#sturmhond the sassy biotch

[corpsebasil]

The Pirate Lord 18+

The battle had raged on for days.

You stood at the prow of your ship, staring out at enemy sails as they loomed on the horizon. Your chest tightened. You were exhausted. Every ounce of your Grisha power seemed drained, and you could barely summon a drop of water, let alone the tsunami you could’ve created had the enemy not forced you to waste it on smaller fleets over and over again.

The enemy were chasing after an enchanted sword, one that rightly belonged to Ravka, and it’s prince. You wondered over your captain’s intentions. Sure, you’d heard rumors about the prince Nikolai, but you didn’t imagine that any pompous royal deserved this much dedication to return his stolen treasure.

But if it was important to Sturmhond, it was important to you. And too many Grisha and sailors had already been sacrificed in this battle to back down now.

A ringed hand clasped your shoulder, his thumb rubbing against a knot in your skin. You closed your eyes, letting out a sigh as Sturmhond, your captain and lover, stood beside you.

“Looks like a piece of cake.” He said, tone sarcastic until the end. You glanced up to find him smirking, those blue eyes filled with a forced lightness that hurt you to the core.

“Definitely.” You purred, but still ran a thumb over the seashell amplifier pressed deep in the center of your collarbones, the opal and iridescent hues catching the light of the setting sun.

It had been a gift from a siren, a creature you’d thought mythical, when you’d rescued her from a group of lethal, piggish pirates. The shell had sang the whisper of the deepest parts of the sea when it’d been crafted into your chest, and Sturmhond swore sometimes that your collarbones and skin seemed to shine with the colors of a thousand rare shells when you used your power.

The captain had also sworn that you were the most beautiful thing on the seas, from anywhere, and you rolled your eyes whenever he lavished you with compliments and praises. The only praise that truly hit you in the gut was during the dark hours of the night, when you managed to pull sounds from him that made your blood run burning hot.

“Do you think we—” you stopped, running your fingertips again over the shell. You cleared your throat. “Do we have enough rum? I’m not going into the last night of my life sober.”

Sturmhond’s booming laugh brought a genuine smile to your face when he turned you, pulling you into his arms. He ran a hand down your braid, an intricate style that he still couldn’t comprehend. It contained beads and cuffs of gold, and tiny pearls that sparkled in the moonlight.

“You truly amaze me.” He said, and brought your mouth to his, savoring the feel of you. He’d never admit it, but if he lost you tomorrow… “What do you think? One last sea-shanty?”

“Eggs and pickles?”

“Rum and ale? Lots of rum, less of the ale?”

You grinned fiendishly, looping your arms around his neck.

“Now you’re speaking my language, captain.”

It was his turn to smile, a wicked smirk that make your cheeks flush and heat blossom in your chest. Even more so when he moved a hand to grab your ass, yanking your hips flush against his.

“I love it when you quote me.” He drawled, that devilish gleam in his eyes making your heart drop straight into your stomach. “And maybe,” he murmured, bending his head to nip your earlobe, his voice warm against your neck. “if you’re good, I’ll let you kiss me all over, later.”

“I’m always good.” You lied, and the slap he sent to your ass made you squeak out a laugh. “Bastard.”

“Hellion.”

“Idiot—”

“Are you two done confessing your love for one another? Because we have serious planning to do.” Tolya stood not ten feet away, neither of you having had noticed his approach.

You fought a wince as a mortified blush washed your features, immediately pulling out of Sturmhond’s grasp. You didn’t look at him, instead giving Tolya a cool look that could freeze the coldest ring of the afterlife.

“If you’re done gawking like a pervert,” you cooed, resting a hand casually, too casually, on the hilt of your sword. “then fine. Lead the way.”

Tolya gave Sturmhond a pointed look before walking away, and you didn’t give your blonde captain a second glance as you follow his third in command.

The silence strained as you followed after Tolya, the crashing waves and your boots the only noise against the deck as you walked. You tried to ignore his comment, but.. You and Sturmhond were not in love. No, what you shared was an easy, sometimes vicious banter, a loyalty that crossed every boundary, and some of the best sex you’d ever had in your life. The position you both played in each other’s lives was straightforward.

