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🧸Adrian, your best friend who has always cared for you so deeply! He somehow knows everything you need, just the perfect bestie. Always there whenever you need him, hanging around to catch you as you come and go.
💋you’d never notice, but just because you live on the second floor doesn’t mean that you don’t need blinds. Night after night, Adrian lurks at his vantage point - peeping in on your life when he isn’t around.
💋through your window, Adrian watches as you lay in bed, eyes latched to your phone. This doesn’t surprise him. Often times you just lay in bed and laze around. His eyebrows raise as he watches you readjust. You throw the blanket off your body - revealing that tiny sleeping top and shorts you love. How your hands reach for your body pillow and tuck it between your legs.
💋Whatever crime that occured on June 6th, Adrian admits that he just had something more important to tend to. For example: watching you edge yourself in bed over the course of the day.
💋 sometimes Adrian curses himself because wha tthe hell was he doing not considering boner room in his suit..? When he watches as you ride your pillow, back arched, tits bouncing, he gives up and just pulls himself out. His cock had been throbbing since the start. The expert tugs of his hands can barely help sate him.
💋just as you change positions, it begins to rain. Once Adrian whips his cock back in his pants, it’s pouring. For a second, he leans back and takes in the rain. The damp heat engulfs his body as he just inhales. An idea takes hold in his mind.
💋a hasty outfit change, a parking spot a mile away, and one very long, wet walk later - and Adrian is at your doorstep. Right before ringing your doorbell, he drags his hand through his wet curls and tries to clear the rain from his glasses.
💋almost a minute passes before you open the door. Your hair is a mess. Adrian’s gaze sweeps down your body and he can’t resist a smile at your nipples being on full display through your flimsy sleep top. Even If he wasn’t watching earlier, he’d be able to guess you’d been rolling around in bed, playing with your pussy.
🧸the door bell was truly a rude awakening from the haze of pleasure you’d been chasing all afternoon. Mumbling some choice words, you quickly slipped on some shorts and rushed to the door. Thank GOD, it was only Adrian.
🧸“Oh, Ade, you’re soaked!” You instantly usher him in out of the rain. A tsk leaves your lips as you take him in. A dripping mess in your entryway. “Well, can’t have you getting sick either. You can borrow some dry clothes!” You casually lead him back into your apartment.
💋One rainy day and he was in. Of course, being best friends, he was always able to worm his way into your plans, but you had always kept everyone out of your apartment. He was lucky to find the angle to get a peek inside. Following you in deeper, he looked around with reverence. Your shoes stacked on the steps leading up to your living area. Pictures of your childhood dog on the walls, scattered around with art and trinkets. It all felt so much more intimate than watching you writhe around in bed with your hands in your panties.
🧸finding Adrian surprisingly quiet, you try to match his energy as you foray into your closet for something that would fit him. He usually wore baggy clothes… but he was quite tall after all, maybe just the biggest shirt you have will work? Turning around to get a better look, you are shocked to see Adrian stripping out of his wet shirt. Your brain barely processes as you watch him in slow motion. Adrian and his glistening forearms, strong hands, the scratches and scars littering him. The way his muscles flex when he grabs the back of his shirt collar and pulls it up over his head - revealing his chiseled abs and completely perfect physique.
🧸standing before Adrian, your mind can’t help but flash to your daily activities. How you spent all day humping your pillow, desperate for release. He finally opens his mouth to talk but you don’t hear him. Nearly drooling while you stare at him, your mind makes a decision. If he wants it, he’s got it.
🧸distracted from grabbing a dry shirt, you skirt around Adrain and just sit on your bed. He mirrors your actions and when your eyes meet, you feel his intensity echoing off of yours. Eyes meet, drift, and settle. Locked in on your lips, when Adrian asks it isn’t even a surprise.
“Can I kiss you?” It’s shy, but sweet. “Just to feel our lips together…”. Of course, you lean in and give him a soft peck. As you pull away, he whines.
“No I want something longer,” he pulls you in and your lips collide. Nothing crazy. The only movement being his face cracking into a smile. Adrian gains some confidence and steals a couple more pecks. His soft lips drive a warm feeling throughout your body. The soft pecks become more commanding, and as your lips meld together, Adrian moans into your mouth.
🧸the soft whines coming from Adrian are driving you crazy. At first, you thought the kiss was amusing. The idea that these smooches were enough to get him excited was almost laughable. But when Adrian is just shamelessly moaning into your mouth, something emerges. An instinct makes you roughly push your tongue into his mouth. His moans are ringed with shock when you explore his mouth and suck on his tongue.
🧸Adrian melts under your lips. You’re gripping eachother as if you’re about to fall off the bed, arms wrapped so tightly around each other. You guide his head while you kiss by pulling his hair. Every touch is driving Adrian crazy. Soon the excitement of pushing him around (with your tongue) begins to fade and pure enjoyment comes to the forefront of your mind. The kiss gets deeper and deeper, you feel like you’re almost eating him. The sounds emitting from the two of you are constant and indecipherable. Only when you’ve scooted nearly into his lap does he pull back.
“I’m gonna cum,” his panicked eyes are magnified by his glasses.
“We’re just kissing though,” you giggle.
Adrian blushes, “Yeah but I’m like kissing the sun, it’s way too hot.”
𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
If you want more lmk! This is just what I’ve been day dreaming about lately and have more ideas ❤️
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tom sits at the head of the dining table, looking at all of his followers: the knights of walpurgis.
lestrange, black, avery, rosier, and malfoy. . . who is staring at him with a stupid little smirk on his face.
“you are all dismissed,” tom says, clasping his hands together.
one by one, they all file out of the room - all of them except malfoy. again, what could he possibly want?
“can i help you, abraxas?” he asks coldly.
“no, not at all, my lord.” abraxas grins. tom is smart enough to see something foolish lingering beneath his follower's expression. “you see, i am in no need of assistance. it is not about what you could do for me, but what i could do for you.”
“what could you possibly have to offer me, abraxas? other than your gold - but must i remind you there are five other purebloods whose vaults i have access to?”
abraxas puts his hands in his pockets, letting out a sigh. “it is just you seem rather - tense, my lord. i only say this out of concern for your health and well-being. us - all of your dutiful followers have noticed it.”
tom clenches his jaw as he tries not to cast a crucio. “tense - how?”
abraxas purses his lips and shrugs, “i mean, lestrange and rosier can barely walk after their latest punishment - and that was not even their fault. you used to be far more lenient.”
tom feels a wave of anger wash through his mind, “are you questioning your lord's decisions?”
“no, my lord.” abraxas looks down sheepishly.
“then do not bother me about such nonsense again, lest you would like to join lestrange and rosier.”
“of course, my lord. i apologize for overstepping.” he then pulls something out of his coat pocket: a slim, vibrant pink business card. he places it on the table and slides it over to tom.
abraxas gives him sly wink, “but, just consider it,” he smirks, “thank you for your time, my lord.” he then saunters out the door with his stupid gait.
as soon as tom hears the door click shut behind him, he hesitantly picks up the card.
the sinful witches lounge! no disillusion spells needed ~ your secrets are safe with us.
ten galleons for door entry, twenty galleons to relax with our lovely witches ;), and fifty galleons for a private room.
prices are non-negotiable, and the usage of magic inside our establishment is strictly prohibited.
1445, knockturn alley.
he scoffs under his breath. did abraxas just give him the business card to a brothel? he should have expected nothing less from a malfoy - promiscuity was in their blood.
tom casts an inferno towards the card, watching the paper disintegrate into small pieces of ash.
he was going to be the most powerful wizard in the world. he does not care about being tense, and he has no time for frivolous activities such as sex. abraxas deserved an hour of torture for even having the confidence to suggest such a thing. and besides, tom’s reputation was far too high to risk being seen there.
his brain fumbles for a second, but abraxas is a malfoy, coming from generations of aristocrats, and he is presumably a frequent customer, so clearly there was no risk of sullying his reputation - no, no, he would not disgrace his dignity by going to such a place. . .
☆
tom stares up at the dingy building in front of him. to be fair, it looks inconspicuous - just another dark building in knockturn alley. he has his cloak covering his head, but he doubts anyone who frequents these streets would care about seeing him here.
he pushes the front door open, and the inside looks just like the outside: dark, dingy, and dilapidated. nothing like the obnoxious pink business card.
he sees a young witch sitting at a reception desk, prices are listed on the wall behind her, like it is some sort of cafe.
she’s smacking on muggle gum, flipping through a magazine.
tom clears his throat.
her eyes slowly trail up, and when they meet his, a large smile grows on her face. “well, hello there, handsome.”
he gives her an awkward nod as he pretends to look at the prices behind her.
“you look awfully nervous, are you a first timer?”
tom swallows his pride and nods. “yes.”
“mmkay.” she raises a brow and leans over the desk. “so, for starters: no face concealments.”
tom reluctantly pulls his hood back, holding back a scowl.
“was there something specific you were looking for today?”
tom did not even know why he came here today. he supposes he just wants to see if the recommended methods of stress reliefs were accurate, but how did that translate to picking a public or private dance?
the woman takes his silence as answer, “private room it is then. you look a little too conservative for all the public stuff.”
too conservative?
“sixty galleons, please.” she smiles, sticking out her hand. “and absolutely no refunds, obviously.”
tom grumbles, fishing through his pockets for his satchel of gold. he pulls out a handful of galleons - more than enough - and places it on the table.
the woman grins happily, pocketing the gold.
she sits up from behind the desk, gesturing for him to follow her. she leads him to a plain oak door, but once she mutters an incantation with her wand, it transfigures into a ruby red entryway.
when she swings it open, a loud bass immediately reverberates through his entire body. tom hesitantly follows, and is surprised to see how much larger the space is.
it is absolutely packed with people. various men and women are sitting at tables - laughing, dancing, drinking. and of course there is a large stage in the centre, with more than enough strippers on poles.
the woman laughs when she notices his ogling, she motions for him to keep coming.
she brings him to the furthest corner of the building where there is a beaded curtain leading to a hallway.
there are multiple doors, and she brings him in front of the first one on the left. there is a name card on the door - he reads your name out mentally, it sounds unfamiliar.
“a few rules: one, no magic, if that wasn’t obvious. if even a lumos is cast, you will automatically be hexed and ejected from the building. two, be respectful of that lovely lady on the other side of the wall or you will be cursed.” she hums for a moment, thinking. “i believe that’s all.”
“enter whenever you’re ready, and have fun, of course.” she winks at him before departing.
tom clears his throat as he enters the room. his mouth immediately goes dry when he sees you.
the only part of you thats visible is your lower half - but you are entirely bare and open. there’s not a single inch of skin that is not visible to his eyes.
you are on your back, and both of your legs are hoisted in the air, spreading you wide. tom nearly groans when he sees the condensation collecting between your legs.
well, this was not what he was expecting. he finally understands how men get away with coming here, the intimacy rooms are entirely anonymous.
“hello.” he says because he is a respectful young man.
“hi.” you reply, your voice is slightly muffled from the other side of the wall.
tom takes a tentative step forward, only a foot away from you. he feels like an idiot, he does not even know where to start or what to do.
“can i touch you?” he asks softly.
you giggle, "isn't that why you're here?’
he huffs out a laugh; he supposes that is true.
his shaking hands come to rest on the back of your thighs, trailing up to your calves, feeling the smoothness of your skin.
“your hands are so cold.” you whisper.
“sorry,” tom reluctantly pulls his hands away.
“i can warm them up for you. . .”
“i thought magic was prohibited?”
“it is,” you say slyly, “i want you to warm them up in my cunt.”
tom freezes, it is like your words had some sort of spell on him, because all of a sudden every single ounce of blood falls straight to his groin, where he can feel himself rapidly hardening.
his hands slowly come down to the back of your thighs once more, trailing them down once they meet the crevice of where your thighs meet your hip.
he leans down to get a closer look, and he does not know what possesses him, but he parts his lips and lets a glob of saliva drop from his lips. it lands directly on your clit, and tom brings his thumb to follow, rubbing his saliva into your wetness.
you let out a surprised gasp in response, and he takes that as an invitation to start rubbing firm circles on your clit.
“is this what you meant?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“yes,” you moan out.
he then lowers himself to his knees in front of you. he is grateful for the wall, because he would never be caught dead on his knees for someone.
tom opens his mouth slightly as he just stares like a stupid virgin. he watches your cunt twitch as his hot breath fans across your folds.
he leans forward and hesitantly licks your clit, groaning when the taste of your arousal hits his tongue. he is immediately hooked. his second taste is an open mouthed kiss on the entirety of your cunt, his jaw flexing as he keeps licking.
you are anything but silent on the other side of the wall, loud moans of yes, please, yes, fill tom’s ears.
he is not stupid, so he takes that as motivation to keep going. he moves his hands to your hips, using them as leverage to pull you closer to his face.
his tongue does not rest, and his continues circling it around your clit, once in a while flicking down to your hole. your wetness slowly starts to increase, and your cunt has really just turned into a mess. tom cannot believe that he did not do this sooner, he might have just found a new hobby, because it truly is better than simply fucking a witch.
your moans increase in volume, and tom takes that a sign you are getting close. he lowers his tongue to your hole, entering it with a firm push, and the same time, he brings his thumb back to your clit rubbing in a delightful pressure. his tongue goes in and out and in and out, and you clench down as you scream, finally climaxing.
but, tom does not stop, he keeps fucking your hole with his tongue, and his thumb refuses to stop abusing your clit. he is absolutely entranced, and he does not think he could stop if he wanted to.
finally, when your legs begin shaking, and your words turn into a blabbering sob, does he finally pull away.
“was that good for you?”
“yes, yes, please fuck me now.”
tom bites his lip as he rises to his full height once more. his hips are perfectly aligned with yours. he stares down at the obvious tent in his slacks, as he comes forward to press himself against you once more.
as soon as your cunt comes into contact with his clothed erection, you begin using your hips to eagerly grind yourself against him. the mess between your legs is surely soiling his expensive trousers, but tom cannot find it in himself to care.
he lets out a choked gasp as your hips roll against his.
“you feel so good.” you moan.
tom loses himself in the sensation of you giving his cock attention, it has been months since tom has indulged in anything remotely sexual, and he’s not sure how much longer he will last if you keep this up - and he has not even properly fucked you yet.
“wait,” tom whispers.
his hands drop to his belt, immediately undoing it, before tugging down his pants and boxers together. his cock springs up, flushed red at the tip. he has never been this hard before.
he strokes himself once before dragging his tip between your folds, purposefully applying pressure to your clit, before dragging it down to your entrance. yet, he still does not push inside, instead repeating his ministrations, dragging himself up and down.
“stop teasing.” you murmur.
and before you can say anything else, tom slips into you fully. with how wet you are there is practically no resistance as he rests his cock balls deep inside of you.
you gasp at the sudden intrusion, and tom has to stop himself from groaning at the sensation. his hands come to your hips, gripping your flesh so tightly his knuckles turn white. he needs some form of leverage - something to hold onto and ground himself so he does not immediately cum.
“move.” you say.
“you are quite bossy,” tom laughs, shaking his head.
you whine, “please.”
begging does seem to always do it for tom. he slowly retracts his hips, waiting until only his tip remains before entering once more with a deep thrust.
you both moan at the same time, and tom continues with his slow and deep thrusts. with every movement of his hips, he hears the squelch of your arousal and his precum mixing together.
when your legs start twitching, he increase his pace, beginning to fuck you in earnest.
“your cunt is worth so much more than sixty galleons.” he whispers, bringing his thumb to your clit once more.
you moan in response, as he begins to rub circles on your clit, continuing to thrust into you, pushing your body backwards with the roughness of his movements.
“i’m close,” you whisper, feeling the precipice of your orgasm approaching.
