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ovobawrites · 10 months

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𝒢𝒾𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 - 𝒯𝓇𝑒𝓎 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

I decided to publish this oneshot cuz i still like it! I wrote it a year ago for a oneshot collab book.

This contains jealousy, hurt/comfort, christmas and a gender neutral reader. I got the dividers from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more over here on tumblr!

The smell of strawberry shortcake wafted through the air, the three-tiered cake resting on the counter top while Trey started preparing the icing. You watched him wistfully, his strong arms beating the air into the cream without even breaking a sweat. Winter was just on the horizon and soon it'd be...

Well for you it'd be Christmas, for the others it was just an exam week and the long-awaited holidays. Still, you wanted to celebrate somehow. Which led you to where you were now, watching your dear boyfriend ready the confectioneries for the upcoming unbirthday party. Might as well ask him while he was already baking, right?

"Hey Trey..." You swung your legs to and fro from atop the counter. Your boyfriend hummed distractedly in reply. "Do you think we could make a gingerbread house or something together?"

Trey halted his whisking, shoulders tensing ever so slightly. You already knew what he was going to say. Still, you waited with a glimmer of hope.

"Winter exams are just around the corner, dear, and with Riddle being so adamant on our dorm scoring high on the leader-board..." He trailed off.

"You'll be busy studying, I know. I just wanted to check if you had the time to." You plastered on a smile he'd never see, his back to you. "That reminds me, are we still having that study date tonight?"

A pause.

Ah. Again.

Trey turned around to face you with an apologetic look on his face. "Sorry, Riddle's-"

"It's fine, don't worry about it!" You had guessed. "We can always reschedule for later. You're a third-year and all! A busy old man!" Too many jokes for it to be genuine.

Still Trey chuckled obligingly, kissed you on the cheek, and went back to his baking. You sighed quietly to yourself.

At least you'd have Grim with you for Christmas.

"What's Christmas?" Grim asked you as you lied in bed, resting on your stomach while you told him about your plans for the holidays.

"It's a holiday in my world, a celebration." You explained softly, longing in your voice. "There's a lot of boring history behind it but essentially we give each other gifts on December 25th. The whole month's a holiday, really. My family and I would make gingerbread houses, decorate a pine tree together..." You trailed off.

"Sounds fun," Grim muttered, half asleep. "the Great Grim wants tuna as a present... a whole pile of it..." He snored softly.

You smiled, melancholic and wistful. "A Christmas with just you and me..." How lonely. It was stupid of you to hope like that.

You drifted off to sleep, unaware of Grim peering at you with worried eyes, a frown on his face.

The library was practically empty. Most NRC students would never study during a weekend, after all. Might as well get used to being alone for the winter break now. Grim was asleep on your lap once again, the cold weather making him more drowsy than usual. You sighed, leaning your head against your hand, absent-mindedly flipping pages in your (borrowed) history textbook. Hopefully you could convince Crowley to give you all that tuna he promised, otherwise you'd be spending your lunch money on tuna for the next few weeks.

The creak of the library door opening made you raise your head, curious to who had entered. No one you recognised. A couple, by the looks of things. Chatting quietly to each other, smiles on their faces as they walked to a table at the back of the room. You sighed again. Back to taking notes from the textbook then.

And as you took the notes, a black knot started to furl up in your chest.

'Policies in the Queendom of Roses during 1635'

...

'Public reaction to Policies'

...

'Red Rose Uprising'

Flip the page of your notebook, blink and close your dry eyes for a moment.

'Establishment of a Democratic System'

...

'Reinstatement of the Monarchy'

...

'Reign of the Queen of Hearts'

...

You blinked slowly, feeling the tell tale signs of an impromptu nap creeping up on you. What would happen if you slept for a little while? You'd be woken up by the bell, and it's not like you had any plans before lunch anyways.

Close the textbook, pack away your stationary and put your stuff in your bag. Then you took off your blazer and bunched it on the table, resting your head on it.

(The soft feeling of a familiar coat being draped over you didn't register. Still, some subconscious part of you smiled in your sleep.)

You woke up when Grim shook you frantically. The bell had just rung to signal that it was time for lunch. You went to pick up your bag, but halted in your steps. Someone's NRC uniform jacket rested on your shoulders. A quick glance at the label told you what you already knew. It was Trey's.

You brushed your hands over the jacket, and your cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

"Ughhh, hurry up, (Y/N)! The Great Grim needs to eat!" The not-cat batted at you with his paws. "Come on! Let's eat! Now!"

"Right, sorry."

You quickly gathered your belongings and left the library, Grim curled around your neck and chattering away. You remained quiet, thoughts turbulent. Should you give Trey his coat back now? Or should you wait until he asks you for it? You wanted to see him but he was probably busy. Still. Maybe you should go to the Heartslabyul dorm after Grim has his fill of food...

"Yeah, yeah. You go talk to Trey and I'll do something else, like find those two bozos." Grim waved a paw dismissively before he brightened up. "Or I could go take some food from the-!"

"No." You pet his head lightly. "You know Riddle will just collar you again if he catches you stealing food, right?"

"Please, he's mellowed out! And I barely got to eat my lunch!" Grim turned pleading eyes towards you, fully aware that you saw him eat three times his body weight in carbonara.

"I'll only be talking to Trey for a bit anyways." You smiled bitterly. "He's busy studying with Riddle, or whatever."

Grim slumped over, and you caught a flash of something in his eyes. Pity? "Fine, but you owe me three cans of tuna, got that?!"

"Deal." You shook his 'hand' before you hurried off to find Trey.

You just wanted to go back to your dorm and study. As much as you loathed to admit it, you were still raw and open from yesterday's conversation. You didn't want to feel so vulnerable, but Trey had a way of making you feel such stupid things. Now where would you find your busy boyfriend...

Knowing Riddle, the two of them are probably studying together in the garden. You strided over, Trey's jacket carefully folded in your arms, held tightly to your chest.

A laugh you knew all too well. Looks like your first guess was right!

Still, better check in case you were just experiencing a brief auditory hallucination.

You peered around a rose bush, silent as a mouse and completely unnoticed. Trey and Riddle were laughing together, holding tea cups and carrying a light, inaudible conversation. There were no books on the garden table. Riddle said something, and Trey burst out into peals of laughter, face flushing in delight. You've never been able to get him to laugh like that. And with how the two were seated next to each other, barely any space between them, it looked an awful lot like they were on a...

A date.

Ah. So that's what's been twisting your guts this whole time. You're jealous. Of Riddle.

Another loud laugh from Trey, who looked at Riddle with such soft and loving eyes and-

You couldn't bear to see any more of this.

You left just as quietly as you came, Trey's jacket still tucked tightly in your arms. You immediately went to find Grim, you couldn't- you didn't want to-

You just wanted to go home. But you can't. So Ramshackle's the next best thing you've got.

You stared at the ground, hurrying to the Heartslabyul dorm's main building, not paying any attention to who was in front of you. So it really shouldn't have shocked you when you crashed into someone's chest.

"Oi, be careful- (Y/N)?" Deuce immediately switched gears, looking upon you with gentle concern.

"Sorry for bumping into you, Deuce." You said, "I was distracted."

"Hey, it's fine, don't worry about it-"

"Oh? What's this? Is Deucey bullying the poor, helpless Prefect?" Ace came over smoothly, a wicked grin on his face. "What would Riddle say if he saw you?"

"Shut up Ace!" Deuce sighed, then looked at you. Really looked at you. It felt like he was gazing into your soul.

You squirmed, feeling a little uncomfortable. "Um... do you want to say something?"

Deuce jolted. "No I-"

Ace sidled over to Deuce, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "Yeah, did you Deuce? 'Cause you were staring at (Y/N) for an awfully long amount of time. Trying to steal Trey's datemate?"

That's when Grim spoke up, jumping onto your neck in one quick pounce. "You better not be trying to mess with my henchman, Deuce... or else..."

"I wasn't!" Deuce cried out, looking awfully persecuted. "I just got lost in thought, you know?"

"Don't think too hard, Deucey~" Ace chuckled. "You might blow up the only two braincells you got left!"

"Like you have many braincells of your own, Ace." You shot back. "Grim, are you ready to go?"

He peered at you, pausing in licking his paw. "I was always ready to leave. I don't wanna catch these two's stupidity!"

"As if you aren't just as stupid as us!" Ace and Deuce yelled, the two grappling at each other in another fight that would undoubtedly get them in trouble.

"I'll see you guys in class on Monday!" You smiled and waved at the two as you walked back to the mirror. "Don't get into too much trouble this time, 'kay?"

"No promises!" Ace said, trapped in Deuce's headlock. "Ow- ow, that hurts you idiot!"

"They're gonna get collared by Riddle again." Grim said flatly as the two of you walked far away enough to no longer hear the boys' hissed insults and swears. "And were you not able to find Trey?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"You still have his jacket." Grim pointed out.

You looked down, a little shocked to see it in your arms still. "Oh, right. I forgot." You stepped through the mirror before continuing your conversation with Grim. "And yeah, I couldn't. Maybe he's in the library?"

"Do you wanna go there now?"

You sighed. "Not really, I'm a little too tired for that..."

"Well, you better have enough energy to cook me a bunch of tuna for dinner!"

"You got it, boss."

Soon enough, you were too busy to even think about Trey and Riddle and the horrible things you felt. Your hands were full from your three idiots making some dumb deal with Azul. Then there was staying at Savanaclaw for a few days, and you weren't even able to see Trey at that point. Instead, you told the boys to tell him at the dorms that you needed to cancel the few dates the two of you had planned.

And now you were stuck in the infirmary for a checkup after Azul's overblot, the ghostly nurse fussing over the whole lot of you after that whole ordeal. Luckily, no one was really injured, but you were forced into staying in the school infirmary for the night, again.

"Why does this always happen to me." You groaned, staring at the ceiling, Grim curled up on your lap. "I should have never gotten involved in this... I was so stupid..."

"Hey, at least Leona was able to get rid of Azul's dirt on hi- Mmph!" Ruggie writhed under Leona's hand, struggling to get free while laughing at the look on his face.

"We. Agreed. Not. To. Talk. About. That." He growled out, removing his hand from Ruggie's mouth.

Ruggie smiled innocently. "Did we? I might need a little something as a reminder-"

He was cut off once again. This time by the door slamming open. Trey burst into the infirmary, hair a mess and glasses askew.

He looked around the room frantically. "Is (Y/N) okay? I heard she was-" He looked at you.

"Hi." You croaked out, voice a little sore from yelling out commands to Grim.

He rushed over to you, nearly tripping over in the process. "Hey." He smiled, eyes worried. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, my throat just hurts a little from shouting so much." Your stomach fluttered as Trey grabbed your hand with such care, thumb brushing over the back of it, rubbing gentle, soothing circles into your skin.

"There are... other people here... you know." Azul said, voice barely above a whisper. "I'd like to leave... the third wheeling to... Grim..." He coughed.

Ace and Deuce burst into laughter at that, Floyd and Jade following shortly after.

"It's so true!" Ace wheezed out. "Everytime they're on a study date... Grim's-" He took a deep breath, barely able to get his words out. "Grim's always there-" He laughed even harder, nearly falling off his bed.

Deuce managed to push past the laughter to speak. "He always says he's chaperoning- like he could stop Trey!"

"Nooo, really?" Leona smirked. "That's actually tragic. What does he think will happen?"

Even you laughed a little, throat hurting a little too much to actually laugh that loud. They were so lucky Grim was a deep sleeper. Trey just continued smiling and grasped your hand a little tighter, settling into the chair by your bedside.

"Do you want to bake something together, tomorrow?" He whispered, voice barely audible above the boys' laughter.

You perked up slightly. "A gingerbread house?"

He leant down to kiss you on the forehead. "Anything you want."

"Can't you guys cut out the PDA? Just this once?" Ace whined, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

You looked at Trey, knew he would indulge anything you asked of him, and decided you might as well cause a little more chaos while you were stuck here. "Can I have a real kiss?"

Trey sighed reluctantly, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "I guess..."

The shouts of disgust from everyone in the room only made you laugh harder.

You gasped as you took in the magnificent sight before you, "That's so many sweets!" You turned to Trey, who looked awfully proud for someone who claimed to care about dental health. "How did you get all of these?"

"I had a little bit of help." He smiled, before turning to the ingredients he had set out on the kitchen counter. "We should start making the dough first, put the cookies in the oven, and then plan out the decorations." Trey rolled his sleeves up. "How about you start with combining the wet ingredients, while I work on the dry ones?"

"Sure!" You took one look longingly at the rows of candy packets in front of you. "And I can definitely snack on the candies a little while we wait for the gingerbread to bake, right?"

A chuckle. "Okay, but you'll have to brush your teeth with extra care tonight."

"When have I not? It's Grim you have to be worried about..." You lightly kissed Trey on the cheek and went to wash your hands. "Time to bake!"

Trey sat on the chair next to you, automatically wrapping an arm around you to tuck you in close. "So were you thinking to make a traditionally-styled gingerbread house, or did you want to go for something more..."

"I thought it might be a little fun if we used the left over dough to make little gingerbread versions of our friends!" You said, leaning into your boyfriend's warmth. "I bet Ace would bite cookie Deuce's head off in a heartbeat."

The soft rumble of Trey's laughter. "Cater would love it, he'd keep gingerbread-him alive for as long as he could. He'd probably spam his magicam feed with the amount of photos he'd take."

You giggled in turn, basking in the comfort Trey brought you. A lull in the conversation. Before.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Trey asked, eyes staring at the wall.

You paused. "It wasn't intentional." Both of you knew there was a reason for it.

Trey remained silent, an indication that he wasn't going to pressure you into talking about this. But he'd like to know.

You twisted your hands in your lap, not sure what to say. 'I've been jealous about you being close with your childhood friend?' like that'd go over well. "It's just me being stupid, that's all." You kept your eyes fixed to your hands.

Trey held you tighter. "If it bothers you, it's not stupid."

Even now your face flushed. "I..." Butterflies flooded your stomach. "Promise you won't get upset?"

"I promise."

