the-unidentified-author

[the-unidentified-author]

I Don’t Know How to Put It Into Words | Deputy Hank | The Silo

I am so in love with this character. RANT: I have like 50 fanfics all floating around the abyss because I actually hate editing. And why does every spell check have AI in it. I don’t care that I’ve used passive voice, just check my damn spelling and leave me the hell alone. Don’t even get me started on the ones that complain about description because apparently everything needs to be concise. I dilly-dally, I describe, I ramble.

Deputy Hank x Reader

Warnings/ Tags: SMUTNSFW, filth, smut, minors DNI, established relationship, a little rough, consensual!, he's a big man, he knows how to use his hands, actions speak louder than words, a bit of angst, arguing, inability to express feelings, he's very hands-on.

Summary: Hank doesn't like how close you are to Knox, but he's not all that good at putting feelings into words. He's more of a hands-on sort of person…

Word Count: 5,230

Gif by the wonderful @lilimakesgifs who has very kindly made me not one, not two, but SEVEN gifs for this character! Thank You! ☺️

“That was good of you to make the trip up there with us, even though shit completely hit the fan.” Chuckled Knox with a smile.

He stepped forwards and pulled you into a hug, it was a little unexpected, but you welcomed it, wrapping your arms around him, squeezing him back. Your journey up the silo had been stressful and chaotic, and you were just happy all of you had managed to get back down relatively unscathed. You had a few bumps and bruises, and you were sure that you would be aching in the morning. But you had managed to make it down without serious injury. Shirley had patched up Knox and debriefed the rest of you on their adventures down the silo before Hank arrived. All in all, the three of you were remarkably unharmed.

“It's okay, it just sucks we didn’t get the outcome we were hoping for.” you replied, giving Shirley, who was standing behind him, a small smile.

Stepping back, he flashed you a grin as he moved towards the exit, before disappearing through the door of Marthas shop. Shirley smiled at you and opened her arms. You welcomed the hug, stepping forwards.

“I’m so glad the both of you managed to make it back down. You had me worried there for a little.” You whispered as she pulled away.

“I’m glad you managed to get our old lady back down in one piece, too.” Replied Shirley with a nod, flashing a smile at Martha, who was tinkering away at her workbench as though she hadn’t just been out of her shop for the first time in over twenty years.

“Hey, less of the damn old.” Muttered Martha, as she pulled the machine she was working on open with a frustrated sigh. She glanced at Hank, who was standing just a few feet from you down a couple of the steps to Martha’s workshop.

Shirley smiled again as she closed the door of the shop, giving Martha a nod and a flashing her a smirk. You let out a deep sigh, the adrenaline of the last few hours wearing off as your brain finally came to terms with how dangerous your journey up and then back down the silo had been.

“Well, you two kids should get going too, unless of course you have any further questions, Deputy?” Continued Martha, not attempting to hide the slight bit of venom the last word was laced with.

She had never quite forgiven him for taking on the role as the sheriff's deputy, but you had argued a few times that it was better to have one of your own overseeing things in the down deep rather than some pencil pusher from up top. It had taken her a little while, but she had seemingly forgiven him; however, she did little to hide the distaste she felt towards his chosen career.

Hank, who usually would have a quick-witted comment to throw back at her, had his attention instead focused on one of the objects on one of the many shelves Martha had in her shop. He chewed on the inside of his lip and had a look on his face that made it seem like he was somewhere else entirely.

“Yeah, come on Hank, we should head back to the station. I’ll fill you in on everything that happened up there.” You glanced at Martha and gave her a wink. “Unofficially of course.” You joked, and Martha shook her head and focused her attention back on whatever hunk of junk was on the workbench in front of her. “Hank,” you continued, stepping down a step and placing your hand on his shoulder

Your touch managed to shake him out of whatever trance he was in, he nodded at Martha, flashing her a small smile before he followed you to the door.

*****

You yawned as you entered the Deputy Station. Hank moved past you and walked directly to one of the filing cabinets against the wall. He pulled the top draw out that was chest high to him and rifled through the files. He pulled one out and opened it, placing it down on the open drawer and flicking through it. You couldn't help but notice how strange he was acting. He had barely said a word to you on the way back to the station, when usually it was a task to get him to shut up. You figured perhaps he was angry that you had decided to side with Knox and Shirley, about the best course of action for the down deep. You weren’t used to him being this quiet, he, just as most people in the down deep, didn’t typically have a problem openly expressing his opinions on things, regardless of if that opinion conflicted with others.

“You alright, Hank?” You asked, crossing your arms and leaning on the desk facing him, watching as he read the file, flicking through it carefully.

He didn’t say anything, just continued to thumb through the file, acting as though the words on the page were more interesting than anything you had to say.

“Hank?” You prompted him to answer, and finally, he looked up at you.

You raised your shoulders slightly, prompting him again to reply to you. He shifted on his feet a little.

“I'm fine.” He said with a small smile that died almost as quickly as it formed before focusing his attention back on the paper.

“You don’t seem fin— “

“How long have you and Knox been close?” He asked, cutting you off, his tone a little accusatory.

You frowned and studied his expression; he hadn't looked over at you as he asked his question. Remaining focused on the file. You watched the muscle in his jaw flex as he clenched his teeth, and the vein in his neck bulged a little. He was angry, you could see it on his face, even though he was trying to hide it. The pair of you had argued briefly before you made your way up with Knox and Shirley, but you figured after everything that had happened, there were more important things to worry about.

“Hank, I’ve known him as long as I have known you.” He didn’t look at you, so you continued, not knowing why you felt the need to defend yourself. “And well, he has made me his shadow, you know, after what happened to Jules and well Coop.” you said, your voice trailing off a little at the end as you were reminded of the two people you cared deeply for and how they had been lost in such a short space of time. 

“He made you, his shadow?” Hank asked, finally turning towards you.

He placed his hand on his hip and looked at you, his eyes cold and hard. He was definitely angry, the happy look that seemed permanently fixed to his face was replaced with a scowl. There were only a few occasions in the time that you had known him that you had seen the happy disposition slip from him face, and most of them were in the last few weeks. There was something about the way he was looking at you though, his face etched with accusatory undertones, after you long day it was starting to grate on you.

“Yeah Hank, both the generator shadows have bitten the dust and out of everyone I am the most qualified to take their place before another one becomes available.” You placed your hands on your hips, frustrated by the way he was acting, but not irritated enough yet to call him out on it.

“So, you and he have been spending a lot of time together, then?” He asked, his tone still one that you weren't used to him using on you. It was formal and laced with suspicion, you were starting to feel like a criminal being interrogated, not his friend.

“What is this, Hank? It feels like you're interrogating me. I’ve just had the most hellish day and instead of asking me about it, all you care about is how close I am to Knox?!” You scowled at him and then moved your eyes from him, the look on his face just making you angrier.

He scoffed, picking up the file and slamming the cabinet shut. The sudden loud noise made you jump. He walked around the desk to the opposite side you were sitting, dropped the file on the table and sat down. You turned to face him, arms still folded, but he once again had his attention focused on the file.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked, your temper flaring. “Do you not think I can do it?”

He let out an exacerbated sigh and put his elbows on the desk and rubbed his face with his hands, before running them through his hair, combing it back out of his face. He looked up at you through his thick eyelashes. Usually, you were looking up at the man, the angle threw you off a little.

“I just want to know what's going on with you and Knox.” He said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“What do you mean?” you asked, knowing full well what he was insinuating but wanting him to say the accusation out loud.

“Are you and him…?” his gaze faltered, and he looked off to your left. His gaze returned to you after a few seconds. “Because if you are, I'm going to have to write you up for an unsanctioned relationship.”

“Unsanctio— What the fuck are you talking about, Hank?” you asked, your temper getting the better of you again and the words coming out a little harsher than you had intended.

“You know the rules, all relationships need to be authorised up top for the good of the silo.” He said, shrugging his shoulders, meeting your eyes once again.

You stepped back and turned away from him, letting out an exacerbated sigh, you were too tired to have this conversation right now. Turning back to him, you met his gaze, trying to look at him with as much anger as you could muster.

“If you gave a damn about unsanctioned relationships, half of fucking maintenance would be written up.” You snapped, leaning forwards and placing your hands on the desk. “And for your information, no, Knox and I are not together. Shirley is the one that has eyes for him.”

You stood back up and watched as he shifted in his seat, once again looking away from you, uncomfortable under your furious gaze.

“I…” he chewed at the inside of his cheek.

“You what…? Because it seems to me that you're jealous.” You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but you were too angry at him to care to apologise.

“I’m not fucking jealous!” He erupted, leaning forwards and looking down at the file, resting his head in his hands.

“What's the file?” you asked, leaning forwards and sliding it across the table away from him.

He moved his hand, slamming it down onto the paperwork and hastily pulling it away from you, but you saw enough of it to know whose file it was.

“You’re reading up on Knox, I don’t fucking believe you?!” You spat, raising your hand to your head and squeezing the bridge of your nose.

“Well, he has just been accused of killing Judge Meadows.” replied Hank, his voice raised.

“Yes, he has been accused. Falsely accused. Which is the conclusion that all five of us came to down at Marthas shop. You yourself even said there was no way he would actually go through with something like that.” You reasoned, starting to understand why he was acting the way he was.

“I’m the Deputy, it's my job to check.” He retorted, his tone a little threatening.

“Right, and you’re going to find answers in there?” You gestured to the file. “We have known the man for our whole lives. As a Police Deputy, you should know that people don’t just jump straight to murder, they start off with petty crime.”

“He has priors.”

“Yes, so does everyone down here, but each one of the crimes in that folder was committed to help someone? How the hell would killing, the Judge help us?” you argued, unable to control how angry you were getting, you turned and headed for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?” he asked, standing.

“I’m going home, Hank.” You spat. “I’ve had a shit day; my legs are killing me, and I wanted to talk to my friend about it. Not listen to said friend try to reason that Knox had anything to do with the death of the Judge. Why don’t you just fucking say what you're thinking instead of going on this fucking witch hunt because a man hugged me.”

You slammed the door, standing on the step, breathing deeply for a few seconds. A few people who were loitering about glanced over at you, but you didn’t meet their eyes. Instead, you zipped your jacket up and stuffed your hands in your pockets. You marched down the alleyway, heading for the main steps, wanting nothing more than to flop down on your bed and forget all about the events of the day.

It was only when you heard the click of your door unlocking as you turned the key did the last of your anger slip away. You pushed the door in, pulling the key from the lock and kicking it closed behind you. Your eyes found the bottle of rum on your coffee table, and you collapsed onto the sofa, picking the bottle up in your hand, unscrewing it and taking a long swig. The liquid burned a little on the way down, but immediately the familiar warm sensation began to relax you. Taking another long swig, you returned the bottle to the table and laid back into the soft cushion of the sofa. You slid down a little on the sofa, yawning, today had been tiring, and you hadn't realised quite how much until you had made it home. You couldn’t remember the last time you went that far up the silo and back down in the same day. You had never spent so much time running before.  Kicking off your boots, you sat up and pulled your coat from your body and threw it on the armchair before turning and laying on the couch staring at the ceiling.

Running up and down the silo to escape the raiders had really taken it out of you, and you started to feel a little guilty about how you had spoken to Hank. You knew he had some sort of feelings for you, Martha had been the one to suddenly come out with it a few months ago when you had offered to give her a hand in her shop. She had never been one for beating around the bush, and she had many opinions on the sort of couple you and Hank would make if he would just pull his finger out and ask you on a date. Until that afternoon, you hadn't really paid the Deputy all that much attention. The two of you had grown up together, him being a few years older though meant the two of you never really became close until you started working on the generator. He had been friends with Knox and Jules for a while and when you had made it to Mechanical as a steam duct engineer, they had welcomed you into their group of friends. Shirley had been the one to take you under her wing, Jules had taken a little while to warm up to you. But eventually, the three of you were as thick as thieves, she had taken Jules’s death the hardest, not accepting that she had died. You had known Martha since you were a child, though, she was by blood your aunt. Her relationship with her wife hadn’t worked out and as far as you could tell, she cared little for the relationships of others. Which is why it was such a surprise that afternoon when she blurted out the crush, she believed Hank had on you, and then proceeded to mention it in every conversation when the two of you were alone together. Over the last year, you and he had become closer, Shirley had teased you about it and was more than likely the reason that Martha had brought up the idea of him and you being a couple.

It was only when Martha told you about his apparent crush that you started noticing the subtle ways, he acted a little different around when he was around you. Then you begin to realise how attractive he was. He was tall, at six foot four-ish he towered over most of the men in the silo. His broad frame added to his appeal. You had admittedly spent a little too much time imagining what he looked like out of the uniform. The men in the Down Deep were known for being far muscular than the men in the mids or up top, and your mind had wondered if it was the same for the Deputy. Then there was the way he looked, the facial hair and the shoulder-length curly hair suited him. When he was a kid, he always had it short, curls sticking up in all directions, no matter how carefully his mother tried to tame it in the morning before school. He was the last man out of your little group to be able to grow facial hair. The moment he did, he seemingly refused to part with it, and it suited him. But his big brown eyes were what had really made you realise that you had some repressed feelings for the man. They were soft, even in the harsh light of the canteen or the low light of the generator room. The way his mouth never failed to form into a smile when he met your eye, even if you were across the room. The way you always saw him searching for you in the crowd, a brilliant grin appearing on his face when he realised you had already found him.

You rolled over, squishing your face into the pillow, letting out a deep, exacerbated sigh. You had to stop thinking about him, you were supposed to be angry with the man for insinuating that there was something going on between you and Knox and then straight up accusing the man of murder. Not thinking about how pretty his eyes were or how it would feel to run your hands over his bare chest, those same eyes following every movement of your fingers.

Groaning, you picked up the bottle of whiskey and took another swig, hissing lightly at the way it burned on the way down. Hoping that it would grant you a couple of hours sleep before your shift the next day. You rolled onto you side facing the back of the sofa and closed your eyes, deciding you didn’t have the energy to stand back up and make it all the way to your bed.

Just as you felt the pull of sleep beginning to take you, there was a knock at your door that yanked you back to the waking world. You turned your head to look at the door, scowling at the unknown figure standing behind it for disturbing you. Silently cursing them as you re-adjusted, trying to make yourself comfortable. Turning your head, you looked at the clock on your wall, you had barely been home for twenty minutes and someone was already disturbing you. Probably someone nosy to hear the details of the day, but you were no longer in any mood to be polite, Hank had seen to that. It was almost midnight. You huffed and closed your eyes, snuggling back into the pillow, hoping whoever it was would just go away.

The knock came again, no such luck. They didn’t appear to be going away any time soon, as another knock echoed around your apartment. You rolled off the sofa and stood up from the floor as the fourth knock came. You clenched your fist and contemplated just opening the door and swinging at whoever was standing behind it, but then you would have to face Hank down at the station, and that wasn’t something you wanted to do this evening. Plus, the bunk in the cell down there was even more uncomfortable than the sofa.

“Fucking hell, calm down, I’m coming!” You yelled at the person disrupting your evening.

You yanked the door open ready to give the person standing behind it what for but the sigh of them stunned you to silence. It was Hank, he was standing just outside your door, his hands on his hips, staring at the floor. When the door opened, her met your eye and opened his mouth to speak, but the look on your face made him falter, and instead he let out a sigh.

Clenching your jaw, you tried to soften your expression as he looked away from you, glancing up and down the street before turning his attention back to you.

“What do you want, Hank?” You asked, raising your eyebrow.

“I just… I just wanted to apologise for earlier.” He started clenching his jaw.

“Apology accepted. Have a good night.” you said, moving to close the door.

He stepped forwards and caught the door with his hand. You frowned at him, and he dropped his hand but didn’t step back.

“You’re right.” He stared, placing his hand on his hip again and meeting your eye. “I am fucking jealous.” He admitted with a small shrug of his shoulders.  His eyes dropped from yours as he looked up and down the street again. “Are you going to make me do this out here?”

You clenched your jaw and stepped out of the way, gesturing for him to follow you inside. He stooped slightly to get through the door before walking a little way into your apartment taking a moment to look around. The sound of the door closing had him turning back to look at you.

“I…” he started, but the words faltered, and he raised his hand to rub it over his lower face before turning, meeting your eye and starting again. “I don’t know how to put it into words.” He took a deep breath, and you raised your eyebrows at him. “Fuck it.” He muttered.

He stepped towards you, cupping your head in his hands, and he kissed you. At first, it was careful and delicate, as though he were preparing for you to push him away and strike him across the face. But then it became a little more intense as your hands found his hair. The kiss communicated, without the need for words, everything the two of you had been feeling for the past few months. He was the first to pull away, his hands moving to your hips to keep you close to him, not wanting the intimate moment to end.

“Damn, I owe Shirley twenty credits.” You muttered with a small laugh, your hands resting on the back of his neck.

“Why?” Hank asked, a big smile on his face.

“She said you would be the one to make the first move.” You replied, trying not to reflect the grin back at him.

“You made a bet, so you…?” He asked, his eyes searching your face.

“Feel the same way? I assumed the kiss would have communicated that.” You smiled, as his familiar goofy smile played on his lips.

Without a second thought, you leaned in again, the first kiss making you want more, need more. He didn’t hesitate to kiss back, his hands moving to graze over your shoulder and then down to your waist. His movements were careful, as though he were still worried that in the next heartbeat you would reject him. Carefully he guided your movements, stepping forwards, prompting you to move backwards. The back of your calves coming into contact with the couch, carefully he guided your movements. Until you were laying on the couch just as you had been moments before, but this time he was on top of you.

He pulled away from the kiss, curls falling into his face as he looked down at you. His dark eyes filled with something that you were sure was reflected right back at him by your own. Carefully, he pulled his jacket from his shoulders. You tried not to imagine the way that his muscles must be flexing under the tan uniform he wore before he leaned back in to kiss you.

The soft glow of the dimly lit room mixed with the sips of whisky you had consumed before his arrival made every sense feel as though it were heightened, like a slow fire beginning to spread through your veins. Carefully, he traced his fingertips down the length of your arm as his lips moved from yours to your neck. The scratch of his facial hair combined with the soft, delicate touch of his lips had you grabbing at his bicep, digging your fingernails into him. Wanting him closer, wanting more of him.

“I have wanted to touch you for so fucking long,” he whispered between careful kisses placed along your jaw before he moved down your throat.

Hi breath tickled your skin, your hands moved to his back, wanting to pull him closer. You could feel the flex of his muscles under his shirt as he moved, tracing kisses along over your throat and then back up the other side of your neck. He was teasing you; you could feel the way his lips twisted into a light smirk as your body reacted under his touch. You held back a moan as his lips found that secret spot right under your ear, but you couldn’t help the way your hips bucked up to meet his, his hand cupping your waist, thumb slipping under the fabric of your shirt.

His touch, the way he felt above you was sending you insane, feelings flooding through your body ones you had never known yourself capable of. Never before had you understood the raw need that one person could have for another. Carefully you moved your hands to the buttons of his shirt, you fumbled with them, frustrated with how many there were. But he was patient, watching as you slowly made your way down the shirt, disappointed to find a t-shirt lay beneath the first. Another barrier keeping your hands from him.

Carefully he pulled his shirt from his arms then moved to pinch the back of the t-shirt and pull it over his head. Both items had barely hit the floor before your hands were on his chest, desperate and hungry to touch him. His hands moving to the hem of your shirt, you let him help you pull it over your head. Your shirt soon joining his on the floor.

He didn’t hesitate to continue his exploration of your body with his lips, leaning down to press a kiss to the top swell of your breast, hands moving to fumble with the clasp of your bra in the middle of your chest.

Your breath hitched as his lips continued their downward path, each kiss a brand upon your skin. His hands, gentle yet firm, skimmed over your curves, mapping your body like a cartographer charting new, precious lands. As he paused, looking up at you through the tumble of his curls, those deep, soulful eyes spoke volumes, whispering unspoken promises. The desire in his gaze was unmistakable, a reflection of the fire that danced within you, stoked with every caress. At that moment, nothing else existed.

Your hands found their way to his hair as he palmed your pussy through your trousers, seeming to enjoy the way your body responded to his touch. He carefully popped open the button of your jeans. He grabbed at the fabric at your hips and pulled your trousers down, you let out a slight laugh as the fabric got suck just before it passed over your feet. You kicked at him trying to rid yourself of the fabric, but he caught your calf and carefully pulled your leg free of your jeans, closely followed by the other one. 

You watched him, intrigued by the way his muscles moved. He certainly didn’t disappoint. His shoulders were broad and his arms more suited to a man who worked with his hands than someone who sat behind a desk. His hands cupped your hips as he moved lower, guiding your legs apart, placing a kiss over your underwear. He looked up at you again, an almost crafty look in his eyes. He moved his hands, his fingertips tracing the line of your underwear, gently hooking under the fabric and working them down and off your body.

Feeling exposed, you resisted the urge to press your thighs together, not that you would have managed it considering Hank was between them. His breath ghosted over your most sensitive skin, a tease of what was to come. And then, with aching slowness, he leaned in, his tongue tracing your folds with the delicacy of an artist painting a masterpiece. Each stroke sent sparks dancing along your nerves, your body alight with sensation. Hank seemed to pour every ounce of his focus, his devotion, into the movement of his mouth. His tongue circled your clit with agonising precision, each movement drawing another gasp from your lips. The sounds you made seemed to spur him on, his movements growing bolder, more insistent. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as you held him to you. The world narrowed to just the two of you, to the dance of his tongue and the rise of your hips to meet him.

The scent of his cologne, warm and woodsy, mingled with the smell of the whiskey on the table, creating a heady mix that seemed to envelop you both. The sound of your ragged breathing filled the room, punctuated by the occasional moan torn from your lips as he worked. The pillows beneath you moved, as you squirmed his hands at your hips keeping his mouth on you. Each sensation seemed magnified, from the brush of his hair against your thighs to the press of his fingers into your hips. As the pleasure built, your skin felt electric, each nerve ending alight with feeling. The world fell away until all that remained was the connection between the two of you. Your climax hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you and pulling you under. It was a rush of sensation, a blinding feeling, that left you breathless and trembling in its wake. And through it all, Hank remained, his touch a steady, grounding presence amidst the storm.

Carefully he slowed, letting you ride out your climax on his lips. He pulled away and looked up at you.

“Am I forgiven?” He whispered.

You nodded in response, not trusting your lip's ability to conjure words.

“Well, I’m not quite done apologising, just yet.” He smiled and placed a kiss, just below your belly button.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

The Stowaway | Commander Mills | 65

Warnings/ Tags: Arguments, mention of death, dinosaurs, might be smut if I make a part two, kinda rambling, idk I just wanted to write a story and build a character

Summary: You are a stowaway on Commander Mill's passenger ship, The Zoic Exploratory Charter 3703. Your Cryopod is the only one that made it, but he can’t find your ID tag and soon discovers the truth.

Word Count: 5,948

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

You awoke with a start, the sound of an alarm blaring like a siren, jarring your senses, while bright, erratic lights flashed harshly in your eyes. Panic surged through you like a tidal wave, and you scratched frantically at the cold glass in front of you, realising you were trapped in a claustrophobic box barely bigger than your body. A primal fear gripped your chest as you struggled for breath, clawing desperately at the glass that held you in this suffocating tomb, feeling the slickness of sweat on your palms. Flashing red lights cast ominous shadows around you as frantic text sprawled across the glass beneath your trembling hands, the ringing in your ears becoming a dull roar, until a robotic, tinny voice sliced through the chaos, cold and uncaring.

“Oxygen levels critical, immediate evacuation recommended.”

As the fog of sleep began to fall away, you began to remember where you were. It wasn’t a tomb or a coffin, and you weren’t here against your will. You were in a Cryo-chamber that should have been aboard a ship bound for the colonies, yet everything felt wrong. From what you could see outside the small, smudged window, a world of darkness loomed, and it looked as though you hadn’t reached your destination. A sinking feeling settled in your stomach as you feared the worst, the reality of being lost in space creeping up on you.

An alarm blared inside the chamber, so deafeningly loud it threatened to split your mind in two. Desperate, you struggled to cover your ears, bashing your elbows painfully against the sides of the cramped, padded chamber. A shadow flitted across the glass, but in your panic, you couldn’t decipher what, or who, it was. Your vision swam, spots of darkness dancing in front of your eyes as each breath felt heavier, teetering on the brink of being your last. Then, a sharp pop of electrics pierced the air and a hissing white smoke invaded, stinging your lungs with its acrid presence. You coughed, gasping futilely for air, the smoke swirling like a living nightmare. Frantically, you clawed at the glass again, your mind racing for the emergency procedure your friend had instructed, but you couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. The world spun dizzily, the pressure building until everything collapsed into an all-consuming blackness.

  You shifted restlessly in bed, tugging the blanket closer against the biting chill of the morning air. Burrowing deeper under the covers, a sudden icy shiver raced down your spine, jolting you into immediate wakefulness. You sat up abruptly, eyes wide open, taking in the surrounding disarray, a room cluttered with half-broken electronics, scattered tools, and a lone computer flickering to the left. Instinctively, you moved to rub your eyes, only to collide with something strange, a mask secured across your mouth. Confused and slightly panicked, you yanked it off, the action releasing a sharp hiss from the small device. Staring at it in your hands, the realisation dawned upon you, this was an oxygen mask. Your gaze darted around, focusing upwards and to the right, where brilliant golden sunlight streamed through a little window, illuminating the room with a surreal glow. With legs still heavy with fatigue, you swung them over the bed’s edge, attempting to stand as a sudden wave of nausea engulfed you. Clinging to the bed’s edge, you gulped down air, eyes squeezed shut to ward off the spinning room. Fragmented memories clawed their way back, haunting visions of the Cryo-chamber and the suffocating smoke. 

You glanced around, confusion thick in your mind, realising with a murmur of disbelief that you couldn't have ended up back here on your own. A sudden clang echoed through the ship's metallic hallways, causing your heart to leap. Standing up on unsteady legs, you shuffled over to the cupboard to the left, just before the door. Your hands searched through the clutter, eventually finding a large, bulky jacket, clearly made for someone with a larger build, perhaps a man. You draped it over your shoulders, feeling its unfamiliar weight, and pushed the door release button. The door opened with a mechanical hiss, and you cautiously poked your head into the corridor outside, casting furtive glances to the right and left. Hesitantly, you stepped out, discovering you were on what seemed to be the bridge of the ship. The door slid shut behind you with a soft thud, making you jump again. Turning around, your eyes caught the letters emblazoned on the door. You reached out, fingertips brushing over the words 'Commander's Quarters,' 

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, snapping your head left and right.

Moving quickly, you approached the solitary chair opposite what you presumed were the ship's controls, which bore the scars of a turbulent descent. Electrical pops crackled from some frayed wires to your left, while the console before you lay utterly lifeless. To your left, however, flickered the only screen that seemed to hold any semblance of life: the status panel for the Cryo chambers. It methodically scrolled through the chambers housed within the ship, each one glowing a menacing shade of red.   You didn’t know what had happened, but you knew one thing for sure. You had to get out of here before whoever had rescued you came back. If they really were the Commander of the ship, then they wouldn’t take too kindly to the only survivor being a stowaway. An illegal Cryo chamber stored in the back of the ship where there should only have been supplies.

You tapped on the computer screen, grateful that it was a model you were somewhat acquainted with, and selected the icon for the surrounding terrain. A question mark lingered beside the planet's name, but you brushed it off and swiftly scanned through the planet’s composition. The atmosphere seemed breathable, and the climate bore resemblance to the planet you had known growing up. As you scrolled, a notification appeared, prompting you to click on it. It revealed the location of one of the escape pods. Another creak echoed through the ship, and you froze, fearing for a moment that whoever had rescued you had returned. When no further sounds followed, you cautiously stood, striving to commit the map to the escape pod to memory. You had to find a way out of here.   You walked quickly, stopping only long enough in front of the door that separated the Commander's quarters from the rest of the ship for it to open. Then you moved quickly down the gangway, heading towards the back of the ship. To your left and right there should have been Cryopods, but each of the capsules were empty. It made you wonder how hard the landing must have been for the ship to decide the Cryopods would be safer making landfall by themselves.

Your focus lingered on the vacant Cryopods, oblivious to the rising water, until gentle splashes reverberated throughout the expansive chamber, urging you to glance down at your feet. The water was a murky brown, reminiscent of a muddy puddle or a pond, or so you surmised, having never seen an actual body of water. Life in an early colony had kept the sun's warmth a stranger to you, as the smog from terraforming machinery perpetually chocked the atmosphere. With a sigh, your gaze shifted to the door leading to the world beyond. The water lapped at the edge of the ramp where you stood. You had no idea how deep it was or more importantly what was in it.

Letting out a deep sigh, you turned and made your way back into the commander’s quarters. Placing your hands on your hips, you surveyed the small space, hoping to find an emergency exit through which you could climb up and out the top of the ship, praying that water hadn’t entirely encircled it. Your gaze fell upon the symbol for weapons, prompting you to step forward and grasp the handle. Nothing happened. You pulled again, this time with greater force, and the panel above the cupboard illuminated red, revealing a message. 

“Unauthorised access.” The robotic voice from before bellowed.

With a resigned sigh, you let your hand fall from the handle, anxiously nibbling your lip. The thought of hacking the software crossed your mind, yet the real problem was the lack of time, not ability. Turning away, you faced the ladder, placing your hands on the rung level with your head, eyes tracing up towards the ceiling where the hatch beckoned at the top. Casting a final, searching glance around the vessel, you found nothing of use and began to ascend the ladder with care.

The door loomed heavy in front of you, a stubborn obstacle between you and freedom. The ship was so badly damaged that the hydraulics, meant to open it with ease, failed miserably, leaving you in an awkward position. You jabbed at the button to release it, only to be met with an unsatisfying hiss and the button turning a mocking shade of red. Frustration simmered inside you, and with clenched jaw, you reached for the handle labeled ‘manual release,’ the letters worn from years of use. Standing on a precarious ladder, really just square cutouts in the wall, with barely enough space for the top of your boot, you found the task daunting. The earlier flood of water made your grip slippery and the climb treacherous. Yet, determined, you climbed, cursing the entire time and muttering prayers to gods you never believed in. After what felt like an eternity, your perseverance paid off as you pushed the handle up and over. The door heaved open with a satisfying clunk, hitting the top of the ship and allowing a sliver of light to pierce through the darkness.

The light was harsh, flooding your senses in an overwhelming deluge as you squinted into the newfound brightness. You dared not thrust more than the crown of your head through the narrow opening. Blinking rapidly, your eyes gradually adjusted, allowing you to take in the scene. To your astonishment, you discovered that the ship’s stern remained afloat, yet the bow rested firmly upon a sandbank. Relief coursed through you; escape seemed viable after all. Clinging to the jagged exterior, you calculated your descent along the fractured hull. Every step was precarious, but hope was a powerful motivator. Below, the escape pod beckoned, a beacon of salvation amid the wreckage.

After ten minutes of wandering, every direction had begun to look the same, and you realised you were completely lost. The environment surrounding you was foreign and unsettling. Towering trees stretched upwards, their dense canopy blotting out the sunlight, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. In any other situation, the sight of so much green might have filled you with wonder, but now it only fuelled a growing sense of dread. The trees seemed to form an endless, impenetrable maze, their rough bark and sprawling roots turning the simplest path into a twisting, treacherous journey. The ground itself was uneven, punctuated by sudden dips and rises that made it almost impossible to keep your bearings. Each step felt like a gamble, the threat of a hidden root or loose stone ready to trip you up. Back home, the landscape was flat and predictable. Though you hadn't ventured far on foot before, you were used to orderly paths, straight lines meticulously cut into the earth to accommodate the workers moving to and from the farms efficiently. 

A sharp crack of a twig snapping jarred you from your spiralling thoughts, yanking you back to the chilling reality. The shadowy forest had been alive with whispers, unsettling murmurs since your feet touched its floor, but none had felt this dangerously close before. Every instinct screamed at you to melt into silence, invisibility your only ally. From the depths of looming shadows came a shiver-inducing rustle, each footstep crunching against the brittle, leaf-carpeted earth as though the darkness prowled closer. Your heart hammered, an insistent drumbeat, forcing adrenaline through your veins. Every hair on your neck stood at rigid attention, a silent sentinel. With painstaking care, you eased your footsteps, each shift deliberates, ghost-like, until you were nestled beside a tree with bark rough against your back like armour. A dense bush nearby promised meagre shelter, a refuge slim and frail. You forced your breath into shallow, measured whispers, your lungs battling the urge to gulp air desperately. You tried to breathe slowly and quietly, fighting the urge to close your eyes, some childish part of your brain reasoning that if you couldn’t see it, then whatever was out there couldn’t see you.

 As the crunch of twigs and leaves echoed through the heavy air, the sound grew closer, sharpening your senses to their limits. It was as if the unseen entity were mirroring your desperate attempt at silence, creeping cautiously as though it were aware of your presence. The forest was alive with the symphony of its movements, each crack and rustle amplified in the stillness, weighing heavily on your heart. You could almost feel the tension in the air, thick with anticipation, as you fought to compose yourself, knowing that whatever lurked ahead was moving with a calculated stealth that could rival your own. You felt as though you were being hunted. 

With a sudden, jarring motion, the very bush you had counted on for cover was yanked away, exposing you to the daylight. Your heart skipped, expecting a monster, but instead, the figure that loomed in its place was far more unsettling, a man. His silhouette was familiar yet foreign, as the Commander of the ship stood before you, a weapon clutched in hands that looked neither welcoming nor hostile, just ready. His face, framed by the ghostly underbrush, mirrored your shock—eyes wide, jaw tense, as if he had stumbled upon a spectre. Time seemed to stop in that breathless stare; two worlds collided, both marooned in mutual disbelief. The spell broke as your instincts screamed louder. You spun away from him, adrenaline flooding your veins as you bolted, each stride an urgent leap over fallen timber, heedless of direction. All that mattered was the distance, the precious separation between you and the man who had emerged from the shadows with a gun.

“Hey, hey! Wait!” His voice cut through the frenzied air, urgent yet tinged with confusion, a desperate plea that echoed in your ears. It reached out to you across the space between, ricocheting off the trees, mingling with your racing heartbeat. Each syllable tugged at something deep within, a mix of fear and bewilderment that sent a shiver down your spine. But you couldn’t stop. You dared not stop.

  "Stop!" His voice pierced the air once more, alarmingly nearer than before, carrying with it an intensity that quickened your pace into a frenzy. Each footfall behind you resonated like a drumbeat, urging your legs to move faster, as every echoing step seemed to gain on you. The world around blurred into a disarray of shadows and sounds, as the urgency gripped you like an iron vice, refusing to relent. It felt as if the forest itself conspired to slow you down, branches clawing at your path while your instincts screamed for you to forge ahead, unyielding, unstoppable.

Panic thrummed through your veins, unused to the relentless pace, especially over such treacherous ground—roots like claws, mud eager to betray each step. Suddenly, the earth disappeared before you, a hidden dip swallowing your momentum, sending you tumbling headlong into the earth’s embrace. The crash was immediate, air stolen from your lungs as shadows danced dizzyingly. From behind, a guttural sound broke through your shock, a grunt. The Commander, in his relentless pursuit, had too been surprised by the treacherous terrain, plunging down with you.  

He landed with a thud in front of you, sprawled on his back against the gnarled tree, while you remained flat, face first against the forest floor. For a fleeting moment, you braced yourself, ready for him to speak, but his gaze flickered past you, drawn to something beyond. As your own eyes followed, the air thickened with a putrid scent, reminiscent of the hot composters back home, a foul reminder of decay and abandonment. You recoiled slightly, the stench clawing at your throat. He pushed himself upright, and you mirrored his movements, hearts pounding in sync as you both stared at the grotesque sight before you, a massive dead animal lay sprawled in the dirt, its features obscured by dirt and foliage. The silence around you felt heavy, pressing in on all sides, amplifying the reality of what lay just feet away. You found yourself wondering how such a large creature could die, and how big the animal that killed it was.

A deep, primal roar shattered the air behind you, a sound so powerful it reverberated in your bones, demanding your immediate attention. Your silent question of what could have killed the monster next to you was answered. You and the commander were jerked back to the terrifying present, as if waking from a deceptive dream. It was a roar that left no room for misinterpretation—a force of nature announcing its dominance. The oppressive air vibrated with each thundering footfall that approached, the ground beneath your feet trembling as if alive, the trees shivering in fear themselves, groaning under the immense weight of an unseen entity. The fleeting anxiety of moments ago escalated into full-blown terror at the unknown horror advancing relentlessly. Rocks cascaded down the hill towards you, dislodged by the sheer force, prompting you to instinctively step back, eyes darting to the gun on the commander's back. You felt as though every breath was borrowed, and each heartbeat echoed with the urgency of survival, your body screaming for action as dread wrapped icy fingers around your heart.

A strong hand grabbed your jacket, pulling you away just as the creature came into sight at the top of the hill. Without stopping, he dragged you along, making sure you understood the need to run. Side by side, you both took off, feet pounding against the ground. You followed him, trusting his lead even though you didn’t know which way you were going, just knowing you had to get away.

 “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly as he began clattering through the compartments around the galley. The sparsely lit space hummed with the ship's underlying mechanical rhythm, a low background noise of whirring fans and intermittent beeps. Stainless-steel surfaces reflected the dim lighting, and the scent of antiseptic and stale air lingered. Offering a semblance of order among the chaotic assortment of supplies, the cupboards held a jumble of ration packs and maintenance tools. He turned to look at you when you didn’t answer, his eyes searching yours under the muted lights. “Your name?” he pressed again, placing a water bottle, covered in residual condensation, down on the metal counter.

The realisation hit like a sudden wave, an awareness of the deep thirst that had quietly crept up on you, now palpable in the parched texture of your tongue. Your eyes fixated on the bottle, droplets of condensation glistening tantalisingly in the dim light, its contents promising relief. Silence stretched between you both.

“Okay,” he said, as he dragged another chair with an audible scrape, positioning it firmly in front of you. His movements were deliberate, as if establishing a careful balance of power in the room. “Let’s find out who you are.” He clattered a tray down on the metal table beside you, the sound echoing sharply in the otherwise still air. The tray boasted an array of disorganised tools and devices, gleaming under the muted lights, all speaking of functionality over comfort. “What’s your passenger number?” he asked brusquely, flipping open a worn logbook. His fingers moved deftly, skimming over pages yellowed with age, yet his eyes never strayed far from watching your reaction.

You clenched your jaw as you looked at him but again didn’t say anything. He was pretty, not what you had expected; his features striking and almost delicate, framed by the soft glow of the dim lighting. His warm brown eyes held a depth that seemed to reflect an understanding beyond his years, while his long hair fell just above his shoulders in gentle waves, catching the light and giving him an almost ethereal quality. He was young too, possibly around your age, which made the situation feel all the more surreal. The facial hair he sported had once seemed neatly groomed, but now it bore the marks of neglect, suggesting he hadn’t bothered to tidy it up for a few days, adding a rugged edge to his otherwise pretty face. There was an air of vulnerability about him, yet also an undeniable strength that intrigued you despite your anxiety.

He flipped through the book with practiced ease, the pages whispering secrets from their timeworn edges before he snapped it shut, his gaze returning to you with a hint of curiosity and suspicion. “There wasn’t a number on your pod, and it was an older model,” he stated, his voice carrying the weight of someone piecing together a fragmented puzzle. The room seemed to grow still, the ambient hum of the ship fading into the background as if giving way to the weight of his revelation. “If I didn’t know any better, then I would say that you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.” His eyes narrowed slightly, deepening the shadows that danced across his features, as though he was trying to decipher your mystery, weighing options and consequences in the silence that hung between you.

You clenched your jaw once more, your gaze drifting down to your hand, with a mixture of frustration and pain simmering beneath your skin. The cut was jagged and raw, stretching defiantly along the side of your hand, a result of falling into the hole where the creature lay lifeless. The wound had started to scab over, a thin, fragile shield barely holding the skin together, yet each subtle movement sent fresh pinpricks of crimson welling up, tiny beads of blood blossoming along the wound like cruel little flowers.

“Let me look at your hand,” he said, his voice calm yet insistent as he reached towards you. You instinctively pulled away, cradling your injured hand with the other, a scowl darkening your features. The thought of anyone touching the tender, throbbing wound was unbearable, and your eyes held a mix of defiance and vulnerability. 

“My name is Mills. I was the pilot of this ship. I was transporting Cryopods and supplies to the new colonies before we crashed. You have been in Cryostasis for,” he signed. “A long time.” He held out his hand to you, and reluctantly you placed your injured hand in his palm. “The navigation system is gone. I don’t know where we are. It’s uncharted.” He continued as he carefully turned your hand and with his free hand moved a device close to it. White liquid squirted out from it onto your wound. It stung, and you moved to pull your hand away. “There is an escape vessel.” You looked up at him. “So, you can understand me.” he said with a soft smile.

“Yes.” You replied as he let go of your hand.

“You’re not supposed to be on this ship.” He said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.

His shirt was snug against his frame, hugging his muscular build as he shifted in his seat. You noticed the definition of his biceps, the way his shoulders seemed to broaden with each movement, and the hint of a six-pack under his shirt. He exuded an air of strength and fitness that was difficult to ignore. When you remained silent, he continued, his voice steady, “There’s a no tolerance policy for stowaways, they are to be-“

“Shot when they are discovered.” You finished, holding his gaze for a moment before glancing towards the weapon on the table behind him. “So, is that what you’re going to do Mills, shoot me?” You asked, returning your gaze to his.

