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absurdthirst · 2 months

Text

Ordinatio {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 15.4k

Warnings: Political intrigue, force/arranged marriage, mentions of infertility, vaginal fingering, rough sex, unprotected sex, breast play, nipple biting, riding, talks of family planning, pull out game, attempted theft, brutal attack, Marcus going feral, mentions of pregnancy, betrayal, gladiatorial violence

Comments: Forced to marry general Marcus Acacius, you are ordered by your emperors to spy on him in order to make sure that he is not indulging in traitorous acts. Quickly falling for the war roughened solider, you must risk the wrath of the Emperors in order to possibly have a future with him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Swallowing harshly, you wait for the carriage to stop in front of the palace that towers over the city below on Palatine Hill. The shuffle of the Praetorian guards always makes you nervous, they answer only to the emperor and would kill anyone they deem a threat. It’s nerve wracking to be summoned so late at night that the torches that normally light the streets were burned out and the silence makes echoes through the darkness. Your cloak covers your hair, hastily fashioned when your household was disturbed merely an hour ago. Just the order that you were to appear before Geta and Caracalla as soon as you dress. The carriage had been waiting outside and your servant was pushed away when she tried to join you. Leaving you alone with the guards to travel just outside the city. Everything looks ominous at night, maybe it’s because your late husband so often spoke of the rot beneath the surface, but you still shiver. Jumping slightly when the door opens and you are helped out and directed to follow the flowing cape of the guard into the large palace.

You are escorted through the halls until you enter a room to the side of the court, the fires burning and casting shadows on the marbled walls. You stand there, two guards on either side of the door, and you are there for several moments until the Emperors both stride in and you bow your head, heart thumping as you await the reason why you’ve been brought here in the middle of the night.

You shiver when you see the two most powerful men in all of Rome. Uneasy by their almost manic expressions as Geta practically giggles. “This will be perfect, Caracalla.” He coos, stepping unreasonably close to you and gripping your chin so he can examine your face. “What do you think?”

“She will be perfect.” Caracalla giggles, eyes manic and they inspect you, dragging up and down your body. “He will not be able to resist her once she is in his possession.” You frown, not liking where this could be going. “You are to marry General Marcus Acacius.” Geta declares and claps, you resist the urge to pull your chin from the Emperor’s grip. You open your mouth before you think better of it, allowing the Emperor to continue, “you’ll marry him and report back to us any conversations or exchanges he has with anyone in the Senate or the army.” Geta orders and you cannot withhold your tongue, “marry the General to spy on him?” You ask and Caracalla giggles, “yes.” Geta sighs, “your late husband was a good man. Misguided in his views to an extent but we know he would’ve married a good woman. You are still young, it is sad to see you widowed.” You don’t buy their false concern for your being. “And the General?” You question softly and Geta continues, “we fear the General has become too…influential in court and in the Senate. We wish to discover if he has plans to establish a coup. We wish to avoid killing our General if we can. Perhaps you could…influence him to withhold any plans of attack.” Geta hums and Caracalla smirks, “with your cunt.” Your chin is finally released and you offer them a stiff smile, “the General is not a stupid man, he would recognize the ruse.” You say, knowing you’ll be killed if you refuse. No one denies the Emperor of Rome.

“He will not if we order the marriage. He still mourns his wife and child. Perhaps giving him something outside of war will mellow him from any unwanted…advances to the palace.” Caracalla raises his eyebrows, “do you not think you are up to the task?” He dares you and you swallow, “I- I will not disappoint you.” You promise, praying the idea fades with the sunrise and you can continue living in your villa without need for a husband. “Excellent. We shall inform the General of your wish to marry once the sun has risen. You may go.” Geta dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Yes, Emperor.” You bow your head and back towards the door until they say your name, “fail us and you will be fed to the lions.” Geta warns and Caracalla’s shrieks of delight echo off the marbled walls. You nod, bowing your head again and you rush out the room once the guards open the doors. You have to make a plan to survive, to escape from under the thumb of the Emperor.

Marcus sighs as he adjusts the cuff around his wrist. It’s elaborate and unnecessary. Just like the laurel wreath he wears in his hair. The trappings of Rome had once held appeal when he was younger, brasher. When his wife was here to greet him with a lusty kiss and promises of pleasures far beyond what he had imagined while laying in his cold tent outside the battlefields. Those dreams had long since been buried with her and the child she had suffered to bring into the world only to be lifeless when he slipped from her womb. Leaving him alone to focus on war and follow orders. Orders that he is increasingly uneasy with, the regrets of battle following him and the weariness of the continuous fight weighing on him. Roman conquests need to be countered with prudence, allowing the people to flourish in other parts of the realm instead of just the grandiose of the capital. He taps his hand on his knee as he waits, looking out over the olive trees in the gardens below and he wonders what war the emperors have decided to wage now, the senate unwilling or unable to keep them in check.

“Ah General Acacius, thank you for joining us.” Geta crows as he swaggers into the room, Caracalla’s eyes manic and a grin on his face as he approaches Marcus. “Emperors.” He bows his head after he stands up, the laurel flashing in the sunlight coming through the linens covering the balcony. “So glad you could come on such short notice. We have some wonderful news to share.” Caracalla smirks and Geta continues by saying your name. “She is the widow of Senator Gracchus?” Marcus tilts his head, recognizing your name and he knows you from events thrown in the palace. “Yes. She is young, widowed at such a young age with no father to oversee her. She must marry again. And she will marry you.” Geta declares like it’s an honor.

Marcus pauses, his jaw tightening slightly and he clasps his hands together in front of his robes. “That is…..a great honor.” He says stiffly, immediately opposed to the idea, but he has to tread carefully with the emperors. They are impetuous at the best of times and have never learned how to accept rejection. Why would they have to when the world bows to their whims? “I fear that I would be unable to provide for a wife of such a status.” He adds, making it actually sound as if he has regret. “I spend so much time away from Rome, fighting for my emperors.” He sighs. “I fear that the young widow would not be happy with a husband such as I. Perhaps one closer to the senate might be more suitable?”

“She does not wish to have another senator husband. She wants protector. Someone who can provide for her in ways other than coin. She expressly wishes for a gladiator and you are our most prized fighter. You are worthy of a high bred woman like her. Consider this a reward for your loyalty to Rome.” Geta insists, not letting Marcus push off the marriage. You must marry him. “A union like this will bring our fighters good spirit so they win our battles. Knowing they too could possess such a woman would motivate them to fight harder. The people want to see their General happy and we-” Geta gestures between him and Caracalla, “wish to award our greatest fighter with a grand prize. She is self sufficient, running her late husband’s household which we will assign to his brother as he had no direct heir. She will ensure your home is cared for and warm your cock at night.”

There is no way that he can reject the woman without offending the emperors. It seems as if he has no choice right now but to accept this. “You honor me.” He bows slowly, seething inside. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t want to know you. He has no need for a wife and can have all the companionship he desires if he just wants his cock warmed.

A horse neighs as a soldier brings news from the palace and you scramble when your servant brings you the scroll. You quickly unroll it, praying to the gods that you have been released from your duty and your shoulders drop when you read that you are to marry Acacius in two days time. Your villa will be transferred to the hands of your brother in law, Albus, as you are to move into the General’s villa. You fall into your chair as you reread the scroll. It’s over. You must marry and you are to be under the control of the Emperors. You could run, try to escape into the countryside but you know they would find you. No one escapes Rome. No matter how far you go, you will be found. You swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes, and you look up when Antonia enters, “is everything okay, matronae?” She asks and you nod, sniffing to control your emotions. “I wish for you to pack my things, I am to be wed to General Marcus Acacius. I will need to relocate to his residence after we are wed in two days' time.” You declare and her eyes widen, knowing of no existing relationship between you and the General. “Ye-yes, matronae.” She nods and rushes off, leaving you to wallow in your unfortunate luck.

“I will not do it!” The crockery shatters against the marble walls of the villa. The servant who had just brought the meal scurrying out of the room in order to avoid Marcus’s wrath. His chest heaves as he looks at the ruined meal, food scattered and his situation still just as hopeless as it had been moments before. “Fuck.” He hisses, dropping back onto the chair and reaching for the cup of wine that he hopes will drown his sorrow. He will be married in two days’ time. Another wife to bear his name and his children. He scoffs to himself and puts the wine to his lips. You had not born Gracchus any children so perhaps you are barren. It would be the gods favoring him if you were. He has no desire to have children, to leave a legacy behind. The pride he had for Rome had slowly eroded away over the years and campaigns, leaving him with a hollowness he can never tell anyone about. “Fuck.” He slams the cup down and rubs his hand over his face. The villa will be ready when you arrive, the servants already informed, he just needs to accept it himself.

You bid goodbye to the servants that you’ve overseen since you arrived at your late husband’s villa. They look sad to see you go and you take that as a compliment. You sigh and only Antonia follows you as you are helped into the quadriga as you depart for the palace. Your hair styled by your servant and the red veil placed over your head as you ride to your fate. The General will be waiting for his bride and you pray you don’t disappoint him. You’ve seen glimpses of him but you’ve never been able to properly look upon the man. “All will be well.” Antonia promises as she reaches for your hand to squeeze it. “I hope so.” You whisper, knowing this will be a life or death situation for you. When you arrive at the palace, you are helped out of the carriage and escorted up the stairs to the doors to the grand hall. You glance around, “am I not allowed to see my intended before we wed?” You ask the guard who doesn’t say a word. You swallow harshly and Antonia rubs your arm before she checks your long tunic, ensuring you are a beautiful bride. “Thank you, Antonia.” You murmur and she offers you a sweet smile, “I will be with you with every step, matronae.” She promises and you squeeze her hand and take a deep breath just as the doors open to reveal a grand hall full of the members of the court and Senate. The Emperors standing on the balcony with what seems like the entire Roman Empire watching below as General Marcus Acacius stands there dressed in white with a golden laurel atop his head.

Of course Geta and Caracalla have turned this into an ostentatious event. He would have preferred something intimate, or nothing at all. However, the emperors had other plans and invited the entire senate to witness the marriage. Marcus doesn’t flinch, standing tall and watching as you walk towards him. The red veil covers your face and he can make out your features as you move closer. You are a beautiful woman, but he’s never paid much attention to another man’s wife. Now you will become his wife.

You inhale deeply as you take a step up to the balcony and the General holds his hand out to help you. You thank him softly and the Emperors grin. Marriage is usually informal, decided upon between families and within the home but the Emperors planned for a spectacle. “We welcome you here to witness the marriage of a great Roman General, Marcus Acacius. He is to wed the widow of Senator Gracchus.” Geta announces and Marcus releases your hand. The marriage scroll is laid out on the table and you have no dowry. Lacking a father along with your late husband accepting your dowry, you have nothing to give but yourself. A fact that the general doesn’t seem to care about. The crowd cheers and the court claps, making you feel more like you’re about to become Empress than the general’s wife. “Let us witness their union. A gift from Rome to her greatest warrior.” Geta declares and the crowd cheer, making your hands shake slightly. “Now, join hands.” He orders and you nod, joining your shaky hands with Acacius who frowns as he grips your hands in his large ones.

Marcus doesn’t like the idea of you being a gift. Not caring for the implication you are being forced, even if both of you are. The whims of the emperors must be met. Your hand is small in his, soft. You are a woman of nobility, you are not used to rough men. That is what he is, despite the finery of his costume. He remembers a different wedding, a lifetime ago in the small parlor of his late wife’s house. He had been so excited then, and now he is hesitating to say the words that are expected. “Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia.” He murmurs, his voice low and clear.

You swallow harshly, your throat dry as the Emperors look to you expectedly. You look at

Acacius and lick your lips. Caracalla shifts, his eyes narrowing slightly and you manage to choke out “ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia,” to seal yourself in marriage to the general. The Emperors grin and you know there’s no escaping this fate. Your union must be sealed with a kiss so you let go of Marcus’s hands and wait for him to lift your veil.

Marcus stares at you. Almost surprised to find that you are so young. He feels much older compared to your youthful beauty and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a brief kiss while everyone around erupts into cheers. The marriage contract will still need to be signed, but the two of you are married in the eyes of Rome.

The cheers roar in your ears but you blank it out, focused on the rough looking man in front of you who is now your husband. The Emperor snaps his fingers and his servant carries over the papyrus that will be the marriage contract between you and General Acacius. “Please sign to join in matrimony with your intended.” Greta orders you and you swallow, picking up the pen to sign your name on the marriage contract. Your hand shakes and you hesitate, not wanting to marry the man beside you but you have no choice. Caracalla stares at you, a menacing look on his face that has you scribbling your name in fear of the consequences of not marrying the General. You look up to see the grin of glee on the Emperor’s face and you stand up, handing the pen to Marcus.

Sighing softly, Marcus leans over and scribbles his name beside yours. Making the marriage contract legal and binding. You are now his wife in truth. “Excellent!” Geta claps his hands together. “Now we will slaughter a dozen pigs, sacrificing them to the gods for a blessed union!” It’s excessive and disgustingly wasteful, making Marcus curl his lip slightly. The animals would not feed anyone, and people in Rome were buckling under the expense of war.

You want to suggest a cake for Jupiter but you will not argue with the Emperors. You swallow harshly and the Emperors clap, approaching the balcony edge to declare the union. The crowd cheers, “feliciter!” and the Emperors spin around to both cheer, “let us feast.” You look at Marcus whose jaw is clenched and you bite your inner cheek, imagining he is not pleased with you, you are not young enough, pure enough. You have no dowry to provide. Perhaps you’re not pretty enough for him. Lacking in all aspects. You don’t have time to dwell on it when Antonia comes for you to prepare you for the feast. You look at Marcus as you are taken away and he nods, his laurel shining like he’s Mars himself standing there.

He has a wife. A woman that he knows nothing about is now under his care and carrying his name. He receives the congratulations of the Senate, aware that they are all just as confused as he is by the speed and celebration of the events. Especially when neither he nor you look particularly happy. Marcus had noticed how nervous you had seemed and had wondered if it was because of the emperor’s attentions or if you did not care to be under a man’s thumb again. He is aware of the way the two most powerful men are carefully watching him as he shakes hands with the senators, keeping his conversations brief because he knows Geta and Caracalla would rather be feasting than talking. They love to drink and carouse, and he hopes that the wedding feast they have prepared will not turn into the orgies they are becoming known for.

Antonia removes your veil and restyles your hair for the reception. She reaches into the pocket for the bottle of perfume oil, rubbing it into your skin to refresh you and you exhale shakily, realizing you are married once again. “I hope he is not cruel.” You confess to Antonia who shakes her head, “I spoke with one of his house servants, he is strict but does not hit them. I pray to the gods he treats his wife the same.” She whispers, knowing that most nobles would smack her for speaking as she does but you request her candid nature. “Very well, let’s return and feast. I am anxious for wine to calm my nerves.” You confess and Antonia nods, escorting you to the hall where the feast is being laid out for the guests.

Marcus has not yet sat down. Always finding it rude when a man would put his own comfort before that of his wife. While training with him, he had heard stories of Maximus’s devotion to the woman he had loved, the care in which he had treated her when she was alive before Commodus had her brutally murdered. He had treated his first wife the same way and had been rewarded with the loyalty and love that he had cherished when he was away. Eyes turn towards you when you arrive and Marcus is once again struck by your beauty, your slight apprehension as you look around for him and the surprise that he is not already feasting.

Antonia escorts you to the table where your husband sits alongside the Emperors who are gulping down wine like it’s going to evaporate at any moment. Antonia bows her head and rushes off to the servants area, watching you while Marcus pulls your chair out and gestures for you to sit. “Thank you.” You murmur, taking your seat and he sits down beside you, his posture stiff as you look at the food on display. “My Emperors have been most generous in their hosting of our union.” You declare to Marcus so Geta and Caracalla hear you, wanting to ensure they are in good spirits so you can leave the feast earlier than expected.

“Yes.” Marcus finds it to be a lavish expense that is completely unnecessary, but so many of the Emperor’s decisions cost the people of Rome. “The excess is very abundant.” He picks up the cup of wine that is at his plate and offers it up in a toast. “To Rome and her glory.” He offers. “And our Emperors that make it so.”

“To Rome and her glory.” You toast and Caracalla giggles, holding up his golden goblet. “And your Emperors.” He adds with raised eyebrows. “And her Emperors.” You declare with a stiff smile. You know you are playing a dangerous game with the manic leaders. Any moment they could change their mind and have you killed. You doubt you’ll be able to report anything on the general. He seems reserved and only speaks when he feels he has something of substance to add. He doesn’t speak at all while you enjoy the meats, cheeses, and fruits on display in front of you. You gesture for another cup of wine when Caracalla tuts, “you really shouldn’t drink so much. It’s unbecoming of the bride to be drunk when she takes her husband’s cock for the first time.”

Marcus’s brow arches up, wondering why the emperor is so invested in this marriage being consummated. Your fingers pull back from the cup as if you are being rebuked and the servant pulls the carafe of wine away, but Marcus turns around to take it himself, refilling your cup. “There is no celebration without wine.” He reminds them, refilling his own cup as well. “She has been a wife before, she knows what is expected of her.” The truth is, he has no intention of bedding you tonight, he doesn’t know you and he feels as if you don’t want him. This is a marriage that was forced on both of you by the whims of madmen.

Your eyebrows raise slightly at the defiance shown by Marcus. Something that would’ve gotten him killed if he were of a lower rank. Geta stares as Marcus takes a sip of wine and you follow your husband, taking a gulp as the Emperor tilts his head. It’s Caracalla that breaks the tension by throwing his head back and laughing, “this is true. She is no virgin. She has been trained and therefore should satisfy our great general before he has to venture off to claim more land for Rome and her people.” The Emperor grins and raises his goblet towards you. You offer him a stiff smile and glance around the room at the court and senate feasting while the people of Rome suffer for their gluttony. The feast continues with Geta and Caracalla standing up to mingle around the room, wanting to boast about their perfect match. “Shall we return to your villa? I am certain you wish to bed me and get some rest after such an arduous day.” You ask your husband softly.

He nods, figuring that he could speak with you in private without guards or servants around. It is rare to be able to speak freely. “Your possessions arrived earlier today and my servants unpacked them, but I am sure you wish to have things set up to your liking.” He murmurs as he stands up and reaches for your hand. “Do you have many servants coming with you?”

“Just one. Antonia. The others were my late - were Gracchus. They belong to his brother now.” You reveal and he nods as you take his hand. It’s calloused and engulfs yours, making you apprehensive that such a strong man could easily break you. You approach the Emperors and bow your head as your husband announces your departure.

Geta chuckles and nods. “Eager to fill her.” He claps Marcus’s shoulder and motions for the two of you to leave. “I do not blame you for wanting to feel the clutch of her cunt around your cock. The spoils of your latest conquest.” His shrill laughter grates on the general’s ears and he doesn’t do more than simply nod. “We have much to do.” He agrees.

Marcus escorts you through the bustling hall, Antonia and his own men on your trail as he takes you to the carriage that is waiting to bring you to his villa. Marcus helps you up into the carriage and you settle in to watch the city pass by on your silent journey to his villa. “I know that neither of us wanted to be wed but we must do what is required of us so we do not endure the wrath of the emperors. I wish for you to bed me tonight. To consummate the marriage as I do not trust that the Emperors do not have eyes watching our moves. If we fail to indulge them in our union, we will suffer.” You whisper, keeping your face turned away from your husband.

Marcus snorts softly and sighs. “I do not rape on a battlefield and I would not do so in my own bed.” He tells you. “We can send the servants away and say that we have fulfilled our marriage duties.” He knows you are uneasy so he doesn’t touch you. “I will not take a woman by force or coercion.”

You turn to look at him, his face flickered with each lamppost you pass, and you are surprised. Most men would have accepted your offer to have a warm cunt to spill inside without any care to how you feel or what you wish. “Thank you.” You whisper, knowing in that moment that the stories of the brutal warrior that fights for Rome has not returned to her streets. The man beside you is slow in his movements and you realize that he’s trying not to spook you. “I am no stranger to married life and I have heard that you were married too. I am sorry for the loss of your wife and child. I cannot - I cannot imagine-” You reach for his hand, “I lost my husband but I did not love him. My father arranged the marriage to guarantee his connections to the senate and we never were blessed with children. He was older, I was his third wife after his previous wives died from disease and a snake bite. He was unlucky and I do miss his companionship but I never loved him.” You confess, wanting your husband to know your history.

“Then you have my deepest sympathies that your second marriage is also not of your choosing.” Marcus looks down at your smaller hand in his and there is a moment where his heart jolts. You are soft and sweet and deserve much more than him. “My uxor- we loved each other very much. She was everything to me.” He admits. “I had thought to never marry again after burying her and our son.”

You squeeze his hand, “I’m sorry that you’ve been pushed into this but I want you to know that I would never try to take her place. This is an arrangement forced upon us. Your wife will be your true love. I am here to help with your household and provide you with a confidant if that is what you wish for.”

“You are a beautiful and youthful woman.” He murmurs honestly. “You won’t want to find pleasure?” He asks, wanting there to be honestly between both of you if this union is to be successful in the eyes of the Emperors. “What do you want out of this arrangement?”

“I want freedom. I have been running the household for a year and I wish to have my freedom, to not be under the control of my husband’s whims. I will provide for you a stable household and in return, I want to spend my time indulging in painting and needlework. My hobbies.” You confess, “and for pleasure…I have never known such a thing other than from my own hand.” You admit, “you cannot yearn for what you have not experienced.”

Marcus is stunned that you have never known pleasure. He would be lying if he did not immediately think to offer to show you pleasure. He could give it to you, he knows that. Even the whores that he sometimes uses that follows the army find pleasure with him. “I am gone from the city much of the time.” He reminds you. “The household is more yours than mine. The servants will do what you tell them to. Your time is yours to decide how to spend it.”

You nod, letting go of his hand, “thank you. Then we are in agreement. Our union will be one of convenience and to satisfy the whims of the Emperors. I will not sully your name by seeking pleasure from others.” You promise, “and I understand if you find your pleasure while you are away.” You’re a pragmatic woman, you know men need to find their pleasure.

“That will not happen.” Marcus admits. “It would be dishonorable to take another woman to my bed while you are my uxor.” He has a code that he follows. Even if he did not want to be married, he will not tarnish his reputation by seeking pleasure somewhere else. “I have a hand.”

You frown, knowing that most men would take your invitation and find the first whore to bury himself in. "Very well. We shall live our lives...together but separated." You declare just as you arrive at Villa Acacius. Marcus opens the door and holds out his hand, helping you out and you look up at your new home. It's not as grand as the Senator's home but it is beautiful. You enter the courtyard and smile at the servants awaiting your arrival.

Marcus normally allows the servants to run his household, not carrying much about the schedule of things as long as the place is clean. Now you might change things so he leads you over to them. “This is your new matronae, my uxor.” He introduces you. “She will oversee your work and any changes she wishes to make are to be treated as if they came from me.” He orders.

The servants nod, greeting you and some are more enthusiastic than others. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I want to observe during my first days here and then I will discuss what I’d like to change with input from you all on what you consider to be best.” You declare and some are shocked that you are considering their opinions. “My job begins tomorrow. For now, I’d like to retire to our rooms.” You declare and Antonia steps from behind you, “this is Antonia, my handmaid. She will be continuing her duties by my side.” You announce and the staff nod.

Marcus is pleased with the way that the introductions went and he turns around to stride off towards his room. He knows that you will have to sleep there, with him, but he needs a moment to change out of the cumbersome robes he had worn to get married in. Preferring a plainer, softer tunic when he is home.

You watch him go and Antonia is speaking with the women who give her a briefing on your new home. Antonia nods and turns back towards you, “let us get you ready for bed, matronae.” She says and you follow her to the room near where Marcus is changing. The room along from there is the bedchamber and you close your eyes as Antonia takes your hair out of its style to allow you to relax and you’re soon wearing a thin tunic, ready for bed. “I hope he treats you well, matronae.” She murmurs and squeezes your hand before she leaves you. You inhale shakily and enter the room you will be sharing with the general to find him standing there, shoulders broad in the thin tunic and he is looking to the streets below. “All is well?” You ask, letting him know of your presence.

Marcus turns and is struck by your beauty as he sees you in the simple tunics and your hair down. The jewelry is gone and you look like you are much younger than your years. It makes him feel older all of a sudden and he wonders again why the emperors would give you to him. “As well as can be expected.” He answers, watching as you look towards the bed warily as if you expect him to break his promise from earlier and throw you down on it. “I will sleep on the floor.” He assures you, making you drown. “That is not- it’s your bed.” You protest and Marcus snorts. “I have spent many nights sleeping on a rocky ground without a blanket.” He reminds you. “A floor with cushions will be a luxury.” He shrugs. “I wish to put you at ease.” He admits. “I will not take what is not offered, and you have no reason to offer if you find no pleasure in fucking.”

You stare at him and sigh, “I do not wish to cast my husband from his bed. We are well aware of the sexual act and what it takes to copulate. We can be adults and share a bed so you do not wake with an aching back.” You announce as you walk over to the bed. “I am weary. It’s been a long day. Get in bed and sleep, Marcus.” You order, not wanting to argue about this.

He stares at you for a moment and there is a hint of amusement that softens his features. “If you were a man, you would make a good general.” He hums, moving to the bed and throwing back the soft, clean sheets. “Come rest.” He urges once he has sat down.

You nod and sit on the bed, swinging your legs in and you pull the sheets up after Marcus slides under them. “I know I wasn’t what you wanted but I want to make this work.” You murmur and he hums, “we will.” He promises and you sigh, closing your eyes after he blows out the candle. You will need to report to the Emperors with something about him at some point and you already feel like you’re betraying him. “Goodnight.” You whisper and close your eyes as you fall asleep within moments, unable to worry about being in a strange place when you are exhausted.

Marcus lays in the darkness, listening to your breathing as it starts to slow down. The soft rustle of the sheets when you move. Looking over at you as the moon casts a pale glow through the sheer curtains covering the balcony. It’s a curse that you are so beautiful right now, since it has been some time since he has had a woman in his bed. His cock twitches as he imagines touching you, but he doesn’t reach out. Turning away and looking at the stand where his sword is displayed, sighing softly as he wonders how long it will be before the emperors send him off to war again.

You may have fallen asleep right away but you wake in the middle of the night. The moon is high in the sky and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. You inhale sharply when you remember you’re in Marcus’s villa. In your new home. You exhale and lean back onto the bed, looking over at the muscular back of your new husband. He’s handsome, no denying that fact, and he’s strong. Capable. Smart. All qualities to want in a man. You wonder what his desires are. He hasn’t been married for 20 years and you wonder who he fucks. He can’t be celibate. He’s a general. You’re not stupid enough to think he hasn’t slept with whores. You wonder if he pleasured them or simply took what he wanted. You can see his golden skin illuminated by the moon, moles and scars mapping his life before you and you can’t help but reach out to gently trace a path, your touch feather light. He grunts and you withdraw your hand, eyes wide at the idea of being caught. You sigh when he settles back down and you lean back on your side. Staring up at the ceiling, you imagine him giving you pleasure. You’ve read about it plenty of times but your late husband always fucked you to fill you. There was never a day in bed pleasuring each other. He had business to attend to in the senate and he didn’t have time for silly things like making his wife cum.

Marcus had woken up the second you touched him. Feigning sleep as he waited for you to slip from the bed. Only to feel you roll away from him and sigh. He wonders if you are regretting this, if you are doubtful of your future even though you had seemed to trust him enough to fall asleep. You grunt quietly and sigh, like you are thinking about something that is uncomfortable. “What keeps you awake, uxor?” He asks quietly in the dark.

His deep, sleep laden voice makes you squeak and you turn to look at him, his back still facing you. You bite your lip, wondering if you should lie or tell him the truth. You are no longer a young innocent bride. You were a widow, matured by loss. "I was wondering if you pleasured the lovers you've had during your time of being a widow." You declare, cheeks burning but you speak without wavering.

Marcus grunts slightly, the sheets rustling as he turns over to look at you. His dark eyes searching your face for some clue of what you are thinking. “Unless they cry out to gods falsely, I would say yes.” Marcus tells you, not bragging, but speaking honestly. “I do not like false attempts to flatter me and I prefer that a woman leave my bed with a smile on her face.”

You appreciate his candid response and you decide to be bold. You sit up, shifting to look down at him and you drop the sheets from your body. "I have never cried to the gods. My last husband would penetrate me without caring if I was wet enough before he would push into me. He would spill inside me and then go about his day, leaving me with my legs up in hopes of conceiving his child. He never - he never gave me pleasure or made sure I was enjoying myself." Marcus makes a noise of disappointment but you don't let him comment when you quickly add, "I want you to fuck me. Like you would a camp whore. I want you to make me cry your name so every god will hear me on Capitolium."

Pushing up to his elbow, Marcus stares at you seriously. “The camp whores are used to…rougher sex.” He warns you. “After war, after the killing- the urges to fuck are rough. There isn’t the pretty lovemaking that is slow and sweet.” His cock hardened even now thinking of it. “It’s hard and deep. Enough to steal your breath and make your tits shake from the force of my thrusts.” He arches a brow. “Are you sure that is what you want? I am sure your senator husband didn’t fuck you like I would.”

His words combined with his deep voice makes your cunt clench and dampen, and you lean closer to him, "my husband didn't make me see stars. He didn't make me cry. I want you to fuck me like you do those whores. Make me scream for all of Rome to hear. I can handle it. I can take it."

This time, the kiss Marcus gives you isn’t chaste. It’s not a quick pressing of his lips to yours to appease the Emperors. This is wet, carnal. Lunging forward and capturing your lips with his and sliding his tongue into your mouth as he rolls you onto your back. Completely and instantaneously taking over as his fingers reach for the hem of your tunic.

You gasp into his mouth, tongue meeting his and you whine when he breaks the kiss to drag your tunic up your body, tossing it down on the marbled floor. You shiver as the cool night air hits your skin and he shifts to kneel, his dark eyes looking down at you. You look up at him and reach for the hem of his tunic, already tenting with his arousal. "I want to see my husband."

He has no problem being naked, revealing himself for you. He pulls his tunic up and his cock catches, starting to bob as he pulls it up over his head and tosses it aside. “Spread your legs for me, bella.” He growls, his voice raspy and full of command. “Let me see my wife’s cunt.”

You are already wet just from the strength he displays and you whimper, spreading your legs for him and your slick is shiny in the moonlight as you put yourself on show for your new general husband.

Marcus groans, his large hands squeezing your thighs and then moving down to your hips, holding them as his thumbs spread apart the lips of your sex and his cock twitches. Sliding his fingers through your folds until he is circling your entrance with two fingers until they are wet with your desire and he pushes them inside your slick walls. “Perfect.”

You moan when his thick digits push into you, stretching you out. Your hands itch to touch him so you reach down to wrap your fingers around his cock. “Not yet.” He growls, batting your hand away and you whine, both in frustration and pleasure as he starts to move his fingers. Slowly pumping them until he’s twisting his wrist so he can press his thumb against your clit. “Gods.” You gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets.

Leaning down, he bites at your nipple before running the flat of his tongue against it when you gasp. It makes him smile, the shocked sound you give. “You should see men suckling the tits of whores as they bounce on their cocks.” He groans against your skin. “They all love it, the men, the whores.” He continues to pump his fingers deeper into your cunt and loves how your walls start clenching down around them.

His words are scandalous but you gush at the thought of watching a scene like that. Something so sordid. “Marcus. I- do it again.” You beg and he obliges, leaning down to suck on your nipple before biting down. “Oh gods.” You whimper, your hips tilting as he works you higher and you feel that familiar feeling in your stomach. Something you’ve only ever done for yourself.

“That’s it.” He encourages you, his cock throbbing as he presses his thumb against your clit and pumps his fingers deep, curling them up inside you like one of the whores of his youth had shown him. He had been grateful to her ever since when he had been able to consistently please the women he was fucking, including his wife when he had married. “Why don’t you cry out for me, uxor?”

Marcus’s words send you over the edge. His claim of you both verbally and physically has you clamping down on his thick digits. “Oh fuck.” You curse, soaking his fingers when you cum harder than you ever have in your life.

He isn’t the type of man to just stop as soon as you start to cum. Continuing to work his fingers into you as he watches you come apart. Groaning quietly as your slick coats his fingers and slides down his wrists. You are wet enough now.

He takes your breath as he works you through it. “Marcus. Please.” You beg, wanting to feel him inside you, “I need you inside me.” You reach out to wrap your fingers around his cock, pumping him like Gracchus taught you.

Marcus hisses, batting your hand away and for a moment you freeze, afraid you had done something wrong. “It had been too long.” He growls, grabbing your hips and flipping you over to your stomach to pull your ass up in the air. “I need to be inside you before I spill.”

The position is new and you gasp in surprise, looking over your shoulder at your new husband who has his cock in his hand, pumping himself as he smacks your ass with his free palm. “Fuck me.” You demand, arching your back to display yourself for him.

“You would make such a good camp whore.” Marcus growls, shuffling forward to line up. It’s not exactly a compliment to most high born women, but he doesn’t think you will take offense. His hand is on your hip as he presses the head of his cock at your wet entrance to push inside you in one, hard thrust.

He stretches you like you’ve never known but it doesn’t hurt. You moan in pleasure as he twitches inside your pussy, making you whimper his name. “Marcus.” You pant, “move.” You demand and he chuckles, “so desperate.” He pulls his hips back, leaving only the tip of him remaining before he pushes deep into you in one quick thrust. “Fuck!” You yelp, loving how he feels.

He chuckles and grips your hips harshly in his hand as he rocks into you. Watching as your body arches back as he pulls his hips back, withdrawing again. He had told you he wouldn’t be gentle with you and he is keeping his word. “Now you will cry my name.” He vows, pushing forward again to fill you up and rock your body into the bed beneath you.

He takes your breath away, feeling like he’s in your stomach and you cry out on every rock of his hips, falling forward onto your cheek as you grip the sheets that are crumbled beneath you. “Fuck, Marcus.” You cry, feeling your body jiggle with each thrust.

He had almost vowed that he would not touch you but he could not resist your request. Your body is so willing, so yielding to him, making him groan as he plows into you over and over again. Listening to your moans as he fucks you.

His hands squeeze your flesh and you are lost in the sensations. No one has made you feel like this before. “Gods, you’re - you’re so thick. Stretching me out, husband.” You whine, rocking back onto him.

He growls in pleasure, snapping his hips forward again and again. He won’t last long, he knows that. It’s been too goddamn long since he has fucked anyone. Leaning over your back, he slides a hand between your thighs and starts to rub the little pleasure button above your grasping entrance. “You are such a needy whore.” He coos in your ear.

His words make you squeal when combined with his fingers on your clit and it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart. You cry out his name loud enough that the servants will hear and your thighs shake as you clamp down on his cock.

