#striking vipers x

[viperwhispered]

Indulgence

Jamil finds out his sweet, loving girlfriend is totally capable of absolutely ruining him.

Pure smut, written with fem reader in mind and utterly self-indulgent (basically, a birthday treat to myself).

Ngl, this kinda feels like a femdom love letter to Jamil.

You'd thought you were joking - partially, at least - when you told Jamil you’d be happy to have him all for yourself to do with him as you wished for your birthday. Yet Jamil, the perceptive partner he was, soon was teasing out the truth of that statement from you.

So, after some rather in-depth discussions, here you are, filled with anticipation and excitement - and, you have to admit, more than a bit of nerves. Wanting something and actually going through with it always are two very different things.

“Come on, love. Just enjoy yourself, however you wish,” Jamil coaxes you, cupping your cheeks as he peppers your face with soft kisses. He’s looking at you with such openness - eagerness, even - which makes it difficult for you to get lost in your own head.

So, instead you wrap your arms around Jamil's shoulders and nuzzle your face to his, a soft smile rising to your lips.

“Someone certainly seems intent on treating me today,” you say, your own lips seeking contact with Jamil’s skin.

“Knowing how excited you are by the idea… Can you blame me?” Jamil replies with a cheeky grin. All you can do is chuckle in response, a smirk of your own forming on your lips.

“Well… Let’s hope you won't regret enabling me,” you say playfully.

Your lips finally find Jamil’s, meeting his with a soft, building pressure. You tug him closer by his hoodie, your tongue pushing between Jamil's lips and one of your hands seeking his hair. Jamil eagerly reciprocates your actions, the softness giving way to something more eager as you both deepen the kiss, your bodies pressing closer together and hands exploring.

Your eyes flutter closed as you breathe in through your nose, enjoying the way Jamil's mouth moves with yours, how your bodies are already fitting together. After a while, however, you begin to nudge Jamil backwards towards the bed, your lips still lingering against his.

It’s delightful how easily he complies, letting you guide his steps until his shins hit the edge of the bed. A gentle press of your palms onto his shoulders and Jamil’s eyes widen with momentary surprise as he falls back with a breathy oomph.

Still, Jamil’s quick to pull you down with him, grinning as you climb onto his lap and straddle his hips. Jamil’s hands slide up along your waist, your dress bunched up around your legs.

You brace yourself with one arm, your palm on the mattress right above Jamil’s shoulder, and you lean over him. You brush your fingers along his jaw, slowly tracing the contours of Jamil’s face.

“So you’re mine to enjoy as I wish tonight, huh?” you say in a low, almost contemplative tone, your thumb tracing the outline of Jamil’s lower lip.

“Yes.” There’s a slight breathlessness to Jamil’s tone, his eyes a little darker than usual, and you relish the sight of him already being affected.

Of course, this is just the beginning - but a good beginning, nonetheless, easily helping you feel more bold.

“Hmm, I suppose then the question is… Just what do I want to do with you first?” you murmur, your tone lowering to a more sensual, husky register.

You slide your thumb up, over the plumpness of Jamil’s lower lip, and press down gently. After the briefest moment of surprised hesitation he parts his lips for you and wraps his tongue around the digit, sucking on it lightly.

You’re not quite expecting the rush of warmth that shoots to your core. Jamil beneath you, his hair spilled over the bed, those gray eyes so intently trained on you as he obediently sucks on your thumb… Oh, it’s already so heady, making your mind and heart race.

“Mmm, look at you, being so good for me,” you purr. You keep your thumb in his mouth for a moment longer, enjoying the darkening of Jamil’s cheeks and the way his eyes flick over to the side even as his mouth slowly continues working.

Soon you drag your thumb out by the corner of his mouth, smearing his saliva over Jamil’s cheek. You slide your hand further until cup the corner of his jaw, your thumb coming to rest right before Jamil’s ear while the rest of your fingers slip into his hair.

You lean down further, and your lips meet in a slow, sensual kiss. Your tongue tangles with Jamil’s as you take your time tasting and enjoying him. You more feel than hear the soft moan that Jamil makes against your lips, lighting yet another fire within you. With a groan you press your body more firmly against his, wanting to feel every bit of him against you, your bodies undulating together.

You feel the firm pressure of Jamil’s hands sliding up along your back, pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your skin as the kiss becomes more fervent.

You nip on Jamil’s lower lip, his gasp sending another shiver of pleasure down your spine. You move your hand to his ponytail, your tug eliciting another sharp inhale from him. With your urging Jamil soon tilts his head back, exposing his neck to you.

You can feel the unevenness of Jamil’s breaths beneath you, soft, delightful noises catching in his throat.

“Mmm, aren’t you such a compliant treat tonight,” you tease Jamil, hearing him huff in response.

“The things I do for you,” he muses, not a hint of bite in his words.

You chuckle and trail your lips along his jaw, planting a line of soft kisses until you’re below his ear. There you tug Jamil’s earlobe with your teeth, delighting in the way you can feel him squirm beneath you. You trace the tip of your tongue along the shell of his ear, making Jamil hiss and tense.

You chuckle, your warm breath fanning Jamil’s ear and the moisture left behind by your lips and tongue.

“Already twitching, are we?” you tease him - as if you weren't purposefully targeting the weak spots you're well aware of.

“Shush,” Jamil says, swatting you lightly.

You chuckle and move your lips lower from his ear, slowly kissing your way down along Jamil’s neck. You keep your grip on his hair, urging him to keep still as you continue teasing him with your mouth. You place warm, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, only changing your course when you come to the neckline of his shirt.

You feel the way Jamil tenses beneath you when you move up the column of his throat, even if you keep your kisses light on such a vulnerable spot. Yet, when you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs under your lips, you can’t resist softly wrapping your lips around it. The action earns you a strangled sound from Jamil, who tries to pull back but is unable to quite do so.

“Uncomfortable?” you ask softly, peppering soft, almost apologetic kisses to his jaw.

“A bit,” Jamil breathes out, his chest noticeably rising and falling.

“Noted,” you murmur.

You move to the other side of his neck - you loosen your hold on Jamil’s hair, yet he tilts his head aside just the same, taking in a deep breath as he does so. You smirk against his skin, satisfied to see him so pliant.

There’s definitely a part of you that would love to see him like this more often.

This time you don’t settle for just soft kisses. You let your teeth graze Jamil’s skin, a shiver of delight going down your spine when you hear him hiss in response.

And when you get to that particular spot where his neck meets his shoulder you basically latch on, sucking on the skin. Jamil inhales sharply, grasping onto you tighter, his neck arching and tensing beneath you.

“Ahh-” It’s a soft, barely audible sound, yet hearing the cry escape Jamil’s lips fills you with warm satisfaction. You bite harder, feeling the way Jamil jolts beneath you, before you allow him reprieve and soothe your tongue over the spot.

“You’re not usually this… aggressive,” Jamil breathes out.

“You know you can stop me if you need me to,” you say, sticking to the softer kisses for the moment.

“No need,” Jamil says, letting out a shaky breath. You can practically feel the way he’s trying to relax, at least a little, even as he’s trying to anticipate your next move.

You tug on Jamil’s neckline, teasing as far down his shoulders and collarbones as you comfortably can with your kisses and licks.

Yet, as much as you’re loving the reactions you’ve gotten out of Jamil so far, it’s becoming more and more apparent that just teasing his neck is not enough for you.

You lean back, sitting up on Jamil’s lap. Your hands slowly trail down from Jamil’s shoulders along his body, your eyes half-lidded as you regard him.

There’s a delightfully flustered look on Jamil’s features, his lips slightly parted as he looks at you intently.

“You know… I think we’re going to have to get you undressed,” you murmur, smirking when you see the effect your words have on Jamil.

“Are we now?” he asks with a grin.

“Mhmm. I mean, I can hardly enjoy you to my heart’s content otherwise, now can I.”

You lean down for one more kiss, your hand lingering on Jamil’s side, your hips slightly rocking into his. You’re both making soft noises into the kiss, momentarily distracted by each other, before you finally pull yourself off Jamil’s lap and sit down on the edge of the bed.

“So… Lose those clothes for me, now would you?” you say with a grin, giving Jamil an expectant look.

There’s barely any hesitation when Jamil gets up from the bed. You can tell he’s feeling a little awkward with you looking at him like this, waiting for him to undress for you, yet there’s also a part of him reveling in being the center of your attention.

So, Jamil pulls off his hoodie by the neck, slowly revealing his body for your greedy eyes. His movements are fluid, deliberate, despite the mixture of embarrassment and excitement that’s evident on his features. The flex and curl of his body entrances you, your eyes drinking in every little movement and the dancer’s grace he displays.

His shirt thrown aside Jamil moves to his trousers, slowly pulling them down along his legs and revealing the way his cock is already tenting his underwear. You find yourself leaning forward, taking in all the wonders of his body - a sight you never seem to tire of. Jamil’s hair cascades over his shoulder when he bends down and he pulls one leg free, then the other, until he’s left in just his underwear, his fingers hooked under the waistband.

“Careful, you might start drooling,” Jamil teases you, clearly satisfied with your rapt attention.

“Oh, but can you blame me?” you respond playfully, feeling the flush on your cheeks.

You slide your palms down your legs, gripping your knees, as Jamil removes that last piece of clothing.

“There we go,” you say huskily, your eyes raking over Jamil’s exposed body. The planes of his chest, the softness of his stomach, the patch of dark, curly hair surrounding the cock that’s slowly stirring to life under your eyes, the lean limbs and that lovely brown skin...

“Come here,” you say, lifting a hand.

Once again, Jamil complies, and when he’s within your reach you pull him to stand between your legs, running your palms over him. Just a sliver of exposed skin always has you itching to touch - or to kiss, as it may be - so the sight of Jamil fully bare before you like this is as irresistible as ever. You press soft kisses to his stomach, your hands following the curve of his back until you can grip his rear.

“For all we discussed, I did not think you being in charge would involve you being this adoring,” Jamil says, trying to hide his fluster behind playful words.

You chuckle against his skin, squeezing his ass in response.

“All part of enjoying you, you know,” you say, looking up at Jamil with a playful, loving smile.

“Is that so,” Jamil murmurs, cupping your cheek.

“Mhmm,” you nod. “Now… Lay down on the bed for me. In the middle of it, on your back,” you say, giving Jamil’s hip a playful nudge to get him moving.

While Jamil settles down, you pull off your tights and underwear, dropping them on the pile of Jamil’s clothes. Then you walk around the bed, admiring the sight of Jamil sprawled on the bed - all for you. He’s folded his hands behind his head, his gaze following you. It feels like you’re trying to devour all of him at once with your eyes, not knowing where to settle when all of him is calling to you so.

You grab the cuffs you set aside earlier and crawl over to Jamil on your hands and knees.

Sure, it would be easier to just sit next to Jamil while you tie up his wrists. But where’s the fun in that? So you straddle his chest instead, your bare groin against his skin, and lean over to capture his hands.

“Cheeky. Are you keeping the rest on?” Jamil asks, pushing his chest against you.

“For now, at least,” you say lightly.

You trace your palms over Jamil's arms, guiding his hands above his head. After looping the cuffs around the headboard you fasten them around Jamil's wrists, making sure they're snug but not too tight.

“How’s that?” you ask, running your fingers over the cuffs.

Jamil flexes his fingers, shifts his arms, testing the feel of the bindings.

“Feels fine.”

“Good. Let me know if that changes,” you murmur.

You caress Jamil’s face, tracing his features. Your thumb brushes his cheek, and with a soft breath he nuzzles into the touch.

Gently, you guide Jamil to tilt his head to the side. You pull loose his ponytail, running your fingers through his hair.

Soon, Jamil’s hair is spilled around him on the bed, yet another lovely addition to the scene unfolding before you. Jamil, bound and bare beneath you, his cheeks darkened and eyes trained on you.

Not often do you get Jamil looking at you with such vulnerability, and the sight of it makes your heart flutter. He’s clearly filled with anticipation, too, with the trepidation of surrender. Yet, there is trust in him as well, trust in the way he’s yielding to you and all but urging you to continue.

Oh, you’d love to take a picture of him like this, commit the sight to memory and never let go of it.

Slowly, you drag your body down along Jamil’s, some of the wetness of your pussy leaking onto his skin. You feel Jamil’s tension beneath you, his breaths uneven and his hands flexing.

You only stop your movement when your pussy is right over Jamil’s hardening cock. You let your weight settle on him, pinning him down and holding him still under your warmth.

There’s a definite sharpness to Jamil’s inhale. He wriggles beneath you, what little he can, testing your control over him, and you press yourself down more firmly on him.

“Behave yourself, won’t you,” you say playfully, pushing down onto his shoulders.

“Or you’ll make me?” Jamil asks, humor and challenge evident.

“Indeed. Glad you understand,” you grin.

You draw your hands down over Jamil’s body, this time without the barrier of his clothes. From his shoulders across his chest and stomach your fingers dig into him, his skin pushed into ridges and divots under your touch.

Jamil’s body flexes beneath your touch, muscles rippling with tension and the release of it as your hands make their way. His eyes are trained on you, so intently, his palpable anticipation and the responsiveness of his body filling you with triumph.

You lean down again, your hair falling down over your shoulder and spilling over Jamil’s bare chest.

“Mmm… You really are such a delight, my dear,” you murmur, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

You return your mouth to Jamil’s skin, trailing kisses and nips from his jaw down along his neck and collarbones. When you make your way down to his chest, you twirl your tongue around a nipple, Jamil’s body jolting in response.

Yet, that reaction is nothing compared to when you bring in your teeth, enclosing that sensitive point of Jamil’s chest in your mouth but not directly biting the nipple. You slowly increase the pressure of your bite until Jamil’s breaths turn into hisses, body writhing.

Oh, he’s actually whimpering.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to keep some rein over your baser instincts. Oh, how you want to push harder, grip tighter. How you want those sweet noises to increase in volume and pitch until neither of you would know anything else.

Once again, you soothe over the spot with soft kisses and kitten licks, a dark part of you hoping you’ve left a mark that might stay for a while. It is not like you to hurt or mark just for the sake of it, but Jamil’s reactions, the thought of the evidence of your dominance lingering on his skin… Oh, it is most tempting indeed.

“Was that too much?” you ask lowly, just in case, still feeling Jamil’s tension beneath you.

“Nhnh… I told you. You can let go tonight.”

You laugh in response, a mischievous grin on your lips as your eyes meet Jamil’s. Oh, you can tell he means it, despite the heaving of his chest. There’s that shine in his eyes, such a vivid spark of desire. A desire for more, a desire to see how much you can do and how much he can take.

“If you say so,” you say with smug satisfaction.

You return to your task, your mouth - your lips, your tongue, your teeth - traversing Jamil’s body, taking your time to enjoy every inch of skin as you slowly move lower. The dips of his chest, the ridges of his ribs, the softness of his stomach… You take your time savoring - and marking - it all.

With your actions Jamil’s getting increasingly restless, drawing in sharp hisses of breath, tugging on his restraints, squirming beneath you.

Yet, not once has he asked you to stop, or to go easier on him.

You’ve slid down far enough for you to feel the twitch of Jamil’s cock against your breasts, his hips wriggling beneath you. You press your hands on him more firmly, keeping him still, nipping on the skin of his stomach both to warn him to behave and to urge him to react even more.

Moving lower again, your tongue follows the line of his hip towards his groin, teasing and tantalizing. Yet when you feel the coarse curls against your cheek you change course, moving to kiss your way down Jamil’s thigh instead.

Jamil hisses out your name, his hips bucking, and there’s no hiding your smug, satisfied look.

“Something the matter, my dear?” you ask, as innocently as you can muster. You grip Jamil’s hips tighter while you suck the soft skin of his inner thigh between your teeth.

“Ahh!” Jamil cries out, his leg twitching.

“You’re such a tease,” he huffs, nearly panting.

You let out another satisfied laugh and drag your nails down the outside of his thigh, loving each and every one of Jamil’s reactions.

“You’re the one who told me to enjoy myself and not hold back,” you say with a smirk.

“Please. At least…” Jamil’s words trail off, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“You’re going to have to ask for it to get what you want, you know,” you say, your words low and sultry. You caress a splayed palm up along the top of Jamil’s thigh, your thumb just brushing the edge of his pubes.

“Please. I’m aching for you,” Jamil pleads, emphasizing his words with a twitch of his hips, his heavy cock bobbing with the movement.

Oh, that plea was one of the sweetest things you had ever heard from him, your core throbbing just with the sound of it.

You tilt your head, as if thinking over his words.

“Asking for relief, are you, my love?” you ask. You brush your fingers over his hardened cock, the lightest of touches on the velvety skin, yet that is enough to make Jamil inhale sharply.

“Yes,” Jamil breathes out, his eyes wide, expectant, when he looks up at you.

There are a few different options on your mind - a few different temptations, calling to you, as you wonder just how much you should push Jamil.

Then again, he had been the one telling you to not hold back. That he could take it.

You reach over to the bedside table and pull out a vibrator from the drawer. You keep it concealed from Jamil, just to prolong the tension - though he does know well enough what sort of things have been stashed away there.

A pump of lube from the bottle on the nightstand, smeared against the tip of the toy with your palm. You wipe your hand mostly clean against Jamil's thigh and bring the vibrator to the underside of his cock. For now, you keep it turned off, just slowly moving it along his sensitive parts in circular motions.

Even like this, there are a few spots that make Jamil's cock twitch or body tense.

Then you turn on the vibration, and Jamil actually gasps.

“How's that?” you ask in a low tone.

“It's…” Jamil pauses, as if considering the sensation. “It… feels good.”

“Well, my dear… If there’s something you like in particular, I’d love to hear it,” you purr.

At this point, Jamil’s responsive enough that it’s not difficult for you to tell what the most sensitive spots are just by judging his reactions. Yet, hearing him admit it, too, telling you what he likes, what he wants more of… oh, it’s absolutely delicious. So, whenever he does admit to something feeling good, you gladly reward him by giving special attention to that particular spot.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” you say with a satisfied smirk, pressing the vibrator more firmly down against the sensitive spot right under the head of his cock, your other hand cradling his hardness to keep it still.

“Yes, nghh…” Jamil groans in response. You can tell he wants to buck and twitch, yet he’s trying to keep still with you touching such sensitive parts.

You press down, ease up the pressure, time and time again, until Jamil is quivering, his legs twitching and body curling with the intensity of it all. You can see his arousal, impatience and tension building, his whole body pulled taut as a wire, only for you to ease up once again and switch to gentle caresses.

If you’d enjoyed his whimpers before, now Jamil’s noises and reactions were absolutely delightful. Whimpers, hisses, groans and breathy words… Oh, it was driving you wild, seeing him like this.

“Please…. How long do you plan on just teasing me?” Jamil whines, a mess of longing and frustration.

“Well… I could listen to those sweet noises you’re making for quite some time, you know,” you say casually, flipping the vibrator to life once again.

A strangled, indignant noise catches in Jamil’s throat, the color of his cheeks quickly darkening further. You can’t help laughing in response, even as you lean down to press a greedy kiss to his lips.

“I mean… You are so wonderfully responsive right now, and it’s just absolutely delicious seeing you like this,” you murmur, your lips brushing Jamil’s cheek.

“You’re tormenting me,” Jamil huffs.

You can see how taut the bindings on his hands are, how tense his body is as he practically trembles to do something instead of just having to take what you have to give.

“And do you dislike it?” you ask with a smirk, pressing the buzzing vibrator against Jamil and pulling another wide-eyed gasp out of him.

Jamil swallows thickly enough that you can see the bobbing of his throat.

“...No. I don’t,” he sighs.

Jamil takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself.

“Please… Let me have more of you,” he begs, looking over the dress you’re still wearing.

Perhaps you could grant him a little more. He’s been such a delight, after all.

“Hmm… Maybe I can give you that,” you murmur, once again weighing your options.

You settle the vibrator down to a spot you know gets to Jamil, drinking in his reactions as you slip your hand under your dress. You slide your fingers between your pussy lips, fondling your clit. You know Jamil can't quite see what you were doing, the hem of your dress covering it up, yet you’re sure he can guess. 

The way he looks at you, eyes burning as his bindings keep his hands away, certainly suggests so.

“Patience, my dear,” you say teasingly.

The buzzing of the vibrator and Jamil’s shaky noises are joined by the lewd sound of your fingers finding your wetness, the shuddering breath you take when you find just the right angle. Your eyes don’t leave each other, both of you watching the other get lost in the pleasure - all of it by your hand.

Then, finally, you move, pressing your wet cunt right against Jamil’s aching cock. Jamil’s hips buck, a low, needy noise falling from his lips. You rock yourself against him, coating him in your juices as you prepare yourself to take him.

“Won’t you let me see you?” Jamil groans, his eyes brimming with desire, his voice ready to break at any moment.

“Maybe if you ask me sweetly enough,” you say, reveling in the power you have over him.

Yet, before Jamil has the chance to consider begging, you take his cock into your hand and guide him to your entrance, rubbing the tip along your folds. Your dress is still pooled around you, covering the way you’re joined, the hem gathered over Jamil’s belly.

Jamil’s moan is pure music to your ears, your core throbbing as you slowly ease him in. It’s a delicious feeling of fullness, his hard, straining cock stretching you open, settling snugly within you.

Once Jamil's fully enveloped by your welcoming cunt, you settle down more comfortably on his lap. You grab the vibrator you just used on Jamil and slip it under your dress to bring it to your clit. With a soft gasp you lean your head back, a jolt shooting through your nerves when you find just the right spot to tease with the toy. 

You keep mostly still on Jamil, the faint reverberations of the vibrator and the flutter of your pussy around Jamil’s cock all the stimulation you grant him. It’s always particularly wonderful, combining such stimulation with the sensation of having your pussy filled - and even more delicious now, when it’s Jamil inside you, when you get to enjoy his every reaction to your actions.

Jamil growls, his hips bucking up to you nigh uselessly. Your name on his lips is somewhere between a plea and an admonishment, your continued teasing and denial driving him towards his breaking point.

“Love… Please, please, I need you to move, I need you to milk me with this perfect pussy of yours, please…” Jamil whines, another desperate thrust of his hips finding enough purchase to nearly topple you forwards.

You click your tongue and give Jamil a warning look.

“Keep still, my dear.”

“I can’t help it when I want you so much. Do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

Jamil seems so sincere, all his pretenses fallen, yet you can recognize the part of him that likes to rely on honeyed words to get what he wants. Still, his desperate desire is undeniable, his body quivering beneath you, all of him full of wanton need that only feeds your own arousal.

“Why don’t you enlighten me, then?” you goad Jamil, still pleasuring yourself with the toy, feeling the warm pleasure fill you as your body tenses.

Jamil pauses, his tongue darting out from the corner of his mouth.

“You… You have such power over me, driving me completely wild with the way you’ve been teasing me… Please, won’t you have some mercy on me? I need you, need to feel you properly, need both of us to feel good..”

The genuine need in Jamil’s tone makes you groan, a shudder running down your spine all the way to your cunt.

So you drop the vibrator to the bed and place your hands on either side of Jamil, bracing yourself as you begin to move.

“Ahh, yes!” Jamil moans, his head tilted back, his hips quickly moving to match your rhythm.

You’re tempted to remind him to keep still, but at this point you can’t resist, either. In fact, you love feeling his eagerness, the desperate way he’s rutting into you from below.

You lean back, pulling your dress over your head and tossing it away. Your bra soon gets the same treatment, finally leaving you bare for Jamil’s eyes to devour.

“Better?” you ask with a playful smile as you lean down again, beginning to ride Jamil in earnest.

“Yes,” he breathes out, bracing his feet against the bed so that he can move with you with more force.

Soon, you’re both panting and moaning, all the buildup leaving you both on the verge of release. Your bodies meet time and again, a forceful smack of your hips as you take Jamil’s cock deep within you over and over. It’s so delicious, the way his cock is dragging along your insides, the way Jamil’s fully let go and just chasing more of you. You lean lower, your lips meeting in a sloppy, delirious kiss that’s muffling both of your moans.

“Gonna come for me, aren’t you? Gonna fill me with your cum?” you murmur hotly against Jamil’s mouth, a moan falling from his lips in response.

“Mhmm, I’d love to drive you into the mattress right now, smother you with kisses, touch you all over…” Jamil groans, his hands clenched into fists in the cuffs.

You can’t help your breathless laugh in response. “Well, turns out that’s my privilege tonight,” you tease him, adjusting your position so that you can tug on Jamil’s hair before giving him another fierce, hungry kiss.

Jamil’s eyes scrunch closed, his breathing uneven, his thrusts faltering. You pick up the pace, sliding up and down on his cock, until you see the bliss of his orgasm overtake Jamil. He groans, spilling his load inside you, face contorted in pleasure as his body trembles.

“There you go,” you breathe out, giving Jamil another deep, passionate kiss, stealing the last of his breath away.

Your hips slow, settling down against Jamil’s again, his cock and cum swallowed by your cunt. You grab the toy again, leaning back, gasping when you feel the buzz on your clit.

“Mmm, let me see you come, let me feel you squeeze around my cock,” Jamil urges you, even breathless as he is from his own release.

It does not take you long to follow after Jamil. The tension has your legs trembling, the pleasure building in your core until you can’t contain it anymore. The burning bliss takes you under, both of you gasping when your pussy clenches around Jamil’s cock in a tight squeeze. Your back arches, body jolting, as you ride the waves of pleasure.

Eventually, you toss the toy aside and slump against Jamil, your lips fumbling against his, both of your breaths ragged and chests heaving. You remain there for a moment, savoring your afterglow and the feel of Jamil’s body against yours.

“I swear, love, if you don’t let me touch you soon…” Jamil says in a low, breathy tone.

You chuckle, pecking Jamil’s cheek quickly.

“I suppose I should,” you mumble, lazily moving to undo Jamil’s hands despite the languidness that’s taken over your body.

You kiss over Jamil’s wrists as you release them, making sure he’s fine. There’s some indentations on his skin, presumably from the way he pulled against the restraints, but nothing for you to worry over.

As soon as he can, Jamil pulls you close, feeling you up as if making up for lost time. You chuckle, gladly enjoying the touches and the skin to skin contact.

“Mhmm… How are you feeling, my dear?” you ask softly, still a little out of breath.

“Oh, love… You really are something else,” Jamil mumbles, his face nuzzled into your neck.

You smile, feeling the warm satisfaction settle within you.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself, then,” you murmur, settling more comfortably against Jamil.

“Who knew my sweet girlfriend had such a side to her,” Jamil says, his tone teasing - though you suspect he’s also trying to cover up just how affected he is.

“Who knew my stubborn boyfriend would be so willing to go along with it,” you tease back.

You take in a soft breath, enjoying the feel of Jamil's body against yours. It was always particularly sweet, feeling Jamil’s body against yours after sex, and you found yourself practically soaking in Jamil's presence. 

Jamil's lips lock with yours, the kiss languid and tender, yet tinged with the remains of your passion. 

Happily, you sink into the softness of the moment, the heady satisfaction of your lovemaking mixing with the warm comfort of the current moment.

“So…” you murmur, your fingers trailing on Jamil’s skin. “Do you think you’ll let me do this again sometime?”

Jamil chuckles, giving you an amused, affectionate look.

“Hmm… I think you could persuade me, yes,” he says teasingly. “Though I will definitely have to pay back the favor sometime, too.”

You chuckle.

“Maybe I could be persuaded, too,” you grin and move in for another soft kiss.

Hopefully y'all enjoyed this (and this doesn't have just the target audience of me personally). As always, would love to hear your thoughts!

Also I wrote this on an awkward loan laptop instead of my own PC so please, if there's any mistakes, do let me know so I can sort them out.

This line sure was telling of my whole writing process: "There are a few different options on your mind - a few different temptations, calling to you, as you wonder just how much you should push Jamil." So many places I could've gone with this, but this is where we ended up (this time).

If you'd like to be tagged for my future works, let me know and I'll be happy to do so!

Tag list:

@colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist

@perilous-pasta @twstgo

[theostrophywife]

shut up kiss me.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

song inspiration: shut up kiss me by angel olsen.

author's note: everyone say thank you to my love @writingsbychlo for fueling my delusions. constantly spamming her with my ideas because i have no self control when it comes to this man. there’s just something about theo fighting that makes me absolutely feral but i’ll hush now before i spoil it 🤭

Theodore. Fucking. Nott. 

Those three words fueled your rampage as you marched across the quidditch pitch. The audacity of that cocky, arrogant, silver tongued Slytherin knew no bounds. For years, you tolerated the pompous prick and the rivalry between you, but today he had finally gone too far. 

You cleared the field in less than a minute, passing by confused players as you angrily seethed. You spotted a shock of familiar platinum blonde hair and walked right up to Draco Malfoy. 

“Where the hell is he?”

He chuckled, perfectly aware of your longstanding enmity with his closest friend. “What’s he done this time?”

“Where. Is. He?” you repeated through gritted teeth. “Don’t make me ask again, Malfoy.” 

The blonde paled several shades when he saw the fire burning in your gaze. “Locker rooms. I wouldn’t go in there, Y/N. They’re still shower—“ Draco sighed as you brushed past him. “Whatever, it’s your funeral.”

The locker rooms were steamy, the heat and humidity clinging to your school uniform as you stalked through the aisles. The Slytherin players startled when they spotted you amongst their midst. 

“Well, well, well,” Mattheo drawled as he leaned against the wall. A towel hung dangerously low on his hips and he smirked when your eyes flickered over his body. “What do we have here? A sweet little Hufflepuff marching straight into the viper’s den.”

“Where the fuck is he, Riddle?”

Mattheo grinned lazily. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, sweetheart.” 

“You know exactly who I’m talking about. Your arrogant prick of a friend who sent my fucking date to the hospital wing!” 

Before you went to sleep last night, you had done so with a grin on your face after a wonderful date with Alec Stone at the Three Broomsticks, but then you arrived at breakfast this morning with no Alec in sight and the rumor mill rampant with talks of Theo pummeling some poor Ravenclaw in the courtyard. 

You were going to kill him. 

“Sorry, love. Doesn’t ring a bell.” 

You frowned, purposely bumping against Mattheo as you walked further down the dimly lit aisle. In your trail for vengeance, you ran into a very flustered looking Enzo who yelped as he sought to cover his very naked torso. 

“Y/N,” Enzo said, hastily wrapping a towel around his waist. “What are you doing in the locker rooms?”

Behind him, the sound of the shower running echoed against the marble tiles. “Is he in there?”

Berkshire’s face fell. “You heard about the fight?” 

“It wasn’t a fight,” you said angrily. “He pummeled Alec so badly that he’s currently in the hospital wing with a concussion and several broken bones.”

“Just hear him out, okay?” 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. “Hear him out? Your precious Theodore beat the absolute shit out of my date and you want me to hear him out? For what? What reason could Theo possibly have for doing what he did to Alec? He couldn’t stand to see me have fun for two fucking seconds? This is low even for him and you know it, Enzo.”

“You don’t know the whole story, Y/N.” 

“Well then please point me in the right direction so I can hear from the arsehole himself.” 

“He’s in there,” Enzo said, pointing to the shower stalls. “But I’m warning you, Y/N. He’s in a proper foul mood.” 

You huffed. “That makes two of us.” 

The steam from the showers rose up like a malevolent fog, curling around your feet as you stormed through the stalls. You found him in the farthest corner, water trickling down his back as he faced the tiled wall. His body language was tense, like a serpent preparing to strike. A crimson trail swirled against the marble as blood dripped from Theo’s bruised knuckles. The sight of it incensed you. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

Theo whipped his head towards your direction, his dark curls plastered against his cheek. Those watercolor eyes were stormy, the blues and greens flickering with anger as he met your gaze. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said dismissively. 

“Bullshit!” You countered, stepping further into the stall. The steam barely covered Theo’s naked form, but you weren’t about to let that deter you from demanding answers. “You owe me a fucking explanation.”

“For what?” 

“For what?” you repeated incredulously. “You beat Alec within an inch of his life and that’s all you have to say for yourself? Honestly Theodore, have you gone absolutely mental?” 

“He deserved it.” 

“Why? Because he took me out on a date? Because you couldn’t stand to let me have this one thing? You absolutely loathe the idea of me being even remotely happy, don’t you?” 

Theo clenched his fists as his jaw twitched in anger. “No. I loathe the idea of that miserable excuse of a human being breathing the same air as you.” 

“So you beat him to a bloody pulp?” 

His voice was cold and icy, cutting through you like glass. “He’s lucky I didn’t do worse.”

“What do you have against Alec?” You moved closer to Theo, closing the gap as you poked his chest. The shower streamed over the both of you, blurring your vision. The water was hot against your skin, but it paled against the heat of your own anger. “What did he ever do to you, Theo?” 

Theo gripped your wrist. You were vaguely aware of his nakedness, but he made no move to hide it and you were too furious to even care. “Don’t say his name. I can’t bear to hear you say it after what he said about you this morning.” 

You stepped backward, flinching. “What—what are you talking about?” 

When you met his gaze, you startled. You’d never seen Theo this angry before. His eyes, which were usually dead and expressionless, burned with a cold sort of fury. 

“I heard him in the courtyard, bragging to his stupid friends. I thought he was just chatting shit, so I kept back. I only came down for a smoke, but then he said your name.” 

The pit in your stomach grew. “What did he say?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. Not if he was this angry over it.

“The stupid fucking prick was talking about your date. The dress you wore. The smiles you gave him. The hand holding through Hogsmeade. Then one of his gormless mates asked if he got lucky.” 

You froze at his words as a horrible feeling washed over you. Theo loosened his grip on your wrist, but didn’t let go. 

“Do you know what that sodding idiot said? I will, soon enough. I can tell she’s raring to go.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. You felt like you were going to be violently sick. 

“And his friends—those miserable fucking wankers started betting on how long it would take. Two dates. Three. A month.” Theo’s hands were shaking, violence spilling over into his veins. “That smug tosser smirked and said he could’ve had you out in the hallway. That’s how eager you were.”

“I barely even touched him!” you said angrily. “I kissed his cheek good night and that was it.” 

“I know,” Theo said, his voice low and rough. “I know you. I knew he was lying, so I fucking lost it. I walked over there and just punched and punched until my knuckles were bloody and bruised and all I could see was red. I wanted to wipe that stupid fucking smirk off his mouth.” 

You could picture Theo putting out his cigarette ever so calmly before walking over to throw the first punch. You’d seen him fight before. He was relentless. Where Mattheo was pure fire and rage, Theo was as cold as ice. There was nothing but lethal calm in those dead eyes as he delivered blow after blow in absolute silence. 

“Eventually, Blaise and Enzo pulled me off of that prick.” He averted his gaze as if remembering the moment. “When his idiot friends finally peeled him off the floor, I spit on the fucker. I told him to consider it a warning. That I’d do a lot worse if I ever heard your name come out of his mouth again. I promised him that a concussion would be the least of his worries if he didn’t stay the fuck away from you.”

