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swordgrace · 2 months

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𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ gwayne hightower x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: After your husband returns from Rook’s Rest, mostly unscathed, you are quick to indulge him to make up for lost time.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 5.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), first time writing for gwayne, please be gentle, gwayne is very cunt-struck in this fic, sub-ish gwayne, armor removal descriptions, mild wound tending, making out, both of them are desperate, unprotected sex, p in v sex, bathtub sex, riding (fem on top), handjob, oral sex (fem!rec), hair pulling kink, choking, breast play, cockwarming at the end

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I absolutely adore Gwayne and I felt like this was a really good way to warm up and get used to writing for him! I’m really glad that I’m seeing more Gwayne requests, this was ridiculously fun to write! ❤️ Thank you all so much for your love & continued support, it means more to me than you realize!

At the precipice of the gates of the Red Keep, emerald banners flew, embellished with the golden sigil of a dragon — the King’s dragon, laying half-deceased in the Dragonpit and the King himself, ripped apart and scorched beyond recognition.

A horrible thing, to be sure — your sister-by-law had become miserable and despondent when the news of her son’s maiming reached her. Whatever comfort you attempted to offer had been dismissed, but it was commonplace, not that you minded. You understood her desire to be left alone.

It was a cloudy, dismal day, marked by the overcast of gray and gloom, a dour portrait that only seemed furthered by the King’s potential demise. Rook’s Rest was outwardly displayed as some great victory, a vanquishing of Queen Rhaenyra’s forces and her allies.

Yet, the countenance of your Knight Hightower told a different tale altogether.

Becoming betrothed and wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower had been the hallmark of your family’s importance, a union of prosperity to further your standing in the realm, but it meant more to you than that. Gwayne had grown on you with the passage of time, witty and sharp-tongued, a proficient fighter with a calm rationality.

As the gates swung open to welcome those survivors of Rook’s Rest home, you desperately searched for the velveteen tabard and copper mane, wringing your hands together beside the Queen Dowager.

His armor glistened beneath the sheen of clouds, dingy and speckled with cruor and mud, his visage stained in dried crimson and soot. He was so comely and debonair, yet he seemed rather sour when he dismounted from his gelding, swiftly tugging his helmet aside.

Your feet moved before you could summon any logical thought, rushing to him across the Keep’s courtyard and into his expectant embrace. Plate-clad arms held you close as he inhaled a gust of your scent, marigold and honey, just as saccharine as he remembered. “My love.” He sighed, loud enough for only you to hear.

Before you could cage him within your own embrace, he let out a strenuous grunt, attempting to be subtle with the painful noise. “Husband,” It delighted you to see his face again — it had been weeks. “Are you hurt?” You fussed, brows knitting together as you inspected him for any critical wounds.

Gwayne bore the scars of battle beneath, save for the cut upon his lip and bruising around his cheek. His body was undeniably sore, riddled in bruises from falling, muscles aching from wielding a blade and weeks on the road. “You needn’t worry yourself into a stupor, dearest. I will survive.” He sighed.

“You do understand that it will only prompt me to worry more, instead of less.” Begrudgingly, Gwayne decided to let you dote over him — he quite enjoyed the attention whenever you did. “Perhaps we shall draw you a bath, and a proper meal to accompany it.”

Relief settled within his features, knowing that he would be well cared-for. He counted on you to ensure that he was pampered after every conflict — it was a habit you had developed. Despite the dull throbbing that consumed his body, he offered his forearm to you, delighted to have you at his side again.

He was rather captivating in his armor, shimmering and broad, a true Knight of the realm. Despite the tarnish and wear of his plate, he still seemed flawless, as if he were incapable of possessing any imperfections.

The Red Keep loomed overhead as many soldiers fought to lick their wounds, much of it from the angry bite of dragonfire. Gwayne was fortunate to remain mostly unscathed, aside from his pride. He could not stomach another day with Criston Cole, whose overconfidence often felt like a burden.

The sight of men being obliterated into nothing more than ash and bone was a harrowing sight, one that he desperately attempted to purge from his memory. It was good to be here with you, holding you again, giving him a worthwhile distraction.

Gwayne sought the solace and sanctity of your shared chambers within the Keep, but he missed Oldtown above all. Your marital quarters there far outweighed those here in the capital in terms of lavishness and comfort, but whatever lodgings offered to him now, he wouldn’t refuse. A feathered bed and pillow seemed heavenly after weeks of sleeping on rock and coarse rags.

Pale cerulean hues appraised you with a subtle hunger, finding the supple curves of your physique through the sage silk of your gown. Once you were in private corridors, he made his desire known, manifesting it into reality. “I must say, you look rather fetching, my dear.” Gwayne hummed. “Did you know of my return?”

“Perhaps,” Countering his flirtation with a teasing smile of your own, you gently nudged past the set of heavy oaken doors, making your way into your chambers. The servants there acted at your beck and call as you had them prepare a bath. “Perhaps I simply prefer to wear lavish silks each day.”

With a bemused scoff, Gwayne ogled you through half-lidded eyes, and as soon as the doors slammed shut behind you, he coaxed you in for a kiss. His mouth tasted like the bitter sting of copper coupled with brimstone and woodland musk, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

He cared little for prying eyes, desiring to claim your mouth for himself — it had been far too long. Passion and want were interlaced into each stroke of his lips, and you matched his caliber of desire, palms seeking to perch themselves atop his chest.

Gwayne exhaled, savoring your saccharine taste, the insatiable warmth of your pliant mouth. “I missed your mouth, wife,” He groaned, pearlescent teeth greedily capturing your lower lip as he caged you in against him. His blood ran hot even still, the adrenaline of war still lingering, yet you spurred him on. “Perfect as ever.”

“Gwayne,” His eagerness surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome, not in the slightest. “What about the servants?” You mumbled, skin crawling with heat as he insistently tugged you closer, auburn brows furrowing together.

A twinge of desperation followed from your Knight-husband, watching as he palmed at the swell of your hips. “What of them?” He murmured, caring little for the wandering eyes of handmaidens. They were like a flock of hens, squabbling after any scrap of gossip. “Surely, you would not deny your husband a kiss.”

“I would, if my husband vexed me.” You were able to both get a rise out of Gwayne and charm him all in the same turn, turning your head at the last moment. His mouth fell against your cheek instead, much to his disgruntlement. You would make it up to him.

Once the servants finished pouring a bath for your husband and preparing a hearty meal that transcended field rations, Gwayne felt as if he could relax, the tension in his shoulders unfurling. He stepped toward the washroom, unceremoniously falling against one of the velvet-cushioned chairs.

The wooden frame groaned in protest, rickety and barely able to bear the weight of his armor. He tossed his head back, finally able to breathe and relax within the sanctuary of his own quarters. No muddied tent above his head or the swaying of trees, no rancorous men, and no Dornishmen to tell him what to do.

With a steady exhale, he began to unfasten the innumerable amount of buckles and straps upon his armor, beginning with his gauntlets and vambraces. His brow remained creased with concentration, strands of copper stresses glued to his temples, lip curled with inklings of mild irritation.

“Would you like help?” You inquired, knowing that Gwayne would be too stubborn to accept it, but you were pleasantly surprised when he became subservient. With an indignant huff, he sat back, sluggishly offering you his body with a low hum.

“If you feel that you must toil over my armor, I suppose you can lend your assistance,” Gwayne prattled on, though his breath hitched slightly when you neared him, standing in between his legs as you went about freeing him. Cerulean hues traced over your form, desperate to see your naked flesh. “Hm.”

His quick tongue and eloquent speech once irked you, but now, it was simply him. You rather enjoyed when he regaled you with his flowery words and streak of arrogance, a haughtiness that seemed to run predominantly within his family.

As you set yourself to the task of unburdening your husband from his armor, Gwayne busied himself with ogling your bosom, jaw tense and tight. A warm coil formed within his stomach, the onset of arousal as he carefully admired you, his enchanting paramour.

Unclasping his cloak, Gwayne shifted enough for you to remove it, neatly folding it into a rectangle as you draped it over the arm of the lounge. “I missed you,” You confessed, knowing that his ego would momentarily swell tenfold — it was simply in his nature. “These past few weeks were rather tense, wrought with strife.”

“Allow me to guess,” Gwayne guffawed, a smirk toying at either corner of his mouth. “Something to do with my nephews, or perhaps my sister.” Admittedly, you were lonely without him — the capital didn’t suit you, nor did any of its hostile inhabitants.

A soft huff of amusement escaped you, but you happened to shake your head, lifting a wet cloth to his lips as you dabbed at the dried blood. “One would think,” With an amiable smile, you rid your husband’s stunning visage of cruor. “I yearned to have my husband by my side, that is all.”

Gwayne’s gaze became soft in your presence, fluttering across your captivating features and gentle smile. Knowing that you missed him happened to evoke some semblance of delight, filling him with a familiar warmth that eased his aching bones.

“I am here now,” He assured, reaching for your hand as he cradled it within his own. Rough lips pressed themselves against your knuckles. “You shall have your husband for as long as you please.”

Stepping inward, your lips moved to bury themselves into his disheveled tresses, presenting him with a kiss. You always feared Gwayne riding off to fight in a war, coming to terms with the painful idea of never seeing him again. “As long as I please? That is forever, then. Cole cannot take you from me again.”

You were an excellent wife, perhaps the best — he had gotten incredibly lucky with you, a rare jewel, resplendent and glittering all for him, something to covet. He watched as you unfastened the leather straps with haste, placing each piece down atop the footlocker at your side.

Gwayne winced when you happened to tug just a touch too hard, body wracked with aches and pains, pale flesh flourishing with the wounds of war. “Gently, wife. I am still needed in one piece.” A low grunt tore past his lips, one that happened to come across as a suppression of mild agony.

Perplexed, you reached for the collar of his gorget, attempting to be as gentle as possible in its removal. It was difficult, given how much he wore — plate and chainmail weren’t exactly comfortable to wear. The relief he felt was visible, scrawled into his handsome features as he reclined into the cushions.