"It's- I'm- The thing is I-" You sighed in frustration, stumbling over your words like a child. "I saw you and Riddle that day and it-" You started to pick at the skin around your nails. "I felt... jealous, okay?" Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. You didn't know why you felt so upset, but your eyes burned nonetheless and the pit in your chest grew larger.

A beat of silence. Another.

Trey removed his arm from around your shoulder and you automatically flinched, shutting your eyes out of fear. You didn't want to see the look of disgust on his face.

Trey grasped your hands in his, stopping you from trying to make your fingers bleed. "I'm not sure why you feel jealous, but it's not something silly. I promised I wouldn't get mad at you, and I'm not." You opened your eyes, and he let go of your hands for just a moment to brush away your tears. "You know..." Trey looked away, the tips of his ears turning red. "I get jealous too, sometimes."

You squirmed your fingers in his grip. "Really?" Wait. "Of who?"

"Of Leona, and of Floyd, and-" Trey cut himself off. "A lot of guys. It's irrational, but it's something I can't help feeling." He snorted, and turned to fully face you. "That's one of the reasons why I kissed you in the infirmary, you know. I just wanted to make sure everyone could see that we're dating."

Ah. "Me too." You said in a hushed voice, cheeks feeling a bit warm. "I guess we were both being a little stupid, huh."

"At least we can be stupid together." Trey smiled, kissing your hands gently.

You couldn't hold back the peals of laughter. "That's- that's so cheesy." You wheezed, nearly falling over.

Trey joined in, pulling you up into his arms and pressed his forehead against yours. And for the first time since you arrived in this Twisted Wonderland, you felt at home.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #trey clover x reader #twst hurt/comfort #twst angst #twst fluff #reader insert #ovobawrites

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saiyanprincessswanie · 5 months

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Blue Bonnets

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x Female Reader

Word Count: 1720

Summary: What if Brock left Hydra and retired on a Ranch?

Warnings: Smut & Fluff

A/N: This idea came from @americasass81 and my muse was happy to write it.

A/N 2: Thank you to @lfnr-blog-blog-blog for beta reading this. All mistakes are still my own.

The header was made by me.

Reblogs & Comments are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps, or third-party sites. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

The sun was slowly setting over the horizon as Brock sat on his porch and took in the beauty of it all. The bluebonnets were coming in nicely this spring and he wondered how long they would stay. If you had asked him years ago if he would leave Hydra for a simpler life, he would have laughed in your face. Hydra at one point was the only thing keeping him together and gave him what he thought was family. Time presented its moment and he learned of all the things Hydra was capable of doing and all the lives they would take. That was when he was done with them and took off on the run. Brock watched as you rode your horse back to the house you both shared. As you start putting the horse up for the evening Brock can’t help but reminisce on how he got here.

After months of being on the run, he was able to finally make it to a small town in Texas. He was expecting to pass through just like every other town he drifted through but instead, he found you. He remembers the first time he saw you. You were at a local bar with your friends dancing in your dress, cowgirl boots, and hat. He was at the bar in the corner watching as you swayed your hips to the country music that was playing. In his eyes, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and by the end of the night, he would have your number.

When you were done dancing you made your way over to the bar. You ordered a beer as you tried catching your breath from all the dancing. Your eyes glanced around the bar and you spotted Brock sitting alone, nursing a beer. He was handsome in his plaid black shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, hat sitting low on his head, and jeans that were hugging him in all the right places. You grabbed your beer and slowly walked over to him.

Brock’s eyes never left yours as you slowly walked over to him. He took a swig of his beer just as you approached him. He placed his beer on the table and gave you a smirk. You then introduced yourself and sat down in the chair next to him. Brock tilted his hat your way and introduced himself. “I’m Brock, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You instantly know the accent is not from around these parts but you are intrigued with him. As you both drink your beers slowly you make small talk. He gives you a little background that he’s from New York and had a job that just went in the wrong direction with his values. He is currently just enjoying life as a drifter but he may want to see what this town has to offer. The answer was good enough for you and you explain to him you have a ranch just on the edge of town. You were looking for a ranch hand and if he needed some work he could come by in the morning. With a grin on his face, he agrees that he will stop by.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur and before you both know it the bar is shutting down. Brock paid both your tabs and offered to walk you to your truck. He holds the door open for you as you head outside into the cool night. When you reach your truck you turn to him and say, “I had a wonderful night Brock. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” You lean in and give a soft kiss on his cheek.

Brock was taken aback by how gently you kissed him and lord knew he would love to pull you in for a passionate one. But for now, he’ll wait as he knows this is the beginning of something special. You both part ways for the evening leaving him to think about what the future could bring if he stayed.

The next day Brock showed up on your ranch and watched you exit a house. Today you are wearing a lightweight plaid shirt over a tank top, jeans, your boots, and a hat. You looked ready to start your day. You walked over to him, looped your arm in his, and instantly started giving him a tour of your property. You showed him the house you came from which was for the ranch hands for them to stay if they didn’t have a place. Then you showed him the rest of the buildings on the property. The tour took an hour and by the time you were done, Brock was agreeing to be your new ranch hand.

From then on you two became inseparable, working hand in hand on the ranch. Brock worked hard to prove this was something he could do. No longer was he a Hydra soldier now he was Brock the rancher. He even got to eventually call you his woman after a few months of working together. Life was going in a direction he never imagined and he was in love with you. One night you were both getting the barn settled for the night. When he cornered you near the hay bales. His touch was light and desperate. You jumped up into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist. He kissed you passionately and deepened the kiss when your mouth parted. It seemed he kissed you forever but he pulled back so you both could take a breath.

“I want you sweetheart so badly. Let me make love to you.” Brock whispered against your lips.

Your head was nodding before you could answer. “Please I need to feel you inside me. I-I have waited so long for you to ask.” You begged him to take you and Brock smiled at you.

Brock carried you to your house as you placed kisses on his neck while occasionally nibbling on him. Brock couldn’t help the low groans that left his mouth from what you were doing. Finally reaching your bedroom Brock lowered you to your feet and stood there staring at you. “You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I can’t wait to make love to you.”

You slowly start to undress along with him and before you know it you’re both naked. You can’t help but admire his muscles on display along with his large cock. Gently Brock pushes you to the bed and you inch your way up the bed while he follows you. As you fully lay down Brock spreads your legs and lays in between them. Seeing your glistening pussy on display for him he can’t help but go in for a taste.

The first pass with his tongue had you begging for more. Your fingers slipped through his hair as he skillfully took you apart with his tongue. Every pass of his tongue, every suckle of your clit had you arching into him, moaning his name to the heavens. Brock then pushed two fingers into you, thrusting them in and out while he played with your clit with his mouth. His fingers sped up as he sucked on your clit and that’s all you needed to cum for him. Brock finally stopped when you started to shake in his hold from overstimulation.

Slowly he crawled up your body until he was face to face with you. “How do you feel sweetheart?”

You smiled big at him. “Like I’m on cloud nine. I need more. Please make love to me.”

“Anything you want sweetheart you can have.” Brock wrapped his hand around his hard cock giving it a few strokes before he lined himself up to your wet pussy and started to push into you. Inch by inch he slowly sank into your tight cunt and leaned over you with his arms on either side of you to hold him up. His strokes were soft but firm at times. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he rolled his hips into you. Both of you let out groans and moans with every thrust into you. Brock leaned down to kiss you on your lips, capturing your whimper of how good he was feeling inside you. His thrusts started to pick up and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room along with your moans. Within moments you were crying out your release as he started to chase his end. A few hard thrusts into you and he was cumming inside you, painting your womb in his release. Both of you were panting from the exhaustion of your lovemaking. You pulled his face towards yours and started to kiss him. Never have you felt this way with another man before.

A few minutes later Brock pulled out of you and walked to the bathroom to clean himself up. When he walked back he had a towel with him and he sat on the bed cleaning up the mess you both made between your legs. After he was done he threw the towel in your dirty laundry bin. Brock crawled into bed with you and pulled you close to his chest. He kissed your face and settled in.

“I’m in love with you sweetheart. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Say you will be mine forever. Say it and I promise that you will never want for anything. I will love you until my last breath.”

Your eyes welled up with tears as you answered him, “I’m in love with you too Brock. I promise to stay with you forever. You’re my everything.”

Brock’s arms wrapped around you and you both drifted off to sleep.

This seemed like an eternity ago as Brock watched you pick some bluebonnets with your little girl who was now three years old. Again if you would have asked him if he thought this was his future he would have called you crazy. Today he is happily married and has a daughter that looks just like you. The ranch, no you have saved his life. You gave him a home, a new family, and a future.

Taglist:

@americasass81

@caffiend-queen

@charmed-asylum

@denisemarieangelina

@fictional-affairs

@georgiapeach30513

@get0verit

@hollybee8917

@joannie95

@jobean12-blog

@jvanilly

@labella420

@lfnr-blog-blog-blog

@madscape

@mdemontespan1667

@mrsmischief209

@mycrazyasslikestoread

@nekoannie-chan

@notyourtypicalrose

@patzammit

@princessofdarkwinter

@rayofdawnworld

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@wolfsmom1

@what-is-your-plan-today

@wiypt-writes

@missvelvetsstuff

@jtargaryen18

@thefallenbibliophilequote

@awesomerextyphoon

@caplanbuckybarnes

@km-ffluv

@astheskycries

@spectre-posts

@talia-rumlow

#saiyanprincessswanie #missy writes #brock rumlow #brock rumlow x reader #brock rumlow x female reader #brock rumlow x fem!reader #brock rumlow x f!reader #brock rumlow fanfiction

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usedpidemo · 5 months

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Update - 3rd year anniversary! (and some future plans, a reflection, etc.)

Hi everyone! π here.

By the time this post is up, it'll be the 13th of May. Three years since I began my writing journey and this Tumblr blog. Three years. Time flies by so fast. I was close to graduating senior high after it was delayed because pandemic, had my graduation in an empty room basically, now I'm hitting my third year of college. Crazy stuff.

With that said, here are the stats + timetable of the blog so far:

First work: Sandwich (Wendy) (published 05/13/21, 4:03 a.m)

Highest note count: Tell your friends (Yujin x Wonyoung) (published 01/14/23, 1274 notes)

Number of works published: 91 fics (1 fic every 12.03 days)

500 followers: June 18, 2021 (36 days)

1000 followers: October 12, 2021 (152 days)

2000 followers: June 18, 2022 (401 days)

3000 followers: November 12, 2022 (548 days)

4000 followers: May 22, 2023 (740 days)

5000 followers: December 18, 2023 (950 days)

Current follower count: 5615 (1 new follower every 5.12 days)

It's been a hectic final month of college, so I apologize for the lack of activity in recent times :< But summer is coming up very soon, so hopefully I'll have all the time in the world to write more till then! I will say, a new fic is on the near horizon, so please be on the lookout!

I would like to take the opportunity to thank every single of you, whether reader, lurker, or a fellow writer for your support! Especially during these lull times, your unwavering support has kept me afloat and has been a motivation in continuing to write. Love you guys as always. Here's to another fruitful year <3

From this point, this part will be an overall reflection and life summary of the previous year, my thoughts on some personal matters, and some ideas I've been contemplating. If you don't wanna read this, you can stop here.

I miss 2023 quite a bit, not gonna lie. I know nostalgia can quickly grow warm and fuzzy, seeing the past through rose tinted lens, but I'll admit that 2024 hasn't been off to the start I envisioned it to be. That year was mostly peak for me, and I could even argue it's my favorite year to live out based on all my experiences. Traveling to new places, finally attending live events, interacting with my K-pop biases, and so on—it really felt like the best was yet to come with how 2023 flowed and transitioned into the new year.

Five months in, and I am struggling. Horribly. Most plans, dreams, and ideas have gone up in smoke, and it's just one devastating gut punch after another. I have a shitty professor in one major that basically made me check out of that class, and I don't know my family will react when I tell them I have to repeat said class because that professor was a dick. My family's been infighting on a daily basis, and I'm mostly collateral damage to them. Not one week can go by without some serious confrontation between them. There was a brief health scare with my mother, but that seems to be a nothing matter; thank God she'll be okay.

All this just makes life so deflating, in all honesty. I get that no life is without struggle, but I genuinely don't know when we'll be in the clear. Not anytime soon, I reckon. In these tough times, there's very little comfort except the past, when everything was pretty all right for the most part. It's been demotivating to write when mom comes forward with another grievance with my sister. It's hard to write when you have a professor who likes to power trip their students into submission. It's hard when you don't know how to admit to your mother that he failed his one class because of said power tripping professor.

But that doesn't mean I will let it eat me alive. I know we've been through some utter lows in the past. And we always get back up. If no one has us, then God does.

Summer break is fast approaching and I want to fix things. Even in my own little way. I know none of what I'm saying has anything to do with writing degenerate stories about hot K-pop idols, but real life circumstances have definitely affected me more than I can brush off. I should be calm, unfazed, undeterred.

After all, some stories are meant to be finished. They just take a more unconventional route. Ask Cody.

With all that being said, I will finish these commissions over the next two months. I'm really sorry to everyone who requested and paid for their stories months and months ago; I genuinely feel bad for not getting these out on time, but I am very mindful of quality control, and I have no one to blame but myself for being a slacker and lazy worker. Despite my feelings, I should remain professional—that's what being a worker means.

A lifestyle overhaul is definitely in my list of things to improve over the summer too. Figuring out how to get writing done, finding ways to alleviate my PokeRogue addiction (GOTY), whilst having a healthy work/life balance and not losing my sanity over it. Or worse, burning out.

And I want to take this opportunity to thank all my friends—peach, caps, majorblinks, chunk, frisky, raf, c.o, levi, sins, iz, ken, v1n, ddeun, notions, kevin, eros, brandon, kaede, svn, frisky, cray, rpg, prael—for putting up with my shit for another year. This life is tough, but you guys make it tolerable. Thank you for letting me air out my grievances even when it wasn't the best time to. I pray that when everything passes, I'm able to repay you all in some shape or form generously.

And to you, dear reader, for making it this far, thank you. Whether you've been with me since day one, or day 1094, as a commenter, reposter, liking, or just passing by/lurking, thank you for giving me a chance. Without you, all of this would have been for nothing. I don't know where I would be now if I didn't take that chance, that leap of faith back in 2021, and it's because of you I am able to keep doing this for the love of the game.