There’d never been a question of love. You knew he didn’t have those sorts of feelings for you, his second, just like you didn’t feel that way towards him. But sometimes, when he was extra sweet to you, or when he’d sink his hands in your hair as he kissed you, murmuring the most kind of compliments onto your mouth, you felt a painful tug towards him that you couldn’t ignore.

And the idea of losing him, of him dying tomorrow in battle, was unthinkable.

-

That night, drunk as bandicoots and finished with your planning, you and Sturmhond crashed into his cabins, unable to tear one another’s clothes off fast enough. You gasped as he almost tore your shirt in half, throwing you onto his desk and yanking your legs up around him. You almost collapsed at the first thrust up into you, your voice breaking on a cry you were sure the entire crew most likely heard.

But who cares.

“Y/N,” Sturmhond panted, pulling you flush against his chest as he slammed home over and over. “gods, Y/N.”

“Sturm—” you didn’t manage to get the word out, not when his hand found the place between your legs just as his mouth sucked a dangerously rough bruise against your neck.

Your finish hit you so fast and hard it was almost embarrassing, your face pressed against his shoulder as you choked on a moan. He lifted you and moved the both of you to the bed, slowing his pace to a lazy, almost reverent one as you slowed your breathing. And when you opened your eyes, finding him blinking open his own, the vast blue of them and the softness in his stare made your throat tighten so quickly you had to turn your head away.

“Y/N?” He asked, pausing his movements. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t get the words out. “Darling, what is it?”

“You—” you swallowed, unable to look him in the eye when you forced a joke, running a hand down the smooth skin of his muscular back. Even the touch of him was beginning to make your eyes water, to your horror. “The orgasm was so good I’m a little emotional about it. Sorry.”

He laughed boyishly and kissed your neck, his rumbling chuckle easing something in your heart. He rolled his hips against your own, so slowly you could feel every inch of him, and you couldn’t stop the pleasure filled sigh that left your parted lips.

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He murmured against your skin, but didn’t argue, not when you flipped him onto his back, taking control of what was your last time bedding the captain.

His face was flushed, blue eyes heavy-lidded, and you kissed him, savoring every single Saints-given second.

-

The next morning was chaos.

Not only did a storm break over the sky, drenching your hair and clothes, but the enemy had fired their first blast at you, rocking the supposedly impenetrable ship with a force that almost threw you over the side of the ship.

“Get back.” Sturmhond growled, yanking you away from the rail. “Do you want to fall and drown before we start? Because if that’s the case, you might as well do it willingly.”

His anger surprised you into a sudden flash of annoyance, shoving his arm away.

“Now is not the time to be an asshole.” You spat, glaring fiercely as you stormed past him, knocking your shoulder against his as hard as you dared.

And when the first enemy pirate ship came into range, you stepped right back towards the ship’s rail, taking a deep breath. You tunneled deep into your power, as far as it could possibly go. Closer. Closer. Just when you could see the whites of the enemies’s eyes, you threw your hands out, gritting your teeth as a tidal wave so large and overpowering it crested the ship, slammed down with enough force to crack rock.

And when the water settled as much as it could again, the waves still roiling, you wiped the rain out of your eyes and stared out at the spot where the ship was. Was, because now it was sunk.

A battle cry rose behind you from your crew as you swallowed, shoving the sleeves of your wet shirt up to your elbow. Through the darkness of the thunderclouds and the water spearing out of the sky, a faint glow caught your attention. You glanced down, finding that shell, that siren’s gift, glowing faintly. And damn him for being right, but that light seemed to travel along your collarbones, threading throughout your very skin.

More. The ocean whispered to you, a lethal voice inside your own mind. More, child.

You shivered, but didn’t have much time to acknowledge the seas unending hunger before the next ship came, then the next.

