

You stared at the phone in disbelief, the cool metal suddenly feeling heavy in your hand. How could he do this again? A mix of frustration and sadness swirled in your chest, and you felt a lump form in your throat. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but it did little to quell the rising tide of emotions.

——

You glance at the small digits on your screen, the glowing numbers reading 8:00 PM. Your shift officially ended thirty minutes ago, but here you sat, a blend of dedication and denial keeping you tethered to your desk. Guilt washed over you, a stark reminder of Hongjoong’s earlier words. There was no point in heading home, not when the weight of unfinished tasks bore down on you. The quiet of your apartment would only invite sorrow, while the office, though nearly deserted, offered a comforting distraction.

The atmosphere had shifted; the energy of the day had given way to silence as colleagues trickled out, exchanging soft goodbyes. Each farewell came with a gentle reminder not to work too hard, and you managed a smile, masking the turmoil brewing inside you. Once they departed, you returned your focus to the glowing screen, rifling through files and diligently noting necessary information, your fingers a blur over the keyboard.

A flicker of light caught your eye—a warm streaming light from Hongjoong’s office. You raised an eyebrow in curiosity; you’d assumed he had left an hour ago. Shaking off the thoughts that threatened to wander, you turned back to your work.

“Y/N?” Hongjoong’s voice broke through your concentration. You looked up at him through your rectangular glasses that rested on your face. He cut an impressive figure, dressed in a fitted black dress shirt and a black vest that accentuated his shoulders.(What the fuck Y/N; he’s your boss.) You mentally scolded yourself, attempting to dismiss any inappropriate thoughts.

“O-Oh, yes sir?” you replied, setting your pen down on the desk.

“Your shift ended an hour ago. Why are you still here?” His brow arched in genuine curiosity, his tone both commanding and concerned.

“I’m just catching up on some work, sir. I apologize. I’ll be heading home soon,” you replied, striving for composure even as nerves danced in your stomach.

“Y/N, come to my office,” he said, his calm demeanor masking the authority in his request. You hesitated, uncertainty creeping in. Why did he want to speak in private, especially when the office was nearly empty?

Despite your reservations, you take off your glasses frames, place them on your desk and follow him into his office. The door clicking shut behind you, a sound that felt like a declaration. The dim light cast long shadows, enveloping the room. He sits at the edge of his desk with his arms crossed.

“What’s going on in your relationship?” Hongjoong asked, his tone direct yet oddly informal. The question hung in the air, leaving you momentarily stunned. Your eyes widened, and you felt a flush creeping up your neck.

“Sir, I don’t think it’s appropriate to talk about personal matters at work…” you managed to reply, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you avoided his gaze.

“It’s after work hours, Y/N. You can speak comfortably,” he said, his voice calm and soothing, yet imbued with a sharpness that conveyed he was not one to be easily dismissed. “I can tell something is wrong.”

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze making it difficult to formulate a response. A swirl of emotions crashed over you—fear of crossing professional boundaries mixed with the realization that perhaps he genuinely wanted to connect with you on a deeper level. Colleagues had often joked about how you and Hongjoong were like a married couple at work, a notion you had always brushed aside. The title felt cliché, almost childish, and you had preferred to maintain a strictly professional atmosphere.

But as you looked at him, a flicker of understanding passed between you. Maybe he wasn’t just playing the role of the CEO tonight. Perhaps he truly wanted to understand what you were going through. You took a deep breath, your heart racing as you considered opening up.

“We have… just been distant lately,” you say hesitantly, the words slipping out with reluctance. “Our schedules don’t seem to be aligning, and our communication is off. That is all, sir.” You glance at him, searching for a response.

He hums thoughtfully, nodding in acknowledgment. “Shall I… cut your hours? Maybe find a second secretary to fill in while you get to spend more time with your significant other?” His voice carried a teasing lilt, yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness that sent a rush of heat to your cheeks.

“N-no, sir!” The words escaped your lips almost too hastily, an instinctive reaction that made you feel slightly embarrassed. Hongjoong chuckled, his head lowering momentarily before he lifted it again, locking eyes with you.

“So, is it his schedule that’s not cooperating with yours?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded in silence, the weight of your emotions pressing down as you considered the truth behind your answer.

“Mm… interesting.” Hongjoong tapped his chin thoughtfully, the wheels of his mind clearly turning. Curiosity prickled at you; what was going through his head? You couldn’t help but wonder about the direction this conversation was taking.

“Y/N, if you don’t mind me asking, what does your partner do for a living?” he asked, his tone calm and inviting.

“He’s a professor at the university located downtown,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as if sharing a secret.

“A professor?” Hongjoong mused, a hint of skepticism coloring his tone. “I doubt their schedules are that busy compared to yours—a full-time secretary for a well-known company.” He dropped his hands into his pockets, his gaze intent and probing.

“Are you sure you should be concerned about his schedule? Maybe… it’s something more?” Hongjoong added nonchalantly, his casual demeanor contrasting sharply with the seriousness of his implication.

You felt a wave of confusion wash over you. What was he suggesting? Your mind raced, trying to decipher his words. Was he implying that the distance in your relationship could be rooted in something deeper than just busy schedules? The thought unsettled you, but a part of you was intrigued by his concern. You hesitated, caught in a web of uncertainty as you considered how to respond.

“I—I’m not sure what you mean, sir…” you murmured, your gaze dropping to your black heels, the polished tips reflecting the dim light of the office.

“Come here, Y/N,” Hongjoong said, his voice a blend of softness and authority that sent a shiver down your spine. Almost instinctively, you found your feet moving toward him, the rhythmic click of your pumps echoing softly against the floor as you approached. You stopped just in front of his black loafers, your heart racing in your chest.

“Closer,” he instructed, his voice lowering, deepening with an intensity that made you catch your breath. You stepped forward, positioning yourself between his slightly parted legs, the air thick with unspoken tension.

His hand reached out, a gentle yet firm grasp settling on your waist. You gasped in shock, the unexpected warmth of his touch flooding through you. This is wrong, you thought, panic stirring within, but something deeper held you in place, a pull that made it difficult to consider pulling away. Instead, you stood there, caught in a moment that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

“Maybe…” Hongjoong began, his thumb rubbing softly against the fabric of your blouse, the gentle motion both soothing and unsettling.

“your partner is being unfaithful…?” The words hung heavy in the air, a sentence that felt like a blade slicing through your gut.

A part of you recoiled at the thought, refusing to believe it. Yet, as you stood there, something nagged at you, a whisper of doubt that you couldn’t shake. The realization that he might be right crept in like a shadow, darkening your thoughts. Stupidly, your heart leaped to defend Siwoo, the man you cared for, even as uncertainty gnawed at you.

“Mr. Kim, I don’t appreciate you assuming that,” you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you stared between the gap of Hongjoong’s legs that revealed the floor, refusing to meet his gaze.

“You don’t know our relationship, so please do not accuse him of such acts…” you added, your tone a fragile mixture of firmness and vulnerability. As the words left your lips, you felt your eyes begin to well with tears, confusion and anger swirling within you. You trusted Siwoo; you had to. But the doubts Hongjoong had planted took root, and you didn’t understand why he was suddenly acting like this.

You wanted to leave, to escape the charged atmosphere and the unsettling intimacy of the moment, but your feet remained stuck to the floor. Deep down, beneath the rising tide of panic, you recognized that you craved the odd comfort Hongjoong provided, a warmth that felt so different from the turmoil in your heart.

Suddenly, a whimper escaped your lips, a sound that surprised you as tears began to cascade down your cheeks, dropping onto Hongjoong’s lap.

“Oh, baby…” Hongjoong cooed, his voice laced with a tenderness. You gasped at the sudden pet name. With a gentle yet deliberate movement, his unoccupied hand reached toward your face, lifting your chin slightly so that he could wipe away the tears that streamed relentlessly down. Your eyes however, still refusing to look at him. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and your heart raced at the intimacy of the moment.

“You defend him, yet you’re crying,” he observed, his voice low and soothing, but his words only added to the turmoil within you. It was as if he could see right through the facade you had tried to maintain. As his hand, previously resting on your waist, moved to the other side of your face, you felt the weight of his palms cupping your cheeks, an act of reassurance that both calmed and stirred your emotions.

“Look at me, Y/N” Hongjoong softly demands. Your pretty eyes look at him. Sparkling from the tears that are still streaming down your face slowly. Hongjoong bit his lip, fighting to maintain his composure, though he couldn’t help but think how fucken pretty you look when you cried… how vulnerable.

“I’m sorry for assuming,” he continued, his tone tender yet firm. “It was unprofessional of me. I was just trying to express my concerns.” His fingers brushed against your skin as he gently cupped your face, his thumbs softly stroking away the remnants of your tears. “I don’t want to see you cry anymore, okay?”

Confusion swirled within you, a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. What was Hongjoong doing? His touch sent conflicting signals through your mind, making it hard to decipher the intentions behind his kindness. You felt your heart race as he held your gaze, searching for answers that remained elusive.

“Let me take you home. It’s getting late.” He reluctantly withdrew his hands, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. Hongjoong lightly tapped your waist,

“Okay?” he asked again, his voice softening as he sought your approval. You nodded, your heart fluttering as you looked into his eyes, those doe-like orbs filled with an innocence that belied the complexities of your situation. The air between you was thick with unspoken words, each moment stretching out as you found solace in his presence, even amidst the confusion.

———

The car glided smoothly along the quiet streets, the only sounds breaking the stillness were the gentle notes floating from the radio and the rhythmic tapping of Hongjoong’s fingers on the steering wheel. Each beat resonated with the unspoken tension lingering between you, a subtle backdrop to the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in your mind.

As the car pulled up in front of your apartment building, you felt a mix of relief and reluctance. The evening air was cool against your skin as you unbuckled your seatbelt and gathered your bags, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders.

“Thank you for the ride, Mr. Kim,” you said, bowing your head slightly, unable to meet his gaze. It was a gesture of politeness, but it felt more like a shield, protecting you from the warmth of his soft smile that you could sense even without looking.

“No worries, Miss Y/N. I’ll see you Monday,” he replied, his voice soft but filled with an unshakeable confidence. You heard the warmth in his tone, even as you turned away and walked towards the entrance of your apartment building, his farewell echoing in your ears.

The elevator ride felt interminable as you ascended to your floor, each ding of the buttons amplifying the heaviness in your chest. Finally, you stepped into your small apartment, the familiar space offering little comfort. You dragged your feet toward your room, exhaustion pulling you down, both physically and emotionally.

Once inside, you kicked off your heels, the sharp clack against the floor a welcome relief. You stripped off your clothes with a mindless haste, leaving only your undergarments as you collapsed onto your bed. The cool sheets enveloped you, but they couldn’t ease the confusion swirling in your thoughts.

With a deep, resigned sigh, you sank into the mattress, your mind replaying fragments of your conversation with Hongjoong.

In a moment of desperation, you reached for your phone, dialing Siwoo’s number. The ringing felt like an eternity, and when it went to voicemail, a knot tightened in your stomach. You glanced at the clock—10 PM. Another attempt led to the same unyielding voicemail. Frustration filled within you, mixing with a pang of anxiety that settled in your chest.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. The coolness of the room contrasted sharply with the heat of your thoughts. Slowly, memories of Hongjoong flooded your mind—his perfect figure leaning casually against the desk, his strong hand lingering on your arm, the gentle caress of his fingers against your face.

Your heart ached, not for Siwoo, but for Hongjoong. You suddenly craved his comforting and reassuring voice. His lingering touch on your skin. Your legs close together as you feel a wave of warmth between your thighs. Your hands moved down your soft skin, reaching towards your heat…

You gasp softly, shaking your head, trying to dismiss these feelings. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. You shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. Hongjoong is your Boss. And plus you have Siwoo. Your… loving boyfriend.

The weight of silence wraps around you like a thick fog, pressing down on your chest as you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. You can’t shake the feeling that these spiraling thoughts. In frustration you convince yourself that you’re probably just deprived of touch from your significant other.

With sudden resolve, you push yourself up from the tangled sheets, the cool air sending a shiver down your spine, and head towards the bathroom. Turning on the water, you let your thoughts drown in the hot water. Making your way back to your room, you slowly dry off and change into pajamas.

As your head hits the pillow, a sense of calm envelops you, pulling you into a deep slumber. The world outside fades, and for the first time in ages, you allow yourself to drift away, hoping that tomorrow will bring a spark of connection back into your life.

———

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes across your home office. You’re working from home today, since Hongjoong isn’t in office on the weekends. You sat your desk with a steaming cup of coffee cradled in your hands, you let the aroma fill your senses, the rich, dark liquid fueling your focus as your fingers typing across the keyboard.

The rhythmic sound of your typing created a serene atmosphere until it was interrupted by a sharp buzz from the apartment door.

Setting your coffee down, you pushed back your chair and stood, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread as you approached the door. Taking a deep breath, you swung it open, and your heart dropped. Standing there, looking both sheepish and regretful, was Siwoo, clutching a bouquet of flowers.

“Y/N, honey, I’m so sorry for flaking out on you so many times,” he said with a fake pout.

A year ago, you would have melted at this display. You might have accepted his half-assed apology with a smile, the flowers a token of his remorse. But today, your mind raced with reminders of all the times he had done this before. The constant stand-ups, the empty promises, the fleeting moments of connection overshadowed by disappointment.

Your heart ached, not with the sweet pang of love but with the heavy weight of frustration. You stood there, staring at him, emotions swirling within you like a storm. Hurt and upset battled against the tenderness that still lingered for him. You could feel the walls you had carefully built in the past months tightening around you, whispering that this was a cycle you were tired of repeating.

But your heart, foolishly hopeful, betrayed you. Before you could think it through, you found yourself reaching for the bouquet, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh blooms. Then, without a second thought, you pulled him into a tight embrace. As his arms wrapped around you, the familiar warmth flooded back, and you felt your resolve waver.

In that moment, you wanted to believe that this time would be different. Yet beneath the surface, a deeper ache throbbed—a desperate question lingered in your mind: why do you keep doing this to me?

As the hours unfolded, Siwoo settled into a chair across from your desk, his laptop open and papers scattered around him. The familiar hum of shared work surrounded you, a scene that once brought you joy. He would glance up occasionally, flashing you a smile that was meant to soothe the tension in the air. Yet, despite the comforting proximity, your heart was locked in a battle against the memories of hurt he had inflicted upon you.

You tried to push those thoughts aside, forcing yourself to focus on the tasks at hand. Still, they lingered like unwelcome shadows, flitting in and out of your consciousness. Each time Siwoo laughed at something on his screen or leaned back with a satisfied sigh, a part of you wanted to bask in the moment, to let yourself feel the happiness he once brought. But the other part—a weary, wiser part—reminded you of the countless times he had let you down.

Your mind already flooded with so many issues, decided to remind you of last night’s conversation with Hongjoong—the way he spoke to you, his touch… The longing for deeper connections hung heavily on your mind, teasing you with confusion.

You caught Siwoo watching you, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, his voice breaking through your reverie.

You forced a smile, nodding slightly. “Yeah, just thinking about work.”

———

Throughout the day, with Siwoo at your side, a disquieting realization settled in your chest: you felt less like his girlfriend and more like a maid. He moved to lounge in your living room, casually asking for snacks and drinks while you sat at your desk, trying to concentrate on your work. Each request chipped away at your patience, drawing a line between the intimate moments you once cherished and the mundane reality of this interaction.

Glancing over, you caught sight of him: relaxed, almost carefree, tapping away on his phone with a soft laugh escaping his lips. Maybe it was Hongjoong’s words playing tricks on you, but a knot twisted in your stomach as you watched Siwoo, feeling an unfamiliar ick wash over you. It felt as though he was taking advantage of your hospitality, oblivious to the growing frustration bubbling within you.

“Oh, Y/N, can I borrow some money?” Siwoo asked, his voice casual, his eyes glued to the screen as he continued to chuckle at whatever amused him.

“May I ask why?” You replied softly, a frown creasing your brow as confusion settled in.

“I need to buy new materials for work. It’s required for all professors, and I’m just short by a few bucks,” he explained, his gaze still firmly fixed on his phone.

You raised an eyebrow, skepticism creeping in. “Doesn’t the university cover materials for professors?”

“Mmm, not this time. Please?” he said, finally looking up at you, his irritating smile brightening his face as if he expected you to fold under the charm.

Taking a deep breath, you felt the tension in your chest tighten, but you nodded anyway, wiring him a sum that was likely more than he needed. Maybe it was an act of guilt or an old habit of wanting to keep the peace.

“Thanks, honey. You’re the best!” he said, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. The grin on his face widened as he returned to his phone, engrossed once more in whatever had captured his attention.

“Y—you’re leaving so soon?” The words spilled out before you could stop them, a mix of desperation and disappointment. “I’m almost done with work. Let’s have dinner…”

He turned to you, his expression unchanged. “Maybe another day, Y/N. I have to head back to the campus.”

With that, he walked out without a backward glance, leaving you standing there, a swirl of emotions crashing against one another. As the door clicked shut, the weight of his absence pressed heavily on your heart, mingling with the irritation that had been building all day.

——

The weekend slipped away in a blur, its fleeting hours vanishing like sand through fingers. As you stepped into the office on Monday morning, you glanced around the workspace, filled with the scent of fresh coffee and the faint rustle of papers, and realized you wanted to be here. The thought of Hongjoong entered your mind unbidden. You couldn’t help but remember the conversations that had left you feeling confused but wanting more.

But you quickly pushed those thoughts aside, chastising yourself. This wasn’t the time for daydreams. You were his secretary, bound by professional decorum. It was crucial to maintain composure, to focus on your tasks and responsibilities. After all, any semblance of personal feelings could only complicate matters.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” you said, bowing slightly from your desk as he entered his office, and you follow behind him. The air felt charged with unspoken tension, a remnant of the incident that had unfolded just days prior, a moment you both seemed to ignore.

“Good morning, Miss Y/N,” Hongjoong replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he settled into his chair behind the desk. His eyes flickered momentarily to the iced Americano you had picked up for him earlier, the cool condensation glistening against the glass.

“What is the schedule for today?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, his posture relaxed, but you could sense the sharpness in his gaze as it remained fixed on you.

Clearing your throat, you began to relay the day’s itinerary, focusing intently on your notes. “We have the marketing meeting at ten, followed by the conference call with the investors at noon.” You spoke steadily, but your heart raced, memories of that night creeping back into your mind—a fleeting brush of his hands, the way his gaze had pierced through the façade of professionalism.

Hongjoong listened, nodding occasionally, but there was an air of distraction about him, too. He was acting as if nothing had happened, and you were determined to do the same, though it felt like walking a tightrope. You maintained your composure, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady and professional as you continued.

His expression remained neutral, but there was an undercurrent of something unspoken between you. You stole a glance at him, noting how the light caught the edges of his features, the way he effortlessly commanded the space around him.

“And finally,” you added, pushing the memories further down, “we have a team meeting at four to discuss the new project timeline.”

As you finished, a heavy silence settled in the room, punctuated only by the soft sound of his drink being set down on the desk. You met his gaze, feeling the weight of the unacknowledged moment hanging in the air. “Thank you, Y/N,” Hongjoong said, his voice smooth as he rose from his chair. The brief moment of gratitude hung in the air between you, creating a small, intimate space in an otherwise professional atmosphere. You bowed slightly in acknowledgment, the familiar gesture a part of your daily routine, before you turned on your heels, ready to leave the room.

“Wait a moment,” he called out just as you reached the door. You paused, your heart skipping a beat, then turned back to face him.

“Yes, sir?” you replied, your voice steady but your mind racing.

“How are you doing?” he asked, the question casual yet layered with an unexpected warmth. The simplicity of it took you aback, a small flicker of surprise igniting within you.

“I—I’m well, sir. Thank you for asking.” You stumbled over your words slightly, an involuntary shyness creeping in. “How about you?” You returned the question out of politeness.

“That’s good to hear, Y/N,” he replied, his soft smile breaking through the formalities and lighting up the room. “I’m doing fine as well.”

You nodded, the warmth of his expression lingering in the air as you took in the moment. “I’ll get back to my work then,” you said, turning once more to leave.

As you stepped out of his office, the door closing softly behind you, you made your way back to your desk, the echo of his words and that fleeting smile still resonating within you.

——

Once you stepped out of Hongjoong’s office, he sank back into his chair, the weight of the world settling on his shoulders as his thoughts turned inward, swirling around you. He couldn’t deny the fondness he felt. From the moment you had started working as his secretary, you had made it clear that you were in a serious relationship. He respected your loyalty, admired it even, but it didn’t erase the growing complexity of his own feelings for you.

As he gazed out the window, memories flooded back, particularly the recent lunch meeting on Friday. You had accompanied him at the last minute, and during the drive, when you admitted to him about your relationship struggles. The admission struck him deeply—he felt a flicker of triumph at your honesty, a selfish part of him celebrating. Yet, mingled with that spark was a simmering anger; the man you were with was clearly causing you distress.

After returning to the office, you took your promised hour break, and Hongjoong found himself drawn to the rooftop. He hadn’t intended to pry; he simply wanted to offer words of encouragement, to lift your spirits. But as he approached, he overheard your phone ring and the familiar cadence of your voice pick up the call. A sinking feeling took root in his stomach when he recognized the voice on the other end—Siwoo, your boyfriend.

He paused at the steel door, unable to resist the urge to listen. Siwoo’s breathless tone was unmistakable, the hurried speech revealing more than mere exertion from a workout. Hongjoong's heart raced as he deduced the truth— Any man would know, this was not the voice of a faithful partner. The realization struck him like a punch; this man had the audacity to take your call while clearly entangled in something inappropriate.

A rush of guilt washed over him as he retreated to his office, grappling with the anger that grew beneath the surface. How could someone hurt you, an innocent, kind, and beautiful person? He felt torn, wanting to protect you while recognizing the boundaries he had vowed to uphold.

In the hours that followed, a storm of thoughts brewed within him. It was reckless, perhaps, but the idea of bringing you into his office after hours began to take root. He wanted to voice his concerns casually. But when you began to softly cry, that’s when he felt the line blur. The sight of your flushed cheeks, your pretty doe-like eyes glistening with unshed tears— (fuck, he shouldn’t be thinking like that).

Hongjoong pulled back from his reminiscent thoughts, deciding it was best to let you navigate this situation on your own. Maybe you would uncover the truth about Siwoo, perhaps the pieces would fall into place. But the uncertainty gnawed at him, and as he sat in his office, he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he could contain his feelings, how much longer he could remain a silent observer to your heartache.

Fuck it? Hongjoong thought to himself. Siwoo deserves a taste of his own medicine.

Hongjoong scoffed to himself at his idea as he sipped on his coffee.

———

The workday unfolded in its usual rhythm, a blur of emails, calls, and the occasional paperwork that seemed to multiply by the hour. You navigated through the tasks with a practiced efficiency, though your mind occasionally drifted to the flurry of messages buzzing on your phone. Each notification from Siwoo felt like a weight pressing down on you, filled with meaningless apologies, and pleads to wire money for some other things, god knows what he needed it for.

With a deep breath, you made the decision to ignore his messages for now. You turned your focus back to your work, fingers typing over the keyboard, pouring your energy into the tasks at hand.

As you typed, the sound of footsteps drew your attention. You looked up to find Hongjoong standing before your desk, his presence commanding yet familiar. He had a way of drawing you in, and for a moment, the chaos of your personal life faded into the background.

“Miss Y/N, please come to my office after work hours,” he said, his tone smooth yet imbued with a seriousness that piqued your curiosity. He turned and strode into his office, leaving you with a flurry of thoughts.

“Yes, sir,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you watched him go.

With a sigh, you returned to your work, the clock ticking steadily toward the end of the day. Each keystroke felt heavier as the minutes dragged on, and the anticipation of your meeting with Hongjoong lingered like a sweet ache in your heart.

———

As the final colleagues trickled out of the building, the quiet hum of the office began to settle into an echo of solitude. You sighed as you recalled Hongjoong’s instructions. Straightening your buttoned blouse and smoothing down your skirt, you prepared yourself for whatever awaited you in his office.

You knocked softly, the sound barely breaking the silence.

“Come in,” Hongjoong’s voice resonated through the door. You opened it slowly and stepped inside, closing it behind you with a soft click.

Hongjoong was seated at his desk, his white dress shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms accentuated by a dark tie. The sight of him brought a swirl of emotions; he exuded an effortless charisma that both intimidated and drew you in.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you said, your gaze fixed on the floor, an attempt to hide the mix of anxiety and curiosity swelling inside you.

“Yes, please come here, Y/N,” he replied, his voice calm and low. As you approached him, the familiar sound of your heels clicking against the polished floor echoed in your mind, reminding you of the similar situation a few days ago in this very spot.

“Please, sit,” he gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. You took a seat, positioning yourself at the edge, an instinctive reaction born from uncertainty.