With grace,

Peter / π

#update #anniversary

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c-e-d-dreamer · 5 months

Text

When We Howl, the Moon Will Cower: Chapter 4

A/N: I'd say I'm sorry this chapter is so long, but I feel like no one actually wants to hear that. We've got a little bit of everything! Cassian getting his ass handed to him. Nessian banter. Mama A being the worst. And SMUT! Anyways, hope everyone enjoys

Additional note: I'm really sorry to everyone on my tag list. Tumblr won't let me tag any accounts for some reason. It won't let me select when I paste it in and it keeps saying "no blogs found" when I try typing manually which I know is a damn lie 😭

Read on AO3 // Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Cassian

Cassian watches as Nesta works through the combination, fists hitting against Cresseida’s raised palms. Her hair is tied back in a braid that runs down her back, the strands swishing across her shoulder blades with each movement and glinting beneath the rays of the afternoon sun. She’s been at it for a while, pink coloring the apples of her cheeks and stretching down her throat to her collarbones, and even from where he’s standing, Cassian can see the beads of sweat speckled across her skin.

Before he can stop them, his thoughts start to spiral down and down. He still remembers the last time he saw that sheen along her skin. Still remembers exactly how far down that flush can go. His body still too keyed-up after sleeping beside her the night before. He has to tilt his head up toward the sky with a sigh, determined to cool the heat sparking and simmering in his veins.

When Cassian focuses his attention back down, Nesta and Cresseida have moved on to sword practice. Wooden sword in hand, Nesta moves first slowly then with more speed through the steps Cresseida directs. Cassian keeps waiting for Cresseida to correct Nesta’s stance, but after the fourth repetition, he can’t take it any longer, striding across the training rings.

“Watch your foot.”

Nesta sighs at the sound of his voice, dropping her wooden sword to her side and turning to him with an unimpressed expression. “What?”

“Your foot. You’re turning it inward each time you lunge,” Cassian explains, gesturing down toward the foot in question. “You’ll lose strength and control doing that.”

Nesta glances down to her own feet, and Cassian wonders briefly if she intends to ignore the advice out of pure stubbornness, out of pure, witchy spite. Another way for her to pull one over on him while they’re trapped in this blazing wildfire burning around them, between them. But instead, surprisingly, Nesta readjusts her stance, shifting her foot so it faces forward.

“Thanks,” Nesta mutters, raising her sword again to work through the same sequence. “Did you need something else then?”

“Just trying to help, sweetheart.”

“And yet, I don’t recall ever asking for it.”

“Cassian!”

Cassian turns at the call of his name, finding Baz just outside the training rings. For once, there’s no smile on his third’s face, his brown eyes missing their usual, playful spark. It has cold dread flooding through Cassian’s limbs, crystalizing between his ribs until the weight twists and presses in. He breathes through the churning in his gut, but his muscles feel tense, his lips pressed into a grim line by the time Baz reaches him.

“What’s happened?” Cassian demands, skipping right past pleasantries.

“Alistair and Cormac have returned,” Baz explains.

Cassian sighs softly, squinting back toward the village and the rows of cabins, his mind reeling over this news. There’s no denying the relief that floods through him, the way it soothes the fear that always sparks within him every time they send out scouts. But what did they see? What information are they bringing back? It’s a stark reminder of the storm clouds looming just over the horizon, of the thunder shaking the ground beneath Cassian’s feet, beneath the pack’s security.

Nodding to himself, Cassian turns his attention back to Baz. “Gather the elders. We’ll meet immediately.”

“Already on it.”

Baz turns on his heels, jogging away, and Cassian watches him go before making his way toward the meeting hall with another sigh. Anxiety prickles across his skin at what they’ll learn, what will be discussed. He makes it a few steps outside of the training rings when the sound of a second set of footsteps reaches his ears, Cassian stopping short. He turns to find Nesta walking beside him, her brows furrowing at their sudden halt.

“What are you doing?” Cassian asks, gesturing back toward the training rings. “Go back to training with Cresseida.”

“It sounds like there’s important news, clearly an important meeting,” Nesta offers, peering up at him as if it’s obvious.

“And?”

“And? And I’m joining you.”

Cassian scoffs, crossing his arms. “You’re not attending this meeting.”

“What,” Nesta snaps dryly, her tone low and incredulous. “Why not?”

“I’m not having a witch in the room when we discuss pack business.”

Cassian is certain that the glare Nesta settles him with would cut down a lesser man where he stands. The blue of her eyes is pure ice, a fire burning in them and promising to swallow him whole in a blazing storm. She steps closer to him, her chest brushing against his own with every annoyed, heaving breath, lip pulled back in a sneer.

“I am your wife,” Nesta reminds him, words cold and clipped.

Cassian leans down until they’re eye to eye, offering a glare of his own. “I didn’t choose you.”

This close together, Cassian catches it, the way her mask slips for just a moment. He almost thinks he imagined it, that flash of emotion in her eyes, before the fury returns. He doesn't dare look down, look away from her gaze, but he can feel the sparks of silver flames prickling across his skin where their hands hang a hairsbreadth apart. He resets his stance, shifting his feet and preparing for the impact of her magic.

“You’re a godsdamned bastard,” Nesta seethes.

She doesn’t say anything else, surprisingly keeping a leash on her magic and her rage. Instead, she turns on her heel, stalking back toward Cresseida on the other side of the training rings. Cresseida meets Cassian’s gaze briefly, shaking her head, before holding out the wooden sword for Nesta to take again. But Cassian doesn’t have time for disappointment or other’s opinions on what he should or shouldn’t do.

On how he should or shouldn’t run his pack.

He winds his way through the village until he reaches the meeting hall. Baz and Emerie are already standing outside, and he offers them both a nod in greeting.

“Are all the elders gathered?”

“Everyone’s gathered and ready, yeah,” Baz explains, glancing behind him to the open doorway.

“Where's Nesta?” Emerie asks, looking pointedly over Cassian’s shoulder as though she expects the witch to appear.

“Hell if I know,” Cassian shrugs, moving to step forward into the meeting hall but Emerie is quick to step directly into his path, blocking him. He rolls his eyes. “Last I left her, she was at the training rings with Cresseida.”

“Should we wait for her before we start, then? One of us can go grab her,” Baz offers.

Cassian lets out a derisive snort. “Why would we wait for her? She’s not attending a pack meeting.”

The cold look Emerie settles him with rivals Nesta’s. “She’s your wife.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Did everyone forget that I didn’t choose her?”

“Did you forget that she didn’t choose this either?” Emerie demands, smacking him hard in the chest. “You were there. Her mother practically sold her and her sisters like cattle. I thought I already told your dumbass you need to respect her.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Cassian growls, side stepping around Emerie and into the meeting hall. “Let’s go.”

“Fucking idiot…”

~ * * * ~

The sigh that tumbles past Cassian��s lips is heavy, icy claws sinking into his lungs and drawing blood with the exhale. He digs his fingers through his hair, the strands already starting to knot with how many times he’s repeated the gesture. The map continues to lay splayed out across the wood of the table in front of him, and all he can do is stare at it, blink at it.

“We’ll have to inform the vamps and the Vanserras,” Baz’s voice draws Cassian from his quickly spiraling thoughts. “We can’t keep this information to ourselves.”

“A temple,” Emerie whispers, almost to herself. “What kind of evil do you have to be to attack and destroy a temple?”

“If Cormac is right, they got whatever they were looking for,” Cassian comments, leaning forward over the map and sliding his finger along the parchment, along the ink of the lines, the trees and the mountains. “Hybern’s even more dangerous now, and we need to be ready. We need to up our defenses along the western lines, make sure our warning system gives us as much time as possible.”

“You really think Hybern would try something? Attack the pack directly?” Baz asks, a hollowness taking over his usual sunny expression.

“Mother knows what Hybern is thinking or planning,” Cassian says, pushing back up to his feet. “But I’m not willing to risk it. Not willing to risk our pack.”

Emerie nods in agreement, the weight of what Cormac and Alistair described finding at the temple clearly still pressing on her even as she defiantly holds her chin up high. “I’ll make sure the new orders are delivered and implemented.”

“Tomorrow,” Cassian offers, giving Emerie’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “We’ll worry about implementing everything tomorrow. I think we all could use a night off after that.”

“And maybe a drink,” Baz mutters, the barest hint of a smile starting to return.

Cassian chuckles softly, unable to deny the idea sounds appealing. He has a bottle of whiskey back at his cabin that’s smooth and aged, and it might just be calling his name. “And maybe that too.”

Cassian rolls up the map and returns it the rightful place, following his second and third out the door the elders vacated what feels like hours ago. True to his teasing words, Baz heads for the pack’s favorite watering hole, Emerie vanishing toward her cabin to find her wife. It leaves Cassian to make the trek back to his own cabin alone.

The meeting lasted for hours, darkness having now blanketed across the village. The clouds shimmer and shift across the face of the moon, the silver light rippling like waves across the grass where it bleeds through, casting shadows over the trees and cabins. He just hopes it means that Nesta may have already retired for the night. The last thing he wants after that meeting is to rehash an argument with her.

He’s already dreaming of a tall glass of whiskey, of settling before the fire and relaxing at least for one night, as he makes his way up the steps to his cabin. He reaches forward for the handle of the front door, but a shock jolts through his fingertips, skittering up his arm and through his entire body. His eyebrows pinch, and he shakes out the pins and needles before trying again, only to earn the same reaction, his every muscle tensing in response.

“What the fuck…”

Cassian raises his hand, carefully, slowly, pressing his palm forward. The magic glimmers around his touch, spreading outward in silver swirls that Cassian suspects must be some sort of runes. They stretch all the way up and around the cabin like a shield.

A ward.

She’s put a ward around the cabin, locking him out.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Nesta?” Cassian shouts, loud enough she can hear him from wherever she is inside. “Let me in!”

Only silence answers Cassian, mocks him.

“Nesta, I know you can hear me! This isn’t fucking funny.”

Cassian growls in frustration when there’s still no response. He slams a fist against the ward, but the magic seems to give back whatever impact thrown at it, silver flaring around him and the force sending him stumbling back a few steps. He scrubs a hand through his hair and down his face, sending a silent prayer up to the Mother. He doesn’t know how long his stubborn witch of a wife intends to let him stew, but it’s clear that it’s going to be a long night.

~ * * * ~

Nesta

Nesta tugs on the strands of her hair, shifting them until they sit how she wants. She holds them steady in place, plucking the pin from between her teeth and sliding it between the strands. Examining her work in the mirror, she hums quietly in approval, finally stepping back and toward the door. She winds her way through the cabin and to the front door, but her steps stop short when she pulls it open.

Cassian is curled up on his side, his back to the door. One arm is tucked up beneath his head, cheek pillowed on his bicep, and his hair is a tangled mess all around his face. For a moment, Nesta can do nothing but gape, nothing but blink in surprise at the sight of him here in front of the door. When she’d warded the cabin last night, she assumed that he’d find somewhere else to sleep, perhaps crash with Baz wherever the third’s cabin is.

Guilt begins to spool in Nesta’s gut, but then she remembers everything that happened yesterday. She remembers how Cassian seems set on locking her out of everything involving this pack. As if being isolated from her family through this farce of a marriage wasn’t bad enough, she’s stuck being just as isolated here thanks to her dear husband. As if Hybern and its king aren’t as much of a threat to her as they are to Cassian and the pack.

All of the anger and rage from yesterday blazes back through Nesta’s veins like a wildfire, and she raises her chin, stepping right over Cassian’s still sleeping form. Hopefully, now, the alpha has learned his lesson. He wants to play games and shut her out of everything, then he can enjoy sleeping outside in the cold and being shut out of his own cabin.

“Nesta.”

Nesta sighs, pausing just two steps down from the cabin. She turns around just in time to watch Cassian scramble up to his feet. Despite not being in his wolf form, his eyes still glow golden, furious in the way they spark and blaze. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, brows pinched down low as he glares at her.

Nesta raises a sardonic brow, not giving him an inch with her cool expression. “Sleep well? Who knew you took your inner wolf so seriously that you take to sleeping outside now.”

“Do you think this is a fucking joke?” Cassian growls, fists clenching at his sides.

“I don’t know. Did you think yesterday was a fucking joke?”

Cassian scoffs, but Nesta has heard enough. She spins on her heel and continues down the steps that lead away from the cabin and back toward the village.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Emerie is waiting for me with a carriage,” Nesta explains, not stopping or turning around. “I don’t want to be late for tea with my sisters.”

She can feel Cassian’s ire following her the whole way, burning a brand into her spine. The low sound of his growl practically echoes in her ears. It has a self-satisfied smirk tugging up Nesta’s lips the whole rest of the way, and if Emerie notices her expression, she thankfully doesn’t comment on it as Nesta climbs inside the carriage, as it carries them away from the village.

It feels almost strange to be back at the Archeron manor, to peer up at the dark red brick, the spires, and the climbing ivy through the carriage window. Almost subconsciously, her thumb slides across the slightly raised skin on the back of her left hand, tracing the scar back and forth. A deep breath in and out, and Nesta opens the carriage door, stepping out and into the misty morning light.

She walks up the front steps, the front door swinging open right before she reaches it. At least, the magic imbued within the wood and brick of the house still recognizes her. Nesta steps inside, instantly greeted by the familiar smells of fresh lavender, ginger, and basil, and follows the halls all the way to the sunroom at the back of the manor.

The round table in the room is already covered in a white, lace tablecloth, a steaming teapot placed at the center. Elinor sits primly in the seat directly across from the doorway back into the main house, hair neatly and harshly tugged back away from her face and chin raised high. As soon as Nesta steps inside, her mother’s cool eyes are pinning her in place.

“Mama,” Nesta greets quietly.

Feyre is already settled in the seat directly to Elinor’s right, so Nesta takes the seat across from their mother. She chances a glance toward her youngest sister, but Feyre has her eyes cast downward, staring intently at her plate. Nesta doesn’t miss the way Feyre chews on her bottom lip, the way she aimlessly pushes around her eggs, even as her grip on her fork is white knuckled.