The tears fell down your cheeks despite your efforts to keep them in. The anger all but faded from Theo’s eyes as soon as he realized that you were crying. You were so, so stupid. For thinking Alec was a nice guy. For being so giddy after your date only for him to turn around and spit vile lies about you. 

For crying in front of your worst enemy.

The color drained from Theo’s face as you cried into your hands. You felt him shift beside you, debating whether or not to come closer. 

“Don’t,” you said through a broken sob. “Don’t come near me.” 

Theo flinched at your words, looking visibly pained. His voice was soft and soothing when he spoke again. “Tell me how to fix it. Do you want to yell at me? Punch me? Go ahead, love. I can take it.” He sounded desperate. “Just please, please don’t cry.” 

You hugged your arms around your waist and glared at him. “Why do you even care?” 

He paused, fingers flexing at his side as he fought the urge to reach out and comfort you. 

“Because I care about you!” The exasperation in his voice made your chest tighten. “I care that you let that stupid idiot take you on a date to the Three Broomsticks. I care that you fucking smiled at him when he gave you roses even though I know you prefer sunflowers. I care that you kissed him on the cheek when he dropped you off at your dorm.”

You sniffled, utterly perplexed at his words. “I don’t understand. We hate each other!” 

Theo visibly softened, the tension leaving his body. “I could never hate you, Y/N.” He reached for your hand. Your first instinct was to pull away, but you let him trace soothing circles on your skin. “I may tease you. Prank you. Annoy you. But I’ve never hated you.” 

Theo wiped the dried up tears from your cheeks. No fresh tears, which he took as a good sign. “I don’t even think you remember this, but I tried asking you to the Yule Ball in fourth year.” 

The memory surfaced. You were reading by the Black Lake and Theo had asked if you had a date. You said no, to which he promptly asked if he could take you. You left in a huff, thinking that it was just another way to rile you up. 

“I thought you were just trying to get a rise out of me. If I would’ve known…” 

Theo paused. “How could you not know? How could you not see?” 

The rage crashed against you like an errant wave. You didn’t know if you were angry at Theo or yourself, but you exploded either way, unable to keep your emotions under control. 

“Because you never told me, you idiot!”

“I never told you, but I showed you.” He smiled crookedly. “I'm not good with words, obviously. Every time I open my mouth it’s like I say the perfect combination of words to piss you off. So I learned to tell you how I felt through my actions.” 

“Haven’t you ever wondered why your favorite study spot in the library is always free? That’s because I threatened anyone who came near it. Or how you never seem to run out of quills despite the fact that you manage to break one every day from how hard you write? I always replaced them when you weren’t looking.” Your heart clenched at his words. “I even bribed first years to bring you hot chocolate when I knew you were pulling all nighters.” 

You stood there, staring at him. This wasn’t the cocky, arrogant Theo that you knew. He was looking at you so earnestly that it physically hurt how endearing it all was. 

“Why would you let me think that you were an inconsiderate jerk this whole time?” 

Those hypnotizing eyes pierced right through you, filled with a sadness so heavy that you felt it weighing on your chest. 

“Because at least you were thinking of me.”

You swayed gently. The water had long seeped into your bones, making you shiver as all of your clothes stuck to your skin like paper. You were convinced that your body had gone into shock. The range of emotions you were currently experiencing was turbulent to say the least. You stood in stunned silence, just taking it all in. Then the impact of his words hit you all at once. 

Theo watched as your bottom lip trembled. Panic seized him as you began crying again, this time not bothering to hide it from him. “Fuck I’m sorry, Y/N. Please don’t cry.” 

He didn’t know what to do. Should he comfort you? Should he keep his distance? Theo felt like he was doing a rather exceptional job of mucking things up. 

“Why are you saying sorry?” You said between hiccups. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

Theo caressed your cheek. So gently. Like he half-expected you to recoil. That only set a fresh wave of tears to spill onto your cheeks. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, love.” 

“Of course I do!” you nearly wailed. “I’ve been horrible to you. I’ve thought the worst of you, but all this time you were doing all these sweet, considerate things and I never even noticed. You should’ve told me, Theo.” 

“I—I didn’t think you’d ever see me that way,” Theo said softly. “It was better to have you hate me and still be part of my life than risking not having you in it at all.” 

Because at least you were thinking of me. 

It was the saddest thing that you’ve ever heard. For years, Theo settled for being your enemy because he’d rather have your hatred and loathing than indifference. He sustained himself on the bare minimum because he thought that was all he deserved. 

“I’m sorry, Theo. I’m so so fucking sorry.” 

Theo was absolutely distressed. “Fuck, look Y/N. Let me just finish up here and get my towel and when I’m dry and slightly less naked then we can talk, okay?” 

You sniffled, wiping your tears away. There was no way you could wait. Not after everything Theo had just told you. Not after everything that he’s been telling you all these years. Theo had literally and figuratively laid himself bare before you. The least you could do was to even the playing field. 

So you unlaced the gold and black tie around your neck. Unbuttoned your blouse and threw it somewhere behind you. Stepped out of your skirt and stared at Theo head on. 

“Oh—Merlin’s beard, what in the hell are you doing, Y/N? Are you trying to send me into cardiac arrest?” 

You shook your head, smiling slightly. Theo was determined to look everywhere but at your very exposed body. You were still in your bra and panties, but the black lace really didn’t leave much to the imagination. Especially when the water clung to every inch of your skin. 

“You were vulnerable with me,” you said simply. “So I’m returning the favor.” 

Theo felt like he was definitely headed for an early grave. He tried to think of something—anything—other than the girl he’s been head over heels for since third year standing naked in front of him.

“Theo,” you said softly. His name had never sounded half as good coming out of anyone else’s mouth. He wanted to bottle the sound. “Can I—can I hug you?” 

He could’ve sworn that his heart had stopped beating. The air had all but left his lungs, deflating his entire body as though he’d fallen off his broom and plummeted through the sky at breakneck speed. 

Theo didn’t recognize his own voice as he said, “Of course you can, Y/N.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before you dashed into his arms, nearly toppling him over from the force of it. You were a tiny little thing, but you were stronger than you looked. He smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes as you hugged him. For a minute you and Theo just stood there under the trickling water, holding each other as though you were the only two people alive. 

If this was all the affection you were willing to give him, Theo would’ve been content to hold onto you until you grew tired of him. His slender fingers traced down your spine, drawing soothing circles against your skin as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. You felt safe. Like nothing bad could ever happen as long as you were with him.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt like this. There was just this spark between you. Perhaps that was part of the reason why you had been so angry this morning. 

It hadn’t just been because Theo sent Alec to the hospital wing, which you were now thankful for after hearing all the disgusting things he said about you. It was also because you thought that he had ruined your chance of feeling that rush with someone else. The same rush you got when the two of you were arguing. The same rush that was noticeably missing when you kissed Alec last night. 

Things with Theo had always been electric. You attributed it to mutual loathing, but that wasn’t the full story. Sure he made your blood boil sometimes, but he also made you feel alive. You were terrified to admit it to yourself, which is probably why you said yes to Alec in the first place. 

You sighed as Theo’s fingers tangled through your hair. He gently pulled your head back and looked at you in the most heartbreaking way. 

“Y/N,” he said hoarsely. Theo’s gaze dipped to your mouth as his arm snaked around your waist. “I think I might die if I go one more second without kissing you. Will you please put me out of my misery, love?” 

You couldn’t help but smile. “Gladly.”

Theo held his breath as you pulled him down to you, lips brushing shyly at first. Then you leaned in and kissed him. And he truly and honestly thought that he had died. 

Your lips were soft against his, tasting of strawberries and mint toothpaste. He cupped the back of your head and tilted your chin to deepen the kiss. Before, Theo thought he could’ve sustained himself from a simple hug, but right now, he couldn’t even control himself as he gorged himself on your taste. 

He chuckled when you tried and failed to get on your tiptoes to offset the height difference between you. Theo caressed your cheek and smiled against your mouth. 

“Need some help, love?” 

You nodded before pulling him back down again. This time, the tender kisses turned more heated as he locked your legs around his waist and pressed your back against the wall. You gasped as the cold tile made contact with your bare skin and Theo took the opportunity to slide his tongue against yours. 

Merlin’s beard. Theo kissed with his entire body. There wasn’t an inch of you that wasn’t touching him and the skin to skin contact set your body on fire. You’d kissed other boys before, but they paled in comparison. You couldn’t get enough of Theo. You ran your fingers through his hair. Wrapped your legs more tightly around his waist. Trailed kisses along his jaw and neck and throat. 

Then he fucking moaned. 

It was a low, rumbling sound that sent tremors over your body and shook every fiber of your being like a devastating earthquake. You wanted to hear him make that sound over and over again. 

“Y/N,” Theo said, his forehead dropping to yours. “Before I lose all sense of self, I want to—no—I need to tell you—”

“What is it, Theo?”

“If we do this, then you have to understand what it means to me,” Theo whispered. “I may be terrible with words, but it’s important for me that you hear me when I say this. I want you. Not just physically, but in every sense of the word. I wanted you in third year when you first told me off for being a dick to the first years and I want you now even though you came in here to defend a prick that definitely doesn’t deserve it.” 

“What are you saying, Theo?” 

“I want you to be mine, Y/N.” 

You beamed. “Like, your girlfriend?”

“I don’t think girlfriend is a strong enough word to express how I feel for you, but it’s a start.” He moved the hair out of your face and cradled your cheek. “So yes, I suppose I do want you to be my girlfriend. I want to hold hands with you in the hallways. I want to look up at the stands during my games and see you cheering me on. I want to take you up to the Astronomy Tower and kiss you under the stars.” 

“And you say you’re bad with words,” you teased. “I want to do all those things and more with you, Theodore Nott. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

“Good, cause you’re mine.” Theo said matter-of-factly, those adorable dimples making an appearance on each cheek. “You were mine even before you knew it.” 

He kissed you again, but this time it was soft and sweet and it filled your stomach with butterflies. Theo no longer felt the need to hoard as much of your affection as he could because you had just given him the ultimate reassurance that he would have plenty of you in the future. 

You sighed contently against him, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. He shifted, pressing kisses against your neck. Your fingers froze when you felt him stir underneath you. 

“Theo,” you said slowly, biting back a smirk. “Is that what I think it is pressing against my leg?” 

He groaned. “We’re half naked, in the shower, heavily making out, and you just agreed to be my girlfriend. Of course I’m hard.” 

You stifled a laugh. “Theodore Nott, is emotional intimacy turning you on?” 

“Everything about you turns me on.” 

“That’s helpful to know,” you said with a little smirk. “Especially when we're dueling and I’m losing.” 

“Merlin’s beard. My girlfriend’s downright evil.” 

You grinned so hard that your cheeks ached. Theo peppered kisses all over your face before setting you down. 

“I suppose we should head to dinner soon. My teammates watched you march in here in a fit of rage. They might think you’ve murdered me.” 

“There’s only one problem,” you said as you finally turned off the shower. “I’m soaking wet.” 

“I bet you are, darling.” 

You rolled your eyes. “From the shower, you wanker.” 

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. “It’s alright. I’ve got some extra clothes in my locker.”

Ten minutes later, the two of you walked out in the quidditch pitch hand in hand. Theo’s sweater completely enveloped you and he smiled a little at the sight. You received a few interesting stares as you made your way through the castle halls, but one look from Theo and they all quickly found something else to gawk at. Having a scary boyfriend was already paying off. 

On the way to dinner, you ran into Enzo. The git had the biggest smile on his face when he saw that you and Theo were holding hands. “So you heard him out after all, huh?” 

“Yeah, we sorted out our differences,” you said with a smile. “Coincidentally, I gained a boyfriend out of the whole ordeal. Happy now, Berkshire?” 

“Absolutely chuffed,” Enzo said with a grin. “See you lovebirds at dinner.” 

Theo rolled his eyes as his friend disappeared into the Great Hall. He turned, squeezing your fingers. “I should warn you. My friends can be a bit…much.” 

“Don’t worry, I think we all got fairly acquainted in the locker rooms. If they tease us, well I’ve got a perfectly scary boyfriend to fend them off.” 

He chuckled. “A scary boyfriend with an even more terrifying girlfriend.” 

You winked, kissing his bruised knuckles. “This school won’t know what hit them.” 

“Neither did Alec,” he said with a satisfied smirk. You gave him a reprimanding glare, but it was half-hearted. You didn’t actually feel sorry for the prick. “Sorry. Too soon?” 

“You know you can’t punch everyone that says anything bad about me, right?”

“Of course not. I’m perfectly capable of kicking them too.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Shut up and kiss me, Theo.” 

“Yes ma'am.” 

taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468

please let me know if you'd like to be added.

[d1stalker]

Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It was supposed to be easy: infiltrate the gala, gather intel, and report back. But when a mission takes a deadly turn, Logan is forced to confront his deepest fears as he races to save the woman who means more to him than life itself.

PART ONE OF TWO (part two here)

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, canon-level violence, Logan goes feral, graphic descriptions, lot's of fighting, feels

WC: 10.8k - MASTERLIST

------

A black limousine pulls up to the grand entrance of the sprawling estate, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The mansion ahead is bathed in golden light, a beacon of opulence against the darkening sky. Inside, Logan’s gaze shifts to the woman beside him, his fellow teammate and the only person who can keep up with his banter. You adjust the diamond necklace around your neck, the gemstones glinting in the dim light. Logan has seen you in countless situations—on missions, during training, in the midst of battle—but tonight, in that floor-length black gown, you look like someone who belongs in this world of wealth and power. You look beautiful.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Howlett,” you quip, catching him staring. A smirk plays on your lips as you adjust to fix your hair.

Logan grunts, pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. “Never seen you so dolled up before. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you tease.

The two of you have been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense are bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way your hair frames your face. You catch the look, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you falls away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knows how to break.

The driver opens the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan steps out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You take it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He holds onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swing open, you’re greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingle under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan can sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that has kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here aren’t just the wealthy—they’re the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men have to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmurs as you step into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you make your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He lets out a low chuckle, one that only you can hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hang in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dares to acknowledge.

The two of you move deeper into the ballroom, and you can feel the weight of several eyes on you. It’s no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance make for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both know better than to let your guard down. This place is a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whisper, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he focuses on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approach the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduce yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It doesn’t take long before the men welcome you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquires. His eyes are cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that feels all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he adds for extra persuasion, “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, as if his suspicions still linger. “Plans indeed,” he says slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growls, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes spreads across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You feel Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He’s playing the part, but you know how much he hates being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continues, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You meet his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you have. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seems to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leans in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchange a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this is the moment of truth. If you say the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you’re too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan says, false contempt bleeding from his words, “and it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes light up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He pauses, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turns at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you keep your expression neutral.

“Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nods. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forces himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

“We do,” the silver-haired man replies, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hum in feigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompt, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances are exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seem to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man begins. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continues, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You keep your voice steady, despite the chill that runs down your spine, as you reply, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckle, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirks. “Count us in.”

The men smile, delighted with what they believe is newfound support. Logan hates every second of it—despises having to play along with these monsters. But he knows you both have to get more intel before you can make a move. The mission has to come first, even if it means playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you say smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that says it’s time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nod, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan step away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Logan exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmur quietly, “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nods, his hand squeezing yours as you walk down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You find a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’ve hidden in your purse. Quickly, you begin to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at the X-Mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detail the plans you’ve overheard. Logan stands nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It’s too quiet.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, instincts prickling with the sense that something is wrong. He turns to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he hears it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes dart toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spots movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finish your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan mutters, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It’s too late. A group of security guards rounds the corner before either of you can make a break for it. Their eyes lock onto you with suspicion, and you can see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately steps in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards says, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forces a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard steps forward before Logan has time to respond, pulling out a device that emits a faint, ominous hum. The man waves it over you, and Logan’s heart sinks as the device beeps loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spits, his voice filled with disgust as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surges through you, but you shove it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you can feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you make your move, another guard from your other side grabs your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzles out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snap around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bites into your skin, and you feel immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realize how vulnerable you are without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneers in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoves you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widen in fury as he sees the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarls, his voice dangerously heavy.

The guard only grins, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shoot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He takes a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glares at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards react with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoves you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others step forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilts, and pain explodes in your ribs as another guard’s boot connects with your side.

Logan sees red.

Something primal surges within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shakes the walls, he launches himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters across the floor as Logan tears through them with a ferocity that is terrifying to witness.

He moves like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards don’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fights, more of them swarm in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cry out, the fear and pain you feel palpable as you struggle to get free. The guard holding you down slams your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurs.

Logan spins around, his eyes wild as he sees you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sends him into a frenzy. He slashes through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tries to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts are futile, the guards are relentless. Their numbers never dwindle, if anything, more and more seem to join the fight. They pile onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fights with everything he has, but even he has limits. He can feel the weight of them pressing down on him, can feel his strength waning as they force him to the ground.

“Logan!” you call his name again, breaking through the chaos. He can see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pull you farther and farther away.

“NO!” He roars, his voice breaking as he thrashes against the guards holding him down. He has to get to you—he has to save you.

Yet the more he fights, the more they press down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slam his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision begins to fade. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is your terrified face, the way your lips form his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan wakes up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounds, and every muscle in his body aches as if he’s been through a war—and in some ways, he has. Groaning, he tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” comes Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinks, his vision slowly coming into focus. He’s in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally comes to his senses, and he remembers the events that transpired the previous night, he realizes none of that matters. The only thing he cares about is you.

“Where is she?” he demands as he struggles against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softens with pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Panic jolts through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out the rest of what Hank is saying. His eyes burn as he wrenches himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl.

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitates, his features morphing into a pained look, “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan cries, his words echoing off the walls as he slams a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groans under the force of his anger.

At that moment, Charles Xavier wheels in, his imposing presence immediately felt within the confines of the small room. He speaks calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turns to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

His fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt eats him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he mutters, voice cracking.

Charles’s voice is firm but compassionate as he addresses the younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leans his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper is boiling, he wants to tear everything apart until there is nothing left, but he knows, deep down, that Charles is right. And as much as it kills him, he has to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what is to come.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” he growls, “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanges a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank leaves the room, Logan sinks back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remains, silently offering his support.

“When we find her,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you feel is the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounds, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think, let alone move. When you try to lift your hands, you realize they are restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jump to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you force your eyes open. The world is a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision clears, the reality of your situation hits you like a slap in the face.

You are in a cell. The walls are made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There is barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that dance across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—is torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters. You can see your own blood between the patches that reveal your skin. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settles in your stomach.

You try to pull against the chains, but your limbs are weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization makes your heart race, fear clawing at your throat. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, no idea where you are or what they plan to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell catches your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turn your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stand just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneers with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words sting, but you refuse to show it. You force yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “Where am I?” you demand, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughs again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that makes your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiles, “Big plans.”

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replies, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reaches through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you bite your lip, refusing to cry out. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hiss.

The guard’s grin widens as he leans closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughs again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this is, and you feel a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You can feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmers just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it’s like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You are trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader is. You know you can’t let them see your fear. You can’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchange a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard says, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sends you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard adds, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve falters. What if they are right? What if the team thinks you’re gone, or worse—what if they can’t find you? But then you think of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you say, the conviction in your voice surprising even you.

The guards don’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowls, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turn and leave, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they fade into silence. You are alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you hold onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You aren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs are still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you won’t let that stop you. You start to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free.

It is agonizing, and with every movement, the metal digs deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain keeps you focused, keeps you from slipping into despair. You have to keep going. You have to believe that Logan will come for you.

And when he does, you will be ready.

----

Weeks pass since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that feel like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remain missing is another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticks by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, has become a suffocating prison where he is forced to wait and hope—two things he has never been good at.

Charles Xavier is relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that has taken you. The X-Men work tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan is a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He’s ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles insists on a plan, a strategy that won’t just rescue you but will dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, they find something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles is in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifts through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he finds it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It’s the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, reveals a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization has set up a secret base.

This base, as he quickly pieces together, is where they are holding you, along with other mutants they have captured. It’s heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he finds slips through only because it’s so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles spends days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they’ve gathered over the weeks. Every detail lines up—this is it. This is where they have taken you, and this is where they will launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knows he has to get the team together and act. Act fast.

----

Time loses all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you are held captive. The days and nights blur together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, have become your only companions, and the silence is a constant reminder of how alone you are.

Your dress is taken hours after you awake, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itches against your skin. The fabric is thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ache from the tight cuffs they keep you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seem to fade.

They barely feed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals are a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tastes like rust.

What makes it truly unbearable isn’t the food itself; it’s the way you are forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you can’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards enters your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carries a small, dented tray of food. He kneels beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he taunts, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refuse to beg. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you are. In the end, your body’s needs always win out, and you reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never makes it easy. He pushes the bread in too far, making you gag, or holds it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it comes time for the water, he tilts the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that follows is barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It’s a humiliating, degrading experience, one that leaves you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that’s exactly what the guards want. Each meal is an exercise in control, a reminder that you are at their mercy, that they hold all the power.

Somehow, that still isn’t the worst of it all.

Guards come daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You have learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably follow. They seem to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they deliver blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they come, they mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt begins to creep in. How long has it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan is out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days drag on and the beatings continue, it becomes harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they leave you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you find yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startles even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneers, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lift your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkens with disdain, and he steps forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that makes you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barks.

You cough, tasting blood on your lips, but you can’t stop the words that tumble out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twists into a snarl, and he raises his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard says, though his voice is more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They leave you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurts, as much as the beatings wear you down, you cling to that small act of defiance. They haven’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room is suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men gather around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stands at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlines possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listen intently.

Logan sits at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He doesn’t want to be here—doesn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he can think about is you. But he knows that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forces himself to stay, to listen, even though every second feels like a waste.

His hands clench into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He can barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought makes his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you with us?”

He glances up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knows she can feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only makes him more frustrated.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps.

Ororo shoots him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan grits his teeth, biting back the retort that rises to his lips. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growls, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott says, “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.”

“Logan,” Hank interjects, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shoots her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he doesn’t push her away. Jean has always been the one who could reach him, even when he’s at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep her from me any longer, Jean, he thinks back, his mental voice raw with emotion.

You won’t, Jean replies, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanges a glance with Scott, who nods and steps forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growls, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replies without hesitation. He can sense the violent need rattling within Logan’s bones—craving to avenge you. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clench at his sides, his claws itching to be released.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answers from where he sits at the table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remains by the map while the team disperses and begins to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This is it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally has a chance to make things right.

He can almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought makes him see red, but beneath the rage is something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belong.

Logan will lead the charge, and God help anyone who stands in his way.

As the team assembles, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheels over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

He nods, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he says, a dangerous growl clawing its way out of his throat, “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boards the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soar into the night. The storm Ororo has summoned rages around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approach the island. Every second brings them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmurs under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to you. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice comes over the comms, though the storm she controls outside is anything but calm. Lightning splits the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott cuts through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nods, his eyes locked on the ramp as it begins to lower. The cold wind whips through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan can smell them—guards, weapons, blood.

“Ready?” Scott asks, glancing at Logan.

His response is a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activates the drop sequence, and Logan is the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He lands in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island is as fortified as they feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that matters. He has one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team lands behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raises her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that conceals their approach. Lightning arcs overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gives the signal to move in, and the team splits up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focus on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slips into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he makes his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moves like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with deadly silence. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approaches the main compound. The guards are on high alert, but they are no match for the X-Men. He watches as Jean’s telepathy turns their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tear through their defenses.

But as the team advances, the guards regroup, their numbers swelling as they pour out of the compound. They aren’t going down without a fight. Logan spots a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They open fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouts.

Jean extends her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, but the force of the attack makes it clear this isn’t going to be easy. The guards are better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growls in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarls, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nods, her eyes glowing white as she summons a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seizes the moment, firing a series of blasts that take out the turret and send the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advance, more guards appear, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerges from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackles a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moves with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushes forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body is taut, ready to react, as he closes in on the entrance. But the resistance only grows fiercer the closer they get. A squad of heavily armored guards appears, their rifles spitting fire as they advance in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!”

Ororo unleashes a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It’s almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering.

Logan’s patience snaps. He shoots forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashes into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splatters the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carves a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean are right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound is heavily fortified, and as Logan bursts through the first door, a new wave of guards meets them head-on.

These are the elite, the best of the best, and they fight with a cold, calculated precision that makes them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy is their saving grace. She reaches into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain is visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott calls.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasps, her voice strained.

Logan knows they can’t keep this up. They have to find you, and they have to do it fast. He slams his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducks, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provide cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouts, and Logan surges forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air is thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan doesn’t care. He can hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he sees it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They are well-armed, and this time, their eyes hold no uncertainty. These are the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They open fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan is too fast, too eager to be reunited with you. He ducks and weaves, his claws gleaming as he closes the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaps at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumple to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stands over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slams his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gives way under the force of his rage. He rips the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he sees you—chained, battered, but alive.

You are slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, makes Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately floods out of his system. He crosses the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you try to focus. When you see him, a weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reaches for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fall away, you feel a sudden surge of power within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slump forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart breaks at the feel of your frail body against his, but he holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?”

You nod, though it’s clear the effort costs you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helps you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you lean heavily against him. Every step is a struggle, but he’s right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grow louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan mutters tensely, “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

He keeps a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you is in shambles, the walls of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men are relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echo through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything fades into the background—the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke.

All Logan can concentrate on is the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggle to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he rasps, urging you, “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tighten around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you move as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigate through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrors the one within him, but as long as you’re with him, he knows he can weather it.

When the exit finally comes into view, the cold night air hits you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird is waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brings a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckles your knees. But Logan is there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cares about the storm or the battle left behind. The only thing that matters is that you’re together.

Logan guides you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulls you into his lap, holding you as close as he can. You don’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he is.

Hank approaches, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glances at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him. Each touch, every whispered word, acts like a balm to the wounds you have endured. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whisper, trying to bring a hint of your usual humor into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tighten around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continues to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wipes away your tears. Neither of you wants to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brush against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, over and over again. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nod, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightens, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rest in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you feel safe. Truly safe. And it’s all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue is a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. The moment you touch down, you’re rushed to the med bay, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay feel oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you were held in. You’re laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices are calm and reassuring, but you barely hear them. Your mind is still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never leaves your side. Even as Hank and Jean move around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he’s there, a grounding force. He holds your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes flutter open, his are there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart ache.

Hank and Jean make sure you’re well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food are brought to you, and though you have little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxes you to eat. He sits with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibble at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he says, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Nights are the hardest. The darkness brings with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often wake in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan is there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsides.

Logan, for his part, is dealing with his own demons. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way his eyes darken when he hears you gasp in pain or when your hand trembles as you reach for something. He’s haunted by what happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You know he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tears at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tries to hide it, of course—tries to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion is still and the only sound is the soft beep of the heart monitor, he lets his guard down. He sits beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go. And in those moments, you can see the depth of his pain, the way it eats at him from the inside.

On one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare leaves you shaky and breathless, Logan pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he murmurs words of comfort. As you cry, he holds you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you say, as many times as you need to, if it means he’ll stop feeling this way. “You saved me. You found me.”

He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupt, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me. You brought me home.”

His eyes close at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and you mean it.

----

When you’re finally discharged from the med bay, it feels like a victory—a hard-won battle that leaves you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength has returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you’re ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, fills you with a renewed sense of purpose.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he’s been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—you truly did—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you step back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence is starting to feel more like a shadow you can’t shake.

“Logan,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretch, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you turn to face him fully. “I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished.”

He pushes off the wall, his expression hardening as he takes a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice makes you pause, the frustration fading away as you look at him more closely. There’s a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he’s looking at you—it isn’t just concern. It’s something deeper.

“I’m not alone,” you assure him. “I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhales deeply, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words catch you off guard, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right way to explain.

“I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You know what he’s trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter—it was never just friendly. It was more than that—something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse, filled with all the emotion he’s kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after goin' through all that…”

He lets his voice trail off. Your heart pounds in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’ve always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, makes your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confess back, “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surge forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanishes in an instant, and your lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss that speaks of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long.

His hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on desperation, as if he’s making sure this is real—that you’re truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers trace the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tighten their grip as he pulls you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss is everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that makes your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Logan doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against yours, but the distance between you seems to close even further, if that were possible. His hands grip you tightly, as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you’re here, safe, and his. His breath is ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with a raw, burning intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispers.

His hands roam your back again, as if reassuring himself that you’re really there, that you’re not some illusion that will slip away the moment he loosens his grip.

You smile softly, though your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either,” you whisper back. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightens a bit, and you can see that he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you’re right. His eyes search your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you are.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admits, “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smile gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassure him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kiss him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts are against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back into the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nods. “I’ll do my best,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warms at his words, recognizing the struggle he’s willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you reply, your voice tender as you lean in for another kiss.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

A/N: Phew! Part one done, and part two is on the way -- it'll be up by the end of the weekend. Please comment or send me a message if you'd like to be tagged in the next part. Hope you liked the story!

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚ THE EYES OF A DRAGON  ━━━ DAERON TARGARYEN X FEM! READER & JACAERYS VELARYON X FEM! READER

synopsis: the dreary weather of dragonstone results in you recalling the events of the past year. your escape from your first love, daeron targaryen leaves you with a new life as a dragon keeper where you eventually learn to love again, much to jacaerys velaryon's delight. with the calling of the dragon seeds you are needed to protect the crowd against the fury of vermithor's wrath. surprisingly however, you find yourself with a new companion, one in which the green's are keen to acquire. as daeron writes requesting to talk to you again after finding out this news, your loyalty to jacaerys velaryon will evidently be tested with the return of your old lover.

request (rough translation): hello, could you please make a love triangle story between jacaerys x reader x dareon. since she is the daughter of an ancient dragon guardian (reader's mother died when she was born) she was raised by her uncle who is also a guardian of the dragons and her other uncle was a grand maester in ancient times. when she visited her uncle she met dareon, where she had a friendship and then dareon broke reader’s heart and returned to dragonstone. the war began to recover the throne of rhaenyra and jacaerys calls for the dragon seeds. reader in dragonstone was guarding the nests of dragon eggs by order of her uncle and came across the cannibal who was going to eat the eggs. not wanting that to happen, she tried to calm and control the terrifying dragon, and let her ride it. she realises that she is a dragon seed, therefore meeting jacaerys and striking up a friendship with him. after a while, in battle she meets daeron again. he tries to apologise, telling her he loved her and that he wants her to come back with him - it could be because of her, or the dragon she possesses, as she and cannibal are capable of seriously injuring vhagar and destroying the green’s. but, the reader loves jacaerys and doesn’t plan on betraying him.

notes: thank you sm @alyssa-dayne for requesting!! i kind of went off on a tangent and completely disregarded some of the requests you made, i’m so sorry😭 i hope you enjoy what i did write in its place though bc i had so much fun writing it and absolutely loved your request!! ive also seen a tiktok fan casting harry gilby as daeron and omg i am in love ?? and will be using him from now on. both daeron and Jace have been aged up to 21.

warnings: kind of dark! daeron, language, misogyny, violence, blood mentioned, angst, fluff w jace, friendship w ulf

word count: 4.9k

IT HAD BEEN ALMOST A YEAR SINCE YOU HAD STEPPED FOOT IN KING'S LANDING LAST. the pain of it all was still an open wound. still raw, still bleeding. it would take time for it to heal, time for the cut to be fully stitched up, to pick up the broken pieces. you were prepared to take all the time in the world for it to mend itself since escaping the viper's den. but it seemed like the gods were out to get you, throwing you back into the war that cut you in the first place.

it was many many moons ago that you were brought to the capital in the first place. your uncle was a maester and after the passing of your mother thought it would be best that you were to be brought to the red keep. he kept you close, keeping it a secret from the rats in the walls that he was giving you the same education the males received. so you spent many late nights with him, studying the language and histories of old instead of the usual sewing and stitching you would do during the day with your septa.

that was where you met him for the first time. daeron targaryen. you had been studying late with your uncle in the library. you uncle was an avid believer that a girl had every right to the same knowledge as a boy. a creak of a door had broken your study of the history of the seven kingdoms, revealing a slender blonde in its place. he walked over to your dimly lit table greeting your uncle, whispering something you couldn't make out. you studied him as he spoke, hazy mind too frazzled with tiredness to fully comprehend the boy that had been brought before you.  he was an angel to you, nothing like you had ever seen before. you thought the seven had blessed you with his falling from the heavens above, with hair as blonde as the snows in the north and eyes as purple as the flowers that blossomed in high garden you could not help but be enamoured. and that was the beginning of your fall.

you often reflected on that day in the library, meeting daeron for the first time as the rain patters against the walls of stone in dragonstone. being in a room with nothing but your own thoughts and defeaning silence lead you to the edge of madness. most days, it meant you reminisced on your times in the capital and now, as you lay in bed as the fire in the hearth dwindles and your candles burn low, you think of the blonde beauty. you finally understand why your uncle fought so hard to keep you away from the targaryen boys, "cynical beings" he called them as daeron left the library that night. you would never forget how his eyes graced your figure. the soft smile playing on his lips was a definite contrast to the dark hue that took hold in his eyes. you failed to pick up on this, too besotted by the man in front. panic however, was written clear across your uncle's face. he was accustomed to the targaryen's and their 'favourites'. how a being of lesser status would be that intriguing to them that they had to keep them near was a tale that was repeated constantly in the cycle of the dynasty. "they would stop at nothing to get what they desire, my dear." you remember him warning you, "and i began to fear that daeron targaryen has set his sights on you."

you had wished you heeded the look of distain and the words of warning from your uncle. yet you were so naive to the ways of the world, so young to be thrown into the den of dragons. you recount the day he began to approach you. it was subtle to begin with, he often sought you out to walk in the gardens when your uncle was meant to be teaching him. sneaking away early claiming he was needed to train in the yard, yet it was to seek you out instead. it was every so often at the start, you used to mistake it for coincidence. but it soon turned to daeron needing to see you all the time, glancing at you as he trained, the odd walk in the garden was never enough. and so it began.

daeron began to court you in every sense of the word. small trinkets and gifts would often be sent to your chambers. blushes would stain your cheeks as looks of wanting were shared across feasts and celebrations. touches, that were held a tad too long were daeron's favourites for a while.  he adored seeing the bashfulness on your face, as his slender fingers tapped your waist as he sought you out for every dance. 

you were a fool to fall for it. the targaryen's were a messy family, a mess you had no business being thrown into. but, you were drawn in just the same. the longing glances and subtle touches, turned into stolen kisses as daeron snuck his way through the passages maegor had built. you had thought you were in love with the man, and he with you.

how wrong you were. 

and you were too late to realise.

with the death of king viserys came what would be known for centuries as the 'dance of the dragons.' and you had just so happened to find yourself in the middle of it. your strong-mindedness and wilful opinions clearly saw you taking the side of the blacks. what right did anyone have to deny the heir the king had named just because she was born a girl? you often thought. you saw how unfairly women were treated by the scholars, how they were subjected to needle work with the septa's rather than the histories from the maesters. with the reign of a new queen you had hope that she would put an end to the inequality that was evident throughout the realm.

this sense of hope came crashing immediately with the entrance of daeron to your chambers. he spoke of aegon being raised as king. "it is only right." he would exclaim, "he is male. what use would my half-sister be if  she were to sit the throne, she is too weak."

you were enraged by this. the blatant disregard for rhaenyra, branding her as weak felt like a swift knife to your stomach. "you think i am weak then too daeron?" you recalled saying with a shake to your voice. "just as i am a woman, you deem me incapable. you think me stupid? hmm? you believe just because i was born this, i would not be fit to do anything other than sew, and produce heirs?"

you had always heard the people of the court say that the targaryen's were closer to god than man, something you would often brush aside. you could never picture your sweet daeron as mad as they claim the rest to be. but, you had finally awoken from whatever haze-induced state in that comes with being in love with a targaryen. the look in his lilac eyes would be one you would never forget, haunting your nightmares for moons to come. you now understood the fear of those who crumbled beneath that of the conqueror, swearing fealty. daeron's eyes conveyed the message words could not. you would learn to fear him, if you ever dared cross him.

tears, made themselves known then. spilling from your cheeks, you began to silently cry as the man you loved left you with that. daeron, would never see you equal just as he would never see rhaenyra fit to sit the iron throne. because of what you had been born. 

and thus with that you had made your decision, no amount of fear could stop you. with the news of aegon's planned crowning seeping through the walls of the red keep, and your once whole heart being left behind also, you had slipped away into the shadows, disguising as a fisherman's daughter as you and your uncle sailed to dragonstone to declare for queen rhaenyra targaryen, first of her name.

it was hard at first in dragonstone. your uncle sought audience with the queen, stating what had occurred on dragonstone and how you had managed to escape. nevertheless, the queen was wary of you. it was no secret that daeron had began to court you, how the two of you would eventually marry. they did not know you had discovered the darker side, the misogyny within. a look of sympathy was evident in the queen's eyes as she saw your heart break all over again as you recalled the story, she herself being reminded of the betrayal of alicent hightower. her good-will meant that you were allowed to stay within the castle, your uncle taking up schooling the queen's sons and you were to begin work with the dragon keepers along with your other uncle, who you barely knew. 

the many days of training with the other keeper's kept your thoughts off daeron's betrayal. you had hardened over the course of many moons, building your walls high and swearing to never give your heart to another.

that would be seen to not have lasted very long due to a certain dark-haired prince.

you had met jacaerys velaryon for the very first time when you were sent to keep guard of the smaller dragon's, vermax being one of them. you had tried your very best to make yourself scarce in his presence as you patrolled the pits. but the loud roar's of the dragon's still made you jump every so often, and in doing so you had dropped your spear. landing with a loud clatter, jacaerys' head had whipped around to see what had happened, only to find you. a chuckle had escaped his lips at your clumsiness, calling out a "new to the job?"  much to your unamusment.