“Shit, shit.” Marcus hisses in pleasure at how you soak his cock, rocking his hips through your pulsing orgasm. His body starting to tighten as he works himself closer. Pulling his hand away from your clit and grabbing your hips. Slamming his own against your ass for another few thrusts before he is ripping free of your cunt and taking his cock in his hand. Pumping furiously as he starts painting your ass with hot ropes of his seed.

You huff in disappointment when he spills hot cum on your ass. You wanted him to fill you up, to experience it. Not to become with child but to feel him. You look over your shoulder as he relaxes from his orgasm and he’s so beautiful. Jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, he looks like a god.

Marcus squeezes your hip with the hand that is still holding you and sighs. “Fuck.” He pants, feeling completely blissed out. Slapping your ass once before he is shuffling off the bed to reach for his tunic to clean your ass off. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You rest your cheek against the sheets as you let your body lay flat while he cleans you up. “I did. Why didn’t you- did you not wish to spill your seed inside me?” You ask curiously, looking over at him as he walks naked across the room, the moonlight highlighting his form.

Marcus picks up the pitcher of wine and pours a cup. Turning to you with a slight tilt of his head as he starts to pad across the floor back to the bed. “We have not talked about children.” He reminds you. “I did not want to fill you if you did not want to risk carrying my child.” He never spilled inside the women he fucked, always pulling out. When he started to cum, he had just acted on instinct. He takes a sip of the wine and offers you the cup.

You take the cup from his hand, thanking him soft and you watch him as he sits down beside you. He’s so broad. You imagine him protecting you, defending you. You shift closer to rest your head on his shoulder, feeling closer now you’ve consummated your marriage. “I do not mind children. I am not sure I can have them. Gracchus…he spilled inside me every time and it never took. Would I disappoint you if I do not provide you with a child?” You ask softly, pulling away from him so you can look at him.

“I …..never imagined having another child.” Marcus tells you honestly. He looks over at the sword on the display and then back to you. “If you never give me a child, I would not think it was because of you, but because the gods did not wish it so.” He rationalizes. “One day, I will leave and never return home, fallen in battle.” He accepted his fate a long time ago, made peace with it. “If you have no wish to risk carrying, I will spill my seed on the sheets.”

You barely know the man but to know he could die in battle makes your heart clench. “I’d like you to spill inside me if you wish to have me again. I enjoyed the pleasure. I want to feel you and if it takes, then we will be blessed and you can fight knowing your legacy will live on.”

Marcus chuckles. “You are a beautiful woman, one the gods would be envious of.” He tells you. “I am just a man. I would have you every night and at least once during the day if you were willing.”

You fluster, biting your lower lip as he compliments you. Your late husband never did so. “I will not complain if that is what my husband wishes of me.” You declare and he reaches out to grip your chin, “it is not about whether I wish it of you, it’s if you wish to have me.” He says and you look into those dark eyes, “I want you if you want me.” You promise and he slides his hand down to your neck, inhaling deeply. He never expected to fall into bed with the woman that was gifted to him but he finds himself eager to bury himself inside you again and fill you up. “Let us rest, corculum.” You say as you stand up to set your wine cup down on the table and you make your way back to the bed, sliding under the covers still nude.

Marcus hums in agreement and slides back into bed beside you. Pulling his arm back to allow you to curl against him if you wish. “I don’t mind.” He tells you when you hesitate. “We will rest and know that no one can claim we have not consummated our vow.”

You curl into his side, listening to his breathing even out and you focus on his heartbeat. You’re here to spy on him, to ensure he’s not hurting the empire with a coup but you aren’t sure if you can betray him like that. He’s already gotten under your skin. Eventually, you close your eyes and decide to see how things go. Perhaps it’s only rumors and there will be no evidence of Marcus Acacius’s unrest with Rome and her emperors.

****

Marcus groans, toes curling as he thrusts up into you. Watching as your breasts shake, mouth dropping open in a low moan of his name. It’s been nearly a month and he is still in Rome. The Emperors claim they want their general well rested for the next campaign and to give him time to spend with his new bride. He has enjoyed that. Since that first night, you have become insatiable and Marcus has fucked you in every position, on every surface of the villa. Spending more time with you than anyone else although you do disappear with your servant at times, claiming you prefer the peace of the women’s baths in the city center. He doesn’t begrudge you that, although he misses the time when you aren’t with him. He slaps your thigh, smirking when you clench down around him. Riding his cock is probably your favorite way to have sex and he doesn’t mind, your beauty entrancing him as you gallop towards the Elysian Fields of pleasure. “Cum for me, amica.” He moves to rub your clit like you enjoy, having learned your body well over the past weeks and his other hand drags your body down so he can suckle at your tits.

“Marcus.” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair as he bites down on your nipple and the change in angle has you falling apart for him. His fingers rubbing your bundle of nerves has you shaking and you have never known such ecstasy. You rock back onto his cock, trying to work yourself through your orgasm and spur his but it’s so much. Your thighs shake as you collapse on top of him, smothering him as you moan his name. He moves fast, rolling you over so you’re beneath him, his jaw clenched as he looms above you, his hand gripping your thigh to push it towards your stomach so he can work himself deeper inside your pulsing cunt. “It’s it, fuck. You are so deep. Keep going. Want you to fill me with your seed.” You order, watching him as he grunts. The last month you’ve been indulging in your new husband but as you look up at him, the guilt looms. Your trips to the baths have not been truthful. You’ve been to the palace to inform the emperors about Marcus’s interactions, his meetings while he is in Rome. You hate betraying him, wish you could go to the palace and tell them you’re done, but you know the emperors would have you killed for insolence and treason if you dared to deny them. So far, Marcus has met with a few senators at his home, discussing the mounting cost of the endless war, the endless conquests that have sent the Roman people into poverty. That idea alone is treason to the empire, to question the decisions of the emperors, but they haven’t dragged Marcus from his home. They are waiting for something and you don’t know what that is. Marcus reaches for your hand, lifting it above your head to bring you back from your thoughts and you moan, squeezing him inside your pussy. “Want you to cum for me, Maritus.” You order, sliding your free hand up his chest.

He groans, his thrusts stutter and he starts to give himself over to your command. Life with you has been so rewarding, so free. He has done nothing more than drink wine and have sex with you. Feeling more relaxed than he ever believed possible. The emperors had truly blessed him when they had forced the marriage and he can only hope that he had treated you well enough that you look on your union favorably. Every day he has spent with you has brought you closer to his once guarded heart and he knows that he would die for you. Having fallen for you sometime between the hours spent in bed and the conversations you have while you indulge in your hobbies. Often you would sit outside under a shaded tree and watch while he trains in the courtyard. Making him proud when you later attack him and beg him to fuck you after he is done and his sparring partners have been dismissed. It makes him think of a simpler life, leaving the army and moving out of the city to work a small farm. Leaving the intrigues of Rome behind.

You slide your hand up to caress his cheek, his grip on your hand tightening as he pulses inside you, painting your walls with his seed. “Marcus.” You whisper, wanting to tell him how you feel. You believed him to be a heartless brute from the stories you’d heard about the general but he’s shown you nothing but kindness. He’s funny, he’s smart, and he is loyal to Rome. Not her Emperors, but the Empire and you admire that. You know he risks his life trying to associate with the senators to try and quell the Emperors’ need for more land, more blood. You don’t want to betray him any longer. Tomorrow, you’ll go to the palace and try to end the task you’ve been given. You can no longer betray the man you love. He turns his head to kiss your palm and you offer him a loving smile, wanting to spend the rest of your life like this.

Marcus pulls out of you gently and rolls to his back, pulling you against him. He has learned that you enjoy the closeness after sex. The lazy conversation that can be shared after you are exhausted. Your last husband cared little about your thoughts and he can only wonder how foolish Gracchus was. You are far more insightful than anyone would believe, brains behind your beauty matching most of the officers under him. “You enjoy your baths, but have you always wanted to live in the city?” He asks, his fingers stroking your spine slowly.

You caress his chest as you throw your leg over his, enjoying the closeness. “Not always. I’ve imagined a little farm in the country. Growing my own fruits and vegetables, maybe even some vines to make wine. Peace and quiet and away from the hustle of the city. When I married Gracchus, I was barely grown, and I imagined having children and watching them run free in the country.” You confess, “what about you? Your position in the city is close to the gods. Only the emperors and senate sit above you. Would you ever give up that power?”

He hums, happy that you are sharing with him. “I am weary of it.” He confesses quietly. “I have never wanted power, fame or adulation. I want to live simply. Quietly.” He had hoped to save for a little farm when he was married to his first wife, but he had given up those dreams when she died. Now that yearning was starting to build inside him again. “Would you be happy to live that way with me? Without children?”

You smile, leaning in to kiss his jaw, “I’d follow you anywhere. With or without children.” You vow, “if you wish to leave Rome, I will be by your side.” You promise and he turns his head to kiss you, his tongue sliding into your mouth and you moan at the way he devours you. “Insatiable.” You tease when you feel his hand trailing up your thigh to your cum slicked folds. “For you, always.” He promises and you giggle as he flips you onto your back, a growl escaping his lips.

****

You are reading a scroll outside under the olive tree, watching Marcus as he trains, and you turn your head when Antonia comes into the garden with a scroll. “Matronae, your presence is required at the baths.” She says your code and you sigh, shifting to stand after you hand her the scroll. Marcus pauses his training to look over at you, “Maritus, I will be heading to the baths.” You declare and he sets his sword down, striding over to you to cup your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. “Be careful.” He demands and you nod, pecking his lips as you step back and Antonia follows you when you enter the villa to prepare to leave.

Marcus sighs and reaches for the cloth to wipe his sweat away. “We are finished for today.” He decides, suddenly restless and uneasy about you leaving the villa. He’s not a man who ignores gut feelings so he decides that he will change and go out. If he happens to be near the baths that you frequent, it will be a coincidence.

You glance around the street as you make your way down the cobbled streets that lead to the baths before you’ll detour to the palace. You look over your shoulder, feeling like someone is following you and Antonia will wait at the baths to keep your cover. She doesn’t know what you’re doing but she keeps your secrets. You turn your head back to the street and moments later, your coin purse is grabbed from your belt and you are shoved to the ground. You hiss, hands grabbing your belt to stop them from robbing you but the man slaps your face, causing you to cry out. You keep hold on the coins and the man hits you again, grabbing your arms and you know he’s bruised you with his grip. He wrestles you as he grabs your belt and yanks, desperate to get the pouch of coins from your body. You scream for help, trying to slap the man and Antonia jumps on him but he swings her off and she hits the ground with a thud, a dazed look on her face.

The moment Marcus hears the scream, he knows his gut is right. The hood over his head is thrown back when he breaks into a sprint down the street. Citizens and slaves alike turn towards the sound, but Marcus ignores them, turning the corner to see a man on top of you, drawing his hand back to hit you. “Arghhhhhhh!” His screaming war cry distracts the man, giving him time to tackle him off of you in a red hazed fury. Enraged that someone would dare attack his wife, Marcus Acacius begins to hit him, over and over again.

You scramble to sit up, your body aching as Marcus hunches over the man, hitting him over and over. The crowd watches in shock and you are frozen as you witness your husband’s ferocity in person. He hits the man over and over until blood is pooling on the cobbled street and you scramble to stand, swaying as you approach slowly. “Marcus. Marcus. Maritus. Please -” You collapse back to the floor, your body aching as you struggle to stand and Antonia crawls to you as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your servant's cry is what breaks through the focused rage. Turning to see you pass out and he immediately abandons his task. Dropping the unconscious man back to the cobblestones to scramble over to you. “Uxor.” His bruised and bloodied hands are gentle as he cradles you, scooping you up into his arms. “Get a hippocrates.” He demands, his eyes filled with rage that you have been hurt. “Have them come at once.” He turns and starts to run back up the streets, carrying you back towards the villa.nmm

Marcus carries you through the streets and your head lolls as you regain consciousness in his arms. "Maritus?" You whisper, head throbbing and he stops walking to look at you in his arms. "You're awake." He murmurs, "we must get you home. A hippocrates will be there soon." He promises and you nod, closing your eyes again as he carries you until you're set down on the bench in the entrance of Marcus's villa.

Soon the servants are scrambling, fetching cool water and clothes when he orders them to. The wine is brought and he urges you to open your eyes and drink some, knowing you must be in pain. “What happened?” He asks, ignoring his own injuries as he starts to lift your dress to check your body.

You gulp down the wine and look at your husband, "he came from nowhere. He - he wanted my coins. From my belt. He was trying - he hit me. Over and over. Threw Antonia. Where's Antonia? Is she okay?" You demand and your servant steps forward looking worse for wear but okay. "I am fine, matronae." She promises and you sigh in relief. "He slapped me and pushed me down. I wouldn't let him take the coin and he was hitting me until you came and Marcus, oh carissima." You gasp, looking at his bloodied knuckles.

You reach for his head but he shakes his head, “I am fine.” He insists, knowing that he has been through much worse. A few busted knuckles is nothing compared to battle. “Where do you hurt, uxor?” He asks softly, wanting to make sure that the hippocrates examines you thoroughly.

"My head and my back. That's where he hit me. He was - I was so shocked. I should've fought harder." You shake your head and Marcus cups your cheeks to examine the tender skin from the hits to your face. Luckily the bastard didn't break the skin. "You were brave. Most would've simply given him the coins." He murmurs and you nod, wincing when his thumb presses against your tender flesh.

“I should have killed him.” Marcus growls. “The guards will hold him, but I will have to go speak to them about your attack.” He won’t leave you until you are being examined, unless you want him to stay. “I should have sent one of my guards with you.” He murmurs guiltily.

Your eyes meet his guilty ones, “do not think that way. I have never been attacked before and I had Antonia. You did nothing wrong. I will wait for the Hippocrates.” You murmur, knowing he wants to go speak with your attacker.

He is stubborn, staying with you until the man he had summoned is ushered into the villa. “She was attacked.” He explains. “I want her examined and treated. Nothing is to be overlooked.” He leans down and presses his lips to yours briefly. “I will leave you to his care and return shortly.”

You nod and watch Marcus leave your rooms as the man asks you what happened. "I was attacked. The man hit me over the head several times and pushed me to the ground." You reveal and the hippocrates asks you to remove your tunic so he can inspect your injuries. "Your husband wishes for nothing to be overlooked." He says and you wince as he pushes on your lower back where you fell. He asks you several questions and you pause when he asks when you last bled. You frown, counting until you realize you have missed your bleed. "It could be the stress of the marriage and moving and-" The hippocrates hums, "perhaps but you must be careful in case you are with child. We shall wait and see if you miss your bleed again." You nod, knowing you must take care and you slide your hand down to your stomach as the hippocrate applies a salve to your tender aches. You redress after the hippocates leaves and you are confronted by palace guards. "You are being summoned to the palace." Antonia tells you and you nod, wincing as you take your cloak and let the guards escort you to the palace. Marcus is not there to argue your presence and no one says no to the emperors.

Marcus watches as the guards bring the criminal into the cell, smirking at the swollen features of the man. “You fucked up.” He tells the poor bastard. “You assumed to rob a noble woman, not realizing who she was married to.” The man whimpers, both from his injuries and the implication behind the words. “Who does she belong to?” He scoffs, trying to appear like it makes no difference to him. The guard holding his shackles chuckles. “You beat Marcus Acacius’s wife.” He tells him.

You arrive at the palace, guided to the room to wait for the emperors and you bow your head when they stride inside. “Ah, we heard news that you were attacked and your husband protected you. That is why you did not arrive. We trust you are well.” Geta says and you nod, “tender and bruised but not gravely.” You declare and they smile, nodding, “we are glad to hear that but we want to hear news of your husband. We hear that he met with Senator Brutus.” Caracalla tilts his head and you raise your chin, “I will no longer speak of my husband’s meetings.” You declare and Geta raises his eyebrows. “Excuse me?” You clench your sore jaw, “I will not speak of my husband’s affairs any longer.” You announce and Caracalla laughs, throwing his head back. “The insolence.” He spits after his smile drops. “I love him. I do not wish to betray his trust any longer.” You say defiantly and Caracalla growls, “you cunt. We are going to have you killed for your treason.” He hisses and you stand tall despite your heart pumping. “No, no. We gain nothing by killing her. Let’s invite her maritus to witness her betrayal.” Geta smirks and you gasp, “no. No. He can’t know.” You plead and Geta smirks, gesturing to his guard, “chain her and send someone for Marcus Acacius.”

Marcus watches as the criminal starts to cry, begging for his life as he contemplates the punishment for this man. He should have him killed, but in truth, the man is less than a plebeian, begging and scrapping by for survival. A result of the emperors foolish taxes to support their war mongering. Because his wife was the victim, he can choose the punishment. “He will serve in the army.” Marcus decides. “Since he has a need to plunder, he can do so in the name of Rome.” He doesn’t believe the man would survive long, but he will have food and a bed until he does die in battle. “General.” The cell door opens. “The Emperors demand your attendance at once.” The head guard for the Emporers is the one speaking, making Marcus wonder what has happened now.

You are shackled when Marcus arrives, striding into the hall and his brow furrows when he sees you chained. “What is the meaning of this? She’s injured.” He growls at the emperors who had waited for him to arrive. “Your dear wife has a secret.” Caracalla grins manically, clapping his hands. Marcus frowns, “secret? We have none.” Geta smirks, “oh she does. She’s been spying on you. Delivering details of your meetings directly to us. You see, we were concerned about your influence in the army, we wanted to ensure you were not planning a coup. Your dissatisfaction with our regime has not gone amiss and we know you have been vocal about this with the senators. We simply had to take precautions to maintain our status in the empire. We had your precious uxor spy on you. We ordered her to marry you and she has delivered on our orders until today. Today she suddenly has loyalty to you.” Geta scoffs and Caracalla rolls his eyes.

His brow furrows when he hears the accusations and his eyes find yours, stomach twisting when he sees the guilt and truth of their words in your eyes. “Marcus, please-“ he turns his head, his heart twisting, ignoring your plea as he faces the two emperors. If they know the conversations he has been having, he is dead anyway. “Rome is crumbling beneath our sandals.” He implores them. “The weight of the campaigns is heavy. Today, she was attacked by a man who can no longer afford to feed himself because of the taxes imposed for the war chest.” He doesn’t look over at you. “The poorest of Rome suffer heavily.”

You watch Marcus condemn himself and you shake your head. The Emperors stare at him and you swallow harshly. “You shouldn’t have - Marcus.” You whisper and Geta stares at him while Caracalla growls. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t - I didn’t want to but they threatened me and I- I love you. I never wanted to do this.” You promise with a cry.

Marcus doesn’t look over at you, waiting for his Emperors to determine his fate. Gets curls his lips into a cruel smile and claps his hands together. “I have the best idea for his punishment.” He cackles. “He will compete in the gladiatorial games!” His wide eyes swing towards you. “And she shall watch!”

Your eyes widen, “no. No. You cannot do that. I am the one who betrayed him. I am the one who refuses to continue spying. Don’t let him- he is a good general. He’s fought hard for you. Please. Take me. Don’t let him fight.” You plead on Marcus’s behalf.

They wouldn’t listen to you anyway, they never listen, but Marcus shakes his head. “If the emperors wish for my life to be fought for in the arena, then they will have their amusement.” He answers them, making them smirk as their personal guards surround him.

You shake your head, tears in your eyes as Marcus is dragged off and so are you. Taken in opposite directions and you are pushed into a cell, shackled, and you sob for your husband. For the life you loved with him that is now gone. Even if he survives the arena, he won’t want you. You have betrayed him. You don’t know how long you’re in the cell with nothing but dirty water until the cell door is opened and you’re dragged out by the guards.

“We cannot have you looking like a prisoner.” Caracalla titters as he smirks at your dirty and disheveled appearance when you are brought in front of him and Geta. “So we must clean you up.” He snaps his fingers and a female servant appears. “Wash her. Dress her in robes that will hide the chains.” He orders. “You will be sitting with us, isn’t that fantastic?” He asks. “The best view in the house as your dear Marcus fights for his life.” He tilts his head. “And yours.” He adds menacingly.

You are numb as you are cleaned and scrubbed by the servant, dressed in a clean tunic and she wipes your tears after she hides the chains beneath your robes. “It’s time.” The guard declares as he opens the doors and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. You ride to the Colosseum with tears stinging your eyes and you’re dragged up to the balcony where the Emperors are sitting on gold thrones, matching manic grins on their faces. “So glad you could join us.” Geta chuckles and you are pushed into a seat beside him, your chains rattling but hidden. You refrain from glaring at him, clenching your fists, and the crowd roars as Marcus walks out onto the sands. Your breath catches and you want to close your eyes, pretend this is a nightmare. “And who is my husband fighting? What man could match my husband’s skills?” You ask the Emperor and Caracalla chuckles, “not man. Men.” You inhale sharply as four men walk onto the sands.

The armor that he wears is his own, the subtle needling of the emperors’ visible to the crowds but unknown to all but those he had conspired with. The message that even an honored general of Rome, a man who had spent his life fighting for her glory, was not immune to the will of her emperors. Turning to the stands, it is easy to spot Geta and Caracalla, both of them laughing and drinking, merrily watching men fight to the death. His eyes find you, the horror written on your face making him pause as he brings his sword up over his heart, signaling his fealty to Rome. He turns and honors the men who will be fighting him, knowing that they have no choice in their fight and accepting that they will do their best to kill him. He had always known he would fall on a battlefield, he had just never assumed it would happen in the Colosseum.

Your heartbeat is deafening in your own ears as you watch the men rush towards Marcus, his sword swinging within seconds and you are terrified that he’s going to be killed. Your battle worn husband has fought many during his life but you worry he will die today in Rome, the Roman people witnessing his death. A symbol that even a great general can be taken down. “Please. He didn’t do anything. He’s fought hard for you.” You beg Geta, who scoffs, “by conspiring with others?” You shake your head, “to protect Rome and her people. Not against you.” You plead your husband’s case but it falls on deaf ears as your husband takes one man down.

This is needless. Marcus pants, gripping his sword firmly as the next man attacks. Crimson spilling from the man in the dirt and being mixed into a bloody paste as the general blocks the lunge, his foot shuffling back and he almost trips over the body.

You gasp when he stumbles and one of the men swipes his arm, cutting him. “Marcus.” You whimper, not wanting to scream and distract him. He grunts and swings back, the man crying out when his arm is chopping off. “Please, maritus.” You beg, needing Marcus to win.

Another man rushes him while the man he had just injured drops his sword to grab the bleeding appendage. Causing him to shift focus and move to the other man, grunting out when he grabs the man’s arm as he swings his sword down and shoves his own blade into the gladiator’s belly. Watching as his eyes widen when the pain registers and he realizes he will die on the hot sands.

You gasp when he has one man left to kill. The Emperors frown and clap as expected when Marcus takes down another opponent. The remaining man swipes at him again and you are on the edge of your seat as you watch your husband fight for his life.

The last gladiator is obviously the most skilled. He was smart too, using the other men to exhaust Marcus as he fought for hard minutes at a time with little break between attacks. The days of little water and no food leaving the general much weaker than he would be under normal circumstances, no doubt planned by the emperors to make sure that he falls today. Marcus barely jumps back in time from a swipe of the sword, the tip dragging across the armor covering his stomach and he feels his resolve weakening. There is no point to continue.

You choke when the sword cuts close to his stomach and you stand up, yanking on the chains that bind you. You try to walk towards the balcony but you stumble. “Marcus! Marcus! You must fight, Maritus. Fight for us! For our baby!” You shout, pleading with him to fight for his life.

The roar of the crowd is loud but he hears your voice. The shouting cuts through the din and he stumbles back, turning to look at the balcony where you are watching. Your eyes are wide and frantic as you scream again. This time he hears what you are saying. Our baby. Our baby. You are pregnant. His mind is reeling when he hears this, ducking down from the next attack on instinct alone to be brought back into the fight.

You watch as he has more energy, spurred on by your words, and Caracalla growls, “sit the fuck down.” He demands and you refuse, remaining standing as you watch your husband swing his sword. His opponent is skilled but younger and Marcus has your future in his hands as he swings his sword. Swiping the man who cries out, Marcus grunts as he kicks at the leg of the man, making him fall. He moves fast, swinging his sword to behead the man. You scream in joy as the man’s head rolls, knowing that Marcus has saved you.

You try to scramble to the emperors but your chains keep you in place. “Please spare him. He’s won. He’s won.” You beg and Geta gestures for Marcus to come to the balcony. He bows his head, knowing he will be ordered to be killed soon after, and he makes his way up to the balcony. You swallow harshly and you want to reach for him when he walks past you to stand before the emperors, bowing his head before he lifts it to clench his jaw in defiance. “You have beaten men who should have killed you. You have won.” Geta declares and reaches towards Marcus’s belt, taking his blade from the sheath and he presses it against his neck. Marcus hisses as blood drips from the cut, his lip curling. “Please.” You whimper, wanting your husband to survive. “You will leave Rome today. Disappear and take your uxor. If we hear a word of betrayal, you will be killed before you even realize it. Do you understand?” Geta hisses while Caracalla shakes his head, wanting blood.

“I understand.” Marcus murmurs quietly. “I will leave Rome.” He knows that he cannot risk your life and that of a potential child, if you are indeed pregnant. He is weary and just wants to get away from the Emperors. His eyes cut towards the men, his disgust for them clear.

You watch as Geta lowers the knife and sheaths it back in Marcus’s belt. He looks over at the guard and nods for him to release you. The shackles fall to the floor with a clang and you rush over to Marcus, cupping his cheeks to make sure he’s okay. “Take your traitor wife and leave Rome today otherwise you’ll be killed.” Geta promises and you nod, caressing Marcus’s cheek.

Marcus doesn’t trust the other men to keep their word, but he nods. Letting the guards guide you off the balcony and he reaches for his knife when he is out of the Emperor’s presence. “Maritus-“ you murmur but Marcus cuts you off. “Be quiet.” He hisses, knowing that you are not out of danger yet. A shift of armor could be the only clue an attack from the guards is coming and he needs to be alert.

You cling to him as he escorts you out of the colosseum to the awaiting chariot that is waiting to take you back to Marcus’s villa so you can pack your things. You are helped onto the villa and you swallow harshly, “I am so sorry.” You choke out and he shakes his head, “not here.” He says still not comfortable that you’re safe and you nod, reaching for his arm.

Because of his training, Marcus is efficient packing up. He completely takes over and gives orders to the servants while he drags you towards the private quarters where you can be alone.

Your wrists are sore from the shackles as Marcus stands in front of you. Both of you are worse for wear. You are covered in dirt, him in blood as you stand in front of him.

He stares at you, wondering if any of the time you had spent together was real or if it was all to get him to relax around you. “Are you pregnant?” He asks finally, needing to know if you were just bargaining for your life and praying it would sway the emperors.

You reach for him but he takes a step back, “I- I think so. I’ve missed my bleed and I- I never do. I think I might be.” You say softly, not wanting to lie to him.

His jaw clenches and he nods. “Then we will see if you are before we decide where we will go permanently.”

You nod, “I- I know you’re angry that I betrayed you but I- I went to the palace to tell them that I was done telling them your secrets. I didn’t want to - I never wanted to betray you but they threatened me and I couldn’t do it anymore because I love you. I’m in love with you, Maritus.” You confess, eyes wide as you prepare for his rejection.

Marcus wants to deny you. To call you a liar but he doesn’t see lies in your eyes. Maybe he is a fool, because you have already betrayed him, but he believes you. “Are you not just saving your neck now?” He asks, wanting to be sure. “I have nothing now. No power, no prestige. If you go back to your Emperors and beg for mercy, maybe they will give you to another man.” You move closer to him again and he doesn’t step back.

You shake your head, “I don’t want another man. I want my husband. I want you.” You promise, “I love you, Marcus, and I know - I know you are still mourning your first wife, your love, but I want you to know how I feel, Maritus.” You murmur, caressing his cheek.

“I stopped mourning my first wife.” Marcus admits. “When I asked you if you imagined always living in Rome.” He hears the servants rushing around to pack up the household, but he doesn’t move, staring at you. “I was asking to see if you would move away with me. Before this. Before we were exiled.”

You nod, “before this…I would’ve followed you anywhere. I love you, Marcus. I never imagined when the emperors ordered for me to marry you that I’d fall in love with you. I’d follow you anywhere.” You promise breathlessly.

“I have no trust in you.” Marcus admits, watching your face fall, biting your lip as you nod. “But I know you were trying to survive the whims of our Emperors.” He steps closer to you. “And I will not let you suffer for that.” He promises, lifting his good arm to trail his fingers up your arm. “I love you, uxor. We will leave Rome and make our home somewhere else, away from the intrigue and betrayal of this festering city.” He smiles. “Perhaps we will have your dream of children running in the sunshine.”

You smile, imagining children running in the fields while you spend your days with Marcus in the sun without worry of the politics of Rome. You lean in to kiss his lips. “I know you don’t trust me but I want to earn your trust.” You murmur and he nods, “let us find a new home. Together.” He declares and you lean in to softly kiss him.

****

“Maritus.” You moan, caressing his shoulders as you rock on top of him, your bump between you. “Uxor.” He groans, his hands sliding down your back as you ride his cock. “I love you.” You moan, “so much.”

The villa around you is still being cleaned and repaired, abandoned for such a long time but it will be worth it when it’s restored to it former glory. The fields outside are fertile and the bones of the home are sturdy. After the fire years ago, it had been left to let the vines overgrow. Perhaps it was fate that you and Marcus are settling and creating a family where Maximus’s was taken from him, but the former general just thought it was the gods way of finding balance. “I love you.” He promises breathless as he rocks his hips up gently.

You moan, getting closer and closer to your orgasm as you rock on top of him. His cock thrusts up into you and you cry out, falling apart as you soak him. You clench down around his cock and fall into his chest, your bump pressed against him. “Fill me up, Marcus.” You plead, wanting to feel it, feel him.

He chuckles softly, puffing out the sound as he works himself in and out of your cunt towards his own satisfaction. “It’s obvious I’ve done that.” He grunts, loving how your walls tighten around him. The baby will come soon and he prays to all the gods that they will spare you and the child. “Fuck.” He grunts, pushing deep and painting your walls with ropes of cum as he moans your name.

You run your fingers through his hair as he relaxes beneath you and you sigh, “te amo.” You murmur and he caresses your back while the moon shines through the linen on the balcony.

****

Your screams echo in the halls as you bear down. You are in agony, Antonia pressing a wet rag to your forehead as you push. The women of the household surround you as you labor. “Gods!” You curse as you grip the sheets. It feels like hours of pushing and you’re exhausted. “One more push!” Antonia demands and you sob, shaking your head as you push and finally, the pressure releases and a cry fills the air.

As soon as the baby’s cry rings out, Marcus cannot stop himself. Pushing the doors to the bedchamber open, he rushes inside, his hair sticking up from long hours pacing and running his hands through it, worrying about your fate. “Uxor!” He only has eyes for you and the small little bundle you are taking from Antonia. Your face is drenched in sweat and you’ve never looked more beautiful.

You look up from the baby in your arms, a grin on your face as your husband rushes over. “It’s a boy.” You murmur, checking all fingers and toes are in place. Marcus grins, leaning in to kiss your sweaty forehead. “You’re incredible, amor.” He murmurs and you tilt your head to kiss him softly. The cord is cut and Marcus takes the baby in his arms, needing to claim him. He holds him up to the servants and says “My son.” He proclaims, cradling his son and he leans in to kiss you again. “Our son.” He says and you smile, taking the baby after he slides him back into your arms so you can have skin to skin. “What shall we call him?” You ask Marcus who leans over to kiss your son’s forehead before he kisses yours. “Maximus Acacius.” He declares and you grin, “it’s perfect.” A new life in a place that held such pain. Your marriage may have been arranged by the emperors but your life together is fuelled by love and by choice.

#pedro pascal #marcus acacius #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x female reader #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius smut #marcus acacius imagine #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius fanfic #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii

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quillcraftconquer · 13 days

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John Price x Ex-Wife Part II

Didnt realize you guys loved the angst so much (honestly same.)

Tw: Angst, unprotected piv, verbal argument.

(WIP still. I promise there’s more.)

—-

It was already dark out, the front porch light shining through the small glass windows that accompanied your front door. You had already put your son to bed, been woken up, and put him down again a few times. You were in the process of working towards sleep again when you heard a gentle knock on the door.

You struggled with the squirming baby in your arms, trying to avoid the toys that littered the ground around your feet like mines. You heard another small knock on the door, struggling to get to it in time.

"It's open." You called out, knowing that it was John on the other side. The handle turned, and John poked his head in, lips pressed into a tight line. You knew he wanted to chastise you about leaving the door unlocked, but his eyes fell to the floor, observing the toys strewn around, and then back up at you, kicking them out of the way with your son outstretched in your arms. He stepped inside, still dressed in his tactical pants, boots, and a tight fitting tan shirt. If you weren't struggling to keep a hold of your baby and navigate to him, you would have stumbled at the site. John, despite being a few years older than the men he worked with, still looked damn good, with thick forearms laced with dark brown hair and rounded biceps. The only part of his body that showed his age was the grey peppering his hair and the thin layer of fat that laid over his abs. He let a backpack fall from his shoulders, setting it on the ground beside him. He stepped forward, meeting you in the middle of the corridor to take the baby from your arms.

"Hi, love." He cooed at him softly, brushing the wild hair on the baby's head down with his hand. You sighed with relief, bending to pick up some of the toys on the ground and toss them into a bin.

"Been up awhile?" John asked, planting soft kisses on the side of your sons head.

"Up, down, and back up again." You admitted, sitting back on your heels and staring up at John.

"I'm sorry I'm late." He apologized, and you shrugged in response. It wasn't anything new.

"Need help?" He asked, nodding his head to the destruction on the floors. You chewed on the inside of your cheek for a moment. You did want the help, but you didn't necessarily want John in your house for longer than he needed to be.

"Yes." You finally said in a sigh, and John immediately dropped to his knees, setting your son gently on the floor next to him. John grabbed one of the toys, handing it to your son to play with while he began to gather the others around him, tossing them into the same bin. You helped him gather from your own spot on the floor, occasionally stopping to prevent your son from pulling the toys back out. Finally, both of you on your hands and knees, you met in the middle, picking up the few toys that were left. You both reached for the same toy, your fingers colliding against his hand. The touch made you pause, a tingle running down your spine. Your eyes flickered up at John, who had also paused, his large calloused hand resting on top of yours. His eyes met yours, and you swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. Something between love, sadness, and need filled his eyes when you bit your bottom lip.

Had he always been this attractive?

"I-" You started to say, before being interrupted by the babbling coming from your son.

"Da-da. Da-da, da-da" He babbled, reaching his chubby arms out towards John. John's head whipped towards him so fast strands of your hair fluttered across your face.

