#(omc)]

Little Aegon was determined not to lose any sort of meal he ate while they traveled except that he was hardly able to stomach putting anything in his mouth while they were heading upstream. Instead the youngest of their party was firmly in the tiny quarters they left him in, doing his best to emulate his favorite elder brother and sleep away the queasy stomach plaguing. Given the suffering and his age, Maekar had relented and let little Eggy do as he pleased, so long as he was up and well by the time they needed to mount the horses.

Horses would get him well enough. The little rascal loved them well.

Even his perfect princely cousin was miserable and ill with the roughness of the ride, more so than his wife, which was saying something. Daeron did feel pity for Valarr in that respect. It could not be easy.

He nearly jolts out of his musings when a hand thumps him right on the back, and there is Ser Wyle, grinning from ear to ear. Daeron had taken refuge towards the center of their barge and was leaving against the edge, watching the waves as they cut through the rapids. “You are handling this better than I would have thought, my friend,” he cheerly announced. The damn knight looked even positively gleeful at the fact.

Maybe it was all of those nights and days he had been out of his mind, filled to the brim with drink and bad decisions, but unlike the others he had dealt with unsteady feet and spinning heads on a regular basis, especially when heading back to either the Red Keep or Summerhall. Handling a rocky ride while sober was rather easy compared to that.

“Practice.”

“Of sailing northern rapids?”

“Of spinning rooms and walking on surfaces that wobble. Perhaps I shall run away and be a sailor.”

Mercifully, the knight does not question him on that particular statement, though seemed hopeful instead. Rather there is something being pressed in his hands and he looks down to see a satchel, the merman sigil on the fabric standing out against the dark cloth. Along with that a snort of laughter and a friendly grin.

“Ginger candy. For your family. Tis only a few more days but this will help with the queasy feeling and settle any stomachs.”

Daeron grimaces as memory of the recent complaints floods his mind. “No doubt little Egg will enjoy being able to eat,” he remarks dryly, thinking of his poor brother all bundled up under blankets as he tries to block out the swaying of the ship. It earns yet another bark of laughter from Wyle and another friendly pat on his shoulder.

It is easy to speak to this young man, far more than most of his traveling party.

He turns out to let his gaze drift, eyes not focused on anything in particular. They stand next to one another, comfortable in silent companionship. A friend, Wyle had said.

Friends could be trusted, yes?

A thought crosses his head again, the image of a dream he had the night before.

A direwolf guarding dragon eggs from a large red dragon. A sandy colored dragon swooping in and claiming all the eggs and the direwolf as his own.

A dragon the same color as his hair. Is he the dragon here? And the direwolf, his betrothed? The eggs, their children?

Would he be able to trust Wyle to guard them if he could not do so himself? When he inevitably would fail at his duty?

Gods above, he dreams of them now when he sleeps. It was hardly a terror to behold but he wanted to know with certainty. If they were not surrounded by that awful green fire, of melting walls, but of the dragon version of himself, did that mean he was able to stop the horrors before they began? When he had never been able to do so before?

Or was it a false prophecy and the gods were merely cruel?

Dangle something that he might cherish just to rip it away from his grasp.

He swallows thickly. And when he speaks, it is with a soft, serious tone, so out of place on his person that one might think him just a tad bit possessed.

“Do you think dreams could show us the future? That someone could dream the future and it comes to fruition? Such as… Daenys the Dreamer? When she saw the destruction of Valyaria in her dreams?”

Wyle, may the seven bless him, does not laugh in his face. Instead the look he gets in return is thoughtful, as if someone is taking him seriously for once. Brows knit together and Wyle leans over the edge as well, arms crossed. Sunlight causes the deep, dark green tint in his hair to shimmer.

A green unlike the toxic colour of wildfire flames.

“Valyrians aren’t the only ones with magic in their blood. There is magic in the North, old magic, in the very ground beneath our feet, the rivers we drink from, the stone we built our keeps out of,” Wyle starts, fiddling with the cuff of his glove. “Old stories tell us of green dreams and greensight, those who saw the prophecy in their dreams before Valyrians even bound dragons to their blood. Before the Age of Heroes, before Bran the Builder raised the Wall, and before the First Men came to Westeros, there were the Children of the Forest. Greenseers, they had, and saw things through the faces and eyes of a Heart Tree. And skinchangers who could take the skin of any animal, and make them do their bidding. Somehow that magic, the First Men learn to channel it too.”

Cold creeps into his spine. It snakes its way as Wyle talks and he listens, feeling the chill take root. A bone deep chill he has only ever felt once more.

“Something to speak about with Lady Alysanne when you meet her. She loves that sort of thing, histories and lore, magic and tales. You can woo her with tales of Valyrian magic and history and dragons, and she can tell you all about the North’s own myths.”

A tiny spark of hope blooms inside of him. If the lady were fond of magic and myths, then perhaps he might find someone who would understand the terrors that plagued him. If only for practical purposes.

It would be a shame to tell the lady why her new husband screamed in his sleep, if she were not to understand the possibility of just what was wrong with him.

“House Manderly was from the Reach, originally, as you know. But the Starks, well, they are the North, if one were to argue,” Wyle continues, not stopping the lesson even as Daeron is silently gazing out at waters, “And there’s something of magic in the old families, even if they never speak of it, I’d gather.”

Daeron would be hard pressed to disagree.

Rummaging through the bag, he pulls out a piece of that ginger candy, and pops it into his mouth, not expecting the flavor to have been so strong, and yet, here he is, wincing lightly. But a good wince, and there’s a quirk of a smile.

“We were dragonlords, once upon a time, and we destroyed them with our greed, our jealousy, our own desires. For the crown, for recognition, for something. They used to say Targaryens were closer to gods than men, for we controlled and rode those great beasts when there was no one left after The Doom. Perhaps we believed it too, to be above those we were sworn to protect, better for having creatures of fire, flame, and magic bound to our blood and our blood alone, and the gods themselves paid for that hubris, for no one should think themselves their equal to the gods.” He turns to face Wyle, eyes wide and clear.

“What do you say, Wyle? Were those beasts our salvation or our damnation? Magic in our blood still in our veins or a curse that took away the one thing that made us special?”

And there, he can see it, the turning of his words over and over in Wyle’s mind, the careful thought and consideration in his answer. The better option; to either best satisfy a prince or tell the truth to a man that may be a new friend?

“I’d say only the gods would be able to answer that. Perhaps there is a fine line between madness and greatness. Or that men were never meant to bind such powerful beasts and they might have been alive today. Perhaps they should have been left to roam free and men were to be men, not gods amongst the rest of the world.”

Shoulders relax at that answer and he looks away from the Manderley knight, eyes back on the waves. A hand is on his shoulder, a warm squeeze and he looks to see Wyle’s dark eyes, searching for something on his own. For what exactly, he is unsure of.

“You, Daeron, hide a wickedly clever mind more than  anyone, even your own father, realizes. Save your littlest brother and myself of course.”