“Fire!” Tolya shouted, and tugged his arrow back in its bow, straining up, up, up, until he and the rest of the archers on deck sent a volley of lethal arrows towards the enemy. It must’ve hit the man at the wheel, because a second later the ship turned, crashing directly into the one beside it. “Again!”

The enemy advanced one by one, and while the archers fired, as the few Grisha on board did their best to guide the winds so that ships would collide, they still neared. So you worked. You brought wave after crashing wave, your skin growing tight as you sunk one ship, then another, then another. You felt your chest tightening as the bottom of your power approached, and had to grip the rail momentarily as you heaved for a breath.

One ship left. One. Your crew had taken them out, had survived, thanks to the Grisha, the brave pirates beside you, and Sturmhond’s advanced weaponry. Nothing could have prepared you, though, when a bolt shot out from the other ship. When the crew on that ship began to crank your own vessel towards them.

The cord was too far to reach with your sword, so you slammed the bolt with water, trying over and over again to dislodge the deep-rooted point buried in the ship’s side. No. No, no, no. Men began to throw grappling hooks up onto the rail, you and other crew members dashing forward to yank them out as soon as possible. You tugged on one as hard as you could, the damn thing refusing to give, and your mouth dried out when a burly man below you climbed up with inhumane speed.

You barely had time to jerk away as he swung his blade for you, the edge of it coming within lethal distance of your head, but was stopped by another sword that slammed against the pirate’s own with so much force that the man fell back and plunged into the water.

You whirled to Sturmhond; your eyes were wide, heart beating in your chest, and you wouldn’t be lying if you said his face was the most amazing thing you could’ve seen in that moment.

“You need to hide.” He told you, tugging you away from the edge as your crewmates fought every pirate that attempted to board. “Your power is gone. You cant fight like this.”

“I can fight.” You scoffed, but your limbs were indeed weak. You weren’t sure you could lift your sword if you tried. “Let me help.” You urged, meeting his hardened stare, every inch of lover gone. This was only your captain, and a fighter, telling his subordinate a command. “Let me.”

“No.” He growled, an inch from your face, and you didn’t even have enough energy to rage at him. But then his face softened, a single fraction, as he kissed you, hard enough to bruise. And when he pulled back, eyes scanning your face as if to memorize it, he said, “if we survive this, remind me to marry you.”

Your heart stopped, stopped in your chest, and you clutched his shirt tightly, unable to let him go. You only had seconds, but your eyes were shining with tears as you stared up at him.

“Remind me to say yes.” You whispered, a last, desperate promise to the man you loved, and you could only stand there looking pathetic, feeling floored, as he left your side and threw himself into the fight.

You backed away, glancing around the chaotic deck as if looking for a sign from the Saints. You pressed a hand against your chest, begging the voice that had spoken to you since you’d gotten your amplifier, for aid. Please, you pressed your hand harder against it, looking out at the sky, and the sea, and the battle. Please. Please.

No. Was the silent response, and you almost sobbed aloud. You do not need my help.

“Please.” You whispered, this time out loud, the word a lost attempt for aid slipping away on the wind. And so you looked to the fight, trying to steel yourself. You wouldn’t die like a coward. You would not be afraid.

But your cry of fear was genuine when an arrow flew through the darkness, slamming home into one of your crewmates. And then your vision went white as Sturmhond crashed onto the deck, his head cracking violently against the wood.

You weren’t sure if you were exploding. One second you were you, and then you were screaming. Screaming—maybe that was the sound that filled your ears, your head, your heart, and the fighting paused briefly enough that you knew you had been. You strode forward, eyes on Sturmhond, then on the enemy still attempting to climb.

“Get out of my way.” You snarled at Tolya, death incarnate, and dove low enough back into your power that something in you cracked.

And then the biggest wave of your life, angry and hungry, rose in front of your ship. Enemy were already screaming, running, fleeing as best they could. Some even had the audacity to jump into the water, the damned fools. When you sent the wave plummeting down, the audible crack of the prow of the opposite ship was deafening. Pirates screamed, on both sides, as you raged and raged, forcing the ship down, down, down, shoving every pirate, every scrap of debris, onto the ocean floor.