Your heart tightened in your chest. Your sons first words. Part of you wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor like John was doing, eyes filled with love and adoration as he pulled your son into his lap, chuckling as he encouraged him to say it again.

The other part of you was devastated. Jealously, and guilt from it, coiling in your stomach and replacing whatever feeling John had put there. You, who spent countless hours awake with him. You, who changed the majority of the dirty diapers. You, who waved goodbye to your husband every-other-week to do this alone, and still.

You always came last.

You brushed the feelings aside, plastering a smile on your face as your son curled into his fathers body, eyes heavy with sleep. Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly.

"I can swing by in the morning, pick him up then." John offered softly.

You nodded, tossing the last toy into the bin.

John rose to his feet, and you followed suit. You reached out towards your son, and John hesitated, still cradling his head to his chest.

"Can I lay him down?" John asked.

You didn't want to take this moment from him.

"Sure. It's down the hall, first door on the left." You said, gesturing to the hallway behind you. John nodded, his eyes grateful as he took a step towards the room. You stopped him as he passed you, grasping his biceps. You could feel his muscles instinctively flex under your fingers, and you smiled a little at the action.

"Take your boots off." You told him, and he obliged, using his free hand to loosen the laces and the stepping on the back of the heel to kick his boots free. You took the boots, setting them to the side and kicking the remnants of dried mud to the side as well. John continued down the hallway, disappearing into your sons room.

You walked into the living room, surveying the mess in there. You dragged a hand down your face before getting on your hands and knees, gathering the toys into a small pile.

You stopped when you saw movement in the reflection of the black screen of the TV. John was standing in front of the couch, now empty handed, but not making eye contact with you.

John was staring straight at your ass.

Normally, you would grumble at him, maybe even lash out at him, but tonight you didn't.

Instead, you arched your back, knowing the bottom of your pajama shorts were already too short, showing off the crease where your thighs met your ass. John sank into the couch, still staring dumbly at you. You could see him shift uncomfortably, hands gathering in his lap to hide the bulge you knew had begun to form.

You were suddenly very grateful you hadn't put pillows on the couch yet.

You swiveled to turn towards him, and his eyes finally jumped up to your face, his face flushing with embarrassment at being caught.

"He's asleep. I'll come by in the morning. What tim-" John stopped himself as you crawled towards him, resting your hands on top of his knees. You pushed his legs apart, slowly stroking your hands up his large thighs. You could already feel how wet you were, each rub of cotton on your clit drowning out the doubt of what you were doing. John was breathing heavier now, watching you as you unbuttoned the top of his pants, the tip of his hard cock already beading with precum as you tugged it out.

“Love…” John sighed, his jaw clenching when you began to stroke him, hand molding around the familiar part of his body you once devoted your life to.

“Love, stop.” John said, unable to control his body as his hips bucked into your hand.

“Tell me you want me.” You breathed, wiggling out of your pajama shorts and climbing on top of him.

“Of course I want you.” John answered, furrowing his brow slightly at your request.

“Show me you want me.” You said, clasping a hand behind his neck as you sank down on him, letting out a moan as your body stretched for him.

You hadn’t had sex since the divorce, almost a year. Your body quaked at the sensation of being filled again, by your ex husband nonetheless.

John grabbed your face between his hands, kissing you desperately as you began to rise and fall on him. He withdrew from the kiss, wrapping his arms around your torso and smashing your body against his chest in a tight hug that matched the feverish need in his kiss. He began to thrust his own hips upwards, and you stifled a cry as your hands gripped the back of the couch behind him.

“I love you.” He mumbled into the shell of your ear, one hand twisting into your hair to hold you close to him. You could feel his pace become erratic, his other hand drifting low to grip one of your ass cheeks as he pumped into you.

Suddenly, his grip tightened, fingers digging into your flesh as you felt the hot release deep inside of you. You groaned, pressing your mouth against his flushed neck to stifle the noise. You remained there, face buried into his neck as you felt him begin to soften.

“Love.” John said, and you drew back to look at him. He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the side of your face. You leaned into the touch.

“I want you. I need you. But if you want me here, if you need me, you have to stop pushing me away.” He said softly, and you immediately stiffened.

“I pushed you away?” You asked, bewildered at his audacity.

“That’s not what I-“ John started, and you interrupted him.

“It wasn’t your job, or the countless nights alone, or wondering if you were alive that pushed you away? It was me?” You snapped, quickly pulling yourself off of him, causing him to wince. “God, John.” You mumbled, snatching your shorts off the ground and pulling them onto your body. John stuffed his cock back into his pants, lifting his hips slightly to zip them.

“I want to try, love. Us, again. I think we should try.” John said, following you into the front corridor as you kicked his boots at him.

“I think you need to leave.” You bit out, crossing your arms in front of your chest. John’s shoulders slumped as he pulled his boots on, kneeling as he tied the laces.

“I am trying.” John pleaded again, and you couldn’t help but sneer.

“You’ve always been pretty shitty at trying, John.” You said, and John’s face dipped into a frown.

“You’ve always been pretty shitty at letting me.” He grumbled, angrily finishing the laces on his other boot.

“That’s my fault too, isn’t it? I pushed you away and made you a shitty father, didn’t I?” You pressed him, knowing the latter was a lie, but the anger and bile in your throat too strong to swallow.

As if on cue, you heard your son begin to cry from his room. John began to walk towards it, and you put a hand up to his chest to stop him.

“Don’t.” You ordered, and for the first time in knowing him, John grabbed your wrist, not out of love, but out of anger. You could feel how tightly wound he was, body tense as he pushed you, albeit gently, away from his body and out of his way as he walked to your son’s room silently. You balled your hands into tight fists, storming to your bedroom and slamming the door shut behind you as tears fell from your eyes.

You knew this was a mistake. A big fucking mistake.

You let the sobs escape, curling into yourself. The emptiness of the bed was almost haunting, and your heart ached with the memories of being able to curl around John when you slept.

You listened to him walk back into the corridor, slamming the front door behind him. You wiped the tears from your face as you pulled up the baby monitor on your phone, heart dropping again with sadness when you saw the empty crib. John had taken your son with him.

You clutched the phone to your body, letting yourself feel every ache as you struggled to fall asleep.

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esggs · 2 months

Text

Kill The Damned Phone - Choso Kamo

[wc: 1500+]

[ tw: Choso Kamo x Reader, smut, fluff, established relationship, interrupted sex, blowjob, throat-fucking, prone bone, slight bondage, Choso being an absolute darling ]

“Nghh, Choso, right- fuck- right there!” You breathe out as Choso’s tongue runs over the shell over your ear. His chest to your back, your face buried into a pile of pillows, his entire right arm pulling your hips into him as he ruts into you prone bone. “Mhmm” he smiles, “you like it, baby?”

“I like you ∼” How cute. you can feel his lips stretching into a smile against your neck. He gives your wet pussy a slower, deeper grind to show his appreciation, pulling a sweet moan out of you.

A slow Sunday morning with nothing much to do. Choso had woken up much before you, as usual, and by the time you had washed up and dressed, he was done making breakfast. Tamagoyaki rolls, natto rice balls, leftover pizza and two bottles of yakult each. Choso, your sweet man, read you the news headlines he deemed important as you washed the dishes– “A tunnel collapsed in Sendai” “Putin might be gay” “India is stopping rice exports”. He’d given you a spank on the ass as punishment for wiping your hands dry on his sweatpants. That ended up with him pounding you into the blankets, your hands pinned over your head with his left wrist. Ah, to be young and in love.

“You just like me? I thought it was love” He teases. “It’s so sad, my baby doesn’t love me!”

Your giggles are broken by a gasp as he bites into your neck. What a pretty collection of hickies. “Yeah, this is what you get. There’s no love for grown men who bite.”

“Aww” He pouts so cutely that you have to risk spraining your neck to give him a kiss. He adjusts himself further up your body - fuck, that felt good, he��s so deep in me now, shit- to make it easier for you to reach his lips. He deserves all the kisses, that sweetheart. You peck his nose too, for good measure.

“Babe,” He asks. “Should I use Flowing Red Scale? Or would it be too much for you?”

Before you open your mouth to reply, his phone’s ringing. He sighs into the nape of your neck before dislodging himself and reaching for it, taking the charging cable off it before he holds it up to his ear. “Hello? Yuuji?”

From where you lie on the bed, it is a weird mixture of hot and hilarious. Choso’s hair is a mess, his lips puffy from your bites (he tells you to stop biting his lips but you vehemently refuse). His neck, chest, abs and arms have not been spared from your teeth either, all littered with little hickies. He’s squatting on the bed, silently trying to make sure his still-hard cock doesn’t drip your wetness on the bed sheet, while he holds his entire arm up, elbow lifted, to keep the phone to his ear, like a middle-aged dad. “Little brother, is that you?”

“Onii-san!” It’s not on speaker phone but you can hear the kid loud and clear through the phone. “I’ll make it quick: how do you do a Supernova?”

“Oh, good, good! You’re practising the harder skills now!” Choso momentarily forgot the cock-wet-not-touch-bed-sheet thing in his excitement. You just smile, letting him figure it out himself. “It’s hard to explain it over the phone, but it’s like this. Now pay attention: You let yourself feel every drop of your blood, okay? In every cell, then it goes fwoop–” He balled his free hand into a fist, “and then you wait till it’s time, and then you let it go.” He mimicked an explosion with his hand. “But when you let it go, make sure it all goes at once.”

“Ehhhh?” You can vividly imagine Yuuji’s grimace on the other side of the phone. You couldn’t keep your laugh in. For Choso, Blood Manipulation came as naturally as breathing, he didn’t consciously take note of every step. It was a bit hard for him to explain things; just as hard as it was for Yuuji to understand his explanation. “Oh– Is y/n-san there with you?”

“Yeah, say hi-” “G’morning, y/n-san!”

“Hello, is this my favourite little prodigy?” You did baby Yuuji a bit, taking on the role of an older sister that he never had. “What’re you practising?”

“I’ve already gotten Piercing Blood down actually,” he says. “Supernova’s next, but I don’t get anything Onii-san said. Do you wanna come down to practice later?” You mull it over. Yuuji’s punches hit hard (even when he was holding back) and you didn’t really want to experience that again, but having done martial arts for far longer than him, you could teach him new techniques. You suppose it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.

“Aw, sure. 6 evening?”

“6 evening. See you then, y/n-san!” Click.

“He didn’t even say goodbye to me.” Choso huffs. “He likes you too much.”

You laugh, both at his words and the sorrow in his eyes when he realised that he’s stained the bed sheet. “He’s at that age where family is embarrassing, especially his doting onii-san. He’ll grow up, don't worry.” You rise to push a kiss at the crown of Choso’s head. “I hate training with him really, he hits so hard. I don’t know anyone with that kind of raw strength!”

“Really?” Choso has you under him in a flash. “You don’t know anyone?” He wrenches your legs apart and pins them under his knees. “Struggle then, let me show you.”

You grin. This will be fun.

You let a minute pass to trick him into thinking you’re not doing anything. A bird sings out the window, you both turn to look, and -you’re gone. Slipped out from under him and jumped off the bed and out the bedroom door. “Oh, you little!” You hear him laughing as he scampers off the bed, running after you. This was so fun, you can’t stop giggling, even though, as you register now, it is a bit weird running with Choso’s pre running down your thighs.

Oh well, it is what it is.

He corners you at the living room table, trying to catch you while you jump over the table and leap onto the sofas.

I’ve got you now, birdie.

He knows there’s nowhere for you to go, you know you’re not going anywhere. You’ve got your arms ready to strike if he comes any closer, but he doesn’t stop walking to you. This is fine, you can take him hand-to-hand. Uppercut, a left jab, left hook to the jaw, straight punch to the liver- he dodges it all. You’re about to go for his solar plexus, as - “Blood Manipulation: Crimson Binding”

“That’s so fucking cheating!” You yell out at the unfairness of the universe. Your hands are tied behind your back, so you immediately resort to kicking Choso, so he just binds your legs too. “That’s unfair, baby!”

“I like it though.” He giggles, “I never said cursed techniques are out of play.” The bindings on your legs are getting heavier, making you drop to your knees. “Ooh” Chose is way too happy with this, watching your boobs bounce as you fall. “I really like it.”

You look up as he walks close, his cock, growing again at the sight of you like that, gingerly touches your lips. “Make me happy, yeah, love?”

You smile up at him, giving him a little kiss at his leaking tip. “Go ahead, baby.” you tell him.

He leans down to kiss you so deeply, spitting into your mouth to make sure it’s wet enough. Then he straightens up, wiping his cock over your lips and cheek, making a mess of your face. He’s just got his fingers into your hair, thrusting his huge cock full into your throat in one go as you choke back gag after gag, groaning at the feel of your throat constricting around his cock, his perfect little fleshlight, your nose in his happy trail and balls against your spit-slick chin. He’s just started leaning over you, shoving your mouth down his cock as you run your tongue over his shaft, going rougher as the sight of your lust-drunk eyes drives him wild. He’s literally just getting started– when his phone rings again.

He sighs sooo deep, dropping his face into his palms, that you begin to laugh with your mouth still full of cock. He carefully takes himself out again, flings you over his shoulder and carries you back to the bedroom like that, where his phone’s not done ringing.

“Onii-san!” It’s Yuuji again. You’ve been dropped on the bed. Since the bedsheet is already ruined, you wipe your face clean with it, your hands still being tied. “Oni-san, I got it! Supernova done!”

“Good work, Yuuji! I knew you could do it!” Choso musters up all his love for his younger brother, not letting a single trace of annoyance pass into his voice. The genuine love and care Choso has for loved-ones, it warms your heart.

“Y/n-san, can you hear me too?”

Choso looks over at you before realising that your voice would probably betray a hint of being roughly throat-fucked. “Aah, she’s in the washroom, I’ll tell her when she comes back, okay? You keep practising though!”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just tell her myself at 6 then.”

“All right. I was thinking, little brother, Supernova’s a difficult move, I’ll get you dinner today as a gift. Yeah?”

“Oh yeah!! You're a great big brother.” You can see Choso’s heart melt. “Bye-byee!”

“Bye!” Click.

“Should we take him out to Ono Jiro? He’d like the experience.” you think out loud. Choso suddenly realises that he forgot about the Crimson Binding, freeing you with a sheepish apology.

“I’m so proud of him, you know.” says Choso, burying his face into your tits as you both laze on the bed. “Even though he keeps preventing us from giving him any nephews or nieces.”

You both laugh. “We’ve got nothing to do all day and it's still just morning. We’ve just got to keep at it”. You pet his hair poking out from between your tits. Choso’s starting to suck a hickey into the thin skin of your sternum, and edging a hand to grab your left boob. His other hand’s already massaging the fat of your ass.

“We’ll keep at it, then” Choso grins.

Bonus: Choso looks up books and videos about 'how to teach' so that he can help Yuuji learn <3

img credits: here. it's not the artist (i think) but i couldn't find any further sources. If anyone does know the artist, please let me know.

#choso kamo #jjk #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #kamo choso #jjk choso #choso x reader #choso smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso #choso x you #choso fluff #choso x y/n #itadori yuuji #yuji itadori #jjk yuji

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rise-my-angel · 1 year

Text

Heart of the Great Wolf

1 - Wolves of the Lone Stag

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader (slow burn), Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 16.1k

Warnings: Slow Burn, Strained parent-child issues, mentions of minor character death, secret relationship, arranged marriage, injured/sick child mention, smut, p in v, slight dom/sub dynamics, loss of virginity

Notes: Reader is firstborn daughter of Stannis Baratheon, based off the show but will include direct book elements, slight canon divergence. First Chapter is really long due to set up, subsequent future chapters won't be quite such a massive read. Chapter Two Here.

Travelling along the Kingsroad was far longer and more tedious with this company. Normally you would spend only so much time on here from White Harbour, most of the journey done on sea. Yet now, there were far too many people and it’s leader insisting on treating the journey as it’s own adventure. By the time you reached Winterfell it would be a month on horseback and no one to entertain your morose demeanour. Though perhaps you had to consider that it wasn’t just the company of the others that was less then ideal.

You had the supposed misfortune of being the daughter to the less favoured of the three Baratheon brothers. Robert, King Robert to those in public company, was a more complicated man. A mix of a man who successfully kept the peace for over twenty years but also was as unhappy on the throne and was unafraid to show it. He did however, have enjoyment in wine, hunting, and did hold a jovial laughter that kept people around him.

Your other uncle, was much more agreeable. Renly was the youngest of them and was charismatic and well liked. He was naive, not really a man suited for leadership but he did the best with what he knew to do. Closer to your age, you often found yourself spending time with him and it was right now that you were annoyed he chose to stay back in Kings Landing. A month with the King, his own family and the entire royal brigade and not one of them knew how to get a smile from you.

That was a trait from your father no doubt. Stannis Baratheon was the middle child, and he was easily the most disliked. He was cold, distant, unemotional and seldom allowed laughter at his table. He took his job seriously, more seriously then the King did his sometimes. In his prime, he was a proven battle commander and he never lost that. Robert was a warrior and he was happiest as such, but Stannis had never stopped being a commander and whether it made him liked or not, it taught you to be who you were now.

A Lady of the House Baratheon, firstborn daughter to Stannis and heir of Dragonstone was your current position and you were taught to uphold that name. Often found with a flat expression, close to a scowl as you walked the capitol you found nothing to enjoy there. Not that Dragonstone was where you’d find happiness either. The only place that had never been your home was the one you felt it in.

You had turned eight when your father had begun sending you out. Brought up, he ensured you had a Lord’s education as well as what all girls were taught. If you were to take up the mantle after him, he wanted you to learn from those that would teach you to be like him. That was when he sent you to Winterfell for the first time. Not a friend of Lord Eddard of House Stark, but your father did respect him the most. Two men both stern with upholding honour and justice, always doing what is right and what is honourable rather then what they wanted.

You spent seven months in Winterfell, and it was the first time your mother and father hadn’t been there for your name day. At the time, it made you sad but you had long since gotten over it. Over more then a decade had passed since your first stay in the north and many name days had been spent there with no word from your family. Well, at least your parents. The only family member you spoke too and more fondly with then Renly, was your baby sister. Shireen Baratheon was not just the light of your life but your fathers too. Some used to say that you were the only one who could make Stannis smile but you were nothing compared to how he smiled at that little baby.

You were fine with her being the favourite, she was your favourite family member as well.

Not long after baby Shireen had beaten a bout of horrific illness, your father had been summoned to Kings Landing. The King telling him that he was of no use to the realm shut away on Dragonstone, and he was to come to the capitol and sit on the small council as Master of Ships. He had taken you with him, and thus your new home was the wretched city full of backstabbers and manipulators.

Back and forth you went from Kings Landing to Winterfell, each stay growing longer and each stay you grew closer to the Starks then you did anyone in the Red Keep. Lord Stark was the perfect example of a good leader, warden of the North and inspired nothing but loyalty amongst the northerners and made you as welcome as anyone in his home. You followed him around most days, learning from him, watching how he handled diplomacy and made his lessons your own.

It was that how you got to know his ward, Theon Greyjoy. A rambunctious lad who listened diligently in formality and was crass and brash outside of that. You knew he would hate Kings Landing but often found yourself at your fathers side wishing the smart ass was next to you, nudging you with his elbow every time you were too closed off for your own good. It was easy to forget that he was technically the Starks prisoner, he fit into their family, the north as well as you did.

Not quite a leader as you were being taught to be, but you were confident once he had the chance to prove himself, you’d expect great things from him. You’d gotten a raven from him while on the road, and in his usual style he spent some time making fun of you for having to be “shacked up with the lamest of the three”.

Right. The reasons your company headed to Winterfell. The King had one, you were being forced into another though. The news shocking you as Stannis told you of your new duty the night before you left was double. That he was leaving for Dragonstone and you were to return to Kings Landing with Lord Stark and serve as acting Master of Ships in his absence.

He wasn’t just dumping his responsibilities onto you with no explanation of his distant behaviour and secrecy, your father had also dumped a marriage onto you and told you that you were to marry and come back. As if he didn’t just dictate your entire life to be like his. “You will marry the Stark boy, and with or without him you are to return in my place.”

Trying to reason with him, “You’re expecting me to have, what? A night maybe two with my new husband and then leave for however long you decide?”

Not even the slightest change of expression, but there was a twinge of regret in his eyes that was soon covered up. “I didn’t decide this alone. My brother, our king, has decided it with no room for question. I’m sorry, but you’re a Baratheon. You’re my daughter. And sometimes our duty requires us to marry not for love, but for the good of the realm.”

You had spoken to your betrothed since the announcement, but had yet to see him in person. A major reason as to why you wished Renly had come with you. Have someone to ease your nerves on the months ride, instead you were entirely on your own lost in what you were losing.

After all, you received a raven from not just Robb after the announcement. And it was that second one, and the finality of it’s contents that shattered the still remaining rosy dreams you once felt as if you had a lifetime to indulge in. Who your betrothed was, wasn’t the upset in any way. It was the unavoidable conclusion of the love in your heart that simply wasn’t allowed to be.

As the party approached Winterfell, your heart begun to race.

The crisp cool air on your face that once relaxed you, only stoned it further into a solid expressionless pose. Reminding yourself that you weren’t just here as yourself, you were to represent your father and you wouldn’t do so by falling apart. You rode into the walls right up near the very front alongside your craven of a cousin. He represented the luxurious royal side of the family, and you the steadfast duty and justice.

The House guard stood all around the courtyard as well as many people who simply worked close by or wanted to just see the King. Riding into the main area, you refused to look. The Starks all stood with their closest men behind them but you looked nowhere but above the heads of everyone with a straight back atop of your horse.

The carriage which carried the Queen and the other two of her royal children filed in and revealed the King following suit. Your eyes forcing to stay nowhere but him, and it struck part of you that his deep scowl seemed to just be a trait that was shared amongst much of this family. As your party stayed atop their horses, you watched everyone near kneel down as Robert was assisted off his horse.

Watching him make a straight line towards the Starks, he stood in front of the kneeling Lord Stark beckoning him with his hand to stand. Everyone around them rising in toe as you watched the two old friends look stoically at one another. The quiet in the courtyard as everyone waited.

King Robert, it seemed, left posing the stoic formality of the Baratheons to you. Looking down at his friend’s frame and casually commenting, “You got fat.”

Two magnets, designed by the gods to be brought together your eyes met without any thought. His grey ones widened with a playful glint and a raise of the sides of his mouth as if to say, “He got fat?” You, broke just as easily. Quirking your eyebrows up slightly, trying and failing to cover a smirk as you flickered your eyes in gesture to the King, agreeing with his silence as you both instantly looked away from the other. Knowing neither would smother such a begging grin if you kept glancing at each other.

Robert greeting each member of the family, making polite chat with the Stark parents you climbed off your horse. Your head angled enough to see your cousin, Joffery, staring at the direction you just had with a smirk you would describe in private as slimy.

You weren’t the only one with a betrothal in mind for your King, but it was the other Stark which would suffer. Somehow whatever genes made the Baratheons so respected, had skipped Joffery in every single capacity. He was more Lannister then he was his father, and not even with the decency to be like the one lion which you could speak to without agitation.

You couldn’t say Sansa was the one you got along with the most, but watching the way the prince looked at her, you pitied what she couldn’t possibly know she was in store for.

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects.”

Cersei Lannister, the Queen, barley made an effort to toss any level of genuinity in her voice. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

Her term of endearment sounding as fake to your Uncle as it did you, he ignored her and summoned Lord Stark anyways. The Queen glaring as they walked away, and directed it towards the youngest Stark daughter, Arya as she without any care of properness, asks where the “Imp” was. The Imp being the Queens younger brother, Tyrion.

Were you to be honest, as you unpacked some of your things from your horse you could only think of one place he would go. And he certainly would not find such a place inside the castle walls. Seeing the Queens twin brother, Ser Jaime of the Kingsguard to “go and find the little beast.” Holding another smirk back, you heard footsteps approaching.

Not the ones you normally would expect, he wouldn’t come to you here. Not now, not in front of the royal family, all these people, and certainly not after learning you’ve come here to marry. Instead, the voice that spoke behind you was the only other person you’d care to see, calling your name.

Robb Stark, Lord Eddard Stark’s eldest true born son stood tall behind you. His northern accent deep and thick, and drenched in a soothing warmth that always felt comforting yet unfitting of the cold he lived around. Turning to face him, you could still see the trailing remnants of the Queen and her children in the distance.

Play your part, your fathers voice told you. With a slight nod of your head and a smile you clearly amused Robb with such a proper curtsy. “My lord.”

A raise of his eyebrows, he had less care of hiding such a smirk. “Is that how we are playing it, my lady?”

You had to bite your tongue to keep from smiling, but still failed somewhat. Robbs smirk growing more playfully smug as he watched you lose your static composure. “I don’t know what you mean, my Lord. I am here with the royal company, we are nothing if not with our courtesies at all times.”

Dropping the act, Robb rolled his eyes and stepped closer. “Well if you’re people have a problem with it, they will just have to get over it.” Pulling you into a hug, you felt part of your racing heart and screaming nerves settle a bit.

You’ve known Robb since that first visit when you were eight. No matter what you were both being shoved into, he wasn’t anything near a stranger. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest as your face was snuggle tugged into the deep browns of his cloaks fur. Soft as anything, they helped sooth your heart more and he seemed to hold you for as long as it did his as well. His voice low in your ear this time, “We’ll talk in private.”

Pulling away with a deep inhale, you nodded. Face falling back into a stoic composure. It sometimes took you a little bit to drop the harsh demeanour you lived with once you got to Winterfell, but with this company in toe you felt bad that the Starks weren’t going to really get you in any relaxed form. Nodding at Robb you fell quiet, but he was happy to take up the mantle with enough volume for those around to be satisfied with. “Let me help bring your things up, my lady.”

In the corner of your eye as Robb slung the heavier of your bags over his shoulder and you insisting on carrying at least the lighter one, you caught sight of his mother. Lady Catelyn Stark, originally born to House Tully, was something of a complicated relationship for you. You admired her in countless ways, and you saw her more as a mother then you did your own for many years growing up. But there was no mistaking the slight rift that was caused by the only other member of the family you were closer too then her eldest son.

That one though, was nowhere to be seen. You both knew full well that such a meeting was going to have to happen in private, and you hoped you would find time to sneak away from the feast tonight to get it. You two had to talk, you needed to talk to him before you marry or your resolve might crumble.

She watched you and Robb politely walk through the court towards the main doors. Describing their home as a castle felt odd after living in both Dragonstone and Kings Landing. The Starks castle in Winterfell was home in your heart, not a fancy collection of stonework designed to impress. Robb had written that the news came as surprise to all of them, that Lady Catelyn had tried to protest saying that the King shouldn’t just force this on you.

Her husband had to remind her, that they married of duty and look where they are now. You hoped that your companionship with Robb’s brother had not soured her opinion of you being capable of being a good wife. Robb didn’t have your heart the way he did, but he would be the one to keep it from now on and you hoped Lady Catelyn wouldn’t hold it against you.

Falling in love with Robb was not the impossible, in fact he could make that quite easy.

Making small talk of the trip here as you and Robb passed a numerous amount of servers and maids scurrying about the halls, you were thankful for how well you knew him. That the tensity in his stature would only relax the second the door would shut and you both would drop this growing painful act.

Your room was in a corridor away from the main family, closer to where Theon stayed. Many times the main four of you would stay in either his or your room to drink, laugh and get into trouble all without the keen ears of the Stark parents. Your room in Winterfell was a place that you could stop being the daughter and first born heir of Lord Stannis Baratheon, and just be you.

The room had been freshly cleaned, new sheets draped on the bed frame as well as a cozy fur begging you to plop down onto it with a sigh and a nap to boot. Robb dropped your bag down by the window, holding his hand to take the one in your hands to join it. Turning to you, he watched as you let out a shaking sigh.

Your face dropping, finally free to shine in a tinge of shame and exhaustion as you sat down on the edge of the bed, your palms flat on your thighs. Opening your mouth to speak, he cut you off with a sharp edge. “Don’t apologize.” Your brows narrowed in question, but Robb paced over to lean against the wall across from you. His arms crossed casually in front of his chest as he looked into your eyes. “You were about to say sorry for all of this, and I don’t want to hear it.”

Head dropping, you bit your tongue more and nodded. Hands clasping together in a fidget before returning to rest flat on your thighs. His eyes shined blue, and out of the sunlight his hair looked far closer to a Stark brown then it did a Tully Red, if your heart didn’t weigh a thousand pounds you might have spent more time admiring him. “I just,” Sighing again you looked away, unable to cope with the unblinking seriousness in his eyes. “I only found out before you did. I don’t want you thinking I asked for this, or am trying to force you into this.”

Robbs sigh wasn’t defeated, but annoyed. You hadn’t the courage to look again yet. Your name slipping from his tongue with a seriousness. “No one here thinks that.” Glancing up at him, you felt your resolve slip even more. “No one.”

Not that Robb would have any reason to suspect it, but you were desperately hoping that one person in particular didn’t think that out of everyone. Robb took a few steps forward, hoping to beckon you to look up at him, but instead chose to sit down next to you. Enough space between you to not be intrusive. Your voice was small, quiet like a whisper and you knew this was not the words of a proud lady, but just a girl. “He hadn’t even brought up marriage in years. Not since..”

You faded off, both of you know what you were going to say but luckily Robb knew that reliving it would not make you feel any better. He leaned closer to you without breaking your personal space. “Your father has talked to you about marriage more then he has me, at least. In some ways you’re more prepared for this then I am.”

Laughing out, you didn’t turn to see the soft smile on his lips at the sound. “Oh I doubt that. You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting my parents. Between them, and being around the King and Queen’s marriage? It it weren’t for yours I’d assume every married couple is bitter and unloving to the point of near contempt.”

A breathy laugh leaving him, you were thankful once more that at least your husband to be was someone whom you didn’t have to hold you thoughts around. Robb leaned back on the bed, his palms outstretched to rest against the furs and look at you partially from the back and side. “We could get separate beds if it makes you feel better.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully at the mocking in his tone. Quick to turn around with the intention of snarking back he took you by surprise. Lurching forward to wrap his hands around your waist and drag you back with him, both of you laying now back against the bed as he respectfully moved his hands from you. His eyes shined with laughter however, and it loosened yours enough to laugh out loud.

Playful words sat at the tip of your tongue, but what came out was far from it. “It feels like he’s planning something,” turning to look at Robb’s profile against the light coming from the window. “My father. He and Lord Arryn have been doing something in secret, and he kept me away from it on purpose. Both of them seemed to be worried about something, and then...”

“Then he died.” Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and a long time friend of both the King Robert and Lord Stark had passed from a fever that took him in one night.

You nodded. Glancing up to the ceiling as your hands rested along your stomach. “He was fine one day, and then he just...not even a day later was when my father called me to his office. Told me everything, about coming here, about your father, then just..ended the conversation with this.” Your eyes narrowed as you recalled the sternness of his rasp.

“You’re to marry the Stark boy then return here in my place. I won’t have any more questions on the matter.”

Robb was lost in thoughts of his own, tone light yet distant when he spoke up. “He wants my father to be Hand of the King. He hasn’t even been in Kings Landing since the war.”

You understood why. Not just the horrors inflicted on Lord Starks father and brother, but it was a den of vipers all wanting you to play a game that a man like him would want no part in. None of the Starks belonged there, too good for a disgusting place the capitol was. Sighing yourself, you shrugged. “He’ll hate being there as much as my father does, as much as I do. At least I’m the Kings niece I’m supposed to belong there.”

Robb turned onto his side and you followed suit. Your dress hardly made for proper warmth like his attire was, but the Queen insisted that you dress properly to impress your to be husband. As if the man in question hadn’t seen you covered in dirt, mud, bruises and knocked you into the dirt countless times over the years. You didn’t feel like yourself anywhere but here, and yet with the royals all here you still didn’t feel like yourself.

Just a plaything meant to look pretty and play the part. For once, you felt like a normal highborn lady you supposed. Born and bred to be a wife that's born to breed. You were looking at Robb, and yet you reminded yourself with a lurch of your heart to push back the other face in your mind.

Later you told yourself.

Robb’s voice was low, soft, and with an affection that at the very least, wasn’t unusual for him. “You haven’t belonged there in a long time.”

Your tone dropped quieter then his. “Where do I belong then?”

To his credit, it wasn’t with himself that he said. “Here. You belong here.”

By nightfall you still hadn’t seen him. You’d seen many of the others. Arya being the first, practically running past Robb into your room and leaping into a hug with zero sense of formality. You knelt down somewhat to meet her with a loud laugh. With a zillion questions about if you’re staying, did you know, does this make you her sister, you were blissfully reminded of the only other girl who held your heart like that.

Shireen wasn’t a trouble maker like Arya had a tendency to be, but they had a similar spirit. She felt as much like your sister as the one back on Dragonstone was by birth. Sansa had to call her away, annoyed as ever and with a fluster as she addressed you. The paintings of a crush all over her face from the blonde haired fowl faced cousin, and you wished it was any other boy Sansa was to be promised too.

Well, as Robin Arryn briefly popped into your mind you laughed to yourself. Maybe not any of other boy. Starling the handmaiden attending to your dress as you shook your head in apology. You could dress yourself easily for a normal night in the North, but alas the Queen insisted that you impress your husband to be. As if he wasn’t someone you had known for over a decade as one of your very closest friends.

You did however, stop them fervently as they reached for your hair. The Queen could dress and paint you up like a doll and you wouldn’t really fuss at the treatment, but you would rather cross the wall and throw yourself into a frozen lake before you’d let any of those southern up-dos go anywhere near your hair. If judging by the look you got from the Queen during the feast, she wasn’t pleased in any way, but then again she rarely was ever pleased by anything.

Sat next to Robb during the feast, you were thankful that he and the other guys at the table treated you like they always did. To a degree, it was a bit off putting by your much more distant attitude but judging by the glances you made to the Queen they gathered enough that you were more on guard. The hall was filled to the brim with people, ale, music and laughter.

Off in the distance you could see King Robert laughing with a group of men, and his hands happily exploring a woman who was most certainly not his wife. Most didn’t care, and the ones who did never would say anything. He was King he could do what he wanted. Lady Catelyn much to your sympathy was stuck up at the main table sat next to the Queen herself and struggling to find any conversation that didn’t make the woman utterly miserable.

“Out of all the Northerns, you get stuck with this one?” Theons voice rang out, a lightness in his eyes and ale in his veins. You leaned your elbow on the table and pointed at him with a playful raise of your eyebrows.

“At least this one’s pretty, Greyjoy.”

Laughter from all around the table, and even finally sneaking one from yourself. Theon would sometimes flirt with you, but never in a serious manner. It almost was a game. He would start with a flirtatious comment and it quickly spun into who could jokingly insult the other more after you deny him with a snarky remark first. “Aye, but you’d get some nice experience with me.”