Broad-shouldered and corded with taut muscle, you often found Gwayne to be beautiful in some ways, painfully handsome to behold. When you’d gotten rid of his upper armor, you noticed the battlefield of flourishing bruises littered across his flesh.

The somber, softened stare you’d given him happened to temper his tongue, copper brows beginning to slack, visage contorting into more of a concerned expression. “They do not feel as horrid as they look,” He assured, smoothing his palm across the swell of your hip. “Such is the nature of battle.”

With a tender hand, you lightly traced your fingertips over each bruise, some angered and dark, others lighter in complexion. Gwayne shuddered at your delicate embrace, bluish hues glued to where your hand traveled — over his throat, toward his collarbone, and then cascading across his chest.

“Where does it hurt, my love?” The silky resonance of your voice stroked his mind in a perfect way, one that brought him to heel. Your doting attention happened to subdue him, cock stirring in the confines of his linen breeches.

He often pondered what went on in that beautiful head of yours, the way your mind operated. You were an intelligent woman, thoughtful and poised with a comely grace, becoming of a maiden. Gwayne swallowed the growing lump within his throat, feeling your palm smooth across the plate of his cuisse.

“Here,” He briefly motioned to the series of marks tangled along his collarbone — he was fortunate that it hadn’t been shattered. You stooped inward, mouth carefully hovering above the ugly bruises dotted along his collar, and kissed the injured flesh. “Hm — here.” Gwayne tapped his right pectoral.

You kissed where his hand gestured to, pliant lips akin to a gentle caress as you showered him in your sensual affections. Enraptured, Gwayne watched you, hunger swelling within him, a ravenous gnawing that he felt for you. It burned his loins, filling him with the ache of desire.

If it weren’t for his damned tasses and greaves, he would’ve had you slotted in his lap. Gwayne’s hands tightened around the back of the settee, digits curling into the wooden embellishments. “That’s all?” You murmured, gingerly caressing along his chest, watching as he immediately straightened.

Gwayne grit his teeth together, motioning toward his bruised bicep. “Here,” The soothing softness of your mouth soon followed, filling him with a warm rush of dull ecstasy. You kissed his bicep, peppering your lips upward until they landed atop his shoulder. “Here.” At last, he motioned to his mouth, marred by a cut.

“Here?” With a gentle hum, you smoothed the pad of your thumb against his lower lip, carefully avoiding the cut and any bruising. Gwayne kissed your fingertips, hand still poised against your hip, groping into your pliant curves and soft physique.

“Damnable vixen.” Gwayne muttered, though his cerulean hues oozed with warmth and ardor, a gallant love reserved only for you. It was a loving jab, and he immediately hauled you closer, bringing your mouth to his for a fiery kiss. The honey-sweet embrace of your lips were ambrosial, making his head spin around.

You reached for his auburn tresses, raking your fingers through his mane, kissing him hard and without an ounce of hesitation. His hands lowered themselves to your derrière, sinking into your supple flesh, treating you to the fervor of his hold. A low moan emerged from your throat when he nipped at your lower lip.

Gwayne relented, tongue seeking entrance into the warmth of your mouth, forcing you to part your lips. In a hurried clash, you kissed him again, open-mouthed and deliciously hot. Your stomach began to churn, arousal seeping from your core, slick between your thighs.

“Gwayne,” You whimpered, attempting to catch your breath as he parted from you, licking at his lower lip. “We needn’t carry on if you are hurt.” You insisted, but he scoffed at the notion, gazing at you with bewilderment and a clear dismissal of your concerns.

“Nonsense,” Gwayne countered, clearly feeling his blood sing with lust, bitten by desire. It was a fire that you had so diligently stoked, and now, it needed to be extinguished. “I would suffer through torture unimaginable if it meant I could have you properly.”

With a bemused huff, you pressed your lips against his bruised brow, watching as he stood up, chest bumping into you. The closeness only seemed to intensify, tension crackling between the both of you. “Are you still in-need of assistance?” You hummed, tone indicative of your lascivious wants.

Gwayne’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk, catlike and salacious as he released an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose,” Truthfully, he basked in your affections, even if it was all playful, a steady buildup to more lewd proclivities. He allowed you to do it all as you unfastened his cuisses and tasses, placing them aside. “Perhaps I should take you along to the next conflict. I will have need of your skilled hands, sweet wife.”

Seeing your striking husband in nothing more than his linen smallclothes made you itch with ardor, desire beginning to fester within your heart. His necklace, adorned with his mother’s ring and yours, hung around his throat, relics resting against his sternum.

A battle was certainly no place for a lady, but you digressed, lowering one hand toward the slight bulge in the front of Gwayne’s trousers. “Is that so? I’ve become quite proficient, husband.” A silky purr escaped your lips as you kneaded one hand against his erection.

Seven Hells, you would be his undoing.

With a sharp exhale, Gwayne let out a husky groan near the shell of your ear, hands steadfast atop your hips as you caressed him over his clothes. “Quite proficient, indeed.” He uttered, teeth grazing along your neck as you let your hand slither beneath the coarse linen. The warmth of his cock met your palm, and he shivered.

A breathy sigh escaped you as you bared your neck to him, palm encircled around the base as you dragged your hand from bottom to tip. The pad of your thumb stroked along the head of his cock, causing him to jerk forward into your embrace.

He had sorely missed your touch, the smell of your skin, the plush feeling of your body beneath his capable hands. Gods, if you kept touching him like that, he felt as if he would explode — and so quickly, too. Gwayne refused to resign himself to such a thing.

“I would be delighted if you’d join me,” Gwayne murmured into your neck, lips suckling just beside your jugular. The mark he left flourished, soothed by the lap of his tongue. “Only after I’ve ravished your sweet cunt, of course.” Even crude words sounded so pretty upon his tongue, and you felt your skin crawl with warmth.

A sharp inhale escaped you, anticipation churning within the pit of your stomach as Gwayne found the laces of your gown. You nodded several times over, lips parted as you sought his mouth for a blazing kiss. With dextrous fingers, he tugged on the silken ties, loosening the garment with ease.

The fabric pooled around your feet in a heap, and you hastily kicked it aside, standing in nothing more than a sheer slip. It was nearly translucent, made of a shimmering gossamer that left little to the imagination. Transfixed, Gwayne allowed his hands to travel along your body, kneading and caressing wherever he pleased.

He coaxed you toward the settee he’d been situated in minutes prior, allowing you to sit as he stood above you, hand slipping against your thigh. “Gods, you are divine.” Gwayne sighed, roughened fingertips stroking at your silky skin, like warm velvet. “Lift your skirts for me, dearest.”

Kneeling as a sacrilegious individual would, as if begging for forgiveness within the boughs of a sept, Gwayne sought his peace between your thighs. He observed in quiet rapture as you brought your slip to your hips, revealing your body to him.

Broad shoulders bullied their way between your legs, hands more than happy to have their fill of your haunches. “Gwayne,” You whimpered, feeling him adjust your hips to a proper angle, cunny glistening with a thin sheen of your arousal. “Please, I need your mouth!” Hapless at the talons of your husband, you pleaded with him to taste you.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to oblige you, lips pressing all along your legs, mouth steadily finding the apex of your thighs. Gwayne took care in spreading you apart, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt, your taste ambrosial.

A stirring fire of lust roused him, cock twitching within his breeches as he delved deeper into your core. His mouth was a thing of beauty, tongue sluggishly tasting you from your clit to your entrance. Your chest heaved with wanton pants, hands gliding toward his tresses.

Tangled within his copper mane, you coaxed him closer, digits digging at the base of his skull. Gwayne released a groan into your core, hands clamping down on your thighs with an ironclad grasp. Your nectar fell heavy upon his tongue, the sweetest of honey.

Gwayne thoroughly reveled in the feeling of your hands within his hair, hips occasionally stuttering and bucking forward, desperately seeking his mouth. He was attentive, lapping at your cunt with a fervor, allowing his mouth to drift to your clit.

Silk bunched up around your belly, thighs quivering like leaves as you continued to move inward. Most of your writhing was done unconsciously, pleasure continuing to wrack your body whole. Arousal pooled between your legs, spilling onto your husband’s tongue — and he consumed every drop.

Gwayne found his place between your thighs, as any devoted husband would. Every sound that he evoked from you, every shudder of your body, the slick of your arousal, he knew that it all belonged to him. Your needy moans filled your chambers, reverberating off of the walls.

“Gods, Gwayne!” You huffed, countenance screwed into a look of complete and utter bliss, lips agape and eyes fluttered shut. Without shame, you rode your husband’s face as best as you could, wrestling with his auburn locks as your knees squeezed at his head.

Perfect — it couldn’t have gotten any better than this.

His calloused palms ran along your thighs before finding their purchase against the swell of your hips, drunk and delirious from your cunt alone. He was positively whipped, a notion that he rarely admitted aloud, let alone shared with himself. The way you took his mouth with glee filled him with pride.

Another deliberate barrage of licks assailed your clit, causing you to shiver and moan, the sounds tapering off into a series of breathy pants. “Sweetling,” Gwayne crooned, timbre shifting into a delicious husk as he called you by that affectionate nickname. “You are incomparable.” He mumbled, nose brushing along the hood of your clit.

A pang of delight rippled through you as you preened beneath his desire-ridden compliment. Gwayne had a way with words, especially if he found himself in the mood to regale you with lewd whispers. The moment wasn’t now, but you hoped that it would be, soon enough.

That familiar coil of tenuous heat festered within the pit of your stomach, signaling the encroachment of your release. Gwayne buried himself into your cunt, spreading you apart, tongue greedily lapping at your core. His cock was desperate to be inside of you, slick with precum, straining against his trousers.