Hongjoong rose from his chair and began to circle around the desk, a pen spinning effortlessly between his slender fingers. The movement was fluid, almost hypnotic, and it pulled your attention as you tried to read his expression.

“Miss Y/N,” he began, pausing for a moment, “you’re one of my smartest employees, correct?” His gaze remained focused elsewhere, a slight distance in his eyes.

“Th—thank you, sir. I—” you started, but his voice cut through your response.

“A person with an important job like yours requires a lot of skill, attentiveness… and have the ability assess the environment around the office, Correct?”

“Yes… that is correct, sir,” you replied quietly, maintaining eye contact,

“Would you agree that you have been lacking some of these skills, Y/N?” Hongjoong stopped infront of you, sitting at the edge of his desk. His arms crossed over his chest, revealing the strong veins that ran along his forearms, an unconscious display of his physicality that made your heart race.

“I—I haven’t noticed, sir. I apologize if I haven’t been performing well…” The words tumbled out, anxiety creeping in. Were you about to get fired? The thought sent a chill through you, and you mentally recoiled at the prospect of your life spiraling further down.

“I’m not going to fire you, Y/N,” he said, and your eyes widened in surprise; it was as if he had plucked the thought straight from your mind.

“I’m not really following this conversation, sir…” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper as you began to fidget with your fingers in your lap, seeking any distraction from the mounting tension.

Hongjoong released a frustrated sigh, and suddenly he pushed himself off the edge of the desk, stepping toward you slowly. His strong arms landed on the armrests of your chair, effectively trapping you in place. He leaned in closer, the proximity forcing you to lean back into the seat, a gasp escaping your lips at the sudden intimacy of the moment.

The air between you thickened. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the sharpness of his gaze holding you captive.

He scoffed, the corner of his lip turning into a smirk as he looked down. His eyes landed on the unbuttoned opening of your shirt. He sees your chest breathing up and down in anticipation. He looks up, gazes at your lips quickly before looking into your eyes.

“For someone so pretty and smart, you’re quite naive” He chuckles. A rush of heat seeps into your cheeks. You’re at a loss for words. You don’t know how to respond, so you opt to stay silent.

“Miss Y/N” Hongjoong says sternly in a soft voice.

“Yes, Sir?” You quietly reply back.

“Can you assess the environment in this office right now?” His voice is a whisper.

“U—Uhm…” you stutter, not knowing what to say. Hongjoong chuckles at your flustered expression.

“Let me give you a hint, Y/N” Hongjoong whispers and leans in closer, his presence enveloping you like a warm wave. Then, in a moment that felt both thrilling and terrifying, his lips brushed against yours. Your eyes widened in shock. This is wrong, a voice in your mind screamed. You shouldn’t be doing this. But as much as you tried to summon the strength to pull away, your body betrayed you.

His lips were soft, warm, and surprisingly gentle as they molded against yours, igniting a fire that swept through you. The worries around you faded, leaving only the two of you suspended in this unexpected moment. It felt as if time had stopped, your heartbeat loud in your ears, drowning out the rational thoughts that screamed for you to stop.

As he finally pulled away, the distance felt electric, charged with a lingering intimacy. His gaze searched yours, earnest and intense. “Do you understand now?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. You nod slowly.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks softly as he looks at your plush lips. You hesitate, unsure of what to say. All you know is that you want whatever lingering feelings Hongjoong has bestowed on you. As much as you know it’s wrong, you can’t help but crave him.

In response to his question, You shake your head in protest. His thumb caresses your chin tilting your head to look up at him.

“Use your words baby.” Hongjoong’s voice is low as he stares into your eyes, searching for an answer.

“Please… don’t stop sir.” You say quietly. Hongjoong smirks and pulls way from you. You look at him confused. His position is sat back onto the edge of his desk.

“Show me you want it too Y/N” He’s teasing you. Wanting to see how far you’re willing to go. Knowing that deep inside, as much as you want this you still feel a tiny ounce of guilt from being unfaithful to your partner. Regardless, You rise from the chair and make your way to Hongjoong. You position yourself between his legs that are slightly spread and place both your arms on his shoulders. You lean forward and kiss him. Hongjoong returns the kiss almost immediately. He can feel himself already growing hard as his lips move against yours. His hands are securely gripped onto your waist bringing you closer to him. He deepens the kiss and swipes his tongue over the bottom of your lip. In response your mouth opens as you release a whimper. Both of your tongues now move together skillfully, resulting in a moan from both of you. As the heated make-out session continues, you notice Hongjoong’s arm pushing away some papers and other items on the desk behind him.

Smoothly, Hongjoong moves your position, his strong arms swiftly carry your body onto the desk. You are now sat on top of the cold wood, arms wrapped around his neck, as he continued to devour your lips. You slightly pull back in attempt to catch your breath. You’re a panting mess, and so is he. Hongjoong however doesn’t want to stop. He pecks your lips, before leaving a trail kisses from the corner of your mouth, to your soft cheek, and finally to your slender neck. Shivers were sent throughout your body as Hongjoong left soft warm kisses on your neck.

“A—ah Sir…” you whimpered quietly. Hongjoong hummed in response as he began to leave opened mouth kisses on your skin.

Hongjoong pushed your legs apart, your skirt already slightly hiked up from him placing you on the desk moments ago. Revealing your exposed thighs, Hongjoong’s hands moved from knees, and traveled up your soft plush thighs, causing you to close them in an instinct, but his strong arms prevent you, keeping them open.

His lips trails up to your ear nibbles on your lobe before whispering softly, “I want you to say my name okay?” You nod in response.

His hands moved dangerously closer to your heat that was radiating from your exposed thighs, but he stops, he was teasing you. His hands caressed your inner thighs, not daring to move closer as he continued to kiss your neck and face. His lips found his way back to yours and takes it in softly.

You whimper against his mouth and he slowly pulls away.

“What’s wrong baby?” His voice is so soft, sending another heat wave down your body.

“Please… touch me, sir” you say sheepishly.

“I told you Y/N, I want you to say my name.” Hongjoong’s grip on your thighs tighten, causing you to whimper in pain and pleasure.

“H—Hongjoong…” your soft, angelic voice echoed in his ears as his name rolled off your tongue.

“Yeah baby?” He tries to hold back a groan, already so turned on by you calling his name.

“Hongjoong, touch me… please?” You plead with your doe eyes staring at him. Hongjoong bites his lip as he looks at your pretty, desperate face.

“Fuck, Y/N… you make me do stupid shit” He curses under his breath before devouring your lips once again.

This time, his hands finally touch your warm clothed pussy. You moan at his touch. His fingers slowly rub against your clit, creating a friction against the fabric of your underwear. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck tighter. Moaning into his lips as he continues to rub you.

Unexpectedly, tears began to well up in the corner of your eyes. Not in pain, not in discomfort, but in a frustrating pleasure.

“Hong—j-joong, stop teasing please” You whimper as he slightly pulls away. He looks at your face, tears slowly falling down. He smirks, “Mm such a dirty brat, crying for me…” He degrades you in a low tone.

His hands find the hem of your underwear, and he skillfully pulls them down. They rest at the ankles of your legs, stopped by your heels that restricted them from falling to the floor. Hongjoong’s left arm cradles your back, as his right hand pushes up your skirt more to reveal your bare wet pussy.

“Fuck… so wet already just from me kissing you, and barely touching you?” He teases you, even though he too is already so rock hard in his slacks, from just kissing and touching you.

His hand makes his way to your clit. The soft bud of his middle and ring finger gently rubs circles, causing you to hold back a moan. Skillfully, his fingers dip down to your entrance, not fully going inside you, just enough to collect your wet fluids, and bring them back up to your clit. He rubs it again, slowly picking up the pace.

Your right hand drops behind you as it land on the desk, supporting your weight. You slightly throw your head back and cover your mouth with your unoccupied arm trying to hide your moans.

“Let me fucken hear you moan baby. No one is here. Just you and me” Hongjoong groans in your ear. His voice turned you on so much, resulting in a soft moan slipping from your lips.

Hongjoong’s fingers make their way to your entrance. Slipping in your tight folds. You gasp and grab onto his shoulder. He pumps his fingers slowly, as he studies your facial expressions. Your eyes are sparkling from the previous tears you shed. Your glossy lips slightly parted as you released soft moans.

“So fucken pretty” Hongjoong moans as he leans down to kiss your forehead. The gentle gesture, mixed with his lewd actions makes your stomach turn in a good way. He begins to pick up the pace. The office room is silent, with only the sounds of your mixed moans, pants, and the wetness of your folds fapping against Hongjoong’s hand.

Your mind begins to get fuzzy as you feel an orgasm near by. Hongjoong feels your pussy tighten around his digits, he chuckles before he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. You whine in protest, frustration builds up in you, you were so close. Your arm around his neck tugs him closer, reaching for his lips, wanting to feel some sort of physical contact. But he pulls away from you. Completely. He steps back and looks at your figure.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, an unsettling knot tightening in your stomach. Why did he stop? Just moments ago, the air had felt charged with lust, and now it hung heavy with an unspoken tension. A flood of negative thoughts surged through your mind, drowning out any remnants of clarity. Embarrassment crept in, a heat rising to your cheeks, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. Guilt wrapped around you like a heavy cloak, its weight almost suffocating. You could feel the sting of tears pooling in your eyes, the familiar ache of despair threatening to spill over. In a swift, instinctive motion, you cast your gaze downward, as if to shield yourself from the world around you. Your heart raced as quiet whimpers escaped your lips.

Hongjoong watches you as you softly cry. He tries not to loose his composure. The cute look of confusion on your face makes him feral.

“Aww baby… why are you crying hm?” Hongjoong’s voice is raspy. He tilts his head, trying to get a good look at your flushed face. You can’t find yourself to respond, only sniffles and soft whimpers can be heard.

“You know… to be completely honest Y/N…” the sound of Hongjoong’s belt unbuckling fills the air. You glance at him with your doe eyes.

“When I told you… I don’t want to see you cry anymore…” He slings his belt off his pants and drops it to the floor. His hands moving towards the button of his slacks. He shifts towards your body, and leans close to your face.

“I actually meant… I don’t want to see you cry for anyone else but me.” Your eyes widen at his statement. He chuckles at your expression and grabs your hands. He brings them towards his hard mound covered by the soft fabric of his pants.

“You look so fucken pretty when you cry. It turns me on so much. Knowing that you feel so good, you can’t help but shed a few tears” He moans as you begin to instinctively rub your hands on his huge hard on.

“Help me out baby. Be a good girl” Hongjoong whispers to you, and you nod. He smiles at your response. You make your way off the desk, and position yourself on your knees. You slowly unzip Hongjoong’s pants and pull them down along with his trousers. His hard, long cock springs out and softly hits your face. You gasp at the sudden sight. Earning a chuckle from him.

“Open your mouth.” He demands softly. Your lips part, tongue slightly sticking out, as you take Hongjoong’s length in. He releases a loud groan. Cursing under his breath as you begin to slowly bob your head up and down. You twirl your tongue a few times over his tip, causing him to tightly grip onto your soft hair.

“F—Fuck baby…” Hongjoong throws his head back.

“… damn, your boyfriend is this lucky and can’t even fucken appreciate you” You freeze at the sudden statement, and Hongjoong smirks as he scoffs. In response, he begins to thrust into your mouth slowly. You moan on his cock as he begins to shove himself deeper into your mouth. You tap Hongjoong’s leg, and he pulls you off him instantly. You gasp for air, a string of saliva connecting from your lip to his cock, as you begin to cough. Hongjoong chuckles, caressing your hair.

“Stand up” He demands. And in an instant you’re on your feet. Hongjoong swiftly lifts you up and places you back onto the desk. His hands are hastily unbuttoning your blouse as he kisses your lips. You moan, furrowing your brows, still thinking about the humiliating statement Hongjoong said. Something about his touch is so intoxicating, making you want more. Making you not care about anything in your reality.

As Hongjoong releases the last button on your blouse, he quickly pushes your shirt off, revealing your black lacy bra filled by your perfect plush breasts. His hands grace over your chest, sending shivers down your spine. He kisses the exposed skin of your breast. His hands moving towards the straps, as he pulls them off. He reaches behind you and skillfully releases the clasps of your bra. The black lace drops swiftly revealing your perfect boobs.

“So fucken perfect for me baby.” Hongjoong whispers as he gropes them with his hands. You moan at his touch. He takes one in his mouth and laps at your nipples, resulting in you throwing your head back in pleasure.

“H—Hongjoong” you moan his name, he hums in response, still working on your breasts.

“Want.. m—more” you stutter under his touch.

He pulls away from you and pants, trying to calm himself down.

“Want more what?” He cocks an eyebrow at you. You pout, too embarrassed to verbally say what you want from him.

“Tell me now, or I’ll leave you here” Hongjoong threatens as he begins to pump himself, already knowing what you want. But he still wants to hear the words from your mouth.

“I want… you inside me… please?” You whimper in embarrassment. You look at him and you see a spark of excitement in his eyes as he smirks at you.

“Atta girl. Wasn’t so hard to say right?” He teases you as he brings himself closer to your pussy. Your breath increases as he places his tip right at the entrance. He only inserts his head before pulling out, repeating the gesture a few times. You whine as a tear falls from your eyes.

“Quit being a fucken brat” Hongjoong hisses at you bringing a gentle hand to your face as he wipes the tear away. Finally, He pushes his whole length inside you, earning a loud yelp from you. His cock instantly hits your sensitive spot and you cling onto his arms. He pauses inside of you, letting you adjust to his size. You’re definitely not used to his large length and thick girth, he’s stretching you out so good.

“Damn baby, you’re so tight? Your boyfriend isn’t big enough huh?” Hongjoong snickers at you. You whine at the sudden mention of your boyfriend again. It’s like he wants to remind you of him on purpose. To humiliate you. Hongjoong begins a slow pace inside you. Grunting as he moves against you.

“Answer me…” he demands, his hand cups your chin to force your gaze on him.

“H—he isn’t big enough. Y—you’re bigger Hongjoong…” You moan as he thrusts deeper.

“You… make me feel s—so good” You close your eyes as you take in the pleasure running through your body. Hongjoong manically smiles. Ecstatic at your response.

“Yeah?” He teases. Picking up his pace. The sound of your sweet moans heighten, the wet sounds of you two slapping against each other fill the room along with Hongjoong’s dirty words.

“Bet you, he doesn’t fuck you this good huh? Look at you. A fucken mess on my cock.”

“N-no! He doesn’t.” You whine, another wave of tears begin to fall from your eyes. The overstimulation of Hongjoong pumping into you along with his degrading words overwhelms you. You don’t want to admit it, but you fucken love this. Your body is enjoying every fucken moment of this dirty, lewd affair.

“F-Fuucckk” Hongjoong moans loudly. “Look at me while you cry, baby. Let me see that pretty face” you listen to him without hesitation. Your eyes locking with his. You feel yourself closer to reaching your high. Until you’re both interrupted with a sudden ringing.

You both turn your heads to the chair you sat on when you first entered Hongjoong’s office. The sight of your bright phone screen illuminates the dim room.

*Siwoo <3 is Calling*

Your heart drops at the name. Anxiety suddenly filling your body, replacing the pleasure you felt before. Hongjoong notices and smirks at you. He reaches over and grabs your phone.

“Answer it.” He demands. You shake your head no.

“I said fucken answer it. Your boyfriend is waiting for you. Don’t be a fucken brat now. Do you want me to stop?” Hongjoong’s words are harsh. You instantly shake your head in protest of him stopping.

“Then fucken answer it” Hongjoong shoves the phone towards you.

You hesitate as you grab the phone from his hands and click the green button. You bring the phone to your ear, but Hongjoong pulls your wrist, and clicks on the speaker button. He cocks his head at you, signaling you to continue,

“H-Hello? Siwoo?” You begin. Hongjoong resumes his pace. Fucking you in and out.

“Hey Honey. What are you doing?” Siwoo’s voice is calm, in contrast to what you’re feeling right now.

“A-Ah.. I’m j-just finishing up some w-work” You stutter as you try to keep your composure. Hongjoong makes it harder for you as he begins to lick your neck.

“You’re still at work?” Siwoo questions.

“M—mm, Yeah. Don’t worry. I—I’ll be home soon” You bite your lip trying to contain a moan.

“You okay Y/N? why do you keep stuttering?” Siwoo’s voices a concern.

“I—i’m okay. I-I just don’t feel too well. I think it’s a stomach tic” You bluff, trying to find an excuse.

“You don’t feel well? Shall I come pick you up from work-?” Siwoo suggests

“No!” You cut him off. You curse to yourself. Hongjoong smiles against a your neck and softly bites it as he continues fucking you senseless.

“Oh- okay then. Just be careful. take some medicine” You roll your eyes. (why the fuck does Siwoo decide to be sweet right now out of all days?) You mentally say to yourself.

“Y-yes I will…” You reply softly.

“Anyways, did you see my text? can you wire me some money?” Siwoo asks nonchalantly. You scoff, earning a vocalized chuckle from Hongjoong. Your eyes widen as you pull him closer to your neck, trying to muffle his laughter. You bite your lip, in hopes Siwoo didn’t hear anything.

“S—sorry, Siwoo. I don’t get paid till this Friday.” you manage to get out.

“Aww please? just a few bucks” Siwoo whines. In annoyance, you roll your eyes once again.

“Siwoo, I—I can’t. I have to go” You quickly hang up the call and throw your phone down. Hongjoong detaches from your neck and chuckles before attacking your lips. His pace begins to pick up. He holds onto your waist for support and you hold him closer. Hongjoong pulls away from your lips and rests his forehead against yours.

“Does he take care of you? or do you take care of him?” He teases as he tries to hold back a laugh.

“S—Shut up” You moan in response. Hongjoong thrusts hard into you, earning a loud yelp from you.

“Someone’s suddenly mouthy?” Hongjoong’s hand grips onto your chin as he lightly taps your cheek.

“F—Fuck” You moan as he shoves himself inside you, with long and deep strokes.

Hongjoong then suddenly pulls out of you. Not wanting to waste any time, he lifts you off the desk and flips you over. Your front is pushed onto the cold wood, and he pulls your hips higher. Your forearms hoist yourself for support as you feel Hongjoong enter you once again. His hands grip under your skirt pushing them up towards your waist, giving him a perfect view of your ass. He mentally curses to himself as he watches your butt bounce on his cock at a constant pace. He brings his hand down to caress it before raising it and bringing it back down in a hard, but pleasurable slap. You yelp in response, eyes widen at the sudden contact.

“Such a fucken naughty girl. Fucking your boss, when you have a boyfriend” Hongjoong degrades you as his hand makes contact with your ass again. You whimper at the stinging sensation. Your tears fall onto the papers infront of you.

“Who fucks you better baby?” Hongjoong pants as his speed increases. “Me or Siwoo? Hm?” He asks again taking you in deeper.

“A—Ahhhh~ You, Hongjoong.” You sniffle your tears , “Hongjoong fucks me better!” You scream as his pace becomes sloppy. Hongjoong hears your crying whimpers and quickly turns you around to face him. Your body now lays flat on his desk as he pumps into you.

“Yeah? bet I can be better lover than him too” Hongjoong confesses as he smashes his lips onto yours. Your heart clenches at his statement. A sudden wave of orgasm hits you. Your pussy tightens around him as you come undone. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you release a loud moan. Your face buried in his chest, as he continues to fuck you and chase his high. Hongjoong’s thrust become sloppy, and quickly pulls out of you.

���Let me cum on your pretty face” He hastily demands. You quickly move towards his lower body and he pumps himself quickly on you. Hongjoong looks at your sparkly doe eyes, and bites his lips. His warm thick load releases into your face, along with a loud grunt from his mouth. You gasp as the feeling of the strings of cum landing on your soft skin. Your mouth instinctively opens,

“F—Fuckkk baby” Hongjoong hisses as he continues to pump more of his load onto your tongue.

The office room is filled with the sounds of you and Hongjoong panting, trying to catch your breath. The room reeks of sex. Your eyes are still locked on his. His white cum painted on your face and mouth. Without any other choice, you close your mouth and swallow his bittersweet cum.

“Fuck” Hongjoong whispers under his breath. He caresses your hair and reaches over his desk to grab a few tissue papers. Hongjoong wipes your face gently and kisses your forehead.

"Let me clean you up down there,"

Hongjoong whispered, his voice a soft, intimate murmur that seemed to linger in

the air between you. The earlier intensity of steamy sex had left a palpable tension, but now, a gentle calm enveloped the room. His eyes, once aflame with desire, were now filled with a warmth that reassured you, reminding you of the caring side he often showed.

After the whirlwind of passion, Hongjoong's demeanor had transformed completely. The fire that had ignited between you both settled into a tender glow as he moved closer, his presence both comforting and protective. With a steady hand, he reached for another tissue, his fingers brushing your skin lightly as he began to clean you up. The touch was careful and deliberate, as if he were trying to convey his affection through each gentle motion.

You felt a mix of vulnerability and warmth wash over you, grateful for the way he approached this moment. It was as though he understood the importance of transitioning from the intensity of physical connection to something more nurturing and intimate. You appreciated how he took his time, ensuring that you felt cared for, both emotionally and physically. As you two began to help each other back into your clothing, you couldn’t ignore the lingering feelings.

“I’ll take you home” Hongjoong smiles gently at you and brushes a strand of your hair out of your face. You nod and follow behind him out of his office. As he approached your desk, Hongjoong gathered your bags. You instinctively reached out to grab them, but he gently shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Let me handle this,” he said, his voice warm and reassuring. With that, he took the lead, guiding you toward his car.

As you followed behind, your legs felt wobbly, you could sense him glancing back occasionally, ensuring you were still keeping up.

At the car, he paused, opening the passenger door, gesturing for you to get in. You slid into the seat. He placed your bags in the back with care, then turned to you, his demeanor softening as he reached for his spare coat. With a fluid motion, he draped it over your shoulders, its warmth enveloping you like a comforting hug.

“Hongjoong—” you started, the silence stretching between you, but he raised a hand to quiet you.

“Shh, it’s okay, Y/N. You don’t have to say anything. Just rest,” he said gently. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

The drive home was silent. The hum of the engine a lullaby in the stillness of the night. You fought to keep your eyes open, fatigue clawing at you, but each passing moment, tried to invite you to surrender to the drowsiness. Suddenly, the car came to a stop, signaling at you from your drowsy haze. You turned to look at Hongjoong, who was already gazing at you.

“Y/N…” Hongjoong’s voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried an undeniable weight. “I meant what I said when I told you I can be a better lover than Siwoo.” The sincerity in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. “He doesn’t treat you well. You deserve someone who truly values you.” His eyes held a raw intensity as he continued, “I don’t think I can go on without you knowing that I’ve always wanted you for myself.”

His sudden confession took you by surprise, leaving you momentarily speechless. The air around you felt charged, and you could hardly process the emotions swirling within you.

“Let me prove to you that I will love you better. Please, Y/N,” he urged, his gaze earnest and imploring. The vulnerability he displayed was a stark contrast to what he portrayed in the office just moments ago. This was a side of him that revealed his deep feelings, and it struck a chord within you.

Your heart raced as you absorbed his words, the truth of them resonating deep inside. You had long felt the magnetic pull toward him, the warmth in his presence that made you feel seen in a way Siwoo never had. You realized in that moment that you, too, wanted to love him—fully and unreservedly.

Compelled by a rush of emotion, you leaned in closer, the space between you evaporating. Your lips met his in a tender kiss, a hesitant exploration that quickly deepened as he responded. His hands found their way to your face, cradling it gently as he pulled you in, his touch igniting a warmth that spread through your entire being.

“Fuck- if you kiss me like that I might take you right here again” Hongjoong chuckles against your lips. And you giggle in response. However, his expression falls down.

“Y/N… I should tell you that Siwoo has been cheating on you.” Hongjoong sighs as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Who’s Siwoo?” You joke trying to mask your disappointment of him mentioning your now ex. “Y/N, I know I initiated an affair while you are dating him too but, you needed to know.” Hongjoong states in a serious tone.

“I know, Hongjoong.” You say softly. “I figured after our conversation we had on Friday, when he came over to my house the next day. I guess my naive self chose to ignore it… I messaged him earlier when we got to the car that I’m over with him. I’m no longer his.” You look at Hongjoong as he studies your face.

“So… does this mean you’re mine?” Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. You softly smile and shrug your shoulders. Hongjoong smirks at you and in an instant unbuckles his seat belt and exits the car. He makes his way to the passenger door and opens it. Swiftly, he lifts your body and throws you over his shoulder. You yelp in response and he carries you towards his house.

“You drove us to your house?!” You exclaim as you giggle over his shoulder.

“Let me remind you again who you really belong to” Hongjoong chuckles as he playfully slaps your ass and quickly makes his way through the doors of his home.

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Pt. 2 (updated 10/21)

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Author’s commentary: Should I do a sequel? 👀. I had way more ideas for this story but decided to cut it short LOLLL. Anyways, I hope yall enjoy😝 feel free to fangirl in my comment section/ ask box🤭.