And you held it there, insuring that there were no survivors, before you fell forward to grasp the rail, but not fast enough for your legs to catch you as you blacked out onto the deck.

-

Your body hurt. Ached. Your hand moved involuntarily to your chest, resting against the shell. The ocean hadn’t lied. And whether She had aided you or not, pushing alongside that last drop of power, you realized you didn’t care. That She allowed someone to wield Her at all was a blessing in itself.

You peeled your eyes open slowly, glancing around Sturmhond’s cabin. It felt like every inch of you had been wrung out to dry. You noticed, though, that your clothes had been changed. Tamar, most likely. And then you saw the body in the bed beside you, his blonde hair rumpled in sleep, as he slept soundly.

You could’ve sobbed, then. You reached out, running a hand as softly as possible against his forehead. He reached up, waking slowly, and grasped your wrist. His thumb ran along your skin as his eyes opened, that wicked blue finding your own.

“Y/N.” He rasped, shifting slightly, then winced. “My future wife.” You ignored the world ending surge of emotion you felt at those words, attempting to prop yourself up on an elbow.

“You were shot.” You whispered, the terrible words unable to rise any louder. “Shot. I thought I’d—” you swallowed. And then you forced away the urge to joke, to say what you didn’t mean. “I thought I’d lost you. It almost killed me.”

“Literally, I hear.” He murmured, groaning low in his throat as he managed to sit up, brow furrowed in concentration. “Took out the—the whole fleet, huh?”

“Not the whole fleet.” You argued. “I almost couldn’t do anything at the end. But then you—and I—” you squeezed your eyes against the tears that threatened when the blankets fell away from his chest and you saw the bandages, the wound that had cut through his shoulder having had barely missed his heart.

And then, damn you, you did weep. You cried as you covered your face, curling into yourself. You doubted that you’d ever forget that damning sound, that crack of his head against the deck. The fear you had felt was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Because you loved him. Loved Sturmhond. And you would’ve gladly allowed your power to kill you if that’s what would’ve saved him.

“Darling, no.” Sturmhond sighed, reaching out with a strained sound to touch your shoulder. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

You managed to calm yourself as you moved over to him, propping yourself up on your knees as your body adjusted to movement. You reached out, running your hands over his face and neck, surprised to see moisture in his own eyes as well. He looped his arms around you, fighting his grimace.

“Did you mean it?” You asked carefully, avoiding glancing down at his wound. “When you said you’d..” False hope was a terrible fate, so you couldn’t finish the sentence.

He craned his neck up a fraction, silently asking for it, and you gave him the soft kiss he wanted. When he pulled away, a line of moisture running down his cheek, you wiped his skin clean.

“Every word.” He said firmly, eyes fierce. “I want to marry you. I don’t want to just be your lover, Y/N. Nor your captain. Your equal.” His eyes trailed to your amplifier, then up. “I knew the first time you took out a ship with that gift that I loved you. That I was in love with you.” He squeezed his eyes shut again as a stab of pain rocked through his shoulder, and his voice was strained when he spoke again. “You could sail…anywhere. A thousand miles from me. And nowhere on this planet could save me from my ties to you. You’re mine. Always.”

You were crying again, embarrassingly enough, and he cracked a half-hearted smile.

“The prospect too upsetting? If you want we can have separate bedrooms.”

“Shut up.” You scoffed, and kissed him again. The moment that man was healed, you were going to ravish him. Then you pulled back, glancing over to the sword resting against the wall, it’s emerald encrusted hilt glinting in the candlelight. “Now, what the hell is all the fuss over that sword?”

He grinned slyly, that smile that always told you when trouble was on the horizon, and tucked you against his chest the best he could throughout his pain. And as he stroked your hair, kissing the top of your head, he spoke.

“Later,” he said, and you felt his grin against your head. “when I’m healed, I’ll tell you. But I’m not in the condition to be punched right now.”

“What?” You demanded, and he laughed, tugging you back down when you tried to sit up.

