#it is MY DUTY to spread the word of this series

[thegreeninyoureyes]

KARNEVAL NATION RISE FROM WHEREVER YOU ARE

[bioswear]

Ach tfw ur sequel project is echoing a little too well the current events in America and you know it’s good and important allegorical writing and commentary on social issues but also it’s a little TOO on the nose

[dksfml]

Love 119 [Part Three]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part one] [part two]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: enemies at work, lovers at home. secret dating. jungwon is just doing his duties, suggestive, submissive jungwon, fluff (only in the start lol) summary: you celebrate your first anniversary with jungwon’s mouth on another woman, so you remind him what yours tastes like. word count: 7.4k author's note: the third part of this seriess!! i swear it's just getting freakier and longer every after part. i hope you enjoy this one! reply or request if you want to be part of the taglist<333

You stir awake, the haze of sleep still clinging to you like a warm blanket. The soft morning light filters through the blinds, painting streaks of gold across the sheets. Your body feels heavy, a pleasant exhaustion lingering from the chaos of yesterday’s shift—and maybe something more.

As your eyes flutter open, the first thing you see is Jungwon. He’s lying on his side, facing you, one arm tucked under his head to prop himself up. His bare torso is on full display, lean muscle and smooth skin catching the light in a way that almost makes you think you’re still dreaming.

He’s watching you with a lazy smile, his hair slightly messy, the boyish charm of his grin blending effortlessly with the undeniable allure of his half-dressed state. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, one that only grows when your gaze meets his.

The soft chill of the morning air seeps into your skin, prompting you to burrow deeper into the covers. Your voice is barely above a whisper as you mumble, “I’m cold,” the words slipping out unconsciously.

Jungwon pauses, his gaze softening as he studies your half-asleep form. Without saying a word, he shifts closer, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight. He tugs the blanket higher over your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin briefly, sending a small, unintentional shiver through you.

“Better?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing, laced with a hint of amusement. But before you can respond, he leans back into his original position, his torso stretching in the process.

The motion draws your attention as he props himself up on one elbow again. The sunlight dances across his skin, accentuating the subtle lines of his muscles. A groan escapes him as he adjusts his weight, breaking the momentary silence.

“This position makes my abs hurt, you know,” he says, his tone casual but tinged with playful teasing, as if daring you to react.

Your eyes flick down, almost involuntarily, to his stomach, and the sight before you is enough to make your pulse stutter. His defined abs contract as he adjusts himself, every line of muscle taut and perfectly framed. The blanket rests low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination.

You immediately snap your gaze back up, your cheeks warming. “Then why lie down like that?” you ask, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably.

Jungwon tilts his head, his smile growing softer. “Because I love watching you like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, the words settling over you like a gentle embrace.

Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t quite know how to respond. You’re not used to this side of him—unapologetically tender, his teasing stripped down to something raw and sincere.

“Watching me drool in my sleep?” you finally say, hoping to lighten the moment and mask the warmth spreading through your chest.

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. “Not quite,” he replies, leaning in slightly, his face just a breath away from yours. “More like admiring how peaceful you look when you’re not yelling at me about work rules or rolling your eyes at my jokes.”

His hand finds yours, and he laces your fingers together, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes your heart flutter in a way you’re definitely not prepared for.

“Speaking of plans,” Jungwon starts, his tone a little quieter now, but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. “You remember what we said we’d do for our one-year anniversary?”

You blink at him, your brain still catching up. “Anniversary?”

“The beach trip,” he reminds you, his lips curving into a smile that’s unfairly charming. “You know, the one we’ve been talking about forever but never actually made happen because someone—” he gently pokes your side, earning a surprised squeak from you, “—is married to their job.”

“Excuse me!” you protest, sitting up slightly. “You’re the one who never takes a day off, Mr. Heroic Paramedic.”

“Touché,” he laughs, his hand still holding yours. “But I’m serious this time. No pagers, no alarms, no emergencies. Just us, the waves, and maybe some terrible sunscreen tan lines.”

The mention of the trip makes your chest tighten with a rush of emotions. You’d tucked that dream away, figuring it would never happen between the chaos of your lives. But now, hearing him bring it up so earnestly, you feel your cheeks heat with unexpected joy.

“You remembered,” you whisper, your voice soft and a little awed.

“Of course I remembered,” he says, looking at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve been looking forward to it. Haven’t you?”

Your lips part, and for a second, all you can do is nod, feeling ridiculously shy under his gaze. “I—yeah, I have,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been wanting to go for so long… with you.”

His grin spreads, slow and wickedly boyish. “With me, huh? You sound kind of obsessed.”

“Oh my God, Jungwon!” You groan, shoving at his shoulder, but he catches your hand easily, laughing as he pulls you closer.

“Don’t be shy now,” he teases, his voice dropping into something softer, more intimate. “It’s cute. You’re cute.”

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, and you bury your face in his chest, mumbling something incoherent. He chuckles, the sound reverberating through you like a warm hug, as his free hand drifts to gently trace over the fading hickey on your neck—the one he left just last night.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice full of mischief as his fingers lazily skim your skin, “this might be my best work yet.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grumble, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably as goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.

“And yet, you love me,” he replies smoothly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Which is why we’re going to that beach, no matter what. I already started looking at places. A little beach house, just us. What do you think?”

You peek up at him, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and excitement. “You mean it?”

“Do I ever joke about stuff like this?” he asks, and when you hesitate, he adds with mock offense, “Don’t answer that.”

You giggle despite yourself, the sound spilling out of you before you can stop it. “Okay, fine. I’ll take you seriously this time.”

��Good,” he says, his hand slipping around your waist as he pulls you even closer. “Because I’m picturing us on the sand, soaking up the sun, maybe arguing over how much sunscreen you forgot to put on.”

“Excuse me, I’m very responsible with sunscreen!” you say, sitting up straight to glare at him, though the effect is ruined by the smile tugging at your lips.

“Sure you are,” he says, his grin teasing as he leans in. “But you know what? Even if you turned into a lobster, I’d still think you’re the cutest thing on the beach.”

You groan, shoving at him again, but this time he topples backward, taking you with him. You land in a tangled heap, his laughter mixing with your protests as he wraps you in his arms.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“And you’re mine,” he replies easily, his voice softer now as he looks up at you. “One year down, and we’re only getting started.”

Your heart feels like it might burst, and for a moment, you just stare at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “Yeah,” you say softly, resting your forehead against his. “We are.”

And as you lie there, tangled up in him with the morning sun streaming in, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this dream of yours is finally within reach.

The day had been long, the kind where you couldn’t wait to jump in your bed, let alone entertain the idea of more teasing from your coworkers. It was the end of the shift, and as you packed up your things, you couldn’t help but hear the familiar whispers that had been circulating throughout the day. They’d been subtly, yet persistently, questioning your sudden decision to file leave for next week. And when you’d dropped the bomb that you’d be taking three days off, your coworkers had practically pounced on you.

"Going on a date?" one of them asked, grinning, clearly enjoying the moment.

You gave a half-smile, but played it cool, keeping the details about your time off to yourself. "Maybe?" you replied with a teasing tilt of your head, your voice casual but with just enough of a playful edge to keep them guessing.

“Oh, so it’s a date date?” another one chimed in, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you just going for a spontaneous adventure?"

You bit back a smile, holding your ground. “That’s for me to know and you to wonder about.”

But your coworkers weren’t quite done yet. They shared a conspiratorial look, the kind that only happens when they think they’ve caught something juicy. "Funny," one of them said, leaning in, "Riki also filed for leave next week. Guess it’s the week to go on a getaway. What are you two up to, hmm?"

Your eyes widened just a bit, but you didn’t let it show. Not Riki. Your colleagues’ eyes twinkled with mischief as they continued their teasing. "Could it be that you and Riki are planning some... romantic getaway?"

You could see Riki in the corner of your eye, standing by the supply closet, looking thoroughly confused as he overheard the conversation. He was always the innocent one in this mess. You glanced at him, barely able to keep from laughing at how flustered he looked already.

"Oh, no," you said with a mischievous glint, your voice light but professional as you turned to Riki, who seemed to shrink into himself. "Riki’s just off to his sister’s graduation. Nothing more to see here, folks."

Riki blinked, completely unaware of the teasing in the air. “Right! I’m just going for my sister’s graduation,” he said with a completely straight face, oblivious to the undercurrent of the conversation.

Your coworkers, however, were having none of it. "Sure, Riki," one of them teased with a smirk, "A sister’s graduation. How convenient." They shared a laugh, clearly enjoying Riki's obliviousness, while you tried your best to stay professional, even though you were fighting a smile.

Riki just looked around, still confused by the attention. “What?” he asked, genuinely lost, not picking up on the implications. “It really is just that.”

Another coworker, not missing a beat, chimed in. “Well, if you’re both taking leave at the same time, I guess we’ll call it a ‘coincidence.’”

You fixed them all with a calm but firm gaze, your voice cutting through the banter. “Alright, enough,” you said, your tone brokering no argument. “I’m taking time off for personal reasons, Riki is attending his sister’s graduation—no more assumptions. Now, unless you want me to start assigning extra shifts, I suggest we all get back to work. We've got patients to care for, don’t we?”

The teasing immediately ceased, and your coworkers scattered, murmuring apologies as they returned to their stations. Riki, still trying to piece everything together, gave you a nod, grateful for the quick save.

"Riki, here," you said, walking up to him with a small, knowing smile. "I borrowed your coat yesterday, and I figured I should return it."

His face immediately softened with relief at the change of subject. "Oh, right," he said, taking the coat from you. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he took it, and he fumbled slightly, his gaze darting to the side. "Thanks for bringing it back so quickly."

“No problem,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. "You need it for your shift tomorrow, right?"

Riki nodded, his gaze finally meeting yours, but there was a curious hesitation there, a flicker of something else that caught your attention. "So..." he began slowly, almost as if testing the waters. "I, uh, was meaning to ask you earlier. Are you... actually dating someone?"

Your eyes softened slightly at the question. You could sense the genuine curiosity in his voice, and you appreciated that he was asking out of sincerity, not to add fuel to the teasing.

You hesitated for just a moment, not out of uncertainty, but more because you didn’t want to spill all the details. “Yes,” you answered sincerely, offering a smile. "I’m in a relationship. It’s been a while now."

Riki blinked at your response, his expression unreadable for a moment as he processed your words. There was a brief pause before he spoke again, his tone now quieter, almost as if the reality of your answer had settled in.

“Oh,” he said, simply. His face remained neutral, but there was something about the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly that hinted at a tinge of disappointment, or maybe just confusion. It was hard to read, but you noticed it.

You couldn't help but soften your gaze at him. It wasn’t as though you’d been hiding the fact that you were in a relationship, but there was something about the way Riki asked that made it seem more... personal, more significant. His question wasn’t casual—there was an underlying sincerity to it.

“So… you don’t want to know more details?” you teased lightly, trying to lighten the mood, though you couldn't quite suppress the small, almost wistful smile on your face.

Riki blinked again, seemingly caught off guard by the question. He shook his head quickly, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “Uh, no,” he said, though his voice had a touch of sheepishness to it. “I just wanted to make sure, you know, since... well, I didn’t want to be awkward or anything.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. "Awkward?" You leaned against the counter casually, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, but still enjoying the rare moment of candidness between the two of you. “There’s no need for that. It’s just... I’m in a relationship. That’s all there is to it."

Riki nodded quickly, though there was an almost imperceptible sigh that escaped him. He seemed to be sorting through his thoughts, as if trying to connect the dots, but didn't push any further.

"So, uh, how long have you two been together?" His question came out a bit more suddenly, like he was trying to switch gears in a way that would make the situation feel less charged.

You met his gaze again, taking in the subtle shift in his demeanor, how his face seemed a little more relaxed now, as though the weight of the conversation had lightened. You thought about Jungwon for a moment—his presence always felt like a quiet reassurance, even when you weren’t with him.

“Quite a while,” you answered, the corner of your lips lifting into a small smile. “It’s been long enough that we’ve stopped worrying about all the small stuff. We’re... past the uncertainty.”

Riki gave a slow nod, the light in his eyes shifting to something a bit warmer, as if the idea of you and Jungwon being comfortable together made more sense to him. "That’s... really nice," he said, his voice steady, though there was a soft sincerity that added an unexpected weight to the words. "I’m glad you found someone."

There was an odd kind of quiet between you two, the office noise continuing around you, but it felt like this little bubble of conversation had shut it all out for a moment.

You could see that Riki was still processing everything, but the awkwardness that initially lingered between you two was gone. There was something more genuine now, a mutual respect, even if you hadn’t shared every detail. The conversation felt like an end to one chapter of your relationship with him and the beginning of another—a little less guarded, a little more human.

“Thanks, Riki,” you said, smiling warmly at him. “I appreciate that.”

Riki gave you a small, shy smile in return, still holding onto the coat you’d returned to him. "No problem. And, uh, if you ever want to talk... about anything... I’m here," he offered, clearly trying to be supportive in the only way he knew how.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied, your voice soft, but professional.

You glanced back at him with a subtle, almost imperceptible smile. “Let’s go. We’ve got no time for distractions.”

The day you had been waiting for had finally arrived—the getaway to the beach that you and Jungwon had planned so carefully, and now, as you both stepped out of the car, the salty breeze kissed your skin and the sound of waves lapping at the shore greeted you.

The sun dipped lower, casting an amber glow across the beach as you and Jungwon walked along the shore, the sound of the waves gently crashing in the background. The air was warm, carrying a light breeze that tousled your hair and wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. It was the perfect end to the day, but there was something else in the atmosphere—something more intimate, a traction you could almost touch.

You could feel his presence beside you, just close enough for his warmth to seep into you, yet distant enough that the space between you felt charged with possibility. His hand brushed against yours, and you didn’t pull away, instead letting your fingers gently touch, then intertwine. The simple contact sent a rush of heat through your body, and for a moment, everything else faded away—just you, him, and the sound of the ocean.

“Feels like a dream, doesn’t it?” Jungwon murmured, his voice soft and laced with an emotion that caught you off guard. You tilted your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his.

"Yeah, it does," you agreed, the words tasting sweeter than usual. You didn’t want to break the magic, the feeling of being alone in this perfect little bubble, just the two of you.

He gave you a small smile, his gaze lingering on you as if trying to say something without words. The way he looked at you—so soft, yet full of desire—made your heart race.

“You know,” he said, his voice dropping lower as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, “you’re even more beautiful out here, with the sun on your skin.” He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was light, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down your spine. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little distracted.”

You blinked, the unexpected compliment pulling a soft laugh from your lips. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises today?”

He laughed quietly, but the teasing edge in his voice was absent, replaced by something more sincere. “I’m always full of surprises,” he said, his thumb lightly grazing the back of your hand. The moment felt more intimate than you expected, your heart beating a little faster as the weight of his gaze settled on you. “But I mean it. You really are.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, so you simply smiled, your fingers tightening around his, silently acknowledging the connection between you. It was enough.

After a long pause, Jungwon turned toward the towel he had spread out earlier, the one you’d been lounging on, and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a bottle of sunscreen, the cool plastic in stark contrast to the hot air around you. You glanced down at your shoulders and realized with a jolt that you had completely forgotten to apply any sunscreen.

You winced a little, already feeling the heat beginning to build under your skin. “Uh, looks like I forgot something,” you said, half-laughing at your own oversight, trying to keep the mood light.

Jungwon caught your eye and smirked, clearly noticing your discomfort. “Need some help with that?” His eyebrow arched, the playful teasing in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

You raised an eyebrow in return, a teasing grin tugging at your lips. “Actually,” you replied, glancing down at his bare, tanned shoulders and realizing you could use his help as much as he needed yours, “I think you need some help. You’ve got a lot of skin to cover.”

Jungwon chuckled and nodded, his lips curling into a smile. “Fair enough. I’ll take care of you, then,” he said, his voice low, almost too smooth as he unscrewed the cap and poured some lotion into his hand. The air between you seemed to shift, charged with an energy that made your breath catch.

He reached out, a slow, deliberate move as he gently applied the sunscreen to your shoulders. His touch was light, but the heat from his skin made the lotion feel almost like an intimate caress. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the cooling sensation, but the intimacy of the moment—his hands gliding over your skin—made your pulse race.

"Don’t want you turning into a lobster," Jungwon teased, his fingers brushing your collarbone. The touch was light but electric, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand lingered just a second longer than necessary, the warmth of his skin contrasting with the coolness of the sunscreen.

He moved to the other side, his fingers grazing your shoulder, the sensation soft but deliberate, as if savoring the contact. When his thumb brushed the back of your neck, you couldn’t help but hold your breath, the subtle pressure making your skin tingle.

For a brief moment, you both stayed still, the air thick with something unspoken. His touch was gentle but possessive, as if he didn’t want to pull away. “All done,” he murmured, his voice low, his hands still resting on your skin. The tension between you lingered, leaving your heart racing.

“Thanks,” you managed, though your voice was a little more breathless than you intended. You met his gaze, trying to hide the warmth in your cheeks. “I’ll return the favor, don’t worry.”

Jungwon chuckled again, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in just slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’d better.”

You stepped forward, taking the bottle of lotion from him and squeezing out a generous amount. The cool lotion met your warm skin as you applied it to his shoulders, your fingers smoothing the cream in slow, careful circles. His body tensed slightly beneath your touch, but not in discomfort—more in anticipation. You could feel the muscles under his skin shift as you worked your way down his back, your touch lingering longer than necessary, letting the moment stretch out between you.

“Hmm,” Jungwon muttered, his voice quiet as he tilted his head slightly to look at you. “That feels good. Almost like you’re trying to spoil me.”

You laughed softly, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Maybe I am,” you teased. But your voice softened again as your hands continued to move over his skin, now reaching his lower back, your fingers gliding over the soft expanse. The simple touch was intimate in a way that left you both a little breathless.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring the contact. “You’ve got good hands,” he said, his voice low, the words almost a compliment, though there was something else beneath them—a quiet, simmering desire that neither of you dared to acknowledge aloud.

“Glad you think so,” you murmured, your own heart beating faster. The space between you was thick with unspoken tension, the air charged, both of you aware of how close you were, how every touch seemed to ignite something deeper within.

When you finished applying the lotion to his back, Jungwon turned to face you, his eyes dark with an intensity that matched the warmth of the beach around you. He didn’t speak at first, but his gaze lingered on your lips before moving back up to meet your eyes.

For a moment, it was as if time stood still. The sound of the waves and the rustling of the wind seemed to fade, and all that was left was you and him, standing so close that you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

But just as your heart began to race, just as the tension between you reached a boiling point, a voice pierced the air.

“Help! Help!” It was a shout from the water, distant but desperate. Someone was in trouble.

Jungwon immediately tensed, the playful atmosphere gone in an instant. Without a word, he dropped his hands, his gaze locking on the water. His expression shifted, his focus narrowing, and in the blink of an eye, he was already moving toward the water, his body agile and sure.

“Stay here,” he said, his tone firm yet soft. “I’ll handle this.”

You wanted to argue, but the urgency in his tone left no room for discussion. You hesitated for only a moment before you found yourself trailing behind him, your own heart pounding in your chest as you reached the water's edge. Jungwon was already plunging into the surf, swimming with the grace of someone who had trained for moments like these. The crowd had gathered now, watching with wide eyes, as the seconds ticked by.

He reached the woman, hauling her out of the water with impressive strength. Her body was limp, but Jungwon handled her with care as he placed her gently onto the sand. The crowd murmured in concern, but Jungwon was in his element, focused, calm. His hands moved over the woman’s body as he checked for injuries, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Someone get a first aid kit! We need help over here!” he called out, his voice steady but urgent.

People around him seemed to freeze, waiting for someone else to act, but no one stepped forward.

You didn’t hesitate. You immediately pulled out your phone, dialing the local authorities. “We need medical assistance at the beach,” you said quickly, your voice crisp, the professional tone taking over. “A woman is unresponsive. She was pulled from the water. We need help immediately.” You gave them the location and hung up, your pulse still racing from the adrenaline.

You hung up quickly, but your eyes never left Jungwon.

He was already beginning chest compressions, his hands pressing firmly against the woman’s sternum, rhythmically pushing. His expression was intense, his jaw tight with concentration. There was no trace of hesitation in his actions. Every movement was measured, calculated to save her life.

You stood frozen for a moment, watching him work—each press of his hands against her chest a reminder of just how much control he had over a situation. His face was hard with focus, his brow furrowed, but there was a hint of something softer in his eyes as he checked the woman’s pulse again. His gaze flickered to you briefly, but he said nothing. There was no need for words between you two now. You both knew what needed to be done.

The woman’s chest still wasn’t rising. Jungwon didn’t stop, his hands never faltering, never speeding up or slowing down. He checked her airway, tilting her head back gently before pinching her nose, his lips pressing firmly against hers to deliver breaths.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him perform the life-saving technique, his mouth pressed against hers with the kind of urgency you rarely saw outside of medical emergencies. You hadn’t expected the flutter of something strange, a cold weight that settled in your chest.

You weren’t sure what it was—maybe it was the intensity of the situation, the rawness of what he was doing, or maybe it was the way his lips lingered a fraction longer than necessary. You forced your attention to the woman, checking her pulse at her neck—thready and weak, but there.

You could feel the tension in your chest tightening, but you couldn’t quite name it. It wasn’t like anything you’d felt before. You tried to focus, to push aside the rush of emotions. But the sight of Jungwon so effortlessly confident, so completely in control—it stirred something inside you. You knew this was part of his job, that he had done this countless times before. And yet, there was something intimate about the way he worked, something raw that made your pulse quicken.

The woman wasn’t responding. Jungwon paused to breathe again, his movements fluid and methodical. “Come on…” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice barely audible over the crash of the waves.

As if on cue, you could hear the distant hum of sirens growing louder. Medical help was on the way. But there was still time. Jungwon didn’t let up. His hands moved with precision, and when he performed another round of compressions, his face set in grim determination, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Finally, the woman gasped, her body jerking, and her chest rose with a shallow breath. A collective sigh of relief swept over the crowd. Jungwon didn’t stop, though—he kept checking her vitals, his brow furrowed as he worked. But there was a flicker of relief in his expression now.

Still, he wasn’t finished. “Where’s her guardian?” he asked sharply, scanning the crowd, his tone commanding. No one stepped forward.

Jungwon didn’t let the uncertainty slow him down. He checked her airway again, adjusting her position slightly, as he continued to monitor her pulse. “Stay with us,” he muttered under his breath, giving her another round of compressions, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

The crowd around you seemed to dissipate, but you didn’t move. You stood there, watching Jungwon, your chest tight with some indescribable feeling—something you didn’t want to name, but couldn’t ignore.

As the woman’s pulse started to stabilize, Jungwon looked at you again, his gaze briefly meeting yours, filled with an intensity you didn’t know how to process. There was no time for anything else, though. Medical personnel were almost here, and Jungwon was already back in control, handling the situation with such ease and authority that it left you breathless.

You were grateful for him, for everything he was doing, but a part of you still felt that odd ache in your chest, the feeling lingering long after the danger had passed.

The day had been overwhelming, a whirlwind of emotions that drained every ounce of energy from both of you. By the time you arrived back at the hotel, the exhaustion clung to your bones, as if the weight of the beach’s chaos had followed you in the humid air that seemed to cling to your skin. The usual buzz of life had quieted, leaving only the raw, lingering tension that neither of you had addressed.

Jungwon, ever perceptive, had noticed the change in you. From the moment he’d pulled that woman from the water and worked tirelessly to save her, he’d seen the way your expression had shifted, the way you seemed to retreat into yourself. He knew you—too well, sometimes—and it wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time you’d witnessed him perform mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. That alone would have been enough to make anyone feel uneasy, but on top of that, it was a woman around your age. Jungwon couldn't help but wonder if the situation had stirred up feelings in you he couldn’t fully understand.

He had been silent during the walk back, his mind swirling with thoughts. The usual back-and-forth between you was absent, replaced with a heavy quiet that hung between you both. It wasn’t the comfortable silence that came with shared moments, but a thick, uneasy one. Jungwon glanced at you more than once, his eyes searching for some sign, something that would reassure him everything was okay, but your expression was unreadable. You seemed distant—far away in a way that he hadn’t seen before.

He had seen you work through chaos countless times, both at the hospital and in life. He’d witnessed you maintain your composure under pressure, handling emergencies with an ice-cold focus. But this, seeing you react to him performing CPR on another woman, was different. He could tell. You had always been the kind of person who didn’t let emotions cloud your judgment. But now, there was something behind your eyes—a shift in the air, something unsaid that made him feel unsure.

The woman on the beach was alive because of him, because of both of you, but he couldn’t help but wonder if, in some way, your quietness was born out of something deeper. He knew how you felt about professionalism, how you held both your relationships and your work close, but this... this felt like something more. The fact that you had watched him perform a life-saving act on a stranger, a woman, with such intensity—it seemed to have carved a small divide between you and him.

Jungwon wasn’t sure what to do with this new silence. The weight of it pressed down on him, heavier than the hot air around you both. He wanted to say something, to bridge the gap that had suddenly appeared, but the words eluded him. So he stayed quiet, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts he couldn’t quite piece together.

As you arrived at the hotel, Jungwon opened the door for you, his usual warmth nowhere to be found. He watched as you walked past him without a word, heading straight for the bathroom. The sound of the door closing behind you echoed in the silence, and he slumped against the nearest wall, uncertain of what to do next. He was acutely aware of the tension in the room, how heavy it felt now, like any wrong move would break something fragile between you.

He sat on the bed, fingers running through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. He knew you well enough to understand that you were internalizing everything—probably more than you let on. You never showed your hand too clearly, and he respected that. But right now, as you were in the bathroom, washing away the remnants of the day, Jungwon felt like he was stepping on eggshells. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, to make things worse.

When you finally stepped out of the bathroom, your face was still wet from the towel you’d used to wash away the salty residue of the day. The door opened softly, and his eyes immediately locked with yours. There was a new heaviness in the air now, something between you both that neither of you could ignore.

Jungwon sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze intense, waiting for you to make the first move. Your eyes never left his as you walked toward him. The distance between you was small, but it felt infinite, both of you suspended in an unspoken understanding of what had transpired. He could feel the electricity in the air, thick and undeniable.

When you finally reached him, you paused, just inches away. The traction between you two crackled in the silence. Then, slowly, you raised your hand, fingers brushing against his cheek. His breath hitched at the softness of your touch, his eyes closing as he leaned into it instinctively, seeking comfort in the small, intimate gesture. He didn’t know what this moment meant, but he couldn’t deny the pull between you.

When your fingers reached his lips, the weight of everything left unspoken seemed to paralyze Jungwon, as if his entire body was caught between restraint and desire. His pulse quickened, a soft tremor running through him as you wiped the remnants of the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation off his lips with the towel. He stayed still, breath shallow, allowing you to guide the moment. There was something in the way your touch lingered, in how you moved with such control, that left him unable to do anything but wait—wait for your next move, for the next shift in the tension that was thickening the air between you.

His body hummed with need, his eyes closed as he absorbed the soft, deliberate stroke of the towel, every inch of his skin aching for more. Your proximity was intoxicating, your movements deliberate, yet so gentle. It wasn’t just the physical touch, but the unspoken invitation—the way you held him in place with nothing but your presence.

As you pulled the towel away, his lips were left lingering with the memory of your touch, and for a moment, he hesitated. But the hesitation didn’t last long. His instinct to close the distance between you overpowered his restraint, and before either of you could think, his lips pressed urgently against yours, claiming you in a kiss that was both desperate and hungry.

The kiss was electric. His hand cupped your face, fingers trembling slightly as he kissed you like he couldn’t catch his breath. You could feel the heat of his desire, but there was also something else—something submissive in how he let you lead. He responded fiercely, yes, but there was an unmistakable trust in how he followed your lead, how he let you guide the rhythm of the kiss, the intensity of it. He didn’t try to dominate; instead, he surrendered to you completely.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if you needed to be closer, as if the kiss was the only way to erase the tension that had been building since the beach. It was messy, heated—your control evident in the way you commanded the kiss, but it was equally filled with urgency, a shared need for release, for connection.

Jungwon’s hands roamed to your back, fingers pressing you against him, but there was a carefulness to his touch. He wasn’t forceful. There was a tenderness, almost like he was waiting for you to take control. He wanted to feel you, wanted to have all of you, but in a way that was patient, as if he was afraid of breaking something in the moment.

You pulled away just briefly, breathless, and your eyes locked with his. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, but you didn’t let it linger. You tilted your head, studying his face, searching for something—answers, maybe, or perhaps reassurance. You were in control now, and it was clear from the way he looked at you that he would follow wherever you led.

Before you could even process the thought, your hands gripped the front of Jungwon’s shirt, pulling him with you as you leaned back. His breath hitched in surprise, but there was no resistance from him—just a quiet, willing surrender. Without breaking the kiss, you guided him backward, pushing him gently onto the bed with a sense of urgency. The soft creak of the mattress under his weight only fueled the tension between you both, the air thick with the electric pull of desire.