You chased after your release with reckless abandon, a low wine tearing past your lips as you tugged on Gwayne’s tresses with a sense of urgency. His lips found themselves pursed around the pearl of your cunt, suckling on that sensitive bud until you cried out.

It was an undeniable surge of utter bliss, an amalgamation of pleasure that made your thighs twitch and tremble. You threw your head back against the velveteen lounge, moaning your husband’s name as if it were the only word you knew.

Between the deliberate, timed strokes of his tongue and the stimulation of your clit, you could hold out no longer, digits curling inward, stomach sloshing with a molten warmth. “I— Gwayne!” You mewled, the sound deliciously innocuous as you approached your release.

It slammed into you with the force of a tidal wave, sending spasmodic shivers all along your body, making your skin undeniably hot. Gwayne groaned into your cunt, finding great pleasure in cleaning you up, reveling at the taste of your nectar, like a fine stout.

His cock throbbed with a pleading ache, wanting nothing more than to be inside of you. He was patient, but he could wait no longer, face appearing from between your thighs as he huffed. “I cannot continue to wait,” Gwayne murmured, voice laced with desperation. “I must have you, sweet wife.”

Still trapped within the white-hot throes of your release, you nodded, wanting more from him just as he did you. “I am yours completely.” You breathed, watching as he made for the bathtub. The water inside had gone from steaming to warm, not that he cared.

It was like a race, an eager clamoring to see who could get themselves into the basin first. Gwayne hastily unlaced his breeches, leaving them behind along the stone floor before he sank into the water, muscles unfurling almost instantaneously.

You stood, legs quivering from the might of your peak as you attempted to rid yourself of the silken slip, but Gwayne didn’t have time to watch you fiddle with your gown. “In,” With a sharp timbre interwoven with lust, you seemed surprised, but obeyed his command. “Come here.” He hissed.

Without delay, you stepped into the bathtub, still clad in your silken slip, which Gwayne paid little mind to. Eager, strong hands gripped your hips, dragging you closer until you were in his lap. Auburn tresses were slick with water, visage upturned into a look of sheer delight.

The gossamer silk stuck to your body, hitched around your hips, the wet garment clinging to your flesh. Gwayne lowered you enough to let his cock nudge against your folds, burying his face into the hollow of your throat. He pressed strings of needy kisses there, feeling you grind yourself against him.

Tugging at the thin, lace-woven straps of your slip, you revealed your breasts to him, fabric sagging along your midsection. You listened to the audible hitch of Gwayne’s breath, continuing to slide his cock along the length of your slit. “Sit,” He commanded, hands firm atop the swell of your hips. As you lowered yourself onto his length, he shivered, jaw tensing. “That’s it.”

His cock filled you perfectly — nothing of indomitable size or girth, but it was pretty, just like the rest of him. You gasped, palms moving to perch themselves atop his freckled shoulders. Gwayne groaned, slumping back against the slick, metallic wall of the tub, keeping one hand steady against your hip.

What sweet torment, Gwayne thought, tantalized and entranced by the way you began to ride him, sluggishly through the constant sloshing of water. He assisted you somewhat, guiding you along, occasionally lifting his hips to buck into you, but the efforts primarily rested with you.

“Seven Hells,” Gwayne huffed, cerulean hues drinking in the sight of you, disheveled and damp, countenance contorted into a look of pure bliss. “I missed that cunt of yours, wife. There is nothing like it.” A low grunt tapered off into a breathy sigh as you came down harshly, nails digging into his pale flesh.

Instead of cajoling him with sultry praises of your own, you kept quiet, one hand slinking toward the base of his throat. The newfound sensation left Gwayne visibly perplexed, but he enjoyed your little domineering streak, mouth curling into the ghost of a smirk.

His palm moved to cup your breast, toying with your nipple, slick from water, beginning to pebble with the cooler air. “Gwayne,” You moaned, bouncing upon his cock with all of the eagerness of a brothel whore. Enraptured, he observed you through a greedy, half-lidded stare. “You feel incredible.”

Before his cockiness and ego could come swinging into the fray, you lightly squeezed at his throat, evoking a sonorous groan from him. It was effective at silencing him, but his gaze burned for you, burned with something incendiary as he gently tweaked your breast, kneading at the soft mound.

You were divine, a goddess incarnate, made for him to worship at your feet. He simply couldn’t get enough of you, savoring the way in which his cock continued to bury itself within your tight walls, over and over again. That tenuous coil of warmth tightened within his belly, a rush of heat soon to follow.

His hips jolted again, bucking up into you until he hit that perfect spot inside of you. You gasped, mouth agape as your nails dug angry-red crescents into his shoulder. Gwayne’s own sounds of pleasure caressed your ear, feeling him lean in enough to press a string of kisses all over your breasts.

The hold you had upon his throat began to slack, thighs burning with a dull ache as you rocked yourself upon his cock, continuing to ride him. His cock bottomed out before you lifted yourself up again, only to fall right back down, letting him bury himself until he could go no further.

He looked gorgeous, crown of copper tresses lolled back against the tub, visage one of pleasure, hands continuing to grope and caress along your body. It was only when his length began to pulse and throb within you that he grit his teeth, bracing himself for his release.

A low, subtle ‘fuck’ tore past his mouth, goosebumps coalescing along the length of your spine. You didn’t relent, continuing to rock yourself upon his cock until he was bursting at the seams. With a noisy groan, Gwayne’s hips stuttered, filling you with ropes of hot seed.

Even the ache of war and sex could not spend him entirely, and if it were up to him, he would’ve had you on your back the second you stepped out of the tub. With a sigh of relief, he stroked your hip, watching as you came down with him.

“I will never tire of that,” Gwayne confessed, hand repositioning to stroke at your brow, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Will you stay and help bathe your husband?” He inquired, tone jocular and somewhat playful, but he seemed serious.

“Perhaps,” You mused, reaching for a bar of herb-laden soap, attempting to move off of him. Gwayne tutted, clicking his tongue with mild disdain as he pulled you right back down onto his cock. “Gwayne.” Issuing a soft-spoken warning, you gasped, brows furrowing together.

With a debonair smirk, he pressed a kiss against the hollow of your throat, lounging back within the tub, either arm perched along the sides. “You can stay just like that, dearest. You are well within arm’s reach.” That lascivious purr of him stoked yet another fire, and you relented, staying slotted atop him.

“You’re insufferable.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not translate my work onto other platforms, copy, or steal my work and claim it as your own.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower x you #gwayne hightower x y/n #gwayne hightower #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon smut

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seafarersdream · 1 month

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Heck yeah Freddie Fox!!!!what if reader plays Gwayne and Alicent sister, but their chemistry is sooooo good that the creators had to cut their scenes together because "they're Hightowers, not Targaryens"🤣🤣🤣and the cast are having the time of their lives with that

Me and the Devil (Freddie Fox x Y/N)

Y/N L/N, who stars as Lady Eleanor Hightower, has an absolutely electric chemistry with her on-screen brother, Freddie Fox, who plays Ser Gwayne Hightower, much to the amusement and exasperation of the HOTD cast and crew.

TW // Strong language and profanities, incestuous undertones, sexual tension and innuendos.

The sun was rising behind the walls of the Red Keep, casting long, creeping shadows over the Outer Courtyard. Lady Eleanor Hightower, clad in the deep, grieving olive of her house, stood with an air of weary grace beside her sister, Dowager Queen Alicent. Her face was a picture of calm, though her eyes were heavy with the sorrow of loss and the weight of recent weeks.

“Do you think he’ll bring that dreadful horse again?” Eleanor asked, her voice soft but dripping with that sharp edge she never quite lost, even in mourning.

Alicent’s lips twitched, but she held her composure. "If he does, I’ll have it stabled outside the walls. I’m not having that beast piss all over the courtyard again."

The rumble of hooves on cobblestones drew their attention. The gates opened, and a column of knights in shining armor, bearing the sigil of House Hightower, entered the courtyard. At their head was Ser Gwayne Hightower, his helm tucked under one arm, revealing the tousled auburn hair and devil-may-care grin that Eleanor had grown so used to seeing—when he wasn’t hiding it behind an arrogant smirk.

“Well, well, look who it is. The fairest blooms of Oldtown,” Gwayne drawled, striding over like he owned all Seven Kingdoms. “Alicent, you’re still holding up the realm with that iron fist of yours. And Eleanor…” His eyes trailed over her, lingering just a fraction too long, “Looking every bit the grieving widow. Tell me, how does it feel to be free of that hideous arsehole, late Lord Hastwyck? May the Seven forgive him.”

Eleanor shot him a withering look, but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes. “About as good as it feels to watch you strut around like you haven’t been fucked in months.”

“Oh, fuck off, Ellie,” Freddie retorted, still in character, his grin widening. “Thought all that mourning might’ve taken the edge off your bite, but clearly, I was wrong.”

Eleanor arched an eyebrow, a smirk that could rival his playing on her lips. “And you, brother, seem as full of yourself as ever. Did the trip here inflate your ego even further?”

Gwayne grinned wider, flashing teeth. “Careful, little sister, or I’ll think you missed me.”

Alicent, tired of their verbal sparring, interjected. “Gwayne, you’ve arrived at an important time. Ser Criston Cole has replaced our father as Hand, and there is much work to be done.”

Gwayne’s grin faded into a sneer. “Ser Criston Cole? That jumped-up cunt of a knight? What, are we that desperate, we’re pulling nobodies out of the arse-end of the Kingsguard now?”

The crew, who had been trying to keep it together, finally lost it. Laughter rang out across the courtyard, cameramen shaking their heads as they tried to stay steady.

“Cut! Fucking hell, cut!” Geeta Patel called out, struggling to keep the exasperation out of her voice. She stepped forward, waving her hands as she approached the trio. “Alright, Freddie, Y/N, that was... Jesus Christ, that was incredible. But you’re not Jaime and Cersei Lannister, alright? You’re Hightowers. That kind of sibling chemistry doesn’t fly in this family. Tone down the ‘let’s fuck each other senseless’ vibes, okay?”