"The escape vessel hangs high above the mountains; that is our only hope of returning home." He continued to scrutinise you from head to toe.

“Our?” 

“Yes, our.”

“They will check my ID as soon as the escape vessel is picked up, and I will be shot on site,” you said, your voice harsh. Your eyes darted between his, searching for any flicker of reassurance in his expression as you struggled to comprehend the dire gravity of your situation.

“Not if we tell, then you are someone else.” He said with a small smile.

“They wouldn’t believe us.”

“They wouldn’t believe you. I have no reason to lie about survivors. Then, when we stop at the nearest planet, you can disappear into the crowds.” Mills said, his voice laced with conviction.

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“Why bother to save me?”

“It’s a fair few kilometres to the escape pod, and well, you saw that creature out there. There are others too. I really don’t want to make that sort of journey alone.” He said, unfolding his arms and resting his hands on his thighs.

“How do I know you won’t shoot me when we get to the escape pod?”

“You have my word.”

“What good is the word of a stranger?” you asked, skepticism evident in your voice

He shrugged his shoulders, and you chewed the inside of your lip as you looked at him. He had saved you from the Cryochamber. You had an older model, it was true, and you knew that it couldn’t be opened from the inside and then there was the matter of how you ended up inside the ship. By your calculations, there were more than enough opportunities for him to kill you.

“What the hell kind of planet do you think this is?” you asked, plucking a seed bud from the crest of a towering, sun-drenched flower, its petals a vibrant orange that stood out amidst the lush greenery of the grass field you were traversing. The warm breeze carried the whisper of distant wildlife, adding to the surreal beauty of the alien landscape.

“No idea, but I really don’t like the local wildlife.” he replied, his gaze darting towards a rustle in the bushes, as if the very thought of the unknown creatures made him uneasy. His grip on the weapon tightened, a subconscious acknowledgment of the danger lurking beyond the vivid flora. 

Mills had not stopped scanning the area surrounding the two of you since you had left the ship, his gun held tight against his chest like a lifeline. His focus was unwavering, every step calculated as he navigated the uneven ground with a sense of ease that hinted at years of survival experience. Despite the intense heat causing sweat to glisten on his brow, he maintained a pace that was both quick and steady, betraying no sign of fatigue.

“Well, if it is truly undiscovered, then we could get a fat chunk of change for discovering it,” you continued, as the two of you ventured deeper into the dense tree line. The shadows stretched longer as you walked, the air cooler and filled with the earthy scents of moss and damp foliage. “Hell, I don’t think this place would even need terraforming.”

“I don’t think this place would be suitable for a colony,” Mills replied, his eyes scanning the wild growth around you with a critical eye. The entangled vines and towering trees spoke of a land that thrived on its terms, chaotic and untouched by civilisation. 

The foliage in the field had been sparse, allowing for clear lines of sight in all directions, but stepping into the forest was like diving into another world altogether. The trees stood numerous and chaotic, their trunks weaving into a dense tapestry without any semblance of order. Moss clung to their bark as if trying to pull them into the ground. Thick foliage blanketed the forest floor, a tangled carpet of thorns, leaves, and hidden roots that threatened to trip the unwary with every step. Above, the canopy formed a patchwork quilt of light and shadow, the sun's rays piercing through in thin, golden beams that highlighted motes of dust dancing in the air. The air hung heavy with the scent of rich, damp earth mixed with a hint of sweet decay, and the occasional calls of distant creatures echoed eerily, amplifying the sense of mystery and hinting at the unseen life lurking just out of sight.

There was a sudden, thunderous roar to the left, reverberating through the trees and sending a shiver down your spine. It was deeper, more menacing than the previous cries you'd heard—a primal sound that hinted at a creature of unimaginable size and ferocity. Mills didn’t waste a second, swiftly raising his gun, resting his cheek against it to steady his aim, his face a mask of concentration and tension. He advanced with a quick, deliberate step, every movement exuding the experience of someone well-versed in danger. With a silent yet urgent gesture, he signalled for you to continue moving. As he retreated, Mills kept the gun firmly trained on the direction of the roar, his eyes scanning for any shadow or flicker of movement. You obeyed, forcing your legs to move against the paralysing weight of fear, cautiously stepping away from the unseen threat that seemed to stalk just beyond the veil of greenery. The forest, once alive with background noise, felt eerily silent, amplifying the heart-pounding thud of your pulse.

“Distance to escape vessel, 24 kilometres,” intoned the robotic voice, its calm precision a sharp contrast to the adrenaline-charged atmosphere. The announcement came just as Mills deemed it safe to pause, his decision a tacit acknowledgment that the two of you had gained enough distance from whatever had unleashed that terrifying roar.

“Fuck,” you whispered, leaning forward and placing your hands on your thighs, trying to take in larger gulps of air. The relentless heat clung to your skin like a sticky shroud, each breath feeling heavy and laborious. “We have only walked 4 kilometres.” The realisation cut sharply, your eyes sweeping over the parched vegetation.

The climate on this planet was oppressively hot and sticky, a pervasive humidity that seemed to seep into every pore, sapping energy with each step. The vegetation reflected this as well, appearing dry and brittle, leaves curled in on themselves as if trying to conserve as much moisture as possible. Dust stirred underfoot with every movement, clinging to your boots as a constant reminder of the parched conditions. Mills glanced away from his gun long enough to assess you. Sweat trickled down his temples, yet he remained remarkably composed, his endurance and conditioning allowing him to weather the demanding journey with seemingly unshakable stoicism.

“What planet do you come from?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and perhaps a hint of weariness. You stood, placing your hands on your hips, drawing a deep, calming breath as if preparing to share a piece of yourself you hadn’t revealed in a long time.

“Strars 6Y7-5G39, a colony planet.” You replied, moving to sit down on a fallen tree.

“So new, they haven’t even given it a real name,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. His eyes seemed to scan the horizon, as if trying to imagine the vast, unnamed potential of such a place.

“Yep, we haven’t even got sunlight through the clouds yet. It's like living under a constant, dreary blanket. All it ever does is rain. The Company says it will take at least twenty years before the sun pokes through, and likely another ten after that for them to finish stripping resources and make it habitable,” you replied, pulling your shirt away from your body and flapping it slightly, hoping to send some cooler air up underneath. 

“How long?” he asked, his voice carrying a soft note of empathy

“How long what?”

“How long have you been on that planet?” he asked, his gaze shifting once more to take in the alien landscape around you. There was a cautious curiosity in his voice, as if he was trying to piece together the story of your life through the fragmented history etched in your words. 

“All my life,” you replied, your voice carrying the weight of years spent under someone else's thumb. “I was born on Sanrohines, a tropical planet that was as lush with debt as it was with greenery. My family ran into financial trouble, and my dad did what he had to do to pay it off. With the Company, the only currency they care for is time—servitude in hours and years.”

“How much time do you owe?”

“You ask a lot of fucking questions, you know that?” You replied a little frustrated.

“Well, I am about to lie to the company rescue ship that’s going to pick us up. I think knowing a little more than your name would be useful.”

You sighed and looked away from him, the weight of unspoken memories pressing upon your shoulders. He was right. But knowing that didn't make divulging your history any easier. It was a story woven with struggle and sacrifice, threads you weren't sure you were ready to unravel for him.

“My parents owed, thirty years each. Mum died after five and dad after seven. A new round of illnesses got them, the older you are, the worse it seems to be. I inherited their time, but for decedents the time is quartered. So, I owed twelve years.”

“You look old enough to have paid that off.”

“Hey, that’s rude.” You retorted.

He shrugged in response.

“Due to illness and people dying in the mines, my tenure was extended.”

“By how much?”

“Fifteen years.”

His head snapped around to you with an intensity that broke through the surrounding silence. You squinted up at him, instinctively shielding your eyes from the sun as curiosity and a hint of challenge danced in his gaze. The stark reaction suggested a shared understanding of the gravity of your circumstances.

“They can just add fifteen years just like that?”

“Who's gonna stop them, the only people that operate on colony planets are The Company and smugglers.” You shrugged.

 “That’s who got you on the ship?” he asked, his attention now more focused on you than the surrounding area. His gaze was steady and searching, like a spotlight cutting through the dense foliage around you. The slight rustle of leaves and distant calls of unseen creatures faded into the background as his question hung in the humid air between you, casting a sharper light on the path you'd taken to get here.

“Yep, I worked on the farms, where tending to those beds of leafy greens wasn’t just for sustenance but survival. Fresh veg on the black market sells for a killing. It’s funny how something so small can have such a big price tag in this universe. Then they packed me up nice and cold in a Cryo chamber before shipping me off on your vessel. If you hadn’t crashed, well, maybe I’d be somewhere sipping cocktails now, a free woman.” You clapped your hands together, and stood stretching.

“I didn’t crash.” He muttered., moving away from you.

“Sure, you didn’t; you just fancied a leisurely stroll in this creepy creature hellhole,” you joked, your voice laced with playful sarcasm. The dense foliage rustled softly underfoot as you followed the path he'd set, the dimming light casting long shadows that flickered and danced with each step.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

A/N: I might add more to this at a later date.

[the-unidentified-author]

After Pain Comes Pleasure | Din Djarin | The Mandalorian

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], frustrated, rough, needy, words, smut, minors DNI, a little rough, consensual!, fingering, cunnilingus

Summary: This is a deleted chapter from my long mando fic, looking back I just don’t think it suits the pace of the story. Heres the link to the fic . You have just helped patch up a wound for Din and he returns the favour but with a little bit of pain comes pleasure.

Word Count: 3,114

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

A small sound drew your attention away from the cut on your thigh, and you looked up and froze, the helmet of the Mandalorian was no longer tilted against the metal wall behind him. He was sitting up, the black T-shape of his helmet trained on you.

A few long seconds drew out in the silence between you before you finally gave in to the urge to speak, to explain yourself.

“I’m…” you looked down at the laser in your hand, then to the gash on your thigh and then back to him. “Trying to cauterise my wound?” You replied, your voice small and quiet, almost as though you, yourself, were unsure of what you were really doing.

The helmet moved from your face to your legs, when you suddenly remembered that your trousers were now resting around your knees. You looked down at your leg and then back to the Mandalorian. He stood up slowly, pushing his back up against the wall. aHe let out a pained grunt but took a step towards you anyway.  His tunic was still open at the front, with half of his armour discarded to his side.

 You watched him, the laser tool still hovering inches from your cut, as his hands moved to the straps holding his armour to his body. He moved quickly the actions familiar to him, removing the other shoulder cap and then both elbow caps on each arm. He then tugged at the top of each finger of his left glove, before pulling it off entirely and dropping it to the floor. Seeming entirely unfazed where his armour ended up, only that it was removed from his body. Then he repeated the action on the other hand. Removing all his armour above the waist until the only thing left on his upper body was the tunic open down the middle. You watched him, completely captivated, watching the muscles on his stomach flex as he moved. Then, he pulled the tunic off his body, the blood that had soaked it leaving a smear across his arm. It lay to rest on the floor with the rest of his armour.

“How bad is it?” He asked, breaking you from your trance as he stepped towards you. There he stood in the dim light of the ship, toned chest and arms, delicious sun kissed skin. You wanted to reach out and touch him. He was a killer, his body sculpted by the training it took to take a life. 

“Um…” you looked down at the gash on your thigh. The question he had asked, finally registering as you realised you had been staring. Every moment you made had fresh blood dribbling out of the wound. “Not deep.”

“Then why haven’t you closed it?” He asked, having moved close enough to look down at the wound.

You fought the urge to pull your trousers back up to cover the wound, but you would only have to go through the agony of pulling them back down again. You looked down at your thigh and then back up at the glass of the helmet.

“I, um.” You pressed your lips together. “I’m struggling.” You whispered in defeat, wiggling the laser cauteriser in your hand as if it would help your case.

“Would you like me to do it for you?” He asked, a spark of something in his voice that you couldn’t place. 

You swallowed, suddenly unable to look at him. The idea of his hands on your body sending your mind to places it didn’t need to be.

“Let me,” he said, perhaps realising that you weren’t about to answer. Stepping even closer, making your breath catch in your throat as his hand cupped yours, taking the tool from it. His hands were large and warm, and even the slightest graze of his flesh sent your heart into a frenzy. For a moment, you wondered if you could blame your fluttering heart on your wound, but it was neither deep enough nor jagged enough to have such an effect on your body. No, your blood pressure was skyrocketing because of the Mandalorian.

“I don’t think I can do this with my helmet on.” He said the helmet down at you with a small shake of his head.

You could barely hear the words he was saying over the sound of your racing heart.

“It's okay,” you whispered. “I can do it myself.” 

You reached out for the tool, trying to keep your breathing steady, still trying to deny the way he has your body behaving. 

“No, I didn’t mean…” he stood up and moved to the storage unit to your left, opening it and pulling something from the compartment, a thick black strip of fabric. A frown of confusion only slipped onto your face for a moment before you realised he was intending for you to put it on as a blindfold.

“If you put this on, I can take off my helmet and I can stop you slowly bleeding to death.” He said, you could hear the small smile at the end of the sentence.

You looked from the helmet to the black rag he held up in his hand and nodded. There was no way you were going to be able to close the wound by yourself, it wasn’t deep, but it was long. If the Mandalorian struggled to keep his cool as you closed his, there would be no way you could inflict that amount of pain on yourself. 

He moved closer to you, instinctively, you tried to part your legs, but your trousers stopped you. Closing your eyes, you allowed him to tie the dark fabric around your head, and just like that, one of your senses was taken away. You felt the air swirl as he moved away from you, then you heard, the sound of metal hitting metal a soft thud.  The helmet being placed down.   “I'm going to have to take your trousers off to patch you up, is that okay?” Came a crisp, gruff, baritone voice, no longer distorted by the modulator inside a helmet. 

If it was possible for your heart to beat out of your chest, then that would be the moment such a thing would happen. You nodded your head, barely resisting the question at all, just wanting to hear more of his voice. Wanting him to be close to you. Rough fingertips found the outside of your thighs, then you felt the fabric of your trousers move downwards over your knees and to the middle of your calf, where they stopped.

“I'm going to take off your boots.” He said this time it didn’t come out as a question, but there was a pause to allow you to answer. 

Words didn’t want to leave your lips, so you resorted to a nod. You felt the laces of your boots untie and a small tug and your boot came off, then the same sensation on the other foot. You could hear your breathing, it was unsteady and almost ragged, and you hoped that he would assume it was from the pain of your wound and not because of him. The same rough hands brushed against your outer calf, and your legs were suddenly free of the confides of your trousers. You pushed your legs together impulsively, feeling suddenly exposed. But, the cut on your leg burned as your other thigh pushed against it.

“Stop, you’ll make it worse,” came the gruff voice again, this time it was from a lower angle and your mind stumbled over the conclusion he was kneeling in front of you. Hands were on your knees pushing your legs gently, slowly, back apart. You could feel the heat of him moving between your thighs. You tried to think about anything but how close he was to you. A rough but gentle hand gripped your thigh, so close, too close to the edge of your underwear. You winced, and you felt his thumb rub gentle circles in your skin in an attempt to sooth you. Then you began to feel the beat of your heart in an entirely different place.

“I’ll go as fast as I can, if you need me to stop, just say the word.” Came that voice again. That beautifully, deep, husky voice that made you want to reach out and touch him. 

 But you held strong, clutching at the end of the bunk either side of you until the metal dug into your palm almost painfully. You tried to think of anything but the pain that was about to come, you focused on him. Imagining what position he was in between your legs. Was he crouched down in a squat or on his knees, sitting back on his heels? The way the low light of the ship must illustrate the carved muscles of his shoulders.

A sudden sharp stab of pain sliced through your thoughts, and you moved to push your thighs closed at the intense burn. Your right thigh pushed against something solid. Him. And the hand on your left thigh pushed against you, easily stopping you from crushing him between your legs. Then there was another sharp pain a little further along the cut, and you realised he was only sealing the cut in specific places along the length of it. The same way that you would have used staples if you had any. Your breath quickened, the relief that this would be less painful than your fist though being robbed from you as there was another flash of pain and a burning sensation. You felt his thumb trace circles on your inner thigh once again, soothing you as another jolt of fire radiated up from your thigh. Biting your lip in an attempt to stifle a whimper, you threw your head back towards the ceiling and clenched your jaw as another zap of pain made you clench the muscles in your thigh.

“Good girl, you’re almost there.” Came a whisper from between your legs.

Your breathing became a little more rapid, you knew he meant the cut was almost closed, but you couldn’t help your mind wandering to places where the main theme was pleasure, not pain. Another bolt of fire and your hand moved to him. Without thinking, your hand grasped the back of his head. Fingers intertwined in soft curls, your mind fumbling trying to think of what colour they were. Given his tanned complexion, you put your money on brunette. He stiffened under your hand and for a moment, you thought that he would push your hand away, that you had broken an unwritten rule. But, he made no moment to shake your hand from his head. Another zap of pain, his hand moved from your thigh. And you returned your hand to the edge of the cot, afraid you might tear out his hair from the agony. 

Your skin prickled into goose bumps as the cool air was replaced with the warmth of his hand. Your knuckles were white against the edge of the bed, and you could feel sweat beading on your forehead. Another zap, and you almost cried out, wondering how long it would be until he was done. You couldn’t remember how far down your thigh the cut was, and you were unable to use your eyes to check. The blindfold kept you shrouded in darkness, your eyes unable to show your brain how far down the gash he had managed to seal. Squeezing the end of the bunk, the sensation of the sharp edge pulling some pain from your thigh away.

As if to answer your unspoken question, you felt him shift between your legs. A warm hand caressing the outside of your calf before tracing upwards and cradling the underside of your knee. You braced yourself for another jolt of pain, but the sensation wasn’t pain. Instead, you felt an oh so soft touch against the inside of your thigh. It took you a moment to register that it was a whisper of a kiss, just a few inches from your knee. You felt his other hand slowly move its way up your other calf until it too came to rest on the underside of your other knee. A kiss mirrored in the same place but on that leg. You held your breath for a moment, all memory of the torture of minutes ago fading away. Replaced by a new much more welcome torment. You were no longer begging for it to end, but for him to continue.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word” came that low voice, this time a whisper, his breath tickling your thigh a little higher than the first kiss had been. Echoing the statement he had made minutes ago, but its meaning different now.

You hoped his eyes were watching your face as you pressed your lips tightly together. A moment later, another kiss was delicately, cautiously planted on your inner thigh a little higher than the one before. You felt him move between your legs, and then he mirrored the kiss once again on the other side, then again on the other higher. They were careful, cautious, as though at any moment he was expecting you to push his head away in rejection. His hands move upwards, the roughness of them against your skin moving up the outside of your thighs, and you found yourself wondering how a man capable of such violence could be so soft with you. His hands callused, used to movements that would cause pain.

 Small delicate touches from his lips continued upwards, he took care to place them around your wound. As though he were apologising for the hurt he had inflicted there minutes earlier. He moved closer. His broad shoulders pushing your legs yet wider apart. Then you felt the warmth of his breath against your underwear, he placed another deliciously delicate kiss on the skin of your thigh just before the line on your underwear. It was another question, he was asking for permission to go further. 

“Please,” you whispered, surprised at how ragged, how pitiful the word sounded as it left your lips.

You felt another kiss against the inside of your thigh, and you could feel him smile against your skin and his hands moved further up your thighs. Then his fingers found the sides of your underwear, he looped his fingers under the fabric, but he didn’t move.

“Remember, you can tell me to stop,” he whispered, and you resisted the urge to buck your hips up into his face, yearning to feel his touch between your legs.

“Please don’t.” you begged, cringing at how pathetic the words sounded.

He evidently didn't find you pathetic, as he pulled slowly, on the sides of your underwear. Pulling them down. You lifted yourself with your arms so he could get the underwear down under the curve of your butt. He was careful not to touch the fabric to your cut. The cold air hit your now exposed flesh, and you felt goose bumps rise on your skin as he moved and pulled the underwear over and off your legs, discarding it somewhere unseen. You felt exposed and moved to close your legs again but, this time he was between them stopping you before firm hands pushed them back apart. He didn’t say anything, and that made your heart hammer in your chest as you contemplated snatching off the blindfold. Then you felt his arms wrapping around your thighs and then the smooth warm skin of his shoulders underneath your legs.

“Lie back.” He commanded. 

You did as you were told.

The soft mattress of the bunk cradling your body as he cradled your legs. Then you felt his mouth on you, hungry and determined. Your hands found his hair, and you couldn’t stop a moan escaping your lips, which seemed to motivate him even more. His lips moved quickly, tongue flicking out expertly circling your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through you. 

“Oh my stars, Mando!” You muttered, and he stopped.

You wriggled hoping the sensation would return any moment, but instead you felt his breath against you.

“Use my name.” Came his voice deep and commanding.

You wished that you could look down between your legs and see the eyes of Din Djarin, his beautiful, perhaps, brown curls sitting on his forehead. Lips wet with your sex, as he asked you to moan his name. 

“Din,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and needy. “Please.” 

His lips returned to you, and you bucked your hips up at his mouth wanting more, needing more. One of his hands snaked around your body, cupping the curve of your ass and squeezing gently. The other hand found one of your hands tangled in his hair. For a moment, you thought that perhaps you had hurt him, pulled a little too hard in an attempt to find something to hold on to. But to your surprise, he took your hand in his, interlocking your fingers hands moving to rest on your hip as his mouth devoured you. 

You felt a heat rising in the pit of your stomach and your moans became more desperate, more needy. His hand lets yours go, and you felt it again on you circling your entrance as his mouth attacked your clit, building the foundations of your climax. 

“Please.” You begged again, wondering if you had ever uttered the word so many times in your life as his finger traced another agonising circle around where you wanted it to be. 

You felt him smile against you before he pulled away, you whined at the sudden movement before you felt his finger push into you and curl up towards your belly button. Gasping, your back arched, the new sensation threatening to take you to the edge. Then his mouth was back on you. Finger and tongue, working the same rhythm. Building you up with a determination that made you believe he enjoyed the art of making you come.

“Oh my stars.” you whispered, one hand grabbing the sheet, the other tangling deep into his hair.

He didn’t stop. 

He didn’t change pace. 

He didn’t let up. 

A bounty had never evaded him.

He had never failed.

He sure as hell wasn’t about to now.

Just like that, he took you to the edge, a wave of pleasure that ripped through you in a way you had never felt before. His finger slowed, and his lips moved over you, enjoying the reward of his hard work, before once again his lips abandoned you to the cool air of the ship.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

Are We Living, Just to Die? | Marcus Acacius | Gladiator II

Chapter 3: Pretty Men Make Good Distractions From Dangerous Plots

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 - Comming soon

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words, longing, Graphic depictions of violence, Canon typical Violence, bad opionions on women that would have been the norm at the time, talk of Stds, Madness, Cruely, Animal Cruelty, Gladiators, fighting, blood and gore, injury description, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: BRED FOR COMBAT. BUILT FOR WAR. Aurellia lives in the shadows of her brothers, the tyrant twin Emperors. When a General returns for war and shows her kindness she is not used to she begins to fall for him. Not realising that she is stepping right into a conspiracy to depose her brothers and save Rome from their violent rule. Will love and hope to prevail or will the carefully laid plans fall through, causing defeat and ruin for all involved?

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

Previous Chapter

“Oh, must I attend, Melissa? I really don’t think I can bear another evening of my brothers speaking as though they had any part in the Generals' conquest of Numidia.” Whined, Aurellia plonking herself down on her bed and then throwing herself backwards so that she was lying down on it. “I really don’t think I can stomach, listening to how many people were killed. And for what, so they can have their names in the history books.”

“I’m afraid that your brothers insist on your attendance.” Melissa, said, picking up a pitcher of oil and moving from the room to the bathroom, attached to her suite in the place.

“Gods, I wish that things would go back to the way they once were. When they would play their games and leave me out of them.” She moaned, moving her arm so that her forearm was covering her eyes.

“I hope history writes of them the way that they are, not the most powerful men in the world but rather mad little boys that go feral at the sight of blood.” She mumbled.

“You know why they have decided to include you, don’t you?” Said Melissa. The old woman walked back into the room, standing in the middle of it, folding her arms and looking down at the girl.

Melissa had been gifted as a slave to her mother by her father. Her mother had offered her freedom many a time, but the woman had always refused. Saying that being owned by the family offered her protection from the people of her past that intended to harm her. When Aurellia’s mother had died, the ownership of the female slave had fallen to her. She, as her mother had done, offered the woman freedom, and then employment. But just as she had in the past, she declined, again repeating that she needed the protection of the family. Aurellia had argued countless times that the people who intended to harm her were likely long dead, and if not, then forgotten whatever sins she had committed in her youth. But Melissa simply laughed and told her that she had no intention of leaving. Now she was alone in the world with no one but her evil brothers for company.

“Yes, because I am their only threat to the throne. They need to ensure that people see that we are united.” Recited Aurellia for what felt like the thousandth time.

She sat up on the bed, swinging her legs and watching the woman fuss around with the petals on the table. There is an array of colours, all of them in different ornate bowls. Melissa picked up a handful of one and then a sprinkle of another, trying to get the perfect mixture for Aurellia’s bath.

“You need to follow them and do as they say, until the time is right for you to overthrow them.” Said Melissa at a volume that made Aurellia cringe.

Aurellia sprung from the bed, her finger pressed to her lips, in an attempt to hush Mellissa. As though the action alone would make the words retreat into her mouth, away from dangerous ears. Her light dressing gown fluttering around her, only secured to her body by a tie at the waist. She looked around the room as though guards were going to spring from the delicate curtains of the windows and arrest them.

“You must take care, and not say such dangerous words at such volume.” She said as the old woman turned to her and looked her in the eye.

“The time is coming now, Aurellia and you need to be prepared. There is a plan in play.” the woman's words had a harsher tone to them, not in the way that would be considered scornful, but rather words that were intent on warning the recipient.

“I have no desire to rule Rome, only to be free of my brothers.” Whispered Aurellia, searching the woman's features for any hint of what she was talking about. “I know not of what plan you are talking about, but I do know that it doesn’t involve me. Good luck to whoever claims the throne.”

“Regardless of whether you are or are not involved. The people who are loyal to your brothers will believe you to be behind it. The-“ she stopped, almost slipping up and spilling the name of the man behind it. “The man orchestrating it is well aware of the danger you will be in and has made sure that you will be safe during and following his war against the current Emperors of Rome.”

“Melissa, why are you telling me this now, do you mean for us to escape now?” She queried, looking around the room. “Have you packed?” She asked, grasping the woman’s arm. "Are we to be free of this place tonight?"

“No, you are not to escape tonight. You are to stay here and act as though everything is normal.”

“How am I to act as though everything is normal now you have told me that it isn’t. You should have just not told me at all. Gods, maybe you could tell me who is behind it so that I might be put a little at ease?”

“I can’t, if it goes wrong, and it is revealed you know anything about this plan you will be killed by your brothers. You know what they are capable of, that is not a fate I would let you meet. I promised your mother.” Said Melissa, pulling her hands from the grasp of Aurellia and busying herself again mixing the petals together in the bowl in front of her.

Aurellia studied the old woman’s worn features for a few minutes, but the woman didn’t give up any more information.

“Would you kill me?” asked Aurellia, looking at the woman, this time with measured compassion on her face.

Melissa turned to her, a little shock evident on her face.

“If it were to spare you from the fate your brothers would condemn you to, yes. But only if you asked.” said Melissa, her old eyes somehow seeming warm even though her words carried such weight.

“Great,” Muttered Aurellia, her eyes falling to the floor. “Now I really don’t want to go to dinner.” She whispered, sitting on the chair next to the table Melissa was working on.

“General Acacius will be there.” Said Melissa, not taking her eyes from the petals as she lifted the lid of a pot and grabbed some herbs out of it to sprinkle into the mix.

A smile made its way onto the woman’s thin lips, but she didn’t look in the direction of Aurellia.

“Why would that make a difference to me?” Asked, Aurellia looking away from the woman in the hope that she wouldn’t see the blush on her face.

“Well if I were going to dinner, sitting next to a man like him would certainly make a more fun affair.” Smiled Melissa, her tone taking on a hint of something Aurellia couldn’t place.

“I have had enough stories of war, I really don’t have the patience to listen to any more.”

“I certainly would if they were coming from the lips of a man as fine as him.” Smiled Melissa, finally seeming happy with her mixture of petals.

“I can’t say I have noticed, my time with him was short.” Said Aurellia standing up and untying and retying her dressing gown.

“I got, but a glimpse of the man gilded in gold, but that was enough for me to see why every woman in Rome wants a piece of him.” Smiled Melissa.

“Well, perhaps he might be a welcome distraction from the dangerous plot you speak of but refuse to fully inform me of.”

“Come now, my child, let's also give the General something pretty to look at so he too can make it through the dinner with your insufferable brothers.” She smiled, picking up the bowl in one hand and linking her other arm with Aurellia’s.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

Use Your Words | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark x Female Wife Reader

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW}, smut, minors DNI, established relationship, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, one orgasm after another, Cregan on his knees, a little bit of roughness, mention of Alcohol, frustrated reader, Biting? ...

Summary: You're the wife of Cregan Stark and he helps ease a little frustration you're feeling.

A/N: Thank you to that RAT BASTARD (in a loving caring way) on here who wrote about Cregan tying up his hair before he eats out his wife, I have been able to think of literally nothing else. This Fic is entirely inspired by your lil post. Now I can’t remember your user name but I demand you reveal yourself (jk only if you want to girly pop)!

Word Count: 3,336

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

You let out a deep sigh and threw your quill down, sinking back into the worn leather of your chair, feeling every creak it made under your movements. Your eyes, tired and strained, you rubbed them gently, trying to massage away the pain caused by the long hours spent squinting at parchment. The candle next to you flickered with a final dance, its wax dribbling into a small puddle, threatening to extinguish itself as the shadows began to creep in. You were far from done with the daunting task of addressing invitations to the seemingly endless names on Cregan's list. The night had already drawn in, and you wanted nothing more than to sleep, but there was still so much to do.

The room was dim, the fire in the hearth now a mere glow, its embers laboriously clinging to life, whispered memories of flames, silently begging for another log to reignite their fervour. The faint, jubilant cheers of men resonated through the stone corridors from Cregan's bustling feast; it was a symphony of boisterous laughter and clinking tankards, hints of celebration murmured among the echoes. They had finally conquered the hunt, returning triumphantly with deer, the spoils of their tireless adventures in the wilderness.

Cregan, always the visionary, had decreed a grand feast to herald the upcoming weekend, with promises—rumbling like the laughter from below—that it would be the day he returned home with the great winter stag, that had eluded him on the last three hunts. The very thought made you clench your teeth, a mix of envy and longing to be part of such adventures, yet tethered to this desk with duties that seemed to multiply by the minute. Still, you leaned forward, picking up the quill once more, determined to drown out the sounds of the celebrations and finish your task before you retired to bed.

The sound of footsteps echoed up the corridor towards you, their pace loud and hurried, a sharp contrast to the slow crackle of the dying fire. Heavy boots against stone, each step seemed to vibrate through the walls, accompanying the ghostly flicker of firelight. You placed your hands flat on the desk, feeling the rough grain beneath your fingers, and stood up with a sense of anticipation. You steeled yourself, ready to unleash your pent-up frustrations on whatever unfortunate soul dared interrupt you.

With a loud crash, the door swung open in one swift motion, slamming against the stone wall with a resounding thud that echoed through the chamber. It threatened to rebound and strike the intruder, but a strong-arm shot out, stopping its swing by placing his hand flat against the ancient wood. A large hand, calloused from years of swinging weapons and weathering the elements, steadied the ancient wood against the wall.

The figure that filled the doorway was unmistakably your husband, Cregan Stark. His presence seemed to command the room, as if even the shadows bowed to his entrance. The dying light of the fire danced across his broad shoulders and rugged features, highlighting the strength and vigour that made him a leader among men—a hunter triumphant. His eyes, bright with the thrill of victory, found yours, sparking a familiar blend of emotions that simmered beneath your practiced composure.

"Wife!" he bellowed, a great smile spreading across his face as he laid eyes on you. "I have found you at last." He seemed a little drunk, something else that irritated you. Here you were slaving away, and he was doing nothing but partying and celebrating.

His presence was like a gust of wind forcing its way into your sanctuary, stirring the air with energy and purpose. Despite the warmth that spread through you at seeing him—a warmth that radiated from the heart, unwelcome at this time, yet familiar. You fought to keep a semblance of calm on your face, reminding yourself that he was the reason you had such a mountainous number of tasks to do.

"Cregan," you replied, rolling your eyes and slumping back down into the chair.

He strolled into the room with an effortless ease, a man at home in his surroundings, but noticeably absent from his usual assortment of garments. His cloak and sword, which typically adorned his broad back, were nowhere to be seen. Instead, he wore only his boots, trousers, and a casual shirt. The strings that normally fastened the top were loose, offering a tantalising glimpse of his strong chest beneath. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing muscular forearms crisscrossed with veins, you tried to stop yourself from staring.

In one hand, he carried a tankard of ale, droplets of condensation working their way down its sides. As he surveyed the room, his eyes landed on the dwindling fire. With natural grace, he stooped to pick up a piece of wood, and with a practiced flick of his wrist, he tossed the large log with ease onto the embers. The fire responded with a sizzle and a new burst of warmth, casting flickering shadows that played across his stupidly beautiful features. He turned to you, his face still twisted into a smile. Then he moved towards you, stepping around the desk and leaning backwards against it.

"How are you, wife?" He asked, taking a swig from his drink. "Why are you not enjoying the festivities below?"

You scowled at him, "Well, someone has to plan your feast." you argued, anger boiling up at of you. Not so much at him, but more so at the amount of work he seemingly didn’t realise he had given you.

"Ah that can wait, you should come with me." he reasoned, his hand moving to your shoulder and trailing, carefully down your arm until he held your hand in his.

"No it can’t, if you want the Lords to arrive on time, then I need to send the letters by tomorrow at the latest.” you snapped, pulling your hand from his.

His eyebrows creased into a frown as he looked down at you.

"Come on now, I will help you with them in the morning," he reasoned, placing his tankard on the desk next to him and standing.

You moved to resist his advances, turning your head as he leaned in to kiss you. You tried to create some distance between the two of you by standing and moving away from him, but a firm hand reached out, pulling you back towards him with an unyielding grip. Your back was pressed against his strong chest, the heat of his body permeating through the layers of fabric that separated your skin from his.

As Cregan's arms circled you, enveloping you in a warm embrace, you couldn't help but feel his strength and the weight of his muscular frame. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his stubble scratching softly against your sensitive skin. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tried to resist the way it made you feel, a mix of unwanted arousal and lingering resentment.

You wouldn't admit it, even to yourself, but feeling him against you did water down the rage you were feeling towards him. Yet, you were adamant that he wouldn't get off with stressing you out so completely so easily. Even as his arms tightened around you, his grip firm and unrelenting, you could feel the tension in his body, the subtle shifts in his stance that betrayed his need. He wanted you, there was no denying that, and you were adamant he would have to work for it.

"You're not going to get out of this, that easily," you spat out, the anger bubbling up within you, threatening to spill over like a pot boiling over on the fire. "You dumped this grand idea of a feast on me out of nowhere and then ran out the door on a hunt with your friends, leaving me to flesh out all the details and make this into something that people will actually enjoy."

The stress of the day and the long hours you had put into planning all rushed out, a torrent of words that were fuelled by frustration and resentment. You could feel the tension in your body, your hands clenched into fists at your sides.

The room seemed to grow smaller around you, the air thick with the weight of your unspoken grievances. Your eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and defiance, challenging him to deny leaving you to do everything while he enjoyed himself.

Despite your anger, there was a part of you that couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of longing for him, for the closeness and intimacy that his presence always seemed to bring into your life. But at the same time, you were determined not to let him off the hook so easily.

"I'm sorry." he said, his big storm grey eyes seeming sincere with a hint of something else in them.

He stepped closer and this time you didn’t stop him, as he gently cupped your face in his hands. His lips met yours in a tender kiss, soft and reassuring, like a whisper of promises yet to be fulfilled. You let out a small sigh, the sound a mixture of surrender and relief, as if the weight of your burdens was momentarily lifted. He pulled away, and the moment seemed to linger, as he looked down at you.

"I accept your apology." you whispered, all the hostility you had been feeling moments ago ebbing away.

"Oh wife," he smiled, a devilish glint finding its way into his eyes. "I haven't finished apologising yet."

You frowned, a mixture of surprise and perhaps a hint of anticipation, as he stepped closer. His hands felt like warm, steadying anchors on your waist, grounding you.

And in one swift movement, he picked you up, effortlessly lifting you as if you weighed nothing whatsoever. Your heart skipped a beat as he settled you down onto the desk, the cool, smooth surface a stark contrast to the heat that was rapidly building between you.

He began to kiss at your jaw, his lips hungry and insistent as they moved down your neck. Each touch of his lips was like a bolt of lightning, sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins.

His hands, too, were alive with a feverish intensity as they tugged at your clothing. But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he stepped back, leaving you feeling slightly breathless and more than a little disoriented.

He smiled at you then pulled the leather tie from his wrists and brushed his hair back out of his face, pulling his shoulder-length hair back, tying it up out of his face. As he brushed his hair back out of his face, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight of him. His shoulder-length hair, now tied up and out of his face, emphasised the rugged, masculine beauty of his features. It was a stark contrast to the more polished, refined elegance of the world outside this intimate cocoon.

And yet, even as he stood there, his hair pulled back and away from his face, there was a sense of wildness that still seemed to cling to him. It was as if, even in this moment of tender intimacy, he refused to be tamed or domesticated, choosing instead to remain forever untamed and free. Cregan Stark, The Wolf of The North.

You looked at him, your eyes reflecting the confusion that you were feeling in that moment. It was a look that seemed to intrigue and amuse him, a spark of mischief shining in his eyes as he took in your expression.

His lips met yours once more, this time in a kiss that was slow and deliberate, the sensation one of pure, unadulterated pleasure. As he pulled away, you couldn't help but feel the intensity that was fast becoming unbearable between the two of you.

His hands, which had been momentarily still, now returned to your dress. With fast movements, he pulled it up over your knees, revealing the smooth, expanse of your thighs beneath. He then bundled the fabric up at your waist, and then kissed you again, one hand keeping your dress up and the other moving to your hair to guide your head as he kissed you.

But then, even as you revealed in the sensation, you felt his hand dip beneath your shirt, his fingers tracing along your inner thigh. The sensation was like a bolt of lightning, sending jolts of electricity coursing through your veins.

He was teasing you, you realised, playing a game of tantalising anticipation. Each touch of his fingers was like a promise, a hint of the pleasures that were yet to come. Then he pulled away from you, and his hand moved to your chest, to guide you back. You leant backwards, steadying yourself against the desk with your arms. Then slowly he dropped to his knees, pushing your skirts out of the way. You felt a soft kiss on the inside of your knee, and then another a little further along. Then his teeth nipped slightly at the supple skin of your inner thigh, and you moved your legs to press them together at the sensation, but his strong arms kept your legs firmly apart as he kissed closer and closer.

"Cregan, please, enough of this." you whispered, still trying to cling to the anger that had almost dissipated entirely.

"Please what?" he asked as the kisses moved closer to your pussy, his hot breath also seeming intent on teasing you.

"Stop." you whispered, still trying to argue with him. The word sounded pathetic and as if to emphasise just how pathetic your plea sounded, he licked your cunt. One sweeping movement from the entrance of your pussy right to the clit, drawing a moan from your lips.

Then he pulled away, you looked down at him, angry again, but this time that he had actually stopped.

"Cregan," you whined again, tilting your head back, not happy with how much teasing you seemed to please him. And irritated that he had actually stopped.

"Come on now wife, use your words." he whispered, placing a kiss on your inner knee but not moving to continue.

"Cregan just fucking eat me." you pleased, the words coming out quickly, tinged with anger.

He grinned, he seemed to take great pleasure in the knowledge that he had won you over, that despite your initial resistance, he had managed to break through your anger in the best way he knew how.

And then, as if to seal the deal, he delved back under your skirts.

One quick lick, and then he flattened his tongue as it started to move in a way that made it obvious he was apologetic. Each movement of his tongue seemed only to have one goal, and that was to bring you to release as fast as he could. Cregan was not the sort of man that lost. You clenched your teeth and tried to hold out, trying not to let him have this win so easily. But he was your husband, and he knew your body better than he knew his own. You balled your fists on the table trying to pull yourself back from the edge, but he sent you falling over it. You came hard, screaming his name as you tilted your head back.

He didn’t give you a moment to recollect yourself, instead he moved his tongue over your clip, as one of his fingers gently pressed inside you, curling up towards your bellybutton.

"Cregan" you gasped, rolling your hips to the motion of his finger, your hands returning to the desk the paper at your side bunching up into your fist as you tried to get purchase on something to ground you.

He didn’t respond, at least not with words. Instead, he removed his finger and replaced it with two that sent such a wave of pleasure coursing through you that for a moment, you could swear that you could see stars on the back of your eyelids. His fingers stroked up against something inside you made it feel as though every nerve ending in your body had been set on fire. Those two fingers in conjunction with his tongue fanning the flames, pushing you to the edge of another release again. You gripped the edge of the desk, your hips bucking involuntarily as you surrendered to the intense pleasure coursing through you. Even as your climax hit, the intensity of his mouth and fingers never wavered, continuing to guide you through this earth-shattering experience.