[sunnymoonxx]

❝programmed for pleasure❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

summary: Your best friend Qimir always had your back, and that didn't change when the Jedi accused you of treachery. Without hesitation, Qimir helps you hide. After days of close quarters and constant danger, things get heated and secrets flow to the surface.

warnings: this is just filth, english is not my native language, p in v, rough sex, unprotected sex (who needs it with him right), fingering, hints of mind control, reader finds out qimir's identity during the act, choking, cockwarming, degradating, praising, 5k+ words, not proofread

a/n: in ep2 when osha was pretending to be mae and qimir's mask dropped- so did my panties and i wish we could see what would happen if the jedi didnt barge in

also i apologise if this is not my best work my brain's rotting

now playing, fill the void by the weekend and lily rose depp

The sun blazed overhead, casting long shadows across the bustling market square. The air shimmered with heat, and the scent of exotic spices mixed with the dust kicked up by the steady flow of people. The cacophony of merchants hawking their wares and customers bartering for goods filled the air, creating a lively yet chaotic atmosphere. That's when you jumped in, covered in a heavy cloak, weaving through the crowd, moving with desperate urgency that contrasted sharply with the slow pace of the marketgoers.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and sweat trickled down your temples, but you didn’t dare slow down. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the fear that suffocated you.

You glanced over your shoulder, scanning for signs of your pursuers. There, in the distance, the unmistakable silhouettes of Jedi Knights moved with an unerring determination, their robes flowing like liquid shadows. Panic surged within you, propelling you forward even faster.

You stumbled into a fruit vendor, nearly toppling the cart, and barely registering the vulgar complaint thrown at you, only focused on your desired destination.

Ahead, through the throng of people, you spotted the familiar sign of your friend’s shop. It was a small, unassuming place, nestled between two larger establishments, almost easy to miss if you didn't know what to look for. You aimed yourself toward it like a ship setting course for a distant star, your legs burning from the exertion.

Another quick glance back showed the Jedi gaining ground, their calm, composed faces a stark contrast to your own panic. You had to reach the shop; you had to get to safety. With a final burst of energy, you pushed through a group of curious onlookers, thrusting them to the ground, and practically threw yourself against the door of the shop.

It swung open with a jingle of bells as you tumbled inside, the cool air a welcome relief against the overheating streets. You slammed the door shut behind you, the noise causing your friend, Qimir, to look up from behind the counter, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Hey, what are you—"

"Shush," you panted, leaning heavily against the door, trying to catch your breath, scanning any sign of the Jedi through the glass door. "I need to hide."

“What is going on?” Qimir appeared right behind you, his face a mix of concern and curiosity. He motioned for you to follow him. This wasn’t the first time you had begged Qimir to help you, and many times you had promised to pay him back, but you never did. You tried to calm yourself as you followed him to the back of the shop where the infamous hidden trapdoor was placed.

“I owe you,” you breathed out, looking up at Qimir before you kneeled down to get in, climbing your way into a narrow space, the darkness of the room slowly enveloping you.

“You always do,” he murmured to himself before he closed the door, leaving you alone in the pitch-black darkness. You’d been here many times, so it wasn’t difficult finding a certain switch, turning on the lights that partially blinded you. As you quickly got used to them, your other senses heightened, hearing Qimir making his way back to the front of the shop above your head.

You pressed yourself against the cool earth, willing your racing heart to calm. Above, you could hear the faint murmur of voices, the unmistakable timbre of the Jedi questioning. You held your breath, every muscle in your body tense, praying that your hiding place would remain undiscovered.

You calmed yourself, putting your hand on your chest where your heart would be, carefully listening to the conversation above you.

“Have you seen a cloaked figure running by this shop? We saw them run this way; do not bother us with lies,” came Yord’s unmistakable voice. You had never liked him, even as a youngling or a Padawan. He finished his trials sooner than you and felt the need to remind you every second. Today was the last day you decided to respect it.

“I think I saw someone pass by, but I didn’t see their face or where they were going,” you heard Qimir lie to the Jedi, protecting you again. You never grasped how he could lie to the Jedi and not get caught. You always suspected he was Force-sensitive and accidentally blocked everyone out of his mind, but that theory vanished quickly when he once face-planted on the ground after you woke him from his peaceful sleep. Maybe he was just a good liar.

Minutes felt like hours, but eventually, you heard the Jedi grow quiet, leaving the shop. You allowed yourself a tentative sigh of relief, knowing that you had narrowly escaped capture. For now, you were safe, as long as you stayed with Qimir.

It didn’t take long for Qimir to come back for you, opening the trapdoor to get you out. You climbed fast, jumping at him, almost crushing him with your suffocating hug.

“I’d like an elaboration on this one,” he declared into your ear, waiting for you to let go of the hug but returning it with slight pressure. “Weren’t you supposed to be in the Outer Rim? That’s where your Master sent you.” You let him go, running your fingers through his hair, making a big mess on his head. He let out an annoyed scuff, furrowing his eyebrows, but his smile betrayed him.

“Hmm,” you whispered, turning back to him to walk to the door and shut down the blinds. The Jedi might have been gone, but you weren’t sure. “I was already there. Mission accomplished.” You replied with excitement as you threw away your cloak on the counter, turning in a circle back to Qimir. His expression was to die for.

“Wait,” he picked up his hand as if to stop you from coming closer to him. You stopped your movements, a cheerful smile playing on your lips. “You killed Kelnacca, without a weapon, and managed to come back and do whatever you did for the Jedi to hunt you down?” He didn’t trust you at all, and it was painfully obvious. He circled around you to block your way, even if you had no intention of going outside and leaned against the counter.

“I killed Kelnacca without a weapon, came back here, and killed Torbin.” You smiled, hoping for Qimir to cheer up too, for he was the one always believing in you and your Master’s missions for you. “That’s why they chased me; they found out. But it’s done. I did it.” You couldn’t help but jump towards him, looking up at him as he stared you down.

“You killed them both without a weapon?” he repeated his question, scanning your figure up and down, like he was trying to figure out if you’re joking or serious. Your smile dropped, as you realized he was more of a puppet to your master than your friend. You liked Qimir, but there were times when you didn’t know what he was thinking or where he was going on random days.

You scuffed to yourself, annoyed but understanding in some way. You weren’t always the best apprentice, but you earned it. You earned your place as his pupil and hoped, one day, your master would show his face to you.

“Is this what you want?” you asked, irritated, throwing a tied bag on the counter, right next to Qimir’s hands. He was hesitant but opened the sack, revealing two Jedi lightsabers: Kelnacca’s and Torbin’s. “I could have brought their heads, but that would defeat the purpose.” You added, frustration obvious in your tone. You were so excited to tell Qimir, your friend, about the great news and were immediately let down by his reaction. You hoped he’d be happy for you, finally safe from your Master as you satisfied him with your work.

"Sorry, just shocked," he let out a small chuckle before closing the bag again and leaving it on the counter. "He'll be so pleased with you," he turned to you, a wide smile on his lips. The drastic changes in his mood always scared you, but now you were simply happy you could share the happy news with him.

“Of course I’m proud of you too,” Qimir added, coming towards you to pull you into another hug, this one warmer and more reassuring. You hesitatingly wrapped your arms around him, melting in his embrace. However small and skinny he looked behind his untidy clothes, whenever he hugged you, you almost disappeared between his arms.

“Now who’s gonna tell him?” you muttered into his shoulder before he let go of you, his hands leaving your back seconds later. You were so happy about your success that you never thought of informing your master. Even though you passed his test, you were still nervous about talking to him. His mask was scary enough for you, and his quiet mannerisms were even worse. You could never read what he was thinking, what he was planning next, or what he might be contemplating doing to you. If Qimir volunteered to inform him, you wouldn’t protest.

“Well, you should,” he stated to your bad luck. “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” He smiled before going behind the counter to search for something on the lower shelf. You had to snort at his choice of words.

“Please,” you chuckled. “My Master? Thrilled?” You came behind Qimir, observing as his long fingers grasped a small glass of orange drink and set it on the table. “I don’t think he’s ever shown any emotions besides boredom and anger.”

“That’s because he’s wearing a mask,” Qimir pointed out, pouring the orange fluid into two separate small glasses. “Maybe he’s smiling behind it.” You admired Qimir’s delusion.

“I bet,” you started, waiting impatiently for Qimir to finish pouring the drinks, “he’s actually planning my demise behind that mask.”

Qimir handed you a glass, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Or he’s planning your next big test, which he’ll pretend doesn’t impress him but secretly makes him proud.”

You raised your glass to his, a smirk forming on your lips. “To surviving another day and confusing my Master,” you toasted.

Qimir clinked his glass against yours. “To more victories and shared secrets.”

As you took a sip, the cool, sweet liquid refreshing your parched throat, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. Despite the looming threat of your master’s reaction, Qimir’s unwavering support made you feel like you could handle anything. With a deep breath, you set your glass down and looked at him, determination shining in your eyes.

“Alright,” you said, your voice steady. “I’ll tell him. But if he decides to execute me, I’m holding you responsible.”

Qimir laughed, a sound that felt like a balm to your frayed nerves. “Deal. But I have a feeling you’ll come out of this stronger than ever.”

“Let’s hope,” you sighed, leaning against the counter on your elbows, letting Qimir’s eyes wash over you. “Also, he has to be hiding something.”

“What do you mean?” Qimir asked, a confused expression on his face as he put his already empty glass down.

“What if he’s deformed under the mask?” you let out, your face scrunching at the thought. “Or what if he’s just ugly?” You stared at nothing, not paying any attention to the words you were saying.

Qimir’s eyebrows twitched with amusement as he scanned you carefully. “You haven’t seen his face yet?” he asked, noticing how you played with your ring between your fingers as you stared down at the ground.

“You know I haven’t,” you replied with an annoyed sigh. “Look, I made peace with it, but I’m still curious about what he looks like. I want to know who’s teaching me all these things.” You complained, pushing yourself away from the counter, your eyes glancing at the black curtains over the window.

Qimir leaned back, crossing his arms with a thoughtful look. “I get it. It’s human nature to want to see the face behind the mask. But maybe it’s more about what he’s teaching you than what he looks like.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head. “Leave it to you to find the deeper meaning. I just want to make sure I’m not taking orders from someone who might be scarier without the mask.”

Qimir chuckled, stepping closer. “You’ve faced Jedi Knights, completed impossible missions, and survived under his training. Whatever he looks like under that mask, you’ve proven you’re stronger than any fear or curiosity.”

His words settled over you like a comforting blanket, and you felt a bit of the tension ease from your shoulders. “You always know what to say, don’t you?” you turned back to face him, a genuine smile on your lips. Lately, you had noticed the way he looked at you. How his eyes darkened when he thought you weren’t watching. How his arms twitched your way when you walked past him and his intense gaze during your conversations. Like now.

Qimir was your friend, supplier, and occasional therapist. You could always vent to him about your Master, and he listened carefully. Many times, you slept over in his shop, passing out on the floor, exhausted from your tests and missions. You couldn’t count how many times you bled out in front of him and woke up the next day with your wounds bound and healed. You knew Qimir had his own secrets that he wasn’t confident in sharing with you, but some things kept you awake at night, wondering.

Despite his poor hygiene and greasy hair that framed his face in an unflattering way, you found him magnetic and charismatic. Something about him pulled you closer, and you didn’t know what. Between the nightmares and horrors, you were a victim to in your dreams, Qimir showed up to comfort you many times. You were embarrassed every time you woke from them, but the images never left your mind. And whenever you saw him after, you deep down wished they would become true.

Two days have passed since then, yet his intense gaze still lingered in your mind. He let you use his shop as your personal sanctuary, a hidden refuge from the Jedi that didn’t stop searching for you. Each day, you watched them through the window. Three times they've marched past, and twice they've entered, repeating the same questions, their eyes scanning for any sign of you.

Qimir once suggested you could leave the planet, but you quickly dismissed the idea. The Jedi now controlled who could leave or enter the exosphere. You regretted not hiding Torbin’s body, leaving him there to rot. Anger had taken over. You wanted the Jedi to find him. You wanted to shove it in their faces.

The days began to stretch into what felt like weeks, with only the tension between you and Qimir keeping you alert, even though it made time drag. The first night when you jumped out of the shower and had to borrow his clothes, you didn’t miss the way his eyes flew to your legs that the towel didn’t fully cover. Or when you tied your hair into a braid, his gaze never wavered. You didn't mind being observed, but with Qimir, it was different. His gaze made your stomach flip, and you couldn’t decide if in a good or bad way. His touch made you shiver, his presence alone made your skin burn. The only relief was that he wasn’t sensitive to the Force. If he knew what you thought every time you saw his hands or brushed against him, you’d want to drown yourself.

A few hours after you hid in his shop and got drunk together, you both decided it would be fun to practice some moves and fighting techniques, without lightsabers. Minutes later, you found yourself straddling Qimir’s lap, pinning his hands above his head. You knew he could easily turn the tables and have his way with you, but he didn't move a muscle. Instead, he laid there, letting you crush his lap as he circled your face. You remembered it vividly: how his breath tickled you, how his lips were so close that moving an inch would ruin your carefully built friendship. You were grateful for the self-control classes your Master put you through.

Now you were seated on the floor, leaning against the cold surface of the counter, staring out the window. The black curtains were no obstacle to you. You heard Qimir coming out of the shower; he didn’t want to smell like the gasoline you accidentally spilled on him. You held a glass of some beverage Qimir had prepared, both of you slowly getting dizzy from boredom and drinks. Resting your head against the table, you closed your eyes and saw Qimir through the Force. He was still in his small, cozy bathroom, drying himself with a towel. His hair was wet but looked better than it had a few days ago. His back muscles flexed as he raised his arms to dry his hair. You hadn't realized he was so fit under his clothes, and it made you squirm in your seat.

You knew you shouldn’t be spying on him like this, but the only time you had seen him like this was in your dreams, and reality was far more enticing. Your thoughts grew louder with each passing second, one screaming over another.

He was your friend and also worked for your Master. It would be wrong. You knew the consequences it could have on your relationship with Qimir, and you didn’t want to risk it. But the way he looked at you, the way his proximity made you feel, and the thought of his body against yours drove you crazy.

Your Master wasn’t against you having lovers and fulfilling your desires, as long as you stayed loyal to him. But you weren’t sure how he would feel if his two subjects started something together.

“You alright?” Qimir’s voice woke you from your thoughts as he stood in front of you. Only in his pants. You looked up at him, trying to contain your craving as you checked him up. Droplets still falling down his chest as he leaned against the other shelf, looking down at you from dangerous vicinity.

You almost choked on air, forcing yourself to look away.

“Yeah,” you choked on your words, lifting the glass to take a sip of your untouched brew. “Why you ask?” you forced a smile, missing his still wet, glossy chest to get to his face. Your heart dropped as you met with his prolonged stare. Half-lidded dark eyes staring right at you, his silhouette towering over you as he took a step closer, throwing the towel he was holding on the table.

“You staring into distance kind of scared me.” He chuckled, tilting his head as he leaned against the counter, you almost broke your neck looking up at him. He was right above you.

His hand was placed right above his pants that got to caress his thighs first. His skin was clean and wet, scars decorating his abs. His muscular chest was uncovered, free for you to admire. When he spoke to you his voice was low and raspy, different from the one he usually used. Your heart fluttered as you noticed his eyes wondering around you as he awaited your response.

You had to move, you thought to yourself. Pushing yourself against the floor you lifted yourself to your legs, the drink in your hand spilling as your hand twitched from almost falling into Qimir’s arms. You could feel the warmth radiating of off him and smell the shower gel he used. His hair was dripping wet, droplets adoring his sharp collarbones. His nipples were hard from the chilly temperature in the shop, his forearm big and large, holding his body above the table.

“Just, concentrating.” You coughed, putting the glass on the counter. “So,” you woke yourself from your dreaming, turning away from him, trying hard not to stumble. The drinking wasn’t as bad as Qimir’s half naked figure centimeters away from you. You felt faint and your thoughts only got worse, like somebody was putting them in. You felt a pressure, but you were convinced you were doing it to yourself subconsciously.

“Is everything okay?” You heard Qimir asked again behind you, feeling him walk towards you. You could feel his hands lifting, so when you turned back to face him, they brushed against your stomach. You had to fight back a moan.

“Just, the Jedi thing.” You smiled, hoping you were convincing enough, and he wouldn’t suspect even the theme of your thoughts. Resting your hip against the table and crossing your arms against your chest, you put a leisure expression on your face, as your mind raced with images. “It’s stressing me out.” You unnecessary added, trying to stare anywhere but his face or his arms or his exposed chest. He had to be cold.

“It’ll pass in a few days.” He smirked, lifting his arm to rest it against your shoulder. The cold skin made you gasp but not as much as his dark eyes.

“I just don’t want to bother you here for days.” You tried to convince yourself. “You surely have things to do, and my Master will be waiting for the news. I’ll go after sundown.” You didn’t wanna go but you had to inform your Master and the air between you and Qimir started to be intoxicating if you didn’t do anything.

“I’m sure he already knows.” He cocked his head, pulling his arm away but leaving his fingers to tickle your skin.

“You told him?” you wondered, pushing your thighs together as a small smirk appeared on his smile.

Fuck.

“No,” he denied, his eyes leaving yours, to trace them down your body. “But I’m sure he knows. Maybe he wants you to relax for a while.” He implied. You dropped your gaze from his eyes to his lips, your core slowly heating up.

“I would rather still be sure,” you swallowed your saliva, your voice breaking, his body dangerously close to yours. “Aren’t you cold?” you let out, embarrassment washing over you. He let out a chuckle when he saw your hand awkwardly pointing at his bare chest.

“Not really,” he replied, scanning your expression. He knew you were nervous; he knew your legs were about to give up and how you struggled to pretend to breathe normally. He enjoyed every second of it.

“Good, good.” You uttered, nodding along. “As long as you’re comfortable.” You wanted to fall into some deep hole and never come out.

“Are you comfortable?” he purred, closing the space between you two, his hand lifting to your face but not actually touching you. Just hanging there, below your jaw, right next to your neck.

“Why, why wouldn’t I be.” You stumbled over your words, his eyes burning your skin open. You felt his breath against your face, his curtain bangs brushing over your forehead. His feet met with yours, his chest in front of your face.

“You don’t look the best.” He whispered, leaning in, his lips now touching your ears, sending shivers down your spine. You moved your hand to the counter next to you, praying and holding yourself for dear life. “I think you need to relax.” He teased against your ear, slowly moving to your neck.

“I think I should get ready to go.” You panted, but not moving a muscle. His one hand moved right next to yours on the table, fingertips touching yours. You were so frozen by his lips tickling your neck, you inhaled sharply when you felt his hand sneak behind your waist to pull you against him. Your hands automatically pressed against his chest, closing your eyes.

“If you want,” he rasped, lifting himself to face you. You couldn’t recognize him. His eyes were pitch-black dark, animalistic look set in them. His lips were full and pink, not a sign of the Qimir that you talked to few minutes ago. You were breathless, your heart pounding heart against your ribs.

“Do you want to go?” he whispered, carnal lust in his gaze staring right back at you. You felt the wetness between your legs growing stronger with every passing second. “Do you want me to let you go?”

“No.” you answered so fast you felt ashamed. But what followed fulfilled all your dreams and more.

All the useless items and glasses on table thrown on the floor without any of you touching them, to make a room for you as Qimir lifted you up on the counter. You shakily brought your hands into his hair as he dived into your lips, imitating sex. His hands groped your breasts, fondling them and pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your borrowed blouse.

You felt his hand abandon your face, making its way between your legs, feeling your wetness through the pants. You were soaked. You didn’t miss the smile on his lips when his fingers pushed against your core, feeling how wet and useless you were for him.

You whimpered against his mouth when he pulled away, resting against your forehead as you breathed each other air.

“For how long you were this wet?” he smirked against your lips, his fingers putting pressure against your pants making you gasp. He knew the answer, he knew exactly what you liked and where you liked it. But he wanted to hear it coming from your mouth.

“Since I first saw you,” you muttered, rolling your hips against his fingers for more friction. As soon as you made that movement, he pulled his fingers away to shoved them inside your mouth. You didn’t protest and without hesitation started to circle your tongue around them. His fingers were thick and long, making you choke when he moved them deeper.

“Such a fucking slut.” He growled, his legs spreading yours apart. Your heart fluttered at his words and confirming its statement when you let out a moan, from his fingers sneaking its way under your pants and panties to find your burning clit. You threw your head back, as your back arched, wanting to feel more of his touch.

Qimir watched you with satisfaction spread on his face as he felt you getting wetter and wetter, your body responding to his digits. He continued teasing your clit, rubbing it in circles as his other hand squeezed your breast roughly.

“You want it that bad?” he murmured, his voice raspy and electrifying. He chuckled at your failed attempt to respond, inserting his finger into your soaked hole. He pumped it slow and deep, reveling in your reaction. “No worries now.” He taunted.

Qimir couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as he watched you squirm and moan. He relished the power he had over you, keeping you in the dark and letting you believe you weren't being humiliated in front of your Master. He added another finger, scissoring them to stretch you for his cock.

“Let me hear you beg for it,” His eyes gleamed with lust as he towered over you, plunging his fingers deeper inside of your cunt. He curled his fingers inside you, rubbing your g-spot as he pumped them faster. “I want to hear you plead for my cock.”

You had no idea Qimir had this in him, but you were so dizzy because of his fingers fucking you hard, you had no strength to focus on anything else.

“Please Qim-“you shivered, eyes rolling back in your head. “Please I need you inside me.” Your breath hitched, his fingers curling and spreading your cunt.

“Atta girl.” He whispered to himself before pulling his fingers out of you, receiving a vulgar insult thrown at him. He relished in seeing you like this. He dreamed of this every day, wanting you, his pupil, spread open in front of him, letting him take you however he wanted. You were his and he was gonna make sure you understood what exactly that meant.

He smirked mischievously before leaning forward to kiss you deeply, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “Once I start, complain all you want, I’m not gonna stop.” He whispered against your lips before breaking away and looking deep into your eyes. He was a totally different man and it made you shiver throughout all your body. Even his energy changed, letting it wrap around you in the Force.

Qimir startled you when his hands landed on your chest, pushing you back so you’d lay open on the counter, legs spread open for him to take. Smiling excitedly, he grabbed your hips and move you closer to the edge of the table, before slowly unbuckling his pants.

“You ready?” he asked, licking his lips before pulling his cock out, already covered in pre-cum. He looked so beautiful above you, his hips so close to yours, his hair falling into his face and his chest raising as fast as yours. You looked a mess, but you were his mess and he wanted to devour you.

Nodding, you made yourself comfortable on the table, its cold surface making you shiver.

Smirking, he positioned his dick at your entrance and slowly thrust himself inside, making sure to stretch you nice and slow, taking his time to make the moment last. He bit back a moan, looking down at you lovingly as you struggled to keep your eyes open and not pass out at his thick cock filling you up.

“You’re doing great so far for me.” He grinned, before pulling out and slamming back in, his movements becoming faster and rougher. You forced yourself to grab the ends of the table to hold yourself in place, Qimir’s grip on your hips being nothing compared to the way he was treating your pussy.

His thrusts became harder, loving the way your walls wrapped around his cock, squeezing him tightly with each thrust.

“You’re finally getting what you dreamed of,” he groaned, lifting your hips to drive his cock deeper before pounding away. “Getting fucked by your Master.”

You cried out when his cock brushed against your sweet spot, not realizing the meaning of his words until seconds later.

“What,” you tried to lift your head up, but the way his grip tightened on your waist to fuck you harder had you failing to catch your breath. Your heart started to pound faster as the realization hits.

He saw your expression change but your body kept replying to his merciless thrusts. His hand moved from your waist to reach for your head, lifting you up, face to face. His forehead was covered in sweat, his long hair curling around his ears.

“You did so well on your last mission, I had to reward you.” He panted, not stopping his assault on your cunt. He read the conflict in your mind, letting you come to your own conclusion.

“You’re,” you trembled, his cock spreading your walls so good you had trouble to even consider the words he was saying, denying yourself.

“You’re such a good apprentice but such a slut now,” he mocked you, his hand moving from your hair to your neck, putting in pressure. “I wished you realized sooner tho. We could’ve had this every little visit of yours.” You cried out as his hand fully wrapped around your neck, his cock never stopping filling your cunt.

“Master, I don’t understand,” you managed to breathe out, feeling his cock start twitching inside your walls. You heard him groan, right next to your ear, at the feeling of your tight hole gripping him. He started to thrust harder, feeling the friction build up.

Resting your foreheads against each other and swallowing each other’s moans, had the both of you sweat, the room picking up your scents.

Qimir reached down, rubbing your clit as he continued to fuck you hard. He could feel the tension building inside of you and knew you were close.