Freddie turned to Y/N, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Hear that, darling? We’re too bloody hot for Westeros.”

Geeta rolled her eyes, but she was smiling despite herself. “I swear, you two are going to give me aneurysm. Just... try to remember you’re siblings. No more of that smoldering shit. The Hightowers don’t do what the Targaryens do, alright?”

Freddie put on a mock-serious face, hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear to be the picture of brotherly love. No more dirty looks, no more—“

“Smoldering looks, you tosser,” Y/N corrected, elbowing him in the ribs. “And good luck with that.”

The crew was still giggling, a few members openly impressed. “Honestly, we haven’t seen chemistry like this since Game of Thrones,” one of the grips muttered, shaking his head. “It’s fucking unreal.”

As Geeta returned to her chair, giving notes to the crew, Freddie leaned in closer to Y/N. “Honestly, how are we supposed to act like siblings when you keep giving me those eyes?”

Y/N shot him a sidelong glance. “You mean the same eyes you’re giving me right now? Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Freddie chuckled, his voice low enough that only Y/N could hear. “Well then how about we really give them something to talk about?”

Y/N swatted at him playfully. “Behave yourself, Fox. Or I’ll tell Geeta.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Before Freddie could fire back, Geeta’s voice rang out again. “Alright, enough banter, you two. Places! And for fuck’s sake, remember—you’re Hightowers, not Targaryens or Lannisters!”

Freddie straightened up, slipping back into his role as Ser Gwayne, but not before giving Y/N one last, devilish wink. “For now,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.

Y/N fought to keep her expression neutral, but the corners of her mouth twitched with suppressed laughter. She shot him a look that promised retribution later.

As the cameras rolled once more, they slipped effortlessly back into character, their banter sizzling with that same crackling chemistry that had the entire crew both laughing and marveling at just how damn good these two were together—siblings or not.

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On a different day, Geeta Patel was giving final instructions to Olivia Cooke and to Fabien Frankel. “Alright, Olivia, Fabien,” Geeta began, her tone calm. “This scene is all about the farewell. Criston, you’re asking for Alicent’s favor before you leave for war. This is a significant moment between you two. We need it to be subtle, yet powerful. Got it?”

Fabien nodded, his expression serious. “Got it, Geeta.”

Olivia smiled. “Ready when you are.”

Geeta gave them a satisfied nod and turned to the crew. “Okay, everyone, positions! Let’s make this one count.”

As the cameras rolled, Criston Cole approached Alicent with a grave expression, his armor gleaming in the dying light. He bowed low, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “Your Grace,” he began, his tone respectful, yet carrying an undercurrent of something deeper.

Alicent looked at him with those sharp, knowing eyes, giving him a slight nod. “May the Seven guide you, good knight,” she said, her voice soft but resolute. “And lead you not to shadow and death.”

Criston bowed his head even lower, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I thank Your Grace for her prayers,” he replied, his voice filled with reverence.

Alicent turned as if to leave, her gown sweeping the stones with a soft rustle. But before she could take more than a step, Criston’s voice called her back. “And I would request,” he said, his words halting her in her tracks, “that Her Grace grant me her favor. That her Lord Commander may go into battle with her blessings… in his heart.”

The scene hung heavy in the air, the tension thick between them as Criston’s plea echoed through the courtyard. Alicent hesitated, her hand brushing against the delicate fabric of her sleeve as she turned back to him, her eyes locking onto his. There was a moment of silence, a breath suspended in time, as everyone waited to see what she would do.

She finally reached into her sleeve, pulling out the small, delicate handkerchief embroidered with her initials. The camera zoomed in, capturing the intricate details, the way her fingers trembled just slightly as she held it out to him. “Take this,” she murmured, her voice carrying a subtle tremor, “as a token of my favor. Return victorious, Ser Criston. And know that you carry my thoughts with you.”

Criston bowed his head, taking the handkerchief. “Your Grace,” he replied, his voice rough, “I shall return with your favor in my heart and the victory of your cause in my hands.”

The scene was supposed to be the focal point of the episode—an understated farewell between the Dowager Queen and her paramour.

Or at least, that was the plan.

In the background, Eleanor and Gwayne were supposed to be having a far simpler exchange—just a quick farewell between siblings, nothing more.

The moment the camera panned to them, what was meant to be a brief, subdued farewell exploded into something far more dramatic.

“Eleanor, my sweet sister,” Gwayne declared, sweeping her up in an exaggerated embrace, his voice loud enough to carry across the courtyard. “How will I ever endure the horrors of war without your smile to guide me through the darkness?”

Y/N played right into it. She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes shining with fake tears. “Gwayne, you reckless fool, you’d better come back to me—or I swear I’ll hunt you down myself.”

The crew exchanged glances, trying desperately to keep their laughter in check as the two continued to ad-lib their way through what was supposed to be a simple goodbye.

Gwayne placed a hand on Eleanor’s cheek, his expression one of melodramatic intensity. “If I do not return, tell the world I died with your name on my lips.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” someone from the crew muttered, barely audible over the sound of snickering.

Geeta Patel, perched in her director’s chair, pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “Cut! CUT!” she finally called out, though her voice was tinged with reluctant amusement. “Freddie, Y/N, what the bloody hell was that? You’re supposed to be siblings, not star-crossed lovers.”

Freddie turned to Y/N with a grin that could only be described as wicked. “Sorry, Geeta, got a bit carried away there. Can you blame me? Look at her—who wouldn’t fall madly in love?”

Y/N smirked, not missing a beat. “Don’t flatter yourself, Fox. It’s called acting.”

Geeta threw up her hands in defeat. “I swear, you two are the bane of my existence. How am I supposed to get a serious scene out of you when you keep turning everything into a bloody pantomime?”

The crew was struggling to keep it together. Even Olivia, standing nearby as Alicent, was biting her lip, trying to stay in character despite the ridiculousness happening behind her.

Freddie chuckled. “Geeta, darling, I think what we’re doing here is revolutionary.”

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, though she was clearly enjoying herself. “What he’s trying to say, Geeta, is that we’re just too damn good together. Maybe it’s time to change the script.”

“Or maybe,” Geeta retorted, her tone playful despite her frustration, “you two could try actually sticking to the script for once. I’m pretty sure HBO isn’t paying you to improvise a Lannister-style farewell.”

Freddie turned to Y/N, pretending to consider it. “What do you think, Eleanor? Should we behave ourselves this time?”

Y/N gave a mock sigh, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off her costume. “I suppose we could try.”

Geeta couldn’t help but shake her head as she gestured for the crew to reset. “Alright, let’s take it from the top. And this time, keep it in your pants, Hightower freaks.”

Cameras rolled once more, the scene resumed, with Criston and Alicent taking center stage as intended from the start.

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The camera opens on a sleek, modern studio set, the familiar logo of Max glowing softly in the background. Y/N and Freddie are seated side by side, relaxed and comfortable, both dressed casually but stylishly—Y/N in a chic blouse and jeans, Freddie in his usual mix of sharp yet slightly rumpled attire.

The interviewer, a young woman with a cheerful demeanor, smiled warmly at them. “Thank you both for joining us today. Why don’t we start with some introductions?”

“Hello, everyone! I’m Y/N L/N, and I play Lady Eleanor Hightower on House of the Dragon,” Y/N says, her voice smooth and confident as she introduces herself.

Freddie chimes in right after. “And I’m Freddie Fox, and I play Ser Gwayne Hightower, Eleanor’s incredibly charming, dashingly handsome older brother.”

Y/N snorts, nudging him with her elbow. “You forgot modest, Freddie. Always so modest.”

The interviewer laughs, clearly enjoying their banter. “It’s great to have you both here. So, as you know, House of the Dragon has a massive fandom, and one of the things they love to do is theorize and create ships outside of the canon. They really get invested in the chemistry between characters—and, let’s be honest, between the actors as well.”

Freddie and Y/N exchange a look, both trying to suppress knowing smiles.

The interviewer continues with a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, naturally, people are starting to wonder—could we be seeing the next Kit Harington and Rose Leslie? You know, screen partners turning into real-life partners?”

Freddie, never one to miss an opportunity for a bit of fun, suddenly turned in his seat, getting down on one knee in front of Y/N. With an exaggeratedly serious expression, he took her hand. “Y/N, dearest Lady Eleanor, would you do me the immense honor of becoming my wife? I promise to annoy you, to steal your snacks, and to outshine you in every single scene we ever do together.”

Y/N bursts out laughing, placing a hand over her heart as if genuinely touched. “Oh, Freddie, how could I ever say no to such a heartfelt proposal? But I must warn you—I take up all the covers at night, and I’m not above hiding the remote if you try to switch to football during one of our movie nights.”

The interviewer is cracking up now, along with the crew behind the cameras. “I didn’t expect this, but I’m loving it! You two are absolutely priceless.”

Freddie stood up, still holding Y/N’s hand, and they both gave a bow to the camera. “Well, you know," he says, turning back to the interviewer, “it’s all about keeping the fans on their toes. Can’t make it too easy for them to figure out what’s going on, right?”

Y/N grins. “Exactly. We like to keep things... interesting.”

The interviewer, still grinning, leans in. “So, should we start planning the wedding, or...?”

Freddie looked thoughtfully at Y/N, tapping his chin. “Well, we’re thinking of something small. Just us, a couple of dragons, and maybe a White Walker to officiate. Keep it intimate, you know?”

Y/N nodded sagely. “Very exclusive. Only the crème de la crème of Westeros.”

The interviewer shakes her head, thoroughly entertained. “Okay, okay, I think we’ve just given the fandom even more fuel for their theories! On a serious note, though, it’s clear you two have incredible chemistry. What’s it like working together on set?”

Y/N smiled warmly at Freddie before answering. “Honestly, it’s a blast. Freddie and I just click, and I think that shows on screen. We’ve got a great rapport, and it’s always fun bringing these characters to life together.”