You hovered over him, your body just inches away from his, feeling the heat radiating off him in waves. His hands, which had been holding you so gently, now rested on the bed, palms flat as he watched you with an intensity that mirrored your own. His eyes were dark, full of something raw and unspoken, but he didn’t try to close the distance. He was letting you take control now, his body still beneath you, and you could feel the subtle way he was surrendering to you, leaving himself at your mercy.

The weight of the moment pressed on your chest, but you didn’t break away. Your gaze held his, unwavering, as you let the silence stretch between you, charged with something deeper. You could see it in the way his breath quickened, in the subtle flex of his muscles beneath you as he awaited your next move.

And then, without saying a word, you lowered yourself further, bringing your lips to his once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. The kiss was deep, intense—full of everything you hadn’t said, everything you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until now. Jungwon’s hands found their way to your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to let you go, but even in his need, he let you guide him, letting you set the rhythm, the pace.

You pulled away slightly, your lips lingering just above his, feeling the tension in the air thicken as you gazed down at him. His eyes were half-lidded, chest rising and falling beneath you, but you could still see the sharp edge of something in his gaze. It wasn’t just the intensity of the moment—it was that subtle wariness, the same one you’d seen earlier, when he had saved that woman on the beach.

"You were pretty focused on saving her, weren’t you?” you asked, your voice quieter, but with a teasing edge.

Jungwon let out a soft, almost self-conscious laugh. "I had to. It’s part of the job," he said, his voice still heavy with the remnants of the adrenaline that had coursed through him earlier. He was trying to downplay it, but you saw right through him. "Besides, she was drowning. It’s not like I can just leave her in the water."

"You really looked like you were about to save her from everything," you quipped, arching an eyebrow. "A woman your age, no less. What was that? Was there some kind of... connection?"

Jungwon's eyes flickered, a flash of vulnerability passing through them before he masked it with a half-smile. "Well, you know, it's hard not to connect with someone who’s in trouble." He shifted underneath you, his voice a bit more serious now. "You’re not mad, are you?"

You smiled softly, the weight of the moment returning. "Mad? No. Just trying to get used to the idea of you saving women... right in front of me." You leaned down, your lips brushing his again, slowly this time, savoring the taste of him. You could feel the sharpness in his breath as he leaned into it, his hands gripping your back tighter.

"I guess it’s a good thing I’m saving you now, huh?" Jungwon’s voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was that familiar teasing edge to it, like he was trying to regain some sense of control.

“You're going to save me from what, exactly?” You pulled back slightly, your hands on his chest, feeling the hard press of his muscles beneath your fingertips. Your gaze never left his, unwavering.

Jungwon’s lips quirked into a half-smile, his eyes darkening with something unspoken. "From getting lost in your head," he said, his voice playful but with an undertone of something more serious. "And from overthinking things."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, the traction between you both momentarily easing. "Yeah? I guess you’ve got a lot of practice in saving people, huh?" You leaned down to kiss him again, this time with more purpose, your hands moving to his face, holding him there as you deepened the kiss.

He responded just as fiercely, his hands pulling you closer, his body shifting under yours. But even in his urgency, he still let you take the lead, his grip softening just enough for you to feel the weight of his trust.

As the kiss broke, you both breathed heavily, faces just inches apart, the silence between you charged once again.

"Just don’t get any ideas, Jungwon," you muttered, your lips curling into a sly smile. "I’m the one in control here."

Jungwon’s eyes flashed with something almost mischievous. “Oh, I know,” he murmured, his hands sliding to your waist, tightening briefly before letting go. "I’m all yours."

The words lingered in the air, both playful and charged with a deeper meaning. Your heart raced, a warmth spreading through you as you met his gaze. There was a comfort in the way he held you, in the way he knew exactly how to push and pull you at the same time.

Jungwon’s smile softened, his voice almost a whisper as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips against your ear. “Happy Anniversary, baby.”

You leaned in close, your breath barely a whisper against his skin. “Oh, I give up,” you said with a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation. Your fingers lightly traced his chest as you looked up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes. “Do a mouth-to-mouth CPR on me now.”

[part one] [part two]

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[flowerandblood]

Duty and desire (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x niece • wife female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, angst, praise kink activated, lactation kink, fluff ]

[ description: An incident between her husband and their sons causes her uncle to completely break down. She decides to show him how deep her feelings are towards him and to comfort him. A heartbroken, vulnerable, infatuated Aemond in need of simple tenderness. ]

Author’s note: The events of this oneshot are part of the canon of The Fall from the Heavens series and feature the same characters. I couldn't sleep and that's how I mentally coped with what I saw in the second episode of the second season. You're welcome, lol. If you still didn't watch it, wait with reading it (if you don't like any kind of spoilers). It can be read as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had returned to their chamber earlier, tense and visibly frustrated despite the fact that he usually spent that part of the day sparring with their sons, training them in the wielding of the sword.

She smiled at him from above her book, watching as he involuntarily looked into the cradle where Visenya slept peacefully.

The birth of their first daughter was joyous news for the entire kingdom, including them.

"So early?" She asked, spreading out comfortably in her chair, curious about this change of plans. Her uncle only pursed his lips at her words, walking over to the table where she sat and reached for a cup, into which he poured himself a little wine.

He remained silent.

A bad sign.

"What's happened?" She asked immediately, seeing that hundreds of thoughts were currently running through his mind, which if they did not find an outlet would eventually explode in the form of his fury.

He took a few deep sips from his goblet without looking at her, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"Viserys and Aegon have suggested that Ser Robert should be the one to train them today. They apparently want to become archers." He said with a sneer and anger that startled her. She swallowed hard, closing the book, understanding full well that his words were only the tip of what he was really thinking about.

"In your presence they always feel they have to prove themselves. They're afraid of being ridiculed in front of you. Maybe it's…"

"At their age I dreamt of my father doing for me what I do for them. This is our time together." He growled, looking out of the corner of his eye into the area where she sat, but not directly at her, immersed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

"I know." She whispered and her words, something about the way she said them made his lip tremble, made him lower his head in shame and cover his face with his hand, drawing in air loudly.

"They are terrified at the sight of me. Both of them. They don't love me, they just fear me. Their own father." He mouthed, his quivering voice betraying that although he tried to control himself, something about the thought had broken him.

She stood up from her seat, shaking her head, coming up to him quickly, wanting to touch his arm with her hand, but he moved away and turned his head, not wanting her to see what was happening to him.

"If you could hear with what pride and admiration they speak of you when you are not there. They so desperately want to please you." She muttered in pain, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he might have believed he was a bad father, when they both knew how hard he tried.

"To please me? My sons, they live to please me? And if they don't then what will happen to them? Hm?" He asked and fell silent, looking at her at last, his eye red with grief and despair, his face simultaneously red and pale with emotion, his lips parted in a heavy breath.

He covered his eyes with his hand as he burst into silent sobs, as if he had not stifled the thought for a day or a month, but for years, ever since their first son had been born.

She looked at him in disbelief, stunned, at the same time hurt and saddened by his words, by the thought of how he judged and perceived himself.

"Looking into my eyes do you see anything other than love?" She asked, renewing her attempt, taking a step towards him, and this time he didn't pushed her away, looking at her uncertainly.

"– it's something else –" He whispered.

"– how can it be? – do you think I would love a man who is a bad father to my children? –" She asked further, and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his breathing, his cheeks red from tears.

"– stop it –" He said and turned away, wiping his face, walking to the other side of the room, embarrassed and ashamed of his weakness.

"– sit down on the bed, husband – I want to explain a few things to you –" She finally said.

He sighed heavily and did as she asked, making room beside himself, looking down at his hands, heartbroken. She, however, walked up to him and did not sit next to him, but on his lap, surprising him by taking his warm, red face in her hands, stroking his moist skin with her thumbs.

For a moment she simply looked at him, all helpless and vulnerable, feeling the heat in her chest.

"– you're defending our family – you're the rock that protects us – you have to show strength – be determined – and that's hard when you're king and father at the same time – the burden of the crown is great and you know it – you're trying to prepare them for it –" She whispered, with each successive word placing kisses on his red face: on his forehead, his temple, his eyebrows, his eyelid, his cheekbone, his lips, his jaw.

She felt his hands involuntarily rise to her waist, stroking her through the material of her gown.

"– so why don't they understand this? – why do they push me away? –" He muttered, focusing his gaze on her full, plump lips, his manhood hidden in his breeches pulsed softly in a natural reaction to her closeness.

"– because they are still children – children who need their father to love them no matter what – a father who will sometimes let them go their own way –" She said softly, in a gentle, light motion untying the black ribbon at the back of his head, making the front strands of his silver hair fall over his shoulders.

"– I just want to spend time with them like a father with his sons – I want them to need me –" He whispered, and she nodded, letting his broad hand move her hip closer, making her body press against his.

"– I know, my husband – my sweet, sweet husband –" She whispered and heard him draw in the air loudly, surprised, his erection pulsed hard between her thighs.

She licked her lips, wondering if he was aroused by what he was hearing.

"– my husband is so good to me –" She gasped softly, letting their lips join in hot, sticky, lazy kisses, making wonderful heat surge through her body. "– my sweet friend – my sweet boy –"

She shuddered as his fingers tightened on the material of her gown, his throat leaving a sound she had never heard before.

He moaned.

Not the way he usually did, low and deep, when it was on the verge of panting, but high, the way she did when he gave her sweet pleasure.

Their fingers tightened on their bodies, letting their mouths find each other in greedy, violent, deep kisses – his cock between her thighs swelled all over and pulsed, hot, betraying that he was now completely ready to possess her.

"– I love you – please –" He muttered, forcibly ripping her gown off her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts, all swollen with milk. Something like a sigh of delight and relief left his throat as he sank his face into her sternum, his thumbs stroking and teasing her nipples hard from the cold.

She moaned as she tilted her head back, untying the material of his breeches, feeling the wonderful, pleasurable wetness between her thighs, proving that she was ready to receive him deep inside her.

"– my sweet husband deserve to be soothed – doesn't he? – to feel his beloved wife – how warm she is – how wet she is –" She whispered, cupping his swollen, quivering erection in her palm, feeling how incredibly hard it was, its tip thick and smooth, dripping with his moisture.

"– yes –" He mumbled in shame, directing one of her breasts to his face, holding it in his hand, finding her nipple with his mouth, beginning to suck it loudly along with her milk as she guided the head of his cock against her pulsing slit.

"– ah – my husband is so hard for me – makes me feel so fucking good – so, so big –" She cooed, sinking slowly onto his manhood only to lift herself on it with a loud click of her wetness, opening her thirsty, fleshy cunt again and again on his long, throbbing erection.

"– f-fuck –" He exhaled, embarrassed, imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, clearly aroused by what she was saying and how she was behaving, needing her affection, her acceptance, her closeness, everything he couldn't ask of anyone else outside the door of their chamber.

"– it's all yours, my dearest – I can ride you all night – you'll fill me with your seed as many times as I need, won't you? –" She gasped, and he groaned loudly into the skin of her breasts, clamping his hot hands on her hips, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow, panting and quivering along with her.

She wasn't sure she had ever experienced a similar orgasm, so overpowering, hot, soothing, delightful.

"– f-fuck – f-fuck, Aemond, yes –" She whimpered, throwing her head back as she felt his body convulse, his warm seed filling her womb wit his low moans of pleasure.

He released her nipple from his mouth, panting heavily, snuggling his cheek into her chest, letting her arms embrace him in a tight grip, her lips placing tender, hot kisses on his hair.

"– forgive me – I'm ashamed – I –"

"– you are my husband – let me give you relief when you need it –" She whispered, combing her fingers through his long hair.

"– but – it was –"

"– a husband can show tenderness and understanding to his wife, but a wife to her husband cannot? –" She asked in pain, and he swallowed hard, letting out a loud, shuddering breath.

"– it won't happen again –" He muttered, needing, apparently, for her to tell that lie so he could stop thinking about how weak he was, how he needed it, how pleasant it was.

That he would beg in his mind for more.

More of her tenderness.

More of her praise.

More of her love.

"– as you wish –"

[juletheghoul]

covetous

a/n: Jesus Maggie, you really called me out on my bullshit for this one. Originally I want this story to just be a bunch of sexy encounters in a morally questionable world, now we're talking about feelings and love and how the hell did we get here? (This is how I would imagine him the first time he sees his Girl) Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, Marcus pov, vague but big-legal age gap, there's no actual sex, but memories of it, vulgar yet romantic musings, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.1k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

War is easy. It’s a language he’s fluent in, something he excels in. He is blessed enough to have survived more battles that he could count and has been more than rewarded for his prowess. Battle plans, marches and military strategy are almost second nature, the fury, the heat of battle, all that he can anticipate and it’s probably the main reason he’s come this far in his life. 

Soldiers, camp life and brutality, those things are easy for him to understand.

Other matters, love, affection, attraction; these things are…harder. 

Physically, he’s perfectly adequate. He's never been ignorant to his looks, or his build. He knows that he fills the societal ideal for a man. He’s broad, he’s strong, he has a good face and no physical flaws.

He’s never been short of attention from the fairer sex either but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. He’s had his trysts, and he thinks he might have even been in love before but his luck seems to stop, and stay within his vocation. 

In his younger days, he’d broken his fair share of hearts, he’d been gifted the virtue of many a virgin in hopes of tempting him into a marriage. None of them had held his attention for more than that one night, and sometimes, in the late hours wherever he found his rest he secretly feared the Gods might be punishing him. Withholding the partner he hopes to find as payment for those broken hearts left in his wake. 

As he grew older, wiser and more practical he learned to ignore that little emptiness. He saw it more as a blessing. Would he be where he was now with a woman waiting for him? Would he have hit his station with children bearing his name pulling at his thoughts in the middle of battle? Perhaps the Gods had simply made a trade. His life, or his heart. 

He’d been content with his lot in life, until he’d seen her. 

She’d served at a gathering he’d been loath to attend. His eyes tracked her, the shine of her hair, the curve of her hip, her pretty smile. Her eyes had locked with his for half a heartbeat and he’d felt it in his belly. A rolling, like waves in a stormy ocean. 

She’d gone about her business, efficiently fulfilling her duties while the guests all spoke animatedly around him. He’d joined in after reigning in his reaction, but she’d taken every ounce of his attention with her. 

He’d negotiated her purchase the next day. 

-

She was quick. She learned everything faster than a lot of the others in his service, and she seemed to anticipate his needs before he spoke them. Most of the time, he barely needed to say anything at all, and so he kept quiet. Kept his thoughts, and his feelings to himself. 

His biggest need though, was her. He wanted her bad enough to hurt, to ache.

He was well aware of the practices in other houses. Slaves were there to obey, and in most houses that meant obeying with work, and with their bodies. He saw no issue in this, it was the way of the world. No matter how badly he wanted her though, he couldn’t make himself order her to spread her legs for him. Maybe it was a foolish, childish thing but he wanted her to crave it just as he did. He wanted her wet, he wanted her begging for him, he wanted to see pleasure and lust on her pretty face. 

He wanted her to want him. 

A year passed, and every second in her presence was exquisite torture. A torture he submitted himself to freely and with a perverse pleasure. It was a test of endurance, until the fateful night she’d come to him with her wet tunic, all of her body on display through the sheer fabric. The shadow of her cunt had sent him into a frenzy and when she’d come back and caught him fucking his fist he’d thought it was just another form of punishment. 

It was that look on her face though, that heavy lidded, open mouthed way she stared at him, nipples hardening that had finally made him crack. 

That first night he’d taken her, he’d stayed up in his bed, almost blinded with want. Her body had not alleviated the craving for her, if anything, it’d only made it worse. He’d replayed their encounter over and over, obsessed with the taste of her on his fingers, obsessed with the feel of her lips on his. From then on, she’d only cemented her hold on him. Her quiet obedience, her subtle seduction, the way she’d managed to scrape the shape of herself onto his brain.

She’d made herself the figurehead in his mind, the holy place at which he prayed, the Goddess he served. If he could, he’d light a thousand candles at the altar of her cunt, and pray to them daily.

He fought harder to return to her, he took note of her wants, of her preferences, and made sure to cater to her, despite no one in the house, not even her realizing. He dismissed the younger boys that lusted after her, he was covetous of her to the point of violence. A small smile from her could dictate his mood. The thought of her in pain made him feel like some feral wolf caught in a trap, ready and willing to chew part of himself away to reach her. 

Sometimes, after he’d spilled inside her, he’d let her fall asleep in his bed and relish the way she clung to him in her sleep. It was a double edged sword though, their stations in this life. A part of him fears that her want is only an act, a way to endear herself to him, her Dominus. A foundation to earn her freedom, or coin, or influence through him but then he sees the shy way she smiles at him and his fears are silenced to nothing. 

She cannot fake the way she flutters around his cock, she cannot pretend to feel nothing, not when he sees the same jealousy he feels shining through her eyes at the mention of the mostly political proposals he’s denied. The things she says, the way she takes her pleasure from him, all of these things only compound his delusions that just maybe, she feels for him a fraction of what he feels for her. 

It’s a sort of madness, truly, how that part of him that was the perpetual soldier had in so many respects switched their roles, had given her a control–a power he was sure she didn’t realize she had. 

He was sick with want for her, ravenous, and yet unable to soften himself in a way that would make her see the truth, make her see just how much she truly meant to him. He couldn’t make himself show her, that whatever she asked of him, he’d do with a smile.

For now at least. 

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[muniimyg]

⋆꙳•❅ knj: wit it this christmas ❆•꙳

in which your boyfriend absolute sucks at wrapping gifts, leaving you to do all the work since… well, you don't suck. at least, not at gift wrapping!

series m.list // taglist

note: hoe hoe hoe ,, let's begin the series <3

warning: kissing, tit fucking, nam joon slaps oc, blowjob, headpusher!joon, dirty talk (calls her cockslut, bitch, etc), face cum shot

//

the floor is a mess. 

it’s a chaotic spread of wrapping paper scraps, accidentally ripped bows, and ribbons cut the wrong length—not to mention the missing roll of tape…you’re sitting in the middle of it all, cross-legged and nearly about to lose your mind. 

meanwhile, namjoon sits beside you, scissors in hand and an expression somewhere between focused and defeated.

“namjoon, this is—this is not even remotely straight. what happened?”

“okay, first of all,” he starts, setting the scissors down exaggeratedly, “you gave me the world’s dullest scissors. second, who needs straight edges? it’s going to get ripped off in like, two seconds.”

“it’s the principle,” you reply, deadpan, as you take the scissors from him and start cutting yourself. “why would we give out poorly wrapped presents? this is our 2nd christmas together—”

he sighs dramatically, leaning back on his hands. “okay, okay…”

“you’re on tape duty,” you say, tossing the roll at him. he catches it clumsily, letting out a small “oof” as it hits his chest. 

“wow, demoted again,” he mutters, peeling off a piece of tape and sticking it to his forehead. “what’s next? moral support?”

“don’t tempt me.”

the playful banter carries on as you work, but it’s not long before the god of destruction himself strikes again. 

why didn’t you see this coming? 

namjoon somehow manages to get the tape stuck to itself, creating an unusable, crumpled mess. you groan, taking the mangled roll from him.

“oh my god. do you suck this bad? fuck, that’s it. you’re officially off tape duty,” you declare, pointing towards the door. “go buy more wrapping paper. now.”

he stares at you, lips twitching into a smirk. 

“wow, so controlling. is this how it’s going to be when we’re married? barking orders at me every two seconds?”

“maybe if you actually followed instructions, i wouldn’t have to bark orders.”

his smirk grows into a grin, and there’s a glint in his eye now, playful but challenging. 

“you know, you’re kind of scary when you’re in charge.”

“good.”

"hot too."

"shut up."

the tension shifts, thickening the air between you. his grin fades into something softer, and when he leans closer, the warmth of his breath brushes your cheek. your heart skips as his hand finds your wrist, halting your movements.

“you’re so bossy,” he murmurs, his voice low, teasing. 

as much as you want to get these presents wrapped and out of the way, there’s something about his voice that pulls you back. something that makes your pulse race. even so, you fight through the urge. 

“and you suck,” you counter, but your words come out quieter, softer than you intend. "useless."

he chuckles, the sound deep and warm, before he closes the distance between you entirely.

“useless, huh?” he says, tilting his head, his nose brushing yours. there’s a lazy smirk tugging at his lips now. “you don’t sound too convincing, you know.”

your breath hitches. 

“well, you’ve got me surrounded by evidence, namjoon. want me to list all the ways you’ve been no help tonight? you fucking suck.”

his fingers tighten slightly around your wrist, grounding you, his thumb brushing idly against your skin. 

“maybe i just needed the right kind of motivation.”

you narrow your eyes at him, but your pulse betrays you, hammering wildly in your chest.

“and what kind of motivation would that be?”

he doesn’t answer right away, just looks at you, his gaze slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing every detail. when his free hand reaches up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you feel your breath catch again.

“maybe if you stopped looking so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower, “i’d be able to focus.”

your cheeks burn, but you scoff, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach. 

“pretty sure being able to cut paper straight has nothing to do with how i look.”

“that’s where you’re wrong,” he says softly, his lips dangerously close to yours now. “because the whole time i’ve been thinking about kissing you instead of—”

you don’t let him finish.

it’s instinctive, the way you close the distance, your lips pressing to his in a kiss that’s more impatient than soft. but he doesn’t seem to mind. his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while his other drops your wrist to settle on your waist.

the kiss deepens, slow and steady at first, before it grows more heated, all the playful tension from earlier unraveling between you. you can feel the faint press of his grin against your lips, making you smile too, even as your fingers tangle in his hair.

“so,” he murmurs against your lips when you finally break apart, his voice breathless, “am i still useless?”

“you’re getting there,” you reply, and before he can respond, you’re pulling him back in.

mid kiss, he pulls away and breathes; “you know how you’ve been yapping about how much i fucking suck at wrapping presents?” 

you nod. 

“let’s see how much you suck, boss.” 

nam joon has you placed in between his thighs. 

your mouth wraps around the tip of his cock. kissing it lightly, you open your mouth wider to suck him in slowly. you only take the top half though, trying to warm him up. 

he’s leaning back against the couch and watching you with needy eyes. his eyebrows furrow as you take him deeper, letting a muffed moan out every now and then. for a moment, he squeezes his thighs together, trapping you. you almost choke from the lack of air, but it’s only enough for your eyes to get teary. when he lets go, you gasp for air. he smirks, liking the way you lost your breath. then, you get back into it.

as you drag your tongue along his length, he hisses; “yeah? that’s it, baby. lick my fucking cock. see how hard it is?”

“mhm? really fucking hard, baby.”

“take your tits out,” he instructs you, shifting so can have the space to take your shirt off. 

you do so. 

“like this?”

“yes,” nam joon murmurs as he helps you undress. nam joon reaches over to unclasp your bra. tossing it to the side, he grabs a handful of your breasts and bites his lip. “so fucking pretty, baby. tits so fucking juicy. so perfect. god, so fucking perfect…”

you tilt your head and shake your body, getting your tits to jiggle. he groans and slaps them. then, with a raspy and demanding voice, he says;

“be a good girl and fuck my cock with your tits, baby.”

you smile, liking the idea. 

repositioning yourself, you kneel over and hold both sides of your breasts. pushing them together, nam joon helps but gently guiding his cock into your cleavage. he thrusts slowly, and you both watch the way the tip of his dick pops out. 

you spit on top and he moans from the warmth of your saliva. 

before you know it, he’s fucking your tits. 

he pumps himself in and out, harder and harder by the minute. 

then, he places his hand on top of your head and holds you still as he pushes his cock into your mouth. 

“take it, bitch.” 

so you do. 

you take him in, sucking him hard and sloppy. you take him in so good, he’s near cumming. he can feel his dick harden inside your mouth and you do too. it’s like every curve and vein pops out, angry and ready to burst. you feel his body tense too—his thighs, his pelvis, and even the way his face winces… it’s such a huge tell. 

soon, nam joon begins to pant. then, he takes a handful of your hair and tugs your head back. surprised by his suddenness, you let go of everything. he bends over and kisses you, shoving his tongue inside. 

you kiss him back, matching his desperation and passion. 

when he pulls away, he cups your face with one hand and squishes your lips together. 

“do as i say,” he huffs. “okay, baby?”

you nod.

he slaps your face. 

“good girl.”

you moan and he slaps you again. roughly, cups your face and spits on you. his saliva sprays all over your face, but more on your lips. 

“what do you say?”

“thank you.”

“yeah, that’s right, bitch. you fucking say thank you when i spit in your face, right? because you’re such a fucking cockslut. you take me in so good, why? cos you love me? or because you love my cock?” 

you blink at him, pouting. 

“because i love you.”

he lets out a chuckle. 

“and my cock,” he adds. “say you love my cock, baby. then tell me what you love about it. say it while you suck me dry.” 

without another word, he pushes your head down and takes his cock in his hands. pumping it slowly, he shoves it into your mouth and hisses at you. 

“look at me,” nam joon deadpans. “don’t take your eyes off me.” 

you listen. 

you watch as the corner of his lips curve into a smirk. he holds his cock steady as he uses his other hand to push your head. 

headpusher. 

you breathe in through your nose, trying to steady yourself. as he pushes your head, his cock reaches the back of your throat multiple times. you gag every now and then, and he takes his cock out to give you some air. as you cough, he runs his thumb against your lips and asks if you’re okay. you simply nod and take him back in. 

you suck him off. 

lick him up. 

and soon enough, he lets go of your head. 

with your newfound freedom, you plop down and dig into his balls. 

as you shove your face deeper, sucking his balls and pressing kisses on his length, you tell him;

“mhmpphh… baby, your cock is so fucking hard in my mouth. did you feel how deep i took you? thank you for helping me, baby… such a good fucking daddy. always helping his girl take him in… you like that, right? you like how big your cock is… doesn’t even fit in my mouth.” 

“yeah?”

“mhm,” you hum, shifting up to suck the tip of his cock. then, you take in more. 

and more.

and even more.

his body tenses. 

you look up at him, batting your eyelashes. 

“see?” you ask, mouth full of his cock. you suck as much as you can as you bob your head up. “f-fuck, baby… i can’t wait for you to cum. i love the way you cum taste. you always make it so sweet for me. what do you wanna do today, hmm? cum on my face? cum on my tits? i want it all, baby… will you give it to me? can this fucking big hard cock give me what i need?”

nam joon nods. 

“yeah?” you ask him, continuing to suck him dry. 

you watch as his body winces. 

“how do i look?” 

“so pretty…” 

“pretty?” you tease. “you like it when i suck you cock like this? you’re such a mouthfull… you say i’m bossy? this is how you shut me up, right?”

“yeah.”

“looks like you’re the one that’s all shut up,” you giggle. “do i suck your cock that good?”

“so good… my pretty cockslut.”

you pout. “then what’s taking so long? cum already. i wanna swallow.”

nam joon bucks his hips and listens to your request. he fucks your mouth. nam joon grunts, squirms, and finally—he cums. 

when he does, his cum rushes out and splatters over your face. he aims for your mouth as you stick your tongue out. a part of you wishes he didn't pull out and just spilled himself entirely inside your mouth.

he wipes the cum that landed on your cheek and shoves his fingers in your mouth. you suck it clean and moan from the heavenly taste. before he can move, you reach over and grab a piece of ribbon on the floor.

he sits still and laughs as you tie and make a bow of it around the base of his cock. you get up and find your phone and quickly snap a picture. 

nam joon’s legs are sprawled wide with one arm draped lazily over the backrest. his posture isn’t anything close to refined—more slouched than seated (it’s the post-nut posture). in the picture, his head tilted, eyes half-lidded like everything about him was effortless. his cock has a pretty pink bow tied around it. 

when you kneel up to show him, he groans. 

“my dick looks too soft.”

you giggle. 

“not my problem.” 

just as you’re about to move away, he grabs you by your hair and tugs your back. he places a kiss on your cheek then on your lips. against them, he murmurs; 

“it will be if you don’t fucking put my cock back inside your pretty mouth."

"oh? is that it?"

nam joon smirks.

"mhm... be a good girl and swallow this time.”

"don't pull out then." you pout.

"i'm so sorry about that," he tilts his head. "i'll be good boy this time and cum inside your mouth."

"promise?"

"promise."

[themuseofaphrodite]

they say these are the golden years ✧ LN4

summary: it’s 2025, and lando norris has just won his first-ever world championship title. as his dutiful girlfriend, you prepare for a night alone to celebrate…and it turns into something you’ll never forget.

trigger warnings: suggestive & mature content, swearing, mentions of alcohol

word count: 2.0k

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The world shined bright around you, illuminating the glow of the streetlights and glitter of the asphalt race track. In front of you lay the podium, where your boyfriend – Lando fucking Norris, everybody – was currently celebrating his first World Championship title. His face was split in a grin as he sprayed champagne over the crowd and on the other two drivers who shared a podium with him. The curly brown hair you adored so much was in disarray and the skin you knew by heart was glistening with sweat that you had to resist the urge to lick off.