"yes, well, my prince i am very much new to being this close to a dragon." you bit back in response.

a second had passed before jacaerys had beckoned you closer to him and his dragon. not wanting to anger him, you gingerly approached; still deathly afraid of dragons. 

"vermax here is a sweet dragon, here place you hand atop his snout. you will not come to any danger so long as i do not will it." he teased, but seeing your face pale he quickly announced he was only jesting.

your hand shook as it rose from your side as you slowly reached for the dragon. faltering, as vermax breathed out smoke. jacaerys noted your fear and guided your hand with his placing it on his dragon's snout. goosebumps rose across your skin at the contact and you were sure your sickly face regained some colour as your cheeks heated at the close proximity.  "see i told you, you would not get hurt."

and so it began again,except it was different this time. 

you found it almost easier to love jacaerys, or jace as he wanted you to call him. he was not as needy as daeron was, allowing you to always have your space but making sure you knew he would be with you in a heartbeat if you needed him. you adored the boy, how freckles splattered across his cheeks like stars, how his dark curls sometimes got in his eyes when he yielded as sword, and how he respected you. jace would always take the time to help you with your studies if needs be, to teach you how to wield your keeper's spear. he treated you as an equal, something daeron never did. the softness of jace was something you also never had with daeron. the kisses shared, were full of longing, full of love differing, heavily from the fierce, lustful ones of your previous lover. he was everything daeron was not.

you knew then that you wanted to marry jacaerys. there was not a second doubt in your mind. your loyalty for him was unwavering, he had made you learn to trust love again. you owed him everything, and you swore you would repay the love kindness he gave you as you still looked out at the dreary weather of dragonstone.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

with jace's calling of the dragonseeds, your skills as a keeper were put to the test as many poor folk streamed in from the streets of king's landing and dragonstone alike. the drone of voices woke you from your daze as you paced up and down the stony column that separated you from the dark unknown of vermithor's cave. both men and women started to appear being lead by rhaenyra herself, jace slowly behind. you were confused with the lack of dragon keeper's accompanying her, as it seemed to be only you and your uncle who accompanied the crowd. 

you stood to the side, as both rhaenyra and your uncle called for the dragon in high valyrian - a language you were still learning to speak. a slow, menacing growl greeted rhaenyra in response to her call and movement caused the crowd to stir fearfully. from what you had studied about the ways of the keepers, was that dragon's could smell the fear of the person approaching. and with a crowd this afraid you were sure vermithor would not react well. 

the rising of the copper beast saw many yelp as he beared his blood stained teeth. despite your focus on the dragon ahead, you noticed those of higher status leaving to take shelter in the stone stands above.  you willed yourself to take a few deep breathes as your eyes met jace's worried ones, he took note of how you remained still not daring to follow the other lord's footsteps. he knew how stubborn you were, you swore to protect the people from the dragon's and he knew you would not leave no matter how hard he begged.

a forced smiled adorned your lips as you stared back at jace, a nod following, telling him that you were to do the role his mother had assigned to you.  facing the beast as jace returned to safety you pointed your spear at it, forcing yourself to remain as calm as possible, you slowly approached him. it was no use. the overpowering fear of the dragonseeds had sent vermithor into a hunger induced frenzy, sending sprouts of fire into the group. chaos erupted as the fire took hold of the first seed who had tried to approach. rolling out of the way, you had began to push a group of star-struck women who seemed to be rooted to their spot. you shouted an ear-defeaning "run"as loud as you possibly could to as many people as possible, as you stayed as close to the edge of the column trying to take vermithor's attention away from the others.  adrenaline coursed through your veins as you attempted to poke the dragon with your spear. yet it was no use, vermithor moved too fast and too furiously for you to catch him sending waves of fire to whatever living thing he could see as he did so.

jace watched on in absolute terror as you moved yourself closer to the dragon, dodging at only the last second to avoid the ripple of flame. his hands gripped the ledge of the stand he looked out upon tightly, knuckles whitening as he did. he had already tried to run down the steps to pull you to him, but the queen's guard had stopped him in the process, his mother deemed him too important as heir to be killed in such a way. so all jace could do is watch, praying to all the gods he could think of to grant him this wish of keeping you alive.

a loud shout from behind you had alerted you of the oncoming flames as you tried to help another group of people to safety, rolling out of the way you had landed up against rock who seemed to also cover the man who had warned you of vermithor's next attack. returning your gratitude, you had grabbed the man's cloak and had pulled him against the wall at the back of the cave. the two of you grabbed ahold of two of the many torches that lit the dark room, and scaled the edge of the cave, holding onto the side as you weaved in and out of the connecting paths between each lair. "thank you for saving me back there." you remember saying to the man. as the two of you walked, you had learned that he was called ulf, and claimed to be the bastard son of baelon targaryen. you did seem to be weary of the claim, you had heard from many the love the man had for his wife alyssa, swearing not to take another lover for as long as he remained alive, but now wasn't the time to question it so you left it at that. 

as you continued to walk for what felt like hours, ulf roared in happiness that he seen a light at the end of the awful narrow cave you had ventured down. the two of you began to break out into a run, thanking the gods that you had managed to make it out unscathed. the feelings were short-lived though, as the alley had opened up to the largest cave you had ever seen, and an even larger eye glistened in greeting you as you stepped out. 

the sound of blood could be heard in your ears as you realised that you were now face to face with the largest dragon on dragonstone - the cannibal. your flight or fight seemed to kick in that moment, months of keeper training seemed to as well, as you shoved ulf back down the corridor you came down and spun to point your weapon at the monster ahead. 

the dragon seemed to be almost taken aback by your courage, nose flaring with smoke as you stood eyes wide with the spear facing him. the cannibal knew you were no match for him, yet it seemed he admired your courage. he studied you, as you also studied him waiting for his attack. his black scales made him blend in easily with the darkness of his lair, only the torch you had dropped when you pushed ulf seemed to mark his presence as well as his gleaming green eyes. they seemed to bore into your own, as he assessed whether you were friend or foe. you did not break the eye contact once, your hands still tightly gripping the spear as if it was your lifeline, your only hope at survival. 

it seemed however, that this hope prevailed. the cannibal had made his decision of you, bowing slightly smoke emitted from his gigantic snout almost knocking you down. it seemed somewhat friendly. you could not believe what you had done, with your courage it appeared that you had somehow managed to claim the largest dragon alive, the first person to ever do it. gods you could not wait to show jace about this. 

you remembered that day like it was almost yesterday despite many weeks having passed since. jace had almost murdered you. he thought you had perished in the flames of vermithor. as you stumbled up to the castle to tell the queen what had occured, jace had been there too. he had kissed you in front of everyone, not caring that the rumours would swirl afterwards. he was in sheer relief that you had returned to him safely and managing to tame the cannibal in the process. 

in that time also, you had taken to flying the cannibal. only a short distance at first, around dragonstone as you were still wary of his size and his cannibalistc nature having to fight him many a time to not eat the eggs laid by the other dragons on island, it took him a while to gain your trust and he you due to his unease with having a rider. it was not until you began to speak to him in high valyrian that the bond between the two of you was sealed, completely unbreakable.

and at this, you woke earlier than usual this morning to fly him to king's landing - making it known to the green's that rhaenyra had the largest dragon on her side. a smirk was plain on your face as you sawed the skies on your beloved dragon, and you were sure he held the same expression. it almost felt revengeful as you lapped around king's landing dipping as close to the castle as possible without being in reach of arrows. your intent was to prove to daeron you were stronger than he thought - you had claimed the biggest dragon after all. you had made sure that all were to see. the cannibal seemed to enjoy the screams of terror revelling at the attention, he let out a defeaning roar as he dipped and rose again, just to sweeten the revenge. 

you knew it was time to go when you heard the rustling of trees in the distance. vhagar was indeed no match to your dragon but you weren't ready to test the water's just yet with a dragon nearly the size of your own. you drew back from the capital, as the she-dragon's body became visible in the skies. "let us go home"you spoke to the cannibal. heeding your words he carried you across the waters back to the safety of dragonstone. as he settled once more in his lair and a stern "don't eat any more eggs!" from you, you began to clamber back to the castle, your ego boosted now that aemond targaryen deemed you a threat. you had only wished now to see the targaryen brothers reactions when they discover that it was you that rode the largest beast in the realm. 

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

the rain pattered steadily against the window as you lay in bed, recounting these moments. the candle's in your room seemed to flicker as they reached the end of their wicks giving you the sign that it was time to go. the note clutched in your hand deemed that the whispers seemed to reach daeron targaryen's ears quickly enough, he was now informed that the rider of the cannibal was none other than his old lover. you pulled your robe on, reading the piece of parchment for the final time before the candle's fizzled out completely. daeron had requested to meet you, no violence, no fights. he just wanted to talk. your curiosity got the best of you sadly and you wrote back earlier in the day saying you would talk peacefully. he had agreed to meet you on your own shore, at the edge of dragonstone. it was safely out of the way of the black's, meaning that they would not be able to see the meeting but not far enough that a screech from a dragon would go unnoticed, so you deemed yourself safe enough.

even though the cannibal blended perfectly with the night sky, the sheer ferocity of his size meant that there was absolutely no way you would be able to bring him without being spotted by a guard of some sort. so you entrusted the help of ulf, the man you had protected from your dragon many moons ago. the two of you had struck up some sort of odd friendship despite the age difference being vast, you found the man quite funny and he you. he could not believe a girl as clumsy as you had managed to save him from the cannibal as well as claiming him in the process.

ulf was the perfect man to deliver you to daeron. as you snuck into the dragon cave silverwing resided, he had already mounted the dragon - a sense of excitement emitted from him for doing something so secretive, something the queen could never find out about. you however were the exact opposite. nerves ate at your stomach as you gripped onto elf's torso. you had thought you were going to be sick, you hadn't seen daeron in almost a year. you wondered if he looked different, if he sounded different, if he thought different.

you had to force these thoughts out of your mind as silverwing made her descent in the trees a few yards away from the clearing where daeron and tessarion stood. you did not want him to know that you had entrusted someone with the knowledge of this secret meeting, so you had told ulf to patrol the skies and you would wave at the sky if you needed him. he agreed to go reluctantly, only after making you promising to give him a ride on cannibal the following day. you huffed out a laugh at this, ulf always knew what to say when you felt anxious. 

as your friend and his dragon took to the skies again, you began to enclose the distance between you and the blonde prince. anxiety once again took reign of your body, you could feel your heart pounding in your ears and you hands began to shake uncontrallby. you forced them to play with the ring jace had given you in promise that he would marry you after the war had ended. your mind grounded itself at the thought of jace, even as you came face to face with daeron. you thought of jace, how you had to return home safely to him.

"you claimed the cannibal then." daeron spoke. he hadn't changed one bit since you seen him last, his lilac eyes still sparkled in endearment at you even after all this time. 

a sigh escaped your lips as you drew even closer to him, "didn't think i could do it?" you responded snarkily, head tilting to the side slightly as awaited his answer. 

all he could do was shake his head and laugh. "you have not changed one bit. i have missed you."

your eyes were slightly wide at his confession, taken aback by it. you weren't expecting that, you were prepared for daeron to beg you to join the green's, for him to tell you how you would be increasingly useful to win the war. you had not prepared for his expression of feelings. he took your look of bewilderment as a sign to continue.

"i still stand for aegon's claim, he is stronger than my half-sister, but i wish for you to come back. aegon said he will pardon you for your crimes of betrayal and treason if you return with me to king's landing. we will marry and you will become a princess of the realm."

there it was. you knew his confession was too good to be true. "oh speak plainly daeron." you spat. "you only wish for me because of my dragon." rage took hold as you moved close, tilting your head up, you began look him in the eyes. you wished to convey to him the sheer anger you felt at his words, just like the look he had given you all that time ago. except now, the blood of the dragon ran within you too. 

you were now nearly pressed to the boy, your voice dropped to a dangerously low whisper as you continued. "you see me as weak daeron. i alone, have claimed a dragon twice as powerful as yours and you still do not deem me as worthy, as an equal. i will never join the cause of a fucking usurper when the woman who i fight for deserves the throne."

he hummed in response, a wicked smile taking over his face. "you only fight for them because of that bastard." the look of shock on your face was clear as you faltered slightly at his sharp words. "didn't think i had heard? i have given you a chance to join me, my love and you have refused. i will bring fire and blood upon that bastard until you have no choice but to stand by my fucking side."

his hands came up to grip your jaw forcing you to look into his eyes as he spoke the last sentence. you knew what he was capable of and you knew what he said he meant to make true. that didn't stop you from scoffing at his words, your tongue rolling over your lips as you did so "he is more man than you will ever be daeron. bastard or not i will marry him, or i will be long cold and dead in the ground. either or, it would happen long before i would ever, ever stand by you and you betray the man i love."

at this, daeron used the hand he had on your jaw to shove you away, anger plain on his face. the heart that had once bled for him was replaced by something cold, something darker. the love for jace was the only thing in it that burned strong, you would do anything to protect him from the monster before you. you promised yourself, you would die before you let daeron touch a hair on his head. you weren't the same naive girl you had been when you first laid eyes on daeron targaryen. and you weren't the same stupid girl who coward when that  his lilac bore into yours the night you left. as that look returned to his face before he once again turned to leave, tears did not stream from your eyes as it did all that time ago. instead, you held his gaze, your own pupils mirroring that look - you now too held the eyes of a dragon.

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf (III)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 2,291

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, p in v, depression, mentions of miscarriages, stillbriths, love confessions, family reunion, marital difficulties, angst, not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

dividers by @zaldritzosrose

authors note: the timeline does not follow the book so don't come for me for changing things. sorry if this seemed rush honesltyi dont like it but i think it works well and makes a good chapter to lead into the epilouge.

In the year of 134AC, 3 years after the end of the dance of dragons, and three moons into your marriage with Cregan stark you finally made your way to kings landing after years apart from your beloved brothers.

Viserys and Aegon were no men almost grown, with Viserys a wife and child on the way and Aegon, now married to Daenaera Velaryon, though their marriage remained unconsummated.

The reunion had been a sad one, with many tears shed as you finally saw your brothers after years apart.

“Aegon! Viserys” you cried out as you ran out of the carriage to greet your brothers, your arms wrapping tightly around them, scared to let them go. Tears filled your eyes as you kissed their cheeks.

“I have missed you so dearly” you said to Aegon before looking over at Viserys, your mouth stuttering as you tried to find the right words “Vizzy, I have…oh gods-“ you cried out pulling him in for a hug once more “your all grown up!” you said, “a man grown” shaking your head as you hugged him closer.

He cried on your shoulder as you did, his arms never leaving you even as you introduced him to Cregan.

“This is Cregan…my husband, and the new lord hand.”  

“An honour to see you again” Aegon greeted, moving away from slightly from you to shake Cregan’s hand.

“As it is for me, my king” Cregan replied to Aegon head bowed.

And though Kings Landing had changed much, filled with new faces and on the rare occasions a familiar one, you still hated it.

You had thought seeing your brothers here, your sisters, it would feel like a home again,

But no.

You despised the viper pit.

There was more scheming and ploys than before and you were now at the centre of it.

with Cregan as hand and the death of your grandsire as regent, new faces took the role of councillors you had only just grown to trust.

Many of your mothers’ own advisers, advisers you had made Aegon promise to keep on his council had died in the winter fever the year before.

And perhaps that was why you hated Kingslanding, though a fifth of their population was taken, and 90% of that being the smallfolk, so many you had known, trusted and cared for had died and you never even knew.

The halls seemed more haunted now.

Not just haunted of by the faces of your family, of your uncles and brothers.

Of your mother.

But of them also.

You regretted coming with Cregan, and you hated yourself for it.

You had though and thought to stay here, arguing with him before the wedding for just this, to stay.

You know whished to take Silverwing and ride her to Winterfell and never return.

It was only the love you had for your brothers and Cregan that made you stay.

The memory of when first admitted your love for each other playing over and over again, as if it would somehow make you love this place once more.

“Cregan” you had sighed, now alone in your shred tent after a hard long day of ridding, the bath water doing little too sooth your joints.

He sighed your name in return, turning to face you as he undressed for bed.

“Do you love me?” you asked, trying to keep a casual tone to your voice, though you couldn’t hide the hope in your voice.

He smiled softly, moving towards you, taking your hand in his, “I have loved you since I first met you, and I do not think I ever will”.

You smiled, kissing his lips softly, “I love you, I have for so long, even when I hid behind my grief.”

“Really? I did not think you liked me much, after the war.”

“I did! And I hated it, I wanted to through myself into my grief and yet a part of me felt pained that I loved you and you did not know. I hated ignoring you, there always seemed to be a tether tying me to you.” You said shyly. “I hated that you were the reason I was pulled from my grief, I didn’t want my happiness to depend on you, but now…I am glad it is”.

She was glad to have him, he filled the whole left by her family’s deaths, though it was a different kind of love and wholeness she was glad for it.

But it did nought, not as you became and aunt, you fell back into the slow misery you felt before.

Feeling lost and haunted. Surrounded by ghosts talking to you day after day, ghosts you could not hear but faces haunted your dreams.

You didn’t tell anyone though.

Your family was happy, despite the death of Corlys or Baleas husband.

They all seemed happy here, laughing and enjoying the feasts.

The only person who could see your misery was Aegon, but even then, he didn’t understand.

It was clear he was haunted by your mother, of her death. But his was misery was he could push aside, and when with his family all he had was joy.

And yet you still felt that death followed you even more.

More as you felt the death of your child, spending hours, days on the birthing bed only to be greeted with a still born child.

More so as you felt the blood trickle down your legs time after time as you tried and tried to carry another pregnancy to term.

Your heart continued to break and Cregan could see your misery and so he insisted on you retuning to Winterfell, and you agreed.

Being back in Winterfell made you lose the feelings you had in Kingslanding, made you feel safer.

Made you feel at home.

And you felt lighter here.

Then Cregan was called back to Kings Landing and the emptiness found you again.

But you forced it to the side, hoping if you ignored it long enough it would go away.

And gods were you wrong.

You had plunged yourself into work, trying to help the north recover, from its weakened state following the famine caused during the winter fever.

 A year passed, now 136AC, a year away from your husband, from your brothers.

You became a ghost once more; all healing had vanished and the person you said you would become if Cregan sent you here alone had come.

 “Without you I will…I will only find that hollowness I felt for moons, the sadness will return without you to…to comfort me, to hold me and cherish me. I cannot be alone, I may rely on you a little too much, but I cannot bear to…”

And it had, you were hollow, and you were sad. But instead of letting it spill out of you as it had before, you kept it hidden.

Putting on a strong front, you wanted to be the fierce lady of Winterfell no matter how much you were breaking inside, no matter how much you wished for Cregan to see through your flowered words on paper and to come back to you.

And though he did come back to you, it was not because of you, but of Sylas the Grim.

A wilding chieftain who led a large force of 3,000 south of the wall and was plundering the lands of the gift.

Cregan arrived soon after you sent news of Sylas attacks. You yourself had tried to scare them off, using Silverwing to burn their trail. But they continued their plundering.

And so Cregan led the rallied forces of the north and attacked the wildings, leading yet another victory.

You had watched from the sidelines, sat atop Silverwing awaiting Cregan’s signal. But he never gave it, never looked over to where you waited. Only greeting you as you made your way into the festivity’s hours later. Having taken Silverwing over the wall and burning down all trees beyond the wall, within a 100-mile radius.

He had been surprised but grateful for your actions. But his gratefulness was soon overlooked as the drunken men of the north started to sing.

And you once again sat in your seat and let the hollowness within you start to show.

Later that night, after going to bed hours before Cregan, you and him finally spoke.

“Cregan?” you muttered, lifting your head from the pillow as he tumbled into the room.

“Wife!” he replied, his tone joyful, “I have missed you” he sang, “you’re going to come back with me to kings landing!” he spoke, looking at you expectantly, as if expecting you to dance in joy.

“no” you said, sitting up.

“No?” he said, suddenly sobering up. “Why not? Do you not miss your brother? Or me?”

“Every second of everyday”

“Then come to kings landing”.

“no”

“Why not?” he said, his tone almost aggravated.

“It is haunted” you spoke, your voice in hushed whispers as if the ghosts would somehow appear in your chambers.

“Everywhere haunted, even Winterfell” he said, looking at you, truly looking at you.

He took note of your sunken eyes, your dead eyes.

You looked just as you had those first few years here, and he hated how what you had said would happen had come true.

“no” he muttered, moving towards you “no…my love my sweet wife…what has happened?”

You broke down in tears, telling him what you felt, a years’ worth of emotions spilling out of you and the tears never stopped.

You must have spent the night crying in his arms, begging him to stay and never leave you again.

“please” you begged, “I can’t…I can’t go back there, and I can’t be without you”.

“okay” he said, thinking hard, “I will give up my place as hand”.

“I can’t ask that of you- “

“You can, and I must” he shook his head, cradling you in his arms “I have neglected you for too long and I am so sorry, I love you, I hope you know that” he said, hand caressing your cheek.

“you’ll stay”.

“Yes…always”

Giving up the position of hand of the king had been like a wight had lifted of his shoulders.

But seeing the state of his with had placed a heavier weight on him.

Feeling his heart break and his own betrayal fill him as you cried in his arms he felt he was a disappointment.

He had seen your loss, her grief and in his own he had pushed you away.

And though he had recovered, he should have known that you couldn’t, not by yourself, not when you still had so much grief left from the war still.

you had always been soft and gentle, always so Intune with your emotions that they overwhelmed you, and he had somehow overlooked that fact and sent you away.

And unlike last time he didn’t have the wedding or retuning to kings landing to look forward to. There was nothing really to look forward too, other than the one thing the gods had deprived you off.

A babe.

You had tried and tried, but three miscarriages and one still birth had wrecked you.

In truth had he not had the lords breathing down his neck once more for an heir then he would never have made you try in the first place and yet it was what you craved, despite the duty you wanted a babe.

And now as his cock filled you and hit all the right spots, this moment were their was no grief, no death no duty to fulfil, just you and Cregan.

“Cregan” you moaned, your face falling into the pillows as he pounded into you “please” you begged into the pillow, you felt your peak approaching as he entered you out, hitting your sweet spot again and again.

He held onto your hips, his cock focusing on that spot as his finger moved down to your clit, bringing you to your second peak of the night, as he filled you with his seed.

You collapsed on the bed, as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tight.

You relaxed into a comfortable silence, a silence you both often found yourself in.

‘I love you” he whispered, kissing your forehead.

And for the first time in a year you said it back, “I love you, too”

You fell into your roles as lord and lady of Winterfell easily. Finding you rather enjoyed your duties even more when they were not used as a distraction.

And even though there was some tension between you and Cregan still, you found the love you felt for one another made everything easier, especially when you had spent nights crying in grief and regret at refusing your brothers request to return to Kingslanding even if only for a few days.

You hated saying no, but they seemed to understand. Your duty was to Winterfell now, and they understood.

Egg had understood your need to leave before, himself feeling the same as he told you he considered moving to Dragonstone but fearing hell find more hurt in those halls than that of the red keep.

And now with news of Aegon’s tour around Westeros you were excited to see him once more, too show him your home.

A home you did not regret him having no place in, and as the years passed with a few visits here and there form your brothers you found you rather liked the distance.

Finding that perhaps your grief weas in the guilt of only them and you surviving and not Jace, Luke or Joffrey. The boys who were truly your brothers before they were ever kings or princes.

authors note: next part is the epilouge!

taglist

@aleemendoza2425-blog @apollonshootafar @zillahvathek @flrboyd @theanxietyqueen17 @leavesmealobe @dark-night-sky-99 @deeeeexx @valyriantargaryenblood-blog @winter-soldier-101 @bunbunblogsblog @clobobo @raynetargaryen2 @justbelljust @sukunassfingerr

@arminsstuff @now-i-have-a-new-obsession @eddieslut69 @materialgirl01 @bugmanor @annabellekenobi2005 @whos-too-bi @mandowhatnow @aegonswife @littlebirdgot @delaynew @now-i-have-a-new-obsession @dorkysupernova @hawkins_2000 @materialgirl01 @beebeechaos @rosedurin @rebeccawinters @berightback1409 @barnes70stark @perla434 @nessjo @helo1281917 @ateliefloresdaprimavera

to be added to taglist

[rooksamoris]

I've come to humbly request and spread propaganda for Jamil L/N.

Jamil taking his s/o's name strikes 3 birds with one stone: freedom from the Asims (you can't tell me there hasn't been a single Viper who didn't marry into another family and adopt their trade), freedom to marry the love of his life, and guaranteeing freedom for his descendants. Depending on how things go with Najma, they could erase the Viper name and, by extension, their servitude.

Also how does he react being called Mr.L/N?

💞 — in which jamil marries you and takes your last name.

💞 — jamil viper x reader

💞 — warnings: none, this is pure fluff and romance

💞 — 1.2k words. i ended up writing a mix of drabbles and headcanons <33 your propaganda turned into me making even more propaganda for this idea. honestly, seems very plausible that he would do something like this.

“I’ll take your last name. If we want to get married, I have to take your name, or else you’d be stuck serving with me,” Jamil said, breaking the silence. His eyes remained on the book in his lap, looking through the various pictures from his parents’ wedding. He would be wearing his father’s old garments. 

The man had an intricate belt with a jambiyah (dagger) tied around the waist of his thobe (long dress-like garment), and his hair was done in various braids with a shemagh (men’s headscarf) tied over it. He had a few ornate pieces of fabric draped over him like a cape and a spot of henna on the inside of his palm. The usual kohl (eyeliner) was a bit smudged from all the festivities—Jamil had never seen his father look this happy. 

His mother was dressed similarly, with old pieces of gold and silver jewelry about. Her big earrings had matched the rings his father wore, and she had kohl drawn on both her eyes and her chin, in the shape of ancient tattoos. Here hair had scented plants interwoven in the strands, and Jamil wondered if he should do the same with his hair, draping a shemagh over it. It seemed like something you would enjoy, and he would enjoy you taking them out at the end of the night. He spoke again, “What do you think of that?” he asked, concerning him taking your name.

You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder, flipping the page to another picture of his parents’s wedding, this one featuring his mother shyly lifting a piece of her sitara (long piece of fabric with various designs which directly translates to ‘curtain’) to hide her face from her husband, “I think it's a wonderful idea.”

🩷 — Taking your last name was probably the best decision he could have made. He indulged in the marriage festivities with you for both your sake and his parent’s sake. What he was excited about was signing the contract that officially gave him your surname—freeing him from the shackles of the Viper clan.

🩷 — He did it after the festivities when it was just the two of you guys and the imam as well as a legal advisor. You both were still in the wedding clothes, sitting on an ornate rug with a little table in front of you. 

🩷 — Jamil could feel the tremors of his heart in his hand as he lifted the pen and signed his name beside yours. This time, Viper was nowhere to be found.

🩷 — With that, Jamil shook hands with the imam and then handed the page to the legal advisor to be put in the Scalding Sands’s records. It all felt so surreal. He glanced over his shoulder to see you gleefully talking to the imam about the marriage and showing off your wedding band. 

🩷 — It was a thin gold ring that he had made with the antiquities left by his family. Nothing fancy—he wanted to give you diamonds, and yet you were so smitten with it and him.

Once nightfall came, Jamil lay beside you in your bed. A bed for the both of you. It was a bed he bought under his new name, Jamil (L/N), under the surname you gifted him. His charcoal eyes watched as you sat down at the edge of the bed, your night robe dipped down your back. It matched his nightgown, save for the patterns. He helped you fall in love with the comfortable garb of his homeland.

You turned slightly to see him, your eyes growing tender at the sight of him all disheveled. This was a sight just for you, “What are you thinking about?” you asked, reaching out to take his hand.

Jamil pulled you closer to him by your hand, forcing you to lay on top of him. He kissed your knuckles, “Thinking about you, hayati (my life),” he muttered, before letting his hand trail up your arm and to the back of your neck. His gaze had softened and his features relaxed, “Thank you,” 

You did not need to ask why he thanked you. You knew he felt indebted to you for being patient with him and becoming his spouse. You gave him the greatest gift ever, freedom. Free to be yours, free from Kalim Al-Asim. You freed his descendants… he would spend the rest of his life as your husband, repaying you with kisses across your skin and warm meals in your belly.

🩷 — It takes him a long time to get used to his new name, as well as his newfound freedom. After your wedding, he takes you out to do many of the things he could not do before, such as travel to another country, but even simple things like going out to parks.

🩷 — He did not have to worry about Kalim anymore, just your and his enjoyment.

🩷 — Jamil still has yet to get used to being called by your surname. When he notices it, he is filled with a smug and quiet pride, but most of the time he just ends up ignoring whoever is calling for him, or glancing over at you in confusion, thinking that they are speaking with you and not him.

🩷 — This was particularly apparent when it came to the reunion at Night Raven College.

🩷 — He did not want to go, but he could not reject you either. You were excited about seeing your silly friends, and who was he to stop you from going? Instead, he just sighed and went along with you, standing off to the side and watching as you ran about to gather Ace and Deuce, as well as greeting your other friends.

“If it isn’t the new Mr. (L/N),” Azul approached his former classmate with a suave grin. He had grown up, but it was clear he still kept that usual ‘evil businessman’ charm to him. His suit was freshly pressed and his hair, which had grown a bit, was brushed back neatly. Though, he was still wearing the same thin-rimmed glasses.

Jamil turned around when he heard your surname being called, and it took him a moment to realize what was happening. He was your husband. Sure, he remembered your wedding—he carried a picture from it all the time, but it was still strange hearing it affirmed by someone else. He tried to hide how happy he was to hear it behind a raised brow and his usual frown, “What do you want, Azul? My spouse isn’t going to be pulled into one of your schemes anymore,” he said, arms crossed.

Azul laughed at that, tilting his cane a bit as he leaned away from Jamil, “You wound me, Jamil. As if I would try anything like that anymore,” he replied, and the irony was not lost on him at all. Instead, he sighed and watched as Jamil’s eyes found your figure again. You were chasing Epel around, trying to get a hug from your old friend. It was just like before, except now you wore a ring from Jamil and he wore a name from you.

“You don’t seem so poor and unfortunate now,” Azul said.

Jamil could not bite back the slight twitch of his lips, “Not at all.”

[eupheme]

— clean slate [into the fire, part v]

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | masterlist

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4k

tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, sex for favors, sub/dom elements, canon-typical descriptive violence and death, references to blood/gore, anti-ghoul sentiments, physical violence against reader, hurt/comfort, kissing

a/n: please mind the tags! this chapter got twice as long as the others (maybe I didn't want it to end, haha!) and there was a good break, so to keep things consistent, I am splitting it in half! both are being posted today though, so you don't have to wait 💖

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game. But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

(or - they took something from the Ghoul, and he’s here to collect)

The afternoon edges into night, and he tells himself each hour is the last one he'll think about you.

The Ghoul had waited for you to look back. Stock-still in the swirling dust that bit at his skin. A white-knuckled grip around the thick coil of rope. 

You hadn’t. 

His hand still reaches to scrubs at his neck, his jaw. To wipe you away or rub you in, he’s not sure. 

It doesn't fucking matter. 

He's stuck around a long time. Enough to see generations of families grow old and then die. The last few weeks are no more than a blip, in his far too-long life.

Hell - he's spent more time underground, than with you. 

But something prickles at him. Lingering like a bad trip, leaving his teeth clenching and jaw aching as he finishes out the bounty.

It's messy. 

It shouldn't have been. Should have been easy - but he's aching for a fight, something to take his mind off things. He's antagonistic. 

Could've finished everything up from afar, but he ends up in close range. Another scar marring his chest, new splatters streaked across his dark coat. 

It aches, a deep bruise as it heals. 

Still only slightly dulling the itch of irritation.

I haven't lied about anything.  

Didn’t last night mean anything to you?

It's sometime the next morning, after a night of a starless sky closing in around him, that he gives in. 

Heading the way you went without thought, and when he does notice, he tells himself it's only because he needs more chems. That it’d be a shame to lose a supplier as good as you. 

That it's easier, for both of you to stick together. 