“Cum for me, love.” He growled, his hand never leaving your neck and pulling you closer to him. “Cum for your Master.” He hitched, picking up the pace, slamming into you as hard as he could. He could feel his own orgasm approaching.

His grip on your throat tightened as he fucked you harder and faster, slowly losing control of his strength. He could see the look of pure ecstasy on your face as he pounded into you and squeezed your throat harder. Your hand automatically few to his hand that held you, struggling to breathe but not enough to make you pass out.

“You belong to me,” his voice broke, letting you know he was getting closer and closer to losing it. “You’re mine.” He whimpered into your ear, his hips bucking wildly, driving his cock deep inside of you as he came, filling you up, marking you as his. His paced slowed down to match yours, wanting to feel you cum around him, your walls almost crushing him.

Qimir didn’t move and kept his cock inside you, letting himself and you calm down and try to catch your breath. As you regain your composure, your head against Qimir’s chest, your mind almost exploded with the overwhelming thoughts.

I fucked Qimir.

I fucked my Master.

Qimir was my Master all along.

You wanted to run away, hide yourself and never come out, but Qimir’s, your Master’s arms wrapped around you and your pussy still keeping his cock warm, had you melting, not wanting to move an inch. You were confused, terrified, and thrilled all at the same time. All the times when Qimir disappeared without explanation, all the time he lied to the Jedi or did things only Force sensitive beings could achieve. It all made sense now and clicked together like a puzzle.

But you also realized he had the power to read your thought all along. He could see the impure images, the ideas, and pictures you had in your mind. Your complains and desires. Your fear. But that didn’t matter anymore. You let your Master used you, like the good apprentice you were. You had no idea what would happen now, your heart wanting to jump out of your chest, your skin covered in goosebumps. You were scared but the desire was stronger. And if Qimir ever taught you something was to transform those emotions into power. And you had enough desire to annihilate the entire Jedi order, with Qimir by your side.

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[yuoimia]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ HEY, HANDSOME

summary: you’re shameless with your antics, and he hates loves it. characters: kinich & wanderer notes: fem + flirty reader, relationship is not established, but you’ve known each other for a while, wanderer’s is super short and messy bc i didn’t know how to execute my ideas well, wc: 580

kinich

“Are you free next week?”

Kinich glanced up from the base of the tree to where you sat casually on one of the thick branches. Sunlight streamed through its delicate leaves, spilling onto your hair, casting a familiar shadow he breathed in the first time you two met.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, eyeing you with suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“What does she mean!? Are you STUPID-“

A momentary flash of yellow and green materialised for a split second, not without the usual explosive expressions, before being promptly booted with the irritated flick of Kinich’s right hand.

“Stop smirking,” he sighed, not coming out nearly as stern as he intended. “Out with it, and come down; my neck is starting to hurt,” he continued, turning away, trying to seem as composed as possible. Not now; he cannot be succumbing to nerves and sweaty palms. Why was his mind so foggy? Absolutely no helpful excuses formulated in case he faltered any further.

You let out a disappointed huff. “Fine,” Kinich could almost sense the roll of your eyes from the back of his head. “Make sure to catch me.”

“Wait-“

It happened in a split second, his arms subconsciously reaching out as you slipped down with no hesitation.

Almost instantly, words of disapproval (which included his typical empty threats that he seemed to forget within the next ten minutes) bombarded your ears as one arm held you from the back of your knees, another supporting your back. “Imagine if I didn’t catch you…you need to think before you do things…”

“But you did either way,” you shrugged nonchalantly at his frustrated face, enveloping an arm around his neck to rest your chin on his shoulder. “So…you free next week?” you whispered conspicuously, adjusting yourself to face him properly. “I’m running out of ideas for commissions, you know?”

And you swear you’re hallucinating. You swear you might actually be delusional.

“What if I told you,” he mused at the intimacy of the shared closeness. “That you never needed the commissions for my attention in the first place?” he responded, holding back a smile.

wanderer

“You look terrible.”

The unexpectedly rash comment causes him to jolt his head upright, his eyes instantly meeting the owner of the familiar voice and malicious remark. A strange feeling washes over his body as he relaxes his posture almost completely, careful to avoid seeming too relieved.

“Likewise,” he countered, scanning you with a look of supposed disinterest. Except he wasn’t disinterested at all, thoroughly noting down your appearance and mannerisms. Loose ends of your braid had fallen out of their original position, a vibrant rosy blush below your cheekbones, likely from exhaustion the way your chest rose quicker than usual.

“…likewise?!” you gaped incredulously, seizing a mirror from a pocket of your jacket.

You’re the one that told me I looked terrible.”

“You know I didn’t mean that at all.”

“And you know that, too.”

“You’re supposed to say that you’re tired and hungry,” you muttered disappointingly, fixing your braid in the matter of a few quick movements.

Confusion flooded his mind at the sharp diversions in conversation topics. “Why would I need to say that?” he replied slowly, surveying your face with greater interest and intent, as if thinking that if he stared hard enough, the deepest secrets of your mind would be magically revealed.

A victorious smile and wink adorned your face as you extended a hand. “So I can offer you lunch, handsome.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Sacrifical Bride.

Commissioned by the very lovely @yanmaresu.

Pairing: Yandere!Hades x Reader (Record of Ragnarök).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Forced Marriage, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, and Mentions of Kidnapping/Prolonged Captivity. Not Canon Complacent. I Have Never Met Canon But I Hear She's Very Nice.

The wedding was a solemn affair.

Not dull, because nothing that had your heart beating so violently could ever be considered ‘dull’, and not dreary, because despite the many, many things you could say about your kidnapper-turned-husband, he wasn’t one for bland affairs. No, your dress was of the finest and most vibrant silks, your veil lined with pearls and rubies and the gown’s train long enough to swell and ebb behind you as you walked down the seemingly never-ending aisle, unaccompanied by any escort. Wreaths of shining ivory lilies and blooming chrysanthemums encircled marble pillars, low-burning lanterns casting the chapel in long, wavering shadows. The pews were empty. The only guests were his ghastly servants, and they’d never once said a word to you.

There was no officiant. Hades waited for you at the brimstone altar alone, a gentle simper playing over his lips as he watched you drag your feet and fight the urge to bolt, to run, to do the very thing that’d left you trapped in his arm in the first place. It was tempting, albeit pointless. You’d always been swift footed, but there was nowhere to escape to in Helheim. At best, you’d spend a few days hiding and struggling to survive in the empty plains that surrounded his looming fortress of a home. At worst, you’d find yourself without direction and beyond the reach of his control, hopelessly lost and stumbling through fields of fading dead and gnarled beasts and things that would make the man in front of you look hospitable, in comparison. You tried to remind yourself of that as your body begged you to flee.

As you reached the altar, his smile grew into something that could’ve been convincingly genuine, had it been able to reach the pits of lifeless ice that were his eyes. Rather, the gesture only seemed to add to the coil of dread growing tighter in the pit of your stomach as you stepped beside him, clutching your bouquet to your chest in a white-knuckled grip. He’d let you pick that out yourself, at least, and you’d taken a truly irrational amount of joy in picking wildflowers and trimming roses and breaking every rule of decorum your mother had ever taught you. Now, though, the shadows of his hall seemed to dull your vision-searing colors, and it was difficult to take joy in such a simple pleasure knowing the man in front of you sought to ensure you’d never braid daisies or sleep beneath open skies again, when he was staring you down like yet another precious gem he planned to add to his ever-growing collection. It was a cruel comparison, but not quite as hyperbolic as you would’ve liked.

There was a shallow sigh, a hand brought to the edge of your veil. He toyed with the fabric for a long moment before taking the hem in both hands and pulling it away from your face. If he recognized the terror stitched into your expression, he only deemed it worth a slight shake of his head. “Oh, beloved.” His hand fell to your cheek. “You’re as radiant as the day we met.”

The day he plucked you from your mortal life and dragged you into the depths of the earth, the day he’d forced the awful seeds of that terrible fruit down your throat and promised you would never see another living soul again. You swallowed back your nerves. “Please, don’t draw this out.”

You were lucky you’d fallen into the hands of such a mild-tempered captor. He let out an airy chuckle, turning back to the altar. It was decorated sparsely; an overflowing cornucopia posed in one corner, a standing thurible slowly releasing nauseatingly sweet incense into the stagnant air sitting in the other. Between them was only a bottle of dark wine and two twin chalices, crafted of only the finest bronze and polished until they shined in the low lighting. He filled both to the brim before looking towards you, a glint in his remaining eye as he took a chalice in either hand.

You’d been wrong when you assumed they were identical. Where one had a line of aimless, curling thorns following the rim and plunging down the length of the handle, the other was embellished with roses, abstract and nearly shapeless, forming neat columns across the body of the cup. He extended the latter to you, its contents threatening to spill as you took it in your trembling hands. You’d managed to talk him out of the more elaborate ceremonies he’d suggested, but it was difficult to remember that this was a preferable alternative now that could feel the chill of his wine seeping into your palms.

You brought it to your lips, held it there for a moment, then pulled back at the hint of a more familiar scent than that of his dizzying incense. “Pomegranates?”

“I thought it would be a nice touch.” For him, maybe. He’d always struggled to see things from your perspective. “Forgive my sentimentality.”

You wouldn’t, but you were smart enough to keep that to yourself. When he raised his chalice, you did the same, mirroring him when your own will failed you. “To us, darling.”

You nodded. “To us.”

He took a long sip from his chalice, seeming to savor the rich wine, while you drained yours in a single breath. Try as you might to enjoy it, you could only seem to taste ash.

~

A few vows were exchanged, a kiss pressed into the back of your hand when you flinched away from his attempt to communicate his affection more directly. Finally, he took your arm and guided you back to your shared chambers, lingering in the doorway while you collapsed onto his bed – your marital bed, now, you supposed. You buried your face in the silken sheets, letting out a soft groan. There would be a celebration later on, a feast with all of his many gloating brothers and prying sisters in attendance, but the worst of it was over. You were bound to him, for better or for worse. All you could do was weather the consequences.

You’d hoped he would be kind enough to leave you alone while you consoled yourself, while you took all that you knew and all that you didn’t and recontextualized it with yourself as the mortal bride to the God of Death, but a hand on your shoulder dispelled that fleeting fantasy. With no small amount of reluctance, you pushed yourself upward and turned your attention back to Hades. This time, without the pretense of custom, he didn’t settle for your hand. His mouth found its way to the dip of your shoulder, then the crook of your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as he pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses into his chosen targets.

When he started to move towards the curve of your throat, you moved on instinct – your hands finding their way to his hair as you dragged him away from you before he could do anything you wouldn’t be able to forget as soon as he left the room. “Please,” you said, not for the first time that day. “I… I’d rather be alone, right now. If it’s all the same to you.”

His smile didn’t waver. “You know that, if it were up to me, I would bend to your every whim,” he spaced the words out generously, as if worried your feeble human mind might not be able to understand. “But we aren’t done.”

Your expression fell. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I wore the dress, and—and I took your vows, and—”

“My love,” he cut you off swiftly, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. “Our union will have to be consummated, eventually.”

You felt your throat begin to swell shut.

“I know that, but—” You laid your hand over his, trying to call upon whatever pale imitation of sympathy might’ve existed in his heart. “—does it have to be consummated now?”

You watched as his gaze softened, as his head lulled to the side in that endeared-yet-condescending manner he seemed so fond of. Slowly, with a painstaking gentleness, he brought you closer to him, ghosting over the top of your head and lingering there, even as he started to speak. “I think,” he started, his voice muffled by proximity. “that it would be in your best interest not to keep me waiting any longer.”

It wasn’t a threat, but it was posed like one, dredged up from somewhere deep in his chest and accompanied by his hand on your waist, nimble fingers slipping underneath the sash binding your gown together. When you jerked back, reflexively trying to escape his advances, he was quick to chase you, to let his softened smile spread into an amused grin as an arm wrapped around your midriff and dragged you, willingly or otherwise, into his lap. “I don’t want to hurt you.” And yet, your safety didn’t seem to cross his mind as his blunt nails bit into your waist, as he dragged you close enough to feel his chest press into yours, to become uncomfortably aware of the stiff outline against the loose fabric of his pants. “If I rely on my own self-restraint for another day—” Another kiss, this one to the tender patch of skin above your jugular vein. “I’m afraid I might end up doing something we both regret, when the time comes.”

“Less than a day,” you pleaded as he buried his face in your neck. There was a blur of movement, the ghost of his touch along the curve of your spine, and your bodice fell away in tatters, the ruined fabric collapsing to your waist. When you moved to cover yourself, Hades clicked his tongue and you froze, letting your arms fall back to your sides. Begging him to change his mind was one thing. Going against him so transparently would only make things more difficult. “Half a day. An hour. I just— Hades, I can’t do this right now—”

“My love.” Swift, blunt, merciless. You’d been a fool to ever think he was one of the kinder gods. “I think I’ve waited long enough to claim what belongs to me.”

Any protest you might’ve had died in your throat.

You’d been a fool to ever think he was anything less than the cruelest of his kin.

You wanted to scream. If you couldn’t run, then you would yell, raise your voice and tell him that he already had you, that he’d gotten everything he could’ve possibly wanted, but anything you might’ve said was torn away and ripped to shreds as his head dipped low, his teeth latching onto the vulnerable skin of you collar bone and sinking in. He didn’t draw blood, but he didn’t have to. A bolt of pure, stinging agony shot from your chest to your core, only dulling as he pulled away with a low groan. “Have I ever told you how much I adore the sound of my name on your tongue?” You felt his hand on your hip, then your thigh, the remains of your dress cut through and disposed of with little fanfare. He gave your bridal lingerie (pure white and so obnoxiously lacy, you’d had to wonder if this was all some sadistic joke as you slipped it on) more attention, his thumb running along the delicate trim before his fingers slipped underneath it, tracing the length of your slit before doing away with the barrier altogether.

Dread and panic dulled your reactions, but it would’ve been a lie to say the feeling of his mouth on your skin had left you completely unaffected. He chuckled as he gathered your slick on his fingertips, two of which were soon pressed into your clit with a brutal sort of precision. “And you tried to play coy.” He teased the sensitive bundle of nerves mercilessly, the patterns he traced into your clit too slow and too fleeting all at once. You wished he wouldn’t touch you at all, but if he was going to, it was the least he could’ve done not to draw it out. “That must’ve been why you seemed so rushed during our ceremony. If you’d asked me to make love to you on that altar, I happily would have.”

Hot, humiliated tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You attempted to deny it, but a cracked moan slipped past your lips instead as two of his fingers were forced into your cunt and spread, splitting you apart. Your hands shot to his shoulders, trying to stabilize yourself, but he only saw your desperation as an invitation – bowing his head and pumping his fingers into you at the kind of languid pace that left you fighting not to rock against him, not to make up for the urgency immortal creatures so often lacked. “You’re a vice,” he muttered, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, his tone low and lecherous. You wondered, briefly, if words that fell from the lips of a god could be considered sinful. “To think my own wife would’ve had me neglect her so severely for so long.”

You shook your head. You were married to him, sure, bound to him. But you couldn’t afford to think of yourself as his wife. You couldn’t afford to think of yourself as something so limited, something so purely an extension of him. “I’m not—”

“Don’t try to spare my feelings. I can see that I underestimated just how much attention my little mortal would need.” His wrist quirked, another digit pushing past your entrance and stuffing your pussy full as his fingers curled and ground inside of you. Against your will, you felt a tight heat begin to twist and writhe in the pit of your stomach, pangs of burning pleasure coursing from your cunt to your core. Now, you cried unabashedly, embarrassment and shame burning in your cheeks and fueling the unsteady stream of tears that Hades was so agonizingly quick to coo over, to kiss away as your hips bucked unsteadily against his hand. “What a sensitive wife I have.” That word – that awful word – was enough to earn a ragged sob, but if he recognized the connection, he didn’t deem it worth his concern. “I promise, you’ll never feel so unloved in my care again.”

You would’ve given anything to be able to pull away from him, to be able to shove at his chest and swear to all the gods you’d once worshiped that there was no part of you that could ever feel loved with him, but in the end, he was the one to let you go, to throw you onto the center of his great bed and leave you whining involuntarily at the sudden loss of stimulation. He’d never been one to deprive you, though; in a moment, he was in between your open legs, one hand wrapped loosely around your thigh while the other pulled feverishly at his own clothes. His coat fell away first, then his shirt. You heard fabric shift and metal clink and, in a daze, saw him wrap his fist around something he could not have possibly planned to fit inside of you. Half out of terror and half out of instinct, your gaze flickered from his cock to his face – to the wide, fanged grin he’d been wearing for as long as you could remember.

He moved to kiss you, and you drove your heel into his stomach.

The blow would’ve been weak by human standards, but it caught him off-guard. Out of reflex, he reeled back, and you took the opportunity to scramble off his bed and towards the door, to any part of this forsaken place where Hades wasn’t. You made it a step, maybe two before something caught your shoulder, before your body buckled under a weight greater than your own. You were dragged onto your knees before you could so much as think to slip away from him, your cheek forced against the cool marble of the floor before you could hope to make your descent more dignified. You felt his broad chest press into your back, his snarling lips against the curve of your throat. You wondered if the insult would be great enough to warrant taking your life, but the thought was dismissed quickly.

Hades had never been the kind of god capable of showing such mercy.

“I would’ve made love to you like a queen,” he spat, his tone all manic venom and overdue obsession. “But, if you’d rather be fucked on the ground like a whore, I’m more than happy to oblige.”

You weren’t allowed the luxury of bracing yourself, this time. In one brutal movement, he thrust into you, splitting you open on his cock with the kind of harsh, unforgiving force better suited to a wild animal.  There was no time to adjust, no time to sob, only Hades groaning against your neck as he bucked against you, never daring to pull out completely. Whatever agony his fingers had sparked was now ten-fold. Your legs shook, your body threatening to collapse entirely, but Hades kept your ass raised and your thighs spread, his focus entirely on bucking into you as deeply and as roughly as he could.

It almost surprised you when one of his hands shot to your head, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he forced his mouth against yours. You tried not to cooperate, but two fingers pressed into your clit and your mouth fell open in a guttural cry, providing an opening he seemed content to take advantage of. It was a deep, lingering, messything – all tongue and teeth – but his cock ground against something soft and vulnerable and you failed to suppress the wave of pure heat that flooded through your battered body as you clenched around him, as you came undone around the cock of your kidnapper, your captor, your husband. Hades wasn’t far behind, his composure shattering no more than a second after the walls of your cunt clenched down around him. You could only choke on your misery-tinged pleasure as his hips pressed into your ass and he came inside of you – his awful warmth soon tainting every fiber of your being.

You tried to tell yourself that, at the very least, it was over - that he’d had his fill of you and now, you’d be free to console yourself elsewhere, but your hopes were once again dashed when Hades failed to release you, failed to pull out of you, failed to do anything but press himself into your back and trail his lips idly down to the nape of your neck. “Once is a pitiful amount for a king. Don’t you agree?”

You felt his hips move back, then rock against you just as quickly.

“You can forgive me when we’re done, love.”

[slu7formen]

So I got this from a book but a truth and dare game with Luke where she has to lick whip cream of him. You can do whatever you want with this prompt but like a smut could be nice.

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader

this single request itself made me wanna try it, love you <3

warnings: teasing, kissing, s3xual tension, food play, drinking, oral (f receiving), mutual m4sturbation, unprotected s3x, possessive!luke at times, biting, f1ngering, chocking, also this is SO LONG, I’M SORRY

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes.

₊˚⊹♡

The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the faces gathered around the hidden clearing. You all had managed to sneak away from the watchful eyes of Chiron and Mr. D for a game night in the woods. The air buzzed with the energy of a rebellion and contagious laughter – a night of games for the older campers, fueled by salty and sweet snacks and stolen alcohol —a sweet thank you to the Hermes’ cabin—. Laughter and playful groans punctuated the evening as truth or dare, with a twist, played out. Two decks sat in the center of the circle – red for dares, blue for truth.

Silena patiently waited as Clarisse read a red card out loud. "Whoever you find most handsome, kiss them" the card declared, "or take a shot." A playful smile spread across Silena´s lips, her gaze lingering for a beat too long on Charles Beckendorf. A blush crept up her neck as the others hooted and hollered.

"Come on, Silena" Connor Stoll, Hermes' resident prankster, prodded her with a playful jab. "Don't be shy, show us who the lucky guy is!"

With a playful toss of her hair, she leaned across the circle, her eyes meeting Beckendorf's for a fleeting moment before landing a quick, chaste kiss on his lips. Beckendorf, caught off guard, sputtered and stammered, his face mirroring Silena's blush. The clearing erupted in cheers and teasing whistles.

The teasing went back and forth, fueling the already lively atmosphere. Next, it was Beckendorf's turn. He scanned the circle, eyes falling on a tall and skinny guy sipping on the last drops of his beer.

“Travis” he called. “Truth or dare?”

Travis, ever the clown, leaned back on his elbows, a confident smirk plastered on his face. "Dare" he replied, popping the r out.

Beckendorf announced the dare after picking up a card: "Take off the socks from the person on your right with your teeth, or take two shots." A collective groan rose from the circle. Lee Fletcher happened to be Travis' unfortunate neighbor.

"Come on, Trav" Luke chimed in, a playful look in his eyes. "Those feet are all fresh and sweaty for ya'." The rest of the group roared with laughter, picturing the image of Travis attempting the sock removal with his teeth.

Travis, with a grimace that contorted his face, finally managed to grab Lee's sock with his teeth and yank it free. He held the sweaty trophy aloft, earning another round of cheers and jeers.

Meanwhile, Luke couldn't help but steal glances at you, sitting next to him. The firelight cast your features in a warm glow, highlighting the soft curve of your lips and the way your hair cascaded down your shoulders like a waterfall. The scent of your perfume, a mix of strawberries and something else he couldn't quite place, filled his senses, making his heart pound a little faster. He found himself captivated by your laugh, the way your lips curved into a smile as you spoke, or the way your brow furrowed in concentration when you contemplated a dare. Sitting next to you felt like being next to a goddess, both exhilarating and intimidating, just like the rest of your sisters; girls from cabin ten.

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, Travis scanned the circle, his eyes stopping on you. You met his eyes, a playful sparkle in your own, as if daring him to choose you.

“yn, truth or dare?”

You took a swig of your beer, the cold liquid a welcome contrast to the warmth blooming in your cheeks under his scrutiny. "Dare" you replied, your voice laced with a hint of flirtatious defiance.

A surprised whistle escaped his lips. Clearly, he hadn't expected you to choose the more daring option, you´ve been picking truth all night. He reached for a card from the red deck, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. The silence grew thick as he scanned the card.

A barely audible chuckle escaped his lips as he read the card. "Alright, pretty girl" he began, drawing out the words for dramatic effect, " 'Lick whipped cream out of the person on your left's neck, or take a shot.'"

A collective gasp rippled through the group, followed by teasing comments towards Luke. "Castellan's lucky tonight!" Connor hollered, patting his back. "Looks like you owe cabin ten a thank you, man."

Luke felt his cheeks burning like rubies. He tried to appear confident, as he always was, a casual slouch to his posture, but the rapid thump of his heart betrayed his cool facade.

You just stared at him for a moment, a nervous yet malicious smirk on your lips. You enjoyed the sight of him suddenly all red and flustered, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor. He looked as cute as ever. "Well?" Katie asked, shrugging your shoulder playfully. "Whip cream or a shot?"

And how could you resist the dare? A chance for your lips to brush against the warm skin of Luke's neck in a gesture that was more intimate than any game dared to be? The thought sent a shiver down your spine, a delicious mix of excitement and nervousness. Licking the sweet whipped cream off him, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath your lips... it was too tempting to pass up, and the possibilities were simply intoxicating.

Ignoring the teasing catcalls and whispers, you turned to Katie with a sly smile. "Where's the whipped cream?" you asked, knowing full well that Silena had brought a large bag of candy, a can of whipped cream nestled amongst the chocolate bars and sour gummies.

Your question erupted into another wave of cheers and whistles. Luke, meanwhile, felt like his insides were about to explode. He felt like a churning cauldron of emotions – nervousness, excitement, a burning desire dancing in his stomach.

Silena tossed the can to you. You caught it in the air, the coldness of the metal a stark contrast to the heat burning in your cheeks. You met Luke's gaze once more.

"Looks like you're about to get a little messy" you declared, getting on your knees now for a better access. With a sweet but weirdly evil smirk, you shook the can, the hiss of the pressurized cream a prelude to the sweet mess you were about to create.

As Luke held your gaze, a slow smile spread across his face. He knew this was a chance, one he couldn't afford to miss. "Alright" he sighed, chest heaving up and down in one hard and heavy movement, his voice rough with suppressed nervousness but laced with an undercoat of confidence. He tilted his head slightly to the left, offering you a better angle, his final invitation. "Do your thing."