It was a celebration for the ages, and you were so proud of him. He worked his ass off to be where he was, fighting for wins in the Grands Prix and spending hours in the sim to make sure he was at the top of his game. Now he was finally crowned champion, and his labor had come to fruition. You could not wait until he met you back at the motorhome, and you could give him a reward that would rival the sweet success of the title and trophy. 

Lando clambered down the podium, his hazel eyes immediately searching for you in the crowd. Once he spotted you, he made a beeline and jumped into your waiting arms, almost making you fall flat onto the pavement. He pressed a series of frantic kisses across your face, over your chin and eyebrow and jaw, marking you as his. You heard the flash of the cameras as they snapped dozens of photos of your passionate makeout session, but you didn’t care. “I love you so fucking much, darling,” he furiously whispered in your ear. “Thank you for being here. For staying with me even with all my shit.”

“Of course, Lan,” you responded, your heart melting at his words. “I love you too.”

He beamed at you and buried his face in the crook of your neck again. You inhaled his scent: musky sweat mixed with saccharine victory champagne. If you could get a smell tattooed in your veins, it would be his. “Let’s go home, hm?” he inquired, his tone hinting at something more and his eyes darkening as he appraised you.

You nodded, a nervous, anticipatory energy spreading through you. “Yeah. We can leave.”

Although you and Lando had been dating for almost a year, you had never crossed a certain point — that point being sex. It wasn’t like you wanted to be celibate or anything, you just didn’t know how to broach the topic. Lando was skilled and had lots of experience; that much you could tell from the way he fondled and kissed you. He was also a gentleman, which meant that he wouldn’t make a move that involved the bedroom until you gave him the green light.

You weaved past the thick crowds, stopping every so often in order for Lando to receive victorious pats on the shoulder or words of congratulations. Eventually, you made it through and you could breathe the cold, fresh air again. “Lando,” you said anxiously. “When we get home… I…” 

He looked at you, waiting for you to continue, although you could tell by the way he repositioned himself that he already suspected what you would ask. “Yeah? What’s up, love?”

You shifted under the weight of his gaze, your cheeks burning red with embarrassment. “I…We’ve never…So I wanted to…” You stuttered awkwardly, unable to conjure up an intelligible sentence.

Lando moved nearer to you, tilting your face up to meet his. “What do you want to do?”

“I…” Your face blazed even redder, like it had been stung by fire coral. “I want to have sex with you.” The words left your mouth in a single breath. You stared at him in anticipation, the blood rushing in your ears.

A smirk crooked over Lando’s lips as he registered what you had said. “You want to fuck me, baby?” he crooned, kissing the top of your forehead. “How long have you been holding in those desires? Wanting to feel my cock in you?”

You shivered beneath him, the dirty words making your skin prickle with need. “Lando, I…Please. I need you.”

He grinned. “I’ve waited so long to hear those words.” Without another word, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the backseat of his car. “Don’t worry, I won’t fuck you here. As much as I’d love for everyone to hear your moans as I ride you, I’d like to keep this time sacred, for just us. Then I’ll have my way with you regardless if there’s people around.”

Carefully, Lando nudged you down flat, closing the door behind him with his foot and locking it shut with a click of his keys. He twisted the button behind the seat, letting it go fully horizontal and allowing for more room. “This OK, baby?” he said as he positioned himself on top of you.

“Yeah,” you whispered almost inaudibly.

He froze in place, his hands stopping their journey around your waist. “Louder. I want to hear you say that this is OK, because God forbid I hurt you.”

You gave him a comforting smile. “It’s fine, Lando. Please continue.”

Lando nodded and tucked your hair back away from your neck, lowering his lips to the soft flesh. He began to suck, leaving small love bites on the sides and a larger one by a birthmark in the front.

You arched into him, granting him greater access. “Lando, please…”

He paused again, his eyes searching yours for consent. “As soon as you want me to stop, you tell me. I will, I promise. No questions asked.”

“Don’t,” you said, your head rolling back as you stifled a moan.

Lando chuckled, his hardness bearing down on your core and driving you mad. “Didn’t realize I had such an effect on you, darling. So needy and desperate for me. Bet it was eating you up inside, all your pent-up desire, when I could have been eating you out.”

You whimpered as he continued down your body, his hands finding the swell of your breasts under your blouse. “So beautiful,” he breathed. “And it’s all for me.”

“Please, Lando. I need you.” 

He grinned. “You don’t have to tell me twice, but are you sure you want to have sex for the first time in the back of my car? We’re not high schoolers anymore. Think you can keep it contained for the car ride, baby? Or do you want to be fucked like a whore who can’t hold in how needy she is?”

You shook your head, pressing your thighs together to soothe the aching and growing burn that was developing in your core. “No, I can wait,” you hesitated. “I’m not a whore.”

Lando scoffed. “Not a whore, yet you’d open your legs willingly for any man who’d give you a good fuck.”

“No, I would open my legs for only you,” you promised him. “I don’t care who else wants me. I want…I need you.”

He raised one eyebrow, righting himself up from where he was bent over you. “Good girl.” 

You pouted. “Do you really think that I’d fuck another man?”

“There’s a lot of pretty boy distractions around here,” Lando clarified. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your eye snagged on a different driver and you took him home while I was busy with the sim.”

Your jaw fell open and you bolted upwards, almost smacking Lando in the nose with your face. “Lando, what the hell? You think I’d cheat on you?”

“I don’t think you would.” He shrugged one shoulder, nonchalant. “You’d crawl back to me in a second, begging for my cock like the wretched slut you are.”

You tilted your head. “And why would that be?”

“My cock’s the only thing that could ever bring you pleasure, darling.” He tugged a loose strand of your hair. “You’ll see.”

Lando was definitely not wrong with that declaration. Thirty minutes later, you had just entered the motorhome, and it was time to finally get some action. Lando knew you were a virgin, so he talked you through everything, taking your clothes off gently and setting them on the bedside counter. “I want your first time to be special,” he said as he unclasped the heart necklace around your chest and began taking off the rest of your jewelry. “I want you to look back on this and remember how well I can pleasure you.”

When it was Lando’s turn to get undressed, you tilted your face away, face flaring crimson again with awkwardness. His tanned body was honed with corded muscle, rock-hard abs disappearing into a V. You had seen him shirtless before, yet every time it took your breath away. He was like a Greek god amongst mortals, chiseled by an immortal sculptor’s hand. 

“You OK still?” he rasped, his voice like gravel. “I’ll stop if you want.”

You bobbed your head to the sides vehemently. “No. Please keep going.”

Lando tugged down his boxers, freeing himself and causing your eyes to widen. Fuck, he was enormous. There was no way all of it would fit. 

He laughed when he saw your face. “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t hurt you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” you responded.

He pulled you in for a hug, his muscles rippling as he embraced you. “If it starts to hurt, you tell me immediately and I’ll pull out, OK? I want this to be fun for you, not painful.”

“OK.” You kissed his jaw and waited for his next move, which was to lift you up and place you on the bed. 

“I’ll be right back. I need to get a condom,” he told you, and you whined impatiently. He vanished into the bathroom, clinking around in the medicine drawer before you could hear the sound of a crinkling wrapper. Once he came back, he situated himself on top of you, opening your legs wider and pinning your hands down. “I’m going to enter you now. Let me know if you want me to stop.”

You sucked in a breath as you felt his tip prod your entrance and then cross its threshold. A bloom of heat rushed through you, resulting in a loud moan from both partners. Lando kissed you, a feather-light brushing of his lips against your cheek while he began to thrust harder within you. “Does this feel good?” he inquired a moment later. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “It does.”

Slowly but surely, a wave of bliss built up in you, crashing down like a tsunami. You quivered underneath Lando, your voice shaking as you moaned. “Fuck, Lando…” you mumbled.

“You like that?” Lando asked, a slice of his teeth widening as he continued to propel into you. “Coming like a good little slut?”

You moaned again as his pace quickened. “Yes.”

A moment later, you felt Lando quaver, his muscles convulsing as his breaths became more labored. “Fuck, baby. You feel so damn good.” He gave you a kiss on your lips and deepened his thrusts.

A groan broke through your lips as you cried out, “Lando, it hurts.”

Instantaneously, the pressure in your core lessened. Lando extricated his dick from you, his cheeks ruddy from exertion. “You OK?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Was I too harsh?”

“This is my first time,” you reminded him, and he swore under his breath.

“I’m sorry, love. I got too caught up.” He pecked you on the lips again. “You’re just so tight and wet for me, it’s difficult for me to stay sane.”

“It’s OK,” you promised and smiled up at him. 

Lando laid down beside you, wrapping one arm around you and dragging you close to him. “I’m such a muppet, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” You flopped over to your side, meeting his intense stare. “You can make it up to me by cuddling me for the rest of the night.”

Lando laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls in the room. “I’ll gladly do anything for you, love.”

“Was this everything you wanted?” you asked shyly.

He rested his head against yours, his voice a low purr. “You’re everything I wanted and more.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

[03jyh23]

— i haven't kissed you yet today || choi san

genre: fluff

trigger warnings: none

words: 900

reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! this request was in my inbox for an unholy amount of time. currently, i need some breather from all the angst im working on and i decided to give this request a shot! hope my lovely anon will enjoy this small piece of work!

love, monika. ♡

if you enjoyed this post, i’d be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!

You were lying on your bed, the soft comforter providing a comforting warmth. The setting sunbathed the bedroom in a beautiful golden light. It was a lazy day, with your activities limited to fetching food or using the bathroom while binge-watching your new favorite series. In recent weeks San's schedule become incredibly hectic due to his idol responsibilities, leaving him little time for his boyfriend duties. He had left home early today again, and you were somewhat upset that he hadn't woken you up to say goodbye. Picking up your phone, you contemplated sending a message, but decided against it, not wanting to add to his already overwhelming responsibilities. Instead, you nestled deeper into the comforter. After several hours of continuous watching, even the most interesting series could lose its charm. So, you decided it was time to close your laptop and give your eyes a much-needed rest. You twisted and turned, trying to find that perfect spot. The bedroom was silent, save for the occasional rustling of the sheets. The golden hues of the setting sun had long faded, replaced by the soft glow of the moonlight seeping through the window. 

Awoken by the noise of unlocking doors, you were in a half-asleep, half-awake state. You clung to your comforter, pulling it closer to your body in a futile attempt to stay asleep. Its weight seemed to keep you in your dreams, but reality kept intruding. You heard the rustle of fabric as San removed his jacket, the sound a testament to the long day he must have had. Following that, the muted thud of his bag hitting the floor echoed in the quiet room. A few heartbeats later, the soft patter of his steps grew louder as he approached the bedroom. Soon after, you heard his footsteps getting louder as he came towards the bedroom. The bed dipped slightly under his weight as he slid in beside you. You could feel the warmth radiating from your boyfriend, his scent filled your nostrils, combining his faded cologne and a faint hint of sweat. 

"Baby?" San murmured, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. "Are you awake?" he asked gently, trying not to startle you. Despite your best efforts to remain asleep, the sound of his voice pulled you towards consciousness. You hummed in response, still unwilling to open your eyes. He chuckled softly at your response. "I'm sorry I came home late," he whispered, his voice laced with guilt. 

You shrugged lightly, turning your face to him. "It's okay," you mumbled, your voice muffled by the comforter. "I'm just glad you're home." He smiled in the darkness, pulling you closer. His arms wrapped around you, providing a warmth far better than any comforter. 

San leaned closer, his face just inches from yours. "You know," he said, his playful voice filled with affection, "I haven't kissed you yet today." 

Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest. You chuckled softly, looking into his eyes. "Well, we can't have that, can we?" you replied, barely a whisper against the intimate silence. With a gentle, almost shy smile, San closed the small distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. It was the kind of kiss that made time seem to slow down, each moment lingering in the sweet love between you. "Better?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"Much better," he replied, his thumb tracing a soft line along your jaw. "But I think I need one more, just to be sure." 

You chuckled softly, your heart swelling with love for the man beside you. "Well, if you insist," you teased, your lips finding his once more. It was just you and San, wrapped up in each other, sharing a perfect moment. It was a reminder of why you loved him so much, and why, despite the hectic schedules, you wouldn't change a thing. 

San pulled you in closer, your head now resting on his chest. You could hear the steady rhythm of his heart beating, a comforting lullaby in the quiet room. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for longer than usual. "Goodnight, baby," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and affection. As the whisper left his lips, you felt a sense of calm envelope you. The day's stress seemed to melt away with your boyfriend's comforting presence. A soft sigh escaped you, content as you drifted to sleep, nestled securely against him. San's hand gently ran through your hair, the action absent-minded yet filled with affection. It was a simple gesture, one that he probably wasn't even aware of, but it spoke volumes about his feelings for you. It was these moments, the quiet, intimate exchanges when it was just the two of you, that made everything worth it. You knew that no matter how hectic life got, you'd always have these moments to look forward to - the quiet nights spent in each other's arms, the shared laughter and whispered words of love. As you drifted off into a peaceful slumber, you knew that despite the challenges, there was nowhere else you'd rather be. 

[simp-ly-writes]

The Line

─────── · · How Could You Refuse? (pt.7)

Pairing: Jayce Talis x Shy!Assistant!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: "Take a seat, But I'd rather you not be here for, What could be my final form, Stay your pretty eyes on course, Keep the memories of who I was before..."

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, protective!Jayce (to a fault), some fluff- mostly angst, AU - canon divergence, canon major character death, kissing, hurt no comfort, depictions of blood, gore, war and death. mentions of suicidal thoughts.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 4,292

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

─ · · A/N: ... 😃 live, laugh, loving over here hahaha (what have you done to me Jayce Talis?!/!>!) 😭

─────── · ·

─ · · You set the table, swinging your hips back and fourth to the music sounding throughout the apartment. Spinning yourself through to the living room to water the plants before looking over a rising Piltover, smile faltering once still seeing the rubble on the streets.

"Breakfasts ready, babe!" Jayce calls from the kitchen. You hear the burners click off as he walks over with various plates up his arm, "I never knew you to be a server?" you tease, extending your hands out to help but watch as Jayce takes a half step back, "the plates are hot, don't want you burning yourself," he explains, your heart swells but you scoff.

"Jayce, I've burned my hands from hextech more times than I can count and almost lost the fingers to count on too," you joke, "I'm sure I can handle a few warm plates-" all of them had been set on the table. "You best know that I'm helping to wash up afterwards," you press a finger to his chest. Jayce stares down at it with a smile, how could he refuse you? Jayce playfully picked your wrist up and tried to bite your finger, watching as you gasped and waged that finger through the air- teasing him before being pulled into his lap.

The morning so far restful as you share plate of food together, clinking your cups of coffee to celebrate the morning. Jayce leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck as you tilt your head back on to his shoulder with a giggle. "Your beard is ticklish, Jay."

He hums out, taking a sip of his coffee, drawing random patterns on your arm, "Can always shave it." You sit up, turning your torso sideways, "No," you speak seriously watching as Jayce's smirk becomes hidden behind the mug, "so you like the look, sweetheart?"

You stare at him, tilting your head, watching him sweat for a sec before kissing his cheek, "I do," you say before hiding your face between your hands once hearing him laugh at you.

"Save those words for when I actually propose," Jayce teases, setting his mug down, finger tapping the ring on your own finger as you spread yours to look at him. "Then I don't find you positively hideous," you retort. Jayce throws his head back laughing, the sound making your heat race just like his next words, "Gosh I love you and that mind of yours." He removes your hands from your face interlaces his fingers with your own, squeezing as your cheeks warm. With your first defence gone you move to hiding your face into the crook of his neck, "I love you too," you whisper.

─ · · Later that morning you washed the dishes as Jayce dried them beside you before leaving you to get some work done in his office leaving you with a kiss to your cheek. You kept yourself busy around the apartment in the meanwhile while waiting for him to return. Mel sent a letter earlier wanting to meet with you both and you couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed about having your's and Jayce's limited time together cut short... but duty always called...

─────── · ·

─ · · You and Jayce meet up with Mel later that day, on the elevator up to the council room you admire your new ring with a smile on your face. Jayce stares down at you his hammer groaning, its presence flickering in his palms as you wearily take a step back from it with an anxious smile. Jayce frowns, his forearm starting to burn once again, he grits his teeth- breathing heavily. "Jayce?" you question- your voice echoing the cave of his mind clouded in galaxies before your face suddenly emerges through the darkness like a tunnel of light.

Jayce sways back into reality, the doors open as you look between the empty councillors room and your boyfriend in concern, whatever happened last time appears to be worsening. He blinks through the pain before extending his hand, watching as you walk out ahead of him- he follows closely behind. His eyes keep shifting around the room beyond his control, vision a kaleidoscope of your form merging with Mel who looks as equally concerned, "Jayce?" you both call out to him.

He leans against the large stone table, gripping its edge with a sigh, "I'm fine," he grits out, fixing the grip on his hammer. You begin to place a hand on his shoulder before being shoved away- your head slamming against the floor as you groan out in pain, looking up confused and through hazy eyes to see a white-figure you think to be staring at Mel yet when its blank stare turns towards you, your heart drops as you scramble to move away.

You blink slowly once at a distance yet its attention has never left your figure even as Mel and Jayce attack it. You watch as the masked figure rotates its head to a complete 180 degrees, you scream in a panic once it escapes Mels magical shield and starts flying with force towards you. Jayce races to stand in front of you, grunting as he braces with the handle of his hammer and uses all of his might to push the creature away.

A sudden electric jolt pecks at your ear followed by a ringing; you lose your strength to stand or to flee as you grip your head in pain, the noise progressively gets louder- almost as if taking a bite out of the side of your head and then suddenly you think to be hearing Viktor's voice, listen to me, hear me. Blue flashes in your eyes spreading out in all directions- magic trying to chase the floating body that in any other still scenario would appear angelic.

Mel starts to pull the figure from behind. You watch as Jayce's arms shake, his head turns- looking back at you with concern as you appear to be dozing off- every blinking rapidly- inhumanly- Viktor's voice as clear as ever, There is so much progress I have to show you- for you to note. You feel yourself start to nod before your head falls, finger twitching as you try and grasp out to the floating figure but you stall, a voice calling out to you- words unclear as if screaming through a storm, (name), come back, don't you dare close your eyes on me!

You begin to look back yet Viktor starts to move the void, images playing out before your face as your mind finds a new clarity you hadn't felt before... any pain from your earlier fall forgotten about as endless charts of perfectly organized information and positive outcomes come before you- you gasp trying to grasp how all these results were possible, I refuse to lose you again!

The opposing voice becomes clearer by every minute that passes, you look up to Viktor who extends his hand again, Follow me, there is still so much to show you. But just as you float over a force grips your foot, hands moving up your leg to your waist, pulling you back as the fantastical images before you flicker back with reality.

Mel is screaming, eyes golden as her arms open- she uses her power to pry open the faceless creatures arms from around your neck. You gasp watching as Viktor stands right beside you, kneeling, his face seemingly ten times the size of your own as you flicker between realms. You can see Jayce gently trying to pull you away, his eyes clouded over, veins glowing iridescently yet his touch burns as Viktor's soothes and when you open your mouth to ask, nothing comes out.

Now that you think about it, you can't hear your heartbeat, or think to be breathing... but you somehow feel more alive than ever. Viktor somehow feels your thoughts as you think them, he nods, You are beginning to understand- always the quickest mind. But just as you feel Viktor's hand shadow over your face, you take a gasp of air. In an immense sweat as you look down at your shaking hands and feel around your body before trying to stand. "What the fuck just happened?" you ask, looking between Jayce who pants, his foot slammed down against a flattened white body and Mel who looks nothing short of traumatized.

"Y-you just died and came back," Mel says softly, as if untrusting her own thoughts as she grips her hands together, shaking her head. You watch as Jayce yells, gripping his hair, he looks to be having another reaction... perhaps like what you just witnessed... the moment comes and goes quickly though as he comes to look you over- face visibly pained as he holds you in his arms- apologizing to you again and again.

"I'm sorry, i'm so sorry, this is all my fault and I'm sorry," he says as "How is this your fault, Jayce?" you speak softly, rubbing your hands up and down his arms trying to comfort him before looking over at Mel. She nods, silently removing herself from the room and going to inform the enforcers of what just happened, you wait and listen for the doors to close. "Jayce?" you call out again as he places his chin atop your head, just enjoying the feeling of you in his arms... as if trying to remember you.

"Jayce?" you ask again, this time a bit more scared. "Let's take a walk," he states, his tone feeling distant- your heart drops, "o-okay," you say, taking a step back. A part of you waits for him to wiggle his fingers, point out his elbow for you to take... but he doesn't- your heart burns once more as you silently follow behind him, just like old times- the times you thought to had missed.

─────── · ·

─ · · "I've been confused about a lot lately, I've not been myself," Jayce begins to speak as you walk behind him, observing his broad shoulders and listening to how his boots chime against the tiles as you both look over the ports of Piltover; a seagull flying overhead. Various enforcers nod to you both before turning around and providing privacy that for once in your life feels suffocating by not knowing what comes next... or the change of what comes next from what you originally had in your mind.

You twist the ring on your finger, shuffling your feet as Jayce grips the balustrade that mark on his forearm looking more irritated. "So much has changed... you, me, this fucking job. I'm scared of what comes next... of..." Jayce can't continue the sentence, a part of him knows fate like the tattoo etched into his skin, of meeting you no matter the universe- even undead. And yet... and maybe the most probable answer of them all... he does not want to admit to himself- to look at you in the eyes and tell you outright that only one of you might make it or else the world you lived in would cease to exist just like the future he lived through.

Jayce grips his hands into fists, begging himself to continue speaking as he feels your anxious eyes on his back, reaching up to the side of his face. He hates scaring you like this, hates that he feels so weak and is strapped with endless responsibility. He cracks his neck before taking a deep breath and turning to face you. "Yet my girl, still with me..." you nod your head rapidly. "Of course, Jayce. I promised since day one." Jayce steps forwards, taking your chin in his palm, tipping your head up as he stares down at you- you part your lips. Partially embarrassed by how desperate you feel for him to comfort you.

"What would I be without you?" he says quietly before capturing your lips in order to distract himself from his thoughts. You melt into the kiss, thankful that is odd mood appeared to be over yet he pulls away too. quickly leaving you chasing after his lips, hands on his chest as you grip his vest. "Do you... regret anything?" your words barley a whisper the wind carrying them up to Jayce's ears as he hesitates before letting go a sigh, "No, with you- never. I just... I look back at myself and I can't believe why you would still want me."

You swiftly pull him into a hug, struggling to wrap your arms fully around him yet you squeeze him tight, "you said it yourself Jayce," you begin to explain; Jayce stays quiet, his hands hovering on your waist, "we've both changed but inside... I know you are the same man I fell in love with all those years ago. And it could only be ourselves now that could admit that to each other- we should be thankful."

You feel as Jayce nods, taking in your words, he closely examines your smile, the way your eye crinkle. He feels your grip- tight on him, grounding him. He blinks, remembering your kiss before entangling his fingers in your hair, enjoying the soft feeling between his fingertips, whatever it takes to protect you, he thinks to himself before pulling away and looking at an enforcer who looks between the two of you, shuffling on the spot. "Councillor Medarda arranged the council..." you look up at Jayce with concern watching as his chin rises, his eyes hardened but before he follows after the guard he takes your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles and squeezing your hand before letting go.

What the hell is he going to do, you ask yourself... and you don't even know if you want to know but you follow after him, endlessly and into the next room. You watch as he sits in one of the storage rooms, a chest plate being fixed to his chest, you shake your head watching as he places his coat over his shoulders- not even looking at you- his breaths struggling to even out. "What the fuck are you going to do Jayce Talis," you question in too even and cold of a tone at his back watching as he flinches- your stress levels are out of your mind as he moves to the council chamber doors.

He can't even look at you, your heart shatters, no, no, no, what are you going to do?! "Jayce-" you warn, ready to get on your knees and beg. Jayce freezes, hand still on the door knob. "Don't do this, Jayce, we have a future together! You... you promised me-" you cry out watching as Jayce twists the handle, shoulders tense and you can't breathe. You know yourself to be selfish in this moment but after every sacrifice you both have made over the years- the near death (and actual death) experiences, the blood, the horrors, and the tears. All you begged the world for was him and fate couldn't even promise you that. You scream out to the world- for everyone to hear- to suffer alongside you in this realization.

"I FUCKING HATE YOU," your words rip through your lungs as you stomp at the floor, gripping at your hair. "You- you fucking said you loved me, promised me forever- I let you hold me, kiss me, fuck me and this is what you fucking do?! You're leaving me to... to what- die? HOW COULD YOU. HOW DARE YOU. What would your mother think? Wait- did you even think? Jayce-" Jayce turns around, his eyes filled with fury... with pain, cutting you off.

"OF COURSE I'VE FUCKING THOUGHT ABOUT IT- ITS ALL IVE BEEN DOING. Going after Viktor one last time is all I can do to ensure there is a world for you to live in for everyone to live-" Jayce's hammer slams against the floor as you stand up straight, sobbing, your future ahead of you blurry as you blink quickly trying to see him more clearly.

"Everyone but you, Jayce- thats not fair! I don't want to live! Not without you Jayce, you're such a fucking idiot-" you start to twist off the ring, throwing it in his face. "IS THIS WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF JAYCE?" you laugh through your cries- becoming hysterical.

"I. watched. you .die. I won't let that happen again," Jayce roars taking three steps forward as you take three steps back, shaking your head. Jayc cries, slamming his fist against the door, the council quiets- you can hear all of their muttering come to a stop. "Go, just go," you spit out, leaning and falling against a pillar bringing your knees up to your chest. Jayce opens and closes his mouth, hand twitching down at his side to reach out and touch you- to comfort you.

Your eyes are filled with nothing put pure hurt and rage as you stare at him, disgusted at yourself. Jayce turns around, nodding his head, "I love you," he says quietly, the words echoing down the empty halls. "I know... and thats the part that hurts the most. How much I still fucking love you and know that... that you are going to be gone, chose to be gone."

You don't look to see if he caught your words, only listening to how the large oak doors slam behind him. You look out through the window, past the panes and see that blue sky again crying alongside you as the sun glows... there was a part of you that wished to stay in that cell now... maybe Ambessa was right all along, you truly were weak.

─────── · ·

─ · · You couldn't go back to your house knowing your bed still smelled like Jayce. You couldn't go to the lab because that would remind you of Viktor so you went down to the docks, watching as the rich fled overseas as you sat on a bench, eyes dead watching as the sun rose and warmed your face like a synthetic kiss.

─ · · Jayce hadn't slept that night, your screams and voice yelling in his ear keeping him restless and at some point in the morning he felt around his bed for you, feeling sick once grasping cold sheets. He closed his eyes, imagining the weight of you on his chest and not the pressure of the gods on his shoulders. He imagined to feel your kiss on his cheek, your skin on his skin- a tear streamed down his cheek that he blinked away before rising out of bed, dressing himself and heading down towards the council room.

He hated that your last memories together wouldn't be what he wanted, you and him smiling, enjoying your time together. Instead he would die remember your tears, feeling your sorrows as equal and even more powerful than his own. He would die remembering your hateful eyes staring back into his... he would... die... but he had to shut off the hexgates, hand to kill what he started, had to say goodbye.

Jayce wanted nothing more than to be selfish but he knew the outcome if he were to do so. If he were to not tell you anything, to not leave you hurting but you would be dead like everything and everyone else or... he could just remove himself, the biggest mistake of them all. Jayce blinked back tears of desperation, it has to be done. Jayce overlooked Piltover for what could be the last time as he touched the tattoo on his forearm, closing his eyes to feel the sun kiss his face, I love you, he waited for you to hear it before opening his eyes with determination, I will not fail you.

─ · · You watched as the massive ships barley came into view before picking yourself up and seating yourself in a convert heading outside of the city- it would not stop until the sounds of bloodshed and violence could no longer be heard. You grasped Ximena Talis's hand in your own as she cried into your shoulder, you could feel the weight of her pain sitting heavy in your own chest- you both knew the outcome of today. "Why must the good always suffer so? Die so- so..." Jayce's mother sobbed, he words caught up as you leaned your head atop of hers- your words bitter, "Because seemingly there can only be so much good in this world before there is a need for evil."

─ · · Jayce could hear as the building shook... the opposition was already here. He looked towards Mel, to Caitlyn and Vi, his heart destroyed at the lack of your presence but he knew you were going to be safer in whatever city you headed into. He made sure that all the connections he made as Councillor knew about you, would offer you an opportunity for a new life at the sight of your face, a life that he was no longer a part of.

Jayce knew that the choices he made were wrong, all the choices he made up until now were wrong but he needed you, fuck, he needed you right now and always. Your ring was swinging down from his neck on a chain tucked underneath his shirt. The tattoo of your combined vision forever painted into his skin that also created what would be your undoing forever. He shook his head, if he didn't do this, didn't present to the council, didn't make weaponry... he would be probably standing at the end of the isle waiting for you; that little girl in the front row, his mother smiling at you both...