“Later.” He insisted, and closed his eyes, slipping off into sleep.

hello helloooooo

[corpsebasil]

The Second Son 18+ parte uno

When the Queen of Ravka is widowed and her place on the throne is challenged, the second son must find a way to be there for her.

Y/N pressed her head against the tomb-stone, closing her eyes against the sheer weight that was resting on her shoulders. She’d grown thinner and seemed to drain of color the past few weeks, dealing with daily state meetings, funeral preparations, and planning.

Just last night she’d been yelled at in a meeting, told that she would be forced to step down due to her lack of a son to pass the throne to. Nikolai Lantsov, the man that was technically her brother in law, had thrown a glass about three inches shy of the man’s head, shattering it against the wall.

The message was loud and clear: don’t disrespect Y/N, or Nikolai will deal with it.

He was there now, at the wake, his hand resting carefully on one shoulder as silent tear’s ran down the girl’s face. He had no idea how to truly comfort her—how to comprehend that sort of loss. Vasily had died, died somehow in his sleep, and instead of being sympathetic the members of court had accused her of killing him, had blamed her for her lack of a child, and had utterly abandoned her when she needed them most.

“I’m here for you, you know that.” Nikolai murmured, running his hand along her back. She sniffed and glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes red and cheeks tear-stained.

“It feels like—” her voice caught and he crouched on the ground beside her, looping his arm around her back. “like I’ve lost everything. My husband, my dignity, any friends.” She shook her head, eyebrows pulling together as her pretty face began to crumple. “I have nothing left, Nikolai.”

“You have me.” He assured his queen and, damn the onlookers, he pulled her into him, holding her as close as he dared as she wept against his chest.

The next few months were torture for Nikolai.

It felt like nothing was good enough, nothing could help her. It amazed him that she managed to get herself out of bed, her miserable gaze growing cold and steely when accusations or criticism were thrown her way. She went to every meeting. Deflected every harsh phrase. And Nikolai had to watch as the woman that had always been so full of life, the woman he’d known since they were teenagers, slowly turned into a shard of ice.

“Y/N,” he called, following after her down the hall one afternoon. Her handmaidens, carefully selected by Y/N herself, all fixed him with territorial gleams in their eyes as he approached. “what do you think of a walk in the gardens?”

“She is busy, Sobachka.” One of the girls practically sneered, looking down her nose at him.

“If she wishes to walk in the gardens,” another argued, looking at her fellow maiden. “then she can with us. We will keep her safe, prince.” She smiled at Nikolai, almost sympathetically, as Y/N’s cool stare found his own.

But whatever she saw on his face had her own eyes softening, and she laid a hand on the girl that had practically hissed at him’s shoulder.

“Easy, Marian.” Y/N sighed, then nodded to the other girl. The third was still silent, peering over the queen’s shoulder with an almost childlike shyness. “Delia, Anika, will you please visit the dogs in the kennels? I hear a new batch of puppies was born and I’d like to hear if they’re worth the company.”

The shy one, Anika, immediately lit up, grasping the other two girl’s hands and rushing away, the three laughing as they raced. Nikolai had never seen such whimsical behavior in his court; it warmed him momentarily, only until the one named Marian shot him a look that promised a horrifying death if anything happened to her queen.

“My handmaidens,” Y/N mused, watching as they linked arms and began skipping as they rounded a corner. “are quite energetic. But they keep me sane.” She sighed, turning back to Nikolai, and tilted her head to the side in a ridiculously adorable way that had Nikolai feeling strangely flustered. “They are also trained killers. Wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you will.”

“How um—” Nikolai cleared his throat, nodding his head towards the garden. “How lovely. I do think that Marian wanted me dead on the spot.”

“She’s my cousin.” Y/N admitted, surprising Nikolai. “She came all the way from our northern cities to be at my side during this time.”

“I like her already.” Nikolai said, offering her his arm. “I’m a bit scared of her, but I like her.”

Her laugh stunned him enough that he shot her an incredulous look, one he quickly wiped off his face when she looped her arm through his own. How she could even smile with what she was going through was beyond him. But he saw the darkness under her eyes; he could see the way she seemed to sink down into herself, like she had a permanent exhaustion wrapping around her.