Robb tossing a ripped piece of bread at him with a half hearted protest of his own experience, but you leaned back in your seat bringing your mug to your lips. “What experience is that, exactly? Paying women to pretend to moan for you isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my wedding night.”

Pushing it back down, if you joked about it you didn’t have to think about the reality. With no experience of your own, you weren’t immune to the whispers of girls and women of their nights with pain and blood. At least you would get one single thing right come time for that part of the wedding. You almost didn’t though, and the longer you kept trying to not think about it, the more you felt yourself looking for someone you knew wasn’t there.

You had to talk to him, but the first day in Winterfell was just far too busy for it thus far.

Opportunity luckily, arrived in the form of Arya being unable to behave. You and Robb had been joking and laughing about something when the sight of food flinging from another side of the room caught your eyes. The food in question splatting directly onto Sansa’s face as she yelled out indigently.

The quickness of Arya smiling and going back to pretend as if she didn’t do anything got a laugh out of you, but also drew the attention of Lady Catelyn. Gesturing to Robb over, his face fell more serious as he brushed a hand over your lower back as he stood up. Grabbing Arya around the sides and hoisting her up. “Time for bed.”

Glancing around the room, Lady Catelyns eyes elsewhere, as was the Queens. Lord Stark talking to who you recognized as his brother Benjen and now Robb gone you took the opportunity you really shouldn’t have. Standing up, you made your way slowly to the entrance, downing the last of the ale before slinking out unseen.

Or rather, unseen by all but the watchful eyes of a golden Lion.

Alone for once, you allowed yourself to be annoyed. The chill of the air hit you with a sting as you were entirely undressed for the cold of the night. Not even graced with a seat at a lower table, no he was put out here as if his existence was so offensive to anyone but her. His birth wasn’t his fault, and as much as you admired and liked her?

It never failed to chip away at something angering in you, how Lady Catelyn treated Jon Snow.

You heard his voice before you saw him, but it the second voice that took you by surprise. “Did I offend you? Sorry. You are the bastard, though.”

Lord Tyrion Lannister in your sights slowly walked up to Jon, who was faced away from you. There was a bluntness in his words but also a sympathy in his eyes. Leaning back against a stone wall, you watched in quiet.

“Lord Eddard Stark is my father.”

And yet, just as so many liked to remind him, Lord Tyrions words were those that many have said in response. “And Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you, a bastard.”

Watching him with narrowed eyes, you held back any defence in your blood. Likely he was the only Lannister which you didn’t entirely distrust towards him. Jon Snow had more then enough people ensuring him he would never be like his brothers and sisters.

Your arms crossed over your chest, and breathe visible in the cold you listened to the man tell him wear what he is like armour. Jon, however, did not seem to be in such a mood. His voice was low, a thick northern accent that came out more like an entrancing rasp then Robb’s warm soothing one. It also, was lined with that of a temper you knew the older Jon got, the more he struggled with. “What the hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Fingertips itching to reach out, but you stayed put. Listening to Lord Tyrion’s final comments before departing to whatever plans he had for the night. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers eyes.”

Jon wasn’t heartless, nor stupid. Somewhere inside him, you knew he sympathized with the Lannister but being shut out of a feast in the cold, on top of what you knew was looming? Jon had little room left to care about simmering that temper.

Lord Tyrion caught your eye as he passed, a tilt of his head and question in his eye you simply looked flat and unblinking. He wouldn’t say anything, but that didn’t mean he didn’t store his curiosity about your sudden watchful appearance for later.

Slowly approaching, you called out only once the sound of doors closing behind you left the courtyard in silence from the muffled party behind you. “Think he’s dead yet?”

Spinning to face you at the sound of your voice, you hated how unable you were to quell your heart looking at him. Walking towards him, you saw Jon put the sword away entirely before circling around to meet you halfway. It took less then second for both of you to glance around, watch for the no eyes any could see before he closed the rest of the gap.

Scooping you up into his arms, almost spinning you in place as you both held the other tightly. “I missed you.” Your voice muffled in this luscious dark curls, he put you down gently on your feet. His hands on your upper arms still before glancing up. Changing his mind, he turned. Pulling you along with him with a hand on your lower back.

Jon was the only man who could silently drag you away into a dark corner in the dead of night and you wouldn’t question him in any way, shape or form. Neither of you said anything, but out of everyone Jon was the one person who you didn’t need it with. Both of you were always on the air of more quiet, and it was never more appreciated then alone with the other, never worried about having to fill the air with talking to be comfortable.

Once you had reached far enough away, Jon led you into a small building, mostly empty save for some storage and one lit lantern. Door closed, he turned to face you once more with silence. His eyes begging to say too much, but neither of you could handle it in that second. Once more you found the others arms. This time, the desperation was felt both ways.

Both of you letting your eyes shut, and your hands rest freely and yet far to intimate to be platonic as you stood together. It was minutes before he pulled back. One hand resting on your waist and the other back on your upper arm. He watched as your hands wrung together, afraid to touch him. You hated how gently he always said your name, forcing you to look up and meet his eyes.

One of you had to say something, and you ripped the bandage off first. “You’re really joining them?”

His nod was confident, and it broke your heart that much more. “The St-”

Shaking your head you felt your eyes sting, you hated feeling this way. “Don’t give me that.” Your fingers twitched wanting to reach out, and he caught the movement. “Don’t tell me what you think everyone else wants to hear.”

Was his response a diversion from the truth, or an answer you didn’t know for sure. “You’re marrying Robb.” Like no other, Jon could tell right away that you bit your tongue in anxiety. The hand on your arm moving up to gently trace over the side of your jaw until he felt you relax under the touch. “I’m not mad at you. Neither of you really had a say in it.”

Ever so slowly, you hesitantly left your hands drift forward until the very tips of your fingers rested against his stomach. Much like earlier with Robb, were you not wracked with too much in your head, you might have paused to enjoy the feeling of how sturdy and firm his muscles had grown. Instead you let your head hang, knowing he wanted you to look at him. “And you feel like The Night’s Watch is the only place you belong?”

Were you anyone else, Jon would have pulled away in frustration. But his time with you was limited, and his hands always ached to touch you when you were near. “It is now.” Head rising up to look at him, your brows narrowed. “You’ll marry him, go back to Kings Landing with my father and sisters, and leave me what? Here with the brother who gets the one thing that used to be mine, and his mother who hates me?”

Something rushed up, and an anger almost yelled out instead of reason. “Jon, I’m not trying to leave you behind.”

He sighed, jaw clenching as his hand on your waist held you a slight tighter. “No. You’re doing your duty, and I’m doing mine.”

For a while you both just stood there, looking at the other. In your heart, you felt stolen from, but your mind reasoned for the best. Just as the silence between you was too much, Jon slowly leaned in.

Your back pressed against the wall and he having moved to crowd you against it, his head dipping down enough as you exhaled shakily. The nerves in you, always managing to make him smirk. But just as you felt the others breath on your faces, a door in the distance opened. Music and laughter and the sounds of a group making drunken rackets paused Jons movement.

If it were any normal day, you’d just say not here.

But you and Jon knew better, in a few days, he would stand in the godswood and watch you marry his brother. And soon after that he would join a group that cut your love off from him for life. You couldn’t kiss now, and not ever again.

It didn’t stop either of you from seeing the other after the night was over. But with the royal company here, with you and Robb spending more time together, you only had time to see each other in the secrets of the dark. What made that much harder though, was how little suddenly anyone looked forward to a wedding.

Bran had climbed the walls and towers thousands of times with a firm grip. And yet, while climbing the one tower which no one use in decades, Bran somehow fell so far to the ground, no one yet knew if he would wake up.

And amongst all that, the Queen insisted, “We still have a wedding to put on.”

The entire family was on edge. Maester Luwin has monitored him closely, and Lady Catelyn even closer having not left his side. You didn’t blame her one bit. It was before anyone else was really awake when you went to go see her.

Slowly peeking in, asking if it was alright you come in for a moment and you were thrown back over ten years ago. Looking at your own mother, Selyse, and how broken and lost she was as Maester Cressen warned her to prepare herself for Shireen to be sent away for good.

Walking by her side, you sat gently on the bed beside Bran. It was cruel. Only a boy of ten, and with the softest, most adorable little face you’d ever seen and yet he lay in bed broken in too many ways. If he woke, he’d never walk again. You thought to yourself, maybe if you were to be a proper northern, you should start praying to the Old Gods. Because it certainly seemed like praying to the Seven had done nothing. It left your baby sister disfigured for life, and so far they seem to have left Bran a cripple should they even allow him to wake.

Laying on the other side was his yet unnamed Direwolf. Hardly more then puppies when you first arrived, you had been shocked to see how they had grown. Sitting asleep by his masters side though, you hoped he would bring little Bran any comfort.

Lady Catelyn was silent beside you, working away on something you hadn’t quite understood. You didn’t ask, you weren’t a mother and you didn’t want her to have to explain her grief to you. Your hand gently ran over Brans wrist, your thumb feeling his pulse weak but still beating if you pressed firm enough. “My sister had greyscale as a baby.”

You felt her look up at you, but your eyes were trained on the adorable boy soon to be your brother. “My father bought her a doll from a merchant, and next thing we knew it was spreading fast over the side of her face. She was just a baby she didn’t even understand what was happening to her, but we all did.”

You felt your eyes sting, but forced them back with a harsh swallow. “I’ve never heard my mother cry like that. She lost four boys in the womb, and yet that was the most I’ve ever seen her cry. And my father?” You stumbled. Voice coming out harsh, and cracked slightly from the pressure to appear steady. “People used to say the only thing that he would ever smile for is me, but they don’t understand. They didn’t see the desperation in his eyes, how far and hard he searched to bring people to Dragonstone just for a chance to save her life. And none of them saw the tears in his eyes when he was finally allowed to hold her again.”

Reaching up with your other hand you ran your hand over the side of Brans face, brushing some hair to the side. “I’m sorry. Me and Robb both tried telling them to put it off, but the Queen insisted that a wedding might do everyone some good.” She tried saying your name, but you interrupted her. “It’s okay if you don’t come. If I were a mother, I don’t think I’d leave him either.”

Looking back at her, there were tears in her eyes and a soft smile that broke your heart. Your relationship with her was always complicated, but in this moment, all you saw was what no one had given to your mother when it was Shireen.

Leaning over to her, you hugged her tightly. The pain in her heart evident in how both weak yet tightly she hugged back. Pressing a kiss to her forehead you spoke quietly, “I’m sorry.”

Passing by the busy servants and suspiciously watchful Queen you paid no mind to the preparations that were to be for you tomorrow. At first it had felt like you and Robb were to be wed for some unknown plot of your fathers, but now it felt like a distraction.

Don’t look at the broken boy in bed, look at the happy couple. For their own pain, you had to hand it to the three of them. Lord Stark, Robb, and Jon truly what Starks were made of. Strong willed, and keeping calm acting as a pillar for the much younger and more worried siblings. Arya clearly a big influence on her direwolf Nymeria, as the wolf was agitated and struggled to sit still the past days. On multiple occasions, you found the wolf almost trying to rile up her own siblings to varying success.

Her and little Rickons direwolf Shaggydog had the most energy. As if getting out their tension by chasing and play fighting. Sansa’s Lady was truly an apt name. Stuck by her side and was poise and put together, only getting in the way to provide any comfort to the redhead in what Sansa thought were moments no one was looking.

Grey Wind was as strong headed as Robb. Their mother gone, he had taken up the mantle of leader of the pack and seemed to be a calming presence for the others. Much like how Robb’s confidence in ensuring his siblings Bran would be alright, provided such comfort to them. The more time you spend with Robb during the day, the more used to Grey Wind you got.

He grew larger then the others, a gorgeous mix of greys and browns in his colour and the more comfortable with a new closeness which Robb grew with you over the past few days, the easier it was for Grey Wind to come to your side when not with his own master. Lord Stark had joked that they seemed to sense you were about to become a wolf yourself.

It was the final direwolf however that you enjoyed the most. Pure white with striking red eyes, Ghost was smaller then the rest but quick and silent. He made very little noise if ever, but was always aware of his surroundings. Keeping out of the way without sacrificing his watchful canine eyes from their view, and listened to his master better then any of them.

Jon and Ghost it seemed, were one in the same. From the same family, but not truly one of the pack as the others were. While the others followed their master like an animal companion, Ghost and Jon were almost like friends instead. Certainly he took Jons feelings around people seriously, considering that as you sat out in the godswood while the moon set itself up in the night sky, you were suddenly almost thrown off balance.

Looking down, the small white direwolf had leaped into your lap. Leaning up to give your cheek a lick before settling in. You scratched at his back, “I don’t know what you’re asking for, but I’m getting up in about ten seconds.”

“Maybe he just likes how soft you are.” Looking up, you utterly failed to fight back both the fluster in your eyes and the embarrassed smile that you tried to hide, turning away from him.

Jon’s curls looked more wild and free again, growing out quickly from the clean cut given before your arrival. The wilder look suited him better. His cloak around his shoulders had a bright closer to white fur around him that you knew first hand was warm and comforting. Coming to sit next to you, he reached over and ran his fingers over Ghosts ear, making him shake his head with a barley audible huff at being disturbed. You both laughed gently, were it not a wolf in your lap, a commoner would mistaken you both for that of a couple with their newborn.

You were to be married tomorrow, and in two days you and Jon would part ways for what could be life for all you knew. Two days, but tonight was your last. Tomorrow you would be Lady Stark, wife of Lord Robb Stark, and there was no room in that duty for another or fairness in your heart.

Leaning against his shoulder, you knew in the eyes of the old gods there was no judgment as you rested your head there. His arm coming to pull you into his side as he looked down to you, your own trained on Ghost.

More then once you and Jon had almost kissed, it would be too easy. To fall into it again. You didn’t fall into it the first time, it was just a bond that always existed. The last time you had ever kissed, was when you came close to giving him something else.

The opportunity was right there, and no one would have been there to stop you, but neither of you were people who could so easily push past the honour you were raised with. Deep down in his mind, Jon knew you could never just marry someone like him, not for who you were. He just didn’t expect to come to the finality of it all, only months after almost having you.

Not that he told it to you, but there was a smugness in Jon that said that at least if he had one thing over Robb, or two, was that he was your first kiss. Knew what your lips tasted like, and knew what a cruelly addicted sight your bare body looked like. Though, not if he asked you, you’d say that wasn’t a perk.

Reminding Jon that he was muscle and you weren’t. Only receiving a dark, undoubtedly lustful look as he muttered that your softness is exactly what he dreams about before kissing you, having pushed you back into the furs of his own bed.

A far off moment, sitting together now, cuddled with his cloak around you against the Weirwood tree for the last time. “We never had a chance did we?” Pulling back, Jon tried looking at you with a slight question in his narrowed brows, but you just continued to run your fingers gently over the slumbering Ghost. “I mean, being with you is easy. It’s always been easy, but being together?”

Resting his chin on the top of your head, he breathed in deeply. “No. No we never had a chance.”

The truth didn’t make it hurt any less. But you weren’t children anymore. You would marry Robb, return to Kings Landing and serve on the small council at the Hand of the Kings Side, in place of your own lord father and Jon would become a man of the Night’s Watch.

In what world did those two things have a chance at crossing over?

Turning your head, you rested further into his neck and his warmth was unyieldingly comforting. “You know right? Even if I don’t say it?”

Jon had enough, moving to pull your face up to look at him by your chin. “I know. And you do too.”

Your heart skipping a beat you smiled partially, “You know it’d be a whole lot easier not to kiss you if you weren’t so handsome.”

Smirking, Jon pulled you closer. Your back more pressed against his chest as he wrapped the edges of his cloak around your front, hiding the blissfully unaware Ghost from the cold air. “Oh I’m handsome, am I?”

Rolling your eyes, you relaxed in his touch. “I’m not blind, Snow. It’s an unfair thing about you Stark men, you, Robb and your father, all way too handsome for your own good.” You had always done that. Included Jon when referring to the Starks without question. It was something that only his youngest siblings would still do, and that's just because they weren’t yet mature enough to truly understand why he was treated different.

You were though. You knew why, but you and him were always the closest even before the messy feelings of early teenage hood started to take place, and since then you were only more steady in that belief. He was a Snow, but his blood a Stark. And no matter what he called himself, he would always have the blood and integrity of his father. “Should I be worried? Marrying my brother, and running off to Kings Landing with my apparently handsome father?”

Pinching your sides, you tried elbowing him but Jon was far stronger and held you still with a laugh, your voice high and defensive. “I didn’t mean- sorry next time I’ll call your family ugly, alright?” With a pause, it slipped out before you could stop it. “Jealousy another Stark trait I should be worried about?”

You could feel the smirk still plastered across Jons face in his voice at your ear, “When the girl looks like you, any man with half a brain would be jealous of letting you go.”

It was far later then you should’ve been awake, but peeling yourselves apart for the last time was too difficult. It was quiet for a while, nothing but the quiet hums of the woods to pass the silence. His voice rasped in your ear, a small shiver down your spine at its closeness. “Where’d we meet?” He chuckled at your blatant confused face. “If we had a chance, in another life where’d we meet?”

“Are we not still us?”

You enjoyed hearing him so light and casual, it felt like I’d been months long amount of days since you’d seen such casualness. “No, well I mean I’m still me and you’re still you. But we’re not highborns, no titles or duties. Just two people somewhere in the kingdom, where’d we meet?”

Eyes squinting in thought, you considered something that was the opposite of the horrible paranoia of Kings Landing, and far from the darkness of Dragonstone. “I hear Highgarden is beautiful in the summer.”

Jon nodded against your head, “Alright. So you’re a bar maid in Highgarden, and I-”

Laughing loudly you tried pulling away, “Excuse me, why am I a barmaid? Isn’t this a fantasy?”

With such a tone of seriousness you felt light at how easily it came to him, as if it was something he’s thought of before. “Yes, and if you’re a bar maid it means I have an excuse to pull this pretty little bar maid in Highgarden down onto my lap as she passes by.”

“That’s aggressive of you.”

“Maybe this particular bar maid makes me aggressive.”

Back and forth you went, what is job was, how you’d fall in love, if you stayed in Highgarden or travelled the realm elsewhere. How many kids you’d have to which you certainly had protests as to how easily Jon kept raising the number each time he mentioned it. By the time you had planned out a new life, it was late enough that you needed to go back.

You needed some sleep, and Jon wasn’t the only brother who you wanted to talk to before this was all over.

Ghost lept out of your lap and shook his fur out on the ground as you both watched him with a fond smile. Looking back at him, you held onto his wrists and he your waist. This time, neither moved in or even tempted the idea of a kiss.

Raising a hand to cup the side of your cheek, he ran a thumb over the soft skin. “Don’t look for me in the ceremony.” Before you had a chance to spiral, he leaned down to meet your eyes more level. “I’ll be there, but don’t look for me. You’re going to be Robb’s now, and I want you to be okay with accepting that.”

Nodding, he made you promise out loud. “I promise.”

He nodded once. “You’ll be each others tomorrow, and I’ll be at the wall. I want you two to be there for each other, no matter what. Besides, it’ll be easy.” You tilted your head. “Robb’s easy to fall in love with, and I think it’s impossible not to fall at least a little in love with you.”

The hug you shared wasn’t the last before you departed, but it was the last one just for you.

He sent you off first, not wanting you to linger with him on your mind. Jon needed you to be okay with being Robb’s, and he himself, needed to just get through these next few days. He had an entire life at the wall to grieve about you.

The handmaiden was quite mad at how you ignored her. Something about the Seven, not seeing the bride but you went towards Robbs anyways. You were to be married at the Weirwood under the eyes of the old gods, it didn’t matter what the Seven wanted anymore.

Not quite dressed up, Theon looked you up and down as he opened the door. “Didn’t think you were that much of a bore.” You pushed him out the way with a roll of your eyes, he laughed as he closed the door behind him. You were glad that the northerners weren’t so dramatic.

With his mother tucked away with Bran, he escaped what would’ve been her insistence of shaving and another trim. His facial hair growing thick and his curls much more Tully Red in the daylight. “I want to ask you a favour.”

Nodding once, he said anything. Taking a step to you as you sighed out shakily, hands ringing together, he said your name as he came into your space. Looking up at him, you sighed out again. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Taken back, his eyes narrowed in curiosity. “That’s not a favour.”

Somewhat flustered, you pulled away. Sitting down on his bed, unable suddenly to send away the thoughts of the very next time you’ll be in this room. “I- I don’t want you thinking I don’t want this, or you, but we didn’t plan this, or talk about it before it happened, and now we’re here and,”

Robb knelt down to your level, not yet touching you in your panic, but speaking slow and in a low, comforting tone until the edge fell from your lips. His steady energy slightly bringing you down a little bit as you tried again. “My parents are miserable together.” Your hands started to wring together in front of you, “They barley tolerate each other, I’ve never seen any love between them. And same with my Uncle. He and the Queen basically hate each other I’m shocked they could stand each other long enough to have three kids together.”

His brows narrowed as you put it all together. “Everyone I know whose married for duty, married because they had to...I think your parents are the only ones I know who ended up happy, who actually love each other.”

Robb leaned in slightly, “Are you worried you’ll never love-”

Shaking your head you felt the anxiety in your chest boil up like never before. “Robb, look at me. I’m Stannis Baratheons child, daughter of the supposed most miserable man in Westeros in the most loveless marriage, are you sure you’re okay with marrying me?”

There it was. The first true hint of insecurity that you’ve allowed yourself to be honest with since you had been told of this arrangement. Two out of three Baratheon Lords were in miserable marriages, and when you looked at Robb, you hated the idea that you were forcing him into just another of that cycle.

The girl in you wanted to cry at losing one love, and the woman in you hated yourself for possibly dragging another into something he’d come to hate. You’ve known Robb for as long as you’ve known Jon, and you watched him grow into the man he is now. Both of you could do great things together according to Lord Stark, but what if you were too much like your father to ever inspire love?

Robb stood up, sitting down next to you as he turned his body close. Your name falling easily from his lips. “You’re not your father. No- look at me. You are not him, you’re not any of them. I’ve known you since you were eight. You’re stubborn, and strong willed and always willing to do what duty asks but that isn’t all of you. I’ve also seen you laugh, get into trouble with me more times then I can count, you care about my little sisters and my brothers like their yours too. My father already sees you like your his own, and despite everything, I know my mother does too.”

Running a hand over your hair, he watched tension in your shoulders deflate ever so slightly. “I’m not worried about marrying you, because I know what I’m getting myself into. And no one can tell me to be happy about it, but I am anyways.”

Gently you raised your hand, enough to slightly lay over the arm Robb had flat on the bed, your thumb finding this pulse, unlike little Brans, his was steady and strong. “You shouldn’t be. You get told your marrying me, and then the day after I get dragged back to Kings Landing with half your family for who knows how long.”

Your heart raced, as Robb twisted his arm, holding your wrist the same way you were his. An easy, charming, boyish smile on his lips. “And we’ll have the rest of our lives to make up for it.”

Deep in your mind, you wished Robb would make this harder. You wished he wasn’t so easy to be charmed by, but you knew him too well to trick yourself into thinking he wasn’t being genuine or honest. “So about that favour...”

Narrowing his eyes, there was a flush in your cheeks that you hated was making him smirk. “What about it?”

You sheepishly tried pulling away, but he yanked you closed by is hold on your wrist. Looking down anywhere but his face you felt like a little girl again, only that time you didn’t have to be the one to ask for it, Jon kissed you before you knew what was happening.

Robb though? Oh Robb knew exactly what you were trying to ask, but was almost sadistically enjoying the process of making you say it out loud to him. You flushed more at what other implications this potential side of him would bring. “I, okay I’m not some innocent flower.”

He raised his eyebrows and you smiled indigently, “I mean, I’m still- I haven’t- shut up.” Robb was flat out laughing at that point but let you fail at getting this out with composure. “I know you’ve been with women before, physically..”

“Does that bother you?”

Shaking your head no, it was no lie. You may have to get used to the idea of being married to him, but again, you weren’t blind. You had eyes, you knew exactly what women saw in Robb Stark. “What I’m trying to say, I’ve kissed someone before but not you.”

Much more serious, Robb clearly did know what you were asking, but watched with his gorgeous comforting blue eyes intensely as you whispered. “I don’t want our first kiss to be in front of all of them.” His family, the royals, all those you didn’t know, the old gods, and even Jon. A first kiss in front of him felt too personal, to intimate.

Moving close, you felt his breathe on your skin. “Do you want me to kiss you? Here?”

The room slipped away though, Robb’s voice was so warm and so was he. The hand on your wrist moved to rest at your waist while the other hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you firmly. His lips would brush against yours if either spoke, but he waited for a single nod before kissing you.

His kiss was different. Soft, but coaxing. Like he knew what was holding you back, and just let you fall into it on your own. It was simple and gentle at first, but as soon as you let out a tiny sigh, something in Robb slipped for a moment. Kissing you again, harder this time. His hands tighter and his kiss a little deeper.

Leaning into his front, your hand found the back of his neck and into his curls, and your other against his chest as if they always knew what to do. It wasn’t until you let out what might just have been a small moan, Robb close to pulling you into his lap did he pull away. Pressing a kiss to your forehead and running his hand once more over your hair.

“Can you live with that? For the rest of your life?”

Robb smiled softly at the very new venerability in you. Pressing one more kiss to your cheek, he knew you didn’t mean only having a kiss. But was he happy with such a kiss was your question. “Wait until tonight, I’ll tell what about you I’ve been fantasizing about living with.”

The grin on Robbs face as he pulled away wasn’t the charming boyish one earlier. No, this one was far more that of who he was really, a wolf. A wolf who looked you up and down and made you realize that Robb Stark just might not be as dashing and honourable as he’s led you to believe.

A thought that should’ve made you nervous, but as you walked back to your room, ready to let the girls doll you up and argue about not touching your hair, you started to think that maybe that wolfish grin, actually excited you.

Just when you thought you were going to die of a heart attack, your to be lord father gave you a reason to have a whole new panic. The ceremony was more fancy then any of you involved wanted, not the Starks nor you, but your own father insisted on marrying you off with the royals in toe.

He wasn’t here. Your mother neither. Both of them, Lady Catelyn and Selyse were either sickly or caring for the sick and weren’t here, but Ned Stark was. He was here, and your own father wasn’t. Stannis was not a consistently comforting father, but part of you felt hurt that he wasn’t here to see his oldest daughter, his own heir, marry for the first time.

Instead, the man who had seen you raised half your life here, the one who would be your father by marriage once this was done was the one who approached you. Looking out into the distant woods as you clearly struggled to hold your nerves back. “I didn’t think this was the thing that’d worry you so much.”

Spinning around, Lord Stark reached out to steady you with a chuckle. “I’m sorry, I just...this is a lot..was it this nerve wracking when you married Catelyn?”

Not pushing you towards the woods, he stood beside you an arm around your shoulder as he rubbed your upper arm gently. “Terrifying. I’d rather face a thousand armed men then get married in front of all those people. I certainly wouldn’t have wanted someone as delightful as the Queen at mine either.” You huffed a single laugh out and swallowed the rest. “And I know I certainly wouldn’t want the person I love watch me marry someone else.”

Blood in your veins froze, your heart stopped and nothing but nausea flowed up your lungs. “I-”

He wasn’t even angry, or disappointed. He chuckled with a fondness. “I’ve seen you spend half your life here, sweet girl. Watched you grow up alongside my own sons, and I’ve watched Jon be in love with you since the first day you ever arrived.” If you cried, you’d mess up the annoying amount of makeup they insisted on, but you felt a sob in your chest. “You made him happy, and he made you happy. For a time, a long time I thought that was enough. But I also know for a fact that Jon never saw marrying you as an option. He always was painfully aware of who you were.”

You felt the stinging, and you stood still in his hold. Forcing deep breaths to push away the panic.

“There’s a good number of things I regret about how I raised him. It doesn’t feel good knowing that he’s always felt inferior to Robb and now the woman he loves is marrying him too. If I could do it again, would I even be better. Force Roberts hand harder, be more honest with Cat, let him just be a Stark and there’d be nothing in his way for you. But I didn’t do that, nor do I know if I ever should’ve.”

Looking down, your arms crossed over your chest. “I don’t want you to assume I’m just thinking of Jon while I’m with Robb, it’s not that. I’ve known Robb for just as long, and we’ve always been just as close, save for, you know.” His hand was soothing like a true fathers comfort running up and down what he could reach of your arm.

“Here’s whats going to happen. I’m going to walk you out there to my son, you’ll kneel together before the Weirwood and pray and when you rise you’ll be a Stark. Part of you will always be a Baratheon, but you’ll also be our family now. And no matter what, wolves always protect those in their pack. I’m not going to assume the worst of you, because I know you better then that. You and Robb will be good for each other, and just because losing Jon hurts doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re not willing to love Robb.”

Looking up at him you frustratingly wipe at the tears, and he pulled you into a hug. One that you hadn’t felt in a very long time. It had been too long since you felt the hug, the love of a real father. Muttering into your hair, you could feel the same smirk that you could always sense on both brothers. “Besides, I can tell you for certain, having one night with your spouse before being dragged halfway across the country will do wonders for your heart.”

You laughed a lot at that one. Pulling away he looked you over, gently wiping away the rest of the tears on your cheeks. “Come on, sweet girl. You have a wolf waiting for you.”

If you were being honest, it was a blur. There were so many people, and most of them you’d never want present at your wedding in any lifetime. The golden hair of the Lannisters mocked you, the bored and judgmental sneer of your cousin annoyed you, and the silent watching of an Uncle who you barley knew anymore, but you were thankful that this wasn’t in a sept.

The crowd silent, no words spoken by anyone except you and Robb. He looked tall and fierce, curls shining more red in the peeking sun through the leaves, eyes bright and blue like the sea as he looked at nothing and no one but you. The fur around his shoulders making him look large like the wolf he was said to be, and soon it too would be yours.

Whatever small words you exchanged, you heard none of it but the blood in your veins. Thankful when Robb took your hand and knelt down with you, facing away from the crowd. The Seven was what you were raised to pray too, but you were a wolf now. And the wolves answered to the Old Gods.

A fate you were perhaps always meant to have, feeling much more heard in your silence of the Weirwood then you ever did in a sept. Eyes open, looking up the carved face at the same time, the crowd was silent, Robb grabbing both your hands to stand as he kept your eyes.

Draping the very fur he wore over your shoulders, he gently pulled you in with two fingers under your chin. This kiss was far softer and fairer then the one you shared in private, but this was also all your anxiety could handle. And Robb knew it.

Were it a more jovial occasion, it was tradition for a northern groom to carry the bride to the feast but Lord Stark had the sense to give you two a moment alone and King Robert was more then happy to direct the crowd to where the wine and food sat.

Your heart racing, Robb gently held your waist with his forehead pressed to yours. Eyes both shut as your hands rested on his chest. You left tomorrow, so all you had was now and tonight.

It’s what he demanded of you, and what he wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that it hurt Jon Snow a great deal to watch you marry his brother, and not once did he ever see the transfixing beauty in your eyes.

You didn’t look at him once, and Jon couldn’t get to the wall fast enough.

Truth be told, the first big laugh you had was at the sheer idea of your father here. Meals with him, there was no laughter or rambunctious behaviour. Just silence, diplomacy, and the mind numbing dings and clogs of Patchface. No joy in a meal under Stannis’s watch, except for the fool himself. Patchface there who was only lucky enough to be in a job, because gods help her, for whatever reason the fool made Shireen laugh.

You couldn’t imagine your father here. The drinking, the laughter, the never ending line of food, talk, and fun. Truth be told, you and Robb spent little time there. You glanced nervously at him more then once, and in your bubble of privacy he would rest a hand on your thigh firmly and a whisper in your ear to at least eat something.

Arya tried many times to come and talk to you, but Sansa yelled at her each time. Telling her to leave the two of you alone, the three of you girls would be in Kings Landing together anyways.

King Robert, on now one too many drinks made an innocuous comment about beds, or sex, or something vaguely incoherent and you and Robb looked to the other. You wide eyed and nervous, but there was something in his that settled it. Leaning to your ear, his voice felt like a rumble. “Normally I’m for tradition, but I’ll be damned if I let this lot see any of you like that.”

One of the men in the crowd had seen you like that, but with the way Robb looked at you, for once, Jon hadn’t crossed your mind. Too much nerves, too much wine, and a fat load of worry about being in a mans bed proper for the first time.

By the time the crowd noticed, Ned just chuckled at Roberts comments about the bride and groom slipping away before a gods honest tradition. “I told Cat I wasn’t going to let their be a bedding ceremony because I didn’t want to hurt someone on our wedding night.” Shrugging one shoulder, he grinned almost proud. “Glad to know my son’s the same.”

The worries of what was to come, ended up being broken slightly by the fact that as soon as Robb opened his door, Grey wind was sat in the middle of the bed. Large body splayed out like it was already bed time. Rising his head up at the sound of the door, you ended up bursting into laughter at Robb having to tell him twice to go.

Shutting it behind the growing direwolf, Robb shook his head something snarky on his tongue that died as he looked to you. Draped in his furs, furs that made you look far smaller and the gentle almost innocent look as you stepped around his room. You’d been in here countless times, slept in here countless times, but never like this.

Trying desperately to hold back your nerves, you looked out the open window focusing on steadying your heart. But the warmth of Robb enveloped your back as he reached over you, closing the windows and sealing you both alone. The crackling of a fire almost enough to hide the shaky breathe as Robb gently ran his hands down your arms.

Resting both on your waist, Robb wrapped one around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. He didn’t let you ruminate on the worry, dipping his head to level his mouth with your ear. “If you don’t want this, I need you to tell me.” Freezing in his arms, he spoke almost quieter but it raged so close to your ear. “We don’t have to do anything, but you need to be honest with me about it.”

You felt light on your feet. You’ve never heard this tone from Robb before, never so intimate in your ear and the deep rumblings of his voice felt as if something strong inside was being held back. The act itself scared you, it always had. But another part of you wondered if you should be fearful of the young wolf behind you, or if that fear excited you.

The arm around your stomach rose up, tilting your head to turn slightly to the side, enough that part of him was within your sight as he murmured your name. “I know you’ve never done this before, is it just that, that scares you or is it me?”

Shaking your head fervently, you startled him. “No, no it’s not you. It’s just- I should know what to expect by now but,” Taking a deep breathe you shut your eyes. “The girls in Kings Landing all talk about men and their first time like it’s painful, violent.”

Robb chuckled deeply, vibrating through his chest into your back and down between your legs. It was a dark laugh, and you felt overwhelmed at how little you really considered what he might be like. “It’s only painful if the man is a worthless, brute who thinks getting off is better then getting their lady off.”