Giving her hands something to do, Nesta reaches forward for the teapot, pouring herself a cup. Thankfully, just as she’s taking a sip, Elain steps inside the sunroom, brown eyes wide and almost nervous as they flit around the table. She’s quick to settle into the final seat beside Nesta, fingers twisting and fisting into the skirts of her dress.

“My girls,” Elinor begins, taking the time to look at all three of them. “Back together again. Have you all been well?”

Feyre’s eyes flash up at the question, but Nesta is quick to jump in. “I’m sure we’re all still adjusting, Mama.”

Elinor hums, Nesta’s fingers twitching and tensing in response to the disapproving sound. She has to shake the urge to trace that scar on the back of her hand again, that sound and what typically followed it still haunting and prickling in the back of Nesta’s mind.

“And what have we learned, hm?” Elinor continues, folding her hands neatly in front of her. “The rumors say that Rhysand’s numbers are beyond what we’ve been led to believe. Is it true? Are there more vampires than we know?”

“How would I know that, Mama?” Feyre sighs softly.

“You’re his wife now, are you not? And what about the wolves?” Elinor asks, her attention snapping to Nesta. “There’s long been stories of their training, of their strength.”

“I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary with the pack,” Nesta explains, trying to hold her mother’s gaze but dropping her eyes to the dark swirls of her tea.

“And how about the Vanserras? And their coven’s spellbook?”

“I… I haven’t seen any spellbook, Mama,” Elain murmurs, her voice quiet.

Elinor sighs, and Nesta tries to brace for whatever is coming. “I give you girls everything that you need, set you and this family up, and this is what you offer me?”

“Mama…” Nesta starts, prepared to place herself in front of her sisters and in the line of fire with their mother if need be.

“You all have to be better. You’re Archeron women for the Mother’s sake.”

“Are we? Since you married us off,” Feyre mutters under her breath, but not quiet enough that their mother doesn’t hear.

“You insolent child,” Elinor seethes, turning her ire on her youngest daughter. “I am making you all stronger, ensuring you can take your birthright. And you’re ungrateful?” She takes a calming breath, smoothing out the lines of her skirts. “I expect you all to be better than this moving forward. At least I see you haven’t allowed the vampire bite, nor the wolf mating bite. That’s good. Elain?”

Elain’s grip on her skirts is near white-knuckled beneath the table, pink beginning to spill through her cheeks. With each second of silence that stretches around them, Nesta frowns in confusion, trying to surreptitiously reach toward her sister in comfort without their mother noticing.

“Elain,” Elinor repeats, her voice clipped.

Another tense moment passes, but then Elain slowly lifts her hands, placing them palm up on the table. The pink line across her left palm is unmistakable, still slightly puckered and not fully healed. A bonding spell, a witch’s equivalent of tying two souls together through blood and magic.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Elain whispers, wincing when Elinor’s fingers curl around her wrist in a tight grip. “It was Eris. He insisted that Lucien and I do it.”

The response has Nesta even more confused. Elain has never been a particularly good liar, neither when they were girls and she was stealing cookies and sweets from the kitchen nor when they were teens and she was sneaking out to meet Graysen Nolan in town. And Nesta knows that Elain is lying now; although, she has no idea why.

“What were you thinking, Elain? This type of stupidity is beneath you.”

“Please, Mama. You’re hurting me.”

“Do you have any idea what this means? What you’ve done? You’re an Archeron, dammit, not some Vanserra’s tramp. Marriage or not, I will not have you tarnishing this family’s name.”

Elinor releases Elain’s wrist, crescent shaped indentations embedded in the skin from her nails. Elain clutches her hand back to her chest, cradling her wrist. Anger sparks and flares in Nesta’s chest in her sister’s defense. She glares across the table at their mother, but Elinor’s focus stays glued on Elain. The biting words sit heavy on the tip of Nesta’s tongue, poised and ready to fire without a second thought for the consequences, for what she knows it would mean to bring Elinor’s ire back her way.

As long as it’s off Elain and Feyre.

But before Nesta can say anything, Elinor pushes up to her feet. She looks down her nose at all three of her daughters, a cruel queen and her subjects. “Remember your place, remember what is expected of you as an Archeron, and do not fail me again.”

~ * * * ~

Nesta is quiet the entire carriage ride back to the pack’s village. She can feel Emerie’s curious gaze watching her from the seat across from her, but Nesta keeps her eyes firmly out the window. She watches the leaves and the trees shift and morph as they move past, her mother’s words, the whole morning, still playing over and over in her mind.

She’s an Archeron woman. A witch who comes from a long line of proud, powerful women. One of three sisters said to be blessed by the Mother herself. No matter that she’s a married woman now. No matter that she and Cassian may one day be amicable. No matter what the pack might one day mean to her. An Archeron is what her mother expects her to be, and Nesta will not fail her.

She will not be a failure again.

“Are you alright?” Emerie finally dares to break the quiet to ask. “You seem… tense.”

“I’m fine,” Nesta dismisses curtly. “Besides, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“You’re the alpha’s wife. You might be surprised, but that actually means something to me.”

The words take Nesta by surprise, and she turns her attention to the second, blinking a few times before remembering herself. “Thanks.”

Emerie shrugs like it’s easy, like it doesn’t mean anything, but it does to Nesta. It makes her feel like she may be less alone in the pack after all. She’s about to ask Emerie if she likes to read, to see if they may share any interests, but the carriage pulls to a stop. Emerie is quick to hop out, holding the door open for Nesta to step down as well.

“I promised Cresseida I’d relieve her from shop duty as soon as I got back,” Emerie explains, waving off the carriage. “You’ll be alright?”

“I’m fine.”

Emerie’s gaze sweeps over Nesta, like she doesn’t quite believe the words, but she doesn’t comment or say anything else. With a nod of her head, she heads toward the market square. Left alone, Nesta takes a moment for herself. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath in, allowing the scent of the trees and the moss around her to fill her senses. The peace this deep into the forest licks at her wounds in a soothing way she doesn’t expect, has that magic within her settling like a beast returning home.

Home.

Is that what this place is now? Between her grandmother and her mother, the Archeron manor certainly never truly felt like a home. Nesta has never really felt like she had a home, not a true one,at least. When she was younger, she used to read stories of sweeping romances and believed that she could find one just like the women between those pages. Her mother always said they were nothing more than fairytale dreams, always chastised her when she had her nose in those books.

Maybe that was one thing Elinor was right about.

Sighing softly to herself, Nesta rolls her shoulders and starts along the winding path through the village, back toward the alpha cabin on the top of the hill. When she pushes through the front door, she’s surprised to find Cassian standing in the kitchen. He looks just as surprised to see her, but then his expression changes, morphs into rage with the way his lips pull back in a snarl, the way his hazel eyes flare and narrow.

Nesta had almost forgotten about Cassian, certainly forgotten about their previous argument and the ward she’d placed around the cabin last night. She’d been too caught up in her mother and her sisters, between the disaster that was tea this morning. But it’s clear that Cassian hasn’t, and it all comes crashing back to Nesta as she takes in the way he’s glaring at her.

It’s the perfect distraction.

“I see you got yourself back inside after all,” Nesta comments idly, turning her back on him and removing her shoes and her cloak.

“We need to talk about last night.”

“What’s there to talk about? I thought it was rather fitting. Perhaps, we should build you a dog house.”

Nesta turns back around, offering her best saccharine smile, knowing it’s exactly the thing to get under his skin and fuel the fire. To draw out the pull to her push until they’re burning together and everything else fades away with those flames. But Cassian merely tilts his head, watching her in that unnerving way of his as though he can see right through her. It has Nesta’s hackles raising.

“Do you want to play, Nes?” Cassian drawls, taking slow, measured steps closer to her.

“Play? There’s no playing. You’re insufferable.”

“Insufferable? That’s weak, even for you.”

Nesta scowls up at him, daring to close that final step between them until they’re toe to toe. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. Is that the worst you’ve got? I’ve been called much worse than that, sweetheart.”

“Like what?” Nesta asks, any other cutting words dying on her tongue.

“Offended on my behalf?” Cassian fires back, reaching a hand up between them to cradle her jaw, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip.

The teasing tone has the scowl returning in an instant, Nesta smacking his hand away. “Perhaps, I want to shake the person’s hand. Exchange ideas.”

“Ideas?” Cassian continues to tease, walking Nesta back until her back hits the wall.

“Yes. Ideas I could have shared in the pack meeting yesterday.”

Any teasing drops away completely from Cassian’s expression as he rolls his eyes. “Back to that, are we? It’s my pack, remember? Did you forget who the alpha is?”

“Did you forget I’m your wife? I should have been in that meeting.”

“Oh, you want to be my wife, now? How about you be a good little wife and get on your knees and suck my cock?”

The words are crude, all but snarled in her face, but that doesn’t seem to stop the way Nesta’s body responds. She still remembers that cock all too well. Remembers the way it had felt fucking into her. Remembers the way his knot had stretched her. Remembers the delicious ache between her thighs that remained for the entire next day.

But she’ll be damned if she lets Cassian know all that.

“Fuck you,” she snarls instead, shoving at his chest, but of course his large frame in unmoving.

“You’ve certainly forgotten how good a wolf’s sense of smell is,” Cassian tells her, leaning down over her with a cocksure smirk. “You think I can’t notice the sweet scent of your arousal? Do you want to suck my cock, sweetheart?”

“It’s clear you certainly want me to.”

Nesta shifts her hand, reaching down to grip Cassian’s cock through his pants. He hisses at the contact, but she can feel how he’s already half hard, can feel the way he twitches against her palm. It’s clear he’s getting off on their back and forth just as much as she is. She rubs her hand up and down, squeezing when she reaches the head of his cock.

Cassian continues to swell beneath her ministrations, and Nesta can’t help but lick her lips. How would the weight of him on her tongue feel? How would he taste? Just the thought has her clenching her thighs, desperate for friction, for relief, beneath the skirts of her dress. There’s a hunger yawning in the space between her ribs, clawing and gnawing at her chest, and she sees that same hunger echoes in Cassian’s own burning gaze, in his darkening hazel eyes.

“The no kissing rule still applies,” Nesta tells him, pulling her hand away so she can focus on the laces of her dress. “This is just sex.”

“Just sex,” Cassian agrees, reaching a hand back to fist in his shirt, tugging it up and off.

Nesta’s dress has barely hit the floor in a crumple of fabric before Cassian is pressing fully into her space. His hands find her thighs, fingers spread wide and digging into her skin, and he hauls her up off the ground with ease. He turns on his heel, only taking a few long strides before he deposits Nesta on the kitchen table, the wood pressing against her back.

Cassian takes his time roving his eyes over her, tracing down her throat and collarbones, lingering on her heaving chest and her peaked nipples, following down her stomach and between her spread legs. He dares to reach his hand forward, shadowing that same path with two fingers. It’s a spark catching, goosebumps erupting across Nesta’s skin as she arches up against that touch.

“So pretty flushed like this,” Cassian comments idly, using those same two fingers to toy with the waistband of her undergarments. “Good enough to eat.”

Cassian gathers up his hair in his hands, tugging it away from his face and securing it with a leather band, before he slowly drops down to his knees. His fingers curl around Nesta’s ankles, calluses along his palms sliding up her calves, over her knees, up her thighs. He pries her legs further apart, leaning in until even through the fabric separating them still, Nesta can feel the ghost of his hot breath against her cunt, until he can lick a thick line over the dampness that’s already gathered there.

Cassian groans softly, giving her cunt another lick. “And oh so sweet too. Who knew just the thought of sucking my cock would have you dripping already?”

His hands slide up over her hips, and Nesta can feel the heat of them scorching her skin. She can feel the hint of claws too, teasing and drawing a shudder up her spine. Would he fuck her with those claws? What would that feel like?

The sound of tearing fabric is almost too loud, even over Nesta’s panting breaths. She snaps her attention down just in time to watch what remains of her undergarments fall away. That cocksure grin of his is out in full force, hazel eyes glinting from between her thighs. Normally, Nesta would want to wipe that smirk clean off his face, but right now, all she can think about is the sight of him on his knees before her, about the blissful release that sight promises.

“Cassian,” Nesta whines instead, trying to buck her hips up against his hold. “Please.”

“What a good girl,” Cassian praises, mouthing along Nesta’s inner thigh and drawing a soft whimper from her lips. “Now, keep those eyes on me and keep moaning my name.”

The first slide of Cassian’s tongue against her cunt has Nesta gasping, thighs squeezing instinctively around the alpha’s head. Cassian groans against her, his mouth moving to her clit and tracing slow, tortuous circles over it. Nesta tries to keep her gaze firmly on him, but it feels almost unfair. His wide shoulders bracketed between her thighs, the shorter strands of hair falling out of his updo and along his temples, and his eyes…

His eyes glow golden as though the wolf within him has decided to join as well. As though Nesta truly is the prey caught in the predator’s trap. But she’s not sure she’d rather be anywhere else.

Cassian groans again, and then he really starts to devour her. He fucks his tongue up into her, curling and flicking it along her walls. Nesta feels like she’s burning, every nerve ending blazing and focused on where Cassian’s mouth works her higher and higher. Her feet scrabble desperately for some sort of purchase, against Cassian’s shoulders, against the edge of the table.

“Cass… Cassian… fuck.”

Nesta knows that she’s babbling, knows he’s turned her into a puddle of moans and canting hips, but she can’t find it within herself to care, not with the way he plays her body so well. She slides a hand down to Cassian’s head, holding him right where he is, the other finding her own breast to pinch and tweak her nipple in time with the movements of Cassian’s tongue.

Cassian focuses his attention back on her clit, and that fire blazes hotter until it swallows Nesta whole. Her back arches up fully off the kitchen table, fingers curling tight enough in Cassian’s hair that her nails bite into his scalp. She moans loudly as her release carries her right over the edge, trailing off into a whimper when Cassian continues to lap at her still fluttering cunt until he’s had his fill.