The hammer hummed in his hands as he propelled himself at Viktor. His pain and loss fuelling every swing, every cry against his old partner. He hated himself for not being a stronger man to let you go and watch you be happy with another, he hated the council for forcing him to make these rash decisions that he always used to be against. He hoped his hate would propel him just as far as his enemies, make them feel his pain.

─ · · You heard as the carriage suddenly stopped, your heart dropped in your chest as screams erupted from the group, white figures flying over- rustling the trees as you shook your head in disbelief, they were back. You hugged Ximena tightly- whispering into her ear, "thank you for giving me a home." She gripped you tight, "thank you for being the daughter I always dreamed of." And then... you felt nothing but the slight cold touch of fingers against your temples and neck before the world turned black.

─ · · Jayce flicked into space, his body illuminated by the rays of a thousand stars. He felt his mind powered, every thought easy and simple just flowing through his head... as if they were not his own. Jayce grips himself, forcing his mind to come back to him yet his eyes stagger him with disbelief seeing what looked to be an entity... and entity floating a million souls that was Viktor.

"So this is what you see? This is perfection?" Jayce asks, floating and spinning, observing the city of souls before him... a dark part of him wonders if one of these are you. Seemingly sensing his thoughts Viktor nods before explaining, "They want better lives but emotion clashes with reason. Everyone is living a perfect life here, one without the wrong choices or thoughts-" Viktor's arcane voice drifts throughout time and space, echoing endlessly in Jayce's ears.

"This is not perfect," Jayce shakes his head, vision of you coming to mind, your relationship and all its bumps, bruises and pitfalls. "There is beauty in imperfections; an inseparable piece of everything." Jayce feels himself blinking between consciousness and unconsciousness, floating over to plate a hand on Viktor's shoulder, "I thought what I wanted was to bring magic to everyone in the world... but now... all I want is to feel the cool breeze through the window- entering the lab and waking up to seeing us three together."

Viktor takes a breath for the first time, he feels the cool morning air, see's the sky flicker before his eyes. He hears you laugh, shaking him awake, the smell of coffee in his face, the sight of you and Jayce dancing together in the laboratory to a record. He thinks back to that night in the wings of the stage, the feeling of your hand in his, the sight of your smile laughing as you cheered Jayce on... he laughs himself remembering when Heimerdinger tried to get you both engaged... you were his best friend, he loved you, but he could never imagine in any lifetime taking you and Jayce away from one another.

Viktor turns his head over his shoulder, "thank you for showing me this," his throat feels heavy with the words alongside his body- yet ready to do what is needed to be done, "but you must go now, Jayce." The celestial body within him still can see to the future, a glimpse of yours and Jayce's faces flash before his eyes- he smiles happy to know you are happy then- that Jayce will be happy then.

Taking the rune out of his skin, Jayce places it in Viktor's palm, watching as the glow illuminates and starts the vanish the darkness of space, "no, we finish this together, as partners," Jayce declares, ready to live through or rather die on his words.

Viktor shakes his head, placing a hand on his shoulder, "we would be forgetting another who stood for just the same work we did. Their heart waits for you... I-I can see it." Jayce's eyes squint past tears as he chokes back a sob, his lip quivers as he takes in Viktor's words. Viktor nods, pulling Jayce in for a hug, knowing his time to be approaching.

"Tell her that I miss her, that I loved her..." Viktor says. Jayce nods understanding his words, the place in which they come from. "I will... I will," Jayce speaks through sobs, gripping Viktor for one last time before letting go. He see's his skin turn gold as he circles around Viktor heading upwards in the funnel.

Viktor tilts his head upwards, sending off one last smile before closing his eyes as Jayce does the same.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: IM DONE CLASS FOR THE YEAR!!! happy endings + this story = coming soon...

─ · · SERIES MASTERLIST

[aemondsbabe]

From Ashes, Fire | Claimant Pt 3

summary: dragons take what they want, you and your brother are no different. but what will be left to burn in the name of happiness?

pairing: dark!aemond x sister!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, dark aemond, angst, angst but happy ending, very cersei/jaime coded moment that's all i'll say, major character death, noncanonical death, very brief descriptions of injury, blood, i promise it's nothing graphic, reader turns to the dark side lol, piv sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), minor breeding kink, possessive aemond, possessive reader, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 8.3k oops

a/n: this is it, the grand finale! i had so much fun with this series and i hope y'all enjoy the last bit!

gif creds to @aemondtargaryensource

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🔪read part 1 and part 2 here!

❤️my masterlist

🦋find me on ao3!

🌟add yourself to my taglist!

"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty."

“Jaehaera, please,” Helaena’s voice is gentle and melodic even as she scolds her daughter, pointing at one of the straw-stuffed dolls in her tiny hands, “You must share with your brother; how about you let him play with the knight, hm?”

One of Maelor’s little fists wraps tightly around your pointer finger as you chuckle at the displeased frown on the toddler’s face when she shoves the doll in Jaehaerys’s direction, though her lips quickly lift into a smile at her mother’s praise. 

“Good, that’s very sweet of you,” your sister smiles, watching her eldest two children play, sitting cross-legged beside them on the plush blanket she’d had spread out on the grass. 

A cool breeze blows through the grassy field while you idly look around at the many red tents and campfires, observing the groups of people gathered around – knights sat at one of the many wooden tables, a few servants peel vegetables brought from the Keep, and various nobles, lady’s maids, and other court patrons shuffle about. 

Taking a deep breath, you turn your face toward the sun, cooler now as day turns to evening, and savor the first moment of peace you’ve had in nearly a week. The days since your marriage to Jace have been… eventful, to say the least, with each new duty feeling like another stab to your already fragile heart. Respite hadn’t even found you in the night, each one spent fending off your new husband’s advances with excuses of your menstrual flux having come early, headaches, and various other ailments. He was getting anxious, you could tell – each night he pushed back a little more, arguing the importance of consummating the marriage, reminding you of the vows you had both uttered in the Sept. 

But how can a vow mean much if the Gods know it was only ever a lie?

You had felt your mother’s eyes on you at every turn, watching you and your brother like a hawk. Though as the days progressed her fiery stare cooled to one of guilt – a penance for subjecting you to the same fate that had befallen her. You suspected that was why she and Rhaenyra had organized this little trip; a celebratory hunt they’d called it, to commemorate the rift between your two families finally being healed. 

“Dear, dear wife,” your oldest brother slurs, goblet clutched in one hand as he staggers toward you and Helaena, groaning when he flops down on the bench next to you. “Oh, you look… ravishing,” your lips quirk up into a smirk as he drapes an arm around your shoulders, giggling and making faces at Maelor. 

“What did I tell you,” your sister says through a huff of laughter, violet eyes finding yours, “They ignore you until they’re drunk.”

If only that were the case, you think as you force yourself to laugh in time with her. 

“That is quite rude,” Aegon chastises, brows furrowed in offense while he takes a messy swig of wine, a few red drops run down his chin. “Do you see how she treats me?” He pouts, leaning closer to you with a wry grin, “The deed is done though, yes? Bastard knew where to put it?”

“Aegon!” Helaena hisses, swatting at his knee. 

The two fall into a playful round of bickering, thankfully leaving you out of it. With a sigh, you let your gaze wander again, tumbling thoughts muffling your siblings voices. 

“It’s not as hard as it looks, here,” Daemon’s voice catches your attention and you watch as he points a knife at the belly of a deer he and Lucerys had hunted earlier in the day, showing the boy where to cut, “Get your knife in there – good, like that, and now just cut downwards, one clean movement…” You glance away as blood spills from the beast’s abdomen, staining the grass below it.

Looking over the treeline, you try to ignore the sick feeling building in the pit of your stomach, though you know it won’t be settled until Aemond’s back at camp. Biting at your lip, you let out an irritated huff when you can’t make out any movement in the distance, no sign of your brother or Ser Criston, even your husband. 

You’d only spoken to Aemond once since your marriage – a hushed conversation hidden away in an alcove when the two of you had a spare moment alone after supper. He’d held you while you’d cried against the crook of his neck, shushing you and running a soothing hand up and down your back. You remember the way his jaw felt, teeth clenched as he rested it atop your head, letting you tuck yourself into him while he vibrated with barely contained rage. 

“I can’t do this, I can’t,” you lamented, peering up at him with a mournful sob as your fingers clung to the dark jacket he wore, “They’re planning on going back to Dragonstone! Dragonstone, Aem!”

“Shh, little one,” his hands had cupped your cheeks, wiped away your tears with calloused thumbs, “I’m not letting them take you.”

His words had held such conviction, you’d wanted nothing more than to believe him, yet you’d shaken your head anyway. “I don’t think there’s any stopping them, this time,” your breath had hitched with each word, “You heard Rhaenyra, they’re leaving as soon as we’re back from the hunt and she would never agree to leave Jacaerys here, never.” 

You had known you were spiraling, head spinning as you’d looked up at him, and yet the words tumbled out anyway. “I hate him, I wish he’d just… just disappear!” It was a childish little jab and yet, your heart had leapt into your throat the moment you’d said it. You were expecting to feel the clawing ache of guilt gnaw at your stomach, however, a weightlessness followed. You’d never felt lighter than in that moment – tucked away in the shadows, a secret you’d harbored since childhood finally set free.

Aemond had stayed quiet, but you saw the way his violet eye sparkled, the gears turning in his head.

Your words had echoed in his head, calling out to him like a siren’s song – the sweetest sound he’d ever heard. 

Finally convinced that the three men are truly not just going to materialize at the edge of camp, your gaze shifts to where your mother and Rhaenyra sit, huddled together beside one of the many firepits. Bouncing little Maelor on your lap, you’re vaguely aware of Aegon and Helaena idly chatting beside you, something to do with how your brother believes some such thing about the Small Council is a waste of time – a frequent complaint of his since taking the throne. 

You’re hardly listening though, head cocked to the side while you watch the two women laughing and animatedly conversing; they remind you of the young girls at court – youthful and carefree, too wrapped up in one another to notice much around them. 

That’s why she let them go together, that shadowy voice in the back of your head hisses, Too distracted to know better. You clench your jaw, only halfway aware of the stinging pain at your cuticle as you dig a nail into it.

“What say you to accompanying me on a hunt, nephew?” Aemond had asked earlier in the afternoon, voice low as he slunk over to where you, Jace, and your mothers had been sitting at one of the wooden tables, picking through a light lunch the cooks at the Keep had prepared.

“Aemond,” Alicent had sighed wearily, leaning heavily on her elbows while Rhaenyra regarded your brother with a cool indifference – evidently unaware of your family’s tensions. 

“What? I merely wish to bond with my dearest sister’s new husband.”

“Uncle,” Jace had finally spoken up, pointedly grasping one of your hands that had sat on the table, “As much as I would love to accompany you, don’t you think it a bit unwise for only the two of us to go? If I remember correctly from my youth, your father used to take a whole host of men into the woods with him…” 

“Do you not think yourself man enough to take on a measly buck, nephew?”

“Aemond!”

“Don’t fret, mother. ‘Twas only a joke, a tasteless one, I admit,” your hackles had raised at that, at how quickly he had stood down, so wholly unlike your brother, “Besides, I’ve taken the liberty of asking Ser Criston to accompany us as well.”

It was then, at the mention of the knight, that Rhaenyra had leaned closer to Alicent, the two of them laughing softly and sharing knowing glances while your half-sister whispered into her ear. 

“Surely the three of us are more than capable of subduing a deer or two, don’t you think?” 

Jace had balked at that, sighing heavily as his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly. 

“I think it sounds like a wonderful idea,” you had coached your lips into a tight smile when you interjected, “Doesn’t that sound like a lovely idea, mother?”

“Hm?” She had blinked, finally parting from Rhaenyra, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. 

“For Ser Criston to accompany Jace and Aemond, to go hunting with them.”

“Well, I –”

“Surely that would be safest, yes?” You pushed, glancing at Jace before locking eyes with Aemond, “A knight with them, a Kingsguard no less.” 

“I think it sounds like a fine idea,” Rhaenyra had smiled, squeezing one of your mother’s hands, “They should take the time to bond, no? Savor it while we’re together these last few days.” 

“Yes… yes, a fine idea,” she had immediately agreed, always swaying to your half-sister. 

“Wonderful,” your brother murmured, a slow smile spreading across his lips as he clasped his arms behind his back, “I’ll have Ser Criston ready the horses.” With that, he had stalked away, giving you one final glance. 

“You truly think this a good idea?” Your husband had questioned, turning to you while your mothers got lost in yet another hushed conversation.

“Of course!” You had nodded, clasping one of his hands in both of yours, “Aemond is… odd with his affections. This is just his way of attempting to rectify things, I’m sure of it.” 

“I suppose…,” he had sighed, running a hand through his dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” you had urged, going so far as to lean over and press a kiss against his cheek, one of the scant few times you had initiated any affections. 

Those words had echoed in your head while you watched the three men sheath their swords and load various bows and arrows onto their horses, the midday sun suddenly feeling much too warm against your skin. 

It’ll be fine, you had reminded yourself for the millionth time when they set off, horses galloping along a narrow path that led into the Kingswood, He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine. 

“Oh, shit,” Aegon whispers beside you, nearly dropping his goblet. 

You quickly follow his eyeline, looking to where he stares at one of the small paths that lead into the camp – the sight wrenching a hitched gasp from your throat. 

A hush seems to fall over the entirety of the camp, only for the quickest of seconds, before chaos erupts. Aemond stands before one of the horses, a grey one you recognize as Jace’s, steadying it while Criston pulls your husband from the saddle, smearing the side of the animal with thick streaks of red. 

Daemon quickly runs over to assist while you hastily hand Maelor back to Helaena, hardly looking in her direction as you do. 

“Jace? Jacaerys?!” Rhaenyra calls, picking up her skirts as she sprints over, violet eyes wide with terror, “What is it? What’s happened?”

Every noise sounds muffled when you make your way over to the huddle of commotion, Alicent following closely behind. A strange detached sensation fills you while you watch Criston and Daemon lay Jace down on a nearby bench, blood immediately soaking into the silk fabric of the pillows. 

It feels as if everything is happening both too quickly and too slowly all at once – a few of the other knights rush forward, hastily pulling his tunic out of the way before pressing stark white medical linens to the gaping cut on his side. They bark orders over his body, yelling for the servants to bring water and more linens. 

You feel your mother and Helaena grabbing at your arms and it’s only then you realize you’re shaking, swaying in place like a leaf on a branch; you know they’re talking to you but their words are dulled by the rushing of blood in your ears.

Somewhere in your periphery, you register the sound of Daemon’s voice, thick with desperation as he shouts question after question at Criston, “What happened? When? How? How long ago? How could you, you were supposed to protect him?!” They blend together, echoing through the haze in a roaring hum. 

Distantly, you register the feel of another warm body pressing into the small pack you find yourself a part of. Helaena shushes someone next to you and your gaze tears itself away from the pools of crimson gathering on the grass just long enough to realize that it’s Luke. Your heart breaks at that, a sharp pang in your chest at the fact that the poor boy is distressed enough to seek comfort from your family, of all places. 

“No! No, no, no!” Rhaenyra’s wails slice through the fog clouding your mind in such an exacting manner that your knees buckle, “Jace, Jace, look at me, please? Sweetling, please look at me!” She sobs, leaning over her son, one hand cradling his cheek. 

Unseeing brown eyes stare, unblinking, up at the hazy orange sky while yours focus solely on a single, paralyzing flash of violet. 

He’s not letting them take me, it’ll be fine. 

The Sept is eerily quiet, normal for this time of night but unsettling all the same; the occasional fizzling noises of the dozens of flickering candles is the only way you’re able to discern that time hasn’t simply halted. Pale moonlight shines in through the windows, bathing the floor in a star-shaped pool of light and making the whites of the painted eyes resting atop Jace’s face glow like beacons. 

You had picked out the stones and painted the eyes on them yourself, taking them from a spot in the gardens you knew he had favored when you were children and spent hours sourcing the pigments to make just the right shade of brown – one that reminded you of the rich chocolates that had been imported from Essos for your betrothal feast. 

“A wife’s duty,” your mother had said.

Rhaenyra had glared at you the whole time; silently, you wondered if she somehow knew it wasn’t duty that drove you – only atonement. 

Atonement, your mind echoes as you sit upon the cool stone steps beneath the Seven-Pointed Star, leaning your head against the bannister as you force yourself to look at his body, still atop black silks. 

Must one feel guilt to atone? Must I atone for not feeling it? When will it end?

Those questions had plagued you in the days since Jace died, bled out like a hunter’s boon in the field by the Kingswood. They’d settled over you like a fever, an ever-present haunting ache, made only worse by the soft, sinful voice in the back of your head that whispered the truth – that you didn’t care, that you don’t even now. 

You hadn’t cared, even as blood seeped from the gash at his side, even as you forced yourself to kneel by his still warm body and press gentle kisses to his forehead – the performance of a good wife. 

You hadn’t cared in the carriage ride back to the Keep, letting your mother and your sister hold you while you cried – I’m sad, I’m sad, I’m crying because I’m sad, I’m crying because I should be sad.

And you hadn’t cared when Aemond had come to you in the dead of night, had slipped into your chambers – your chambers – through one of the many hidden passageways in the old castle. 

“How?” You had asked, tracing patterns onto the pale skin of his bare chest while the two of you laid tangled in your silk sheets. 

“A boar,” he answered plainly, speaking through a sigh while running his fingers over the thigh you had draped across his hips, “Just as I’ve told you the last four times you’ve asked.”

“Aemond,” you sighed in that same tired tone your mother so often used; your eyes had narrowed when you saw the corner of his lips just barely twitch up into a smile; were it any other time, he would’ve made a cheeky comment about the similarity. 

“I’ve told you,” his grip tightened ever so slightly on your thigh and his other hand had grasped at your chin, guiding your eyes to his, “We had been tracking a buck, had gotten close and dismounted our horses, and had, I assume, stumbled into the beast’s territory and it charged at us.”

“Brother,” you had whispered, shaking your head and cupping his cheek, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie?” 

He had stayed silent for a long while at that, jaw clenched while he stared at some point off in the distance, lips drawn into a tight line. Eventually, you had laid your head down, resting your cheek on his shoulder while you tried to accept that you wouldn’t be getting the truth that night, if ever.

It was only then that he had spoken.

“Please, let me protect you.” 

“Protect me?” You had looked up, brows furrowed as you studied his face, “From what?”

“From the law –”

“Our brother is king, if he says it was not murder, if he says it was an accident, which he already has done, then no one will question his –”

“Fine, then,” he had snapped, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, “From the damn Gods! I…” He trailed off, sighing heavily while he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“... the Gods?”

He’d finally looked at you again and your heart had pinched meanly in your chest when you saw tears gathering in his violet eye, “They will judge me harshly for what I’ve done, whenever the time comes, but… I will not subject you to the same fate.”

You had scoffed at that, had rolled your eyes when he looked away shamefully and had climbed atop him then, straddled his hips and turned his face toward yours, “I don’t give a shit about the Gods.” 

“What?”

“I don’t,” you repeated, leaning down until your forehead touched his, “If they were good Gods, if they cared, they would not have subjected me to that sham of a marriage in the first place. They would’ve guided our mother rightly, but they didn’t.”

“Sister, I –”

“And I hate that our nephew paid for that, Aemond, I truly do, but I am the one who told you to do it.”

He had shaken his head while a mournful peal of laughter clawed its way out of his throat, “You didn’t tell me to do any–”

“Perhaps not directly,” you interjected, smiling sadly while you cupped both of his cheeks in your hands, running a thumb over the scar beneath his eye, “But I did. I could’ve told you not to, could’ve said I didn’t mean it, could’ve cautioned our mother against letting him go with you, but… I didn’t.”

“No… no, I suppose you didn’t,” he sighed, swallowing thickly as he tried in vain to blink away tears.

“I didn’t,” you echoed, your words hushed and cooed, like a mother soothing an infant, “I know what you’re capable of, I knew it then, and I didn’t.”

He nodded, his breath stuttered in his throat as a single tear rolled down his cheek. 

“Because I knew you’d protect me… and you did.” 

“I did,” he mumbled, nodding up at you as his face twisted and a small sob bubbled from his lips, “I did, I did it. I did it, I did. For you, for us.” 

“I know,” you murmured sweetly, stroking a hand over his long hair while you pressed sweet kisses against his forehead. You held him as he cried, huddled together in the dark of your chambers 

And you hadn’t cared when you realized you were smiling. 

“The hour is quite late, little one,” the suddenness of his voice makes you jump, though you settle quickly. 

“So it is,” you smile and look over your shoulder, tilting your head up while he walks down the steps to join you, “The hour of ghosts, yes? Fitting.” 

He huffs as he sits beside you before regarding you with a slight smirk, “I suppose it is,” he murmurs, only sparing the red and black draped body on the altar a passing glance.

“Why are you here?”

“I was looking for you… Hel said you would probably be here.”

“Mm,” you nod, idly running a finger over the pattern on your skirts, finding a morbid sort of beauty in the way the rich black silks glimmered in the candlelight. 

“Why are you here?” Aemond asks, eye following the line of your profile. 

“Praying.”

Without looking, you can practically feel him rolling his eye beside you, huffing a little breathy laugh again, “Have you forgotten that I can tell when you lie, sweet sister?”

Hearing your own words from the night before parroted back to you pulls a laugh from you as well, though you wince as your giggle echoes throughout the Sept. “It’s funny,” you sigh, glancing about the cavernous space before finally looking at him, “This is the only place where no one wants to be.” 

He hums next to you and nods his head, lets the two of you sit in silence for a moment before you continue. 

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m here.” 

“Pretend?” 

Biting at your bottom lip, you nod and lean into his touch when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That I’m sad… that I feel anything, really,” you sigh, breathing the words more so than saying them, “All Rhaenyra does is cry, Daemon is ready to strangle anything that moves, Lucerys is despondent to the point of being mute. Even our own mother cries for him and I cannot muster a single tear that isn’t a farce.”

Your eyes trail back over to Jace and you regard him with a mournful stare, staying silent for a long moment as you try to will yourself to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel guilty… yet nothing comes.

“Everyone grieves differently,” Aemond mumbles beside you, though his words only serve to make you more bitter, “Perhaps, in time –”

“In time nothing will happen,” you snap, grimacing at the harshness in your voice, “I’m not sad and I am… I’m tired of pretending I am.” You murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

Aemond is quiet for a long while, though you can feel the energy radiating off of him in waves – you’ve always been able to tell when he has a lot on his mind. You’re content to simply let him think, taking his silence as a cue that it’s your turn to let him sort through things. 

“You… are happy, though? Yes?” He finally asks after several long minutes, going strangely rigid next to you as if he’s afraid of your answer, “I know you say you aren’t sad but…”

“Aemond,” you sigh, sitting up and staring at him as a slow, creeping smile spreads across your face, “I have never been happier.”

“Truly?”

“Yes!” You quickly shift yourself on the stairs, turning yourself more toward him and placing a gentle hand on top of his thigh, “Big brother, you saved me.”

He opens his mouth to speak but you don’t let him get a word in edgewise before the emotions you’ve been bottling up over the last few days finally spill over and you practically throw yourself into his lap, straddling his hips. 

“Brother, I've been tethered to him since I was eight and you have freed me from that,” you say softly, voice hardly carrying in the air. Slowly, carefully you pull his eyepatch off, the only one ever allowed to do so; there is a sadness in your smile when you gently trail your fingers over the crease of his scar, “We both lost something that night and have suffered for it ever since.”

Without another word, you press your lips to his and savor the groan your kiss pulls from him. His hands grab at your hips in the same instance yours card through his hair while your lips move together in a practiced rhythm. 

Impatient, one of your hands travels down his chest and stomach, though you hardly have time to pull at the hem of his dark tunic before he grabs your wrist, stopping you. 

“Aemond,” you huff, fighting against his grip. 

“Surely you don’t mean to defile this place in such a way,” he murmurs, violet eye sparkling as if he were challenging you, even as he glances over your shoulder, “What would your dear husband think?

You grin at the lecherous smirk on his lips, heart pounding in your chest as a familiar ache settles at the apex of your thighs. You give one final glance over your shoulder before turning back to him with a dismissive shrug. “Husband in name only,” you remind him, yanking your hand out of his grasp and trailing your fingers over the growing bulge beneath his trousers, “I have only ever been devoted to you.”

A rough growl leaves his lips and he clenches his jaw, narrowing his eye. “We will burn for this, sweet sister,” he huffs, pale cheeks flushing while he stares up at you, one hand still settled on your hip as the other comes up to cup your jaw. 

“The Seven can have their say,” your cunt clenches at the way he looks at you – surprise, lust, even reverence giving such an intensity to his gaze that it nearly knocks the wind from your lungs, “The Old Valyrian Gods can as well, I don’t care. Aemond, I don’t.”

Your hand finally, blessedly, pulls free the ties at the top of his trousers and you quickly find his length. The sharp grunt that’s wrenched from his throat when your hand wraps around it echoes through the Sept, each iteration of it making the fire in your belly burn brighter and brighter. 

He doesn’t attempt to stop you when you plunge a hand beneath the fabric of your black skirts and hastily tug your smallclothes out of the way, he merely studies you in awe, as if watching a newly hatched dragon spread its wings for the first time. His gaze makes you shiver, though you dare not look away.

“What do you care about, little one?” He murmurs suddenly, unable to help himself from glancing between your bodies, licking his lips while he watches you use your fingers to prepare yourself as you rub your own slick through your folds. 

“You,” you whisper, shuddering at the way you both gasp at the same time when you rut against his already throbbing length, “You are the only god I’ve ever worshiped, big brother.”

A loud groan bursts free of his lips at that and the hunger in his eye nearly catches you alight, and yet he still grabs at your hips tightly, preventing you from sinking onto his length – so out of his element, wholly unused to being taken in such a way. “Come, let us go to my chambers,” he tries, breathing your name against your neck as he leans up, “Where I can take you properly, hm? No risk of anyone interrupting…”

Undeterred, you simply shake your head and lean forward, pressing your lips against his in an eager, near feral kiss. It’s mostly teeth and tongues and thankfully, it’s enough to shock him into loosening his grip, just enough for you to take what you want. You bite at his bottom lip when you sink down onto his length, hard enough to taste iron, making him growl into the kiss, the sound of it deepening to a low groan at the feel of your tight cunt around him. 

The feel of his cock stretching you open somehow only gets better each time and leaves you gasping in his lap, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage while you begin grinding yourself against him, impatient and ravenous. “Ohh, f-fuck,” you curse, squeezing your eyes shut while your walls flutter around him. 

Aemond’s chest heaves under your hands while he stares up at you, lips parted ever so slightly as breathy groans spill, unbidden, from them. Opening your eyes, your gaze is immediately drawn to a little smear of red beside his mouth and you lean forward – licking his pale skin clean without a second thought. 

“Little minx,” he smirks, meanly grabbing at your hips again and bucking up into you. He huffs a soft laugh at the sharp moan that bursts from you, sounding louder still in the large open space of the Sept; there’s a dangerous, challenging gleam in his eye that makes you shiver. “Go on, then,” he rasps, trailing a hand up from your hip to cup the underside of your breast, his touch warm even through the bodice of your gown, “Worship your god.”

A soft, stuttered moan wrenches itself from your lips at that and you quickly obey, staking your claim over him. As you find your rhythm, rutting wildly in his lap, the only sounds echoing off the walls are that of panted breaths and the slick, wet noises from where the two of you connect. “You’re mine,” you breathe, leaning forward to bite at his throat, determined to mark him in as many ways as possible, “Y-You’ve always been mine, Aemond.” 

He nods his head, hands scrambling at the ties on your bodice, determined to free your breasts. “I’m yours?” He taunts, sighing victoriously when he finally manages to practically rip the top of your gown open; his tongue darts out, wetting his lips at the sight of them and he allows himself a few seconds to appreciate the way they bounce so enticingly with each of your determined movements, “Show me, then… show me who I belong to, sweet sister.”

Something snaps inside you then, breaking and clicking perfectly into place all in the same breath; the feeble thing that was holding the dam inside of you shut disappears. Whatever greedy darkness Aemond has always harbored within himself has been slowly seeping into you since the night of your betrothal feast and now, it seems, it has finally settled into your bones as well. It’s as if he can sense it in the same instance you do and gives a subtle nod of his head, commanding you to give in. 

With renewed vigor, you grind against him harshly, pressing your hips as far down onto him as you can manage until you can feel his cock pressing against the entrance to your womb. The thought of him there, of the possibility of his seed catching, of the possibility that it may already have, spurs you on further. 

“I would kill for you, too,” you say lowly through clenched teeth, licking up the side of his neck until you can whisper into his ear, “I’ll do anything to have you, my love, I don’t care what it is.”