“fuck,” tom says.
he does his best to restrain his orgasm, as he fucks you harder and resumes his movements on your clit. your wanton noises increase in volume, and before he knows it he feels an intense rush of liquid coating his cock, and your cunt clenches down on him firmly, nearly trapping him in place.
he refuses to stop his movements, elongating your pleasure while chasing his own orgasm.
“are you going to cum in me?” you ask innocently.
“do you want me to?”
“yes, please.” he nearly moans at that. “i want you to fill me up.”
again, it is like your words have some sort of magical effect. his balls tighten and he feels like he is floating when he finally releases in you. his hips continue moving absentmindedly, stuffing you with more of his cum.
you are both breathless for a few seconds, and tom reluctantly pulls back. this is what he had paid for after all. he tucks himself back into his pants, and watches your swollen, red cunt begin to drip with his seed.
his hand comes to your folds once more, you flinch in response, but he ignores your protests of being too sensitive as he rubs his cum into you.
“how much do i have to pay to see your face when i fuck you?” he murmurs.
☆
abraxas attends the next meeting with a buzz of anxiety.
he realizes now that he was possibly being a bit too overzealous when he suggested the witches lounge, but it truly did come from a place of honest concern for someone he cares about.
his throat bobs as he enters the formal dining room. he is not entirely sure what he is expecting: perhaps tom will crucio him, hex him, or even send an avada his way.
but, his eyes nearly widen when he sees tom smiling at a joke rosier makes. and it was not one of those polite, strained smiles tom often did, abraxas could actually see his dimples.
what the bloody hell. . .
“abraxas,” tom says, still smiling, “it is nice to see you have joined us today.”
“of course, my lord.” abraxas tentatively sits down, trying his best to conceal his bewilderment.
he sits awkwardly at the table, his hands folded in front of himself. he is far too nervous to engage in any sort of conversation.
“abraxas,”
“yes, my lord?” he swallows a breath, trying his best to appear collected. he is waiting for the crucio, or the punishment. tom is surely about to send him on another terrible mission to moscow.
“thank you,” tom says casually, lifting his glass of whisky.
the rest of the wizards around them look perplexed as the all exchange confused glances - but abraxas knows. tom really did take his advice. and it seemingly worked because he does not think he has seen tom look this relaxed since first year.
before he can stop himself, he laughs. “any time, my lord.”
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
💋it was rare, but whenever Adrian could give up two days of patrol, he would agree to go out with you.
💋 Adrian sits so patiently while you get ready, keeping conversation with himself. You swear he holds his breath at the same moments you do - eyeliner, mascara, anything to avoid messing up and starting over
💋of course when you do your makeup, he has to tell you how much you don’t need it. That you were sooooo sexy hot the other day and you didn’t even have makeup on! But he is still obsessed when you do a full face. Everytime the two of you talk you watch his eyes get caught in your painted lips. Your addition of body glitter is even more distracting for him.
💋at the bar, Adrian does whatever you want, as long as he can face the door. Can’t risk anything right? Between sips of beer he tells you how amazing you look in your little ‘going out’ fit and how excited he is to go home - with a wink of course.
💋after a few drinks, both of you are pretty much ready to go. Before you leave Adrian always has to go to the bathroom first. So you just wait by the door for him and stare at your phone. You weren’t really aware of the swarm of guys coming closer until one was on the verge of popping your personal bubble. His shirt is off, his muscled chest is flushed with pink, and he looks barely 21. You can feel your face twisting with discomfort as his mouth opens. “My friends wanted me to tell you-“ “it’s ok, you don’t need to tell me anything!” The young man looks confused and tries to recover. As he takes a step closer you put up your hands and say, “you don’t need to be near me either” right as the words come from your mouth you notice Adrian behind the group, watching from afar. You rush to him and take in his face. His jaw is clenched and seems to be trying to figure out a reason to kill any rando who approaches you. “Deep breath Ade, I didn’t even let him get 5 words out,” resting your hands on his chest, you try to get eye contact from him.
🧜♂️the only part of having a hot girlfriend that Adrian doesn’t like, is killing all the guys who hit on her. He could be gone for a SECOND and they swarm in like she’s prey. Curse his weak bladder, the three minutes it takes for him to piss is always the perfect amount of time for some douchebag to creep on her. Standing at the urninal, pants all the way down, Adrian has the angriest pee imaginable. When he’s done he washes his hands real quick and almost jogs to get back to you. And surprise, surprise, a posse of clowns are almost surrounding you, one almost touching you. His hands twitch for a weapon, but you don’t even let him bring anything when you go out. As he’s creating beautiful torture scenarios for every set of eyes taking in your curves, he watches as your face turns thunderous and you meanly shoo the boy away. Finally you catch him in the crowd and turn towards him. That’s his girl.
💋 Adrian is always such a gentleman by leading you around with his arm and helping you get into the car. You don’t need any help but it’s nice. He opens your door and when he buckles you in, he takes the opportunity to get a big hug. “You looked so good tonight, baby” he whispers in your ear. You can feel your face heat up and smile at him. He keeps going, “I want to say if you’re going to look this good we should stay home so I don’t have to kill anyone. Your butt is too sexy in this baby, it drives me and every other man crazy. Like you’re wearing a big ole sign that says ‘hit on me’” your eyebrows raise at that, “Adrian I try my best but I can’t help that they try to talk to me!!” He leans back and gives a big huff, “well I don’t see a sign that says ‘don’t hit on me’. “ and you explode with laughter.
💋at home, Adrian scrolls Facebook market place for beanie babies while you get ready for bed. Once your makeup is off and you’re changed into a nightgown, you join him on the couch. It’s easy to snuggle up into his side. Adrian’s arm instantly opens up and wraps around you, squeezing you close. A little drunk, all you manage to do is fall into his chest and sleepily watch his screen.
🧜♂️Adrian can’t help but get jealous when other men hit on you. He knows he’s older than you, dangerous, and you’re totally out of his league. All he can think about as he pulls you in for a kiss is how easily guys surround you like sharks in the water. You’re the tastiest piece of bait imaginable. The more he kisses you, the images in his mind fade and all he can think about is you. Slowly he ditches his laptop and crawls on top of you. His fingers find the hem of your night gown and pull it up high enough to find out that there’s no panties on underneath it. A helpless groan leaves his mouth as he looks down at you. “You’re mean, you’re mine, and you give me a perma-boner just like an alligator.” Then your sexy man pushes his glasses up before peppering your skin with kisses. He can taste the beer in your sweat, his kisses leaving goosebumps on your feverish skin. Adrian loves that your body is so extra reactive when you’re drunk - it’s impossible for you to hide anything. It only takes a couple kisses for your nipples to harden and Adrian takes care of them instantly. His rough hands palm and massage in tandem with his mouth. He only falters when you wrap your legs around his waist and grind into him. Warm wetness presses into his pants and nearly wraps around his cock, Adrian feels like he’s going to explode. He has to pull back and untangle you from him. Standing above you, he gazes at your body, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, and glides from your tired face, to your chest - covered in small bites, same as your hips, and finally settles his eyes on your pussy. Breathing heavy and completely single minded, a hand trails down your stomach until it reaches your folds, sampling your slick and driving a soft moan from your mouth. As he plays with your pussy he can’t help but think about the guy from before. His fingers get a little rougher, from a swirling finger to a thumb on your clit with two curling inside you. Underneath him, you become a moaning mess and he can’t help but love that only he’s allowed to do this.
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My biker Adrian headcannons (lowkey a mess but work w me)
💋his motorcycle helmet def has a red visor
💋 it takes a while but you start to notice the same guy everywhere - he’s driving around when you get off work. He gets caught at the same red lights as you. You watch him speed past whenever you take an exit or park somewhere.
💋Adrian is uuuuuber confident in any mask - whether he’s on patrol or not, he’s totally waving as he sees you, doing finger hearts, grabbing your side mirror when he speeds along side you on the highway
💋biker Adrian parking behind you and fucking you in your carrrrrrrrr (wait I’m on to something)
💋finally interacting with biker Adrian after months of harmless flirting… he catches you at a light, windows down, enjoying your music. When you notice him, he does a little shimmy - mimicking you. It’s funny and when the light turns green you drive carefully, hoping to get caught alongside him again. At the next light, he pulls up close as he stops. A gloved hand simply just holds a phone in your face with a silent invitation. So now he has your number
💋 biker Adrian following you around and getting jealous about who you’re meeting. Leaving your sneaky links house and finding him blocking your car. Biker parked, leaning against it, waiting for you to leave and find him there.
💋Biker Adrian taking you for a ride - he’s cutting up lanes, speeding so fast you can barely breathe. Eventually you make it to his spot and he encourages you to get off and stretch your legs. He really means that he found a secluded spot off the nearest exit to bend you over his bike and take you from behind.
Summary: Tom wakes you up in the middle of the night to "talk about your paper" ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Tags: nipple play, munch tom, magic theory I made up, gf stealer tom, Legilimency, parseltongue lisp, bondage, probably voyerism,
Word count: 4.7k
a/n: posting this so im motivated to finish pt 2 !!
We weren’t betrothed but it didn't make our relationship any less real.
After months of being potions partners, murmuring encouragement and advice to each other, Malfoy finally took the next step. When Abraxas Malfoy greeted you in the great hall with a bouquet of roses, you were completely bewitched. Now, he guides you by the arm classroom to classroom. The perfect gentleman. His courtesy, confidence, and respectfulness was always extended to you. Even if his parents didn't approve of you as a final match, they still welcomed you to the manor and treated you befitting to a Malfoy heiress.
Snuggled up in your emerald green silken nightgown, you studied Abraxas’ profile. As he lays on his back and unleashes his burdens to you, the candle light highlights his blonde eyelashes and pointed nose. Hoping to soothe his worries, you drape yourself across his chest, you trace the embroidered ABM on the pocket of his matching pjs.
“Dont lose sleep over the future, Brax.” You reach for his pale fingers and grasp them. “Everything will work out for us!” With a sleepy smile, you try to coax him from his anxiety and go to bed.
“I know, darling, but with the ministry-”
You never meant to, but you snapped back at him. “The ministry doesn’t matter! Are we graduated? Do you suddenly need employment? Please, Brax, it’s late!”
“Sorry darling, you’re right. Let’s just go to sleep.” Abraxas sighs, obviously miffed that you cut off his nightly rant. Silky yet strong arms wrap around you as you get situated. He turns so that you may spoon, his left arm under your pillow while the other tucks under your chest and pulls you tightly against him. Abraxas buries his face into the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath.
“Father is pushing me too hard. A perfect heir would bend and strengthen under the weight.” His grip tightens. “I can’t let it break me…” When his voice cracks, so does your heart. Grabbing his right hand from your chest, you bring it to your lips.
Kissing his thumb you whisper, “You are strong!”
Another on his knuckle, “Worthy.”
“You shall bring your family a most promising future, my love.” And you kiss the center of his palm before settling it on your heart. Abraxas’ body relaxes just a tad.
“Goodnight my love.” Within minutes, he's fast asleep. Listening to Abraxas night after night, when he shares his frustrations and fears with you, is frankly, heartbreaking. At least, you have to pretend it is.
Behind you, Abraxas is asleep and unaware. As you lay awake, like most nights, you ruminate about your relationship. How being connected to him opened so much of the world to you. Yes, you were pureblooded, just as he was, but not of the sacred 28. Your blood had bought you status, not riches. But on the arm of Abraxas Malfoy, you had both. People actually acknowledged you as more than chattel, not another pureblooded princess, ready to breed. It may have been cruel to use him… Actually you knew it was. But the way people were forced to listen to you! Even as a date to the Slug Club Christmas party, you got a chance to make connections. A chance to show off that you were a witch with a brain. The conversation you had with the Head Archivist of the Library of Alexandria was mind opening!
More than proud to be the second in your class, you took life very seriously. There was no way you could settle for the future society believed you to be on track for. Thinking of the marriage mart, birthing heirs, and being a doting mother put a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t for you.
Merlin, sometimes you could only hopelessly wonder why you weren’t a man. It was so unfair that they automatically were accepted, promoted, and respected. Like always, you can’t help it as you roll your eyes at the thought that Tom Riddle is top of the class thanks to his dick and balls. He didn’t have to parade around in dead-end relationships to get people to even look at him. He was also insufferable.
One of the main reasons you loved being potions partners with Malfoy so much was because it prevented the routine pairing of you and Tom. Being the top two students in the class, the most vocal in class, and often debating with each other and baffling professors - you always got paired up. Beery clearly tried to push you and Tom together. Slughorn, Merlin, he was a force. Slughorn probably thought that you and Tom would create the next generation of genius wizard babies, and wasn’t very subtle about it. So, yes, having to explain every potion to Malfoy like he was 5 was a small price to pay.
While on the subject, your brain couldn’t resist bringing up the years of being desk buddies with Tom Riddle. How at twelve, you thought he was so smart and so charming. When you were first years the two of you talked about everything - magic, spells from the library, stories, gossip. Well, actually he was more of a good listener.
And he was so handsome. Honestly, the most annoying thing about Tom is that he refused to date anyone, so you got stuck with Malfoy. Merlin, what an obtuse prick he was. Tom was such a more powerful wizard than Malfoy. Better in every way.
Wait, what? You shake your head in confusion. Squeezing your eyes tight and exhaling, you wiggle a little before sinking back into Abraxas’ chest. He hums in his sleep and buries his face in your hair. He talks a lot, but you cannot deny how cute he is. Deciding to try to turn your brain off and go to sleep, you think about your usual bedtime thoughts.
Mentally, you peruse Hogwart’s library, reading titles as you walk down the aisle. History of Ancient Magick catches your eye. Grabbing it, you continue until you find Dead but not forgotten: A Wizard’s Guide to Obsolete Magick. You always managed to work out your papers before you fell asleep, it was calming, categorizing and organizing information into paragraphs. Professor Binns was horribly boring, but that didn’t dampen your love for History. As he droned on in the background, you read and annotated the textbook. You found that the curriculums were oddly similar - as each was only a brief overview of history chopped into 7 sections. The only difference being the level of analysis and allowance of “darker” themes.
Anyways, your fingers close around a particular scroll named Unseen and Unheard: How Ancient Wizards Utilized Silent Magick. Tucking it away into your elbow, you turn on your heel and head for the study tables in the back of the library. Picking your table by the window, you sit down and crack open the first book you grabbed. Before you read it, you check the card, a habit of wanting to know who had checked the book out before you. The first name is dated from 1866 and the last was Tom M. Riddle, 1944. Even mentally, you can’t help but groan and roll your eyes. He’d probably read every book in the entire library by now. Of course Tom had gotten his hands on this one. His big hands. Those fingers of his, the way they were always covered in ink, like he was too impatient to let it dry before tracing back over his words. How the only color on his skin was a fine spattering of freckles, giving him the most elegant and perfect complexion. Oh, and how those freckles landed so perfectly on his face, drawing attention to his mouth and cheekbones.
The sound of Malfoy’s curtain opening makes you jerk awake. It’s been pulled back maybe a foot and Tom is standing there, peering down at you.
“What did you do for your conclusion on Binn’s paper?” He whispers down at you.
“What?”
“About the analysis of the adaptation of magick.” You try to get your eyes open and stare at Tom confused.
Tom rolls his eyes and tries again, “Get up, tell me what sources you’re using.” He extends his hand to you. Feeling a bit more awake, you try to get up, but remember that Abraxas is still lovingly wrapped around you. Tom stands by and watches as you try to remove Abraxas’ arm, but he holds you tighter. Forcing you to kind of pry him off of you…
Finally free of his loving grip, you grab Tom’s hand and slip out of bed. The dorm is dark and all the curtains are shut tight besides Abraxas’ and Tom’s. Impatiently, you are pulled across the gap into Tom’s bed.
At first, you just sit against the headboard, mirroring Tom. But, after he reaches around you and ensures his curtains are shut, he readjusts until he is simply laying on his side and facing you. He’s comfortably under his covers, only his upper half is visible. You sit there confused, looking at Tom, in his small white undershirt, seemingly tucked into bed, with one arm bent and propping his head up, the other resting on top of the blanket.