The weight of his words, the vulnerability in his gesture, sent a jolt through you. Luke's neck, bathed in the warm glow of the fire, looked impossibly inviting, the smooth skin a stark contrast to the dark fabric of his shirt.

Taking a slight breath, you placed a few dollops of whipped cream on the side of his neck. The coldness sent a jolt through him, making him flinch and hiss lowly. A wave of whispers rippled through the group, a mixture of nervous anticipation and excited curiosity.

Luke caught a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye. You tossed your hair to the side, the movement exposing completely one of your shoulders. In that moment, under the watchful gaze of the fire and their friends, he felt himself going faintly insane with a mixture of desire and nervousness.

You leaned closer, the sweet scent of your perfume filling his senses. As you both closed your eyes at the same time, the air crackled with electricity. Your tongue, soft and warm, darted out with boldness. Pulling down on the collar of his shirt to avoid a mess, your other hand flew to the back of his neck, holding him gently in place.

The gentle rasp of your tongue against his skin sent shivers down his spine. It was a slow, deliberate movement, almost reverent, seductive, as you savored the sweetness of the whipped cream and the warmth of his skin beneath it.

Your actions were hot enough for his cock to start hardening against his cargo pants, painfully. But he has to thank the gods for luckily sitting in a position in which he was covering it.

He pressed his lips together, and apparently, that made his friends laugh. He could hear the soft gasps of your breath as you worked your way around the whipped cream blob, the sound echoing in his ears like a siren's song.

Luke felt like a live wire, every nerve ending tingling with awareness. He couldn't believe what was happening. The gentle touch of your lips made him feel as if a hundred ants walked down his spine, his heart thundering in his chest. He was trying so hard to hold back a moan.

He tried to imagine something else, literally anything, but whenever he tried, the only thing he could picture was you with him in his room, pouring whipped cream all over his neck and just licking, like a cat, as he tilted his head back and you bit down on his pulse, you whispered in his ear, you moaned loudly, you let him touch you.

He was a dead man.

Finally, with a satisfied sigh, you pulled away.

"There" you said, your voice barely a whisper. "All clean"

Luke opened his eyes, his gaze lingering on your lips, cherry lip-gloss long gone, as you finished licking off the last bit of your sweet treat. You met his gaze. Neither of you spoke.

A loud cough from Connor broke the spell. "Well, that was..." he began, searching for the right words, "intense."

“Yeah” Chris joined in, suddenly grabbing Clarisse’s hand and turning to her. “Can we do it?”

The moment was broken, the playful environment resuming its place. A wave of laughter washed over the group when the night took an unexpected turn. Soon, the whipped cream became a must along your friends.

Travis´ eyes landed on a weak Lee. The following minutes were filled with chaos and laughter as Travis chased Lee around the nearby trees, whipped cream can in hand, finally managing to catch him and plant a sloppy glob of cream on his neck. Lee's retaliatory attempt at tickling Travis only resulted in both of them collapsing in a heap of loud laughs.

The game continued, couples forming and reforming with each dare. Beckendorf and Connor, fueled by a rivalry, ended up smearing whipped cream on each other's faces, resulting in a food fight of sorts. Silena and Katie shared a non-stop giggly mess as they licked cream off each other's cheeks.

Even Clarisse, despite her initial resistance, found herself cornered by Chris.

By the time everyone´s face was sticky, exhaustion had settled in. As the fire crackled down to embers, casting long shadows across the clearing, everyone decided it was time to head back to their cabins.

The walk back was filled with drunken stumbling and whispered jokes. Silena and Clarisse, whose tolerance for alcohol was notoriously low, were stumbling back to their cabins, supported by their patient friends.

You walked behind them, a smile playing on your lips as you watched the scene unfold, bag of leftovers snacks swinging on your wrist.

Behind you, Luke admired your figure bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the trees. Your hips, swaying with each step you took, were basically asking him to be grabbed, to be pulled. So did your hair, bouncing and shining on its on and he wondered what it would feel like to have it wrapped around his hand. His mind couldn't help but flash back to the way your tongue had felt, flat and warm, against his skin. It was a sensation that gave him goosebumps even now, a memory that made his brain feel like melted butter.

He also found no way of getting rid of his boner. His pants were a little baggy, and his friends were drunk, but still, he was just walking around camp, with a boner, and the girl that gave it to him was walking just five feet ahead.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by a booming voice. "Alright, guys" Beckendorf announced, his voice thick with concern, "I think I'm going to take Silena back to my cabin" he turned his head behind him. “She seems a little too excited, actually” he says, as you all watch Silena´s figure almost falling to the ground as she reaches the Hephaestus cabin.

The others murmured agreement, offering sleepy goodbyes and pats on the back. You joined the chorus, your voice a gentle murmur.

Unlike many of the other campers, whose siblings populated Camp Half-Blood year-round, you were one of the few who stayed all year, along with Silena some months. With the winter season in full swing, your cabin stood empty, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional curious critter.

"You alright?" you heard beside you.

Luke, walking next to you now, seemed to pick up on your quiet contemplation. He cast you a sidelong glance, his face unreadable in the dim light.

You pulled a small smile from the corner of your lips. "Yeah, just-, realizing I have the whole cabin to myself tonight."

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Well, then" he began, his voice a low rumble, "Want me to walk you there so you don´t go alone?"

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as Luke's offer hung in the air.

"My cabin's not too far away, Luke" you teased, pointing towards a cluster of trees in the distance. A flash of pink peeked through the branches – the lace curtains that adorned the windows. "See? I can practically see it from here. You just really wanna spend more time with me, don't you?"

A faint blush crept up Luke's neck. He wasn't used to being so transparent, especially not around you. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"Then I guess" he stammered, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. "that my company is not wanted?"

You couldn't help but laugh, a melodic sound that echoed through the stillness of the night and ringed inside Luke´s ears. Deep down, you knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. The dare had awakened something inside you, a flicker of something warm and exciting burning in your belly. Looking at Luke now, bathed in the cool moonlight, you saw him differently. The way his hair tousled in the gentle breeze, the way his dark eyes held a depth you hadn't noticed before – it all made your stomach twist and tighten.

You placed both hands on the back pockets of your jeans. “When did I say that?” you ask.

A slow smile spread across Luke's face, mirroring your own. He couldn't deny the truth in your words. This playful back and forth shattered a barrier, revealing a connection neither of you had anticipated. His gaze drifted down to your lips for a second.

You noticed. Just as you noticed his hardened dick hidden inside his pants.

As you continued walking, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the soft crunch of leaves underfoot. The thought of him, his touch, his nearness, sent a hot wave through your stomach. It wasn't just about his good looks, though you couldn't deny his attractiveness. It was the unexpected intimacy, which was in fact, not so intimate due to your friends’ stares but, it left you with an empty feeling in your chest. It left you wanting more. More about Luke.

And then, it all just made sense.

As you reached the front door of your cabin, you turned around on your feet towards Luke. His eyes were wide and shiny in anticipation, waiting for you to speak. "So," you began, your voice dripping with feigned innocence, "since my company is apparently so delightful, how about you come inside for a bit?"

Luke blinked, surprised by your sudden offer. "Inside?" he echoed.

"You've never even been inside my cabin, have you? Don't you at least a little bit curious about what it looks like?"

You knew your question was a blatant and dirty lie. Luke likely knew the layout of every cabin at Camp Half-Blood, even though it is true that he only took small look from your cabin when the door was open, never fully stepping inside. But it was a way to gauge his interest. You knew how to play.

Luke shifted on his feet, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He wasn't sure if you were serious or just messing with him, but the invitation, whether genuine or not, was tempting. The thought of spending a little more time with you, alone, in the privacy of your cabin, made him think twice.

"Well," he began, his voice rough with well hidden desire, "if you want me to”

The sweet, cloying scent of perfume hit him first, a heady mix of flowers and vanilla that instantly relaxed his nerves. The walls were painted a soft, rosy pink, trimmed with crisp white molding. Pastel blue and green curtains adorned the windows, their gentle hues echoing in the twin beds adorned with pale blue sheets, a stark contrast to the brown bunks of his Hermes cabin.

Instead of the communal sleeping arrangements he was accustomed to, each camper here enjoyed the luxury of their own space. Twin beds stood side-by-side, separated by a blue dresser that boasted a large mirror and neatly organized drawers overflowing with what he could only assume were makeup and beauty products. In the corner, a chest with your name painted in a cheerful font held your personal belongings, and the space above your bed showcased an assortment of pin-ups – Hollywood starts and sultry singers plastered across the wall alongside a few candid photos of your friends, their faces beaming with laughter.

As Luke took in the scene, you walked further into the cabin, the plastic bag of leftover snacks crinkling in your hand. You tossed it onto the bed, rummaging through your chest for a change of clothes.

Suddenly, a small, gushing sound startled you. You looked up to find Luke standing directly in front of your bed, eyes sparkling like a little kid. In his hand, he held the can of leftover whipped cream, a playful white dollop clinging to his finger.

"Really?" you asked, a surprised laugh escaping your lips as you watched him contemplate licking it off. The audacity of the move, the playfulness in his eyes, made your insides twist.

"Don't judge me" he said. "I didn't get to lick it off someone's neck like everyone else did"

Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. His words were a playful accusation, but the way he looked at you, the way his gaze lingered on your lips for a beat too long again, it was more than just whipped cream he craved.

You stood up slowly, a smile playing on your lips. Walking towards him, you stopped just out of reach. "Because you didn't want to" you teased, your voice laced with a hint of playing.

Luke met your gaze, his smile fading into a more serious expression. "Honestly, no, I didn't" he admitted, looking down at you from his taller height. "In front of everyone, I mean."

You tilted your head, a knowing smile gracing your features. "Why not?" you pressed, your voice a gentle murmur.

"I was thinking," he began, you immediately catch up on his nervousness, "that maybe... maybe I could do it privately."

A slow smile spread across your face again. “Privately, huh?" you echoed, your voice a teasing murmur. “Who with?"

He scoffed. “Isn´t is obvious?”

A shiver danced down your spine at his words. You couldn't deny the thrill that coursed through you, the delicious anticipation that hung heavy in the air.

With a playful and exaggerated sigh, you sat on your bed, sinking down onto the soft mattress. You look up at him, resting both of your hands behind you, making yourself as comfortable as possible.

He stared down at you, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. He took a second to sit down next to you, the close proximity making your heart beat just a little louder, and the tip of your fingers sweat. The scent of your perfume, a sweet and intoxicating mix, filled his senses.

"Can I?" he asked.

You simply nodded. “Sure” you say. Every fiber of your being was waiting for him to follow in your footsteps, to recreate the intimate touch of your earlier dare.

Bingo.

You were convinced he was going for the same part of your body that you did on his, but instead, you felt the coolness of his fingertips against your skin as he gently pulled down the collar of your tank top, exposing the delicate curve of your collarbone and the top part of your breast.

A gasp escaped your lips as the coolness of the whipped cream hit your skin. Without missing a beat, Luke took tossed the can aside and, mimicking your earlier action, swiped his tongue across the exposed skin.

The cold sensation of the whipped cream mingled with the warmth of his touch, sending a shiver down your spine. You closed your eyes, savoring the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

His movements were slow and deliberate, his tongue tracing a lazy path across your skin. It was a stark contrast to the playful swipe you'd given him earlier, a wet touch that made both of you realize, very clearly, what this whole thing was about.

A soft moan escaped your lips, barely audible but undeniably present. Luke's breath hitched at the sound, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest.

Suddenly, you felt a sharp nip on your collarbone. Luke had bitten down slightly, the sensation sending a confusing feeling towards your chest.

"Gods, Luke, that's-" you gasped, the word dying on your lips as a wave of pleasure washed over you when his teeth grazed over it again. You didn't even care to finish your sentence, too lost in the whirlwind of emotions his touch ignited.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through you. He licked off the last bit of the sweet treat from your skin, mimicking the way you'd cleaned him earlier.

"There" he said, his voice thick with mockery. "All clean."

You stared at him, your eyes glazed over with a desire that mirrored his own. You felt like a wild animal, unleashed and untamed. Sweat beaded on your forehead, your breath coming in ragged gasps from your parted lips. Your collarbone glistened with saliva, a testament to the intimacy you'd just shared.

You couldn't take it anymore.

You smashed your lips against his in a hungry kiss. It was a kiss unlike any you'd ever experienced, raw and desperate, fueled by the tension that had been building between you all night.

Luke, caught off guard for a moment, quickly responded, his kiss turning passionate and possessive. He slipped one hand behind your back, pressing you closer, the other finding its way into your hair, tilting your head for a deeper kiss.

You tangled your fingers in the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you as you fell onto the bed. He followed willingly, his body hovering over yours. That dare. That fucking dare. It had morphed into something far more intense, a stolen moment of passion that threatened to consume you both.

The taste of whipped cream was there, with the heat of his kiss, a bizarre yet strangely intoxicating combination. Your senses were on fire, your body yearning for more. You reached up, your fingers tracing the planes of his face, memorizing the feel of his strong jawline, the slight stubble that brushed against your skin.

As the kiss deepened, his hand found its way under your shirt, sending a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. You gasped, a mixture of surprise and delight at his touch.

Your response was immediate when he started to graze his fingertips down your spine. You arched your back into his touch, a wordless plea for more. When he reached to your lower back, he grabbed your hip and pulled you impossibly closer to his body.

You felt his boner pocking on your inner thigh. You wondered how many hours he just spent with his dick painfully hardened, because you don’t really remember how many hours have passed since you chose dare as an option.

Your hands were quick to start pulling Luke’s shirt over his head. He only stopped kissing you to fully remove it and toss it to the ground, lips slamming against yours once again. He held a tight and possessive grab at your jaw, he didn’t want to let go of you.

The tip of his fingers trailed down your neck, your collarbone, a slow path down your body and over the fabric until his finger hooked your jeans, using a single had to get rid of the button, and quickly making it disappear along with his shirt.

“Why are you wearing this?” his voice had gone lower, his throat dry. He looked perfect like this, lips glistening with your saliva, hair messy and a finger hooked on the side of your light pink laced thong.

You couldn’t help but roam your eyes down his torso. The many years of training gifted him with a toned and well-worked body. His veins popped out with ease, starting on his biceps and getting more and more noticeable on his hands, manly, big and rough hands. You bit down on your lip for a moment, fingers tracing down his abdomen, he hissed at your cold fingers against his heated skin.

“It’s just my underwear, Luke” you explain. “Don’t like it?”

Instead of answering, the hand that was holding onto your tiny peace of underwear started trailing up your torso, flat against your stomach and all the way up to your sternum. He felt the soft fabric of your bra and gave you a lopsided smile. “I’m just hoping that this is matching”

And he got rid of your tank top. And it was, in fact, a matching set.

Luke couldn’t help but think that maybe you planned it all. Your cute lacy matching set, the empty cabin, the game. His mind started to race, circuits inside his brain working like a machine.

He hovered over your body again, trailing kisses around your neck. You moaned at the first one since he immediately found your sweet spot on the right side of it, goosebumps all the way from your skull to the bottom of your spine. “Was this all-, some plan of yours?” he asked, rushed voice and breaths coming out in gasps as he started to suck on your neck.

You giggled. “No, it wasn’t. But I was hoping for it-, oh” you moaned, pulling on his hair when he released his suck on your skin with a bop, but you felt his fingers trail up your inner thigh, knuckles brushing against your heated core.

“How?” he asked, slow and painfully teasing movements against your panties, occasionally focusing too much on your clit, making you gasp a little louder as you gripped on his bicep.

“I might have read all the cards earlier” you begin. “And I might have asked Silena to get me some whip cream with your cabin. Just in case I got to-, to do it with you. That’s why I wanted you to sit next to me”

Luke chuckled lowly, beads from his necklace tickling the skin on the base of your neck. “So it was a plan”

“No” you shrug off, feeling his lips against your neck again, sucking greedily. “I just, I wanted it. But I wasn’t sure it was gonna happen. I didn’t know this was gonna happen either”

Luke enjoyed so much the way you couldn’t even speak without letting out a moan or two in every sentence. He felt the fabric of your underwater getting wetter by the second. He listened to you and replied with little “hm’s” as if it was a casual conversation; a conversation in which you had him in your bed, almost naked, as he left bruises down your neck and you had his fingers teasing your entrance, hips rolling against his touch.

“You’re evil” he says. But it’s not you who’s touching him so boldly. It’s not you who leaves him wanting more, it’s not you who teases. But him.

So you let your hand make its way to his cargo pants, slipping past them and his boxers, directly going for his cock. A strangled moan escaped his lips, followed by his chest heaving up and down, surprised by your sudden movement. It felt hot against your hand, hot and heavy and you knew, that it was the hardest Luke has even been.

Your cupped hid balls just for a moment before you started to slowly ascent, finally reaching for his tip. Your fingers wrapped around his length and your thumb started torturous circles around his sensitive head. He sucked in his stomach constantly as you touched him, momentarily forgetting about your pleasure, but you enjoyed this a lot more.

“You really don’t want me to be evil, Luke” you say. “I could be evil and just stand up and make you walk to your cabin, or not letting you fuck me. But I’m not, ‘cause I really wanna feel you inside me, Luke. I really want you”

He let out a long and shaky breath full of relief when you started to bob your hand up and down, and that encouraged him to pull your thong aside, fingers teasing at your entrance. Your own breath came shaky as well when a single finger entered you.

Luke shook his head. “You’re so fucking wet” he pants. He didn’t even touched you properly and you were soaking his finger, lips glistening in your own arousal and leaving a wet patch on your pink underwear. “I need to taste you, doll. Please”

Your chest shakes when you laugh. You think it’s so cute that even though he has a finger buried inside you, your hand wrapped around his cock as you pump him slowly, he still says please, he still asks.

“Do whatever you want to me, Luke. I’m yours tonight”

That’s all the needed to hear. You let go of your hot grip as he steadies himself on your bed. But his hand reaches for something beside him, next to his calve. He brings the whip cream out again. “Can I try something?” he asks.

And how could you say no to his face?

You hold your breath when he leaves little balls of whip cream down your abdomen. You figure it’s empty now, because Luke throws it carelessly to the ground, a soft thud against the carpet on the side of your bed.

He holds your waist steady when you squirm slightly, as if you were about to run away from him. He glances at you for a second, his eyes, dark and dominant, basically telling you to not move a single inch. The plain sight of him, looking at you like that, while his big hands are gripped on your sides, only made you wetter.

He lowers his head to the first blob, tongue agonizingly slow as he only takes the very tip. You whine, you want him to touch you more, you want him to kiss you everywhere, to lick you everywhere, but he only makes it seems like a torture when he stops his movements.

“The more you complain, the more time I’ll take” he said. You nodded to his words, closing your eyes as you tried your best to patiently wait for him to start again.

Soon, you felt his tongue against your skin. This was so much better than your cleavage, so much hotter. You felt his teeth teasing you, attempting to bite but then pulling again, licking the last bit of whip cream before moving down to the next blob. By the time he reached under your belly button, you let out little gasps as his hands massage your inner thighs, dangerously close to your cunt.

He’s not directly touching you, but you feel the arousal getting ticker, and how close Luke’s breath was now to you, so hot and dry. You felt like dripping, even though you weren’t, but you were surely more than ready for whatever it is that he wanted to do to you.

It feels like heaven to him when he finally gets to taste you. He pushed his own head deeper in between your thighs as he groans, as if what he’s getting is not enough. Your high pitched moans fill his ears when his tongue starts slow, little kitten licks over your clit, too soft to even consider them as licks, but it has you squirming and grinding your hips down onto his face, pulling at his curls and asking him for more.

Oh, your sweet pleas. Your moans. Luke feels like a mad man as he start to gently rut his hips against your mattress. And to this point, he’s completely gone in you, too drunk to even care about how loud you were being, how hard he was eating you out, how if someone even tried to walk past your cabin, they’ll hear.

But maybe this is just what he wanted too. He didn’t know how long has it been since he realized he wanted to fuck your brains out, but he always cared about everything too. Where could it be, in a place where no one could see you, how he’d have to cover your mouth to stop you from moaning and letting the others hear you, how he had to pull his dick out slowly and put it back in at the same speed because he knew that if he did it too hard, he’ll become a mess. But he didn’t give a fuck about those things now. He finally had you as he wanted you, why in the world would he care about all those stupid things now?

In fact, he encouraged you. “Don’t hide those pretty noises from me, baby” he panted. “Let me hear you”

He was drooling. He couldn’t help it. You tasted so deliciously sweet, and not because of the whip cream leftovers on his mouth. Yes, it did change things a bit but, he knew how to distinguish what was artificial and what was you. And he loved you. He loved how you couldn’t stop coating his lips with your juices, how your arousal mixed with his saliva and dripped down your ass and onto the sheets.

He never enjoyed a meal so much.

“Luke, wait” you say, pulling at his curls but he only leaned into you more, nose bumping against your clit as his tongue remains inside you. “Luke, I’m gonna cum, wait”

“Then cum” he lifted his head as fast as possible when he heard your words. “Do it, baby.” He noticed the way your thighs were shaking, soothing them down with the palm of his hands.

You shook your head. “No, no” you whine. “I wanna do it while you fuck me, Luke. Please? It’ll feel so good, please”

Luke was starstruck. Oh, how the tables have turned. And how he turned you around too.

You still laid in bed, faced down onto the mattress. Luke had placed a pillow under your hips, ass in the air as he placed himself over you, one knee on each side of your legs. The shaking on your legs had stopped, but Luke noticed how excited you were, how even though you were so fucked up, how a white and sticky mess covered your inner thighs and how your whole body was glistening with sweat, you still managed to crack a smile to yourself as you bit your thumb.

You were driving him crazy. He wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to look at another’s girl’s face after you. You had him wrapped around your finger and you knew it, and you were just so mean about it, patiently waiting for him to fuck you as he pumps himself a few times, cock harder than it’ll ever be again and his tip leaking with precum.

He placed himself in your entrance, slowly rubbing it up and down your folds, and pushing himself into you at an agonizing pace. His tip was quickly covered in you, glistening with a mix of his saliva and your juices. He tried his best to not let any drop go to waste, getting absorbed by your sheets.

“You wanted my cock, didn’t you, doll?” he asks, pushing himself into you faster than you expected, a loud gasp scraping from your throat. “Then take it”

Your hands instantly reached for the sheets on your sides due to his fast pace, that took the air out of your lungs and started a racing heartbeat inside you, your knuckles quickly turning white as your nails digging into them, but Luke took them both, pushing your wrists together behind your back and holding them there. He used your hands to push himself deeper every time, rock harder, faster.

You were decent enough to muffle your moans in your sheets, but Luke could still hear them mixing with his owns; low grunts, loud gasps and hitched breaths. He had to close his eyes many times to prevent himself from cumming, because what a sight did he have under him.

Your cunt, shiny and coated with a white creamy consistent was sucking him in even when he pulled out. You were so greedy for him. Your walls tightened around him and wanted him to stay there, still, but the rocking of his hips and the gushing sounds of your pussy as he pounded into you was too good to let it pass.

He loved the sound. He loved how you were much wetter inside, making himself feel as if he was pounding into the tiniest and warmest hole ever, creaming his cock and not wanting for him to ever pull out and leave.

He suddenly lowered his body to yours, one hand letting go off his grip to pull your hair aside. “You say you’re mine tonight” he repeated your words in your ear. Your back arched unconsciously, ass slamming back into his cock. “Nah, baby. You’re mine forever”

He let go of your hands, only to place one hand on your throat, pulling you slightly back to him, his fingers squeezing on your sides. Your moans quickly became quite as you tried your best to breathe, but you loved it so much you didn’t even attempt to remove his hand from you.

“You’re all mine, yn” he panted. “Mine. This body,” he gripped on your waist with his free hand, “this pussy, those lips” a ghost of his thumb brushed your bottom lip, pulling down on it. “Mine. Mine. Mine”

He slammed his hips against you repeatedly. You didn’t know when exactly, but you came, and Luke felt it too when the consistent that ringed around the base of his cock became more and more noticeable. And it didn’t take him long to do the same.

He collapsed over your body as you finally gasped for air. You coughed slightly, tears forming on the corner of your eyes but quickly drying out.

“I’m sorry” he said, sliding off you and laying next to you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah-,” you laugh “Yeah, I’m-, wow”

That made him laugh. His arm wrapped around your waist as he placed a tender kiss on your cheek. His hands then started to run down your hair, all the way down to your lower back. You close your eyes at the feeling, only momentarily opening them to see something red in between your clothes, shining carelessly to the moonlight from your window.

You reach down to grab the empty can. “We should get another one of these” you say.

[l-e-morgan-author]

The first chapter of Long Way Down (locked to registered users only) clocks in at 939 words, and unveils part of the backstory of one of my main characters in this year's November novel, Wren Macallister. There is a trigger warning for a suicide attempt which lasts all of this chapter.

I am slightly sick of how much mental illness plays into my characters so, so often. It seems all I can write about these days, which is sad.