When Cassian finally pulls back, Nesta is forced to release her grip on his hair, her hand falling back to the table with a soft knock. His lips and chin glisten, and he makes a big show of sliding his tongue around his mouth and gathering up the excess. Nesta watches from beneath hooded eyes, that heat in her blood still simmering.

She pulls herself up into a seated position, reaching for the laces of Cassian’s pants. She makes quick work of the knot, pushing the fabric down until it slips from his hips and falls to his feet. Just the sight of his cock bobbing free has her thighs clenching again, has her swallowing hard and licking her lips. She eyes the vein that runs along the underside, the already weeping head, remembering exactly it’ll feel when she sinks back onto it.

Her legs are shaky as she slips off the kitchen table, but she’s able to guide Cassian back until he’s falling into one of the kitchen chairs. She sinks down onto her knees between his spread legs, sliding her hands up over his knees and along his thighs. She drags her nails along the skin, through the coarse hair lining his strong thighs, before finally curling her fingers around his cock, squeezing the base.

“Now this is a sight I could get used to,” Cassian comments, his hips bucking up against her grip. “A good girl on her knees before her husband, ready to take his cock so well.”

Nesta wants to roll her eyes at the words, but there’s no stopping the way her body responds to the praise. She decides to focus on the task at hand, leaning in and licking at the arousal dribbling from Cassian’s cockhead. She moans softly at the salty taste blooming across her tongue, opening her mouth wider to swallow him down. She slides her tongue along the underside, relaxing her throat to take as much as she can and working what she can’t with her hand. The weight of him in her mouth is exactly as unparalleled as Nesta imagined, and she moans around his cock as she starts to bob her head.

Tears start to prickle Nesta’s eyes, but she doesn’t let it deter her, blinking and peering up at Cassian through her eyelashes. His gaze is already pinned on her, lips parted and expression nothing short of enraptured. His dirty mouth is silent now. Nesta almost wishes she could smirk around the way her mouth is stuffed full. She may be the one on her knees, but it’s the pack alpha rendered powerless.

It goes right to her head and right to her cunt.

She widens her stance and dips her free hand between her own thighs. Her fingers slip through the wetness, and she teases her clit briefly before sinking two fingers into her cunt. She tries to match the pace of her fingers with the movements of her mouth, curling her fingers every time she swirls her tongue over the head of Cassian’s cock.

“Gods, look at you,” Cassian’s voice draws her attention back to him. “Go on, sweetheart. Add a third finger. Get yourself nice and ready to take my knot.”

Nesta whines around Cassian’s cock, but she does as she’s told. She presses in a third finger, fucking her cunt hard and desperately. Heat coils low in her gut, her thighs beginning to tremble, and when she dares to press her thumb against her clit, Nesta has to finally pull back from Cassian’s cock. She drops her forehead to his thigh, letting out a high pitched cry as her walls clench around her own fingers, her release making a mess of her own hand.

But still she wants more.

She’s not sure how she manages it, but she pushes back up to her feet. She moves to straddle Cassian’s lap, to finally take what she wants, but she barely gets a single knee up onto the kitchen chair. Cassian’s hand snaps to her throat, fingers pressed hard against her thundering pulse. Her cunt echoes the squeeze of his fingers, clenching around nothing desperately.

“Nice try, Nes,” Cassian leers up at her, keeping his hold of her as he stands up. “But I’m still the one in control here.”

He tightens his grip around her throat briefly, Nesta’s breath catching with the squeeze, before releasing it entirely. He spins her around, her back pressed firmly to his front and her hips digging into the edge of the kitchen table. She can feel his cock still hard and waiting, and Cassian shifts his own hips so that it slips between her thighs, dragging teasingly through the mess of wetness there, along her clit.

Cassian presses his lips to her ear, hot breath skittering across her skin. “Beg for it.”

“Please. Fuck me, please.”

Cassian groans at her words, but still, he doesn’t give her what she wants. His hand slides down her stomach, down between her thighs. He sinks two fingers into her dripping cunt, spreading them and stretching her wide, but it’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough. It’s nothing compared to the real stretch she knows he can give her.

“Do you want my cock, Nes?”

“Yes,” Nesta moans, tilting her hips back to grind more firmly against his cock. “And your knot. Please.”

Cassian’s teeth snag on her earlobe. “Good girl.”

Cassian pulls his fingers free, but Nesta barely has time to whine at the loss before he’s replacing them with his cock. Already, just the stretch of him has stars popping in Nesta’s vision, her cunt fluttering and clenching down around him as though desperate to draw him deeper still, to keep him right there. She feels so incredibly full, her toes curling against the hardwood of the cabin floor.

“Two orgasms already and you’re still so tight around me,” Cassian sighs, pressing between Nesta’s shoulder blades until she’s bent in half over the table. His hands find her ass, fingers digging in against the flesh. “But Mother save me, look at the way you take me so well.”

Nesta whimpers as Cassian pulls his hips back, the slow drag of his cock, but then Cassian is snapping his hips back forward. Again and again he drives into her, setting a hard and fast pace. It’s everything that Nesta needs. Every thrust that has him pressing deeper still, every slap of his hips against her ass, has Nesta keening. She claws at the kitchen table, desperate just for something to hold onto.

As that heat starts to lick up her spine again, her body coiling tighter and tighter like a bow string, Nesta reaches a hand between her hips and the table edge, fingertips trying to catch on her clit despite the jostling. A growl sounds from behind her, fingers curling around her wrist. Cassian yanks her hand away, pressing it to the table and holding it firmly there.

“You’ll come on my knot or not at all.”

It’s a threat and a promise.

Her entire body feels wrung out, but she doesn’t want him to stop. She hopes that he doesn’t stop. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knows she should feel embarrassed at this hunger that cloys in her gut, that flares through her chest, but she can’t find it within herself to care. She wants this. Wants him. Wants his knot.

Her throat feels hoarse with how much the male behind her has made her scream, but there’s no stopping the litany of moans that tumble past her lips. Especially when she starts to feel the swell of Cassian’s knot, feels it catching against the lips of her cunt with every forward thrust.

But he only seems to keep teasing her with it.

The next time that Cassian snaps his hips, Nesta presses her own back to meet him, forcing his knot to sink into her, to properly notch and lock them together.

“Fucking shit,” Cassian groans, dropping his head to her shoulder.

His hands grip Nesta’s hips hard enough to bruise, his cock twitching and flooding her core with warmth. The stretch of his knot, the feeling of being so completely and utterly full, is indescribable, and Nesta clenches down, milking his knot and his cock with a soft moan.

“Still want to be a good little wife, Nes?” Cassian asks, grasping her jaw and pulling her head back against his chest. “Then come all over your husband’s knot.”

His free hand slips down between her thighs, pressing hard against her clit. It’s all it takes for Nesta’s third release of the afternoon to tear through her. She all but screams Cassian’s name, her body trembling through the way his knot still presses against the walls of her cunt, the way she can still feel his cock twitching and filling her deep, the way he doesn’t relent with the rough circles he traces against her clit.

When Cassian releases his hold on her, Nesta is like a marionette with her strings cut, slumping down against the kitchen table with a soft whimper. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, tries to calm her thundering heart and come down from her high. With her cheek pressed to the table, breath puffing against the wood, Nesta allows her eyes to fall shut.

She and Cassian may never be the sort of husband and wife Nesta often dreamt of as a girl, will certainly never have the sort of love she read about in books, but at least they can have this.

—

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#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acosf #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #When We Howl #my fic

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trove-of-tales · 1 year

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Three Attempts - Nikolai Lantsov

Nikolai Lantsov x Fem!Reader Summary: When an assassin was hired to kill the infamous privateer of the Volkvolny, she finds herself less and less able to make the killing blow. Third times the charm, though, right? Warnings: Strong language, smut, violence, angst, Nikolai being a bit possessive and an author who doesn't know how to use Tumblr :) Word count: 10K

The Volkvolny was a pretty ship. It almost didn't belong in Ketterdam's 5th Harbour. Still, I couldn't complain about the placement.

It was easy to board the ship, sneaking passed each and every crewmate until I found a decent hiding place at the bow of the ship, behind some wooden crates. My eyes scanned the ship, catching sight of a flash of teal.

Sturmhond was a well-known privateer, though he was younger than I'd expected him to be. He was tall, his hair an odd shade of red, eyes a muddy shade of green as he strolled next to a taller, buff man. Upon closer inspection, his nose was crooked, like it'd been broken too many times and not set properly. The man next to him was Tolya Yul-Bataar, my intel telling me he was close to the privateer.

"Tamar would have your head if she found out you were gambling." Tolya grinned at the privateer.

"Can a privateer not indulge in games with his own money?" Sturmhond laughed.

"Not when he drinks too much and loses everything." Tolya retorted. They stood together, shoulders loose, talking amongst each other.

I stayed silent, watching.

"Tolya!" A woman bellowed from the helm.

Tolya cringed. "I'm going to get blamed for this, aren't I?"

"Ah, yes, I might have put a few rounds in your name." Sturmhond confessed, grinning. Tolya shot him a look before he stalked off to the woman.

It was silent as Sturmhond stood mere feet away from me, gazing across the horizon, the sky darkening considerably.

"If you plan to kill me, at least do me the honour of leaving my pretty face unmarked." He said into the silence of the sunset.

I froze. Surely not, he couldn't possibly have-

"My dear," He turned to the wooden crates. "As much as I adore the build up to an event, if you're going to kill me, I'd rather it be sooner, than later."

I stepped out from my hiding spot, squaring my shoulders. My dagger was gripped tightly in my right hand, the blade catching the light from the setting sun. Sturmhond grinned at me.

"Oh good, for a moment there I thought I was talking to the waves." I bit down a growl at his words. "I assume you've been hired, dove."

I say nothing as I stalk closer to him. He was tall and gangly; I could easily take him.

"Well, you've lost the advantage of taking me by surprise." He continued speaking. "Brute force is what I'd assume your next tactic is."

As he said that, I lunged. My blade centimetres from his throat, he caught my wrist and threw my arm away. I lunged again, aiming for his heart this time, where he sprang back, the blade nicking his bicep. I swept my leg out, plunging my blade towards his stomach. I missed every single time.

Sturmhond grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, holding my arm straight as he stood beside me. I grunted as I moved my other arm to catch the blade as I dropped it, but he held that arm too, kicking the dagger away from us. I panted, furious.

His seawater scent, mixed with something expensive, floated around me as I glared at him. He tilted his head, eyes sparkling.

"May I ask, my dear, why were you planning to kill me with a child's dagger?" He taunted. I stared at my dagger mere feet away from us.

I stayed silent, my nostrils flaring. I'd never missed a target before. None had sensed me before I’d killed them and yet, there he was, still alive. I'd boarded this miserable ship to kill him, and he wasn't dead. I growled darkly at him, trying to break his grip from my arms.

"Not very talkative, are we?" He squeezed my wrists tighter, and I found myself loosing a breath. He leant in close, moving to my front. "Do you know what I find so interesting about you assassins? You're all so utterly predictable."

I spat at him, my saliva landing on his left cheekbone.

He didn't flinch, the spit rolling down the side of his face, yet he made no move to wipe it off. Just squeezed my wrists tighter, causing me to wince.

"Shall we try that again?" He said, darkly.

"Get off me." I snarled.

He chuckled. "But you didn't answer my question, dove." I refused to speak. With a swift sweep of his foot, I was on the floor, Sturmhond kneeling above me, my wrists held above my head. My blade was pressed against my neck, so quickly I hadn't even seen him grab it. "I said, 'Shall we try that again?'"

I struggled beneath him. I hadn't expected him to be this strong. I'd expected a laid back, pole of a man, yet he'd pinned me down to the floor so effortlessly, not even a hitch in his breathing. I'd underestimated him.

At my surprise, Sturmhond grinned. The dagger was removed from my throat and placed in his belt. "Nice blade. I think it'll be lovely to add to my collection, don't you think?" He sat back on his thighs, legs still trapping my body to the ground. When I didn't answer he sighed, as though disappointed.

The pirate stood, brushing off the invisible dirt from his teal coat. He stared at me, disinterested, before turning and walking towards the stairs. He paused, turning back to me expectantly.

"Come along, dove." He said. "I hardly think above deck would be the best place for such a conversation. I'd hate to get my crewmates involved." He pointed at Tolya and the woman, Tamar, who were stood at the helm, glaring at me. "It's easier for you to follow me. I'm a lot gentler." He winked.

I glowered at him before moving to follow. At the end of the corridor, he opened a heavy door, stepping aside so that I entered first. It was a plain room, the most notable feature being the large desk in the centre. I realised my mistake as the door behind me slammed shut, lock clicking as Sturmhond turned the key, slipping it into his pocket. He'd locked me in here.

The room was silent around the two of us, eyes meeting, tension rolling. Scanning the room, I saw no other way to leave, just the locked door behind the privateer. Speaking of, his pond-water-green eyes studied me, closely.

I clenched my fists at my sides. He may have taken my dagger, but I could still fight my way out of this if it came down to it.

He smirked as he strolled closer. His eyes scanned me, leaving me exposed as I glowered at him. To myself, I wondered who the hunter really was, and who the hunted had become. "Do you have a name?"

I stayed silent. my chin held high. Internally, I was confused. He knew I was going to kill him and yet, there I stood, alive. Surely the smartest choice would’ve been to kill me before I killed him.

He sighed at my lack of answer. "So proud, dove. But I don't need a name, I suppose. Just exactly what you'd planned." His eyes turned cold, teeth clenching. He gestured to the seats at his desk. "Sit down."

I obeyed, sitting on the edge of the seat across from the larger chair behind his desk, which he took a seat on. He poured two glasses of amber liquid from a decanter before picking his own up, raising it to is lips, slowly.

He pushed my glass forward, my eyes scanning his hands. They were covered in nicks, cuts, scars, and calluses; the hands of a man who did heavy labour, and who did it frequently.

"Drink." He gestured to my glass. I hesitated, wondering if it could be poison. Though, if he wanted to kill me, I suspected he’d go for something a little less plain. I gave in, taking a large mouthful of the bitter liquid. I stifled a cough.

His eyes followed my every move. As I placed my drink down, his eyes narrowed again.

"It's not poison, if that's what you were wondering." He explained. "Just something to loosen the tongue. What do you know of me?"