Maybe that's why he was careless. Knowing deep down, it would be easier to find a corpse later than to haul around a bounty, kicking and screaming.

The small sliver left of another man, from  another life, knows he was cruel. That anger had turned him into a viper. Had always been good at striking first. Self-preservation beaten into him after two-hundred years - an old, festering wound. 

He doesn’t know how to apologize anymore, but he can already think of a few ways to distract you. 

Maybe you’ll forget completely, if he's thorough. 

The Ghoul is faster than you are. Needs less rest, less food. Has already plotted just how far you can get in a day. Your footprints faded as packed earth leads to woods, but you’re not the type to wander, and there's only a few settlements in the miles ahead. 

Halfway to his destination, when his eyes snag on a patch of rocks. A broken bits of branches on the trees just before it. There's something smeared across the stone - tasting like iron, when the tip of a finger brings it to his tongue.

Something ancient twists in his stomach, awakening from a slumber. 

Backing up, he's able to piece together the struggle. Seeing the flattened grass, the heavy boot prints, melding with the smaller ones. 

Finding a body, fallen off to the side - angling off the rock with the stain. Something familiar about the look of him.

A boot sinks into their side, rolling them over. A curl of a lip - he recognizes them. One of the two bounty hunters they’d fun into. 

He had hated their eyes on you when they blew through that town.

Something had prickled at him then, but he had ignored it. A grit of his jaw - should’ve dealt with both of them. 

There’s a hole in their head - red spilling down their neck, still tacky to the touch. A clean, close shot. His finger sinks in the wound, the same size as your 10mm. 

"Good girl." The Ghoul murmurs. 

The slightest ease of the knot in his chest.

A crunch of glass beneath his feet, the glint of the sun catching the needle. Another shape he knows well - a syringe. Probably a tranquilizer.

Three meeting one, with three leaving. The dead weight of you weighing down their steps, the footprints pressing heavily into the earth.

Easy enough for him to follow, as he slings his gun free. 

Always said he did this shit for the love of the game.

But this time - he thinks - it might just be personal.

Despite being back among faces you knew, fear had been your only companion since the meeting in the forest. 

Hazy memories flicker through your mind. Being dragged, snippets of light and the heat of a fire. The bright sear of dawn, and the dry embrace of the desert again. 

Waking to the feeling of your arms being wrenched above your head. Coming to, hissing and spitting. Nails catching the face of one of them - Baine, you think - his fist cracking down hard against your cheek in retaliation.

Leaving you dazed, as your wrists were caught again - bound in place. A cruel curl of a lip, as they examined you like a brahmin.

“You look like a Wastelander”. It’s spit out, a wet mark against the floor, “We’ll get you back where you belong soon enough.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed. A day, maybe. Hunger gnaws at you - only a small sliver of comfort in the dried meat and fruit tossed your way. 

Axton, the head of the Reclaimers - those who were tasked with bringing people back - had grown up with you. At one time, was perhaps even more than that. A distant relation of the current Overseers, his blood too thinned out to be of use - but even he won’t look you in the eye. 

You both know how this will go, when you get back home. 

Hope drains from you, with each hour. Eating away at the little flicker of hope in your chest, wrapped tightly around your heart. 

Maybe he’d show. 

But despair clouded your thoughts, soon after. 

“You get hurt doing some stupid shit, and I’m leavin’ you behind.”

“You're a goddamn fool if you think I hadn’t been planning on turnin' you in the first chance I get."

Maybe he’d been truthful all along, and you hadn’t listened. Read into all those small moments, weaving them together until they had made something tangible.

The looks, stolen breaths and almost-careful touches. All fleeting, but you had caught them. Holding them close to your heart. 

But life isn’t like the holotapes you grew up, back when everything felt safe.

There aren’t cowboys anymore. No heroes on horses - with their silver spurs and a shining, golden badge. 

No one was coming for you. 

The footprints die out, as the bleached trees grow thin. 

Tall grass to packed dirt, dried by the sun. Rolling hills and then mountains, scraping against the horizon. The dipping sun casts him in a red light that bleeds to black at his ankles, his shadow stretching back long and lean behind him.

But these roads aren't wholly unknown to him. 

Spent time blowing through Junktown and The Hub, a couple dozen miles away. The memory hazy, but there weren't too many places folk could stay, once the sun went down and everything wild and unruly came crawling out.

A feeling in his gut has him stopping two miles down the road. A half-dug quarry, long abandoned even before the world went to hell. Threadbare railings and platforms held together with spit and a prayer, framing the rusted building that cuts into the stone walls. 

The tip of his boot taps a loose rock, sending it off the edge. Head cocked as he thinks, until he hears the faintest clatter a hundred feet below. 

Two-hundred years ago, he had stood on a ledge much like this. Valley of the Gun. The final shootout had his guns lost in the dust. Fist-fighting with the leader of the gang, until they both near tumbled off the edge together.

Honorable, in the way he had caught the man's hand. Tried to haul him up, but had to let go when a knife was pulled - keeping him the hero. A satisfying death that wasn't his fault, a way to keep his conscience. 

All movie tricks. Angles and the implication of falling, as the camera focused on his face that swam with regret. 

Comin' after a girl then, too. 

Thinks that's why the old memory has loosened in his mind. 

Funny how things can change, but the bones remain. How he's still drawn back to life he's left far behind. Even if his conscience was buried, a long time ago. 

Some things linger. He could go down. Take one of those ladders, work his way through the tunnels that are sure to wind through the limestone, and up through the back. 

But he's never much liked being underground. 

Another second of considering, before he's heading for the front door.

He used to like a script, but that was back in the day when the worst thing that could happen was a box-office bomb, not the hell he's been dragged through. 

A half-cocked plan already forming. Twisting that connection between them, his own abandoned contract. Get him through the front door and to the man in charge at least, and that might be all he needs. Let years of instinct take over, after that. 

Had already gotten a good look at a couple of them, when he first picked up the bounty. It had made him curious - why there was so much fuss, over so small a thing. Easy caps, he decided, when he had gotten a look at you. 

Picking up that their brutality had been learned from sharpening their teeth against a silver spoon. Hardy - compared to some Wastelanders - with their filling meals and their pristine weapons. 

But they sure as hell don't have the same grit as one.

Not much of anything, really, when compared to him.

The door opens with the push of his shoulder. Hand beneath the swirl of his coat, finger already fixed on the trigger. Not far in until he’s running into one of them - another Vaultie.

The man startles, wide-eyed when he sees him. Green, in his shades of blue and yellow. 

“Here ‘bout a job.” The Ghoul keeps his voice light, in spite of everything.

Knows they’re keeping you alive for someone else, as much as that makes his jaw clench. No need to go rushing in just yet. 

A flicker of recognition, as the man frowns, “How’d you find us?”

His head tilts, that smooth drawl slipping in, “Wouldn’t be much of a Bounty Hunter if I couldn’t, now, would I?”

The Vault Dweller’s eyes are fixed on his face, that familiar look of fear and disgust - dipping down to the pocket of his nose, the curling smile of yellowed teeth. 

It’s strange how foreign it feels, after the hours spent with you looking at him so differently. 

Maybe he’d been a fool, after all. 

Maybe it’s more than your tight cunt that he wants to bury himself in, to claim. Something soft, bitten back behind his teeth. Something he doesn’t even know if he has a name for, anymore.

Something he didn’t know he needed , until he had chased both it and you away. 

“We’ve already got her.” The man manages, after thinking it over, “Don’t think we need your services anymore.”

There’s another flash of teeth at the confirmation. 

“Agreement was to find her. And who do you think rustled her up?” His brow lifts, “Would’ve been half-way to New Reno by now, if I hadn’t herded her your way.”

That sharp edge creeping in, “Think my time’s worth a little somethin ’. Don’t you?”

It’s easy for the guard to leave that decision to someone else. Standing aside, to let him pass.

“Thank you kindly.” The Ghoul tips his hat, a swirl of his coat as he passes. 

Taking just enough steps past them, waiting until the man’s back turns. Spinning on his heel, after. 

The knife glints between his fingers as he twirls it. A hand pressing over the Vault Dweller’s mouth, before the blade sinks into their neck. 

Muffling the dying gurgle. A grunt as the Ghoul yanks the blade free - leaving the body crumpled in the shadows, as he winds deeper.

One down. 

Hold on, he thinks.

I’m coming.  

His whistle echoes in the chamber. 

Half old-world - a long-forgotten leitmotif that fuses with new notes of his own. A part to play until he doesn't, letting the Ghoul guide him. 

Down the half-lit hallway, the lights flickering overhead from the ancient generator. Everything picked clean like he figured it would be - every last piece of scrap ferreted away, leaving only dusty crates behind.

Still playing the part, as the low murmur of voices grows louder. Ears pricking up, listening for hers. Picking out at least three or four others from the layered hum.

A sneer, at the number. He’s faced worse odds. It’s in his favor really - take out as many fuckers as he can. Send bits and pieces of them back.

His intentions masked, an old habit, by the time he enters the warehouse. A wide steel grate floor, opening up to a second level below, scattered with old machinery. 

There’s a table. Cards littering the top - a luxury brought from the Vault, as they bet using caps. Couple Vault Dwellers and that Wasteland son of a bitch from the town. Four total, one lounging on a sleeping pack as if it’s just another night, and they weren’t bringing you to your death. 

It rankles him, teeth set on edge. 

A scrape of chair legs on the floor, at the drawling condescension of his voice. 

“Ain’t y’all a little old for a sleepover?”

Hands rest on holsters, but they don’t draw. The Ghoul focuses on one - a face he recognizes, the one who had sought him out.

The man’s legs spread, as if he’s got something worthwhile between them. The leader of this whole operation. Axton , or some shit like that - it hadn’t been worth his time to remember. 

“Believe you fellas got somethin’ of mine.” The Ghoul drawls, “I’m here to collect.”

There’s a pause at that. 

One of them, a right-hand man by the look of their padded leather armor - not a scratch on it - scowls. A face that tells another story. Pink marks start at their cheek, jagged lines that end at a thick neck. 

His eyes narrow at that, lip curling. A flicker of unease in his belly - fingers clenching where they rest against his hips, close enough to draw.

“You’re too late for payment, ghoul. Heard you were dragging your feet.” His head tilts, towards the Wastelander who had gone still, “We went and got her ourselves.”

The Ghoul grins - a fierce thing, with a flash of teeth. A lilt, in his voice. 

“Now, what makes you think I’m here for caps?”

It gives them pause. His question - the prospect of a ghoul showing up, unannounced.

“What else you here for?” Another grunts - eyes already back on his cards, a comfort in their numbers. 

“Think you know.”

“The girl?” Atmos laughs, and the sound is cruel, “Heard she split from you. Caught her after.”

A tilt of his head towards the armored man and the Wastelander. Taunting then, “Must not be that good, if you let her slip away. What, she get tired of looking at your ugly mug?”

If they only knew the kind of things he’d done to you. What you had done to him, right back. 

The Ghoul is only half-paying attention. Sticks and stones, all their insults falling on deaf ears. Too busy with eyes that flick over the top floor. Then down to the ground below.

Something flipping inside his guts, when he sees it. Cast in shadow near the base of the stairs, but his eyesight is keener than it’s ever been. 

Arms bound, the knot looped around the hook of an overturned crane. A raw, split mark - swollen and bruised flesh - on the curve of a smooth cheek. Just above where your teeth cut into a piece of cloth, tied tightly around to gag you. 

A tilt of your head, and then your eyes are meeting his. Round and blank with fear. Widening, when you see him. 

His girl.

Muscles string tight, eyes narrowed as his teeth clench. You’d paid for what you did, and he’d be there to return the favor. 

His gaze snaps back, and focuses. Whatever plan he had been working up burns, turning to ash. 

“Always heard that beauty was in the eye of the beholder.” The Ghoul’s tone is conversational - although his blood boils, scalding hot, “But if you wanna see an ugly fucker , well… you best look right there.”

There’s a nod of his head, towards the man in charge. As if on cue, their heads twist to look - just as he draws, and then fires. 

The Vault Dweller’s head caves in. Gore splattering against the blue of his suit. Barely a breath before his finger is tugging again, a bullet going through the chest of a second. 

Always too goddamn slow.  

Hesitant to take a life, even with their bravado. 

Something that molted from his skin with the rest of him, over a century ago. He’s already reaching for the gun holstered at his shoulder before return shots are fired. 

He can feel the flicker of something miss him, before he’s charging. Ducking under the swing of a knife, the muzzle pressed against ribs.

A hoarse shout that is drawn out by the ringing blast. The knife caught and sent spinning into the back of the Wastelander, heading towards the door. 

Flinching, as something slams into his shoulder, just shy of his collarbone, and out the other side. The turn of a head - an eye fixed on the last man standing.

Padded armor won’t do much to stop him. 

“That your handiwork?” The Ghoul growls, as his head tips towards you.

The man's finger twitches but he’s faster - a shot going into the meat of their thigh. Downing them as they scream, as the Ghoul saunters over to tug the hilt from where he’s buried it in the Wastlander’s back. 

It glints a gleaming red in the light, as he adjusts his grip. Eyeing the scripted tattoos that cross over the man’s knuckles - as they grip at their thigh, near-tenderized from the blast. 

Ones that had struck you. Could send them back, spelling out something obscene. A rough laugh at the thought. 

He’s got someone waiting for him. But, he knows from experience…

That this won’t take too long. 

In the hours since you parted, it’s only now that you can breathe.

For a long moment, you hadn’t dared believe. Eyes drawn to the noise above - the loud pitch of voices. 

One of them - rough and low - draws your attention. Everything dark from your angle, an ache as you had tried to see.

Knowing that shadow. The brim of his hat. 

The burn of his eyes, when they fixed on you. You could feel the fury in them, even from here. A muted sound of desperation from behind your gag, as you watched. 

The Ghoul shoots first - the second his eyes pull away, and it’s all over in a matter of moments. 

Your eyes closing at the sound of gunfire, of screaming - until it finally cuts short. Leaving the warehouse eerily silent, except for the clicking of spurs against metal. 

He crouches in front of you, now - and you can’t help the whine. So much trapped behind the thick binding of cloth. All you could do is tug at your bound wrists - neck craning as you tried to watch from below.

A force of nature. Bared teeth a quick draw. Again you’re forced to admit to yourself how lucky you were to still be standing, after your first meeting. 

He had blown through them like it was nothing. 

“Hold on a minute, honey.” That low tone is familiar, calming you as his fingers hook around the cloth. Leaving a smear of red against your jaw as he tugs the gag free - shucking his gloves after.

“Are you hurt?” It comes out ragged. Tongue heavy in your mouth, throat dry. Eyes scanning the dark leather of his coat - all that red , smeared across it, “Thought you got hit.”

He barks out a laugh, your chin trapped between thumb and forefinger, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

Something dark swirling across his features, as he tilts your head towards the light. His thumb pressing at the edge of your bruise, denting skin.

“They got you good, didn’t they?” He murmurs, and you smile through a wince, at the dull ache of pain.

“You got them.”

“Sure did,” It’s distracted, as he cuts at the binds, next. The rope fraying and then splitting, an ache in your shoulders when your arms finally lower. 

“Fuckin’ amateurs.” He mutters again, watching as you wince at the rubbed-raw skin at your wrists. The corners of his lips tipped down, lost in thought.

“Thought you would’ve liked seeing me all tied up.” It’s a weak thing. An attempt at humor, the ache in your heart at seeing him cut by the acidity of your last meeting.

He blinks. Comes back to himself, a hoarse hum of amusement. 

“Only when I’m doing it, sweetheart.” The Ghoul’s eyes meet yours then, a hint of a smirk with the tilt of his head. 

“Can think of a much better way of gagging you, too.”

There’s almost a softness to his tone. Just barely there, tinting the rough edges. Something like hope flutters - delicate, behind your ribs. 

“You… you came, for me.” You need the clarification. To hear him say it. That this isn’t some ruse, a way to take you directly to the source, “You’re not-”

There’s a sigh, as he fixes you with a long look. His head tipping towards the platform above, a lazy flick of his finger towards an arm that dangles from the ledge.

“Well that there man’s the one I got your contract from,” The Ghoul drawls, “Said I was to return what belonged to somebody else.”

Those eyes fixing on you again, “Seein’ as you’re not , and seein’ as that man is now indisposed…”

His words trail off - and you can’t help the small smile, as he finishes.

“I’m thinkin we’re square.”

The look you give him is soft. Admiring. You don’t know how he tracked you down, but he did. 

“You saved me.” It’s hushed, and at your tone his eyes pull from you. 

Fixing somewhere low, off to the side, as he crouches. Uncomfortable with the way you look at him. How you see him. Not used to it, not after so many years. 

You’re not able to resist. 

Muscles stringing stiff when you lean forward. Lips pressed against the leather of his cheek, fingers ghosting against his jaw. 

A huff then, teeth biting into his tongue with the shake of a head. His eyes dark, as you pull back, hovering. 

“Darlin’ if you’re going to be stealin’ a kiss, you best be doin’ it properly.” The Ghoul rasps, eyes flicking down to your mouth.

His head tips towards yours, but it’s your that meets his first. A little sound in your throat as your lips slot against his. Warm and insistent as his knees drop to press into the cement floor.

Tugging at you, as your fingers grasp at his collar. A hungry lick of his tongue against the seam of your lips as you whine, crushing your chest to his.

His fingers at your neck, your jaw. Angling your head, a rough groan as you part for him. Turning ravenous - wandering hands as your tongue slips against his. Panting breaths and a grinding of hips when he yanks you closer. 

“How many were there?” He hums, as you try to sneak a ragged breath.

The curve of a smile when you try to ignore him, a click of his tongue.

“I dunno,” Your mind is too foggy. Too focused on the hands that trace against your waist, “Four? No… maybe five?”

“You don’t seem too sure, sweetheart.” He does smile then, at the little mark between your eyebrows. Untangling himself - a hand reaching down to adjust himself, as he stands. 

“As much as I’d like to take you right here,” He husks, eyes dragging over you, “The last thing I need is a bullet in the ass.”

A tilt of his head, towards the open floor.

“Come on, cowpoke. Let’s do a sweep.”

the last (final, for real this time) part will be up in just a little bit! 💖 thank you so much for reading - this series has become so much to me, and every ask or comment or tag or reblog has absolutely meant the world 💕

[plutoswritingplanet]

Taking What's Not Yours (Dracule Mihawk x Reader)

a/n: soooooo, there is this pirate warlooooord. basically, i've watched the live action show on Netflix and immediately had to commit a one shot.

Warnings: Pure Smut (i had to get it out of my system), Wall Donging, Use of Alcohol, Stealing, Plotting, Lollygagging, inappropriate use of that cunty cross necklace.

Summary: A misguided attempt at impressing your friend lands you in a very peculiar situation. (cross-posted on AO3)

   The bar buzzed with the energy of drunken people. Your throat still burned with the after-taste of the cheapest rum the establishment had to offer, and for a second you've become deeply worried about losing your eyesight, as faint notes of straight methanol registers in your brain. Then, the pleasant buzz hits your nerves like a suffocating blanket, and in one moment you sense all your troubles drifting away. And there has been quite a lot of troubles on your mind lately.

Mainly, the Marines, their presence an annoying nuisance. By no means were you a pirate, no. You searched for freedom in different ways, such as stealing as much, and as often as you could. Money was the driving force of your life, but you'd be lying, if you said it was the only pleasure you seek. The thrill of the chase, of finding that perfect little trinket you can grab, and your victim would be non the wiser. The euphoria of creating distractions in one place, so you can strike like a viper in another. It made your blood boil with excitement incomparable to anything else. 

On top of that, besides the occasional confrontation, the Marines simply couldn't identify you. All it took, was a bandana around the lower half of your face, and suddenly you were able to march into a bar, such as this, filled with Marines, and no one would notice. Your eyes fall onto a rather skinny one, the belt of his too big uniform is digging into his waist, betraying how little there actually is of him. He looks back at you, smiles, and joins a group of his friends at one of the tables. You reciprocate the smile with a glint in your eye. The poor bastard doesn't know it was you, who stole an antique photo of his grandma right from his breast pocket. 

In your defense, the small frame was made of gold. And damned pretty at that. It fetched you a pretty price too, one you were currently drinking away, waiting for your friend to join you in your efforts of landing under the table by the end of the night. 

You barely manage to go through one fourth of the bottle, when they arrive, smile on their face and hair wild from running through the streets. It all goes downhill from there, as stories and alcohol flow freely between the two of you. It's a welcomed distraction from the gray reality of life, a small ray of sunshine in this murky town. They tell you about the latest heist they've pulled, eyes sparkling in the dim light, as they recount a particularly risky part of their daring escape. You snort into your glass, shake your head.

- See, that's where we're different. - you counter, leaning back into your chair - For me, it's all about stealth. In and out, so they won't know when they've been robbed. 

Your friend giggles to themselves. The drink in their glass splashes slightly, as they place it forcefully on the table. 

- You really think you're that good, huh? - they challenge, and already, you can feel the tingling sensation of excitement at the tips of your fingers. 

- I know so. 

They furrow their brows, turning towards the crowd currently hounding the bartender. There's a mischievous smirk playing around on their lips, as they turn their attention back to you.

- So, if I were to choose any person here, and told you to steal from them unnoticed, you'd do it?

The absolute gall of this question. Of course, you would. Hell, you'd do it multiple times, until this whole bar was filled with people suddenly missing their belongings. Because nothing compared to the thrill of reaching into someone else's pocket unnoticed.

- You know what? - your eyes run across the gathered crowd, smirk playing around on your lips, as you've spotted your chosen victim. - See that guy in the black coat? The one with the big ass hat. I bet I can get that fancy necklace off of him, in like, three minutes tops. 

As you speak, your friend follows your gaze through the Marines, and the pirates, and all the in-betweens. But when their eyes finally land on your target, they freeze in their spot, before rather rudely grabbing your shirt at the collar. Then, so fast, the world starts to spin in front of your eyes, they yank you under the table. Your stomach lurches with protest at the sudden movement. You give your friend a confused shake of your head. 

- Do you have any idea, who you're talking about? - they whisper-yell, eyes wide and clearly terrified. 

- What, about the hat guy?

Apparently you've said it too loud, because your friend nearly launches themselves at you. 

- That's Dracule fucking Mihawk.

From the way they've said the man's name, you gather, it should be at least familiar to you. Unfortunately, you can't say you know much of the world outside of the town, so your confused expression deepens. 

- He's like, the biggest deal - Your friend continues, their grip on your shirt loosening slightly - Like, children read stories about him and shit.

- I didn't - you shrug, before rising slightly up, so you can peek from above the table. 

The hat man has turned his back to you, his stature rather impressing, as he towers over everyone in the establishment. Your eyes follow the dark lapels of his coat, thief senses greedily gliding over the handle of his sword secured to his back. It's reminiscent of a cross, with gigantic, shiny gems nearly tempting you to do something unwise. Your friend tugs you back down, and your chin scratches on the rough surface of the table.

- What is he, like, a missionary? - you ask, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

- What?

- You know, the cross and all that...

- What kind of missionaries have you been seeing?

Fair point, you think, before risking another peek, against your friend's efforts to pull you down.

 The man, Mihawk, takes a long swing from a flagon filled with something you can't really identify. You watch almost greedily, as his Adam's apple moves, when he swallows his drink. Then, your eyes drift to the necklace, nestled on his exposed chest. Gold, real gold, you can see it from here. Another cross, albeit, much simpler, than what he had on his back. A week of drinks, and fancy ones at that flash before your eyes. 

- Don't even think about it - your friend warns, finally giving up, and letting go of your shirt. 

Your eyes stay fixated on your prize. If you could just see where the clasp of the necklace is...

- Think about what...? - your voice betrays you, and you wet your lips with your tongue in concentration.

- He'll kill you - your friend warns - Like, actually kill you. This is not a man you should fuck with.

At that, you finally tear away, your eyes meeting your friends, a sea of mischief swirling in them.

- Who said anything about fucking? - you say with a wink, and before your friend can say anything else, you rise from your seat.

Taking the half-empty bottle of rum in one, smooth movement, you begin to make your way towards the bar, adding a stumble and a drunken giggle for good measure. The previous ungodly ammounts of liquor circulating your body definitely help with the impression, but you're pleasantly surprised, that your head stays relatively clear. Although, if your target is truly as powerful and dangerous, as your friend makes him out to be, then perhaps you really lost your mind for good. Best not to dwell on it though. 

The man barely spares you a glance, as you collide with the bar right next to him, arm brushing against his in a deliberate movement. You make sure to press your chest against the countertop, before waving at the bartender a bit too enthusiastically. The leftover liquor in your bottle sloshes out, landing straight onto the man's chest and lap. At that, he finally moves, annoyance clear in his rigid posture. Traces of liquid fall all the way from his collarbones to the belt buckle of his trousers.  

The truly magnificent performance of a drunken, apologetic girl you gave at that moment, would ensure you the entry to the most prestigious acting schools. Your eyes widen comically, as you follow the trajectory of your drink. He barely flinches, as his entire front becomes covered in alcohol, but he does react, as soon as you start apologizing, a lot, your voice quivering as if you're about to burst out crying. 

Don't look up, you remind yourself, as your body moves closer to his. You pull down the sleeve of your shirt and reach towards him, trying to dry some of the liquor off his skin. For the split second you manage to make contact, your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. He's incredibly warm, his skin pulled taut against prominent muscles. Then, your sleeve reaches the golden necklace.

His arm immediately shoots out, grabbing you by the wrist and nearly shoving you off. It was enough, though. That short moment of contact revealed more than you've bargained for.  

- Leave - you truly flinch at the sound of his gravely voice, no acting needed - You've embarrassed yourself quite enough, woman.

Your head nods fervently, hair jumping around your face. He releases your wrist, and you mutter another string of "I'm so sorry, sir". Then, you throw in a sniffle, for good measure, but your treacherous eyes drift upwards, desperate to catch a glimpse of the man's face, as you're only inches from him. Yellow envelops you in an instant, a piercing, unrelenting gaze, which breaks through all your defenses. Your gaze hardens in an instant, challenge rising in your posture like its second nature. One of the man's prominent eyebrows shoot upwards ever so slightly, and you know it's your time to exit the stage. 

So you bow your head again and slip past him as quickly, as you physically can. His golden gaze follows you, the feeling of his eyes at the back of your neck makes your shoulders tense. With a stumble, this one not rehearsed, you push past the gathered patrons, until you reach the doors to the restrooms, nearly falling through them, in your haste to remove yourself from this strange situation. 

Your body collides with the row of basins, as you lean forward to try and catch your breath. Your heart is thrumming in your chest, the sound of blood rushing through your ears deafening. It's fear, you're aware. You've never been so close to being exposed, no one has ever seen straight through you, and so quickly at that. Chills run the length of your spine with such force you physically cringe. 

And then, something else starts to brew in the pit of your stomach. Something that starts at the tips of your fingers, spreading upwards, until it settles in your chest. The magnetic pull of excitement, the danger of a new challenge. Your brain feels hot inside your skull, as you gather all the information you managed to pull out. 

The necklace is heavy, but strangely, not as heavy, as solid gold would be. The clasp is sturdy, but small. You could feel it, with how the strap tightened, when you pulled at it. And one more thing. As you tried to "dry" it, the body of the necklace shifted slightly, so you could see the clasp peeking over the man's shoulder. You were almost entirely sure it was one of those old-timey ones. The one, where two halves fit together, incredibly easy to open. 

God, you really are going to pull this off. You hype yourself up, in front of the mirror, jumping from leg to leg, like a sportsman ready to fight for their team. Easy. Quiet. In and out. You've done it a thousand times, why would this one be different? After this rather pathetic pep talk, you make up your mind. Splashing some water onto your face, you give yourself one last look in the mirror, determination filling your eyes to the brim. 

And then, you're out, the door to the bathroom swings behind you, as you easily blend into the crowd of rowdy patrons. He's almost impossible to miss amongst the ruckus, with his straight posture and that damned hat. There is a plan forming in your head, as you stalk towards him. The unfortunate waiter, with a tray filled with tall beer glasses walks towards you, and with ease, you slide your leg to the side, making him trip right onto the floor. 

It creates enough of a distraction for you to smoothly move behind your target, and as he looks over at the screaming crowd, you hand makes its way behind the collar of his coat. With the warmth of his skin just under your fingertips, you touch the clasp of the necklace. It unravels immediately, sliding off of his neck, where, just out of his vision, your other hand waits. The cross lands in your palm just as the man realizes what is happening.

His entire body jerks in your direction, large hands immediately flying towards the gigantic sword on his back. Thankfully, you're faster. Fingers squeeze around the smaller cross, and suddenly all pretense is gone, as you bolt back to the restrooms. You don't stop to check if the man is pursuing you, a flurry of emotions chasing you out of the establishment. Excitement, yes, of course, but mostly impossible to explain fear. In that moment you know, you can't get caught if you want your life to continue. 

So, you barrel through the doors to the restroom and immediately jump onto one of the basins. Your hands make quick work opening the small window just below the ceiling, its lock coming undone under the prying of your lockpick. Night air floods the bathroom with the crisp smell of the harbour. Putting all your concentration into athletics, you jump through the small opening, squeezing through. Your shirt catches onto the lock and tears with the force of your body. You land on your face, right into the cobbled street below.  Only then do you risk taking the time, and looking around, eyes scanning the dark, as your breath quickens. 

Nothing. A dog is barking somewhere, and even from the outside you can hear the sounds of the patrons screaming over each other. For a split second you wonder, if one of the voices belongs to your target, but decide against it. He didn't seem the type to raise his voice. Perhaps that was one of the things, which unsettled you about him. 

Tossing the necklace a couple of times in your hand, you observe as the gold shines in the light coming from the lanterns strung out around the city. There, right under the lower half of the cross, you could see a tiny groove. As if it was meant to be unscrewed or something of the sort. Deciding against hanging around in the ark alley right outside the bar, you put the necklace around your neck.

You manage to take about five steps, before some force grabs onto the back of your shirt. A hand twists itself into the torn material, and yanks you back so fast, and so hard, you completely loose balance. The brick wall of the lower part of the bar greets you with sharp pain, the impact knocking the wind out of your lungs. Stars swim in front of your eyes and your stomach twists and turns, as a sudden wave of nausea overcomes you. 

Then, all you see is yellow. 

He's here, arm pressed right under your chin with unwavering strength, his golden eyes bearing into you, watching you struggle against him. The smell of smoke, seawater and wine engulfs you whole, and suddenly the weight of the stolen necklace on your chest becomes unbearable. It's getting harder and harder to breathe. If you thought you were scared of the strange man before, now you're downright terrified. 

- Not many people would dare to steal from me - his voice is steady, almost bored, but your ears pick up on the subtle tone of curiosity - Let alone do so successfully.

Perhaps it's the alcohol in your system, or perhaps your ego has grown much too big, but you almost feel as if the man is impressed. 

- Tell me, what is your name? - his arm digs a bit further into your skin before retracting ever so slightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to remind you, that he could do so very easily. 

Your tongue darts out to wet you lips, and you will yourself to sound even a fraction less scared than you truly felt.

- I'm nobody - you whisper fervently - I'm nothing. It was a stupid joke, I'm so sorry.

His eyes scan your face, taking in your disheveled hair, the way your eyebrows scrunch together, the way your lips tremble. His gaze slides further down to your panicked pulse running rampant, catching slightly at your heaving chest, before snapping back up. Freezing chills run up and down your body, and your legs kick out slightly, trying to find better footing, to regain some control over the situation. He gives you no such chance, as his arm pushes your neck further into the wall, and as your breath leaves you, your body starts to struggle. 

- Nobody. Nothing. And yet you've managed to steal from me - something akin to subdued mirth flashes in his golden irises - If only for a moment. 

His other hand rises and your heart stops in your chest, as you feel the tips of his fingers tracing the line of the necklace, from the juncture between your neck and your arm, sliding lower. There is no mistaking the small gasp leaving your lips, when he reaches the heavy cross nestled right on top of your breasts. He taps the goden piece once, twice, before grasping it firmly and giving it a hard yank. The clasp at the back digs painfully into your skin before it gives out, snapping and falling right into his hand. 

- You're a curious little thief - his voice lowers, as he inclines his head to look at you closer - For that reason, I'll let you live, this one time. The world needs some chaos, after all.  

You expect him to move away, give you space to breathe and disapear into the night. Yet, none of you make a move. Your body stays pinned to the wall, the bricks spreading cold throughout your back. He never retreats, standing firmly in his place, as his arm still presses itself into the crook of your neck. Finally, you risk enough to get a good look at him, from the silky black hair, the perfectly trimmed facial hair and the elegant dip of his collar bones. And, oh, his pupils are dilated. For the first time, you discover a change in his unrelenting gaze. 

The gold retracts, giving way to the swallowing blackness of his pupil, as his eyebrows furrow in confusion at the situation at hand. You'd be confused too, if you didn't feel the tell-tale buzzing forming in your guts, low in your stomach. Your tongue darts out again, wetting your lips, and with undeniable satisfaction you watch his gaze flicker downwards. 

- Is there something else you want? - his eyes snap back up at the husky tone of your voice, and you give him just a tiny ghost of a smirk.

He recoils immediately, albeit, never taking the arm off of your body.

- I am not some teenage boy who can't control his urges - he sounds almost offended, as he straightens himself, and fixes you with a stern glare. 

Too bad. His previous slip-up has already filled your head with devious ideas, which in turn, sparked a sudden flame of confidence. So, with a self-assured smile, you lean back, finally finding your footing, only to raise one of your legs, purposefully running your calf the length of his thigh. His breath hitches ever so slightly, evident more by the movement of his Adam's apple, than any sound. Then, you reach your prize, your knee knocking into something that could only be described as a sizeable erection.

- My research says otherwise, sir. - you counter with a pointed look, and the man before you freezes in his spot. 

Time seems to slow down and stretch like taffy, as the man continues to stare at you, thoughts running through his head. Oh, how much you'd give to know them all. Will he kill you, you wonder as your eyes dart around the small creases forming on his forehead. Will he kiss you, his lips are parted and invitingly plush. Will there be more, your eyes follow the lines of muscles exposed under his unbuttoned coat. 

At first you don't even notice, when he had taken his arm back. That is until you feel him take a firm grab of the back of your head, gathering the roots of your hair in his grasp. There is no denying the choked whine that escapes you, as he cranes your head back, nor is there a point denying the groan he gives out at your reaction. 

An unspoken understanding blooms between the two of you, both of you suddenly knowing exactly how this encounter will end. For your part, you were more than excited, breathing heavily, as your mind became foggy from the feeling of his fingers in your hair. And if his darkened eyes and slight blush dusting the highest points of his cheekbones were any indication, you seemed to have similar effect on the man. 

- For all the research you seem to be doing - your brain feels hot and heavy in your skull, as you try to shift your focus onto his words, and not the way his lips curled into something akin of a smirk - There's one thing you didn't bother to check, did you?

All you can do is stare at him blankly. his other hand starts to toy with the necklace, turning it in his palm. 