Was your chest heaving with you hard you felt yourself breathing, your eyebrows raised and lips slightly parted you felt more waves between your legs and having it all be because of Robb was more then enough to leave you speechless. Reading your body like a book, Robb leaned down more, brushing his lips against your neck. Grinning at the sigh you unknowingly let out.

Turning slightly more you could see him a bit better. “Will it hurt?”

Smiling like a predator, he pulled you closer to him. “Only if you want it to.” Laughing at your breathless expression, asking why some women would want it to hurt. He moved a hand to your hip and pressed his lips closer to your jaw. “Don’t worry. If you want it, we’ll get there. Tonight’s not about that though.”

Suddenly pulling away he yanked his cloak enough that it slipped from your shoulders and pooled onto the ground. Turning you in his arms, Robb gripped the sides of your dress tightly in his fists before pulling it up and off you. The fact that you let him do that, not telling him how little you had on underneath might have been a dangerous idea.

Usually such a dress was worn with layers underneath, and yet, all that remained on you was that which covered your most lower regions. Your softness, plush skin, and tits all on display. Holding your hips, Robb closed his eyes breathing deep for a moment. “For a girl whose never done this before, this is awfully naughty of you.”

Indeed was the charming boy no longer here, but a man, a wolf looking at his mate like prey.

Swallowing the pounding in your heart, you reached up to Robb, slowly pulling layers up and off of him for yourself. His hands were much more confident then yours were currently, but he stood still watching and letting you undress him at your own pace.

Staring was impolite, and yet Robb didn’t mind as you looked at his chest now totally free. Just as your fingers reached for his pants he snatched your hands. Raising them in the air as you gasped in surprise.

“This is about you. Lay down for me.”

Watching you with dark eyes, you couldn’t ignore how intensely he looked you up and down as you lay back on the top of his bed. Your palms bracing you up before being tossed back down as Robb suddenly climbed up the bed and over top of you. A hand on each side of your head as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Do you trust me?”

Without even considering it, you answered the raw truth. “Always.”

One hand reached up, grabbing your jaw roughly as he pulled your lips back to his. This time he kissed you nothing like before. His kiss was rough, demanding and deep. Guiding your every move and commanding that you obey. He tugged your hip with his other hand up to press into his own and as you gasped, he slipped his tongue into your mouth.

Lightheaded, you surrendered to his touch. As if all will of your own bled out onto the bed leaving nothing but Robb to command you as he pleases, and yet the idea didn’t scare you the way it was described by others. Your hands reached up and grasped his waist, a small sound leaving your mouth into his.

Switching between tasting you with his tongue and biting at your lips it, Robb let go of your jaw and ran it behind your head and grasped your hair tightly. Pressing his body down firmly, his hips naturally rutted into yours. He smirked as you gasped.

The rougher he kissed you, the more your hands moved on their own. Reaching behind his neck and wrapping around it to sink into his hair he ground his hips into you harder. A gentle moan leaving you, Robb left your lips, running the same ferocity down your neck. His lips and teeth no doubt leaving marks that a proper lady should be ashamed of.

He didn’t quite stop, kissing down your neck more until he reached your breasts. Grinning at how hard you were breathing, he stopped that right in it’s tracks as his hands cupped your chest. A needy cry left your lips, turning to a longer moan as Robb ran this thumbs over your nipples. Just as one hand grasped one, did he lower his mouth to bite at the other.

Pleasure shooting through you, your back arched into his body and limbs felt like they seized from the pleasure. His teeth switching between a gentle nibble and a harsher bite just to pull a gasp from you, he played you like an instrument. Getting every sound from your pretty lips that made his cock that much harder.

Pulling away, he hovered over you looking down at the almost in awe expression. You weren’t used to such a side to this man, and he seemed to reveal in your innocence over it. Leaning back more, you followed the sight of his dark eyes, parted lips and down his chest to where he hands slowly pulled at his pants.

Swallowing hard, he tilted your head up his a hand firmly at your jaw. “Keep your eyes on me.” Not letting you look down as he stripped himself bare. “Good girl, keep them on me and only me.” Slowly moving down the bed he pulled your hips to, grabbing your underwear and pulling them down.

The coolness of outside did nothing to take away how warm and wet you were between your legs, and Robb forced you to stay on his face. Making you look at his eyes, greedily pushing your knees apart and expression turning dark as he stared at you. A slightly whimper leaving you, he leaned back over you, one hand running over your thigh, first on the outside, then inside, and slowly upwards.

Just as he reached you, Robb bit at your bottom lip. Using the chance to slip his tongue inside you just as he ran his hand over you. Cupping you entirely and already he smirked into the kiss at how soaked you were. Lips brushing yours as he pulled back enough to speak, his fingers gently running back and forth across your soaked slit. “Good girls don’t get this wet, do they?”

Shaking your head no, all you could do was hear his voice. Eye slipping closed as your legs shook and a coil within you twisted at such an easy touch. Robb continued. “No, good girls are sweet and innocent. This doesn’t feel very innocent to me.” Two fingers now soaked danced up and ran across your clit.

Jumping at the shock of pleasure, you grasped him by the shoulders with a whine. “It’s all for you-”

Stammering the words out as Robb now rubbed tight circles against your clit. Your muscles tensing and his own hips refusing to let you close them you had to just take it. His other fingers still soaking up whatever you drenched him with. “I know it is. You ready for me to open you up? Make you cum before you take me?”

You’d say yes to pretty much anything Robb asked of you right now. Nodding, you leaned up to kiss him, making him smile into your lips as he slipped two soaked fingers deep inside to his knuckles. You gasped so loudly, were the windows not closed no doubt the outside world would’ve heard you. Sinking them deep in one go, you writhed in his touch.

Robb slowly slid them out and back, the wetness between you making the sound obscene, but it was the only music Robb could stand to hear. He never picked up the pace, but he did, right as you tensed in his touch? Stopped rubbing at your clit, and slit a third finger down to sink inside you with the others.

You cried his name and he kissed down your neck as he slowly pumped them inside of you. Clenching around his fingers he bit your skin harder trying to force his cock to shut up. Screaming at him like a howling wolf to just take you already.

Pulling back from your lips he looked you in the eye, feeling you clench around him as your sounds grew higher. Something burned hot inside of you as the other twisted and turned so tightly. One free hand, Robb ran over your lips, and something sweet inside you, pressed a gentle kiss to his fingers as he did so.

In return? He ran his thumb roughly over your clit as pumped his fingers slow and deep into you as you came around them. You moaned his name, but muffled it as Robb gently sunk two fingers into your mouth at the same time. One hand grasped his wrist, and yet even as you came something inside you obeyed like you were a submitting prey.

Robb almost snarled at how well you sucked on his fingers, and how he wished you two had more time then tonight. He couldn’t stop the thought of how beautiful you would look on your knees before him, obediently sucking on his cock with his hand guiding you up and down his length tight in your hair.

Pulling out of you Robb pulled your body up to press against his bare one and kissed you full of tongue and a greedy desperation. A desperation you yearned for back. It was a strained rasp of your own in his ear that had him shudder. “Please, Robb. Please fuck me.”

It didn’t even occur to you to try and be sweet or innocent about it. You could feel his cock pressing against you between your still shaking legs and you felt lightheaded at how thick it felt against you. Kissing your ear, he murmured much more gentle, “Are you sure?” As you nodded he bit your earlobe and hissed into it. “Out loud.”

Nodding again, your hands wrapped around his neck as you kissed him. “I’m sure, I want you.”

Kneeling up on the bed, Robb ran his hand gently down the side of your body. His dark eyes soft for just a little while longer, as you felt something in your chest at him. Pulling your hips more up into his lap you think you understood why he kept his eyes on you.

His chest led down to coarse, rough hair surrounding a long, thick cock that you wondered if it would even fully fit in your hand. Your chest heaved as you stared, and he slipped into a deeper tone. “It’s not polite to stare.”

Slipping a hand behind your head, Robb kept you looking down, watching as he ran the tip of his cock over your entrance, up brushing against your clit and back down. Barley sliding in each time until you begged his name once more. This time Robb watched your eyes, as he kept your head looking down to watch him slide his cock inside you.

He was thick, and the stretch itself stung in a way that made you gasp but not a pain that you had feared from it. No, the deeper he sunk the more you soaked his cock. Only halfway in, Robb tugged your hair to look up at him before he in a much more punishing thrust, bottomed out.

His face snarled at how tight, how warm and soaking wet you cunt was and he pulled you right back into an equally as rough kiss. He didn’t go fast, but part of him reasoned to go more gentle, and yet?

Your cries, your begs of his name as each slow, rough fuck had your arching your back into his body all the more. Each pound of his cock inside of you slapped loudly in a way that had him grip your hips so tight, you could already feel the bruises.

Sweat built up on both your bodies and you ran your hand through his own increasingly damp curls, scratching his scalp with your nails that had him fuck into you harder each time. For all his talk, little thoughts came to his mind as Robb fucked you.

Like something of an animal took over and all he could think of was how much he wanted to fuck you more, harder, faster, fill you until his cum spilled out of you and then fill you more. You cried out, nails scratching down his back without even realizing you were doing so, but muffling each sound as you bit into the meat of his shoulder. Robb, fucked you harder and struggled to stay slow.

You clenched tightly, enough that he had to pound into your cunt roughly just to sink as deep as he could inside and pulling away enough he could see tears at the side of your eyes but you rather then begging for mercy, begged for more as you kissed him.

His hands held your knees, pushing as wide as possible as Robb lost composure. Fucking you faster and just as one hand moved to rub at your clit you came around him. Robb leaving your other knee to press his hand against your mouth at how little you could contain your cries.

Fucking into you once, twice, five more times he pushed inside as deep as he could sink and filled you with him. His cum warm and thick, it felt like there was so much more of it then a normal man would have but you let Robb pull you into another kiss, this one rough and sloppy as he filled you with his cum as his tongue did your mouth.

Never leaving, his hands eventually turned soothing, his kiss softer and his voice not commanding but assuring. Telling you how good you did, how perfect you were. Holding you in his arms and him yours, it was just the two of you in that moment and nothing more.

It was only when you started to laugh, did Robb laugh. Yanking you into his chest as he flopped onto his back with you on top of him. Kissing you gently as he ran a hand over your hair. “Aye, a man could get used to this.”

He should’ve let you rest, but he took you once more that night. This time, far less able to hold back how fast and greedy he wanted to be about fucking you. The only downside, was how exhausted the night made you.

Slipping into a deep sleep, that only meant morning would come quicker. And too quick it did.

That morning, you both stayed in bed as long as you could. Robbs back against the wall and you against his chest, far less worried about the lack of clothes either of you still had. “You were born for this, Robb. It’s not in you to fail.”

Kissing the side of your head, things were feeling a bit easier, a bit more normal between you even in such an intimate manner. “Everyone says that right up until they fail.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned. Leaving his grasp to gently face him, your body in his lap. Hands on his chest, your eyes often trailed over him. He didn’t question your gaze, you had to get used to him as much as he was getting used to you. It was still new, no matter how much a decade and a half of friendship had formed the foundation.

No joke was in your face though. “I’m serious, Robb. Even if you don’t believe in yourself?” Shrugging one shoulder you smiled softly, “I’m your wife now, so I’ll just do all the believing for you.”

Squeezing your hip, he rolled his own eyes. “And let you do all the work? We’re a team, remember?”

Saying goodbye to Robb however, was easier then what waited for you outside.

Packing up your hose, you heard the two of them in the distance. “My mother?”

“She was very kind.” You tensed slightly, hoping no one noticed but you very much doubted kind was the genuine word Jon should be using. He didn’t deserve her ire, not now, not ever.

“Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.”

“It was always my colour.”

Your eyes closed, trying to tune their goodbye out. You had no right to invade their privacy.

Part of you hoped he would ignore you. You wouldn’t have to handle this and you could ignore it, but Jon knew you way better then that. You’d hate yourself if you left it at this. Reaching over you, Jon pulled part of your things up and secured it without even saying a word. Looking up, he was closer then you thought.

Looking at each other, the responsible thing would be to nod, shake hands, say a cordial goodbye. But Jon stood with his bright eyes, a grey so deep they looked black at times and you wanted to cry. You felt pathetic for being hardly able to hold back such a display of emotions, but the love that Jon had looked at you with for so many years was as strong as it always was.

You had no doubt that you looked just the same.

Jon pulled you into a hug, one too tight and too emotional for the company around and yet neither of you cared. Neither of you knew if this would be the last time, and both of you resented the world for forcing that as a possibility. His hand held you to him from the back of your head as you sunk your face partway into his neck and the other into the fur around him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you.”

Already, even in the others arms, the grieving already begun. Pulling back, you held at his shoulders and he shamelessly cupped the side of your cheeks. “Think I could get to the wall before they catch me, if I kiss you now?”

You burst into a laugh, one bordering too close on a cry. But you tilted your head. “Now or never, Snow.”

The kiss was pressed to your cheek, slow and unrushed before hugging you once more. For too many years you and Jon ignored the inevitability of having to separate like this, and it sat deep and uncomfortable in your stomach to do so. Like leaving the other behind would be a mistake in the long run, but you couldn’t understand why your soul screamed at you to not make it. You knelt down, kissing Ghost on the forehead as he licked at your cheek, whispering to him. “Protect him, no matter what you hear me? Next time I see him, you better make sure he’s as healthy as you are now.”

Seeing the other Starks approaching, you two looked at the other one last time so close you could feel the other. You took off with the company as they all headed out to the Kingsroad, giving enough space for Lord Stark to speak to his son alone before they too parted ways.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about, but you knew Jon Snow better then anyone to guess. As his father turned to leave, you and Jon looked from the distance at the other once more. You said nothing and neither did he. His life was up north now, and yours is both by Lord Stark’s side and your future with your husband. A future you wanted, and one Jon didn’t want to get in the way of. But as you both rode off in opposite directions, that sinking feeling in your gut just screamed louder, the further away you both got.

Neither of you having any idea, what horrors would bring you two back to one another.

#jon snow x reader #robb stark x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #robb stark

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eroselless · 4 months

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PATO - FIVE

series masterlist | part 3 | part 4

[charles leclerc x reader, carlos sainz x reader]

warnings: pregnancy, angst, breastfeeding, spanish and google translated french

note: Yikes, the way I wrote charles is lowkey toxic, mb lol. This part reminded me of a picture i saw ages ago about how men and women deal with breakups, dudes moving on immediately and end up being sad after a few months and women being sad for a bit and then moving on after a few months.

Anyways, shoutout to my baby sisters for being my main inspiration behind Lucero and for helping me figure out what babies do at 13 months lol I apologies in advance if some things don’t make sense, I tried my best to imitate the way they used to speak and use that for Lucero.

Although not necessary, I listened to this playlist while I did all my writing and editing. It’s a nice bittersweet blend. If you guys wanna give it a listen, I think it would enhance the feelings in this part :)

We’re bouncing a little with the time jumps again but as always, they have the dates so its easier to track :) Happy reading!

MEXICO, OCTOBER 2024

Charles staggers into the hotel room, chest heaving as if he’s been sprinting miles without rest. His chest constricts, each breath coming out in shallow puffs as he struggles to recompose himself.

“Mon cœur?” he hears come from the bedroom and he no longer has it in him to hold back. Alexandra peeks out, eyes full of concern as she approaches the sobbing man. His face is buried in his hands and he would give anything to blend into the wall he’s leaning on. Guiding him to their room, she sits him down, slotting herself between his legs as he grips tight around her middle. His tears soak through her shirt as his body wracks with loud sobs.

Frustration, anger, sadness – they all jumble together in his mind. Alexandra runs her fingers through his hair, murmuring comforts and feather light kisses into his hairline and waits for the sobs to soften before speaking.

"Mon cœur, que s'est-il passé?" she asks, gently pushing his face away from her torso. My heart, what happened? She cradles his face as he looks up at her, silent tears staining his face. “That little girl we met today... she's my daughter. I didn’t know.” His voice is hoarse when he whispers, full of regret and guilt.

Alexandra’s eyes widen at the admission. “Charles, comment a-t-elle pu te cacher quelque chose comme ça? C'est... impardonnable," she says, her tinged with sympathy and indignation. How could she keep something like this from you? That's... unforgivable.

Charles shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut, a few tears still escaping down his cheeks. His sobs are fading in quiet hiccups as he slowly regains his breathing. “No, Alex. It’s not her fault. I’m the one who wasn’t there, it’s all my fault. I didn’t care enough, I left.”

She’s puzzled at his confession, lost in the depth of his sorrow. “What?”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

MONACO, DECEMBER 2022

You’re lying partially on your side, arm draped over your bare chest as it rises and falls at a steady pace. He watches as you turn away, hair cascading over your back. The sheets are wrapped just over your middle, your upper body completely exposed to the air. The soft morning light filters through the room and Charles can’t help but think of the events last night.

He can still hear your voice as it echoes through the room, begging him not to stop. He can feel the crescent moons you’ve pressed into the thick muscles of his back. The ghost of your lips still lingers on his skin, like the stain of red lipstick on the collar of a white shirt.

He leans over your sleeping figure, dragging his nose over your shoulder and pressing a ghost of a kiss there. It rouses you just enough to murmur a drowsy protest. “Don’t go,” you whisper and reach out for him, the tips of your fingers barely catching his skin. He is already on his feet.

"I'll be back soon," he lies, slipping out before you can say anything else. He busies himself with mundane tasks, filling his day with errands that could be left for later. He thinks of you, all on your own, in your shared apartment waiting for him to come home. As you always did. He drives across the city, glancing at his phone as your messages roll in, swiping them away almost as quickly as they came.

The truth was, being at home was proving to be increasingly difficult as time went on. His home with you, once a sanctuary, felt like a pressure cooker ready to pop. He loved you, doted on your every move but the constant fear of his career and unrelenting scrutiny of the public had slowly started to suffocate him. He couldn’t bear to break your heart and burden you with his overwhelming amount of feelings. What if he’d never be good enough for Ferrari, good enough for you? With every moment he spent away, he kept sinking into his own mind, choosing to ignore you and your attempts at breaking down his walls. He hated being away from you but he couldn’t help but pack you away into a corner of his mind, where he knew you’d be waiting for him, day in and day out.

He comes home late that night, the guilt of having to face you gnawing at him. It's well after sunset and the night air is cool, the breeze turning icy. He walks through the door, expecting the lights to be off but is surprised to see you leaning over the sink, rinsing off dishes.

Your face lights up when you see him, a tender smile he knows is only for him.

“Cha, you’re back,” you exclaim, turning to face the counter closest to the wall. You pick up a plate, filled generously with a meal that he could tell you spent a great deal of effort on. It’s gone cold in his absence.

He only gives you a small smile, pressing a light kiss to your temple. He can’t help but feel a little surprised at your good mood. But he can’t bring himself to match the enthusiasm you carry in your voice.“I’m not really hungry,” he mutters, eyes not meeting yours. “I think I’ll just shower and head to bed.”

Your smile falters as he moves towards your bedroom, hurt flickering across your face. “But.. I made this for you. You’ve been out all day, I thought we could eat together.”

He forces a smile, trying to appease you and end the conversation quickly. “I appreciate it amour, really. I’m just really tired.”

He can feel your eyes on him as he turns away, heavy with unspoken words. If he knew then what he knows now, he would've stood in that room and held you close. He would’ve tried harder to keep you by his side. He would’ve told you that he loved you. But he didn’t.

She’ll come back, it’s okay, his thoughts echo while he stares at the door as you run into the night. You’re his rock, his anchor. His home. Weeks trickle by slowly and he can feel you slip away as more time goes by. He eventually stops thinking that he can hear your keys jingle in the lock at the front door. Your scent no longer clings to the bedsheets and the lush scented detergent you would buy gradually runs out. He slowly begins placing your things in boxes and taking them into storage where he hopes one day you’ll come to get them. Soon enough, he erases you from the apartment completely and it's as if you were never even there.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Charles shakes his head, his breath hitching. “I would do that often when I was home. I would lavish her with affection, trying to make sure she knew that I loved her with my whole being but…” he stops, pressing shaky fingers to his lips as if his breath is completely depleted. “I would find reasons to leave, seeking comfort in anything that wouldn’t make me think of what I was feeling inside.”

"Why?" Alexandra asks softly, her hand gently stroking his back.

"I was scared," he admitted. "Scared of losing her, of not being enough. I thought keeping my distance, both physically and emotionally, would protect the both of us, but it only drove her away."

Alexandra's heart aches for him as he confesses. She knows Charles loves her but as his emotions spill out before her, she can’t help but feel like the other woman. She feels guilty as this new feeling is born and grows quickly. He’s confiding in her and the only thing she can think of are the doubts beginning to spiral in her mind. Trying to mask her discomfort she wraps her arms around him, his body relaxing against her as his breath gets smoother.

"You did what you thought was best, Charles. You made mistakes, yes, but now you’ve learned and can move to find a better way forward," she says as her hand rubs up and down his back.

Charles shakes his head. "I was selfish, Alex. I was so focused on my fears that I ignored her needs. I wanted to build a life together, to have a family. I pushed her away, and now... now I have a daughter I've never met."

Alex swallows hard as tears begin to bead in her eyes. She tries not to think too much about what he’s saying. She tries not to think about how this could make or break them. Would he still want to build something with me? Have the family he’s always wanted with me?

“But you're here now and that’s all that matters. It’s not going to be easy but you can still be part of Lucero’s life and maybe, in time find a way to make amends.” She meets his gaze once again. The whites of his eyes are now red, only making the green around his iris look more brilliant than it did before. “Thank you, mon amour. For being here, for listening. I don’t deserve you.”

She gives him a small smile, pushing away the feelings of insecurity that are now growing in the back of her mind. “Nous allons nous en sortir. Juste… ne m'exclut pas, d'accord ? Je ne peux pas t'aider si tu ne me laisses pas entrer.” We’ll get through this. Just… don’t shut me out, okay? I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.

“Je promets,” he nods, pulling her into his arms again. I promise.

Charles is exhausted as he lays in her arms later that night, face pressed into her chest, snug against her heart. Alexandra lies awake in the darkness, the thought of you overtaking her mind. Her hands tenderly brush over Charles’s hair, his deep breaths tickling her skin slightly. There will always be a part of him that belonged to you. And it makes her wonder, with Lucero and you beginning to take your places in his heart, would there still be room for her?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The sun gently peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You stir from your sleep, eyes heavy as you turn to the sound of Lucero’s cries. You begin to pull yourself up, pushing the sheets off of you. You hear a string of tsks next to you, Carlos gently pulling you back to bed.

“Tu quedate aqui,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “Yo voy por ella.” You stay here, I’ll get her.

You mumble a slurred ok, nodding with eyes still very heavy as you settle back down. Eyes still puffy with sleep, you settle on now propped-up pillows. Pulling at the straps of your sleep shirt, you slip the top off. You watch hazily as Carlos moves to Lucero’s makeshift crib, his steps quiet and measured. He coos at her and you can see her little hands reach out for him, legs kicking in frustration. “Buenos días, mi patito,” he says, cradling her close. “Ya vamos con la mamí, no te preocupes.” Good morning, my duckling. We're going with mummy, don’t worry. It makes your heart flutter as he stares at her with his gentle eyes, pressing a kiss to her hand as it goes to poke at his chin.

He makes his way back to the bed, watching as you adjust yourself in your spot. Lucero babbles, her initial upset fading into a groggy murmur as she nestles into the crook of Carlos’s neck. Her thumb catches on her lip as she tries to suck on it.

Carlos chuckles as he watches her latch onto it, gently pulling it from her mouth. “No, señora,” he says teasingly. No, ma'am. “No thumb-sucking, little miss.” His gaze is warm as he hands her to you.

The room fills with a peaceful silence as Lucero latches on, her small body relaxing in her mother’s arms. She holds on tightly, almost insatiable as she feeds. Carlos climbs back into bed, propping himself up on one elbow. His gaze is fixed on the two of you, eyes soft as he sees how devoted you’ve become to your little one, the love and connection strong between you.

He can’t help but feel a sense of awe as he continues to watch you. He can’t help but admire how far you’ve come, the bond between you and Lucero beautiful and pure. The feeling of protectiveness and devotion to the two of you grows every day. He catches him thinking of the babe as his own, his daughter. She meant everything to him and he can’t bear to even imagine his life without her in it. Yet, he knew that Charles had a right to be a part of her life too, no matter how much it hurt to have to share that role. It's a thought that fills him with warmth but follows with a pang of bittersweet reality.

With Lucero’s cries ceased, you gaze down at her. You're engrossed with how peaceful she looks, her little nose pressing into the flesh of your breast, little hands holding you as close as she can. Her eyes are beginning to droop again as her tummy fills up. She sighs in her stupor, pausing briefly before continuing.

You can feel Carlos’s gaze on you. He looks at you in adoration, fingers ghosting over Lucero’s chubby legs. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, sitting up as he does. Taking a deep breath, he breaks the silence. “Do you wanna talk about last night?” he asks gently. “And what comes next?”

The question hangs in the air briefly, heavy with the weight of this new reality. You take a deep breath, mind coursing with different thoughts and emotions. “Not really, no.” You confess with a dry chuckle. If you could stay in this moment, just the three of you, you would without a second thought. “But we need to.”

He takes another deep breath, nodding. His expression is thoughtful as he threads his fingers through yours, bringing your hand up to his lips. “I know,” he says quietly. “I was thinking… If we’re going to do this, maybe we should also think about involving Alexandra.”

You blink in surprise, your eyebrows furrowing. “Alexandra?” you repeat, voice uncertain.

Carlos nods, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “I know its complicated, but she’s a part of Charles’s life. If he’s going to be in Lucero’s life, she might be too.”

Your expression is still a puzzled one as you respond. “I hadn’t thought about that,” You admit. “Do you think it's a good idea?”

Carlos sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But I think we should at least be open to it. Lucero deserves to know everyone who loves her. And I’m here, i know it’s not the same but I feel that because of that, she should be there too. We can’t ignore that.”

Your heart aches slightly at the thought, fear and hope swirling in your chest. “I’m scared, Carlos,” you say, voice beginning to tremble. “I don’t want to make things harder for her.”

Carlos leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I know,” he whispers, eyes trained on her little figure, still sucking away. “But we need to think about what’s best for her in the long run. We’ll take it slow and be there for her every step of the way.”

Your eyes begin to fill with tears, your grip on Lucero tightening slightly. “What if it doesn’t work out? What if it hurts her?”

Carlos’s eyes soften, and he cups your face in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. “We’ll do everything we can to make sure she’s okay,” he says firmly. “We’ll protect her. But we can’t shield her from everything. She deserves the chance to know her family, even if it’s complicated.”

You nod slowly, heart heavy with the weight of the decision. “Okay,” you say softly. “We’ll try. But we have to be careful. We have to make sure it’s what’s best for her.”

Carlos smiles, his eyes filled with love and pride. “We will,” he promises. He presses his forehead to yours.“We’ll figure it out together.”

Lucero had finished feeding, her eyes now drifting closed as she snuggles against your chest. You look down at her daughter, feeling a swell of emotion as you cradle her closer. Her jaw trembles slightly, a sign she was tired once again. “I just want her to be happy,” you whisper, voice breaking slightly.

Carlos wraps his arm around you, pulling the two of you close. “She will be,” he says gently. “She has you. And she has me. And now, she has a chance to know her father too.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

BRAZIL, NOVEMBER 2024

The sun is high over Sao Paolo when you arrive to the paddock. The air is electric with excitement, spectators slowly filling up the stands around the track. Their conversations create a gentle buzz that echoes above the garages.

Carlos makes his way into the paddock, smiling at photographers and journalists as they wait for his entrance. They don’t miss the small body he holds in his arms and the woman that trails closely behind him, fingers intertwined with his.

Your eyes scan meet the people waiting for you to enter, a delicate smile gracing your lips. Once in the Ferrari garage, you take release a breath, one you didn’t know you’d been holding back.

“Are you sure this was a good idea?” you ask Carlos as you’re settled in the back of the garage. A sudden wave of nerves washes over you as you can see a couple photographers clicking away around the garage. “Bringing her here?”

Carlos leans on one of the tables with you, nodding, fingers gently brushing over her wispy tufts of brown hair. “She seems to like it,” he points out as she squeals happily, pulling at the wire that connects to the big headphones Fred passed to her as you entered. “Besides, it’s good for her to see where Charles and I spend so much time.”

You smile, the concern still evident in your eyes. “I just don’t want her to feel overwhelmed.”

“She’s tougher than she looks,” Carlos says, fingers going to lovingly pinch at your arm. You know he’s referring to her but the look on his eyes makes you think he might mean you too.

Lucero spots the red car being worked on and babbles excitedly as she sees the garage technicians checking around the car.

“Cah-loh!” she exclaims, her voice a mix of wonder and determination. “Sí, Lu, un carro,” you correct gently. Yes, Lu, a car. Her attempt at say carro was endearing, the R sound still elusive for her baby tongue. Car. “Es rojo. Puedes decir, rojo?” she claps her hands, ignoring your request. Its red. can you say red?

Carlos chuckles, leaning down to kiss her head. “Lolo’s going to drive el carro rojo, mi amor.” he says to her, pointing to himself and adding a soft vroom as he begins to imitate a car with his hand. He makes almost a flying motion with his hand in front of you before gently whooshing it towards the bubbly baby, tickling her tummy. She giggles, managing to grap his hands and pulls at his fingers. She holds them up to her face, a soft gargle of buh buh buh falling from her lips.

Lucero catches the eye of Charles as he makes his way into the garage, his eyes lighting up as he approaches you. He’s wearing those god-awful bleached jeans again, the odd stripes something you always teased him about. You just don’t see the art yet, he’d often say.

He gives Carlos a side hug before hesitantly leaning over you and wrapping his arms around you. It sends a wave of nerves through the both of you. He lets go quickly before he can think much of it and crouches slightly to meet Lucero’s eyes.

“Bonjour, ma petite amour,” His voice is soft as he speaks to her. Hello, my little love. There’s an eager smile on his face, one that masks the nerves that were bubbling just beneath the surface. It’s one you recognize.

Lucero looks at Charles, suddenly clampering into your arms, tucking her face into your neck. Charles’s heart clenches at the sight. “Muñeca, dile hola a Cha,” you say, his nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. Doll, say hi to Cha.

You poke gently her little tummy, pulling her attention to her father. He smiles at her as she peeks out from behind your hair. You guide her hand gently towards Charles and she meets him in the halfway, her little fingers wrapping around his. “She’ll warm up,” you reassure. “It’s a lot for her, all these new faces and places.”

Charles nods, a slight flutter of uncertainty vibrating through his chest. “I understand,” he says. “I’m just happy to see her.”

Carlos observes the exchange, emotions swirling in his chest. He can’t help the protectiveness and understanding that bubble up as he sees this. He moves away from the table only to have Lucero reach her arms out for him.

“Vienes conmigo, estrellita?” he asks as she pulls away from you and Charles, oblivious to the emotions of the adults around her. Are you coming with me, little star? She points excitedly at the car again, prompting Carlos to get near it. Buh buh buh she tries quietly.

“Bah bah,” she finally manages, voice loud as she proceeds to bury her face into Carlos’s shirt. He lets out a giggle as she does so. “Baba, bluum.” he looks at her with wide eyes, bouncing her in his arms. He glances over at you, jaw slack as he identifies what she’s trying to say.

Charles’s smile falters momentarily. She means papa, he thinks. He masks his broken-heartedness quickly and turns to you. “She seems to really like the cars.” He comments, trying to keep his otne light.

“She does,” you say, glancing between the two men. “Maybe she’ll be a driver someday, like her father.”

“Maybe,” Charles says, his voice sounding like it’s far away. The word father hangs in the air, shrouded in a veil and he’s not sure if you mean Carlos or him.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Unraveling the Ferrari Enigma: Carlos Sainz Arrives with Mystery Woman and Baby, Spotted Again with Charles Leclerc at Brazilian GP

In an unexpected twist at the Mexican Grand Prix, Ferrari driver Carlos Sainz was seen arriving hand-in-hand with a mystery woman and a baby, sparking widespread speculation and intrigue within the F1 community. The woman, identified by sharp-eyed fans as Y/N L/N, the elusive former girlfriend of Sainz’s teammate, Charles Leclerc, has rarely been seen publicly, adding to the mystique surrounding this revelation.

Y/N L/N, who maintained a low profile throughout her relationship with Leclerc, has remained a figure of intrigue among fans and the media. Leclerc, known for his privacy regarding personal matters, never publicly acknowledged L/N, making this unexpected appearance alongside Sainz and the child even more startling.

Adding to the speculation, L/N and the baby—whose identiy remains undisclosed—made a second appearance at the Brazilian Grand Prix, further capturing the attention of the F1 world. Observers noted that not only were L/N and the child seen with Sainz, but they were also frequently spotted around Leclerc, intensifying curiosity about the current dynamics within the Ferrari team.

The repeated public appearances of L/N and the child have ignited a flurry of questions regarding their connection to Sainz and Leclerc, and what this means for the Ferrari drivers off the track. Could this development cause tension between Sainz and Leclerc? With the high stakes of the racing season and the close-knit nature of the F1 community, the unexpected appearance of L/N and the baby has undoubtedly raised eyebrows and sparked numerous questions.

a/n: Hi friends! If you’ve gotten this far, thank you so much for reading! Any feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated, they seriously keep me so motivated <3

What do you guys think about this little news item? I enjoyed coming up with the one I made back in part 2, I thought why not make one for this part? Should I keep adding them in every now and then?

tags: @kravitzwhore @janeh22 @apollosfavkiddo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @tremendousstarlighttragedy @sltwins @bwormie @marshmummy @honethatty12 @staplerrrr @smithieandy @loloekie @musicheaux @jeondeluxe111 @dessxoxsworld @xoscar03 @emryb @yl90 @poppyflower-22 @a-distantdreamer

strike through => tumblr won’t let me tag you!

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz imagine #charles leclerc imagine

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myonos · 1 year

Text

BLOODBAG

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

IN WHICH you are a princess betrothed to the vampire prince of the most feared kingdom in the world.

lee heeseung x f!reader

genre: fluff, small amount of angst, one sided enemies to lovers

warnings! cursing, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood

wc: 6k (6088)

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This is your destiny.

You cannot change your destiny.

It chose you for a reason.

These are things you’ve been hearing since the ripe age of 5.

What is your destiny? To become a bloodsucker's personal blood bag.

From the day you were born, you’ve been betrothed to Lee Heeseung.

The Lee family is a long line of powerful vampires. They strike fear into every kingdom, every man, every woman, every child.

No one dares to disobey the wishes of the Lees.

So how did you, a mere mortal, become betrothed to him?

Since the birth of the Lee clan, there has been a prophecy. It foresees the entire history of the Lee clan.

According to them, it has never been wrong.

One fateful day 21 years ago, the Lee prophecy told Mira and Seungheon Lee that their first and only child would be betrothed to the first child of the current reigning king and queen of the Desira clan.