“Your paper…?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Yeah, right.” Accepting that you are awake, you answer him. “I’m looking into the research about the connection of accidental magic with silent magic. Did you know it is just as likely to complete a task you do habitually with accidental magic as it is with silent? Like, the only difference is that its almost completely opposite amounts of effort. Silent requires so much effort, years of practice and a lot of self-discipline. But accidental is primal, it will save you, it can give you what you really need. Let’s say it’s 15,000 years ago and you’re cold. No one waved a wand and said, ‘Inscendio!’” You paused for a deep breath and realized how much you’ve been talking with your hands. Tom follows your gaze and catches your train of thought. A low laugh rumbles from his chest as he just examines you.
“You know it isn’t due ‘til May?”
“So what? You say that as if your’s isn’t finished!” you shoot back. Tom considers this.
“True. I guess I just forgot that you never shut up about History.” You can see the mischievous glint in his eye.
Poking him in the chest, you knowingly ask, “Like you don’t do the same about DADA?”
Tom stares at you and gently grabs your prodding finger. “So, what?” The glint is gone and you are surprised at the shift in his tone. You’re used to him trying to agitate you, push you into some debate. This is almost daring? As you pull your hand back, Tom doesn’t let go. His hand follows yours back to your hip and rests there. Just as gently as before, his hand moves to your hip then squeezes.
“I think Binn’s is going to give you a recommendation when we graduate. I heard Slughorn talking about it.” Tom reveals. This news is crazy - Professor Binns was known for never writing professional recommendations. Even if his curriculum was lazy, he still was well renowned for simply teaching everyone for the last 200 years. A good word from him was extremely rare, but valuable.
In your excitement, you leaned towards Tom and got more comfortable. Accidentally mirroring him again, you also failed to notice how his hand shifted to your knee as you got talking.
“If he does that I can work in any fucking archive I want!” Disbelief painted your face. “You know when I asked Slughorn if he would do it at my career counseling last year, he said it was impossible.”
“Something must have swayed him.” Tom smiled and drank in your expression, just as much as he enjoyed sliding his hand up your thigh.
“Yeah,” you softly respond. A soothing silence washes over the two of you. Somehow, it isn’t awkward as you watch Tom just as intensely as he watches you. Remembering before, your eyes catch on the freckle under his left eye, then automatically dart to his mouth, where another freckle sits just to the right of his bottom lip… His angular face becomes amused while you take him in. The hand on your hip pulls a little, inviting you to come closer to him. So you scoot, grabbing his arm to help pull yourself along. Under the thin material of his sleep shirt, Tom’s arms are lithe and smooth.
Inches apart, no one says anything as hands slowly explore. Typically, you were elbow to elbow at your desks, or elbow to ribs when he was annoying. But now there’s no need for the intellectual contest, both of you are learning in silence. Tom’s left hand trails up your side until he is able to caress your face. And again, when he gently pulls, you move towards him. His chocolate brown eyes are pouring into yours. When your noses touch, he tilts his head just slightly to the right and closes in to brush his lips against yours. Suspended in the moment, you intimately examine Tom’s irises. How they’re ringed in black, with tiny golden ridges. Long black eyelashes that are to die for frame them perfectly, and his eyebrows are perfect, just like his whole face, and I bet even his-
You flinch, feeling a little dizzy. A small headache throbs behind your ear and you catch a small smirk on Tom’s face. He rubs his thumb across your cheekbone assuringly before pulling you in for a real kiss. Melding your lips together, a sigh escapes when you feel something deeper. As he goes from kissing you tenderly to insistantly running his tongue along the seam of your lips, you respond in earnest. When your tongues touch, you open your eyes and find Tom admiring you. He takes your shock and doubles it, sucking on your lip and biting it. A small sound leaves you and he swallows it, keen on making it happen again. In between heavy kisses, he peppers your lips with pecks.
Feeling weakened, you let him cradle your head in his hand and lean further into his flurry of affection. You push your tongue into his mouth until your teeth click. Tom clutches your cheek and kisses you feverishly. All you can perceive is the cycle of swollen tips, his tongue, and teeth against yours. When you pause and take a breath, the fog breaks and you consider each other.
Now, Tom’s eyes are darker, the brown encroached by his pupils. “Kiss me more,” he orders. His hand pulls your lips back to him and his arm tucks around you. It’s easy to melt into his embrace, letting him lead you. His heated kisses make you go limp in his arms, overwhelmed by the touch. Giving you a breather, Tom draws back and plants kisses down your throat. They’re hard and Tom sucks just enough to where you know your skin is marked. Arching your back and pressing into him, you turn into his kisses, begging him to go harder and harder. Once Tom’s lips have reached the spot between your neck and shoulder, he bites down. While you are gasping and shuddering under him, he tugs the collar of your nightgown aside, and continues to your chest.
It doesn’t take much for you to snatch Tom’s hand from your collar and guide it to your breast, encouraging him to massage at his will. He takes the cue instantly. His large hands are able to cup your entire breast, pushing it up so he may leave wet kisses at your cleavage. Your other hand sinks into his curly brown hair, grasping it while holding him closer and closer. Tom briefly releases you, only to push at your shoulder so you can lie on your back. He moves with you, shifting so his leg is draped over yours and he is on top of you. One of his hands is massaging your breast and the other is rubbing your nipple all while Tom dutifully worships you. Through the silk, his touch is cloying, almost giving you a buzz. You ache for more.
All you have to do is grab his wrist and whine and Tom stretches the collar of your nightgown and pulls your breasts out. Before gravity can settle them, he presses his thumbs over your nipples and brings them together. Flicking back and forth, as if your nipples were light switches and he wanted you on, he collapses into your bosom. Soon, his lips are replacing a hand and instead of the increasingly rough flicking, his tongue is now swirling around your nipple. Sometimes he breaks away with a pop, his swollen lips no longer holding suction to your breast.
You squirm under his ministrations, smother him in your chest, and try not to moan so loud.
“Merlin, Morgana, and fucking Mordred!” you try to pull Tom back by his hair but he refuses to unlatch. Trying again, you yank him back, and Tom looks at you dumbly. His lips are red, swollen, his face is smeared with his own spit. When you don’t say anything, his eyes drop back to your breasts and he bites his lip. Seeing as he’s gone stupid, you grab him by the hair again and bring him in for a fierce kiss. You force your tongue into his mouth and swirl around him, until he awakes from his daze and returns your effort. He pushes back into your mouth and you suck on his tongue, drawing a groan from him. This encourages you, sucking a little more before biting his lip and finally pulling back.
Tom’s eyes are not only nearly black, but heavily lidded. Tom Riddle would never slur his words but it was very close when he whispered, “I want you to list the knights of the round table next.” Then he dove back down to your breasts and pressed a knee in between your legs. This time, when he sucked and bit and you rolled your hips, there was friction. A strangled cry left your lips and Tom rocked his knee into you, making it harder to keep quiet. His mouth was marking your skin with prayers, eternally grateful to pay homage to you. The sweep of his tongue combined with grinding on his knee made you see stars. Feeling your body tensely arch into Tom, your deep breaths bury his face into your chest. Mean fingers clench your nipples, the pain pushing your head back in ecstasy. His knee follows the pace of your shudder until it stops and he is just softly kissing you everywhere.
“You never listed them,” he reminded you. Your already weak body sunk deeper into his arms as you sighed with dismay.
Turning away from him, “Don’t make me think, Tom.” The knee pressed against your center twitched, making you whimper.
“If you’re going to make a mess on my pants, at least do what I say.” You feel his nose dig into your cheek, but still ignore him. Tom continues to rock his knee against your center and you jump, not being able to hide your reaction.
One of his hands turns your face until you are cheek to cheek and he can whisper in your ear, “Just lissten.” A shudder runs down your spine but you still resist.
His irritation is palpable.
“You know it, slut, list them for me.” Your head whips towards him at the insult.
“Excuse me?”
He leaves small kisses on your cheek, all the way to your ear, and whispers, “The knights of the round table my love, lissst them.” The tingle of his breath on the shell of your ear makes you flush. With a stuttered breath, you do as he says.
“Sir Lancelot.” He rewards you with a kiss under your ear.
“Sir Galahad.” His teeth run across your collar bone and you take a sharp breath.
“Sir Percival.” With his open mouth, Tom sucks the swell of your breast until it hurts.
“Sir Bedivere,” you whimper and he blows cool air on the bruise.
“Sir Kay.” Swollen lips engulf your puffy nipple and suck.
“Sir-” a moan breaks your recitation and when you halt, Tom tenses. He appears back in your face and gets close. Sweaty foreheads collide and you study each other. His hair is a right mess, his cheeks are so wonderfully pink, and his skin is shining with sweat. You want to keep thinking about how beautiful he is but he interrupts you, rather bossily.
“Say it again.” he orders.
Confused, you start again. “Sir-” his mouth muffles the rest. It takes a second for you to realize what he means. You can’t help the small laugh.
“Well then, sir, shall I continue?” you inquire, smiling cheekily. Tom graces you with a smile and kisses your cheek. Then he scoots back down to continue where you had left off.
It’s hard to talk with his mouth back on your nipple, but you manage. “Sir Tristan.”
“Sir Bors.” Tom gives you a chase kiss on your stomach.
“Sir Gareth,” comes out as a gasp because Tom is kissing in a sinful line from your hip to the soft curls between your legs.
He stares up at you and says, “Good job, now thank me.” And with him looking so angelic with his mouth so close that his breath is sending a chill over your center, you do. Tom doesn’t react the way you want though. He draws back and bites your inner thigh. When his eyes pan back to yours, they’re irritated and you recognize where you went wrong.
“Thank you, sir” you purr. Tom’s arms wrap around your thighs until his hands are splayed across your hips. His nose bumps into your pussy and you can feel his body inflate as he breathes in. When he breathes out, he dives in.
Tom moans when he tastes you. He teases your slit before pushing past your lips and finding your clit. He laps at it eagerly and you have to grab his hair in your desperation to get him to slow down. Dark eyes zero in on yours and watch as you melt in his mouth. The eye contact only breaks when he slides his face down into your cunt. Using his tongue to penetrate and his nose to nudge against your clit, Tom goes to town. His hands grasp your hips as they buck and try to redirect them so he can get deeper.
If you had a single sane thought in your brain, you would feel bad about smothering Tom in your pussy as you ride his face. But he must be as stupid as you are, because he obviously loves it. Apart from the wet sounds of him being completely engulfed in your wet heat, he's moaning and muttering to himself. It's all incomprehensible under the moans leaving your own mouth.
One hand leaves your hips and replaces his tongue. Fingers glide into your pussy, the only resistance being your walls clenching around him. As your body reacts, Tom goes still, and gives you a knowing look.
“Thank you, sir,” and his fingers curl inside of you. They push at just the right spot to make you almost scream. The back of your hand barely conceals it. Suddenly in tandem, his tongue and fingers fuck you perfectly, causing your body to practically float off the bed. Genuinely having to hold you down now, Tom keeps kissing your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you. Stars reemerge in your vision and he works you through the pleasure. After your orgasm, Tom rises back into your vision.
You beat him to the punch, “Thank you, sir.” And just cause, you pull him in for a kiss.
However, Despite that, Tom doesn’t look pleased. You cannot fathom why.
“I’m sure you’ve done all that with Malfoy already.” He sneers at you. Tom’s games are tired, so you just cross your arms and wait for him to get it all out. Of course, an indignant addition was coming along.
“I deserve a new experience.” As the idea appears to process on his face, you aren’t so sure you’re happy to let this pass. Tom has a wicked smile as he quietly opens his curtain and ushers you out of his bed. He leads you around the side, near the end of Abraxas’ bed.
And he opens the curtain.
Looming over you, Tom asks a question that you know only has one answer, “Are you a good girl who listens?”
Unsure of what will happen next you swallow, “Yes, sir.” Tom’s eyes flash and he flourishes his wand. He casts silencing spells, a notice me not, and something else, who knows. Tom’s hands grab you at your neck and waist and pull you in for a kiss. You can feel his hard length pressing into you and you’re hoping you know what’s coming next. Giddy, you follow his guiding hands and spin for him. He walks you up until your hips are against the foot of the bed, steers your hands until they are wrapped around the bed posts. Wiggling your ass, you hope to tempt him to tear your clothes off already, but he has other plans.
Tom whispers, “Incarcerouss.” Phantom ropes bind your wrists to the bed posts. Tom pushes your back forwards, until you are bent over the bed. Then he grabs your hair and pulls your head back until your eyes focus and you realize you are staring at Abraxas’ sleeping form, sweetly clutching your pillow.
Anxiety kickstarts your heart and when you tug at the ropes, panic sets in. Tom watches this and his only consolation is, “As long as we’re quiet, we’re fine, my love.” You feel his fingers grab the hem of your silken nightgown and slide it slowly until its bunched around your waist.
Closing your eyes, you try to forget that Abraxas is right infront of your face. In the darkness, your body relaxes. The heels of your feet inch farther apart as you spread your legs.
A dark chuckle comes from Tom. “You were mad I called you a slut and now you’re doing this…” A finger runs along your slit, he finds it dripping wet. He takes his time teasing your already sensitive pussy. Lazy fingers sit there while you grind against him. The word slut echos in your mind. You could hear the smile on his face when he said it. Something thicker than his finger bump into your pussy and your mind goes blank. All you can think of is the cool wood biting into the front of your thighs and Tom’s throbbing head dipping into your cunt.
A hum of contentment leaves Tom’s lips as he slides his cock through your folds.
“I bet you’ll love this,” he promises. Hands grip your ass while he snaps his hips into yours. He buries himself to the hilt and your pussy barely manages to stretch with him. The bed shakes with his thrust and there is no holding back your small scream. Both you and Tom stop, watching Abraxas, waiting for a reaction.
He’s still asleep. Tom watches you tense up, remembering all over again the consequences of moaning. The dread of waking Abraxas up, getting fucked by his best freind, is too much. Before you can start pulling at your wrists and protesting, Tom unburies himself and sets a nice pace. The newfound pleasure of his hard cock finally fucking you just as you needed it makes you completely forget about Abraxas. All over again.
The bed is rocking but you can't find it in you to care. Tom’s hand is pushing your face into the blankets, maybe trying to muffle you, all while slamming his hips into yours. Drunk on the pleasure from the rhythmic pounding, you dont notice the scene before you until Tom pulls you up by your hair again.
Abraxas is awake, clutching the blanket to his chest and watching you in horror. It’s plain on his face. Before your brain can process the damage you must be doing to him, Tom says, “Don’t be so upset about this Malfoy, you’ll love it.”
if you enjoyed lmk so i can finish the next part !! ( its tom x abraxas x reader !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! )
Summary: After your first encounter with Vigilante ends with you knocked unconscious and more terrified than ever, you call Adrian. Luckily, your sweet and amazing coworker is more than happy to help.
Adrian Chase, on the other hand, couldn’t possibly be more relieved. Because, despite a little bump in the road and the need to enact one of his many backup plans…well, everything is falling into place.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: So many for this one, Stalker!Adrian, Adrian is toxic, Manipulation, Smut!! (like this chapter is mostly smut whoops), Use of chloroform, Mentions of violence, Mentions of murder, Stalking, Breaking and entering, Obsession, Adrian misunderstands a joke and gets a little sexy about it?, Vig being turned on by threats, Please let me know if I forgot anything!! (Seriously, especially with this one).
Word Count: 9.1k
Author's Note: Good golly this boy is toxic. Love him. The balance between Adrian being a sweet goofus and genuinely terrifying is a toughie to write, but hoo boy it sure is fun!! Please make sure to read the warnings, and know that stalking is a crime and I am definitely not condoning it outside of fiction!! And as always, please let me know what you think!!
(This is part of the series All Mine, Forever. If you haven't checked it out yet, please do!)