A low groan reverberates from within his chest, both of you all but snarling as you move together; his hips rut up against yours, unable to hold still any longer, and he bites a path down your neck until he reaches the softness of your breasts. You gasp as he teases at one nipple, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue while his fingers toy with the other one, only to cut yourself off with a loud moan when his lips seal around it. 

“I would burn this city to the fucking ground if that’s what… what it took, brother,” the words tumble from your lips when you card your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head and holding him against your chest. Your head tilts down, heart pounding in your chest while you watch him savor the feel of your warm flesh in his mouth; his violet eye snaps up and his gaze bores into yours, making your cunt clutch greedily at his length. 

Feeling the knot building quickly in your belly, aided by the way your sensitive pearl brushes against the small patch of hair at the base of Aemond’s cock, you only grow more needy – craving confirmation that he is yours, that no one will be able to take him from you again. Your breath catches in your throat when you recall a conversation the two of you had had a few nights ago, the night of Jace’s death.

The two of you had been cuddled in your bed together, panting in sweat-damp sheets, when he had cupped your cheek and turned your face to his. 

“What is it?” You asked, familiar with the faraway look in his eye – God’s knew where he could’ve been in that moment.

“Marry me.”

His whispered demand had knocked the air from your lungs then, the whole world may as well have come to a grinding halt on its axis. “Aemond, we must wait, you know this. I hate it as much as you do but –”

“We need to wait for a Westerosi wedding, yes,” he murmured, leaning over you and shushing you with a soft kiss, “Too soon and it looks suspicious.”

“But –”

“But… a wedding in the tradition of our house need not wait, little one,” the determination in his eye had shocked you then, had warmed you from the inside out, “Our sister and her cunt of a husband hardly waited until Laena and Laenor were cold before they married… we could do the same.”

You had stayed quiet after that, too much death and change and uncertainty clouding your mind to give him an answer, and yet you knew he was right. Rhaenyra and Daemon had married in secret, so soon after Laenor’s sudden passing that it had always seemed a bit odd to you. Yet, no one ever questioned it; your own father had accepted it without so much as a blink, writing the marriage into law with no fuss. Aegon would do the same for you, you felt certain. 

Nothing was stopping you, nothing that mattered, anyway. 

That thought fuels you now as you rock on Aemond’s lap, both of you barreling toward your eventual ends. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging him away from your breast despite his growl of displeasure. Just as he had with you, you cup his cheeks, focusing his attention on you. 

“Marry me.”

The rhythm of his hips hitches at your words and he fucks up into you harshly, moving you more desperately against him as another loud, guttural moan echoes through the chamber. 

“Tonight,” you continue, brows furrowing as you stare at him, greedily drinking him in, “I cannot wait any longer, brother, tonight, please…” 

A vicious, conquering smirk grows on his lips, white teeth gleaming in the low candlelight like a snarling dog. “You wish to be mine, is that it?” He teases, reaching between your two writhing bodies to rub hungrily at your pearl, savoring the pretty breathy moans he earns. 

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish speaking as an unrelenting, all consuming possessive ache starts spreading out from your heart, flowing through your blood vessels like fire. “I don’t wish it,” you pant, forehead resting against his while the wildfire burning in your belly threatens to burn you whole, “I told you, I would kill for you and… and, fuck, I swear it. A-Aemond, no one will have you ever again, never, none except me…”

Your words descend into a barely intelligible murmur as you finally let go, pushed suddenly over the edge at the thought of being so tightly bound together that no one would be able to tear the two of you apart again. Your brother growls again at the feel of your cunt pulsing around him, the movements spurring him toward his own end. 

He grabs at you when he follows you into oblivion, holding you against him as if you’d disappear otherwise. The feel of his spend spilling into you, filling you, nearly sends you over the edge again and you cling to him just as harshly, holding him while he trembles beneath you. 

“You are a vicious little thing,” he says softly after some minutes, holding you against his chest while the two of you catch your breaths.

“I learned from the best.”

He only sighs at that but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s smiling. “I would do it again for you,” he mumbles, eye fixed on Jace, “I would do it a thousand times over.”

He speaks in a reverent whisper, promises of death and destruction as sweet as a prayer on his lips. 

Aemond’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the winding corridors below the Red Keep, the flickering light from the torches lining the walls making the various statues and reliefs dance in your periphery. 

“I’ve always hated that he’s down here, stowed away,” he murmurs, yet his voice still carries some among the stone hallways.

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, glancing into each shadowy alcove you come across while you try to ignore the wild beating in your chest – the way your heart clenches at the thought of finally being so close to what you’ve always wanted. “Yes, he should be out in the sun, somewhere he can be celebrated.”

The old cellars under the Keep have always seemed so haunting to you, so cold and empty. The thought of the walls down here being lined with the ashen remains of generations upon generations of your ancestors had never failed to send a shiver down your spine. Yet, they unfold before you now like paradise; even the still, musty air begins to smell as sweet as honeyed wine. 

For the briefest of seconds, guilt joins you – walks alongside you, invisible like the Stranger. A stuttered heartbeat, that’s all and then it’s gone, at the thought that Jace would join them tomorrow, still warm from Vermax’s fire. 

How ironic, you think, glancing up at your brother and admiring the way the light gleams on his sapphire eye, That a place that holds so much death would be where our lives finally begin.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” you’d said again, retying your bodice while Aemond tucked himself back into his trousers and searched for his eyepatch.

“Nor do I,” he agreed, stuffing the small scrap of fabric into a pocket – the streets of King’s Landing would be deserted enough at this time of night that he could get away without wearing it. “Tensions are bound to rise after tomorrow, after everything is said and done; I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”

You had nodded and followed him out of the Sept, through one of the many old, forgotten tunnels that only a scant few knew existed, the list of which definitely didn’t include the guards stationed at the front of the building who had escorted your carriage earlier that evening. 

While he had helped you onto the back of his horse, the two of you shared a knowing look, each of you already thinking the same thing. 

Turning down one final corridor, your heart thuds in your chest as you’re finally met with Balerion’s petrifying gaze and, just like every other time you’d been in his presence, a little huff of reverence leaves you. Your eyes dance over the rows of his razor sharp teeth, gleaming in the glow of dozens of candles, and you can’t help but imagine the horrors those jaws have inflicted, the pain they wrought while subduing the continent – all in your family’s name. 

“Targaryens have always taken what we’ve wanted,” Aemond murmurs beside you, staring up at the gargantuan skull with just as much respect as you are, “Tamed our desires in fields of fire.”

“And rivers of blood,” you turn your heads at the same time, soft smiles on your lips when your eyes meet, like you’re sharing sweet words of love rather than painting pictures of horrors. 

Perhaps that is what wrath is for us, you wonder, your eyes flicking between violet and sapphire when you turn toward your brother, What is death if not the sweetest of devotions?

He takes your hands in his, glancing down when your fingers intertwine before looking back up at you; you can feel yourself blushing under his intense gaze, heart squeezing in your chest as he looks at you like that in and of itself is an honor. There’s such softness in his eye, you would think him incapable of violence if you didn’t know better. 

“You truly wish for this?” He questions one last time, needing to be sure. 

“I’ve told you, I do not wish,” your hands squeeze his, “I need this, Aemond… I would kill for you, for this – for us. Anything, just as you did.” 

Your voice trembles when you speak, the intensity of your hushed promises making your head spin because you would. The want you feel, that you have always felt, is not some soft yearning thing. It’s not so simple as some mere whisper uttered in the dead of night at a holy altar while your skin is awash with the glow of candlelight, no. 

No, your want is something far more insidious – something deep-seated. An oppressive, clinging thing that has always coaxed you further and further down into that shadowy part of yourself; the part that has always reminded you too much of him. 

The demon, lurking in your periphery, that has always begged you to look, has tempted you since childhood with the sweetest of promises, finally rejoices. 

Aemond nods, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his lips, and you watch as he lets go of one of your hands to unsheath his dagger. The sight of the worn leather handle makes you smile bashfully, though your core clenches all the same, and you gasp when you feel another drop of his seed soak into your smallclothes. 

“You know the words?”

Again, he nods and your head cocks to the side curiously when a wash of pink grows on his pale cheeks; he smiles again and fixes you with that same intense stare. “I used to spend hours reading them, over and over, when we were children,” he whispers, leaning closer to you like he’s revealing some deep, dark secret, “I always wanted to get them perfect for you.” 

A little peal of laughter echoes through the cellars before you swallow thickly, trying to tamper the tightness at the back of your throat as the backs of your eyes sting, tears pooling in your waterline. He cups your cheek and you smile when he brushes one away, a pleased hum leaves his lips when you nod. 

Aemond raises the dagger, glancing between its shining blade and your lips while you ready yourself, one hand clenching at the black silk of your skirts. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises. 

You hold stock-still, gasping when he presses the cool edge of it against your lower lip, yet your eyes don’t leave his when he finally cuts – nicking your delicate flesh just enough to draw blood before offering you the dagger. Grasping it, you mirror his steps exactly, just as careful with him. 

Setting the dagger to the side, you both reach up at the same time, swiping a thumb over your own lip before reaching out. Your arms intertwine when you brush each other’s foreheads, leaving behind two crimson lines. 

His gaze never breaks from yours as he takes the blade again and carefully cuts his palm, holding it out to you again and waiting while you do the same, gasping at the sharp sting. Finally, the two of you join hands, blood mingling together as a few drops of it splatter on the stone floor as Balerion bears witness to your union. 

“Hen lantoti ānogar, va syndroti vāedroma, mēro perzot gīhoti, elēdroma iārza sīr,” he recites, murmuring the words with care, making sure to enunciate each syllable, to make the vows unmistakeable to whichever ghosts may be listening, “Izulī ampā perzī, prūmī lanti sēteksi, hen jeny māzīlarion,” (Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows. Two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass.)

Aemond pauses, taking a breath as he squeezes your hand with his, echoing your smile.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi, syndroro ōñō jēdo, ry kīvia mazvestraksi,” he finishes, all but breathing the last few words as his eye grows misty. (The stars stand witness, the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light.)

The two of you stand still for a moment like you’re waiting for the world to crash down around you and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours as your palms press together, both of you seemingly in shock at finally, finally having everything you’ve ever wanted. 

You can’t tell who moves first but suddenly you’re crashing against him, dagger clanging as it hits the floor, while the two of you clutch at one another desperately, uncaring of the blood smearing on your clothes. 

Your lips press against his like they’re a lifeline and you moan at the touch, swiping your tongue over his while you grab at the lapels of his jacket. His hands cup your cheeks, staining one with red, before carding through your hair. 

“Gods,” he groans, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you pant, breathing out soft laughs. “My little wife…” He says the word slowly, lets it drag over his tongue. 

“Husband,” you reply between soft kisses to his cheek, head spinning at how a word that once had to be dragged from you, that had scraped against your skin like thorns, now felt like silk slipping cooly over you. 

Your brother growls deep in his chest and his eye flutters shut for a second before his hands are at your waist again and he’s walking you backwards, only a few paces, until you’re pressed against one of the stone columns surrounding the great dragon’s skull. Though your landing is soft, it wrenches a gasp from you all the same but you don’t have time to question his intent before his lips are on yours again.

You moan into the kiss, matching each of his deep groans with one of your own as your tongues tangle together. “Aemond,” you pant when he begins trailing kisses down across your jaw and neck, “What –”

He nips at your cleavage then and you can feel him smirking at the loud whine he pulls from you, soothing the skin after with a sweet kiss before sinking to his knees before you. The sight is enough to make you weak – the man that loves you more than eternity itself, who loves you enough to do terrible, monstrous things, kneeling at your feet and staring up at you like you are his salvation. 

Your hands tangle in his soft hair while he pulls at your skirts, pushing them up and out of the way, kissing your thighs as he goes. “You had the chance to worship at your altar, sweetest little wife,” he pants, groaning when he pushes your smallclothes to the side and licking his lips at the sight of your cunt, still wet with your combined spend, “Now let me worship at mine.”

That’s the only warning you get before he dives in, lapping at your center with a loud, satiated growl. Your head thuds back against the column while your eyes are fixed, half-lidded, on Balerion, on the fire that surrounds him. 

You understand, then – the curtains of fire that blanketed the continent were necessary to conquer it, just as blood was necessary to bind the two of you. Perhaps one day you’ll be called to answer for that, but even then you would do it a thousand times over; even if the dark, shadowy parts of yourself, of him, lead to the deepest pits of the Seven Hells. You would do it, again and again, for him. 

You were always meant to burn together.

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

[cevansbrat0007]

Reflections of A Hunter

Summary: Your Bounty Hunter wonders just how in the hell he ended up in this position, with you wrapped around him.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Soft Smut, Ari Being A Menace, References to Fingering and Oral Sex, Bref Mentions of Nipple Play, Ass Grabbing, Cuddles, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for my friend, @curls-and-eyeliner. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Just how did he get here?

Ari watches your chest fall as you snuggle deeper into his embrace. Your breaths are steady and even as you continue to dream beside him.

You smell so unbelievably good – a heady mix of black currant and vanilla. 

It was courtesy of the body butter that you’d slathered onto your skin after your shower. If he was being honest, he’d been more than a little jealous when he’d watched you apply it. The way your hands had moved, the care they’d taken to ensure that you didn’t miss an inch of your curves. 

He felt that it should’ve been his job. His duty to worship you like that. Ridiculous or not.

God, how did he get here?

Tonight you’d been confident enough to drop your towel with him in the same room. And although you hadn’t quite been able to look at him while you’d proceeded with the steps of your nightly routine, Ari had never been more proud. 

You were his sweet Bird. His fiery duchess. A little minx all rolled into one irresistible package. Which is why he couldn’t seem to leave you alone. It was a strange feeling. Especially since he was already convinced that you were going to break his heart.

Because for all of Ari’s gruff demeanor, all of his rough and tumble attitude, he was a man who was falling hard and fast for the one woman he knew he had no business hanging around. And yet, he could feel his chest bloom with pride every time you referred to him as being “your Beast”. 

Little did you know just how willing he was to fight for you. If you let him he would slay every dragon, lay waste to every insecurity, every problem that tried to block your path. All you had to do was say the word and he would make sure that no one and nothing ever dimmed your shine ever again.

Christ, how did he get here?

Ari knew he was doomed – that he was done – should you ever realize just how much power you had over him. And in this moment as he held you close enough to bury his face in your curls, he decided that he didn’t care. 

You could absolutely hurt him. Because it was you who held the real sword, the real power, in this so-called entanglement. 

In your sleep you allow yourself to snuggle even deeper into your Bounty Hunter’s warmth, completely unaware of how his big body shudders beneath your touch. Your hand comes to rest on his right pec as you smile, before muttering something soft and unintelligible. 

This man couldn’t help but love the way you talked in your sleep. He was pretty sure that made him a sucker, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck. Not when your nude body was practically wrapped around him. 

“Shh.” Ari murmurs, dropping a comforting kiss upon your forehead. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already dreaming of all the ways he planned to wake you the moment he felt the sun rise. Perhaps he’d start with your breasts, tasting each of your pouting nipples until they were left looking like sweet, ripe berries. 

And then he’d trail his thick fingers down, down between your luscious thighs to awaken your clit. Get you all slippery for him and his already aching cock. God help him if he was treated to your soft, breathy moans while he played with your body.

Or maybe he would gently turn you onto your back before spreading you open and politely feasting on your sweet honey. You were always so wet for him. Especially when he did this thing with his tongue that made your hips buck and writhe like crazy. 

It made him want to drown in you. Right now he couldn't help but fantasize about locking his brawny arms around your waist to hold you still while he ate his fill. He hoped you’d be loud for him. 

Because his dick got impossibly hard whenever you started begging. Thank goodness he was stronger than you – and faster too. Because you were a runner. Yeah, sometimes you could be selfish like that. 

Ari makes a mental note that he still has to teach you how to take your pleasure. Could take days. Weeks. Months. Possibly forever.

Goddamn it all straight to hell. Because how the fuck did he get here?

Because he took a job in a small, podunk town and was stupid enough to fall for the one woman who acted like she wanted nothing to do with him. The one woman who had the nerve to make his heart pump a little faster every time he got too close. 

What a fucking idiot. 

And yet, he can’t stop one of his large, lightly calloused hand from reaching down and palming the curve of your ass. Tonight he was going to pretend that he had some power too, some control over this situationship. That you were his just as much as he was yours. 

His eyes flutter closed as he shifts positions, turning onto his side so that he can drape his much larger form over yours. Sure, you might complain later, but at least this way Ari would know where you were at all times. 

You wouldn’t be able to escape. Run away and leave him behind. At least not while he sorted through his issues tonight. Tomorrow he’d just have to try something else. Who knows? Maybe fucking you into oblivion was the answer.

And while he was certainly open to suggestions, for now he would continue to lay here, inhaling your scent and trailing the path of goosebumps along your heated skin. He needs this. It helps him feel…balanced. 

Well, fuck. Right now, he suddenly knows exactly how he got here. 

Because you decided to trust him with you. And now, like an idiot, he was considering returning the favor. Instead of moving, he simply fixes the pillow beneath your head before closing his eyes and grinning. 

As of now, he was a man who was well and truly fucked. And, for the life of him, he simply could not bring himself to give a damn. 

“Goodnight, Bird.” He rumbles gently, the pads of his fingers tenderly stroking your hip. “And heaven help me when you realize just how bad you got me.”

END

@katymae12344 @identity2212 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @blackhawkfanatic @jamneuromain @queerqueenlynn @pono-pura-vida @daykrisr999 @jamneuromain @ninacutebee16 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @emerald-writes @gh0stgurl @blogbog710 @sincerelytlh

[pucksandpower]

okeyyyy!

but we need a Grid Kids that maybe y/n and seb were in an car accidente (and y/n took the worst of it) and now the roles are reversed, now they are gonna take care of them

Loving this series so much

Grid Kids: UNO Reverse Card

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the roles are reversed when disaster strikes and your grid kids make it their duty to take care of you

Series Masterlist

The rain is pouring down and the paddock is filled with the usual organized chaos accompanying a wet race. The garages are lively with the sounds of mechanics tuning engines, engineers going over data, and drivers preparing for the race.

Suddenly, a deafening silence descends as a member of the Aston Martin team rushes in, face pale and voice shaking, “There’s been an accident. It’s Sebastian and Y/N.”

The news spreads like wildfire. The paddock, usually filled with the roars of engines and excited chatter, is now eerily quiet. Your grid kids, upon hearing the news, rush to find out more details, their faces masks of concern.

A shaky video from a fan’s phone plays on loop on their screens, showing the aftermath of a devastating collision. Your car is almost unrecognizable, crushed, with the driver’s side visibly less damaged.

George, having seen the video, collapses onto a nearby chair, tears streaming down his face. “This can’t be happening,” he whispers.

Lando, usually the life of the party, stands frozen, disbelief evident in his eyes. Mick, face ashen, tries to make calls to get more information while Lance rushes to find his father to find out if the team has heard anything more.

***

Soon, details emerge that you bore the brunt of the impact and your condition is critical while Sebastian, though injured, is stable. The helicopter is already airlifting you to the nearest hospital.

As the severity of the situation sinks in, your grid kids, in an unprecedented move, gather together for an emergency meeting. The weight of the decision is clear in their eyes.

After what feels like an eternity, Charles stands up, his voice firm yet choked with emotion, “We’re pulling out. We can’t race knowing Y/N is fighting for her life. We need to be there for her, just like she’s always been there for us.”

The decision is unanimous. One by one, they all agree. Telling their teams and the FIA descends the paddock into even more chaos.

***

The hospital waiting room is filled with a mix of team colors. Red from Ferrari, orange from McLaren, deep blue from Red Bull, green from Aston Martin, white from Haas, and black from Mercedes. The fierce rivalry that usually defines race weekends is nowhere to be seen. Instead, they’re united in their concern for you.

Sebastian, despite his injuries, is by your bedside, holding your hand, praying silently for a miracle.

As the hours drag on, the grid kids take turns sitting by your side, sharing stories, hoping their voices provide some comfort, even in your unconscious state.

Mick, teary-eyed, recalls, “Remember when I missed my dad? You were there for me.”

Lando adds, “And when I just wanted milk? You welcomed me like family.”

Charles, voice filled with emotion, says, “We’re here now, for you, just like you’ve always been for us.”

***

As night turns into dawn, there’s a shift. Your vitals start stabilizing and the worst seems to be over. The relief is palpable as the somber mood hanging over your family fades away.

Sebastian, tears of gratitude in his eyes, thanks each one of them. “She’s strong, and with all of you here, I knew she’d find a way to fight through.”

***

A week has passed since the accident and you’re now firmly in the recovery phase. The room is overflowing with flowers, cards, and quirky gifts — each one a symbol of just how much you mean to the racing community.

As you slowly regain consciousness, groggy from the medication, the first thing you spot is a balloon, bobbing near the ceiling, with the words “Speedy Recovery!” It has a little caricature of you in a race car with your cat (in a tiny sweater) on your shoulder. Another one reads, “Get back on track soon!”

Mick enters the room with a tray, “Look who’s awake! I made you my special recovery smoothie. Okay, it’s mostly chocolate ... but it’s the thought that counts.”

Charles follows, holding a peculiar-looking teddy bear dressed in a racing suit. “Meet Racy. He’s going to keep you company. We tried to smuggle Speedy in under our hoodies but got caught so this is the next best thing.”

Lando waltzes in, proudly holding up a t-shirt with “I survived a car crash and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” printed on it.

Max pops his head around the door, holding a full-sized F1 helmet, “You better wear this the next time you get in a car.”

George, with his trademark smile, presents a plush safety car. “To keep you safe and sound, always.”

Lance, trying to contain his grin, brings in a steering wheel cushion. “For those moments when you feel the need to take control of your recovery.”

You can’t help but chuckle at their antics. “You guys ... always know how to lighten the mood.”

Sebastian, holding your hand, grins, “They’ve been brainstorming ways to cheer you up nonstop for days now.”

***

Determined to keep things positive, your grid kids rally together for a surprise. As the evening descends, they transform your room into a mini-movie theater. They even managed to sneak in a projector.

The movie choice? “Cars” of course.

Lance, armed with a bucket of popcorn, declares, “I mean, if we can’t race real cars today, might as well watch animated ones!”

Mick dims the lights and George hits play. As the familiar sounds of the movie fill the room, everyone settles in ready for a night of laughter.

***

It doesn’t take long for the grid kids to turn the movie night into their own commentary session.

As Lightning McQueen races across the screen, Max quips, “I think I could’ve taken that turn better.”

Lando, laughing, chimes in, “And Mater reminds me of Charles after a few too many energy drinks.”

Charles feigns outrage, “That’s unfair! I’m at least 10 percent more sophisticated than Mater.”

You, through bouts of laughter, shake your head, “Honestly, I can’t decide what's better, the movie or your commentary? You guys might have a future on a broadcast somewhere if this whole racing thing doesn’t work out.”

As the credits roll, Sebastian whispers, “This is exactly the medicine you needed.”

Your grid kids truly make the day memorable, proving that through thick and thin, family — in whatever form it may take — is everything.

***

The sun is high and the paddock is buzzing with energy as preparations for the upcoming race are in full swing. As you and Sebastian approach, there’s a sudden almost comedic halt in activity. It’s as if someone hit the pause button on a remote. Everyone turns to face you, jaws dropped.

Lance feigns fainting, “Is it a mirage? Or has our beloved Y/N truly graced us with her presence?”

Max approaches with an exaggerated limp, mimicking you, “Thought I’d get into the spirit of things,” he says with a smirk.

George emerges from the crowd holding a makeshift red carpet (it’s just a red towel he stole from Ferrari), rolling it out in front of you. “For our returning queen,” he declares with a bow.

Charles and Lando appear, each holding one end of a “Welcome Back” banner. You try to turn your head to read it … they accidentally held it upside down.

You’re trying hard to hold back tears of laughter. “You guys are impossible,” you manage to say between your chuckles.

Mick, with a gentle smile, approaches holding a small framed photo. It’s of you surrounded by all your grid kids, taken during a race earlier in the season, with the inscription “Family, Always.”

Touched by the gesture, you softly say, “Thank you so much, Mick. This means a lot.”

“You’ve always been there for us,” he replies. “It’s only right that we’re here for you.”

Sebastian, wrapping an arm around you, adds with a grin, “I think they missed you.”

You really loved your grid kids.

[therealslimshakespeare]

|| Sanchez ||

Requested? ☑️

Circa: October 1943

Summary: Upon being shot down on his last mission, Major Gale Cleven finds himself in the company of a female officer -and not one from the 100th. While already inclined to show solidarity, the increasing threat towards his fellow officer forces him to act. The jeopardy such action puts him in is more than he could have ever estimated, as is the fallout upon finding women he knows in the stalag

Cast: Cleven, Sanchez, Demarco, Brady, Egan, Kendeigh, Lu Smith, Ida Brady

Author’s note: the first portion of this segment is in the immediate time frame of Gale being downed. The second portion follows the events of What Took Him So Long? the mirroring of both these segments will hopefully prove enjoyable but I worry perhaps confusing

Content Warning: due to the disturbing content listed below the cut, I understand some may choose not to read this segment. If you’d like an abridged summary of the events herein to keep up with the series, I’d be happy to supply that 💋🌹

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply 18+ additionally for this chapter there are warnings for depiction of rape. This entire arc was produced on popular request, i have tried to portray the brutal events found herein in the most elevated and respectful terms I found effective. I would not call it graphic, however, it’s not vague either. And it’s rape. Male and female. Depiction of rape and discussion of past rape. Violence as well, obviously, fucking Nazis, ptsd from said assaults, choking, hints of childhood trauma, mentions of medical experiments. General cloud of dread. With light at the end of the tunnel.

Note: my blog and writings are strictly 18+, this means that we are all adults here enjoying free connection and art. The themes of this particular story are mature, at times harrowing and for some, potentially intolerable. No worries if the latter is your case, feel free to move on or block tags. On the other hand, please take responsibility for your reading, I provide warnings as a courtesy but I cannot cover them all and if something doesn’t sit right, please exercise adult autonomy and make your way to the nearest exit. Xo

When Gale extended his hand to aid the next prisoner up into the truck, he hadn't anticipated one so small or so brown. Busted knuckles that had rivulets of crimson pouring over copper flesh; he was mildly fascinated by it. His concussed mind flashed to ‘Lu Smith and her shaded face, before belatedly realizing it was indeed a woman’s lighter frame he was hauling in beside him to the shrill insistence of German threats.

The woman who flopped on the bench opposite him, legs spread wide and boots braced with a brow like a thundercloud, was not Smith. And for that Cleven was relieved.

Last he had seen of Ida and Graham’s fort, they’d been carrying on over Breman, and while he had every reason to think few had made it back, who’s to say they weren’t lucky? And Ida could fly a tin can on the fumes of an alcoholic's breath. Smith wasn’t here, Ida either, and he tried to arrange his mind to that, to not even let the doubt creep in, and instead took to studying the newcomer in between the passing of more downed airmen filling the benches.

The incessant barking of their dogs must have been half strategy, the throbbing in his back working its way into his head as the minutes went by. It had taken too long for them to be brought to Luftwaffe jurisdiction, he knew that much, even with giving them the benefit of the doubt for wartime communication failures and muddy roads. He’d been well read and prepared and braced for the outcome of being downed since before they left the states, grilled his men on procedure, on their rights, their privileges as prisoners of war, also on their duties to silence. The fact he’d never truly thought it would happen to him didn’t mean he wasn’t perfectly knowledgeable about the requirements.

So far Cleven had managed not to say a single word to anyone, the farmer with the pitchfork probably didn’t speak English and a wheezy “please don’t kill me” seemed like a flaccid bunch of last words that Gale refused to let off his tongue.

Instead he let them haul him to the nearest company of Wehrmacht soldiers and had been marched for ages by them, had seen and given Benny a nod when his column of prodded, sheepskin wearing sad bastards merged with Buck’s column of the same. Kendeigh hadn’t been there; crew get themselves killed in a hard landing as often as an exploded plane.

Cleven thought about breaking the silence now to ask the woman opposite where the hell she came from, her patches not what he was used to. But no, bad precedent, he stayed quiet and watchful as the Krauts pushed the last of the men into the overcrowded truck and snapped the tailgate shut. Someone could easily make a run for it by jumping out, but the jeep following behind at a steady few yards with a bristling assortment of machine guns suggested against it.

Once the truck began to move, Benny leaned forward beside him on their jostling journey and motioned in an ingratiating arc at the woman’s patches. “I don’t know those.” he said what Gale had been thinking, half yelling over the clamor of voices and the roar of the truck engine, “Looks half like varsity shit.”

Gale wasn’t sure his kindhearted co-Pilot meant those sorts of digs out of innocence or as a tactic to get reticent folks to defend themselves with the very information they might has previously withheld. As said, Gale didn’t know, but he knew it never failed. The woman went from scowling at Cleven -a pastime she had set herself to with such diligence that every time he tried to make discreet observance of her she already had her eyes on him- and turned to Benny.

“201st, fighters.” well that explained nothing and everything. “Sanchez.” she offered Benny after a beat, maybe knowing her name was hardly damning considering her looks.