- Have you checked, if my necklace is made of gold? - he asks matter-of-factly, tilting his head to the side. 

Your mouth opens and closes, no words coming out, as you continue to stare with growing confusion. Then, a glint of a golden cross catches your attention, as the man moves it higher for you to see. 

- Did you check it? - he accentuates his words, and you shiver under his intense gaze.

You shake your head no, and your neck feels as if it's made of lead.

- Use your words, thief.

- No

You don't recognize your voice, so meek and small. 

Then, all thoughts leave your head, because he lifts the lover tip of the cross and places it on top of your lower lip, pressing slightly, and watching with fascination as the cold metal creates a small indent in the plush flesh. 

- Check it.

Again, your brain seems to be moving in slow motion, but when it catches on, a glint of mischief swirls in your eyes. You open your mouth, let the necklace land on your lower teeth, and then, craning your neck, you bite down, like a good thief that you are. 

It's gold alright. Albeit, the part currently between your teeth seems to be hollowed out. Your brows knit for a second, as this new information registers in your mind. So you were right before, the small indent is meant to separate one piece of the necklace from the other. 

With a slowly blooming smirk, you let your tongue dart out swirling over the metal. The man's eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pulls back at the necklace. With some fight, you let it go, but not before giving it another lick, this one much more suggestive and pointed. 

- You're a devil of a woman - Mihawk breathes, before untangling his other hand from your hair. 

Both hands now, he grips the necklace, and your mouth runs dry at the sight of his fingers smearing your saliva onto the metal. And then he pulls. Your heartbeat momentarily quickens, as your eyes register another form of metal glistening in the dim light. 

A knife. Small but incredibly sharp, your body starts to shiver but it's not out of fear. He drops the other part of the necklace into his pocket, and gathers the front of your shirt into a tight grip. Your breath hitches, as you feel the tip of the knife slide up under your clothes. It scratches a path from your navel, up to your collarbones, and as the material bunches, the man suddenly yanks the blade upwards. Your entire body jumps from the wall, and your squeak of surprise is accompanied by the loud tearing of your shirt's material. 

You fall back against the bricks, and Mihawk leans onto his heels as if he's appreciating an art piece.

- Now we match - you manage to breathe out.

He humms, deep in his chest, and as suddenly as he just tore your clothes off, he dives towards you, open mouth landing right between your breasts.

The moan he wretches from you would be embarrassing if you could only bring yourself to care. But you can't, not when his hot tongue traces patterns all across your stomach, stopping to swirl around each one of your nipples. Like a man starved, he drinks you in, hands pushing and pulling against your hips in a rythmn, that feels more and more like a promise of what's to come. 

Your hands flail at your sides, desperate to find any sort of purchase. Fingernails scarpe against the bricked wall, as Mihawk's stubble tickles a path from your collar bones and up your throat, stopping for a moment, to give a few nips to the skin just below your ear. Another whine is wrenched from you, as the man places an open mouthed kiss to the scrape your previous encounter with the surface of the table has left on your skin. Then, finally, he pulls back for just a moment, drinking in the sight of your heaving chest and the redness which has engulfed your entire face.

- Beautiful - he concludes in the same, steady tone, as if he's stating an obvious fact, not paying a compliment.

It works on you all the same, and with a gasp, you lurch forward, your lips forcefully colliding with his. The kiss is deep and filled with passion you're not sure you've ever felt in your entire life. As his mouth and tongue work the insides of yours, you feel him slide his hand from your hips to the front, fingers pulling with urgency at the laces of your breeches. You can only pray, that there's no one taking a midnight stroll through the streets, as another loud moan escapes you. He does his best to swallow it, but something tells you he takes immense pride in the reactions you give him, as his efforts at keeping you quiet are haphazard at best.

Then, after finally winning the battle with your lacing, his hand pushes itself into your undergarments. Your head smacks back against the wall, when he begins to touch you where you need him the most. Expert fingers find your bundle of nerves in an instant, but before you get too carried away, one of your arms encircles his wrist.

Mihawk tilts his head, an unspoken question clear in his golden gaze.

- No time - you pant out, and for a moment worry, he doesn't quite register your words, with the way his focus shifts immediately to your swollen lips - No time, just... Just fuck me, Mihawk.

That seems to reach him just fine, because as soon as the words leave you, his arms shoot out towards his pants. He makes quick work of the massive belt buckle, and with impatient hands yanks his erection out of his underwear. You'd lie, if you said the view didn't worry you just a little bit. But excitement was your drug of choice, and right now you felt as if you could explode at any given moment. With shaky hands, you try to shimmy out of your pants. Seeing your rather clumsy efforts, Mihawk stops you. 

With half-lidded eyes you watch him kneel down in front of you, gently pulling your breeches down, before lifting each of your feet, so you could step out of them. 

- I think I like seeing you like this - you comment, as he leans forward to kiss the space under your right knee. 

- The view from here is also quite spectacular - he counters, kissing up your thigh and making you gasp, as his stubble presses into the mound of flesh just below your stomach. 

Still, there is no time, so you reach down towards his shoulder, and pull him up. 

- Please - you whisper against his lips, and who is he, to deny a lady in need. 

Lifting one of your legs in a tight grip, finally, his hips snap up, filling you to the brim. Your muscles tense, as you try to accommodate his size. To his credit, he stays still, face pressed into the crook of your neck, where you can feel his strained breath. Finally, you let yourself relax. tapping him on the shoulder, to let him know he can continue. 

And continue he does, slowly at first, dragging your body from the wall every time he retracts, only to come back in with an agonizing pace. You don't really know who's more frustrated at that point, because as soon, as you try to wriggle your hips more, to force him to pick up the pace, all resolve seems to dissapear. His hand grips your thigh even harder, enough to leave a reminder for the later days. The other tangles itself into your hair, pulling at the strands. And then he truly puts in work, hips snapping in a punishing pace that makes your back scrape against the brick wall. You hide your face in his coat, inhaling his scent and praying that the thick material will be sufficient at muffling your moans of pleasure. 

There's pressure, building steadily in your guts, and it doesn't take you long, to feel the band snap somewhere deep inside you. Your muscles tense and your eyes roll back, as you begin to shudder in his grasp, knees giving out completely, so only his own strength is saving you from colliding with the floor. Soon, he follows with a low grunt, nearly toppling over, when his own release hits him. 

His arm holds you close to him, as he uses the other one to steady himself against the wall. Both of you are panting heavily, none of you ready to move just yet. You rest your cheek against his chest, and feel him press his face to the top of your head, inhaling your scent as if this wasn't just a quick dalliance in a dark alley. 

- You should get back to your friend - Mihawk's voice is muffled by your hair - They must be dreading all the atrocities I could've bestowed upon you.

You laugh breathlessly, finally pushing him back and appreciating the flush on his cheeks, and the way his hair has flown out of place from under that impressive hat.

- Yes, those atrocities have been very great indeed. 

***

Your friend sits alone at the same table you've left them. Their head is hidden in their hands, and three empty bottles litter the space before them. It seems they have already started to mourn your untimely death. 

The inside of the bar has quieted down, as the closing hours began to loom over the patrons, a few stragglers still hanging around the bar, sowly finishing their respective drinks. 

Unceremoniously, you sit down right in front of your friend, wincing ever so slightly at the discomfort still lingering in your muscles, kicking their leg under the table and watching them nearly jump out of their seat with fright. 

- You... - their eyes have a difficulty focusing on your face, but when they do, it's like the heavens have opened before them. - You're alive!

Your eyes are glowing, and your face is still blushed from your previous encounter. You lean forward with a brilliant smile, hands slapping onto the wooden table.

- So - you can't help but laugh - About fucking with him...

[cregansdingdong]

ɢᴜᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Wife!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: he does get snappy for a second so very slight angst, his boo thang doesn't tolerate that so don't worry, period-typical misogyny, gets a tiny bit suggestive at the end but nothing crazy hes eating her coochie out off camera; lovers spat but he can't resist her this is so Honeymoon by lana del ray also love and war by Fleurie

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Aemond was not a man of many words. His wife knew that upon their marriage. She knew he had a fortress around his heart and his mind in order to better protect himself, and it wasn’t something she took complete offense to—there was no point in taking it personally; the walls would not come down because they took vows in front of the High Septon. Day by day, she would have to chip at him, speck by speck, brick by brick, until all that was left…well, she had yet to figure that part out. But still, she persevered. Their nuptials were built on a political agreement in the night—like everything else among the highborns—her father brutally negotiating his terms to bend the knee to King Aegon. She remembered what it felt like being stirred out of her sleep by her handmaiden, dressing in the dark to make an appearance for their princely guest. There had been little explanation at the moment, and even her sisters hadn’t a clue.

Until they saw him. One-eyed and formidable; standing there, the silver-haired Targaryen Prince didn’t need to do much to strike fear in the hearts of Borros Baratheon’s five daughters. Lined up like prized cattle, they waited for him to take his pick. She thought he’d pick Cassandra—the son they’d create together would most likely be the heir of the Stormlands. That was the smart choice. Instead, as she stared ahead humiliatingly, a gaze of amethyst locked onto the slope of her shoulder, trailing the silhouette of where her jaw met her neck. Her throat. It was predatory, almost, the way he inspected her. A viper choosing the most appetizing little mammal it could find. Then he approached her, somehow even taller than he seemed—he stood close enough that she could feel the heat of him emanating into her chilled skin, his even breath fanning lightly against her cheek. “This one.”

The words were so final. There was no arguing, no further negotiations to be made. He’d chosen her. That was all. A year passed, and it was a long one. His betrothed did her best to ignore the whispers of the men of her father’s court. One-eyed Kinslayer, they’d say, the youngest is his bride. He’ll come to claim her soon. The day did arrive when the Targaryen prince returned on dragonback to collect what he was entitled to. There had only been the bare warning of a raven just a day before, leaving her enough time to decide what she wanted to take to King’s Landing and send her trunks ahead. Vhagar arrived after dawn, her rider as stoic and unyielding as he’d been the last time they met. Saying goodbye to her sisters was difficult, but she managed, remembering the very firm prompt Lord Baratheon had given her about crying in front of the prince. And she didn’t, despite the indignation that came with being sold like a broodmare. Her entire life she’d known her birth would only be useful as a bridge between Houses—but being a bride of war felt shameful, vile, and held no pleasantries.

Meeting the dragon churned her stomach terribly. Other than a few of the quiet shushes in High Valyrian, Aemond hadn’t said much during the exchange. The ancient beasts hadn’t cared to eat her, thankfully. The first hurdle was over with. She rode on the back of Vhagar that morning—which was somehow more terrifying than it sounded…and a tad humiliating for how long it took her to actually climb to the mount. She’d expected him to rush her, to make a comment, but he remained silent and unusually patient. The journey itself felt longer than it was, her fists clenched around the hem of his doublet, but it was over soon enough. They’d married within the week, barely having said a word to each other. Every day after that was a power struggle. Aemond must’ve thought she’d be meek, or perhaps quiet, but he’d been either sorely mistaken or genuinely misled. But the deed was done, the marriage consummated thoroughly. He made his bed and he had to lie in it. Whatever the case was, their shared chambers—his idea—worked dually as a bedroom and a battlefield. While she was successful at times in penetrating his armor, the circumstances did not change even after half a year of marriage.

“What is wrong now?” She hummed, watching him stare down into the flames of the lit hearth, hands pensively behind his back. She knew his habits like they were imprinted in her skin. He only stood like that when something was bothering him. Her embroidery was paused in her lap as she waited. Aemond turned his head slightly, his eye flicking over to her. He said nothing for a few more moments, as if he was debating entertaining such a question at all. Sometimes he liked when she pushed at him. She wasn’t sure if this was that sort of evening. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, wife.” There wasn’t as much bite to his words as she expected there would be, but if he wanted to start, she would finish. “I would like to concern myself, thank you, lest you go blind staring into the fire before our anniversary. What has you in such a foul mood, husband?”  She puts her craft down on the table, staring at him impatiently. He stiffened at her words, and she knew then that she struck a nerve. It seems to work though. Aemond’s features harden, the slightest bit of the real him seeping through his endless stoicism. “Small Council.” Was all he said. She gets the gist of it. “I see. Would you like to share anything else?”

“No.”

Something about the blatant rejection thrilled her. She was no fool as to what probably happened—the King was drunk, angry, or plainly at odds with whatever it was that her husband and the rest were trying to suggest to him. She’d heard from the Dowager Queen they had begun talks of making a match for young Jahaera. Aemond was a hard man to read, but he wasn’t completely indecipherable. “I’m going to offer you my council then.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond, legs uncrossing upon her standing. He doesn’t move as she strides toward the fireplace, as unyielding as she’d been the moment she entered the sept and became his wife. “His Grace, the King, is courageous and inspiring. He’s a man of the finest breeding and a formidable, yet merciful, attentive ruler–”

“If you’re going to give council that I did not ask for, at least speak plainly.” He grumbles, irritation emitting from his poreless face. “In this room, it is only you and I, and neither of us wish to lie. I care not to hear compliments of my brother fall from the lips of my wife.” She considers her words for a few moments. “Alright. The King is a drunk who lives in his own world—but he is still the King, and that means the ideas of his advisors can be very easily dismissed by a mere word if he so wishes. Attempting to speak sense into him, or to convince him, will never work when he has such power.” 

“If you’re suggesting I play into his drunk delusions, I will not.” He scoffs, eye narrowed in reproach. She tries not to get angry right away. “That is not what I’m suggesting. Before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that your best chance is convincing the second highest person in the realm. The Queen.”

“This is a matter between men. Helaena is just as much in her own deluded world as he is—worse, even. She is dreaming her life away. Speaking to her is not unlike catching a cloud, wife.” Aemond says, walls coming back up to ignore her again. His coldness returns in an instant. “Your council has proven useless as I knew it would be. You should return to your embroidery.” And now she was angry. “We’re the perfect pair then, aren’t we, my prince? You dismiss me as Aegon dismisses you.” Her words came out like a challenge, daring him perhaps to actually consider what it was she was trying to say. He reacts accordingly. A long, slender hand wraps itself around her arm in an inflexible grip, yanking her to him seemingly to remind her of their roles. It didn’t hurt. The words were gritted from between his teeth. “What did you say to me, wife?”

“You heard me. Your unwillingness to accept another perspective of how to get what you want will be your downfall. And to think I was almost about to offer to speak to Helaena on your behalf. Perhaps she is a cloud to you, husband, but she’s quite tangible if you treat her like a human being.” She huffs. Aemond pauses at that, in thought as his hand loosens ever so slightly. “I should bend you over my knee for speaking to me that way—you’re lucky I’m not in the mood for it. Talk to Helaena then. Tell her Aegon is behaving like a stubborn fool and convince her that the Lannisters are the strongest choice for Jahaera if she cannot produce another male heir—I’m not asking.” His gaze stared down into her face, imploring her to refuse and see what was going to happen.

“Is my husband demanding my help?” She grins, something absolutely infuriating to him. Help. He loathed that word. “You said it yourself. You’re not asking. My idea must truly be valuable to you—my bond with Helaena even more so. I thought it was a matter between men?” The taunt in her voice was exhaled against every nerve in his body urging him to act. To show her how maddening she was. To fuck the teasing out of her right there beside the fireplace. He was itching to have her do as he wished, and to do with her as he wanted. “You’re testing my patience.” He warns, something uncompromising burning behind his eyes. So different, and yet exactly the same. His wife leaned in closer, undeterred. “If you’re not willing to say please verbally, husband, you can do it another way. Or, of course, you can hurry along to the next council meeting if you’re so eager to be at Aegon’s mercy. What will it be?”

“Another way?” He murmured, eyes locked down at the juncture of her throat. “Hmm. It seems we’ve come to an understanding, wife. Lift your skirts.”

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[juletheghoul]

Unbroken

AN: I have been toying around with this idea for a couple of years at this point-the idea of being Elia's lady in waiting, and being aggressively pursued by her brother, Oberyn. I imagine him to be younger, wilder, but just as passionate. There is no Ellaria yet, there is no betrayal, just two people who cannot get enough of each other and Oberyn using his position for nothing but mischief. This is quite obviously before the nastiness that we all know befalls House Martell, lets live in it a while! I have a whole drama planned out for them in my head so I might actually write it all out - lets see if I can find the time lol. (in the moodboard above, the face you see is how I imagine Elia to be, reader is still completely nondescript!) This is unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine- hope you enjoy! 🧡

Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

Pairing: Oberyn x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) , language, Smut 18+, PIV sex (wrap it up), dirty talk **pregnancy**

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist 

Her skirts swirl in the wind, whipping around her legs like sand. They were the colour of dusk, burnt oranges and yellows, favouring her golden skin, and her dark eyes. Elia Martell–all the Martells–looked best in these colours. You smile at her as you pour her a cup of wine, indulging her despite her delicate constitution. 

“This is the last of it my Princess,” you fill the cup halfway, “You know it does not sit well.”

“Yes, yes,” she rolled her eyes, sipping at the wine, “you are worse than Doran.” 

You sigh, goodnaturedly, until one of the guards of Sunspear comes, interrupting the Princess enjoying the non-existent breeze.  

“My princess, my lady,” He speaks, addressing you respectively, “The Prince, Oberyn requests your company-”

“Oh what could my brother possibly want from me right now?” She huffs out a breath, her winecup getting the brunt of her annoyance. 

“My apologies Princess, it is not your company he asks for.” He bows his head in deference, his gaze then moving to you. “My lady, Prince Oberyn awaits.” 

Your heart races to hear him calling for you, despite it not being the first time. Elia laughs, and dismisses you graciously. “Go then, my lady. You cannot keep The Red Viper waiting for long, he is prone to sulk, or fight.” Her tinkling laugh follows you where the guard leads, ringing out as you make your way towards his chambers. 

You smile to yourself as you walk the halls of Sunspear, the sound of your soft steps ringing out, bouncing off the tiles and the high, arched ceilings. Your heart feels like a bird in the cage of your ribs, fluttering wildly as you finally make it to the giant door leading to him. 

You meet the solid wall of his back when the guard opens his chamber door, he is sitting at his desk by the window, head down and quill scratching across a piece of parchment. His head turns at the sound of the door, and the quill is discarded. His eyes are lively when they meet yours, full of mischief and devilment. 

“You called for me, my Prince?” You try, genuinely, try to keep the smile off your face. “Is there something you desire of me?” He narrows his eyes, rising and slinking over like some big, predatory cat. He is so tall, his shoulders so broad and the cut of his robes only serves to highlight his best features. The breadth of him, the trim waist, the enchanting vision of his throat and chest on display. All of it conspiring to make you ache to touch him. He laughs low, the sound hardening your nipples. 

“Just you, my flower.” He doesn’t so much reach for you, as strike, like his namesake. His arms wrapping around your waist quick enough to pull a gasp from you. His lips descend quickly, pressing against your neck, his tongue following closely behind and all you can do for a moment is gasp in delight, gathered up in his arms with your hands pressed against his chest.

“This is why you pull me away from the Princess? Because you cannot contain your passion for a few hours my Prince?” His hands travel, landing heavy on your backside, while his mouth travels from your shoulder, up to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, a kiss that pushes everything but him from your mind.

“Yes, my love, I cannot contain my passion for you for even a heartbeat.” He speaks the words, turning your heart, and your cunt to liquid for him, before his deft hands pull at the laces and fastenings of your dress. 

“My Prince, I am to serve-” He pulls the dress up and off, leaving you in your small clothes, “Your sister, I am to serve–” He cuts off the words with another kiss and this time you moan into his mouth, heart pounding between your legs, knowing even now as you protest that you will let him do whatever he wants, that you need him to.

“My sister is too greedy with you, too selfish.” He undoes his robe, slipping it off to fall at his feet as he herds you towards his bed. 

“She keeps you to herself, when she knows of my desire for you.” you tumble into his linens, the smell of him surrounding you, spicy and sweet, like desert heat, fiery peppers, sweet and fragrant oranges. 

He slots his hips between your legs, and his cock is so hard it makes you gasp, the fabric of his breeches dampening when he grinds against the small clothes that cover your sex. 

“You are insatiable–Oberyn!” You gasp his name when he tears the small clothes from your body, his impatience to have you naked and open to him making him ravenous. He laughs, eyes like black diamonds as he practically kicks his breeches off in his haste to get his cock out. 

“I am unwell, my love, truly and deeply sick with want.” He moans the last word when he finally fits himself at the mouth of your cunt, slipping in with one brutal thrust. 

“Gods, yes my love, this is what I needed, to be buried up to my balls in this sweet little cunt.” He moans, his tone obscene as he rocks himself inside you. 

Your arousal is something as fierce as he, the fullness of him only further inflaming your passion. It is always like this with him, never dull, never calm, always an inferno in your veins and in your lungs. He passes it on to you, his fire catching on your skin and soon, you are clutching to him, begging him, your arousal coating him and dripping onto his bed. 

“Yes, yes–” You chant, in tune with every roll of his hips. The sun shining through the window paints everything in his colours. 

“Did you miss me, my love? Miss me here?” He punctuates the word with a hard snap of his hips, it makes your breasts bounce, makes you let out a whine. 

“Yes my Prince, yes, always miss you–” You open your legs wider, giving him more room to get deeper, to fuck you harder, “Oberyn, you’re splitting me open.” You pull him forward, the temptation of his neck is too great, you suck a mark into it, relishing the way he groans. His hand pulls yours up and over your head, making your chest jut out for his tongue. He teases at your sensitive nipples as his cock strokes, and strokes, and strokes until you are on the precipice, on the dagger's edge of pleasure. 

“I can feel it, ready to burst for me–” He smiles, drunk on the pleasure and when he lets go of your hands and presses his thumb to your clit you unravel, clenching and soaking him in your release. “There it is, that’s it-” He speeds up, burying his face into your neck while you take what he gives, his chest pressed up against yours, sweat slicked and warm. 

His pace falters and you feel the hot jet of his seed inside, he groans, changing to a dirty grind as he comes deep. 

He collapses once he’s milked himself dry, his comforting weight pressing you to his feather bed. Your legs settle around his waist, ankles locking on the swell of his ass and your arms wind around his neck to play with his sweat-soaked hair. He hums as you trail your nails down, tickling at the smooth skin of his back. Your lips press kisses against his shoulder where it rests under your chin. This is your favourite part, being full of him, surrounded by him, loved by him, and pouring all of your affection and love back into him in return. 

“Are you quite comfortable, my Prince?” You scratch at his scalp as he takes deep breaths, his softening cock still buried deep. 

“Oh yes,” He huffs the words into your neck, his tongue licking a stripe up to your ear, “I could spend the rest of my life here, cock inside you, my body on yours.” 

You laugh, full throated. 

“Oh I bet you could, rutting away until I’m raw.” You bring your hands to his face, making him face you and you are once again struck by his beauty, no matter how many times you find yourself in his bed, he still makes your heart race. You swipe your thumb across his plump lower lip, and fix the unruly state of his hair. “I could stay here too, Oberyn. I could be here, under you, with you, beside you always. I love you.” You press your mouth to his, and he deepens the kiss, his ardour burning just as brightly. 

“I love you, my flower, and what we’ve created. I cannot wait to meet my son.” He brings his hand down, to the little swell of your belly, the one that's barely showing yet. You laugh again, and he smiles, his hand warm against your womb. 

“A boy is it? How would you divine that? I am barely showing–”

“I know it is a boy, I can feel it. He will be my little viper, a menace to his instructors, he will have the sweet face of his mother, and the fierce hunger of his father.” He removes himself with a hiss, pulling out and lowering himself until he presses kiss after kiss to the little bump. “Won’t you my boy? You will be the terror and delight of my life.”

He smiles up at you, bright eyed, with all of the love you feel for him shining back at you. 

“You, my love, will give birth to princes and princesses, the most beautiful children in all of the world.” He always got like this after, sentimental and romantic and it always made you happy enough to cry. 

“Yes my love, he will be all that and more.” You pull him up, wrapping his arms around you to lay your head on his chest. “You know I must go soon, I cannot stay in bed with you, despite my wish to.” He sighs, resigned. 

“Yes, Elia awaits, just another moment, and I will let you go.” You laugh, and bury your face into his neck. 

- Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue

[endless-ineffabilities]

Maroon (part five)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the silence came, we were shaking blind and hazy How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

themes/warnings : angst, Aemond is a bit of an ass who needs therapy, jealousy, miscommunication

word count : 4k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The Dragonstone ball continues to unfold... Will Aemond ever be able to redeem himself after tonight? Will the reader let him back in?

“... to these three, Strong boys.”

Aemond’s declaration brings the room into a state of silence, everyone in collective surprise. 

It is a known truth. One shared among people in hushed tones and averted eyes. But not like this. Never openly, in this way.

Aemond lingers on you, before something - or someone - cuts through in the corner of his vision. Gasps erupt across the hall. 

It’s Luke, who reaches Aemond in a flash and disarms him with a rough shove. Aemond barely budges, but is forced to take a step back, his chair skidding loudly across the floor. He laughs menacingly, and simply watches as his nephew makes another move. It doesn’t take long before the security team springs into action. Mr. Westerling puts a hand to Luke’s chest, halting his determined motion. 

“Not here, son.” His voice is gruff and commanding. The members of the high table look on, aghast. But Aemond stands still with a smirk on his lips. He raises his glass and takes a confident sip, all whilst staring Luke in the eye.

“You’ve crossed the fucking line,” Luke seethes.

“Have I?” Aemond croons. “I only speak the truth. I was merely expressing how proud I am of my nephews.”

“Aemond, that is enough,” Alicent pleads, wary of the prying attention from the onlookers. 

“It’s the truth, isn’t it, mother?”

“Not in front of all of these people.” Alicent doesn’t confirm her son’s statement, but she doesn’t deny it either, and Rhaenyra is quick to note this.

“Enough!” Viserys bellows, and all heads turn to the sound. “The feast… shall commence. Everyone, we apologise for this commotion. You see, this is why family reunions are not to be taken lightly.”

A nervous bout of shared laughter echoes. A line of servers rush out of the corner of the hall, platters of all sorts in their arms. Aemond’s outburst will be ignored. For now. 

His jaw is taut, arms tense on his sides like a viper still preparing to strike. You look down and notice that you’ve latched on to Jace’s arm in a death grip, your nerves getting the best of you. 

It doesn’t help that it’s the first thing Aemond sees when he turns his attention back to you. It’s enough to divert his thoughts from Luke’s provocation. As you move to sit back down along with the rest of the table, he swiftly strides over to you determinedly, weaving his way past the servers. 

“May I speak with you for a moment?” Aemond leans down, whispering. You hear a sense of urgency in his tone, or perhaps his mood is still heightened, his composure strained from the previous argument. 

Jace turns his head, and addresses Aemond with a passing glare, but doesn’t say anything. He leaves the choice up to you.

“Can’t this wait?” You whisper back, pausing to smile in thanks at the server who sets down a dish in front of you. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you right now, Aemond.”

“Please, darling,” he implores, still polite. But he knows that one way or another, he's going to have his moment with you.

You take a deep breath, sharing a look with Jace, and he merely nods in acknowledgment. To hell with it. 

“I’ll be back in 5 minutes,” you tell Jace. The entire hall is occupied with the feast, and they barely notice when Aemond leads you down an adjacent hallway, then through the side doors. You wonder what his date thinks of this, or if she has even noticed that he left. By the determined way he moves, you doubt whether he even cares.

His hand is at the small of your back, guiding you. Electricity shoots up your spine. Briefly, you consider if you should go back to the hall where it's safe, and it causes your steps to falter.

He appraises you for a moment, waiting.

“Where are we going, Aemond?” you finally ask.

“There’s a balcony just round there - ”

“This is far enough,” you gesture at the empty hallway. “I said I would only take 5 minutes.”

“That’s not long enough,” he protests right away, oddly sounding like a petulant little boy.

“Well, tough.”

He inhales sharply, biting his tongue as he wants to placate you. He wants to make you understand. 

He starts to speak, but you cut him off at the same time.

"Darling, I - "

“I don’t know why,” you shake your head at him, at the whole situation, “you do this. Maybe it is because of the accident, sure. I get that. It’s fucked up, what happened. But you shouldn’t have shut me off. I waited for you.” You step forward, and press your hand to his chest. You feel his faint heartbeat resounding beneath. “I didn’t even know what I was waiting for, or for what. But I did.”

He places his hand atop yours, holding it to himself. He did not anticipate that you would be so forward, and it catches him off guard. Whatever ill-prepared speech he had gets caught in his throat. “I didn’t know what to do,” he musters. “I didn’t think you would… still want me.”

Ridiculous. How could I not? “That’s just… an excuse.” Your thought makes itself known. The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, briefly, before his brows furrow as if something in his line of thinking cast a shadow over what should be a nice sentiment. 

“Is it?” he queries, almost mocking. “Look at me. Look at what I almost did back there. You’ve known me for a while, darling, but perhaps you’ve not known me long enough to know how rotten I truly am.”

There’s a menacing glint in his eye, one you’re sure you haven’t truly seen before. Not until tonight’s incident at the hall, and now that it’s being directed at you, you struggle to come to terms with how it makes you feel. 

Is this who he really is? Was the Aemond you’ve known a persona he so conveniently wore in the time he met you?

But you cannot ignore that part of you, maybe even greater and strong enough to trump your worries, which knows that you have seen who he is. You’ve always known. Through hints and whispers. And you wanted him anyway.

Aemond’s only ever this gentle around you, everyone said. 

Why would he be? What could he ever have gotten out of it? What else, but you?

You say nothing, merely watching the storm in his blazing blue eye. His sneering expression softens, suddenly conscious at how you seem to study him. At how your eyes greedily rake over his face, taking him in like you haven’t been able to in a long while. 

After those long and tortuous weeks apart, this is the first time you get to look at him without any distractions. Without the commotion of the ball. Without him trying to hide. 

“Then show me,” you finally say.

He makes a surprised noise. His usual hum, but lilting. 

Maybe you can blame it on that damned firewine, or you’ve gone insane, because you didn’t expect you would be so gutsy at this moment. But before you can question where your newfound bravery came from, and before your nerves from earlier can resurface, you raise your hand and let it hover over his leather eyepatch. 

He hums again, this time low in his throat. A warning. 

Your fingers make contact, ghosting over the smooth surface. You wince internally as you also touch a patch of his scar right under. You don’t even want to imagine how much pain he was in. You can’t, or you’ll lose all your nerve, and likely start crying. 

Keep it together, now.

Aemond remains unmoving, a feat considering his pounding heartbeat. He lets you continue, and ignores the instinctive twitch in his palms that compel him to push your hand away. 

When your thumb runs over the bottom ridge of his eyepatch, you catch his eye. “Aemond,” you whisper, asking for permission.

You barely lift his eyepatch when his hand wraps around your wrist in a vice grip, halting any movement. You look at him questioningly, searching, but his expression stays the same. Lips pursed in a tight line, jawline taut. His gaze holding you in place. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, but neither of you show any desire to move away.

You watch as he finally lowers his head, the hand around your wrist gently drifting to cradle your palm against his ruined cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, all false bravado gone. 

“It’s okay,” you say, letting your thumb run gently over his scar. “You don’t have to show me.”

“I want to, I just - ” He looks at you, words left unsaid, but you understand all the same.

“I know,” you smile sadly. “I can wait.”

It’s not long before his arm abruptly drops to his side, causing your hand to fall from his face. 

“You shouldn't have to,” he looks away then, his distant expression returning. “It’s not fair to you. All this waiting.”

You shake your head at the change in his approach. The Aemond you think you know has always been a steady presence, observant and committed to the task at hand. Has he always been this mercurial? 

“Don’t you want me to?” you remark, disbelief lacing your voice. You step even closer, glaring up at him. “Is this why you brought me here? To finally put an end to all of this?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and the bastard just stares at you. His good eye rakes across the planes of your face, falling to your exposed shoulders and the outline of your dress, then back again. If you didn’t know any better, it almost looks like longing, like he actually wants you. 

And it infuriates you even more. 

You decide that - no - he doesn’t get to look at you like that and yet act in the way he does. “Our 5 minutes are up.”

You turn around, your skirts swivelling with the movement. Each step feels decisive, like you’re walking away from something - someone - important. But you do anyway. 

“Wait,” you hear him murmur under his breath, but you don’t let it sway you.

Then you hear his footsteps, heavy and sure. 

“I said wait,” Aemond repeats, commanding. You startle when he gets a hold of your arm, squeezing by the crook of your elbow, bringing you to a stop.

“For wh - ”

The words are stolen from your mouth in a rushed breath, when his lips claim yours. This is not the gentle Aemond you might have known, as he kisses you with an intensity that is bruising and relentless. 

You’re quite sure you had something witty retort prepared, something to put him in his place. Whatever that was, it’s all forgotten as his tongue glides along your bottom lip. As the kiss deepens and you feel the sharpness of teeth. 

“Hmm,” he purrs when he pulls away, and you feel it reverberate low in his chest where your palms are pressed. He connects his forehead to yours, and you’re grateful for it. The feeling of something solid calms the dizzying sensation in your head. 

You barely register the silence that filled the room, as your ears are ringing with the sound of your racing heartbeat and the small breaths that escape his lips. You think to say something and almost do, but then he crashes his lips against yours again. 

Demanding more. 

You feel yourself moving, Aemond guiding your movement, akin to the dance you shared in the great hall. Instinctively, you flinch when your shoulder blades collide with a marble pillar, causing you to bite down on his lip. 

A surprised hiss escapes his lips, followed by a low growl. 

Then, almost predictably, he dons his signature shit-eating smirk. He liked it. 

He hums as he lowers and plants a kiss on your neck, sucking a spot tender. "I think you missed me too, darling." Aemond has become a concoction of smugness and self-loathing, which makes for volatile tendencies as you witnessed in the Great Hall.

This won't make for a steady, healthy, calm affair. You just know it won't. But as he leaves a sure mark on your neck that causes the heat to pool down in your core, none of it matters.

You accept that Aemond is the poison you chose.

Gods, I'm starting to become melodramatic.

"Hmm?" he queries, and you realise that some of your private thoughts might have escaped the confines of your mind.

"Nothing."

He smirks, mostly to himself, gaze levelling with yours. He brings you closer, both hands gripping your waist, until your bodiced chest is pressed to the smooth leather of his tunic. From his height, he can't help but look down and enjoy the view.

A confession springs from his lips, without any hint of shame. "As much as you look good in that dress, darling," his gaze openly rakes over you, like a predator sizing up his prey, "it would look much more suited on the fucking floor."

Oh, damn him to the seven hells.

You’re so caught up in a haze, legs instinctively pressing together as a result of his lustful advances, that the oncoming clatter of heels against porcelain tile is almost imperceptible, but it snaps you out of it anyway.

“Aemond,” you grip his forearms and pry them away from you, having to use a bit more force now.

“Aemond!” Someone’s else voice echoes, closing in. It’s Alys, striding down the hall with sheer confidence. No doubt on her way to reclaim her date.

Her date. Not mine. What the hell am I doing?