That child would be you.

And oh, you’ve dreaded the day.

You remember being seven and asking your parents why you had to marry a stinky boy.

“Because it’s your destiny.” They would tell you.

You got sick of hearing that.

By now, you've accepted it, although the bitterness in your heart still beats.

Today is the day you are moving to Lee Castle.

You should mention you've never even met the Lees.

So moving into their home? The whole arrangement isn't exciting for you.

You’re sad to leave your parents and your people. They've reassured you that you'll be fine, but you still fear the Lees will isolate you and never let you leave.

You don’t know what Lee Heeseung is like, but you don’t care. You'll marry him for the safety of your kingdom, but you will not show him any kindness.

As you arrive in Lee’s kingdom, you're amazed.

You expected gloom and doom, weary, sad, fearful people, but it's the opposite.

Children are laughing and playing about.

Markets galore of anything you can think of, clothing, fabrics, food, trinkets.

Men are coming out of the woods, carrying stalks of wood on their backs.

As you stare out the window, a child catches your attention. She’s playing in the grass beside a booth; you assume her mother runs.

She looks up, and your eyes meet.

Waving, her smile gleams in the sun.

You wave back, your smile matching hers.

“Can we stop for a moment?” You ask the coachman.

As you step out, whispers surround you.

You walk to the woman's booth. “Hello.”

As she looks up, she gasps.

She scrambles for a moment, and you can't help but giggle.

“Your Majesty, I knew you were coming, but I didn't expect to see you. Can I be of assistance?”

You look at the array of jewelry decorating her booth.

Your eyes stop on a beautiful necklace.

An emerald sits in the middle of a circular frame—the emerald glistens in the sunlight.

You pick it up cautiously. “How much for this?”

The woman's eyes widened, “For you, Your Majesty, it costs nothing.”

You shake your head softly, “Nonsense. Is this enough?”

You hand her several bills out of your pouch, and she gapes.

“I can't accept this, Your Majesty!”

“You can and you will, please?” You beg, clasping your hands together.

She contemplates for a second before putting the money into her bag.

“Your Majesty, how can I thank you?”

“No need, keep doing what you're doing.”

You feel a slight tug on your dress, and the little girl from before is at your side.

You bend down to her size, “Hello, what's your name?”

“I'm Ara, Your Majesty!”

What an adorable child, “Ara is a beautiful name. You can call me Y/N.”

“Thank you, you have a beautiful name, too, Y/N.”

She smiles that blinding smile before presenting a flower in her tiny hands.

“I picked this for you.”

You take it from her, “Thank you so much, Ara. Now I have two beautiful gifts.” You gesture to the necklace.

She takes the flower and puts it in your hair by your ear.

“Now you're even more beautiful!”

“Your majesty,” the coachman calls, “we should be going.”

You nod, sad that you have to leave.

“I hope to see you again, Ara.”

She nods before hugging you tightly. Everyone around you awes as you hug her back.

Then it's back into the carriage, and you continue your ascent to the castle.

When you reach the entrance, the large doors are agape, and a carpet greets you.

As you step out, loud footsteps come from inside until three people appear.

The king and queen are smiling, unexpected to you.

“Y/N, my dear, so great to meet you at last,” the King says.

You do a long curtsy, bowing your head, “Your Majesties.”

The queen takes your hand into her own, “What a beautiful girl you are. I hope you'll enjoy being here.”

“You're too kind.”

“This is our son, Heeseung.”

They part to reveal him, and oh.

You weren't expecting him to be so handsome.

He offers a sweet smile.

“Y/N,” he says, taking your hand and planting a kiss on it. “It's a pleasure.”

You bow to him, “To you as well.”

His parents waste no time, shouting at the guards surrounding the entrance to bring your things inside.

They give you an extensive tour of their castle, introducing every room. Their foyer is beautiful and decorated with multiple styles of paintings.

They eventually lead you to your room.

It’s huge, even bigger than your room at home.

The bed sits in the middle of the far right wall. It’s king-sized with red silk sheets and a comforter.

Heeseung bends down and whispers in your ear, “More than big enough for the 2 of us.”

Face filled with confusion, you turn to look at him, but all he does is wink at you.

What happened to Mr. Respectful?

“You’ll meet us for dinner when you’ve unpacked your things, yes?” The queen says, not noticing the scowl on your face.

You nod, watching them leave.

Heeseung does not leave; he closes the door behind his parents, leaving you two alone.

“I’ve been waiting every day of my life to meet you, and now I have you.” He saunters towards you, close enough until your chests are pressed against each other lightly.

“First, you don’t have me. I’m not happy about this marriage. I’m only doing it for my kingdom.”

Your arms cross in anger, putting just the smallest space between you and him.

He laughs, “You’re cute. However you view this marriage doesn’t matter. You and I will be one soon enough.”

Whatever that means.

“I’d appreciate it if you left my room now. Don’t you have to prepare for dinner too?” Heeseung puts his hands up in defense, not saying another word before leaving your room.

So not only are you stuck marrying him, but he’s also a weird dickhead? Great.

You sigh in defeat and grab your bags to unpack.

There are no drawers, so there must be a closet.

There are two large mahogany doors on the left side of the room.

You open the first but do not find a closet, instead; you find an enormous bathroom. There’s a large, deep-set tub in the back of the room with three large shower heads attached. To the left of the tub is the toilet and double sinks, with more than enough space for your hair and skin care products.

You close that door and then move to the other.

It is the closet, and it is vast. It has enough room for your many clothes, so you begin to place and hang them to your desire.

Once you’ve finished, you hear a bell chime within the castle. You look at the clock above your bed and see it’s 8 o’clock.

You can’t be late for dinner. You exit your room, bowing to the guards outside your door.

You almost fear you’ve forgotten where the dining room is, but your feet seem to remember, moving and not stopping.

The large double doors of the dining room greet you, and as you put your hands on the handles, you pray you’re not the last to arrive.

You take a deep breath, fanning your face quickly before opening the doors.

Dammit.

The king, queen, and Heeseung are already seated.

You bow, apologizing profusely for your tardiness.

The king waves his hand, “Don’t apologize, dear. A minute will not kill anyone.”

You sit in your reserved seat, of course, next to Heeseung while his parents sit at the other end of the table.

Heeseung wastes no time in putting his hand on your thigh.

You want to push it off but don’t want to upset his parents.

Now you’re wondering why exactly you are meeting for dinner? You’re the only human here. Don’t they drink blood to quench their hunger?

“We can still eat regular food, sweetheart. Blood is just our preference.”

Did you say that out loud, or can the queen read minds?

“Yes, I can read minds,” she says, smiling.

You try to stop thinking, knowing it’s futile.

“Y/N, now that you’re here, you must tell us all about yourself. It’s only right that we get to know our future daughter-in-law.” The king holds up his drink, which you assume is wine…or blood.

You clear your throat, “There’s not much to tell. I enjoy art and paintings, and I’d love to admire the ones in your foyer during my free time. I’m a straightforward person. I pride myself on being kind to all and being open-minded.”

As the king and queen take in your words, you can feel Heeseung’s grip on your thigh getting tighter.

It’s almost to where it hurts, so you put your hand on top of his, making him relax.

Within a few minutes, dinner arrives. It's a beautifully done steak (extra rare for them) with potatoes, asparagus, and a beautiful au jus.

You have to say it was pretty delicious, and you devoured your plate within minutes.

You almost feel embarrassed as the Lees stare at you, but the king smiles. “Nice to see someone who truly enjoys well-prepared food.”

You laugh with them, blushing as you wipe your mouth with your napkin.

By 9:30, you find yourself getting tired, eyes fluttering every few seconds.

“Heeseung, be a dear and bring Y/N up to bed.” The queen requests.

Heeseung immediately gets out of his chair, deciding to be a gentleman and pulling yours out.

You take his hand and leave the dining room, wishing the king and queen goodnight.

As you walk the long halls, Heeseung takes the chance to wrap his arm around your waist.

You grab his hand, about to pull him off, but he suddenly twirls you around to face him.

You try to step back, “What are you doing?”

“You’re too tired to keep walking.” Without another word, he tucks his left hand under your knees and the other around your waist and lifts you into his arms.

You squeal, “Put me down! I can walk just fine.”

He shakes his head, “What kind of future husband would I be if I let my lady walk when she’s tired?”

You go to protest again, but Heeseung shushes you. Giving up, you let him carry you until you’ve arrived at your bedroom door. “May I come in?” He asks.

Your confused stare has him chuckling, “To wish you goodnight.”

You’re about to ask why he can’t do it right here, but he’s already entering your room.

You head to your bathroom to wash up, glaring at him as you go.

“I’m not gonna do anything!”

After you’ve washed up, you head back into your room, expecting Heeseung to be gone, but he’s not.

You yelp, putting your hands in front of yourself, even though you have a robe on.

“Relax, I can’t see anything.”

You go into your closet, closing the door behind you to change.

Heeseung is now sitting on your bed. As he looks up, he smirks, “Cute pj’s.”

You huff, taking his hand and dragging him off your bed, “Nice having you, goodnight!”

Before you can push him out the door, he puts his hands out, stopping himself.

“What, no goodnight kiss?”

You laugh mockingly, “In your dreams, goodnight Heeseung.”

He finally leaves, giving you peace.

You practically launch yourself into bed, snuggling into the warm sheets.

So little happened today, yet you feel exhausted as it ends.

You don’t know what’s in store for you, but you hope Heeseung doesn’t piss you off to death.

As your eyes flutter, you think about your family and the friends you’ve left behind. This is your life now.

Maybe it’s best to accept it. Perhaps you should try to make the most of it.

When the Lees gave their extravagant castle tour, they told you about a garden in the back of the castle. If you desire, you may enter the garden.

You recall the king's words, “This is your home now. There is no place you can’t go.”

So here you find yourself in the garden. It’s home to a multitude of fresh flowers.

Orchids, carnations, roses, peonies, lilies, you name it, they’re here. You can’t help but go around smelling every flower, the scent sweet to your nose.

Soon you find yourself in the garden's center, where a sleek steel bench sits.

You sit down, admiring the surrounding scenery.

“I see you’ve found my favorite spot.”

There’s that aggravating voice, the last thing you wanted to hear this morning.

“Is it?” You ask. “I wouldn’t expect you to be the type to like flowers.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, pretty girl. I’d love to change that.” Heeseung says, sitting next to you on the bench.

“I don’t desire to know anything about you.”

You turn your face away from him, but his swift fingers reach for your chin, pulling you to face him.

“But I desire to know everything about you.”

His hand is icy, to where a chill runs down your spine.

You refuse to let him influence you.

“What? Are you obsessed with me or something?”

Heeseung chuckles, and his fangs, long and sharp, make their presence known. You think about those things biting you. Would it hurt? Would it leave a bruise? You fear you’ll be finding out the answer to that soon enough.

“You could say that. Or you could say I’m fascinated with you. I have been since the day I knew we were betrothed.”

You’re confused, “We only met yesterday. How could you be fascinated with someone you didn’t know?”

“Because I can feel it, the connection we have. I’ve been able to feel it since day one. You may not know this, but vampires can remember every day of our lives, even our birth. As I’ve grown older, the feeling has grown stronger. It feels as if it’s going to burst out of my chest. You and I are meant for each other. The universe decided that for us. Who am I to disobey it?”

You take Heeseung’s hand and pull it away from your face, “If you think for one second I’m going to believe this universe bullshit, you’re dead wrong!”

Heeseung frowns, “Why don’t you understand? The prophecy—”

“Forget the prophecy, Heeseung!” You shout, standing abruptly. “You can believe in that all you want, but that doesn’t mean I have to. I’m not doing this because the prophecy said so. I’m certainly not doing it because I love you. It’s solely for relations.”

For the first time, you see a flash of hurt graze Heeseung’s dark eyes. After a long, quiet minute, Heeseung leaves the garden.

You’re relieved he’s finally gone, yet you can’t help but think you’ve gone too far.

Insulting their prophecy probably wasn’t a good idea.

You go inside, hoping to find Heeseung and apologize, but he’s nowhere to be found.

You sigh in defeat. Hopefully, he’s not too angry. As much as he’s bothersome, you’re scared to think about him being angry.

Making your way to Heeseung’s room, you’re curious. You haven’t seen it and don’t know what to expect. You knock hesitantly but receive no answer. Taking a deep breath, you open the door. It squeals as it opens, and the darkness of his room greets you.

It’s as if there's no one living in it.

You take small steps inside, leaving the door open to allow some light to shine in.

“Heeseung,” you call. No answer.

“What are you doing?”

The scream that leaves your mouth could wake the dead. You turn around to Heeseung standing over you. Your hand grabs your chest, trying to calm your racing heart.

“I came… to apologize for earlier. I shouldn’t have insulted your prophecy. It’s important to you and your family, and I shouldn’t disrespect it. I’m sorry.”

In the darkness, you can barely make out Heeseung's silhouette, and yet you can feel the smirk slowly rise on his face. “I knew you couldn’t resist me, pretty girl.”

You scoff, “And now you ruined it, goodbye.”

“Wait!” He grabs your arm, preventing you from leaving, and suddenly, the room is flooded with light. Your eyes squint at the brightness, then widen in shock. “How did you do that?”

“I have telekinesis,” Heeseung shrugs like it’s so casual. Well, it is, for him, at least.

Heeseung grabs your attention by placing his arm around your waist, the other hand coming up to gently cup your face.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to convince you to give me a chance. Let me show you how good I can be, how good we could be. I’ll beg on my knees if I have to.”

Then, he’s on his knees, holding your hands in his.

“Please,” he pleads. “Give me a chance.”

You feel a tug at your heartstrings. The way he’s pleading makes your legs feel weak.

“Fine, I’ll give you a chance.”

A smile erupts on Heeseung’s face, and he stands before pulling you in for a tight hug.

His embrace is warm, despite usually being cold.

You slowly wrap your arms around his waist, prolonging the hug.

Heeseung finally lets you go, “You won’t regret this, I promise.”

You don’t hear from Heeseung for the rest of the day. You have no idea what he’s up to, but you hope you haven’t made a mistake.

The next day, you’re awoken by a gentle knocking on your door.

You tell them to come in, and it’s Heeseung.

“Good morning, pretty girl. I have something planned for today, so wash up and meet me downstairs by the entrance.”

He exits, leaving you wondering.

You don’t want to keep him waiting, so you get out of bed and run to the bathroom.

After washing up, you pick out one of your favorite dresses to wear.

You rush downstairs but compose yourself before you reach the entrance.

Heeseung is there waiting for you.

He offers you his hand, and you take it.

“So what are we doing?” You ask.

“You’ll see,” he smirks but doesn’t reveal the plan.

Once outside, you see a horse standing with some guards.

Its coat is a pristine, long mane flowing in the wind.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, carefully approaching it.

Reaching a handout, the horse sniffs you before letting out a loud whine.

“He likes you,” Heeseung says, petting his mane.

“What’s his name?”

“Casper.”

Heeseung suddenly mounts Casper, holding his hand out for you.

Your eyes widen, “Wait, what?”

“Come on!” Heeseung urges you.

You have to admit, you’ve only mounted a horse once before in your life.

You take Heeseung’s hand, put your foot in the stirrup, and he pulls you up.

“Hold on to me.”

You oblige, putting your arms around his waist and resting your head on his back.

Heeseung smiles as he feels you. He doesn’t know how he’s gotten so lucky to have such a beautiful bride. He has to impress you.

At Heeseung’s command, Casper trots.

You make your way out of the castle gates and begin your descent.

The townspeople greet you both as you come through.

Heeseung leads you deep into the woods, far away from any people.

After about 10 minutes, you finally stop.

In front of you is a rock wall with vines hanging on it.

“What are we doing in front of a wall?”

Heeseung chuckles at your cuteness before pulling back the vines, revealing an opening in the wall.

You walk through it and are amazed.

Inside is a small field surrounded by beautiful trees and flowers.

There’s a creek with crystal clear water running through it and a blanket in the middle.

“Heeseung, it's beautiful,” you gasp.

He leads you to the blanket, and you both sit down.

“I figured if we’re going to get to know each other better, it should be somewhere special.”

“This place is special,” you say, looking above you. The sky is visible, and the clouds are big and beautiful. “Tell me about you, not just what you said at dinner last night. I want to know everything about you. Your childhood, what you like, what you dislike, everything.” Heeseung doesn't take his eyes off you.

If you're genuinely going to give him a chance, you feel he deserves the truth. Not lies or uncertainty.

So you spill your guts.

Heeseung pays close attention, eyes never leaving yours. He gives the occasional hum or nod, but other than that is silent.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

You turn to face Heeseung, “So, it’s your turn. Tell me all about you.”

“Well, I love music. It's something I've enjoyed since I was young. I play the guitar and piano, and if I'm not in my room, I'm usually in our music room.”

“You’ll have to play for me sometime,” you say, lying on the blanket.

Heeseung follows and lies down beside you.

As you stare at the sky above you, you think, maybe this arrangement isn't so bad.

The next day Heeseung took you on a picnic. Sure, it was in the garden, but it was still romantic.

What you didn’t know before is how funny he is.

He had you laughing so hard, your stomach hurt.

You told him if he wasn’t a prince, he could make a living as a comedian.

He showed you his musical skills.

He’s like a prodigy. Not only is he a master at guitar and piano, but he can also sing.

When he sang for you, your ears nearly melted.

His voice is like honey, caressing you from the inside out.

Your praises made his cheeks flush, a shy smile gracing his lips.

Later that same day, he took you to a festival in the kingdom.

Everyone was amazed by how good you two looked together.

They cheered for you, their future princess.

Today, you and Heeseung find yourselves in your room. You're both lying on your bed, and you're reading to him.

It’s a fantasy book about a maiden who falls in love with someone forbidden from being with her.

“I'd hate to be forbidden from you. It’s only been a few days, but I can’t live without you.”

Heeseung’s words make your heart flutter.

“I've gotten used to you too. You're not what I expected. Your kingdom isn't what I expected, but I’m glad I was wrong.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything else, so you continue reading. By the end of the book, the maiden and her lover can be together, and their people rejoice in harmony.

“That was a nice ending,” Heeseung slurs beside you. Looking at him, his eyes are closed, and he’s breathing slowly.

He must have been tired, you think to yourself.

Putting the book time, you figure you could take a nap yourself.

You lay beside him and close your eyes.

When you awaken, Heeseung is gone, but there’s a sticky note on your forehead.

I had a nice nap. Thanks for keeping me warm - Heeseung.

You chuckle as he runs through your mind.

You went from hating him to taking naps with him within two days.

Maybe you’re weak, but this has been the best couple of days of your life.

You never realized how lonely you were until you started spending all this time with Heeseung.

You admit you didn’t have many friends growing up. Kids stayed away from you because of your status, or they were only your “friend” to get something from you.

You never had a real friend or more than that.

Now you have a real friend, or rather fiancé, who seems to be in love with you, although you haven’t done anything to deserve it.

You regret how you initially treated Heeseung, but you’re looking forward to your future together; however that may look.

The next day, you wake up to a wonderful smell.

Opening your eyes, in front of you is a whole breakfast platter: pancakes, bacon, eggs, and orange juice.

Heeseung sits at the edge of your bed, watching your reaction.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning,” you say as you start digging in.

“I love watching you eat,” Heeseung says, coming to sit next to you.

You offer him some pancake on your fork, and he accepts it eagerly.

“I have to compliment your chef, seriously.”

After your astounding breakfast, you and Heeseung decide to walk in the field behind the castle.

Heeseung takes the opportunity to slip his hand into yours. You don't hesitate to intertwine your fingers.

Later, during dinner, the queen asks you how you and Heeseung are progressing.

“We’re getting along great. Heeseung is a pleasure.”

This time when Heeseung places his hand on your thigh, you put yours on top to hold his hand.

Throughout the next couple of days, you and Heessung spend every minute together.

You find yourself falling harder for him every day.

Quickly your wedding day approaches, and your nerves are starting to get to you.

Heeseung has never mentioned biting you. But one day, in the library, you read a book about vampires and their betrothed. It was tradition for a vampire to bite their betrothed on their wedding day as a sign of bonding the souls together.

You didn't know if that tradition still held, but you’ll find out eventually.

You wonder what a bite feels like. Will it hurt? Are you going to feel weakness from it? The thought almost excites you. Heeseung biting you would symbolize you as his.

You want to ask him, but you fear it will be awkward.

Still, you feel like you have to know. To at least prepare yourself beforehand.

You and Heeseung are in the music room, and he's singing to you.

Suddenly, he stops.

“What's wrong?” He asks.

“Are you going to bite me at any point? I read about tradition in the library and wanted to know if it still applies.”

Heeseung’s eyes widened for a second before returning to normal.

He coughed awkwardly before answering, “Yes, it's tradition. But we don't have to if you're not comfortable.”

“Can you bite me now?”

Heeseung freezes in his seat. You can hear how heavily he starts breathing.

He clears his throat, “Why?”

“Because,” you say, coming to sit next to him. “I wanna know what it feels like. And I trust you. But if you can't, it’s okay.”

“I can,” he stutters. “I just don't want to hurt you.”

“I trust you, Heeseung. I know you won't hurt me.”

Heeseuny nods, taking your hand into his. He leads you to his room, where you're entirely alone.

“Are you sure about this? It'll probably sting, but it shouldn't hurt that much.”

You nod, moving your hair away from your neck.

Heeseung moves his head down right in front of your neck.

You hear him breathing in and out.

“You smell good. Always have.”

He takes your hands in his. “I'm gonna do it.”

Then he bites down.

There's a searing pain that only lasts for a second before a calming feeling replaces it.

You can hear your blood flowing from your neck into Heeseung’s mouth.

Then it starts to feel good.

You feel as if you're in a trance.

The room starts to spin, and you feel Heeseung stop.

“Are you okay?”

You nod, coming back to your senses. “It felt nice.”

“Good.”

You lead Heeseung to his bed, sitting on the edge.

“Thank you, now I know what to expect.”

“It'll be different on our wedding day. You have probably already read about it. We must perform a ritual. If you're okay with that.”

“I know,” you answer.

“Heeseung, it feels like so much has changed in my life so quickly. But you're at the base of that, and I feel like everything is right. Like everything is going the way it should. It changed quickly from how it was my first day here, but I don't regret anything.”

You put your arm around his neck, playing with the hair on the back of his neck.

You can feel his shiver.

“Is this you admitting you have feelings for me?”

The smug look on his face makes you want to slap it off him.

Maybe your past mean side is still alive a little bit.

“And if it was?”

Before he knows it, you're pulling Heeseung towards you and planting a fat kiss on his cheek.

His face turns bright red, hand brushing where your lips just were.

“You can't do that,” he whines. “I'm sensitive.”

“Well, I did.”

Heeseung lunges forward abruptly, planting his lips on yours.

When he pulls back, it's your turn to blush.

“Do it again, properly this time.” You say.

Heeseung leans forward, as do you.

When your lips meet, it tingles.

The kiss is soft and passionate.

It feels as if you’re on cloud nine.

You can smell Heeseung’s cologne as he pulls you closer.

You place your other arm around his neck, smiling into the kiss.

As you both pull away, breathing heavily, you place one last peck on his lips.

“That was amazing.” He says, pushing a strand of your hair back.

You hum in agreement.

“It’s late. We should both go to sleep.”

Heeseung agrees, and you wish each other good night.

Back in your room, you feel butterflies in your stomach.

You grab the closest pillow and shove it in your face, squealing and kicking your feet.

The next few days leading up to the wedding are spent with last-minute preparations.

The day of, your heart feels like it will beat out of your chest.

A custom, handmade dress crafted from the finest fabrics cascades down your body.

Your mother is in the room with you, your father outside, ready to walk you down the aisle.

Once you step out, everyone's eyes turn to you.

You see your family members on one side and Heeseung’s family and friends on the other.

You see his friends from other kingdoms, six nice boys you consider your friends now.

They're all smiling at you, and you smile back brightly.

You finally look at Heeseung, and his eyes are trained on you. They don't leave yours for a second.

You smile shyly, and his serious face dissipates.

You make it down the aisle, and your face goes to sit down.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of Lee Heeseung and Y/L/N Y/N.

These two have been betrothed to one another since birth, and today we finally see them become one.

If anyone objects to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence.

“Good. Now we will hear the vows prepared by both parties. Heeseung, you shall go first.”

Heeseung clears his throat, “Y/N, from a young age, I felt our connection. Not just because of the prophecy but because of our hearts. I am honored to be your husband. To protect you, to serve you, to give my life to make you happy. I will never hurt you, betray you or disrespect you. I promise to love you and give you the life you deserve.”

You can feel tears prick your eyes as he finishes.

“Now, Y/N, it's your turn.”

“Heeseung, when I first came here, I resented you. I thought my life was being taken from me, but I was wrong. In the past two weeks, you have shown me nothing but love, caring, and what a wonderful life I will have here with you. I promise to give you all my love, respect, and care. I will never let you feel neglected or unimportant. You will always be my priority.”

“Now, for the bonding ritual.” The officiant holds a large blade, one that was handcrafted thousands of years ago by the first king.

He then holds up the ancient prophecy, where the Lee symbol appears prominent.

The mingling of blood is a sacred part of the Lee clan and tradition.

Heeseung puts his hands around your neck, and you anticipate the bite.

It feels just as it did the first time, a sting, then bliss.

When Heeseung retreats, you palm the blood dripping down your neck.

Heeseung slices his palm with the blade, and you bring your hands together to mix the blood.

Then, on the prophecy, you both mark it with your handprints, sealing your fate and bonding your souls together.

Heeseung takes a towel to clean your neck while you wrap his hand.

“You souls are now bonded and forever one. To the new generation of Lee!” The officiant concludes.

Standing up, everyone cheers.

Heeseung pulls your face towards his, kissing you slowly.

The cheers become louder as you part.

Everyone comes up to congratulate you.

You hug your parents tightly while Heeseung hugs his.

Your friends come up, hugging you individually, and then run to Heeseung and give him multiple pats on the back.

The ceremony afterward is full of love and laughter. Your favorite music plays as you and Heeseung cut the cake.

It's delicious red velvet with cream cheese frosting.

You can't help but smother Heeseung’s cheek in frosting as he looks at you offended.

You scream as he does it back to both your cheeks.

Once cleaned up, you head outside to the palace balcony, where the kingdom is gathered.

They cheer as you both walk out, chanting your names.

You give them all your biggest smile and wave eagerly.

You hear someone calling you, and as you look down, you spot Ara.

You wave at her diligently before making your way down.

She runs to you as the kingdom coos.

You pick her up and swing her around, settling her in your arms.

“You look so beautiful, Y/N,” she says.

“Thank you, Ara.”

She looks to Heeseung. “Take good care of her, please.”

You both laugh, “I will, Ara.” Heeseung replies.

You're being handed gifts left and right by the people who you thank diligently.

The rest of your evening is spent with your friends, family, and the kingdom.

When everyone has left, it's just you and Heeseung.

“You're my wife…pinch me.”

So you do, pinching his butt.

He yelps before sighing, “I didn't mean it literally.”

Before you can react, he's attacking you with tickles, pokes, and prodding.

You try not to scream as it's late but can't help the squeals that leave your mouth.

You both arrive at your door and as Heeseung goes to kiss you goodnight, you stop him.

“Why don't you get some pajamas and spend the night with me?”

You've never seen Heeseung move so quickly.

He's back within record time, and you spend the rest of the night together.

Waking up next to Heeseung is blissful.

You watch his handsome face as he sleeps. This man is your husband.

You stroke his face gently, stirring him awake.

“Good morning,” his raspy voice says.

“Morning, husband.”

He smiles, “Say it again.”

“Good morning, husband.”

He wraps his arms around you, “I'll never get tired of hearing that.”

“Good, 'cause I’ll never stop saying it.”

“You're mine, and I’m yours. I couldn't ask for anything more.” Heeseung pecks your lips once, twice, thrice.

You take his hand in yours, “Now we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“I can't wait. Let the fun begin.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

and that’s it! this is the longest thing i’ve ever written (so far) so here’s to more in the future!

taglist: @chiiiiiiiiis @seungjiseyo @yohanabanana @yenqa @woongkification @lovekyr @autumn-lv @urszn

perm taglist: @escapetheash @vatterie

713 notes · View notes

peachhcs · 4 months

Note

can we get any this from Sammy and Will at world I just need my broken heart to be fix for one moment

night out in prague

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

a night off in the city leads to the usa men's team heading into the city for a much needed night out.

1.4k words

as promised, here is some of samy and will at worlds before they broke up because i said i would still write about their happy moments in between the sadness to get a small break from the angst :)

au masterlist

will's gaze stuck itself to samy as she walked towards him with a drunk smile spread across her lips. she wandered off towards the bar an hour ago taking shots with some of the girlfriends of the guys with will keeping a watchful eye on her a few tables away. he enjoyed seeing her get along so well with the others despite their age difference to some of the other players on the team.

the blonde forgot his conversation he was having as samy reached his side. he quickly smiled down at her, "hi."

"hi. miss anything exciting?" the girl wondered, tucking her head into will's shoulder since he was her height sitting in the booth.

"not really. enjoy your shots?" will chuckled lightly when samy eagerly nodded.

"so good. you should've done a round with us," the brunette always got more touchy whenever she got drunk. her fingers reached to will's curls to play with them and the action had the boy flushing.

he loved the feeling of samy's fingers in his hair, but being around everyone else while she did it was still something the boy was getting used to.

the other guys at the table hardly even noticed, but it still sent a blush across will's cheeks nonetheless.

"i'm hungry," samy mumbled as she leaned more into her boyfriend. his arm wrapped around her waist basically keeping her up against him.

"wanna leave soon?" will wondered.

"no, i'm okay. don't wanna pull you away," she hummed towards the guys still in their own conversation will stopped listening to.

"i don't mind. i was thinking about leaving soon anyway," the blonde said.

"are you sure?" samy never wanted to pull her boyfriend away if he wasn't ready to leave. she didn't mind hanging around longer as long as she probably started drinking water instead of more alcohol.

"yeah, i'm sure. don't worry," the hockey player beamed up at her. his smile was hard to ignore knowing he was being serious, so samy returned it.

"okay, as long as you're sure. i'll say bye to luke," the younger girl caught sight of her brother a few tables down.

the middle hughes saw his sister walking towards him, smiling a bit, "what's up little hughesy?" poor samy would never escape that nickname, especially whenever she was around her brothers since they were always "hughesy" before her.

"will and i are gonna leave. just wanted to let you know," the girl told the older boy.

"leaving already?" cole wondered from beside luke.

"yeah, i think those rounds of shots did me in," samy chuckled lightly.

"i can tell. your cheeks always get red whenever you have a lot of alcohol," luke quickly squeezed samy's cheeks which instantly made her pull back.

"shut up. you're the same," the girl poked her brother's flushed cheeks. he just rolled his eyes while the others laughed.

"have fun back at the hotel. don't be too loud," trevor teased earning an eye roll from samy and a gagging motion from luke.

"god, do not say that shit around me about my sister. gross. text me when you get back," luke shook his head in disgust.

"you're such a baby. see you," samy pinched her brother's arm before finding her way back to will who finished paying their tab.

"ready?" the blonde hooked his arm around samy's waist again. the girl nodded, so the two hurried out before anyone could stop them and drag them back in.

the city slowed down once night hit besides the few cabs driving through the streets and people wandering back home from the bars much like samy and will were doing. prague was so beautiful at night, too. the girl's gaze was glued to the buildings with incredible architecture that reached into the sky.

"i could stay here forever," samy mumbled.

"you and me both," will hummed, his hand going to intertwine with samy's

"do you ever wish you could stay in the countries you travel to forever?" the youngest hughes' gaze fell on her boyfriend. from the side he was stunning. his curls started growing back out after his last haircut and his entire face in general was just to die for.

"yeah, sometimes. i wish we'd get more time to explore," will's own gaze flicked across the impressive buildings and night sky.

"i don't know if i've said this, but i really like traveling with you. it's really fun and it's been super awesome cheering you and my brother on," samy felt will's hold tighten on her hand. he met her gaze with a smile, stopping them on the sidewalk for a moment.

"i'm really glad you're here. it means a lot that you came out and i hope we can continue doing this," the two exchanged warm smiles before their lips were on each other's seconds later.

will's told tightened on samy's hips as their kiss deepened. the streets of prague were practically empty, so the couple used that by their advantage to kiss under the starts as cheesy as it all sounded. samy's fingers tugged at the curls on the back of will's head making him kiss her even harder. they practically lost themselves in one another.

"you're so beautiful," will mumbled when they finally pulled apart for air.

"i love you," samy hummed earning a large smile from her boyfriend.

"i love you more," the blonde placed one more kiss to her lips before making them continue walking to the hotel.

the rest of their walk was spent in comfortable silence. the two gently swung their connected hands back and forth until reaching the hotel. the front desk nodded to them as will dug out his key card to take them to their floor.

once will kicked their door open, samy stumbled in. she tore her heels off, falling back onto the bed with a happy smile painting her lips. the blonde chuckled seeing her sprawled out across the bed, quickly plopping down beside her as the two began staring at the ceiling.

"be honest with me. are you signing when we get back?" samy wondered because she saw the news headlines and all the circulation about will, gabe, and ryan possibly signing. the couple hadn't talked much about it since they lost the ncaa finals as will kept it pretty sparse around her and everyone else.

because of samy's slightly intoxicated state, she didn't pick up on the hesitation in her boyfriend's face nor the way the smile faded from his lips. she just assumed he didn't hear her or something.

"i'm not sure," his answer finally came.

"i feel like there's so much speculation going around. i mean, i'd be happy for you either way," the girl shrugged, a light smile tugging on her lips still.

she missed will's hesitation again because he just rolled over so he was on his side and samy met his gaze. "i know you'd be happy for me either way. i think you're my number 1 supporter," the boy chuckled.

"well, after your family, i hope i'd be. have i ever missed any of your games when you were close to or in michigan?" the brunette raised her eyebrow.

will's smile faltered a bit, but again, samy didn't notice. her hand reached up to caress the boy's cheek as he leaned into her soft touch before kissing the inside of her palm. his gesture had samy giggling before pulling him into a real kiss against her lips. she fell back against the bed again as the hockey player sort of hovered above her so he wasn't completely crushing her with all of his body weight.

the two continued making out until will pulled away knowing it was late and samy was intoxicated so they couldn't take it further. she pouted though when his lips left hers, "why'd you stop?"

"it's late, we should go to bed. i got practice in the morning," the blonde chuckled.

"when has that ever stopped you?" the girl teased some making will blush.

"maybe when you're not drunk, yeah?" he grinned, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek instead.