-
In a lot of Adrian’s fantasies, when he truly saves you for the first time, you swoon. Maybe you even wrap your arms around him and tremble with relief and…and maybe you peel his mask off for him, and press your lips to his, and even let him take you right there in the alley surrounded by dead bodies in the most fucked up, romantic way possible. And then he’d tell you about all the other creeps he’s killed for you, the ones you didn’t witness, and you’d swoon again and kiss him again and let him bring you home where you’ll help peel the armor from his body and he’ll smear the bloodstains of those criminals on your skin as he makes love to you again and again and-
Well, none of that happened. Fantasy totally ruined. But he gets it. He prepared for it.
“You.” You’d whispered, eyes wide and horrified as they met his visor, and his blood had run cold in his veins.
Even with the shock and realization and horror on your face, you looked so fucking beautiful. You. Right there, with your back against the alley wall and your eyes wide and that lovely, lovely stain of crimson on your cheek. The blood of the man who tried to hurt you, that he had killed for you, marking your skin like evidence of his victory. You, safe and still standing in front of him.
Oh, fuck. If he could just touch you right now. If he could just crowd you up against that wall and make you shake in a way that isn’t from fear. He’d leave his mask on, just for now, but he’d pull his gloves off so he can feel your skin against his and trail his fingers over your body until the goosebumps on your arms aren’t from panic but because of him. And then, then he’d pull his mask off so he could kiss you and feel your hands in his hair and he’d hike you up against that wall and when he makes you scream his name, be it Adrian or Vigilante, he’ll have to cover your mouth because public indecency is a crime but maybe it would be worth it if he could just-
You’re running. Fuck, of course you’re running. Shit.
It takes ten seconds to get the chloroform rag around your mouth, maybe five more for you to stop wiggling in his arms, and when you finally go limp against him, the fight leaving you with one last muffled scream, he can’t help but sigh as he presses a kiss to your cheek through the cloth of his mask.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs again, blowing out a guilty breath as he pockets the rag and gathers you up into his arms. “Like I said, I really didn’t wanna do that. But I get why you panicked. Those guys must’ve scared the shit out of you.” He knows, of course, that you freaked out because of him. Because no amount of stealth is gonna be able to truly hide how often he’s been around. But you already didn’t swoon and he had to literally knock you out and he’d like to preserve the fantasy for a little while longer.
It’s a little difficult to get you all the way back to your place. Chloroform doesn’t last as long as he’d like, and there are one or two times where you rouse and start freaking out again, and he has to stop to press the rag over your mouth and nose. He shushes you as gently and as soothingly as he can when he does, and even rests his masked forehead against yours in a gesture that he’s sure would be very romantic if your eyes weren’t so filled with fear before they fell closed again.
It’s even more difficult to pick the lock of your apartment with you in his arms, as skilled at picking this particular lock as he may be, but he manages it. And before long, he’s laying down beside you on your bed and brushing the hair from your eyes like he has a hundred times before.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs for the millionth time, nuzzling his nose against your cheek again. God, you smell good. Like you always do, but with the irony tang of blood beneath it. Perfect. “I know, I know a boyfriend should never ever chloroform his girlfriend. But I think if you knew everything you’d totally agree that I had to do it.”
His arms slides around your waist, and you make a soft noise as he tugs you closer to him, curling around you and rubbing soothing circles against your hip with his gloved hand.
He keeps talking, just for now, because at least one good thing about having to drug you like that is that you’ll be out for a while, with no risk of waking up. Still, he keeps his voice low, tugging his mask off so he can press soft kisses to your neck and shoulder as he speaks.
“And I know you’re gonna be freaked out when you wake up.” He hums. “But it’s okay, because you’re gonna call me, and I’ll make you feel better.” His lips brush the hollow of your throat, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat that has his mind wandering to all the ways he could make you feel better when you do call him.
He planned for this. He’s planned for everything. It’s a little inconvenient, yeah, but it’s gonna be okay. In fact, it might even be better than before.
He pushes up beneath your shirt, fingers trailing over your waist, and wishes he could take his gloves off and feel more of your skin against his own.
You were supposed to ask him for a ride home when your car wouldn’t start. He even had a change of clothes nearby in preparation for the call. He had to learn so much crap about cars in order to break your engine down in a way that wouldn’t cost you thousands of dollars to fix.
But you’re a little stubborn, one of the many things he loves about you, so you’d chosen to walk. That’s fine. Saving your life might even better than ‘fixing’ your car.
But now, mechanic or not, he’s already established himself as someone you can go to. Who you might want to go to, if you’re scared or upset. And while he would rather have had you weep with gratitude and fling yourself into his embrace back in that alley, this backup plan works just as well.
After a while, you make another noise, possibly close to rousing again, and he hums as he presses another soft kiss to your shoulder.
“Shhh, I’ve got ya.” He coos, tugging you a little closer. “You have no idea how safe you are. Safest girl in the world, I swear. It’s okay. You’ll get it soon.”
He should get going, as loathe as he is to pull away from you right now. But if he’s gonna get home and wash all of this blood off of himself before you wake up and ask him to come over, as well as take care of those bodies in the alley, he’s gonna have to go.
“See you later.” He murmurs, and slides out of bed.
-
You wake up in your apartment. In your bed.
You bolt upright so quickly, flailing so violently, that you actually fall to the floor, and when you clamber to your feet and wipe at your eyes your hands come away bloody.
Oh God. Oh God. It’s Vigilante. The fucking borderline serial killer Vigilante is fucking stalking you.
You dart around your apartment, grab your gun off the bedside table, and try not to shake as you check every nook and cranny in the place. Make sure every single window is locked. Twice.
Panic is cold and heavy in your stomach as you fall back onto the couch. As memories of a man being fucking beheaded in front of you play through your mind, over and over.
The too-sweet smell of the rag as it was pressed against your mouth and nose. The arm locked around you like a vice. The feeling of the mask against your skin as he whispered an apology into your ear.
You can’t be alone. You can’t be here alone. It might be dangerous for another person, sure, but you…you can’t.
You don’t know who else to call.
Adrian answers on the first ring, bright and happier than ever. “Hiya.”
You open your mouth to speak. Close it. Hesitate.
“Hey. Can I…can I come over?”
“Yes.” He answers immediately. “Yeah. One hundred percent.”
“This is gonna sound weird but…” your throat is dry. It’s still a little hard to form a thought. You don’t know if it’s panic or the fucking drugs. “Can I uh…can I stay with you, maybe? For a night or two? There’s some…something going on at my place and I-“
“Hey, yeah. Of course you can. You okay?”
No. No you’re not. You’re really, really far from okay.
“What’s that sound?”
“Hm?” The sound clicks off. You frown, but you use the noise to distract yourself from breaking down and sobbing into the phone.
“The uh…that whirring sound.”
“Garbage disposal.” He answers, easily, and his voice is calm and familiar and anchoring you while every other part of you is threatening to float away with panic. “You want me to pick you up?”
Fuck. You forgot about your stupid car.
“I…yeah. Can you? My car won’t start.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He says, too quickly again. “Oh, wait, right. Where do you live?”
-
Adrian Chase grins from ear to ear as he sets down the bone saw and removes his apron and gloves.
Perfect.
He’ll finish all of…this, later. After he finds the time to get back. For now, his girlfriend called him, just like he planned. The bodies of the men from the alley can sit in his ‘Vigilante Lair’ (a much cooler word for the basement of his mom’s house) a little while longer.
He makes sure to triple check himself for blood or similar evidence of his activities tonight before he hops in his car. When he gets to your place, he knocks. It’s a little weird, to knock on a door to which he’s picked the lock more times than he can count, but whatever.
You’re starting a new chapter with him, and you don’t even realize it.
The relief on your face when you open it and see him on the other side feels like a drug. Shot right to his system and filling him with an unspeakable sense of euphoria.
The temptation to swoop in and kiss you is overwhelming enough that he has to physically hold himself back. There’s fear lingering in your eyes. It makes you look so pretty. And that bag you have slung over your shoulder, with your stuff packed inside in preparation to stay with him… God, he really did a great job with this. Those bags under your eyes? That way your gaze is darting around with all that misplaced paranoia? He’s gonna fix that. He’s gonna help you sleep again, and hold you, and brush his teeth with you in the morning and get you to really actually smile with him.
“You okay?” He asks, and you’re so tense. Too tense.
“Mhm.” Your eyes are still behind him, searching for someone who isn’t hiding in the shadows but is right in front of you. It’s okay. You’re not supposed to know that. Not yet. “Can we go?”
“Yup.” He takes the bag from your arm, and cuts off your protests by scooping you up in his arms again.
This time, you actually laugh, and it’s music to his ears.
“Okay, okay. I don’t need-“
“Shush.” He says, pulling your door shut behind you, and begins to make his way down the stairs. “I gotcha, remember?”
You laugh again, like you’re already feeling a little better, and he might melt at the mere sound of it.
All according to plan.
-
Once again, you find yourself in Adrian Chase’s bed. This time, you’re in your own pjs that you brought from home, rather than borrowed sweatpants and a t-shirt, and it makes the whole thing feel weirdly…domestic.
You haven’t told him what happened. Haven’t explained why you’re here. A part of you is worried he’ll be in danger if he knows anything, and another part of you is selfishly afraid of scaring him off. The rest of you, however, is desperate not to think about it. Just for now.
“Do you always sleep shirtless?” Even as you ask it, you have to fight the burn in your cheeks. He’s laying beside you, on his back while you sit up with your arms curled around your knees, and fuck if you can’t see every stupidly defined muscle in your peripheral vision.
“Yup.” He smiles, the expression easy and casual save for the glint in his eyes. “Sometimes naked, actually. You can sleep naked too, if you want. Totally won’t be weird.”
“That would definitely be weird.”
“I could sleep naked too.”
“Which would be weirder.”
“Why?”
“Just watch the movie, Chase.”
“I’ve seen it before.”
You huff a laugh. You can’t help it. Despite everything, all of the horror and fear you’ve felt tonight, there’s something about him that is so ridiculously soothing that you feel almost stupid for feeling better.
You turn to him, and he’s looking right at you. You like this. You like not feeling afraid, even if it’s just for now.
“You’re flexing.”
“Nope. No I’m not.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“Even if I was flexing, it would be a totally natural response. This is a stressful part of the movie. Maybe I’m just tense because of the anticipation. I don’t know if Liam Neeson is gonna-“
You lean down, and you kiss him.
You shouldn’t do it. You know you shouldn’t do it. But when your lips meet his, and that tingle flutters through your muscles and into your bones just like it did the last time, you stop thinking for a moment. You don’t worry. You don’t panic. You don’t feel tired or worn out or paranoid. You just feel the way he hums against your lips, the way that hum moves through you, and the way he’s so warm against you that every thought finally melts out of your mind.
His arm curls around your waist. He sits up for a moment, lips never breaking from your own and muscled chest pressing against yours as you shift to accommodate his movements. For a moment, you think he’s going to pull you onto his lap. So much so that you squeak in surprise when he suddenly lifts you up and flips you onto your back, settling atop you with a mischievous little grin.
You smile back, and he makes a noise of approval before sinking his teeth into your lip.
The sudden sting makes you gasp, and that sound makes something shift in the air, a weight beginning to grow behind the kiss as Adrian’s playful smile falls. He groans, body pressing down against yours, and the feeling replaces all rational thought with tv static.
You don’t think about Vigilante. About last night. About the fear and paranoia of the last couple of months. And it feels good. Your brain is finally empty, finally focused on something else. You feel a little selfish for it, but…
“Adrian.” You gasp, as his lips trail down to the hollow of your throat, and he groans low and deep and deliciously at the sound of it.
“Again.” He doesn’t sound entirely like himself. His tone is low, and there’s something dark coating the command that makes a little shiver fall down your spine.
“Adrian.” You say again, and he bites down so hard against the sensitive curve of your neck that you whimper.
“Fuck.” His hips rock against yours, and he pulls back to kiss you even more deeply than before. “That’s the best sound in the world, I swear.”
You match his fervor with your own, hands tangling in his hair to pull him closer to you with a ferocity you didn’t know you possessed.
This is a bad idea. It’s happening too fast. You can’t do this without at least telling him what’s going on and-
His hand skates down your side, and he hikes your leg up around his hip in a movement that is so smooth and determined that it almost doesn’t feel like Adrian Chase should be the one to make it. He kisses you until your mind turns to butter, all tongues and teeth and hunger until you’re nearly fucking shaking beneath him, and rocks his hips again as he moves down to bite at the shell of your ear.
“You’ve thought about this too, right?” His voice is so low, so hungry, that you feel molten heat shoot straight to your core. His hand is moving over your waistband, those strange callouses scraping against your bare skin until you’re shivering beneath him. “About how perfect we are together? How good I can make you feel?”
You arch against him, pull his mouth to yours again, and his hands tighten on you until you think you might bruise.
“Wait.” You gasp, trying to pull yourself back to clarity. This is wrong. Definitely wrong. You can’t continue this until he knows exactly how much fucking baggage you’re carrying with you. “I-I’ve gotta tell you something.”
“Mm,” he just kisses you again, and grinds against you so deliciously that the strangled noise the feeling pulls from your throat barely sounds fucking human. “Tell me when I’m fucking you.”
Your brain empties for a moment. “Adrian.”
“Yeah, just like that.” His tongue traces over your lower lip, like he’s savoring the taste of you. “I promise you can tell me anything in the world, just let me make you feel good. Fuck, I can make you feel so fucking good, I swear…”
It takes everything you have to push at his chest, to break his lips from yours. Even as you do, he slides his arm around your middle and tugs you up with him until you’re straddling his lap, lips finding yours again like he truly can’t help it. The new angle of his hips against yours is painfully distracting, and it makes you hold onto him even more tightly.
“I…mmh…” Fuck, he’s a good kisser. If he wasn’t Adrian, you might think he’s trying to distract you. “I’ve seriously gotta tell you something.”
He seems to finally sense the urgency in your tone, pulling back with a concerned frown as his hand slides up over your back, beneath your shirt, sending little sparks of want from every inch where your skin connects.
“What’s wrong?”
How the absolute fuck are you supposed to tell him? How are you supposed to say it out loud, when no one else has believed you? When the police told you it was probably sleepwalking, and sleep deprivation causing hallucinations?
Adrian kisses your nose. Your cheeks. Slides his hands over your bare back beneath your t-shirt and tugs you a little more firmly onto his lap.
“You don’t have to tell me.” He hums. “We can just-“
“I think Vigilante might be stalking me.”
Adrian goes still, but he doesn’t let you go.
You’ve scared him off. Of course you have. And of course it’s fair, and his response will be correct when he asks you to leave so he doesn’t get fucking killed, and what was blossoming into something genuinely nice and sweet is over and it’s not his fault but it still-
“Are you scared?”
You blink. Hesitate. Nod.
“Yes.” You finally whisper, throat constricting at the thought. At the memories of feeling invaded. Violated, even. At waking up with blood on you and seeing a blue suit and a red visor in your peripheral. “I-I don’t know why. I don’t know what he wants. He’s been breaking my locks and coming into my apartment and I can’t sleep and I’m worried he might hurt you too and-“
“Hey. Hey.” Adrian pulls you closer, until you can feel the brim of his glasses against your nose. “You’re okay, you know that?”
You furrow your brow, and shake your head. “I don’t…I don’t think I am. Adrian, this is why I wasn't sleeping. I bought a gun. I don’t even know how to use it but-“
“Shh.” The noise is gentle, sweet, and his had slides over your back again. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
You’re frustrated, and the feeling of his body against yours is distracting, and that’s frustrating you even more. “Why don’t you realize how fucked up this is?” Your voice is harsh, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. “You…I…this guy is a fucking serial killer.”
“Hey, look at me.” His voice is soft, in that strange way it gets sometimes, and his fingers are sliding through your hair.
When you look at him, the intensity of his gaze twists something in your gut.