Freddie nodded, adding, “Yeah, we give each other a lot of shit, but that’s part of what makes it work. We trust each other, and that allows us to really push the boundaries in our scenes—sometimes a bit too much, according to Geeta,” he added with a wink.

The interviewer wraps it up, still chuckling. “Well, it’s been an absolute blast talking with you both. Can’t wait to see what chaos you bring to House of the Dragon next season.”

As the camera pulls back and the lights dim, Freddie and Y/N share a quick, conspiratorial glance, knowing they’d just given the fandom more than enough to talk about—and probably a few new fanfics to write as well.

When the interview dropped on the internet, the fandom absolutely exploded. Social media was flooded with clips of Freddie’s mock proposal, and the internet lost its collective mind.

Fans were dissecting every moment of the interview, from the playful banter to the way Freddie had gazed up at Y/N during his over-the-top proposal. The comments sections were filled with fans declaring that they were “shipping” the two even harder now, some even demanding that someone should cast them both in a romcom.

Amid the chaos, Y/N decided to fan the flames a bit more. She posted a cheeky selfie on Instagram, looking effortlessly stunning as always, with a caption that read, “The coolest of the Hightower siblings.”

It didn’t take long for Freddie to jump in on the fun. He reposted her selfie to his own Instagram story, adding the caption, “THE future Mrs. Fox.”

The internet went into overdrive. Fans were tagging each other, sharing screenshots, and even their House of the Dragon co-stars started chiming in with their own comments, playing along with the joke. The whole thing had taken on a life of its own, and it was clear that Y/N and Freddie had become the fandom’s favorite new obsession.

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During a press event, when Rhys Ifans, the man behind Otto Hightower, was asked about his thoughts on Freddie and Y/N’s antics, his face split into a wide, unabashed grin.

“Well, as Otto,” he began, dropping into character with a serious tone, “I have to say, it’s a major fucking ick. Completely inappropriate! Gwayne and Eleanor getting all... cozy? That would make Otto want to strangle someone. He’d be straight to the quill, penning some strongly worded letters to sort that shit out.”

The crowd erupted in laughter, knowing exactly how Otto Hightower would react to such scandal.

“But as Rhys?” he continued, his tone shifting to one of genuine enthusiasm, “I’m all in! I mean, have you seen those two together? The chemistry is off the bloody charts! If they don’t end up getting married after all this, I’ll be sorely disappointed. They’re perfect for each other—on and off the screen.”

His lighthearted comment sent the room into a ripple of laughter, with everyone loving the idea of Rhys being a secret shipper of Freddie and Y/N.

Within hours, his quote—“Ick as Otto, but fuck yes as Rhys!”—became the battle cry of the fandom, plastered across memes, gifs, and fan art that flooded every corner of the internet. It wasn't just spreading; it was detonating.

The whole situation exploded into a full-blown phenomenon, with fans practically canonizing Rhys as the unofficial president of the Freddie and Y/N ship. People started tagging him in everything, from wild fan theories to NSFW fanfiction, with captions like “Rhys would approve” or “Otto hates it, but Rhys lives for it.”

It was unhinged, chaotic, and utterly glorious. Rhys’s endorsement didn’t just add fuel to the fire; it threw in a grenade, making the whole thing go nuclear.

#hotd #hotd fandom #hotd fanfic #hotd x reader #freddie fox #freddie fox x reader #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne #gwayne x reader #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne fanfic #hotd gwayne #gwayne x alicent #gwayne x you #ser gwayne hightower

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hellman55 · 2 years

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Oceanhorn 2: Knights of the Lost Realm Playthrough (Blind) Part 7

#oceanhorn 2 knights of the lost realm

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iconchae · 25 days

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DRAGON’S TEMPTRESS ➽ S.JY/JAKE | 18+

pairing: dragon ! jake × temptress ! afab! reader

synopsis: in a world where mystical beings existed. the dragon knight jake found himself lost in the mystical forest with the temptress he absolutely disliked.

genre: fantasy + smut

warnings: smut so mdni, mentions of killing, cruelity, contains cuss words, uses of terms like (seduction, etc), nsfw, kisses, unprotected sex, not proofread so i'm sorry if there are any mistakes, pet names, teasing, overstimulation, rough sex, marking, unrealistic sex (?), everything is consensual! lmk if i missed anything.

word count: 7.47k

a/n: damn- it's kinda embarassing seeing my last two fics because they're so low effort made, but here is one high effort fic as apology. also, I do accept requests, don't hesitate to send in. though I might only pick if I have ideas about what to write in it, thank you :3

Jake's heavy eyelids fluttered closed, the warmth of her core pressing against his groin through layers of clothing. His hands gripped her thighs, firm and toned beneath his touch, as she rocked against him.

"You..." he moaned, his voice husky with desire as he struggled to maintain consciousness. His heart raced, pounding against his ribcage like a wild animal, as the sensation of her pussy grinding against him became overwhelming.

With a final, shuddering breath, Jake's body convulsed. He spilled into his pants, the warmth spreading through the fabric as he let out a guttural moan. His limbs grew heavy, and he slumped back against his pillow, eyes flying open to take in his familiar, empty room.

"No..." he whispered, disbelieving. He ran a hand through his disheveled, dark hair, fingers tangling in the damp strands. His gaze darted around the room, searching for any sign of her presence, but finding only shadows and the faint glow of his bedside lamp.

In a world where mystical creatures like unicorns, mermaids, and dragons roamed freely, Jake stood out as the kingdom's most revered dragon knight. Yet, despite his esteemed position, he faced a challenge unlike any other.

In this seemingly perfect realm existed temptresses—enigmatic beings who could manipulate minds. Their power was insidious; they would seduce their prey, leaving them vulnerable and disoriented, only to fulfill their dark desires. These temptresses thrived on the torment and eventual destruction of those they ensnared.

Jake was currently under the spell of one such temptress. She had invaded his dreams, weaving illusions that blurred the line between reality and fantasy. As he slept, her seductive visions preyed upon his deepest desires, weakening his resolve and leaving him at her mercy.

Perched high on a branch in the enchanted forest, you munched on the forbidden fruit with a nonchalant air. The forest below bustled with the movement of various mystical creatures, all oblivious to the seductress watching from above. The fruit’s sweet, tangy flavor contrasted sharply with the tension you felt simmering in the air.

As you prepared to leave, intent on avoiding any unnecessary entanglements, a sudden jolt yanked you from your perch. The net, expertly crafted and nearly invisible among the foliage, ensnared you before you could react. The world spun as you tumbled down, the net tangling around you and tightening with each movement.

You landed with a thud, the net’s constricting embrace rendering you immobile. A pair of strong arms swept you up effortlessly, cradling you in a bridal hold. The sudden proximity left you disoriented, your heartbeat quickening not only from the fall but from the undeniable heat of the contact.

Jake, the famed dragon knight whose armor bore the fiery emblem of his order, was your captor. His grip was firm and unyielding, his muscles tensed with purpose as he adjusted his hold. You attempted to wriggle free, your efforts hampered by the net’s confining weave.

“Let me go, you bastard,” you spat, your voice laced with irritation and defiance. You glared up at him, feeling the heat of his body through the thin layer of your clothing.

Jake’s eyes, hardened by countless battles and encounters with creatures like you, softened slightly. He didn’t release his hold but adjusted you carefully in his arms, his breath warm against your skin.

“Just keep quiet, and I might spare your life,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff. The tension in his tone was palpable, mingling with an undercurrent of something more—something that neither of you fully understood.

The net fell away, rustling softly as Jake laid you gently on the grass. The lush, emerald blades cushioned your fall, contrasting sharply with the harsh reality of your predicament. As you lay there, the remnants of the net still clinging to your limbs, you made a deliberate effort to mask your frustration with a sultry smile.

"Can you take this off?" you asked, your voice a soft purr laced with temptation. Your eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and challenge as you gazed up at him, your fingers lightly brushing against the cool grass.

Jake's expression hardened, his jaw tightening with resolve. "Stop talking in that tone," he commanded, his voice a low growl that brooked no argument. The firmness in his tone was as unyielding as the grip he had on the net moments before.

His gaze swept over you, taking in the sight of your revealing attire—fabric that clung to you, accentuating every curve and movement.

The other knights, standing a few paces away, stared openly. Their eyes, filled with a mix of lust and admiration, roamed over your form. Jake’s eyes darkened as he took in the scene, and his protective instincts flared.

"Anyone who looks at her will have their head chopped off," he threatened, his voice sharp and commanding. The knights, well accustomed to Jake’s authority and reputation, averted their eyes immediately. They knew better than to defy the dragon knight, whose stature and prowess were renowned across the kingdom.

Jake knelt beside you, his movements deliberate and careful. His armor clinked softly as he moved, the fire symbol on his chest gleaming in the filtered light.

As he began to remove the net from around you, his fingers brushed against your skin with an unexpected tenderness. The contact was fleeting but charged, sending a shiver down your spine.

You watched him with a mixture of surprise and admiration. Despite his evident disdain for your kind, there was a hint of something softer in his actions—a conflict between duty and a grudging respect. The softness in his touch as he disentangled the net seemed at odds with the harshness of his words.

As the last of the net fell away, you stretched out on the grass, feeling the cool earth beneath you. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the usual sounds of rustling leaves and distant birdsong momentarily stilled.

As you perched atop Jake in his dragon form, the world below was a shifting blur of greens and browns. The forest stretched out endlessly, its vast expanse a tangled maze of trees and shadows. The sensation of flying was exhilarating, but also slightly disorienting as the wind whipped past you, ruffling your hair and catching in your clothes.

Jake’s powerful wings beat rhythmically, sending gusts of wind that tugged at you. His scales shimmered in the dappled sunlight, a blend of deep emeralds and brilliant golds, each movement a testament to his formidable strength. The sensation of his warm, scaled body beneath you was both thrilling and oddly comforting, though the situation was far from ideal.