"fine," the boy rolled off of her back onto his feet where he reached his hands out to help her back up.

the couple exchanged warm smiles before samy started towards the bathroom to wipe her makeup off and get ready for bed. fifteen minutes later, they were ready for bed in their pajamas or in will's case, pajama pants and no shirt. samy flicked the lights off before crawling into his side, snuggling into her boyfriend's extended arm.

"i love you, sleep well," samy hummed into the boy's chest. he smiled even though she couldn't see it.

"i love you, too," he placed one last kiss to the top of her head and then quickly knocked out for the night, soft snores filling the hotel room.

109 notes · View notes

byunpum · 1 year

Text

Ghost girl | part 5 (final)

Pairing: Neteyam x Albino na'vi!fem x Sully family

Warning: All the characters are aged up 20’s, discrimination, mention of abuse, soft & crush moments.

Note: Hello!!! I hope you like this final part <3, Thank you sooo much for the support, stay tuned as I will be writing more works. I send you a virtual hug. And forgive me if there are some spelling mistakes, English is not my first language.

AVATAR MASTERLIST | Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5(final)

The silence that was being generated in the Sully hut was so notorious that you could hear every breath of all the people present. Jake had convinced your father and brother to calm down, and invited them to the hut. So they could all talk and get everything clear. Jake had to admit something, these na'vi were very intimidating. He had never seen na'vi so big, they were easily twice his size. They were taller and much stronger, he could see how their muscles were very defined. Even their posture and build were very intimidating. Jake took a quick glance at his sons, who were now adults. But they were no match for these men, even he himself felt sorry for them. He would be lying if he didn't say he felt a little scared.

On the other hand, you were next to neteyam and at your right side was neytiri. She was holding your son. Neytiri could tell how anxious and worried you felt. It was a mixture of happiness and sadness. You were playing with the fingers of your hands, with your head down. Avoiding the penetrating gaze of your father, who was sitting in front of you. You gave a few glances and then shifted your gaze. While your nervousness grew, your father's face never showed a sign of change. His face was serious, and cold. It seemed as if something was bothering him, his pupils drifting to the scene before him. His only daughter, the one in charge of the clan's lineage. Sitting in the middle of some omaticayas, who according to your father were quite savage and simple na'vi. He never thought that in his life, he would be sitting next to them. Let alone see his daughter so close to them.

"Well…" jake speaks, trying to break the awkward silence that had been made. "I want to thank you for the shelter and care you've given my daughter," your father says.

"It's been nothing…it's been a pleasure. Y/N has been like a gift for the whole family" says neytiri looking at you and giving you a warm smile. You give her hand a squeeze, and smile back.

This comment makes your father pucker his chest, his ears perked up in alertness. He knew his daughter could be a little loose and easy to manipulate. He laughs a little, and glances at his son. Who was quiet beside him. "I see you are all very comfortable" says your father, watching as his grandson is asleep in the arms of the omaticaya woman. While you are resting a little on neteyam's shoulder. He had been looking at the man, with the same look he had been looking at his family all this time.

"Yes… neytiri, jake… they have helped me and taken care of me and my son" you speak, emphasizing that last phrase 'my son'. You knew your father's intentions, and what he always cared about. Just before your father could respond, you hear a loud crack of thunder. The noise of the rain was loud, and the thunder got louder.

"Oh!!! There's a storm!" says kiri, getting up from the ground to check outside the hut. And yes, the rain was very heavy. You could see it through the camp entrance. The rain was heavy, and it sure had started to accumulate in some areas.

"I think you should spend the night here at camp," says Jake, glancing at your father for a moment. "No problem…we can walk calmly back to our clan" says your father, before your brother interrupts him.

"Dad..ahhh but our village is quite far away and it's dangerous, I" your brother stops talking, when your father gives him a hard look. He lowers his head, somewhat embarrassed. You quickly approach your brother, crawling a little to sit next to him and support his decision.

"Father I think my brother is right…why don't you stay in my hut" you speak, looking at your brother. You wanted to calm him down, he was very nice guy. "Do you have a hut here?" your father asks, you suddenly become very nervous. You try to answer, but you don't know how to answer.

"Yes…we made her a home for her and the baby to be more comfortable in the clan" says neytiri, now with a stronger tone. She was getting fed up with your father's snooty attitude. "That sounds good," says your brother, holding your hand. You pull a piece of his hair back behind his ear. You notice how he had some bruises on his face and arms. You knew that your father demanded supernatural workouts from your brother, almost pushing him to the limit.

"I didn't know you built safe homes here…I thought you lived in something like this…like on the ground or up in a tree, like monkeys" your father speaks, now looking at Jake. This comment makes neytiri raise her ears in alert, how dare he say something like that. "Yes… they are very safe" says jake, returning the man's gaze. Your father laughs a little, a sarcastic laugh. You get very nervous, you couldn't believe your father is acting like this in front of the people who saved your life. In front of…neteyam. You look down embarrassed by his behavior.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" says neytiri, sitting up straighter. Holding the baby on her chest. Showing her fangs a little. And yes, she had every right to demand. Your father was in front of the family of the leader of the omaticaya, he was being disrespectful to the family of toruk makto. You move closer to neytiri's side, taking her arm. As if you were begging her to calm down.

Something you had not told anyone about was the inappropriate image your clan had of the Omaticaya clan. Your clan had the idea that they were better than other clan, they felt superior in everything. As a na'vi apart from the other clans. Since your clan was more connected to eywa, your father believed that this made them superior to others, prohibiting contact with other clans. Of course, this did not go down well with you, who thought that his idea was foolish and that all na'vi had an equal and unique connection to eywa, that this did not make them better than anyone else. Also in your clan they talked and joked about the attitudes and customs of the Omaticaya clan, discriminating against them because of their blue skin tone. Their way of living and dressing. As if they were trash, as if the Omaticaya were something not to be mentioned. It hurt you to hear all this, you felt that the true purpose of your clan had been lost.

"We should go… you guys look tired" you speak as you get up from the ground. Approaching closer towards neytiri, quickly taking your baby from her arms. Leaving the woman confused, since you had come into their lives, you had never taken your baby from her like that. Dragging your brother with your free hand. Rushing out of the sully hut, you were so afraid that your father would start talking and let his true self out. Your father stands up, coldly says goodbye to the family and begins to follow you. Neteyam quickly gets up from the ground, and runs to you. Evading your father and brother, to now stand in front of you. Holding your shoulders, causing you to look him in the eyes.

"Y/n… are you okay?" asks neteyam softly, Bringing his face close to your ear so that only you could hear. You nod your head quickly giving a glance back, where your father was looking at you with a stern and annoyed look, causing you to turn away from neteyam. Leaving him alone in the middle of the square, watching as you continued to lead your father and brother back to your hut.

Neteyam entered the hut confused, and noticed that his family's face was the similar. Why had you left so quickly, why had you become so nervous. You had never looked like that before, this worried Neytiri, she knew that your sudden change of mood had to do with your father's behavior. He was a deployable man, or so Neytiri thought. She was already looking at Jake with a severe look on her face. Jake was silent, he wasn't going to lose his patience with people like this, but he still felt concern for you. He could tell you were excited to know they were alive…but you weren't thrilled to know they were coming for you.

"Will they take Y/N?" asks tuk, the girl had grown very fond of you these past few months. Neytiri hugs her, trying to comfort the girl. And not only tuk was suffering but the whole family.

"Calm down tuk…we can't choose for Y/N. That's her family and we have to understand." Neytiri speaks, watching as her little girl hugs her tighter.

They knew this was your decision, neytiri would not like you to leave. It was dangerous to return to your village, as the humans were going to continue attacking the area. But what worried her most was her son neteyam, who had not stopped watching from the entrance of the hut, the way to your hut. Neytiri could notice how neteyam had his tail curled up on his legs, his ears were stuck to his skull. And if she could see his eyes, she would swear he had a look of anguish. Her son had become very attached to Y/N and her son. She knew that neteyam had a crush on Y/N, and it hurt her to see him so troubled.

You rushed into your hut, a little annoyed and embarrassed. You held your son in one hand and the other held your brother's arm, as you dragged him with you into the hut. Your father walked calmly behind you, looking around the camp. It was a wet and filthy place, full of those humans and uneducated omaticayas. He didn't understand how his daughter had survived and tolerated all this. He slowly entered your hut, looking around in disgust.

"And this is your so-called home?" speaks your father, now looking all around. Your hut was cozy. You had a hammock for yourself and a smaller one for your baby in one corner of the hut. On one of the walls there was a window, adorned with your favorite flowers. Which Neteyam had picked for you. Your floor was covered with cloth woven by you, neytiri and kiri. Your father looked at something in particular, it was an arrow bow. It was hanging on the wall. He approaches and takes it in his hands.

"Father…you didn't have to say all those things!!!" you shout, you are a little upset. You watch as your father examines the bow he had taken from the wall. He ignores you and continues to examine the object.

"Since when do you have this kind of 'tool'?" your father asks, raising the bow in the air. Your brother looks at you curiously, the boy had been sitting on the floor since he arrived. To your good fortune, your brother was not like your father. You approach your father, and take the bow from him. Placing it back on its shelf on the wall. You sigh heavily, taking the woven net you used to use to place your baby on your chest. Placing it on your chest, as you continued to ignore your father.

"I'm talking to you Y/N!!! I want an answer" commands your father. You continue to adjust your baby, you didn't want to answer your father. "Neytiri made it for me…she is teaching me how to hunt" you speak, still not looking at him. You hear your father scoff, as if what you said was a joke.

You knew that for your father hunting was not allowed for you. He had another future for you, you were going to be the future seer of the clan. Your job was to be the woman who would carry the roots of your clan. Not a hunter, that was not appropriate for you. That was a different thing between clans, categories and job assignments were something common in your clan. While in the Omaticaya clan everyone did what they wanted, in your clan everyone had their tasks assigned to them, and they had to perform them strictly.

"I don't see what's funny… I feel comfortable here" you speak, while making eye contact with your father. Who was now looking at you with irritation. He had made you bolder since the last time he saw you. "Comfortable? Y/N you don't belong here" your father now moves closer to you, sinking you with his large stature. You lower your gaze feeling somewhat intimidated by your father's presence. You didn't have the courage to contradict your father, you never had and now even less.

"But dad…here I am sure, you can stay and get used to the new clan. Everyone here is friendly" you speak, giving your brother a glance. He looked somewhat excited about your proposal, in the camp where your father and brother had set up, with the survivors of your clan. It wasn't a very flat place, it was located below the mountains, near a river, the place was wet and full of rocks. They could barely find food, and the weather was horrible.

"Can we stay?" your brother answers, you sit down next to him. "Sure, I…" you begin to speak, but you see your father kneel down in front of the two of you.

"You guys are not staying anywhere, in the morning you will pack all your things. And we will leave with our clan" your father speaks, signaling you both with his hand. He had a face of authority, and looked angry. You two say nothing, and just nod your heads.

You didn't want to leave, after all this time you had grown comfortable in your new life. You had tried so hard to learn and become part of the clan. You were just beginning to charm in the clan, when your father wanted you back in the clan. You decide not to say anything, not daring to disobey your father. You get up from the floor, giving your father another look. "Let me prepare your beds" you speak, starting to walk towards a trunk where you had some hammocks. You used to have them there, kiri and tuk used to have sleepovers in your hut. You wipe away some tears, try to calm down a bit.

The night came quickly, you tried to offer food to your father but he refused, making a face of disgust. You were already reaching your limit of patience. He didn't want to accept anything, you had barely spoken to him all evening. On the other hand, your brother accepted the food you offered him with much emotion, he hadn't eaten well for days. At least he was grateful. Your father was so defensive, he even criticized your manner of dress, complaining that such omaticaya clothing was inappropriate. Talking to you about your future, and the future of your baby. While you just sat next to your brother, listening to all his talk.

It was 12:00 am when everyone finally went to bed, your father took the biggest hammock. You had set up another hammock for your brother, and a smaller one for yourself. While your baby slept peacefully in his own hammock. You could hardly close your eyes, you were anxious and sad. You knew that as soon as the sun came up, you would have to pack your things and leave with your father. And the most distressing thing was that you couldn't tell neteyam or the sully's anything. But you didn't want to do that…you wanted to stay here. You sat in the hammock, and looked around at everyone around you. It seemed everyone was sound asleep, so you got up. You wanted to clear your mind for a while, so you check on your baby one more time. You know your father may be strict, but he would never hurt his grandson. You walk carefully out of the hut.

The whole camp was silent, only a few humans could be seen sitting on the stairs of the metal structures they claimed to be their home. You walked carefully, taking a deep breath. You were approaching the sully hut, you hadn't seen them since you left quickly. Approaching carefully, you can see a figure outside the hut. When you finally get closer you can tell it was Neteyam, who was kneeling down and setting up some pots outside the hut. It was probably to get water in the morning. "Hello" you speak, in a soft voice.

This makes neteyam jump a little, turning quickly to see who it was. Noticing that it was you, you can see his whole body relax. "Oh…Y/N!!!" he sounds excited and relieved that you were here. And he really felt that way, he thought his family had said or done something that caused you to take your family out of their home. He gets up from the floor, wiping his hands on his thigh, he hears your laughter. "What's so funny?" neteyam looks up, as he sits up to raise his arms, stretching them in the air. Inviting you in for a hug. You hesitate a bit, but carefully approach. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you lay your head on his chest. As you feel neteyam's arms wrap around you in a warm hug.

"Are you all right? Everything okay?" asks Neteyam, as he continues to hug you. He can feel the sadness in your grip, as if it was the last time you could hug him. It felt nostalgic. "We can go for a walk for a while…it can be near here" you speak, raising your gaze on his chest. Neteyam lowers his gaze, giving you a smile. "Sure…I know a place you'll love" neteyam says, stroking your hair.

He pulls away from you, entangling his hand with yours. Guiding you around the camp, the camp was a pretty strange place, but you had never found it to be anything fun or amazing. You used to leave the camp to do things, but now you were watching as neteyam led you deeper into the cave. Rolling over some rocks, watching everything around you change. You could see how everything was getting darker, and the wildlife was lighting up around you. You were fascinated, letting go of Neteyam's hand and running off to play with some dragonflies that were flying around you. Neteyam stops for a moment, seeing how happy you were.

"This is beautiful" you speak, now approaching neteyam. "And that you still don't see anything, come we are close" neteyam takes your hand again, he started walking. While you continue to play with the things you meet on the way. After walking for a while. You pass between some curtains that you had learned were very common flowers in places where there was a lot of water. In the background you could hear the sound of the water crashing against the rocks, it was very beautiful.

When you went through the curtains of flowers, your eyes were illuminated by the sight in front of you. It was a cavern, where there was a small river of sorts. The cavern was adorned with luminous fauna, some luminous creatures. The water of the river was so crystal clear, you could see fish swimming underneath it, among the rocks. You couldn't believe what you were seeing, everything was so beautiful. Out of this world…well out of your world. In your village there was nothing like this, the snow did not allow nature to create such beautiful ecosystems. Sure you had seen beautiful things, but nothing like this. You run all over the place, looking at everything around you. Touching and playing with everything. You looked like a little girl, discovering something for the first time.

Neteyam let you enjoy this new experience, sitting on a rock next to the river. Leaning back on his hands, laughing to himself. You looked so serene and beautiful. You run in his direction, sitting down quickly as you stumble a bit. "Hey, watch out" says neteyam, holding your arm helping you sit up. You were so excited.

"How do you know about this place? It's amazing" you ask. "Well… lo'ak and spider discovered it, but I like to say that I kept it alive" says neteyam jokingly. He used to come here when he was feeling very stressed with the job of being his father's successor. After a long day, this was the best place to come and sit and meditate.

"I thought you would need a place where you could feel happy" says neteyam, seeing all your attention turn to him.

"Yes…I do" you speak, lowering your gaze to the floor. Trying to hide your sadness. "We could bring herwin here someday…I know he'd love all this" neteyam says, touching some luminous leaves touching his feet. It hurt you to know that you were about to leave a good father for your son.

"About that…" you feel your heart clench, you had to tell him you won't be around tomorrow. Your father had given an order, and you had no choice but to accept.

"About what?" neteyam steps closer in front of you, placing his hand on your chin making you look up. He could see how your cheeks were turning red, and your eyes watering. "I will return with my father and brother to our village" you speak.

"But…why? Are you safe here" neteyam tries to speak, he can be heard a little upset.

"I have to do it…it's the right thing to do. I would love to stay here, with your family and you…but I have a duty to do" you speak, as you began to feel your throat dry up from the pain. Tears were gathering on your face with more intensity.

"What duty? Y/N don't you have to go!!!" neteyam raises his voice a little, you could hear the desperation in his voice. Taking your hands in his, squeezing them a little. Just to get your attention, bringing them to his chest.

"You don't understand neteyam…he hates everyone here. He wants me to carry on the family lineage, he wants me to play my corresponding role in the clan" you cry, letting all your feelings come out. Neteyam wipes away some tears with his thumb. He takes your hands again with more strength.

"But what do you want?" your ears perk up at his question. "I want to stay here…I just want that" you speak, trying to control your breathing.

"Then stay" neteyam says, now moving closer now to be inches away from you. Nestling a few pieces of your hair behind your ear. "I don't…" you start to speak but neteyam interrupts you.

"Y/n, don't go… I promise you that my family will continue to take care of you and your baby. I will continue to take care of both of you, I promise you that you will not miss anything and that you will be fine. I want to be…" neteyam kept talking, immersed in his monologue. He was sure that he would convince you …. while you felt that now everything made sense.

At this moment you were living what you had seen in your visions a year ago. This is the famous vision, neteyam holding your hands on his chest. Lowering his face from time to time to pause and give you a kiss on the palm of your hand. Everything was so clear now, the whole place, the surrounding atmosphere was just as you had felt it at that moment. The only difference was that now you could see the man in front of you. Of course, eywa had warned you of this situation, she knew that all this was going to happen. And now it was your time to decide.

You quickly get up from the ground, letting go of neteyam's hands, leaving him sitting on the ground now more confused than before. You bend a little, placing your hands on either side of neteyam's back. Giving him a kiss on his forehead, you walk away towards the exit. "I have to go" you shout a little, as you run towards the curtain of flowers. Neteyam gets up from the floor. "But" the poor boy didn't understand anything.

"See you tomorrow at the camp entrance…very early!!!" you shout, running as fast as you can on your way to your hut. Meanwhile neteyam stood there still in his place, now he didn't know what was going on. He was going crazy. Meanwhile you were running as fast as you could, luckily you were very good at remembering routes, so you knew how to get out of that place. It was a while, until you saw the camp. And as it was beginning to light up by the sun's rays coming in from the entrance. It had been a couple of hours since you and neteyam had decided to walk.

And you get as fast as you can to your home. When you get there you notice that everyone is still asleep, it's still 3 hours before everyone has to get up. So you walk carefully to where your son was, taking him in your arms. You lay down with him in your hammock, anxiously waiting for the dawn to come faster.

You had something very clear, you had already decided. You were going to stay here, this was what eywa wanted for you. She had told you her purpose with you a long time ago and your place was here. You felt comfortable, happy and for the first time in your life. You wanted to be more than what your father wanted you to be. Smiling to yourself, you tried to rest. Even though you couldn't sleep, you knew that in a couple of hours you would have to face your father. But you were ready…you had made your decision.

Morning came quickly for your good fortune, you were still lying in bed. Until you begin to hear some voices of some na'vi starting to leave their homes to start the day. You get out of bed again, noticing how your brother had begun to stretch. "Good morning, sleep well?" you ask, seeing how your brother only responds with a yawn and a smile. As your brother got up, he was followed by your father. But unlike your brother, this one gets up quickly. Stretching and walking straight to the entrance of the hut. Examining the weather outside the large cave. "Good morning father" you speak. Your father turns around, and is surprised by your sudden change in mood.

"Good morning…are you ready?" your father speaks. "Yes…I just have to pick up a few things and I'm ready" you speak, trying to hide your plan. You were going to pack some things, you would follow his plan and just before you left the camp you would tell him that you didn't want to go back to the clan. You could tell him now, but you didn't want to make a drama in the village. Your father nods his head, turning to continue looking outside.

You packed some things, it was your old clothes. It was the old clothes you had come to the clan in. Holding your baby on your chest, adjusting it in the carry. You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what was going to happen in a couple of minutes. You approach your father, touching his shoulder. He looks at you and smiles…he looked happy. And that makes your heart break into a thousand pieces, you were about to let go of the last thing you had left of your family. If only he could understand, that he couldn't control your life. You sigh and start to walk out of the hut.

The closer you got to the exit, you couldn't help but wonder if this was the best decision. After all they were your family, your real family. Will you be doing the right thing? "When we get to the village… I want you to meet a young warrior. Remember Ueyoä he will be a good mate," says your father, sounding happy and pleased with his words. While for you, it was a bucket of cold water…he was not going to change. He never has and never will. You just reply with an 'ok' and keep walking.

You approached the exit of the cave, your father went ahead…starting to go down the rocky slopes quickly. According to him, so that no one would notice they were gone and they wouldn't start asking unnecessary questions. While your brother was behind him, but still close to you. You had stood still at the edge of the exit. "I'm not going," you speak firmly.

Your father stops, and looks at you incredulously. What were you saying? He couldn't believe what was coming out of your mouth. "What?" he tries to sound calm, but the discomfort in his tone of voice was very noticeable.

"I will stay here in the omaticaya clan, that is what eywa wants and I will comply" your voice is firm, you were looking at the horizon, not making eye contact with the man. You knew that if you looked him in the eye, you would be intimidated and let him manipulate you as usual. Your father walks quickly towards you, he was annoyed. Closing his fingers tightly, you had never been scared by your father until now. Your brother tried to get in the middle, to calm your father down. But in futility, your father pushes him aside. And just as he was about to approach you and take your arm.

Someone stops him by placing their hand on his chest. Pushing him back a little, you had shifted your gaze to the side. Expecting the pain of the enlargement in your arm, but feeling nothing. You open your eyes to see neteyam. He was in front of you, creating a shield with his whole body. "Don't touch her," says neteyam, moving closer to you.

"You stay away from my daughter…and Y/N let's get out of here!!!" orders your father. He was agitated and angry. You could see how upset he was, his whole body attitude said so.

"No, I'm staying here. And I'm not going to explain it to you or anyone else." you raise your voice a little. Watching as your father started pacing back and forth, altered.

"Listen to me Y/N…if you stay here you will lose everything, you will lose your family. You won't be able to go back to your clan, you don't belong here. They will leave you alone, and there will be no one waiting for you out there. You will be left alone…YOU LISTEN TO ME ALONE!!!" your father shouts, showing all his fangs. Neteyam was holding your hand tightly, in order to support you. The screams were so loud that he had woken up your baby, causing him to cry out in fright. You were a bit shocked by his words, you didn't know what to say. Just as you were about to respond, you felt a hand wrap around you. Wrapping it around your chest, moving you backwards.

"She's not alone…she has this family" says neytiri, you turn to look back. Your eyes had just widened at the sight of her. Again she was there to save you, as if eywa herself had sent her to protect you. As if your mother herself had sent her. Holding you tightly over her. Now hugging you, moving further behind her. You can see the other members of the sully family approaching. Lo'ak and kiri…even jake. Who had already stepped forward and was standing next to his mate.

Your father grunts angrily, annoyed to see how these na'vi were protecting you. "You know what, do what you want…but then don't come back asking me to forgive you" says your father, turning to start his way back to his village. "Come on son!!!" shouts your father, yelling at your brother. He had been silent the whole time, he was in a state of shock. He never thought that you would reveal yourself to his father. You move a little away from neytiri, running to where your brother was. "You don't have to go…you can stay with me. You know how father is with you, he doesn't deserve you" you speak, while caressing your brother's cheek. Listening as your father screams and calls him back. "You know I love you very a lot sis… take care of yourself" says your brother, This scared one moves away from you, you could see how some tears were accumulating in his eyes. But he decides to follow your father.

You stand there, silently watching the two men walk away. You felt sad, but at the same time you felt that sense of freedom. Like a whole burden was lifted off your shoulders. "Hey" you turn around when you hear neteyam's voice. He had tapped you on the shoulder but you barely noticed. Watching as everyone had approached you, watching as neytiri wrapped you in a hug. Followed by the whole family. "You'll be fine…everything will be fine" jake says, pulling away from the hug. You smile at him, as you felt your baby calming down.

"Come here beautiful little ball" says neytiri taking the baby from your arms. You hand him to her, breathing calmly. "Why don't we go have breakfast, okay?" says Jake, as everyone starts walking to the hut. You turn once more into the distance, hoping that at least your brother had returned with you. "Hey…you coming?" speaks neteyam, taking your hand. You move closer, and lay your head on his arm, letting him guide you inside.

You help prepare breakfast with kiri, while lo'ak jokes with you. Neytiri was holding the baby in her lap, combing some pieces of his hair. Jake was next to her, chatting with her. Even tuk was next to you, lying on your back. This is what you wanted so badly… for so long. You felt so happy, comfortable and safe. As if you belonged here, as if this had always been your determined place. Kiri and lo'ak keep joking, while you get up from the floor. You go out to look for neteyam, since you had arrived at the family hut, he had not entered. You walk out, to find him staring off into the distance.

"Hey… what's wrong with you?" you ask, approaching him. Watching as he reaches out his hand, to take yours. Dragging you towards him, to hug you. Hugs had become habitual between the two of you…after all he said he was going to protect you. "I was just wondering if your brother would come…he looked unsure," says Neteyam. He can hear your sigh. "That's up to him…he knows he's always welcome here" you say, hugging neteyam tighter. "You're right" neteyam gives you a kiss on the crown of your head.

"And you, what are you thinking?" neteyam lowers his head, watching as you look up at him with a tender smile. "Did I ever tell you that we had already met in a vision?" you speak, seeing neteyam's ears perk up curiously, pouting his lips. You chuckle to yourself, lowering your gaze, burying your head on his chest. "I don't think so…but I'd like you to tell me the whole story," says Neteyam. Neteyam takes your chin in his hands, slowly moving closer to let his lips touch yours and ……

"Hey!!!! Get up!!!!" shouts your brother. You flutter your eyes open, sitting up in your bed made of some animal skins. Stroking your neck, you moan quietly for a moment, trying to get yourself together. "Hey…dad's been calling you for a while. I think you should go" says your brother, you look at him curiously, you seemed to have a dead look on your face. "What? Are you here?" you ask, touching your brother's face. Making a disgusted face, and pulling away from your touch.

"Did you have another vision again ah? What was it about this time?" the boy asks, as you watch a snowstorm fall outside the hut. It was all a vision, it had felt so real…so real. "This time it was…so real" you speak, almost stuttering. "mmm remember what mama says, that visions are completed in their own time, in eywa time" your brother says, working on the basket he was weaving.

You remain silent, for a moment. Something in you felt joy, because if that was the case. You knew you were going to be okay. But on the other hand, you knew you were going to lose so many important people in your life, for others to come along. "Are you okay?" your brother asks you, you reach over and give him a kiss on the forehead. "I'm going to miss you so much" your brother looks at you with confusion. "You're crazy!" he says, you just laugh. Lying back down on your bed, waiting for everything to happen.

Teyam babygurls: symptoms-of-moonlight , tru-blubelle, mashiromochi, ducks118, @butterfly-ibuki, @innercreationflower, @ok-boke, @lovelyygirl8, @sandaltoesocks, @he110hon, @inlovewithpandora, @sussybaka10, @mommyneytiri, @daughterofjakesully, @symptoms-of-moonlight @ilostmyaccounf @archer-fb @he110hon @kenzi-woycehoski @emery-333 @smoiesaustine @a--lyara-main-account, @im-in-a-pansexual-panik, @lelaleleb

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arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year

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Eyes wide open (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As you settle into life as a married woman in Westeros, you try to escape and outsmart Daemon. It goes as well as one could expect.

Warnings: Kidnapping, forced marriage, violence, starvation, torturing (Not the reader, at least physically), gaslighting. Very much housewife kink.

A/N: I think you are not going to like this. Might be too much. If you think I missed a TW, please tell me.

Check the previous parts here.

It's not a fun affair, your wedding. Nor does it have many guests. There is a Septon, and Viserys. You would like very much to claw his eyes out. You are not sure if he is a guest or acting as another officiant, but you despise him.

Perhaps a witness. Who knows? Not you. You were not the most observant person on the planet, as the last few months had shown you.

Daemon waves over to some people entering the throne room. There are two young girls, and as they approach, you realize one is Alicent and the other Rhaenyra. In between them, probably to ensure the peace, stands the man from before, the one that tried to help you. Not the young one, the other. The one who was Hand.

Alicent carries a silver haired baby, perched on her hip. You wonder which one he is. The eldest? Maybe? The drunken one.

How disgusting can men be? Really. As Alicent comes closer and closer, the more she looks like just a young girl. Rhaenyra it’s not much older, either. Viserys deserves every second spent in suffering from his illness, marrying hid child's friend. Alicent regards you with sad brown eyes, no doubt pitying you. There is nothing she can do for you, though. Not at this time.

Perhaps you are judging him with modern morals, and she was not as shocked by it as you were. She probably expected it, considering medieval girls married young, and medieval men often did not. Yet, you cannot help but be angry in Alicent’s name. Here is another woman, like Rhea, like you. Trapped into marriage to a monster.

You want to scream and scream and never stop. Until your throat is unable to make more sounds, until you cough up blood and choke on it because surely, it is a better fate than this. A world without Rhea. You open your mouth, turning towards Daemon. A hand on your shoulder it’s all it takes for you to shut up.

Your experience in the throne room showed you all you needed to know. The more barbaric parts of Westeros, the ones that Rhea had shielded you from. In her castle, she did as she pleased. She was a married woman with an inattentive husband in the Middle Ages. Rhea had much more leeway than others.

In the end, what you had liked about Rhea had been that life with her was similar to modern life. Or what you think life must be like for aristocrats in the twenty-first century, only without phones and the Internet. You wouldn't know, having been middle class all your life. But if you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were back where you belonged. Rhea was as free spirited as any woman from your time, if a bit conservative. You never understood why she feared her husband.

Now you did.

Daemon had frightened you. It was just starting to sink in how much power he would have over you now. You were little more than property, and he had a right to discipline you as he saw fit. To take you as he saw fit. After all, marital rape here was no rape.

No one questions that you are being hand fasted with still cuffed hands. Rhaenyra glares daggers at you and at her father, no doubt hurt because of her crush on Daemon. How you long to have access to Wikipedia to see when she falls for Harwin Strong and stops hurting.

You can't make up your mind about if she is a victim too or not. Daemon has groomed her into wanting him. That doesn't seem right. There is no doubt in your mind about it. Her treatment of Alicent could be justified, too. In an internalized misogyny kind of way. But wouldn't that be taking away her agency? But judging Alicent as a victim only… Isn't taking away her agency too?

Can you truly judge them with modern standards? You never spent much time thinking about the ethics of fictional characters. You surely would have been more concerned if you knew what was going to happen.

Too in your head, you barely notice when it's time to say your vows. Daemon, ever dutiful, reminds you of it by unsheathing his sword.

Someone, probably Alicent, gasps. Then, she goes quiet. You repeat your vows, glaring at Daemon the whole time. You would find a way to escape. This was only a temporary setback. And he would hurt, the asshole.

You ignore the voice in your head that tells you it's no use. Not when you have already failed at step one. You have spent a year searching for a way to go back to your world, and have made zero progress. If you run from Daemon, what would you even do? If he found you, no Lord would deny the Prince his wife. He would just have to talk to the liege lord in charge of wherever you are hiding and ask you to be handed back.

Daemon leans in to kiss you. As soon as he is close enough, you bite with all your might. The coppery taste of blood doesn't dissuade you. You keep at it.

“Should have expected that.” He mutters, through a mouthful of blood. His lips don't leave yours. “You Royces are hostile environments.”

Despite being hurt, Daemon keeps kissing you, moaning into your mouth. You are uncertain if it is pain or pleasure. Disgusted by the thought, and the hungry way he licks into your mouth, you stop. He gives you a big grin and kisses you again, biting into your lower lip until he draws blood, too. You yelp, trying to push him off.

“A true Valyrian, this one.” He boasts, grabbing your waist. Viserys and Rhaenyra look transfixed by what just happened. Apparently, something on yours and Daemon's blood stained faces is of significance to them.

Alicent and the man look at each other. Suddenly, baby Aegon gives a tiny, uncoordinated clap. The rest of the guests follow, and you beg to the skies for patience and fortitude. It seems you will need it, with these in–laws.

The cuffs never come off. Daemon shoves you in a room. Feeling oddly like the ghost of the wife in the attic, you decide you need to plan. You have little to your advantage, here. Your hands remain bound, and there is nothing to use as a weapon.

Your head hurts. You have cried too much. First, mourning Rhea, then pitying yourself. No more. You have read enough novels and watched enough awful movies to know how this might end if you succumb to weakness. This is not a love story, and you won’t develop Stockholm syndrome. You refuse.

You will keep repeating this phrase to yourself in the days to come. Feeding your anger, your treatment is not bad. It’s probably a bad idea to alienate your captor, but you decide to go on a hunger strike. Despite how hungry you are, not having eaten since the day Daemon arrived at the Vale, you do not trust him to not drug you or poison you.

He might think you valuable, but he is also known for being a rogue. He might change his mind at any moment. If it were up to you, you would not drink water, either, but you know you can’t survive without it. So you drink as little as you can. It also saves you from the indignities of not having the privacy of a bathroom.

Daemon comes to you on day six of your hunger strike. You are weak as a kitten, and half delirious with thirst. You have lost quite a few pounds. Your head hurts, you are dizzy, you want to go home. Never had you been as starved as now, or as dehydrated. Modern life meant you went hungry to bed, sometimes. Either for your financial situation or because of diet culture. But you had never felt as weak. One thing was skipping a meal, another refusing food for six days.

He enters the room with another man, one that wears noble clothes, but you have never seen before.

“… Not eating. Nothing. And barely drinking water.” Daemon explains, approaching the bed. Too weak to really fight him, you conform yourself with sitting up. As you are, you cannot be any kind of serious resistance. It’s the first time he has seen you since the wedding and by the look in his face, you look terrible. “Cries in her sleep, too.”

The other man approaches you. He reaches a hand towards you, and you scream, backing up quickly and nearly falling off the bed. You don’t know who he is, but you know you don’t want to be touched. Panic bubbles up in your throat. Bound hands. No escape, no way of fighting back. Is he here to hold you down? For Daemon to…? The thought is too horrible to finish.

You scratch at the man’s face, trying to aim for his eyes. This close, you can tell he is older both than Daemon and you. He looks kind. But looks can be deceiving. You resume your efforts, as the man screams, and you feel blood under your fingers.

Daemon grasps at your shoulders, but you only trash more. It’s a weak attempt. His arm wraps around your waist, firmly.