"Fuck," was the only word you could push through your lips as he still didn’t relent as he ate your pussy.

In fact, the word seemed to spur him on, as though hearing you spout profanities amused him. Perhaps it was the fact you were usually so reserved and well-spoken, that when he broke down those walls and exposed your inner animal, it turned him on more than anything else.

You were racing towards another peak again, and this time he seemed determined to push you there as fast as he could, as though he himself were becoming impatient. You knew that he got impossibly turned on when he went down on you, unable to go more than a few rounds before he had to feel himself inside you. This was the longest he had managed, and you wondered if he was torturing himself as much as he was attempting to torture you. You squeezed your eyes shut and screamed his name as he brought you to the edge for what felt like the hundredth time. You attempted to squeeze your shaking legs shut, Finally, he emerged from between your thighs, the scent of your arousal clinging to him like a trophy. He placed both his hands on the desk, leaning towards you. Immediately, you leaned forward, your hands moving instinctively to his broad, muscular chest. He kissed you deeply, his lips warm and inviting against yours. Then, he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, allowing you to hold him for a moment, your heart still racing from the intensity of your shared experience. As you both came down from your high, you took comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the sound of your breathing slowly returning to normal.

Once your breathing steadied, and you felt ready to speak, you gently pulled away from him. It was then that the sharp scent of ale suddenly assaulted your nostrils, causing you to wrinkle your nose slightly in surprise.

"Gods, Cregan, I'm sorry I knocked over your drink." you said, righting the tankard, now empty.

He shrugged. "There are better things to drink back in our room," he whispered, his voice low and intimate, sending shivers down your spine.

He moved his hands to your waist, pulling you closer to him, his body a beacon of warmth and comfort. His scent, a mix of woodsmoke, leather, and the crisp scent of the outdoors, enveloped you, a familiar embrace that you couldn't resist.

"How about we return there and have a drink," he suggested with a smile, "before we continue our evening entertainment." His eyes twinkled with mischief, hinting at the pleasures that awaited you both. He leaned down, placing a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Continue?" you asked, looking up at him with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The firelight danced across his features, lending an almost ethereal glow to his already handsome face. "I think you have more than apologised Cregan," you responded, a hint of amusement in your voice.

"Yes, I have apologised," he murmured, his voice rich and deep, "but now I need to thank you for working so tirelessly." He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a gesture that sent a new wave of desire coursing through your veins.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

Are We Living, Just to Die? | Marcus Acacius | Gladiator II

Chapter 2: The Bite of a Blade, Stings.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3- Comming soon

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words, longing, Graphic depictions of violence, Canon typical Violence, bad opionions on women that would have been the norm at the time, talk of Stds, Madness, Cruely, Animal Cruelty, Gladiators, fighting, blood and gore, injury description, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: BRED FOR COMBAT. BUILT FOR WAR. Aurellia lives in the shadows of her brothers, the tyrant twin Emperors. When a General returns for war and shows her kindness she is not used to she begins to fall for him. Not realising that she is stepping right into a conspiracy to depose her brothers and save Rome from their violent rule. Will love and hope to prevail or will the carefully laid plans fall through, causing defeat and ruin for all involved?

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

Previous Chapter

She had been ready and dressed for little more than twenty minutes before the sound of the horn indicated the arrival of General Acacius interrupted the mid-morning silence of the palace. She hurried quickly to where her brothers were waiting, silently stepping behind them, trying to avoid catching the eye of anyone looking. A couple of the senates either side of her were mumbling something under their breaths, but they stopped talking the moment a horn announced the arrival of the General.

Her brothers were standing in front of her, and to their left and right the men of the senate stood, ready to welcome Romes' hero back from war. Her two brothers were clad in armour that seemed to be made entirely of gold. Geta was still wearing his white, gold hemmed cloak, but Caracalla had stropped about it touching his ankles and had proceeded to throw it at the head of one of the unlucky women tasked with dressing him. She assumed that they were attempting to make themselves look like fighters, but they just seemed like boys cosplaying warriors. Neither one of them having held a sword in anything that could be called a fair fight.

She stepped forwards, following her brothers to the top of the steps. Listening as the crowd that had gathered to welcome The General home go wild as he stepped from his chariot at the base of the steps.

Rose petals had been sprinkled on the white marble, from this distance it almost looked as though blood had been splattered across the steps. She watched as The General walked up towards them.

Aurellia hadn’t met him before, even though he had spent a great deal of time fighting for her brothers. She had done her best to avoid engagements with men that favoured violence, instead filling her time with those that found happiness in scrolls and literature. Of which there were not a great deal, none in fact that were in any way close enough to her in age to be thought of as attractive.

He was a sight to behold, his armour brilliant white. Gold accents adorned every part of him. They reflected the sun and made it seem as though a god was walking up the steps towards them. His sword at his hip, disgustingly beautiful for something that was designed only to kill. He didn’t have a cloak like her brother but rather a strip of fabric fastened to each shoulder, draping beatify behind him almost reaching the floor. The way he held himself was that of a true warrior. Her brothers looked like children next to him.

As he reached the top of the steps, her brothers stepped forwards and she followed them. Trying to remain out of sight, but she didn’t succeed. Catching the eye of The General for just a moment before his attention focused on Geta and Caracalla. He placed his right arm across his chest.

“Emperor Geta,” he started, his smooth baritone voice suiting him in an impossibly perfect way. He turned his head to her other brother, arm still across his chest in a sign of respect. “Emperor Caracalla.” He nodded.

“General Acacius.” Said Geta, his tone respectful, but there was a thread of boredom laced within it.

“I have taken Numidia, in your names” Said Acacius, either not noticing or not caring for the Emperor's tone. Seemingly as bored with this event as the two Emperors were, but doing a better job of hiding it. “That your dominion may eclipse that of every Emperor who came before you.” He turned to address Caracalla as he ended his sentence before turning back to Geta.

She watched the vein in his neck pop out at little as he spoke. As though the act of addressing the Emperors was more taxing that it seemed.

“Crown him with Laurels brother.” Said Caracalla, turning to his brother, a sly smile on his face.

Geta turned to his left and picked up the golden laurels that had been prepared for this very moment. He turned back to the general and stepped forwards, placing the golden crown on his beautiful head of curls.

She watched as The General tilted his head a little to allow the Emperor to reach with a little more ease, she took this moment to really take in his features.

He had a scar that started on the apple of his right cheek and struck up towards his sideburn. His beard was littered with grey, but he didn’t look old. He was a man in his prime, the grey was likely caused by the stress of many battles. A large nose that suited his face and a strong jaw. He was beautiful, almost too pretty to be a warrior.

The crowd erupted into cheers as the crown touched the Generals head. The senates to her left and right began clapping, and she joined in as her brother stepped away from him. Raising his arms as though the cheers of the people were for him and him alone.

“Come inside, we must all drink to your victory.” He said, turning and clapping The General on his back.

Acacius clenched his jaw and caught her eye as her brothers guided him forwards into the place.

“Come sister.” Said Caracalla, grabbing her wrist as he passed her. “You must join us.”

She and her two brothers, followed General Acacius into the throne room a little way inside the palace. It was only when they descended the steps did Caracalla let go of her wrist and allow her to walk behind them.

The General was taller than both of her brothers, and taller than most men she had seen before. He stood at over six feet, possibly more. He was broad shouldered too, with large arms partially hidden by the fabric of his tunic. It made her think about how horrible it must be to watch a man like that run at you, sword drawn, covered in the blood of your brethren.

Acacius slowed his walk and Caracalla moved in front of him as Geta moved to the left to swipe some goblets of wine from the table. A slave was hastily pouring them out, not realising this would be the room they would retreat to.

“In honour of your conquest,” he started, his cloak swishing behind him as he strode over carrying the goblets. “There will be games in the colosseum.”

Caracalla’s eyes lit up as he looked at his brother. Acacius face, however, did not, which seemed a little strange to her.

What man who fought for Rome wouldn't want to have games in the colosseum thrown in his honour?

A slave, to her left, handed her a goblet of wine. She took it with a smile and focused her attention back on her brothers and their guest, who was becoming more interesting with every passing moment. A slave put a goblet of wine in Geta's hand as he handed to two he had been holding to his brother and to Acacius.

“I require no games in my honour.” He said, his voice so much more commanding than that of her brothers. “Serving the senate and the people of Rome is honour enough for me.” He said with a ghost of a smile, moving to cheers his goblet against Geta's.

Geta pulled his away.

“You are too modest Acacius,” he said and Aurellia’s stomach flipped. He was irritated, and The General had insulted him in a way that he didn’t understand. “It does not suit a General as accomplished as yourself.”

The smile on Acacius face faltered a little before he smiled warmly at her brother as Geta finally clinked his goblet against the goblet of Acacius.

“The glory is yours not mine.” Said Acacius.

Aurellia chewed the inside of her lip, he was good. Talking to the princes in a way that kept your head on your shoulder was difficult, but then again, a man doesn't get where he is without knowing how to manipulate a man with relitive ease.

“I only ask for some rest-bite from war.” He said, his smile falling from his lips.

His big brown eyes seemed to get bigger, as though he were silently begging with them. She knew her brothers had a thirst for violence and power, this man would likely only know peace when he was laid to rest.

“I want only to enjoy Rome and all it has to offer.” His eyes caught Aurellia’s again, and she looked away, her breath catching in her throat.

Caracalla stepped in front of him, seeming to attempt to square up to the man, but he was a head and shoulder shorter so it looked sillier than it did intimidating. Geta turned away from the two men and drew his sword, raising it and twisting in the light, seemingly captivated by the way it sparkled for a moment as his brother talked.

“Remember the privileges we have granted you? You should not ignore such an occasion.” Said Caracalla, tilting his head to the side slightly, a devious glint in his eyes.

“There are victories still yet to come.” Interrupted Geta, turning back to face Acacius, still holding his sword high.

He turned to Acacius who didn’t flinch as other men might have at the sight of the sword. Not even when he placed the sword on his right shoulder.

“Persia,” Continued Geta, bouncing the sword off Acacius’ shoulder and using the momentum to move it over his head and touch the other shoulder. “India.” He moved the blade closer to Acacius face, but he still didn’t flinch, but his face had taken on a harder expression. “Both must be conquered.” He said the blade sliding closer to Acacius’ neck.

Aurellia winced as she saw blood come from where the blade touched the skin, but the man still didn’t flinch. A sword to his neck, one flick of the wrist away from death, and Acacius didn’t so much as blink.

“Rome has so many subjects.” Started Acacius, his voice now with a dangerous edge that was sharper than the blade as his neck.

She could see her brother, physically recoil a little at the tone. But he kept his blade on the neck of the General, in a vain attempt to pretend he was the one in control of the conversation.

“She must feed them.” Continued Acacius, almost snarling out the last few words.

He lifted his hand and batted the sword from his neck as though it were nothing more than a bothersome fly. Her brother looking at him with hatred in his eyes. His face fighting a loosing battle to retain ther same sort of nonchalant expression, Acacius did with ease.

“They can eat war.” Chuckled, Caracalla looking down at the blood on Geta's still raised blade with a smile before grinning up at Acacius.

Geta swung the sword and for a moment, she feared that he was about to lose it and strike The General down in the middle of the room, but instead he threw it. The sword landing, skittering across the floor and falling into the Koi pond with a splash that echoed around the silent room.

“Your triumphs will be celebrated, as attributed to the greatness of the Roman people.” He said, raising his hand for Acacius to kiss.

She could see the vein in Acacius’ neck bulge for a second, and he clenched his jaw and nodded his head. Taking her brother's hand in his and kissing the knuckles.

Geta swung around, his cape flaring out behind him.

“Come bother,” he said, gesturing at Caracalla. “We have games to plan.”

With that, the two of them strode out of the room, leaving Acacius and Aurellia alone.

She stepped forwards towards him, emboldened by the absence of her brothers. She turned to look over at the Koi pond, Acacius glancing in that direction too. The two of them watched one of the slaves pull the sword from the pond. He turned back to face her. She lifted her hand, and he flinched, she smiled. Then she gently wiped the blood from his wound with her finger. Looking down at it for a moment, she looked back up at him.

“I think that is the first time that sword of his has ever tasted blood. Likely the last time, too.” She smiled. “I apologise for my brothers' outburst, I will do what I can to delay their dreams of war to offer you some rest after such an achievement.”

“I appreciate that, my lady.” He replied with a nod, and the first genuine smile she had seen adorn his lips thus far.

“Aurellia,” she replied. “My name is Aurellia.”

He titled his head a look of curiosity flooding onto his face. She turned from him, placing her untouched goblet of wine on the table and retreating from the room. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she left.

Chapter 3: Pretty Men Make Good Distractions From Dangerous Plots

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

The Lord, The Lady and The Long Winter | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Chapter 2/5?: The Wolf of the North

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 - Comming soon

Cregan Stark x House Baratheon Reader

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words,longing, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: You’re betrothed to Cregan Stark. The pair of you navigate this relationship of convenience and perhaps even find love.

Word Count: 3,317

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

A/N RANT: I find writing easy. I just splat ideas down on the page. It’s the editing that really gets me. I spend so much time deleting and rewriting, googling synonyms because somehow I’ve managed to use the same word 4,000 times in the last twenty sentences. Agonising over the wording and then Word for some reason trying to make me spell things in american. Then the grammar actually sends me over the edge, Word telling me that there should be a comma, so I add a comma and then no that’s wrong there shouldn’t be a comma there. It actually makes me go feral. Anyway, if anyone wonders why it takes me so long to post more parts, these are some of the reasons.

Chapter 1

It had taken a little over a month for your father and your entourage to reach the castle of Winterfell. As you journeyed, the number of layers and furs you wore in the carriage increased, each piece a necessary defence against the northern chill. It was the last day of the trip, and you were thankful it had finally come to an end, eager to sleep in the same bed for more than one night in a row. You stepped up into the carriage and turned to your father, who was already seated, his expression one of calm reassurance. "Almost there," he said, his voice steady as he attempted a smile.

You averted your gaze, sitting down and looking out at the landscape that unfolded outside. A heavy blanket of snow cloaked the ground, transforming the world into a vast, seamless expanse of white. The trees stood tall and skeletal, their branches laden with frost that sparkled like diamonds in the weak and low winter sun. Occasionally, the wind howled through the barren branches, sending a shiver down your spine and creating an eerie symphony that filled the otherwise still air.

The world outside seemed lifeless, devoid of colour and warmth—how you longed for the vibrant greens and the golden hues of the south, of home. You hadn’t seen an animal for more than a week, and the silence felt oppressive, magnifying the sense of isolation that you felt. Your mind wandered to what your sisters would be doing right now, likely studying or playing in the garden with your mother watching sewing something beautiful as she always was. A lump formed in your throat as you thought about how long it would be until you saw them again. This new landscape was as much a part of your new life as your upcoming marriage; it revealed in its stark beauty but also served as a constant reminder of the challenges that lay ahead. With the shutter closed, you felt a growing knot of anxiety within you, the weight of the impending changes heavy as the snow that blanketed the ground.

At some point, you had fallen asleep, though you couldn't recall when. The anticipation of the day had kept you awake through most of the night, and the uncomfortable seat of the carriage left your body aching. But then, the resounding blast of trumpets heralding your arrival jolted you from your sleep.

“Are we here?" you asked, glancing at your father, whose expression was distant, as if lost in thought.

"Yes," he replied, turning his gaze to meet yours.

"How long do we have before meeting the Starks?" you asked, smoothing your clothes and hoping the nap hadn’t left your hair in disarray.

"Lord Stark will greet us as soon as we step out of the carriage," your father replied, straightening in his seat.

"What? Aren’t we meeting in the hall after we've freshened up?" you exclaimed, taken aback by the immediacy, realising just how soon you'd face the man who’d share your future.

"Ah, but they're Northerners," your father said with a dismissive wave, "They'd find you lovely even in rags." The carriage lurched forward, jolting you both, as your heart raced.

You thought you would have just a little more time, a chance to gather your thoughts and brace yourself for the momentous introduction. Panic rose inside you as it became clear you had mere minutes before meeting the man who would be your husband.

Your heart raced with a flurry of questions and doubts. Would he be as the tales described—harsh and unyielding as the Northern winters—or might there be warmth beneath the layers of fur and Stoic silence? The uncertainties swirled, each more daunting than the last, wrapping around your thoughts like a relentless blizzard.

You fidgeted with the edge of your cloak, trying to calm the rising tide of unease. What if your mannerisms seemed too foreign, your presence too delicate for the rugged North? At this moment, you realised your entire future might rely on one singular, daunting introduction.

You focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale slowly to five, as your mother had taught you to do in moments of unease. Her voice echoed in your mind, recounting stories of Lord Cregan Stark and how he had become the embodiment of his house’s strength. At just seventeen, he had fought for power against his uncle, rallying the North to his cause and earning the legendary title of the Wolf of the North.

Now, at twenty-five, he was widely renowned as the most powerful man in the region, with whispers even calling him the King in the North. His influence stretched far, untethered by the intricacies of southern politics. In the refuge of your measured breathing, you hoped to draw some comfort from the formidable reputation of the man who would soon become your husband. Could a man so brilliant at war be kind?

The carriage came to a rest, jolting you back to the present, you looked at your father, who attempted to give you a reassuring nod as the door of the carriage swung open. He moved through it first, giving you a precious few moments to prepare yourself before he turned and extended his hand inside the carriage to help you out and down.

The cold hit you first, making you draw a sharp breath, the icy air burning your lungs. For a brief moment, you looked around and watched as snowflakes danced in the chilled air, touching gently on Winterfell's ancient stone façade. You stepped out, the snow crunching beneath your feet, you were thankful for your father's firm grasp on your hand, worried for a moment that without it, you would slip.

The northern air was sharp and invigorating, a biting chill that seemed to permeate the very fabric of everything it touched. It was the kind of cold that, if endured for too long, would nestle deep into your bones, leaving a lingering reminder of the North’s untamed power. Pulling your thick cloak more tightly around yourself, you sought its warmth and comfort, a shield against the relentless chill.

Your father stepped forward with the practiced grace of his station, turning to address the Northerners who had assembled to witness your arrival.

"Greetings House Stark, I am Lord Borros Baratheon, of the House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End. I have come to present to you, my daughter." His voice was, steady and confident. It carried over the soft whisper of the wind, acknowledging the strength of the Northern families and the significance of the union that would soon bind Baratheon and Stark.

He turned to you and gestured for you to step forwards, and you did, curtseying to the group. Your eyes swept over the crowd of Northerners—a sea of rugged faces hardened by the winter landscape. And there he stood, amidst them, undeniably Cregan Stark. His towering form was enveloped in commanding furs, every inch the lord who embodied the unforgiving north. He looked younger than you thought he would, hearing stories of how the north aged you beyond your years made you worried about what you would be confronted with up getting here.

Cregan stepped forward with an elegant grace, offering a formal bow. Yet, the warmth in his eyes spoke an unspoken promise of understanding and curiosity.

"Welcome to Winterfell," his voice resonated, deep and steady, his accent thick.

Your father and Cregan began discussing the plans for the coming days, their voices a steady hum amidst the towering stone walls of Winterfell. You followed closely behind them, the chill of the Northern air slowly giving way to the warmth of the hall, its fires crackling and casting flickering shadows that danced across the ancient stone.

Eventually, you found your place on a chair, one of many surrounding a small table strewn with maps and parchments that detailed the intricacies of alliances and strategies. The gathering of lords settled into their respective seats, enveloping the table in a sense of purpose and gravitas. Your father leaned forward, engaged in discussions about the expectations of this union, emphasising duty and honour—the very fabric of noble life.

As they spoke, a few lords occasionally cast friendly glances in your direction, but you could sense the unspoken rules that governed the conversation. This was not the sort of assembly where women were expected to voice their thoughts; instead, you listened intently, absorbing the dialogue around you. It was both fascinating and daunting, a whirlwind of responsibilities that felt far removed from the warmth of family gatherings you had known.

You were taken aback that they allowed you to sit at the table at all, a privilege that your father would never have granted you in the South. Perhaps the customs were different in the North, a notion that intrigued and unsettled you. As your gaze wandered around the assembly, it landed on one woman at the table—until that moment, you hadn't realised she was among them.

Dressed in masculine attire, she seemed to blend right in with the lords surrounding her, sitting tall and confident as they addressed her with the same respect reserved for their male counterparts. It was a striking sight, one that momentarily pulled you from your anxious thoughts about the future.

Then, the unexpected happened; she caught your eye and offered a warm smile that brightened her otherwise stern countenance. Heat rose to your cheeks as you realised you had been staring. Quickly, you turned your attention back to Cregan, the man you were to marry, feeling the weight of the room around you as you grappled with the complexities of your new reality.

Cregan Stark was a striking figure to behold, towering head and shoulders above your father, making it instantly clear why others held him in such high esteem. His presence conveyed more than mere physical stature; as soon as he began to speak, his demeanour and the way he carried himself revealed the essence of a man of honour. Unlike the tall men of the South, who seemed like a gust of wind might send them hurtling over the battlements into the sea, Cregan's stature was built broad and firm.

The cloak draped over his shoulders only added to his impressive build, yet you could tell at a glance that this was a physique forged through hard work and rigorous training, not by indulgence in luxuries. Every movement hinted at discipline and strength, an embodiment of the Northern spirit you had heard so much about.

Your eyes focused intently on his face as he spoke, captivated by the way his shoulder-length brown hair framed his features, catching the light to highlight the rugged lines that undeniably spoke of his Northern lineage. Cregan had a strong jaw, lending a chiseled quality to his visage that perfectly complemented the air of unyielding determination he exuded.

But it was his piercing blue eyes that truly drew you in—striking and deep, they seemed to hold an entire world within them. In contrast to the often stark demeanour he carried, those eyes contained an unexpected warmth, like a flickering flame against the cold backdrop of winter. There was a kindness in their depths, a silent promise that perhaps beneath the fierce exterior lay a man capable of tenderness and understanding. With every glance, you felt the pull of his gaze, an invitation to see beyond the bravado and discover the complexities that made him who he was.

He turned and met your eye, and it took you a second to realise that he had asked you a question, you looked around the room at the lords. All poised to listen to your response. You looked to your father for guidance.

"You'll have to excuse my daughter, the journey north has been long. However, I do think that she has enough strength left to accept your suggestion of a tour of Winterfell." he smiled at Lord Stark, who looked from you to your father, an understanding smile playing on his lips as he worked out you hadn't been paying attention.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t expose your lapse in concentration, just stood and shook your father's hand. You stood too as all the other lords stood and moved towards the door. You watched as they filtered out of the room, your father and Cregan being the only two aside from yourself still left in the room.

"Well, I would say that no chaperone is required, it is said that no one in the realms have as much honour as the Starks." your father said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked between the two of you.

He nodded and gave you a small smile and turned to leave the room, the guards at the door opening and closing the door. You felt the resounding boom of the door closing in your chest as it seemed to echo around the entire room. The room seemed smaller as you looked from the door to Lord Stark, he looked so much more intimidating now it was only you in the room.

"My Lady, what part of Winterfell would you like to see first?" he asked stepping towards you.

"I- I don’t know." you whispered, finding it too difficult to look him in the eye.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to your cloak which you had removed and placed on the back of your chair.

You nodded, he carefully picked it up and placed it over your shoulders, you moved your hands to do up the buckle that would secure it to your body and turned to Lord Stark. The massive sword slung across his back caught your attention, its hilt visible above his shoulder—a symbol of the strength and legends whispered in the halls of your childhood home. It seemed a natural extension of him—an embodiment of Cregan Stark, the warrior and the lord.

He smiled down at you, warmth and friendliness lighting up his features. With a gentle tilt of his eyebrow, he extended his elbow towards you, inviting you to take it.

"Well, I shall show you my favourite parts of the castle, and then we'll join your father and the other lords for a late tea," he said, his deep voice smooth and rich, like honey.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, as you took his hand and allowed him to guide you out of the room. Agreeing to marry someone you had never met was undoubtedly a gamble, fraught with uncertainties. Yet, with this match, a sense of hopefulness stirred within you—a feeling as if you had struck gold in a world tarnished by rusted steel.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moment you first learned of your betrothal. That night, your mother had remained by your side, holding you close as you cried, part of you mourning your childhood and the other terrified of the future. She assured you that everything would be alright, words you initially dismissed as just the comforting words you say to someone when they're crying.

But now, with time and distance, you started to see that moment in a different light. There was a certainty in her voice that had been unwavering, and it made you wonder if she had played a part in your match with Lord Stark. Her confidence lingered in your mind, suggesting that perhaps this match carried more promise than you dared to imagine in those initial, tear-filled moments.

Winterfell was a beautiful castle, said to be one of the oldest still standing. As Cregan showed you around, you noticed something different in the way he spoke. Unlike most men, who seemed more interested in proving themselves smarter than you by belittling or over-explaining, Lord Stark had a unique approach.

His way of speaking about the castle and its history felt more like listening to a passionate teacher than a rehearsed lecture. He engaged you with stories, making each tale and detail come alive, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of respect and curiosity grow within you. It was refreshing and made you appreciate not only Winterfell, but also the man guiding you through its storied halls.

He had suggested that the two of you look out over the battlements before retiring to the great hall for something to eat. The climb up to the battlements was more challenging than you had anticipated. The stairs were far narrower than any you had navigated at Storm's End, making you marvel at how men clad in armour could swiftly manoeuvre them during times of war. Yet, as you reached the top, the sight that greeted you was nothing short of breathtaking—a vast, snowy landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. There was a vast expanse of forest in the distance, but even that was coated in snow.

Your home back in Storm's End prided itself on its massive walls for protection against invaders. However, here at Winterfell, the tall walls paired with its isolated, formidable position in the North presented a different kind of strength. The harsh, unforgiving landscape surrounding Winterfell seemed an ally to its defenders, an icy gauntlet capable of claiming the lives of unprepared southern soldiers long before they could even reach the walls. The beauty and latent power of the scene sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the resilience required to thrive in this raw and rugged part of the world.

"There is a small moat hidden by the snow at the bottom of the wall," Cregan began, his gaze shifting to you with a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he was sharing a secret of the North only a few were privy to. "If aren't aware of it and attempt to climb the wall, you sink into snow taller than a man."

You withdrew your hand from the warmth of your fur muff, moving to grasp the metal handle fixed to the wall, hoping to steady yourself for a better view over the battlements. The chill of the metal immediately shot through your fingers, contrasting sharply with the cozy warmth of the muff.

"Agh," you gasped, yanking your hand away from the frigid metal.

Before you could even check for injury, Cregan Stark's gloved hand enveloped yours with a surprising gentleness. He looked down at your hand, his thumb softly brushing across your palm, sending a tingle through your skin. "Careful, My Lady," he murmured, his voice carrying a deep, soothing timbre. "Warm hands stick to cold metal. You could lose some skin if you're not careful."

You grimaced at the thought and glanced back at the metal, reassuring yourself that none of your skin lingered there. "It burns,” you whispered, eyes dropping to the red mark on your palm.

Cregan's gaze met yours, holding a mix of concern and something unspoken. He raised his hand to his mouth, biting the finger of his glove and pulling it off, his breath misting in the cold air. He placed his large, now bare hand over yours, its warmth seeping through your skin, soothing the sting of the cold. His touch seemed to linger longer than necessary, then he removed his hand from yours and pulled the glove from his mouth.

"Careful my Lady, the cold burns sometimes more than fire." He remarked, eyes locked on yours, before slipping his hand back into the glove with deliberate care. "We ought to get you some gloves." His voice carried both practicality and an undercurrent of tenderness that surprised you.

He offered his arm once more, and this time, as you looped your arm around his, the touch felt more intimate, more charged. You tucked your hand back into your fur muff, your hand still feeling the ghost of his.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

Are We Living, Just to Die? | Marcus Acacius | Gladiator II

Chapter 1: Two Brothers and Their Sister

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3- Comming soon

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words, longing, Graphic depictions of violence, Canon typical Violence, bad opionions on women that would have been the norm at the time, talk of Stds, Madness, Cruely, Animal Cruelty, Gladiators, fighting, blood and gore, injury description, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: BRED FOR COMBAT. BUILT FOR WAR. Aurellia lives in the shadows of her brothers, the tyrant twin Emperors. When a General returns for war and shows her kindness she is not used to she begins to fall for him. Not realising that she is stepping right into a conspiracy to depose her brothers and save Rome from their violent rule. Will love and hope to prevail or will the carefully laid plans fall through, causing defeat and ruin for all involved?

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

Aurellia flinched at the screech of Emperor Geta calling, "Aurellia, come sister, where are you?", as the sound of doors slamming reverberated through the property. Hurried feet slapped against the stone floor and marched down the corridor towards her.

Aurellia exhaled a long, frustrated sigh, the interruption tearing her away from the scroll she had been engrossed in. Reluctantly, she rolled it up with swift, practiced motions, placing it with careful precision on the small table beside the chaise lounge where she had been finding solace before this unwelcome disturbance. In these fleeting moments before her brothers' imminent intrusion into the courtyard, she hurried to compose herself, smoothing out the creases in her tunic with decisive strokes. Her nerves hummed as she listened intently to the echoing footsteps drawing near, rehearsing the serene façade she was about to conjure.

As she stood, her fingers danced nervously with the rings she wore, a mindless ritual of comfort. Her sharp gaze caught sight of her brothers, flanked by their entourage, weaving their way around the rectangular koi pond at the heart of the courtyard's garden. The water's gentle ripples mirrored her efforts to maintain calm. She knew well the precariousness of the situation; her brothers' unpredictable moods meant any hint of defiance, real or imagined, could spark their ire. Thus, she waited for them, steeling herself to greet them with an appearance devoid of irritation.

“Yes Geta?” She answered, trying to sound cheery. Forcing a smile onto her face as he stopped in front of her.

The stench of perfume, radiated off him and the people surrounding him. It was as though they had brought a cloud of it with them. It made her eyes sting. She tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, hoping to avoid inhaling the overwhelming stench.

Her brother stood before her, grinning maniacally, his arms spread wide as if he were about to embrace her. Yet, instead of stepping forward, he merely clapped his hands together, releasing a high-pitched squeal, reminiscent of a small child upon receiving a cake. She maintained the broad smile on her face, the strain of holding the expression beginning to manifest in the ache blooming in her cheeks.

"We have fantastic news this morning! General Acacius has returned from war, bringing word that Numidia has been conquered in our name. The Roman Empire is now larger than ever before," Geta exclaimed, squealing with delight. He then turned to his younger twin, Caracalla, and, towering over him by a head and shoulders, affectionately placed a kiss atop Caracalla's head.

“Congratulations brothers, you are now the most powerful Emperors Rome has ever seen.” She said, trying to sound rosy as she could, hoping it would disguise any hints of sarcasm that might push its way into her words.

If he, or his entourage, detected the disdain veiled in her voice, none of them let on. Instead, they simply smiled at her with practiced politeness, their eyes unwaveringly fixed on him. Their faces were masks of adulation, bodies poised to tend to his every whim.

"Even better, news." Caracalla's voice dripped with unbridled glee, his grin twisting into an even more deranged expression as he addressed her. "They have brought back slaves, from the savage lands out there. They're being escorted into Rome as we speak. We are going to have games on at the colosseum to celebrate."

The words rolled off his tongue like a macabre dance, each syllable laced with an unsettling enthusiasm that sent shivers down her spine. The thought of these enslaved souls, torn from their homes and forced to fight for the entertainment of the people who had conquered them sickened her.

“You must attend, sister.” Said Geta, stepping around his brother.

“I must.” She smiled with a nod, trying to swallow down the sick trying to claw its way up her throat.

Caracalla, ever the instigator, moved once more to stand in front of his twin, Geta. The younger brother's impulsive actions seemed to elicit an almost visceral reaction from the elder, his jaw clenched tight as iron, while his fists balled at his sides in a not-so-subtle display of barely contained fury.

"They've brought back creatures from the wild lands!" Caracalla giggled, a note of manic delight in his voice. "Great cats with thick fur around their shoulders, and a huge, fat grey pig, complete with fangs." He threw his arms wide, twirling on the spot.

"How wonderful," she replied, her voice laced with feigned enthusiasm as she willed the smile to remain fixed on her face.

"Sister, you must be in the Throne Room, within the hour, to meet the General. We are dressing in gold, so should you." Said Geta, coolly appraising her, his gaze betraying his distaste at her current attire.

She wore a simple, unadorned tunic of natural cloth, its hue a modest testament to her understated elegance. The fabric draped gently over her form, devoid of finery or opulence, much to the chagrin of her brothers, who once ridiculed her for appearing like a mere servant and took the opportunity to mockingly command her as such. Yet, amidst the simplicity of her attire, there glimmered two significant tokens of her true standing: the golden clasps securing her tunic at the shoulders.

These were precious heirlooms, once belonging to her mother, each cast with care into intricate depictions of divine figures. One clasp bore the likeness of Juno, queen of the Gods, her serene majesty captured in gold; the other held the image of Jupiter, king of the gods, a figure of regal strength and authority. Her father had given these to her mother in the early days of their union, a heartfelt pledge that, like the eternal bond of the gods, their love would transcend the sands of time.

Geta gave her a smile, which in his head may have been an attempt at a happy one. But it set her teeth on edge. They were getting worse, their mental states deteriorating. He turned his back to her. Then the two of them and their group of slaves and whores scuttled out of the courtyard, talking of death and how entertaining it will be to watch men fight wild animals.

Although her brothers were twins, born no more than twenty minutes apart, they did not in any way resemble each other. One was tall and the other short. The only similarities they shared was their golden hair and the madness that seemed to run through their veins. They did attempt to make themselves look a little more like one another, painting themselves with makeup to look a little less human. They claimed it made them look as though they were gods, but in her opinion, it made them look as though the sun had never touched their skin.

The makeup they wore around their eyes, a brilliant red that almost made them look sickly, was a poor attempt to hide the illness that had exacerbated their madness. The sort of illness one gets from bedding too many whores, its dark tendrils creeping surreptitiously into their minds, poisoning their thoughts with insanity. Despite their efforts to appear divine, to her, they remained mere mortals, their madness a stark contrast to the celestial figures they sought to emulate.

At last, the courtyard descended into tranquility once more, allowing her to catch the subtle gurgle of the fountain at its centre. Occasionally, the serene surface would be interrupted by the splash of a koi, its tail playfully breaching the water. She inhaled deeply, thankful that the overpowering scent of her brothers and their entourage was fading from her sanctuary. It was rare that they disturbed her, often preoccupied with the bloodlust of men fighting to the death or losing themselves in barrels of wine. Yet, these fleeting visits always seemed to serve as reminders of their supremacy, as they paraded their inheritance before her eyes. In their view, she was little more than a pawn, her value only as significant as the role she played in their grandiose plans.

Her thoughts turned to General Acacius and the men who had been dispatched on such a futile mission — to win a mere couple of hundred miles of land in the name of The Roman Empire. They, too, victims of the mad princes. How many people have died, in their name, for nothing more than a bit of land? She thought about what her brothers were doing to Rome, how long would it be until it grew to the point it was no longer sustainable? Like a grape vine with too thin a stem, nothing more than a strong gust of wind away from being toppled.

She eased back into her seat and retrieved the scroll, letting it rest gently on her lap. Her mind wandered, momentarily caught in the scarce yet treasured memories of a time before her brothers arrived. She recalled the life her mother and father shared before the birth of the boys, a period that now felt almost dreamlike in its normalcy. As she chewed the inside of her cheek, a tempest of emotions swirled within her. She remembered vividly the haunting moment before her father's death when he confessed his wish that the rules of succession were different. He had expressed a longing for her to ascend the throne instead of her brothers, fearing that Rome would not be safe in their hands.

A maid hurried into the courtyard, and she nodded at her before rising from her seat again. With a deep breath, she recognised the weight of her role; it was time to don her formal attire and slip back into the façade of a dutiful sister, hiding the turmoil that brewed beneath the surface.

Chapter 2: The Bite of a Blade, Stings.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

Stranded | Kylo Ren| Star Wars

Warnings/ Tags: little angst, arguing, angry kylo

Summary: You are stranded on a planet with Kylo Ren, at first you thought that it would be a nightmare. However, it turns out that he has another side to him thats seperate to his firey temper and hot shot persona as the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He relaxes and become less insufferable and more intriguing with every hour you spend with him. Wandering around the forest looking for shelter you find yourself slowly beginning to catch feelings for him...

Word Count: 7,466

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

You watched in horror as another one of your ships was violently blown from the sky, the debris spiralling down to the ground mere yards from where you stood. Ducking, you turned your back and covered your ears, but you still felt the jarring impact reverberating through the earth. The resistance had caught you off guard. Five ships, pitifully outmatched by their twenty, were no match for their nimble manoeuvres and relentless gunfire. You could do little more than dodge, scarcely finding a moment to return fire. Amidst the chaos, you caught sight of Kylos’ ship, desperately attempting to retaliate. His anger fuelled increasingly reckless manoeuvres; each passing second pushed him further into danger. You knew he had crossed a line when his vessel narrowly missed colliding with two resistance ships barreling towards him. Your craft had long since been brought down, and with four enemy ships closing in from all directions, your only option was to eject and pray you weren’t shot out of the sky. Thankfully, they spared you, content with the explosion of your ship or perhaps failing to detect you on their radar. Yet here you were, stranded on a hostile planet, powerless as you watched your comrades fall to their demise in the skies above.

“You must engage hyperspace immediately; it’s our only chance to lose them!" you shouted urgently over the crackling radio, your voice cutting through the surrounding chaos. The sound of distant explosions echoed ominously, each blast sending a tremor through the ground beneath your feet. Your heart raced as you imagined the enemy ships closing in, their menacing silhouettes etched against the fiery sky. You clenched your jaw, gripping the radio tightly as you prayed he would listen to you, your pulse pounding in tandem with the frantic beat of your thoughts. You could almost picture him on the other end, the weight of the choice nearly palpable between you, and desperation clawed at your chest, urging him to understand the gravity of the moment.

"No!" came the agitated voice of Kylo Ren, sharp and cutting through the static of the radio like a blaster shot. "If we jump to hyperspace, we'll have to land on the first planet we see, and then we'll be stranded!" His voice roared with frustration, each word laced with fury, making you flinch as you watched his ship dodge and dive to avoid incoming fire. You could hear the tension in his breath, the weight of his concern evident.

“I’m already stranded, my ship is gone, save yourself while you can! They can't track you through hyperspace it's the best chance you have!" you yelled back, no longer caring that you were talking to the supreme leader, and letting the panic and frustration flow out of you.

Your only focus was now getting out of this situation alive, and trying to save the supreme leader, no matter how difficult it proved.

“Give me your coordinates,” he commanded, his voice firm and unwavering even amid the chaos that blanketed the sky. The urgency laced through his words was palpable, cutting through the static like a lightsaber through the darkness. You could almost envision him in the cockpit, brow furrowed, gaze fixed intently ahead as he navigated the storm of enemy fire.

“No, just run,” you urged, your voice filled with urgency as you fought to keep the panic at bay.

The silence that followed your desperate plea was deafening, a stark contrast to the relentless chaos that consumed the world around you. Only the distant echoes of explosions and the fading roar of Kylo's ship remained, a haunting reminder of the precarious situation you both found yourselves in. Your heart pounded in your chest as you scanned the vast expanse of the impossibly blue sky, searching for a tiny blip that would signify Kylo's survival.

After a brief, tense pause, your eyes finally found him racing through the chaotic sky overhead, the enemy ships zooming by like shadows of death, unaware of your desperate search on the ground. There he was—a flicker against the deep blue, a glint of something falling fast. Relief surged through you as you spotted his parachute, blossoming open like a flower in a hostile garden, guiding him gently down just beyond the line of trees before you. The swirling winds tugged at the fabric, sending it fluttering in a dance as he descended, a small yet bold figure amidst the sprawling chaos of fire and destruction surrounding you. You hadn't seen where his ship had gone down, but he would know.

Letting out a deep sigh, you looped your thumb around the strap of the emergency backpack you had managed to scavenge from the wreckage of your ship. Then pulled the blaster from its holster on your hip. You were sure that the Resistance wouldn't bother to make planet fall and look for anyone who had survived. It would be too risky, they had no idea how far out your main ship was. As though reading your mind, you watched as the resistance ships began to flash out of the sky. Each of them jumping to hyperspace. Little did they know that your main ship was a fair distance away.

You smiled as you walked across the soft, mossy grass, each step a gentle caress against your weary feet. After so many months, confined to the cold, unyielding metal of your ship, this lush, green floor felt like a long-lost friend. The rich scent of earth and vibrant green surrounded you, invigorating your senses as the sunlight filtered through the canopy above, dappling your path with patches of warmth. The ground gave you a delightful spring in your step, almost as if urging you forward, as you headed in the direction where Kylo had descended. You could hear the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of hidden creatures, a symphony of life that reminded you—you were not alone in this vast forest.

Well, that wouldn't be very nice," you replied, forcing a smile that felt shaky at best, desperately attempting to mask the unease swirling in your stomach. The certainty of fear settled on you like a heavy cloak as Kylo's gaze pierced through the expressionless mask.