They moved throughout the hallway, passing into the gardens, the sweet smell of flowers floating along the air. Y/N let go of Nikolai to kneel by a rose bush, inhaling deeply. She seemed calmer, now. Less tired. She tipped her face back into the sunlight and closed her eyes, and Nikolai’s heart almost stopped.

He’d seen her do that same gesture about a hundred times but now, watching her that afternoon, she seemed more radiant than ever.

“You look—” he started, then stopped. Her eyes cut to his, wide and gorgeous, and he wasn’t sure why his chest had grown tight. “beautiful.”

Something in her face changed, a subtle twitch of the mouth, but she seemed to straighten, a sheen of delight appearing slowly in those captivating eyes of hers.

“Thank the Saints someone thinks so.” She said, laughing half-heartedly, and turned back to her flowers.

“I’m sorry about Vasily.” Nikolai blurted, his heart rate speeding. Saints where was this coming from? “I know you loved him and—”

She startled him by cackling, a surprisingly witchy sounding laugh that sent the hairs on the nape of his neck on end. He stared, borderline stunned, as she covered her mouth with a hand, her eyes twinkling at the prince.

“What?” She gasped, fighting off her laughter. She glanced around to make sure no one was around and, almost conspiratorially, whispered to him, “I hated that bastard. He was an arrogant son of a—”

“But you—you cried. At his funeral.”

“I might not have cared for him but he was still my husband.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Then she took in his stunned expression and frowned slightly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I promise I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

He only shook his head, but was unable to stop himself from leaning a bit into her touch. The wicked gleam in her eyes told him enough: she would’ve like to be the one that killed him.

“You wanted children, though?” He offered, moving a step closer, and was met by a rush of warmth when she made no move to back away. “You—you always told me you wanted…you told the court that you’d tried—”

Her expression darkened and she turned away, striding a few steps before turning back.

“The people of court know nothing about my desire for children, or how much I wanted to be a mother.” Nikolai was horrified to see tears beginning to form in his queen’s eyes. “They don’t know about my—” she wiped a hand over her face and gave him an agonized look. “he wouldn’t touch me. I couldn’t tell anyone. How am I to be blamed for being childless when he wouldn’t lay a single hand on me—"

“He what?” Nikolai interrupted, startled. The fact that his brother had never bedded her, hadn’t wanted to, was a fact that made absolutely no sense to him. He’d felt a stab of burning jealously in his chest when she’d said she’d tried to have children, and had chalked it up to fertility issues. “Not once?”

“He kissed me on our wedding day. During the ceremony. That was the last time.”

He only stared, briefly winded, and moved towards her. That she didn’t move away gave him courage, not even when he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave her a look so filled with longing it took her breath away.

“I’m sorry.” He said, and didn’t move when she leaned closer into him. “If I would’ve known—I knew you wanted to be a mother. I would’ve liked you to have had that, at least.”

She nodded, eyes sad, and she surprised him by hugging him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He didn’t hesitate to hold her, breathing in her flowery scent, as she pressed her face against him.

“I won’t let go of my dreams.” She whispered, fingers clutching him tighter. “I will find a good man, a man who truly loves me, and we’ll have a family together. And I’ll be at peace, knowing I’ve gotten what I’ve always wanted.”

His arms seemed to loop around her further and she closed her eyes, absorbing his warmth the best she could. This was Nikolai, one of her closest friends, the boy that had teased her and played pranks on her throughout their youth. This was the boy that had once snuck her away to a village festival had spun her around so fast during a dance she was afraid she’d puke.

The boy who, during her wedding, had rose in the middle of the ceremony and left, a barely suppressed sob catching in her throat as she watched him leave. And now he was running a hand over her hair, his face dangerously close to her own, as she pulled back to look at him.