"You are Sturmhond. Privateer as you like to call yourself, but I prefer the term pirate." I spoke, voice low and threatening. He rose a brow.

"But Privateer just sounds better, wouldn't you think, my dear?" He smirked. "Nasty, dirty, violent things, pirates. With a term like Privateer, it commands respect. And really, I just smell too good to be a pirate. Continue."

"You're younger than I was told you were. And stronger." I told him, aggravated. "I was expecting a drunk stick of a man and yet..." I trailed off, eyes dragging over his body. "You're surprisingly strong."

He flexed, vainly, at me, causing me to draw me gaze away, disgusted. He let the comment go to his head, smirking. Pirates.

"And what else, dove?" He leaned forward in his seat, slightly, forearms pressing into the hard wood of his desk. He'd said the words quietly, like it was some sort of intimate question. His seawater scent washed over me again. His muddy green eyes seemed to change, like a forest at twilight, the bark still shining, but darkening as time went on. He stared at me, the room fading around us. I broke my gaze.

"You've pissed off some very powerful men. Powerful men that wish to see you dead." I crossed my arms, ignoring heat forming on the tips of my ears. "That's why I'm here."

He chuckled, a low and deep tone, his grin almost mocking. "My dear, you're going to have to be more specific than that. Most powerful men want me dead. I'd be surprised if there was one who didn't, at this rate." He leaned back in his chair, lazing on it like I hadn't threatened his life. "I suspect there are powerful men that want you dead, too. Tying up loose ends and all."

I snarled. "Powerful men don't want me dead. Powerful men want to hire me to kill people like you. And then hope they can spend the night with me." I told him, leaning forward on my seat, eyes a wildfire.

He was silent for a few moments, before he smirked, crossing his arms. "So, killing people like me, bedding powerful men, getting paid. Must be a very fulfilling life."

I scowled. "I kill people, I get paid, that's all there is to it. I don't care what they want from my body." I was in control; I was always in control.

"And I assume they pay you handsomely, to kill people like me." He purred. His tone was light, teasing, yet his body language was tensed, calculating. The room was silent as he studied me, eyes wandering over my figure. I shifted in my seat, unable to read the expression in his eyes, the hair on my arms stood up straight, bumps appearing on my skin.

He sighed.

"Tell me, dove. What does power feel like, to you?" He tried again, his voice suddenly sharp, dangerous. "What does the feeling of holding a life in the palm of your hand feel like?"

He laughed, cruelly.

"I'd imagine you take much joy in it."

I squared my shoulder as I stared at him. "It feels great." I lied through my teeth. I wouldn't let him see the real me, crawling beneath my skin as I watched him study me. I was the ruthless, cold-hearted assassin, and that's all he would see. All I would allow him to see. "It feels wonderful."

"And yet here I sit, alive." Sturmhond taunted. I flashed him a glare, my shoulders tense. "How much were they going to pay you?"

"Fifteen thousand kruge." I told him.

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted. I'd expected a little more than that but..." His eyes met mine. "I'll double that, and we can pretend this never happened."

"There are four contracts against you. Putting the grand total at sixty thousand kruge." I smirked, unkindly. "Give me a better offer and I'll think about it."

"Such a clever little negotiator." He mocked. He grinned wickedly at me, my heart skipping a few beats. His eyes: something about them was dangerous, like a predator hiding in the bushes. He leaned closer and for a shocking moment, I felt what it was like to be the rabbit the fox hunted, hunger in the beast’s eyes. "Seventy-five thousand."

"One-hundred thousand, take it or leave it." I choked out.

The corners of his mouth curled. "I do think that's a bit unfair, dove." he stood, walking around the desk, sitting on it to my left. I turned, raising a brow. He grabbed my glass and refilled it, holding it out to me. "I suppose I may agree to your conditions."

"Do you have that much money, pirate?" I spat, taking a sip of the amber liquid. It burned as it made its way down my throat, my chest warming.

He pulled a face. "Privateer. And why should I not have that much money?" He refilled his own glass, taking a swig of it as he placed the decanter down. His eyes traced me, a strange glint in his eyes. He oozed confidence. "What makes you think I couldn't pay even double that?"

"Because you're a lowlife scum pirate." I snarled. "You steal and kill and drink. No, I do not think you have a spare hundred thousand kruge lying around."

The small smirk faded from his lips, as he placed down his glass, turning to face me. "Do you know what I find funny?"

I stared at him.

He leaned forward, practically eye-level with me, mere inches from my face. "I could kill you, right here, right now. I don't have to pay you a single coin. You are defenceless and you sit in a locked room with me, with a severe disadvantage. And yet here I am, offering you more money than you'd get if you'd killed me, and you still think you have the advantage?"

The humour in his gaze was gone, and I could truly see why this man commanded respect and fear wherever he found himself. And there I was, poking the bear.

"I'd like to see you try." I challenged, breathing out, sharply.

He said nothing, and for a moment I thought he'd actually do it. That he'd tired of the circles we'd run and was finally going for the killing blow. His face softened and he scooted closer along the desk as he gazed at me. "Join me."

I stood from my chair, walked past him and over to the locked door. Sturmhond stayed sat on his desk, watching me. I ignored him, pulling two lock picks from my corset and inserting them into the lock of the door. I could feel his gaze on my back as the door clicked and I swung it open, pausing in the doorway.

"The next time we meet, I won't miss." I promised. "I will kill you and you will not be expecting it." I did not turn to see his face.

He chuckled, the sound causing my shoulders to tense. "Try," He simply said. I heard his footsteps echo closer to where I stood. "Try again. I dare you."

I curled my lip. "I won't need to try. I know I'll succeed." With that, I began to walk up the stairs.

Sturmhond caught my arm, pulling me to a halt as we reached the deck. The hair along my arms rose and my skin pebbled. I felt his breath against the back of my ear, his body heat hitting my back. He was too close.

"Are you so sure you want to take that risk?" He mumbled, voice low and gravelly. The deck faded around us as my senses reduced to him and how close he was.

I said nothing.

It was silent for a few moments, neither of us making a motion to move away. He sighed, the feeling bouncing off the back of my ear and the side of my neck. He let go of my arm and stepped back, coldness filling the space at my back once more. I was thankful for the cover of the night sky.

"You're free to go." He said, coldly. I still refused to turn to him, my gaze resting upon the railings at his ship. "But I await your next attempt." There was an underlying threat to his words.

I jumped from the railings, disappearing from view. The further I got away from the Volkvolny, the better I would feel.

It was several months later before I tried again.

The Volkvolny had docked at Novyi Zem, and its privateer had booked an Inn not far from Weddle. It was a decent Inn, the walls thick, freshly painted and not chipping, a door that locked, a wonderful windowsill I'd perched on as I stared into the darkness of his room. I'd acquired a new dagger after Sturmhond had taken mine, this one a beautiful glittering silver, bronze handle decorated and delicate.

The room was simple, a wardrobe propped up near the door, a small vanity with an even smaller chair. I took note of the teal coat draped over it. Finally, two bedside tables bracketed a large queen-sized bed. And on that bed, a pirate sprawled out on his back, soft snores filling the room. The only thing wrong with the Inn? The windows didn't lock.

I crept silently into the room, shutting the windows behind me. The only light being from the oil lamps outside on the street, the room otherwise dark. I stood by his bed, dagger raised, ready to deliver the killing blow.

And yet, I found myself hesitating.

I watched him, his oddly coloured red hair splayed across his forehead, messily. A callused hand rested on his chest, the other tucked beneath his pillow. His lips were parted, soft snores escaping, and his eyelids would flicker every so often, signalling his dreaming state. It would be so easy to kill him, just one perfectly placed plunge of my dagger... so why could I not do it?

A mumble came from him, his lips quirking into a slight smile as he dreamed. This pirate, who had killed and stolen for fun, looked so innocent in the light of the oil lamps outside. His brows creased in the centre, and I found myself wanting to smooth it out with my thumb.

I took in a deep breath, steadying my shoulders, the dagger raised above his heart. I faltered again. Why? Why could I not kill him?

My grip on my dagger was so tight, the hilt seemed to tremble, as I hesitated again and again. Did I doubt myself? Was that why I couldn't do it? Or did the guilt of killing so many finally rear its head at the final moment?

And then, he moved. My heart raced as he began to shift, groaning lowly in his throat. I stood utterly still as he stretched his arms above his head, sighing as he released the tension of his shoulders. His eyes flickered open, dark in the night's cover, yet I knew they were still that strange, murky green.

As though he sensed me, Sturmhond's eyes locked with mine and I froze. He said nothing as his eyes studied me, up and down, the room silent. Then, he grinned.

"I thought you promised to kill me." He spoke, his voice rough with sleep. He let out a cruel chuckle. "I suppose I'm a little disappointed you didn't even try. I picked this room especially for us."

My nostrils flared and I lunged at him, pressing my dagger against his neck as I pinned him to the bed, my knees framing his sides, crouched on top of him. My breathing was quick, rushed, as I scowled at him. I had killed countless people before him. I had succeeded at every single one of them.

And yet-

He laughed, this time a soft chuckle, eyes shining in the dull light as he stared up at me. He made no move to defend himself, to push me from his chest. Instead, he spoke, carelessly as though asking about the weather.

"Well, my dear... what are you waiting for?"

I pressed my blade harder against his neck, nostrils flaring as I watched a single drop of blood collect on the metal. Yet I could not kill him. No matter how much I fought with my mind, I could not do it. With an enraged yell, I threw the dagger across the room and rested my head on his chest, fisting his sleep shirt in my hands.

It was silent before he spoke again.

"Why?" His voice was soft.

"I don't know." I growled at him. I was hired to kill him and yet it was impossible for my hand to do as I said. He was insufferable and I hated him, but why could I not kill him?

He raised his head, slightly, causing my gaze to snap to him. His hand slid up and bunched the hair at my nape in his fingers.

"You've waited so long to kill me, dove," His lips brushed my throat as he spoke, voice almost silent. His seawater scent surrounded me. "And you failed, again."

I pushed myself away from him, stung by his words, the feeling of his lips still a phantom touch against my throat. His hand was still curled into my hair, loosening the band that held its braid. Strands fell down by my face, yet all I could see was his murky green eyes.

"Just join me." He whispered. As he spoke, his eyes grew heavy, the usual twinkle in his eyes darkening. "You know it's easier for you to just give in and join me."

"I refuse." I told him. "I'm here to kill you."

It was silent as he pondered my words, before the fox-like look returned to his eyes. He grinned, gripping my hair at the nape of my neck, giving him full control.

"Still so stubborn, even though she's on the losing side." He purred. I stiffened in his grasp, his breath hitting my face. I lost my words. "Just join my crew."

I shook my head as much as his grip allowed, eyes lidded.

"I'm an assassin, I don't belong to any crew."

He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Then why haven't you killed me yet?" He said, darkly. "Tell me why."

I shook my head, hands pressed against his chest, face turned away from him. He was beneath me, yet I had the sinking feeling I wasn't the one in control. His voice was gravelly due to his slumber mere minutes ago, and he whispered into the silence of the room.

His other hand took my chin, gently, and turned my face back to his. "Tell me." He said, lowly, finger stroking my jaw. "Or I will give you a reason."

My eyes fluttered closed, but still, I said nothing.

His grip tightened on my jaw, and I let out a sharp whimper, eyelids flying open. I flushed as his eyes widened. The fox-like look was back on his face, grinning cruelly at me. He leaned upwards, slightly breathing on my face, and I felt my cheeks burn.

"Still no answer?" I breathed out at his question, eyes fluttering closed again. The silence of the room was deafening, and goosebumps appeared on my skin at the tone of his voice. "Should I give you a reason to stay?" His eyes were dark as he took me in.

"You're a pirate." I whispered. "I refuse to belong to a pirate."

He let out a sharp laugh, the sound rumbling underneath me, where I was still perched on his chest. "Privateer. But I'll teach you the difference." his finger stroked my jaw, up and down, gently. "I think it's a very good offer."

"Why would I possibly want to join you?" I snarled. "I've played the part of looking like some cheap piece of jewellery, hanging off someone's arm. I work alone."

"Not even for the money? The thrill of killing? You'd make a wonderful addition to my crew." He nosed up my neck, speaking slowly. "All it takes is one word."

"No."

He pulled his face back, biting his lip as he studied me. Whatever he found must have amused him because he chuckled again.

"You're a challenge, dove. Maybe that's why I enjoy your presence so much." His hands withdrew from my jaw and hair, and he brought them underneath his head, smiling lazily. "If you're so against joining my crew, leave. I won't stop you."

The window was to my left. I could slip out and not look back, leave him there, smug and alone. I made no move to leave.

He laughed again, his voice almost silken, enjoying the conflict within me. "So, what is your answer?" He purred.

My gaze flickered to his lips, the tongue that poked out to wet them, before I remembered myself and met his eyes, glaring fiercely.

"You were so vocal just now; don't tell me you've turned shy." He grinned. "Just tell me your answer. Stay with me, or leave. I think I know what it'll be." His gaze flickered down to my lips as he spoke, lowly.

"No," I trembled. My heart beat loudly in my ears, my breathing faster than its usual controlled speed.

"That's not an answer, dove." He told me, smiling. The window was there, I could step off him, and leave. But I felt frozen to my place on his chest. "Leave now, like you should do. Or stay."

Saints, he was making this hard. I knew I should leave. Leave before this progressed. But perhaps... just for one night I could entertain this. Just for the night.

"Stay?" My voice was quiet. I sat, frozen, on top of him, eyes lidded.

His smile widened as he watched me. "Yes." There was something final in his voice, almost sounding like the word 'forever'. He sat up, his face inches from mine. "Well?"

His voice was soft and cruel and sweet, something so very powerful in it that I felt myself nodding before I'd even heard what he said. A low chuckle filled my ears, turned my words numb on my tongue. My heart gave a sharp pang and fluttered dangerously.

"Are you mine?" He asked.

I'd agree. Just for tonight I'd agree. Indulge myself. And while he slept, I would leave. I formed the plan in my head, feeling my limbs lose all strength.

"Yes," I whispered.