You give him a withering look, and he straightens, folding his arms behind him.

“Alys,” he greets her coolly when she reaches the two of you.

“You can’t just run off like that,” she scolds, glancing at you just once before seemingly deciding you’re not worth the time. “They’re taking photos of everyone. You’re my partner. You need to present yourself with me.”

“There’s no rush,” Aemond says. And there truly isn’t. He knows that those bloody photographers would wait endlessly for him, of all people. No matter how long, just so they can get exclusive snaps of what people are deeming the return of the Prince of the City. “Give us a few minutes.”

"You've had more than a few minutes," Alys counters, unrelenting. Anyone else would've spun on their heel already, shirking under Aemond's pointed gaze. But not her. She's learned from having to deal with his moods.

And besides, he took her as his date. He owes her the satisfaction of having this as a part of her image. The city's most wanted bachelor with no one but her on his arm. Call her opportunistic, Alys doesn't care. This is the game, and she will play.

"Sweetheart," she says to you, the name not matching the condescension in her tone, "I believe Jace is looking for you too."

"Right, of course." You take a deep breath before finally walking away, hoping that the flush that's likely on your face doesn't give anything away.

Just before you pass by Alys, she says your name. Bringing a perfectly manicured finger to the corner of her lips, she dabs at it in some sort of gesture. "You've got a bit of lipstick there, sweetheart. Might want to tidy that up."

"Alys," Aemond warns, unamused by how Alys is sizing you up, like you're beneath her.

She knows. Of course she does.

Alys has a sneer that can make anyone feel like nothing but dirt on the sole of her high heels, but you stand your ground, despite the chill running up your spine. Her approach to you now is a drastic change from the friendly and poised confidence she sported when you first met her at the Targaryen penthouse.

Sparing Aemond a cursory glance, you address her with a self-assured smile of your own. "He's all yours. I'll leave you to it."

You feel both of them watch as you walk away. It might be all the glam and the buzz of the ball which leads to your next thought. Vain, but you let yourself have it anyway. Feeling like a runaway princess as your gown billows around your legs.

Aemond isn't yours. It was my mouth against his just a minute ago, his tongue dancing with mine.

When you return to the table, Jace immediately asks how it went, to which you just tiredly shrugged and said, "Uneventful."

He narrows his eyes at you. "You'll tell me later."

In the middle of your meal, Aegon approaches, clearly more sloshed drunk than he was before. Jace just watches him, with the calm recognition that this is not the uncle to watch out for.

"Hello, kids," Aegon leans against the table. He angles his head close to you, like he is about to divulge some secret. "Not that I was checking you out or anything, just saw it from where I was sitting over there and - "

"What do you want, Aegon?" Jace shakes his head, bored with his uncle's antics.

"Alright, alright!" Aegon playfully holds his hands up, wine glass and all. "No hostility from me, nephew. Just letting her know that maybe she should cover up my brother's work."

"What are you on about? Maybe drink some bloody water instead, mmm?" Jace counters.

His brother's work? Oh gods.

Your hand shoots up to your exposed neck, and the tender spot makes itself known as soon your fingers drift above it.

Jace's confused expression disappears when he realizes where your hand immediately went to. "Oh, really?"

You sigh guiltily. Scanning the table quickly, you don't find Aemond there to glare at. He must be posing for the cameras somewhere with his date. You find a friendlier face in Helaena, who catches on to your nervous expression.

She floats over to the small commotion of your little group, practically having to shove Aegon out of the way.

"You alright?" she asks sincerely, and you can't bring yourself to say, everything's fine, but I was wondering if you could lend me some concealer because your dear brother left something on my neck.

Thankfully, you don't have to. Or not thankfully, because Aegon does it for you in a way only he can.

Tapping on his own neck and gesturing to you, he explains, "Aemond's a monster, sis," through a graceless swig of firewine and then, "horny jail for him."

"Actually," he raises his arms like he's making some proclamation, "horny jail for both of you kids. Where is he anyway?"

"Leave it, Aegon." Helaena rolls her eyes, then offers her hand to you. "How about we run to the ladies room and take care of that?"

Thank the gods for Helaena.

"You owe me," she says, as the two of you head to the side of the hall, "and Aegon might be right."

"About what?"

She slaps your arm playfully, and you feign shock but a giggle slips out due to her expression.

"You and Aemond, I swear," she laughs dryly. "He's been even more sullen and emo since the accident - actually, the both of you have been - and now you're back to making out right in the middle of the ball!"

"We weren't - " you start to say, but you're met with Helaena's don't-you-dare kind of glare.

"It's your brother's fault, you know," you shrug as you enter the ladies room.

"Oh, I know," Helaena nods, pulling what she needs out of her purse. Right before she dabs concealer to the purplish spot on your neck, she can't help but smirk and add, "but still... horny jail for you."

- - - - - - - - - - 

Aemond doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

The cameraman clicks again, the damned flash is enough to blind his remaining eye.

Alys, being Alys, brought her own personal photographer to the ball. Which is fine, all things considered. She does this for every ball, every year. Aemond's well versed in her ways.

But for some reason, now it's driving him to be more irate.

She positioned them in a partially hidden alcove at the back of the hall. Something to do with a painting she wants to get captured as the background. But it's taking too long, and Aemond can sense the attention of some guests being piqued.

If they ask to take photos with him, too, Aemond just might pull off a runner and abandon the bloody ball.

But not without you.

Where were you anyway? One second you were at the table, then the next you were trailing after Helaena back out of the hall.

At least it was his sister you are with, and not Jacaerys. Or gods forbid, that degenerate Stark boy.

It wouldn't matter to Aemond that he's not his father's top boy, his most precious heir. Whatever pull he has with the Dragonstone empire, he will use against Winterfell Limited, if Cregan Stark ever thinks he can have his way with you.

He catches himself, mid-thought.

And she still thinks I'm not rotten.

"Aemond," Alys lightly digs her nails in his arm, smiling through gritted perfect teeth. "Smile, why don't you?"

"I am."

"Just one more."

So he does. Barely. But it's enough to placate her, and she quickly sifts through the photos.

Almost on instinct, like he's a moth drawn to your flame, he spies you and Helaena making your way back in the hall. Arm in arm, laughing to each other. You bite your lip as you lean in and whisper something in her ear, which makes her shake her head and laugh even harder.

Several heads turn as you pass by, and Aemond can't really blame them.

"Just like that," Alys says out the blue.

"What?" Aemond turns to her, unaware that she stands beside him once more, her photographer already dismissed.

"If only you smiled like that for our photos," she says. "It looks good on you."

Was he smiling? He didn't even notice.

You turn your head just before sitting back down at the table, and catch his eye even as he stands near the end of the hall.

You always will.

Aemond smiles.

- - - - - - - - - - 

preview: part six

You hear it. There's someone at your front door. Living alone has never given you much anxiety before, and you didn't think it would start tonight. But who could be knocking at your door past midnight, when you didn't buzz anyone in? You were never on close terms with your neighbours, either. 

You sit on your couch looking like a deer in headlights, staring at the door like it's supposed to silence the knocking. 

When did you get so wary? It could be Jace. It could be Helaena. But then again, they're not the type to show up unannounced. And also, you would have buzzed them -

Aemond's voice calls out your name, quieting your worries. 

You can sense hesitance in his tone. Almost embarrassed. Like he knows he shouldn't be here. 

"Aemond?" you find your voice, and go to open the door. You start to ask him just what the hell he's doing here, but the words get caught in your throat. 

"Hi, darling," he says weakly, obviously tired. "I didn't know where else to go." 

Something resembling a gasp escapes your lips when you fully take in the fresh bruise blooming under his right eye, in angry shades of maroon and violet. The skin split slightly, but thankfully his eye is untouched.

"Aemond, what - "

"Can I come in?"

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyv @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn

oh, Maroon...

My Aemondfire is decisively back <3 expect more of our favourite boy.

[velarisdusk]

Melted Resolve

Hockey AU | Helion x Reader x Tarquin

Series Masterlist Part 2 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 4 - Shattered

word count: 15k (i got carried away i'm so sorry they're so hot)

content: [ explicit sexual content, PIV (protected), oral sex (m&f receiving), voyeuristic elements, dirty talk, praise, degredation, light choking, public sex (rooftop setting), threesome, dominance/submission, overstimulation, hair pulling, cum play (kinda?), gagging with panties (sure you can guess where the cum play comes in now huh) | infidelity, alcohol, strong language, emotional conflict ] (if i missed any, and im sure i did, pls lmk)

summary: In the aftermath of a triumphant victory, you join the Vipers at a club they frequent downtown for a night of celebration. Yet, the shadow of past secrets lingers, especially with Rhysand and Azriel nearby. As the night unfolds, a secluded rooftop terrace leaves you grappling with exhilarating passion and profound guilt as you confront the weight of your choices.

author's note: first, this one is hot so strap in. second, appreciate how nice and fun and carefree things are rn... that's all :) EDIT: WAIT ALSO LMK IF YOU FIND TYPOS PLS ITS SO EMBARRASSING TO FIND THEM A WEEK LATER

The clink of shot glasses hitting the table was a sharp contrast to the thumping bass of the music around you. You felt the burning liquid slide down your throat, its fiery path leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Everyone around you cheered, the celebratory energy palpable.

Cassian sat beside you, his arm casually draped over the back of your seat. His laughter was warm and infectious as he watched Nesta try not to gag (“I fucking hate cinnamon, you all know that!”). The ambient noise of the club was a constant hum, punctuated by bursts of laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional cheer from the dance floor as a particularly popular song came on. The music was loud, the lyrics indistinct, but the beat infectious, making it impossible to sit still for long. You could feel the vibrations of the bass in your chest, matching the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

The VIP booth offered a perfect vantage point for watching the dance floor, bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors from the overhead lights. The air was thick with a mix of perfume, sweat, and the faint scent of spilled alcohol — a blend that was uniquely nightlife. Occasionally, a server would approach your booth, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease, balancing trays of drinks with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. 

You could taste the lingering sweetness of your cocktail on your lips, a fruity concoction that was deceptively potent, its effects buzzing pleasantly through your veins. Seated comfortably in the plush leather seats, the polished wood table in front of you was littered with empty glasses and half-finished cocktails from the past hour’s celebration. A bottle of champagne stood in the center, its neck adorned with a thin layer of condensation, glistening in the low light.

Your eyes drifted to the hookah in the center of the table. Elain, her face serene, took an expert drag, the smoke curling elegantly from her lips as she leaned back. Her ease with the hookah wasn’t surprising; you’d seen her with a cigarette more often than not these days. 

Around the booth, your friends were caught up in the joy of winning this evening’s game. Feyre and Elain were deep in conversation with Nesta and Gwyn, their faces alight with excitement. Emerie and Mor were dancing nearby, their movements fluid and carefree, drawing appreciative glances from those around them. Tarquin and Helion were engaged in a lively conversation, their gestures becoming more expressive with each drink. Tarquin seemed to glow under the club lights, his easy smile infectious. Helion, with his rich, dark hair and striking presence, seemed to catch eyes from all over, even while seated at the booth.

Despite the lively atmosphere, a knot of unease twisted in your stomach. It had been a little over a month since Tarquin sprained his ankle, leading to your encounter with Rhysand and Azriel. Since then, you'd been avoiding them, wary of getting too close or being alone with either of them; you were afraid of what you might do if you did. But tonight, they were impossible to ignore. You couldn't help but steal glances at them, the memories vivid and intrusive. Their presence was magnetic, drawing your eyes despite yourself, and you felt a pang of guilt each time you were caught looking.

Rhysand, in a black button-down with the first few buttons undone, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest, was lounging on the opposite side of the rounded booth. His piercing gaze occasionally met yours, making your stomach flip each time. You couldn't help but recall the feel of his toned, firm chest flush against yours that day in the locker room. And Azriel, dressed in a fitted dark grey shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders — the shoulders you’d seen tensing in the moments before he caught you watching, the ones you dug your nails into not 20 minutes later — stood leaned against the edge of the booth with his arms crossed. His hazel eyes were unreadable but no less intense.

Cassian’s laughter in your ear anchored you as your thoughts began to wander.

Noticing your tension, Tarquin placed his hand on your thigh. His warm touch rested against the skin left bare by your miniskirt. "You good?" he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the club’s noise, concern evident in his eyes. You nodded, offering him a reassuring smile, though it felt more like a grimace. The concern on his face didn't fully fade, but he let it go, returning to his conversation with Helion. His hand remained on your thigh.

Emerie and Mor returned from the dance floor just as the server arrived with another round of drinks. They squealed in delight, grabbing two fruity cocktails from the tray, their laughter bubbling over as they toasted to perfect timing. Mor, followed by Emerie, plopped down next to Azriel, her golden curls glowing in the club lights. The sudden movement caused Helion, then everyone else, to scoot over, filling the booth to capacity.

The table erupted into easy banter. Stories were swapped, each more outrageous than the last, and laughter rang out freely. Jokes flew back and forth, drawing everyone into the lively exchange.

“Did anyone catch Challengers last weekend?” Feyre asked, leaning back with a grin. The buzz of conversation dipped for a moment as she spoke.

Gwyn’s eyes lit up. “Yes, oh my God — it was wild!” she blurted out, her excitement making her words tumble out rapidly, the memory of the film still fresh and vivid.

Cassian leaned in. “Isn't that the one with the tennis players who all end up...?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, drawing laughter from around the table. 

“Yeah, there’s a pretty light threesome scene,” Nesta smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “The two guys end up making out.” Her tone was casual, but the corner of her lips quirked up.

“Them making out wasn’t even the best part,” you cut in, “it was the sexual tension between them. So hot.”

Mor grinned mischievously. “What do you all think about that kind of arrangement? Threesomes, I mean, not tennis.” She looked around the table with a teasing smile.

Azriel, leaning comfortably against the booth, took a long pull from his beer, hiding a smirk. 

“Eh, I’ve thought about it,” Feyre shrugged, “but I think I'd rather focus my attention on one person. Quality over quantity, you know? Maybe at some point though, I won’t rule it out entirely.” Her fingers absently traced patterns on the condensation of her glass. Her eyes darted briefly to Rhysand, a private, knowing look passing between them. You caught the exchange, your gaze lingering on Rhysand until he met your eyes. Your brows furrowed slightly, suspicion and curiosity crossing your face. He only shrugged, though you could tell it was an effort for him to keep his lip from twitching up into a smirk.

Nesta’s eyes glinted as she spoke. "Could be fun, if the mood strikes. Why not?" Her casual demeanor contrasted sharply with the weight of her words.

“You all already know where I stand on that." Helion’s smooth voice cut through the momentary lull in conversation, audible even above the pulsing beat of the club music and the buzz of surrounding patrons.

Tarquin tapped his fingers lightly on the polished wood, a teasing glint in his eyes as he looked about the table. “It’s all about finding the right balance.” His tone was playful, yet thoughtful, reflecting his careful consideration of the topic. 

Cassian, who had been jovially participating in the discussion, suddenly tensed beside you. His eyes darted to Tarquin's hand, then back to your face. 

With deliberate casualness, Cassian pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your shoulders. "Speaking of balance," he interjected, his voice light but with an undercurrent of challenge, only loud enough for you three to hear, "I think we’re tipping a bit too far into the ‘friendly’ side of things, don’t you?" His gaze pointedly dropped to Tarquin's hand.

Tarquin, ever smooth, simply smiled and gave your thigh a gentle squeeze before removing his hand. "No harm in a little friendliness," he responded, his tone light but eyes sharp, meeting Cassian's stare with a hint of amusement. The tension lingered for a moment before dissipating into the background noise of the club.

Rhysand finally spoke up, his voice smooth and casual. “Sometimes the most… intense experiences come when you least expect them,” he said, his gaze briefly meeting yours before shifting to Azriel. “Wouldn’t you agree, Az?” He only nodded in response, taking another swig of his beer.

As the conversation moved on, you caught Mor’s gaze traveling between the three of you, her expression unreadable behind her glass. You recalled that day in the locker room, her sharp eyes taking in your damp hair, the pointed questions at karaoke night. "Nothing happened," you'd insisted, but her skeptical look had spoken volumes. The unspoken warning hung in the air – if there was something to tell Cassian, you'd better do it before she found out.

Now, watching Mor's subtle scrutiny, you felt that familiar knot of unease tighten in your stomach. Her suspicions, it seemed, were far from laid to rest.

“I’ll go get us another round of shots,” you spoke over the music. A chorus of voices erupted, overlapping in their enthusiasm.

“Fireball!” (“No!”)

“Fruit loop shots!”

“How about gummy bear shots?”

With a roll of your eyes and a playful smirk, you cut through the chaos. “Alright, I’ll get a mix of those. Be right back.”

You slid out of the booth, and though most returned to their conversations, you felt the weight of eyes on you as you made your way to the bar. The crowd pulsed around you, bodies moving in sync with the music, but your mind was elsewhere. The knot of unease tightened with every step. 

At the bar, you flagged down the bartender, who greeted you with a dazzling smile. “What can I get you?”

“Can I get ten green tea shots, eight fruit loop shots, and eight gummy bear shots?” you replied, leaning in so he’d hear you over the thumping music.

He nodded, setting to work with practiced ease. As you waited, you glanced back at your friends but found yourself face-to-face with a broad, muscular chest.

“Want to let me in on what Rhysand was talking about?” Helion’s voice was smooth and teasing, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked down at you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, trying to sound casual despite the rush in your ears. If he’d picked up on it, who else might have noticed? Had Cassian just hidden it well?

“Relax,” he laughed lowly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. His hand was so large it wrapped over your shoulder, its warmth both reassuring and intimidating. “I don’t think anyone else caught it. But now you’ve got to explain what ‘it’ is, (y/n)…”

“No, seriously, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Rhys is drunk,” you say, surprisingly convincingly. Must have been the liquid courage. 

“Yes he is. And Rhys is an honest drunk, so wouldn’t you like for me to get him into an Uber before he…?”

You both fell silent, the thumping bass and clinking glasses of the club filling the void. The music was a distant roar, and the chatter around you felt like a heavy blanket, smothering the words you couldn’t quite say.

“This is extortion,” you say flatly. 

“I’m just looking out for you,” he said, a sly grin playing on his lips. “If you shed some light on this for me, I’ll make sure nothing slips that you don’t want slipping. Scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

You’d love to scratch that back. 

“What do you think he meant…?” You were trying to gauge how much you should reveal. 

“I know what he meant. I’m not stupid, and I’m not drunk yet. I want to hear you say it.”

Rhysand directed his question at Azriel, making eye contact with you as he did. Anyone with half a brain who caught that look would know what he meant.

“If you already know then there’s no use in me saying it.”

“Then I don’t know. I only have a suspicion that needs confirming,” he smirked. 

“… We did…” Your words were hardly audible, but it didn’t matter because he pressed. 

“‘We did’ what?”

With a roll of your eyes and a glance back at the booth, you loosed a sigh. The words came out almost in a whisper. “We fucked.”

“When?”

“A month or so ago. When Tarquin sprained his ankle.”

“That’s why you took so long with my phone,” a voice cut in, the tone somehow both cool and accusatory. Tarquin. 

You whipped your head around to face him but froze. When had he gotten behind you? How had you not noticed? You’d been facing the booth the entire time!

“I figured something was up when Cass looked pissed after you answered the phone. Once I heard you were stuck in the locker room with them? I mean, it practically writes itself, (y/n).” At the look on your face, he continued. “He doesn’t know, but he definitely suspects.”

Your heart pounded as you looked between Helion and Tarquin, trying to gauge their reactions. Both had a teasing glint in their eyes, clearly enjoying your discomfort.

“Why didn't you just tell me?" Tarquin asked, his voice laced with mock curiosity. "We could have had some fun with this."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. "Oh, shut up, it’s not like I meant for it to happen,” you muttered. 

Helion's hand, warm and solid, was still on your shoulder, his thumb absently tracing small circles that only added to your anxiety. “So, what now?" he asked, his tone playful. "Are you going to keep hiding it, or are you going to let us in on the fun?"

Before you could answer, the bartender returned with a tray laden with shots. “Here you go,” he said cheerfully, sliding the tray onto the bar. “Rhysand’s tab, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” you muttered, grateful for the distraction. You reached for the tray, desperate for an excuse to leave this conversation behind, but Helion’s hand finally left your shoulder and closed over your own.

“I’ll carry these,” he said smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to pull your hand back, but he held firm, his grip gentle but unyielding. “Helion, please...”

“No, I’m a gentleman.” He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “We’re not done talking about this. But for now, let’s get these back to the table. We don’t want anyone to get suspicious, do we?”

Reluctantly, you let him take the tray. Tarquin’s eyes followed you as you turned back toward the booth, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

As you slid back into your seat, the conversation around the table picked up again, oblivious to the tension that had just unfolded. Cassian’s arm found its way back around your shoulders, his laughter a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside you.

Helion placed the tray in the center of the table, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Shots, anyone?” he called out, his voice light and carefree. Hands from all around reached for them, liquid splashing out of glasses as they were pulled from the tray. 

“To a winning team, and good friends,” Cassian said, his voice warm. 

You forced a smile, lifting one of the glasses. “To good friends,” you said, your voice lost under everyone else’s.

The glasses clinked together, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be swept up in the revelry. But as you drank, you couldn’t help but wonder how much longer you could keep up this charade, and what would happen when it all came crashing down. 

Helion leaned closer to Cassian, who was engaged in an animated conversation with Eris, of all people. "Mind if I steal her for a dance?" Helion asked, his tone light but dripping with suggestion.

Cassian glanced at you, then back at Helion, a playful but knowing grin on his face. "Go ahead," he said, his voice tinged with possessive amusement. "Just make sure you bring her back in one piece."

Helion circled the table and extended his hand to you, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. “Shall we?”

You hesitated for a moment before taking his hand, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. As he led you to the dance floor, you glanced back at Cassian, who was now fully absorbed in his conversation with Eris.

The music pulsed around you, a steady beat that thrummed in your chest. He pulled you close, his hands resting lightly on your waist. You felt a bit tense, the events from earlier still lingering in your mind.

"Relax," Helion murmured in your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "We’re here to have a good time."

You nodded, trying to let go of your unease. Gradually, you began to sway with the rhythm, allowing yourself to get lost in the music. Helion’s touch was gentle but confident, guiding you with subtle movements. As you became more comfortable, your body moved more fluidly with his.

"That’s it, good girl," Helion murmured, his voice a soothing contrast to the thumping music.

The dance grew more intimate as he pulled you closer, his hands resting lower on your back. The closeness created a warm, almost electric tension between you. You found yourself responding to his movements, your bodies moving in sync.

Just then, Tarquin appeared beside you, slipping his arm around your waist. The sudden addition of his presence made the dance even more intense. Tarquin's proximity pressed you snugly between the two of them.

“Mind if I join in?” Tarquin’s voice was low, a playful edge to his tone.

You felt a flicker of anxiety and glanced around, briefly searching for Cassian. Instead, your gaze locked onto Eris, who stood at the edge of the dance floor. His eyes met yours for a moment, his expression unreadable but carrying a smirk that made your pulse quicken. As quickly as it came, the moment was gone. Tarquin gently turned your face back toward him, your chin in his grasp. “Hey, stay with us,” he said, his voice reassuring.

You relaxed slightly as their combined presence guided you through the dance. “Is this how you usually dance with someone?” you asked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Only when they’re as stiff as a board,” Tarquin replied with a chuckle. “You’re doing great, though.”

Helion smirked, his hand lingering on your hips as he moved in rhythm with you. “He’s right. And I’d say you’re better than anyone we’ve danced with tonight.”

You let out a soft laugh, trying to shake off the last of your nerves. “Well, I guess I have good company.”

Tarquin leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “If you keep this up, I might just want to keep you between us all night.” His words sent a shiver down your spine. 

Before you could look back at him in shock, Helion’s fingers tightened their grip, his voice low and teasing. “Careful, Tarquin. You might make her think she’s the center of the universe.”

With an arched brow, you looked at Helion and retorted with a playful smirk, “Well, aren’t I?”

Tarquin leaned closer to the man at your front. “You know, Helion” he murmured, “being the center of attention isn’t so bad. Especially when the attention comes from us.” Sensing the opportunity, he brought his lips to your ear. “If you keep that smile going, we might just find a few more ways to keep you entertained.”

You felt a flutter of anticipation, caught between the two of them as they moved against you. Helion’s touch was confident, and Tarquin’s words were a tantalizing promise of what might come next. You couldn’t help but feel drawn deeper into the flirtatious dance they were orchestrating.

Helion’s hands roamed slowly over your waist as he drew you closer, his touch electrifying against your skin. His lips grazed your ear, his voice a sultry whisper. “You’re doing a great job of keeping us entertained.”

You shivered at the sensation of their combined presence, their touches becoming increasingly intimate. Their movements were fluid, guiding you into a rhythm that was both exhilarating and intense. Helion’s grip tightened, pulling you against him as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your temple. “You feel so good like this,” he said softly.

You could feel the rising heat and the tantalizing pressure of their bodies against yours. The music seemed to fade away, leaving only the intense connection between the three of you. Each touch and whisper only deepened the charged atmosphere, making it hard to think of anything but the electric sensation of their attention.

After what felt like an eternity of heated dancing, you began to feel a wave of dizziness. You needed air. Sensing your discomfort, Tarquin and Helion exchanged a knowing look.

Tarquin’s hand found yours, his touch gentle but firm. “Let’s get some fresh air,” he suggested, his voice a soothing contrast to the earlier heat.

Helion nodded in agreement, slipping an arm around you for support. “We know just the place.”

Guiding you through the crowd, they led you toward a quieter area. They approached a security guard stationed at the door to the stairs leading to the rooftop terrace. The guard eyed the VIP bands on your wrists and let you all through without a word. As you ascended the stairs, Helion slipped the guard a generous tip, murmuring, “Don’t let anyone else up.”

As you reached the rooftop, the cool night air hit you like a refreshing breeze, cutting through the lingering heat from the club. The city lights stretched out before you, their twinkle a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos below.

Tarquin and Helion led you to a corner of the terrace. The space was elegantly furnished with plush seating and low tables, providing a serene escape from the pulsating energy inside.

Tarquin gestured to a comfortable chaise lounge. “Here, sit down. You look like you could use a minute.”

You took a seat, grateful for the respite. Helion moved to a nearby table and poured you a glass of cool water from a pitcher. “This should help,” he said with a reassuring smile as he handed it to you.

The chill of the water was soothing, and you drank it down eagerly, feeling the dizziness start to subside. Tarquin settled down beside you, his proximity warm and comforting, while Helion took a seat on the other side, his gaze flicking between you and the cityscape.

“So, how are you feeling now?” Tarquin asked, his voice soft.

“Much better, thanks,” you replied, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. “I just needed a break.”

Helion leaned back, a casual, knowing smile on his lips. “You know, fresh air is nice, but it’s even better with the right company.” He glanced at you with a twinkle in his eye.

Tarquin tilted his head, his grin more genuine. “And I think I recall you saying we’re wonderful company.”

Still looking straight ahead, you replied, “I don’t know about wonderful; I think the word I used was ‘good.’”

Helion’s smile widened. “I’d say ‘good’ is an understatement. Let us prove it to you,” his smile turned into a smirk. “We could make this night a lot more interesting.”

You turned to face him, your eyes flashing with a mix of resolve and irritation. You had given them the benefit of the doubt when they danced with you, assuming it was just the heat of the moment or perhaps a bit of playful flirtation. But now that you were alone with them on the terrace… You had sensed the shift the moment they suggested stepping away from the crowd, their casual touches and lingering glances all hinting at an underlying agenda.

“No, I’m not interested,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the cool night air as you turned to face Tarquin on your other side. “I came up here for some air, not to be part of a game.” The words came out sharper than you intended.

Tarquin’s grin faltered slightly but then softened as he leaned in, his voice gentle but persistent. “You’ve been with Rhys and Az. We’re all here, and it seems a shame to waste the opportunity when we’re all just looking for a good time.”

The comment hit you hard, a sting of anger flaring up. “A good time?” you echoed, disbelief lacing your voice. “You think just because I’ve been with them, you’re somehow entitled to your turn? I don’t owe you anything.”

Helion stepped in, his expression a mix of charm and a hint of irritation. “We’re not trying to make you feel pressured,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Tarquin. “We’re just offering you a chance to enjoy the night with us.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not interested in being part of some game or fulfilling some sort of quota. I’m not going around sleeping with everyone on the team just because they’re interested. If that were the case, this would’ve all been over and done with years ago when you all seemed to lose the ability to keep your mouths shut and be respectful of Cassian and I’s relationship.”

Helion shrugged. “We’re not trying to force anything. Just… We’re here, and you’re here. It could be fun, that’s all.”

Tarquin’s tone grew more earnest. “If you’re not into it, that’s fine. But don’t act like it’s a big deal. We’re just having fun, same as everyone else.”

You took a deep breath, holding your ground. “Two other people are not ‘everyone else.’ I’m not about to give in just because you think you have a right to it.”

Tarquin’s expression softened further, a mix of frustration and something like sympathy in his eyes. “I get that. I really do. But we’re all adults here, and it’s not like we’re asking for anything serious. Just one night.”

He slid his hand to your thigh, the touch lingering with a slow, deliberate caress. The heat from his palm contrasted sharply with the cool night air. His touch was just as it had been in the booth, but now, with Cassian absent, there was no one to reprimand his advances.

Helion, sensing the slight crack in your resolve, leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a more intimate tone. “You’re overthinking it. It’s just us here, and we’re not asking for anything more than what you’re willing to give. It’s not about entitlement; it’s about enjoying each other.” His hand grazed your shoulder lightly, pushing your hair to the side. His proximity heightened the tension between you all. The warmth of his breath against your ear as he spoke made it hard to ignore the growing desire within you.

You felt the weight of their combined pressure, the playful but persistent charm starting to chip away at your defenses. Despite yourself, you began to question if it was worth fighting against this particular tide. The idea of one more night of reckless indulgence, without any deeper expectations, seemed to blur the line between wrong and thrilling.

You sighed, a conflicted look crossing your face. “I just don’t want to be treated like a prize to be won or a notch on a belt.”

Tarquin’s tone grew more soothing. “We’re not treating you like that. We just thought you might enjoy it. But if you’re not up for it, we can drop it. No hard feelings.”

Helion nodded, his gaze steady and reassuring. “We just want to make sure you’re having as much fun as we are. There’s no pressure.”

You hesitated, the words of their argument settling in your mind. Though part of you was still set on holding firm, you weren’t blind to the coercion in their tone. Of course there was pressure, they’d been pressuring you the whole time. However true, the temptation was hard to ignore. The night was young, and despite your reservations, the allure of a reckless escape with them was incredibly enticing.

You took a deep breath, weighing the tension in the air against your growing desire. You glanced at both Tarquin and Helion, a mix of defiance and resignation in your eyes. 

“Fine,” you said, your voice steady but laced with a hint of vulnerability. “But if I do this, it stays between us. No talking about it, no bragging. Just... tonight. Agreed?”

Tarquin’s eyes lit up with a mix of relief and excitement. “Absolutely,” he said quickly, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Helion nodded in agreement, his eyes darkening. “We won’t say a word.”

The air between you shifted, the unspoken agreement hanging heavy. Tarquin leaned closer, the hand on your thigh rubbing and squeezing. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, heightening the anticipation.

Helion’s hand slid to your lower back, his touch both firm and gentle. “You sure you want this?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves and excitement. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m sure.”

The three of you were enveloped in the dim light of the terrace, the cool air and their hands roaming over your body raised goosebumps across your skin as they explored with a mix of gentleness and urgency. Every caress was a mix of gentleness and urgency, heightening the anticipation as the city lights below seemed to blur into insignificance.

Tarquin’s lips found yours first, his kiss slow and exploratory. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his tongue traced the contours of your mouth. The kiss deepened, his lips moving with a controlled passion that made your heart race. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering intensity.

“God, you’re stunning,” Tarquin murmured, his voice low and husky. He let his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer until you were pressed against him. His touch was warm and possessive, sending shivers through you.

Helion, observing with a burning gaze, slid his hands to your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you toward him. As you shifted, he pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips grazing your skin in a teasing manner. His hands traveled down your arms, fingers lightly grazing your skin before finding the curve of your hips.

Tarquin’s hands slipped beneath your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. With a playful grin, he shifted you onto his lap, your legs straddling him. His hands explored your back, fingers dancing over your skin as he leaned in to kiss you again, more urgently this time. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, trailing soft bites and kisses that made you gasp.

“You feel incredible,” Tarquin breathed against your skin. 

Helion’s hands were now roaming over your sides, his touch firm but tender as he leaned in to whisper in your ear. “What a perfect girl, just for us,” he said, his breath hot against your skin. His lips brushed against the edge of your ear as he placed soft kisses along your jawline.

The two of them worked in tandem, their touches synchronized and perfectly attuned to your responses. Helion’s hands found their way to your chest, fingertips lightly grazing your curves, while Tarquin’s lips continued to worship your neck and shoulders. He would occasionally lift his gaze to meet yours, his eyes filled with admiration and hunger.

Tarquin’s hands moved from your thighs to your hips, guiding you to move against him as he pulled you closer. His grip tightened slightly, his touch conveying both dominance and affection. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice full of awe. Helion’s hands were equally attentive, tracing the lines of your body with meticulous care. His lips followed the path his fingers traced, placing lingering kisses that made you shiver with pleasure.

You moaned softly as their touches and kisses ignited your senses, but a playful glint appeared in your eyes. You arched your back slightly, pushing against Tarquin’s chest, and let out a breathy laugh. “So, is this how you two always work your charm? Sweet talk and flattery?”

Tarquin’s lips curled into a smirk, his breath warm on your neck as he whispered, “Only when it’s truly deserved. And believe me, you’re worth every word.”

Helion’s hands paused momentarily as he looked into your eyes, his expression both mischievous and earnest. “I thought you’d appreciate the honesty,” he said, his voice smooth. 

You arched an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips as you met Helion’s gaze. “Honesty, huh? Seems like you both have a knack for turning compliments into a game.”

“Well, if the game’s as enjoyable as this, who are we to complain?” Tarquin’s grin widened, his hands still exploring your back with a touch that was both gentle and possessive.

Helion leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “It’s not just about the words. It’s about making you feel as incredible as you look.”

You shivered at the sensation, the mix of his breath and his touch sending jolts of pleasure through you. “And if I call you out on it?” you challenged, your voice teasing despite the breathless quality it carried.

Tarquin’s fingers danced over your hips, his eyes never leaving yours. “Call us out all you want. We’re still here, giving you exactly what you want.” He ground you down harder onto himself, and you felt the hard outline of his cock through the fabric of his pants. “You do want this, don’t you?” You nod in response.

“Mhm, want it so bad,” you murmur before crashing your lips back onto his. The two of them continued their relentless pursuit of pleasure, their hands and mouths finding new ways to torment you. The atmosphere on the terrace grew more charged with every passing second, your body caught in a whirlwind of sensation. Tarquin’s hands were warm and commanding, his touch making every part of you throb with need. Your shared kiss was deep and demanding as he guided your movements with a blend of passion and control.