“You are always gonna be safe with me. You get that?”
“I…”
He tugs you closer to him, and his lips brush against yours. “Always.”
“You’re not scared?”
“Nah. Not even close.”
You frown, and you let him kiss you. Slow, warm, and deeply enough that he has you newly melting against him in moments.
“Adrian.” You finally murmur, as he hums in recognition of his name. “What if he hurts you?”
He pulls back, just far enough to press warm kisses against your jaw, down to your throat. “He won’t. I’ll kick his ass if he tries.” You can feel him smile at his own words, and your fingers curl against his skin.
“I’m not kidding.”
“Me neither.” He slides his hand up to your hair, and tilts your head to offer himself more access to your throat. “Nothing is ever, ever gonna hurt you.” His breath is warm against your neck, and the shiver he pulls from you with his kisses has him pressing even closer.
Weirdly, you do. The way he’s touching you, and holding you like he’ll never let you go…you believe him.
“He might-“
“He won’t. No one will. I can take care of myself. Pinky swear.” He’s still kissing you, lips trailing over your skin and fingers skating along the waistband of your pajama pants. “I can take care of you, too.”
You could give in. You could let him make you forget. You could just…feel.
You want that. You want that so fucking badly.
So, as he lays you back down against the mattress, and covers your body with his own again, you allow yourself to forget.
-
Bliss. Pure, wonderful bliss.
Adrian Chase wakes beside his girlfriend, and his heart nearly explodes.
Good things come to those who wait, and he waited so long, and now here you are. Here you finally are. In his bed, bare skin against his, marks from his fingers and teeth on your body.
You hum as he slides his arm more tightly around your middle, lips trailing down over your shoulder until you turn sleepily in his arms.
You belong here. Right here. He might never let you leave this bed, actually.
This is how it was always meant to be. Since the moment he first laid eyes on you, this is the way you both should always have woken up. Holding you while you slept, without your knowledge, only to slip out of the apartment when you began to stir? Compared to this, that was absolutely nothing. Miserable. Nothing.
He traces his lips over a new mark on the hollow of your throat, remembers how he sank his teeth into your soft skin and whispered how perfect you are as you gasped and dragged your nails over the skin of his back.
And there, those reddened blossoms in the shape of his fingertips against the outside of your thigh, where he’d gripped you to him as you moved in his lap and he could swear he nearly blacked the fuck out. He wonders if the mark of his teeth is still on the inside of that same thigh, where he bit down like he’d dreamed of doing a thousand times until you were tugging desperately on his hair and he thought he might have died and gone to fucking heaven.
“Morning.” You mumble, breath warm against his collarbone, and that’s all he needs to roll atop you and slide his lips over yours. Can someone be addicted to the feeling of another person? He should probably google it. He knew he was pretty much addicted to you before, but now…fuck, now he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of you. How is he supposed to let you ever leave his bed when you feel this good?
You smile back, so much of your bare skin against his, and he wonders for a moment how the feeling of human skin can be so awful when it isn’t yours. He wants to touch you all the time. Feel you against him like you are right now, with every inch of your body holding memories of how he’s touched and felt and claimed you.
Adrian doesn’t speak for a while, just savors the feeling of your lips against his own, and when he finally rocks his hips helplessly against yours you make a noise between a giggle and a gasp and he feels like he’s going to explode.
“Oh, good morning.” You repeat, feeling the evidence of his happiness against your thigh, as he presses closer and drags his teeth over your lip.
You’re so perfect. So unbelievably incredible and you’re in his home and in his bed and he made you scream his name last night but he’s pretty sure he can make you scream it louder if he just-
“I’ve gotta go to work.” You murmur, but he’s already making plans. Plans to keep you in this bed for as long as possible.
“Call out.” That spot, just below your ear. When he bit it last night, you writhed and gasped his name even louder than before. Now, you hold onto him a little tighter, and he grins.
“I work a double.”
“Call out.” He’s trying really hard not to sound demanding, but in his defense he would burn Fennel Fields to the ground to keep you in this bed with him.
“Adrian…” you’re thinking about it. He can tell. His hand skates down your side, lips trailing their way over your collarbone, alternating between teasing scrapes of his teeth and apologetic kisses to the marks he left behind last night.
“You never ever miss a shift. You had something fucked up happen to you last night.” He murmurs, risking a deep inhale into the hollow of your throat. You smell so good, he can barely think straight. “Just lemme make you feel better today. I’ll make breakfast.”
You frown, and he kisses you again until you’re smiling, body relaxing beautifully beneath his. “Dave’s not gonna believe that I’m sick.”
“Mmm.” He hums, already feeling drunk off of the taste of you, already craving more. He barely manages to pull himself back, just far enough to press his hand against your forehead. You giggle, and he leans back down to kiss you again. “You feel warm.”
“Fine. Fine.” You huff, still grinning against his lips, and he pats blindly at the bedside table until he finds your phone.
He makes it maybe two minutes. Or less. All he knows is that the phone is ringing, and by the time he hears someone answer he’s already trailing kisses down over your stomach. You swat at his head, but it’s too light to be fully convincing, and he huffs a breath of silent laughter as he bites at your hip.
“Hey, I feel like shit. I don’t think I’m gonna make it-“ his mouth finds the apex of your thighs, and you’re cut off by a sharp gasp.
“I-I yeah. I’m fine. I mean, no, I’m not fine. I’m sick. I just thought I was gonna throw up but I’m- oh fuck.” Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he doubles his efforts as he feels your heel dig into his back.
“Okay. Thanks. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorr- n-next time I work. Okay, bye.” You slam your hand against the end-call button, and glare down at him as you drop your phone. “You’re an asshole.”
And you look so flushed and pretty like this that it should be illegal.
I love you, he thinks, for maybe the thousandth time in the last twelve hours, before his hand comes up to push your leg aside so firmly that he almost worries he might hurt you.
You don’t seem to be complaining, especially with the noise you make as he continues his mission.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Mine.
-
In the few relationships you’ve had before, you’ve never really experienced a…honeymoon phase? Is that what you could call this?
Whatever it may be, it’s amazing.
You and Adrian stay in bed until noon, and when you finally wander to the kitchen on shaky legs in search of food, he just hurriedly tosses a plate of pizza rolls into the microwave before moving right back over to you and lifting you up onto the counter.
You laugh, and he laughs too as he presses his lips to yours, sliding his arms around your waist until you’re making a muffled noise of protest into the kiss.
He pulls back, and frowns a little. “What’s up?”
“You didn’t turn the microwave on.”
He turns around, surprised, and releases you just long enough to hurriedly punch a few numbers onto the timer before he goes right back to kissing you, muffling your delighted laugh with his lips.
Later, you watch a movie on the couch, and somewhere towards the middle of it you end up on your knees before him, tugging his sweatpants down over his hips until he’s tangling his fingers in your hair and groaning your name in a way that sounds like music. Like prayer.
You nap together after that, and you wake him up by rolling atop him, and you hear that delicious groan again as he sits up and drags you into his lap, the two of you quickly losing yourselves in each other until he’s panting against your shoulder and sinking his teeth into your collarbone.
“Mine. All fucking mine.” He whispers, hoarse, and any illusion of you being in control has shattered with the way his strong hands are guiding you in his lap like you weigh less than a fucking paperweight.
You whimper, and he just moves faster, crushing you to him and pulling back to slam his mouth to yours.
“Mine.” He repeats, and you can do nothing but nod. The acknowledgment makes him grip you tighter, eyes nearly crossed as they look right into yours, and when you break he does at the same time as you and you worry you might black out.
By the end of the day, every muscle in your body holds a pleasant ache, and he still snuggles close to you as he chatters about everything and nothing while the two of you eat takeout in bed.
You’ve never felt this level of comfort before. This…fullness. This wholeness in your heart. In such a short amount of time, this weird, dorky, beautiful man that is feeding you a bite of his lo mein and kissing your cheek with an exaggerated ‘mwah’ as he tugs you closer to his side, seems to have made himself as much a part of you as your achy arms and legs.
It’s all laughter and light. Even in your most passionate moments, even when your mind empties of everything but the feeling of his body against your own and you hit your peak so violently that you feel like you might fucking die, you still can’t help but giggle as he kisses you and his glasses bump awkwardly against your nose.
“Best day of my life. You should get fake-sick all the time.” He says now as you snuggle into his side, and you realize that you have barely thought about Vigilante all day. Barely had the time between the sex and laughter and comfort to even remember why you were so scared before.
“I think if I get ‘fake sick’ again, I won’t be able to walk anymore.” You joke, and his grin is so wide it’s almost manic as his hand skates up beneath your borrowed t-shirt.
“I’ll carry you everywhere.” He hums, nuzzling against your cheek. “But you do look cute when your legs are all wobbly. Like Bambi, but sexy.”
“Weird comparison, but I’ll take it.”
He smiles, and kisses you again, and you smile right back as he lays you back against the pillows, hands already beginning to wander.
This time, it’s slow and sleepy and wonderful. You’re both worn out by the day, and your body is more than a little sore, but his lips move against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As he moves with you, as you gasp his name and hide your face in his neck, his hand catches your own. His fingers tangle with yours against the pillow by your head, and you whimper as he increases his pace. In response, he pulls your joined hands to his mouth, pressing his lips to your knuckles before ducking down to whisper your name against your lips.
Later, as he collapses atop of you with an exhausted and satisfied hum, and snuggles you into his chest, you fall asleep within seconds. Safe, warm, and happier than you can remember being in a very long time.
-
The days pass. Quickly, and sweetly, and wonderfully.
Vigilante becomes a problem of the past. Yeah, he’s still on the news sometimes. You still tense and panic whenever he’s mentioned. You still worry about Adrian’s safety whenever you’re not together.
But you’re always together. He drives you to work. You sleep at his place almost every night. There are even a few times, when he passes by your table while you’re taking an order, when he’ll lean over and kiss your cheek in front of the customers. You usually get a few ‘awww’s as you flush and try to hide your smile, but you can’t find it in yourself to ever be truly embarrassed.
And then, later. he’ll pull you into the alley, and you’ll make out like teenagers until Dave shows up to shoo you away from each other.
You even hang out with his friends, and you like them. A lot. And they like you. And it feels…good. So good. So comfortable.
So your life changes, just like that. You become Adrian Chase’s girlfriend.
And you almost forget about Vigilante. Almost.
-
He got you. He fucking got you. You’re truly and officially his. And yet, since you’ve been dating, he’s somehow gotten a little…worse.
But he doesn’t want to call it worse, because it’s not bad. Right? It’s not bad to follow his girlfriend home, or to use the key you made him to get into your apartment. And when he isn’t out doing superhero shit, you’re always sleeping next to him anyway, so it’s fine now that he snuggles up beside you when he’s taking a break from killing bad guys. Nothing creepy about it now, no sir-ee. If you sense anything amiss, you’ll just call him and worry to him and he’ll comfort you and kiss you and tell you that you’re totally fine.
But this…this was bound to happen eventually.
You should be at his place, but he can’t keep ignoring his vigilante duties every single night. Plus, you’ve barely even been home in a week.
But he can’t spend a night away from you. He just can’t. So, like usual, he took care of what he needed to, killed a few bad guys, and ended up here.
He likes it better when you’re wrapped up in his arms. In fact, he kind of wishes he had ignored his patrol and convinced you to come over again so he could be lying next to you without his armor, with you naked and warm against him naked and warm. Maybe he can still have that, if he uses his key as Adrian and comes over super early and climbs into bed with you. You like it when he does that. You’ll make that little humming noise and curl up against him and he’ll drag his lips over that sensitive part of your neck and you’ll melt and let him help you out of your pajamas and then he’ll have you bent over so beautifully for him as he-
He’s curling a lock of your hair in his fingers when he feels it.
You wake up. You wake up fast.
You’re not sleep deprived anymore. You’re not out like a light the second your head hits the pillow. He’s been extra careful at times like this lately, but he must have been a little too cocky tonight. A little too loud.
Your beautiful eyes fly open, and lock right on him. On the way he’s sitting beside you, the way your hair is curled around his gloved finger.
Fuck.
You open your mouth to scream, and he’s on you in a blink, palm covering your mouth as he lies atop you and you fight him with an amount of force that is actually pretty impressive, considering.
“Shit.” He whispers, and you’re clawing at his arm and shouting curses against his hand, biting down until he hisses in pain. You thrash, hands coming up to push at his face and shit shit shit you’re trying to rip his mask off.
“Hey, hey. Stop that.” He finally manages to shift atop you enough to hold your wrists above your head with one hand, his free hand still clamped firmly over your mouth, and he has the chloroform in his pocket but he so doesn’t want to use it. He hates using it on you.
You wiggle, kick, and scream again.
“C’mon, stop. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just be good for a sec. I hate drugging you, I promise, but I can’t have you screaming like that. You’ve got neighbors, you know. They’re gonna think you’re being murdered or something.” He’s already regretting the way he chose to disguise his voice. It’s too low, and it’s kind of hurting his throat.
You make a furious noise, and kick again. He sighs, and leans down to tuck his nose into the crook of your neck, allowing himself a deep inhale that makes you start wiggling again. Sure, you probably think it’s creepy, but you definitely wouldn’t if you knew who he was. What a frustrating dilemma you’ve both found yourselves in.
“Okay. I’m gonna let go of your mouth, just for a second. Okay? Then you’re gonna wake up, and I’ll be gone. No need to freak-“
“Mmph!” You shake your head behind his hand, and he sighs.
“I don’t want to. I have to.”
You shake your head again. And, to his surprise, you relax beneath him.
He frowns as he pulls back to look down at you. Your eyes are still wide, but you’re not kicking anymore. You stop trying to pull your arms away, and flex your fingers a little like you’re trying to communicate something.
He gets it. He knows you, of course. And yet, it feels a little too good to be true.
“Are you…gonna be calm?”
You nod, and he grins behind the mask. “Promise?”
You roll your eyes, and nod again.
He experiments for a moment, releasing your wrists to see if you’ll start clawing at him again. You don’t. Instead, you reach up to hold onto his arms, more gentle than he was expecting.
“I’m gonna take my hand off, and you’re not gonna scream, okay?”
You nod again, and your compliance and proximity is gonna give him a fucking boner if he isn’t careful. It has to be too good to be true, right? All that fighting, and now you’re gonna be good for him?
Oops. He shifts a little atop you, but you notice, and your eyes widen again.
“Don’t worry. Not gonna do anything. All good, here. You’re just…well, you know. You’re hot.” He explains easily, and you mumble something behind his hand that he is going to pretend isn’t a biting insult.
Carefully, and with his free hand hovering over his belt just in case, he pulls his hand away.
You don’t scream. He can see his fingerprints on your cheek. He wants to pull his mask off and trace them with his tongue.
“Hi.” He says instead, and you don’t speak. You just stare.
“Do you…mind?” You ask, glancing down at where he is still very much lying atop you. More pointedly at where the evidence of his arousal is pressing into your thigh. And you weren’t complaining last night, but then you knew it was him, so it’s fine.
“Sure. You gonna try to run away?”
“You’ll just catch me.”
Aw. You’re so smart. Worlds best girlfriend, here.
“Mhm.” He sits back, and you scoot back against the headboard. Look him over. Clearly try to keep yourself as relaxed as possible.
“What do you want?”
You. You you you in every single way he can possibly have you. He already has you, and he still wants more. He wants to lock you in a room forever so you’re only his and he wants his name to be the only name you know and he wants you so bad he aches-
“To keep you safe.”
You laugh, humorlessly, and give him a look that he’s probably supposed to understand.
“So you’re breaking into my apartment?”
“Yup.”
“Are you gonna kill me?”
“No!” The word rips from him so harshly he nearly shouts it, and you flinch, and he hates that. “No, of course not. I’ll never hurt you. I promise.”
“Why not?”