And with that the dragon lets out a bark of laughter, and drags his newfound friend down below the decks to find the littlest brother in question and give some relief to his seasick family.

~~~

He would never claim to be an exemplary horseman. At best, passable, if not forced into participating in a joust. Leisurely rides are the extent of his skills, and he would much prefer a wheelhouse to horseback any day.

A person could easily nap in a wheelhouse. They could eat and drink to their heart’s content in a wheelhouse. And even fucking in a wheelhouse, though he will admit not to doing that particular act yet, if only because there was no need to take one to a brothel. But oh, how a wheelhouse would be lovely right about now. Blankets and pillows and warmth would be in a wheelhouse.

The point was Daeron was not only painfully sober, utterly ill prepared for the cold of the North, but also spending a significant amount of time in the saddle, and by the end of this there would better be a long, hot soak in a proper bath when they reach Winterfell or he was calling this whole damn wedding off.

Aegon having the time of his life on top of his stead, well, which made the whole journey a tiny bit better. Sort of. Let him revel in riding his own pony, sent by the Starks ahead of time.

In fact they had not only lent out their own hardy horses for travel, creatures built and breed that were used to the harsh climate,  but supplied thick, heavy furs for the royal party to keep not only for their journey to Winterfell, but down to King’s Landing after the wedding. “A gift,” Wyle had explained after Daeron had taken the heavy winter cloak and fur-lined gloves. “During winter, one needs to take care of those around them, and now that will include yourself and your family.”

The gods seemed to favor them though as the weather did hold out as they traveled up towards their destination. With the final leg of the journey nearing the end and the party making excellent time, they had shaved off nearly a week, as everyone had proven themselves capable of staying in the saddle long enough to make it from scattered camps already set up along the path.

A featherbed, he was nearly dreaming of sleeping in an actual featherbed, with pillows and blankets, and real rugs to put bare feet on; Daeron could almost see it.

Actually, if he was squinting right, he could see something. A town? Well, it looked a bit like a town, on the horizon, and the tops of a large keep.

Sweet salvation. Warmth was within reach. Even better, a chance to escape his father’s ever watchful eyes and perhaps finally get some privacy from both uncle and father.

And even better, there would be wine and cider and ale and all manner of drinks, he was sure of it.

Once again, he would thank the gods, old or new at this rate, for keeping the dragon dreams at bay. The need to block out the nightmares had been muted by this point, and he thought back to the conversation he had with Wyle on the nature of magic in the North. of how even dragons were not able to cross The Wall, their powerful beings repealed by whatever Bran the Builder had done with the Children of the Forest?

Did the old gods eclipse the new? Or perhaps they were soundly ensuring whatever valyrian magic that was in his blood was no longer able to torment him so long as he was on their soil, wedding one of their faithful.

“We’ll be going through the great main gates, as befitting your station. Two walls, with a moat between them, are before the keep proper. And even then, we’ll head through winter town, where you’ll see the smallfolk gathering to greet you all. No doubt they’ve gotten to celebrating one of their liege lord’s daughters becoming royalty.”

Wyle had kept up a steady stream of conversation during this day, if only to keep Daeron from making a run from the party as they grew closer to the final destination. That or he seemed to understand Daeron would die if he escaped the impending marriage. He seemed to have taken on the role of minder out of some newfound friendship and Daeron would be grateful if he was not daydreaming of blissful cocoons of blankets at the moment and only half listening to what was being said.

“After the introductions there’s bread and salt in the Great Hall. Make sure you observe the guest right to the letter. I shan’t be able to be there with you all the time to help you out so if you think any action might offend or hurt, just don’t do it, whatever it may be.”

Daeron blinks then, head cocked to the side. A sandy blond eye brow is raised at that, and he is somewhat confused about the lecture. “Even drunks and fools do not violate guest right. Thankfully I am both a drunk and a fool, as well as a prince,” he quipped back, a wiry grin on his face. “No worries, Wyle, I already promised the king himself I would be on my best behavior.”

That only got him a hearty laugh in return and a shake of the other man’s head, green-tinted dark curls shining in the sun.

And just as the sun was passing the high point in the sky, they were, in fact, passing through what Wyle had called ‘winter town’, smallfolk lining along the road to catch a glimpse of the travelers heading towards their lord’s castle. Names were being called out, for both Targaryen and Stark. Bright cheer, as their liege’s younger daughter would soon be a princess.

By then Wyle had gone to join the rest of his kin behind the Targaryen group, and Daeron took up a post behind his uncle and next to his father. Even though Valarr, as second in line, would normally be taking a spot behind his father, as it was Daeron’s wedding he would have that honor along with Maekar as the father of the groom and royal prince in his own right.

Aegon was between his cousin and his wife, carefully being watched and guarded, else he attempted to catch up with his elder brother.

“Sit up straight and do not slouch. You have height so use it to your advantage,” came the gruff comment out of nowhere, low enough so only he could hear. It caused Daeron to tilt his head just enough to see his father’s gaze land on him and he followed through, spine slowly straightening up and his head rising to rest squarely on his shoulders.

Just for a moment he could have sworn he saw a gaze that looked almost like approval from his father.

“I might have married your mother for love, but your grandfather married for duty. Courtship, companionship, friendship, love, all of that came later but it was to bring Dorne into the fold that your namesake did his duty first.”

And just as before, he looks this time to meet his father’s eyes. Something about them, less harsher than before, eyes that looked at him as if he were a small child again and could do no wrong in his father’s eyes. In this moment, it had been so long since they had looked upon one another like this that Daeron was speechless.

Maekar had taken that silence for understanding, the lack of protest or snark an agreement. “You follow in his footsteps, bringing the North back from its isolation, and in doing so become a man.”

It was as close to pride as he ever heard from his father. 

The part in him that was still that little boy who wanted to make his father proud, who would swear on the Seven do no wrong and be the best prince there ever was, even if he was terrified of the dreams that haunted him, or could barely figure his footing in the training groups, it is that boy who bubbled to the surface in that moment.

~~~

Maekar remembered the little boy Daeron had been. Happy. Delightful. His firstborn son, his first child, the child that he and Dyanna had made together, in the blush of their youth and reveling in their love. It was not duty that had led him to Dyanna, but love, a deep bond that they shared from their first moments together that was still present to this very day. Masking it well, but truly, he wished he were in Summerhall with her than anywhere else in the world. And Daeron had been the first born of that love.

But something had happened to his boy. Something twisted him up inside and sought to ruin him.

Dreams. Visions. Nightmares that would have a child screaming in their sleep. Scenes in a child’s mind that only grown men would create.

Maekar knew of Daenys, of dragon dreams, but there were no more dragons. Only eggs turned to stone. And even if Daeron had been given that gift, he should have been able to tame it. He had tried to help in the only ways he knew. Training yard spars. Riding lessons. Sending the boy to squire. Make him a man so that his heir could be fit. So no taint of so-called Targareyn madness would infect his son.

Yet that same son had drowned himself in wine and debauchery, the only things he claimed truly muffled the terrors that haunted him; those same vices claiming him time after time till there was nothing but a shell of the child he had once held so proudly.

Seeing Daeron on that ship, curled up in pain, calling out in desperation for salvation, while the only thing he could do was push cool rags on feverish skin, it made Maekar briefly question if this had been his doing. His son’s slow poisoning of himself, was it because of him or because of those dreams?

Or was it of Daeron’s own choosing?

But watching Daeron now, away from court, away from the temptations of drink and vice, sleeping soundly when the nights had been usually dark and full of terrors for his son, even as they crossed the barren, frigid, death trap of a land, it was seeing that little boy come alive again for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

As they ride in silence through this tiny town, heading towards the main gates of Winterfell, he watches with a careful gaze. No doubt his brother is aware of the change too. They had briefly spoken of Daeron’s behavior and the way that there seemed to be a lightness in the boy that had long been snuffed out. Baelor had pointed out the lack of escape attempts, the way every day hands shook less and less, the clarity in Maekar’s eldest’s eyes. How he held conversations with another and kept a watchful eye on Aegon's antics.