Kinda like how Benny looked and sounded likely to have a name that started with “De-“ and a dog named meatball. “Eagle Wings, huh?” Benny nodded at the patch. “And a uh, uh triangle.” he couldn’t make it out all the way from his seat, but Buck could -the patch read ‘Mexico’ above a magnificent spread of Eagle Wings with a green triangle as the body.

They were all a long way from home.

“Aztec,” Sanchez tweaked it, “Aztec Eagles.”

“Mexican?” Benny asked, the accent wasn’t one he commonly heard in Philly but even crappy shows and movies got some things right, and Benny had seen his fair share of westerns.

“Sanchez.” she repeated instead and was back to scowling at Buck.

They seemed to drive for all day, until the light began to dim and what was a pleasant day turned into a misty chill as evening grew near.

The truck came to a halt at last, barbed wire and mud about them and the painted checkpoint arm whirled by as they drove into the dulag and came to a final stop. In the quiet that followed the cut of the engines, the rain was suddenly audible, pattering on the canvas above them. At the resumption of barked order and harsh commands the prisoners stood up, gingerly hopping out of the truck with just enough quickness not to be hit and just enough slowness not to be shot. Didn't help much anyway, muzzles were pointed quite liberally around here and you just had to hope the trigger fingers weren’t so generous.

The dulag guards turned away a good seven of those remaining after the packed truck had dispensed its human cargo. They didn't have enough room.

Go up further, to the next one, go to Frankfurt -those seemed to be the directions.

Directions their drivers and guards took poorly; it was late, it was drizzling and Buck could guess how little they enjoyed the on-edge detail of ferrying outnumbering prisoners around the countryside. They cut down on the number of guards, five to go with: a driver, two in the jeep, one more in the cab and another supposed to be with them in the truck back.

After a bit more haggling, the Dulag accepted three more prisoners. Cleven made sure to stay put, he didn’t know the foreign arguments well enough to decipher all but half the protesting seemed to be over who got Sanchez. And he sure as hell wasn’t leaving her here without a superior officer as defense. A dulag guard had hopped up into the truck and shined his flashlight at Buck’s markings, that’s when he mentioned something about Frankfurt.

Benny didn’t move without Cleven and so, when the truck took off again into the evening gloom, it was Buck and Benny and Sanchez and another hapless kid who looked all of fifteen and was, according to his over liberal offer of conversation, a scared shitless waist gunner.

“They’re arguing over you.” Cleven finally chose to speak up. It could get rough, the guards’ distinction of her. He felt it with a premonitory dread that came from too many right predictions as a child. He hated this feeling, he hated how right it usually was, he hated how it was usually met with folks telling him he worried too much. He’d taken to not saying much the older he grew, watching things play out, grieving over foreseen misfortunes all on his own. Until he met Bucky. But right now he had to speak up, this time he had to.

Yet Sanchez remained scowling, “They argued over you.” she retorted.

Gale gave her a tight smile, “I’m a major.”

“I’m a lieutenant.”

“I can see that.” he proceeded cautiously, “But they just took in a baker's dozen of lieutenants. No problem. But they didn’t take you.”

“Didn’t take him either.” she nodded to Benny.

“His captain’s ass never left the seat.” Cleven said, “You were on the ground, ready, they put you back. I’m tellin’ you, if they can’t decide who you are, where you go, I’m gonna need your assurance you’ll fight like hell with me. For recognition of it.”

-Just don’t say I worry too much, Gale thought desperately, he could almost feel Bucky’s gentle squeeze of his shoulder, like shaking out the tension in a cat as he said the same; his back was so stiff he thought it might snap if Bucky did it now but -but John wasn’t here. Thank Almighty God.

“You know you look more German than most of our guards.” Sanchez replied and Benny suddenly snapped to attention beside him at that. “I’m not assuring you of shit.”

“He’s not a damn spy!” Benny insisted, more loudly and vehemently than was maybe best with guards all around.

“You know this how?” she asked, unmoved.

“He’s my goddamn co-Pilot.”

“Pilot?”

“Ya think he just ripped his own cheek open for a part?”

Sanchez swayed with the jerk of a pothole and shook her head, “Maybe you both are.”

Smart, and a worse worrier than himself. Cleven liked her immensely and stared out the flap of the tarp, watching the rain pour down, dusk fully settling over everything outside and the trailing jeep’s headlights poured into their little haven, whiting-out his vision of the road.

“I’m not leavin’ this seat ‘till a Dulag takes you.” he told her, it was all he had to give. For her part she seemed determined to wait and see before expending any thanks. He didn’t expect it.

They weren’t in any city when the truck brakes checked them in a squeaking lurch, followed by the sound of tires turning off gravel and into squelching mud and then the echoing silence of the engine being cut once more. This wasn’t Frankfurt, and this was no engine failure. From the headlights of the following jeep, all Gale could make out was trees. So many damn trees. It had stopped raining.

“This isn’t Frankfurt.” He remarked to the guard sitting with them, the sullen fellow had not said a word for five hours and he didn’t start spilling now.

The others made an appearance when they joined them in the truck, hopping up with muddy jackboots and the clatter of what seemed to be a portable camp stove, along with rucksacks, utensils and the like. They unwound rope from the cloth neck of one sack and poured out oats, and another seemed to have been wrapping some preserved sort of meat. Gale eyed the discarded rope where it lay on the floor with the lust of a man used to working with what he was given, while Benny stared with barely concealed longing at the now simmering concoction on the tin stove.

These guards made conversation, or at least they tried. But not even the scared little gunner was in the mood to reply, and so it remained one sided. His boys hadn’t eaten since chow this morning at the crack of dawn, and Cleven didn’t blame them for their hunger but his own stomach was in loathsome, uneasy knots, and by observance of Sanchez’s wary sullenness, he figured he wasn’t alone in that. A dinner break for the Germans was one thing, he guessed, but the solitude was oppressive along with the forced proximity of all these grinning enemies stirring and chopping their porridge bits and laughing amongst themselves on the benches and floor next to them.

When they offered Demarco a hunk of whatever they had prepared, to his credit, Benny didn’t even acknowledge them. Their offer had been mocking enough, even without understanding the language.

“You must be hungry, ja?” The one with sergeant stripes cajoled, greasy teeth flashing, the muggy smells of rain and sweat and steaming food were all so noxiously trapped under the tarp, Gale had to bite his cheek to keep down the salient precursors of vomit.

The sergeant tried it on Sanchez next, insistently holding out a hunk of the meat impaled on the knife tip. She wouldn’t even look at him and that was an admirable thing until it served to anger him, and the man reached out, hand snagging in her waistband and hauling her smaller body beside him on the bench with ease. Benny was almost to his feet when Cleven fetched him back with a grip of his own, sitting him down firmly.

He managed to keep his voice perfectly neutral when interrupting the man’s flashlight lit perusal of Sanchez’s frozen features, “Hey, she doesn’t mean any harm, you let her go now.”

The sergeant looked up, less surprised to have gained a reaction from Gale but maybe at hearing his voice at last. “Only trying to be good hosts, ja? She von’t eat. Neither you?”

“Just not hungry.” Gale countered mildly.

“But ve must thank you,” the Sergeant laughed, and Sanchez stayed stiff as board in his grip, shying away from the still offered meat as much as the touch “so many parcels of gifts you drop.”

“Let her go.” Gale insisted, gently.

“She not drop zeez parcels?” The sergeant asked.

“She’s not a bomber.” Gale grit his teeth, “I do the dropping.”

The sergeant pulled her jacket apart in curiosity, thumbing at the patches, “Not’z a bomber?” Cleven felt his tongue go numb as the man tugged at her clothes, it was a curious inspection so far and yet- “Then it’s you should be given meat, ja?” The man left off his tugging and rose from his squat on the floor to approach Gale, the man was huge upon closer acquaintance, “For Hamburg,” he insisted through gritted teeth, his anger more palpable up close, and he pressed the meat to Gale’s tightly shut mouth, “and for ze little ones you turned to ash with your parcels.”

Gale kept his jaw locked and his mouth shut, eyes meeting the sergeants’, unblinking and unsorry.

“Open!”

Gale didn’t obey. The man sighed as if he were actually a host turned down. Gale could feel Benny’s eyes on him, wary, careful, his whole posture shockingly good at blending in, a damn good man to have next to you in a place like this.

“We have no beer,” the man confessed, knife and meat still pressing insistently, “or else we would offer it for such heroes. But not to fret, you have provided refreshment, ja? Full belly and beer iz ze best, full belly and a voman iz better.”

Carefully Gale turned his head away from the offered chunk, “That's a prisoner of war, not a woman.” He saw how little effect that had and added for benefit, “And your superiors are waiting for her.”

The man scoffed loudly and turned towards his men who were, Gale could now perceive past his bulk, scraping the last of their tin plates without so much as looking at the bowls -they were eying her. With intent. The kind of intent Gale wished he didn’t recognize but he did, carnival dins and race tracks after dark being hardly the best places to grow up unless you wanted to learn how often folks really would act on their worst impulses.

Not tonight, not if he could fucking help it. By Benny’s taut posture beside him, he knew he had an ally in the assumption that this would end in a fight. He eyed the rope lying on the floor.

“Eat with us.” The sergeant insisted, “She von’t be alive to tell on you, prisoners make a run for it all ze time. Must be shot. Ve’ll let you fuck her too.”

Oh Jesus- “Your superiors know-“ Cleven reminded, voice starting to shake in rage from the keyed up adrenaline he was barely keeping a lid on.

“-zey know emergencies happen.” The man snapped, almost annoyed at Gale’s persistence, as if he expected less protest from an airman at the prospect of one of his own being abused. “Zey would send more guards if zey cared as much as you ‘sink.”

The men had finished their bowls, they set them aside on the bench, pushing the stove away as well. Clearing the floor.

“Or fuck, oh fuck.” the gunner kid, who Gale had almost forgotten about on his end of the bench, began to panic, sounding like he was retching his prayers.

Gale met Benny’s eyes, then down to the rope on the floor, then back up. It was good to have a man who got it. Always got it, his Benny.

“Can I go first.” Gale asked, and held his breath.

“Vat?” The sergeant lowered the knife in surprise, the meat chunk slid and fell to the floor but neither cared.

Gale let his lips twitch, his eyes conspired, “I don’t wanna catch whatever shit you fuckers got.”

He could hear more than see Sanchez begin the thrash on her bench but she made no progress, maybe already being held. “And you von’t tell?” the sergeant asked.

Gale gave him a look that could be universally interpreted as ‘whadda ya think?’ and bent to retrieve the meat nugget from the muddy floor, right by the sergeant’s boot, the rope was just out of reach. When he straightened his back he popped the soiled peace offering in his mouth, he chewed it loudly, the rush of an imminent attempt thrumming so strongly in his body it replaced the queasiness for a moment. The sergeant clapped his hands together, once, in appreciation for the despicable deal.

Gale knew they wanted nothing more than sport of him, it was no comradely favor to allow him to go first, it was blackmail and it was likely something worse once he got his pants down. But they could all play along, he just needed to get close to her. They had her jacket off already, her boots, too.

This didn’t really have a chance in hell but if she was like Ida, or Smith or anyone else, she’d rather be shot barefoot than have this happen to her. Gale supposed dying with German ham stuck in his teeth was about a draw with being killed via pitchfork prongs through the belly.

He didn’t process much when he stood up: not beyond the two paces it took to get to her, the men holding her on the bench seat and wrestling at her clothes, the way Benny didn’t say a word. He really was thinking of Benny in those paces, hoping his co-pilot was ready -it didn’t occur to him even once that Demarco might be as fooled as these sick fucks around them, letting go of her all too quickly at the prospect of a degrading show.

Cleven had his hand around her necktie, pulling her off the bench before he’d even really registered being close enough, he’d forgotten how to hold his face for this act but maybe the mad determination passed for lust, he didn’t think of anything but yanking her up when he felt a sudden, stinging slice against his right cheek. She’d been waiting for this moment, smart thing had a penknife hidden somewhere, it was something one of the Banshees would have pulled, and the mirroring slice was disorienting enough that he wasted a good two seconds in smarting surprise as warm blood trickled down his chin and the guards began to shout.

Someone else wrested the knife from her grip, someone else held onto her wrist now, his moment of shocked pain wasted his fucking plan.

Still, he tried.

Cleven yanked her further toward the middle of the space, spun her around despite her incessant clawing -and maybe the actions seemed to the guards in accordance with his plan, plus some anger from the wound. He didn’t know what they thought, he only knew that no one halted him, they just gathered closer to see, never expecting it, just as he didn’t expect to manage it when he got her turned to the open flap of the tarp and bodily hurled her out its back, into the night.

Benny must’ve tripped the first one, a clunky helmet clattering as the guy fell flat at Cleven’s feet, right as he turned around to help. It wasn’t ever gonna be a nice fight, or a likely chance for her to have even a ten second start but it was something besides sitting on a bench and watching them violate a fellow officer. He’d have done the same for Benny. Just as Benny now looked pretty resigned to dying in this fight, getting in a couple of excellent, unapologetic punches with the next guard who manned up and realized what was what. -It’s gotta be a let down to be keyed up for a nice orgy in the woods only to end up having to play guard again. Gale wanted to manage to kill one before he got shot, that’s all he really wanted anymore.

And for the girl to get out, for all the girls to get out wherever they were.

He was grappling with the closest one, the guy nearest the flap who almost managed to give chase to her right away, when he felt something that gave him a chill of horror he never expected. Rope; he registered it slipping down his chin, making him let go of his opponent to try to slip his fingers between the twine and his collared throat -too late. He felt himself bodily yanked back, a burn in his throat all consuming and the sudden deprivation of air turning him into a desperate mess, nothing useful about his scuffing feet and clawing hands.

They were giving orders to go after her, and two men were scrambling out the back as Gale began to sag. From his new position gasping on the floor, Gale could see that they had a gun to Benny’s gut, while the gunner kid hadn’t needed such firmness, he was braced at the back of the truck in absolute terror.

Well this was over faster than desired but -to be expected. Fuck.

“Halt.” Cleven felt the sergeant’s boot kick at the side of his head, emphasizing his order to cease his struggles.

World grew fuzzy then, not at all like drowsy sleepiness in a hammock but instead like being caught in the river current when you thought you’d managed to strike the ford just right. Gale’s pulse thudded between his temples like the blows of a sledgehammer on his skull, his lungs burned, the cuts on his cheeks blared their pain like screaming infants demanding to be heard above the rest of the pain and terror and fury. He could taste the blood gushing out of them from the pressure, the cuts spurted and dribbled down into his already choking mouth.

What a way to go.

He felt cold air, he felt himself drug and a painful drop to what was likely muddy ground, felt himself dragged some more and his own finger -wedged between the rope and his throat- hurt him worst of all, that knuckle digging into his windpipe.

When some slack finally came, it was minimal, only enough for his body to heave and gag and try to force air into collapsed pipes, enough for sounds of cries and shots and clanking metal to flood into his consciousness. He was either at heaven’s gate or on the cold hard ground at eye level with the beaming jeep headlights -that would explain the blinding glow in his vision.

Or else, heaven wasn’t half what it was cracked up to be.

Someone or a few someone’s, were standing over him and he could see then that he was tied by the makeshift noose to the trailer hitch of the truck, tarp flaps widened far above him like stage drapes. Was Benny still alive in there?

“Maybe you defend her because you too are female?” One guard suggested while prodding at his crotch with a boot, and that made Gale’s frozen, sluggish, oxygen deprived blood begin to pound. “Hübsch.” they complimented him repeatedly -pretty, so very pretty. Too pretty for a man. “We should check, ja?”

He spared one single hope, that Benny wasn’t watching. He didn’t hope they wouldn’t act on their threats, and he hadn’t any hope left that he could actually save Sanchez from what they were even now wrestling her to the ground for. But it felt worsened somehow at the idea of his co-pilot seeing him this way, he yanked his head against the noose and regretted it after. The constriction made his eyes burn, and all his efforts were once again concentrated on grappling with his breathing as they tugged at his clothes and made sport of discovering he was not, in fact, lying about being male.

They laughed, they touched, they said he was some mistake. A face like that had no business owning a cock. He wished he knew less German, in fact he knew little but there are kindnesses and there are cruelties that need no articulation to be understood.

The earth beside him, the mud beneath Sanchez’s hands, was tilled up from her nails, like furrows for planting and her face was so near his when they threw her down, he could make out the spit and blood on her lips.

“Should I?” One was saying and they had their knife out, Gale’s panicked mind had a generous moment of hope that they would cut the rope, that he would soon be able to breathe again. Or else his throat, and he’d not breathe anymore. Both sounded perfect.

They cut open his flight suit instead, a hand heavy on the back of his head, turning him fully over, and then there was the feeling of a warm and sweaty body beginning to roll on top of him.

The mud was cold beneath his cheek, smooth on the forest floor, none of the rough gravel of that endless road, only mud and pine needles sticking to his face now, their knobby little ends roughing up the older wound on his cheek. Every time the guard pushed closer, it scraped him -that blade to his other cheek. The metal tip glittered in the periphery of his one good eye, shining from the headlights.

Sanchez had begun to scream.

Hoarse, wounded, fox like.

It felt very much like a demented dream, even down to the hunter’s attitude above him, the grunts, the prey-like waiting for the lethal blow. He wasn’t sure how long he had floated with only her wounded cries as a grounding agent when he felt a splatter against his lower back and consciousness came back with a heave of his chest and a revolt so strong he fought again against the noose. Predictably, it only tightened. There was cold on his skin then, when the man drew away, fresh night breezes mocking the mess he’d made of Gale, kerosene and exhaust fumes ruining the smell of soil beneath him. Then the heat was back, someone else draped over him, and Gale dug his fingers into the earth too, readying for what the other had spared him. It didn’t matter, if they tired themselves out with him, that was one less -now two less- to use her instead. There had been only five.

This one flipped him over, Gale went easily, both hands occupied straining to get even a finger between the asphyxiating pressure of the rope and his throat.

“He is easier now.” he heard the man laughing, foggy, hazy, unfairly. “The bitch has gone quiet, maybe he will make music, huh?”

Gale frantically turned his head to seek her out, desperate to find her alive -she couldn’t be dead. Not just from this, surely not, what could they do to kill her?-but his own vision was spotting and his throat spasmed in protest. They surely could kill them this way, they could do anything they wanted because they could kill them. And no one would ever hold them to account.

His poor girls. What were they doing to his poor girls?

It burned enough to jolt him awake again, both the forceful entry and the smack to his cut cheek. They wanted him awake, aware, he refused to look at them. This was reminiscent, bright lights and unwanted hands and all but the carnival music missing. He kept staring to the side at her, and at her face, at the way the headlights lit them both up like a carnival spectacle and cast the shadows of their tormentors in looming, grotesque proportions against the treeline. She had her eyes closed, face almost suffocated in the soil, balled fist growing lax beside his own, just out of reach. She didn’t even react when the next replaced the other. There were only five, Gale repeated to himself, there were only five.

No, no, no.

“Smith,” he begged her, “Smith don’t fuckin’ give up on me now.”

His poor girls.

Gale’s own voice made him cringe, how hoarse it was, how young, what a beg it sounded like, how punctuated each word was with the winding pain of a fresh thrust. But her eyes flew open at his call.

Sanchez, her name was Sanchez, he reminded himself. And Smith was with Ida, probably throwing the ball at the flack house after making it back from Breman. She had to be. He didn’t want to live in a world where Lu felt what he felt now as the man shuddered inside him, used him like a skein, a shell, a vessel, hot breath stinging at his cuts.

“Stay with me Sanchez.” he muttered, wondering if he had it in him to do the same. He didn’t have the luxury of ignoring his tormenter any longer, he felt his face gripped and turned, cuts smarting beneath calloused fingertips, cheeks being squished like Bucky used to do in play. The yeasty splatter spit landing on his own tongue was somehow more revolting than all the rest. He gagged, he struggled, his body was on fire.

Smith was screaming again.

There were only five.

He refused to remember more until there was a sudden absence of the heat and the breath and the tearing pain, and if he wasn’t so drugged on misery he might have thought everyone seemed a little rushed at the end. Not how he expected them to be with all the time in the world to wipe their pricks, close their pants, pull out a pistol and deliver a headshot. One apiece here in the mud. See ya there, Benny, he thought dismally, not bothering to open his eyes.

But then there were sounds of squealing tires and the roar of engines and the white bright glow behind his eyelids grew in intensity until he realized -in a fumbled state of what felt like being redressed- that someone else had pulled up to this horror show. There’d only been five and now- now, oh fuck, he didn’t think he could, no, no, no, he yanked at his noose, half hoping to strangle himself or at least be caught fighting this.

If he didn’t know much German when lucid and keen, he certainly wasn’t adept at deciphering the angry babble above him when half dead, half uncaring about listening for an order to flip him over for the next or to blow his brains out. No, no he was far away in the Silver Wings and Maureen’s boot was dug into his shoulder as she turned himself and Egan into scaffolding, all to smoke the club’s ceiling with testament of their survival for their 20th. No big bash like for 25 but it had been a milestone, as terrifyingly hopeful as it had been all too fortunate. He’d seen her cry for the first time that night, hands shaking, admitting she felt in her bones they’d not be lucky, that she’d never really thought about this part, not when she joined up, about getting so close and now she wanted to see it through she was sick to death of the idea of seeing it though being a fiery death. Well, Gale knew now she’d managed to jump, she’d not known fire.

But what else, oh what else?

Next time Cleven woke he was face down on the same old bench seat from hours before, burning ribs nothing compared to the lapping flames below his waist. The truck beneath him was moving and his cut face was only partially gentled by the feel of someone’s meaty thigh beneath him. Horrified, he startled up, hating the idea of being someone’s pet after-

-but it was Benny, looking busted as hell but alive and holding onto him lest he jolt off the bench with the next pothole. As far as he could feel, Gale had his clothes on, muddy and cold and it was daylight and they were moving. A guard he didn’t recognize was on the opposite bench near the flaps, watching them curiously with a rifle slung easily over his lap. He had wings on his lapel.

Sanchez was sat as far from him as possible near the front of the truck, alive and looking for all the world like she might kill the sniffling and unharmed gunner on the floor.

“Luftwaffe.” Benny informed him and Gale winced at their good fortune before giving his friend a pat and letting the sludge of insensibility take over again.

————————————————

“What was done to you: I am horrified.” Lt. Hausmann’s eyes were warm but his smile was cold, as cold as the holding cells, an odd dichotomy, opposite to most but not foreign to Gale. “I have heard they had intentions to hang you, yes? You, a prisoner of war. An officer. Horrifying, base, cowardly, I can only apologize for my countrymen’s attitude, they will be held to account. Was there anything else? I shall make a note. Are you well? Was there anything else?”

“There was a fighter pilot with me.” Cleven did not miss the eagerness in the man’s body language when he let loose his voice at last, hoarse from the rope and suppression of his cries. He’d been sat at this frigid desk with its proffered whiskey and smokes for half an hour already. “She was brutally raped, Lieutenant. And it is my understanding she is under Luftwaffe command now. Held here. I’d like you to make note of both, treat her accordingly.”

“Appalling.” Haussmann insisted, pen scritching away at his pad, “Noted, I-i will see that they are brought to account. Appalling. And you, Major, were you treated well? Besides your throat, I mean. Satisfactory? Honorably? I will make a note.”

The gnawed and broken thumbnail he’d bitten off hours ago slipped from between Gale’s molars. His teeth grated against each other for a split second. It was the only sound that filled the room. There’d been only five.

He passed Benny in the hall when they drug him back to his cell. But he never saw Sanchez again.

———————————————-

He didn’t see Sanchez again, not until a month later when she came with Smith. And all the others. Not until after a month of a John Brady biting through his lips with well placed anxiety over the absence of their female fellows. A month of Gale acting like he actually thought they were alright. As far as he knew, the boy’s sister was fine. Until she came through that gate, head shorn, cheek disfigured, half her buttons missing and a look in her eye that was half fury, half woe.

He was angry for Ida, but she didn’t belong trapped in a dog run with all these men. So Gale protested.

“If it can happen to you-“ John Brady had the gall to suggest at the gate, to suggest something Cleven had never confirmed. But Brady was like that, and Cleven had stopped his fight against the girls' inclusion all the same. Perhaps his fight had been less about the rules being broken, and more at the idea of having to see any more of their mistreatment, being witness to it, his rank proving useless once more. Never again. Not if he had to barter the golden gates for their safety.

———————————————--

“You ok?” Cleven asked Brady on the second day after their arrival as he counted out the syringes on the rough hewn table, one by one. He didn’t doubt the kid’s promise to get the supplies but instead the stalag doctor’s elusive provisions and willingness to comply. But sure enough, there was one for each of the girls, and a spare.

Brady gave him a tight lipped nod before expounding, “Sunnuvbitch wouldn’t dish on the iodine, I could see the damn relief package right there behind him but -no swabs. Dry stab. I guess.”

“It’s ok.” Cleven insisted, eyeing him still; he had his coat bundled about him even indoors but the buttons of his shirt beneath were redone, Gale knew that because they skipped one and started again wonky, wrong buttonhole, twice over. Like they’d been redone in haste. It hadn’t been that way when he left. “These are what we need.” he glanced up from his task at Hambone who was animatedly informing Benny of his visit.

Cleven had tried at subtlety, listening in with discretion but he couldn’t help it anymore, too curious himself. “You went with him, yeah?”

“Yes sir.” Hambone gestured to his newly smoothe cheek, stitches gone.

“So, what’s he like? The doc?”

Hamilton gave a signature sneer, “Weird as fuck and a little weirder than that. Wouldn’t fuckin’ shut up.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Yeah!” Hamilton insisted, pissed off by it apparently, “On and on about psy- psycho -sam-“

“psychosomatic.” Brady rescued him boredly.

“-reflexes and shit. On and on. Just want the stitches out, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Cleven agreed. Waiting for the shoe to drop. He stared at the extra shot, his stomach curdling. “Just want some shots.” he added, eyes drifting up to land on Brady and his sightless stare at the opposite wall that bunked his motionless sister.

“Yeah, that was a whole other debacle.”

“Oh?” Cleven prodded, the picture of nonchalance as he started to divide the shots into groupings. He was seeing things, he was projecting, he was doing what Egan told him not to ever do -assume what has been is now what is. What he’s experienced is what everyone else has. He knew that deep down, but there was a brittle bravery to Jack Brady these days that reminded Gale too much of his own fraudulent brand of survival.

“Hammy it’s- how about you leave off.” Brady muttured. “Don’t bother the major with it.”

“Weird as fuck.” Hambone confirmed stubbornly.

“I’m the one who asked you if you thought he was weird.” Brady corrected, irritated enough by impression to continue.

“And it was! I said he was.”

“I’ve been telling you guys.” When Brady said it, it was without heat. “Him and his stupid little hammers.”

“Yeah what was all the hammering for?”

“Reflexes, Hammy. Psychosomatic.”

“Weird as fuck.”

Gale bit his tongue so hard he hoped it cleared his head before daring, “He make you take your shirt off for it?”

There was a pause in the slapping sounds of the card game ongoing behind him, Kendeigh and Demarco and Crank all freezing at the question.

“He keeps checking the shoulder.” Brady finally said, it was admittance enough.

“And the fuckin’ knee.” Hambone chipped in.

He shrugged, meeting Cleven’s eyes stubbornly, “He’s obsessed with reflexes.”

“You hurt your knee landing?”

Brady’s flat line of a mouth tugged up wryly, his eyes flitted over to his sister's motionless form. “A tad. Uh, the shots sir, he said they go in the hip. Didn't have the pamphlets, no instructions.

“I remember.” Gale had some knowledge of it, they’d all gotten a few vaccines in training, and he knew enough to ask for them in the first place, to help with whatever the poor girls might have contracted. His own eyes skittered to Kendeigh who sat at the table, making a poor show of holding her deck of cards. “Well, you first?” he pleaded.

She looked a little cross but she didn’t fight him, she rose from the table with stern imprecations on anyone skipping over her turn and cast about for a place. Gale put his hand on her shoulder and gently guided her to a corner by the bunks, it was really all the privacy he had to give.

“You’ll have to undo my belt, Ida had to do it up-“ she flashed her swollen hands again, “-my hands.”

“I got you.” he whispered, gently reaching around and loosening the belt so that her borrowed trousers sagged enough for him to get at the meat of her hip.

Johnny was rolling Ida over in their bunk beside him, and Gale wasn’t sure who should give Ida her shot but he supposed her brother was the best candidate. Much as he hated the boy having to. But, perhaps, it wasn’t the worst thing he had to do tonight, and that made Gale’s stomach sour. He willed his hands to steadiness and undid the cap off the needle.

“Jesus Christ.” Johnny was suddenly exclaiming, hoarse and infuriated, Gale glanced aside and saw the boy had uncovered a hip alright, with his usual meticulous precision, and still, there wasn’t a spot of skin on Ida not green or else blue or else near to black. Gale stared back at Maureen and the jagged little scratches on her hip, crescent moon ditches, the blooming bruise here and there and swore not to count his blessings.