“I need time.” She told him, voice quiet, as she looked up. “I need time but—but if you care for me…in any way I might feel about you, then maybe..” she swallowed, glancing away. “I would’ve liked it to be you.” She admitted, and he could hardly hear her words over his pounding heart. “I never wanted him. It was always—” she couldn’t finish, her grip on him tightening, and he simply laid a kiss against the top of her head, a smile on his handsome face.

“However long you need,” he said, sliding a hand up to her cheek to pull her eyes to his. “I’m here. Always.”

-

The months seemed to fly by. Months of spending almost every second with one another; every morning, as a tradition, they had breakfast together. They took walks together, and horse rides, and he took her to see shows and slowly, slowly, she came back to herself. She became giddy at the sight of him, at his smiling face and his kind words.

Even Marian, the coldest of her handmaidens, took a liking to Nikolai. She annihilated him when they played cards, to his dismay, but even her steely, protective cousin began demanding when they could all see the prince again. And then came the night after he and Y/N had gotten a bit drunk, laughing and dancing around her rooms.

“This is not queenly behavior,” he laughed, watching as she twirled around and around, her crown tossed carelessly on a couch.

“I’m still a girl, Nik.” She grinned, flouncing towards him, and took his hands, forcing him to dance with her. “Come on, you lazy bastard. Dance with me.”

He laughed aloud, tugging her into him and, so fast he didn’t know what he was even doing, he dropped a kiss down onto her mouth. She froze in his grip, expression sobering as she pulled back, and he instantly regretted the decision.

“I’m sorry, I—” he felt panicked, watching as she stared at him so calculatingly he was sure he had made a gigantic fool of himself. “I didn’t mean to I just—”

But then she was lunging for him, practically tackling him over as she kissed him hard, with everything she had, and he tugged her roughly against him. A pretty moaning noise left her mouth when he lifted her, wrapping her legs around him as he moved to her bedroom.

“Nikolai,” she breathed, pulling back for only half a second to look at him. “please I—”

“Anything you want.” He murmured, kissing her again, before dropping her down on her bed. She immediately shoved him onto his back, straddling his hips, pressing as close to him as she could when he tugged her mouth back to his own.

It felt desperate, ridiculously so, this inevitable joining. He practically ripped her dress off as she tugged at his belt, her face flushed and hair tousled. Then she gasped as he slipped his hand between her legs, running the calloused fingers across her center, then inside.

Her head dropped to his shoulder as she keened out his name, feeling every single curl and thrust of his fingers into her. And gods, he was good. Especially when he rolled her onto her back, tugging off the rest of her clothing, and moved down between her legs.

Her head was spinning. Spinning, as his tongue dipped inside her and then dragged up, his hand still working her as best as he could. She clutched at him, anything she could hold on to, her face so warm she thought she was on fire.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he mumbled against her, barely intruding the fog that had swarmed within her mind. “not yet.”

“That’s—” her breathing was ragged through the intensity of the pleasure. This had never been done to the queen before—never—and she was having trouble focusing on his words at all. “I want to make you—“

“Next time.” He promised, and with a particularly hard lick against her, his fingers curling to brush against that certain spot that made her head spin, she came, shaking so hard she had to grip him with both hands in order not to jolt away.

Then she laid spent, chest rising and falling at a rapid clip as he moved beside her, his lips pressing against her neck in slow, soft kisses.

“I want you to…do more with me.” She said, turning her head to face his. Lord, he didn’t even have sex with her and he looked completely fucked out. Her stomach dropped at the sight and her face warmed further.

“Later.” He swore again, bringing her mouth to his, then brushing his tongue against her own. “I want to make love to you until you can’t think of anyone else.”

“I never have.” She said, swallowing nervously. “Never anyone else.”

He ran his fingers across her cheek, smiling softly.

“You have no idea how much I care about you.” He breathed and then added, almost as an afterthought, “Your Majesty.”

“Oh hush.” She scoffed, climbing over him to straddle him once again.

They kissed long into the night, her fingers in his hair, a bruising grip from him on her hips. And then later, though not too long later, he’d tugged her up over his head, forcing her to grip the headboard as he licked at her until she broke again.

hi I feel jealous and also unhinged