Perhaps this is what he needed after all. You softened when Dyanna came into your life, if only for her. Jena, my pillar I draw strength upon. And no doubt father relies on mother in ways no other can provide.

As much as he wanted to believe his brother, there was still the nagging voice in the back of his head. That this would all collapse, that somehow, someway, something would attach itself to Daeron and find a way to ruin his son once again. If Daeron let it. If the girl was not able to help him, the task being far too great in the end.

Everyone who has met her, seen her, spoke to her, said she is rather beautiful. Intelligent, dutiful, loyal, and faithful to the Old Gods, seems to be what most of them speak of. That Lord Stark raised his children to be proper northern nobility, if in the ways of the old Kings of Winter. Perhaps that is what Daeron needs, Maekar, not someone who is a snake in silks, like we see so often in court.

Perhaps his brother was right. Baelor often was.

Then there was the Manderley knight by Daeron’s side. Not a barkeep to support his habits, a fellow drunkard to cheer him on, or a whore to take his coin; a knight, even if that knight was a northern man, and one around his age as well. A friend.

Daeron never had many friends, he realizes as they finally make their way through the gates, and the few he did deserted him when it became apparent the young man was a mess of a royal rather than a true prince like his cousin.

A northern wife. A northern friend. Some semblance of peace in his son, with the little bits and pieces of the boy he had once held in his arms showing through.

Maekar could only hope that this might last long enough till the marriage was complete.

He could only dream it would last after the vows were said; long after the pair wedded and bedded.