“How long is it gonna take till we reach the kingdom?” you asked, your voice carrying just above the roar of the wind. You tried to steady yourself, your fingers gripping the thick, ridged scales along Jake’s neck for balance.

“Few days,” Jake rumbled, his voice a deep, resonant growl that vibrated through his body. His irritation was palpable, though he made a concerted effort to mask it. The dragon's form shifted slightly as he adjusted his flight path, the trees below becoming a distant, swaying sea of green.

His wings flared out, catching the wind to give him more lift, and you felt a sudden surge of speed. The rush of air was invigorating but also made it harder to hold on. “Can you hold a little tighter? I don’t want you to fall,” he added, his tone more commanding than before.

You obliged, wrapping your arms securely around his neck. “As you say, master,” you replied with a playful lilt. You patted his dragon head affectionately, a gesture that felt more like a tease than a comfort. The sarcasm in your voice was unmistakable.

Jake huffed a low, rumbling sigh, a sound that reverberated through his massive frame. “Gosh, I can’t help but want to kill you the second we reach the kingdom,” he muttered, his frustration barely masked by the wind. His eyes, fierce and focused, scanned the horizon.

“If you want to kill me, then I’ll just jump off from here,” you said, your tone light but laced with an undercurrent of challenge. You glanced down at the dizzying height, your heart skipping a beat as the ground seemed to shift far below.

“Go ahead,” Jake retorted, his voice indifferent but with a hint of something darker. The other knights were a distant speck in the sky, visible only as tiny figures walking through the forest beneath.

You shivered at the thought, your bravado faltering as you peered down. The dizzying drop was more intimidating than you had anticipated. “Nevermind,” you muttered, a touch of fear creeping into your voice as you tightened your grip around his neck.

Jake let out a throaty chuckle, the sound echoing in the open sky. “Is the temptress scared?” he teased, a mischievous edge to his tone. The playful challenge in his voice was a stark contrast to his earlier irritation.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, though you were thankful Jake couldn’t see it. “Maybe a little,” you admitted, though you tried to keep your voice steady. The wind was now a gentle breeze, cooling the sweat on your brow.

The vast forest below seemed endless, and the realization that you were still lost made the situation feel even more surreal. Jake’s powerful form cut through the air with ease, but the dense canopy of trees below made navigation challenging.

The other knights, having stopped to rest, were visible only as tiny, distant figures, their presence a reassuring reminder that you weren’t entirely alone in this vast wilderness.

As Jake adjusted his flight path again, you snuggled closer against his neck, finding some semblance of warmth and security despite the bizarre circumstances.

Jake’s scales were warm against your body, and despite his gruff exterior, there was an undeniable gentleness in his movements as he maneuvered through the air. The forest below seemed to open up slightly, hinting at a possible path forward, and you could only hope that the journey would soon come to an end.

You nestled closer into Jake’s shoulder, the cool night air wrapping around you as the canopy of trees above rustled gently in the breeze. Jake’s human form was a striking contrast to his dragon self, his muscles tense beneath his dark tunic. His eyes, normally fierce and commanding, now held a hint of weariness as he looked out over the vast expanse of the forest.

The knights had settled into their tents below, their murmurs and the occasional clink of metal barely audible from your elevated perch. The firelight from their campfires flickered, casting long, eerie shadows on the forest floor. The tranquility of the moment was abruptly shattered by the sudden appearance of one of the five knights.

The knight emerged from the shadows of the tent, his face pale and drawn. His footsteps were hurried and uneven, a stark contrast to the usually composed demeanor of the king’s men. “Master,” he called urgently, his voice trembling slightly as he approached Jake and you on the branch. “I think we’ve entered the Blood Forest.”

Jake’s body went rigid, his expression morphing from relaxed to alarmed in an instant. His head whipped around, eyes locking onto the knight with a sharp, predatory focus. “Huh?” he muttered, his voice low and concerned.

You lifted your head from Jake’s shoulder, a frown tugging at your lips as you took in the knight’s anxious demeanor. “Blood Forest?” you echoed, your voice tinged with confusion and a touch of unease. The name sounded ominous, but you had no context to understand its full implications.

The knight swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously around the forest as if the trees themselves might suddenly come alive. “I’m not sure, but we’ve crossed the line from the Mystical Forest into the Blood Forest. It’s supposed to be dangerous… extremely dangerous.”

Jake’s expression hardened, a scowl forming as he processed the information. The Blood Forest was a place of brutal, untamed wilderness, known for its vicious creatures and treacherous terrain. The stories of its cruelty were legendary, told to scare even the bravest of souls.

“You’re telling me we’re in the Blood Forest?” Jake’s voice was taut with barely suppressed frustration, his eyes flashing with an intensity that made you shiver. “The forest that’s notorious for its savagery?”

The knight nodded, his face pale under the dim light. “Yes, Master. I’m afraid so. We’ve passed the boundary. The trees here are not the red ones the tales speak of, but we’re definitely in the Blood Forest.”

You couldn’t help but mutter under your breath, the sarcasm evident in your tone. “I knew this dragon knew nothing about his own kingdom’s mystical forest. Entered the wrong arena, wow.” The comment was a reflexive jab, meant more to amuse yourself than to provoke Jake, but he shot you a fiery glare in response.

A wave of tension surged between you, palpable and heavy. Jake’s eyes, usually so controlled, now blazed with a mix of anger and stress. The thought of impending danger was clearly weighing on him, though he tried to mask his anxiety. You met his gaze with a sheepish smile, hoping it would diffuse some of the tension.

The knight’s voice trembled as he spoke again. “What should we do, Master? Do we leave now? We’re at great risk here, especially with nightfall approaching.”

Jake’s jaw clenched, his mind racing through the options. He knew that leaving the safety of the tree canopy in the dead of night would increase their chances of encountering the forest’s dangerous inhabitants.

His decision came after a long, tense pause. “We’re staying for the night,” he finally said, his voice firm and resolute. “Tell the others to keep their ears open for any threats. We need to be vigilant.”

The knight nodded quickly, relief mingling with his fear as he bowed deeply to Jake before retreating back to the camp. His footsteps were hasty, eager to escape the daunting presence of the dragon knight and the temptress.

As the knight disappeared into the shadows, you glanced back at Jake, noticing the slight tremor in his hands. His formidable exterior masked the uncertainty that lay beneath. You could sense the weight of the situation pressing down on him, a pressure that seemed almost too great to bear.

You turned towards Jake, who was seated beside you, his form silhouetted against the dim glow of the fire below. “Hey, dragon,” you said, a playful smirk on your lips.

Jake’s eyes narrowed, his expression a mix of irritation and tired resolve. “It’s Jake,” he replied, his voice clipped and firm.

“Whatever, dragon,” you dismissed with a nonchalant wave of your hand. You rose from the branch, preparing to climb down and head towards the tent where the other knights were settling for the night.

Before you could make your descent, Jake’s strong hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a surprising firmness. He pulled you back towards him, his arm wrapping around your waist in a way that kept you close against his chest. The closeness was unexpected and intimate, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“You're sleeping with me,” Jake declared, his tone brooking no argument.

You arched an eyebrow, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Woah, you’re so straightforward, aren’t you?”

Jake’s brow furrowed, realizing that you had misunderstood his intent. His irritation was palpable as he shifted his gaze to you, his eyes cold and steely. “I want you to sleep with me in the tent because I don’t want to wake up and find you escaping.”

His smirk held a dark undertone, a reminder of the king’s decree and the danger you were in. “After all, the king would like to kill you,” he added, the edge in his voice unmistakable.

You rolled your eyes, a sarcastic smile playing on your lips. “Whatever you say, dragon.”

Jake’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “I said, it’s Jake.” His voice was low and dangerous, the irritation clear in his tone. His gaze was a mix of exhaustion and growing annoyance, tired of the constant disregard for his name.

From their positions around the fire, the other knights watched the exchange with barely suppressed amusement. A few chuckled softly, their laughter muffled by the tense atmosphere.

The moment their laughter reached Jake’s ears, his head whipped around, his eyes flashing dangerously. The knights quickly fell silent, their expressions shifting to one of anxious respect as they met the dragon knight’s fierce glare

The next day, the blood Forest loomed around you, its twisted trees and crimson leaves casting eerie shadows as you and Jake continued your perilous journey.

The air was thick with an unsettling silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant cries of unseen creatures. The oppressive atmosphere seemed to press in on you from all sides, adding to the growing tension between you and Jake.

You clung to Jake’s back, your arms wrapped around his neck as he carried you through the dense foliage. The discomfort of being trapped in the forest combined with the constant gnawing of your own urges was beginning to take its toll. As a temptress, the prolonged deprivation was becoming unbearable.

In a moment of impulsive need, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Jake’s neck. The sensation of your lips against his skin sent a shiver through him, and you noticed the area where your kiss had touched began to take on an unusual hue—an eerie yellowish-orange that seemed to radiate warmth.

Jake stumbled slightly, his powerful wings faltering as he let out a frustrated growl. “What... What the hell are you doing?” His voice was a mix of anger and confusion, his eyes flashing with both irritation and something more complex.

You pulled back slightly, feigning innocence. “Sorry, I couldn’t control myself,” you said, your tone soft and sheepish. But the glint in your eyes betrayed your lack of genuine remorse.

Jake’s frustration was palpable. His wings flared as he tried to steady himself, the unusual color on his neck making him more agitated. “You think this is a joke? We’re in a perilous situation, and you’re—”

His words trailed off as he caught a glimpse of your face. Despite his irritation, there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—an almost helpless frustration mixed with a begrudging attraction. His jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain his composure.

You remained close, your hands gripping him tightly as you tried to suppress a smirk. The kiss had done its work, igniting a complicated blend of emotions within Jake. The yellowish mark on his neck, though unusual, seemed to only intensify the volatile mix of irritation and desire.