[loljaeyunz]

𝐒𝐔𝐍 & 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 | 𝐏𝐒𝐇

PAIRING: neglected prince! sunghoon x princess! reader

SUMMARY: park sunghoon, the forsaken prince of the south, had always lived in the shadows of jaeyun's favor. but then you arrived. your presence ignited a flame within him that he had long thought extinguished, and he became profoundly attached to you.

but, when the news of your marriage to jaeyun, the very bastard who had usurped everything sunghoon held dear—reached him, his world shattered once again. now, consumed by helplessness and bitter longing, he understands that no matter how desperately you both cling to each other, you are slipping through his fingers. there is nothing he can do but watch as the love you share is slowly pulled away, knowing that no amount of trying can change the fate that’s already been written. but still, he is willing to try.

GENRE: royalty, love triangle, forbidden love, angst, smut, fluff if you squint

WORD COUNT: 9k

RELEASED: 12th september

TAGLIST: @dollyyun @indigoez @shuichi-sama @capri-cuntz @jiminie-08

@isa942572 @tasnim10 @alienqbrain @arcimedais @irers @mitmit01

@304files @sjakewrld @superbbananananana @deezbin @woorcve

WARNINGS: poor attempt at angst, sunghoon kinda desperate, unprotected sex, pull out method, fingering, breast play,

***

sunghoon was born into a world of privilege and wealth. he was surrounded by unending luxury since he was the lone heir to the royal line. his father planned a sumptuous feast to celebrate his birth and mark the coming of the beloved prince.

everything he could ask for was at his fingertips. he was educated by the most esteemed scholars, dressed in the finest silks, and surrounded by attendants eager to fulfill his every whim. he received expert sword training, had access to the most prestigious collections of art and music, and was given a magnificent garden by his mother.

he embraced every luxury and opportunity, fully prepared to ascend the throne one day. but everything changed when he turned ten. the king, to sunghoon's utter disbelief, revealed the existence of another son, jaeyun, an illegitimate child born of a mistress. 

people were at ease calling jaeyun the king's son, even though he lacked the royal qualities sunghoon so clearly displayed and looked nothing like the king. yet, what infuriated sunghoon most was the king announcing jaeyun as the crown prince, casting aside the rightful heir who carried the true royal blood.

sunghoon was left in a storm of anger and betrayal, unable to understand how his father could deprive him of his birthright and give preference to a kid who, in his opinion, was just a fake.

jaeyun swiftly rose to become the beloved, kind kid of the castle. and as he became the kingdom's favorite, sunghoon watched in rage. it was almost like a bad joke. nobility, attendants, and even royal officials all admired the mistress's kid, the bastard. they spoke of him as the real example of morality and commended his generosity, compassion, and soft heart. in the meantime, sunghoon was ignored, written off as nothing more than a spoilt, pampered prince who was born into wealth and status but didn't deserve the affection of the people.

the world around him refused to treat sunghoon with respect or justice, and his mother was the only one who stood up for him. but, despite her best efforts, the bitterness that was consuming him remained, and she was unable to protect him from the constant barrage of rumors that were echoing through the hallways and comparing him to jaeyun.

sunghoon hated jaeyun for stealing everything from him, including his position, title, and the affection that was rightfully his. but what he hated even more was jaeyun's constant attempts to build a bond between them, as if they were meant to be brothers. he always smiled and stretched out to sunghoon with his boundless generosity. sunghoon couldn't stand it. he hated that every time he made jaeyun cry or called him derogatory names, or pushed him away, jaeyun would always forgive him. that unwavering kindness served as a constant reminder that jaeyun will always be the preferred one, which only made  unghoon more enraged. he never referred to him as a brother since, to him, jaeyun was only a bastard.

but there was one thing sunghoon believed that the bastard couldn’t have; you. 

you were the only princess of a faraway kingdom, visiting theirs for the first time when you were seventeen. sunghoon first met you in his garden one bright morning, where the soft sunlight cast a golden glow on you as you were determined to gather a tangerine from one of the trees. he stood in amused silence as he watched you struggle, your expensive dress catching on branches as you failed miserably at climbing the tree.

“i do not recall permitting strangers to enter my garden?” he called out to you, a smirk playing on his lips. the sound of his words frightened you to the point that you lost your balance and fell off the tree. but before you could hit the ground, sunghoon was there, swift and steady, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. he held you close, his grip firm and protective, your faces mere inches apart as you both froze in the moment, his gaze fixed on yours. “stealing tangerines, my lady?” 

he liked you in that moment, your wide-eyed surprise and the way you had been so determined despite the absurdity of climbing a tree in such fine clothes. there was something endearing in your boldness, in the way you held your breath as if caught in a mischievous act. sunghoon found himself lingering a little longer, not letting you go immediately, enjoying the closeness. and though he spoke of tangerines, it was clear that his interest had already shifted entirely to you.

but he knew he had fallen in love with you when you began treating him with kindness, not out of obligation like everyone else in the castle did. your kindness wasn’t because he was a prince or someone you had to impress. it was genuine, natural, and so effortlessly sincere. you spoke to him as if he were just sunghoon, not the forgotten heir, not the spoiled prince, but simply a person. it was in the way you laughed with him, how you listened, and how you seemed to see him for who he truly was. and that, more than anything, captivated him.

he sought your attention whenever you came, always finding excuses to be near you. whether it was arranging to meet in the garden again or subtly positioning himself where you would be, he was driven by a desire to be close to you. your presence, your genuine warmth, became the highlight of his days. he cherished every moment, every conversation, and every smile, desperate to savor the connection he had come to treasure more than anything else in his world.

you made him run after you for a whole two years, tirelessly pursuing you with an intensity that left no doubt about his feelings. he begged for your attention, presented you with countless gifts, and did everything in his power to win your heart, all in an effort to prove his devotion to you.

every time you visited his kingdom, he was there, waiting, hoping, and showing you just how much you meant to him, making you feel as though you were the only girl gracing the world with your beauty and grace. 

and finally, you accepted him into your heart. 

you began meeting him in secret, sneaking away from the prying eyes of the court. you both knew that keeping your relationship hidden was the only way to avoid the mess that would come from the royal court’s intense scrutiny. if people found out, it could create a scandal, stirring up all sorts of trouble and judgment. with sunghoon’s complicated position and the favoritism toward jaeyun, you wanted to protect what you had from all that drama. so, your secret meetings were your way of keeping your love safe and away from the harsh realities of court life.

you knew he truly loved you. it wasn’t just in the way he looked at you, but in every small thing he did to keep you close. his love for you ran so deep, it felt like something unbreakable, something that would make anyone jealous if they knew about it. he didn’t just see you as an escape from his struggles; you became his reason for peace, the one person who made all the weight of the world disappear when he was with you. and as much as he adored you, your love for him was just as fierce, a connection so intense that it felt like nothing could come between you, not even the royal court or the kingdom’s expectations.

though, it had all been an illusion – an illusion you both had created in your minds, one that allowed you to live in happiness for a time. but it was always fragile, destined to shatter eventually.

it came crashing down when your families made an unexpected arrangement – one that bound you to jaeyun instead. the announcement that you were to wed him, and not sunghoon, tore through everything you had shared. the life you had envisioned with sunghoon vanished in an instant, leaving only the cold, harsh truth of the kingdom's expectations. 

he thought you were his, that no matter what titles jaeyun held or how beloved he was by the kingdom, you belonged to sunghoon alone. jaeyun could never take that from him, or so he thought. but sunghoon was mistaken. the moment the marriage preparations started, he realized with crushing clarity that even you, the one thing he believed jaeyun could never possess, had been about to taken from him.

sunghoon’s frustration boiled over in the days following the preparations. the thought of you standing beside jaeyun, the very person who had stolen everything from him, sent waves of anger coursing through his veins. he couldn’t understand how fate could be so cruel – how it could give him someone as precious as you, only to rip you away and place you in the arms of the bastard he despised. 

that’s why sunghoon couldn’t just sit still and watch you slip away. his anger turned to determination, and one day he stormed into his father’s chambers. he didn’t know that was going to be the first mistake he made.

“how can you be so blind?! jaeyun is nothing but a bastard from the slums, not even your real child. and now you’re marrying off the princess of the east to him? this is a disgrace and an insult to the royal family and to her!” 

after sunghoon’s outburst, the king’s eyes narrowed with a mix of suspicion and fury. “you have no right to question my decisions! what is it that’s making you act out so violently?! is there a secret affair between you and the princess that you’re trying to protect? speak now before i take drastic measures!”

sunghoon stood paralyzed, his throat tightening as he struggled to find the right words. fear gripped him, thinking that disclosing any details about his relationship with you would put you at risk. he couldn’t afford for you to be harmed in any way. the words caught in his throat, and his silence only served to heighten the king’s suspicion. unbeknownst to him, this inability to respond only made him appear more guilty in his father’s eyes.

the king laughed bitterly, a harsh, derisive sound that filled the room. “so, you have no defense, only silence. how convenient. it seems you have been hiding something after all.” the king walked up to sunghoon, his hands clasped behind and a sick smile adorning his face. “pray tell, son, do you truly believe yourself a more suitable match for the princess? do you imagine that a mere boy like yourself could bring her the happiness she deserves? do you even understand the nature of women, boy? jaeyun will prove a far better husband for her than you ever could. he embodies all that you lack—kindness, duty, wisdom, and the adoration of the people. most importantly, he will be a true family man, qualities you sorely lack.”

sunghoon’s jaw clenched, and eyes fell to the floor, his father's words cutting through him like a blade. he felt as if he was nothing more than a pampered fool, unworthy of the love he sought and the life he was born into. he clenched his fists, struggling to push back the crushing weight of his own insecurities.

“she will wed jaeyun, and if you possess even a shred of regard for her well-being, you will abandon this foolish defiance. if your love for her is genuine, then you will step aside with dignity, for any further insolence will only bring suffering upon her—suffering caused by your own unworthy and unlovable nature.” with those final words, the kind left no room for further discussion, his decision made clear.

his heart, once filled with certainty and defiance, now cracked under the weight of doubt. he felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him. the king’s contemptuous questions echoed in his mind, making him question his worth and his place in the world. was he truly so unfit to love you? had his anger and resentment blinded him to his own flaws? was jaeyun truly the better man—the one who could offer you everything sunghoon never could? the thought of stepping aside, of watching you live a life with jaeyun, made his chest tighten with unbearable pain. he had always believed you were his, that his love was enough, but now... now, he wasn’t sure of anything.

a dark seed of insecurity planted itself in his heart, twisting his anger into something deeper, more dangerous. it was no longer just about losing his birthright; now, it was about losing you, the one person who made him feel like more than just a shadow. the idea of you loving jaeyun, of smiling for him the way you once smiled for sunghoon, was enough to drive him mad. but still, the king’s words echoed in his mind: if you truly love her, you will let her go. and for the first time in his life, sunghoon didn’t know if he was strong enough to do that.

and as he watched you across the table one dinner night, his gaze never left you. he observed your every movement as you sat beside jaeyun, the way your hand delicately rested near his, how jaeyun leaned closer to speak with you. every soft smile you gave jaeyun felt like a dagger in his chest. sunghoon’s jaw tightened as he gripped his cup, a torrent of emotions raging inside him. 

that should be me.

she should be marrying me, not him.

unable to take it any longer, sunghoon abruptly stood, the sound of his chair scraping across the floor echoing through the room. all eyes shifted towards him, but he didn’t care. his gaze remained fixed on you. 

“this charade has gone on long enough,” sunghoon declared, his voice cutting through the murmur of conversation. “i have no time for this.”

the king’s face darkened with anger as he seethed, his voice harsh and commanding. “sit down, sunghoon. the evening is not over, yet.”

sunghoon met his father’s glare with a defiant stare. “i refuse to be part of this farce,” he replied sharply. his eyes then shifted to you, and in that fleeting moment, his gaze was filled with longing. “i will take my leave now, your majesty.”

without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and strode out of the hall, his footsteps echoing as he made his way toward the exit. he threw one last meaningful glance over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on you with an intensity that spoke of all he couldn’t say. the door slammed shut behind him, leaving an empty seat and a heavy silence in his wake.

that night, sunghoon knew for certain that he couldn’t bear the thought of jaeyun’s hands on you. even the mere idea of jaeyun taking what was meant to be sunghoon’s was unbearable. his insecurities, his pain, all fed into a singular, desperate resolve: he would make you his. you might be promised to jaeyun by royal decree, but sunghoon would make sure that it was his touch, his smell, his presence, that lingered in your thoughts, that stayed with you long after the wedding vows were spoken. he couldn’t let jaeyun steal this last piece of his world, and he was willing to keep you tied to him, heart and soul. 

*

you wander through the garden, eyes scanning the surroundings as you search for your lover. you find him in his garden, as always. the early morning sun bathes the greenery in a soft, golden glow, its light just beginning to filter through the trees. the air is crisp, but you feel a simmering frustration inside as you approach sunghoon, who stands with his back to you, staring into the distance.

"what was that all about last night?" you ask, your tone sharp but not quite angry. it’s more of an irritated curiosity, the kind that demands an answer but without real fury behind it.

he doesn’t turn immediately, but you can see the tension in his posture. after a moment, he glances over his shoulder, eyes meeting yours. 

“you can’t seriously be asking me that.” he says quietly, though there’s an edge to his voice.

“i am,” you reply, stepping closer. “i don’t understand why you acted that way in front of everyone.”

sunghoon finally turns to face you fully, crossing his arms as he leans back against the stone bench. his gaze is intense, like the morning sun itself. “what else was i supposed to do? sit there and pretend everything’s fine? pretend i don’t care when jaeyun’s sitting next to you like-” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening.

you sigh, crossing your own arms. “you can’t keep doing that, sunghoon. storming off, making a scene. it only makes things harder.”

“for who?” he snaps. “for me? for you? or for that bastard, who gets everything handed to him while i-” his voice wavers before he swallows hard, regaining his composure.

there’s a beat of silence between you two, the only sound being the soft rustle of the leaves in the breeze. the frustration still lingers in the air, but underneath it is something deeper, unspoken, pulling at both of you.

abruptly, sunghoon closes the gap, his hands finding your cheeks with a surprising tenderness. the suddenness of his touch makes your breath hitch, your heart skipping a beat as his fingers brush lightly against your skin, holding you in place with an intensity that leaves you momentarily frozen.

“you don’t get it, do you, my love?” sunghoon’s voice trembles slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “you don’t get how i can’t bear to see jaeyun near you,” he says, his nose brushing gently against yours, the touch almost tender, as if he’s trying to bridge the gap between your hearts.

“stop, someone could see us.” you attempt to push him away, but he stands his ground, his body staying firmly in place as if anchored to the spot. 

“no, you don’t get that even just the thought of him breathing the same air as you drives me to the edge of madness,” he continues, his voice growing more urgent. “you, my love, don’t get how much it hurts that he has what should be mine - that you are to wed him, even when you should only be mine.” sunghoon’s grip tightens on your cheeks, his eyes never leaving yours. 

you hold his wrists, your voice filled with emotion. “don’t say it like that, sunghoon. i am yours, always and forever. not a day goes by that i am not yours. i shall be yours forever. my beloved prince, the only thing keeping us apart is the world. i need you to feel and know that nothing, not even a promise or a crown, can ever change the reality of who we are.”

the weight of everything presses down on you in that moment, his touch, his words, the sharp edge of the world you both live in. your mind spins, torn between the life you've been forced into and the one you yearn for. sunghoon’s desperation, his jealousy, mirrors the conflict in your own heart. a part of you wishes you could forget the chains that bind you to the kingdom, to jaeyun, to duty. but reality is there.

you know the risks, the consequences that will follow if you give in to this, yet here you are, heart racing, palms sweaty, trembling under his touch. sunghoon’s love is overwhelming, but a part of you craves it. it’s been so long since you’ve felt that from anyone. he wants you fully, without restraint, and that truth fills your chest with warmth, even though it terrifies you.

but there’s guilt, too. jaeyun. the wedding. the vows you haven’t spoken yet but are bound by, nonetheless. you wonder if there’s a way out, if you could ever find peace in the chaos that surrounds you. you want to reach out, to close the gap that has been forced between you. 

despite the anxiety swirling within you, sunghoon’s presence feels like a powerful anchor, grounding you in a way nothing else can. his closeness, his unwavering focus on you, drowns out the chaos and fear. his love feels like both a burden and a gift, but in this moment, you realize how deeply you want to bear it.

“i want to show you a place,” you say quietly, your voice steadying as you pull back just enough to meet his gaze.

his brow furrows slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together. “come with me.”

you lead sunghoon deeper into the forest, the trees growing denser with every step. branches twist together overhead, blocking out most of the light, casting the two of you in shadows. it’s a narrow, almost overgrown path—one that seems untouched, hidden from the world. 

after several minutes of walking in silence, sunghoon speaks up "where are you taking me?"

you glance over your shoulder, offering a small smile. “i know a place. somewhere no one will find us. just us.”

he doesn’t press further, and you continue the trek, leading him through the maze of trees. the forest seems almost impenetrable, the thick canopy overhead making it feel as if the world outside doesn’t exist. it’s as though you’ve left everything behind- the kingdom, the responsibilities, jaeyun - all of it feels far away here.

finally, after what feels like a long walk, the trees begin to part, but not in any obvious way. the path narrows further, and you have to push aside a thick cluster of branches. beyond the trees, the hidden lake comes into view, shrouded by the dense foliage that surrounds it. its surface is perfectly still, barely catching any sunlight from the sky above. it’s a place that could easily go unnoticed, tucked away in this forgotten corner of the forest.

you step aside to let sunghoon take in the view, the two of you standing at the edge of the water. “this is it,” you say softly. “no one ever comes here. it’s just us.”

sunghoon’s grip on your hand loosening slightly as his eyes scan the serene scene before you both. the hidden lake is breathtaking, a secret world untouched by the palace’s watchful eyes. the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the gentle ripple of water are the only sounds breaking the silence between you.

after a moment, he speaks, his voice laced with curiosity. “how did you come to know of this place?” he glances at you, brow raised. “i’ve lived here my whole life, and yet i was unaware of its existence.”

you flash him a cocky smile, a teasing glint in your eyes. "the castle walls are thin," you say with a playful tone, leaning in slightly. "i overheard one of the servants talking about it."

sunghoon lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “so, the esteemed princess of the  east takes it upon herself to eavesdrop on the musings of servants?”

you laugh, shrugging. "sometimes it pays off. i couldn’t resist coming to see if it was real. and now..."

your gaze grows more sultry, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. you step closer, fingers brushing lightly against his chest as you slowly unfasten the buttons of his blouse. the intimate gesture shifts the mood, and the air around you becomes charged with a new, heated energy.

“and now,” you say again softly, your voice a mere whisper against his ear, “i think it’s time we enjoy this secret together, don’t you?”

sunghoon’s breath catches, and eyes darken at your words, faces inches away from each other.

the blouse slips off his shoulders, exposing the smooth lines of his chest. his hand reaches for your wrist, guiding it to rest gently on his chest, where you can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. he holds your gaze, a silent question lingering in his eyes, waiting for you to respond to the unspoken invitation.

without warning, you grasp the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him toward you with a forceful urgency. his eyes widen in surprise, but they quickly soften as your lips crash against his. the kiss is fierce, filled with the passion and frustration that have been building between you, a desperate need to close the distance that has always existed.

sunghoon’s breath catches in his throat as he responds, his hands moving to cradle your face, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your very beings together. 

he pulls away just enough to catch his breath. he speaks with a voice rough and filled with an almost primal need. “do you crave me too like i crave you, y/n?” then, he moves to your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he presses a series of burning kisses along your collarbone. "like i crave your body, every inch of you,” he murmurs between kisses, "the way you feel against me, the sound of your breath, the taste of your skin. please, i need all of you." 

“then have me, my beloved. have me all to yourself.”

your breaths mingle, warm and ragged, as you stay close. sunghoon’s hands slide to the front of your kirtle, his fingers finding the strings that are secured at your chest and he works them loose.

as the kirtle loosens, it gradually falls away from your shoulders, exposing your bare body to his appreciative eyes. sunghoon’s gaze roams over you with unabashed hunger, his eyes lingering on the curve of your breasts, the softness of your skin. the sight of you, fully revealed, makes his breath quicken and his eyes darken with raw, intense desire. he takes in every detail with a mixture of awe and possessiveness, as if he’s discovering a hidden treasure that belongs only to him.

to him, you are nothing short of a blessing, a gift that he feels unworthy of receiving. his breath catches as he takes in every curve, every detail, his heart swelling with an overwhelming sense of adoration. he feels blessed just to be in your presence, to witness you like this.

"you’re more beautiful than i ever dreamed." he whispers, his voice reverent, filled with a deep, unshakable awe.

he slowly removes his breeches, freeing himself from its confines, his movements unhurried. as his garment falls away, your eyes linger on him for a moment, drawn to the sight of his exposed manhood. a rush of heat floods your cheeks. your gaze trails over his physique, the hard lines of muscle and the evidence of his arousal, standing proudly before you.

sunghoon smirks at the shy look in your eyes before he reaches for your hand with a gentle yet firm grip, guiding you toward the shimmering surface of the lake. his touch is both reassuring and electrifying as he leads you into the cool, inviting water, the gentle ripples caressing your skin as you step together into the embrace of the lake’s serene depths.

“now, aren’t you my swan?” he murmurs, his voice soft. with deliberate slowness, he reaches out, brushing aside the strands of hair that had been modestly shielding your breasts. “such beauty, such grace. oh my lord, is it all for me, my love?” 

sunghoon pulls you closer, his chest pressing firmly against yours as his lips find yours once again, the kiss deeper and more fervent. the gentle waves lap at your skin, but the only thing you feel is him, his hands gripping your waist, his lips moving in sync with yours, the sheer desire in the way he touches you.

his hands roam over your back, the cool water contrasting with the fire that blazes between your bodies. you feel the way his fingers press into your skin, the possessive grip of someone who has craved you for too long, unable to hold back anymore. his breath is ragged against your lips, each kiss hotter and hungrier than the last.

"you're all mine, right?" he whispers between kisses, and you can only softly hum as an answer. 

his lips move down the column of your neck, nipping and sucking gently at the sensitive skin, drawing soft moans from your lips. hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your thigh beneath the water. a rush of heat surges through you, mixing with the cool sensation of the lake, and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, steadying yourself as his kisses grow more fervent, more desperate.

sunghoon's lips trail lower, grazing over your collarbone and down toward your chest, his breath hot against your damp skin. every touch sends shivers through your body, your pulse quickening as his hands explore the curves of your waist, your hips, your ass. he tilts his head back up, head resting on the valley of your tits, eyes locked onto yours with a look of pure hunger.

the voice is low and hoarse as he breathes against your skin, “please tell me you’re mine, i need to hear it. i need to know you’re only mine. that no one else will ever have you like this.” his hands tighten slightly on your waist, his gaze burning into yours, desperate for your answer. "say it, please… that you’re mine, now and always." his breath shaky, waiting for you to respond, his need for reassurance almost as overwhelming as his desire for you.

you cradle his cheeks in your hands, your eyes softening. “in this moment, and every moment that follows, i am wholly yours. i promise you, my dearest, no one else will ever touch me, love me, or have me like you do. only you have this piece of me, forever.” you pull him for a kiss, pouring every ounce of your affection and reassurance into it. his grip on you tightens, and before you realize it, he has you pressed up against the edge of the lake, your back against the cool stone as he leans into you, while his lips continue to caress yours with a loving, unhurried rhythm.

his hands roam freely now, the water sloshing gently around you as his touch becomes bolder. the tension that’s been simmering between you for so long has reached its breaking point, and neither of you can resist it any longer. you can feel every inch of him against you, the heat, the longing, the urgency in the way he holds you. 

“i want you to make love to me, sunghoon.” 

sunghoon’s eyes darken with a fierce intensity as he hears your plea. he pulls back slightly, his breath mingling with yours. “i’ve waited my whole life for this, my love.”

as sunghoon captures your lips once more, the kiss quickly deepens. he bites down on your lower lip, causing you to whine into his mouth. seizing the opportunity, he slips his tongue into your moist heat, seeking yours with fevered urgency. his movements are messy, growing hungrier and sloppier with each passing second. the way his mouth devours yours, the slick heat of his tongue against yours, makes it feel as though you’re both desperately trying to claim every part of the other. 

your breath falters when his hands move to your breasts, fingers curling around them with a firm, possessive grip. his palms brush over your sensitive nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through your body. it overwhelms you, and you break the kiss, your forehead resting against his as you pant softly. a thin string of saliva still connects your parted lips. unwavered, he begins to massage, kneading the soft flesh with a steady rhythm, your gazes locked. the pressure of his hands send waves of slick pooling in your cutn, each squeeze making your nipples tighten even more.

then he lowers himself to the same height as your nipples, taking one into his mouth and beginning to suck it like a parched man at an oasis. with a consuming rhythm, his tongue tracing circles around the sensitive peak. he lavishes the same attention on the other, his fingers deftly rolling and pinching the neglected nipple. the combined sensations of his warm, eager mouth and the stimulation from his fingers cause a moan to escape your lips before you can hold it back. you bite down on your lower lip in a futile attempt to stifle the sound, but your body betraying you as quiet gasps escape.

he pulls away from your nipple with a wet, audible pop and looks at you, his eyes dark with desire. “don’t try to hold back,” he commands, though his voice betrays a hint of need. “i want to hear every sound you make.”

he then attaches himself to your other nipple, wetting it with his saliva like the other one. your hands instinctively grip his hair as you arch your back. his mouth works eagerly, his tongue flicking and sucking with a relentless rhythm. his fingers dip into the water and finds your clit, teasing it with skilled strokes.

the pleasure builds swiftly as he lavishes your breasts with attention, his hot, insistent mouth working in tandem with the relentless stimulation below. the overwhelming sensations push you to the edge, gasps and moans escaping uncontrollably as your body trembles under his touch.