Damn them all if it didn’t.

~~~

It was two long, low horn blasts that heralded their arrival. Not the fanfare often in court, or the ornate trumpeting noble houses would do to announce royalty arrived. Something low and ancient, like this very place, and Daeron felt it in his bones that something lay on the grounds of Winterfell the moment the horses stepped through the second gate.

The belly of the beast. Middle of the North. A place where old kings resided, conquerors who brutally fought in the harshest of all the Seven Kingdoms, and laid claim to a place that was as deadly in truth as the songs said they were. He had been filled in on just how truly bloody the Starks could be. Wyle had given him some prime examples of the brutality of the former Kings of Winter.

Beron is the second son but more dangerous than his elder brother Rodwell was. A hunter, a wolf in a man’s skin, when he feels the need to be. I’ve seen him hold their Valryian steel greatsword, Ice, and if there was ever a man who it looked at home with, it would be him.

Everyone had dismounted by then, and Daeron was pleased to note he did not trip or fall, his legs steady. Even Aegon had managed to do so without any aid, much to the pride of their father.

Good, let that put Maekar in a better mood.

Baelor stepped forward, an easy smile on his face. A mask of pleasantries, no doubt, as Daeron was assuming he too would like respite from the cold. Yet duty demanded this.

“My Lord Stark, I am Prince Baelor of House Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, and Hand of the King. We thank you, and House Manderly, for the escort to Winterfell, and for the honor you have given my house. May I present my party; Prince Valarr, my eldest, and his wife Kiera of Tyrosh. My brother, Prince Maekar, Prince of Summerhall, and his sons; Prince Aegon his youngest son, and finally Prince Daeron, heir to Summerhall, prince of the realm, and your daughter’s intended husband".

He knew beforehand that he would be announced last. An honor, his uncle had said, as this was his time to shine. A duty. A responsibility. Daeron breaths in and steps forward, hands clasped tightly behind his back. No shakes today, not from the cold. Maekar's words about his height rang in his head and he straightened up, mindful of the eyes now on him. With his hair tied back, the rich furs, and the black and red of his house on display, for the first time in a while he knew he looked the part of a prince of the realm. 

A man stepped forward, dark of hair, long face, a thick bread that was neatly trimmed speckled with greys, the only hint besides the wrinkles of his forehead sharing the truth of his age. Grey eyes scanned them, judging them, and he found those eyes to be nearly as cold as the snows they had traveled through. A hint of warmth bleed though, when they fell on Aegon, and curiosity when the man’s gaze reached his own.

Daeron looked right back, trying to find the steel in his own spine.

One breath in. And out. He bows deeply then, making sure to give this attention to the Lord of Winterfell, deference to the man who would be his goodfather, and looks up, meeting those eyes and searching for something, anything. Approval. Resignation. Something. Anything.

“Lord Stark, I am Prince Daeron of House Targaryen, and I am here to honor the Pact of Ice and Fire, bringing honor to both your house and mine, and tie our houses together in the bonds of marriage,” he says, voice as clear as the air they were breathing. He straightens up then, slowly and waits.

And waits some more.

Skies start to darken with clouds, and moments tick by as snow starts to fall slowly on them all.

And then a voice, deep and echoing across for all in the yard to hear.

“My honored guests. Be welcome beneath my roof, and at my table, for you have the  protection of Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Beron of House Stark. Bread and salt await you all in the warmth of the Great Hall.”

And if practiced, a woman steps forward, curtsey respectful towards the royal party, even if her eyes were like ice chips. “My lady wife, Lorra, formally of House Royce,” he says then, and the rest of the family is slowly introduced. A large family, seven in total, and while Lord Stark does not go beyond his own children and their respective wives and husband, he does point out the children that stand further back.

They bow and curtsey in respect, deference and respectful. But even it is clear that this is not exactly what anyone expected, for a dragon prince from the South to come up to the North.

Yet Lord Stark stands tall. Does his duty. Daeron thinks he would make a fine King of Winter solely by presence alone. It clicks into place just why his grandfather agreed easily to the match. Something about Beron Stark made him a king in all but name.

If the Starks and the North wanted independence, it was quite possible they could do it under this man's guidance. And there would be no dragons to worry about this time should Beron Stark go forward with that desire.

Daeron files away that thought though, when the last introduction is made.

Just like with Daeron, the bride-to-be is saved for last.

“Finally, may I present my youngest daughter, Lady Alysanne of House Stark, as your future wife.”

The girl in question steps forth. Dark hair bound in a long, thick braid that runs down her back. Pale skin, full rosy lips, and a face that holds a similar long face to that of her fathers, if only softened slightly in the cheeks, and a nose straight and narrow. Clad in furs that wrap around narrow shoulders, and a cloak that covers her up, a snarl wolf clasp holding them together. As she curtseys, low towards him, he can see the embroidery on the back of the cloak, a snarling direwolf in silver thread across her back. 

He has seen that before. He knows he has.

A dream, so long ago, when the horrors were too much, and he wished for something more, something better. When he woke up and his breath showed despite the warmth of the room.

Time stands still as he looks upon Alysanne Stark, and his breath is caught in his throat.

A maiden kneeling before a heart tree, snowflakes melting in her hair. Wolf girl, my direwolf bride, and howling mingles with dragon screeches in the distance.

Dragons and direwolves guarding eggs.

A child’s cry as a dragon lays its head on a direwolf’s belly.

Daeron slowly remembers how to breathe, uncaring of the others around them. His world narrows down to just the two, the lady before him and himself, and he holds out his hand, sure and steady. He speaks before thinking, uncaring if anyone knows or hears.

“I have dreamed of you, my lady. Have you dreamt of me as well?”

And Alysanne of House Stark lays her bare hand on top of his, confusion mingled with recognition in those grey eyes of hers, eyes that are familiar and foreign all at once.

“Yes.”

"We're in public, you two," you chuckled, shaking your head in amusement.

"But I'm bored," Dieter whined, big brown eyes rounding to try and appeal to your more understanding side.

"Babe, she's on a mission," said Shin gently. He gripped Dieter's thick fingers in his own and linked them together, calming him with a reassuring thumb on his knuckles. Dieter relaxed and rested his head on Shin's broad shoulder.

Your heart softened at the two of them, loving them more by the minute. When you first met Dieter, you didn't know he'd already had a partner. You were working as an assistant on a movie he was filming as a part time gig while you worked on getting your Bachelor's degree. Frankly, you got a little skeptical when he said his boyfriend would be "cool with it" if you joined them a couple of times in the bedroom. You didn't really know what that meant at the time, but what you did know was that that was five years ago now and you couldn't be happier.

Shin worked as a photographer for a magazine, which is how he and Dieter met a year before you came into the picture.

"I like this one, honey," Shin said softly, picking up a scented candle and showing it to you. You took it from his grasp and popped off the lid, letting the scent fill your nostrils. It went right to your head, calming you all over. "Right?" He smiled, watching your reaction.

Your cheeks warmed as you nodded. "Yeah. It's just vague enough that it'll satisfy her weird expectations, but it's also kind of nice," you snorted, placing it in your shopping basket.

"Why does your aunt gotta be so weird?" Dieter groaned. He started to get antsy, the edible he'd taken earlier starting to wear off. He hated holiday shopping. It was always too crowded and loud so he got overstimulated easily.

"We all have at least one in our families, right?" You sighed, coming over to give Dieter a kiss. "I'm sorry, Dee. We'll be done soon, I promise. Okay?" You pouted, cupping his scruffy cheeks gently. Dieter nodded jerkily, but he eased some with the promise of going back home. He couldn't wait to get into some pajamas (well, comfier than what he was currently wearing) and cuddling up with his partners on the couch while they watched A Christmas Story for the hundredth time.

"You go check out, I'll go sit with him on a bench outside the store, okay?" Shin offered. You agreed, watching as the two of them left hand in hand. This made you finish your transaction as soon as you could, standing in the line for way longer than should've been necessary. You'd been walking around this mall for at least two hours and your feet were starting to hurt.