Helion’s hands were relentless, his touch exploring every curve of your body with a mix of urgency and reverence. He leaned in to press kisses along your collarbone, his lips brushing against your skin with a teasing, hot breath. His voice was a velvety whisper in your ear, his words a mix of praise and persuasion. “You’re doing so well, so good for us. You’re exactly what we wanted.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down to cup your breasts, his fingers gently kneading and teasing. The pleasure was almost overwhelming, every touch making you writhe against Tarquin’s body. “You like that, don’t you?” Helion’s voice was dripping with both admiration and a hint of something darker.

The edge of humiliation combined with the praise made your cheeks flush, your head spinning with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. “Yes,” you gasped into Tarquin’s mouth, “I like it, I want it.”

Tarquin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you as he rolled his own body against yours. “That’s it,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “Tell us how much you want it.”

“Mmm, I want it so badly,” you moaned against his lips, your words barely audible as you ground down on him. The friction was almost unbearable, your body a hot, trembling mess of desire.

Helion’s hands roamed lower, his fingers sliding under your skirt and between your legs, teasing and stroking with practiced ease. He pressed a finger against your clothed clit, his touch sending electric jolts through your body. “Look at you,” he said with a smirk, “so eager, so ready for us. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Your response was a breathless, needy whimper, your body arching into his touch. “Yes, I’m a good girl.”

As the intensity of their touch grew, so did your need for more. Tarquin’s hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch of you with an almost reverent touch. His kisses were feverish, trailing down your neck and shoulders, his breath warm and urgent against your skin.

Helion’s fingers deftly worked you to the edge of pleasure. Just as you threw your head back in pleasure, he stole your lips into a kiss with a fierce hunger as his touch grew more insistent. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured between kisses. “You’re making us both so proud.”

The mix of their touches was almost too much to bear, your body quivering with need as they continued their relentless pursuit. Tarquin’s hands slid to your thighs, spreading your legs further apart to allow Helion better access. The air was thick with the sound of your moans and their encouraging praise, every sound heightening the intensity of the moment.

Finally, the need for release became too much to contain. The tension in your body reached its peak, and with a final, shuddering cry of pleasure, you came undone. Helion’s hands continued their relentless work, Tarquin’s grip on you tighter than ever as you experienced an intense, mind-blowing climax.

The overwhelming pleasure of your climax still rippling through you, Helion didn’t waste a moment. He guided you gently but firmly, easing you off Tarquin’s lap and settling you on his own. Your back pressed against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, his grip both possessive and reassuring. You felt his hardened arousal pressing against your back as he adjusted your position.

“Sit up and lean back,” Helion instructed softly, his breath hot against your ear as he pulled your skirt up to your waist. “Tarquin’s going to taste you now.” You complied, your legs parting as Helion held you steady, guiding your legs open wider, exposing you completely. Tarquin wasted no time, finding his way to your most sensitive spots. He nosed over the thin fabric covering your cunt, inhaling your scent deeply. With a whine, you tried to look away, but Helion chastised you, telling you that good girls watched the person making them feel good, and you’re a good girl, right?

You looked back in time to see Tarquin pulling your underwear off slowly, kissing his way down one leg, and kissing his way back up the other. You watched him give Helion the soaked-through flimsy bit of cloth, then threw your head back into Helion’s chest with a choked gasp as he licked a stripe up your center. 

His tongue moved with practiced skill, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You moaned, your hands gripping Helion’s thighs for support as Tarquin’s mouth worked its magic.

Helion’s hands roamed your body, his touch both commanding and adoring. “Be good,” he murmured, his voice low and dominant. “Hold your legs open for Tarquin. Show him how much you want this.”

You adjusted your position, holding your legs apart as instructed. Helion’s hands traveled over your torso, fingers lightly grazing your skin and heightening every sensation. His voice was a mixture of praise and filth. “Look at you, all exposed and eager. Tell him how much you need him,” Helion demanded, his voice rough with desire. “Tell him what a good girl you are, that you’re here to make him feel amazing.”

You gasped out your responses, the pleasure from Tarquin’s mouth mingling with Helion’s dominant words. “I need you so much, Tarquin,” you moaned. “I’m a good girl, I’ll do whatever I can to make you both feel good.”

Tarquin’s eyes flicked up to meet yours as he continued his relentless work, a satisfied smirk on his lips. Helion’s hands roamed over your body with an almost worshipful touch, his words a mix of admiration and explicit praise.

“You’re doing so well,” Helion continued, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re making us both so proud. Stay like this, just for us.” As Tarquin’s tongue continued its relentless, pleasurable assault, Helion’s grip tightened around you. “Make sure she feels every bit of your attention. I want to hear her scream for you.” His voice was commanding, and laced with an underlying menace.

Tarquin’s eyes flicked up to meet Helion’s, a glimmer of challenge and excitement in his gaze. He intensified his efforts, his tongue moving with greater urgency, the pleasure he gave you unmistakable.

Large hands roamed over your body from behind, guiding you with deliberate touches, but his gaze remained fixed on Tarquin. “You’re doing well, Tarquin, so good for us. But if she comes before I say so, you won’t be finishing tonight. Understand?”

Tarquin’s nod was firm, a mix of eagerness and a hint of defiance in his expression. He focused even more intently on you, his mouth working skillfully to elicit every possible reaction from you. The pleasure was building rapidly, each flick of his tongue drawing the most beautiful, shameless sounds from your lips. Helion’s voice dropped to a low, teasing growl. “Show her how much you want this. Don’t hold back. Make sure she knows just how lucky she is to have us both.”

The pleasure was overwhelming, a swirling vortex of sensation that made it impossible to think of anything but the two men driving you to the brink of ecstasy. Tarquin’s tongue was relentless, each stroke deliberate and calculated, as if he were determined to prove himself under Helion’s watchful eye.

Helion’s hand gripped your chin, tipping your head slightly so you were forced to watch Tarquin’s devotion. “Look at him on his knees,” Helion murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “See how desperate he is to please you? To prove he’s worthy? Tell him how good he’s making you feel. Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Your breath hitched at the command, but the words tumbled from your lips in a breathless moan. “Tarquin, you’re so good… so good at this.” Your praise seemed to spur him on, his efforts becoming even more fervent.

“And…?”

At that moment, Tarquin plunged two fingers into you. “And you’re a good boy— Fuck, you’re such a good fucking boy!” you practically sobbed.

Helion chuckled darkly, clearly pleased by your compliance. His hand slid down your body, his touch firm and possessive. “Don’t be rude, thank her.”

Tarquin’s groan vibrated against your core, his tongue still working its magic even as his eyes flickered up to meet Helion’s gaze. There was a fire in his eyes, determination and submission that made your pulse race when his eyes met yours. He pumped his fingers in and out as he spoke against you. “Thank you,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “You taste so good, so sweet… I want to make you feel everything, tell me how to make you feel good.”

He added a gentle, teasing bite to your thigh, his tone turning possessive but still with a hint of deference, as he met your gaze again. "I’ll give you everything you need, whatever you want, just say the word." His words were meant for both of you.

Helion’s hand snaked down between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your clit with a teasing pressure. “Go ahead,” he told him with a knowing smile, and Tarquin’s eyes seemed to light up as he pulled his fingers out and dove back into you. A groan spilled out of you as his tongue worked, not at your dripping arousal, but further down, at the sensitive, puckered skin of your asshole.

Helion’s touch was maddeningly gentle as he continued to tease you, his fingers ghosting over your sensitive skin with a practiced ease. “You’re doing so well,” he praised, his voice dark and sultry, “giving yourself to us like this. You’re a perfect girl, aren’t you? So ready for us.”

You moaned, the combination of Tarquin’s skilled tongue and Helion’s filthy words driving you to the edge. But you knew better than to let yourself go without permission. The thrill of holding back, of teetering on the brink while they pushed you to your limits, was almost as intoxicating as the pleasure itself.

Tarquin let out a deep, guttural sound of agreement, his efforts redoubling as he focused entirely on your pleasure. He was determined to draw out your ecstasy, to make you tremble with the need to come while obeying Helion’s command.

Helion’s hand continued to roam over your body, his touch both comforting and possessive. “You’re ours tonight,” he whispered against your temple. 

Your breath caught in your throat, your body quivering with the need to let go. “Please,” you begged, your voice trembling as they both worked you closer to the edge. “Please, I need to… I need to come.”

Helion’s grip on your chin tightened, forcing you to keep your eyes locked on Tarquin. “No,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not yet. You’ll come when I say, and not a moment before.”

Tarquin let out a groan of frustration against you but didn’t dare slow down. The denial of release made every flick of his tongue, every squeeze of his fingernails into your thighs, feel like a delicious torment. You were so close, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

Helion’s fingers brushed over your lips, and you instinctively parted them, taking them into your mouth. His smirk widened. “Good girl,” he purred. “But you’re getting a bit too loud — isn’t she getting too loud?” Tarquin’s nod was the only indication he heard him, because his movements never faltered. 

Without warning, the fingers in your mouth pulled your lips further apart, and you barely had a moment to process what was happening before he shoved your balled-up panties into your mouth, muffling your desperate moans. The taste of your own arousal on the fabric only heightened the humiliation, and you felt a fresh wave of heat pool in your core.

Tarquin’s eyes flared with lust as he watched, his breathing ragged. He didn’t let up for a second, his tongue continuing its relentless assault, poking and prodding and sucking at your hole, while Helion leaned down to nibble at the exposed edge of the panties now stuffed in your mouth. He inhaled deeply through his nose, taking in your scent. “Can’t wait to taste you on Tarquin’s tongue,” Helion growled, his voice dripping with dark desire. “You’re going to be so good for us, aren’t you?”

Your muffled cries of pleasure grew louder, your entire body shaking with the effort of holding back. Tarquin’s mouth was everywhere, licking and teasing, pushing you further to the brink until you were sure you couldn’t take it anymore. You were a trembling mess, teetering on the edge of bliss, but you knew you had to wait, had to endure until Helion decided you’d earned it. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge. Your mind swam in a sea of need as they both continued to push you further and further. The humiliation of the situation only added to your arousal, and you knew you were at their mercy, utterly helpless to resist. Every second felt like an eternity, the anticipation building to a crescendo that threatened to consume you entirely.

Your body was a trembling mess, the overwhelming need for release making it impossible to think of anything but the searing pleasure consuming you. Helion’s fingers rubbed you fervently, with more pressure and speed. Tarquin’s mouth was relentless, his tongue swirling and teasing you in a way that made your head spin. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his nails, sent you spiraling closer to the edge, your willpower slipping with every passing second.

Helion’s voice was a low, commanding growl in your ear. “Hold on just a little longer. You’re being so good for us.”

But the tension in your body was unbearable. Your moans were muffled by the panties stuffed in your mouth, but even that couldn’t silence the desperate, pleading sounds escaping you. The pressure was too much, the pleasure too intense, and despite Helion’s command, you felt yourself slipping.

Tarquin’s tongue found that perfect spot and everything inside you unraveled. Your body bucked against him, a muffled scream of ecstasy escaping your lips as you came hard, the orgasm tearing through you with a force that left you trembling.

Helion’s eyes darkened instantly, his hand tightening on your chin as he realized what had happened. Tarquin paused for a moment, his eyes wide as he looked up at Helion, then back down at you, a mix of shock and concern flickering across his face. He knew you were in trouble now, but he didn’t dare move, his mouth still hovering close to you.

Helion’s grip on your chin was firm as he forced your head back to meet his gaze. “You disobeyed me,” he said, his voice calm but filled with an underlying threat. He pulled the panties from your mouth, letting them dangle from his fingers as he eyed you with a mix of disappointment and desire.“I told you not to come until I gave you permission, and you couldn’t even do that. What happened? Don’t you think that was selfish of you? Do you not want to be our perfect girl?”

You could only whimper in response, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. You didn’t know whether you should answer or hold your tongue, but when you opened your mouth to steady your breaths, he dropped the fabric onto the chaise and gripped your throat. It was just enough to make you gasp for breath, as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. “Since you couldn’t control yourself, we’re going to make sure you learn some restraint. And you’re going to thank us for it.”

He glanced down at Tarquin, who was still watching with concern and excitement, his eyes flickering with a strange kind of submission. “Keep going,” Helion ordered, his voice firm. “I didn’t say you could stop. But don’t give her your tongue. She doesn’t deserve it.”

Tarquin’s gaze met Helion’s, a silent understanding passing between them. Without hesitation, he moved his mouth away from your skin and positioned his fingers at your entrance. The slow, deliberate way he slid them inside you sent a shudder through your body, but it wasn’t enough—not after the climax you’d already stolen.

Helion’s grip on your throat tightened slightly, a warning, as his other hand moved to cover Tarquin’s, guiding the pace. Tarquin rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb, but the pressure was teasing, not nearly enough to push you back over the edge.

“You don’t get to come,” Helion growled in your ear, his tone harsh. “You’ll suffer through this until I say otherwise. Tarquin, make sure she feels everything—but don’t give her what she wants. Make her squirm.”

Tarquin’s fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made your back arch involuntarily, but just as quickly, he slowed down, drawing out your torture. His thumb circled your clit, the sensation driving you wild, but it wasn’t enough to bring you the relief you so desperately craved.

Helion’s dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you struggle, your body caught between the pleasure of Tarquin’s fingers and the denial of the orgasm you could feel building again. The hand that he’d had over Tarquin’s came firmly over your mouth, quieting you further. He leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek as he whispered, “You want to come, don’t you? You want it so badly… but you don’t deserve it yet.” Your muffled moans only grew louder. “You’re going to thank us for this later,” he said, a sadistic edge to his voice you’d never heard. “You’re going to learn what it means to be good.”

Tarquin’s fingers continued their relentless, teasing pace, keeping you right on the edge, but never letting you tip over. The frustration was overwhelming, every nerve in your body screaming for release, but you knew better than to disobey Helion’s command again. All you could do was writhe under their control, every inch of your skin tingling.

Tarquin’s fingers faltered for just a moment, his frustration evident as he looked up at you, then Helion, then back at you. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” he muttered, his voice low and laced with a mix of annoyance and disappointment. His thumb pressed harder against your clit, but the movement was rougher now, more punishing than teasing. “I hope it was worth it,” he added, his tone cold. “Because now, you’ve made things a lot more difficult for both of us.” He withdrew his fingers just enough to make you whine in protest, then plunged them back in with a sharp thrust, his thumb rubbing against you in tight, controlled circles. “I was looking forward to feeling you come apart on my tongue,” he continued, the frustration clear in his voice.

Helion smirked, clearly enjoying the shift in Tarquin’s demeanor. “That’s right,” he murmured, his voice full of approval. “She doesn’t get to come just because she feels like it.”

Tarquin’s eyes darkened as he focused on you, his frustration at losing his own chance at orgasm fueling his actions as he continued to work you with his fingers. The sensation was intense, the pleasure building in maddening waves, but you knew it wouldn’t be enough to push you over the edge again.

“Do you see what happens when you don’t listen?” Tarquin growled, his thumb circling your clit with that same punishing pressure. “If you’d just been good… if you’d just followed the rules, you’d have everything you want by now. But instead…” His fingers curled inside you, hitting that perfect spot with maddening precision, only to slow down again. “Instead you’re here, squirming, desperate, and unsatisfied.”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a hushed, almost tender tone that contrasted sharply with the frustration in his actions. “Just listen to what we say, and you’ll get everything you want,” he whispered, his breath fanning over your chest. “Be good for us, and I’ll make sure you come so hard you’ll be begging for more. But if you can’t do that…” His fingers withdrew almost entirely before plunging back in with a hard thrust. “You’ll just keep losing out, won’t you?”

Helion’s eyes gleamed with a dark, amused light as he observed the dynamic between you and Tarquin. His hands roamed over your hips, giving a firm, possessive grip before he gently, yet firmly, moved you off of him. He guided you to the side, his hands leaving you with a deliberate, almost teasing touch. 

“Now, let’s see how well you can handle this,” Helion purred, his voice low and filled with a dangerous edge. He gestured toward the loveseat diagonal to the chaise with a commanding flick of his wrist. “Sit there.”

With a mix of frustration and anticipation, you obeyed, positioning yourself as instructed. Helion’s gaze followed you with a smirk, clearly enjoying the control he held over the situation. He turned his attention back to Tarquin, who was still kneeling on the floor before him, a hungry look in his eyes as he waited for Helion’s direction.

“Since you seem to have forgotten your manners, (y/n),” Helion said, his tone dripping with a mix of amusement and authority, “I think it’s only fair you watch us have our fun. After all, you’ve had your moment of pleasure.”

Your eyes widened as you took in his words, and again when he leaned closer to Tarquin, their faces almost touching as they shared a private moment of wickedly seductive conversation. Tarquin’s eyes were locked onto Helion’s, his expression one of fierce desire.

You could only watch, your frustration mingling with undeniable arousal, as Helion and Tarquin engaged in a mesmerizing display of passion and power. Each touch, each kiss, each groan of pleasure, was a reminder of what you were missing out on, and the sight of them together only heightened your longing for what you were being denied.

Helion’s eyes met yours briefly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Enjoy the show,” he said softly, his voice carrying a promise of more to come. “And remember, this is what happens when you don’t play by the rules.”

You pulled your skirt back down, the soft fabric smoothing against your thighs as you adjusted it nervously. The urge to leave was strong—one part of you screamed to escape this tantalizing torment. But as you remained in place, your gaze was magnetically drawn back to them, to Tarquin now climbing into Helion’s lap. The way their bodies moved together was mesmerizing.

Helion's dark eyes glittered with a blend of satisfaction and challenge as he pulled Tarquin closer, their bodies pressing together in a heated embrace. His fingers tangled in Tarquin’s hair, guiding their kisses with a possessive hunger. But Tarquin’s expression remained fierce, his grip on Helion’s hips assertive and unyielding. Despite Helion’s commanding presence, Tarquin's actions spoke of his own dominance, a constant push and pull of control.

Tarquin’s hands roamed over Helion’s body with a possessive edge. His fingers dug into Helion’s sides, pulling him closer, while his lips left a trail of heated kisses that spoke volumes about his own claims and desires. He was relentless, his movements calculated, his strength palpable. Even as Helion leaned into the pleasure, he met Tarquin’s intensity with a smirk, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. The physical clash between them was electric. Tarquin’s lithe but muscular frame contrasted with Helion’s broader build, their bodies weaving together in a dance of dominance and resistance. Helion's laughter was low, a sound of both approval and defiance, as Tarquin’s hands explored every inch of his body, making it clear that while Helion might lead, Tarquin was more than willing to fight for his share of control.

The breeze made their hair flutter, intertwining like threads of dark and light silk, adding to the primal beauty of their struggle for dominance. Tarquin’s fingers gripped Helion’s jaw, forcing him to meet his gaze as their breaths mingled. “You think you can control everything?” Tarquin murmured, his voice a dangerous mix of challenge and desire. “Prove it.”

Helion's smirk never wavered as he met the challenge head-on, his hands pushing back with equal fervor. “Always up for a challenge,” he replied, his voice dripping with confidence. 

As you watched, your thoughts wandered briefly. The intensity of their interaction made you wonder if you could ever convince Cassian to explore something like this. The idea was fleeting, a mere whisper in your mind, but the image of Cassian in a similar dance of power and desire with another man stirred something deep within you.

Helion's gaze met yours. "Look at you, so eager and yet so helpless," he said, his voice soft but laced with an edge of mockery. "You’ve got quite the view, don’t you? It’s a shame you can’t join in, but maybe that’s just the lesson you needed."

Tarquin chuckled softly, his hands still roaming over muscled planes as he looked back at you. "But don’t worry, we won’t forget about you," he said, his tone slightly softer, though still carrying a teasing note. "We’ll give you a chance to be good again—just as soon as we’ve had our fun."

Their bodies moved together with a seamless rhythm, each touch and thrust a testament to their shared control. Helion’s hands roamed confidently over Tarquin’s chest, tracing the contours of his muscles with a possessive touch. Tarquin responded with equal fervor, his own hands sliding over Helion’s back, pulling him closer as their hips ground together in a slow, deliberate dance.

The intensity of their connection was palpable. Helion’s lips found Tarquin’s neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin with a teasing bite. Tarquin’s breathing hitched, his eyes closing as he savored the sensation. They moved in unison, their bodies pressing together with dominance and intimacy. Without breaking their rhythm, Tarquin’s hands slipped down to his pants, deftly undoing them with practiced ease. He pulled out his cock, the sight of it making your eyes darken with lust. Helion, never missing a beat, did the same, exposing his own hardened length.

Tarquin wrapped his hand around both of their cocks, his grip firm and purposeful. He guided their movements, the friction of his hand creating a rhythm that was both intense and exhilarating. Helion moaned softly against his skin, his fingers digging into Tarquin’s shoulders as he matched the rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect harmony.

As their pleasure mounted, the focus shifted entirely between them, the external world fading away. Helion’s breath grew ragged, his hands gripping Tarquin’s hips with a desperate intensity. “Fuck,” Helion growled, his voice a rough whisper against the other’s ear. “You feel so good. I can’t get enough of you.”

Tarquin’s response was a deep, throaty moan, his hand still moving between them, guiding their rhythm. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice heavy with desire. “You know how much I love it when you’re like this. So intense, so fucking demanding.”

Helion’s eyes fluttered closed as he lost himself in the sensation, his hips driving harder against Tarquin’s hand. “Seeing you like this, giving it all to me…” he breathed, his voice a low rumble.

Tarquin’s grip tightened, a primal growl escaping him as he pushed into Helion with renewed vigor. “And you’re not the only one getting a show,” he said, his voice thick with lust. “Imagine how she’s watching us. She’s so fucking desperate, watching every move we make. And here we are, just enjoying each other, giving her a taste of what she can’t have.” The intensity between them grew, their bodies moving in a fevered dance of lust and dominance. Each kiss, each touch, was a testament to their mutual craving, their voices blending in a symphony of pleasure.

Helion’s climax hit with a shuddering breath, his head falling back as he released into Tarquin’s waiting hand, cupping over them to stop the mess. The muscles in his body tensed, his grip on Tarquin’s shoulders tightening as he rode out the waves of pleasure.

Tarquin, still grinding against him, smirked as he felt Helion’s release spill over his fingers. He made a move to take himself over the edge, but Helion’s hand was suddenly on his chest, firm and commanding. “No,” Helion murmured, his voice breathless but authoritative.

With a frustrated growl that went straight to your already throbbing cunt, Tarquin collected the remnants of release. His gaze flicked to Helion, who leaned in close, whispering something into his ear. Whatever he said made Tarquin’s eyes light up with dark amusement, and a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.

Without a word, Tarquin stood and walked over to where you sat, still bound by the torment of watching them together. “Open up,” he commanded, his voice soft but leaving no room for argument. Your eyes widened at the implication, but you obeyed, parting your lips.

Tarquin’s smile grew as he brought his hand closer to your mouth, but instead of what you expected, he reached for your discarded underwear. His eyes locked onto yours as he used the delicate fabric to clean his hand. Then, with a satisfied smirk, he shoved the now-damp underwear back into your mouth. “There,” he murmured, his voice low and mocking. “Hold on to that for us.”

Helion’s dark eyes traced the line of your body, his gaze intense as he watched you struggle with the fabric stuffed back into your mouth. He let the tension build for a moment before speaking, his voice low and smooth. “Are you ready to be good now?” he asked, the question laced with a promise that made your heart race.

You nodded eagerly, desperate to end the torment, your desire to please them both outweighing your earlier defiance. But Tarquin wasn’t about to let you off that easily. His hand gently tilted your chin up so you were forced to look into his eyes. “Use your words,” he said, his tone teasing but firm.

You tried to speak, but the underwear stuffed in your mouth muffled your response, turning your “Yes” into a barely intelligible sound. Tarquin’s lips curved into a sly smile, clearly amused by your predicament. “What was that?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “I didn’t quite catch it.”

Helion chuckled softly from behind him as he walked over to you both, his amusement at the situation clear. “I think she’s ready,” he mused, his hand resting on Tarquin’s waist with a glint of anticipation in his eyes.

The anticipation was almost unbearable as they slowly exposed your skin to the night air, each touch sending sparks of desire through your body, their dominance palpable in every move they made. Tarquin’s lips ghosted over your breasts after he pulled the fabric of your flimsy little top underneath them, and Helion’s fingers toyed with your bare cunt when he hiked your skirt back up over your hips.

As their hands roamed over your body, a desperate yearning welled up inside you. The desire to kiss them, to taste their lips and share in their passion, was overwhelming. But the underwear stuffed in your mouth was a reminder of your place in this moment; you were to take what they gave you.

It was humiliating, the way they had taken away your ability to speak, to kiss, to express the longing that burned inside you. Yet, at the same time, it was intoxicating. The taste of Helion's cum on the fabric only heightened your arousal. You had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet so deeply connected to the heat of the moment. You wanted more—more of their touch, more of their dominance, and more of the delicious torment they were inflicting upon you. Your body trembled with the need to kiss them, to show them how much you wanted to please them, but all you could do was whimper softly, your gaze pleading for mercy.

Helion’s fingers slid away from your cunt, leaving you achingly empty, but not for long. He exchanged a brief, heated glance with Tarquin, a silent agreement passing between them. Helion’s hands were firm as he guided you onto all fours, positioning you just where they wanted. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a small, foil packet. Even in the midst of your desperation, you shot him a pointed look as you let the soaked fabric fall from your lips.

“Are you kidding me? You’re such a guy,” you said, “no way you carry a condom in your wallet.”

Helion’s lips curved into a smirk as he tore open the packet. “Always prepared,” he replied, not missing a beat. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint, would I?”

Tarquin chuckled, shaking his head as he moved to your front, his fingers trailing up your spine. “You’ve got a sharp tongue, even now. Let’s see if we can put it to better use.”

As Helion rolled the condom on, Tarquin gently coaxed your head down, guiding you to take him into your mouth. The feeling of his hard length against your lips sent a thrill through you, and as you obediently opened up for him, you felt Helion’s hands spreading your thighs wider.

The anticipation built to a fever pitch as Helion positioned himself at your entrance, his cock pressing against your slick heat. As Tarquin’s cock slid past your lips, filling your mouth completely, the dual sensation of being taken from both ends sent a shiver of pleasure through your body. Their dominance was overwhelming, making every nerve in your body hum with a primal need.

As Helion slowly slid into you, the stretch and fullness made your breath hitch, every inch a reminder of how long you had waited for this moment. “You waited so patiently for us,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. “Watching us, being such a good girl… you deserve this.”

Tarquin’s fingers threaded through your hair, gently guiding your movements as you took him deeper into your mouth. “Sitting so pretty, waiting for your turn,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of affection and amusement. “Loved seeing you watch us… so eager, so desperate to join in.”

Tarquin’s grip on your hair tightened slightly, holding you still as Helion leaned in closer. “We’re not going to fuck you yet,” Helion murmured, his voice teasingly soft. “If you want it, you’re going to have to work for it.”

The words sent a jolt through you, a mix of frustration and anticipation. They held you in place, their bodies perfectly still, forcing you to take the lead. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips back against Helion and taking Tarquin deeper into your mouth. Every motion was deliberate, each shift of your body a silent plea for more. Their eyes were locked on you, watching with dark satisfaction as you worked for every bit of pleasure, proving just how much you craved them.

As you picked up the pace, your movements became more urgent. You could feel the heat building inside you, the rhythm of your hips matching the rhythm of your mouth working around Tarquin’s cock. Each time you emptied your mouth of Tarquin, you rocked back onto Helion, the sensation of being filled made your body shudder with pleasure.

Helion's breathy, approving moans mingled with Tarquin's low growls of satisfaction. “Look at you, taking us so well,” Helion’s voice was thick with desire, his hand gripping your hip to guide your movements. “Such a good little slut, working hard for our pleasure.”

Their praise was as pleasure-inducing as the physical sensations, each comment driving you to push harder, to take more. You hollowed your cheeks around Tarquin’s cock, drawing him deeper into your throat as you squeezed the muscles in your cunt, tightening around Helion. The moment you tightened around them, they both reacted instinctively, their bodies moving with a newfound intensity. Tarquin’s eyes widened with approval, his grip on your hair tightening as he thrust into your mouth, while Helion’s fingers dug into your hips, pulling you down onto him with a fierce, commanding rhythm. Helion’s thrusts were hard and relentless, each motion sending waves of pleasure through you, while Tarquin’s movements became more aggressive, pushing deeper into your mouth with each stroke. The forceful rhythm of their fucking matched the desperate speed of your movements, each thrust and grind creating a symphony of pleasure and raw need.

Their groans of pleasure filled the room, mingling with your muffled cries of ecstasy. You could feel every powerful thrust, every commanding grip, as they took you with wild abandon. The sensation of being used by both men at once left you trembling and gasping for breath between their merciless, demanding movements. 

“That’s it,” Tarquin growled primally, his voice filled with raw desire. “Look at you, working so hard for us. You’re our pretty cocksleeve, taking both of us so well.”

Helion’s breathy, approving moans punctuated the air as he watched you. “Feel how she’s squeezing around you? She’s not just taking it; she’s giving us everything she’s got.” His hand gripped your hip, giving him purchase for his unrelenting pace. “She’s our perfect plaything, proving herself with every thrust. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

“Tell us how good it feels,” Tarquin urged, his voice a mix of dominance and genuine curiosity. “Let us hear it, tell us with my cock stuffed in this sweet little mouth. We want to know just how much you crave this.” Your rise in volume and the increased frequency of your gasps and moans reflected your enthusiasm — answer enough.

Helion’s gaze remained locked on you, his eyes dark with satisfaction. “You’re making us so proud,” he said softly, gruffly. “Just a little more, and we’ll give you everything you’ve been begging for. You’re so close, just keep going.”

Tarquin’s fingers tangled further in your hair, his grip tightening as he watched you struggle and delight in the dual pleasure. “We’re not stopping until you’re dripping with pleasure, sweetheart,” he growled, his tone promising both pleasure and punishment. “We want to see you come undone, completely ours. No one else’s.”

He knew what he was doing with the utterance of those words.

Completely ours.

No one else’s.

Fuck.

You continued to rock back and forth between them, driven not only by the intensity of their praise and the sensations but also by the reminder of what was going on downstairs — of who you came with. 

Helion’s voice was a low, satisfied growl. “She’s taking it so well,” he said, his gaze fixed on you. “It’s like she was made for this. Isn’t she the best little fuck toy we’ve ever had?”

Tarquin’s lips suddenly found Helion’s in a heated kiss, their mouths clashing in a fervent embrace. The sound of them kissing while they both took pleasure from you was almost more than you could handle. Their tongues tangled and teeth scraped together, the kiss fierce and passionate, mirroring the raw intensity of the moment.

The mingling of their mouths, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm with yours, only heightened the heat coursing through you. You could feel the vibrations of their moans, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. Helion’s hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you to meet his thrusts, while Tarquin held your head in place, his cock filling your mouth to the hilt. The way they devoured each other, while simultaneously taking you, made every nerve in your body stand on edge.

Gasping for breath, you managed to pull off Tarquin’s cock for a moment, desperate to voice your need. “Please, hurry,” you moaned, your voice thick with urgency. “I need to get back—”

“No,” Tarquin responded, his voice a dark growl as he pulled you back down onto his cock. “We’re going to go at the pace we want. You’ll just have to keep up.”

Helion, still thrusting into you with measured force, chuckled darkly, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s as they kissed. “But we wouldn’t want to arouse any suspicion, would we?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement. “If we’re gone for much longer, we might draw unwanted attention.”

Their kiss deepened, and their pace remained deliberate, every thrust and movement calculated. When Helion broke the kiss, his eyes glinted mischievously, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s ear as he addressed you. “Make him feel so good, sweetheart,” Helion commanded softly, his voice like velvet. “But remember, he’s not allowed to come yet. Don’t let him.”

You felt the tension in Tarquin’s body, the way his muscles tightened as you worked him with all the skill you could muster, knowing exactly how close he was. 

Helion's gaze never wavered from Tarquin as he continued to thrust into you, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You love this, don’t you, Tarquin? Feeling her warm mouth wrapped around you, so eager to please.” His hand slid down Tarquin’s chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. “But you’re going to hold on, aren’t you? No matter how good she makes you feel.”

Tarquin’s breath hitched, his grip on your hair tightening as he struggled to maintain control. Helion smirked, his words a delicious torment. “I bet you’re aching to let go, to fill her up, but you can’t. Not with your slip-up earlier.”

Tarquin’s growl was low and commanding, his voice steady despite the strain. “I’m not giving in that easily,” he muttered, his grip on your hair firm as he thrust deeper into your mouth. “I can hold out as long as I need to.”

Helion’s smirk widened, his gaze locked on Tarquin’s as he continued to thrust into you with calculated precision. “I don’t doubt your endurance, Tarquin,” he teased, his voice a seductive purr. “But with her working you so well, how long can you really last?”

Tarquin’s breath hitched, but he kept his control, his voice rough but steady. “I’m not losing it,” he insisted, though there was a hint of tension in his tone. “I can take whatever you make her give me.”

Helion chuckled softly, his breath warm against Tarquin’s skin. “You’re trembling, Tarquin,” he murmured with dark satisfaction. You moaned around his cock at the sound of that, bobbing your head fiercely. 

Tarquin’s control was fraying, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. “Helion…” he growled, his voice rough with need. “Fuck, I’m… I can’t—”

Helion silenced him with a deep, demanding kiss, his tongue teasing Tarquin’s as he continued to thrust into you. “Yes, you can,” he whispered against Tarquin’s lips. “And you will, because I want you to.”

Tarquin’s resolve finally broke, a deep, desperate groan escaping him as he thrust into your mouth with barely controlled force. “Please, Helion,” he rasped, the dominance in his tone now edged with raw need. “I can’t hold on much longer... just let me finish. I need it.”

Helion pulled back slightly, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he considered Tarquin’s plea. “Oh, Tarquin,” he murmured, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Maybe I’m feeling a little generous tonight. But if you want to finish, you’re going to have to earn it.”

Tarquin’s breath caught, his eyes narrowing as he tried to regain some semblance of control. “What... what do you want?” You didn’t stop pleasuring him, pulling his pants down just a bit more to fondle his balls. 

Helion’s smile was all dark promise as he leaned in, his lips brushing against Tarquin’s ear. “Tell her,” he whispered, his voice a velvety command. “Tell her all the things you’ve thought about doing to her. All those times you’ve imagined fucking her. Like when we took that beach trip a few months ago, and you watched her tanning with Morrigan.”

Tarquin’s gaze flicked to you, the tension between his desire and his pride visible in the clench of his jaw. But Helion’s hold on him was too strong, the command too irresistible.

“I...” Tarquin began, his voice hoarse as he struggled to find the words. “That day... when you were lying there, skin all golden and glistening... I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to fuck you right there on the sand. With everyone watching, knowing you were mine, watching me make you mine.”