Because you’re everything to him, obviously. You’re perfect. “I just won’t, okay?” He can’t say these things, because you might freak out, and it’s frustrating. Lying to you is fucking frustrating.
“Okay.” Your voice is softer, and it makes his shoulders relax a little. “Are you gonna kill my boyfriend?”
God, he loves it when you call him that. Your boyfriend. You’re his girlfriend. You don’t even know how funny that question is, and his snort of laughter makes you furrow your brow. “Nah.”
“Okay.” You don’t look like you believe him. That’s okay. You’re talking to him. You look so pretty right now it’s ridiculous. “Let me hold that.”
He frowns, heart hammering a little faster in his chest, and glances down at his crotch.
“The fucking sword. Let me hold the sword.” You gesture again, and he realizes that he must have been so busy staring at you to see that you gestured the same way a second ago.
He shrugs, and slides the weapon out of its sheath, wordlessly passing it over.
You look surprised, but you take it. “Thanks.”
You can fucking kill him with it if you want, but he knows you won’t. That is definitely not helping his boner. “No problemo.”
“Stop breaking into my apartment.”
As if. “You’re safe. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Do you not realize how fucked up this is?”
“Uh…yes?” No. But you don’t get it.
“Why do you keep breaking into my apartment?”
Because he loves you? Because he wants to hold you all the time? Because- “you keep changing your locks.”
“Because of you.”
“Yeah, but you don’t need to. Because I’m not gonna hurt you.”
You’re frowning at him, and there’s something in your eyes that makes him tense a little. If this keeps up, you might draw some comparisons. There’s only so much he can disguise his voice. He’s still Adrian, and you know Adrian.
Shit.
His hand moves down to his belt, and you sense it, and-
And then there’s the blade of a sword at his throat, and your eyes are hard and focused, and oh fuck oh shit this is the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.
“Stop. That.”
“Fuck.” It comes out as a breath, hoarse, and you narrow your eyes. “This is so hot. Seriously. So hot.”
Your eyes narrow. Shit. How is he supposed to keep it together right now? He’s already running his mouth, and you’re already furrowing your brow like you do when you’re thinking about something, and he is about to feel so, so guilty.
“I’m so sorry I have to do this. Really. You have no idea.”
You open your mouth, panic sparking in your eyes, but it’s too late. He knocks the machete to the side, yanks your foot down to pull you onto your back, and presses the rag over your mouth in a second.
You shriek, furious, and you’re out in seconds.
The second you’re unconscious he yanks the mask over his head, pressing his lips to your cheeks and forehead in a desperate flurry of apologies.
“I love you. I’m so, so sorry. I love you so much. I’m so sorry.” He kisses your jaw. Your ear. Even pulls back to press a gentle kiss to your lips. “You did so good, too. So good. I just can’t let you recognize me, you know?”
You don’t stir, still out cold, and he groans miserably as he pulls you into his arms.
“Yeah, you’ll get it one day. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Promise. God, I love you.” The way you relaxed beneath him like that? The way you held his own sword to his throat? He’s the luckiest guy in the fucking world.
Still, he’s gonna have to figure out a way to apologize to you. As soon as possible.
-
Adrian is there the next morning. Breakfast burritos in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in another.
Your feet are unsteady beneath you, mind foggy with memories and that motherfucking chloroform.
“Hey.” His smile falls, and he cocks his head to the side. “You okay?”
Your sweet, wonderful boyfriend. You pull him to you by the front of his sweatshirt, and press your nose into his shoulder. He holds you so quickly that he nearly drops the bag of food in his hand.
“Fucking Vigilante.” You mumble, still hazy, and you aren’t in your right mind quite enough to feel him tense.
“What?”
“He…” ugh, it’s hard to think. “Broke in again, last night. Drugged me again.”
“Oh. Oh. Shit.” Adrian slides his arms around you, and you hear the food and flowers fall to the ground as he drops them in favor of holding you close and nuzzling his nose into your temple. “I’m sorry. I’m here.”
He’s here. He’s holding you. Everything is gonna be okay. And yet, the Vigilante Problem is becoming too normal. You should probably be freaking out a lot more.
“Are you scared?” He asks, and something is off in his voice. It gets like that, sometimes, in little moments that always pass too quickly for you to really catch them. He doesn’t sound overly concerned, like one might expect, but there’s something lower in his voice. Something in the way he asks with his lips brushing over the shell of your ear, or the way his hold tightens on you a little bit.
“I should be, shouldn’t I?” You murmur, and his breath catches a little in his throat as his lips drop down to the hollow of your throat. “I should be fucking terrified, right? Is it fucked up that I’m not?”
You think, as you tilt your head to the side and his warm hands begin to slide up beneath your shirt, that you can feel the corner of his lips twitch upwards. But that would be weird, right?
“Nah. You don’t have to be scared of anything.” He tugs you closer to him, teeth scraping over your earlobe until a shiver falls down your spine. “Not while I’m here.”
“I…what’s with the flowers?” You try, quickly losing any and all ability to form a solid thought. “You cheat on me or something?”
It’s a joke, of course, but when he pulls back to look at you his eyes are almost black. You blink, surprised, and his hand comes up to cup your chin between strong calloused fingers.
“I’d rather die.” He says, firm and almost…angry that you would even suggest such a thing, even as a joke. “I would seriously rather die. Don’t say that.”
“Hey, I was kiddi-“ he interrupts you with a kiss. A hard, hungry, rough kiss that makes you gasp into his mouth as your fingers come up to tangle in his curls.
“Don’t say that.” He says again, tone low and dark in that way it can sometimes be. He backs you up, bites hard at your lip, and pulls back to drag his teeth down to the hollow of your throat.
You just nod, painfully distracted, and he bites down hard enough to make you whimper.
“Adrian.” You try, but you’ve already forgotten what you could possibly be trying to say.
“Get on the couch.” He responds, and that low, quiet tone is sparking something familiar in the back of your mind.
“Ade, I was kidding. I didn’t mean-“ he cuts you off with something akin to a frustrated grunt, and gives you a gentle push until your back hits the cushions. You bounce a little, blinking with surprise as you look up to him, and his eyes are dark as he climbs atop you, pressing you down into the cushions with one hand catching your jaw.
“If you’re gonna joke, you should really say something beforehand.” He chastises, leaning down to catch your lip between his teeth. You make a soft noise, and he grinds his hips down hard against yours until you forget how to breathe. “Because I would never cheat on you.”
“I know.” You try to laugh. “Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Sure, he can get a little…intense, sometimes, but it’s usually played off with some kind of joke. Some break in the darkness of his eyes when he laughs and snuggles you close or does something cute that makes you forget about the whole thing.
He doesn’t do that now. His hand comes down, skating over the back of your thigh before he hikes it up around his waist and grinds again.
“Tell me you’re mine.” He all-but growls, catching the lobe of your ear between his teeth until a whimper pulls its way from your throat.
“I’m yours.” You breathe, and he groans as he moves down to scrape his teeth over your throat.
“Again.”
“Adrian-“
“Again.” His hand is sliding over your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your shorts as he crushes his lips to yours.
What the fuck has gotten into him? Why is it so hot you think you might fucking die? This is your sweet, goofy boyfriend. This is the guy who mumbles spider facts into your hair when he sleeps. Who woke up after that party at Emilia’s wearing her robe because he gave you the literal shirt off of his body when you were drunk and chilly on the roof.
“Y-yours.” You arch a little beneath him, a moan swallowed by his lips as his fingers find the apex of your thighs.
“Right.” His breathing is a little more ragged. His nose is bumping yours. His fingers are making you see stars and his eyes are almost completely overtaken by his pupils. “All mine. You’re all mine.”
He works you apart almost embarrassingly quickly, dexterous fingers seemingly on a mission to bring you to the edge within minutes, and in no time at all you’re gripping at his hair and fisting your own fingers in the back of his sweatshirt until he pulls away just enough to rip it off of himself. The movement is quick enough to muss his hair and knock his glasses askew, and he barely stops kissing you as he pulls you out of your own clothes, trailing hungry lips and teeth down your neck between ragged and desperate breaths.
He’s eager, like always, but this time there’s a darker sort of control to his movements. There’s no smiling between kisses, no playful nipping at your jaw. Instead, his hand tangles in your hair, forcing your head back to look at him as he moves at a deliciously rough angle that has you seeing stars right off the fucking bat. As his lips hover over yours, noses bumping and eyes crossed.
“This. I think about - mmm - this all the time, you know that? I think - fuck - I think about you all the time.”
“I-I…” you can’t speak. You can’t think.
“Say my name.” His forehead presses against yours, glasses digging into the bridge of your nose. Your fingers, in turn, dig into the skin of his shoulders, your high approaching too quickly for you to even remember how to breathe right.
Adrian growls, grip tightening on your hair and pulling a sharp gasp from your throat. His hips slow, pulling you back from the edge, and you whine in protest. “Say it.”
“Adrian.” You nearly sob, and he groans as he speeds up his movements once again.
“Yeah, you’re mine. Never ever letting you go. All. Fucking. Mine.”
You break with a wail of his name, and he follows with a growl of yours, lips slamming against yours hard enough for your teeth to knock together.
When you can open your eyes again, it’s to the feeling of Adrian smoothing his thumb over your cheek, still breathing heavily as he looks down at you with that same dark and hungry expression.
“That was…intense.” You murmur, searching his eyes and reaching up to brush your fingers over his cheek.
And then he smiles, bright and happy and sweet and so so much more like himself, and you laugh as he nuzzles his nose into your neck and pulls you closer to him.
“Mmhmm.” He hums, pressing a gentle kiss to the marked skin of your throat. And yet, despite the quick return to normalcy, you can still hear something…heavy in his voice when he murmurs again.
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summary: While bathing in the creek, your clothes mysteriously disappear. Luckily, a certain hedge knight is there to help.
words: 8.1k
cw: explicit, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering, size difference, outdoor sex, teasing, semi switch!dunk, inexperienced!dunk, reader is ferally horny, guiding dunk through it, dunk has a big dick, naked female/clothed male, canon typical sexism, dunk calls reader 'my lady' and 'sweet girl', fairytale vibes, reader's clothes get stolen, egg the accidental wingman, an abundance of sword metaphors, i'm here to spread the pretty boy dunk gospel, dunk is my sweet himbo, not beta read, not proof read we die like [redacted targaryen prince]
a/n: do not look at me i blacked out and didn't read this after i finished it. thank you to @urhoneycombwitch and @runawaywerewolf my beloveds for indulging me while i screamed about this
ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI
"Apologies, m'lady. I did not know you were here."
You pause, your hand wrapped around the ends of your hair as you gaze at the strange man who just interrupted you. You had heard him tromping through the brush. He stomps like an ox— you're sure that half of the nine kingdoms could have heard him coming, but the most you could do to hide yourself was dip your chest beneath the surface of the water. Even then, the water is so clear that you don't think it would have hidden much. You figured that one person finding you bathing would make no difference in the grand scheme of things.
"That's all right," you say after a moment, and continue wringing out your wet hair. Water trails over your skin, dripping in long rivulets that the man is clearly trying very hard not to focus on. The man gazes down at the grass and turns his head away, as though he can somehow unsee you in your nakedness. In fact, he looks anywhere but at you; the tree line, the water, the rocks on the far side of the creek. You tilt your head, examining his demeanor, the way he holds himself stiff and straight, as awkward as can be at the sight of you. "What is your name?"
"Dunk— Ser Duncan the Tall. My lady." He shifts on his feet, and then makes an attempt to bow, a little too late. He still doesn't chance a look at you. "I am… a hedge knight, you see, and I have been sleeping under the tree over there—" he points at the elm tree in the glade, under which a palate has been laid, far enough away that you actually hadn't noticed it, "—for several days, now."
"Yes, I do see."
You snicker under your breath and look at him again, raking your eyes up and down his frame. He's huge, a giant of a man with strawberry blond hair that shifts in the breeze. Even from the side, his profile is handsome, his brow drawn with nervous tension. You figure you would have to look up at him if you were face to face with him, and yet he stoops bashfully as though he expects you to tear him apart just for looking at you. Biting your lip, you can't help the flirtatious smile that stretches across your face.
"Ser Duncan," you say, wading through the waist-deep water towards him. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows, moving as though he means to turn away from you. You introduce yourself to him, running your fingers over the surface of the water. "I apologize for my intrusion. I didn't know that this glade was in use. The error is entirely mine."
"No. No, with respect," he looks at you, and then his eyes widen as he remembers himself and averts his gaze again, "I have no claim here. I— I would leave you to your washing, but you are… terribly exposed here, I'm afraid."
"Yes, that usually happens when one bathes, Ser."
"No, I—" He puffs out his cheeks and blows out an exasperated breath. He thinks for a moment. "Begging your pardon, m'lady. What I mean to say, is that there are many people afoot who are not… not honorable."
"Honorable," you repeat, with an air of amusement.
"That would place you in jeopardy, I mean."
"And you would not?" You can tell just by looking at him that he wouldn't do anything to harm you; he looks like he's mortified just at seeing you naked.
"You have nothing to fear from me," he confirms, nodding his head, almost to himself more than to you.
You're almost immediately smitten with him. It takes you a second to come up with a response that won't come off as overbearing; but you can't resist teasing him, at least a little. A small smile stretches across your face as you muse, "Because you don't wish to see me naked, Ser?"
"What? No, I— I mean, I don't— I… I wouldn't—"
"You find me ugly, then?"
"No, ma'am, I—"
"Mhm. Horrid. Repulsive."
"No! No, by the gods, you're beautiful. I just mean—" He breaks off with a deep sigh, clapping his hands over his face. He shakes his head, as though chastising himself. "I am sorry, my lady. I've never been good with words. I would not presume to look upon you in any way that could be un— untoward—"
"Because you are honorable." You giggle at his distress over something so trivial, as you walk out of the water and face him. With a warm smile, you tell him, "I understand you quite well, Ser Duncan. Forgive me for teasing. I meant nothing by it."
He sets his lips in a firm line, shooting you a glance out of the corner of his eye. "Thank you."
You nod at him encouragingly. "I will take my leave, as soon as I am dressed. If you don't mind?"
"No, please. Do as you like, I'll stand watch." And then he turns his back to you, his hand placed on the hilt of his sword with purpose.
You let out a soft laugh. "Quite right." There is a moment where you stand, watching his back, waiting for him to turn around again; he doesn't. You are not shocked, but you still smile to yourself as you turn to retrieve your clothes from where you left them, on the old stone wall.
What does shock you is that your clothes are not there. You had left them within plain sight, and they are nowhere to be seen— not on the ground, or behind the wall at all. They couldn't have been blown away in the wind.
"Ser Duncan," you say, and clear your throat as you turn towards him. "Where are my clothes?"
"Where—?" He glances over his shoulder, and then whirls away again. "How— how should I know?"
"Well, they didn't walk off by themselves." The night air is cool on your damp skin as you place your hands on your hips. "Clearly, someone took them."
All is quiet for a few seconds, and then: "You think I did?" He sounds utterly appalled.
You had, for only a moment— but now, you aren't so sure. You approach him slowly from behind, folding your hands and watching him curiously. He's so wound up tight that he holds his shoulders near his ears, his chest seemingly heaving. He won't even look at you. You have given him every opportunity to, and he won't. Why steal your clothes, and then refuse to reap the rewards?
"Ser Duncan, you may look at me. I don't mind."
You hear him take a shaky breath, and then he turns and looks down at you. His eyes are bright azure, positively glowing in the low evening light and so striking that you nearly recoil from the sight of them; but even so, they drop to the ground almost instantly.
The wind picks up just a bit, rustling his hair. You shiver in the breeze, squeezing your arms against the sudden cold. He immediately snaps to, untying his cloak before handing it out to you. "Here, m'lady."