Once you finished, you made your way out of the store. You felt a little out of breath and tired, just as ready as Dieter looked to get home. He was resting his head on Shin's shoulder and playing with a lock of hair that had come loose from the bun low on his head. Shin kept pressing kisses to Dieter's forehead between saying little things to make him giggle or smile.

Dieter's face lit up as he saw you approach them, that boyish smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. "Now we can leave," you exhaled.

"Fuck yes!" Dieter cheered, fist lifting into the air like he'd just kissed Claire at the end of The Breakfast Club. He laced his fingers with yours using his free hand, holding both of you tightly. "So, I was thinking we could order some pizza so we don't have to go anywhere else, and then…"

You looked over at Shin as your shared boyfriend's entire mood seemed to change, talking a mile a minute as you made your way through the alleyways of the mall. It didn't stop on the car ride home and even when you all changed into your pajamas. Shin was on the phone, standing in your kitchen, ordering the pizza Dieter was craving.

Once all three of you were sat on the couch, pizza on the coffee table in front of you, and the main menu screen of A Christmas Story on the TV, Dieter looked at you like you hung the moon. "I love you, babe," he said softly.

"What's with you getting all serious, huh? I love you, too, ya goof," you smiled.

Dieter shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. "I dunno. Don't feel like I say it enough. I love you both," he smiled. Shin's face visibly softened, cupping Dieter's face to kiss him deeply. Then, just as Dieter started to melt into it, he pulled away and did the same to you, soft lips taking your breath away.

Dieter took his chance and kissed you just as hard, moaning into your mouth. "Maybe Christmas moves can wait?" He chuckled breathily against your lips. Shin nodded from behind him, pulling the collar of his pj's away so he could kiss along Dieter's freckled shoulder and collarbone.

"They can totally wait," you agreed, giggling as you ran off to your bedroom.

You stood there facing the kitchen counter, staring at his prescription medicine bottles, having put his pain medicine back. Sighing heavily through your nose, you’re trying to figure out what the fuck was going on in his head. He hasn’t shown any signs of a concussion other than a headache last night. When you changed the bandage on his scalp, you saw he had a minor haircut with staples in his scalp. Must have been brain swelling and temporarily removed part of his skull. It made you wonder how long he had been in the hospital before coming home since brain swelling can last hours to days to even months before it goes down.

Do military hospitals do conservative treatment or whatever works the fastest? Probably situational.

You already feel like you’re failing Simon but you can’t force him to take anything.

Closing your eyes, images of you sitting in the hospital holding a little boy’s hand whose head is wrapped up and intubated.

“Fuck,” you gasped, literally shaking your head. Feeling tears trying to burn their way through. Took a few deep breaths to calm down.

“Ya okay?” Simon queried from inches away. You spun around, scowling at him. “What are you doing up?”

“Ya okay?” He asked again, almost hovering over you. It’s like you had forgotten how tall he was.

“I’m fine. You hungry?” You changed the topic with a small put-upon smile on your face. Simon could tell but said nothing.

“No’ really,” he admitted with a half-shrug.

“Want a smoke?” You sincerely questioned, doubting he’d had a smoke during the hospital.

“Gawd yes!” He practically exclaimed. You giggled. “Deck, please.” You point to the backdoor. Simon led the way and you stopped at his jacket, grabbing his cigarettes. That’s when you remember the gift you got him and run to your room grabbing the small gift box.

“Whe’uh ya goo, luv?” Simon called as you jogged from your room.

You shooed him outside and followed, closing the door. Simon carefully sat down at the little covered table with an ashtray in the middle you put there. You slid him his cigarettes and a small white box, advising, “Got you something.”

He slowly pulled up his balaclava uncovering his lips and nose, and stared at the box. While picking up with his uninjured hand, he held it out for you to open up. You obliged, revealing a black Zippo lighter with a white skull mask identical to his hard faceplate. His eye widened before looking up at you.

“Ya like? Figured this way anyone would know whose it is when you’re on base. It’s refillable too.” Taking it out, you flip it and show your tiny artistic signature on the back. “It’s my little artist signature. Not really identifiable but that way you won’t ever forget me,” you tried to sound like you were teasing to get out of the seriousness of the conversation and stuck your tongue out at him for good measure. Simon tried to grin, set the box down, took the lighter, and brought it close to his good eye. “I neveh forge’ ya, luv.”

You look down, feeling your face heat up a bit before grabbing the cigarette box. Ignoring it, you get one out and hold it up for Simon. He flips the Zippo open and sparks the lighter seeing it aflame. He holds it up, lighting it. Quickly, you bring it to your lips, inhaling a few times before handing it to him. Exhaling what little smoke you inhaled, you watched him close his eyes, deeply inhale, and hold the smoke in his lungs.

“For the record, your imported fags smell good. Not only smell good but they somehow enhance your own scent,” you observed, keeping a straight face. He tilted his head, staring at you and exhaling at you. “Aren’t you a cheeky fucker.”

You giggled and grinned wide, sticking your tongue out at him. “I’m a sassy bitch. What else is new?”

Simon doesn’t respond but seems to be staring at you. You look at him, only to realize he’s looking behind you. Turning, you look over your shoulder. “Like it?”

“Pictures don’ do t’justice, luv. It’s gorgeous.”

You looked down at the table and gave a restrained smile, feeling your cheeks warm rapidly. You can even feel your ears warm.

Simon watched you as he smoked. He loved seeing your blush. It makes your freckles pop. He wanted to touch and kiss each one, count them across your body. He wonders how far your blush travels—Fuck, the boyfriend, he remembered and mentally groaned.

The moment he read you had a boyfriend, he became ‘a downright grump’ for days, according to Soap. Inhaling deeply and exhaling before taking the last inhale of the cigarette. He pushes it away for now. “Ya should see eev any uhv veh neighbors wan ya t’do veir yard.” He grabbed his pack of cigarettes after stubbing out one he had in the ashtray.

“I just finished almost two weeks ago. I’m taking a break. It’s a lot of physical and mental work,” you advised and reminded. “Besides, right now I’m taking care of you. I don’t want to do anything until you’re doing much better.” He scoffs. “I ain’t doin’ vat bad.”

You leveled a look at him. “Simon, you have a brain injury, sweetie; they did a craniotomy to prevent pressure developing on your brain. It was so swollen. They probably created a pocket on your upper abdomen to keep the bone alive while your brain healed,” you explained, eyes squinted and lips frowned as you tried to make him understand the severity. “You had a constant headache for hours last night that only the pain meds helped and you now refuse them because why?” You lean forward. “They don’t work well? Don’t you like how the meds make you feel? It’s Tylenol. It’s over the counter. What? Just don’t like taking meds?” You paused before adding sternly, “Don’t you dare believe you deserve this pain? No one does. I would know.”

Simon looked behind you in silence to your question and offered answers. You rest both your hands on his good forearm. “Whatever the reason is, Simon.” He slowly met your gaze. “Your injury isn’t a punishment. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He scoffs, looking away. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, Simon Riley. You’re wrong,” you rationalize with conviction.

“Ya don’ know wot ‘appened. Stop actin’ leek ya dew.”

You stood up so fast the seat nearly fell over as you walked back inside, closing the door behind you. Simon thought you stopped away at his words, making his chest ache. Thinking he hurt you.

Meanwhile, you were looking around for the paperwork Captain Price gave you, you took your notebook and the paperwork. Took it back outside and made sure to sit back next to Simon, practically throwing it at him. His eye widened at your return and his eyebrow furrowed at the notebook.

“Read it,” you demanded. “I have notes on everything. I have what your paperwork said and what your mates said. Go ahead. Read it.” Crossing your arms and leaning back in the seat, waiting.

Simon opened up the notebook and skimmed over the discharge paperwork. He saw your notes about the approximate times he took medication at the hospital, according to Kyle. In addition to food, he’d been able to keep in. He ignored all the instructions and moved on to the notebook. The first page is a title page making him smile with a small snort. You ignored him. He flipped to see a table of contents you started on. He flips a few more pages before seeing ‘Day One’ notes—

————————📒

Day One

Cause of injury per witness

Capt —

In the Humvee, he was driving with Ghost up front with him as they headed to exfil when Ghost suddenly grabbed the steering wheel and attempted to force the vehicle to swerve unsuccessfully. The passenger front tire went over an IED and activated with Simon getting the brunt of the force and injury. Gaz and Soap were thrown from the vehicle only getting scrapes and bruises. Because of Ghost’s body position, he essentially received injury for two people since his body took the majority of the blast. Price only had a few cracked ribs and a bump on the head. Everyone else had minor injuries except for Ghost.