His face lit up, a dangerous glint to his eyes. I could almost see fangs as he grinned viciously at me. He pulled me closer, flushed against his chest, his words a whisper and he brought his mouth to my ear, his eyes glittering like obsidian.

"Good girl..." I shivered, visibly. "Now say it. Say the words. Say 'I am yours.'"

I hesitated.

He tilted his head, dangerously. "Come on," He purred, mouth working into a cruel smile, hunger in his eyes. "Say the words, dove."

"I'm yours." I breathed out, panting slightly. The words felt so good on my tongue, as they formed in my mouth, as I uttered them to him. And I found myself uncaring for my safety.

He grinned, corners of his mouth curling up, eyes lighting up as I spoke. His eyes told me everything, every desire, every action, knowing he could do anything, and I would take what scraps I could.

His hand returned to the nape of my neck, fisting my hair as he shoved me forward, his lips claiming mine. It was not soft, it was not gentle or tender. It was hungry and it was wild and it was exactly what I'd wanted.

"You're mine." He growled against my lips, and there is something dangerous in those words.

I could not speak, could not reply to him, my mind a jumble as he kissed me, harshly.

Whatever calm composure he'd had left shattered completely as he laughed, a cruel sounding laugh, as he pulled back to observe me. I sat, panting in his lap, dazed. His other hand reached up to stroke my cheek, gently. I leaned into the touch.

"You belong to me." He hissed. I did not reply. His gaze softened. "I will treat you well." He promised. At my lack of attention, he brought my gaze to his with his hand on my jaw, tight enough to ground me. "You will not leave."

I nodded, even though I knew that by morning when he woke, I would be gone.

Something flashed in his eyes as he stared at me, nostrils flaring. I knew he didn't believe me as he leaned closer, kneeling on the bed this time, my own figure sliding off his lap, kneeling with him. The hand at my nape withdrew, but the one on my jaw tightened.

I felt like the rabbit again as the fox towered over me.

"Give me your word." He said, lowly. "Give me your word that you will not leave, or you will have to beg me to stop." It felt more of a promise than a threat.

I trembled. From where the two of us knelt on the large bed, my knees gave out and I sat down, Sturmhond looming over me. And he watched it happen, his eyes shining as he cupped my face, bringing his head closer to where I was sat.

"I like it when you tremble for me." His fingers continued to stroke my cheek. I leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering. He laughed at my movement, causing a flush to build on my cheeks. But I craved more, more than just a touch to my face, more than just his words. And he knew it. "You're mine, dove. Doesn't it feel better, to not lie to yourself anymore? To give in."

I found my hands moving by themselves, reaching up to tug at the ties of his sleep shirt. His eyes flickered in slight surprise, before they darkened once more. He let me have that, the first hint of freedom of the night. The smirk on his face told me all; he'd won, he did not care that I could pretend to have control in this moment, because he'd already won.

His shirt loosened and my hands faltered, dropping to my sides as I lost my nerve. His eyes flashed with amusement.

"Go on." He purred. "Do as you will. I am yours as much as you are mine."

With my heart beating, I grabbed the ends of his shirt and lifted it over his head. I'd seriously underestimated him the first time I'd seen him. As he knelt above me, I took in the sight of his bare torso. His arms were veined and sculpted, meeting broad shoulders. His chest was firm as he breathed evenly. I lowered my gaze downwards, trailing over his abs and to the line of his pelvis that disappeared under his pants. If I hadn't been sat down before, I would've slumped to my feet immediately at the sight of him. I found myself filled with want.

I shivered.

He grinned at my subtle movement, cruel and amused. "Just my shirt and I have you drooling," He purred. "But come now, don't be cruel. I do believe it’s your turn, hm?"

My fingers reached for the ties of my corset, pulling and loosening as his eyes watched me, head tilted. Deciding I'd taken too long, he batted my hands aside and almost ripped the corset from me, letting it fall at my waist. He started on my shirt next, unbuttoning each and every delicate clasp. He shoved the shirt off my shoulders and pulled the corset over my head, breathing in the sight of me. I flushed.

He leaned his neck down and captured my lips in his again, overpowering me easily. I breathed in a gasp against his lips, closing my eyes. His hands gripped my waist, thumbs rubbing circles before one of them trailed lower, fingers brushing my hips, knuckles caressing my stomach. It moved lower still, gentle, and delicate.

"It's a beautiful thing, you know?" He mumbled against my lips, his other hand pulling me up to kneel again, palm firm against my back. "To surrender, to belong, to give yourself over to someone who knows what you desire, someone who will keep you safe and happy."

His hand stopped, fingers curling under the waistline of my pants. "Now surrender to me, dove."

I breathed out, leaning into his touch. "More." I asked.

The cruel glint in his eyes was back, the hand at my back curling its fingers in a beckoning motion, chills breaking out along my skin. The hand I needed stayed in place.

"More?" He smirked. "You want more? You'll have to ask nicely, my dear. Tell me what you want, full sentences, say 'I want more.'"

His gaze turned feral.

"Say it."

"I want more." I whispered. "Please."

His grin was triumphant. He watched me as his hand moved, curling beneath my waistband, disappearing beneath the fabric.

"Good girl." He whispered. "So polite."

The hand continued, passed my hip, my lower stomach, beneath the edges of my underwear, his lips pulled into a cruel smirk, a look I didn't recognise flashing in his eyes. The hand moved slowly. Down.

I let out a sharp gasp.

My heartbeat sped up, my breathing hitched as he pulled his hand away, fingers resting on my lower stomach. "You like it, don't you? It feels good, doesn't it?" The hand at my back pulled me closer into him, my head tucked beneath his chin my arms wrapping around his shoulders, nearly holding myself up as my legs shook, slightly. "And yet I can take my hand away and there's nothing you could do about it, dove." To prove a point, his fingers wiggled against my lower stomach, so close to where I needed but still so far away.

I squeezed my eyes shut, mentally begging him to move his hand lower once more, the brief touch not nearly enough. "Please."

His breath was hot as he angled his head down, hitting the sides of my neck. His lips brushed the tip of my ear. "Please." He mocked, knowing no matter how much I'd begged, he still had the final word.

But, he'd been cruel enough, so he dragged his fingers down again, beneath the line of my underwear and cold fingers touched where I'd needed most. My breath caught at the touch, stiffening in his hold before relaxing against his chest, slumping over. I released a breath.

One finger circled the apex of my thighs, cold but nimble. The rest spread me, slightly, letting him move easier. I jolted against him, fists curling, arms tightening around his shoulders.

"Saints." I whimpered.

"Saints?" His voice mocked me. He halted his finger in place, ignoring my slight sound of confusion. "No saint will help you now. I am your saint. I am your everything. There is no escape."

With a sharp thrust, his middle finger entered me. I cried out, startled. My knees trembled where I knelt, my arms around his shoulders and Sturmhond's hand on my back the only things that kept me upright. He thrusted a couple times, dragging out to swipe his finger over my entirety, before he plunged back in. A second finger joined, thumb circling my apex. I breathed faster, choked gasps leaving me as he fingers curled. His hand left my back, cupping my face and bringing my lips to his, my neck bent backwards to reach his height. His kiss took over, my sounds interrupting my attempts at trying to kiss back.

My knees wobbled, my thighs tensed, and I felt the tell-tale sign of my incoming release. I rolled my hips against his palm, breathing through my mouth, as his lips left mine to trail my throat. My stomach fluttered at one particularly angled thrust, and I was pushed over the edge, squeezing around his fingers, arms tight around his neck as my body jumped and trembled. As I came down, Sturmhond aimed a few more cruel, but well aimed, thrusts into me before withdrawing his hand entirely from my pants, resting against my bare stomach. My knees finally gave up as I crashed down onto the bed again, shivering.

The room was silent.

"Good girl," He mumbled into my hair, hand stroking my jaw. I blinked, before I shuffled closer to him, hands fumbling with his belt. He stayed silent as he watched me, his belt loosening before I worked on the drawstrings of his pants. I unlaced them, messily, know that he could stop me at any moment, take control of the situation, leaving me to tremble in want.

"So frantic, dove." Sturmhond belittled. I tugged his pants down before he stopped me, grabbing my hands, smirking. "Must I remind you who's in control here?"

I choked on a gasp as he pressed his lips to mine, hard. I teetered backwards, and found myself laying on my back, at his mercy. He didn't break the kiss, moving to rest above me, hands either side of my head. He withdrew, slightly, smirking.

"Well, my dear." He nipped my bottom lip. "Are you satisfied?"

I tried, one final time to regain some semblance of myself. "You could do better."

His eyes lit up at the challenge. A laugh rumbled in his chest. "Oh, you think so?" One hand moved to grip my hip. "Perhaps another demonstration is in order." In a flash, he'd gripped both my wrists and pinned them, with one hand, above my head.

He leaned down, nose to nose.

"Show me what you want."

"Please." My voice encouraged his grip to tighten around my wrists, the one at my hip squeezing in sync.

"Please? Is that all you have to say for yourself, tonight?" He laughed again. Not kindly. The laugh of someone who knew their power over another. "What did I say? You're all so predictable, you assassins. Now, try again. Full sentences."

I let out a soft moan at his words, clenching my eyes shut, embarrassed.

His eyes gleamed. "Just from my words?" He smirked. "Do you like it when I speak to you like that?"

I lifted my hips, slightly, before I remembered who was above me, lowering them again. I turned my face away from him in a final act of defiance.

"You were so good for me earlier." He shook his head at me, feigning disappointment. Though I knew it was an act, I felt a pang in my chest. "Say it. Say what you want."

"Please, please."

He shook his head again. "Must I do everything? Are you too dumb to speak, dove?" He taunted. His eyes were hungry, his teeth gleaming like fangs. I needed more. I needed him. "What do you want, dove? What do you need?"

"You!" I finally caved.

The sound was sudden in the silence of the room. Sturmhond's eyes widened and glittered as he heard my words. I recognised the look, now. He needed me as much as I needed him.

"Well, my dear." He cooed. "It seems you've given yourself to me, have you not?" His voice was cruel again, but there was an edge to it.

"Yes. Yes, just please-" My eyes burned. His gaze darkened at the break in my voice. He leaned in again, lips a breath away from my own.

"Have me." I begged him. Though, as he heard my words, his hand released my wrists. I panicked as he started to move away from me, leaving a chill so deep, it seemed to seep into my bones. I cried out, softly, as he moved away from me.

He shushed me, hand caressing my cheek, thumb smoothing over my cheekbone. "I'm here, dove."

He began to work on my pants, unbuckling my belt, undoing the tiny buttons that clasped the front of my pants together. He tugged them free from my legs, working on his own, leaving us in just our underwear.

"How desperate are you, dove?" His growled, one hand caressing my hip, the other placed beside my head, propping himself up. "How badly do you want me to 'have you?'"

"Yes, yes, please." My eyes fluttered.

"Do you want to give yourself to me? Is this what you want?" Sturmhond's dark gaze gave way to a softer look, one I did not recognise. "Do you want me, dove? This is the last time I'm going to ask."

"I want you." I confessed.

He nearly shuddered, but he forced his composure to remain steady. "Good girl." I was the one to shudder. "Get on all fours."

I shivered at the command, hesitating. Seeing his expectant gaze, I flipped myself over onto my stomach, hands and knees pushing myself up on the bed. Sturmhond knelt behind me. I tensed as his hands slid under my hips, rubbing small circling, gripping almost bruisingly.

"Beg for me. You owe me that much." He commanded.

"Please. Please, Sturmhond." I begged. I was his puppet, made to dance for his amusement.

I felt him tense behind me. "Good girl." He whispered, stroking my hips as he leaned forward, breath hitting my back. I arched my spine as his lips kissed the small of my back. He watched as I shivered before him. I lifted my hips slightly, wiggling the smallest amount, embarrassed to verbalise what I wanted. What I needed.

I couldn't see his reaction to my movement, but it must have been well received as I heard a low rumble of his chest, his fingers reaching out to finger the waistband of my underwear.

"Do you want more?" His voice was soft, losing the cruel tone he'd had for most of the night.

I nodded, eager. He pressed my hips backwards, resting my ass against his front. I tensed at the hardness I found.

"So eager." He complimented. "So perfect."

I sighed, deeply, unable to find my words. I let him take control, willing to do whatever he asked of me. He rolled his hips, slowly.

"You want me to take you, dove? Do you feel safe enough to let me do that?" Despite his heavy panting, he still hesitated as he held the waistband on my underwear.

"Yes." I whispered.

I heard him take a sharp intake of breath before I felt his body shift. For a moment, I was worried he might pull away, but the squeeze of his large hands at my hips soothed my fluttering heart.

"Then let me take you." He growled, eased my underwear down to my bent knees. He spread me again, with his fingers, massaging the nerves between my thighs. I shuddered, biting back a groan. He withdrew, causing a cry to erupt from my throat. "Want to see you." He told me.

With gentle hands, the gentlest he'd been tonight, he flipped me onto my back, kneeling before me, resting his ass on his heels, underwear still on. His eyelids were heavy, pupils dilated. He studied me, not moving. I whimpered, impatient.

I moved my hand downwards, seeing as he made no move to touch me. I watched as his gaze flickered to my hand, lip curling. He snatched my hand up, face dark. I felt my eyes water in frustration.

"Please, I'll be good, just touch me." I pleaded. He smirked.

"Of course you'll be good." He taunted.

Within seconds, he'd entered me with two fingers, collecting the wetness that had dripped from me. As he coaxed more from me, his other hand pushed his underwear down, his length springing up, flushed. I stared. With his hand covered in my wetness, he slid his length into his grip, groaning as he covered himself. One, two, three pumps and he took his hand away, the left-over wetness cooling against my skin as he gripped my hips in both hands. Lining up with my entrance, he eased in, slowly.

I sucked in a breath, closing my eyes. I faintly heard his groan above me as he rested, still, only the first inch inside. After a moment, he pressed further.

"Fuck!" I cried out, hands gripping the sheets, not knowing where else to go. His grip on my hips turned bruising. His hips met mine in a soft kiss, bone bumping against bone. I panted and whined as he stayed in place, hearing his own heaving breaths.