"This is your fault," he stated again, the coldness of his words cutting into the tension between you. You had flown with Kylo many times, his real voice crackling through the radio; you'd heard it more times than you could count, but you had never seen his face, only ever the mask.

"Yeah, it's my fault that we are alive. You're welcome, by the way," you retorted with a hint of defiance, though your grip on the blaster tightened instinctively as your heart hammered in your chest. Survival mode kicked in, and your senses heightened, forcing you to scan the shadowy depths of the surrounding forest, searching for any threat that could emerge from the underbrush.

If he pulled his lightsaber, there would be little you could do to stop him from cutting you down where you stood. You were going to at least attempt to fight back, regardless of how pointless it would be.

"Look, we've flown loads of missions together, so let's just cut the crap, down here our ranks don't matter. The wildlife out there doesn't care who you are, to them, you're nothing more than a meal. So, we can either work together or I am going to walk into that forest and let you die." You said your survival instinct kicking in once again as the wind rustled through the trees and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as the eerie feeling of being watched washed over you.

The helmet turned in your direction, and for a moment, you were certain that this was it. This was the point of no return, the climactic moment where everything you had experienced, everything you had endured on this hostile planet, would culminate in a sudden, violent end. You had taken it too far, the panic and stress you were feeling was making you snap at the one man who could deal out a death sentence with just a simple flick of his hand. The weight of his stare bore down on you, a relentless pressure that threatened to crush you where you stood.

"Okay" he said matter-of-factly, he raised his hands to his helmet, and you frowned for a second, heart hammering yet again, before you realised what was happening.

He placeHe placed his hands on either side of his mask. A small click was followed by a hiss of air as the mouthpiece of his helmet moved forward.d. He lifted the helmet off his headKylo shook his head, his shoulder-length raven-black curls lurking in contrast to his dark reputation, cascading around his face. He dropped his helmet to his side and looked over at you with his deep, almost black eyes. His face contorted into a frown as he noticed the expression on your face.

"What?" he asked, looking less than amused.

"Nothing," you said, shaking your head and averting your eyes.s. You walked in the direction of his spaceship and as you passed him, you mumbled, "Just not what I expected. " You had your back to him, so you hadn't seen his expression shift from annoyance to amusement as he smirked, shook his head, and picked up his helmet to follow you.

"What are we looking for?" he asked, placing his helmet down in his spaceship as he lent against the doorframe and crossed his arms.

The back of his ship was destroyed, but the cockpit was relatively intact. He might have even survived the crash if he had stayed in his ship. But that was far too much of a gamble, so ejecting from it was the right call.

"Anything that we could use to survive here" you replied, looking in all the cabinets and compartments that he had in his ship.

He didn't move, he just followed you with his eyes a curious expression on his face.

"Come on, we don't have much time" you said, stopping your frantic searching for a brief moment to motion for him to look too.

He stuck his tongue in his cheek and smiled, shaking his head before stepping forwards and opening the cupboard near him. He looked at it for a brief second before frowning, closing it and turning to you again, crossing his arms and frowning.

"You don't give the orders, I outrank you.” he said in an authoritative tone, crossing his arms again.

You took a deep breath and then let it out in an audible sig"Look, I scanned the planet—it's beautiful in daylight, but at night it turns into a frigid nightmare." It looks positively delightful in the daytime, with the sunlight pouring through the green leaves, moss, and flowers covering the ground. But at night it all changes. It gets cold, colder than you've probably experienced. Everything freezes but that okay because all the plants here have adapted to that, the problem is: We haven’t.” You stopped to peer in another cabinet, then turned to look at him. “So we need to find a cave and firewood. Somewhere to wait out the cold for a day or two until the First Order picks up our signal. Now, you can throw your weight around and remind me of your rank over and over until it gets dark and we both freeze to death. Or you can help me because It's starting to get dark, and we only have a few hours before this whole place turns into a frozen hellhole." Desperation tinged your voice as you ranted, frustration over his naivety consuming you.

"No one's ever spoken to me like that and lived," he remarked, a playful tone undercutting the threat.

"I have a little sister back on the ship, if I don't make it back, then she will be all alone in this world"So please, God, just help me!" you yelled, frustration surging as his moods shifted.

He smiled again, watching you open and close the cupboards angrily, admiring the determination in your expression.

"Okay, cupboard up on the left there's an emergency pack filled with medical supplies and blankets" he said, vaguely, gesturing with his gloved hand.

"Okay" you opened it, took out the bag and threw it in his direction. He caught it with ease and slung it over his shoulder. “Do you have a blaster around here or something?" you asked, your eyes scanning frantically.

"Yeah here" he said, opening a compartment near him and taking out the same model as you had.

"Okay so that's it right" you replied, scanning the ship one last time before heading towards the door.

"Yeah" he watched you again with moderate fascination as you brushed past him, down the ramp and back outsideHe punched a button, grabbed his helmet, then moved down the ramp after you. As his feet touched the ground, the ramp began to raise until it clicked shut.

"So why don't we stay inside the ships and wait out the cold there?" he asked, following you as you headed into the thick of the forest, he already knew the answer, but he was sort of enjoying the way you were speaking to him, he had never experienced it before.

"We don't have enough fuel to power the heaters and send out the distress signal, we don't know how long it could take for them to find us so we need the distress signal to go on for as long as possible" you replied stepping over a fallen log, frowning slightly wondering why he would ask something so stupid.

He fell into stride with you, and the two of you walked in silence for a few minutes as you tried to wrap your head around what the hell was happening. You were wandering around a forest with Kylo Ren, but he wasn't like the Kylo so many people had grown to fear, in fact, he was nothing whatsoever like what you had expected. But it made you happy, you kept stealing glances in his direction. Each time you noticed something different about him, how full his lips were or how angled his jawline was. You had expected a horrific creature to reside under the mask but instead there was this person, who if you dressed him in fine clothes could pass for a prince, not the ruthless leader of the first order.

"Its warm" he said in an attempt to make conversation, he had just caught you looking in his direction, and it made him smile as he had been doing the same. However, these feelings confused him a little, he hadn't felt this comfortable around someone for a long time, and it was almost like his body was longing for it. He tried to maintain his emotionless expression and authoritative stance as the two of you walked, but you made him want to relax.

"Well you are wearing plenty of layers, take a few off" you replied, glancing at him briefly before looking back to the endless green forest.

He smirked at your comment and shook his head a little, biting his tongue.

"Did you just tell me to take my clothes off" he said in a serious authoritarian tone.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned to look at him wide eyes and ready to apologise profusely and beg him not to shoot you. But instead of seeing an angry scowl you saw a small smile as he raised his eyebrow at you and flashed you a cheeky smile. You clenched your jaw in an attempt not to smile, but failed and shook your head, bringing your attention back to where you were going. Your cheeks blazing red.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he removed his gloves and put them in his helmet before putting them into his bag. Then you watched as he unbuttoned his jacket. You took a breath and tried to turn your attention back to navigation.

You had got a little lost in thought when suddenly Kylo stopped.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered, you looked down to see that he had his arm outstretched in front of you in a protective manner and his back slightly turned to you as his he slowly looked around.

He had raised his blaster so it was pointing out in front of him.

"Run" he said, grabbing your hand and running through the undergrowth. He led the way as he dragged you though the forest, branches hitting your face and leaves tangling in your hair. You strained your ears to try to determine whether something was following you. The pace at which you were traveling and the amount of concentration it took not to lose your footing and keep up with Kylo took all the concentration that you had.

He stopped suddenly, the unexpected manoeuvre sent a thrill coursing through your veins, and as you stumbled slightly but managed to catch your balance. He caught you, and you felt the heat of his body against your own, a sensation that left you momentarily breathless.

"What the hell did you see?" you gasped, doubling over as a wave of nausea surged through you, the damp air heavy in your lungs. Panic clawed at your throat, tightening like a vice as adrenaline coursed through your veins.

"I don't know, I just heard something," he said, his voice low and strained, as his eyes darted around, scanning the shadows that loomed around you. He glanced back the way you had come, and for a split second, the forest seemed to hold its breath, an eerie silence enveloping you both. Dread crawled up your spine as if the very trees were whispering secrets, hinting at something lurking just out of sight, ready to pounce at any moment.

"Well I didn't hear anything chasing us, did you see it?" you asked, your breath burning in your throat and lungs, your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

"No" he said, grabbing his open jacket and flapping it open and closed in an attempt to cool himself down before giving up and removing it altogether. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, and looked at you.

"So it’s entirely possible that the great and powerful Kylo Ren just ran from a strong gust of wind," you said, straightening as your chest heaved, but not as badly as moments ago.

"It sounded big," he breathed, his voice steady as he shook his head, rising to his feet with a relaxed movement. He casually slung his bag over his shoulder again, the tension in his posture easing slightly.

"Alright, alright. It’s entirely possible you actually saw something," you replied, raising your hands with your palms facing him in a gesture of small surrender. "We'll stay vigilant; a planet like this must have some kind of wildlife, so let’s do our best to keep our distance," you added, nodding before setting off in the direction you had been running.

"Wait" he said, and you turned to him and looked back down the way you had come, your heart hammering.

"Oh no, I don’t see anything. Well, you just have some leaves in your hair," he said, his gaze lingering on you as he gestured playfully upward. The warmth of his smile made your heart flutter, the space between you felt charged with a connection that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Well that's entirely your fault, I lost count of how many trees I hit on the way" you said, your hands going to your head, your French braided hair was now messy and filled with leaves and twigs.

You scrambled to pull them out, wincing as you accidentally tugged some hair.

"Wait, no, here—let me help," he said, concern etched on his face as he stepped in front of you. His presence felt warm and protective. With gentle hands, he began plucking the leaves from your hair, his fingers deftly weaving through the strands. As he brought your braid around to the front, his fingertips brushed against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine like a spark of electricity. There was an intimacy in the way he carefully picked out the leaves and twigs, each touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary, as if he wanted to savour the connection.

He smiled once he finished. You hadn’t realised you had been staring at him the entire time, completely entranced by the way his dark curls framed his face and how his lips curved in that charming smile. When his gaze finally locked onto yours, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended at that moment. The air thickened with an electric tension, and you felt a warmth blossom in your chest, that you hurried to push down.

"There now you look a little less like a crazy forest dweller" he said with a small laugh, his eyes twinkling playfully. He winked at you, making your heart skip a beat, before brushing past you, the heat of his body and the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air. "It's this way, yeah?" he finished, his voice low and husky, heading off into the forest.

You stood there for a moment, the corners of your mouth twitching as a small laugh escaped your lips, a light sound that mingled with the rustling leaves overhead. You couldn't remember the last time that you had laughed. The surrounding forest seemed to hold its breath, waiting, as if it too was amused by the unfolding scene. You glanced down at your tangled braid, still feeling the remnants of his gentle touch, and then back to him as he strode confidently ahead, his figure being swallowed by the dappled light filtering through the trees.

With a shake of your head, disbelief mingling with a flutter of excitement, you turned on your heel. The sun broke through the canopy overhead, illuminating the path ahead, inviting you deeper into the lush greenery. You could hear the faint crunch of twigs underfoot and feel the cool breeze brushing against your flushed cheeks. As you caught up to him, the faint scent of pine and earth filled the air, grounding you at the moment. It felt like a turning point, perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all.

You had been walking for a little over an hour in silence, the only sounds being the soft rustle of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. With no more signs of the thing Kylo had seen, you decided to take this as a small victory—a fleeting moment of peace in the otherwise tense atmosphere. Part of you hoped that whatever he had heard was just a log falling, something mundane amidst the unknown. Yet, another part of you couldn’t shake the chilling memory of that eerie feeling of being watched back at the ships, like a shadow looming over your thoughts. That unsettling notion was enough to keep you on edge, a tingling awareness heightening every sense.

Your gaze drifted down to the hand he had grasped so tightly when you both fled through the jungle. You recalled how his fingers had wrapped around yours, warm and slightly rough against your skin, offering a strange blend of comfort amid chaos. It was not just a handhold; it felt like a lifeline. You remembered how he’d delicately pulled leaves from your hair afterward, his touch tender and surprisingly gentle. At that moment, you were torn between the image of the man capable of such softness and the fierce warrior you knew him to be. It left you wondering how someone with such a capability for care could be perceived only as a creature of violence.

"It's growing colder," Kylo murmured, his breath a visible mist as the wind whipped around us, carrying a biting chill.

“It must be getting closer to dark,” you replied, glancing around at the encroaching shadows. “I scanned the ground on our way down; it was difficult to get a clear reading through the thick trees, but it seemed like there’s a cave just down this way.” With that, you stepped up onto a moss-covered log, straining to see deeper into the forest in the direction you had indicated.

Your foot slipped as the moss pulled away from the log beneath you, and for a moment, it felt like you were about to completely lose your balance. Just then, two sturdy hands grabbed your waist, lifting you effortlessly before setting you down safely on the other side of the log. You looked up to find Kylo’s eyes on you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips before he let go and resumed walking in the direction you had pointed. You swallowed hard as you placed your hands on your waist where his had just been, an echo of warmth lingering there. With a quick shake of your head, you dropped your hands and grabbed the straps of your backpack, hurrying to follow him. As you walked, you couldn’t help but bite your lip, your gaze lingering on his broad shoulders and athletic physique, drawing some rather bold thoughts into your mind.

You shivered as the chill in the air grew more pronounced. Glancing up at the leaves overhead, you noticed that the vibrant green light that had bathed the forest when you first landed was beginning to fade, signalling that the sun was starting to set.

"Hey I think I found it" you head Kylos voice called from a little ahead of you.

Pulling your gaze from the towering trees, you jogged to Kylo's side and spotted a small entrance to a cave, partially concealed by overgrown ferns. Your heart raced with a mix of excitement and apprehension as you knelt down, holding up your watch to scan the opening. The device whirred and hummed, its screen lighting up with data as you pointed it toward the cave. After a brief moment, it emitted a confirming beep, the sound drawing your focus deeper into the shadowy tunnel ahead.

“It’s empty, the entrance is probably too small for anything that can’t burrow in,” you said as you peered through the small opening. “Come on, we need to gather some wood to help us through the night. Make sure you collect pieces of different sizes, and steer clear of anything green, rotten, or soaking wet,” you added, wrapping up your instructions.

He nodded and set his bag down at the cave entrance with a soft thud, then turned and walked to your left. You raised your eyebrows confused, expecting him to protest yet again at your direction. A moment of silence hung between you, and you shook your head, realising he might have finally grasped the gravity of your circumstances. A flicker of relief washed over you at the thought; you were glad he hadn’t tossed out a snippy remark about already knowing how to make a fire your way. The urgency of the situation was palpable, and there simply wasn’t time for any further arguments.

Twenty minutes later, you both had gathered a sizeable pile of wood at the cave entrance. Kylo had used his lightsaber to take down dead standing trees with ease. However, it had noticeably grown colder, and snowflakes began to drift down from the grey sky. You worked diligently to drag the logs into the cave, moving back and forth, log after log. The entrance was narrow, requiring you to crouch to get through, but beyond it opened up into a spacious interior.

You aimed your torch along the walls, checking for any hidden openings that might let the planet's creatures slip in and feast on you while you slept. As the beam illuminated the rock surface, you noticed patches of crystals sparkling in the light. Intrigued, you smiled at their twinkling glow, imagining what they could be, maybe formations of salt or even brilliant diamonds. But knowing your luck, they were likely just quartz or something else that was beautiful yet worthless.

You stepped closer to examine the crystals, their shimmering beauty drawing you in, when an almighty roar echoed from outside, causing your heart to race. Your eyes widened in terror, and you spun on your heel, sprinting the short distance to the cave entrance. Dropping to your knees, you sank into the soft mud, your breath quickening as you shone your torch down the tunnel. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating Kylo’s face as he crawled toward you, urgency written all over him.

Panic surged through you, and without thinking, you dropped the torch, extending your hand to grab his as you helped pull him the rest of the way into the cave. He was heavier than he appeared, and as soon as he cleared the opening, you both collapsed onto the ground, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. The low growl of whatever lurked outside resonated through the cave, sending chills down your spine as you lay there, desperately trying to catch your breath and gather your strength against the encroaching darkness.

A low, menacing snarl slithered through the hole, echoing ominously around the cave. Your heart raced as you sat up, eyes darting to Kylo, who was now rising to his feet with a tense readiness. Instinct kicked in, and you jumped to your feet, feeling the electric charge of fear crackling in the air. He motioned for you to stand behind him, an unspoken promise of protection, and without hesitation, you obliged, pressing yourself against the cold cave wall as shadows danced around you. Cast by your forgotten torch still rocking slightly where you had dropped it.

The sound came again, this time more agitated and furious, a chilling cacophony of scratches echoing out of the opening. The noise scraped against your nerves, each shrill tear resonating like a warning bell, as if whatever lurked beyond was growing restless and hungry, eager to breach the safety of your dark sanctuary.

“How big is it?” you whispered, dread creeping into your voice. “Small enough to get through the hole?” You gulped as the sound of shuffling echoed down the tunnel.

Absent-mindedly you grabbed Kylos hand.

Kylo raised his other hand, and a rock from the side of the hole began to scrape across the floor, moving ominously toward the opening. Seconds ticked by, and the scratching at the other end intensified, sending a chill down your spine as it felt like it was inching closer to you. In a surge of instinctive fear, you stepped closer to Kylo, your other hand gripping his upper arm, practically clinging to him as you watched the rock slide into place over the gap, your heart pounding with anticipation. It hadn't even occurred to you that he had just used the force to move the rock. The only thing you could think about was the fact that you were now safe from whatever it was that lurked outside.

Letting out your breath, you looked up at Kylo, and after a moment of hesitation, you quickly dropped his arm, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise in your cheeks as you stepped away from him.

"Nice job…" you mumbled, a bit of awkwardness creeping into your voice as you turned away from Kylo to face the unlit fire you had constructed.

Even with the rock covering the door, the temperature was plummeting with every passing second, as if the very fabric of the world around you was conspiring to freeze you in place. You dropped to your knees, breath fogging in front of you as you began constructing the fire, fingers fumbling around in the dim light, desperately trying to create a spark of warmth against the encroaching cold. Kylo stepped up beside you, his breath visible in the air as he watched you work, a slight furrow appearing in his brow as he observed your laboured movements. Despite your best efforts, it was clear that your inexperience with building fires had led to some haphazard attempts at gathering kindling, but at least some progress was being made.

"Hey, could you pass me the lighter in my bag over there" you said, nodding in the direction of your bag sitting back on your feet.

You looked up at him when he didn't move, a smirk playing on his lips. He casually drew his lightsaber, its blade igniting with a confident swipe, casting the room in a fiery red glow. He touched the tip of the glowing blade to the logs, and within seconds they burst into flame.

"Show off" you said, shaking your head and standing up.

He turned it off with a smile before throwing it on top of his bag.

"You're different, you know" you started opening your bag and taking out the blankets and emergency rations. "Different from what I thought you would be."

"Why, what did you think I would be?" he asked, half sitting half leaning against a large rock in front of the fire.

"Well, the way you storm around the ship and the stories people tell. I just figured you were a bit of a jerk" you said, as you pulled the last items from your backpack and then opened his, placing his lightsaber inside.

"You wound me deeply," he said in a mock-hurt tone, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he folded his arms across his chest.

You shook your head, refusing to glance in his direction. You had put up with enough of those looks, each one adding to your growing confusion and frustration. He probably knew the hold he had over you, treating it like a playful game to pass the time.

"You should strip off as many layers as you can and lay them on that rock to dry," you suggested, unfolding the blankets and tossing one at him before spreading two more out on the ground for the both of you to sit on.

He caught it, and you looked up and him, he smiled.

"There you go again, teasing me," he said with a sultry laugh, tossing the blanket aside and leaning back against the rock. He then playfully tugged at the hem of his shirt, slowly lifting it upwards. His eyes never left yours, a soldering challenge dancing within their depths. In a swift motion, he pulled the shirt off, baring his toned chest to the warm glow of the fire.

He seemed to want you to look at him, not cowering away or becoming embarrassed. You quickly averted your eyes, and you heard him shuffle around. He radiated a magnetic energy, as if daring you to gaze at him instead of shyly looking away. With a slight shuffle, he settled down beside you in front of the crackling fire. The blanket hung loosely around his shoulders, fluttering open at the front, giving just a hint of the toned physique underneath. It struck you then that he was wearing nothing but his boxers, the flickering flames casting shadows that accentuated the chiseled lines of his frame.

You shook your head slightly, attempting to shake off the effects of his presence before getting to your feet. Wrapping the blanket tightly around yourself, you began to peel away your wet clothes. The moment you stepped more than a few feet away from the fire, a wave of chill enveloped you, radiating off the cave walls and biting at your skin. You shivered as you slipped off your shirt and trousers, bundling them in your arms before drawing the blanket closer for warmth.

With a wince, you placed your damp clothes on the rock beside Kylo, the thought of putting them back on after a day soaked in sweat, humidity, and snow making you grimace. You returned to the fire, ensuring the blanket was snug around you, and chose a spot on the opposite side, glancing at Kylo from across the flickering flames.

You watched the mesmerising flames dance before you, the light flickering in rhythm with the crackling wood. Every so often, a damp piece of timber would pop, sending tiny fragments of glowing ash spiralling up into the air. As you gazed through the flames, your eyes locked onto Kylo’s; he, too, was lost in the fiery depths.

His broad shoulders peeked out from under the blanket, and the firelight accentuated the sculpted contours of his face. The flickering flames played in his deep-set eyes, making them appear almost to glow while he clenched his jaw.

"What's the matter?" you whispered, your voice breaking the silence of the cave.

His eyes shot from the fire to meet yours, and you drew in a quick, small breath. They were intense, dark like the night sky, yet held an inviting warmth.

"Sorry.” You whispered, looking down at the dirt on your side of the fire, you had been absent-mindedly doodling in it with a stick.

"No it's okay, I just… I've never really done something like this" he turned his gaze back to the fire and bit the inside of his cheek.

He shifted to sit cross-legged on the floor, his forearms resting on his thighs, the blanket slipping down slightly to reveal more of his physique. His broad shoulders were well-defined, and the contours of his toned arms hinted at strength, while the light from the fire accentuated the sculpted lines of his chest and abdomen, giving a tantalising glimpse of his powerful frame beneath the fabric.

“What do you mean by that?” you replied, a hint of confusion in your voice.

He glanced up at you, causing you to shyly avert your gaze once more.

"Look don't worry, I'm not going to tell anyone that you to order from someone beneath you and sat around a campfire in nothing but your underwear" you said with a small uneasy laugh. "I wouldn't be surprised if the moment the first order arrive you kill me and leave" you continued now stabbing at the ground with a stick and clenching your jaw.

"Is that what you think of me? That I value life so little that I would kill you even though you're the reason I'm alive?" he asked, his voice was deep and alluring, but it almost seemed hurt.

"Well I've flown and fought alongside you for a long time, I've seen the sort of things that you do how angry you get over the smallest of things, so yeah. That's the Kylo Ren that you let the world see…" you looked up to meet his eye which were trained on you and stopped, his stare making you feel uneasy.

His eyes scanned your face as he tilted his head to the side, silently urging you to go on.

"Look, I promise that I won't mention the events that have happened today to anyone, as soon as we get off this godforsaken planet you can go back to being the supreme leader and me a pilot, and we never have to talk or cross paths again," you said looking back at the fire.

You heard him shift, and then he settled down beside you, sitting cross-legged with the blanket bundled in his lap. As he turned his head towards you, the firelight danced across his sharp jawline and his deep-set eyes, highlighting the intensity in his gaze. There was an irresistible charm about him that made it difficult to look away—a rugged handsomeness that seemed to radiate warmth in the dim light.

"I don’t want to forget about this, and I would rather not stop talking to you," he said in a soft whisper, his voice rich and resonant, with a throaty quality that sent a shiver down your spine. It had a warmth to it, making every word he spoke feel electric and deeply intimate..

"You know I mean what I said earlier, you really are different to what I expected" You placed your elbow on your knee and rested your head in your hand, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Good different or bad different?" he asked, turning his head towards you with a small smile.

"Good different, I thought you were utterly terrifying, but you are actually quite nice" you said, returning his smile and returning your gaze to the fire.

"Well I need to keep the first order in line" he said, his eyes studying your face. "And you're different too"

You turned to look at him, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"Huh, did the grumpy supreme leader just almost give me a compliment?" you laughed, your cheeks flushing slightly at the unexpected turn of events.

He laughed, the sound warm and inviting. You couldn't help but feel a little shy under his gaze, so you turned your attention back to the fire. But then you heard him move, and suddenly, he was sitting right next to you, his strong presence causing your heart to flutter in your chest.

"I don't think I can do that" he said, your heart dropped a little. "Every time your eyes meet mine, it's like I forget how to talk" you turned back towards him and frowned.

"See just like that" he said with a small smile as he shook his head, his eyes shifting from yours to your lips and then slowly back again.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how close your faces were, the heat between you palpable and electrifying, making your heart race wildly in your chest.

"Every time I look at you, I just want to do this.” He said, closing the distance and placing a small kiss on your lips before pulling away.

You drew in a quick breath, your gaze flickering from his intense eyes to his inviting lips. The moment hung thick with tension, and his quickened breaths only heightened the electricity in the air between you. Unable to resist, you leaned in, your lips brushing softly against his, igniting a spark that sent shivers down your spine. This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent. You didn’t pull away this time; instead, you melted into him, feeling the warmth of his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as though you were meant to fit perfectly together.

The world around you faded, leaving only the sensation of his mouth moving against yours, crafting a connection tinged with longing and desire. The kiss deepened, full of passion, each moment fuelling the fire building between you. You felt the blanket slip off your shoulders, the fabric falling away as his hands guided yours up to his chest, where you could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm, a rhythmic reminder of the undeniable chemistry igniting in the space between you.

You realised that I was likely a long time since he had been touched or had any sort of human companionship. You let your hand wandered over his chest gently. Your other hand wandered down his jawline and then round to the back of his neck, pulling him closer. One of his hands was on your waist and the other moved to cup your face. You began to grind against him, and he drew in a quick breath, drawing away from the kiss for a moment. Before coming back in stronger and more needy than before.

Next to you the fire crackled and popped as your hands wandered each other's bodies, his hand slowly made its way to the edge of the blanket, slowly pulling it off you. Then his right hand moved downwards and cupped your butt as suddenly in one fluid motion he lifted you off his lap, upwards so he was kneeling before slowly laying you down. His hand ran from your but down the outside of your thigh as you wrapped your legs around him as he placed kisses down your neck.

Next to you, the fire crackled and popped as your hands explored each other's bodies. His hand gradually traveled to the edge of the blanket, gently pulling it away from you. Then, with a swift but smooth motion, he cupped your butt, lifting you off his lap and kneeling before you. He laid you back down slowly, his touch lingering as his hand glided from your butt down the outside of your thigh. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him, feeling the heat radiate between you as he placed soft, teasing kisses along your neck.

"Tease" you breathed, moving his face back to yours and looking into his dark eyes as you bit your lip.

He gazed at you with a warm smile, his eyes reflecting a depth of warmth, before leaning in to place another tender kiss on your lips.

"You've been in charge all day; now it's my turn," he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending shivers racing down your spine as you instinctively bucked your hips toward him. His fingers danced teasingly over the clasp of your bra.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

The Unidentified Author - The Complete Inventory

Discalimers: I write for the characters I like and not every fic has smut, but most of them do.

Warnings are on the fics themselves, please don’t read fics with themes you don’t like or enjoy. You are resposible for the content you consume

If you have any suggestions for fics, please don’t hesitate to drop them into my suggestion box.

This list is updated with every new fic

Stories containing smut or NSFW content are in red. Some will have smut throughout others at the end.

Multiple part fics have the first part linked and each part has the next part linked, I have also shown how many parts they have

Completed fics have the word count next to them uncompleted have a: ?

This list is constantly updated when I post a new fic and the list of fandoms will increase.

You can read all these fics on AO3

All my fics have their AO3 link in their titles.

If any links are broken or don’t work please let me know!

Happy Reading!

House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark:

Like Northerners | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon | 5,644

The Lord, The Lady and The Long Winter | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2| ?

Use Your Words | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon | 3,336

Harwin Strong:

Coming soon!

Grimm [Tv Show]

Captain Sean Renard:

Deepest Desires | Sean Renard | Grimm |Part 1/2 | ?

Star Wars

Kylo Ren:

The Man in the Mask | Kylo Ren | Star Wars | 6,334

Old Friends | Kylo Ren | Star Wars | 3,486

Stranded | Kylo Ren| Star Wars | 7,466

The Mandalorian

After Pain Comes Pleasure | Din Djarin | The Mandalorian | 3,114

The Silo

Deputy Hank:

NSFW Headcanons | Deputy Hank | The Silo | 3,652

Unsanctioned | Deputy Hank | The Silo | 3,306

I Don’t Know How to Put It Into Words | Deputy Hank | The Silo

Gladiator II

Marcus Acacius:

Are We Living, Just to Die? | Marcus Acacius | Gladiator II |Chapter 1/20 |Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |Chapter 3 | ?

The Last of Us

Joel Miller:

Is This the Last of Us? | Joel Miller | The Last of Us - AO3 LINK ONLY - There are 13 parts so far | ?

Other Fandoms and characters I am planning to write for:

The Walking Dead - Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon

65 - Mills

Star Wars - Qimir,

A Quiet Place: Day One - Eric

Black Sails - Billy Bones, Captain Charles Vane

Five Nights At Freddies - Mike

Altered Carbon - Takeshi Kovacs

The Gorge - Levi Kane

The Dead Don’t Die - Ronnie Peterson

Kraven The Hunter - Sergei Kravinoff

[the-unidentified-author]

Like Northerners | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Cregan Stark x Southern Noble Reader

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, established relationship, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another.

You're the wife of Lord Cregan Stark and you share an intimate moment together

Words: 5,644

A/N: This is feral and fithy and I have nothing to say for myself.

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

As laughter and music swirled around you, the candlelight danced like flickering fireflies, casting shadows across the bustling hall. The room hummed with energy, filled with the chatter and movement of people, yet you couldn't recall a time when you'd felt more alone. Your husband thrived in this setting, effortlessly navigating the festivities with the ease of one accustomed to grand gatherings since childhood.

You watched as he mingled with the Northern men who had pledged their loyalty, their voices rising in camaraderie as they spoke of allegiances and battles. Each interaction was smooth and natural, his laughter a deep, comforting sound that mingled with the clinking of goblets. His face crinkled into a warm smile as he clapped a man on the back, their goblets clashing together in a celebratory toast.

In that moment, he unexpectedly turned his gaze to you, his grey eyes finding yours across the room. The connection, filled with unspoken affection and recognition, caught you off guard. Flustered, you let your eyes drop back to your plate, your heart fluttering with a mix of longing and shyness under the weight of his attention.

Cregan rounded the head table where you were seated, moving with an easy grace that belied his formidable presence. As he approached, he paused just behind you, leaning in so that his mouth was close to your ear.

You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, sending a thrilling shiver down your spine. The air was thick with the hum of conversation and music, but Cregan’s closeness seemed to draw you into a world of your own. His subtle scent—a mix of leather and fresh pine—wrapped around you like a familiar cloak. A moment passed, charged with anticipation.

Suddenly, a soft touch on your shoulder broke through your reverie. You turned to find Cregan leaning closer, his storm - grey eyes glinting with mischief. "Enjoying the festivities, my love?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "Have you eaten your fill?"

"It’s quite the gathering. The preparations are… grand. And no, my lord." you replied, nudging the chicken leg and roasted potatoes on your plate with your fork. "I don't have much of an appetite."

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Grand? Or tedious?" His gaze was playful, yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness in it.

You smiled softly, glancing at the bustling crowd. "A bit of both, perhaps. But the company makes it bearable. It's just so different from what I'm used to."

As if on cue, there was the sound of smashing tableware and the crowd parted in one of the corners, two men at the centre appearing to be making at attempt at a fight. The evening had been long and the two men clearly having indulged a little more than they should have, each throwing slow unbalanced punches that the other could easily sidestep even in their drunken state.

Cregan let out a deep sigh, and he leaned closer. "I was hoping you’d find a moment to escape with me," he said, his breath brushing against your ear, sending tingles down your spine. "There’s a terrace outside, away from all this. Just a few minutes, I promise."

Your heart raced at his suggestion, excitement, and nervousness coiling within you. You nodded, unable to speak for fear of betraying the fluttering in your stomach. Cregan reached for your hand, his grip warm and reassuring as he guided you through the throng of guests.

As you stepped outside onto the terrace, the cool night air enveloped you both. The stars shimmered overhead, twinkling like diamonds scattered across the deep blue sky. Cregan released your hand, and you both leaned against the ornate stone railing, looking out over the vast expanse of Winterfell. The night was cold, your breath leaving your lungs in great white clouds that were pulled out and away from you by the chill wind. On your first night, Cregan had presented you with a beautiful black cloak made from the fur of a dire-wolf he had hunted in the weeks before your wedding. It did a wonderful job at protecting you from the frigid temperature.

“This is more peaceful,” you remarked, taking a deep breath of the crisp air, feeling liberated from the clamour inside.

He turned to you, the moonlight accentuating the strong lines of his face. “Just us here, away from the talk of war and duty.” There was a heaviness to his words, a reminder of the trials that lay ahead. “I needed a moment with you, away from the eyes of the Northern lords.”

"Well, husband," you started, and you could see the flicker of happiness in his eye as you spoke the word. "You are more than welcome to use me as a means of escape whenever you like.”

A flicker of appreciation flashed in his eyes, and he stepped closer, the distance between you diminishing. His gaze softened as he studied your face, the laughter, and merriment of the hall dissolving into the background. “You always know how to ground me,” he said softly. “In these uncertain times, you are my anchor.”

"I think there is at least another hour before I can depart from this celebration without suspicion." he started, looking from you out over the castle.

"Why, would you want to leave the festivities early?" you asked.

His lips curled into a mischievous smile, his eyes sparkling with an intoxicating blend of affection and raw desire. The low rumble of his voice sent a pleasant shiver coursing down your spine. "Well, my love," he continued, his breath still warms against your neck. "I have a new wife, who, I believe, is in need of attention." A playful glint shone from his stormy grey eyes. "We have tried your soft southern way," he continued, leaning in, his breath warm against your skin. "Tonight we fuck hard,” he paused, your breath catching in your throat as he met your eye. "Like Northerners."

His voice was deep and gravelly, rich with the promise of pleasure. The light of the party in the great hall spilled from the doorway behind you both. He stepped forwards and cupped your face in his large hand and kissed you. The kiss was filled with promises of the night ahead. His free hand moving to grip your waist, it was firm and possessive, as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go.

Then he stepped away from you, moving back through the doorway into the throng of people enjoying the evening. Your breath caught in your throat, and a rush of warmth flooded your cheeks as you glanced around the empty balcony, terrified for a moment that someone might have overheard his words. Anxiety swirled within you, but there wasn’t anyone out here with you; the lively music spilled from the doorway as you attempted to steel yourself to reenter the celebrations. Yet, the heat in your face lingered, a vivid reminder of the raw emotion he’d stirred in you. The vibrant laughter and clinking of glasses felt distant, as if you were trapped in a world where only his words resonated. You pushed forwards back into the crowd, your eyes searching for him.

As he moved, the shadows in the room seemed to cling to him, accentuating the sharp lines of his features. The orange - hued light made his storm grey eyes appear darker, betraying the unbridled desire that lurked behind them as he glanced over at you. A shiver ran down your spine, not just from the sudden absence of his hands on your body but from the electric anticipation that now filled the space between you.

As the feast continued, the laughter and lively chatter around you seemed to ebb, leaving you cocooned in your thoughts. The golden glow of the torches flickered like fireflies, casting playful shadows on the ornate tapestries that lined the walls. You returned to your seat and absentmindedly picked at your plate, the food forgotten as the thrill of Cregan’s words danced in your mind.

The hour had dragged on, so much so that you began to think it was the longest sixty minutes of your entire life. But finally Cregan returned to your table, excusing himself from conversation with a couple of Lords that stepped into his way on his path to you. He leaned over the back of your chair, placing a kiss on your cheek.

"Shall we?" he asked, looking at you then back to the crowd.

You nodded quickly standing and accepting the arm he offered you. One of the Lords, likely drunk, didn’t accept that Cregan was no longer in the mood for conversation and blocked the two of you before you had managed to make it to the exit.

"My Lord," he slurred, standing unsteady on his feet. "I think we really must talk about this war with the inbred white haired foreigners." he mumbled, gesturing with his goblet so wildly that some slopped out onto the floor at your feet. He looked down at the puddle on the floor and then into his cup as though he were perplexed as to how it had fallen out.

"My Lord," Cregan replied in a tone that almost hid his irritation at the man. "My wife and I are to retire to our chambers for the night, and I believe it to be in your best interest to do the same. Lest someone other than myself hear the treasonous words you so confidently let leave your lips."

The lord's face contorted with fear, and despite his inebriated state making his actions difficult to control, the respect and fear he held for the Warden of the North shot through his haze, sobering him just enough to regain his composure.

""Yes, yes," he replied meekly, pretending someone in the crowd was calling him over. He gave you and Cregan a curt nod before slipping away.

Cregan glanced at you, a soft warmth in his stormy eyes, before placing his free hand gently over your arm that was entwined with his. With a subtle nod to the guards, he signalled them to open the doors. As they swung open, you both stepped out from the crowded room, moving towards the quiet comfort and privacy of your chambers, leaving behind the clamour and revelry of the feast. The anticipation of solitude and the closeness of his touch made your heart beat a little faster as you walked side by side.

* 

As you both reached the quiet solitude of your chambers, the door closed softly behind you, shutting out the distant echoes of the night's celebrations. The room was dimly lit by a fire flickering in the hearth, the flames cast lively, warm shadows across the ancient stone walls, it made the space feel cosy, the stress of the day melting off you. Cregan guided you to a chair covered with furs near the fire, the heat a striking contrast to the persistent chill that lingered in Winterfell’s expansive halls.

He knelt beside you, his eyes roaming your face with affectionate tenderness. "I’ve been wanting to steal you away all evening," he murmured, his voice tinged with relief now that you were finally alone.

You smiled, reaching out to entwine your fingers with his. "I’m glad you finally managed it."

Cregan chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "The whole night my thoughts have only been of you. "

He stood up, drawing you into his arms. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, grounding you amidst the uncertainties beyond these walls. "For now, let's forget everything else," he said softly.

Cregan's fingers traced slow circles on your hand, his gaze soft and focused solely on you. You could sense the shift in the atmosphere, the intimacy between you both becoming more palpable.

"What do you think, wife?" he murmured, his voice a warm caress that matched the heat in his gaze as it returned to yours. "Do you think we should retire to bed for the night?"

You smiled and stood, allowing him to draw you close, pulling you against his solid frame. His arms wrapped around you securely, and he gazed down at you with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

"I assume sleeping is not what you have in mind?" you teased, your eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"No," he whispered against your hair, his breath warm and inviting, "that is not what I have in mind at all."

You tilted your head slightly, playful curiosity painted across your features. "You mentioned the northern way. Would you enlighten me on what that means?"

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "In the south," he explained, his voice deepening with affection, "it seems to be the duty of the wife to satisfy the husband. Here in the North, it is the duty and responsibility of a husband to ensure his wife is well taken care of."

"Taken care of?" you asked.

With a gentle chuckle, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Let me show you," he murmured, his voice a soothing promise. His fingers wove into your hair, guiding your gaze back to his as he captured your lips in a kiss, before pulling away.

Slowly, he took your hand, leading you toward the bed, each step a silent vow of what was to come. The room was a sanctuary, the flickering fire painting playful shadows across the stone walls. As he drew you near the bed, his touch was both gentle and firm, conveying strength and tenderness in equal measure.

His hands lingered on your waist, tracing the curve of your back with reverence. He paused for a moment, his stormy grey eyes locking with yours, silently asking for permission, for trust. You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips, and together you sank onto the bed, your back welcomed by the soft furs as he moved over you.

Cregan leaned in, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. Your breath caught in your throat, anticipation swirling within you as he moved closer.

His hand reached up, gently cupping your cheek as he tilted your face towards his. The kiss that followed was unhurried, achingly slow exploration of lips and breath, each movement filled with an emotional depth that seemed to transcend mere physicality.

His lips were warm and soft against yours, the slight roughness of his stubble creating a delicious friction against your skin. A low, breathy sound escaped from the back of your throat as you leaned into him, your hands finding his shoulders, holding on to him as if to anchor yourself amidst the swirling current of emotions.

With the kiss deepening, Cregan's hands began to explore, tracing a line from the curve of your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer. The sensation of his touch sent a shiver racing across your skin, heightening every sense.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to catch his breath, he smiled against your lips, a mixture of warmth and desire in his eyes. Gently, he began to slide the fabric of your dress from your shoulders, the soft material whispering down your arms as it slowly fell away.

His fingers were sure and tender as they traced the newly exposed skin, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. The cool air was a stark contrast to his touch, enhancing the sensation and causing the hairs on your skin to stand on end.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur that made your heart race. His large hands spanned your waist, drawing you closer still, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space between you. "Out there I am a Lord and you are a Lady. In here, you are my wife, and I am your husband, do you understand me?"