Soap—

He corroborated Capt’s story from his perspective. He did not see the IED. He was talking to Gaz in the backseat and felt the vehicle swerve before he found himself on the ground in the dust, sore and aching. Gaz was stated to be feeling the same as him—sore and aching. He stated they both got up and went to find Price and Ghost. They found Ghost on Price, a few feet away from the Humvee. He saw the front passenger side blown to smithereens. He was scared that Ghost was dead but he should have known better. He and Gaz started doing typical medic checks. Price cracked a few ribs since (the concussive blast) Ghost was pushed into Price (his perspective and assumption from positions found). Ghost was unconscious for days and they kept scanning his head. The right side of his face, shoulder, and part of his chest were all black, not even blue or purple. Just black. He had to have some kind of brain surgery and was in the ICU the rest of the time. When his brain got better, they did surgery again and it took him a while to wake up on his own. It was weeks before they finally let him leave. That’s when Price called Ralph and they’re where they are now.

Gaz—

He corroborated both stories; however, he advised that Ghost was only found partially on Price. (That explains his cracked ribs.) He also stated that Ghost didn’t wake up until after the first surgery which was within 24 hours of the accident. He was unconscious due to brain swelling and the doctors were worried about permanent damage. Once he woke up, they waited a few days to see how he was recovering and redid scans. It was like a week (5-6 days est) before they did the second operation. He still has a TBI. The medicines are to help with pain, inflammation, speed up recovery from the TBI/Concussion, and aid with any possible symptoms for mental health and mood. He said to call him if I have any issues with Simon and his medicine arises.

Approx hospital time: 1-2 weeks.

Medicines—

Amandatine 100mg 2/day (200mg)— improve pace of functional recovery

Busprione 10mg 2/day (20mg) — anxiety or similar symptoms (cut into 1/4s of ~2.5mg each to allow up to 20mg/day PRN)

Modafinil 100mg (100 1st week, 200 onward) 2 in morn — alertness, dopamine, anti-fatigue

Celexa 20mg daily in morn (20mg) — Depression and anxiety (monitor symptoms)

Gabapentin 300mg 2/day (600mg) — nerve pain

Prazosin 1mg (up to 5mg) per night (1-5mg) — ptsd nightmares, headaches, recovery

Melatonin 1mg (up to 10mg) per night (1-10mg) — falling asleep (monitor tolerance and wakefulness in the night and next morn)

Tylenol 1000mg/4-6hrs PRN for pain (need fluid to flush kidneys)

Tramadol 50mg/ 8hrs —PRN pain

RIGHT SIDE INJURY—

Recovery symptoms of TBI/Severe concussion

Physical: Headaches, dizziness/vertigo, nausea, fatigue, insomnia, hypersomnia

Sensory: blurry vision, tinnitus, sensitivity to bright light and loud sounds

Cognitive: Brain fog, difficulty concentrating, Memory problems

Emotional: decreased frustration tolerance, depression, anxiety, mood fluctuations, emotional volatility

Recovery symptoms of torn rotator cuff (4-6mo recovery)

Pain, soreness, stiffness, inflammation, clicking/clacking, limited range of motion,

Probably need to do STR PT

Recovery symptoms of closed proximal fractured humerus, and closed fractured and dislocated ulna (possible torn ligament) bones

Fractured humerus (6-12 weeks)

Pain, swelling, bruising, stiffness, muscle weakness, grinding/clicking,

Closed distal fractured and dislocated ulna [possible torn ligament] (3-6+ mo, complex)

Muscle weakness, swelling, stiffness

Unusable, no weight until approved by doctor PERIOD!!

Probably need PT, up to 2 years for full strength and flexibility to return

After 6mo may return to work but may have restrictions

Recovery symptoms for large area, severe (black & blue) bruising (RICE; 3-6+ weeks)

Pain, soreness, stiffness, inflammation, limited mobility (distance and/or weight)

Rest, ice, compression, elevation!!

When to take to hospital—

Fever 100.4 F/37 C or higher

Numbness, tingling, blue or grey (maybe purple?) fingernails or skin

Hands feel cold and shouldn’t

Sling feels tight even after adjustment (means new inflammation/swelling)

Increased pain in injuries or new bruising elsewhere

Note: Review discharge instructions for medicine times and instructions during Day One.

Call number in FIVE DAYS to set up a doctor appointment/schedule.

Home visits available?

Home PT available?

It is okay! He is home! He is safe! YOU ARE A LICENSED PARAMEDIC!! You got this!! All else fails, get Ralph. lol!

Should I bring my license with me to the Dr appt?

Text Sebastian about Simon being home and the situation (or did Ralph do that and I forgot?)

Sebastian and Simon need to meet (get along?)

————————-📒

As Simon read, you watched his face. You also didn’t think about all the comments and reminders you had put in the notebook. Determined to prove him wrong that you know what’s going on and how to do this shit.

“Ya sure ya not military?” He teased, smirking.

“I thought about it but it was hard for me as a teen to lose weight so I didn’t go,” you admitted. His brows furrowed, leaning back and looking at you with a quirked brow.

“I’m an on-call paramedic for the volunteer county fire department. I’m required to maintain the ability to deadlift 100-150 pounds in confined spaces. I have much more muscle than I used to as a teenager. I was much thicc-er then. I jog 2 miles like three or four times a week. When I get tired, I do a brisk walk as recommended to maintain endurance per my training,” you explained further.

“Ya a paramedic?” His eye were wide and his eyebrow raised as much as he could without pain. You grinned and nodded. “Yeah, have been this whole time. I’m on-call only, so when there is a major accident or multiple people injured, I’m called to the site; otherwise, I just do what I need to do to maintain my license.”

Simon stared at you. “I’ve never seen ya doo any’ing uhv vis,” he pointed out.

You laugh at his words. “The landscaping project worked as a means to maintain endurance and some strength so I didn’t need to jog or walk. I checked with the Fire Chief. Besides, you’re not home often and I like hanging out with you. I’d rather have to push myself to get back where I need to be than miss out on spending time with you when you’re here.”

Simon felt warm and almost gooey inside when you said home. Knowing you view his home as your home just did something to him. Suddenly, he wondered where your boyfriend was, not that he wanted to meet or talk about him. He knew he was going to have to, knowing you.

Yawning, your eyes fluttered for a few seconds as you pushed through the tiredness. “Hey, let’s go inside. You’ve been out here too long anyway. Need to get that leg up and you need to rest.” You pushed the seat out and stood up, stretching.

Simon watched you as you moved and noticed your shirt rising up. It was the first time he had noticed the stretch marks on your abdomen. He liked them. They reminded him of tiger stripes which suited you. He grabbed the notebook and papers, following you inside.

An hour later, your medicine alarm went off and you tried again. Simon took it without hesitation. You thanked him and smiled. He rolled his eyes and waved his hand at you to drop it. You turned and went into the fridge to grab a brownie you made as a reward. You didn’t say that but why not?

“Ooo, browneh,” his voice deepened as he spoke and his eye widened happily. He didn’t question why you gave it to him and ate it with periodic happy hums.

While he was licking his fingertips, you turned away from feeling your face warm. “Dude, next time I give you a treat, I’m leaving the room. It’s like you had sex with it. Oh my god. I get foodgasms but,” you shook your head and you flipped through the TV channel guide.

Simon grinned widely, his teeth somewhat brown from the brownie. “I jus’ wan’ed t’make soor ya knew ‘ow good t’was.”

You glanced at him and deadpanned, “I know how good they are. I made them.” You chose one of the RDJ Sherlock Holmes movies.

“Ya do know I’m from U K, dontcha luv?” He teased before, with your help, switched positions to lay his head in your lap.

You looked down and ignored his teasing. “This would be more comfortable without the mask, ya know.” He turned and looked up at you. “Go ahead.”

Carefully, you slip your fingers under the balaclava and gingerly pull it over his face. He lifts his head a bit and you pull it out from behind. The bandage looks good, with no drainage or blood seeping through. You laid the mask down on his chest and scratched what you could touch on the uninjured side of his head. You looked down at him. “I need you to get better,” your tone suddenly going serious. You don’t know why but the words just tumbled out on their own. “When Ralph told me, it scared me.” Simon took your hand in his. “I’m sorry. Didn’ mean ta.”

“I know. I also understand that you’re like on some kind of special ops thing where y’all do all sorts of dangerous shit. It’s part of the job but this.” You wave your hand down his injured side. “Is not what I meant by staying functional,” you teased. He huffs a chuckle before squeezing your hand. “I’m still he’e.”

“And a lot can still go wrong, Simon.” You cup his uninjured cheek with your free hand. “You’re considered to have a highly complex injury because there are multiple injuries and a traumatic brain injury on top of that. The giant area of bruising alone probably made them hesitate to send you home. They probably did multiple full-body scans with and without contrast to confirm it was only bruising and not internal bleeding.”