As he dragged himself out, slowly, I felt myself clench subconsciously. Sturmhond stumbled forward, arm catching himself by my head, holding himself above me. I grabbed him, looped my arms around his neck and brought his lips to mine. He groaned into my lips as he began to set a steady pace, my hips rolling in time with his.

Sharp, angled thrusts replaced the long, slow drags of his hips against mine and I felt my eyes flutter shut in pleasure. The hand not holding himself up explored my body, starting at my neck, down to my chest, circling at my hips before it edged down and pinched my mound of nerves. I threw my head back, breaking his overpowering kiss, echoing a moan throughout the room.

"Saints." Sturmhond spat, feeling me clench around him. In the light from outside, his muddy green eyes seemed to darken to an almost hazel colour, and the broken crooked part of his nose seemed softer. I knew I couldn't trust myself to gaze at him in this state, but his face seemed different somehow.

At a particularly powerful thrust, Sturmhond angled his hips in just the right place, leaving me shouting into the quiet of the room. He repeated his movement, thumb circling in time with his thrusts and I felt as my breathing grew heavier, my heart pounding in my ears, stomach fluttering and tensing.

a bite to the side of my neck had me screeching, hips bucking as pleasure rolled from in between my legs, to below my naval and straight back down again, like a lightning strike. I felt my eyes roll, heaving moans following as I rode the wave of my high. Distantly, Sturmhond continued to thrust, until he too, groaned and leaped over the edge, his hips gradually stilling against mine, rolling softly as the last stars of pleasure left my eyes.

I shuddered as he pulled out, feeling the trickle of fluid slide down to my ass, collecting beneath me on the bed. I rested a hand against my lower stomach, still dazed. I felt the bed dip to my left, Sturmhond crashing down next to me, on his back.

We breathed in silence, in sync, panting as our minds caught up to the present. I felt him move, sliding off the bed with dragging footsteps as he wandered around the room. I heard a door open, realising he'd had an en suite bathroom. Maybe being a privateer did pay well, after all.

The sound of a tap running was all I could hear. Distantly, I felt sorry for the Innkeeper, knowing we'd made a slight mess... perhaps been a bit too loud.

Sturmhond's heavy footsteps trudged back to me before I felt the bed dip at my feet. With warm, large hands, he gripped the backs of my knees and separated my legs. I sucked in a large breath.

"Just cleanin' you up." Sturmhond slurred, sounding almost drunk.

I felt another trickle and heard his breath hitch. A soft touch of a wet towel pressed itself again me. My toes curled and my thighs tensed, but he persisted. Every rough scrape of the towel had me twitching, toes flexing. Fuck, I could barely think straight.

A puff of breath between my thighs had my stomach jumping. I glanced down to see Sturmhond's heavily lidded eyes focused on my swollen flesh.

"You're stunning, dove." He mumbled. The towel was discarded by his side as he crept closer, hands resting on my inner thighs, making sure I couldn't close them as he took in the view.

My head flew back as his tongue struck out, licking from the bottom to the top, circling at my apex.

"You were so good for me." He growled, the sound vibrating against me, travelling up my spine. I arched, sensitive.

"Oh, Saints, please." I didn't know what I was begging for, but the words flew from my lips all the same. Another rumble vibrated against me as he chuckled. "Fuck!"

"Not quite yet, my dear. I need some time to recover." He teased. I opened my mouth to swear at him when he enclosed him lips around my nub and hummed. I spasmed, pushed almost to the edge, losing my words. "What was that, dove?"

My eyes rolled as he released me, words forming, then failing on my tongue.

Sturmhond's own tongue burrowed deep into me, curling inside before withdrawing and flattening against my entirety. I shuddered.

I lost track of time as he flicked and sucked and plunged his tongue into me, my eyes clenching, the space between my thighs doing the same. His name was lost on my lips, pleads half forming before the next stroke scattered my words again.

Two fingers joined at some point, curling upwards in a beckoning motion, his tongue twirling over my nub. Every so often he would clamp his lips shut, suck and then hum, causing my toes to curl and my legs to shake.

He timed the finale, adding a third finger, thrusting in quickly and curling up, just as his teeth scraped my nub.

I shouted, screamed as my hips lifted off the bed, not knowing if I was chasing his touch or trying to escape it. I felt my legs shake as they held me up, my stomach clenching, fluttering and jumping as pleasure raced down my spine. He continued the assault until I flopped, boneless, onto the bed, struggling to breathe as the pleasure faded and I went numb.

When I came back to myself, I first registered the hands stroking my thighs. Sturmhond sat at my feet, large hands clasping my thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into my skin. He had a strangely fond look on his face as he stared at me, watching as I blinked the leftover tears away from my eyes.

I yelped as the towel pressed itself to me again.

"It's okay." He shushed me. "I'm only cleaning you up, nothing else this time."

He cleaned me up, quickly, my thighs now dry, though my skin still flaming and sensitive. He returned the damp towel to the bathroom and scooped me up, resting my head against the pillows, as I'd previously been laying with my head at the foot of the bed. He placed a fresh towel over the mess we'd made and slid in behind me into the bed, pulling the covers over us.

"Couldn't resist." He mumbled into my hair; arm slung around my waist. "Tasted so good. Sounded so pretty."

I was too exhausted to even flush at his remarks.

"Did so good for me." His hand rubbed soothing circles into my stomach. "Took it so well."

And I couldn't speak. The dynamic we'd built had broken, leaving something softer. No more tension between us, something raw left in its wake.

It kept me awake until the morning, when the sun shone through the window, illuminating his face.

The face that didn't belong to Sturmhond.

I'd stayed away for two months.

Away from the man I'd been hired to kill, away from the man that had left me dazed on the bed of an Inn. Away from the man who wasn't what he'd seemed.

I'd found myself in West Ravka. I'd searched for his ship, The Volkvolny, for the last month, finally tracing it to Os Kervo. I'd stayed in the shadows, not knowing whether to approach or not.

He was dressed in his usual teal coat, haggling with some stall owner. His hair was its usual shade of off-red, cheeks flushed in the sunlight. It seemed he was succeeding in his haggling, the stall owner waving a hand in defeat, nodding at the privateer. He handed them a few folded notes, picking up whatever he'd bought from them and sliding it into his pocket. He turned to observe another stall when his murky green eyes met mine. His face lit up; eyes gleaming as I froze from my spot in the nearest alleyway.

Dodging the heaving crowd, Sturmhond made his way over to where I stood, my heart pounding. I wanted to run, but he'd made my decision for me, entering the alleyway with a grin.

"Hello, dove." He greeted, leaning against the brick wall.

I lost the words I'd been practicing for a week.

"It's so good to finally see you, my dear." His eyes flashed with something cold, yet he seemed to reign in it. "Tell me, did you enjoy your time away from me?"

I swallowed, thickly.

"You can't have enjoyed it that much if you're here, before me, now." His eyes glowed. "To come back so soon after you promised you wouldn't leave. Was it guilt that brought you back? Or just greed."

He took a step closer towards me, my own feet stepping back. His controlled demeanour changed, nostrils flaring.

"Tell me, dove."

"I don't know." I told him, unable to confess the true reason.

He tilted his head. "You don't know?" His voice was steady, but there was a hint of rage threatening to rear its head from his clutches. "Are you sure you're telling the truth, my dear. Or do you just want me, greedy little thing."

"I've had you already." I hissed, venomously. "I'm just deciding if it was good enough."

A lie. Sturmhond had done things to me those two months ago that my hands couldn't even begin to replicate, no matter how I'd tried. What had really shaken me, though, was the emptiness I felt at night.

He blinked before smirking at me, taunting in the way I was familiar with. Good, let him hate me, the rawness of his voice as he held me that night had been too much to handle.

"You know good and well that it was more than good enough." He growled. "I distinctly remember your legs shaking so hard, I thought you'd foam at the mouth."

I snarled at leapt at him, pressing him against the wall of the alleyway and holding my dagger to his throat. Just like the two previous times. Always the same thing, never able to make the kill.

I saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. Only lasting a second, but it shook me all the same. He grinned at me, an unbothered façade on his face.

"And here we are again." He baited. "You can try and kill me, dove, but we both know you'll never be strong enough."

My heart clenched.

He leaned in, voice dark and cruel and thick with an emotion I refused to recognise. "You're so weak for someone so determined. I almost feel pity for you." His teeth shone like fangs. "So why can't you finish this? Third time's the charm, dove. Do it, kill me."

"I have tried!" I snapped. My dagger felt weak in my hand. "Three times I have tried to kill you and I cannot do it. I know you don't truly care for me but, Saints, I can't help the way my heart beats for you."

It was silent. Sturmhond's hand reached up and clasped my hand, uncurling my grasp from my dagger. I heard the clang as it hit the ground.

"Oh, dove." He whispered. I turned my face away, but he brought it back with his fingers on my jaw. I leaned into the touch. "And who told you I do not care for you?" His voice was soft, gentle, my heart fluttering at his words.

"Because you cannot." I told him. I dug into my pocket and shoved a crumpled letter into his chest. "Your nature is to lie. And I refuse to be used by you for your benefit, just to be left alone. I will not be broken by you."

"What are you talking about?" Sturmhond took the letter from me. "I would never do that to you. I would never pretend to love you, just to leave you later."

I turned away from him, leaning against the alleyway wall opposite him, sliding down it until I rested against the ground. I buried my head in my knees.

He refused to even glance at the letter, kneeling down before me, reaching an arm out, touching my arm, gently.

"Please, dove. Believe me on this." He leaned in closer, his hand wrapping around my own. "Please, please, my dear."

I felt my eyes tear up, betraying the stern look I'd tried to keep on my face.

His hands cupped my face, forcing me to face him. I stared into the false-green. "I would never-" His voice was desperate.

"I don't know what to do." I confessed. "I can't kill you; I can't lose you and yet, I cannot allow myself to be hurt by you."

"I wouldn't..." Sturmhond furrowed his brows before he remembered the letter by his side. "I wouldn't hurt you. My heart yearns for you."

A wave of emotions rushed through me. He sounded so honest, yet I feared for my heart.

"Don't lie to me." I whispered.

He looked at me, startled. "I'm not. Dove, what makes you think-"

"Because you are lying to me right now, Nikolai!" I snapped. His eyes widened at my words, frozen on the spot. I growled and stood up. "The men that hired me to kill you. They wrote to me, a week after I'd left you, upping the bounty. You're Prince Nikolai, aren't you. Sturmhond is just your persona."

The alleyway was silent.

"You're angry at me for not telling you who I really was." Sturm- Nikolai growled, standing up, towering over me. "For not telling an assassin my true identity? Like it would have made a difference! You stand there and call me a liar, when you never even told me your name."

I faltered before my nostrils flared. "That is different!" My chest heaved. "I wasn't lying about who I was!"

"And if I had told you? Would it have made a difference to your plans to kill me? Or would it have just motivated you more?" He glowered at me.

"It would if you hadn't fucked me before I found out!" I cried. He snapped his mouth closed. "Do you know how used I felt? Turning over to see the face of someone completely different to the man who'd made me feel so special the night previous. I felt lied to, used. And no, I wouldn't have killed you if I'd have known you were a prince. I hunt pirates, Nikolai. Not good men."

Nikolai breathed heavily as he listened to my words, eyes unreadable.

"I knew of Prince Nikolai's reputation. I would never have dared to kill him after all he's done for his country." I said, energy leaving me. "I'd planned to kill Sturmhond because he was a threat to my country and the people I protect. And yes, it paid well. But I wasn't going to kill you after that night."

He stared at the dagger on the ground.

"Then what was that about?" He asked me. "Pinning me against the wall, dagger at my throat?"

"That is what happens when a woman is scorned. By a prick of a pirate and a coward of a prince." I seethed.

"Privateer." He corrected, softly.

I scoffed yet found no energy to fight him.

"You expect my love when you've shown me no reason to let you have it." I told him.

"I expect nothing from you, dove." Nikolai whispered. His eyes met mine, the muddy green still covering the colour I now knew they truly were. The ones I'd seen in the lamplight from outside. Hazel. "I'd like nothing more than for you to love me. But I don't expect- won't demand that from you. I only ask you to be honest with me."

"My heart tells me to want you. But my mind tells me to run from you." I confessed. "What do I listen to?"

"I can't answer that for you, dove." Nikolai admitted.

It was silent for a moment. "Y/n." I told him. "That's my name."

Nikolai breathed out, nodding his head. He repeated my name, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue.

"No more secrets." Nikolai promised. He stepped closer to me, hand cupping my cheek. "Just Nikolai and y/n. I yearn for you. And I want to give us a chance, dove."

I leaned into his palm.

"So please, don't leave." He whispered. "I swear to you with everything I have that I will prove myself to be loved by you. I am in love with you."

"No more lies." I whispered as he stepped closer to me.

He shook his head. "I swear to you."

He brought me in closer, lips brushing mine. So tender, so gentle. I thought of how feverishly he'd kissed me on that night two months ago. I sighed into his lips, leaning forward, and pressing my lips harder against his. His fingers brushed my cheek.

The Volkvolny was known by most: pirates, merchants, kings. Its captain was infamous, ruthless. His hair an uncanny shade of red, eyes a murky green, nose crooked, like it had been broken too many times and set wrong.

His quartermaster was as equally infamous. She killed for him, hunted for him. They were matched in combat, but she usually did the dirty work. Sturmhond was happy to indulge his Zeeduif.

Behind closed doors, a man with golden hair stood over his lover, hazel eyes filled with adoration, nose only slightly crooked. She met his gaze, equally as fierce, thankful for their soundproof walls.

The prince of Ravka would eventually return to The Grand Palace to visit his parents, and brother, where he would introduce his wife; the, now, princess y/n of Ravka.

As she lay in his arms at night, she would think back on their first meeting. Then flush as their second meeting sprang to her mind. And though there were things she wished she could change about their third meeting, being there in Nikolai's arms was reward enough.

Oh, and she absolutely wouldn't let him take control all of the time.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lanstov x y/n #nikolai lantsov smut #shadow and bone #grishaverse #this entire thing deleted itself for me #no I do not know how to use tumblr #send help

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