Your breath hitched, words stuck somewhere between thought and voice. You nodded, a small, affirmative gesture that spoke louder than any words could. A soft laugh bubbled from his chest, rich and warm.

"There won't be an inch of you left untouched tonight, not a part of you that doesnt know my touch" he murmured, his voice a soft promise carried by the crackling of hearth flames. His fingertips continued their exploration, memorising every curve and line of your body like a map he intended to know by heart.

His hands traveled down your arms, featherlight across your skin, stirring electric anticipation with every touch. As he reached the intricate fastenings of your dress, he took a moment, fingers moving with careful skill. The complicated ties and loops gradually gave way under his gentle yet assured attention, each undone knot a quiet act of unfolding trust between you.

Despite the complexity, there was no rush. Each movement was deliberate, a testament to the patience and reverence he held for you. As he finally loosened the last of the fabric, it cascaded slowly away, finally revealing your body to him.

As he gazed down at you, lying nude beneath him, Cregan's eyes were filled with desire. The sight of you ignited a fire within him, a fire that burned hotter with every curve and line of your body that his eyes explored. He leaned forwards, placing another kiss on your lips before his lips moved across the contour of your jaw and down below your ear towards your neck.

He nipped playfully at the curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, igniting a primal fire within you. His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips possessively as he worshipped your body with an intensity that made you feel both alive and claimed. His hands were large and rough, the sensation of them driving you to buck your hips towards him, an action that earned you a smile from him.

His mouth found your breasts, and he lavished fierce attention there, his tongue and teeth teasing your sensitive skin with a raw, untamed passion. You gasped, arching into him, caught in the delicious tension between pleasure and the edge of pain. Unfamiliar ground, but a place you desperately wanted to explore.

Moving lower, his kisses trailed down your stomach, his rough stubble leaving a faint, delightful sting in its wake. His tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, savouring every moment like a beast intoxicated by the scent of his mate. The Wolf of the North was becoming a more fitting title with every passing moment.

As he descended, his hands traveled over your thighs, gripping firmly, spreading you open with a commanding authority. The heat of his breath lingered over the most sensitive parts of you, promising a wild, primal ecstasy that set your nerve endings aflame.

As he spread you open with a commanding authority, his eyes never left yours, locked in an intimate connection that intensified the already potent atmosphere. His breath was hot and ragged against your skin, the sound of it echoing in your ears like the primal growl of a predator claiming its mate.

His fingers dug into your thighs, the sensation both possessive and possessively pleasurable, a reminder of the raw, animalistic passion that coursed through his veins. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the heat of his breath teasing you with the promise of the wild, primal ecstasy that awaited you.

And then, without warning, his tongue darted out, tasting your most sensitive flesh with a skill that belied his seemingly untamed demeanour. You cried out, the sound a mixture of shock and pleasure, as if the very air had been set alight.

Every lick, every touch, served to fan the flames of your desire, the room around you seeming to grow hotter and more humid with each passing second. Your heart was racing, your breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed in the charged silence between you.

Then, just as you thought you might shatter from the intensity, he stopped. The sound that left your lips was a mixture of desperation and longing as you lifted your head, peering down at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

His focus shifted to his attire, hands moving with a fevered urgency as he worked to free himself from the confines of his clothing. He shrugged off his cloak, the fabric falling away followed by the soft sound of it hitting the floor.

Next came the leather armour, the buckles, and straps relinquishing their hold under his skilled hands. Piece by piece, it slipped away, revealing the well-defined muscles that lay beneath, each movement unveiling more of the powerful physique that had surprised you the first night you had met him.

Finally, he reached for the linen shirt, the last barrier between you and the man beneath. He pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, the fabric tousling his dark hair before falling forgotten to the floor.

Your breath caught at the sight before you—his chest, broad and strong, the muscles shifting beneath the skin like a promise of the power he possessed. His skin gleamed softly in the firelight, each shadow and highlight accentuating the raw, masculine beauty of his form. The light played across his chest, catching on the subtle scars that marked his skin, each one a testament to his strength and prowess as a warrior. They told silent tales of battles fought and won, accentuating the sinewy resilience of a body refined through conflict and survival. The body of a Northerner.

With nothing left to hide, he met your gaze once more, his storm-grey eyes locked onto yours, reflecting a hunger as deep and consuming as your own. He swept his hair from his eyes, a movement filled with deliberate intent, and closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his body descending like a promise of passion unspoken.

He was rougher with you than he had been before, his tongue moving with firm skill that served only to push you towards the precipice of pleasure. His arms were circled your thighs, his fingertips digging into your skin, right to the point that lingered between pleasure and pain. He chased you to the edge of ecstasy, your hips bucking upwards in response, the intensity of your climax completely overwhelming you. But he didn't relent, his tongue persisting in its relentless pursuit, never wavering from its mission, as though he was driven by a primal need to bring you to the brink of pleasure again and again.

The room seemed to swirl around you, the air thick with the scent of desire and the sounds of your ragged breaths.

"Cregan," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as you arched your back, the muscles in your legs tensing as you rode out another wave of pleasure. Your other hand clutched at the furs beside you, as you bucked your hips and rode out another wave of pleasure.

His mouth drifted away from yours, and you thought the unrelenting rhythm had finally paused. But then, his finger pressed into you with a gentle insistence, a sensation that was teasing rather than painful. As if sensing your reaction, his mouth returned to your sensitive spot, and his finger curled upwards, creating a blissful mix of sensations.

You found yourself gripping the sheets, your jaw tight, as you tried to hold back the temptation to cry out. The intensity of his actions sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you breathless and utterly captivated in the moment.

His mouth moved from you, and you thought that the relentless cycle had come to an end, you felt one of his fingers gently press into you, it wasn’t painful, but tender. His mouth returned to your clit just as his finger curled upwards towards your bellybutton. It made you grab at the sheets and clench your jaw as you resisted the urge to scream out at the overwhelming pleasure both actions made wash over you.

As his mouth returned to your clit, your hands found the sheets, gripping them tightly as you steeled yourself against the onslaught of sensations. The sensation of his finger curling upwards towards your bellybutton was an exquisite mix of pleasure and anticipation, the intensity building up within you like a tempest.

Your jaw clenched, your breath coming in ragged gasps that echoed in the charged silence between you both. In that moment, it was as if the entire world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

His mouth moved from you, his breath hot on your sensitive flesh. "I want to hear you." he whispered before returning his mouth to you. His finger flexed up, and you again resisted the urge to cry out in pleasure.

His mouth lifted away, and you felt his hot breath on your sensitive skin. "I want to hear you," he murmured softly, his voice like a tempting promise, before he returned his mouth to you. His finger flexed upward, drawing out a surge of pleasure that tested your restraint.

Then he began to kiss and suck relentless again, as if attempting to draw the screams from you. His finger curled upwards, touching something inside that made your vision go white at the moment your climax once again washed over you.

"Cregan," you yelled, your hand grabbing his hair so hard it must have hurt, but he didn’t flinch.

Finally , he pulled away from you, looking up your body and meeting your eye. His mouth was slick with you. His shoulders flexed with a subtle, powerful grace, he slid another finger alongside the first, his touch both careful and deliberate, igniting a new wave of anticipation.

Rising to his feet, he maintained a slow, deliberate rhythm with his fingers, each movement sending shivers down your spine as the fire inside your stomach began to build again. His other hand skilfully worked the belt, the buckle coming undone with a precise flick of his wrist. As he slipped it free, his gaze remained locked on the mesmerising dance of his fingers moving in and out of you. His hand found its way into his trousers, fingers curling around himself, the heat of his own desire evident in his touch. The intensity in his storm-grey eyes reflected the deep, consuming hunger that mirrored your own.

You yearned for him, no, you needed him. The anticipation he had teased out in you ignited a craving deeper than you'd ever imagined possible, reaching into the very core of your being.

He withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you aching with unfulfilled desire. With a decisive movement, he pushed his trousers down his hips, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft thud. His thick cock sprang free, the sight of it causing a fresh wave of lust to surge through you.

You moved to climb off the bed, your desire to take him in your mouth burning bright within you. But as you sat up, he stepped forwards with an air of quiet authority. "No, you stay." he whispered, as he caught your hand as you reached to touch his cock.

"Please?" you whimpered, your eyes falling to his cock, thick veins bulging along its surface.

"Lie back, I told you. Tonight we fuck like Northerners.” he breathed, and you swallowed, sinking back onto the soft furs as you lay on the mattress.

He stepped forwards, grabbing your hips and pulling you roughly, so your pussy was in line with the edge of the bed. His thumb moved to circle your clit. The action causing you to draw in a sharp intake of breath as his rough thumb rubbed the sensitive pearl of flesh.

tThen, his hand shifted, the intensity replaced by the hot head of his cock now sliding up the length of your pussy. He paused momentarily, drawing a sharp intake of breath from you, before he delivered a single swift thrust. Then, he began to glide the length of his cock over your sensitive clit, his movements slow and torturous, each deliberate stroke arousing torment against the bundle of nerves.

Next, he shifted his position, leaning down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss as he continued to slowly thrust over you. His hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers gently tangling in your hair, while the other hand braced his weight against the bed. His lips trailed down your neck, before his hand left your hair to take his cock in his hand. With meticulous care, he guided the head of his cock into you, letting out a deep, throaty moan as he began to move into you with agonising slowness. His determination to make you feel every inch of his thick shaft was evident in his every deliberate movement.

The sensation of him slowly entering you was a mix of intensity and closeness. He seemed to relish the way you moved beneath him, the gradual pace allowing you to adjust to his presence comfortably. Your eyes were drawn to the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply, the tension evident in his firm grip on the bedding beside you, his knuckles turning white. You took comfort in the fact that this was just as torturous for him as it was for you.

With a low grunt from him, he fully seated himself inside you, the sensation an overwhelming mix of pleasure and an indescribable sensation. You revealed in the way that you could take all of him, and the way that he filled you up so completely.

Then he began to rock his hips, slowly, barely any movement at all to begin with, as his grey eyes searched yours asking a silent question. You grabbed the wrist of his hand that was still clutching your hip and nodded.

As his rhythm quickened, his restraint fell away, replaced by a raw, instinctual drive. His hands gripped your hips, anchoring you to him as every thrust sent waves of pleasure cascading through your body. Your fingers found his wrists, holding on tightly, each touch grounding you in the exquisite intensity of the moment.

He leaned forward, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, every exhale punctuated by a low, primal sound. The connection between your bodies was electric, a shared surge of desire that spurred him to move even faster, each movement more powerful, more consuming.

His hands shifted, one pressing gently on your lower stomach, sending a delightful pressure radiating through you. The sensation heightened your awareness of him, feeling the rhythm of his thrusts and the warmth of his body as it melded with yours.

On the brink of climax, his furious movements pushed you ever closer to that edge—a presence so consuming it threatened to unravel you completely. When the wave finally crashed over you, pulling you under in a rush of explosive sensation, he didn't stop. The relentless rhythm continued, driving you beyond the familiar boundaries of pleasure.

Overwhelmed, you tipped your head back, an almost guttural scream escaping your lips, a testament to the raw, unfiltered intensity coursing through you. You found yourself dancing on that delicate line where ecstasy and pain blurred, but you didn’t dare tell him to stop.

You whimpered softly, your fingers clenching into a tight fist as you bit down on your knuckle. The waves of pleasure threatened to consume you whole, yet in this moment of raw intensity, you found unexpected strength.

Cregan's voice, low and gravelly, resonated with a heady mixture of desire and reverence, punctuating the rhythm of their intimate dance. "Come on now wife," he murmured between breathy moans, the sound of his words blending with the symphony of gasps and sighs that filled the air. "You're the lady of Winterfell. You can take its Lord."

His words were a potent reminder of your role, your status, and what this act would hopefully lead to.

You gritted your teeth, clutching the sheets tightly as another wave of pleasure surged through you. Looking up at him, you marvelled at the way his muscles rippled, flexing with every powerful thrust. The firelight danced across his skin, highlighting the sheen of sweat that accentuated his strong, chiseled form.

In that moment, there was an undeniable sense of possessiveness that bloomed within you—he was yours, completely yours.

His thrusts grew increasingly needy, each one carrying a fiery urgency that filled the quiet room with its resonance. His grunts grew louder, breaking through the stillness, raw and primal. He breathed heavily, the oxygen fuelling his relentless pace.

You watched as his jaw clenched tightly, the muscle in his cheek flexing, a clear sign of his nearing peak. The intensity in his eyes spoke volumes, revealing a vulnerability rarely seen—a moment where desire and emotion intertwined, leaving you both on the cusp of something beautifully potent.

Then he reached his peak, a loud grunt escaping his lips as his final, powerful thrusts rocked through you. The rhythm became a series of uncontrolled, yet intimately satisfying movements, until he nestled deep inside you, your hips aligned perfectly.

He leaned down, the heat of his breath mingling with yours as he captured your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. You cupped his face tenderly, feeling the warmth and tenderness of the moment, his kiss sloppy but passionate.

He released himself gently, collapsing onto the bed beside you with a satisfied sigh. Rolling over, he wrapped an arm around you, drawing you close against his chest, his heartbeat a comforting rhythm beneath your ear.

In the soft glow of the firelight, you nestled into the warmth of his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. It was a moment of peace and connection, where words were unnecessary, and the world seemed to shrink away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of shared warmth and tenderness.

A link to my Complete Invetory

[the-unidentified-author]

Old Friends | Kylo Ren | Star Wars

Summary: You're a friend of Kylo and bust into his room to tell him something when you get a little more than what you bargained for...

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, established relationship, p in v, creampie, a little rough, consensual!, hes a big man.

Word Count : 3,486

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

"KYLO, OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR!" You shouted with mounting frustration, thumping the side of your clenched fist against the solid metal door of your friends' room, your impatience threatening to boil over into a full-blown rage. Your voice echoed through the dimly lit hallway, bouncing off the cold metal walls and floor, the sound reverberating back at you like an ominous, foreboding prelude to the confrontation you were about to unleash.

The seconds ticked by at an agonisingly slow pace, stretching out into an eternity as you waited for a response from within the room. You could feel the blood pounding in your temples, your heart thudding heavily against your ribcage. Each passing moment was a testament to your growing irritation, the tension within you coiling tighter and tighter with every passing second.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open just a crack, revealing only a sliver of the scene unfolding behind it. Kylo's voice, deep and gravelly, drifted out through the small opening. "Give me a minute," he called from the other side of the door, his tone laced with a hint of amusement at your obvious impatience.

But your anger was not so easily quelled. "NO! NOW It's IMPORTANT!" you yelled, continuing the assault on the door with your fist, each solid thump against the hard surface making your hand hurt. The sound reverberated through the hallway, but you didn’t care who heard. You had been woken up because you were the only one who actually dared to wake him up. The only one that could walk away unscathed.

You pushed the door open yourself, not caring to wait any longer.

"Okay, so there has been a teeny tiny little bit of a proble-" you turned, and your eyes met Kylo's. "Oh" you said out loud. He was standing by the door you had just barrelled through, shirtless. You stared at him for a moment before, forcing yourself to turn away from him, trying to look at anything and everything but at him. "Could you, put on a shirt?" You folded your arms and focused your eyes on his bedside table, trying to ignore the fact that he had likely been sleeping when you had started the assault on his door. A part of you felt a little bad for waking him up.

"I did tell you to wait, it's not my fault you're so impatient," he remarked, his voice rough and deep, he had defiantly just woken up.

"Well, I had something important to tell you," you replied, still a bit breathless from your impromptu door-pounding session.

You heard him walk across the room towards you, before he came into view and stood in front of his wardrobe. His hand went to the handle before he frowned and turned to you. The muscles of his back flexed as he turned to look at you, and it took everything you had for you to keep your eyes on his face.

"Had?" he queried, dropping his hand, turning towards you, placing his hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, his demeanour shifting from slightly annoyed to outright intrigued. "So, you've forgotten the 'very important' news?" he smirked, looking at you with an expression on his face that you couldn’t read.

“Well, if you answered your fucking phone, perhaps I wouldn’t have to burst in here and give you the news in person. You have to go to a meeting, something about the resistance. I'm not sure, I only woke up a few minutes before coming here.” You were flustered and tired, you had been asleep for a little more than an hour before someone came to wake you about some stupid meeting.

"Oh so you burst into my room in the dead of night because I had to go to a meeting?" he asked, stepping away from the wardrobe and ruffling his hand through his hair. He looked tired, not the sort of tired that sleep would fix.

"Well, I have something important to tell you," you emphasised, hoping to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

There was no hiding it, you could feel how hot your face had got, and you hoped he would just assume it was from running up to see him.

"Look, can you just put some clothes on please?” you asked, dropping your hands to your sides before linking them behind your back.

"Why? Am I distracting you?" he asked, a smug grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He raised an eyebrow, the gesture both challenging and inviting at the same time. There was a glint of amusement in his dark eyes, as if he were thoroughly enjoying himself at your expense.

"No, I just want you to be more… modest," you responded, your cheeks flushing slightly at the thought of seeing him half-naked. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious under his gaze. Your old matching Pyjamas seeming unfit for your current situation.

He laughed, the sound warm and inviting. But then he continued, his voice low and husky. "Modest? Is that what you call it when your eyes can't help but linger a bit too long on certain… parts of me?" He took a step closer to you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body. The scent of his skin, a mixture of sweat and soap, filled your nostrils, igniting a strange mixture of emotions within you.

"I… I…" you stammered, struggling to find the right words to adequately express your thoughts and feelings. But then he spoke again, his voice cutting through the tension coiled tight within the room like a knife through butter.

"Admit it," he said, his tone laced with a hint of playful teasing. "You find me… irresistible." He joked, leaning in closer to you, his lips brushing gently against your ear as he whispered that last word.

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, the sound of your breaths mingling with his in the small space between the two of you. It was a feeling unlike anything you had ever experienced before - raw, primal, and utterly intoxicating.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, the metallic taste of blood flooding your mouth as you fought to contain your rapidly unraveling emotions. Turning away from him, you took a step back, hoping to create some much-needed distance between you and the alluringly dangerous force that was Kylo Ren.

You knew that he would be able to hear the lie in your voice, so you decided it would be best not to say anything at all. He was being cocky, revealing in the fact that he was able to make you feel so vulnerable and exposed. He liked that you found it difficult to look at him, and you couldn't deny that there was a certain-twisted thrill in the knowledge that you were so utterly captivated by him.

The tension between the two of you was palpable, hanging heavy and thick in the air around you like a toxic, suffocating fog. It was a tension that threatened to consume you both entirely, leaving no room for anything else but the raw, primal desire that coursed through your veins like a raging wildfire.

And as you stood there, staring off into the distance with a thousand different thoughts and emotions swirling around inside your head, you couldn't help but wonder just how far down this dark, twisted rabbit hole of passion and obsession between the two of you truly went.

You heard the sound of the wardrobe open.

Your eyes drifted back to him; he had turned away, reaching into the wardrobe, his back muscles on display as he searched for a shirt. You watched his arms flex before he pulled out a t-shirt and turned to face you.

"What was the news?" he inquired, shutting the wardrobe and leaning one shoulder against it while crossing his arms.

You stared at him, puzzled for a moment, until you suddenly recalled why you had rushed in to begin with.

"Oh right, well, um…" you mumbled, swallowing hard, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

A low chuckle escaped from his lips as he shook his head, the corners of his mouth curling upward in amusement.

Back during your days at Luke Skywalker’s little Jedi school, you had developed a crush on him, but after joining the First Order, you figured that silly infatuation would just burn out. You didn’t see him as often, and when you did, he was always hidden behind that mask and uniform, leaving everything to your imagination. And imagine you did, late at night in the quiet of your bed.

Now, here he was, disheveled from sleep, with hair a mess and voice deep and rough, waking all those feelings you thought had faded away. Of course, Kylo seemed to pick up on these emotions and found them quite amusing, which only added to your frustration.

"Oh, so you've completely blanked on the 'oh-so-crucial' news?" he smirked, casting a teasing glance your way, his expression a cryptic blend of mockery and intrigue.

“Well, if you answered your fucking phone, perhaps I wouldn’t have to burst in here and give you the news in person. You have to go to a meeting, something about the resistance. I'm not sure, I only woke up a few minutes before coming here.” You were flustered and tired, you had been asleep for a little more than an hour before someone came to wake you about some stupid meeting.

"Oh, so you burst into my room in the dead of night because I had to go to a meeting?" he asked, stepping away from the wardrobe and ruffling his hand

He seemed weary, the kind of exhaustion that sleep couldn't quite cure.

"You know how Hux gets, everything's a huge deal to him. I think it's about the resistance trying to hit some ships and failing," you explained, glancing into his deep eyes before quickly looking away, the intensity making your heart race.

"I didn't know I affected you so much" he laughed, ignoring your statement, folding his arms over his chest, his arm muscles bulging as he looked down at you. A lock of black hair fell in front of his face as his eyes ran over you. His gaze giving you butterflies.

"Kylo, cut it out," you said, pushing him back, "Stop playing around. I like everyone else on this ship. I just thought you lived in that tight black uniform and black cape," you said, your cheeks burning even hotter.

"Oh, you like my tight black uniform, do you?" he asked, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took a step closer to you.

You swallowed, barely able to focus on anything apart from him. The pair of you hadn’t talked this much since before he had taken the name of Kylo Ren. You thought this part of him was long dead. He was close now, his face just inches from yours, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips as you stared at his. Then, he leaned in and kissed you softly, almost tentatively, as if he feared you'd pull away and slap him.

Your hand found its way to his hair as he rested his palm on your cheek. You surrendered to the feeling he evoked in you, a sensation you'd desperately tried to suppress. You intertwined your fingers in his hair, drawing him nearer. The kiss deepened, and you both stepped back, halted by the resistance his bed provided. Your hands then reached for the hem of his shirt, agitated by the barrier it presented between your touch and his skin.

He broke away from the kiss for a second.

"Don't stop," you whispered breathlessly, tilting your head back towards him, your tone tinged with frustration.

"Oh, so now you want my shirt off" he whispered you could feel the smile on his lips as he trailed kisses down your neck before, breaking away again and pulling his shirt off, throwing it onto the floor before returning his hands to your body.

One hand on your waist as the other snaked around and squeezed your butt gently. His other hand then moved to the buttons on your blouse near the collar, he popped the first one open with ease, but then immediately struggled with the other one. He pulled away from the kiss and looked down at your pyjama shirt.

"Fuck this" he mumbled hoarsely before kissing you again as he ripped open your shirt, you gasped as the plastic buttons bounced across the floor like marbles.

His hands moved to your breasts, their touch both gentle and intentional. He cupped one in his hand, while his thumb traced delicate circles over your nipple, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. Unable to resist any longer, you pulled off your shirt, eager to welcome his touch fully.

"Lie back on the bed," he whispered softly, his voice a soothing command as he guided you gently. You reclined against the softness of his covers, feeling the warmth and comfort envelop you. His fingers traced along your arm, leaving a trail of tingling anticipation. Every movement was deliberate, creating an atmosphere charged with electricity as he hovered above you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and desire. The room seemed to shrink around you, focusing your entire world on this intimate moment.

He delicately shifted his position on top of you, his thighs gently guiding your legs apart, creating a sensation of both vulnerability and anticipation. The warmth of his body pressed intimately against yours, grounding and exciting at once. His lips continued their soft exploration down your neck, each kiss leaving a trail of tingling warmth.

As his mouth reached your nipple, he lingered there, his tongue tracing mesmerising circles, drawing out a soft moan from deep within you. His touch was both tender and electrifying, each flick of his tongue causing ripples of pleasure to spread through you.

Meanwhile, his hands began their slow descent down the sides of your body, fingers gliding over your skin, as if memorising every curve. They paused momentarily to appreciate the gentle swell of your waist, before continuing downward with enticing patience.

As his fingers gripped the fabric, your body responded instinctively, your hips arching upward in a seamless, almost automatic motion. His touch, both firm and gentle, guided the fabric smoothly down your body, each inch revealing more of your skin to the cool air and his warm gaze.

He began kissing your neck again as you moaned, your body trembling with pleasure. If he wasn't supporting, you with his other arm, you would have collapsed right there. He slowly introduced one finger inside of you, delicately curling it and straightening it, his thumb continuing to rub your clit in a tantalising rhythm. This elicited new waves of pleasure to flood over you, causing you to arch your back against the bed.

Your breathing became more erratic as you drew nearer to the edge, then suddenly he pulled his hand away. You gasped, missing his touch and the way his finger felt inside of you.

"Don't stop" you whispered breathlessly, tilting your head back towards him.

He kissed you softly as he shifted your underwear aside, the hot tip of his erection contacting your wetness. He broke away from the kiss, the anticipation hanging heavy in the air. With a single thrust, he filled you, eliciting a gasp of surprise and pleasure. He began to move within you, each stroke creating new waves of ecstasy throughout your body. His hands found your hips, guiding them to a better angle, ensuring a steady, sensual rhythm as you locked your fingers behind his neck.

"Fuck," he whispered as he watched himself pump in and out of you, his chest heaving up and down in a rhythmic dance of desire and pleasure.

He seemed to gain pace with every thrust, his body moving in a crescendo of passion, each movement bringing him closer to the precipice of release. The rhythm of it had you teetering on the edge, ensnared in a symphony of raw sensation. With each surge forward, he drove you deeper into a world where nothing but the two of you existed.

Your senses spiralled out of control, focus narrowed down to him alone—the scent of his skin, the weight of his body, the raw power behind each thrust. The sounds that left his lips, breathy and deep, made you clench the fabric of the bed either side of you. The fire within you blazed, driven higher and brighter, stoked by him.

As he pulled you closer, the world narrowed even further, the intensity of the moment electrifying every fibre of your being. His lips found your neck, each kiss deliberate, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. When he marked the tender skin just below your ear, it made you buck your hips towards him, the action rewarding you with a deep grunt of satisfaction from him.

"Holy shit," he breathed, his warm breath tickling your neck as you felt the tightening within you, clenching around him as he reached his release. Waves of ecstasy washed over you in unison, your bodies responding to one another in a symphony of pleasure. He thrust a few more times, each movement growing sloppier and more desperate, the intensity of the moment causing you both to lose yourselves in the bliss.

The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that seemed to crash over you both, leaving you gasping and breathless in its wake. His body continued to move in a frenzied dance of passion, his muscles tensing and releasing in a rhythmic pattern that was both beautiful and chaotic.

As he continued to thrust, you could feel the heat of his body mingling with yours, a fiery fusion of desire and satisfaction that seemed to burn away all thoughts and worries, leaving only the raw, primal pleasure of the moment.

His lips continued to press against your skin, each kiss a gentle reminder of his presence, an anchor that kept you both tethered to the physical world even as you soared higher and higher, lost in the ecstasy of the experience.

Finally, he slowly pulled out, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he planted a tender kiss on yours. His eyes, which had been dark and intense just moments ago, were now filled with a mix of satisfaction and wonder. It was a look that seemed to capture the entirety of the moment, a snapshot of the raw, primal connection that existed between the two of you.

But just as he opened his mouth to say something, a ringing sound filled the air, the tender moment shattered by the intrusion of an outside force. It was a sound that seemed to come from nowhere, a harsh, jarring note that served as a stark reminder of the world that existed beyond.

Kylo sighed and leaned over you, pressing a button, before laying on the bed and pulling you into his arms. The shrill voice of Hux filled the room.

“Sir, you missed the meeting. Resistance ships have been spotted in the airspace of two planets not known to be home to rebel forces.”

You rolled your eyes in exasperation, catching the playful glimmer in Kylo's eyes as he smiled at you, that slight upturn of his lips making your heart flutter. He then raised a finger to his lips, a silent gesture asking you to stay quiet.

“I’ve been busy with more important matters. I’ll await your update in the morning. Goodnight,” he said, his tone sharp yet commanding.

He clicked the machine again, the call abruptly ending with a finality that echoed in the room. His gaze, intense and soft all at once, lowered to meet yours. A hint of warmth flickered in his eyes as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle yet lingering kiss. This seemingly simple gesture spoke volumes, conveying a mix of reassurance and longing after the interruption moments before. It was a silent promise whispered between hearts.

"Ready for Round Two?" he asked, a teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips as his eyes danced with mischief.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

The Lord, The Lady and The Long Winter | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Chapter 1/5?: House Baratheon

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 - Comming soon

Cregan Stark x House Baratheon Reader

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words,longing, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: You’re betrothed to Cregan Stark. The pair of you navigate this relationship of convenience and perhaps even find love.

Word Count: 2,545

Not my image, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

"What do you think the Warden of the North is like?" your younger sister inquired; her eyes gleaming as she admired the fine gowns your father had procured. She was only seven years old and completely obsessed with dresses and pretty things. These gowns were not a token of your fathers' kindness; rather, your mother had insisted on them, knowing your southern dresses wouldn't keep you warm in the northern chill. You'd barely had a chance to glance at the garments before your two little sisters burst into the room. The youngest, Alanna, was already sifting through them, fascinated by the thick, elegant fabrics crafted to withstand the harsh climate you’d soon call home. She pulled a pair of fine but warm leather gloves from the ornate wooden trunk and pulled them on. They were made for your hands so dwarfed her own, but she didn’t seem to notice, playing with the expensive fur at the cuff.

"I heard that the Northmen are all savages." Ellyn remarked, her arms folded as she sat on your bed, her gaze distant, a scowl adorned her face.

She was the middle sister, your mother only having three girls. Your five older brothers had all been born before yourself. Your mother always joked that the gods gave the three of you to her after she had carried out her duty to the Baratheon house. And as such, your upbringing had been relatively indulgent, with your mother often doting on you and your sisters more than perhaps she ought to have. She had a soft spot for her daughters, allowing little luxuries and moments of leniency that your brothers might not have experienced. This favouritism wrapped your childhood in a blanket of warmth and comfort, granting you a sense of security that only a loving mother could provide. Such spoiling may have shielded you somewhat from the harsher realities of life, but it also meant that facing the impending changes and responsibilities of your new life in the North felt even more daunting.

You knew that Ellyn's comment had not come from a place of spite but rather sadness. The weight of change lay heavily upon Ellyn when the news of your northern betrothal reached her, she was not one to embrace change but rather shy away from it. Ellyn was unsettled by the tides of change and the unsettling murmur of an uncertain future. The betrothal, while a grand step for you, felt like a shattering of the familiar bonds she cherished so deeply. It wasn't just the inevitable separation that gripped her heart, but the unnerving thought of standing on shifting sands, where duty once stood firm. She dreaded the solitude that might creep into the corners of her life, casting long shadows on the once warm and light-filled halls of her existence. It wasn’t just your future that tugged at Ellyn’s heartstrings, but the looming prospect of her journey into the unknown, leaving familiar comforts behind. Inwardly, you promised resilience for your younger sisters, showing them that the shadows of uncertainty held no real threat. Yet, with your wedding day fast approaching, each tick of the clock seemed to unnerve your resolve, making it a true test of strength to maintain composure in the face of impending change.

"Northmen are just different from what we are used to, we have all heard the stories that surround Lord Cregan Stark. He is a fierce warrior and a noble leader. You shouldn't speak so cruelly about him, or you might not be allowed to visit." you stepped forwards, looking at Alanna, who had stopped rifling through your clothes at the mention of a visit.

"May we come and visit you?" inquired Alanna, her large, bright eyes sparkling with excitement at the thought.

"If she's not too busy raising a Northerners babies," Ellyn countered, her tone slightly harsh yet carrying an undercurrent of teasing sarcasm. Alanna's face, previously alight with excitement, now sagged with disappointment.

"If you continue being so cruel, you won't be welcome at all." you muttered, your tone harsher than you had intended. Her harsh words mixed with the stress you were feeling, bubbling up into anger that shouldn't have been directed at her. The words had slipped past your lips, unintentionally carrying more bite than you had wished for. Guilt swam in your gut as you watched Ellyn's crinkle into a frown, the impact of your harshness becoming all too clear.

Ellyn's frown deepened as she stood up from the bed, tears brimming in her eyes. "I hate you," she spat, storming towards the door. "I can’t wait to never see you again.

Your mother appeared at the door as Ellyn left, brushing, past her.

Your mother looked at you with a raised eyebrow, and you let out a weary sigh and moved to follow your younger sister. But instead of letting you pass, your mother stepped forwards placing her hands on your shoulders. You looked at her, and the look she returned threatened to collapse the walls you had been so carefully building after your betrothal.

"Let her go, you know what she is like. She will come around." your mother said, gently pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back.

Wrapping your arms around her, you let her hold you for a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of her lavender perfume. A lump formed in the back of your throat, and you fought to swallow it, lest you become a blubbing mess in her arms. She pulled away gently and cupped your face with her hand, offering reassurance in the warmth of her touch.

"You will be okay," she nodded, her voice soft and comforting. Then, turning her attention to Alanna, who was still fussing with the clothing sprawled out on the bed, she added, "Alanna, can you return to your room, please? It's getting late."

Alanna sighed, wanting more than anything to watch you try on the beautiful garments, but she nodded. She moved around the bed and stepped into your mother's waiting arms, hugging her tightly. Your mother kissed her on the head and then ushered her out of the room, closing the door gently behind her. You had always admired your mother; she never once wavered from her duty to your father. Their match, though one of convenience to unite two noble families in the south, had blossomed into a deep and sincere love.

"What if this marriage is different from what you and Father have?" you whispered, unable to hold back the wave of emotions that had been brewing since the announcement. "What if he is as cruel and cold as the Northmen are rumoured to be?"

The weight of uncertainty pressed down on you, making your heart race. It was a daunting realisation that life outside the warm embrace of your home was fraught with danger and unpredictability. All the fears that fluttered in your mind formed a dark storm, and you found yourself wishing for the comfort of familiar surroundings, for the laughter shared with your sisters, and the safety that came with loving arms. The thought of marrying a stranger, of stepping into the unknown, made everything feel so much more overwhelming. You yearned for reassurance, a sign that everything would turn out well, but all you had was the chilling whisper of doubt echoing in your thoughts, leaving you questioning what lay ahead.

"Do you think your father would wed you to a man people thought of as cruel?" your mother asked gently, her voice laced with the soothing wisdom that had guided you through so many dilemmas in the past. Her eyes, often seen brimming with pragmatic resolve, now softened as they searched your face for the fears you tried to mask.

"I think that the love he has for me doesn't always eclipse the honour and duty he must uphold to the kingdom," you replied softly, your words carrying the weight of understanding that had settled upon you. Your gaze rested on the floor, tracing invisible patterns as you spoke, a forlorn truth wrapped around each syllable. As the ambient light cast flickering shadows around the room, you lifted your eyes to meet your mother's, seeking solace in her steadfast presence. Her patient nod encouraged you to continue. "I understand yours and fathers' situation is unique. That people of our station do not often find love and must settle only for companionship, but is it so wrong for me to hope for love?"

"Oh, my love," she murmured, stepping forward with a tenderness that enveloped you, and you dropped your head to her shoulder, allowing yourself to be held by her warmth. Her embrace was a sanctuary, a familiar place that offered solace against the waves of uncertainty crashing within. "It is not a silly thing to wish for at all," she reassured, her voice a gentle balm over your growing concerns. She rubbed soothing circles on your back.

*****

The cold was biting, surprising for early autumn in this part of the country. The air held a sharpness, to it, your breath leaving your lips in a cloud. You felt its sting on your cheeks, turning them a rosy hue as you breathed in the crisp, frosty air. The ground beneath your feet was firm and dusted with a light frost, the leaves crunching softly as you moved. It was as if the North were reaching out, giving you just a taste of the winter you would soon experience, a forewarning of the snowy embrace that awaited you. Even the distant howl of the wind seemed to carry a whisper of winters yet to come, hinting at the icy realm that would become your home.

You stood in front of the carriage that was to take you to the North, to your future husband and home. Your mother had spent the last night in your room, stroking your hair the same way she had when you were a child, suffering nightmares. In that quiet moment, you realised how difficult this must be for her, her first daughter being sent so far away. Not once did she mention her heartache; she simply held you through the night. When morning came, she was back to her usual self, folding the clothes that had been bought for you and packing them back into the chest with a practiced efficiency that spoke more of love than words ever could.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," whispered Ellyn as she stepped forwards and wrapped her arms around you. Her grip was both firm and gentle, as if trying to say that she never really wanted to let go.

"It's okay, I know you didn't mean it," you whispered softly, letting the hug linger as long as she needed it to, feeling her breath steady against you.

She stepped away, and you could see the tears threatening to fall from her eyes, but she was holding them back as well as she could.

"Will you build a snowman?" Alanna asked, stepping forward to hug you tightly. "I heard it's something you can do with snow, and it's supposed to be fun!"

You wrapped your arms around her, lifting her from the floor. She didn’t quite grasp how far you were about to go or how long it would be until you saw her again. It was something your mother would have to handle when reality set in, knowing you wouldn’t be returning to the family home in the same way you had left it. You placed her gently on the ground, and she untangled herself from you, stepping back in line with Ellyn. Your brothers had already bid you goodbye in the days earlier. The nature of their duties meaning that it would almost be impossible for all of them to wave you off. You felt a slight relief that they weren't all there, knowing that watching your whole family fade into the distance as the carriage carried you away from your childhood home might have been too overwhelming to bear.

Your mother stepped forward and gently cupped your face, her touch warm and tender against the coolness of the morning. She nodded at you, a silent acknowledgment of the strength she wished to convey, before pulling you into a close embrace. As she pulled away, you caught a glimpse of the emotion flickering in her eyes, revealing the struggle beneath her composed exterior. Turning to your father, you saw the hint of a smile playing on his lips, though his eyes betrayed the softer emotions he rarely displayed. He extended his hand, steady and reassuring, guiding you as you took the step-up into the carriage that would carry you toward your fate.

Your father stepped up behind you just as you weer about to sit down, the carriage groaning under the shift in weight. Settling himself across from you with a calm certainty, he leaned back, observing the interior with a faint, practiced disinterest. With a deliberate motion, he closed the door behind him, his hand rapping firmly on the side to signal your departure.

The wheels began their slow, laborious turn, the carriage lurching into motion with a rhythm that echoed the unsettled beat of your heart. The time that you had been dreading all summer was finally upon you. Every fibre of your being pleaded for you to wrench open the door and run back to your family. But you sat there, your hands folded in your lap, ignoring every instinct to flee. Each rotation of the wheels pulled you further from everything you had known, as the grim realisation settled deep within your chest—this journey marked the end of your old life and the beginning of your new one.

As the carriage picked up speed, you moved to the window, drawing back the heavy drapery for one last glimpse of your family. There they stood, clustered together in the chilly morning light. Your mother with a solemn expression, your sisters wrapped in cloaks, waving with both excitement and trepidation. You watched as your mother stepped slightly apart from your sisters, clasping her hands as if in prayer, while your father's Stoic demeanour couldn't hide the softening of his eyes.

Each familiar face, lined with love and farewells, imprinted itself onto your memory—a cherished keepsake tucked away in the corners of your heart. You didn’t know when you would next see them all together. Your lives now would be fast-paced, your sisters when they reach your age also fated to be wed off to a distant Lord. The next time all three of you would be together would likely be in the event of a death in the family, not something that you were going to look forwards to.

With a resigned sigh, you let the curtain fall back into place, drawing your hands into your lap as the chill of anticipation prickled along your skin. If it were cold, here, what would it be like up in the North? Across from you, your father watched with a quiet understanding. He didn’t speak, perhaps not knowing what to say, so the space between the two of you was filled only with the soothing rumble of the carriage wheels.

Chapter 2

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

Deepest Desires | Sean Renard | Grimm

Part 1 | Part 2 - Comming soon

One or more parts will contain:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, established relationship, p in v, creampie, a little rough, Cunnilingus, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another.

Summary: A potion puts you and the Captain in a bit of a predicament. Will you be able to save him from the evil spell, before time runs out? (He spends most of the time tied up. )

Word Count: 8,003

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

The bell atop the door chimed softly as you stepped into the shop, a sound you had not expected to hear again for quite a while. The air was thick with the familiar scent of aged paper mingled with an array of spices and herbs, some recognisable, others lost to memory. Wooden shelves, bowing under the weight of countless books and jars, lined the walls, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor beneath the dim glow of hanging lanterns.

Your gaze settled on the familiar silhouette of Rosalee, who leaned casually against the counter at the back, absorbed in a book. Her dark hair fell like a curtain around her face, and the gentle lamplight glinted off her round spectacles. She looked up, a little startled by the noise, having been so engrossed in the book that the sound of the bell at this late hour had made her jump. The cozy warmth of the shop provided a stark contrast to the chill of the night's air, and for a moment, you felt as if you had never left this quiet corner of the world.

“We’re clos-“ she started before her features twisted into a look of confusion. “Why are you here, shouldn’t you be back in Europe by now?” She asked, dropping the page she had been holding and moving to walk around the counter.

You were breathing hard, and her confusion quickly turned to worry as she stepped toward you. She stepped closer, her hand instinctively reaching out to brush your hair aside, revealing a bruise blooming just above your hairline. Tilting your head back, she examined your face; you hadn’t dared to check your reflection before entering, yet the sharp throb from the blow you had suffered lingered, echoing through the hours since it happened. In the brief time you had been apart, everything had spiralled into chaos, and you desperately hoped she could provide the help you so urgently needed.

“What happened?” Her expression turning fierce, her Wesson self flashing across her face for a moment with the sudden change of emotion.