Helion hummed in approval, his hand sliding lower on Tarquin’s chest, teasing the sensitive skin just above his waistband. “Good,” he purred. “Now tell her more. When else did you want her?”

Tarquin’s grip on your hair tightened as his memories flowed freely, the desperation in his voice mingling with the intensity of his confession. “Last New Year’s Eve, the party at Rhysand’s, when you wore that little black dress... I couldn’t stop imagining ripping it off you and bending you over the nearest table. Just taking you in front of everyone, making you scream my name.”

“Go on.”

“In the locker room,” he began, his breath hitching as he spoke, his words mixing with whines. “Cassian sent you in to grab his skates off the top shelf. You were wearing that little sundress… the one that rode up just enough when you reached for them. I was ready to take you right there, but then Eris got to you first.”

You remembered that day, remembered it well. The way Eris had slid up behind you, his hand low on your hip, grinding his hips into yours as he reached for the skates. You had loved the feeling of him pressing into you, shirtless with a pair of jeans that hugged his thighs just right, the heat of his body against yours making your breath catch.

“When Az and I were at your place with Cassian, just a few days ago…” Tarquin’s voice was ragged, almost trembling. “You came out of the bedroom in nothing but his t-shirt, no bra—fuck, I could see your nipples through the fabric. You were just after a snack, barely even saw us sitting there, and when you did, your face went all red. All I could think about was making some excuse to follow you back into that room, just taking you right there. I was hanging on by a thread, trying so damn hard not to lose it.”

Then Helion smirked, the corner of his lips curling up as he watched Tarquin’s desperation. "You’ve been a good boy, Tarquin," Helion purred, his voice thick with amusement and satisfaction. "Go ahead, let go. You've earned it."

As Helion’s permission washed over him, Tarquin’s breath caught, and he looked at you with a blend of tenderness and raw need. His voice softened, even as he was on the brink. “Is it okay if I shove my cock all the way down your throat? Hm? Come inside you?” he asked softly, his voice a beautiful blend of filthy and tender.

His eyes never left yours, and the desperation in his voice became more pronounced. “I can’t hold back much longer,” he groaned, his voice breaking with the intensity of his need. “I want to bury myself in your throat, fill you up completely. Feel you swallow all of me. It’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

His grip on your hair tightened, and his eyes closed for a moment as he fought to reach his peak. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice growing more urgent, “let me come inside you. I need to feel your throat squeeze around me, need to know you’re taking every bit. I’m so close… can’t you feel how much I want it?”

Distantly, you heard Helion let out a long groan of pleasure, slamming into you a few more times before coming to a stop, his heavy breaths lost among Tarquin’s and your moans. 

Tarquin’s breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled to hold on, his voice now a raw, desperate plea. “I’m so close,” he groaned, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he neared the edge. “Fuck, I need to come… inside you.”

With a final, strained cry, he shoved himself into your throat to the hilt and held you there. Tarquin’s grip on your hair became painful, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release. His cock throbbed violently in your mouth as he erupted, shooting his hot cum deep down your throat. His moans were of relief and unrestrained pleasure, his desperation giving way to intense, blissful satisfaction.

His voice dropped to a whisper, filled with spent tenderness. “Swallow it all… feel it,” he murmured, still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm. His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a look of spent but tender satisfaction. “You were incredible,” he added softly, his voice thick with gratitude and lingering need.

As Tarquin’s body finally relaxed, his breath coming in deep, shuddering sighs, Helion leaned in close, his voice soft but filled with genuine warmth. “A perfect girl, weren’t you,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “You’ve taken care of us so well.”

He glanced over at Tarquin with a relaxed grin. “And you weren’t too bad yourself,” he added with a chuckle.

Tarquin, still catching his breath, gave a tired but genuine smile. “Glad you think so,” he said, his voice rough but content.

You, however, were already moving with a sense of urgency. After pulling yourself off both of them, your hands deftly fixed your clothes, your phone in hand as you used its camera as a makeshift mirror to touch up your makeup. You glanced at both of them with a mix of guilt and impatience as they tucked themselves back into their pants, and you let out a quick, apologetic sigh. 

“I have to go,” you said, your voice brisk but apologetic. “We all need to get back.” You smoothed down your hair, your eyes darting between the two men as you adjusted your appearance. “Sorry…”

Helion gave a small nod, his eyes understanding. “We’ll head out with you. No worries.”

With a final glance to make sure you were presentable (and Tarquin wiping something warm off of your neck and licking his thumb clean, and Helion having done God-knows-what with the condom), you led the way, the three of you moving quickly and quietly.

As you re-entered the club, the pulsating music and vibrant lights greeted you. Just as you made your way back to the booth, a voice called out from the crowd.

“Hey, where have you guys been?” It was Elain, her eyes wide with concern and curiosity.

You forced a small, apologetic smile. “I was feeling a bit sick earlier,” you explained. “They were just helping me get some fresh air.”

Elain nodded understandingly, her gaze softening as she took in your appearance. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay, you do seem a bit shaken up.”

More than a bit…

“Let’s get you back to the booth, get you a water.” The four of you headed back to the booth, and Cassian was just as you’d left him, still engaged in conversation with Eris. As you approached, Cassian’s face lit up with a grin, though there was a hint of playful teasing in his eyes.

“Look who finally decided to come back,” Cassian said as you slipped back into the booth beside him, his tone light but affectionate. “Were you having such a good time dancing with Helion that you don’t want to dance with me anymore?”

You felt a pang of guilt at his words, his playful tone contrasting sharply with all that’d happened. You moved closer to him, your heart aching as you took in his familiar, warm presence.

“Not at all,” you spoke softly, reaching out to take his hand. “I’m sorry for being gone so long. I missed you.”

Cassian’s expression softened as he looked at you, his eyes filled with warmth. “I missed you too,” he murmured into your hair, his voice low and sincere. He sounded stone-cold sober, how long had you been gone?

You closed your eyes, savoring the feel of his embrace, and you realized just how much you betrayed his trust, how much this would kill him. The guilt gnawed at you, a viper coiled tightly around your conscience, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. 

Cassian pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with a gentle smile. “Let’s dance,” he said softly. “I want to make up for lost time.” He gently nudged you back out of the booth, his gaze softening as he looked at you, fingers gently brushing against your cheek. “I’ve missed my perfect girl.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your body tensed, a wave of guilt crashing over you so intensely that you had to force yourself to keep breathing. For a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t respond, your mind flashing back to just minutes ago when Helion had whispered those exact words in your ear, his voice thick with lust.

Cassian noticed the slight hesitation, his brows knitting together in concern. “Hey,” he said, his tone softening even more, “you okay?”

You quickly forced a smile, willing the tension out of your body as you nodded. “Yeah,” you lied, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside you. “Just a little tired, I guess.”

His thumb stroked your cheek, his eyes filled with nothing but warmth and affection. “We can take it easy,” he offered, his concern evident. “Or we can just stay here and relax, whatever you want.”

But the thought of staying there, trapped in the booth with the weight of your betrayal pressing down on you, was unbearable. You shook your head, forcing a more genuine smile this time. “No, I want to dance,” you insisted, taking his hand and guiding him to the dance floor. “Let’s go.” But even as you both reached the middle of the floor and he pulled you flush against him, feeling his familiar warmth and the steady beat of the music around you, the words “perfect girl” echoed in your mind. 

The heat between you is immediate, electric. Cassian’s hands find your hips, guiding you as you start to move together, your bodies syncing effortlessly to the rhythm. His thigh slips between your legs, and you can’t help but grind against him, feeling the solid strength of his muscles beneath you.

His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in, voice low and teasing. “You feel so good, baby. Just how I like you.” His hands roam up and down your sides, fingers brushing the hem of your miniskirt, his touch making you shiver with anticipation.

As the beat picks up, Cassian’s grip tightens, his fingers edging further up your skirt. The movement is subtle, but it’s enough to make your breath catch. His dark eyes are locked on yours, filled with a hunger that sends a thrill through you.

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “What’s this? No panties tonight?” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s a rough edge to it that makes your heart race.

Your eyes widen slightly, and for a split second, you freeze, your mind flashing back to the rooftop. But you recover quickly, giving him a sultry smile as you tilt your head up to look at him.

“I couldn’t help myself.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

@bagelsharry @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @girl-math-aint-mathing @paleidiot @panther-girl-124 @secretIyhers @starlightazriel @uncxmfxrtablex

if anyone wants to be added just lmk :)

[slavicdelight]

The Last Embrace

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Lannister! OC

Summary: Lorelle, Tywin Lannister's youngest daughter, forms an unexpected alliance with Oberyn Martell after defeating him in a duel. Their love blossoms, but tragedy strikes when jealousy leads to everything falling apart.

Warnings: death, cursing, angst

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

In the heart of the Westerlands, Tywin Lannister welcomed his youngest daughter into the world, a fierce and spirited girl named Lorelle. From the beginning, her fiery nature clashed with the traditional expectations of a lady born into such a prestigious family.

As Lorelle grew, her independent spirit grew with her, driving her further away from learning of noble etiquette. She abandoned needlework for the training yard, where she observed the art of swordsmanship. Tywin, torn between pride and concern, could only watch as her interest differed from other young noble ladies. Word of Lorelle's exceptional skill with sword spread through the Seven Kingdoms, reaching the ears of Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne. Although he despised the Lannisters for what happened to his beloved sister Elia, he was curious if the rumours were true.

The first encounter between the two was marked by a clash of swords, or in this case - a spear and a sword. Each duel became a battleground for dominance, a fierce dance where neither was willing to yield.Oberyn's disdain for the Westerlands and its houses fueled the fire of their rivalry. In his eyes Lorelle was not just an opponent but a symbol of everything he despised about the realm.

Despite their hatered for each other, they decided to combine forces to travel together through Essos.The tension between them kept both nobles balanced on the egde.Yet, amidst the clashes, moments of understanding and mutual respect began to emerge.It wasn't until a decisive duel where Lorelle emerged triumphant that Oberyn's disdain began to shift. As he lay defeated, he finally acknowledge her skill. The dislike eventually evolved into a strange alliance, a bond forged on the edge of blades and the heat of their conflicting personalities.

During their tumultuous journey, Lorelle and Oberyn faced numerous challenges, each encounter adding layers to their complex relationship.One day, as they were riding through Pentos, a group of men attacked them. They were strong and quick. It was obvious that they’ve been trained to steal and kill. Thankfully, Oberyn's quick thinking and combat finesse saved Lorelle from an ambush, blurring the lines between adversary and ally. The tension that once defined their interactions slowly transformed into something more.

When Oberyn knelt before her, proposing a marriage with sincerity in his eyes, the tension reached its zenith. Tywin, recognizing the potential for an alliance, reluctantly agreed to their union. Lorelle became the Princess of Dorne, thrust into a political landscape that mirrored the complexities of her relationship with Oberyn.Yet, tragedy struck their already fragile union.

Ellaria Sand, fueled by jealousy and resentment, plotted against Lorelle. In a venomous act of betrayal, she poisoned the Princess of Dorne. As Lorelle's life slipped away, Oberyn's grief transformed into a burning desire for revenge, reigniting the tension between them in a different, more profound way. In a fit of righteous fury, Oberyn confronted Ellaria. The clash was brutal, mirroring the intensity of his battles with Lorelle.

In the end, justice was served, but the cost was high. Oberyn stood still after delivering avenging the woman he loved, a shattered man, his heart torn between the love he discovered and the unresolved tension that lingered between him and the memory of Lorelle.

In the aftermath, the halls of Sunspear echoed with a haunting silence. Oberyn, having avenged Lorelle, found himself with conflicting emotions. The memory of their fierce clashes lingered, intertwined with the love he discovered and the unresolved tension that defined their relationship.

As Princess of Dorne, Lorelle's absence left a void in the court. The alliances formed through her marriage hung in delicate balance. Oberyn, once fueled by a desire for revenge, now faced the aftermath of his actions. The people of Dorne witnessed a Red Viper who had lost his venom, a man torn between the love he found and the ghosts of his tumultuous past. The court of Sunspear whispered of Lorelle's legacy – a fiery princess who defied conventions, a skilled swordswoman who left a mark on the pages of history. Yet, the tragedy that befell her cast a shadow over the realm, a stark reminder of the fragility of alliances and the cost of vengeance.

Oberyn, haunted by the memories of Lorelle, retreated into solitude. The tension that once fueled their clashes now manifested as an internal struggle within him. The flames of revenge had consumed him, and in their wake, he was left with the ashes of regret.In the quiet corridors of Sunspear, Oberyn's gaze lingered on the places where he and Lorelle had faced both adversaries and each other. The sword that once clashed with hers now rested, a silent witness to the battles fought and the love lost.As the years passed, Dorne found itself in a delicate dance of politics and intrigue.

The memory of Lorelle became both a symbol of defiance and a cautionary tale. Oberyn, a once vibrant force, moved through the shadows of the court, a man forever marked by the flames that burned between him and the Princess of Dorne. And so, the tale of Lorelle and Oberyn became a legend – a story of love, rivalry, and the high cost of vengeance that echoed through the corridors of Sunspear, leaving behind a legacy as enduring as the ancient stones of the castle.

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

A/N: This is a shorter story, but I hope you'll enjoy it just like the other ones.

[discoscoob]

｡･ﾟﾟ･ ECHOS

ִ ˙ ✩°˖🥤 ⋆｡˚ Ted Logan x Reader ִ

Synopsis: you struggle with the feelings you harbour for your childhood best friend as you watch him fall in love with someone else. 1.5k words.

Tags: childhood friends . unrequited love . angst .

ִ ˙ ✩°˖🥤 ⋆｡˚

“Me and Bill are going to ask the princesses to marry us.”

“Bill and I-“ you start to correct him until his words actually sink in your brain and you realise with dread what he said. “Wait what?!”

“Uh… Bill… and I… are going to ask the princesses to marry us.” Ted repeats, this time cautiously correcting his grammar, his brows furrowing slightly over his puppy eyes.

You feel the air leaving your lungs as a black and twisting viper slowly coiled in your chest, tightening its grip with every passing beat of your heart. Jealousy was rearing its ugly head in the deepest depths of your stomach, leaving a rotten feeling inside your guts.

“Why?” the word dashes out your mouth before you can gather the sense to stop it and feign a more congratulatory response.

Ted appears caught off guard by your reaction, stumbling slightly to find the right response.

He hadn’t expected to be questioned for his motives, he had assumed you would be happy and congratulate him. As always, he is completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.

In the end, that signature smile that you love graced his lips, as it always did when he was certain he found the right answer.

“We love them.”

Ted isn’t the type of person to ever intentionally hurt anyone, he possesses the purest heart you’ve ever known, and yet his words strike you like a punch to the gut.

The only thing that offered you some semblance of relief is the fact he said ‘we’ and ‘them’ rather than ‘I’ and ‘her,’ the latter would have felt like he was telling you that he was going to abandon you in favour of Elizabeth, even though you knew that was not his intention.

“Oh… that’s as good a reason as any!” you finally chirp with a half hearted chuckle, slipping on your mask with a rehearsed smile while you gently sooth yourself by stroking your palms over your thighs.

You clear your throat as you abruptly stand up and throw your bag over your shoulder, earning a confused frown from Ted, puzzled by your haste, as he follows your swift movements with his deep brown doe eyes from under his furrowed brows.

“Hey… you okay?” his soft and gentle voice is laced with genuine concern, which only makes your heart clench harder. He cares so deeply and yet is so oblivious to the feelings you harbour for him.

“Me? Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” you frantically try to squash any hint of concern Ted might have for your wellbeing and put on a nonchalant act as you head for the door.

“I’m just so swamped with heaps work to get through for college, I’m going to spend the rest of the night in the library.” this excuse for your urgent exit is enough to earn a grimace from your childhood friend.

“You’re going to spend the whole night at the library? Totally bogus. I hate that place.” Ted’s nose wrinkles like he just ate something sour while still following you to the door.

“Well we can’t all be rockstars.” you teasingly roll your eyes with no real bite, as you finally reach the door where you hesitate for a moment to take a breath, close your eyes and collect yourself.

You feel guilty for causing Ted concern and don’t want to leave him with any lingering feelings of confusion or doubt about your state. You force your usual cheery smile, as you turn around and wrap your arms around his lanky frame.

“I’ll see you later, Ted.” you speak into his shoulder as he encompasses you in his embrace, folding his taller frame around yours and leaning down to snuggle his head against your shoulder. Ted always gives the best hugs.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

As you walk home, you begin to reminisce about your friendship with Ted. You first met in elementary school, he and Bill were already friends but they weren’t exactly the most popular kids in school and would often fall victim to the bullying and teasing from the other children.

Your friendship began when you defended them on the schoolyard one day by spilling your juice box on one of their bullies pants to make it look like they had wet themselves, diverting all the teasing and bullying away from Bill and Ted and onto the bully. Ever since that day the three of you have been inseparable.

By the time you were juniors in high school, your feelings for Ted began to change as you started developing a crush on your childhood friend. These feelings were strange and unfamiliar but you were certain they would be fleeting and dissolve as quickly as they developed but overtime as you expected them to fade, they only intensified.

It was around that time Ted started showing an interest in other girls and even asked Missy, a senior, to prom. Missy had politely declined Ted’s request, later you would find out she was into much older men, but that’s a whole different story.

You remember how Bill tried to cheer Ted up by suggesting that they could always go to prom with you and even though it wasn’t intentional on Bill’s part, it left you feeling like a consolation prize, a reminder that you would never be Ted’s first choice.

In the end, the pair had ended up attending the JS prom with you. Ted had spent most the night sulking in the corner, glaring daggers at the jock who Missy attended the prom with while Bill was the one you ended up sharing a dance with.

It was during senior year that you decided that you were determined to try and find the strength to come clean about your feelings towards Ted. You had rehearsed the speech countless times in front of the mirror until the words were branded into your mind and flowed off your tongue as effortlessly as the lyrics to your favourite song.

Before you could pluck up the courage to confess your feelings to Ted, he became captivated by the princesses from medieval England and at the time you had ignorantly assured yourself they were nothing to worry about because there was no way Bill and Ted could bring them back to live permanently in modern day San Dimas, right? You had been certain it was nothing but a minor set back, simply the universe giving you a kick up the ass to share your feelings sooner rather than later.

You were confident you had dodged a bullet, that the princesses would remain in medieval England and you focused your efforts on your plan to make Ted finally see you as more than just his childhood friend.

In your mind, while you picked out the perfect dress for prom, you had imagined it would be just like the movies. A gentle song would be playing as you walk into the gym hall and Ted’s eyes would immediately catch your figure while a soft spotlight would shine on you just right and Ted would finally realise what had been right under his nose this whole time.

He would stride across the hall, his eyes never leaving yours while pushing through the crowd with determination, desperate to tell you how breathtaking you look, with that besotted look all over his face, before he would offer you his hand and lead you into a dance.

While in his arms, gently swaying to a romantic ballad and feeling as though you were the only people in the room, you would confess that you have been hiding your feelings from him and he would call himself a fool for failing to see that you were the one for him this whole time.

In reality it went a bit different.

You had stepped into the gym hall, smoothing out the creases in your dress with your palms as your eyes eagerly wandered over the crowd in search for a certain head of messy brown locks. Once you caught sight of him, you immediately noticed the besotted look on his face, just like the one from your dreams, however it wasn’t directed towards you. Held in his embrace was one of the princesses from medieval England, his arms were wrapped around her waist as he gazed down upon her with a dreamy smile that you could only imagine being on the receiving end of.

You had quickly rushed straight back out the gym hall and walked all the way back home, where you had spent the rest of your night locked in your room, crying over the heartache of your unrequited love.

Much like tonight, except this time there are no tears left to cry, as you continue your journey home under the night sky imaging how different your life could have turned out if you had just had the courage to open up to Ted about your feelings instead of being a coward. Perhaps he would have rejected you but at least that would have given you some closure knowing you never stood a chance. Not knowing ate you up inside, leaving you constantly wondering if there was a universe where you and Ted belonged together.

⋆｡°✩ note: if you made it this far thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it. reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. ᥫ᭡

[undiscovered-horizon]

Amendmends - Kaz Brekker x Reader

[Part II]

[contains vulgar language]

SUMMARY: When two of your thugs get into a fight at the Slat, you have to go apologize in person. The owner seems suspiciously happy to have you indebted to him.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.9k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist&lt;<

“You did what?!”

The two men flinch. Feeling too humiliated to look the incandescent bull in the eye, they resort to twiddling their thumbs and riveting their gazes into the cracked, wooden floor. They’re not greenhorns and neither are they unfamiliar with your character, so it’s unclear why they ever thought this confrontation would go in any way differently. Perhaps some juvenile naivety told them this moment would, simply, never come.

“We got into a fight,” one of them repeats. Fear makes his voice waver, resounding a lot quieter than the first time he announced their misdeed. The humiliation only gnaws further at his heart as the boy involuntarily relives all of the reprimands he had received from his parents.

His partner in crime lets out a defeated sigh. The man nudges his friend and whispers: “Come on, Sorokin, she’ll know anyway.” With a sour expression on his face, he lifts his gaze to look at the woman standing behind the desk. Your nostrils are flared as you breathe hard trying to maintain composure. The unfaltering scowl you wear so well makes him gulp. “We started a fight at the Slat. One of the patrons was cheating, wasn’t even doing it very well, so we thought it was our civic duty to put it to a stop.”

You lean forward ever so slightly, hinging on your arms. Although you’re in all ways smaller than them, it doesn’t affect their fright:  wolves, after all, also seem not as big when they're preparing to pounce. Words leave your mouth like venom slowly dripping from a viper’s fangs: “You have no fucking civic duty on the Crows’ turf, you bellend.”

“Boss, we-”

Sorokin immediately stops talking when you raise your hand in a quieting gesture. You close your eyes and clench the raised hand into a fist. Only after a slow, deep breath can you continue:

“Just shut your mouth while you still can move it freely. I don’t care for your excuses and promises to do better because I’m the one who has to go to Kaz Brekker and apologize on your behalf.” You push yourself away from the decorative, engraved desk. Unknowingly, you’re shaking your head, looking away from the two bullyboys for a moment. In a gesture of frustration, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “Saints only know what he’ll want for giving up retaliation,” you say under your breath. A moment of tense, reflective silence goes by before your gaze returns to the two men. The scowl immediately reappears. “What’re you standing here for? Fuck off.”

With a flick of your wrist, the crooks bolt out the door, praising the Saints that they get to see another day. Maybe they are the ones scrubbing the floors pro bono for the next two weeks but at least they’re alive. Considering the genius loci of Ketterdam, that is as good as anything.

Jesper and Inej do not pay attention to the constant opening and closing of doors to the Slat - there’s no point. Their curiosity, however, is piqued when the noise of the lively club becomes muffled and cheering turns into low murmurs and grunts. Although positioned in completely different places, they simultaneously look towards the entrance, wondering what menace could strike reluctance into the heartless thugs of the Barell.

As expected as it wasn’t, considering the area, it’s a woman. In an utter lack of taste and respect for social etiquette, you’re dressed in rather expensive men’s clothing. You even have a decorative cane with a panther’s head on top, although the item is strangely short, suggesting that it’s more of a status symbol than a mobility aid. Golden accessories, proof of acquired wealth, glimmer in the low, yellow lights of the club. 

“Should we do something?” Inej whispers to Jesper, making him flinch in surprise. Really, how is she doing it time and time again?

“No way, Inej,” he laughs dryly at the notion. “It’s the Golden Panther herself. We’ve no bad blood with her and let’s hope it can stay that way.”

The name isn't in any way the stranger's own incentive - only what the victims saw right before being knocked out cold: golden, heavy rings and a black tattoo of a roaring panther on the back of your hand. Some of the more egotistic goons in Ketterdam try to mimic the artwork with other supposedly dangerous animals but it never has the same ominous feeling.

“Then why is she walking straight towards us?”

His gaze returns to the unexpected guest. Inej is right - in an unbothered stroll, you’re making your way to them. When the Panther’s stern, cold gaze meets his, the man feels anxiety building up in his chest. If Kaz had a sister, that would be her. In any other circumstances, he’d laugh at that thought but with the fiend in front of him, humour has somehow fled.

Jesper slowly puts down his drink, his other hand mindlessly resting on top of the revolver behind his belt. “I don’t know but I don’t like this.”

Inej scrunches her nose. "I always imagined it’s a man."

"Well, I thought she'd be, you know, bigger,” Jesper says in a hushed voice. The Slat is strangely quiet and you’re sure to hear his comment if he speaks any louder. “Considering Panther and all."

You stop in front of them. Physique-wise, you don’t seem very threatening to either of the Crows. No, it’s something in the air, as though your presence elicits some kind of aura that makes people want to flee from sight, noisy lowlifes become as meek as sheep. Jesper wonders if this is how aristocrats and politicians feel when someone mentions the Queen of Beggars.

Golden Panther looks between the two of them. In an unexpectedly polite fashion, both of your hands are holding the decorative cane. After a moment, your gaze stops on Jesper. You look him up and down but he’s unsure whether he should feel threatened or flattered.

“You’re the one who got into that fight yesterday, aren’t you?” you finally ask.

Oh, that.

Jesper grips the gun tighter. “Yeah, that would be me.”

You put your hand into the pocket of your dress trousers, apathetic eyes still set on him, and pull out a wad of banknotes. Without looking at them, never even thinking to count the amount, you lay it next to his drink on the bar counter.

“For the trouble. Buy yourself something nice. Where’s the owner?”

“In his office,” Jesper answers with a vague motion of his hand.

With a curt nod of your head, you leave the two Crows to find the man you’ve been truly looking for. When you’re out of earshot, the stairs creaking under your weight, Jesper turns to Inej:

“Did I just get pocket money from Lady Belladonna?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“I’m afraid you did.”

Immediately, he grabs the wad of cash, counting the banknotes. His eyes only grow wider as the stack of 50s doesn’t seem to end - Jesper Fahey is suddenly something of a rich man.

You don’t knock. The door swings open and Kaz is about to tell off anyone who’s disturbing him when he notices you standing on the threshold. Without a word of either warning or welcome, he grabs his cane. Twisting off the top of your staff, you pull the accessory slightly apart, revealing a sharp blade hidden inside.

“Show me yours, tough guy. Bet mine’s bigger,” you jest. Then you close the cane and Kaz, although hesitant, lets go of his. “I come in peace.” 

“What brings you here?” he asks impatiently.

You take a deep breath and sigh. The chair in front of him is left vacant but considering the reason for your visit, it would be impolite to sit around. “I’d like to apologize.” Kaz raises his eyebrows in surprise. He knows the business well enough to know that people of your sort don’t adhere to courtesy often. “The fight that broke out yesterday? My boys. They weren’t supposed to be here but that doesn’t change anything. What’s done is done and since they wear claws around their necks, they’re my responsibility.”

For a moment you look away, biting the inside of your cheek. It’s the right thing to do but Saints’ mercy, is it humiliating. Kaz doesn’t say anything, curious anticipation egging him to let the tense silence squeeze the truth out of you.

You look at him again. The anger of having to fawn on someone makes you tighten the grip on your cane. "I can pay you for the damages but I can't undo the injuries or the fucking headache. Instead, I'm offering you my service. One job, no matter how bloody insane, I'll do it. Just leave my boys alone."

Kaz sits back in his chair, taking in the fascinating turn of events. In all of your demimonde courtesy, you’ve done exactly what he had expected you to do. You swear there’s a shadow of a grin creeping unto his face and that’s when you realize you’ve probably manoeuvred yourself into a problematic, inescapable corner. If half of the stories they say about him are true, you’re going to shake hands with death herself in the nearest future, probably more than once.

A scoff flies past your lips. You look at him through squinted eyes but he doesn’t seem to mind that. Why would he? He just scored a jackpot without stepping out of his office.

“I know that look, Brekker,” you stress the sudden lack of courtesy. “You’ve been waiting for this moment your whole fucking life, haven’t you? The Golden Panther at your beck and call.”

“There is one job that will utilize your methods,” he puts a strange, although meaningful stress on the word, “but it’s nothing sure for now.”

He plays his cards well. So well, in fact, that you can’t tell whether he’s honest or bluffing. The only thing you are sure of is that if he lives up to his name, Kaz is bound to have some kind of ace up his sleeve, even if it’s unadulterated rage - he will either find or create a problem for you to solve, never as much as entertain the thought of passing up on your offer.

There is simply no way that a man of his skill and expertise doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. Like those miserable churchgoers praying to the Saints for a sign, you too now have to obediently await the fateful word of Kaz Brekker. You’re a fiddle and through your own goodwill, you have appointed him a fucking virtuoso.

“I’ll be anticipating your word, Brekker,” you grit the last bits of politeness through your teeth. “In the meantime, don’t try to think about me too often. Might neglect your business and the panther…” your voice trails off and you shrug with faux innocence, “The panther only needs to find you once.”

“It’s a bold assumption that I spend any minute of my time thinking about you.”

“Well, you’re doing it now, aren’t you?” The cocky smile on your face only annoys him. “До свидания,” you throw while vaguely saluting at him.

When the door shuts behind you, Kaz lets out a frustrated sigh. You’re going to make this whole operation incomparably easier for him - that is, if he doesn’t kills you first. For the sake of his sanity.

[comfortless]

hello beloved 🥰 🫶 every time you mention ‘The Dungeon’ whatever da hell that is my brain just goes dungeon crawler! könig! dungeon crawler! könig! so might i request a dungeon crawling könig?

what the hell. do not send König down here… get him away from me…. *immediately forgets everything else i was doing to begrudgingly write this*

sigh… dungeoneer! König x fem! reader

content / warnings: violence, sexism, suggestive.

Retrieving the golden eye of a wyrm to be made into a lovely pendant for the Queen would pay well, keep him afloat and drifting from land to land for long enough to decide upon where to settle. The posting tacked to the wall of the inn, detailing a handsome reward, was surely the sign from a benevolent god that a glorious fate had been handed to him on a silver platter. He stuffs the parchment into the pocket of his trousers as he downs the last of his ale, tosses his coins to the barmaid on his way toward the door and sets off for the deepest dungeon in the kingdom.

There are no bright-eyed knights lobbying around the entrance, a good sign that the wyrm’s bounty was all his to claim. It makes him elated, really, and the idea of finally having his own place, bedding down with a pretty maiden each night is even more of an adrenaline rush than the actual fighting that comes the moment he steps foot into the darkened underworld. The dungeon is filled with the reanimated skeletons he’s grown so accustomed to— a quick jab with his claymore to the center of the spine leaves them a crumpled heap of bone and dust. They’ll rise again when the moon hangs lofty in the sky, but he’s done this enough times to know the best way of navigating such a place. The other beasts haunting the cavernous ruins are a bit trickier to deal with, and he’s fortunate that most shy away from the light of his torch.

Only, she does not.

The woman standing before him in full plate armor is poised for battle, blade making a steady ascent above her head in preparation to strike as her lantern is cast aside. She charges at him before he can even breathe out a word of protest, swinging the heavy sword at him so quickly that at most, he can only thrust his torch before him to prevent her plunging the tip between his ribs. She’s quick to draw back when the wood splinters and the fire sparks up on dry bone and the tattered remains of clothing from all that came before layered upon the dirt and grime coated floor. The blaze of the fire seems pale in comparison to the flames in her eyes as she pivots towards him again, and once more— he merely blocks.

“A maiden shouldn’t be here,” he says through gritted teeth as he easily pushes her back against the wall, caging her between the flat of his blade and the bulk of his body.

He hadn’t realized the ache in his groin until the woman tilts her head up to spit in his face. König doesn’t bother to wipe it away, to even pretend to be disgusted by her actions. From this small breadth between them all he sees is divine beauty— even as her eyes narrow like that of a viper preparing to strike.

“A knight to be,” she corrects him as he gives her blade a shove, the sounds of steel hissing against steel and crackling fire echoing throughout the cavern.

“Not likely.”

Their fight drags on for what feels like hours before his flask his split at his hip and she finally does back down. Even this lady knows well enough that being lost in a dark dungeon with no source of light and no water is a death sentence, and she finds him both incredibly frustrating and fun enough to keep him a live just a little longer. He’s adept enough to block even her quickest strikes, parry her with a gentle jab to her side with his index rather than his blade. He’s shown her her own weak points during their little battle, and she’s garnered a bit of respect for him for that.

As she sheaths her blade and locks eyes with him, his erection is practically trying to tear through the seams of his pants. She’s so pretty, so strong, so unlike the barmaids and damsels in distress he’s come across so often and it’s all gnawing at the recesses of his mind. The bounty almost entirely forgotten, he wants not to penetrate the wyrm with his blade but rather spear her with his cock.

He reaches for her, almost tentatively hoping to somehow melt through her armor and feel the warmth of her flesh. She’s doesn’t pull away when his hands rest against her waist, just gives him a little flutter of her eyelashes before rearing a hand back to almost playfully strike his face just before she turns on the heel of her boot and gathers her lantern.

König follows along behind her, not just out of necessity, but because she asks him to. Beckons him along with the curl of her gloved finger, coos at him when he falls behind trying to picture her body beneath the layers of chainmail and fitted steel.

“I’m taking the bounty,” she tells him when they stop to take a sip from her flask, feast on the preserved fruit and dried meat from his own satchel.

It reminds him of why he’s come all this way, what he’s supposed to be doing here. He’s a little tense— on one hand he wants to give this lady the entire kingdom, make her his wife and rid away those silly thoughts about becoming a knight, but she’s so determined!! He’s at a loss on how to tell her that there are no women knights in the land, that no matter what she brings back for the King she’ll probably only be mocked and sent on her way.

“Let me help you,” he says instead.

“You would lend me your blade?”

He just blinks at her… this silly woman has spent far too long dreaming and watching the knights in the castle yard, he just knows it. Down to the way she speaks! She’s incredible and infuriating, just as he is to her. It makes him want to push her just a bit, see what she’s capable of entirely before they part ways (she is never getting rid of him).

“What do I get in turn?”

The little knight mulls that over for a moment, as she leads him down a long corridor; everything all gilded and decorated, lit aglow by the dim orange of lantern light. The golden coins, rolls of fine silk now muddied and trampled littering the floor are enough of a sign to show they’ve nearly made their way to the heart. The wyrm would no doubt be lying in wait at the end, resting protectively over its hoard of cattle bones and shiny objects, golden eyes piercing through the darkness as it prepares for the fight to come.

It’s when the wyrm’s first hissing growl rings out through the darkness that she does turn back to face him, a mischievous little grin tugging at her lips.

“Only to live another day.”

“Nein… something else.”

He can’t stop himself from pawing at her again, curling a hand around her neck to tilt her chin up to face him. Her breath fanning over his face, her scent like peony and lantern oil make him feel drunk enough. The hand that slides between his legs to grasp at his cock is far from anything he ever anticipated from her. She was bold, too bold and too pretty for her own good.

Fate had blessed him more than he could even begin to fathom, after all.