“sunghoon… it feels-” you say, tightening your grip on his hair as you battle to retain your control.

“good? this is nothing compared to what i am about to make you feel, my love.” 

suddenly, a loud moan erupts from you as his finger breaches your entrance, sliding inside with a slow, deliberate motion. the new sensation leaves you breathless, your body instinctively pushing back against his hand, wanting more. the sight of him never taking his eyes from your face as he keeps busying his mouth, sucking and teasing your nipple, is an utterly lewd display, his gaze filled with raw desire. 

he curls his finger within you, searching for that perfect spot to send you spiraling further into pleasure. every movement of his hand is synchronized with his mouth on your chest, his touch igniting a fire that spreads through your entire body. you feel yourself losing control, the overwhelming pleasure making it harder to hold back your cries.

he inserts another finger inside you, scissoring them to ease you open nicely. you feel a deep pressure building within, like a tightly wound knot yearning to be undone. with each stroke, the tension winds tighter, leaving you aching with a desperate need for release.

“i… ugh please, sunghoon, i wanna cum,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with the urgency of your desire. hearing the desperation in your voice, his fingers hasten, thrusting deeper with a renewed fervor. every stroke sends a jolt of pleasure through you, drawing you closer to the brink, your body instinctively arching towards him as the pressure inside you mounts, ready to burst.

the lake water churns around his rapidly moving wrist, splashing against parts of your body that have remained dry until now. the sudden coolness of the water only heightens your climax as you come undone on his fingers. your broken moans reverberate through the forest, and you can only cling to the hope that no one is nearby to hear you.

sunghoon helps you ride out your orgasm before withdrawing his fingers. gently, he brushes the damp strands of hair clinging to your face from sweat, then cups your face in his hands and captures your lips in a searing kiss. lips moving against each other in a harmonious rhythm, and his tongue dances with yours in a way that feels both urgent and consuming.

sunghoon's fingers trail down the sides of your thighs, gripping hard enough to leave marks, his eyes burning with desire as they wordlessly tell you to prepare yourself.

with a throaty sound, he pulls you up in one swift motion, your body rising from the water as his hands grip your thighs tightly. your legs instinctively wrap around him, pulling him against you as he steps forward, pinning you against the rugged stone, its cold surface digging into your skin.

you cling to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he keeps you suspended against the rough stone. his hands move higher up your thighs, fingers digging in as he adjusts his grip, making sure you're locked around him. 

you feel the tip of his cock pressing against your folds, the thin layer of water between you doing nothing to cool the growing heat. you both whimper when his hips press forward, cock grinding against your folds in slow, teasing motions.

“sunghoon, don’t tease,” you moan as his cock’s tip presses inside you, then pulls out with a maddening slowness. the slick head brushes against your sensitive inner walls before withdrawing, making your body writhe in frustration. you shiver, your hole gaping as it aches for the fullness that was just barely given. “please, just fill me up. i need you inside me."

hearing your desperate plea, his hips snap forward with a brutal force, the head of his cock slamming deep inside you. a guttural groan rumbles from his throat as he fills you completely, stretching you with a pressure so intense it makes you shiver. you moan loudly, your walls clamping down around him, trying to accommodate his hard, throbbing length.

he wastes no time, thrusting into you with a relentless pace, each motion driving him deeper, his cock dragging along your inner walls with an intoxicating friction. the raw and rough feeling of him moving in and out makes your body quiver with intense pleasure.

he thrusts into you with such unrelenting force that each powerful stroke causes you to bounce up and down on his cock, making your tits jiggle with every thrust, moving rhythmically to match his powerful rhythm. his strong arms, wrapped securely around your thighs, keep you steady; without his firm hold, you would surely topple into the water. 

while he continues to drive into you, he lowers his mouth to your collarbone and begins to kiss, bite and lick the sensitive skin there. his lips are hot and insistent, trailing a path of fiery pleasure along your neck and shoulders. your mouth falls open in a breathless gasp, the only sounds escaping you are guttural moans of ugh ugh ugh that reverberate in the air.

as the pressure inside you mounts, your fingers claw at his back, leaving angry red trails as you cling to him for support. each thrust he delivers feels impossibly deep, his cock stretching you to the brink with every powerful movement. 

your climax builds rapidly, and you clench around him, muscles spasming around his cock with intense need. you can hardly keep your moans in check, the sound of your gasps mingling with the rhythmic slapping of flesh.

feeling the way your pussy tightens around him, he growls low and rough into your ear, his voice dripping with lust. “you’re so tight, my love, i can barely hold on. perfectly wrapped around my cock like you were made for me.” his filthy words drive you even closer to the edge. your head is thrown back, eyes shut tight, your body quaking uncontrollably as you come undone around his cock. 

he continues to thrust into you with relentless intensity. your body, already sensitive and over-stimulated from your recent climax, quakes with every powerful motion. the sensation of his hard cock pounding inside you is nearly overwhelming, making it difficult to catch your breath as the relentless pleasure surges through you.

as he feels the pressure building within him, he pulls out abruptly, the sudden emptiness making you gasp and shiver. his grip on you tightens with one strong arm, keeping you pressed  between the wall and his chest. with his other hand, he begins to pump his throbbing cock furiously, his movements desperate and urgent. each stroke is fast and rough, his hand sliding up and down his length with a frenzied rhythm as he chases his own climax.

his breath grows ragged and uneven, his groans becoming more guttural as he nears the edge. the water around begins to ripple with his frantic movements, the sound of his pleasure mingling with your own gasps. finally, with a low, throaty growl, he reaches his peak, his body convulsing as thick, hot streams of cum shoot from the tip of his cock. the warmth of his release spills into the water, mixing with the ripples created by your own tremors.

as he finishes, his hand slows, and he gasps for breath, still clutching you. the lake is tainted with his cum, turning the clear water cloudy with its creamy white streaks.

sunghoon carefully lets you down, his hands slowly loosening their grip on your thighs but keeping you close, never fully letting go. your bodies remain pressed together, slick with sweat and lake water, your skin sticking to his as your chests rise and fall in sync, catching your breath. his forehead rests against yours, the warmth of his skin comforting. between you, his cock, now soft but still thick, rests against your stomach, a reminder of how nice and hard he’d just fucked you.

his lips trail across your face, soft and unhurried, each kiss deliberate and warm. the gentle brush of his nose against your cheek sends a shiver through you as he moves down to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "i love you," he whispers, the words barely audible but filled with a deep sincerity, his voice low and intimate.

his arms remain around you, holding you close as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. "you're mine," he murmurs, his tone firmer now, possessive but tender.

sunghoon gently guides you out of the lake, his grip both firm and tender, ensuring your safety on the uneven ground. as you step onto the soft grass, he supports you, his hands brushing away droplets of water from your skin.

he retrieves your kirtle from where it was set aside. as he holds it up, his fingers brush your skin, sending a shiver through you. he helps you into the kirtle, the material clinging slightly as it slips over your body. sunghoon fastens the straps with a practiced touch, his fingers lingering on the delicate fabric. each movement is meticulous, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail of this fleeting moment.

as sunghoon finishes fastening the last strap of your kirtle, his thoughts drift to the bittersweet reality of your situation. he feels incredibly fortunate to have shared such a deep connection with you, to have experienced your love and to hold you in his arms. the warmth of the moment, the way you look at him, and the way your body fits against his all fill him with a profound sense of luck.

yet, this profound sense of luck is tempered by a heavy dose of misfortune. the knowledge that you will soon leave his side to return to jaeyun and the duties that come with being by his side weighs heavily on him. the thought of you being with someone else, especially that someone being jaeyun, fills him with an ache he can’t easily shake.

sunghoon’s heart longs for more than just these moments. he wishes he could take you far away from the constraints of the kingdom, from jaeyun, and from the burdens of duty. he dreams of a place where the only thing that matters is the two of you, where worries and obligations don’t intrude on your happiness.

for now, though, all he can do is hold you close, cherish the time you have together, and hope that one day, he can make his dream of a life together away from everything else a reality.

“if only we could remain like this forever.” hee murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, holding you close one last time before you part again. as he drapes his blouse over your shoulders to shield you from the morning breeze, he presses a soft kiss to your neck, his touch lingering with a tender warmth.

*

being with sunghoon is not without its difficulties. each moment together demands a careful balance, where every look and touch is meticulously controlled to keep your affair with him under wraps. 

over the years, you've both perfected this unspoken language. a fleeting glance, a slight tilt of the head, or a barely perceptible smile - all of these become powerful tools in your covert exchanges. it’s an intricate dance of subtlety and intuition, where a single look can convey a world of emotions and thoughts. you've learned to read each other's cues with astonishing accuracy, understanding what the other is saying without a single word being spoken.

sunghoon, for instance, has become adept at detecting the smallest signs of your distress. he can sense when you're upset by the way your gaze momentarily drifts or how your smile falters just a fraction too long. a subtle furrow of your brow or the way you avoid direct eye speaks volumes to him. he’s attuned to these subtle signals, knowing instantly when something is amiss.

just like always, he notices how your body language shifts subtly right now too - the way you absently fidget with your dress or how your gaze drifts towards the window, clearly searching for an escape from the stifling room. it’s evident to him that you're not enjoying the conversation between your older brother jongseong and jaeyun, as they drone on about politics and subjects that bore you to tears.

sunghoon’s eyes narrow slightly as he watches you, his concern masked by a composed expression. he can see the restlessness in your posture, the way you shift your weight from one foot to the other. every now and then, you glance at the door as if willing it to open and offer a reprieve.

oh, the ways he could make you feel good, unlike jaeyun who is making you listen political matters that you couldn’t care less. 

he could slip his fingers inside you, feeling every tight, hot inch as he stroked and teased those sensitive spots, making you writhe with overwhelming pleasure. his mouth could bury itself between your legs, lapping up your sweet nectar and driving you wild with every skilled lick and insistent suck. and his cock, it could plunge deep inside you, filling you to the hilt and delivering a relentless, mind-shattering pleasure that no other man could ever hope to match.

he fantasizes about taking you in this very room, in front of jaeyun, to prove just how much you crave him and need him to make you forget everything else. sunghoon imagines your body responding to his touch, the sounds of your moans calling out his name, and how he could bring you to a peak of pleasure that leaves you utterly spent, all while jaeyun watches as soon-to-be-bride being ravished by him.

the vivid images make sunghoon’s pants tighten. he shifts slightly, trying to adjust his position discreetly, but the growing tension in his trousers becomes impossible to ignore. he knows he needs to act on his desire, and quickly. sunghoon subtly shifts his gaze towards you, his eyes locking with yours for a fleeting moment, filled with a smoldering intensity. then, with a casual but deliberate movement, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans slightly against the wall.

his stance is carefully crafted to appear nonchalant, but his posture is intentionally relaxed, his body angled in a way that draws your attention to the slight, purposeful pressure he applies against the wall with his hip. it’s a subtle but unmistakable signal, a quiet, urgent plea for you to follow him, to find a way to get closer, and to address the growing need he has ignited within him.

as you notice his silent message, you decide to make an excuse to leave the room. you mumble about needing to step outside for some fresh air, citing a vague headache that has suddenly come on. your voice is calm, but there's an edge of urgency as you quickly exit the room.

jaeyun’s gaze follows you as you leave, his eyes revealing a depth of unspoken emotions. though his expression is subdued, there’s a quiet longing in his stare. it’s more than just idle curiosity; his look reflects a mix of disappointment and a barely concealed yearning, as he silently observes your departure with a sense of unvoiced heartache.

sunghoon, noticing the subtle shift in jaeyun’s demeanor, lets a smirk creep onto his face. he meets jaeyun’s gaze with a knowing, almost triumphant expression before turning to follow you out of the room. the smirk lingers on his lips as he exits, leaving jaeyun behind, whose eyes remain fixed on the door, his expression a blend of wistful longing and resignation.

even as you're bouncing on his cock vigorously, sunghoon’s triumphant grin stays fixed, relishing the intense pleasure that the bastard never can have.

he lays on his back, eyes fixed on the way your breasts bounce with each thrust. gripping your hips tightly, he guides you to ride him harder and faster, ensuring to make sure you don’t miss a single stroke. with each movement, he takes satisfaction in the control he has over your body, his pleasure intensifying as he brings you closer to your peak.

as you cum, your body convulses with intense pleasure, and you collapse onto Sunghoon’s chest, trembling. he groans deeply, pulling out of you with a rough jerk. his thick, hot cum spills between your thighs, seeping down your skin. sunghoon, still catching his breath, carefully lays you onto your side, his eyes fixed on the mess he’s made.

with a satisfied smirk, he strokes your hair, his eyes fixed on the mess he’s made

, his cum glistening on your flushed skin. he watches intently as it trickles slowly down your inner thighs, savoring every drop. his hands, now resting possessively on your hips, hold you close, feeling the warmth of your spent body pressed against him. his breathing is ragged, each inhale a testament to the raw pleasure and control he’s reveling in. the scene of his dominance, with you at his mercy, drives him to the brink of satisfaction as he admires the evidence of his claim.

“you are breathtaking, my love.”

you smile faintly, your eyes barely open as you lay beside him, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax. sunghoon’s gaze softens slightly, his smirk giving way to a genuine, if tired, smile. he runs his fingers gently over your skin, savoring the warmth and softness of you against him. 

“i want us to leave all of this behind,” he says quietly, his voice a blend of resolve and affection. “this palace, the endless expectations, the life that’s been forced upon us—let’s abandon it all. i need you with me, y/n, far away from here, where we can build something real and ours. a place where no one knows our names, where we can escape from all the burdens and start anew.”

he gently squeezes your hand, his expression earnest and hopeful. “imagine a life where we’re not bound by duty or tradition, where we can simply be ourselves, where we don’t need to hide from everyone.” 

as soon as you part your lips to say his name, “sunghoon…” his hand reaches up to gently cup your cheek, silencing you with a soft touch. his eyes are intense, filled with longing, but also with a flicker of hope as he continues.

“i know what you're going to say,” he murmurs, his voice unwavering. “but just hear me out.” he moves closer, his forehead almost resting against yours as his words spill out with quiet urgency. “we could go north, far beyond the mountains, to a place where no one knows us. i could build us a home, nothing grand, just something simple. you’ve always wanted a small house and a farm, haven’t you? somewhere quiet, peaceful, where we can live on our own terms.”

his thumb brushes over your lips, his tone growing more earnest. “i’ll work the land. i'll give you everything you need. no more castle walls, no more titles or duties. just us. we could wake up with the sun, plant gardens, raise animals, and fall asleep under the stars. you always say sheep are cute, i could get you a whole flock if you want.” you don’t miss the quivering in his voice as he rambles continuously, “imagine… you, tending to them every morning, their soft wool in your hands. maybe a little goat or two as well, something to make you smile every day. that’s all i want, y/n—a life with you, away from this place, away from everything that’s held us back.”

sunghoon’s eyes glisten slightly as he searches yours, his grip on your cheeks tightening ever so slightly. “we could have a life we’ve only dreamed of.” 

your eyes glisten with unshed tears as you hold his gaze, a faint, broken smile tugging at your lips. “sunghoon,” you whisper, your voice wavering. “you don’t even believe those words.”

his face falters for a moment, the hope in his eyes dimming just slightly, but his grip on you remains firm. "i do," he insists, his voice low, almost pleading. “i believe it-” 

"you want to believe it," you interrupt gently, your voice cracking. "and believe me, i want to too. i'd love to wake up next to you, tend to sheep, live that simple life… but we can’t, sunghoon." your eyes well with tears as you hold his gaze, the broken smile fading. "we can’t just leave it all behind. it’s not that simple as it sounds.” 

“please don’t say no, y/n,” he says quietly, his voice cracking with the weight of his plea. he holds you close, his grip firm but gentle.

“i’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “i wish things were different. i wish we could escape and live that life together, but i just can’t.”

sunghoon's face crumples with the weight of your words. his shoulders slump as if the very air has been knocked from his lungs. the passionate fervor in his eyes dims, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. his grip on you tightens momentarily, as if trying to hold onto the fleeting hope you offered, but the strength quickly ebbs away.

the light that once danced in his eyes is now overshadowed by a shadow of despair. he swallows hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he struggles to contain the storm of emotions raging within him. his hands, which had been tenderly cupping your face, now fall limply to his sides. 

it hits him hard. that you being with jaeyun and playing the role of his wife is like a knife in his heart. he has a tremendous feeling of hopelessness, knowing that he can no longer fight for the life he always dreamed. 

the thought of never being able to claim you openly or stand by your side without hiding makes him feel confined and smothered. he future he wished for is now permanently out of reach.

he knows that, even if he were to try and find a semblance of normalcy, he will always be living in the shadow of jaeyun. 

[dark-moonlust]

Bound by the Rose Mark

This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent.

Pairing: beast oc (Alaric) x f!reader

Summary: This is a story with Beauty and the Beast vibes. You live in a grand castle with a beast named Alaric. One day, you accidentally touch him and a glowing rose tattoo appears on your skin. Alaric explains that the tattoo is a sign of a curse that binds the two of you together. You can't get more than a few steps away from him without feeling pain and arousal. Forced to stay close, you both succumb to your feelings and the deep connection between you.

Warnings: 18+, mid-eighteenth century story, true love curse, beauty and the beast vibes, magic tattoo bonding, virgin reader, oral (fem receiving), foreplay and stimulation, p in v sex, big 🍆, belly bulge, knotting, lots of 💦.

I completely forgot to post this commission! Enjoy!!

Château d'Azay-le-Rideau, France - 1750

“Make it stop!” you groaned, wide eyes on the Beast, who stood calmly by the fire, his large, furred form casting long shadows over the walls. “Please, just… make it stop!”

“I cannot do that.” Came his voice, steady and infuriatingly husky.

The moonlight shone through the castle's grand windows, pouring glittering beams across your body as you paced back and forth, the tap of your boots echoing on the sleek floor. Your fingers moved nervously against the mark on your wrist, the delicate rose pattern twisting and developing, shimmering softly against your skin. With each passing second, the flower vines extended further up your arm, emitting a sweet warmth.

It all began a year ago with a professional agreement. The Beast was Lord of the Castle and needed someone to govern it. You were that person. You lived in his huge fortress and worked as his chamberlain. But what began as a rigid work agreement quickly turned into closeness. 

In the past months, you’d grown used to his company, you were after all, alone in a huge castle with no one but a few servants to talk. He’d gifted you his enormous library, a beautiful haven of literature. He also spent time with you every day, taking you on walks to the gardens, organizing big dinners, music nights, and theatrical nights. You’d been foolish to allow yourself to get comfortable, to hover close enough and be tempted to touch him.

But his fur had appeared so silky and inviting. What was one touch?

You'd succumbed to the temptation and touched him, curved your small palm over his massive arm. 

A moment later, all order unraveled. 

A weird tingling sensation had begun to emerge from your wrist, and as you looked down, a red rose began to light softly, its delicate petals winding up your wrist, its thorny vines snaking out, tracing your skin with intricate detail. The tattoo was enchanted and even now— it continued to spread on your arm.

Oh, how foolish and naive you had been! To approach him so carelessly, hovering so close that his mere presence seemed to draw you in. It was foolish to give in to your curiosity, reaching out to touch him despite the warnings. And now, this—this thing—was strangely connecting you to him in ways you couldn't fathom.

The Beast—no, Alaric, as he was once known—kept staring at you like an idiot, his sharp features unreadable. He didn’t even look troubled. Why would he be? For once, he wasn’t the one in trouble. He rather enjoyed it, wicked Frenchman that he was. Yet as you glanced at him, you felt another spark, a liquid warmth in your belly. His form, massive and imposing, stood out against the moonlight, making the entire hall feel smaller, more intimate.

Alaric had been cursed long long ago, cursed to find misery, coldness and no love. His face was no longer that of a beautiful Prince but of a beast with horns, sharp teeth and lion’s mane. He was massive and muscled, with strong legs and a wolf-like tail. His clothing was still royal, tailored to fit his form. He looked as elegant and well-groomed as possible.  

With an exasperated groan, you stroked your wrist harder, the glow intensifying with each stroke of your fingers. "Damn! Why doesn't it stop?! Please, stop it!"

He spoke with a long sigh, his voice low and rumbling. "I told you I cannot do that."

"You can't or you won't?"

"It's the mark of the curse…" His glance swept across your wrist. "There is no undoing it."

Your heart sunk at his words. You were aware of his curse but had no idea it could be transmitted through touch. Damnation! And damn the warmth of the mark, affecting your whole body. It felt warm and wet between your thighs as if a fire was spreading beneath your skin, connecting you to him. Every pulse of fire reminded you of your error.

“I… I didn’t ask for this!” you protested, rubbing at the mark as if you could wipe it away with sheer willpower. “I was just—just curious! I did not want to be cursed.”

“You touched me, therefore now you will pay. You are bound to me.”

You shot him a sharp look, waving your pulsing wrist in the air. “You could have warned me that I’d get cursed just by touching you!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “But I did warn you not to touch me, didn’t I? You were simply too curious.”

“I thought you were goading me, challenging me! You didn’t mention the part where I’d be magically tethered to you like a pet on a leash,” you snapped despite the lingering warmth in your chest. 

“You are wild and untamed. Always speaking back to me, always doing as you please. It’s your fault, little one.”

“Still…” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

“Oh, yes, this is so hilarious. I’m cursed with a pulsing tattoo— it glows like a freaking beacon by the way—and you’re not in the least concerned.”

“The mark will stop glowing once you accept it.”

“I’ll never accept it!”

Alaric sighed. “The curse cast upon me ensured I would never be loved. I was cursed to live as a beast, hated and feared... alone."

You gazed at him, the weight of his words hurting your heart. His formidable, imposing frame suddenly appeared fragile.

“However,” he continued, “there is a way… for the curse to wane. Not to break it entirely, but weaken its grasp. The curse weakens—forever— when I am touched by someone who genuinely loves me.”

“So… this mark…”

Alaric nodded. “It means you are the one fated to love me. And because of that, the curse has loosened its grip on me. Though I can never return to the man I once was, I can have love.”

Your eyes welled with emotion, but you refused to cry in front of him. “So… this is permanent?" 

Alaric hummed and stepped close, his towering frame suddenly feeling much too close. “I’m sorry… but you are now bonded to me, my thorny rose,” he purred. “Alas, you could have worse company, no? And the mark… I think it’s quite beautiful.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Beautiful? It’s so big and so… damn hot!”

“That temper of yours…” he sighed softly, in a way a beast like him never would. “Of course it makes you hot. The closer we are, the more it will affect you. It’s a sign that our bond is… flourishing.”

You blinked, rubbing your thighs together at the effect of his deep voice, presence and scent. “Flourishing? My wrist isn’t a garden, Alaric. This is my skin. And I assure you, it’s not supposed to glow.”

“We are connected. The curse… it has tied our fates together. The more we fight it— both of us— the more painful it will become."

You swallowed hard. “And if I… don’t fight it? Will it stop and leave my skin?”

“No. Never, little one. The mark will just settle there, binding you to me, fully and irrevocably. But… I’m afraid we cannot stray far from one another without feeling pain.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His lips curled, showing just the barest flash of sharp teeth. “Immensely.”

Stupefied, you spun around, intending to get some fresh air but the moment you moved away, a sudden, scorching pain went through your chest, making you gasp. He was there instantly, steadying you with a large, clawed hand. You curled into his body, sighing pleasantly at the feel of his fur against your skin. It felt so good, warm and inviting, his musky scent tantalizing your senses. You hadn’t realized it but your hands were buried in his forearms, holding him to you.

“Foolish one,” he muttered, his breath warm against your temples. “What did I just tell you?”

“Alaric…” you sighed, meeting his eyes with reluctant acceptance. “Make it stop, please, make this ache go away.”