She stole a glance over her shoulder, as if anticipating someone to burst through the door of the shop at any moment.

“Yeah, I have a little bit of a problem,” you started, placing your hands on your hips and taking a breath, not really sure how you were going to explain the situation to her. You weren't entirely sure that you genuinely understood it yourself. “Is Monroe here? I could really use his help with something, and then I’ll explain to you exactly why I’m not where I am supposed to be.”

“Right, he’s secured to the chair, but look, I promised I’d go help Nick with something.” Monroe placed his hands on his hips and looked from Rosalee to you. “I can get him over here if you want to make this a team effort?”

Then he looked at Captain Sean Renard, the imposing figure now tied to a wooden chair that creaked under his weight. He didn’t move. His head had fallen forward, obscuring a face that was usually so composed, so commanding. It was a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. Monroe and you had been forced to haul him into the shop, grappling with the bulk of the unconscious man and hauling him into the Spice Shop. Rosalee stood to one side, her brow furrowed with a mix of trepidation and determination. The air in the room hung heavy with tension. This was bad.

“You should go,” Rosalee said with a nod and a small smile, a determined look taking over her features. “We can handle this.”

“You sure, this seems like something we should all help with, I mean a love spell on the Captain. That’s really gonna suck, how are you going to explain it to him when he wakes up?”

“He already knows, he’s the one who came to me about it. Hell, it was his idea for me to knock him out.” You folded your arms and shot a sideways look at the Captain.

“Damn, I bet you enjoyed that.” Smirked Monroe.

“Come on now, don’t say things like that. You should really get going; you can’t keep Nick waiting. It might be important,” Rosalee spoke gently, her gaze softening.

Monroe chuckled, a roll of his eyes indicating he knew he was being mildly reprimanded, but also that he wasn’t truly sorry for his comment. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, waving a hand dismissively.

With one last look at the Captain, who shifted ever so slightly in his sleep, Monroe turned to leave.

You heard the bell jingle, signifying the three of you were now alone in the shop. It was quiet, it had already been late by the time you had arrived. You glanced down at your watch, it was nearing ten pm. You should have been back in England this time last night.

“I should lock the door,” Rosalee said, her voice barely above a whisper as she moved towards the door frame. Her footsteps were quiet on the creaky floor, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts no doubt racing through her mind. The weight of the situation seemed to press in around the room, thick and tangible, as her fingers hovered over the door handle.

“Leave it," you interjected, startling her slightly. "There’s the closed sign on the front, right? If this goes bad, we’re going to need Nick and Monroe here ASAP, and I’m not sure if I want a locked door between them and us.” Your voice was steady, but beneath it lay a current of underlying tension. The open door was a lifeline, a connection to support and safety.

Rosalee paused, her brow furrowing in contemplation. "Yeah, but what if someone comes in and sees the police captain tied to a chair in the back of my shop?” Her voice held a tinge of worry, an understandable concern given the bizarre tableau that lay behind you.

“Well, we can just say it’s his kink,” you laughed, your attempt at humour lightening the mood for a fleeting moment. Your comment earned you a slight smile from her, a brief respite from the gravity of the situation.

“You do not say that,” came Sean's voice, suddenly cutting through the semi-darkness like a sharp blade slicing through silk. The two of you turned toward him, his jaw clenched, an unmistakable scowl etched onto his features.

The room hummed with tension, the air charged as his icy gaze flickered between both of you, a mix of incredulity and simmering irritation in his intense eyes. For a heartbeat, the room held its breath, as if anticipating the storm that could follow in the wake of Sean’s displeasure. Yet, even in his current state, there was a peculiar spark of humour in his eye. Sean, despite everything, seemed poised to navigate this ordeal with his characteristic blend of severity and unexpected wit.

Sean parted his lips just slightly, rocking his lower jaw from side to side, and for a fleeting moment, guilt washed over you at the memory of how hard you had struck him. A faint bruise was beginning to blossom at the edge of his jaw, a visible mark of the confrontation that had just transpired. It was a stark reminder of the violence that had been done, and for a fleeting moment, you couldn't shake the dread of him somehow overpowering the restraints binding him to the chair. Your gaze fell on Sean once again, studying him with a mix of curiosity and concern. It was indeed a weird sight, the imposing figure of the Captain, usually so commanding and confident, now utterly helpless, tied to a chair. There was something about it that stirred something within you—a strange allure in seeing such a strong man so utterly vulnerable.

“Oh good, you're awake.” you muttered, stepping towards him, Rosalee following you. “Now you get to tell her what you told me.”

“That was one hell of a right hook.” He glanced up at you for a moment before shifting his focus to Rosalee.

“He's lucid?” She asked, looking at you wide-eyed.

“Ugh, yeah. Why?”

“Love spells typically make people entirely infatuated with the person they have been cursed to obsess over. Typically, as it gets stronger, they begin to lose their faculties to the point where they’re unable to so much as string a sentence together.”

“Well, maybe it works differently for him as he’s a Royal half-breed or something?” You leant against the bench, folding your arms, looking Sean up and down.

His expression was anything but amused, likely a reaction to your flippant remark about his birth status. A pang of sympathy tugged at you; he looked worn out, more so than you'd ever seen him in the months you've known him. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow, a sign that the spell or potion he'd been given was taking its toll. You understood the gravity of the situation. There was no pleasant or straightforward resolution to this situation, and it certainly wouldn’t resolve itself on its own. Time wasn’t on your side.

Rosalee recognised the gravity of his predicament, realising it was more urgent than she had first thought.

“Right, before we do anything we need to figure out what someone has given him, how potent it is and how long since he ingested it. We will have no hope of curing him until we figure out what the hell is wrong with him.”

“So this somewhat feels a little bit like conventional medicine.” You muttered as she handed you a heavy book.

She dismissed you with a glance and shifted her attention to Sean.

“What exactly are you feeling?” She inquired, opening her book, glancing at the page before turning her gaze back to him.

He cast a glance at Rosalee, then turned to you before tightening his jaw, remaining silent.

“Did you not hear her, if we don’t know what this is, we can’t fix it.” You stated, stepping next to her and scowling at him.

He let out a deep sigh, his eyes falling to the floor as he chewed the inside of him cheek. “I don’t know. It’s just when I’m not around her, it almost feels painful. It started just like a dull ache when you miss someone, but over the last two days it has got so intense that I almost feel robbed of air when I don’t have her in sight.” He stated, not meeting the eyes of either of you.

The way he was acting amused you a little, here he was the Bastard Prince, who was usually so imposing and confident. Tied to a chair, unable to look you in the eye. There was something about it that stirred something within you. You liked seeing such a strong man so utterly helpless, no, you liked seeing Sean Renard tied to a chair.

You turned your gaze toward Rosalee, who seemed blissfully unaware of the amusement you found in the situation. Instead, she was engrossed in her book, her hand skimming rapidly across the pages before she flipped to the next one, continuing the motion with a determined efficiency. A scowl marred her features as she studied the text, which set your teeth on edge. You had hoped for a straightforward solution. You had been hoping that this would be a simple fix, maybe someone yourself or Nick had some dealings with that was left unhappy. Perhaps someone who wanted to inconvenience you a little, but by the looks of things, I was a little more complicated than that. Or perhaps just someone who had it out for the police captain, he must have made a fair few enemies in his line of work.

“What else is there?” Rosalee inquired, glancing up from her book, her expression a mixture of expectation and urgency.

“What do you mean by that, 'what else?'” Sean responded, his voice tinged with irritation. His scathing glance flicked to Rosalee before his focus shifted to you, a silent demand for clarity embedded in the depths of his gaze.

Rosalee met his eyes with unwavering resolve. “You need to tell us everything, Sean. Every little detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you. We’re grasping at straws here, and anything might be the key to unraveling this mess.”

She turned back to her book, scanning the pages with diligent determination, the sound of rustling paper punctuating the tension in the room. You could almost see the gears turning in her mind, fitting puzzle pieces together in an intricate attempt to uncover the truth.

Sean sighed, seemingly weighing his words with the same careful precision as someone picking their way through a minefield. His gaze softened, the irritation giving way to a flicker of resignation. The truth, however small, was what they needed, and behind his initial resistance, he knew it.

“There’s… a lot,” he began, hesitantly, his voice subdued, “but I’ll tell you what I can. I know that my family is behind it, and that they most certainly don’t care if I die. That they have power and money at their disposal, so it is likely complicated and an expensive potion.” He shrugged his shoulders.

He didn’t seem overly bothered by the potential death he was facing down, and you couldn’t tell if he genuinely didn’t care, or he was just brilliant at hiding it.

Rosalee let out a deep sigh and then turned back to the previous page of her book. This was definitely worse than you thought it would be, if his family were behind it, then there might be the risk that Rosalee couldn't undo whatever spell or potion had been placed on him. You chewed at the inside of your cheek, your body ached, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse into the little bed that Rosalee had set up in this little room. That wouldn't be of any assistance, and you didn’t know how much longer Sean would be able to control himself. Even though he was a half-Zauberbiest, he was strong. You were sure if you would be able to get him back into the chair if he managed to escape from it.

“Tell her what you told me at the airport.” You said putting down the book Rosalee gave you.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting between you and Rosalee, yet he chose to remain silent.

“What happened at the Airport?” Rosalee questioned looking from him to you.

“Just watch,” you said, turning from the two of them and walking from the back room to the front of the shop.

The second you left the room, you could hear Sean grunt in pain, you gave it a few seconds before you walked back into the room. Sean was red in the face and slightly more sweaty than he had been when you had left him.

“It physically hurts him when you walk too far from him?” Rosalee glanced down at her book before lifting her gaze to meet yours.

“Yep, he damn near passed out when he found me at the airport. The further I go, the more it hurts and as far as I can tell, it's getting worse.” You took a deep breath and leant back against the table.

“I am assuming you didn’t come here straight way, then, if it hurts him that much just for you to be in a different room?”

“Nope, he said that he could figure out what it was and well that was yesterday. I persuaded him to come here.”

“And he’s tied up…because.”

You gestured toward the bruise blossoming on your forehead. In turn, Rosalee cast a disdainful glance at Sean, her scowl deepening.

“I didn’t mean to.” He reasoned. “I don’t know what this feeling is, but it is intense, the idea of her being anywhere but right here with me, well, it. It makes me violent.”

“He didn’t mean to, I just tried to leave the room and well you saw how much that hurt him, so he stopped me.”

“You’re lucky you’re a Grimm, I doubt that anyone else would have been able to manhandle a Hybrid Royal here without serious injury.” She clutched the book she was holding against herself and then looked at you with a sorry expression.

“Can we hurry this along, I do have work to get back to.” Stated Sean, the irritation evident in his voice.

“Right,” Rosalee started, letting out a sigh and turning back to him. “What are your feelings?”

“What are my- what do you mean?” He asked looked at her, a confused scowl twisting his features.

“How do you feel about her, what is the key emotion? Hate, anger, obsession, love?”

There was a flicker of something in his eye as spoke the last word, but it was gone in little more than a blink of an eye. Slow enough for you to detect, but not slow enough for you to decipher.

“I don’t know, all I know is if I am not near her, it’s like my body is on fire.”

Rosalee looked to you and then back to him, before stepping towards the bookshelf. She placed the book she was holding on the small table to her left, and then pulled another book from the shelf. Shuffling through the pages, she frowned at it before replacing it on the shelf and pulling out another. You watched her in silence until her expression changed as she read the fourth book she had pulled from the shelf.

“It could be a strong obsession potion, I don’t think it’s anything to do with love. He wouldn't be able to string a sentence together.” She turned to you and looked up from the book.

“Great, now how do I make him less obsessed?”

“With another potion,” she smiled.

*  Forty-five minutes later, you were staring down into the pot on the portable stove top Rosalee had put on the table in the middle of the room. Arranged on the table was a wild assortment of things, some of which you could name and others you couldn’t even attempt to pronounce the word scribbled onto their aged labels. Some aromas coming off the items were pleasant, most, however, were not.

“I don’t have to drink this, right?” You asked, looking down at the gloopy, disgustingly thick brown goo she has spent so much time concocting.

“No, but you do have to put your blood in it and then hold the pot while he drinks it.” A smile played on her face and the two of you glanced at Sean.

He had been quiet for most of the time, only making a noise when you went to move out of the backroom into the front of the shop to collect one of the things on Rosalee’s list. Forgetting for a moment how he reacted when you moved out of sight.

“You sure you want to try this?” Whispered Rosalee, low enough that Sean likely wouldn’t hear. “I mean, having a Royal slash Police Captain fiercely protective of you might be fun.” She smirked.

She always had an opinion about the two of you, firmly convinced there was something brewing between you both. Regardless of how much you insisted you wouldn’t touch the man even if he were the last one on earth, there was an undeniable spark in her smile that made you certain she didn’t believe you.

“Behave, him freaking out and writhing in agony when I leave the room isn’t any use to me at all.”

“Well, you could have worse people obsessed with you.”

“Having Zauberbiest obsessed with me is really not something I want to deal with right now. You know, being a Grimm and all, I doubt that will really work out all that well.”

“Okay, okay…” she grabbed your finger and poked it with a needle.

You winced as she squeezed it, drops of your blood falling into the liquid. To your surprise, the brown sludge turned a colour that more closely resembled a strawberry milkshake.

“Oh, that sucks, I was enjoying the idea of him slurping down the nasty stuff.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Muttered Sean.

You turned to see him glaring at you, those dark eyes looked you up and down before he clenched his jaw again. He looked a little worse than he did before the two of you started. You could see his chest rising and falling fast, as though he had just finished running. And he was a little sweatier.

“It’s still going to taste pretty awful,” Rosalee remarked as she carefully poured the potion into a glass. “But it should do the trick and cure him.”

“Should?” You raised your eyebrow as she handed you the glass. “What do you mean should?”

"Well, if it is an obsession spell, then it will get rid of it," she explained confidently.

“And if it isn’t?” You glanced down at the liquid, grimacing as you caught a whiff of it.

"It won’t do anything, and we will be back to the drawing board," Rosalee added with a resigned sigh.

You raised your eyebrows and let out a sigh, turning to Sean. Despite the weariness that clung to him, he was undeniably captivating. His strong jaw and intense eyes drew you in, even more so now with that unguarded look. His gaze held an energy that seemed to spark and flicker, revealing a depth of emotion that was difficult to ignore. In that fleeting moment, even tied to a chair, his presence was utterly magnetic, imbued with a rugged charm that was impossible to resist. Stepping forwards, you watched as he visibly relaxed a little.

“It’s getting worse, isn't it?” You asked.

You watched his Adams apple bob in his throat as he swallowed and nodded at you. “Yeah.”

“Well, let’s hope this works.” You stated stepping forwards and placing your free hand on the back of his head, your other hand holding the glass, moving it to his lips.

He grimaced at the smell, his nose wrinkling in distaste, but sealed his lips to the glass as you began to tilt it. The liquid sloshed as it met his mouth, and he drank quickly in big gulps, determined to get it over with. A brief choke caught him off guard, his throat bobbing uneasily, but he pressed on, swallowing the strange concoction as fast as he could manage. When the glass was finally empty, he exhaled in relief as you pulled it away, releasing your gentle grip from the back of his head. A moment's pause allowed him to catch his breath, the tension in his muscles loosening with each passing second. Hopefully, this would put an end to whatever the hell was happening to him.

He pulled a face and looked up at you, you laughed and he frowned. Carefully, you raised your sleeve and wiped the milkshake like moustache the potion had left on his upper lip. You then joined Rosalee, who had sat down on the edge of the bed a little off to Seans right. Placing the glass on the bedside table, you looked at her.

“How long is it going to take for this thing to work?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and impatience as you looked Sean up and down.

“I don’t know, I say we give it five minutes and then test it. If it’s working, then you should be able to walk out of the room without him writhing in agony.” Rosalee replied, her tone measured and hopeful.

You put your head in your hands and let out a deep, exasperated sigh. It felt like you were running on fumes, the stress of the last day weighing heavily on your shoulders. The whirlwind of emotions and tension had taken its toll, leaving you feeling drained and weary.

“You don’t happen to have any aspirin, do you, my head is killing me,” you said, your voice tinged with pain as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Rosalee smiled and nodded before getting up and disappearing out of the room. She came back a few minutes later with a glass of water and something that definitely was not aspirin. You looked down at the root looking thing in her hand and then back up at her.

“It will work better than aspirin. You chew it slightly, then swallow.” Rosalee smiled and nodded reassuringly.

You eyed her suspiciously but took the root, chewed it a few times and then swallowed, taking a mouthful of the water to wash away the slight tangy bitterness of the root.

Then you stood and moved towards Sean. He visibly relaxed once more as you got a little closer, your presence easing the pain he was feeling. Gently, you placed your hand on the back of his head and helped him to drink the water. When he finished, he nodded at you in thanks, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort your closeness brought.

“I guess it didn’t work?” You whispered, chewing the inside of your cheek as he shook his head.

“So it’s not an obsession potion.” Stated Rosalee, picking at the dry skin on her bottom lip.

“Not a love potion and not an obsession potion, I really think we are running out of options here.” You stated stepping away from Sean.

He grunted, and the two of you turned towards him.

“And time.” Said Rosalee as you watched the vein in Seans neck poke out as he clenched his jaw and started at the ground. “You stay close to him, there’s no point in putting him through more pain than he needs, we will figure this out.”

She disappeared back into the front of the shop, and the soft, familiar sound of the ladder being wheeled along the shelves reached your ears. Carefully, you stepped closer to Sean. It was becoming clear that being more than a few feet away from him was starting to affect him, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly with each step you took towards him.

“What the hell is this?” You asked out loud, looking at him relax increasingly with every step you took closer to him.

As you stood in front of him, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours. He shrugged, tilting his head back and taking some deep breaths, relieved the pain was somewhat eased up a little.

“If it was getting this bad, you really should have mentioned something.” You continued looking down at him and crossing your arms.

He let out a small laugh, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. His smile was cocky, revealing a flash of his straight, white teeth. The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened with his expression, adding a certain warmth to his face.

“You look like a school teacher scolding me.” He mumbled, adjusting in the seat a little.

You were about to quip something back, but Rosalee burst into the room.

“I have something!” She announced, brushing the items on the table out of the way with her forearm and thumping a heavy book down on the table.

“A cure?” You asked, stepping away from Sean, which drew a pained grunt from his lips.

You shot him an apologetic look and stepped closer to him.

“No, but it should buy us, if we’re lucky, another day to figure out what the hell is wrong with him.” She didn’t look up from the book, just hurriedly started grabbing ingredients.

She had been working in silence for a little more than ten minutes, her focus unwavering as she hurriedly prepared the items she needed to brew the potion. You could hear the soft clink of glass bottles and the rustle of parchment as she gathered her ingredients with practiced ease. Despite your curiosity, when you'd gently inquired about the concoction she was preparing, she had merely shushed you, too absorbed in her work to spare you a glance.

Left to your devices, you began to pace around Sean. The invisible tether binding you to him meant you couldn't move more than three feet away, so you resorted to a slow, rhythmic pacing back and forth behind him. The space felt much like a cage, limiting and unyielding. Each step was careful and measured, a dance you were forced to partake in as you both waited in the small, tense room. The repetitive motion became both a comfort and a reminder of the strange predicament you now found yourselves entwined in.

“Can you please stop that.” Sean, glanced back at you over his shoulder.

Stopping, you turned to look at him.

“No.” You stated and turned and began pacing again.

"Please," he implored softly, his voice carrying a surprising note of vulnerability that caught you off guard.

Turning to look at him, he was still looking at you over his shoulder. He looked more tired than he had when the two of the two of you had arrived. Whatever the potion or spell was, it didn’t look as though he had all that much time left.

“I don’t think I have ever heard you use that word before.” You smirked, shaking your head at how pathetic the word sounded coming out of his mouth.

"Well, extreme circumstances," he shrugged, his tone casual as he tried to downplay the situation with a hint of resignation.

There was something about him, even though he was sweating and looked as though he was uncomfortable, he didn’t seem as uptight as he usually did. There wasn’t the same sense of superiority as he typically had lurking around him. It was as though the carefully crafted shield of charisma and sarcasm was starting to falter.

"I can’t move more than three feet from you, without you writhing around in agony and forgive me, but I don’t really want to stand there and stare at you. I’m tired, and my legs hurt," you said, your voice a mix of exasperation and defeat.

"Then why are you pacing?" he asked, a curious blend of irritation and genuine interest lacing his words.

"It makes them hurt less," you explained with a resigned sigh.

"Come here," he instructed, a gentle yet firm command in his voice.

"I'm already here, like I said, no more than three feet," you replied, a hint of frustration tinging your words.

He glanced over his shoulder once more, his large green eyes unexpectedly gentle. With a subtle tilt of his head, he urged you to shift to a spot where he wouldn’t have to exert himself so much to catch your gaze.

With a deep sigh, you turned to face him. His gaze tracked your movements.

"What do you want, another glass of water?" you asked, your voice laced with a mix of curiosity and gentle teasing, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"Sit on my lap," he said with a surprising nonchalance, the words slipping out as if it were the most natural request in the world.

"What?" you replied, eyebrows raised, the suddenness of his request catching you completely off guard.

"Sit on my lap. Your legs hurt, but you can’t be more than a few feet from me. Sit on my lap, then your feet won't hurt, and I won't be in pain. It’s starting to become insufferable," he explained, his expression sincere, devoid of his usual scowl.

“Well, I can just sit over there.” You replied, gesturing to the bed about five feet away. “It would just hurt you, not me.”

“Please.” This time it sounded more like he was begging than pleading.

“There it is, that word again.” You laughed, folding your arms.

“Hey Rosalee, how long is this going to take?” Sean asked, looking past you and over to your friend.

You glanced over your shoulder at her, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration as she carefully measured a fine, dark powder in a worn metal spoon. The steam from the pot curled upwards, a swirling dance against the warm light of the room. With a steady hand, she poured the powder into the cauldron of bubbling liquid, its surface hissing in protest.

“Uh, if I get this right, it should be ready in about ten minutes.” She didn’t look up from her books as she spoke.

“You want to pace around for another ten minutes?” He inquired, his head tilting ever so slightly to one side.

You shut your eyes, releasing a long, exasperated breath before opening them again to find his green gaze upon you.

“Fine.” You said, shaking your head in disbelief and turning and sitting on his lap.

“I said sit, not perch.” His voice was low and commanding, you could feel his breath on the back of your neck.

You rose and then sank back down, pressing against his solid form. Instantly, the ache in your feet and legs dissipated, relieved now that they no longer bore your weight. Yet, your mind began to betray you; his sturdy presence, anchoring you, sparked a flurry of thoughts. You wondered what it would be like if he weren’t bound to the chair, how it might feel to have him lean into you, enveloping you in his embrace. You envisioned the sweetness of his lips against your neck, a gentle touch that lingered on your skin.

“Who would have through that a little over two months ago, you were trying to kill me.” His voice once again low, this time there was a hint of something else in it, something that you were starting to figure out the meaning of.

"Well, I am a Grimm, but now we only kill the terrible ones. And as far as everyone is concerned, you’re one of the bad ones," you replied, your voice level and calm, despite the tension in the room.

“So, I’m the reason you came all the way over here?” You felt him move slightly under you.

“You already know the answer to that question, Sean. Now, how do you think someone got you to drink the potion?” You asked trying to sit as still as possible, attempting to figure out if this was more or less uncomfortable than standing.

“I don’t know, in my coffee perhaps or one of the snacks I keep in my drawer,” Sean mused, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

“You keep snacks in your drawer?”

"Long hours and I can’t always be bothered to make dinner when I get home," he admitted with a shrug, a hint of tired resignation in his voice.

You raised your eyebrows, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see the expression on your face.

“It's done,” stated Rosalee, turning around, her eyes falling on the two of you. “Did it get worse?”

You jumped up from his lap and turned to look at him.

“Yeah, a little bit, I can’t move more than three feet from him without him complaining about it.”

“This should help.” she moved forwards and handed you a small vial filled with a green liquid that looked as though she had just bottled up swamp water.

“Is it a cure?” Sean asked, his eyes fixed on the vial in your hand, a grimace tugging at his lips as he considered the murky liquid inside.

“No, but it should buy me some time to figure out what the hell you are infected with and how to cure it.”

“Does that mean you can untie me from the chair?” He looked from you to her, his expression hopeful.

"Yep, it will dampen the negative effects of whatever it is you have," she reassured, her voice steady and confident as she met his gaze.

You shrugged and turned to him, and pressed the vial to his lips as he tilted back his head.

“How long does this one take to work?” you inquired, your brow furrowed with a hint of concern.

“Should just be moments, move in the direction of the door.”

You eyed her a little suspiciously before taking a step away from Sean, he looked you up and down but didn’t writhe around in pain. Cautiously you took another step, again nothing. After a few moments, you had made it all the way into the shop and out of sight.

“You can come back in now, I think we have more than confirmed that it works.” Called Rosalee.

You sighed and moved back around the counter into the back, where Rosalee was leaning against a table and Sean was still tied to the chair.

“So how long is this going to work, I’m looking forwards to spending a little time away from him.” you addressed Rosalee, not looking at Sean while you spoke.

“Well there's the catch, it will give us about a day give or take. But the further you are from each other, the shorter the time will be.”

“So there is no hope of me getting a hotel for the night and spending a little time forgetting about this whole thing?” you asked, your tone edged with frustration and longing for a momentary escape.

"No you need to stay together, this is the sort of potion that only works the once, so if the two of you could give me as much time as you can to figure this out the more likely he will live through this," she explained, her tone urgent yet calm.

“You should stay with me until we have this figured out.” Sean interjected.

You turned to him, the reality of his situation washing over you like a cold wave. For a moment, you had almost forgotten that he was still tied to the chair, a powerful figure reduced to a position of helplessness. Sean met your gaze with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Raising your eyebrows, you felt a mixture of disbelief and reluctant understanding. There was no way you were going to argue your way out of this one; the urgency in Rosalee's voice rang too loudly in your mind. It was as if the room had narrowed down to just the two of you, the air thick with unspoken thoughts.

With a reluctant sigh, you folded your arms, aware that your disagreement would lead nowhere. Instead, you shifted your focus to Sean, taking in the way his brows knitted together with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. There was something poignant about seeing him there, a man typically full of authority now trapped in this bizarre situation. It was eye-opening, and as much as you wanted to dismiss it all, a part of you was curious about what it meant for both of you moving forward.

* He pulled his suit jacket off with a fluid motion, the fabric slipping off his shoulders and landing on the chair next to his chest of drawers with a soft thud. As he moved, there was an effortless grace to his actions, honed from years of command. He sat down on his bed, the mattress shifting slightly beneath him, and began to unbutton his shirt.

With each button he deftly released, the fabric parted to reveal the defined contours of his chest, a blend of strength and vulnerability. He paused for a brief moment, his hands lingering on the last button, as if contemplating the transition from his polished, professional facade to something more raw and exposed. Finally, he let the shirt fall away, the material cascading down until it lay crumpled at his side, leaving him clad only in pants, showcasing his muscular physique.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked, folding your arms and looking at him with the most disapproving look you could muster, doing everything not to look at his toned chest.

You had thought once or twice about what was beneath the immaculate, expensive suits he strutted around in. Not once had you imagined him to be so muscular and tanned. His physique was striking—a testament to strength and discipline. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a well-defined chest and abs that rippled with each breath he took. Warm, golden skin hinted at time spent under the sun, contrasting sharply with the refined suits he usually wore.

“I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to bed.” He finished with the buttons, pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pulling it off, throwing it to the floor.

Then he stood and unbuckled his belt, the sound of the metal clinking breaking the heavy tension in the air. With a single, fluid motion, he pulled it out of the belt loops, demonstrating an undeniably captivating casual confidence. You weren’t entirely sure how to react; you wouldn't ever admit you were a little impressed, maybe even turned on by the sight. The way his muscles flexed as he moved, combined with the confidence radiating from him, felt almost electric.

He tossed the belt aside, and as he did, your gaze unintentionally traced the sleek lines of his physique, the way the fabric of his pants hugged his form just right. There was a raw, primal energy at the moment that drew you in, igniting a flurry of emotions you never expected to feel.

"Damn it, I need to get some air," you muttered under your breath, feeling a little overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. You moved to leave, but a firm hand grabbed your arm, halting your escape.

The grip wasn't painful, but it was firm enough to communicate a clear message: he wasn't going to let you leave that easily. The warmth of his fingers lingered on your skin, a reminder of his hold on you. It was a strange mixture of emotions that surged through you at that moment, uncertainty, frustration, and perhaps even a hint of something akin to attraction. The entire situation was far more complicated than you could have ever imagined, and as you looked back at his unwavering stare, you knew that things were only just beginning to get interesting.

“You know what Rosalee said, the closer we are, the more time she has to come up with a solution.” His voice was low but not threatening, he was behind you, but you could feel how close he was to you. Smell his aftershave, one step back and you would be pressed against him.

“What, you want me to shower with you?” You retorted, delivering the jab with a thinly veiled layer of annoyance while maintaining a playful edge. Your words were punctuated with the crisp sound of your footsteps echoing as you took a few steps away from him.

Being close to him felt overwhelmingly intense, as if an invisible force was drawing you towards him. It was something beyond logic, almost primal in its allure. It was wrong, he was a Wesen and you were a Grimm. The only emotion you should harbour was disdain, yet your body defied your mind, betraying you in ways you struggled to understand.

He shrugged his shoulders, the muscles of his body flexing. You tried not to look, but the glint In his eye intrigued you.

You let out a deep, exacerbated sigh and moved past him to sit on the bed, lying back and staring at the ceiling. The room was filled with the low hum of city life outside, a contrast to the thick tension inside. A few minutes later, the sound of the shower starting in his ensuite broke the silence, a rhythmic patter that seemed to echo your racing thoughts.

After a little while, you stood up, unable to shake the restlessness that clung to you. You wandered over to the large chest of drawers opposite his bed. It was an ornately carved piece, its craftsmanship a testament to a bygone era. Probably ancient and expensive, the rich wood gleamed under the soft light, a stark contrast to the sleek, modern lines of the condo. Everything around you felt slightly out of place, as though the furniture had memories of a castle's long-forgotten halls.

Slowly, you meandered to the window, pressing your forehead against the cool glass as you gazed out over the dark cityscape. The little lights dotted across the towering buildings surrounded you, the only signs of life in a city cloaked in shadow. It was a panoramic view that stretched out endlessly, reflecting the myriad of emotions swirling within you, a reminder that despite the darkness, life continued on.

As you turned back into the room, a soft rustling caught your eye. On one side of the bed lay silk pyjamas, meticulously folded, their sheen catching the ambient light. They seemed entirely in character for him, luxurious, understated elegance. But at the same time, the thought of him stripping off his suit and climbing into bed in silk pyjamas amused you.

You lingered a moment, absorbing the air of intimacy they suggested, before the sound of water ceasing pulled your attention. A sudden quiet took the room, amplifying the creak of the bathroom door as it opened.

“You sleep in silk pyjamas?” You asked, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you gestured towards the neatly folded ensemble on the bed.

You looked up at him, and the smile on your lips faltered slightly. He moved toward you with a measured calm, a towel slung low at his hips. His physique was striking, a testament to both discipline and natural grace. His abs were perfectly defined, each muscle sculpted with precision, leading down to the unmistakable V line that vanished beneath the fabric.

His skin, still glistening with droplets from the shower, seemed to glow under the soft light, highlighting the golden hue of his complexion. The sight of him walking so confidently, the play of muscles beneath his skin, was undeniably captivating, an electric mix of elegance and raw power that left an unexpected flutter in your chest.

He shrugged. “What would you prefer I sleep in?” he asked, a cocky nonchalance lacing his words.

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks as you realised you had been caught staring. Embarrassment flooded over you, making it suddenly difficult to meet his gaze. Your eyes darted around the room, settling on anything but him, while a flurry of confusing feelings stirred within you.

“Just put some clothes on, I’ll be just outside the door,” you managed to say, keeping your voice as steady as possible. You walked past him, feeling his eyes on you, and sensed the warmth of his gaze following you as you stepped out of the room.

You closed the door and leaned against the wall, pressing your back to it and letting out a deep, long breath. This wasn’t like you, never had a man so completely disarmed you without even trying. Your thoughts were a jumble, a mix of surprise and undeniable attraction. Rubbing your eyes, you heard the door open. Turning, you saw Sean standing next to you, having decided to put on only the pyjama bottoms. His chest was bare, revealing the same captivating allure that left you flustered moments ago.

“I thought you said you were going to sleep?” You sighed.

“I figured that you might want to shower too. I laid some clothes out on the bed for you, and there’s a clean towel in the bathroom,” he said, his voice easygoing yet considerate. He moved to the wall across the corridor, leaning his back against it as he folded his arms. “I’ll wait here, you know, keeping a short distance between us and all.” His casual posture matched the familiar warmth in his tone, making the situation feel surprisingly normal amidst the chaos that had made up the majority of your evening.

You nodded, walked back into his room and closed the door. This was turning out to be quite different from what you had imagined.

The bell atop the door chimed softly as you stepped into the shop, a sound you had not expected to hear again for quite a while. The air was thick with the familiar scent of aged paper mingled with an array of spices and herbs, some recognisable, others lost to memory. Wooden shelves, bowing under the weight of countless books and jars, lined the walls, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor beneath the dim glow of hanging lanterns.

Your gaze settled on the familiar silhouette of Rosalee, who leaned casually against the counter at the back, absorbed in a book. Her dark hair fell like a curtain around her face, and the gentle lamplight glinted off her round spectacles. She looked up, a little startled by the noise, having been so engrossed in the book that the sound of the bell at this late hour had made her jump. The cozy warmth of the shop provided a stark contrast to the chill of the night's air, and for a moment, you felt as if you had never left this quiet corner of the world.

“We’re clos-“ she started before her features twisted into a look of confusion. “Why are you here, shouldn’t you be back in Europe by now?” She asked, dropping the page she had been holding and moving to walk around the counter.

You were breathing hard, and her confusion quickly turned to worry as she stepped toward you. She stepped closer, her hand instinctively reaching out to brush your hair aside, revealing a bruise blooming just above your hairline. Tilting your head back, she examined your face; you hadn’t dared to check your reflection before entering, yet the sharp throb from the blow you had suffered lingered, echoing through the hours since it happened. In the brief time you had been apart, everything had spiralled into chaos, and you desperately hoped she could provide the help you so urgently needed.

“What happened?” Her expression turning fierce, her Wesson self flashing across her face for a moment with the sudden change of emotion.

She stole a glance over her shoulder, as if anticipating someone to burst through the door of the shop at any moment.

“Yeah, I have a little bit of a problem,” you started, placing your hands on your hips and taking a breath, not really sure how you were going to explain the situation to her. You weren't entirely sure that you genuinely understood it yourself. “Is Monroe here? I could really use his help with something, and then I’ll explain to you exactly why I’m not where I am supposed to be.”

*  “Right, he’s secured to the chair, but look, I promised I’d go help Nick with something.” Monroe placed his hands on his hips and looked from Rosalee to you. “I can get him over here if you want to make this a team effort?”

Then he looked at Captain Sean Renard, the imposing figure now tied to a wooden chair that creaked under his weight. He didn’t move. His head had fallen forward, obscuring a face that was usually so composed, so commanding. It was a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. Monroe and you had been forced to haul him into the shop, grappling with the bulk of the unconscious man and hauling him into the Spice Shop. Rosalee stood to one side, her brow furrowed with a mix of trepidation and determination. The air in the room hung heavy with tension. This was bad.

“You should go,” Rosalee said with a nod and a small smile, a determined look taking over her features. “We can handle this.”

“You sure, this seems like something we should all help with, I mean a love spell on the Captain. That’s really gonna suck, how are you going to explain it to him when he wakes up?”

“He already knows, he’s the one who came to me about it. Hell, it was his idea for me to knock him out.” You folded your arms and shot a sideways look at the Captain.

“Damn, I bet you enjoyed that.” Smirked Monroe.

“Come on now, don’t say things like that. You should really get going; you can’t keep Nick waiting. It might be important,” Rosalee spoke gently, her gaze softening.

Monroe chuckled, a roll of his eyes indicating he knew he was being mildly reprimanded, but also that he wasn’t truly sorry for his comment. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, waving a hand dismissively.

With one last look at the Captain, who shifted ever so slightly in his sleep, Monroe turned to leave.

You heard the bell jingle, signifying the three of you were now alone in the shop. It was quiet, it had already been late by the time you had arrived. You glanced down at your watch, it was nearing ten pm. You should have been back in England this time last night.

“I should lock the door,” Rosalee said, her voice barely above a whisper as she moved towards the door frame. Her footsteps were quiet on the creaky floor, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts no doubt racing through her mind. The weight of the situation seemed to press in around the room, thick and tangible, as her fingers hovered over the door handle.

“Leave it," you interjected, startling her slightly. "There’s the closed sign on the front, right? If this goes bad, we’re going to need Nick and Monroe here ASAP, and I’m not sure if I want a locked door between them and us.” Your voice was steady, but beneath it lay a current of underlying tension. The open door was a lifeline, a connection to support and safety.

Rosalee paused, her brow furrowing in contemplation. "Yeah, but what if someone comes in and sees the police captain tied to a chair in the back of my shop?” Her voice held a tinge of worry, an understandable concern given the bizarre tableau that lay behind you.

“Well, we can just say it’s his kink,” you laughed, your attempt at humour lightening the mood for a fleeting moment. Your comment earned you a slight smile from her, a brief respite from the gravity of the situation.

“You do not say that,” came Sean's voice, suddenly cutting through the semi-darkness like a sharp blade slicing through silk. The two of you turned toward him, his jaw clenched, an unmistakable scowl etched onto his features.

The room hummed with tension, the air charged as his icy gaze flickered between both of you, a mix of incredulity and simmering irritation in his intense eyes. For a heartbeat, the room held its breath, as if anticipating the storm that could follow in the wake of Sean’s displeasure. Yet, even in his current state, there was a peculiar spark of humour in his eye. Sean, despite everything, seemed poised to navigate this ordeal with his characteristic blend of severity and unexpected wit.

Sean parted his lips just slightly, rocking his lower jaw from side to side, and for a fleeting moment, guilt washed over you at the memory of how hard you had struck him. A faint bruise was beginning to blossom at the edge of his jaw, a visible mark of the confrontation that had just transpired. It was a stark reminder of the violence that had been done, and for a fleeting moment, you couldn't shake the dread of him somehow overpowering the restraints binding him to the chair. Your gaze fell on Sean once again, studying him with a mix of curiosity and concern. It was indeed a weird sight, the imposing figure of the Captain, usually so commanding and confident, now utterly helpless, tied to a chair. There was something about it that stirred something within you—a strange allure in seeing such a strong man so utterly vulnerable.

“Oh good, you're awake.” you muttered, stepping towards him, Rosalee following you. “Now you get to tell her what you told me.”

“That was one hell of a right hook.” He glanced up at you for a moment before shifting his focus to Rosalee.

“He's lucid?” She asked, looking at you wide-eyed.

“Ugh, yeah. Why?”

“Love spells typically make people entirely infatuated with the person they have been cursed to obsess over. Typically, as it gets stronger, they begin to lose their faculties to the point where they’re unable to so much as string a sentence together.”

“Well, maybe it works differently for him as he’s a Royal half-breed or something?” You leant against the bench, folding your arms, looking Sean up and down.

His expression was anything but amused, likely a reaction to your flippant remark about his birth status. A pang of sympathy tugged at you; he looked worn out, more so than you'd ever seen him in the months you've known him. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow, a sign that the spell or potion he'd been given was taking its toll. You understood the gravity of the situation. There was no pleasant or straightforward resolution to this situation, and it certainly wouldn’t resolve itself on its own. Time wasn’t on your side.

Rosalee recognised the gravity of his predicament, realising it was more urgent than she had first thought.

“Right, before we do anything we need to figure out what someone has given him, how potent it is and how long since he ingested it. We will have no hope of curing him until we figure out what the hell is wrong with him.”

“So this somewhat feels a little bit like conventional medicine.” You muttered as she handed you a heavy book.

She dismissed you with a glance and shifted her attention to Sean.

“What exactly are you feeling?” She inquired, opening her book, glancing at the page before turning her gaze back to him.

He cast a glance at Rosalee, then turned to you before tightening his jaw, remaining silent.

“Did you not hear her, if we don’t know what this is, we can’t fix it.” You stated, stepping next to her and scowling at him.

He let out a deep sigh, his eyes falling to the floor as he chewed the inside of him cheek. “I don’t know. It’s just when I’m not around her, it almost feels painful. It started just like a dull ache when you miss someone, but over the last two days it has got so intense that I almost feel robbed of air when I don’t have her in sight.” He stated, not meeting the eyes of either of you.

The way he was acting amused you a little, here he was the Bastard Prince, who was usually so imposing and confident. Tied to a chair, unable to look you in the eye. There was something about it that stirred something within you. You liked seeing such a strong man so utterly helpless, no, you liked seeing Sean Renard tied to a chair.