You feel your heart swell at his gallantry, as he drapes the fabric over your shoulders. The linen is worn and soft on your skin, and warm in the shoulders from his own body heat. Unsurprisingly, it's so long that it pools around your feet, whereas it floats around his knees when he wears it. You're momentarily distracted by the sight of his large hands so close to your face, tying the cloak beneath your chin so that it remains secure.
Once you're covered, he doesn't seem quite so hesitant to look at you. He meets your eye with a gravely serious look. "I do apologize. I did not take your clothes, I assure you."
"No, I'm sure you didn't. Since you seem more concerned about it than I am." Concern is the kindest word you can come up with— really, he looked about to vomit at the prospect of your suspicion. You draw his cloak tight around you, the smell of loam and woodsmoke permeating the fabric. "At any rate, this does put me in a bit of trouble. I am a long way from my tent."
"Would you like me to accompany you back to camp?"
You let out a quiet chuckle, probably giving him a more affectionate look than you mean to. In a voice sweet as honey, you say, "I'm flattered, Ser, but I don't believe that walking through camp on the arm of a knight, dressed in nothing but his cloak, would reflect well on my reputation. I'm afraid I'm stuck here, unless I find some way to steal another change of clothes from someone else."
His head tilted down, he appears lost in thought. You stare boldly up into his face while he isn't paying attention, just simply… admiring him. How have you never seen him before? He looms over you, seemingly cut from marble and brought alive by sunlight. It's humbling, how lovely he is, even without all his chivalry.
Then, he snaps his gaze up to your face. "You could stay here, just for tonight. I'll keep you safe 'til morning, and then I can send my squire to fetch you some clothes from camp. No one need see you, my lady."
"Other than yourself, of course."
He closes his mouth swiftly, flushing red and looking away. You smile to yourself, having to hold yourself back from reaching out towards him.
"I only jest, Ser," you whisper conspiratorially. "I already told you, I don't mind if you see me."
"Right." He laughs weakly, still flustered. "I… I'll alert my squire, then?"
"Yes, I would be glad of it." You step back, trying not to trip on the frayed ends of his cloak. "I thank you for your kindness, Ser Duncan. You're a good man."
"Aye, well… thank you. My lady." He stares at you for a long time, and then seems to remember himself. "Ah… stay— stay here, and, ehm. I'll be back." He turns to leave, and then thinks better of it and turns the other way, before tromping back through the grass the way he originally came.
"Ser Duncan?" You call, just before he disappears from sight. When he turns, looking at you expectantly, you give him a sweet smile. "You're beautiful, too. By the gods."
You feel inordinately proud of yourself when he goes red up to his ears.
Dunk is fucked.
He spends a long time beating his head against a tree trunk. You know, for posterity.
He doesn't know what he's doing. Oh gods, he has no fucking idea. All he knows is that it's a terrible trick to play on a lady, to steal her clothes while she's vulnerable and leave her stranded. He doesn't even know if you're a lady of noble birth— you could be a bar maid, or from one of the brothels, for all he knows. It doesn't matter to him. Dunk would never say no to anyone in trouble, let alone anyone as beautiful as you. And you are. What was he supposed to do? You came out of the water like a vision, as splendid as a water nymph or a goddess. You took his breath away without even trying.
So. Dunk doesn't know how he's going to survive this. He probably won't.
"Egg?" Dunk rears back from the tree, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve and shaking his head. He might throw up from his nerves, but it wouldn't be the first time.
"Ser!" He hears the boy's tiny feet pattering along dirt path as he answers Dunk's call. Egg rounds the tree Dunk leans against, staring unseeing into the creek as the sun sets over the horizon. Egg pauses, standing with something clutched in his hands as he looks up at Dunk. "Are you well, Ser?"
"Ehm. Not sure, really." Dunk glances at the boy. "What… do you have, there?"
Egg holds it up— it's a bird. The little thing squirms in Egg's grip, and then blinks up at Dunk placidly. "Pigeon. Fell out of a tree, I think. I didn't want to leave it."
"Right." Dunk blinks, sucking on his teeth as he tries to think of a way to explain the situation. "Look, lad. I, eh, have matters to attend tonight. In a wee bit of a bind."
"Do you need help, Ser?"
"Well." Dunk tilts his head back and forth. "I— It's not me, really." Dunk sighs and flexes his shoulders, straightening his spine. "There's a lady will be sleeping with me under the elm, for tonight."
"Oh… oh." Egg hums, wiggling his blond eyebrows mockingly at Dunk.
"D'you want a clout in the ear?" Egg doesn't even flinch at the faux severity in Dunk's voice; he simply cradles the baby pigeon close to his chest and pets its head. Dunk sighs, trying not to show how hard he's blushing. "She's… the lady, she was bathing in the creek, and now… she doesn't have any clothes, see."
"She doesn't have clothes?" Egg echoes, screwing up his face.
"Aye, someone took them, it seems." A look of realization crosses Egg's face, but Dunk doesn't give him a second to respond. "And she can't be expected to walk into camp with no clothes on her back, because plenty of men would take advantage, and— and her reputation would be ruined, o' course."
"Of course." Egg frowns. "Ser, I wanted to tell you, I found some clothes—"
"So." Dunk swallows, nodding to himself resolutely and shooting Egg a silencing look. "So, what you'll do is take Thunder and Chestnut— and your bird— and you'll go sleep across the meadow. And you'll go to camp and fetch the lady some clothes on the morn. Is that clear?"
"But Ser—"
"No buts." He points one large, stern finger at the boy. "I'll hear none of that from you. There's a lady needs help, and you best not argue about it. We're meant to protect people in need, not turn them away."
Egg blinks his big violet eyes at Dunk, his mouth on sideways. "Is she pretty, Ser?"
"What?" Dunk does a double-take. He blusters like mad. "What matter is that of yours?"
"Well, it would just make sense, is all." Egg rocks on his feet. "Pretty girl in need of clothes, and a knight willing to defend her. Like they wrote about in the stories. Is she?"
Dunk sighs, knocking his head back against the tree in defeat. "Aye. She's a true beauty, so she is. But I'll hear nothing of it, now. Begone with you. And take the horses."
Egg looks as though he has more arguments to make, but saves them. His mouth ticks upwards, and then he turns, cooing down at the baby bird in his hands as he wanders off down the path. "Have a good night, Ser."
"Shut it."
Dunk bends down and braces his hands on his knees, trying to even out his breath. He takes a long, deep inhale, leaning into the breeze as if it can cleanse him. He's terrified. He's never been good with women, and you've already unraveled him, taken him completely by surprise.
He can't get the image of you, naked as the day you were born, water dripping over the curve of your breast and down across your belly from his mind. That very water drying on the linen of his cloak, wrapped around your body as you wait for him somewhere down the meadow path.
"Fuuuuck me." He drags his hands down his face. There's a place in the seven hells for him somewhere, he's sure.
He's going to die.
"Ser Duncan." He finds you in the glade, still wrapped in his cloak. You've started a small fire in the rudimentary pit near the elm tree. You smile up at him, glowing in the light of the flames, and Dunk temporarily forgets where he is. "I almost began to think that you'd left me."
"Never, my lady." He rests his sword against the trunk of the tree. "And… it's Dunk."
"… Sorry?"
"My— er, my name." He swallows, looking sort of like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. "Most people call me Dunk."
"Okay. Dunk." You smirk, endlessly charmed by him. Your hand drifts over the thin linen of his cloak on your shoulder, fretting about a threadbare spot. "I could mend this for you, if you'd like?"
"Thank you, but, ehm… that isn't necessary." He blinks, the corner of his mouth turning upward. "I do most of my own mending."
"You did these?" You fiddle with a few mended patches on the edges, where he has darned them with green thread. It's been done with very immense care; the weave is tight and strong. "This is lovely work. Where did you learn to do it?"
"Aye, well… I had a lot of time for practice, squiring for Ser Arlan of Pennytree."
"You have a delicate hand," you remark, and look up at him just in time to see him blush a pretty shade of pink. "Still, I think it's the least I could do, for you being so kind to me."
"M'lady, that's… you don't have to do anything." He tilts his head toward you. "I'm just glad of your company."
That makes your heart stutter in your chest. You blink down at the fire, not really seeing it at all. You search for something to say in reply, but you can't think of anything; you look back up at him with what you're sure is an adoring smile. "Will you please sit with me? Or am I to enjoy the fire alone?"
Dunk gives you a wobbly smile and sits beside the fire. He can't move on from the sight of you in his cloak— you've pulled it around you like a blanket, tucking it under your chin while you hug your knees to your chest. You're spellbinding, so small and swathed in orange fire and silvery moonlight, and Dunk can't help imagining you in ways that he ought not to. He imagines you sharing a bed with him in an inn, or tending a flock of sheep on a farm, with his babe in your arms.
Dunk clears his throat. "You look—" He stops as soon as you gaze up at him, an expectant gleam in your eyes. He was going to say 'good,' which is probably not the most proper thing to say to a lady, wearing naught but his cloak. So he swallows and says, "comfortable."
"Considering the circumstances, I suppose." You laugh. It twinkles like stars in the night. "Pleasurable company, good ale and warm tents… I guess I can see why you knights love these tourneys so much."
"Aye, it's not so bad. Though, I'm only a hedge knight. There's food and drink, a chance for a prize, but… we don't do much with tents. Can't afford one, really."
"I can't see how that would be much of a problem. I mean, maybe you get cold or wet sometimes, but… I think you're the fortunate one." You peer up at the stars, tilting your nose toward the sky. "A view of the infinite. It's good for you. Reminds you to stay grounded." You give him a look over the campfire; his blue eyes catch the flames and dance with them. "Have you jousted, yet?"
"Not yet, my lady. I hope to on the 'morrow." He shrugs. "At his lordship's pleasure, of course."
"Of course." You wink at him. "The lord does love to watch men knocking poles about, I hear."
"I guess," Dunk replies quietly, a blush upon his cheeks. He squirms under your scrutiny, and then to fill the silence, he says, "I… told my squire to fetch you some clothes, come morning. Let him know not to come 'round."
"I hope he wasn't too put out," you hum, picking up a stick to nudge the embers. "I'd hate to know I ruined his night."
Dunk shakes his head. "Nah, he's a good boy. He can take care of himself. Doesn't fuss about much."
"Mm, so you do all the fussing, instead."
"Me?" His eyes go round as saucers. "No— no, I don't— I don't fuss… not really…"
You peer up at him through your lashes, a devilish smirk plucking at the corners of your lips. Dunk's heart starts to beat faster— he knows that look. You're going to do something to completely unmoor him, and he'll eat his words as quickly as he says them.
True to form, you shrug his cloak aside and expose your chest. Dunk stares for a moment at your breasts, feels his face warm just at the sight of them— their soft curves, the peaks of your nipples in the cool night air. He takes a staggering breath and turns his eyes away when he feels his cock stir, his trousers tightening uncomfortably.
You huff a little laugh that makes him flush even redder. "See? Fussy."
"Must you be so… so wicked?" He mutters, casting you a despairing look.
"Wicked? No, darling, this isn't me being wicked." You tilt your head at him coyly. "This is me trying to fuck you. There's a difference."
"What?" That seems to rattle him even more. He stares at you, utterly bewildered. "Wh— you want to— why?"
"Why?"
You give him eyes like you want to ravish him where he sits, and by the gods, Dunk thinks he might let you. He shifts in his seat, believing that he might let you do anything that you want to him, if you just keep looking at him like that. But then you lower your knees and rock forward, crawling around the fire like an animal stalking its prey, and Dunk is so painfully hard it doesn't even occur to him to move away. He doesn't want to.
"Because you're beautiful," you tell him slowly, easing toward him on all fours. You watch him trailing you with his eyes, his jaw clenching and unclenching as you inch closer to him. "Because you are… so exceedingly wonderful, Ser Duncan. A good man is hard to find, these days."
"'S D—Dunk," he stutters, nearly jumping out of his skin when you crawl into his lap. His hands fly up of their own accord and snatch onto your hips, and his heart lurches at the feel of you, soft and hot beneath his fingertips.
"Ser Dunk. My apologies."
You smile at him, straddling him while untying his cloak from around your neck and letting it fall by the wayside. For all your bravado, you nearly tremble at just how imposingly big he is; your hand looks comedically small against his chest, your thighs parted unbelievably far to accomodate the width of his own. Still, you drag your hand down, down, down, until you palm him through his trousers— and then bite your lip as he hisses, jerking against you.
"Well," you gasp, trying not to gape at the size you feel beneath your hand. "A hard man is good to find, though. Isn't that right?"
"M—My lady, please—" He gazes at you wide-eyed, his lips parted. He digs his fingers into your hips so hard that you swear he might rip you in two.
"Please, what?" You lift your hand away and trail your fingers back up his stomach to his chest. "Want me to stop?"
"No. Please, don't—" He sighs, almost defeatedly, and closes his eyes. "Don't stop."
Still, you pause. You lift your hands and cradle his face, waiting for him to blink his eyes open and look at you. You stroke a lock of hair away from his forehead, and his brow knits in confusion.
"You must be the loveliest thing in all the nine kingdoms, Ser Dunk," you whisper to him, not even bothering to conceal the awe in your voice. "The gods must have made you, because I think you're too… bloody perfect."
"Me?" He takes a small, astounded breath, and then cracks a slightly humorous smile in spite of his nerves. He quirks a brow. "Shall I send for a looking-glass for you, as well?"
"Charmer." You trace your thumb across his lower lip and watch his eyelashes flutter. "You don't get many women throwing themselves at you, do you?"
"Not— Not really. No."
"Gods know why. You're really something to behold." You drag your knuckles down his cheek, bending forward to crush your chest up against his. You didn't expect him to be lecherous, but he's so tentative, you guess that he must be grievously inexperienced— possibly even a virgin. You can desire him, hunt him like some deranged beast, but you don't want to frighten him. "Mind if I throw myself at you?"
Dunk shakes his head, but leans forward and kisses you before he can say anything else. His arms come around you, wrapping you in an embrace that all but engulfs you. You are surrounded by warmth, and his lips taste like sweet spiced mead.
He breaks away from the kiss with a sharp gasp and stares down into your face with a mildly terrified expression. "'Pologies. Needed to do that 'fore I— I said something stupid."
You grin, leaning close to nuzzle your nose against his. "Never apologize for a kiss, Ser Dunk. You can have as many as you want, from me."
There's a bright pink blush beneath the freckles on his cheeks and his dimples when he cracks a smile. Dunk clears his throat, feigning composure. "Do you want to, uh… y'know…?"
"Fuck?"
"Yes, that." He laughs nervously. "What— what would you like me to do—?"
You hum in a low voice, reaching down to take one of his hands in yours. His palm dwarfs your own; the comparison of the two is enough to make you ache with want. He watches you closely as you lift his hand towards you, looking somewhat confused. That is, until you run your tongue along the length of his two fingers and take them into your mouth, and his confusion is rewritten into complete shock.
"My lady." Dunk blinks rapidly, speaking with a slightly chastising tone. That was the last thing he expected you to do, and it somehow feels more debased than having you sit on his lap entirely naked. His fingers come out of your mouth covered with your saliva, glistening in the light of the fire.
"No need to fret, Ser. I can guide you." You already sound a little breathy, the look in your eyes much darker than before. You drag his hand down between your breasts, his two fingers trailing wet along your skin. You lead him downwards until his fingers brush through your soft curls, while the breadth of his warm palm flattens over your lower stomach.
Dunk's breath hitches and his mouth drops open the moment his fingers dip into the soaking heat of your pussy, and a shudder flows through your body. A wrecked moan leaves you, your thighs trembling on either side of his hips from the single touch.
"Feel what you do to me?" You ask him, snatching onto his shoulder to prevent yourself from simply jamming yourself down onto his hand with your full weight. It's overwhelming— the warmth of his touch and the pressure of his naked skin on you, even if it's just a hand, a finger.
"Y—You feel—" Dunk sucks in air through his teeth, his eyes flicking frantically from your face to where his hand dips further between your legs, his fingers gliding through your wetness. The touch is intimate, exploratory. "Seven hells, you feel unreal."