A low chuckle escaped him as he rubbed your wrist, feeling the warmth pulsating beneath your skin and tracing the delicate rose mark. The rose's delicate vines had wrapped themselves around your forearm, growing faintly. You bit back a moan, despite everything, you felt the pull—the odd bond that bound you to him, pulling you nearer to him with each breath.

“Ah, yes… it can be intense. Every step you take away from me will only bring more pain, more desire pooling deep inside.”

“Deep inside?”

Alaric raised a brow, a glint in his eyes. “Hmm, deep inside your cunt. I can scent your sweet arousal. Always could scent your need for me.”

You looked away. His words made you wet. Tenderly, he turned your face back to him. There was no hiding your blush or emotions.

“The curse bound us together. Two halves meant to be one. And if we give in…” he trailed off, his huge palm framing your face. “Would it be that bad?”

The tension in the room shifted as he stood there, with you in his arms, the strange pull between you palpable. Were you truly the one for him? Your heart stuttered. The idea of being physically and emotionally bound to Alaric—a beast of both grace and power —was captivating.

And the more you thought about it, the more your heart and body betrayed you. Oh dear… Yes, you wanted him. You wanted him with every ounce of your soul. Right on cue, the tattoo—its once glowing petals and vines now settled into a permanent black design that curled up your forearm. Becoming a part of you.

You didn’t resist when Alaric scooped you up, carrying you through hallways to his private chamber— a huge, opulent bedroom with polished wood and velvet furnishings, tapestries hanging on the walls, and a stone fireplace crackling in the corner. The bed was the largest piece of furniture in the room; it had a dark purple canopy covered in silk and velvet covers making it appear incredibly soft and inviting.

Alaric lowered you on the plush bedding and he came to rest beside you, his body half-looming over you, massive yet tender and protective. His eyes, golden and intense, settled on you then down to the rose mark. His fingers, clawed but surprisingly gentle, traced the rose before his tongue brushed a petal of the tattoo, feather-light, sending a shiver of electricity racing up your spine.

You watched, breathless, as he nuzzled and licked every petal, every vine, every thorn, his muzzle soft against your skin. The heat of his breath warmed you as he worked his way up your forearm, his mouth following the intricate lines of the rose, savoring every inch of it. With each kiss, your pulse quickened, your body shamelessly hot, your pussy dripping slick.

“Alaric…” you said in a sultry voice you could hardly recognize.

“Easy. We’ll take it slow, my thorny rose.”

As he said that, his lips hovered just inches from your collarbone. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate indentation at the base of your neck. A sweet gasp escaped you as he licked a slow, tortuous trail down the round tops of your breasts, pulled up by your corset and your bodice. The laces on your bodice came undone, the corset disposed of in seconds as he skillfully drew the fabric down your waist, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

Your body arched closer to his, your nipples hardening into tight, aching buds. His eyes locked onto yours before he bent down and let his tongue trace the underside of each mound. You whined, burning so fiercely with desire as he licked the around your areolas. Teasing and exploring. Never quite getting to your sensitive nipples.

“Alaric,” you warned, thrusting your chest to his mouth.

“How I love it when you call my name.”

And with that, he licked one tiny bud, causing your body to shiver with want. Your hands gripped his horns, keeping him in place as he lapped one nipple, sucking wetly, his saliva and scent mingling on your skin. He did the same with the other nipple, and your body melted into his, hips arching up, breasts thrust sweetly into his lips.

You were lost in passion and he was only touching you.

You craved more. You wanted to touch, feel, and own every part of him.

Boldly, your hands slid up to his jacket, tugging at the heavy fabric, feeling its weight between your fingertips. You dragged his jacket away and he helped you remove it along with his shirt, without quite taking his tongue and hands off your breasts. Furry broad shoulders were revealed and a powerful, sculpted chest and stomach.

Large hands encompassed your tits as he growled softly and angled his head, his tongue trailing the curve of your neck. His fingers pinched your nipples, careful of his claws. Your breath hitched and you tilted your head back, offering him more.

“Oh god… yesss,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Blindly, you brought his mouth to you, needing to feel his kiss. But he hesitated, pulling back slightly. His golden eyes met yours, darkened with desire but shadowed with worry.

“I’m afraid… of hurting you,” he drawled. “I have no lips and my teeth… they’re sharp. I don’t want to—”

“Use your tongue,” you whispered, breathless, gone was the shyness in you. “Please.”

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then, as though unable to resist any longer, he surged forward. His mouth opened, and his tongue, hot and insistent, swept across your lips before plunging deeply. Deeper still. He tasted you, swallowed your breaths, and pressed his moist and burning tongue against yours, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through you with each stroke. You gasped into his mouth, the sound drowned out by the sheer intensity of the kiss, your hands grabbing his shoulders.

The sound of fabric tearing and garments hitting the floor was the only indication of what was to come.

The flickering light in the room danced across your flesh, both naked and unashamed. His body enveloped yours, his weight pressing down on you, his thighs spreading your legs apart. The sheer size of him caused your pussy to clench. His shaft was a massive veined rod of flesh, long and thick, with a knot at the base. His cock throbbed and leaked moisture, and his balls thick and heavy, hung like ripe fruit.

You couldn't help but reach out, a little bashful as your fingers stroked the silky warmth of his shaft. It was both firm and tender, as hot as touching a blazing flame. Alaric snarled and watched your small hands. You trailed the protruding veins and bulbous head all the way down to the bulging sac. He growled, his entire body tense.

“Such soft gentle touches. But I can’t—little one. I need to taste you, have you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but whined instead when his tongue licked the delicate folds of your pussy. Your body ignited, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Spine arching, you opened your legs obscenely wide, his head buried in between, wet tongue consuming your depths. He thrust his appendage inside, snarling primitively, and you sighed delightfully, your cunt pressing against his mouth as you shut your eyes tightly and surrendered to the passion.

“Mmmmm, so breathtaking,” he drawled, his tongue gracing your cunt. “I love the rose mark on your skin but even more so the petals on your wet cunt… so lovely and wet. I love to tease and lick them.”

Eyes holding your own, he hooked his large hands around your thighs, bringing them around his furred torso. His dick, massive and twitching, stroked against the wet petals of your cunt. He lubricated himself; you were soaked and ready to receive him. You wiggled and squirmed, impatiently attempting to guide him inside. Finally, with a gentle nudge, he growled, and the broad popped in.

Cupped your ass, he pushed inside, his cock gliding into you in one smooth thrust. You were incredibly tight, untouched and you gasped at the slight discomfort of the invasion. Despite his size, he somehow fit, his body seemingly designed to mold itself to yours. Your cunt was stretched wide, only his knot showing, and your belly bulged slightly, revealing the curve of his shaft beneath your skin.

Alaric caressed your belly lovingly as if marveling at the sight. “Yes, mine. It will be alright. I promise you. Does it hurt, little one?" 

You shook your head. “Not anymore. Please… hmmm—move. Need to feel you so desperately.”

“As you wish, my rose.”

His eyes never left yours as he thrust out of you, all the way out before slowly filling you up. This time there was no discomfort, only building intensity. His shaft slid in and out of you, the friction reigniting your desire. Your body flexed, your walls squeezing around his dick as he increased the pace. His thrusts became faster and more urgent, and you held him, rocking against him as his tongue stroked yours, making you dizzy with desire. 

Alaric was unstoppable, unrelenting and soon you were both shuddering in climax. He thrust one final time, bottomed out inside you till his swollen knot had popped inside. You whined, muscles contracting around him, your cunt snug around his knot, tying you together. You saw stars, thrashed wildly in little aftershocks as he released, a flood of cum filling you up. It didn’t help that he let out those delicious growls, tongue devouring your mouth.

Time seemed to stand still. You lay there, with him atop you, his dick still pulsing within you, his knot throbbing with a slow beat. It had been minutes and he was still spurting, though slower this time. You basked in the afterglow of your passion, felt so utterly at peace. Your bodies had become one and the tattoo on your wrist had never felt so right.

You were his, completely and utterly his.

“How are you feeling, my thorny rose?” he asked after he’d rolled over so you were draped over his chest, his knot still hard inside you.

“I feel loved,” you said as you rested over his chest feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the fur. “I have never been kissed or loved by anyone like this before—have never felt anything like this before.”

“There is no going back now,” he said possessively. “You gave yourself to me. What I feel for you is raw, primal. It cannot be stopped or contained.”

You grinned. “So, what? I’m just stuck to you for the rest of eternity?”

“Figuratively and literally, I’m afraid,” he said, groaning at the feel of his knot tucked inside your warm cunt.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Alaric’s eyes softened. “I will never be the charming Frenchman I once was. That man’s appearance is gone, replaced by this… beast.”

Smiling, you let your hand reach up to touch his face, tracing the firm lines of his jaw, his fur silky beneath your fingers. “The appearance might be gone,” you whispered, “but your heart isn’t. Besides, I think I’m past wishing for a handsome prince on a white horse. French or not.”

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “You’ve got a strange way of looking at things.”

“And you’ve got a strange way of doubting yourself,” you shot back teasingly. “You might not be the Prince you once were, but you’re more than enough for me.”

“Don’t you regret it?” he asked quietly after a few seconds. “Mating with me? That I’ll always be… like this?”

“Oh, I am surprised but this is so lovely,” you murmured, hands caressing his shoulder. “It’s so lovely because I always wanted you to be mine. I've always felt attracted to you but was frightened to admit it. I was also scared you would reject me heartlessly."

“Never. I could never do that.” He took your hand, kissed the rose tattoo on your wrist.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love. “You are thoroughly mine, Alaric.“

For a moment, he stared at you and a soft, almost amused rumble escaped him. “You really are something,” he drawled, his free hand brushing the curve of your ass. “You’ve given me something I thought I could never have again." 

“I am yours,” you whispered. “I love you. All of you, my Beast.”

“I love you more, my thorny rose,” he said, his eyes dark with lust.

Smiling, you kissed and made love again —harder, hotter, and wetter.

THE END

[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.

[d-targaryenshoe]

To Protect And Adore - Aegon II Targaryen

Word Count: 1219

Summary: Queen nor a Princess shall threaten an unborn child, should they? Most surely not if it's the king's child.

The dragonfire flickered and danced in the hearth, casting long shadows across the walls of the Red Keep.

You sat in the dim light, your hands protectively cradling your swollen belly.

The child within you was a secret you had kept for as long as possible, but the inevitable truth could no longer be hidden.

You were with Aegon's child, a fact that could change many lives.

Aegon Targaryen, the king, had taken you as his mistress at the time when his marriage to Helaena had been strained and loveless.

You were no noblewoman, but your beauty and grace had caught the eye of the dragon king.

What began as a passionate affair soon deepened into something more, and now, you carried the heir to the throne within you.

But with Helaena's tragic death, the court was rife with intrigue and whispers.

Power was up for grabs, and the position of queen was vacant.

As you sat in the quiet of your chambers, a knock at the door disrupted your thoughts.

Before you could respond, the door swung open and Alicent Hightower swept into the room.

Her face was a mask of cold fury.

"Y/n," she began, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "You should not have allowed this to happen."

You rose to your feet, your heart pounding in your chest. "Your Grace," you said, bowing your head slightly. "I did not intend for any of this."

Alicent's eyes narrowed. "Yet here we are. You are carrying my son's child, a bastard that will only bring disgrace and scandal to this house."

You felt a surge of protectiveness for your unborn child. "He is Aegon's son, and nothing will change that."

Alicent stepped closer, her expression growing darker. "You are a fool if you think I will permit this child to live. There are ways to deal with such inconveniences."

Fear gripped you, but you stood your ground. "You would not dare harm your grandchild."

Alicent's smile was chilling. "You underestimate me. If you value your life and that of your child, you will leave and never return."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to show weakness. "Aegon will protect us. He loves me, and he will not stand for this."

Alicent laughed, a cold, bitter sound.

"Aegon is weak. He is ruled by his desires, not his mind. But you are correct about one thing, he will protect you, at least for now. But even he cannot disobey me forever."

With that, Alicent turned and swept out of the room, leaving you trembling and alone.

You knew you had to tell Aegon, but fear for his reaction and what it might cost him stayed in your hand for a moment.

You could not put it off any longer.

The next morning, you went to his chambers.

Aegon was lounging on his bed, a goblet of wine in his hand.

His violet eyes lit up when he saw you, but his smile faded when he saw your expression.

"What is it?" he asked, setting the goblet aside and rising to his feet.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"Aegon, I need to tell you something. Your mother... she threatened me and our child. She told me to leave or she would... she would see to it that our child did not survive."

Aegon's face darkened with fury. "She said that? To you?"

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks. "I am frightened, Aegon. I do not know what to do."

Aegon's hands clenched into fists, and he turned away, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"She has gone too far this time," he muttered. "I will not let her harm you or our child."

He strode towards the door, and you hurried after him. "Aegon, please, do not do anything rash. She is your mother."

He turned to you, his eyes blazing. "She may be my mother, but she has overstepped her limits. No one threatens my family. No one."

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving you to follow in his wake.

You found Alicent in the throne room, deep in conversation with one of her advisors.

She looked up, startled, as Aegon burst in.

"Aegon, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded, rising to her feet.

Aegon strode up to her, his face a mask of fury. "You threatened y/n and our child," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

"You think you can control me, manipulate me, but you are mistaken. I will not let you hurt them."

Alicent's eyes flashed with anger. "I am your mother, and I know what is best for this kingdom. That child is a threat to everything we have created."

Aegon took a step closer, pressing a finger to his mother's chest. "You do not get to decide who lives and who dies. I am the king, and I will protect those I love. If you ever threaten y/n or our child again, I will see to it that you are punished for this."

Alicent's face paled. "You would not dare."

Aegon grabbed her arm, his grip firm. "Try me."

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills.

Then Alicent wrenched her arm free and took a step back, her expression one of fury and disbelief.

"You will regret this, Aegon," she spat. "You are making a mistake."

Aegon shook his head. "The only mistake I made was not standing up to you sooner. Y/n is carrying my child, and I will marry her. She will be queen, and our child will be the heir to the throne."

Alicent's eyes widened with shock. "You cannot be serious. The nobles will never accept her."

Aegon turned to you, who had been standing silently by his side.

He took your hand and looked into your eyes. "I am very serious. I love her, and I will do whatever it takes to protect her and our child."

Your heart swelled with love and gratitude.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, you knew you would face whatever came together.

Aegon was willing to fight his mother, and risk everything, for your love and your child.

Alicent stood there, her face a mask of fury and disbelief. "You are a fool, Aegon. This will be your undoing."

Aegon turned back to her, his expression hard. "If protecting my family is my undoing, then so be it. I will not be a puppet for you to bear. This is my decision, and it is final."

With that, he led you out of the throne room, leaving Alicent to fume in silence.

As you walked down the corridors of the Red Keep, Aegon squeezed your hand.

"Do not worry," he said softly. "I will keep you safe. No one will harm you or our child."

You nodded, tears of relief streaming down your face. "I know. I trust you."

Together, you faced the uncertain future, your love and determination stronger than ever.

Despite the challenges and dangers ahead, you knew you could overcome anything as long as you were together.

Aegon's promise to protect his family was a vow that would never be broken, and your love would become the foundation of a new era for the Targaryen dynasty.

[idkyetxoxo]

Daemon Targaryen - His and Only His

Summary - Daemon's jealousy flares as he accuses his wife of flirting with another man. His rage sparks a fierce, passionate encounter, driven by intense possessiveness. He believes the ultimate way to assert his dominance is to leave her yearning and breathless beneath him.

Pairing - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!!)

Word count - 2074

Masterlist for Daemon • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Daemon, I find myself consistently having this conversation with you," I said wearily, my head in my hands, the room filled with an uncomfortable silence.

The night draped around us, the moon casting a ghostly glow through the window, and the candles flickered dimly as if mirroring the unease between us.

"This jealousy is unwarranted," I continued, my voice tinged with frustration. "Lord Harlan was merely being polite."

Daemon's eyes flashed with anger as he paced the room, his fists clenched at his sides. "Polite? He was practically courting you right in front of me! And you stood there, smiling!"

"He was making idle conversation," I countered, trying to keep my voice steady. "There was nothing more to it."

Daemon stopped abruptly, turning to face me, his expression dark. "Do you take me for a fool? I saw the way he looked at you. And the way you responded—"

"I was being polite, Daemon!" I snapped, rising to my feet, unable to contain my own frustration. "Must I remind you that I am not some possession to be guarded jealously?"

Daemon's eyes narrowed, anger simmering beneath the surface. "Polite? He practically leered at you, and you stood there like you enjoyed it!"

I shot back, "Enjoyed it? I was trying to keep the peace, Daemon! Not everything is a threat to you."

His frustration boiled over as he stepped closer, fists clenched. "It's not about peace! It's about respect. You're my wife, and you're letting some man shower you with attention!"

"Attention?" I laughed bitterly. "You're making a mountain out of a molehill. Do you really think I would betray you for some empty compliments?"

Daemon's voice rose, "It's not about betrayal! It's about how it looks. You're too naive to see that your actions can be misinterpreted!"

"Naive? I'm trying to navigate this treacherous court while you wallow in jealousy!" I shot back, feeling my own anger swell.

For a moment, we stood there, glaring at each other, the air thick with unspoken words. The candles flickered more violently as if they, too, were caught up in the tempest of our emotions.

"You are mine, not anyone else's," he whispered, his voice low and commanding, as he approached me with swift, purposeful movements. 

The shadows cast by the flickering candlelight danced across his face, making his eyes gleam with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine.

He gripped my face in his hands, his eyes staring down at me possessively. My breath caught in my throat, my stomach twisting and turning at his sudden intensity. His fingers, firm and unyielding, pressed into my skin, holding me in place as if daring me to challenge his claim.

"Mine," he emphasized, before crushing his lips against mine with a force that took me by surprise. 

I responded immediately, unable to resist the passion in his kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth, demanding and insistent as if he were branding me with his touch.

"He does not get to have the pleasure of even looking at you," he declared, his hands moving to tear the fabric of my dress from my body. 

The sound of ripping cloth echoed in the room, mingling with the heavy breaths and the rapid thumping of our hearts.

His eyes roamed over my exposed skin possessively, igniting a fierce desire within me. With a defiant smirk, I swiftly removed his clothes, my hands eager and knowing. I could feel his muscles tense beneath my touch, his skin hot and inviting.

Our lips found each other again with urgency, and without hesitation, he lifted me and carried me to our bed. He placed me down roughly, hovering over me before swiftly entering me. 

A gasp escaped my lips at the sudden rush of pleasure coursing through me.

The anger had now turned into a fierce need, as if he was trying to reclaim what he feared losing.

"You're so desperate for me," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Already so wet and aching. Something he could never do."

"I bet he dreams of having you like this," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with desire, punctuating his words with deep, forceful thrusts. 

My hands grasped his back, my nails digging into his skin in response to his forceful movements. 

His fingers tangled in my hair, pulling possessively as he continued to move within me. The sting of his grip was a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure flooding my senses, each sensation amplifying the other.

"No one else is allowed to imagine you like this," he declared firmly, his words laced with possessiveness and primal need. 

All I could manage in response was a fervent nod, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of our connection, the raw passion that bound us together in that heated moment.

"You are mine," he repeated, his voice low and commanding, as he lifted my legs over his shoulders to give him better access. His thrusts grew deeper and quicker, each movement eliciting cries of ecstasy that filled the room.

"Say it," he commanded, his hands firm on my hips, steadying me as he took control. 

The intensity of his movements left me breathless, the world narrowing down to the rhythm of his body against mine.

All I could manage was a whimper, overwhelmed by the intensity of our encounter, words caught in my throat. My body responded instinctively to his demands, arching towards him, seeking more.

"Say it," he demanded again, his voice tinged with desire and dominance. His eyes bore into mine, demanding surrender, craving affirmation of my submission to him.

I opened my mouth, breathless and desperate, finally whispering, "I am yours."

A satisfied smirk crossed his lips as he heard my confession, his eyes smouldering with satisfaction and possessiveness. The look in his eyes made my pulse quicken, and I felt a thrill of excitement course through me.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he effortlessly shifted our positions, flipping me beneath him with a display of strength that left me breathless. 

Now on my hands and knees, his hands found their way to the small of my back, holding me firmly in place. His grip was possessive, yet reassuring, a silent promise of what was to come. His fingers pressed into my skin, anchoring me to the moment.

He realigned himself, entering me again with a controlled force that made me squirm with a mixture of pleasure and anticipation. Each movement was deliberate, his body moving with a primal rhythm that resonated through me. 

The sensation was exquisite, a blend of control and wild abandon that left me gasping for more.

"So beautiful, so perfect," he murmured, his voice husky with desire, as I arched my back instinctively, inviting him deeper. 

His hands explored my body with a possessive hunger, fingers slipping underneath to caress and squeeze my breasts.

His touch was skilful and knowing, each squeeze and knead sending ripples of pleasure through me. I gasped and moaned softly, lost in the intoxicating mix of sensation and emotion that he effortlessly stirred within me.

His movements became more urgent, more insistent as if he was as lost in the moment as I was. The room seemed to pulse with the energy between us, every sense heightened, every touch more intense.

"Do you feel that?" he growled, his voice thick with need. "That's what you do to me. No one else can make me feel this way."

Suddenly, he pulled out and flipped me over onto my back with a swift motion, his eyes blazing with an intense fire. Before I could catch my breath, he lifted my legs and positioned them over his shoulders again. 

I cried out in a mix of surprise and pleasure, the sensation more intense than before.

"You belong to me," he growled, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. Each word was punctuated by a powerful thrust that made my body quiver with anticipation and need. 

His hand moved between us, fingers finding that sensitive spot that made me see stars. The combination of his deep, forceful thrusts and the skilful touch of his fingers pushed me closer to the edge. My body responded to his every move, arching and trembling under his touch. 

"Daemon, I'm close," I managed to gasp out, feeling the tension coil tighter within me. 

He grunted in response, his movements becoming even more deliberate and intense. Each thrust seemed to drive deeper, each touch more insistent, pushing me to the brink of my endurance.

"Not yet," he growled, his voice rough and commanding, urging me to hold on. 

His fingers increased their pressure, skillfully prolonging the sweet agony, pushing me to the brink without allowing release. The frustration mixed with pleasure was almost unbearable, leaving me desperate for the climax he withheld.

My breath came in ragged gasps as he continued to thrust deeply, each movement perfectly synchronized with the expert touch of his fingers. 

The combination was maddening, every nerve ending alight with pleasure, teetering on the edge of an explosive climax. I could feel the heat building, threatening to consume me completely.

"Hold on for me," he urged, his voice a mix of demand and desire. 

His eyes bore into mine, the intensity of his gaze grounding me even as my body threatened to spiral out of control. "I want to feel you fall apart for me."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, the possessiveness in his tone amplifying the sensations coursing through me. I could feel myself teetering on the edge, desperate for release but held back by his firm control.

"Please," I whimpered, my voice barely a whisper as I struggled to hold on, every fibre of my being craving the sweet release he was denying me.

"Not yet," he repeated, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. The words were a command and a promise, urging me to surrender completely to the intensity of the moment. 

My body trembled, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until I thought I might shatter. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, a constant wave that left me breathless and on the verge of tears. 

Finally, just as I thought I could endure no more, he growled, "Now, let go."

His fingers pressed harder, his thrusts deepening, and the combination sent me spiralling over the edge. The release was explosive, a burst of pure ecstasy that left me gasping and crying out his name. My body convulsed every muscle tightening as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. 

He held me through it, his release following closely behind, a deep groan escaping his lips as he found his own climax. The intensity of our shared release left us both trembling, our bodies entwined and slick with sweat. 

In the aftermath, he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me protectively. I nestled against him, my heart still racing, feeling a profound sense of belonging and security in his embrace.

"I'm going to fill you again and again until your stomach swells with my child," he murmured, his fingers gently stroking my hair. 

The promise in his words was both a threat and a vow, each syllable tinged with the raw possessiveness that had consumed us moments before.

As our breaths began to steady, he leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear. 

"Consider this a warning," he murmured, his voice still thick with dominance and passion. "If he ever mistakes your kindness for want, if he ever thinks he can have even a piece of you, I'll remind him exactly who you belong to."

His words sent a final shiver through me, the possessive edge in his tone leaving no room for doubt. I was his, completely and utterly, and there was nowhere else I would rather be. 

His hands continued to caress my skin, a tender contrast to the intensity of his words. Each touch was a reminder of his claim on me, a gentle yet unyielding assertion of his control.

At that moment, I knew that our bond was unbreakable, a fierce and consuming connection that no one else could touch. 

The possessive fire in his eyes, the raw passion in his touch, and the commanding presence of his voice all combined to make me feel utterly and completely claimed. 

"No mistakes will be made around here," I murmured softly, my voice carrying a quiet determination. He smirked, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. The gentle kiss he placed on my forehead told me everything I needed to know. 

I was his, and nothing and no one could ever change that. 

A/n - when in doubt, make sure your arguments are as intense as your make-up sessions!