You turned your gaze toward Rosalee, who seemed blissfully unaware of the amusement you found in the situation. Instead, she was engrossed in her book, her hand skimming rapidly across the pages before she flipped to the next one, continuing the motion with a determined efficiency. A scowl marred her features as she studied the text, which set your teeth on edge. You had hoped for a straightforward solution. You had been hoping that this would be a simple fix, maybe someone yourself or Nick had some dealings with that was left unhappy. Perhaps someone who wanted to inconvenience you a little, but by the looks of things, I was a little more complicated than that. Or perhaps just someone who had it out for the police captain, he must have made a fair few enemies in his line of work.

“What else is there?” Rosalee inquired, glancing up from her book, her expression a mixture of expectation and urgency.

“What do you mean by that, 'what else?'” Sean responded, his voice tinged with irritation. His scathing glance flicked to Rosalee before his focus shifted to you, a silent demand for clarity embedded in the depths of his gaze.

Rosalee met his eyes with unwavering resolve. “You need to tell us everything, Sean. Every little detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you. We’re grasping at straws here, and anything might be the key to unraveling this mess.”

She turned back to her book, scanning the pages with diligent determination, the sound of rustling paper punctuating the tension in the room. You could almost see the gears turning in her mind, fitting puzzle pieces together in an intricate attempt to uncover the truth.

Sean sighed, seemingly weighing his words with the same careful precision as someone picking their way through a minefield. His gaze softened, the irritation giving way to a flicker of resignation. The truth, however small, was what they needed, and behind his initial resistance, he knew it.

“There’s… a lot,” he began, hesitantly, his voice subdued, “but I’ll tell you what I can. I know that my family is behind it, and that they most certainly don’t care if I die. That they have power and money at their disposal, so it is likely complicated and an expensive potion.” He shrugged his shoulders.

He didn’t seem overly bothered by the potential death he was facing down, and you couldn’t tell if he genuinely didn’t care, or he was just brilliant at hiding it.

Rosalee let out a deep sigh and then turned back to the previous page of her book. This was definitely worse than you thought it would be, if his family were behind it, then there might be the risk that Rosalee couldn't undo whatever spell or potion had been placed on him. You chewed at the inside of your cheek, your body ached, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse into the little bed that Rosalee had set up in this little room. That wouldn't be of any assistance, and you didn’t know how much longer Sean would be able to control himself. Even though he was a half-Zauberbiest, he was strong. You were sure if you would be able to get him back into the chair if he managed to escape from it.

“Tell her what you told me at the airport.” You said putting down the book Rosalee gave you.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes darting between you and Rosalee, yet he chose to remain silent.

“What happened at the Airport?” Rosalee questioned looking from him to you.

“Just watch,” you said, turning from the two of them and walking from the back room to the front of the shop.

The second you left the room, you could hear Sean grunt in pain, you gave it a few seconds before you walked back into the room. Sean was red in the face and slightly more sweaty than he had been when you had left him.

“It physically hurts him when you walk too far from him?” Rosalee glanced down at her book before lifting her gaze to meet yours.

“Yep, he damn near passed out when he found me at the airport. The further I go, the more it hurts and as far as I can tell, it's getting worse.” You took a deep breath and leant back against the table.

“I am assuming you didn’t come here straight way, then, if it hurts him that much just for you to be in a different room?”

“Nope, he said that he could figure out what it was and well that was yesterday. I persuaded him to come here.”

“And he’s tied up…because.”

You gestured toward the bruise blossoming on your forehead. In turn, Rosalee cast a disdainful glance at Sean, her scowl deepening.

“I didn’t mean to.” He reasoned. “I don’t know what this feeling is, but it is intense, the idea of her being anywhere but right here with me, well, it. It makes me violent.”

“He didn’t mean to, I just tried to leave the room and well you saw how much that hurt him, so he stopped me.”

“You’re lucky you’re a Grimm, I doubt that anyone else would have been able to manhandle a Hybrid Royal here without serious injury.” She clutched the book she was holding against herself and then looked at you with a sorry expression.

“Can we hurry this along, I do have work to get back to.” Stated Sean, the irritation evident in his voice.

“Right,” Rosalee started, letting out a sigh and turning back to him. “What are your feelings?”

“What are my- what do you mean?” He asked looked at her, a confused scowl twisting his features.

“How do you feel about her, what is the key emotion? Hate, anger, obsession, love?”

There was a flicker of something in his eye as spoke the last word, but it was gone in little more than a blink of an eye. Slow enough for you to detect, but not slow enough for you to decipher.

“I don’t know, all I know is if I am not near her, it’s like my body is on fire.”

Rosalee looked to you and then back to him, before stepping towards the bookshelf. She placed the book she was holding on the small table to her left, and then pulled another book from the shelf. Shuffling through the pages, she frowned at it before replacing it on the shelf and pulling out another. You watched her in silence until her expression changed as she read the fourth book she had pulled from the shelf.

“It could be a strong obsession potion, I don’t think it’s anything to do with love. He wouldn't be able to string a sentence together.” She turned to you and looked up from the book.

“Great, now how do I make him less obsessed?”

“With another potion,” she smiled.

*  Forty-five minutes later, you were staring down into the pot on the portable stove top Rosalee had put on the table in the middle of the room. Arranged on the table was a wild assortment of things, some of which you could name and others you couldn’t even attempt to pronounce the word scribbled onto their aged labels. Some aromas coming off the items were pleasant, most, however, were not.

“I don’t have to drink this, right?” You asked, looking down at the gloopy, disgustingly thick brown goo she has spent so much time concocting.

“No, but you do have to put your blood in it and then hold the pot while he drinks it.” A smile played on her face and the two of you glanced at Sean.

He had been quiet for most of the time, only making a noise when you went to move out of the backroom into the front of the shop to collect one of the things on Rosalee’s list. Forgetting for a moment how he reacted when you moved out of sight.

“You sure you want to try this?” Whispered Rosalee, low enough that Sean likely wouldn’t hear. “I mean, having a Royal slash Police Captain fiercely protective of you might be fun.” She smirked.

She always had an opinion about the two of you, firmly convinced there was something brewing between you both. Regardless of how much you insisted you wouldn’t touch the man even if he were the last one on earth, there was an undeniable spark in her smile that made you certain she didn’t believe you.

“Behave, him freaking out and writhing in agony when I leave the room isn’t any use to me at all.”

“Well, you could have worse people obsessed with you.”

“Having Zauberbiest obsessed with me is really not something I want to deal with right now. You know, being a Grimm and all, I doubt that will really work out all that well.”

“Okay, okay…” she grabbed your finger and poked it with a needle.

You winced as she squeezed it, drops of your blood falling into the liquid. To your surprise, the brown sludge turned a colour that more closely resembled a strawberry milkshake.

“Oh, that sucks, I was enjoying the idea of him slurping down the nasty stuff.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Muttered Sean.

You turned to see him glaring at you, those dark eyes looked you up and down before he clenched his jaw again. He looked a little worse than he did before the two of you started. You could see his chest rising and falling fast, as though he had just finished running. And he was a little sweatier.

“It’s still going to taste pretty awful,” Rosalee remarked as she carefully poured the potion into a glass. “But it should do the trick and cure him.”

“Should?” You raised your eyebrow as she handed you the glass. “What do you mean should?”

"Well, if it is an obsession spell, then it will get rid of it," she explained confidently.

“And if it isn’t?” You glanced down at the liquid, grimacing as you caught a whiff of it.

"It won’t do anything, and we will be back to the drawing board," Rosalee added with a resigned sigh.

You raised your eyebrows and let out a sigh, turning to Sean. Despite the weariness that clung to him, he was undeniably captivating. His strong jaw and intense eyes drew you in, even more so now with that unguarded look. His gaze held an energy that seemed to spark and flicker, revealing a depth of emotion that was difficult to ignore. In that fleeting moment, even tied to a chair, his presence was utterly magnetic, imbued with a rugged charm that was impossible to resist. Stepping forwards, you watched as he visibly relaxed a little.

“It’s getting worse, isn't it?” You asked.

You watched his Adams apple bob in his throat as he swallowed and nodded at you. “Yeah.”

“Well, let’s hope this works.” You stated stepping forwards and placing your free hand on the back of his head, your other hand holding the glass, moving it to his lips.

He grimaced at the smell, his nose wrinkling in distaste, but sealed his lips to the glass as you began to tilt it. The liquid sloshed as it met his mouth, and he drank quickly in big gulps, determined to get it over with. A brief choke caught him off guard, his throat bobbing uneasily, but he pressed on, swallowing the strange concoction as fast as he could manage. When the glass was finally empty, he exhaled in relief as you pulled it away, releasing your gentle grip from the back of his head. A moment's pause allowed him to catch his breath, the tension in his muscles loosening with each passing second. Hopefully, this would put an end to whatever the hell was happening to him.

He pulled a face and looked up at you, you laughed and he frowned. Carefully, you raised your sleeve and wiped the milkshake like moustache the potion had left on his upper lip. You then joined Rosalee, who had sat down on the edge of the bed a little off to Seans right. Placing the glass on the bedside table, you looked at her.

“How long is it going to take for this thing to work?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and impatience as you looked Sean up and down.

“I don’t know, I say we give it five minutes and then test it. If it’s working, then you should be able to walk out of the room without him writhing in agony.” Rosalee replied, her tone measured and hopeful.

You put your head in your hands and let out a deep, exasperated sigh. It felt like you were running on fumes, the stress of the last day weighing heavily on your shoulders. The whirlwind of emotions and tension had taken its toll, leaving you feeling drained and weary.

“You don’t happen to have any aspirin, do you, my head is killing me,” you said, your voice tinged with pain as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

Rosalee smiled and nodded before getting up and disappearing out of the room. She came back a few minutes later with a glass of water and something that definitely was not aspirin. You looked down at the root looking thing in her hand and then back up at her.

“It will work better than aspirin. You chew it slightly, then swallow.” Rosalee smiled and nodded reassuringly.

You eyed her suspiciously but took the root, chewed it a few times and then swallowed, taking a mouthful of the water to wash away the slight tangy bitterness of the root.

Then you stood and moved towards Sean. He visibly relaxed once more as you got a little closer, your presence easing the pain he was feeling. Gently, you placed your hand on the back of his head and helped him to drink the water. When he finished, he nodded at you in thanks, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort your closeness brought.

“I guess it didn’t work?” You whispered, chewing the inside of your cheek as he shook his head.

“So it’s not an obsession potion.” Stated Rosalee, picking at the dry skin on her bottom lip.

“Not a love potion and not an obsession potion, I really think we are running out of options here.” You stated stepping away from Sean.

He grunted, and the two of you turned towards him.

“And time.” Said Rosalee as you watched the vein in Seans neck poke out as he clenched his jaw and started at the ground. “You stay close to him, there’s no point in putting him through more pain than he needs, we will figure this out.”

She disappeared back into the front of the shop, and the soft, familiar sound of the ladder being wheeled along the shelves reached your ears. Carefully, you stepped closer to Sean. It was becoming clear that being more than a few feet away from him was starting to affect him, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly with each step you took towards him.

“What the hell is this?” You asked out loud, looking at him relax increasingly with every step you took closer to him.

As you stood in front of him, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours. He shrugged, tilting his head back and taking some deep breaths, relieved the pain was somewhat eased up a little.

“If it was getting this bad, you really should have mentioned something.” You continued looking down at him and crossing your arms.

He let out a small laugh, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. His smile was cocky, revealing a flash of his straight, white teeth. The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened with his expression, adding a certain warmth to his face.

“You look like a school teacher scolding me.” He mumbled, adjusting in the seat a little.

You were about to quip something back, but Rosalee burst into the room.

“I have something!” She announced, brushing the items on the table out of the way with her forearm and thumping a heavy book down on the table.

“A cure?” You asked, stepping away from Sean, which drew a pained grunt from his lips.

You shot him an apologetic look and stepped closer to him.

“No, but it should buy us, if we’re lucky, another day to figure out what the hell is wrong with him.” She didn’t look up from the book, just hurriedly started grabbing ingredients.

She had been working in silence for a little more than ten minutes, her focus unwavering as she hurriedly prepared the items she needed to brew the potion. You could hear the soft clink of glass bottles and the rustle of parchment as she gathered her ingredients with practiced ease. Despite your curiosity, when you'd gently inquired about the concoction she was preparing, she had merely shushed you, too absorbed in her work to spare you a glance.

Left to your devices, you began to pace around Sean. The invisible tether binding you to him meant you couldn't move more than three feet away, so you resorted to a slow, rhythmic pacing back and forth behind him. The space felt much like a cage, limiting and unyielding. Each step was careful and measured, a dance you were forced to partake in as you both waited in the small, tense room. The repetitive motion became both a comfort and a reminder of the strange predicament you now found yourselves entwined in.

“Can you please stop that.” Sean, glanced back at you over his shoulder.

Stopping, you turned to look at him.

“No.” You stated and turned and began pacing again.

"Please," he implored softly, his voice carrying a surprising note of vulnerability that caught you off guard.

Turning to look at him, he was still looking at you over his shoulder. He looked more tired than he had when the two of the two of you had arrived. Whatever the potion or spell was, it didn’t look as though he had all that much time left.

“I don’t think I have ever heard you use that word before.” You smirked, shaking your head at how pathetic the word sounded coming out of his mouth.

"Well, extreme circumstances," he shrugged, his tone casual as he tried to downplay the situation with a hint of resignation.

There was something about him, even though he was sweating and looked as though he was uncomfortable, he didn’t seem as uptight as he usually did. There wasn’t the same sense of superiority as he typically had lurking around him. It was as though the carefully crafted shield of charisma and sarcasm was starting to falter.

"I can’t move more than three feet from you, without you writhing around in agony and forgive me, but I don’t really want to stand there and stare at you. I’m tired, and my legs hurt," you said, your voice a mix of exasperation and defeat.

"Then why are you pacing?" he asked, a curious blend of irritation and genuine interest lacing his words.

"It makes them hurt less," you explained with a resigned sigh.

"Come here," he instructed, a gentle yet firm command in his voice.

"I'm already here, like I said, no more than three feet," you replied, a hint of frustration tinging your words.

He glanced over his shoulder once more, his large green eyes unexpectedly gentle. With a subtle tilt of his head, he urged you to shift to a spot where he wouldn’t have to exert himself so much to catch your gaze.

With a deep sigh, you turned to face him. His gaze tracked your movements.

"What do you want, another glass of water?" you asked, your voice laced with a mix of curiosity and gentle teasing, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"Sit on my lap," he said with a surprising nonchalance, the words slipping out as if it were the most natural request in the world.

"What?" you replied, eyebrows raised, the suddenness of his request catching you completely off guard.

"Sit on my lap. Your legs hurt, but you can’t be more than a few feet from me. Sit on my lap, then your feet won't hurt, and I won't be in pain. It’s starting to become insufferable," he explained, his expression sincere, devoid of his usual scowl.

“Well, I can just sit over there.” You replied, gesturing to the bed about five feet away. “It would just hurt you, not me.”

“Please.” This time it sounded more like he was begging than pleading.

“There it is, that word again.” You laughed, folding your arms.

“Hey Rosalee, how long is this going to take?” Sean asked, looking past you and over to your friend.

You glanced over your shoulder at her, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration as she carefully measured a fine, dark powder in a worn metal spoon. The steam from the pot curled upwards, a swirling dance against the warm light of the room. With a steady hand, she poured the powder into the cauldron of bubbling liquid, its surface hissing in protest.

“Uh, if I get this right, it should be ready in about ten minutes.” She didn’t look up from her books as she spoke.

“You want to pace around for another ten minutes?” He inquired, his head tilting ever so slightly to one side.

You shut your eyes, releasing a long, exasperated breath before opening them again to find his green gaze upon you.

“Fine.” You said, shaking your head in disbelief and turning and sitting on his lap.

“I said sit, not perch.” His voice was low and commanding, you could feel his breath on the back of your neck.

You rose and then sank back down, pressing against his solid form. Instantly, the ache in your feet and legs dissipated, relieved now that they no longer bore your weight. Yet, your mind began to betray you; his sturdy presence, anchoring you, sparked a flurry of thoughts. You wondered what it would be like if he weren’t bound to the chair, how it might feel to have him lean into you, enveloping you in his embrace. You envisioned the sweetness of his lips against your neck, a gentle touch that lingered on your skin.

“Who would have through that a little over two months ago, you were trying to kill me.” His voice once again low, this time there was a hint of something else in it, something that you were starting to figure out the meaning of.

"Well, I am a Grimm, but now we only kill the terrible ones. And as far as everyone is concerned, you’re one of the bad ones," you replied, your voice level and calm, despite the tension in the room.

“So, I’m the reason you came all the way over here?” You felt him move slightly under you.

“You already know the answer to that question, Sean. Now, how do you think someone got you to drink the potion?” You asked trying to sit as still as possible, attempting to figure out if this was more or less uncomfortable than standing.

“I don’t know, in my coffee perhaps or one of the snacks I keep in my drawer,” Sean mused, a thoughtful look crossing his face.

“You keep snacks in your drawer?”

"Long hours and I can’t always be bothered to make dinner when I get home," he admitted with a shrug, a hint of tired resignation in his voice.

You raised your eyebrows, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t see the expression on your face.

“It's done,” stated Rosalee, turning around, her eyes falling on the two of you. “Did it get worse?”

You jumped up from his lap and turned to look at him.

“Yeah, a little bit, I can’t move more than three feet from him without him complaining about it.”

“This should help.” she moved forwards and handed you a small vial filled with a green liquid that looked as though she had just bottled up swamp water.

“Is it a cure?” Sean asked, his eyes fixed on the vial in your hand, a grimace tugging at his lips as he considered the murky liquid inside.

“No, but it should buy me some time to figure out what the hell you are infected with and how to cure it.”

“Does that mean you can untie me from the chair?” He looked from you to her, his expression hopeful.

"Yep, it will dampen the negative effects of whatever it is you have," she reassured, her voice steady and confident as she met his gaze.

You shrugged and turned to him, and pressed the vial to his lips as he tilted back his head.

“How long does this one take to work?” you inquired, your brow furrowed with a hint of concern.

“Should just be moments, move in the direction of the door.”

You eyed her a little suspiciously before taking a step away from Sean, he looked you up and down but didn’t writhe around in pain. Cautiously you took another step, again nothing. After a few moments, you had made it all the way into the shop and out of sight.

“You can come back in now, I think we have more than confirmed that it works.” Called Rosalee.

You sighed and moved back around the counter into the back, where Rosalee was leaning against a table and Sean was still tied to the chair.

“So how long is this going to work, I’m looking forwards to spending a little time away from him.” you addressed Rosalee, not looking at Sean while you spoke.

“Well there's the catch, it will give us about a day give or take. But the further you are from each other, the shorter the time will be.”

“So there is no hope of me getting a hotel for the night and spending a little time forgetting about this whole thing?” you asked, your tone edged with frustration and longing for a momentary escape.

"No you need to stay together, this is the sort of potion that only works the once, so if the two of you could give me as much time as you can to figure this out the more likely he will live through this," she explained, her tone urgent yet calm.

“You should stay with me until we have this figured out.” Sean interjected.

You turned to him, the reality of his situation washing over you like a cold wave. For a moment, you had almost forgotten that he was still tied to the chair, a powerful figure reduced to a position of helplessness. Sean met your gaze with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Raising your eyebrows, you felt a mixture of disbelief and reluctant understanding. There was no way you were going to argue your way out of this one; the urgency in Rosalee's voice rang too loudly in your mind. It was as if the room had narrowed down to just the two of you, the air thick with unspoken thoughts.

With a reluctant sigh, you folded your arms, aware that your disagreement would lead nowhere. Instead, you shifted your focus to Sean, taking in the way his brows knitted together with a mix of frustration and vulnerability. There was something poignant about seeing him there, a man typically full of authority now trapped in this bizarre situation. It was eye-opening, and as much as you wanted to dismiss it all, a part of you was curious about what it meant for both of you moving forward.

* He pulled his suit jacket off with a fluid motion, the fabric slipping off his shoulders and landing on the chair next to his chest of drawers with a soft thud. As he moved, there was an effortless grace to his actions, honed from years of command. He sat down on his bed, the mattress shifting slightly beneath him, and began to unbutton his shirt.

With each button he deftly released, the fabric parted to reveal the defined contours of his chest, a blend of strength and vulnerability. He paused for a brief moment, his hands lingering on the last button, as if contemplating the transition from his polished, professional facade to something more raw and exposed. Finally, he let the shirt fall away, the material cascading down until it lay crumpled at his side, leaving him clad only in pants, showcasing his muscular physique.

“What the hell are you doing?” You asked, folding your arms and looking at him with the most disapproving look you could muster, doing everything not to look at his toned chest.

You had thought once or twice about what was beneath the immaculate, expensive suits he strutted around in. Not once had you imagined him to be so muscular and tanned. His physique was striking—a testament to strength and discipline. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a well-defined chest and abs that rippled with each breath he took. Warm, golden skin hinted at time spent under the sun, contrasting sharply with the refined suits he usually wore.

“I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to bed.” He finished with the buttons, pulling his shirt from where it was tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pulling it off, throwing it to the floor.

Then he stood and unbuckled his belt, the sound of the metal clinking breaking the heavy tension in the air. With a single, fluid motion, he pulled it out of the belt loops, demonstrating an undeniably captivating casual confidence. You weren’t entirely sure how to react; you wouldn't ever admit you were a little impressed, maybe even turned on by the sight. The way his muscles flexed as he moved, combined with the confidence radiating from him, felt almost electric.

He tossed the belt aside, and as he did, your gaze unintentionally traced the sleek lines of his physique, the way the fabric of his pants hugged his form just right. There was a raw, primal energy at the moment that drew you in, igniting a flurry of emotions you never expected to feel.

"Damn it, I need to get some air," you muttered under your breath, feeling a little overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation. You moved to leave, but a firm hand grabbed your arm, halting your escape.

The grip wasn't painful, but it was firm enough to communicate a clear message: he wasn't going to let you leave that easily. The warmth of his fingers lingered on your skin, a reminder of his hold on you. It was a strange mixture of emotions that surged through you at that moment, uncertainty, frustration, and perhaps even a hint of something akin to attraction. The entire situation was far more complicated than you could have ever imagined, and as you looked back at his unwavering stare, you knew that things were only just beginning to get interesting.

“You know what Rosalee said, the closer we are, the more time she has to come up with a solution.” His voice was low but not threatening, he was behind you, but you could feel how close he was to you. Smell his aftershave, one step back and you would be pressed against him.

“What, you want me to shower with you?” You retorted, delivering the jab with a thinly veiled layer of annoyance while maintaining a playful edge. Your words were punctuated with the crisp sound of your footsteps echoing as you took a few steps away from him.

Being close to him felt overwhelmingly intense, as if an invisible force was drawing you towards him. It was something beyond logic, almost primal in its allure. It was wrong, he was a Wesen and you were a Grimm. The only emotion you should harbour was disdain, yet your body defied your mind, betraying you in ways you struggled to understand.

He shrugged his shoulders, the muscles of his body flexing. You tried not to look, but the glint In his eye intrigued you.

You let out a deep, exacerbated sigh and moved past him to sit on the bed, lying back and staring at the ceiling. The room was filled with the low hum of city life outside, a contrast to the thick tension inside. A few minutes later, the sound of the shower starting in his ensuite broke the silence, a rhythmic patter that seemed to echo your racing thoughts.

After a little while, you stood up, unable to shake the restlessness that clung to you. You wandered over to the large chest of drawers opposite his bed. It was an ornately carved piece, its craftsmanship a testament to a bygone era. Probably ancient and expensive, the rich wood gleamed under the soft light, a stark contrast to the sleek, modern lines of the condo. Everything around you felt slightly out of place, as though the furniture had memories of a castle's long-forgotten halls.

Slowly, you meandered to the window, pressing your forehead against the cool glass as you gazed out over the dark cityscape. The little lights dotted across the towering buildings surrounded you, the only signs of life in a city cloaked in shadow. It was a panoramic view that stretched out endlessly, reflecting the myriad of emotions swirling within you, a reminder that despite the darkness, life continued on.

As you turned back into the room, a soft rustling caught your eye. On one side of the bed lay silk pyjamas, meticulously folded, their sheen catching the ambient light. They seemed entirely in character for him, luxurious, understated elegance. But at the same time, the thought of him stripping off his suit and climbing into bed in silk pyjamas amused you.

You lingered a moment, absorbing the air of intimacy they suggested, before the sound of water ceasing pulled your attention. A sudden quiet took the room, amplifying the creak of the bathroom door as it opened.

“You sleep in silk pyjamas?” You asked, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you gestured towards the neatly folded ensemble on the bed.

You looked up at him, and the smile on your lips faltered slightly. He moved toward you with a measured calm, a towel slung low at his hips. His physique was striking, a testament to both discipline and natural grace. His abs were perfectly defined, each muscle sculpted with precision, leading down to the unmistakable V line that vanished beneath the fabric.

His skin, still glistening with droplets from the shower, seemed to glow under the soft light, highlighting the golden hue of his complexion. The sight of him walking so confidently, the play of muscles beneath his skin, was undeniably captivating, an electric mix of elegance and raw power that left an unexpected flutter in your chest.

He shrugged. “What would you prefer I sleep in?” he asked, a cocky nonchalance lacing his words.

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks as you realised you had been caught staring. Embarrassment flooded over you, making it suddenly difficult to meet his gaze. Your eyes darted around the room, settling on anything but him, while a flurry of confusing feelings stirred within you.

“Just put some clothes on, I’ll be just outside the door,” you managed to say, keeping your voice as steady as possible. You walked past him, feeling his eyes on you, and sensed the warmth of his gaze following you as you stepped out of the room.

You closed the door and leaned against the wall, pressing your back to it and letting out a deep, long breath. This wasn’t like you, never had a man so completely disarmed you without even trying. Your thoughts were a jumble, a mix of surprise and undeniable attraction. Rubbing your eyes, you heard the door open. Turning, you saw Sean standing next to you, having decided to put on only the pyjama bottoms. His chest was bare, revealing the same captivating allure that left you flustered moments ago.

“I thought you said you were going to sleep?” You sighed.

“I figured that you might want to shower too. I laid some clothes out on the bed for you, and there’s a clean towel in the bathroom,” he said, his voice easygoing yet considerate. He moved to the wall across the corridor, leaning his back against it as he folded his arms. “I’ll wait here, you know, keeping a short distance between us and all.” His casual posture matched the familiar warmth in his tone, making the situation feel surprisingly normal amidst the chaos that had made up the majority of your evening.

You nodded, walked back into his room and closed the door. This was turning out to be quite different from what you had imagined.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

The Man in the Mask | Kylo Ren | Star Wars

Warnings/ Tags: Roughness, use of the force, harsh a words

Summary: Kylo Ren takes you as part of a bargain to leave your planet alone. he wants you to provide him with some information, but gets a lot more than he bargained for...

Word Count: 6,334

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

You watched as the sleek, metallic ships pierced through the sky, leaving trails of fire as they entered your planet's atmosphere. The air seemed to crackle with tension, each ship casting an ominous shadow over the vast gardens. Drawing a deep breath to steady yourself, you turned away from the spectacle and walked back inside the castle.

The grand hall was alive with chaos. Your staff bustled around frantically, their faces painted with anxiety. The rich tapestries lining the walls seemed to blur as your eyes scanned the crowd for your father. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colourful patterns on the polished marble floors, chaotic reflections of the turmoil within.

Spotting your father by the throne a towering, ornate seat that had witnessed centuries of history, you pressed forward, weaving through clusters of advisors and guards. The air smelled of polish and fresh flowers, a stark contrast to the palpable fear. Your heart thumped in your chest as you sidestepped a flustered steward, determined to reach the familiar figure that represented both authority and comfort in this uncertain moment.

Your maid stopped you in the hall, a squat, round old woman who had terrified you as a child, but you had grown to like her as she had been there for you when you lost your mother. She had a kind, weathered face that was currently etched with concern. Her grey curls bounced as she walked, and she wore a simple, yet neatly pressed maid's uniform. In her hands, she clutched a cloth which she wrung nervously.

"Oh gosh Y/n, I told you to put on a dress!" she said, putting her hands on her hips and looking at your appearance. Her eyes, though filled with worry, held a hint of affection for you.

Your outfit was a blend of masculine and feminine elements, designed to reflect your station as a princess while also showcasing a hint of practicality. The dark brown tight trousers were made of a durable, yet supple material, providing both comfort and agility.

Complementing these trousers were a pair of knee-high riding boots, their leather construction ensuring both style and functionality. The boots boasted a modest heel, allowing you to maintain a regal posture while still being able to move with ease.

The only thing that gave you a hint of femininity amidst this ensemble was the embroidery on your white fitted cotton shirt. This garment was tailored to fit snugly against your form, accentuating your curves while still allowing for freedom of movement. Intricate patterns adorned the shirt, their delicate stitching adding an elegant touch to your overall attire.

"Well, it will just have to do!" she exclaimed, twirling you around and deftly undoing the braid in your long hair. As soon as she finished, she spun you back to face her, gently fluffing your wavy locks around your face. With a sigh, she said, "Quick, hurry! We don't have much time. You need to get to the throne room."

She scurried away after she again looked at you and shook her head. You sighed and rolled your eyes before continuing your way to the throne room. As you walked away, you couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. The weight of the situation pressing down upon you, yet the familiar chaos of the castle offered a semblance of comfort. The scent of polish and fresh flowers greeted you as you journeyed through the halls, each step echoing against the marble floors.

You pushed open the grand doors and stepped into the throne room. Your father was already seated on his ornate throne, the regal seat seeming to dwarf his weary form. His brow was furrowed with worry, and his normally steady gaze was clouded with unease. The light streaming through the tall, arched windows cast long shadows across the stone floor, highlighting the tension that filled the room.

Even from across the hall, you could see the tired lines etched into his face, and the way his shoulders sagged slightly under the weight of his crown. Despite his commanding presence, a sense of vulnerability emanated from him, revealing the strain of the situation at hand.

"They're early then," you said, walking up to the steps with a sense of urgency in your stride. The tension in the air was palpable as you approached him.

"Yep, they sure are," he replied, looking up at you with a mixture of resignation and hope in his eyes. "I hoped we might have more time to prepare."

"Time seems to be something we never have enough of these days," you responded, glancing briefly at the windows where the sky was beginning to darken with incoming ships. "Do you have any idea what they might want this time?"

He sighed, the sound heavy and laden with years of experience. "With the First Order, it's hard to say. Every demand feels like a test of our resolve."

You nodded, sharing the weight of his concerns. "Well, whatever it is, we'll face it together. We always do."

There was a brief moment of silence as both of you considered the challenges ahead, the enormity of the situation binding you in an unspoken alliance.

Your father was a strong man, respected and revered by his people; under his reign, your planet had weathered many storms and survived countless ordeals. Yet, as you looked at him now, you saw a side of him that was unfamiliar, so tired and full of despair. It was as if the weight of the universe had settled on his shoulders.

You noticed the slight tremble in his hands, the way his eyes occasionally darted to the side, as though checking for something unseen. It made you wonder if there was something more, something he wasn't telling you—a secret that cast a shadow over his every decision.

Despite the facade of strength he put on for you and the court, there were cracks forming beneath the veneer. His smile, when it appeared, never quite reached his eyes, and his laughter was thin and hollow amid the tension filling the air.

What burden was he shouldering alone, you wondered, and how long could he continue to keep it hidden before it consumed him whole?

"What is it, Father, what aren't you telling me?" You asked, your tone concerned but laced with underlying fear.

"The First Order," he began, his voice heavy with the weight of his words, "they've threatened to burn our planet if we don't show our allegiance to them." He sat back up in his chair, his eyes shifting from you to the flurry of people in the room that was slowly shrinking.

"Wait, they don't know about our dealings with the Resistance, do they?" you pressed, your heart hammering in your chest.

"I don't think so," he replied, though uncertainty tinged his voice. "But Kylo Ren himself is coming here to greet us, so your guess is as good as mine."

"Then we'll just have to pledge our allegiance to them," you stated, your voice firm despite the fear gnawing at you. "I know they're the bad guys, but we have to do everything possible to keep our people alive. They are our responsibility."

He looked at you, a mixture of pride and sorrow in his eyes. "I raised you well," he whispered, a small smile briefly gracing his lips before it disappeared again.

"But what if there's another way?" you asked, desperation creeping into your voice. "What if we can find a way to buy more time, to keep them at bay until we figure something out?"

"And risk everything?" he countered, the gravity of his gaze piercing through you. "We are treading on a dangerous line, and every decision feels like a gamble."

"Perhaps you can appeal to his humanity, if there's any left," you suggested, hope glimmering faintly.

He sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I'll try, but with someone like Kylo Ren, it's unpredictable. We must prepare for whatever may come."

The reality of the situation settled over you both as you steeled yourselves for what lay ahead.

You wanted desperately to say something to comfort him, to bring the happy man buried within him back to the surface. Memories flickered through your mind—his warm laughter at family dinners, the playful twinkle in his eyes when recounting tales of old adventures, the unwavering confidence that once radiated from him like the sun.

But now, as you looked at the weary figure before you, words seemed insufficient. How could mere syllables mend the fractures wrought by fear and uncertainty? You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently in silent solidarity. The familiar roughness of his palm was a reminder of the strength he once carried without effort.

His eyes met yours, a flicker of gratitude amidst the storm. It was a silent exchange, a promise that whatever lay ahead, you would face it together. Even if the words were absent, the bond you shared spoke volumes.

At that moment, you resolved to find a way to reclaim that laughter, to rekindle the joy that once defined him—even if it meant walking through fire side by side.

A voice suddenly called out, "Your Majesty." You turned towards the speaker and recognised him as one of your father's advisors. His gaze remained fixed on the floor as he continued, "They've arrived, shall I bring them in?"

 Your father nodded with authority, snapping his fingers and responding with a resounding, "Yes."

The man nodded and walked towards the exit, his footsteps echoing softly in the vast chamber. You turned and made your way to the smaller throne beside your father's, the fabric of your attire rustling as you moved. Settling into the seat, you felt its cool surface beneath you, a stark reminder of the authority it symbolised despite its reduced stature.

Your eyes remained fixed on the grand doors at the end of the great hall. The anticipation in the room was almost tangible, a silent hush falling over the assembled advisors and guards. Sunlight filtered through the high arched windows, casting a dappled mosaic of light and shadow across the polished floor.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest. Thoughts raced through your mind, but you pushed them aside, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of your heart. You knew that whatever happened next, you would face it with the courage that defined your lineage.

Turning briefly, you exchanged a glance with your father, his expression a mix of determination and unspoken fears. The weight of their shared responsibility settled upon you both, yet you felt an unwavering resolve take root within you.

"So, what do they want, surely it's more than just a pledge?" you whispered, casting a quick glance at your father before refocusing your attention on the door.

"I don't know; they haven't said," your father replied, his voice carrying a hint of unease. He stood abruptly, just as two attendants hurried into the room. Their movements were swift, almost frantic, as they draped the rich, regal cloak around his shoulders and carefully settled the ornate crown upon his head.

With each piece of regalia added, your father seemed to transform, drawing strength from the symbols of his authority. He sat back down with a deliberate motion, his posture now fierce and imposing, a stark contrast to the vulnerable slouch he had moments before.

"So they could just be here to announce they're going to blow us up," you sighed, exasperation lacing your voice.

"Well, let's try to stay positive," he replied, attempting to sound reassuring. "Perhaps they're only interested in acquiring our ships or our grain supplies."

"Yeah, let's hope so," you responded, a hint of doubt lingering in your tone as you shook your head.

"And try not to think about the Resistance," he urged, his voice a tense, hushed whisper. "Rumour has it, he can probe people's minds. Focus on anything else. The chipped tile over there, the frayed carpet, anything but them. It's the only way to keep them safe."

"But do you know how impossible it is to not think about something?!" you shot back, your eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and stress ratcheting through your veins.

Your father was about to reply when the door creaked open, its ancient hinges groaning in protest. A chilling hush fell over the room as a black masked figure stepped inside, flanked by a group of four storm troopers. The troopers' boots clacked menacingly against the polished marble floor as they marched forwards into the throne room, their expressions concealed behind their stark white helmets.

The small group advanced in unison, their movements marked by an eerie, almost robotic precision. They moved along the blood-red carpet that stretched across the middle of the room, the ominous crimson colour serving as a stark contrast to the cool, pale stone walls.

As they marched deeper into the room, a ginger-haired man followed closely behind them, his angry expression mirroring the tense atmosphere that had settled over the throne room. His footsteps echoed faintly against the marble floor, the sound a subtle reminder of the growing sense of dread that hung heavy in the air.

The man's ginger hair stood out in stark contrast to the black-clad figures surrounding him, and his bright, fiery locks seemed to almost clash with the somber, shadowy surroundings. His eyes burned with a furious intensity, his anger palpable even from across the vast expanse of the throne room.

The group stopped just a foot from the first of three steps that lead up to where you and your father were sitting. There was silence for a moment as the masked figure seemed to stare at your father.

"King James," came the chilling, robotic voice, sending a shiver down your spine. The figure appeared to take notice, as the mask turned toward you, then back to your father. The expression of disgust that had been lurking on the edges of your face now fully took hold. You despised this man.

"Supreme leader," your father said, bowing his head in a gesture of respect before looking back up at the figure.

Your eyes flickered nervously between the two figures—the cold, expressionless mask of Kylo Ren and the worn, determined face of your father. The mask was an unsettling void, giving away nothing, hiding the emotions and intentions of the man beneath. In contrast, your father's features were etched with a mixture of defiance and resignation, the lines of stress and worry more pronounced than ever. His eyes held the weight of the kingdom, every glance filled with unspoken fears and the heavy burden of impending decisions.

"We're here so you can pledge your allegiance to the First Order," announced the high-pitched voice of the unmasked man at the back of the group. The stormtroopers shifted aside, allowing him to step forward and position himself next to the masked figure.

"Yes, I'm aware," your father replied, rising from his seat. With deliberate, slow steps, he descended to stand before the two men. Lowering himself onto one knee, he bowed his head once more. "I pledge allegiance to the First Order," he declared, his voice carrying an unmistakable dryness.

Your father was a master of his emotions—an essential skill for a king. Yet, even he could barely contain the disgust that threatened to spill over as the pledge left his lips. His voice might have been steady, but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the turmoil within.

Rising to his full height, he met the gaze of the two men before him. His eyes, usually so unwavering, now held a storm of resentment and resistance. The ginger-haired man beside Kylo Ren allowed a small, satisfied smile to creep across his face, his eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. It was as if the very tension in the room fuelled his sense of triumph, heightening the oppressive atmosphere that surrounded the throne.

"Well we accept your allegiance-" he began, but his words were suddenly cut off by the booming voice of the masked figure.

"No!" the masked man said, his voice calm but with an unmistakable sharpness that cut through the air like a knife's edge.

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting from your father to the two men, an overwhelming sense of panic clawing at your insides as uncertainty hung heavy in the air. Your heart raced, the silence in the room amplifying your fear of what was to come.

"Name your price," your father spoke, regaining his composure, though you could sense the underlying tension in his voice. He was making a valiant effort to appear unfazed by the sudden outburst. You frowned, puzzled for a moment, before the realisation dawned on you—he was trying to negotiate.

You watched in anticipation, your heart pounding, as the masked man remained eerily silent, his features unreadable behind the dark visor. The room held its collective breath, the weight of unspoken possibilities hanging heavily in the air.

"We have an army, an abundance of ships, and a great harvest," your father continued, listing the formidable resources of your planet with an air of practiced diplomacy. His voice was steady, determined to project strength.

He paused briefly, searching for the right words to sway the masked figure standing before him, his mind racing to offer every possible advantage your kingdom held. But as he hesitated, the uncertainty of what the masked man truly wanted loomed larger, a shadow casting itself over hopes of peaceful resolution.

"Her" spoke the man, pointing over at you. The ginger man frowned confused, clearly taken aback by this unexpected turn. He looked at the masked figure, then back at you, puzzlement etched across his face.

Even your father seemed momentarily stunned, his eyebrows knitting together in a clear display of confusion. He looked at the man, then over at you, his eyes scanning your face for a moment before he shook his head slightly, as if trying to dislodge this unexpected piece of information.

You swallowed, feeling your heart rate quicken as the reality of the situation began to sink in. You looked back at the masked man, your gaze meeting the empty, unreadable eyes of the mask.

"What?" your father said out loud, clearly annoyed and confused. The anger and frustration in his voice was palpable, reflecting the gravity of the situation that had taken such a sudden, unexpected turn.

“You heard him," said the ginger man, composing himself and standing up straighter, his earlier confusion rapidly replaced by a grim resolve. His voice carried a cold finality as he reiterated, "Her or your planet burns."

You turned to your father, eyes wide with shock and a burgeoning fear that threatened to overwhelm you. The room seemed to close in, the dire ultimatum echoing off the high stone walls.

"No," your father responded, every word laced with venom as he struggled to rein in his simmering anger. His voice, low and dangerous, reverberated with the restrained fury of a man on the brink.

"Very well," spoke the masked figure, his voice calm and detached, as if the fate of millions hinged on nothing more than routine. With a deliberate turn, he began to walk away, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow of impending doom.

"Hux, send a message to the star base," he commanded without pause, the authority in his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Tell them to charge the weapon."

The ginger man muttered a curt "yes, sir," his voice barely audible yet loaded with obedience. As he moved to carry out the order, your mind raced, the weight of the situation crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Details blurred into a chaotic swirl—a montage of fleeting images: the looming star base, the weapon's ominous glow, the potential annihilation of everything you held dear.