“I didn’t mean to distract you,” you said with a teasing lilt, though your eyes softened slightly. “But you can’t deny that you like it a little.”

Jake shot you a sharp look, his expression torn between anger and reluctant amusement. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, though the edge in his voice had softened somewhat. His wings steadied, and he resumed flying, albeit with a tense energy that hinted at the internal struggle he was facing.

As you settled back into your position, the tension between you crackled in the air. Despite the dire situation, the undeniable chemistry between you and Jake created an unexpected undercurrent of attraction.

The forest might have been a dangerous place, but it was also forging a connection between you and the dragon knight that neither of you could ignore.

At night, it cloaked the Blood Forest in an even deeper darkness, the trees casting elongated shadows under the dim light of a crescent moon. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, interrupted only by the distant, eerie calls of nocturnal creatures. Inside this tense atmosphere, the interplay of desire and danger was about to unfold.

You approached one of the knights, the king's favored protector aside from Jake. Your seductive gaze was a weapon of its own, capable of ensnaring even the most disciplined of men.

The knight, already somewhat susceptible to your allure due to the influence of your natural temptative fragrance, felt the pull almost immediately. His eyes softened, and a smile began to form on his lips as you traced your fingers along the contours of his well-defined muscles.

“Hey,” you said sweetly, your voice a soft murmur that carried a hint of innocent curiosity. You wrapped your arm around his waist, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The knight’s hands instinctively moved to your hips, drawing you closer with an eager grip.

Before anything further could transpire, a sudden and forceful intervention disrupted the scene. Strong arms, unmistakably familiar, yanked you away from the knight.

Your back collided with a solid chest, the arms around your waist securing you with a possessive firmness. You felt the heat of Jake’s body through the layers of your clothing, his presence radiating an intensity that eclipsed the previous encounter.

“What did I say about looking at her?” Jake’s voice was a low growl, his tone charged with anger and a hint of possessiveness. His skin was glowing an ominous yellow, a stark indication of the rising fury within him.

The knight, startled and slightly disoriented, stumbled back, muttering an apology before retreating to his tent, the unspoken truth of his desire lingering in his wake.

Jake’s grip on you tightened, he turned you to face him. His body pressing you firmly against him. The closeness was electrifying; your breasts brushed against his chest, and you could feel every rapid beat of his heart. His hand, warm and commanding, traced the line of your jaw with a possessive tenderness.

“What were you trying to do? Seduce him?” Jake’s question was a mixture of frustration and something deeper, as he stared into your eyes with a demanding intensity.

“What else?” You replied with a scoff, looking up at him with a challenging glint in your eyes. Your temptress fragrance, now unleashed and potent, mingled with the tension in the air, creating a heady mix that seemed to amplify the emotional and physical proximity between you two.

Jake’s yellow-tinted skin seemed to burn even brighter as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin. He pressed a heated kiss to the sensitive spot, his lips grazing against your collarbone. The contact was both possessive and intimate, a stark contrast to the earlier encounter with the knight.

“hmm?” you said, your voice a sultry murmur. “Just because I'm getting killed soon doesn’t mean I don’t feel dull because of not seducing anyone.” You wrapped your arms around Jake’s neck, trying to draw him closer, hoping to ignite a reaction.

But the dragon pulled back slightly, a chuckle escaping his lips despite the lingering frustration. “Suffer then,” he said with a scoff, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and defiance. He turned away, heading toward his tent with a deliberate nonchalance, leaving you to wrestle with your own conflicting emotions.

As he walked away, you muttered under your breath, “Worst dragon I’ve ever met.” Your eyes rolled in exasperation, but the underlying tension between you two was unmistakable. The blood forest might have been perilous, but it had also become a crucible for a complicated blend of attraction, frustration, and unresolved desire.

A few days passed of trying to find a way out of the blood forest and you couldn't help but think that this dragon was simply stupid to not be able to find it easily.

Your tempting scent was dangerous for even you, if it wasn't washed quickly even the creatures creeping in the blood forest would've lured in and who knows, might've killed you?

After all from what you knew, dying by the hands of the king was better than dying by the hands of the cruel creatures in the forest.

Today tho the moon cast a silver glow over the tranquil lake, illuminating the water's surface and making it shimmer like a thousand diamonds. The camp of knights was nestled in the nearby forest, their snores barely audible above the gentle rustling of leaves.

They were all sleeping and you made a plan to just wash your scent in the nearby lake.

As you quietly extricated yourself from Jake's possessive embrace, you could feel the heat of his body dissipating, his arms relaxing around your waist. He muttered something incoherent in his sleep, his brow furrowing slightly, but his slumber remained undisturbed.

Standing up, you stretched your arms overhead, arching your back and releasing a contented sigh as you walked out the tent.

The cool night air caressed your bare skin, making you shiver slightly. Your long, curly hair cascaded down your back in dark waves, and your full, perky breasts bounced slightly with the movement.

Turning towards the lake, you walked slowly, the soft grass beneath your feet silent. As you reached the water's edge, you sank to your knees, the cool liquid enveloping your legs up to your thighs. You closed your eyes, letting the soothing warmth of the night wash over you.

With deliberate slowness, you unbuckled the leather belt cinched around your waist, letting it fall to the ground with a quiet thud. Your fingers then traced the laces of your corset, loosening them until the garment gaped open, revealing your naked flesh to the moonlit night.

The night air grew cooler as you removed your corset, and you shivered again. But this time, the chill had little to do with the temperature. Rather, it was a thrill that ran down your spine, knowing that you were alone and vulnerable in the stillness of the night.

You let the corset slide off your shoulders, allowing it to drop to the ground beside your belt. Your breath caught in your throat as you reached up to cup your breasts, the weight of them heavy in your hands. Your thumbs brushed against your peaks, hardening them to taut nubs.

Stepping fully into the lake, you waded out until the water reached your waist. The liquid warmth wrapped around you, caressing your skin like a lover's touch. You leaned your head back, letting your hair fan out behind you, and began to wash your body.

Your hands moved slowly, sensuously, as you cleansed your skin. You ran your fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp, before scrubbing the sudsy water over your arms, your shoulders, your breasts.

After all it had been so long for you without a man's touch. So, even if it was your own touch for now, it was bearable than nothing.

As you cleansed your lower abdomen, you paused, your fingers brushing against the soft curls at the juncture of your thighs. A surge of warmth pulsed through you, and you bit your lower lip, torn between the desire to continue washing and the urge to touch yourself more intimately.

The decision was made for you when a twig snapped nearby, the sound sharp and unexpected in the quiet night. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as you strained your ears to listen. Footsteps echoed through the trees, heavy and deliberate, approaching the lake's edge.

You step out of the water as if to reach out and dress up before any creature sees you as you stand there, your body radiating heat despite the cool night air. Your arms are crossed under your breasts, which are pushed up and together, highlighting their generous size. But then you stepped back in water again after making sure everything was alright.

Your fingers are curled into tight fists at your sides, as if you're struggling to keep from reaching out and touching yourself again. The nails of one hand dig into the skin of your arm, leaving small crescent moon imprints in their wake.

The only sound is your ragged breathing and the soft rustle of your clothes as you shift slightly from foot to foot, trying to ease the ache between your legs without actually touching yourself. You're a vision of frustrated lust, standing alone in the darkness, desperate for relief that you can't give yourself.

Behind you, the lake waters lap gently against the shore, the sound almost mocking in its calmness compared to the turmoil within you. The trees stand tall and still, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze, as if they're whispering encouragement for you to give in and touch yourself.

Jake though now awake was taken back to not find you in the tent, he almost thought you were eaten or probably dead because of that scent which you almost always carried to lure people and even some creatures. So he stepped out of the tent and searched for you before he walked towards the lake.

Jake's jaw slackens as he takes in the scene before him. The moonlit lake shore serves as a backdrop to the most intoxicating sight he's ever laid eyes on. The silver light casts long, dancing shadows, illuminating the curve of her back as she bends slightly forward, washing herself off.

Jake's eyes widen as he steps out from behind the trees, taking in the sight of you standing naked by the lake's edge. The cool moonlight bathes your body, highlighting the fullness of your breasts, their peaks tightening in the night air.

You hear the rustle of leaves and turn to see Jake emerge from his hiding place, eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and raw desire. The silver glow of the moon follows him as he approaches you, but it's your enticing scent that has completely captivated him.

Jake's gaze locks onto yours, darkened by an insatiable lust as he closes the distance between you two by walking towards you and pulling you towards him and out of the water. Each step mirrors his increasing heartbeat, his breaths shallow and hot against your skin. He swallows hard and whispers, "I can't resist you any longer."

As Jake reaches you, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you against his chest, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place as he walks backwards towards the water's edge, the cool lake breeze rustling the leaves above.

"Has the dragon finally given in?" You asked with a little giggle, relieved that you'd finally receive the touch of a man that you'd been craving. Watching as the dragon undressed out of his armor until he was left naked too.

It was evident he was aroused because of your deadly scent.

"The dragon has... fallen prey," Jake growls against your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. The cold water laps around your waists as he pulls you closer, his arousal evident and throbbing against your stomach.

"Mmm, you're so eager..." You mumble. Jake chuckles darkly, his hands roaming over your curves possessively. He lifts you out of the water and carries you to the rocky shore, laying you down on the warm stones.

As he looms over you, his eyes blazing with dragon heat, he grabs your thighs and spreads them wide, the rough stone digging into your back. "I'm going to fuck you so hard on these rocks, you'll be feeling me for hours,"

Jake leans down, even in his human form he keeps his dragon tail wrapping around your arms and pinning them above your head as he buries his face between your breasts. He nuzzles and kisses your tender flesh, his rough scales lightly abrading your skin. You arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him, eager for more.

"J-Jake...please..." You whimper, your voice hitching as he suctions his mouth over one peak, his tail tightening around your wrists. The pressure is exquisite, bordering on pain, and you squirm beneath him, the rough rocks further heightening the sensation.