"Oh, I'm very real." You cover his hand with your own— or, you try. You have to spread your fingers wide to even approximate the width and placement of his own. "Want me to show you how?"
He gives you the briefest little nod, like if he moves too far in any way you might disappear. You wrap your thumb and pinkie around the edges of his hand, lining up your two fingers with his own.
"It's not unlike shining a blade," you tell him softly, beginning to move his fingers with yours, rocking your hips as you do. "You keep— keep this amount of pressure. And you just move back… and forth… just like that."
Dunk's eyes widen at the sound of your moan, his entire body feeling as though it's filled with fire. The Targaryens might believe themselves to be dragons, but Dunk is sure that in this moment, he must be turning into one. Everything feels too hot beneath his collar, as though his skin might melt away and flay him bare. "How— How does it feel?"
You shiver, a smile curling at your lips. He's still so eager to please, even now. "Feels good. But it can feel better."
"Show me."
You swallow past the thickness in your throat, lifting his hand just the tiniest bit. "There's a spot on every woman— it's a… a sweet spot. You focus on it, and she'll sing to the heavens."
"Will you sing, my lady?" Dunk's deep voice is so much lower than you've heard it yet. He watches everything you do so closely, his free hand pressing into your lower spine to keep you steady, holding you fast against the hand that you guide between your legs.
"I will if you make me. If you focus… here." And you guide the calloused pads of his fingers over your clit.
Hot pleasure sweeps through you at the touch, making you gasp aloud. He keeps up the pressure and the movement that you've shown him, feels the swollen hardness of your clit and stays there. His pupils are so wide they nearly cover the beautiful azure of his irises, becoming two black mirrors to reflect the fire.
"Is that it?" Dunk's eyes are locked on yours, and you whine, hips twitching toward his touch. Something passes over his face— be it possession or resolution, you can't be sure. But his jaw sets and he adjusts the pressure of his fingers as he dips his fingers down to collect some of your wetness, and brings it back up to your clit. When you keen loudly, he hums, "Mm. There."
You nod, your hand slipping against his. It seems like you don't need to guide him anymore, but you keep it there anyway, just to feel the way that his knuckles tense and release, to feel the warmth against your own palm.
"Gods above, Dunk," you gasp, nearly launching forward into his chest when he traces a circle around your clit. You close your eyes, swallowing a sob. "You don't— don't need my help."
"I want it," he urges, his mouth watering at the sounds of the breathy moans that fall from your lips. His fingers never stop moving, even when he adds, "Want to hear you sing for me, m'lady."
You whimper and push on his hand, moving him downwards. Dunk follows your directions, letting you guide him, until his fingertips catch on your entrance. Without any further instruction, Dunk prods inside. The stretch to accommodate him is immense, even just with his two fingers.
Dunk is in agony. His cock is straining in his trousers, throbbing unbelievably hard at the smell of you, the feel of you, every gasp and moan that falls from your lips. Still, he grits his teeth, and he ignores it. His voice a quiet rasp held tight in his throat, he asks, "And now?"
You blink your eyes open, feeling yourself beginning to unravel at the seams. "Dunk…" You take a deep, sobering inhale, while he gazes at you like you hung the stars in the sky. "Shine your blade."
Dunk's lashes flutter, his breath still coming out in little pants between his lips, but he does as you tell him. He crooks his fingers just the way you showed him how, and the entire fucking world shatters.
With a cry of his name, you fling your arms around his neck. It's so abrupt— enough to make him falter and hug you to him with one arm, his big hand cradling the nape of your neck. The other has gone still, while he listens to you gasp and lets you press your forehead against his cheek.
"Have I—" Dunk turns his head a bit, wanting to look at you, but unable to. He murmurs your name, and you shiver in his arms. "Did I hurt yo—?"
"No." You're shaking your head before he can even finish the question, gripping at the ends of his shaggy hair. "No, Dunk, it's so— you— you're just so good."
He huffs a little sigh of relief, and feel him smile as his hold on your shoulder loosens just slightly. "You make it easy."
You shift your hips, and Dunk feels your lips drag against his cheek. He's almost scared to let you go, now, and strokes his thumb over the back of your neck just to soothe you. But then you whisper, "Don't stop," and he doesn't want to deny you.
His fingers slide into your hair, feeling it slip soft through his fingers as he holds you to him. Testing, he moves his fingers again, flexing them within you just to hear you gasp and feel you squirm against him. That same fire blooms in him, creeping up the back of his neck and deep into his chest— the fire that makes him dare to feel like the dragonborn— and he thinks that he may hold you for as long as you like. For as long as he can.
Moaning his name against his skin, you seek out his lips, turning your head just to capture him in an open-mouthed, desperate kiss. Dunk makes a noise of surprise, but keeps up his movements, plunging his fingers in and out and stroking you from the inside, feeling each pulse and flutter of your core like a punch to his gut.
He curves his fingers a particular way that sends a wave of euphoria shooting up your spine, and you moan pathetically loud into his open mouth. Dunk seems shocked by it, pausing for half a second, before doing it again, just to hear you keen.
"You do sing very pretty for me," Dunk murmurs against your lips.
The sound of his voice in that low register— like soft rolling thunder— does things to you that you never even thought possible. It bores a hole through you, melts everything within you. Then he grinds the meat of his palm up against your clit, and all your muscles seize up.
"Seven fuck— Dunk." You feel around for something else to grab onto, but only get his shoulder, his hair, his bicep. Your breath hitches, and then you cum with his name falling from your tongue, your hips bucking into his hand. Dunk marvels at the feeling of you spasming around his fingers, the flood of wetness that drips from you and coats his skin.
You hear him breathe your name. It sounds so sweet coming from him, a reverent prayer spoken in the night. Still trembling, you open your eyes to find that you've shifted— you've somehow lifted yourself with your hands on his shoulders, and his spine has bowed into an arc beneath your hold. You look down at him. Dunk looks up at you, like he's glimpsing the divine in your very face.
"Did you come off just then, my lady?" It's a quiet, almost too innocent question for the way that he's looking at you— like he could throw you to the ground and completely decimate you, if he was a little less controlled, a little less staunch in his respect for you.
"You know very well that I did, Ser." Your chest still heaves with the effort of your breathing.
His eyes flick down to your lips, then back up. "D'you think I could make you do that if I put my mouth on you, too?"
Your mind reels around that. Dunk gazes at you with open hunger, flushed and almost as out of breath as you. The sight makes you dizzy.
"I'm sure that you could," you tell him. You hold the sides of his throat, tracing the line of his jaw with your thumbs. "But I want you too much right now. Must I beg you to take that beast out of your pants? Or will you leave me wanting?"
The thought of leaving you wanting for anything is enough to make Dunk balk. He withdraws his hand from you, and with it comes a dreadful absence, an ache where pressure should be. Instinctively, you want him back, carressing you and filling you as he had been, but he moves to untie his trousers.
"If I were a more noble man, I would lay you down in furs, as you deserve," Dunk confides in you, a touch of insecurity lacing his tone. "But I am only a hedge knight— all I can offer you is the tall grass."
"Then I'll be glad to have you in the tall grass," you say, feeling his pulse jump beneath your fingertips. "I don't want furs, I want you."
Impatient now, you reach down to untie his trousers yourself, and—
Well.
"Seven fucking hells, Dunk."
Gods above, he's going to die. He's going to die, you're going to kill him and it won't even be in combat. "What?"
You stare down at his cock, and feel the barest inklings of fear creeping in. You'd known just from the size of him and the barest touch through his clothes that he'd be big, but this… It's glorious. Thick and long, with a flushed red tip dripping with precum. He looks painfully hard, and the weight of it nearly drags it downwards.
"Nothing in the entire world needs to be this big."
The tips of his ears redden. "Well, I—I'm quite large—"
"Yes, I know that. I know that very well, indeed. You're magnificent." You chew on your lip, feasting your eyes upon it for a moment. With the lightest touch, you trace one finger up the vein that runs along the underside of his shaft. Dunk gasps and twitches against you. "Mm. I can take it."
There is a concerning amount of resolution in your tone, as you shift your hips and hover over him. He snatches at your waist, practically holding you aloft without even trying. His eyes wide, he blurts, "M'lady, don't hurt yourself—"
"Shh. I do what I want. Right now, that's you." You lift your hips, lining him up where you want him. "Don't fuss."
"M'not fu—UCK!" Dunk growls the curse with his eyes closed tight. The head of his cock is engulfed in the sweet, excruciating heat of your pussy. He bares his teeth as he grits out, "Oh, fuuuck me."
"Mhm." You gasp, pausing and trying to acclimate to the stretch. Fuck, he's enormous. You rock your hips and try to shift your weight, adjusting to take more of him, despite the pain of the stretch.
Dunk squeezes at your waist, fingers digging into the curve of your back. You lift up and sink down again, slipping down further, and he's sure he's done for. He's sure that you could cut out his heart with a dinner knife, and he might thank you for it. He hangs his head, resting his forehead against yours. "You feel like heaven. I kn— I knew you would."
He groans softly as you seat yourself finally with one achingly slow push of your hips. It nearly knocks the breath out of your lungs, feeling him hit the end of you. He grinds up into you, not wanting to be rough, but gods. Each move, each small breath that falls from your lips against his feels like a dream.
"Told you I could take it," you whisper brokenly. You sound just about wrecked, your fingers tangling in his hair as you rock against him. It burns in the best way, stretching you so wonderfully, filling you to the brim. A pleasant tingling slinks up your spine. "You fit me perfectly, my knight."
The fire crackles. Somewhere across the creek, crickets sing in the brush. Perhaps back in the camp, lovers roll as one in the solitude and warmth of tents, but here in the glade you seat yourself upon the hedge knight, guiding him with one hand to squeeze at your breast, and you would not trade the night air for any tent or pillowed furs in the world. Be it rough, be it dirty and perhaps a bit animalistic, it is only as you want it to be.
Dunk's nostrils flare as he uses one arm to haul you up, lifting you like it's nothing, and he lays you down in the grass. Your head hits the wide palm of his hand, protecting you from knocking your head against the ground. And he slides back into you with one fluid motion, filling you again and making your toes curl. He groans obscenely loud, his eyes fluttering shut as he braces one enormous forearm against the ground beside your head.
You arch against him, his name caught in your throat as you clutch at his shoulders and neck. He looms over you, hulking and godly, and desire bubbles up like a torrent in your throat. Your eyebrows tilt upwards in earnest.
He makes you feel so small. Cages you in the shelter of his arms, keeps his weight from crushing you— but presses his warm chest to yours, so that your sensitive nipples scrape against the rough linen of his tunic. Your hands cup his shoulders, nails scratching at the fabric keeping you from feeling his skin.
"Dunk, please—" you hiccup, squeezing at the muscles beneath his shirt.
"What is it, sweet girl?" There is an edge to his voice hinting at desperation. Dunk thinks that he would give you anything you want. Money, fame, a life of beauty and devotion. There's no coming back. He would do anything that you ask, if only to stay in this feeling forever. Breathing in your air, feeling you quiver and tremble as you grind your hips against his.
You tighten your fists in the fabric of his shirt, bunching it up to tug at it. "Off."
Dunk plants his hips flush against yours, so deep that you can feel him in your throat. He dips his head and lets you pull at the fabric of his shirt, until it slips down his arms and his overheated skin meets the cool night air. Your hands glide along his strong biceps, smooth over the curves of his shoulders and down his chest.
"Kiss me," you breathe. "Dunk, kiss me—"
You gasp when he snatches you by the waist and lifts you, rocking back on his knees to seat you in his lap. Crushed up against his broad chest, you wrap your arms around his neck and push yourself down onto his cock, as far as he can go, moaning as he hits heaven up inside you. The coarse hair at the base of his cock grinds sharply against your clit, sending sparks of hot pleasure coursing through your veins.
Mouth open, he breathes in small, quick pants as he smoothes your hair away from your face, his large hand cradling your cheek. It's a tender touch, even while you feel like he could tear you to shreds from the inside out. You push your face into his palm, turning to pepper the breadth of his hand with kisses.
"Kiss me, please," you beg him again, and Dunk pulls you towards him, meeting you with a hot, open mouthed kiss. It sears you, makes you whimper onto his tongue.
"My lady," Dunk groans, tilting his head just slightly where it rests against yours. "I will not last."
"Then don't," you tell him. "And I'll love you a dozen more times before the night is out."
And then, so fast it's as though he's following your orders to the letter, he cums. Moaning as he jerks his hips up into yours, he shoves himself deep and cums so long and hard that he swears he sees stars behind his darkened eyelids. A ragged gasp tears from his throat while his hips twich and buck up into yours, muscles flexing and nearly throwing him off-balance.
Dunk blinks open his eyes, gazing at you with his brow furrowed in consternation. "But you— you didn't—"
You shush him, taking his hand to guide it between your legs. "Remember what I told you?"
Dunk hums, flicking his gaze downwards. His throat jumps when his fingers brush through your wet curls. "Yes, m'lady."
His breath catches in his throat when he touches your clit, and he feels you clench down on him. Oversensitive as he is, he doesn't think to pull out or refuse you— he stays there, deep in the heat of you, while he strokes you the way you showed him before.
With a feeble noise, you cant your hips further toward his hand. A pleased hum tears from your lips. "You learn fast, my knight."
Dunk blushes. It's the first time anyone has told him that. "I want to please you."
"You do," you whisper, holding his face in the cradle of your small hands. "You please me so well, Dunk."
The evidence of your words burns in your core, wound up more and more by the movement of his fingers over your clit. You rock against him and hear his slight hiss of breath, and you know that it won't be long. Your thighs twitch and your fingers dance through his hair while your breath mingles with his, washing over your skin.
Then your muscles clamp down tight as your orgasm washes over you, and Dunk nearly chokes at the feeling. "Oh, fuck," he grits out, feeling you pulse on his cock, clenching around him so hard that his eyes nearly roll back in his head. "Ah, gods above—"
It burns through you like fire, enveloping you in its grasp. You collapse against Dunk's warm chest, resting your head on his shoulder. As you tremble through the aftershocks, you giggle weakly, biting your lip when the feeling has him moaning again. You hum, sighing as you come down. "Beautiful thing, is it not?"
"Yes, you are," he chuckles, breathless. He meets your eye with a pleading, starry look. He traces his fingers down your spine, reveling in the warmth and softness of your body. "I would— I think I would like to, again…"
"Let me give you some respite, first." You lift off of him, hissing as he leaves you achingly empty. He squeezes at your hips, his fingers pressing into your lower back as he keeps you steady. You press a kiss to his lips, tasting the salt of his sweat on his skin. "Have some ale, my love. We'll go again when you're ready."
Dunk clears his throat, nodding. "Yes, my lady."
"And Dunk… take off your pants, this time?"
"…Yes, my lady."
In the morning, you rouse from beneath the shelter of Dunk's cloak, and find a pile of clothes set out on the wall that separates the glade from the meadow. You stare at it for a moment, recognizing the jewel toned embroidery on the dress, the tanned leather of the shoes. Beside you, Dunk shifts, pulling you closer by the hip. He'd put his clothes back on in the night, right before he swaddled you again in his cloak, preferring not to insense his squire whenever the boy came round.
"Dunk," you murmur, nudging him in the shoulder.
"Mmph."
"I thought you said you didn't know what happened to my clothes."
"I know not, m'lady," he slurs tiredly.
"Right." You click your tongue. "But it appears that your squire did."
Dunk's eyes fly open, giving you a wide, bright blue stare. You tilt your head at him, a smirk stretching across your face as you nod towards your missing clothes, perched on the wall. He looks at the pile of clothes for a moment, blinking sleep out of his eyes. And then, he screws up his face as something Egg said comes back to him.
"Seven fucks." Dunk scrambles up, remembering Egg's insistent and earnest face when he'd been silenced.