Simon watched your face as you spoke. Brows furrowed, lips frowning, and your pupils receded to pinpoints as you spoke. He knew by your words that there was more to your past that made you so afraid of him getting injured. “Vey did do a lot uhv scans. Wouldn’ ‘ave been sent ‘ome if it wasn’ okay t’be home, luvie.”

Your hand returned to scratch and play with his hair. “Doctors are human, even military ones. They can make mistakes. You have to talk to me if anything and I mean anything feels strange or changes either in feeling or look. You gotta promise me, Simon.”

He squeezed your hand as he promised, “I promise.” He kissed your knuckles, repeating “I promise” after each kiss. You grinned, face heating up, and eyes softened at his affection. “Simon.”

“Wot? I can’ be a’ectionate wiv me friend and flat’ma’e.” You give him a knowing look, pointing out this is more than that. “We don’t have a normal friendship, do we?”

“Considerin’ ‘ow I met ya, probably not.”

You grinned and giggled. “You helped a lot more that night than you probably know.”

“I’m glad I met ‘n know ya,” Simon freely admitted. You leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Me too. Me too.”

The next day, you saw a day-old text from Sebastian and instantly felt guilty. You looked to the bathroom, knowing Simon was doing his morning routine, modified. You knew you were emotionally cheating on Sebastian with Simon, or maybe, it was really the other way around. Could you not know you and Simon are actually dating?

That’s so stupid. Fuck my life. Wait, I texted him about Sebastian but he didn’t reply. He said he read my texts so he knows.

You’re getting tired of the ‘man pushing the woman into sex’ issue. You need to confront him at least on the phone and not by text.

Opening Sebastian’s text: Morning, beautiful. How are you?

You smile and reply: I’m okay. A bit tired since I’m taking care of Simon due to his complex injury. Making sure he takes meds on time and eats and whatnot. Mother henning, basically.

Sebastian ❤️: Ralph told me he came home and was really hurt. That you might be hard to reach and not drop by since he got injured during active duty.

You sigh relieved that she talked to him.

You: That pretty much sums it up. 😘

Sebastian ❤️: you taking care of yourself too?

You grin widely.

You: Yes, I have a schedule for meds, food, rest/naps, and being outside. I follow it too. It’s adapted to my own typical schedule. With Simon’s limited mobility, he won’t be comfortable leaving the house for weeks. I know he won’t use any assistance other than a person. Might be able to convince him in a month or so but that’s hit or miss.

Sebastian ❤️: 🫂 Sounds like a lot. Need any help? Is Ralph helping you?

You: Well, taking care of someone with a TBI and multiple physical injuries, can be overwhelming, but with my paramedic training, I’m good. I’m more worried about his health from being stuck at home and the TBI. The physical injuries, unless he falls or gets hurt again, should heal fine…unless something was missed. Probably need PT. Doesn’t mean I’m not worried but nowhere near as much as I am about his mind. He’s highly intelligent and a lieutenant. He needs a lot more to do than watch TV and read.

Sebastian ❤️: We were talking about getting a few games to play. Maybe you can do that too? I’m happy to get a few and bring them over. You can introduce me and we can get to know each other over a game or two.

You stare at his message and pout. You have no idea if Simon is competitive or not. Sebastian was, which is why you will only play cooperative games with him.

You: I’m sorry but no. It’ll be a while before he can even handle being up more than a couple of hours.

Sebastian ❤️: I didn’t think about that. Didn’t realize it could be that way. I’m up for trying to video chat. I miss you, baby doll. What’s a TBI?

You glare at his text and roll your eyes before replying.

You: Traumatic Brain Injury. A concussion is a TBI, usually mild but this isn’t.

Meanwhile, Simon came out of his ensuite bathroom, leaving the door open, in a new set of comfortable clothes—soft white socks, blue and white plaid pajama pants, and a black T-shirt. His arm is not in its sling, so he walks over to you, watching your face, to get help putting it back on.

“Hey, birdie,” he called.

You looked up from your phone and smiled brightly at him. “Hey. Feeling good?” You looked him over, top to bottom and back again. “You look like you feel better.”

“I do.” He held out the sling and his injured arm.

“Told you I made it to where you could shower,” you pointed out again.

“Vat was—“

“Shower chairs do take a bit to get used to but does help with mobility issues.” Your phone vibrated in your hand, so you looked down, frowning. “Hang on and I’ll help you with the sling.”

Sebastian ❤️: Are you safe to take care of him? I mean he’s huge and very military from the pics I’ve seen.

Your face fell and glared at your phone again.

“Everyvin’ okay?” He inquired and carefully sat down next to you, looking at your phone screen.

“Yeah,” you deadpan while typing into your cell:

You: Really?! If you’re questioning my judgment of character, look in the mirror. 🙄

You set the phone down and scoff. “I’m fucking tired of him second-guessing me, like my judgement or gut is wrong. I mean a romantic relationship. There’s gonna be ups and downs. Even if he yells or calls a bunch, people deal with their anxieties differently. I can’t really—”

“‘E shouldn’ be yellin’ at ya,” Simon tried to sound matter-of-factly but came out slightly growly.

“I’m aware but everyone has anxieties and fears that trigger a stress response. It’s normal. No, it isn’t always healthy but it happens. It takes time for any relationship to get its kinks out, for people to understand triggers, standards, expectations, and boundaries.. It’s only been a few months,” you explained matter-of-factly.

Simon turned toward you as you spoke “We didn’,” he pointed out.

You opened your mouth before closing it. Pressing your lips thin before finally pointing out, “You and me aren’t in a romantic relationship, Simon.” You stood up and grabbed the sling.

“We could be,” he quietly commented. You froze for a few moments as Simon held his arm in the position for you. Carefully, you put it back on him. Pretending you didn’t hear him. Once it was secure, you two looked at each other.

Both of you thought the same thing in that moment: what the fuck am I doing?

Simon held up his mask as you looked around. Taking it from him, you rolled it up like before; gingerly rolling it down over his head and face before tucking it under his shirt. The compression was helping with pain.

That reminded you of all the stuff Simon sent you. You think he sent you. You asked, “Hey, why did you buy all that stuff? The books and whatnot?”

Simon’s eyes remained on you. “Why not? Did ya not leek any uhv-em?”

“No, no, it was wonderful. I love all of it. Thank you so so much.” You paused, fiddling with his shirt sleeve and the sling. “It’s just a lot of money.”

“If I want t’bouy ya vings, I’m goin’ ta,” he stated firmly.

Your face warmed at his words. “Okay, fine.” Simon half smirked. You added, “Just realize we have a finite amount of space in this house.” He followed your eyes and looked around. He saw another bookshelf was needed. He’d just make you one, but being injured, he’ll have to settle for buying a good one. He pulled out his phone with his good hand and began looking around online. You rolled your eyes and headed into the kitchen to figure out lunch.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader Subscribers:

“I… Kieran…” You shivered as Rolan’s cum slipped from your fucked out hole and drooled down your ass, “m’need a break, i- i feel so full-“

Kieran only chuckled and ran a hand up your sweaty thigh, dipping a finger into your cum filled hole, “I think you can handle one more, little bunny. Right Rolan? Think our girl needs another good pounding to keep her nice and warm for the rest of the night?” His digit came out coated in Rolan’s sticky white cum, and without ever breaking eye contact with you, he brought it up to his lips, making a show of licking it clean.

Rolan’s face flushed as he watched Kieran lick his creamy seed off his fingers- his cock twitching in excitement, not even beginning to soften after his last release. His eyes roamed over your exhausted form, his gaze landing on your puffy cunt, glistening in his seed and your own juices, “Do… Do you want us to stop, my dear?”

You bit your lip as the cutest little pink blush spreads across your cheeks and chest, a stark contrast to the dark marks and bruises that littered your skin. Your thighs twitched as you spread your legs further apart, and you reached a hand up to Kieran.

Kieran took the hand that was offered to him and intertwined your fingers together, kissing your knuckles while his tail wrapped around Rolan’s cock. He looked at the wizard and smirked, watching him groan and bite his own lip, his cock already leaking with precum and throbbing, ready to go again.

Your eyes locked onto the tiefling who held your hand, “I… I don’t want to stop…” You turned your head, and looked to Rolan, “Pl-please keep using me” With your free hand, you reached down, spreading your puffy folds, giving the two tieflings a nice view of your cum filled pussy. You needed them- needed Kieran, needed Rolan- wanted them to use you. To fuck you, fill you, breed you, for Kieran to treat you like the dirty little cum slut you were- For Rolan to hold you after and whisper loving words in your ear…