What did he know? Nothing, he knew nothing about any of them really. Except he knew such injuries didn’t have to show to hurt like hell. He drove the shot home with merciful force, squeezed in the stinging contents and retracted it, smooth and fast as anything.

“Hell, fuck, damn! Son of a carpet wearing Methodist-“ Maureen hopped around on her one good leg in barely contained frenzy at the sting.

Gale tried not to smile, “Bad huh?”

She scowled back at him in between pained giggles, “If I could give yours just for pay back, I would. Damn!” she held her hands up up once more and Cleven kept his eyes above, “But I can’t, sorry, can’t help with the other girls either, fucking useless.”

Johnny was standing, straightened up again, syringe empty, sister still just lying there. Bucky Egan out cold beside her. Gale couldn’t even allow himself to question if those two would be alright. They had to be, he didn’t think he could make it without them, make everyone else make it along with him. “She didn’t even budge.” Jack muttered.

What was there to say to that?

“She didn’t make it all the way here just to fuckin’ die.” Kendeigh assured him while straddling her chair again, voicing her peculiar brand of kindness and her true opinion on Ida Brady, “She’d never be so wet. They had a whole day to kill her on that train and they didn’t manage to.”

A day? A train? Gale didn’t know what to make of it; he was just glad that Bucky was dead to the world for now and not getting riled again by every new tidbit so that Gale would have to talk him down and also administer shots to a bunch of traumatized women.

“We’ll help sir.” Crank offered to him as he stood over the divided piles of syringes again.

“Alright,” Gale agreed, “but some may wanna give it to each other instead, you let them. Give ‘em space. I don’t think they’ll fight it, they know they need ‘em.”

Benny sauntered up beside him, flicking at the supplies, “This one yours, Buck?” he asked casually, fiddling with the spare.

Gale glanced at Brady and found him looking back at him. “Yeah.” He told Benny. “For the cuts.”

“Here, let me-“ Benny was already at it. Gale tugged his waistband down to assist, just enough to expose a sliver of pale hip and leaned a little over the table, there were bruises on his hipbones, he knew, but they could be from anything.

It did sting like hell.

“Alright you take those, and that’s enough for, yeah-“ Gale divided the supplies to each man, lingered just a moment as they went into the hall to brush by Brady, and murmured to him him lowly, “That was real thoughtful, thanks. You need one?”

To the credit of his poker face, the boy didn’t startle a bit, except for an infinitesimal flutter of an eyelid. “No sir?” he asked as if that were an idiotic question.

It was the only way Gale knew to ask him: to ask about something more. -Tell me son, just tell me you need a shot and I’ll know I’m not imagining shit. That I’ve not become paranoid and irritable and callous, too.

But then, “No sir?” and that incredulous face that left even the strongest man feeling like a dunce.

Well, that was it.

“I’ll help you tell them.” Maureen was by his side suddenly and Gale appreciated that, Smith was the only other female Lieutenant and he could use Kendeigh’s unapologetic pragmatism. “Ida told them she’d ask for remedies. Think she meant for pregnancies but, this is a start.”

There really wasn’t much of an announcement to be made; who didn’t understand what penicillin was needed for? It was needed for the dreaded thing that was hung over every bathroom stall door at canteens and on the underground in London, warning of having too good of a time and catching something. No one needed explanations, even though Gale watched their faces as Kendeigh announced and helped distribute the shots one room after another, he was trying to detect if any were hesitant or unconvinced. He found none.

He did find Sanchez, across one identical wooden room and still in her jacket with the eagle patch. She must have washed her face with the others, the mud was gone. When they locked eyes he saw a hard and warning look harden her eyes further; it made his cheek throb. Stonefaced, she broke the stare after a moment and advanced to grab her allotment, even as her fingers dragged along his palm, even when she passed him, Gale could not get her to resume it.

In one of the last rooms he went in alone -Maureen was delayed with one of the girls doing poorly, one who was not well enough to rise from her bunk. “They about drowned her” Maureen told him casually, and that was something else he dreaded learning about.

“Drowned?” he’d repeated a bit dumbly, and he deserved her

annoyed face.

“To get info from us.”

“Us?” he repeated again, low and slow, “You too?”

She gave him another of those looks before nodding at the last parcel in his hand, “Go take care of Smith’s girls before Johnny gets to them first and helps them with all the tenderness of a mortician.”

When Gale had stepped back into the hallway, Johnny’s voice could be heard still two doors down with Benny, fighting a fine line between helping and making themselves scarce. Personally, Gale felt Johnny was a gentle fucker when he needed to be. This wasn’t one of those cases, none of the girls wanted pity from them. Or acknowledgement even, judging by Sanchez’s cautioning venom.

In the last room, Smith and Tong had the girls sorted efficiently, and it was a little thing to ask the ever obliging Graham and the other men to step out briefly. Same old script here as before, Gale felt in a numb sort of loathing for his lack of originality -he distributed a shot a piece and apologized for the lack of iodine to sterilize the injection site and they all assured him it was fine, and everyone knew he was apologizing for far more than the lack of iodine and they knew that they’re assurances were more than about it either. Gale liked these girls for how well they knuckled under, it had made them pretty great in the crews after a shaky mission. They shoved a bad thing down as well as the next man, and if they punched their bed frames at night or cried in the showers, just like how it was for his men, that wasn’t Gale’s concern.

Only Lu Smith’s face went off script when he pressed the needle and its cartridge in her hand, something besides tight lipped thanks or a nod of efficient understanding. There were questions in her eyes, dancing slow and swirly and blatant as sorghum specks in molasses. A rich dark pool of uncertainty. Some girls were already discreetly headed for corners of the room to make the stab or else rolling up a shirt sleeve and insisting to the giver that they wanted it given there. Lu glanced away from him only to watch these proceedings with something like fear and then she was looking back at him, a hesitant plea written on her face. He didn’t know she was scared of needles.

“Major, is Ida awake?” his lieutenant asked, voice scratchy and a little closed, like how it got when she tried her hand at professionality or had to present a solution in front of a crowd. “I need to ask her something.”

That was a remarkably vague sentence, not at all professional. “No, she’s not.” He told her, watching as the fear grew more pronounced around her mouth and chin, “You ask me, Lieutenant.”

“May I?”

“Course,” Gale nodded his head toward the door, “step out here.”

He strode down to the very end of the combine, by the locked double doors, just far enough away from the windows not to invite a guard to come in and give them shit about it. The bright orange lights of the camp came in from the general darkness outside, glowing through the always dusty glass and making Smith’s skin shine a pretty bronze, even with the dark spots on her chin. Those made his blood thud quicker. It was quiet down here, as private as he could get.

“What’s up Smith?” he urged.

“I’m sorry sir I-I’ve got a few questions.”

“Told you to ask, Lieutenant.” Gale reminded, “So ask.”

“Yes sir.” She’d developed a tick since he’d last seen her, an odd sort of hugging of herself, arm crossing her chest and hand gripping her opposite clavicle, fingertips curling just over her own shoulder. “It’s about the shots. Ida’s been teaching me but she never mentioned about those.”

Gale took a deep breath, only the faintest bit of mirth left at the reminder of the ‘condom balloon’ incident. Ida had needed a stiff drink after taking her engineer aside and informing ‘Little Lu’ those were rubber socks men put on their members, and not in fact balloons. And yes, Benny had lied out of niceness, and yes men’s bodies sprayed things like cattle’s did when they got excited, and yes it’s for the purpose of making babies. Gale had heard all this from Ida after three stiff shots she’d downed like medicine, she’d relayed it in a perfect montone and Gale had not asked but she told him all the same, then said she needed to hit the sack and Ida Brady was gone while Gale remained at the bar with his cider and shaking shoulders. The memory had been amusing only weeks ago, when Douglass came to loot Benny’s footlocker for more rubbers and they’d all made a joke about Smith having beat him to them -for balloons.

“Everyone else seems to know and want them and I’m the slow one again.” Smith was muttering, a petulant look of annoyance crossing her young face, angry at herself.

“It’s about the guards.” Gale murmured.

Smith looked so hurt by that he wasn’t sure where he’d misstepped, but then, “Is it for what they did? Or is it such a sure they’re gonna keep hurting us and these- how do these help, sir?”

Gale startled and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder out of pure, gut instinct to impress on her his next words, “Not a single thing is goin’ to happen to you again, not like that, you hear me, Lu?” he shook her a little and it dislodged her own hand from her chest.

“Yes sir.”

“These are for anything you might’ve caught.” he tried to explain, coming up short and he knew it. If Bucky were here he’d use all manner of crass slang and common vernacular phrases to jog the poor girl’s memory about magazine advertisements, the sorts that warned of ‘diseases’, the underground posters and the bathroom stall flyers urging chastity or safety. Gale could not manage it back then and he couldn’t now. “Diseases Lu.” he tried again, “Men who aren’t- careful, or- disciplined, they, they spread diseases to the girl they’re with. Uh, with- intimately. If they’ve been with other girls before.”

He hoped to God that Ida had used the word ‘intimate’ when educating Smith on these finer yet so utterly crude aspects of human interaction. ‘Intimate’ seemed like a word Ida Brady would use, he thought he recalled her accusing him of being intimate with Kendeigh. Maybe the accusation had been ‘fraternizing’. Or ‘getting familiar’. Gale wasn’t sure, he only recalled that it had not been complementary and he had blushed into the floor under her stare but her accusation had been vague. He knew Ida had been vague.

Was she equally vague with Smith? Did that mean Smith was as uneducated as she’d been before Ida gave her an ineffectually Catholic lesson?

“They can spread it with-“ Smith paused only a minute before deciding to trust him, “-with their bodies? Like a wound?”

Gale gave her nod, trying to stay teacherly, “With their bodies. Yeah. They don’t need wounds it comes from- well, other places. Intimate places they- look, Smith if you weren’t hurt that way, you don’t need the shots.”

Grueling as this conversation was, nerve wracking as her dense innocence could be, it fed that traitorous bit of hope he’d been harboring since he lost all hope for himself that she might’ve been alright. It wasn’t fair to Kendiegh or Ida or Sanchez or any of the others to hope for that, but none of this was fair anyway. Maybe her lack of comprehension was a kindness.

Smith’s eyes were latching onto one surrounding thing and then another, a good long beat between each new object, not darting but roving, now latched on the doorframe and now on Gale’s coat buttons and then on to the glass window panes beside them as if she could see through the bubbled glass out into the dark yard. He could tell by her change in breathing more than the light when she began to cry.

“I didn’t want the girls to think I’m stupid.” She admitted, and she was definitely crying, “I’m their officer, I should know these things.” she explained, lips going into a full tremble, all the harmless jokes of before suddenly not a bit funny, “But I don’t know at all, I didn’t know they’d-“ Gale kept his hand on her now jolting shoulder, spending a little too much time thinking how to mould his own face to some correct expression for this as she began to crumble, it was better than watching too closely as she broke apart, “When they beat us and put the bags over our faces I- I expected it. It wasn’t right, we weren’t treated like prisoners but, I expected it. Ida had told us. Then they started saying things to her, the ones that could speak English and I-i really didn’t know what they meant, not at first until they started- oh Major, they, they started touching her, like lovers in a movie.”

Lu had her eyes squeezed shut like that would get the image out somehow, one brief flash and Gale could remember everything about laying there and seeing Sanchez’s face -and he knew nothing wiped the image out. “They had her chained to a bar and they kept doing that,” she went on, “It was over her head, the bar was over her head and I could tell how much she hated it, and she couldn’t do anything and they weren’t hurting her anymore, they were- they were touching her. They stopped beating her and started touching her, sir and I- that’s when I realized that, there could be something worse. They wanted us to start giving up ranks, and they kept doing that until we did and I wanted to give up then more than any time else. Just to make them stop doing that to her.”

Gale squeezed her shoulder and she jerked under it but cried afresh, she stayed still next to him and just kept crying. “Smith, right here and now I need to know if you’re alright.” he steered her away from memories back to now, as gently as he could, “Ida is gonna be alright, and she’s proud of you, and she expects you to take care of her girls, you hear me? And I need you well for that, Lu. I need to know if you’ve been hurt.”

Smith pulled herself back into a shaky composure, her neck still trembling so badly her head made tiny little jerks from time to time. “They did hurt me.” she agreed.

“Hurt you where you need these shots?” he gently clarified, hoping she was catching on, dreading the confirmation all the same.

“They put -they kept putting themselves inside me.” she got it out, her face dazed like she still didn’t understand it even as her voice cracked from a soul deep knowledge of the wrong done, “I didn’t know they could- they could use their bodies like that. I didn’t know. They kept doing it.”

-There had been only five.- Gale felt his belly lurch, some bowel deep memory of the same torture taking over him, like a haunting he couldn’t prevent. He’d thought he had it locked far down enough, hardly thought on it these days, but maybe he’d shoved it down to where it hurt in the first place, with his belly in knots all again and Sanchez’s cold face sneering and Benny’s worried eyes making his stomach shake and salt flood his mouth. He wanted to vomit.

“Oh Lu.” he muttered ineffectually, “C’mere.” and he had her hugged and cradled to his ratty jacket before his ingrained and temperate habits could interfere. He had her turned to the doors, her sobbing eyes pressed into his sweaty layers and it was better that way. With his lips pressed to the crown of her head he watched the rest of the hallway go on without them, men going back into the rooms once the shots had been administered, Benny darting into one with a bucket in hand. Gale saw Brady as Brady saw him, only making a small pause in his stride as he watched Gale hold Smith before he turned away, face still a blank slate, the boy went back to his sister.

Maybe if Gale had been closer or the hallway brighter he might’ve seen the same hurt and tears there as he and Smith were sharing, but Brady wasn’t close and he wouldn’t say and maybe Gale was a fool to think his own experience wasn’t a fluke. But Brady just went back to Ida, and Gale still felt the damning weight of the shot in his palm even as he hugged Smith’s narrow shoulders.

His own hip still smarted from the injection, -the shot for his cuts. Just his cuts.

“I’m sorry sir.” Smith was trying to say in between sobs, no doubt finding her emotions galling in the face of her prized professionalism.

“Don’t be.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be fine-“

“I know.”

“I’ll be fine i just, I didn’t know-“

“I know, Lu.”

“It hurt so much.”

“I know.”

She pulled her face away, he was glad to see that while it was puffy and reddened, she looked far calmer. The suddenness of her recovery should have warned him. “Do you sir?” she whispered, pained.

“What?”

“Do you know, sir?” she asked again, harmless yet intent, “Did they hurt you that way too?”

Gale felt a rush of heat, heat and numbness where his hands fell from their grip on her and shook by his sides instead, and he hated his limbs for that betrayal. Heat, like she could see it so clearly on his face, like the harmless cuts on his face really spelled it out. Everyone’s suspicion of them put him on edge, wondering what was wrong with his bearing, his walk, the way he took a seat, that somehow exposed him. With her dark, pitying, horrified little face staring up at him, he felt like he was back on the bench with Benny holding him there, knowing most likely why he had to lay on his belly and not his back.

“Smith you can’t-“ Gale sounded young again and he hated it, when he was ready he began again, and this time he sounded like Major Cleven, “-don’t ever say shit like that again, alright? You can’t say shit like that. Not about- men. Not about me.”

She looked affronted and close to tears again, but his tone couldn’t be helped, last thing this stalag needed was news their Major had been so easily overcome. “I was just asking sir-“

“Not something you ask a man.” he informed her. “Like ya said, there’s lot of things you don’t know, it’s alright. But you don’t ask that, Smith.”

Harsh but necessary, he told himself again. Except she looked less hurt now and closer to something like anger, if her kind self could be angry. He’d seen her get angry when someone kicked a dog once. He’d seen her angry after a shit mission. She looked close to it now, like some grave injustice was firing her up. “But it can happen to men.” she was suddenly wise and he picked a cuticle bloody in trance-like distress, his face was motionless, “I know because they- they can put themselves both places.”

Fury took the place of numbness in his being and he grabbed her again, pulling her close and tucking her under his chin, she made a wounded noise when their chests collided despite the layers, but she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed back. “They’re never gonna do that again, Lu, never again. I’m gonna make sure of it. Bucky’ll make sure of it.” he swore, his voice gone so low it shook. “They hurt you other places?”

Smith shook her head against his chest, “I’ll take the shot, sir.” she murmured meekly. “Would you give it? I don’t want the others to-“

“Sure, Lu.”

He waited until she pulled away, her eyes downcast but the look on her face broke no argument that she wasn’t in a humor to be less than her rank. Gale shifted the shot in his palm and bit his lip, willing away any sentiment about it.

“Goes in the hip. Mark my words, those bicep shots that Tong went for- gonna hurt for ages, you don’t need that. Lemme put it in your hip.”

Smith nodded and cast a furtive glance behind her at the empty hall, only looking down again to undo her belt when Gale moved his body to block any hapless onlooker.

There were bruises when he gently aided her in tugging the drab olive aside, some nearly as dark as the ones on Ida and welts from what looked like a belt strap, even on the high swell of her hip. Gale knew the smarting bite of a belting.

“Did you wash these?” he whispered to her, crouching to better see his work as he made a harbor of unmarried muscle between his thumb and index finger, bunching up the meat of her leg and holding it for her to relax into his touch before he jammed the shot home.

“When we showered.” Lu wasn’t crying anymore but her voice matched his in its softness, tense anticipation for the jab mellowing the longer he kept her staid under his hold.

“Good.” he commended her, voice muffled by the needles’ cap between his lips.

She only stiffened when he drove it in, pressed down on the plunger with his thumb, kept his hand gripping her hip, shaking the muscle just so, “Loosen up.” he ordered, it would hurt less that way. Cleven heard her take a breath and try.

When he stood straight again he took the cap from his mouth and clicked it back on the needle, acting like it took great concentration and focus to do so, all while she pulled her trousers back up and refastened them discreetly. Her cheeks were wet once more, either from before or she’d begun crying again.

“You ok?” he asked.

She gave him a long series of nods as she got on top of the embarrassed anger. “Yes, thanks Buck.”

“I’m right down there.” he reminded, thumbing at his own quarters. “You feel the least bit sickly or- or anything, you come get me. Same for your girls.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, well get in there Lu,” he patted her toward her room, “one thing the krauts are picky about here is bedtime.”

Smith sucked in a breath between her teeth, a shuddering thing, “Alright, I’ll remember. Bedtime.”

“So you’re gonna remember bedtime and what else?” Gale catchized her.

“Bedtime and that…you’re -right down there.”

“Very good, Smith.”

“Night, Buck.”

“Night, Lu.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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[lostinlovingrevery]

He's Definitely Obsessed With You (Series)

Origins! Logan X Fem!Reader

Plot: You're an army nurse, deep in the trenches of the Vietnam jungles, doing everything you can to keep yourself together, and the infantry that come into your tent. One day a soldier you aren't familiar with is brought in, and you find out something about him that leads to the start of an important relationship between you both that changes the course of your lives together...

A/N: This is basically the plot of Origins, but with my own spin on it with a Fem!Reader! This is my first time EVER writing an X reader, so comments appreciate! I plan to make this a series, but I wanted to put out a prologue first. Okay, it's not really a prologue and more like a chapter, and ended up being super long because I started writing and then didn't stop, and prologues are short- but IT'S MY STORY AND I'LL CREATE MY OWN RULES. The prologue is just how reader and Logan meet! (PS, there's eventual smut...Soon as I figure out how write it without getting embarrassed) Also, I'm still figuring out how to format on Tumblr, so please don't mind any funky design choices. Probably spelling and grammar mistakes somewhere in there

Warnings: Reader POV only (for now) Reader is female, also an army nurse, also a mutant- but powers aren't specified, blood mention, medical stuff talked about (like amputations), injury descriptions, Vietnam war and slight politics mention, probably a lot of historical inaccuracies i just googled things but I tried! implied reader could be religious but honestly there's nothing concrete to that. The only description of reader is her clothes and that she has hair, and wears makeup (lipstick). Reader has a hard on over Logan (she has a cruuuush), let me know if there's anything I missed!

Word Count: 4753

Series Masterlist

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Prologue:

Rain rapped lightly along the top of the large tent, creating a soothing sound throughout. A radio, playing an american music station, played a rock song, of some new band slowly making a name for itself, sat nearby on a metal cabinet. Stacks of manila folders and papers were disorganized and spread, almost completely covering a desk. A clock ticks rhythmically. The tent was lined with cots, tables, ratty mattresses, IV stands, and small tables covered with empty food trays, water canisters, and paper cups filled pills. Some of the beds were taken up by injured men, snoring and groaning as they attempted to sleep, only slightly more comfortable here in the medical tent than out in the muddy, rainy trenches. It was monsoon season in Vietnam, and you were at your wits end with paperwork in the middle of a small but-not-that-small camp, set up not far from an American fire support base.

You were sitting at the desk, half asleep as you attempted to fill out another request form for medical supplies. Halothane, Methoxyflurane, Morphine, Penicillin - are common medicines that you find yourself constantly having to restock. Of course bandages, gloves, needles, saline, tubing, multiple surgical supplies, other things you find yourself low on often too, considering the amount of amputations, large and minor, that happen around here. The medical tent that you currently reside in was a revolving door of soldiers, both American and Vietnamese, as well as nearby villagers who come for aid after the American presence near their homes led to viruses they can’t combat on their own, or other unfortunate injuries if war breaks out in their village. 

You were simply an army nurse, this was not your usual duty to perform, it was normally left to the assigned doctor of the camp. Your job was to assist the doctor, take care of the patients, administer medicine, IVs, change bandages, wet baths, feed them, and hold their hands as they cry for their momma and to God. You were busy enough, and the doctor, Doctor Frank Jones, who you were assisting had got shot by a stray bullet when out in the jungle, and had to be taken back to the main base, and back to the States. Due to a communication failure, his replacement ended up somewhere else, and transportation wasn’t an option due to the fighting happening.

 Fortunately, Doctor Jones had seen potential in you and believed you would be an excellent doctor one day - something you wanted to pursue after your service was fulfilled. He became a mentor, helping you study and learn medicine, and giving you skills that an average nurse- even an army nurse- wouldn’t usually have. Now, it was just up to you, and a few young army medics - teenage boys who were given no choice in going to war, and their skills were found best in assisting injuries on the battlefield, but they were eager to help, and their light-hearted jokes and company helped relieve some stress for you, especially with the pain you watch day in and out. You didn’t always have the luxury of their help though, as when patrols went out, they required at least one of them to join. It leads you to have to order around other grunts who have no idea how to even measure the proper dosage of cough syrup for themselves whenever a serious injury comes in, having to give detailed orders on what to do- usually just getting you the supplies and medicine you need, as the grunts are typically too distracted and upset over their fallen brother to assist you in anything medical and complicated. 

With being the only medical authority in the camp- as well as the only woman- you were well respected and popular. Your compassionate personality, and comforting presence, as well as your “Take-no-shit” attitude, led to soldiers of this camp visiting you all the time, usually making up excuses like having a cough, or a splinter in their finger, just so they could have the pleasure of your smile and encouraging words. The CO here made sure that they all treated you with respect, as a woman- and a nurse, so you never once felt unsafe- or unappreciated. Besides, a good section of this camp is young boys, too nervous about their situation to worry about trying to flirt with a woman like you. You're more of a comfort figure in these parts than anything else. Despite the stress and worry you face in day to day life, in the middle of the war, you were just happy to be doing something. You weren’t exactly a supporter of this war, but the moment you saw young boys lining up to go to war, something in you made you fiercely determined to follow, and do whatever you can to make sure those boys can go back home to their mothers and fathers.

The Rolling Stones was now playing on the radio, this was a band you were more familiar with - one of your favorites. Your foot tapped to the beat of the song, as you checked off another item you needed to be stocked up on- and hoped the supply chain doesn’t hold out on you again. For some reason, they seemed convinced that you must surely be lying about the supplies and will not send you the full amount of what you requested, leading you to storm into the CO’s tent on more than one occasion and rant to him with a few unsavory words about the supply lines commander.  He always listens though, and does his best to get you what you can- which you can appreciate. 

“Hey turn that up-” You heard one of the patients call out, and she smiles, reaching to the radio and turning the volume higher. She looked up from the desk to see one patient in bed moving his foot with the beat of the song, and the other, who asked her to turn it up, raised his arm in the air, hand in a fist as he rocked with the song. “This is a good one, hadn’t heard this one yet.”

“It came out in 65’ dumbass.” the other called out. “How’d you not know it?”

“I’ve been here since 64’ asshole! Think we always had access to a radio?”

They all chided each other, making you laugh as you shake your head, turning back towards your paperwork, determined to finish it today so you can send it out. It was rare you get these moments of quiet, so you appreciated it when you could. Things could turn on a dime in a second, especially since the fighting was getting closer to where this camp was set, and you’re hoping that you would get some help before anything serious came. You were just starting to get absorbed in the letter you were writing to the CO of the supply line, something slightly passive aggressive, when one of the soldiers yelled to you from outside. 

“Hey! Nurse! There’s some guys coming this way! They got someone injured-” 

You looked up, dropping your pencil, and turning the radio down as you readied yourself, brushing the pants of your army fatigues to straighten it out, and rolling your sleeves farther up your arms. You watched as the flaps of the tent get pulled open, as two men carry someone resting on a cot. You didn’t like how quiet the man was being.

“In here-” You lead them to another section of the medical tent, ment solely for treating wounded, in an attempt to keep something sterile and clean- well, as clean as you can get it. The soldiers set the man onto the table that sat in the center of the room, small trays and medical supplies, as well as a large overhead lamp that provided lighting to give you a better view at what you’re working on, surrounded the table. 

“We got ambushed on patrol, fortunately he’s the only one that got hit, a VC jumped out of the grass and stabbed him. We got pressure on the wound, and he’s still alive- for now.” 

You nodded as you went to a basin to pull on some sterile gloves, and walked over to examine the soldier. He was handsome- you couldn’t help but noticed but quickly put that out of your mind. A full head of deep beautiful brown hair, and a thick beard framed his face. He looked older, possibly in his mid 30’s. A sheen of sweat covered his skin, as his teeth were gritted and eyes cinched shut in pain. A wave of sorrow hit you, as you never liked seeing people in pain, it hits you bad enough to wonder why you chose to go into the medical profession of all things. Nevertheless, you push through, and began working on removing the uniform so you can see if you can save this one. At least he wasn’t screaming.

“Whats his name?”

“Logan ma’am. He’s Private First Class.”  The private responds, voice professional, but quickly drops into something softer. “He’s a good guy, and smart, usually quick on his feet, its surprising someone ambushed him…” 

“Need any help ma’am?” The other private who brought him in ask.

“No, I got it, thank you.” You tell them as you grab some sheers and began cutting through Logan's army garments. “Just make sure others are alright. See if any of the boys out there need water.”

They nodded, saluting- leading you to roll your eyes- and left your section of the tent, just as you manage to cut off the white wife beater he was sporting underneath his army garments, giving you a complete view of where he had been stabbed. You breathed a small sigh of relief, the wound appeared in the part of the torso where nothing vital was located and you managed to roll him to his side- seeing the stabbing didn’t go straight through, meaning this guy had a good chance of surviving, assuming he doesn’t succumb to infection…

“Alright Logan,” You turned you head to look at the man, who was still tense, eyes squeezed shut. He was somewhat awake, with his breathing and the way his muscles contracted, but he didn’t seem to be aware of what was going on, you still felt it important to talk to whoever you were treating though. You had to hold the hands of many scared soldiers, and quickly have learned the right things to say when comforting. “I’m going to take care of you, and in return, you’re going to need to be strong for me here.” You say softly but firmly to him, hoping that he’s hearing you through the pain, as you went and quickly grabbed a wet cloth out of a basin nearby, squeezing out the excess water, and gently placing it over his forehead, in order to soak up some sweat, and provide some more comfort to cool his skin that seemed to be burning hot. You couldn’t help but note that you don’t recognize him- you wouldn’t have forgotten his face that’s for damn sure, if he’d ever came to visit you, which most privates in this camp has at one time or another. You shook the curiosity out of your head, you had to move quickly, fighting the urge to wanting to take in the details of his face- his very handsome face, and moved to focus back onto the wound on his torso. 

You started by slowly removing the packed bandages, examining the blood flow to make sure nothing gushed, but he really wasn’t bleeding much anymore- actually, it didn’t look like he was bleeding at all now. Confused, you began cleaning the area of the stab wound so you could get a clear view of what you were looking at. At first, you thought you were losing your mind, you had to been because what you were seeing…

It was as if the skin was growing back, the wound, going inwards seemed to almost pop out, before the skin stitched together, going through what the bodys usual healing process would look like- except doing it within a matter of seconds. Turning from a bright red inflamed wound, into a baby pink scar bump that slowly faded off, you couldn’t even tell anything had happen there- except from the blood stained around it. You were blinking in disbelief, mouth slightly agape, before it suddenly occurred to you what you were just seeing.