"Shh, be still..." Jake growls, his voice muffled against your chest. He switches to the other breast, lavishing equal attention on the neglected peak. You try to writhe underneath him, the need to touch him overwhelming, but his tail holds you fast.

Jake finally releases your wrists, leaving red marks where his tail had held you captive. His amber eyes bore into yours as he reaches between you two, his clawed fingers finding your wetness before plunging deep inside of you without warning. "You're so fucking wet for me..."

"Aaah! Jake!" You cry out, your back arching off the rock as he finger-fucks you ruthlessly, his claws scraping against your inner walls. He adds a second finger, scissoring them inside of you, stretching you open in preparation for his massive cock.

"Please... Jake... I... I need..." You babble incoherently, your hands clinging to his broad shoulders as he continues to work you with his hands. His tail slowly coils around your thighs, spreading you wider, lifting your hips off the rocks so he can delve even deeper.

His hand withdraws, and you moan at the loss, only for that sound to be swallowed as he crushes his lips to yours. His tail slides beneath you, tilting your hips up, and you feel the monster bulge of his flesh press against your slick, unready hole.

"Look at me," Jake commands, his voice low and growly. Your eyes flutter open, meeting his intense gaze as he slowly enters you, his thick girth stretching your hole wide. You gasp, your nails digging into his arms as the pressure becomes almost unbearable. "You can take it,"

He speaks, and with that, he thrusts forward, burying his entire length inside you in one brutal stroke. You scream into his mouth, your body struggling to accommodate his immense size. Jake breaks the kiss, his head thrown back as he savors the tight, wet heat that envelops his cock.

Time seems to slow down as he begins to thrust into you, each movement eliciting a new wave of pleasure and pain from your abused body. Your mind becomes a fog, lost in the sensation of him inside you, filling you up in ways that should not be possible.

"J-Jake...it's...too...much..." You whimper, tears streaming down your face as he pounds into you mercilessly. His tail tightens around your thighs, lifting you higher so that he can drive even deeper. "Shhh, baby. You can take it."

His tempo increases, his hips jerking forward as he buryes himself to the hilt inside you, his tail coiling and uncoiling with the motion. The sound of wet, slapping flesh and your broken cries fill the air as he takes you on the rocky shore, his passion unbridled.

Just when you think you can't take anymore, Jake's knot swells at the entrance of your pussy, stretching you to the limit and locking him inside you. He growls, his hands gripping your hips as he holds you in place, his knot pulsing with his heartbeat. "Mine,"

"Oh, God... Jake... it's... so big..." You gasp, your body tensing as his knot slowly inflates more, stuffing you fuller than you've ever been before. Your fingers claw at his arms, your face buried in his neck as you struggle to breathe through the intense sensation.

"Shh, breathe for me," Jake murmurs, his voice gentle despite the iron grip he has on your hips. His tail strokes your hair soothingly, the contrast between his tender touch and the brutal stretch of his knot making your mind swim. "That's it, just feel me inside you..."

As his knot finishes inflating, Jake starts to slowly thrust into you again, his tail tightening around your thighs to keep you in place. The dual sensation of his movements and the pressure of his knot against your overstimulated entrance sends waves of pleasure through your body, making you shudder and moan.

"J-Jake... it's... it's too... intensive..." You whimper, your arms wrapping around his neck as he picks up the pace, his hips slamming against yours in a steady rhythm. His tail around your thighs tightens further, keeping you spread wide and helpless to his touch.

"Shh, just let it overtake you," Jake purrs into your ear, the soft rumble of his voice sending vibrations through your body and adding to the intense sensations flowing from your core.

As you feel the pleasure cresting inside you, Jake nuzzles your neck, his hot breath and the gentle scrape of his fangs making your eyes roll back as wave after wave of pure ecstasy crashes over you. The room spins around you, your mind hazy with pleasure.

Jake buries his face in your neck, his hot breath washing over your skin as he breathes heavily from the effort of holding back his own release. His tail tightens around your thighs, his grip possessive as his hips jerk against yours, his knot pulsing inside you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Jake's knot pulses violently inside you, flooding your insides with rope after rope of thick, hot cum. The sheer volume of his release is staggering, and you can feel it leaking out around his knot, dripping down your thighs as he continues to pump load after load into you.

Jake's breathing is heavy as he nuzzles your neck, the two of you still joined together as he finishes releasing inside you. His knot slowly begins to deflate, but his grip on your thighs remains tight as he savors the feeling of being deep inside you.

With a gentle tug, Jake pulls out of you, his knot slipping free with a soft pop. He turns you around and pushes you forward, guiding you towards the lake. "Look at you," he says, his voice filled with affection as he stares at the mess he made on your thighs.

Jake gently pushes you down onto the lake's edge, the cool water lapping at your thighs. He drops to his knees behind you, his fingers parting your folds to inspect the damage he did. "Such a pretty mess," he murmurs, his thumb swirling through the cum leaking out of you.

Jake's touch is gentle as he cleans you up, his fingers slowly pushing back into your puffy, overheated folds. "You took me so well," he whispers, his other hand smoothing over your backside soothingly. "Such a good girl for me..."

"J-Jake... it's so sensitive..." You hiss as his fingers slowly clean you up, the gentle touch making you squirm. You lean back against him, your eyes fluttering shut as he murmurs praises into your ear. "It..."

"...it feels like my insides are still spread open," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. Jake's fingers pause for a moment, his thumb pressing gently against your entrance before continuing to clean you. "I can feel everything so much more... intensely,"

Jake hums in approval, his fingers moving with deliberate slowness as he cleans you. "That's because you're so full of me," he says, his voice low and possessive. "My cum is still inside you, stretching you out and making everything extra sensitive."

Jake lets out a low chuckle as a thought enters his mind, his hand still moving gently over your backside. "What if the temptress had to bear kids of the dragon? Would she still be as seductive and cunning, or would she be too busy tending to her young?"

You blush at his words, your mind filling with images of a pregnant you, heavy with dragon eggs. "W-well... perhaps... she'd be even more alluring. After all, she'd have the power of life itself, growing within her..." You toss back your hair, grinning mischievously.

The dense canopy of the Blood Forest gradually thinned, revealing the first hints of dawn breaking through the treetops. The cold wind rushed past you, but the sensation of freedom was exhilarating as you straddled Jake’s back, his dragon form gliding effortlessly through the sky. The powerful beats of his wings created a rhythmic rush of air, and the forest below blurred into a sea of dark green.

“Slow down,” you whispered breathlessly, fingers clutching tightly at the scales along his neck, your grip as firm as your resolve. Despite the urgency of their escape, your heart pounded with a different kind of anticipation, one that wasn’t purely driven by the thrill of fleeing danger.

Jake glanced back at you, his serpentine eyes gleaming in the early light. “Will you still let me get killed?” you asked, your voice softer now, laced with a hint of vulnerability you rarely let show. A pout formed on your lips as you leaned forward, your breath warm against the back of his neck. You knew the answer, but still, you needed to hear it from him.

“After all that?” Jake rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of everything you had been through together. “Definitely no.” His tone was gruff but honest, a reluctant admission wrapped in the cadence of his powerful wingbeats. He banked gently, tilting his body upward to climb higher, as if trying to escape the last remnants of the forest’s menacing grip.

Your hand instinctively reached up to touch the dragon mark on your neck, a vivid, swirling pattern that seemed to glow faintly against your skin. It was a symbol of possession, one that marked you as his.

The implications of that mark were profound—it tethered your powers to him alone, rendering your once-dangerous allure useless against anyone else. You had lived your entire life seducing and disposing of those who crossed your path, and now, this single mark ensured that the only one you could ever affect was Jake, the dragon.

“It’s both cute and terrifying,” you mused aloud, running your fingers over the mark. It was a constant reminder of your bond, a mystical chain that linked your fates inextricably.

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” you accused lightly, though there was no real anger behind your words. More than anything, it was a curious observation—a realization that Jake had found a way to keep you, and in doing so, had also spared you from the king’s wrath.

Jake’s lips curved into a smirk, though in his dragon form it was more of a baring of teeth than anything else. “What if I did?” he challenged, though his voice held a note of playfulness.

He descended slowly, landing gracefully on a large, sturdy branch that jutted out from one of the tallest trees at the forest’s edge. He lowered himself to allow you to climb off before landing himself, shifting back into his human form in a smooth, fluid motion that spoke of practiced ease.

You watched as his knights, who had followed at a distance, emerged from the trees, casting wary glances at the surrounding terrain. There was a collective sigh of relief; the Blood Forest was finally behind them, and the dawn promised a new beginning.

Jake straightened, his posture still commanding even without his scales and wings. He looked at you with a mixture of fondness and the cool detachment of someone who knew they couldn’t afford to get too close.

“See you, then. Don’t get killed,” he said, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. There was an unspoken truth in his words—he couldn’t take you with him, not when the king’s eyes were always watching.

You didn’t hesitate. Stepping closer, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep, lingering kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of defiance and longing, of everything unsaid and everything understood. For a moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When you pulled back, you could see the flicker of something like regret in Jake’s eyes, though he quickly masked it with his usual bravado. You offered him a small smile before you turned and disappeared into the trees, your form blending seamlessly into the shadows as if you were a part of the forest itself.

Jake watched you go, a strange emptiness settling in his chest. He knew he couldn’t keep you, couldn’t protect you in the way he wanted, but the mark on your neck was a small comfort—a reassurance that you were his in a way that no one else could ever change.

“Goodbye,” he muttered softly, his voice almost lost to the wind as he turned away, his figure vanishing into the morning light along with his knights. He knew, as surely as he knew the feeling of his own heartbeat, that this wasn’t the last time your paths would cross. The bond between you was too strong, too intricately woven by fate and circumstance to be severed so easily.

And so, with the dawn breaking over the horizon, the dragon and his temptress parted ways, each carrying a piece of the other with them into the unknown.

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