Rolan swallowed hard and looked back at Kieran, a question in his eyes.

“Awh, does the good little wizard need permission to keep fucking our cum bucket? How precious are you-“

Rolan sneered slightly, “don’t call her tha-“ 

Kieran’s tail squeezed around the base of Rolan's cock and tugged, forcing him closer to the two of you. He chuckled as Rolan whimpered and bucked his hips, trying desperately to get some friction… 

Grabbing Rolan by the horns, Kieran dragged him so that their lips were mere centimeters apart. Kieran was so close, Rolan could feel his hot breath ghost over his mouth as his cock throbbed- those fiery eyes peering into Rolan’s yellow ones, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to give that pretty little cock of yours the attention it deserves while I fuck a child into our little bunny.” 

Tossing Rolan’s head to the side, he stood, looming over you like a dark god, as if he were ready to worship his most faithful follower, ready to take the sacrament, and give his offering.

Dragging you towards him, Kieran spread your legs further with his knees, his tail still wrapped around Rolan's cock. He grabbed your hands, and pinned them above your head with his, intertwining your fingers together, leaving you open and vulnerable to his every desire… He was going to have you scream his name, have you beg for him to fill you so full that you forget about Rolan.

He was a force of nature, a wildfire in a dry forest.

And he was about to ravage you.

Pulling Rolan in closer to get a good view, the tip on his tail flicked across the other tiefling's swollen head, smearing precum across it, making Rolan grip the sheets, moaning.

Kieran’s fat cock was so close now to your willing cunt- his precun trailing from his own swollen head to the entrance of your gaping hole- brushing his cock up and down your gooey slit before pushing in painfully slow… Letting you feel every ridge and bump as he stretched you even further, making room for him to pound you senseless. Your slick and Rolan's cum made it easy for his cock to slide inside- the excess dripping down your ass.

He was so much bigger than Rolan though- longer, thicker, and much more ridged, but Kieran took it slow, letting you feel each and every vein as it scraped along your overstimulated walls, each ridge catching on your tight entrance. The tip of his tail still teasing the other tiefling's weeping cock, the wizard's eyes focused solely on Kieran's thick member penetrating your pussy, watching as it was stretched and molded into the shape of the bastard’s cock.

With a gasp you gripped either side of Kieran’s chest, your body forgetting how tired it was. He was so hot- like a brand- branding your insides, filling you, stretching you, “K-Kieran~!” 

And with a triumphant smirk, the cocky bastard thrust himself completely inside, bottoming out in one smooth motion. As Kieran thrust himself into you, the sea of cum inside you squelched and gushed out of your cunt around his cock that reached further than Rolan’s.

There was no room for Rolan’s cum… Continuing to bottom out inside you, Rolan’s load flooded over your pussy lips like an overfilled cup. Kieran began pumping the remains of his competition out of your saturated pussy in broad, filling strokes… He was taking you for himself, “Say what I wanna hear you say, be a good girl for me~”

The room filled with the filthy sound of his balls slapping against your ass- the squelching of his cock being buried in your sloppy hole, the sound of the mattress creaking and the bed slamming against the wall. 

“Ngh!~ Kieran-“

Kieran slammed your hips down on his cock, hitting your cervix, forcing more of Rolan’s cum out of you, and making you wail. The wizard's cock pulsed and twitched as he watched, biting his lip and squeezing the sheets- the sight of you getting fucked like this turning him on even more… he hated it, but hells… his cock loved it.

Kieran smirked- his eyes flashing a dangerous shade of red as he slammed into you again, “You know what I like, doll~ don’t play dumb, now~ let me hear you sing- beg for my cum- beg for my kids, whore~”

Your eyes rolled back as the ridges of his cock dragged along your walls, his thrusts hitting something so deep inside you, “N’f-fuck me with y-your filthy fiendish cock- r-ruin me~”

His head tilts back, those sharp canines on display as he moans. You're doing such a good job, “And~ what else does our cute bunny want~?” 

Your eyes meet his, his stare hungry, his grin wicked… Peering over his shoulder, your eyes meet with Rolan, his yellow eyes blown wide and glazed over… He looks so helpless- so turned on by the sight of his lover getting railed by someone else, “M’sorry Rolan… I- I-“

You felt warm fingers graze over your cheek, titling your face back to Kieran, “I wanna hear what my favorite girl wants~”

“F-fuck a hellspawn into m-my womb- make hah~ make me a mother-“

Kieran laughed, it was dark, and filled with a sick satisfaction- slamming into you again, forcing another glob of cum out, his hellish eyes finding Rolan's- “How could I possibly say no when she begs so nicely?”

A sharp intake of breath caught your attention.

Rolan collapsed next to you, his hands gripping the sheets tightly, his knuckles a pale red. Sweat beaded along his brow, and his face was flushed as he panted. His chest heaving, his eyes trained on the point where Kieran and you were joined- watching as the other tiefling thrust in and out of you, watching as his seed gushes out around Kieran’s cock... 

He bit his lip and moaned at the touch of Kieran's tail. The appendage stroking his length with long, quick, strokes- coiling and uncoiling around his swollen cock- a string of precum hanging from the tip.

“Enjoying the show, Rolan?” Kieran asked, his clawed hand petting Rolan’s cheek like some good pup.

Rolan didn’t say a thing, instead his tail wrapped around Kieran's, squeezing tightly, as if he was holding onto the other tiefling's arm- his hips thrusting up, meeting Kieran's tail with each pump.

Kieran hummed, his gaze still focused on the other man, watching as he came undone by the sight of his lover and him, a smug smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, his tail stroking the wizard's cock faster- twisting around it tighter and tighter till it darkened in color, until the head of Rolan’s cock looked like it would burst~

As much as he loved the sight of Rolan losing his mind, he brought his attention back to you. His favorite plaything, his beautiful doll.

He held you down with his weight, his toned muscles working along your slick chest as he fucked you faster and harder. Every thrust pushing you further into the bed, inch by inch, until your body was pinned to the cum soaked mattress.

His thrusts became uneven, his breathing ragged, and his face twisted with a snarl, his teeth bared and his horns scraping along your collarbone as he bit down- biting down hard as he buried himself into you. Spilling himself- drowning your white stained walls with his thick, sticky cum…

Rolan's eyes went wide, his tail squeezing tightly around Kieran's…Watching as his seed shoot deep inside, watching as it mixed with his cum already there- filling your pussy, your womb… “magresham,” he groaned- his hips thrusting up one more time into Kieran’s makeshift cock sleeve… Ropes of his hot spunk splattered his stomach and sheets, coating Kieran's tail. His body going limp- the tail that held Kieran's falling away, but Kieran’s refused to let go of him, refusing to stop pumping him until Rolan was a sobbing, writhing, mess.

You screamed, the pressure becoming too much for you. Cum dribbled out of you- squirting out around his cock, the sheets now ruined beyond saving, and your body convulsed with pleasure as you came- milking the tiefling's cock with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Feeling how the bastard’s cum pools against your pulsing cervix… Welcoming his seed just as it did for Rolan’s…

Kieran's tongue slid over the teeth marks on your collar bone- tasting the iron and salt of your blood. He groaned at the taste, licking his lips and grinding his hips against yours, his tail still stroking Rolan’s softening cock.

You moaned softly, your cunt sensitive to every ridge and bump. Your vision slowly cleared, and your gaze fell on the tiefling who was enjoying the sweet taste of your wound, tiredly, they fell to the other who was a panting and sobbing mess, your ears filled with the sounds of the wet, squelching noises of a tail on a spent cock.

Kieran sighed as he finally pulled his tail from Rolan's cock, “you two are too easy~”

A soft mewl escaped your lips as Kieran slipped his now softened member out of your overstuffed pussy. A river of cum and seed flooding out of you and dripped onto the ruined sheets- the sticky mess seeping into the already stained mattress.

Rolan, though exhausted, brushed some hair from your face, his expression filled with worry, “Are- are you okay?”

You smiled softly, the look on his face making your heart flutter, “mhmm~”

He sighed, and rested his head next to yours, his eyes closing.

Kieran stood and stretched, the sound of his joints cracking loud enough to wake the dead, or in this case, the exhausted wizard and the thoroughly fucked bunny.

With a small frown, you reached a hand out to him, not wanting him to leave, even though he had already taken what he wanted.

Kieran arched his brow and smirked, “Don't tell me you still have more in ya?”

Your cheeks flushed a deep pink, and you shook your head, your hand reaching for his still, “pl-please don't go… Stay with me~”