You could feel your heartbeat quicken, each thud echoing louder in your ears as you came to the sudden realisation of what was going to happen. The gravity of the threat hung heavily in the air, a silent testament to the powerlessness that threatened to consume you. Your eyes darted around the room, desperately seeking a way out, a solution, anything to stop the impending disaster.

Time seemed to stretch, each second expanding into an eternity as you grappled with the terrifying reality. The fate of your planet, your people, and everyone you loved rested on a knife's edge, teetering precariously towards destruction.

"Wait!" you yelled, your voice cutting through the tension as you swiftly rose from your seat. You walked quickly to stand next to your father, feeling the weight of every eye in the room upon you. "We agree to your terms!"

The masked man stopped abruptly, as though time itself had halted. He turned sharply to face you, the hollow gaze of his mask fixed on you, unreadable and unnerving.

"What are you doing?" your father whispered urgently, his voice a mixture of disbelief and fear. The two of you stared at the masked figure, the room around you silent, the air thick with anticipation.

"My life for the life of everyone on this planet, that's an easy decision to make," you whispered back, your voice unwavering despite the turmoil inside. You clenched your jaw, steeling yourself against the wave of emotions threatening to break your resolve.

Your father's eyes bore into yours, a mix of pride, anger, and profound sorrow swirling within them. Though he feared for your safety, he understood the courage it took to make such a sacrifice. A flicker of anguish passed over his face as he struggled with the decision before him.

"I can't let you do that!" he said, turning towards you with a desperation that mirrored the fear and concern in his eyes. His voice was strained, laden with the weight of impending grief. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him; it was too painful. The bond between a parent and child made more fragile by the terrible choice you faced.

You could feel his eyes on you, a tangible presence that tugged at your heart. His gaze was a plea, a silent protest following every step you took as you walked steadily towards the supreme leader, a figure shrouded in menace and power.

As you drew within two feet of him, the air seemed to thicken, charged with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Two stormtroopers moved with precise coordination, falling into step beside you, their armour clinking softly in the silence. They were a physical barrier, both protection and cage, guiding you past the masked figure whose dark presence loomed over everything like a storm cloud.

You sensed the supremacy of the leader without needing to see him—it was in the way the room shifted focus, how the very atmosphere seemed to bend around his will. Yet, your resolve was unshaken, even as the enormity of the situation bore down on you, solidifying the path you had chosen.

***** 

You stood at the base of the ramp leading up to Kylo's imposing ship, feeling the cool metal beneath your feet. The stormtroopers flanked you, their blasters pointed subtly, yet firmly, ordering you to stop. At the top of the ramp, you caught sight of Kylo Ren and a man you now identified as Hux locked in a heated exchange. Hux's face was a vivid palette of emotion—shifting from frustration to something close to fury, his skin flushed a deep crimson.

As you watched, Kylo leaned in, his voice low and potent, saying something that seemed to cut through the tension like a blade. Hux's expression shifted dramatically, morphing from anger to a mix of understanding and surprise. With a sharp nod, he gestured for the stormtroopers to bring you up the ramp.

One of the soldiers prodded you gently but insistently with the hilt of their blaster, urging you forward. You hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping onto the ramp. Each step felt deliberate, as if you were crossing an invisible boundary into something unknown.

Your gaze fell upon the masked figure awaiting your arrival. You swallowed hard, instinctively averting your eyes from the penetrating void of the mask. The closer you got, the more the air itself seemed to hum with Kylo's aura, it was a palpable force, an electric tension that sent shivers down your spine.

As you reached the top, your eyes lowered, coming to rest at his feet, clad in imposing black boots. "I know what you are," he intoned, his voice smooth yet filled with an unyielding authority. With a subtle wave of his hand, an invisible force gripped you, halting you mid-step. Your body betrayed you, unable to move. He regarded you, from head to toe, his dark eyes obscured yet so watchful beneath the mask.

As if satisfied with his appraisal, Kylo snapped his fingers. Instantly, everything veiled into blackness, your world plunging into a silent void.

As the world faded away, your body went limp, collapsing without any awareness of the fall. But before you could hit the cold metal floor, a pair of strong arms swiftly enveloped you. Kylo Ren caught you with surprising gentleness, holding you securely against his chest.

He scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you in his arms as if you weighed nothing, the dark fabric of his cloak brushing against your skin. You were draped like a bride, unconscious and oblivious to your surroundings.

Without hesitation, he turned, his footsteps echoing with a sense of purpose as he carried you up the ship's ramp. The interior loomed ahead, a cavernous entrance leading into the heart of the vessel. The stormtroopers stepped aside, allowing him to pass, their blasters lowered in deference.

Inside the ship, the atmosphere changed, becoming cooler and dimly lit, cast in shades of charcoal and steel. The mechanical hum of the vessel was a constant, rhythmic presence as Kylo moved with determined strides, his grip steady and unyielding.

As he carried you deeper into the ship, the door behind you sealed shut with an ominous hiss, isolating you within the stark and foreign environment. Your unconscious form lay still, cradled in the arms of a man you didn’t know.

*****

  You opened your eyes, blinking rapidly, as if attempting to clear a foggy veil. Your head was fuzzy, and you felt a little sick. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, and tried to get your stomach to stop churning. It felt like you had been hit with a ton of bricks.

As the fog slowly drifted out of your head, you took in your surroundings. You were lying in a bed, one that was unfamiliar to you. The mattress was plush, offering a comforting respite from the turmoil you had just experienced.

The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination being a cluster of crimson-hued lamps that bathed the space in a warm, yet eerie glow. The bed you were in was draped in black sheets, a stark contrast to the deep red walls that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

A deep voice echoed from somewhere off to your left. It was a voice that was both strange and yet somehow familiar, like a distant memory that was just unreachable.

"You're with the Resistance," came a deep, menacing voice from somewhere off to your left. The words struck like a bolt, startling you into full alertness. Your eyes darted through the shadows, seeking the owner of the voice with growing trepidation.

You heard the subtle shuffle of fabric, a sinister sound akin to curtains catching the wind. A figure emerged, stepping into the crimson-tinged light with an air of imposing authority. His presence was suffocating, a tangible weight pressing down on the room.

For a moment, confusion gripped you, but then you discerned the familiar attire, a dark ensemble marked by flowing robes and a commanding cape. "Kylo Ren," you whispered, barely able to mask the awe and fear in your voice.

His eyes were captivatingly dark, possessing a depth that seemed to draw you in with an unspoken promise of mystery and danger. His features were sharply angular, giving his face a striking structure that exuded an undeniably magnetic presence. Despite the intensity of his gaze, there was something undeniably appealing about the way he looked, a rugged handsomeness that was both disarming and commanding.

Framing his face was a mane of black wavy hair, cascading with perfect imperfection, adding a wild yet controlled allure to his appearance. Each strand seemed to catch the dim crimson light, creating an almost halo-like effect that contrasted with the shadowy aura he projected.

"Where are they?" he inquired, his voice a mesmerising blend of deep resonance and melodious charm, captivating you and compelling you to hang onto every syllable. "I know you were helping them, where are they?" he continued, this time his voice slightly angrier than the last.

"I don't know," you replied in a calm, almost monotone voice, maintaining steady eye contact with him.

He clenched his jaw, and you could almost see him shake with anger as his lips curled into a snarl.

"WHERE ARE THEY!" he bellowed in a sudden outburst of fury, the veins in his forehead and neck standing out prominently as he flew forward in a flurry of wrath. As he approached, the sleeves of his fitted black uniform shifted ever so slightly, revealing a tantalising glimpse of the well-defined muscles beneath.

Gracefully and with unexpected elegance, he wrapped a gloved hand around your throat, pinning you to the wall in a swift, precise motion. The black uniform fabric glided smoothly against your skin, heightening the sense of danger and intensity of the moment.

He brought his face close to yours, his eyes locking with yours in a gaze that seemed to peer straight into your soul. Despite the danger, you couldn't help but notice the captivating intensity they held, a mix of power and allure that was impossible to ignore. Your hands instinctively went to his wrist, feeling the strength beneath the leather, as he kept his grasp on your throat—firm enough to keep you pinned to the wall, yet loose enough for you to draw breath with minimal difficulty.

Although you knew you should be scared, terrified even, at the thought of how easily this man could end your life, a part of you was drawn to him, intrigued by the magnetism that radiated from him like an irresistible force.

Suddenly, your father's words echoed through your mind, a warning that sliced through the haze of emotions: "He can probe people's minds."

You realised what he was about to do so you tried to think of anything but the Resistance, your mind hummed, possibilities flying through it before you focused on the man in front of you. The attraction was undeniable, and despite the dangerous circumstances, you found yourself captivated by him.

The soft soapy scent of him washed over you, and you breathed it in slowly, savouring the intoxicating blend of cleanliness and allure. Your eyes were drawn to his lips, their red, plump fullness igniting a curiosity that burned hot within you.

The image of running your finger down his jawline danced through your mind, a tantalising promise of what might be if circumstances were different. Your fingers itched to imagine the sensation of his hair tangled through them, a mix of anticipation and desire.

In that moment, you decided to think about him, allowing the allure of the forbidden to consume you, even amidst the chaos that surrounded you. His head twitched, and his face was overcome with confusion, but the pull you felt towards him was undeniable.

He dropped his hand, and as you crumpled to the floor, drawing in a breath and putting your hand to your throat, rubbing it gently, the reality of the situation seemed to fade away, replaced instead by the intensity of your feelings towards him.

Your gaze locked with his, and for a brief moment, you clenched your jaw, acknowledging the danger that was so inextricably tied to your attraction.

You stood up and came face to face with him, he took a step forwards, and you took a step backwards, your back touching the familiar cool metal wall. Your heart hammered as his eyes scanned your face, you frowned and stared at him too. This took him by surprise once again.

"I'm not scared of you" you whispered, you watched his chest rise and fall as he frowned again and bit his lip.

His eyes, intense and probing, scanned every detail of your face, creating a spark of awareness between you. You frowned, meeting his gaze head-on with a mixture of defiance and curiosity, refusing to be the one who looked away first.

The boldness of your response seemed to take him by surprise once again, his expression momentarily softening as he weighed the unexpected allure of your resolve.

You thought about your hands slowly unbuttoning his tight black uniform, the smooth, cool sensation of the fabric slipping through your fingers evoking a sense of anticipation. As the uniform fell to the floor, you took a moment to admire the expanse of his exposed chest. Running your fingertips lightly across his skin, you felt a shiver of response quiver through him, a barely perceptible reaction.

You continued exploring him in your mind letting your imagination run wild. Drawing him close, so your lips were almost touching as your hands fell to the waistband of his trousers, your fingers began to dance across the fabric teasingly. The subtle pressure of your touch against the contours of his body was both a promise and a challenge, an invitation to explore the depths of desire that simmered just beneath the surface.

As your fingers grazed against the fabric, you could see the effect it had on him, the way his breath caught in his throat, the slightest tremor that ran through his muscles. It was a dance of seduction, a delicate interplay between attraction and control, as you continued to weave this spellbinding web of allure and temptation. It was working, you could hear how ragged his breathing had become. The way that he looked at you.

He turned back around and stormed over to you, pushing you forcibly against the wall, holding your hands either side of your head, his face just an inch from yours.

"What the hell are you?" he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. The veins in his neck and forehead stood out prominently, a testament to the intensity of his anger. His eyes flashed with a fiery rage, burning with an unspoken challenge as he loomed over you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, a relentless rhythm that threatened to betray the fear that coursed through your veins. Despite this, you did your best to maintain your composure, your expression calm and collected. A part of you knew that showing fear would only serve to feed into his ego, a realisation that fuelled your determination to remain defiant in the face of his anger.

Silently, you resolved that if this was to be your last stand, then you would make sure to spend your final moments doing everything in your power to piss him off, rather than cowering in submission.

"Horny?" you asked before placing a small kiss on his lips.

His expression softened momentarily, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as he stepped back, releasing your hands. Despite his anger, curiosity sparked in his eyes, puzzled at how you managed to show him only what you wanted. The conflicting emotions of frustration and intrigue warred within him.

Why did you let him see just that? His frustration grew at not being able to extract the information he so desperately sought. But another part of him was unsettled, disturbed by how these glimpses into your mind made him feel vulnerable and left him craving more.

Seizing the moment, you boldly took a step toward him, watching as he instinctively retreated. The sudden reversal of power invigorated you, infusing you with a newfound sense of control and confidence.

"You're Force sensitive," he whispered, his voice low and tinged with an awe that sent a shiver down your spine. For a brief moment, it felt as if time stood still as his realisation sunk in. 

"Only slightly, but enough," you replied cautiously, a hint of unease creeping into your tone as he stepped closer, encroaching on your personal space. His gaze bore into you, a mix of admiration and intrigue swirling in his intense eyes. "So?" you whispered, your heart racing at his sudden shift in demeanour, unsure of what this revelation would mean for you.

"So that makes you far more interesting and valuable than I first thought," he murmured, his voice smooth yet charged with intensity. His proximity was electric, with barely an inch separating your bodies as he leaned in closer. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, amplifying the tension in the air.

His expression was one of fascination, a spark of something deeper lingering beneath the surface. "Very intriguing indeed..." he continued, almost as if he were savouring the implications of what this knowledge meant, his curiosity igniting a new kind of hunger within him.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

NSFW Headcanons | Deputy Hank | The Silo

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI

No one asked for this but I just love this character so much I just needed it. The first one of these I have written in a long time so sorry if its bad. x

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He is super cuddly, thoroughly enjoys being close to you afterwards. If the session is a little rougher, he always makes sure you're okay. Every so often he will even get up to cook something for the pair of you to refuel before round two, or just because he enjoys taking care of you. He truly loves being close to you in the aftermath, having you fall asleep in his arms is basically his happy place.

B = Body part (Which part of his body he likes the most of his and which of yours he loves the most)

Hanks favourite body parts of himself are his shoulders and arms (yes, I know that’s two.) Men in the Down Deep pride themselves on their physicality, and being the Deputy of Grease Town means he has to be able to often times over power anyone who gets a little rowdy or breaks the law. This wasn’t something you had particularly thought about before, His uniform does as good job at hiding just how well built his is, so it was a surprise, a welcome one when the two of you were first intimate.

His favourite part of your body is your thighs. He likes touching them holding them. He likes placing his hand under the table and squeezing them at dinner. He likes it when you wrap your legs around him when he carries you to the bedroom. He loves the way they get big when you straddle him. But his favourite is when they are either side of his head as he eats you out. But honestly, there isn’t a part of your body he doesn’t like, his hands are all over you the second you accept his advances, it’s almost like he can’t touch enough of you at once. He just really enjoys touching your body and feeling you close to him.

C = Cum (Where he likes to cum)

He likes to cum on you if the situation allows it, but he loves to cum inside you. Something about the way it seems to connect you on a level that is beyond just purely physical. Every woman in the silo has a birth control implant so there isn’t any risk of the two of you conceiving a child any time soon. However, he secretly hopes one day the two of you might get a chance to bring one into the world. God knows he will thoroughly enjoy the act of trying to conceive.

D = Dirty Secret

He is a really good artist and hidden under his bed are some drawings he has done of you from memory. Just intimate moments the two of you have shared, he likes getting them out on nights the two of you can’t be together, pleasuring himself to the memories the drawings prompt. He really enjoys drawing your body but doesnt know how you would feel about him having these images so keeps them secret from you.

E = Experience

He has had a few girlfriends, people in Grease Town don’t care all that much about getting relationships sanctioned so everyone usually keeps their relationships to themselves and even though he’s a Sheriff's Deputy, Hank is no different. However, he jumped at the chance to get the relationship between the two of you sanctioned. He really just liked the idea of every man around in the Down Deep knowing that you were his. He knows exactly how to show you how much you are his, there is never a time you are left bored or wanting more when you are intimate with him.

F = Favourite Position

There are a lot of positions he loves. He really likes it when you ride him, he likes watching your breast bounce as you bonce on him and it means he can touch all of you. He also understands that it is tiring so as soon as he feels you start to slow he wraps his arms around you holding you still and fucks up into you. He knows it is one of the best positions for a woman as you control how deep he is inside of you and you can grind on his dick to get maximum sensation. Then there is also doggy, he doesn't like it as much as it doesn’t feel as intimate but he appreciates how quick and easy it can be when the two of you don’t have a whole lot of time. Hank also quite likes missionary, even though it is considered pretty vanilla. He enjoys that he can kiss you as he fucks you and that he can hold your legs and fuck you as fast and slow as he likes.

G = Goofy, or not during sex?

Sex with Hank wouldn’t be as fun if you didn’t laugh at least once during it. He always keeps the mood light without destroying the intimacy or the connection the two of you have. He is a strong believer that sex should be fun for both parties. There are moments when he can get a little serious, especially when the passion takes over but there is never a moment where you don’t feel safe when he’s fucking you. Even though he is so physically huge and could defiantly overpower you if he wanted, you know that he would never do anything that would make you feel unsafe or scared during sex. He gets off knowing that you’re having fun and enjoying what he’s doing to you.

H = Hair

Everyone knows Hank takes pride in his hair, both the hair on his head and his carefully groomed facial hair. Overall, he is a pretty hairy man but not the point where its excessive. He has chest hair and a little happy trail that disappears under the waistband of his trousers. He had told you one that he saved below the belt line completely clean, but in his words, it made his dick look naked and afraid. Something, now he just trims it short.

He doesn’t care about you having body hair, he does comment on how smooth your legs are after shaving when you have the time to do it. He, however, says that he doesn’t give a damn how much body hair you have because there is nothing that could make you look any less feminine and fucking beautiful in his eyes.

I = Intimacy

He is romantic during sex, and he likes talking you through it especially giving you little pet names as he fucks you. Occasionally they are cute and make you laugh other times they are a little more degrading but never hurtful. Hank enjoys when sex is fun and compassionate. He likes telling you how good things feel in the moment and how good you are at certain things. He is definitely someone who enjoys communicating during intimacy.

J = Jack Off

He can’t remember ever jacking off as much as he doesn’t now before he met you. He might reason that it’s because shit has totally hit the fan in the silo and he doesn’t have as much spare time to come and see you as he would have had previously. But there is also a part of him that knows that there is something about you that sparks something inside him. Sometimes he is sitting at his desk and his mind will just wander to you and that’s all it takes for him to get hard. He would never openly admit to you the amount of times he’s jacked off behind his desk thinking about all the things you and him had been doing the night before. He also likes to do it in the shower, it’s private and the clean up is a little easier. He is also turned on by the idea of shower sex but he is not quite sure how to approach that subject with you yet.

K = Kink

He enjoys spanking you, not to the point where you are actually getting hurt but he likes to see the ripples in your ass cheeks after the impact. Never enough to actually hurt you but he does like to see a slight red handprint on your ass. He sometimes does it during sex but then he doesn't really enjoy doggy style so instead he usually spanks you when you walk past him. Extra points when you are getting dressed and you walk past him, your bare ass on show.

L = Location

He loves it when the two of you fuck at his place. There is just something that he likes about taking you on every piece of furniture in his home. He especially enjoys waking up to you lying next to him in the morning. He likes playing house and hopes that one day you will agree to move into his place so he can spend more time with you.

He secretly, however, also likes it when the two of you fuck in his office. The fear that someone might walk in and catch the two of you at any moment turning him on like no other. The idea of one of the men walking in and seeing him balls deep in you as you moan his name. The way that the news would spread so every man in the down deep knew you were his and his alone. He is however, cautious that you wouldn’t enjoy that so ensures to lock the door to give you and him a little time to compose yourselves if anyone does come knocking.

M = Motivation, what turns him on?

He is mostly always ready and doesn’t really say no to you all that much. He does however enjoy it when you tease him a little, which doesn’t happen all that often because he would never openly admit that he likes it. Neck kisses and you sitting on his lap are some of the things that really turn him on. He really enjoys seeing you naked and does get a little frustrated when you shyly cover yourself with your towel or an item of clothing. he also likes it when you palm him through his trousers, something about the touch being so intimate but then not getting the full experience due to the fabric both frustrates and exits him.

N = NO

Hank wouldnt enjoy anything that would involve saying things that are too derogatory to you, he likes a little dirty talk and doesn’t mind calling you a slut or other such words. However, anything that gets too close to feeling like real hatred or anything that would physically hurt you beyond the classic light bruises and hickeys is a big no for him. He is turned on by his partner being comfortable in the moment, if you showed genuine fear towards something he was doing it would be an instant turn-off for him. He is all for a little role playing but things being safe and consensual is a big must for him, perhaps due to the fact he’s a Sheriff’s Deputy and he has a strong moral compass.

O = Oral

He likes receiving as any man does, but only when you want to. As previously said he gets turned on by how much enjoyment his partner is getting from specific acts. So when you such him off you make sure to moan and really go for it to show him that you are having fun pleasuring him and you feel safe and comfortable doing so. He likes holding your hair while you do it, but is sure never to push you or be forceful with your head as he wouldn’t want to see you struggling. He does however, like it when you challenge yourself to see how far down your throat you can take him all by yourself. He always cracks a smile when you can’t make it all the way down to the balls, a smile you quickly wipe from his lips by bouncing your head up and down.

He loves giving, it is one of his favourite things to do. He really enjoys listening to your body and making you buck and moan as he eats you out. He doesn’t care if he gets any sex from it afterwards either and due to this you enjoy it quite a lot as there is no expectation of anything from you. No that you wouldn’t fuck him after he gives you oral as he is so fucking good at it half the time you end up beginning him to fuck you as you’re so overstimulated from cumming with just his mouth that you need him inside you. One of his favourite moments was when he ate you out on the kitchen counter, mostly because you had no sheets to ball up in your hands so you spent the whole time with your fingers tangled in his hair, and then every time you came you squeezed his head between his thighs .

P = Pace

There are times when he takes his time, really makes sure to listen to your body and fuck you just how you like it. Then there are other times when he is fast and rough and the sex is almost animalistic. It depends on the mood the two of you are in and how tired you both are. Quickies tend to be a little faster and rougher but then there are also times when the two of you have a whole evening to yourself but he still wants to fuck you fast and have you bucking and squirming in pleasure under him.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He likes a good quickie especially as mentioned in his office the slight fear of getting caught turning him on. Or if the two of you get time to take your lunch break at the same time on the rare occasion you are both free at the same time. He appreciated them and understands sometimes they can be fun and fill a need. However if the two of you have time then he wants to take time. He is really turned on by how your body reacts to his touch enjoys making you cum a few times before any penetration of sorts actually happens, and in order for him to do that there needs to be a good amount of time. He thinks quickies are fun but defiantly prefers longer sessions.

R = Risks

He does like risky sex in his office, but then the two of you never fully undress so he sacrifices being able to see all of your body while he is fucking you. The biggest risk he would want to take is both of you naked in his office as he fucks you on his desk, but he hasn’t quite been able to convince you to do it with him yet. He is a law enforcement officer and you believe that because he isn’t able to take risks with his job he takes risks with you. Kissing you in a corner in public before the two of you were in sanctioned relationships. Marking up your neck so you have to go to work with hickies all over your neck. He enjoys when you give them to him as well but you have never dared to give him more than one that can been seen above the line of his work shirt for fear that the Sheriff would come knocking to arrest you for marking up one of their officers.

Hank is more than happy to experiment in the bedroom, he is turned on when you are so there isn’t really anything you could bring to him that he would be uncomfortable doing. Unless it was physically hurting you. He has recently been enjoying the two of you doing a little roll play in the bedroom even though you keep insisting that he role plays as himself and handcuffs you to the bed. He’s just patiently waiting for the day you put on his uniform and handcuff him to the bed.

S = Stamina

Hank due to how fit he is has remarkable stamina, he is able to chase fugitives through the depths of Grease Town until they themselves get too tired to keep running. He is also physically strong so there isn’t a position he doesn’t have the strength to fuck you in for as long as it takes for you to cum. You were surprised by his strength and stamina but eventually you came to realise how fun it is going multiple rounds. He always makes sure to check in on you and make sure you’re doing okay as he knows he could probably go for longer than you and he doesn’t want to wear you out too much as you both have demanding jobs.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He is open to using toys in the bedroom, but he isn’t all that sure how you would get them in a place like the silo. The things the two of you usually class as toys are different outfits or the cuffs that come along with his police uniform. You love it when he fucks you in his office, his uniform still on his Deputy badge on full display.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Teasing is something that Hank loves to do, whether it is plaming you through your trousers or underwear in the moments before sex. Or if it’s leaning down and whispering something dirty in your ear in a crowd full of people and watching you squirm. He enjoys the way you react to his touch and to the things he says to you. He does however wish you would tease him a little more back and is hoping that he can build your confidence enough to do so.

V = Volume

When the two of you started hooking up he was quite reserved with the noises he made during sex, you began to notice he was holding back a lot. It was only when he neared his own climax did he actually moan and grunt as his self control lapsed a little. The sounds he made really turned you on. So you eventually told him you would prefer it if he didn’t hold back. This made it considerably easier when you were blowing him, the sounds he made guiding you on what he did and didn’t like. He is now only careful to keep his voice down when you’re in his office.

W = Wild Card

He sees a future with you and isn’t sure how to talk to you about it. Hank isn’t really one that’s all that good at recognising and discussing his feelings as many men in the down deep aren’t. But he really just wants a future with you, moving in together marriage. Maybe even a child somewhere down the line., this is particularly out of character for him as he has had a string of relationships that haven’t been anything but physical but there is something different about you something he doesn’t want to loose.

X = X-Ray, what is he packing.

Hank had never been one to care all that much about how big his dick is, but then again he doesn’t have a reason to care. He is dick is large but in proportion to his body. When he is standing naked he looks like an average guy but he is six foot three, very much on the tall end of the range of heights in the silo. His dick is long but thick and he claims he has never actually measured it something you defiantly think is a lie as he is simply a man after all. The length of it never keeps you wanting and the slight upward curve it has really ups the pleasure when he fucks you missionary. To say he is well endowed would be an understatement but unlike most men that are packing he actually knows how to fuck. Lets just say there are moments were he makes sure you feel every fucking inch of the thing.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He never thought his sex drive was all that high but then does anyone really know as people don’t often talk about how regularly they have sex. He was used to once or twice a week but since he met you and the two of you became officially sanctioned, he became a lot more regular with how often he needed it and you were more than happy to accommodate this. He isn’t afraid to initiate sex with you and knows how to take a firm but polite no if you aren’t in the mood. He is excellent and determining when you’re in the mood, but typically he will tease you and let you be the one to start any interaction. he enjoys it when you tell him when you want to jump his bones, and it took you a little while to get over the reluctancy you had at the start with being the first one to say you want to do it. Hank was reassuring and there isn’t often a time that he says no to you and when he does it either through pure exhaustion from a long day at work or due to him having to go to work.

Z = Zzz

If the two of you are at home, then he is particularly quick to fall asleep. only after he makes sure you're happy then he will curl up with you and fall right asleep. He loves having you rest your head on his chest, after sex and just thoroughly enjoys being close to you afterwards. For Hank, the intimacy and compassion doesn’t end after the two of you have reached your climax.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[the-unidentified-author]

Unsanctioned | Deputy Hank | The Silo

There are no fanfics about this man that I can find anywhere on the internet so I went ahead and made one. Idk if there is anyone in love with this man as much as me to read it but I just had to write a little something for him. IDk if its good I just needed SOMETHING.

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], smut, minors DNI, established relationship, p in v, creampie, a little rough, consensual!, hes a big man.

Words: 3,306

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

You hooked your thumbs under the straps of your backpack and exited the stairs. Working as a mechanic always consisted of long, strange hours that often had you walking alone along the streets of the silo. You didn’t mind it, walking empty streets at almost five in the morning, no one running past you, just you alone with your thoughts, was a welcome rest bite from the hustle and bustle of the day. You knew that in little more than an hour the streets of the silo would be filled with people either coming home from work or heading to it.

Hank would still be in his office, the officers under him patrolling the streets to ensure that everyone who should be inside was. He was likely still filling in paperwork, there seemed to be a never-ending amount of it recently. More than likely exacerbated by the fact that Juliette made it over the hill. Something that had never been done before.

As you neared the door to the police station, you slowed your stroll and pulled the hair-tie from the end of your braid. Running your fingers through your hair to separate the strands.

Slowly you made your way towards the door, twisting the handle and pushing the old heavy door in. Just as you had expected, the precinct was quiet and empty. The main light was off, with the two desk lamps and the screen at the back showing the dark outside world the only sources of light. You walked around the table in the middle where the officers sat and circled toward the door to the left. It was open a crack, warm light spilling out.

“Hank?” You questioned, placing your palm on the door and pushing it open.

Hank was sitting at his desk, crouched over some paperwork. He looked up through the hair that had fallen into his face as you entered. His tired expression replaced with a smile as he sat up.

“This is a surprise.” He said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands into his lap.

“Well, I just finished a double, and the showers were empty so, so I washed up at work.” You turned and pushed the door gently to a close before dropping your backpack on the chair opposite his desk.

He pushed his chair back from his desk and opened his arms, allowing you to sit down in his lap. His arms encircled you and pulled you back against his chest, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“What time is it?” He asked, pressing a delicate kiss to the soft skin of your neck.

“Almost 5am, how long have you been working?” You replied, leaning forwards away from him and towards the desk. “Are these reports on the riots?” You asked, lifting one of the papers and peaking under it.

“Since almost this time yesterday. And yeah, they are just non-stop at the moment. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Mayor calls for more curfews just to stop people from being out on the street.” He mumbled, kissing the back of your shoulder and gently pulling you back into his lap, so your back was to his chest.

He carefully pulled the fabric of your shirt from where it was tucked in your trousers, and then he snaked his hands under the fabric. Hands moving to cup your bra, giving your breast a gentle squeeze.

“All the workers in the mechanic shop are riled up. I don’t think a curfew is going to work.” You whispered clasping your hand over his as you continued to glance over the paperwork in front of you.

“Ah, it can wait until tomorrow.” He said, moving your hair from your neck and placing kisses along up towards your ear.

“It is tomorrow, my love.” You replied, standing up.

His hands gripped your hips, trying to pull you back towards him. You turned and ran your fingers through his hair. He pulled you towards him, wrapping his arms around your hips and pressing his forehead to your stomach.

“Fuck, I should get some sleep before the mayhem begins again.” He mumbled against you, the words muffled.

“Would you like me to go?” You asked, running your fingers through his messy shoulder-length curls. “You could pull out the sofa bed in your office and get an hour or two of sleep.”

He tilted his head back, looking up at you, and you moved your hands to cup his face. His big brown eyes never failed to make you melt when he looked at you. Hank moved his hands to the curve of your hips. His fingers absentmindedly fiddling with your belt loops.

“No, I…” He let out a long sigh and sat back in his chair. You leaned back against his desk in front of him and folded your arms.

His legs were splayed out, you between them as he propped his elbow up on the armrest of his chair and rubbed his hand across his lower jaw, letting out a sigh. Looking off to your left instead of at you. Even though he hadn't slept for the past day, he still looked as handsome as ever. His thick, dark curly hair always seeming to fall perfectly around his face, regardless of what he was doing. His moustache always sitting perfectly, no matter how many times he rubbed his hand over his face. He was slouching in the chair slightly, but it did little to diminish his large frame and broad shoulders. Hank was always complaining of back pain, as the doors of the silo were not built for men as tall as him.

“What is it Hank, you’re not breaking up with me, are you?” you joked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No, I just think that with everything going on. Well, I just shouldn't be in an unsanctioned relationship. The sheriff is coming down today, and I just think it would be better if we had everything squared away.” He lowered his hand and began picking at the frayed edge of the padding on his armrest, not meeting your eye.

You let out a slow, long sigh, tilting your head to either side to crack your neck. It was a conversation, the two of you had been having on and off for months now. He had been ready to sanction the relationship the first week, you, however, were a little more hesitant. Most people in the down deep didn’t really both to get relationships sanctioned, at least not in the early days. Many waited years, only caring to get the officially sanctioned when they wanted to move in with one another or to have a baby.

“Well then,” you started, and he met your eye, those big brown puppy dog eyes silently begging. “Send in the paperwork, I know you’ve had it filled in for months now.” You whispered, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto your lips.

“Really?” he asked, leaning forwards in his seat, an exited smile on his face.

“Yep.” you replied, moving slightly to the side as he wheeled his chair forwards towards the computer to your left.

He clicked the mouse a few times and then grabbed your hand, looking up at you, the smile gone, a nervous expression in it place.

“What if they don’t approve it?” he asked, cupping your hand in his and bringing it to his lips.

He kissed it softly and sat back in his chair, dropping your hand and staring at the computer screen.

“Well,” you started, stepping towards him. You placed your hands on the armrests and climbed into his lap. His hands grabbed your waist, guiding you to make sure that you were balanced. You moved your forearms to rest on his shoulders. “We will just have to make use of the time that we have left. One last hurrah.”

You kissed him, tangling your hands into his hair. Moaning into the kiss as his hands squeezed your arse. He pulled away.

“Or the first of many legal activities.” he mumbled, peppering kisses on your lips between each word.

“I don’t think fucking the Sheriff's Deputy in his office is legal, my love.” you giggled brushing his hair out of his face.

“Yeah, I think I might have to arrest you.” He couldn't hide the grin on his face as his hands moved to the buttons of your shirt. “Might have to do a strip search to make sure that you aren't carrying any illegal contraband on your person.”

He undid the top button of your blouse, leaning forwards to place a kiss on the skin it exposed, then the next one popped open, and he placed another kiss on the skin revealed by that button. His hands fumbled with the last few buttons, hastily pulling the fabric from your frame and discarding it to the side. Hank the leaned forwards and kissed the top of your breast, just above the cup of your bra.

Your hands move to his jacket, pushing it back off his shoulders, his hands leaving your body just long enough to pull his hands from the sleeves and drop it to the side.

“Why are you wearing so many layers.” you mumbled, fumbling the buttons of his shirt, realising he was wearing a white t-shirt under it.

“Hey, you said I look hot in my uniform.” he mumbled against your breast.

“You look hotter out of it.” you replied, struggling with his buttons.

He let out a deep sigh and sat back in his chair, undoing the buttons you had been struggling with and taking his shirt off. He then pulled off the white shirt he was wearing, exposing his tanned, muscular chest. Dark sparse chest hair decorated his pecks, thicker darker hair trailed from below his belly button down under the waistline of his trousers. You pulled your bra from your body, and he smiled, leaning forwards and trailing kisses from your neck down until he took one of your nipples in his mouth. The sensation drew a moan from your lips as you tilted your head back, your hands tangling in his hair. He gently rolled your other nipple between his thumb and fingers, drawing more moans from you.

“Fuck, I missed you.” He mumbled against you, the vibrations seeming to travel straight down to your pussy that was already aching for him.

Then his hands were on the buckle of your belt, he fumbled for a moment, and then you felt it release. He pulled it from your trousers in one swift movement, kissing back up your neck before he popped the button of your trousers open. His hand moved down to palm you through your trousers, his other hand moving to your waist to help you roll your hips against him.

“Get on the fucking desk.” he commanded between kisses.

You reluctantly pushed yourself off him, he stood with you. Seemingly believing you were taking too long to obey his command. His hands moved down your body, scooping you up onto the desk in one swift movement. Hank pushed the files to the side and then kissed you once more before dropping to his knees, his hands grabbing at the waistband of your trousers at your hips and pulling them down. He was impatient, taking the underwear with the trousers and discarding them off to your left before he pushed your thighs apart, moving between your legs. He trailed kisses quickly down your thighs as one of his hands pushed against your stomach, prompting you to lie back on the desk.

You leant back, propping yourself up on your forearms, he smiled up at you running his hand though his hair to get it out of his face. He propped one of your feet on the chair and made sure the other leg was supported by his shoulder. Then he, in one swift, firm motion, licked from your entrance to your clit. One of your hands balled the paper resting under it into a fist as the other flew to grab his hair. He barely allowed you a second to process the pleasure from the first taste he had before he was tasting you again. Repeating the same motion, this time circling your clit with his tongue. Your head lulled back, and you moaned at the ceiling as he began to devour you. His tongue moved across your pussy, determined to draw as many moans from you as he could. He explored you with his tongue, just the way you liked it. Sometimes careful and slow, and then he would speed up chasing you to the edge before slowing down teasing you away from it, spurred on by your frustrated moans and the way you pulled at his hair.

“Please, Hank.” you muttered between moans as he pulled you back from your release once again.

You looked down at him, and he pulled away from your clit, making you whine a little as he looked up at you. Those big brown eyes filled with a cocktail of lust and love. His moustache slightly slick with your arousal.

“But baby, I like to hear you beg.” he whispered, his hot breath torturing your swollen clit as he pressed a rough kiss to it.

“Please, Hank.” you replied, your voice sounding pathetic.

He looked up at you with a devilish glint in his eye, and then began to devour your pussy with renewed effort. Chasing you once again to the edge. But this time he didn’t slow down or stop. No, he chased you all the way to the edge, his hands gripping your thighs to keep his face between your legs as you bucked your hips to ride out your orgasm.

Your heart rate began to lower as you regained your senses, you opened your eyes and looked down at him. He placed another kiss to your sensitive clit, making you flinch a little, before he stood. The low light of the room outlining his muscular frame and broad shoulders. The sight of him made your pussy ache with anticipation.

Hank unbuckled his belt, then undid the button of his trousers, pushing them down with his underwear. You couldn't help but gasp at the sight of him. Every time he went down on you, he always seemed to be thicker, harder, as though the act of eating you out turned him on more than you. He took himself in his hand and pumped his large fist along the length of himself before he stepped towards and pushed himself between your folds. The sensation of him rubbing against your clit made you clench. Teasing was his favourite thing, and even after the long shift he just pulled, he wasn’t about to skip it. He rocked his hips back and then forwards, slowly letting his dick rub across the outside of your pussy. The head falling to tease your entrance before sliding back up your pussy to your clit. You wiggled your hips in a vain attempt to prompt him to hurry and fuck you, but all it earned you was a thumb at your clit as he continued to rub his dick over the length of you. You tilted your head back towards the ceiling in frustration before looking back at him. He smirked at you as he rocked his hips back again, moving his hand to guide his dick into you as he gently thrust forwards.

His mouth opened slightly, allowing a moan to escape from it as he slowly moved into you. Both his hands grabbing at the flesh of your hips as he leaned towards you, fully seating him inside of you with a low grunt. You grabbed at his wrist as he barely gave you a second to acclimatise to the size of him before he withdrew him, self. Then in one quick thrust of his hips, he was back deep inside of you, drawing a moan from your lips and a grunt from his with the action.

Then Hank began to fuck you, slow at first, then he began to build speed as the thrusts started to become less controlled and more needy. He held your hand with one of his, interlocking your fingers together. His other pressed just below your bellybutton as he rubbed circles around your clit, ensuring your were racing towards the finish line with him.

Hanks thrusts grew sloppier and his breathing heavier. He dropped your hand and grabbed the flesh of your hip, fingers digging into your skin, not enough to hurt but enough for him to keep you in place as his thrusts became more needy and desperate. His other hand maintaining the stimulation of your clit. You could feel the heat building in your lower stomach, and you could see he wasn’t far behind.

“Cum with me baby.” he whispered, the thrusts becoming harsher.

Your climax came seconds before his, your back arching as pleasure ripped through you throwing your head back and causing you to scream at the ceiling. He came, too, with a guttural grunt and a harsh thrust followed by a few lazy ones before he pulled himself from you. His hands moving to your face, pulling you up to kiss him. He pressed his forehead to yours, the two of your still breathing hard.

“I love you,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to your lips as you sat up on the edge of the desk.

The sound of a notification came from the computer next to you. Hank pulled away from the kiss and turns to his computer, you catch his face and gently guide it back into your direction.

“Hey now, baby, I thought you needed a break from work.” You whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone.

He was smiling at you, a glint of something in his eyes.

“We got sanctioned.” He said, the smile turning into a grin as he moved his hands to the armrests of his chair.

You turned to look at the computer screen. Sure enough, there was the response from IT, green letters that read RELATIONSHIP: SANCTIONED.

Before you even had time to turn and kiss him in celebration. He stepped to the right and stooped, pulling his trousers back up his legs. He then stooped again, picking his shirt up from the floor and pulling it over his head.

“So where the hell are you going then baby, surely we should celebrate.” you replied, turning your attention from the computer screen to Hank.

“That’s precisely what we're going to do, Darlin’.” He moved back towards you, pulling his buttons down onto his arms and quickly doing up the buttons.

“So why the hell are you putting your clothes back on then, Hank?”

He smiled at you as he tucked his shirt into his trousers, buckling up his belt.

“We are going to celebrate.” He stepped forwards, putting his hand on your chin and tilting your head up towards him. “I’m going to make sure that everyone knows you’re mine.”

He placed a delicate kiss on your lips before pulling away and continuing to dress.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to leave?” You asked, stepping down from his desk and picking your trousers up from the floor and pulling them on.

“I'm putting my clothes on,” he started pulling on his jacket. “Because, you and I are going to walk hand in hand all the way back to my apartment where we are going to have round two.”

He met your eyes as he spoke the last words, a smile playing on his lips as he stooped to pick your shirt from the floor, handing it to you, your bra in the bundle of fabric.

“Well, make sure you bring your cuffs.” You replied, hurrying to get dressed.

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