Oh

Oh shit-

He’s a mutant.

You looked at the man, who’s muscles seemed to be relaxing now, as he took deeper breaths, the sweat on his face began to dry and disappear. You weren’t sure what to do at this point, you’re so used to every minute counting to fix someone, and this guy just healed himself in seconds!

And by god, he was so handsome. You thought that already, got to stop thinking about that. Turning away from his face, you went to examine where the stab wound used to be, gloved fingers gently pressing on the area- before the soldier- Logan, practically yelped- and sat up rushed on the table, startling you even more so than him, as you jumped back, hands in the air in surrender- as if you did anything wrong.

He was panting, the cold wet cloth you had placed on his forehead fell into his lap, as he looked around with wide eyes, pupils dilated, his nostrils flaring, he almost looked animal-like in this state. He turned to look at you. His eyes took you in, and suddenly you felt embarrassed by your army clothes you were sporting, green cargo pants, and a green collared button up shirt, tucked into your pants, making you feel less than girlish in them, despite their comfortability, your forehead was covered in sweat, and your hair pulled back in a bun neat bun with baby hairs sticking out everywhere. At least you had lipstick on to give yourself a little bit of a pop in your plain looking outfit. That should be the last thing you should be worried about. 

“You’re okay-” You finally found your voice, holding your hands out to him, “You got ambushed, but you’re okay now.” 

He blinked, then let out a small sigh, his whole self seeming to relax, his expression turned more human-like, as he faced forward, then looked down at himself. His hand went over where he had been hurt- seeing that there was no longer any injury there, although something in his expression told you he could still feel it. He swallowed, jaw tensing, before realization struck him, and his head snapped to look at you. 

“You saw- You know, don’t you?” He asks, his voice was deep, but sounded a little dry and scratchy. Still, it was enough to make your knees weak. 

You turned, going to a cabinet that held medicines and various other supplies, but on the counter was a pitcher of water and a few glass cups. Pulling off your gloves, you poured a cup from the pitcher, turning back and handing it to him. 

“Yeah. I saw.” You say cooly, holding it out for him to take. He looked at you, his deep and should you think gorgeous hazel eyes felt like they were piercing your soul; as if he was trying to decipher what was going on in your head, which you wish you knew as well because his stare was making your brain fuzzy; then glanced at the cup and finally took it from your hand, your fingers brushing together, making your heartbeat just a little faster, and you could feel a small heat blooming in your cheeks.

Jesus christ, pull yourself together 

You thought to yourself. You cleared your throat while he took several swigs of water, dropping his hand with the cup to his side as he took a moment to breathe once more. 

“Got anything stronger?” He asks, his low and smoother now, quirking a brow at you. You smiled, 

“Sorry, anything alcoholic you may want to drink in here, I gotta save for the guys who can’t heal themselves within minutes.” You say teasingly. “Supplies are low enough already.” 

You could see a small quirk of his lips, in something resembling a smile. He was still tense though, his eyes seemed to be somewhere else. He looked at you again,

“Does it…scare you? Me being a mutant?” He asks, his voice low

“Um….No?” You responded, confusion on your face, a small shake of your head, “Why would it?” 

He seemed relieved- and surprised by that answer, his shoulders finally relaxing, and he took another drink of water, eyes closing as he finished the cup, and handed it back to you, where you set it back on the counter. Wiping his mouth with his arm, he sat up more confidently, bending his leg as he brought his knee up to his chest, and propped his forearm over it, and leaned back on his other hand, taking a few deep breaths as he lowered his head down, then looked back up at you, his expression suddenly stern.

“You gonna tell them?” He asks. You knew he was referring to the army. Mutants weren’t well accepted in the world- much less the US army. The American government is actually sitting comfortably in the capital and writing out bullshit laws on mutant regulations, rather than trying to figure out a solution for the war here in Vietnam. You, a mutant yourself, albeit your powers were easy to hide and conceal, you still feared of a day that someone somehow discovers your secret. You’ve heard stories of American soldiers revealed to be mutants being killed, due to some bullshit excuse that they “lied” about who they were, and couldn’t be trusted. Whether those stories were true or fearmongering to keep mutants hiding their true identities, you didn’t know, but you certainly weren’t gonna find out yourself. You definitely wouldn’t put another fellow mutant, just trying to survive like you, in any sort of danger like that, even if he could probably just heal if he got put in front of a firing squad.

You pursed your lips together. Then smiled. “No. I’ll keep your secret.” You say. “All it means to me is that I have one less person to worry about around here. I was actually wondering why I hadn’t seen your face in this tent yet before, and now I know why.” 

He softened at that, but his face quickly fell back into something more serious and stern once more, which you’re starting to think might be his baseline. 

“You okay?” You asked, your voice was soft, and sweet, and borderline angelic for a man like him, who’s been in wars almost his entire life- which you don’t know about that. “That probably didn’t feel good, what happened.” He nodded. 

“M’ fine….Thank you.” He grumbles lowly, looking down at his hands. “I heard about you- actually I-I seen you around. You’re the only nurse on camp?” He asked, looking back up at you, there seemed to be a bit of curiosity in his voice. 

“Yeah. I’m pretty popular.” You say, in a teasing voice, blushing at the thought that he’s noticed you. Which shouldn’t be a surprise, you are quite literally the only woman around, save for the women in the village not far from here.  

“Must be busy.”

“Oh… Nah-” You playfully wave him off. “Some days are so slow, I’m actually bored.” You say matter-of-factly, but you both knew you were kidding. Another quirk of his lips. You smiled softly at him, but there was a voice in your head telling you, that since he doesn’t need your help, you should probably get back to helping the ones who do. Not that you want to leave, he was so damn handsome, you could stare at him all day. It wasn’t just his good looks though, his whole self drew you in with just a few words, and you find yourself wanting to get to know Logan, because the look in his eyes told you that he was someone worth knowing. Or maybe that was just your hormones talking. There was just this energy between you both, some type of unseen connection. His eyes trailed down you again, this time fully taking you in, stopping at your chest, and for a moment you were about to be completely turned off by this man being a pervert, but he nodded towards it. 

“Your necklace?” He asked. You looked down, oh, you thought to yourself. You pulled the string of your necklace, lifting the small coin that it held, string carefully wrapped around it so it doesn’t fall off.

“It’s a prayer coin. A priest gave it to me.” You explained. “It’s the archangel Raphael. A protector, patron saint of medical workers, like doctors, nurses.”

“Like you?” 

You nodded. He examined it, before you tucked it back under your shirt. You usually keep it hidden, but it must have fallen out while you were rushing. Now it was silent again, and you both weren’t sure what to do or say. 

“Well….” You took a breath, you glanced down at his abdomen, and suddenly your brows creased in concentration. 

“What?” He asked, by your sudden change in demeanor. 

“You can’t exactly walk out with no injury. Those two privates were pretty worried about you.” You say, putting your hands on your hips and pursing your lips together. You clicked your tongue.

“I can figure something out-”

“No no-” You held your hand up and looking around the room. “Those privates brought you in, there’s probably an incident report written right now, not to mention I have to write a report on your injuries too-” you explained. “I mean, how are you gonna explain it if you walk out, completely A-okay?”

Logan shrugged simply. “I can think of something, it isn’t the first time this happened.” You rolled your eyes. Men. 

You rather not waste bandages on a pretend injury, but you need someway to get his injury to look believeable, thats when you spotted your answer. His white tank top that you had drop to the floor, it was good enough to wrap around him, making him look as if he’s been all fixed up from his stab wound. The shirts cotton texture looked similar to the pattern of a bandage, and was good enough, especially considering no one would be looking hard enough at his wound anyway.

After a few minutes of “fixing him up” with your solution to keep his regenerative abilities a secret, you stood back examining the fake bandage/shirt that you tore up and wrapped around his torso, using bandage pins to hold it in place. Then shrugged. 

“It’s good enough.” You say. “You’re not going anywhere anyway, so it’s not like you’ll raise a bunch of questions. It looks like you have an injury, it’ll match the incident and medical report. You won’t get found out.”

“I’m not going anywhere?” He raised a brow. 

“Nope. You were injured, which means I gotta keep an eye on you. So you’ll be sleeping here, and you’ll have to pretend you’re in pain, whining and moaning and all that. Give it your best performance.” You encourage. “Take it, not many around here get a chance to get a break like that.” 

He looked at you, pondering what you were offering him- well, you weren’t offering, he was going to have do it because you weren’t gonna risk him revealing himself as a mutant, which for some reason you were now more concerned about than he was. A small smirk appeared on his face, “That mean you’ll be waiting on me then, hand and foot?”

You smiled, “Don’t get ahead of yourself soldier.” You say teasingly. “You can stay in here a little longer, rest up, maybe shed some tears to make it look like you’re suffering tremendously.” You added a little flair as you brought your hand up to your forehead, pretending to faint, before turning and walking away to leave the room, now knowing you really needed to get back to work.

“I don’t think I need to shed any tears.” He mutters, but there was amusement in his tone though. “Hey bub” He called after you as you were about to leave the room, lifting the tent flap, but you stopped to look at him. “Why are you seen keen on helping me out? Making a plan to make sure people don’t find out what I am…Seems like too much trouble to go through for you.” He frowned. 

“Well…” You dropped the flap of the tent, “Us mutants gotta stick together, right?” Logan looked surprised at first, eyes widening a bit, and jaw slacking, but then a soft, genuine smile stretched across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling, leaving you thinking that was a smile you never wanted to go without again. Smiling back at him, you winked, and turned back before stopping and looking at him again, “Plus, you seem worth the trouble.” You add, before finally leaving him to himself.

Maybe it was too much trouble. You could leave Logan to figure it out himself. You two didn’t know each other, you weren’t friends. Yet you, the compassionate self you are, and also slightly bull-headed, was not going to leave Logan hanging alone. Maybe it was the fact that you were both mutants that urged you to help him, let him know that someone like him out there has his back, even if he had many brothers at his side watching his back too. Or maybe it was because you felt an undeniable pull towards him- and him towards you. 

While he stayed in the medical tent with you for about a week, the standard time for stitches to stay in. While staying, you both got to know each other better. You found a deep friendship with Logan quickly, both of you having an understanding of each other, not just as mutants but as individuals as well. You were able to laugh, usually at his snarky remarks to the other privates and even his comments to the higher-ups, surprising you in how he likes to occasionally challenge authority despite how quiet and reflective he can be some moments. You saw him as brave, smart, and he was protective, always going first in patrols, and keeping an eye on the younger privates. He’d hid it well, rarely making it seen, but he had a compassion that made your heart swell, especially when you came across him comforting a young private who was homesick and scared. He had a good instinct that seems to attest to his mutation- which he later revealed the full aspects of it to you later on, claws and everything- which did nothing but fascinate you, leading to a full acceptance of him he hadn’t felt or seen in a long time. He’d visit you in late nights when he wasn’t assigned guard patrol, bringing you something to eat or drink, and you’d both quietly talk about your lives, and how’d you ended up there. He listened to you complain about the lack of supplies, and how you got into medicine in the first place. You’d learn of his brother Victor- another Private First Class there at the camp, who you quickly learned a distaste for after meeting him, and how old they both really were- leading you to bombard him with history questions, that he simply answered “I wasn’t there bub.” There was an unspoken yet mutual physical and spiritual attraction between you both, but before anything could have gone further in your relationship, down in the thick muddy jungles of Vietnam, you suffered a similar fate as your mentor Doctor Jones. A stray bullet having shot through your shoulder while you were out, attempting to help a young private who’s leg unfortunately got caught in a dirt trap. You were okay, but orders sent you home on a medical discharge, saying you fulfilled your duty to the States. 

You missed Logan, and you also found yourself struggling to find your place back in civilian life again, the stress and the trauma of the things you saw weighed heavy in your mind, not to mention the worry you felt over Logan's safety while he was still over there. The only thing easing your worries was the letters you wrote to each other, until one day his letters stopped coming, and your own got returned back to you with no explanation, leaving you in fear of the worst….

[houseofhyde]

⏤ another man, series masterlist.

pairing. aemond targaryen x fem!reader

series synopsis. a wolf and a dragon. a queen and a prince. lady stark and aemond targaryen. a marriage should keep them apart. lust draws them together. when one agrees to tutor the other in the many ways of pleasure, a countdown towards their mutual downfall begins. ( each chapter features individual synopses. )

series warnings. canon divergence (the greens win the war), brother-in-law!aemond, stark!reader (though there is no mention of her skin tone, hair colour, etc...) no use of y/n, slow burn, mutual pining, forbidden love, infidelity, sexually inexperienced reader, emotionally stunted aemond, themes of infertility/pregnancy, aegon is a shit husband, angst, fluff, & lots of smut. ( each chapter features individual warnings. )

series wordcount. 65.6k (so far )

a word from hyde. this series features my own reimagining of events pre, during, and post the dance of the dragons, along with my own interpretations of the characters. if you yourself do not like the featured canon divergence or find my portrayal of aemond (or any other canon character) to be ooc, please kindly skip over this series. this series does not have a taglist.

read on ao3. listen to the playlist.

i. another man’s feast. ( 3.5k )

chapter synopsis. aemond has only ever wanted to take care of you. too bad you’re married to his neglectful brother.

ii. another man’s comfort. ( 16.1k )

chapter synopsis. a wedding calls you north, your duty calls you to your husband, your heart calls you to aemond.

iii. another man’s pleasure. ( 13.6k )

chapter synopsis. a pregnancy, a nameday and a drunken evening make for a dangerous concoction between the one-eyed dragon and the royal wolf.

iv. another man’s pain. ( 19.4k )

chapter synopsis. a visit to dorne goes awry as an unexpected visitor arrives, tensions between in-laws come to ahead at last.

v. another man's legacy. ( 13k )

chapter synopsis. prince aemond calls all with fire in their blood forth to dragonstone with promise of a grand announcement, unawares of the king's own announcement.

vi. another man’s jealousy. ( coming october )

chapter synopsis. a vicious rumour spreads through the court, forcing the prince to prove just how green he can be.

vii. another man's promise. ( coming november )

chapter synopsis. in the warmth of summer, hope blooms. but how long until it wilts?

viii. another man’s wrath. ( coming december )

chapter synopsis. a bloodied gown, a funeral pyre, a pile of ashes. in his wrath, her mercy prevails.

ix. another man’s view. ( coming january )

chapter synopsis. aegon confronts the sin of his kin.

x. another man’s love. ( coming february)

chapter synopsis. lady stark learns that, sometimes, to love is to lose.

xi. another man’s exile. ( coming march )

chapter synopsis. the time has come where even a dragon must flee.

xii. another man’s wife. ( coming april )

chapter synopsis. the song of wolf and dragon comes to an end.

[juletheghoul]

his gift

a/n: I swear this is just a Marcus Acacius blog now, sorry everyone. I'm dedicating this chapter to my girlie @221bshrlocked, who I can always count on to lose her shit with me💕 I always welcome any and all comments and questions or deep dives, if you've sent me an ask for him and are thinking that I have missed it or ignored it, I'm not! I just have so many, but I promise to get through them all! Hope you enjoy 💕xo

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Roman era sex toy according to me (taking a big liberty) female masturbation, soft dom Marcus vibes, and soft submissive reader vibes, also some tiny allusions to being devoured? Context is important so read and be the judge, desperate, filthy Marcus, sexy bath, let me know if I missed any! **takes place between chapter X and XI**

This is the fic I referenced in this preview

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 3.1k (whoops!)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

-

He had not mentioned anything about venturing out, you hadn’t even noticed until his guards and his attendants flank around him, his cloak being fastened to his shoulders while you frown. 

“I will be back in a few hours.” He nods to his guards and they make their way towards the door ahead of him. 

“May I accompany you?” It takes two of your steps to keep pace with one of his.

“No my love, you may not.” he smiles, mischief on his face and you frown further still. “I have an errand that you cannot know about, not just yet. It is a surprise.”

“A surprise? For me?” The annoyance evaporates, and curiosity fills the whole of you. 

“Yes. A surprise for you, now I must go. I will see you before nightfall. I will be here in time to dine with you.” His kiss is full of promise, and you chase his mouth for a moment before he leaves with a wink. 

—

He finds you in your chambers, mending a small tear in one of his togas. 

“We can have someone else do that–” He frowns, but you stop him. 

“I am aware, but I enjoy it. It passes the time and I am skilled with needle and thread.” Your eyes are focused on the task, cutting at the string with a small knife. 

“That, I cannot deny.” He huffs out an amused breath, resigned. “Have you eaten? Shall we dine together?” he places a small bundle under the bed and your eyes track it, narrowing at him. 

“And that? Is that not my surprise?” knife safely tucked into your basket of sewing supplies, you rise and move towards it but he stops you. 

“Yes, but it is not for you to see just now. I will give it to you in due time.” Softly, but firmly, he guides you out of your private chamber, and towards your meal. 

He speaks of nothing and everything as you eat, plans he has for the villa, people he ran into during his errand, supplies he must replenish and you listen intently.

Hours pass and you enjoy your evening with him, sitting in the peristyle drinking mulled wine and eating honey cakes while the dogs lay at your feet. You sit out there together, laughing and speaking of all manner of things until night truly settles and it is time for bed. By the time you are cleansed, and curled up in his embrace, the package is all but forgotten. 

-

Weeks go by, and Rome beckons him once more. People he must meet with and delegations he must lead. The lines around his eyes deepen, the grey in his hair spreads, a visual representation of how it tires him but he takes it with good grace. Above all else, he is a soldier, and soldiers do not balk when duty calls. 

Despite your wish to, you cannot accompany him. It is not a place for wives, my love, his tone is soft, but firm and you have no choice but to accept. There is no doubt he will return to you, but it does not make his time away any easier to bear. 

You oversee his arrangements, hand-picking the robes he will take and making sure that he has everything he needs. You keep yourself busy with the tasks of preparing his journey while keeping your house in order, ignoring the glaring absence of him looming over the horizon. He does his best to reassure you even though he himself is so busy. His hand ever a comforting weight on your hip, his lips on your temple, a soft whisper in your ear. 

On the day he leaves, as you walk him to the door in the blue dawn, he reminds you with a smile. “The package under the bed, open it tonight, while you are in our bed.” 

His expression is one you carry with you throughout the day and it's that unshakeable foundation of obedience that stops you from running to it as soon as the door is closed. You suspect he might know this, despite never commanding or ordering you to do anything once your relationship had been established. Once the change from slave to wife had been made.

His words ring in your ears as you sit nestled in your shared bed once the house is asleep, altogether too big and too empty without his form filling it alongside you.

Curiously, you pull apart the strings tying the small bundle closed, unable to guess just what it might be. 

What greets you when you finally breach it, makes you gasp out loud.

It is a polished, sizable wooden cock. Heat floods your cheeks as you hold it in your hands, the size and shape almost identical to Marcus. 

A small vial of oil falls from the seemingly empty wrappings onto your lap and the intended use of this gift is quite obvious. You laugh, inspecting it in your hands, half embarrassed, mostly aroused to know that in his absence, he still wants you to be satisfied. 

It feels forbidden in your hands. Smooth as glass, the grain in the wood like the stripes of a tiger. It has been years since you touched a cock not belonging to your now husband, years since you felt pleasure from anyone that was not him, with exception to yourself. Heat blooms from head to toe to imagine him having this made for you, an ache for him grows between your legs. 

It is with a rebellious glee that you slip back into your nest of pillows, surrounded by the scent of him in your linens and test the efficacy of his gift.

It helps, and you do enjoy it, but in the end it isn’t him. 

-

When he returns, you greet him without any sort of decorum. He laughs, weary and just as eager to be home with you, the strong grip of his arms around you, the desperate edge to his lips at your neck all proclaim it. 

“How I have missed you, my love.” His words seep into your skin like a balm, like a breeze on a warm day and you sigh your response. 

“As have I, come, let me feed you.” You pull him towards your table, calling forth a spread and your attendants are quick to obey. He smiles, obliging you despite the droop in his eyes, the weariness of travel, the toll it all takes on him.

“Eat, and then I will have water warmed for a bath, we can retreat, spend the next few days in our bed, yes?” He pulls you forward to sit on his lap, presses his face into your chest. The grit in his hair collects under your fingernails, he smells of smoke and dry heat, his own sweat, the oil he favours and no other scent has ever pleased you more. 

“My wife is wise, she knows the remedy for all.” His hands are restless at your back, spanning wide on your shoulder, taking up so much space your heart races. “I would have you bathe with me.” His lips crawl across your collarbone, his voice lower, calling forth gooseflesh.

Platters of food and good wine are set down before you, but his lips only move further up your neck, before capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. A dry, calloused palm slips under your robes, across the side of your thigh before grabbing at your backside. It pulls a laugh from somewhere and you break the kiss. 

“Patience my love, eat first.” Your fingers comb through his waves and he makes a noise from deep in his chest. “Eat, and then I will bathe with you.” You kiss one cheek, then the other, he lets out a breath, nodding before reaching for bread with one hand, while holding you close with the other. 

-

He breathes out a groan when he lowers himself into the tub, steam rising, the scented oils and salts filling your nose. The tub had been filled in the peristyle, the perfect place for it amongst the greenery and warm air of dusk. 

The silver of his hair darkens to iron when he tilts his head back, fingers running through the strands to slick it away from his face. Silvery scars mar his face but they do nothing to diminish his beauty, the strength in his arms, the strong grip of his hands, he’s the picture of virility and your thighs press together to finally have him back home.

“Come my love, you promised to bathe with me.” His smile is sharp, but his eyes are soft and you press forward, following, obeying, submitting to him freely and happily. 

His touch is reverent, almost shy despite the edge of pure want in his expression. 

“Gods above, I could devour you whole.” He pulls you closer, slippery skin gliding as you slide right into his lap. Your breasts pressed against his chest with how tightly he hugs you and you laugh, breathless. The water sloshes over the edge with every one of his movements, darkening the mosaic below but he doesn’t even notice, he doesn’t even care. Your hands sweep over his back, his shoulders and up his neck in gentle attempt to soothe, to slow him down. 

“Peace Marcus, we have all night, let me reacquaint myself.” You smile, pull back when he presses forward, relishing the way he bites his bottom lip in all his bottled up desperation. “Slow, soft.” You press kisses to his cheeks, ignoring the ache in your core at just how hard his sex is under you. 

His hands flex at your sides, his sincerest attempt at control and you keep your expression neutral, keep the taunt hidden, the game fair. 

“I missed you Marcus, missed you so much it was like a wound.” You rake your nails across his scalp, clean the dirt and sand from his skin while his hands slip across your belly, your thighs, while his fingers graze and pinch at your nipples. The hitch in your breath bolsters him. 

“My poor—“ his lips caress at the soft skin just below your ear, dragging softly along your neck as he speaks, “neglected, lonely little wife.” The press of his fingers into the cheeks of your backside is hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make you gasp softly before he claims your mouth in a kiss that blanks your thoughts, stills your hands for a moment. 

“Tell me how you missed me, tell me you imagined me in our bed.” You pant into the empty air at his words, his tone, cunt clenching in painful arousal when he maneuvers you onto his cock, hot and hard and slotted perfectly between the lips of your sex. “Did you enjoy my gift in my absence?” 

The head of his cock slides deliciously against your clit, slowly, maddeningly, unraveling the strings of your arousal as well as your sanity. 

“Yes-“ your arms wrap around his neck, letting him rock you onto his cock in the warmth of the water, in the open air smelling of jasmine and laurel leaves, the sun baked bricks of your home.

“I want to watch you, I want to see it, the thought of you fucking yourself and thinking of me kept me awake at night, fisting my cock and coming in my hands.” His words, his intensity, the thought of it lights you up from the inside, a sunburst of arousal bright enough to blind you. 

“I want you to come just like this, want you all wet and open for me when I get you in that bed my love.” His mouth lowers, lips pressing against your nipple, the warmth of his mouth and the flicking of his tongue, then the cold air against wet skin before he moves to the other breast and repeats. His hands are a brand on your hips, rocking you back and forth, that perfect slip of the head of his cock against your clit building the pleasure in your hips, in the base of your spine. 

Soft, breathy moans spill from your lips and your fingers curl into his hair, holding him tightly to your breast as you climb that steady ladder higher and higher. 

“Come on, my pretty girl, come on my cock, I know you can do it.” He breathes against your chest, teeth gliding against your peaked nipple and it’s like a slow wave when it crests. 

His mouth sucks harshly, making you gasp, thighs trembling as he keeps rocking you, every bump tightening the muscles in your belly as you ride out the pleasure.

“That’s my good girl, my perfect little wife with her pretty little cunt.” His eyes are black pools, lust blown and wild.

You catch your breath, heart slowing as you finish cleansing him, limbs syrupy and pliant in the afterglow of your flutters.

Once finished he rises and pulls you to stand with him, he barely lets you wipe yourself down with your clean linens before he is all but pulling you towards your chambers. Naked and stumbling through the halls of your house in the red haze of passion.

When you land in your bed, he does not follow, he doesn’t line himself up and sink into you like you thought he might. 

“Where is my gift?” You rise up to lean on your elbows, momentarily lost in the arousal of him before your mind catches up.

“It is where you left it, under the bed.” Once you’d finished with it, you’d cleaned it and put it back—you frown when he pulls it out and brings it with him. Once settled between your thighs he unties the covering while his cock slips over your mound, a hot, teasing weight over your sex.

“I want you to show me.” He tosses the wrappings aside before holding the wooden cock out for you. Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. 

“But, but you are home, I want you—“ your fingertips reach down to tease the head of him but he slips the wooden cock into your hands instead. 

“I want to see it, I want to see how you take it.” He urges, soft tone but hard gaze and your heart races. The need to obey him, to make him happy, to oblige him makes your cunt clench. You take the toy from him and he settles on his haunches, hands lifting your legs, pressing against the backs of your thighs to hold you spread open wide for his gaze. 

The wood is cold against the slicked up mess of your cunt and you’re wet enough that you don’t even need the oils, it slides right in, stretching the dark pink of your insides open for his eyes.

“That’s it, fuck yourself, how does it feel?” Slowly, you spear it into yourself, in, out, wetting it in you as his hands press harder, spreading you wider.

“Feels good—“ you pant, tongue peeking out of your mouth to wet your lips. 

“It does doesn’t it, look how fucking wet you are.” One of his hands slides down, his thumb sliding through your slick at the edge of where you’re spread around the thick of the wood, he smears it against the lip of your sex, petting, sliding up to work at your clit. 

“I think you can go a little faster, I think you want to fuck yourself a little harder, don’t you my love?” His thumb swirls, sliding and circling around your clit as you speed up.

Your heart races, sweat beads at your temples, heat crawls across your body under the strain of it, under his heavy, burning gaze. 

The sounds are obscene, the ache of working it inside you growing in your shoulder, in the tensing of your belly but you can’t stop, not with how good it feels, now with how enraptured he is at the sight—

“Is that all you can do?” He tsks, thumb working just a little bit harder until you flutter around the toy, the pleasure taking you by surprise, thighs tensing but he doesn’t let you close them, doesn’t stop swirling, and suddenly the pleasure comes again, too quick, too strong and you whine at the intensity of it.

He pulls his hand away and removes the wooden cock from your hand and from your cunt and throws it somewhere in the linens, only to replace it with his own. A mutual groan fills the air between you, high and breathless from you, low and punched out from him. He gives you no respite from your release, no softness, he ruts—fucks you like you haven’t seen him in years.

That aspect of him that you see sometimes, the caged animal within rears its head, sharp snaps of his hips into the slicked-up, swollen, dark pink of you, heavy hands and a firm grip that reminds you, schools you on the fact that you are his. 

You flutter around him again, the blunt head of him stroking, petting at that bundle of nerves only he ever seems to find until you seize, scream and gush around him, soaking him in your passion.

“That’s it, that’s it my love, take it-“ he pushes forward, turning his heavy stroke into a tight grind while you balance on that edge of pain and pleasure, ecstasy and excess. Your hands press against his shoulders, the middle ground of pulling him closer and pushing him away. 

His mouth sucks at the delicate skin of your neck, teeth scraping and for a heartbeat you wish, or hope, or just imagine that he might actually devour you, moan at how much the thought excites you. His groan is loud, his cock swells before the warmth of his gift fills you, his forehead moving to press to your chest so he can watch it, watch himself spearing inside. 

It’s quiet in the immediate after except for the heavy thump of your pulse in your ears, and his sharp pants against your chest.

With limbs weighed down by pleasure, you lift your hands slowly and thread them through his damp waves, admiring the warm golden skin pressed to yours. The wet spot beneath you cools, making you wince in discomfort, despite how lovely it is to be surrounded by him. He senses it though, and pulls out with a hiss and hauls you into his embrace. 

“Give me a few moments, and I will have someone change the linens.” You nod into the sweet smelling skin of his chest, pressing your lips to a scar on his shoulder. “I missed you.” He whispers into your temple, soft and devastating, the animal satisfied, the man in the forefront.

“I missed you too.”

-

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