“Seven Hells.” The older man mutters. You have managed to lift skin around his forehead, three clear impressions of scratches marrying his face. With Daemon holding you firmly down, the man presses down on your stomach. Then, over your womb. He examines your face attentively as he does so. You snarl at him and try to kick him off. Daemon’s grip gets harsher.

Is he going to sell you now? Is the man checking you over because he is a potential buyer? You would rather not be sold, and so resume your trashing. People trafficking was bad in your time. It’s even worse now, with no laws to defend you. You could become a slave, or worse.

The man, the slave trader, tries to check your teeth. You bite down on his fingers hard.

“Your wife appears to be fine, physically.” The man finally says. A doctor? Healer. Physician. Whatever they call them here.

“Fine?” Daemon asks, tone absolutely enraged. “Fine! She is starving to death.”

“Her ailment is not physical. It’s grief and rage.” The healer, as you have now decided to call him, answers in a soothing tone. You wonder if he was chosen to visit you for that reason. Both you and Daemon must be maniacs in his eyes. You can’t bring yourself to care.

“I see.” Daemon says, tone dangerously low. Then, he grabs you by the cheeks and forces you to look at him. “What do you think you are doing, refusing food? Are you trying to kill yourself?”

You grin at him as best as you can with him squeezing your face. He makes a frustrated noise.

“It’s called a hunger strike.”

“Strike? Strike?” Daemon shouts, shaking you harshly. You let your body go lax, hoping it makes you less dizzy. You feel like you might pass out. “What in the world does that mean? You little…”

“My Prince…” The healer sounds concerned. “She looks like she is about to throw up.”

“Hell if I care!” Oh, it seems like you really angered him, you think to yourself. The thought feels distant and cloudy. Your vision starts to blur. Are you about to pass out? A sharp sting to your cheek brings you back to your senses. You blink, trying hard to focus. What have you done to yourself? Daemon has his hand raised, as if about to slap you again. The healer is making distressed sounds. “Listen to me, little brat. You will drink your tea and eat, or else I will force food down your throat until you choke.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. You start shaking your head.

“Broth. She will have to have broth, if you want her to be alright. Her stomach will be unable to handle more at first. We can lace it with Milk of the Poppy.” The healer says, in a low voice. It’s clearly aimed at Daemon, but you sit up straighter. You recognize that name. It was something like an opioid, right?

“No, no. That's a sedative. No. I don’t want it. You will poison me.” You start tearing up in sheer terror. Panic is choking you up, making you unable to think clearly. Daemon laughs, humorlessly.

“That’s the problem?” Daemon’s voice is harsh and loud, making you wince. He grabs a carafe of water sitting on your table. He takes a big gulp, making sure you see. Then, he passes it to you. His hand goes menacingly towards his sword. With no other choice, you drink. That’s how your hungry strike ends. Defeated not even a week in.

It takes you a few days to go back to your previous strength. Daemon’s visits become more frequent. He eats with you twice a day, always tasting before you the nutritious broths and milk glasses you are given. With no excuse and under his watchful eye, you have to eat.

As you recover, you get the strength to explore. Your new rooms were not bad. It could even be called a vacation. You didn’t have this, with Rhea. You had had a nice room for a servant, which was in reality a normal room for a person of the twenty-first century. A bed, a small table and a chair. With a window because you had told Rhea you were unable to stand closed spaces.

This room was not like it. There was one window, high enough for you to need a chair to reach it. You had no chair or table, only a bed. The bed was comfortable enough, the room spacious. It allowed you to pace a lot. You had books on Old Valyria, written in High Valyrian. If you thought Middle English was hard, it was because you had not met this terrible language.

You were determined to crack it, though. If High Valyrian was the Westeros's equivalent of Latin, perhaps you could find something more about how to get back to your time. All books of greater knowledge had been written in Latin, that you knew. It had been the language of intellectuals. Perhaps High Valyrian was the same.

It provided a good distraction, seeing as the room was bare aside from the bed and stack of books. And… Well. The candles. It looked more in here like the altar of a church, with how many there were. There was also incense, always burning. Perhaps as a way to amplify your powers because you had not seen anything like it during your year in Westeros. You wondered how much it had cost.

Your powers. Good God, what a joke. You had tried telling Daemon and Viserys, but it was no use. At most, they patted your head and said the poor little dreamer was confused with so many visions of the future. No one would listen to you.

Both of them seemed to think there was something sacred in you. Daemon had gotten you new clothes, thin white shifts. To you, it looked like a sluttier version of a roman toga.

“As the priestess of Old Valyria used to wear.” Daemon had proclaimed, proudly. You had rolled your eyes, but you were soon wearing them. Your clothes just got too dirty to stay in them, and the silk felt cold and soft on your overheated skin. Allowed only one bath per week, there is not much you can do about your cleanliness apart from changing clothes.

It takes time, getting used to your own skin again. After a year of nearly wearing as many layers as an onion, you were back to simpler clothes. No undergarments had been supplied, but you couldn’t stand the feel of your dirty ones, too worried about getting a UTI and dying because there were no antibiotics here.

Daemon visits you daily. He sits there and stares, fascinated by you. As if you were an exotic animal. It’s one of those days when you speak your first word to him. It’s difficult to build the courage for another escape attempt.

“I was wondering if I could have some ointment for my wrists.” You say, very quietly. He is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at you with absolute fascination. It’s a bit creepy. “My Prince.”

That’s what you have heard other servants call him. You are uncertain if you should do as Rhea did and call him husband. Both of them had had rather creative nicknames for each other and so, whatever protocol they used might be incorrect.

Rhea. Poor Rhea. You don’t want to share her fate, but you would rather not surrender to Daemon either. You feel guilty for even thinking about it.

Rhea appears in your dreams, every night. Her laughter, her voice, her corpse. Did he cremate her? Bury her? You can’t remember, and no one has told you. You wish you could visit her resting place, perhaps leave her flowers. Maybe get her advice. You miss it dearly.

“What's wrong with your wrists?” Daemon steps towards you, and you flinch. His past treatment of you is still too fresh. He is a ruthless man, you remind yourself. Play nice.

"They are sore.” You try to look relaxed, forcing the tense line of your shoulders to drop. Relaxed. Nice and pliant, for your psycho husband. Polite, and just the slightest bit whiny. He fetishizes immaturity, you remember. Younger girls. Laena and Rhaenyra both were. “I have been chained up for days. I don't want the cuffs to cut my skin, I might get an infection."

He takes your wrists in a very gentle grip. You don’t know why, but his hands on the cuffs make you start to tear up. Too much. You are overwhelmed, suddenly. It’s as if the grief has come crashing down all at once.

“You hurt yourself.” Daemon says, looking at your wrists from all angles. There are raised lines on them, from all the tugging you and him had been doing. “I’ll get you softer ones.”

He brushes a thumb over your cheek, and you sob even harder. Daemon does not seem bothered by your fear or your tears. No. He presses his wet thumb to his lips, as if he is barely conscious of it. It sparks an image in your mind. Under him, crying, his lips drinking up your tears.

You shake your head, as if you could vanish the image from your mind. You need to be on your best game, tonight. Head clear and not scared anymore. Fear clouds the mind, and you can’t afford that if you hope to deceive him.

“You don’t want softer cuffs, Dreamer?”

You don’t answer. You give a tiny sniffle.

“I… I miss my sister. I miss my home.” You look up at him, with a tear stained face and big sad eyes. Daemon brushes your cheek, again. “I want to go home.”

“You have to be calm, little one.” He whispers, kissing your forehead. You feel cold all over, as if submerged in a pool of despair. Focus. You need to focus because you can tell he is close to breaking. You need to take a mile when he gives an inch if you want to survive.

“I wish to go home.” You repeat, starting to pout.

“This is your home now.” Daemon kisses your cheek, softly. You whine, low and sad. All bratty princess. You hope he falls for it. Daemon’s non-existent brows pinch together. Hook… Line… “What about this? If you are good, and share a useful secret with Viserys, we can go back to Runestone.”

Runestone! Finally, finally. To be near Rhea and perhaps the chance to escape. You have him. You have him by the balls, and he doesn’t know it yet. Fool.

“I’ll try, husband.” You force yourself to smile, as if you were the happiest girl in the world. He looks pleased.

You wait a few days to drop the bomb on Viserys. It would do no good, if you share all your limited knowledge of the Dance and end up losing what little leverage you have. It wouldn’t be good, either, if Daemon thought you could summon visions at a whim.

“Alicent will misunderstand your words, and Otto will take advantage of it to place Aegon on the throne. He will grow into a fine drunk.”

As Otto Hightower falls, you rise. It feels like a dirty thing to do, but you want to go back to Runestone more than anything. You know the terrain there, you could have a chance at escaping. From what you remember, Otto’s only sin had been being too ambitious and pimping Alicent out. But he is Daemon’s enemy, and if you drag him down, it pleases him. A pleased Daemon is a better Daemon. He gets sloppy when he is smug.

Daemon has no choice but to take you back. Dreamers must be kept calm and cared for. And you would be very upset if he goes back on his word. Your power could wane. You make sure this is clear to him.

It’s back at Runestone he makes a mistake. He has had the guards that opposed him replaced. But he has given no thoughts to the servants.

Mina is the one assigned to serve your food, out of all the kitchen girls. Perhaps Daemon handpicked her because he thought her easy to intimidate after their first meeting. Perhaps it’s just sheer luck.

“He has ordered for you to have a special diet, milady.” She explains, as she places a tray down by your bed. You have yet to acquire a table, Daemon thinking it too much of a risk. He has no idea.

“Mina, I’m not…” You hurry to correct her. You would never want to be called by Rhea’s title. It feels like disrespecting her memory. And it’s strange, too. To be treated with such deference. Not even in your time had anyone treated you as if you were royalty.

Had you pulled a similar stunt as you did with the healer with a doctor, you would have probably been institutionalized. If the doctor didn’t press charges for assault and battery first, of course.

“Not a Lady? You own this castle. That man might be parading around like a peacock, but I much rather serve you.” Mina says, sitting on the edge of your bed. She is not meant to, but neither of you care. This is the only normal conversation you have had in nearly a month.

“What’s all this about?” You point at the tray, when it’s clear you won’t be able to convince her. It’s filled with a strange array of food. Used to your broths and cups of milk, and light soups and bread, you wonder what this is all about. There is a cup with warm milk, as always, but this time smells of clover. There are also eggs, and seafood.

“They are meant to stir desire and aid conception.” She points to each item. “It should all be eaten warm, or so Thea says. Else it will cool you.”

“I think I will never…” You start saying, but Mina grasps your hands, urgently shushing you. Her jaw jutts towards the door, seemingly aware of something you are not. Heavy footsteps. Boots. They pause at your door, before resuming their path.

“Don't say that. Don't. We might joke around about it, but he always gets his way. Men like him, they don't know how to lose.” She whispers, urgently. Trying to look out for you. You think of the possible consequences of saying such a thing in front of Daemon. It’s not a pretty picture.

“They really don't.” You agree, sadly.

Daemon does not know how to lose. That much is true. But neither do the two of you. It is only a week before Mina slips you the key to your room, taken from an unsuspecting guard.

It’s not easy, waiting for the right time to use it. You have to do it before breakfast is served, so no one notices the key to be missing. Acting too soon means endangering Mina and you.

The hour of the witch, then. Fitting. These people actually believe there might be ghosts roaming the halls at three am. With your white shifts and chains, you could pass as one if not looked at closely.

When the sky looks dark enough, you open your door and run. Runestone is silent, in the quiet of the night. Servants would rise at the first rooster's crow, you know because you used to, the first days before meeting Rhea. You make sure to stick to their passages and corridors, and not the main ones, less some guard is still roaming the halls.

It feels like an eternity, the time spent running as silently as you can. Your pulse pounds loudly in your ears. When you finally exit the castle, you nearly sob in relief. It’s astonishing that no one has caught you yet.

Now comes the hard part. You have to find a way to get out of the Vale, fast. Somewhere far enough that Targaryen influence will not touch you. And get rid of the cuffs while you are at it.

Rhea had a hunting lodge, on the edge of the grounds. There she kept all sorts of weapons and knives to skin animals with. Perhaps something there can be useful to break your chains and protect yourself while on the road. You decide to head there, but do not dare take the path, afraid of discovery.

The moon shines brightly, the sky clear. It’s a good night to escape because you can actually see where you are going. You know the forest, having rode with her many times through it. Even if you found hunting disgusting, Rhea liked to take you with her. If you go through it, you could get where you need to be and avoid the path.

You give yourself a silent pep talk, reminding yourself that at least the grass and moss will be gentler on your feet than the earth. You try to ignore your doubts about if you will actually be able to get there, reminding your way in the middle of the night.

As soon as you could, you were so getting shoes. A sudden, shrill screech makes you rush into the forest, hoping the darkness conceals you. You know that sound. Caraxes. He shouldn’t be here. The dragonpit Daemon had ordered to build for him is on the opposite end of the grounds, to avoid him setting the whole forest aflame.

It can only mean two things: He either escaped or Daemon took him out for a ride. Neither are good for you.

You pray to whoever that’s listening to cloak you, let the darkness be enough to be kept unseen. Your heart beats even faster, muscles tense and ready to dart away. Ducking behind some bushes, you try to muffle your breath with your hands, silently starting to cry.

It’s not quiet enough. The tree next to you catches fire, and you scream. You were so close! So close, you could almost taste freedom. And it was taken away from you, again.

“Ah, Wife! Come to lure me back to bed?”

You shiver. Daemon urges Caraxes to fly lower and extends a hand in silent demand. He can’t actually land here, not without ruining half the forest. But it’s clear what he wants.

Is there something more terrible than being forced to climb back into your captor’s arms, with bound hands? You don’t dare ask. But probably. You don’t want to know what he will do to you in punishment.

The scandal rises all the castle. Confused servants and guards pour out of the rooms to watch the ruckus occurring in the dining hall. You feel absolutely humiliated, in the sheer shift, barefooted and dirty, while Daemon scolds you as if you were a child.

“What in the Seven Hells were you thinking?” He shakes you, roughly. For a moment, you fear he might kill you right there. You look at the crowd of servants and shrink into yourself. Daemon follows your gaze.

“Ah.” He pulls out a chair and pushes you to sit there. You go meekly, too embarrassed to drag it further. You feel like you stink of failure. Slowly, with each thwarted escape attempt, hopelessness is starting to take hold of your heart. “I suppose I can't blame you, for taking an opportunity when it arose. Question is…” Daemon pulls another chair and straddles it backwards, perching his chin on the backrest. He glares at the servants. “Who allowed it?”

The servants stay in silence. You close your eyes fearing giving Mina away. No one speaks for a long while, all of you frozen in the face of Daemon's rage. His chair creaks when he gets up. You keep your eyes firmly closed.

There is a sudden weight in your lap. You open your eyes and there is Mina's terrified face, looking right into yours.

“I have found a traitor. Do you know what happens to traitors here?” Daemon asks you. Your eyes widen. You shake your head. “Oh, I think you do, Lady Wife. But I will be merciful. After all, she is your little friend.”

He gestures for a guard to approach. The man does, and Daemon whispers something in his ear. You look at Mina, still on your lap, whose lips are silently moving. Praying. You squeeze her hands. She squeezes yours back. She can't see that the guard has returned with a whip.

You try to say something, but Daemon is faster. He cracks the whip against the back of her nightclothes, which do little to soften the blow. Mina's eyes widen, filled with tears, and she screams loud and shrill, nearly falling off from your lap.

“I'm thinking… Fifty?” Daemon smirks, raising the whip again.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, as Mina desperately clutches at your shoulders.

“I'm not really in the mood to listen to you.” Daemon brings the whip down again, making Mina scream. Oh, how you regret now trying to escape. You should have never tried. “Next time, do not be so familiar with the help.”

The next time he hits her, it's you who starts crying. Mina shakes her head and pinches you, but you still beg.

“Daemon, please. Please, no more.”

He ignores you, cracking the whip again. You scream with her. The coppery scent of blood fills your nostrils, and you know he has to be hitting the same spot on purpose because there is no way he is drawing blood this soon without being cruel. The next time the whip goes down, you throw both of you on the ground, trying to protect her from more hits. The whip hits you around the shoulder.

“You just never learn, do you?” Daemon pulls you off Mina, kicking and screaming. “Willing to do anything to protect this whore who has done nothing to help you.”

“Please, please. I will take it for her. Please, she only got me the key, surely that's not…” You keep on pleading because while you might not have known Mina a lot, it was a horrid thing, watching someone be whipped because they tried helping you. Her only crime was trying to do the right thing, when no one else dared to. Bravery.

“Oh? You wish to trade places? As if you were some worthless little whore?” Daemon taunts, still holding you in his arms.

“Daemon, please.”

“You are my wife. Perhaps once you were to be a worthless little whore. But you are mine, now.” His hand brushes the curve of your neck. A threat and a caress, all rolled into one.

“Something else! Something else! We can negotiate, please.” At this point, you would agree to anything, desperate as you are to save Mina’s life.

His eyes glimmer. He has what he wanted.

“Put the girl in the cells. I will see to her in the morning. Right now… I have to tend to my wife.”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen x female reader #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon x you #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #divine intuition series #also known as cristi angers her followers part 2 #asoif fanfic #daemon targaryen x y/n

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stevesbipanic · 9 months

Text

@steddiemas Day 26: Fake Dating

Steve was ready for Hawkins to open up again and for the Upside Down to swallow him whole. Christmas was meant to be fun, well at least it was supposed to be fun now that he spent it with the Buckley's. Right now though he was glaring at his boyfriend and best friend across the table. Or wait not his boyfriend this evening, no tonight, Eddie was Robin's boyfriend.

Steve could only blame himself he supposed, one for loving the two idiots that were currently badly suppressing giggles and two because it was all because of what he'd said last week.

One week earlier...

"Robin, just tell your mom you're a lesbian or I'm not coming to Christmas lunch next week."

"Steve I can't do that do you want to ruin Christmas!?"

"She was already fine with me being bisexual she's not going to send you to hell, that's why we tested her with me in the first place!"

"No, I'm not ready!"

"Well I can't sit through another Christmas of your mom suggesting a Spring wedding!"

"You're my boy space friend can't we just let her live in a fantasy world where she marries into the Harrington's?"

"I don't even want to be one!"

"Could pop down to the courthouse and become a Munson, baby," Eddie supplied watching the back and forth while blatantly stealing from the candy display.

Steve gave him a deadpan look, "You need to propose to me better than that, Eds. No, Robin that's it I'm not going, I'm not being your boyfriend anymore!"

"What am I meant to do then, she'll be asking about you all day!"

"I'll do it!" Eddie exclaimed.

"Do what?" The other two asked giving him a questioning look.

"No, stop I hate when you do that twin thing it's creepy. And I'll be your boyfriend for Christmas, Birdie."

Which brought Steve to now. It had seemed like a brilliant idea, one Steve could enjoy his Christmas lunch peacefully being the golden boy of the table as Mrs Buckley dawned over him and two, no boyfriend questions. There was also the added bonus that lesbianism might seem like a better option than the town's drug dealer in the Buckley's minds. What Steve hadn't counted on, was the Buckley's loving Eddie.

"Oh, you're in a band that's so lovely, you know I played tamborine for a band back when I was your age, we thought we were going to be a big girl group."

"I hear you're working over at Thatcher's son, they're good men there you're certainly going to learn a lot."

Steve had been relegated to peeling the potatoes while Eddie was literally putting his feet up in the living room. He felt like the middle child of a family that just got a newborn baby, how dare Eddie steal his pseudo parents. What was worse was that Robin was finding this hilarious.

"Oh poor Stevie Wevie are you sad mom's not asking about how EMT school is going?"

"Yes! I had such a fun fake heart attack story she was gonna love." Steve pouted and for a moment he thought about stomping his foot in protest.

"Hey, it's ok, next year I promise I'll have told them, and Edward over there can come as your boyfriend, ok?" Robin reassured wrapping an arm around him.

Steve guessed that he could give up being the favourite this time, and it was nice seeing people be kind to Eddie, it hadn't been easy after Spring Break. It didn't stop him shooting daggers whenever Eddie and Robin decided to reassure Steve at lunch that he'd find someone nice eventually.

Steve and Eddie waved goodbye after lunch, promising to visit soon and hopped into the van.

"Have fun?"

"Oh yeah, I think Janice is already planning the Spring wedding."

"Well, I hope you enjoyed getting fawned over because we've got dinner with Wayne now, and guess who's his favourite?"

"Just because you know the difference between the Chiefs and the Packers, I'm his own blood and the minute you're there it's like I'm chopped liver!" Eddie exclaimed as they drove towards the trailer park.

Lunch had been interesting but he was very glad it was over as he laughed and slid his fingers between Eddie's between them, happy that he had his boyfriend back.

Ao3

#steddie fake dating was too easy hahahaha #Stobin #steddie #eddie and robin are soulmates in law #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steddiemas #ficlet #fake dating

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mhsdatgo · 7 months

Note

Since GOT they’ve been using rape and abuse to humble or break a woman/Girl because they aren’t the “right” kind of woman. They don’t ride a dragon or yield a sword. They don’t fight against their period typical role in life that they were born and raised in. They’re not “A guys girl” or the “I don’t have any girl friends, they’re too much drama” types who prefer the company of men to women, who would rather train with a sword and not learn embroidery. They don’t have dialogue that vaguely sounds more 21st century than Middle Ages.

These women are seen as of less value than our little dragon riding, sword and fist fighting tomboys. So they need to be taught that if you had just been more like this or more like that you wouldn’t have been brutalized and abused. The things that were done to you by other people is all your fault and you deserved it.

This show/franchise is not even in the same room as feminism.

👏👏👏 Nothing more to add anon. No lie was told.

The sad thing is, this is not what I got from the books of asoiaf at all. Women's experience was never told in juxtaposition to others. There is no humbling or brutalizing other women as a "punishment" for not being better, more rebellious, or bolder than others. The books tell stories of suffering and that's it. The way shows and fandoms decide to try and force other characters into another one's story for the sole purpose of comparing them so they prove that stanning one means having a moral high ground over another character's stans is the most idiotic thing to ever have happened among fandoms, to say the least. Especially when the two characters in question don't even know each other.

Just look at the way Sansa and Dany are treated in the fandom. Have a shot for every time Sansa in King's Landing is called a tradwife as if this wasn't a girl in middle school trying to survive they're talking about, or for every time she's called jealous of Dany. Imagine if a stranger girl with three dragons cames knocking on your door demanding that you and all of your people and their mama bend the knee to her and you are the jealous one and the villain because you just... Don't? Also, you deserve to be threatened with death when you pose a reasonable question, and you need to take it and be better and shut up. Then you're a "girls' girl" deserving of respect, etc.

We want strong female characters to think for themselves, except when that "thinking for oneself" isn't the same thing as kissing the ground the fan favourite girl walks on.

If only fandoms paid more mind to what makes a character likeable or unlikeable in their eyes BASED ON THE CHARACTER ITSELF, and not on their perspective on their faves, interacting with them would be way more fun. Books/shows like asoiaf/GOT or F&B/HotD aren't places where you just choose a character you like and that's it, she's an icon she's a legend and she is the moment. If it was, it would either be a story for kids or a hell for Mare Sues' fans. As long as you treat asoiaf characters like deities that can do no wrong and everyone else as villains in need of redemption, you should step back and read something else.

This is something that needs to be accepted even between writers and directors, btw. Just look at what F&B was turned into. Girlboss vs Girlfail. Blacks got the Girlboss, the virtuous rightful heir, good mother fine ruler, Greens' got the Girlfail, the rape enabler, the boy mom, the tradwife, you name it.

No, it doesn't matter that the latter is doing everything she can possibly do. She was a piece of shit the moment she stopped toiling behind the former because everyone is meant to be like or kneel before girlboss with dragon. Only then are your ambitions respectable. If not, fuck you, you're nothing. Everything that happens to you is your fault. I'll be in the front seats cheering for when everything you love is ripped brutally from you.

Even when your grown-up son rapes a maid. Even when girlboss with dragon threatens to put your people to the torch because you won't bend the knee.

TL;DR: There's no need to compare/stone certain female characters for being what they are instead of a completely different type. If all of them were tomboyish with swords or feminine with embroidery, it would be boring. You aren't better than anyone for having preferences. Also, learn how to blame men when they fuck up. It's great for the bowel.

#hotd #got #asoiaf #fire and blood #daenerys targaryen #sansa stark #alicent hightower #rhaenyra targaryen

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twoyara · 3 days

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Karens never existed

As a non-white woman, I don't understand why this slang exists at all. No, I'm not here to show how cool and smart I am, it's just a logical conclusion. Are white women can be racist? Yes. Can they be fascists? Yes. Can they be rude and loud? Sure. But, as you all know very well, there are already names and terms for these things. You don't need to invent some new ones for it. Oh, and like, all other women of all races and ethnicities can't be like that or what?

The problem isn't that they're rude or racist, is it? The problem is that they are confident middle-aged women who know how to stand up for themselves and their rights. Because, my God, how much humanity hates women who try to stand up for their rights. All this nonsense about radfem didn't come out of thin air, y'know

Even if white women are scandalous, so what? White men aren't scandalous? They aren't loud and racist? Why isn't there any popular slang for white men? Why aren't there a ton of memes about them? Videos making fun of them? Forums and articles? Because no white woman has as many rights and freedom as a white man

How stupid is it to think that white women are somehow protected from patriarchy and think that they somehow have more rights than all other women. And even better if they're rich. But history by a bunch of actresses and models proves that neither money nor white skin will save you from rape, sexual harassment, sex trafficking, kidnapping, murder. The only thing they're protected from is racism. I doubt that either. If white person came to my republic, they'd be greeted with racist comments (sad truth)

NO WOMAN IS SAFE AS LONG AS THERE IS PATRIARCHY IN THE WORLD. The term exists only to once again demean and ridicule women. That's all. Eat it up, chew on it, slurp it. Idk just stop being so dumb

#radblr #radical feminism #karen #fuck misogyny

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daisynik7 · 2 years

Text

Dirty Thirty

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, spit play, vaginal sex (doggy, cowgirl), cockwarming, use of pet names (princess and Master)

Word Count: ~5.6k

Summary: An alluring stranger gives you a special treat on the night of your 30th birthday.

Notes: Kishibe is in his mid 40s. Also, apparently he is 6’4”, so reader is shorter, below 6’. This is very self-indulgent considering my own 30th is in a few days (shout out to all my fellow Pisces babes)! Also, I started this after finishing Chainsaw Man a few weeks ago, so this is a result of heavy Kishibe brainrot.

Additional Note: Check out Part 2 here: After Last Night! Reblogs, likes, and/or comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!

--------------------

The bass of EDM music reverberates through the speakers at the DJ’s booth. This particular bar you frequent turns into a club at 11 PM. College kids from the university down the street congregate in this establishment on the weekends, like today. You and your friends have been here since an hour ago, drinking and chatting in a booth hidden away to the side of the dancefloor. After dinner, you stopped by for a quick drink. With the booze and vibes just right, you ended up staying.

Tonight, you celebrate your birthday. It’s the end of an era, really. You’re officially thirty. You’ve been dreading this day for the past few months, sad to bid farewell to your twenties, which wasn’t all that anyways. The number of times your friends reassure you that your thirties are the new twenties only brings you mild comfort. Glancing at the crowd tearing up the dancefloor, you can’t help being envious of their youth.

Maybe it’s your buzz talking. You’re not one to feel sorry for yourself, especially about something as inevitable as aging. Thirty is young. Who cares if you’re the only one in your inner circle who’s single, unmarried, or childless? There’s no shame in it. You’re sick of women being scrutinized each year they get older for not doing what society tells them they should do. Who the fuck cares if you don’t have a ring on your finger or haven’t popped a baby out your vagina yet? It isn’t on your radar, and that’s perfectly fine. Men don’t get this much shit for remaining bachelors well into their forties or fifties, why should you?

You fidget with the glittery Dirty 30! sash you wear over your little black dress. A shimmering tiara sparkles on top of your head to complete your ensemble. Your friend’s voice in your ear snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hey birthday girl, how’s it going?”

Smiling, you hold your half empty glass up towards the middle. “Good. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate tonight!” You’re ready to chug the rest of your liquor so you can head to the dancefloor. The other three women in your group cheers, clinking their drinks with yours.

You’re about to suggest dancing when your friend says, “Shall we call it a night?”

It catches you off guard. The music just started and it’s not even midnight yet. You’re not ready to go back to the real world; it’s your special day until you fall asleep, which you don’t plan to do for a few more hours. You’re silent though, listening as the other girls repeat a similar sentiment.

“My husband is waiting for me at home, so yes.”

“And my babies have an early morning play date tomorrow!”

Your friend beside you turns to you and asks, “Ready to go?”

Contemplating for a moment, you respond, “I think I might stay, actually. Have another drink or two.”

They stare at you bewildered, surprised you want to be here alone, which is unusual for you. “Are you sure?” they clarify.

“Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll be fine! I’m a big girl now,” you joke, standing up to hug them. They kiss you on the cheek, greeting you one last happy birthday before leaving together to go home to their husbands and children.

Craving another drink, you abandon your booth to approach the bar. You order your favorite: a vodka cranberry, your comfort cocktail throughout your 20s. A reminder that you’re still the same you despite moving up a decade.

You close your tab, promising yourself this is your last, and go back to your table. It’s now occupied by an older man in a black coat, sipping on amber liquor. Annoyed, and slightly intrigued, you sit opposite of him in the same booth. He lifts his head up slowly, noticing you.

“Hi there,” you greet him. Even in the dim light, the stitched scar on his left cheek stands out. The metal piercings on his ears glisten, the strobe lights reflecting off them from the dancefloor.

“Can I help you?” His voice is low and raspy, either naturally or from the alcohol.

“I was sitting here earlier. The other tables are all occupied, and I really don’t want to stand around on the dancefloor by myself. Can I sit here until I finish my drink? There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You put on your most charming smile.

“Where are your friends? I’m sure you’d rather sit with them instead of with an old man like me.”

“They ditched me to go home. Besides, it looks like you could use the company.” You tip your cocktail into your mouth, keeping your gaze on him.

He watches you, skeptical. “How old are you?”

You glance down at your sash, which is now twisted so that the answer to his question is on your back where he can’t see. You grin at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

He hums, unamused. “I’m not keen on hanging out with girls in their 20s. Not really my style. Not tonight, anyways.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Narrowing his eyes at your tiara, he responds, “You’re wearing a crown, drinking a cranberry vodka at a bar that plays this shit music. I’d say you’re 23.”

This amuses you, like getting asked for your ID does, which is becoming rarer nowadays. It’s flattering.

“Hey, you’re here too. The only difference is that you’re drinking a whiskey,” you tease him, pointing at his glass.

“In my defense, I finished work nearby and this shitty cesspool was the closest bar I could find.” He takes a swig of his alcohol. “So, am I right?”

Sliding the sash to face him, you answer, “Nope. You’re wrong. Lucky for you, today is my birthday. And I just turned thirty.”

He cracks a smile at this, giving you a flutter below your belly. You’re not typically into older men; however, this guy has piqued your interest. There’s something about him that is alluring. Exciting.

“Happy birthday,” he says, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Get anything good?”

“No. But the night’s not over yet.” You’re full-on flirting now, not at all ashamed of how brazen you’re acting. Fuck it. You only turn thirty once, right?

There’s distance between you, but the tension is so thick, you could smell the bold scent of liquor coating his lips. He leans closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you something good.”

~~~

Minutes later, you’re in the back of the cab, riding towards an address he mutters to the driver. He holds you, interlocking his fingers with yours, peering out his window in silence. You focus on your entwined hands resting on the middle seat, the intimacy of it all distracting you from the fact that you’re about to hook up with this attractive stranger.

The driver arrives to a swanky apartment complex. Once inside, Kishibe doesn’t give you enough time to marvel at the beautiful interior of the room. In an instant, his lips are on yours, both palms cupping your cheeks assertively. Breath hot and chalky from the mint you saw him savor earlier in the car. It barely masks the lingering taste of that cigarette you witnessed him drag waiting for your ride. He didn’t have the same type of smoker’s breath that you’re sick of from your coworkers. With him, you don’t mind it at all.

His hand trails down your neck, thumb carefully brushing over a pulse point right below your chin. His skin is rough and calloused compared to yours. The scraggly facial hair scattered along his jaw is scratchy on your cheeks.

He breaks the kiss, gazing at you while he removes his overcoat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, kicking his shoes off in the process. There’s a small bar cart in the kitchen, where he pours himself a whiskey. At the freezer, he reaches for the ice, dropping three cubes into the dark liquor with a plop. You stand still, observing him, nervous and thrilled about what this mysterious man will do to you tonight.

At the couch, he takes a seat, thighs spread wide, his wrist hanging low between them, gripping the top of the glass with his fingertips. “Come here,” he beckons.

Removing your heels quickly and abandoning your purse, you step towards him, ready to sit beside him until he demands, “No. Not there.” He pats his thigh with his free hand. “Here.”

Your body trembles with lust as you straddle him, pussy pulsing against his muscular thigh. He studies you, from your hazy stare down to him between your legs, savoring his cold liquor all the while. You gulp loudly, obediently waiting for his next command.

Gently removing the crown atop your head and tossing it aside, he asks, “What do you want from me, princess? It’s your birthday after all.” Hearing him call you princess gives you a rush you can no longer contain. You start moving on his thigh, riding it to feel the glorious sensations on your clit.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as you grasp at his collar to hold you steady. “This is what you want? Okay. Take what you need. Come on my thigh. I’ll watch.” His gravelly voice in your ear makes you ride him harder, grinding against him until your creamy mess is soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. You clench his tie, loosening it around his neck. He continues to watch you, sipping on his booze, enjoying his own private show.

Once the glass is empty except for the melting ice, he sets it down on the coffee table, pulling you in closer, his hand behind your neck. Lightly blowing cool, whiskey breath along your lips. You lean forward to kiss him, his tongue slipping past to explore your needy mouth. The longing for his touch on every inch of your body grows stronger by the second as you moan into the kiss, bouncing on his leg.

“Can you come by yourself? Or do you need my tongue on it? I can lick it up real good if you’ll let me.” His obscene suggestion surprises you, as if you weren’t already performing lewd acts on his lap. You tug at his tie to pull him into another fierce kiss before sitting next to him on the couch, lifting the hem of your dress up to reveal your wet undergarments.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. But I’m not calling you Daddy,” you tease, spreading wide for him.

His voice is low in his throat, kneeling on the carpet, face positioned between your thighs. “Good, because I prefer to be called Master.”

You roll your eyes at him, to which he responds, “What? You don’t like that? I bet I’ll have you screaming it all night long.”

This has you speechless as he drifts towards you, staring at the wet spot soaking through your lingerie. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He hooks his fingers around the fabric, stretching it to the side to expose your sopping cunt. Leaning in closer, he flicks his tongue gently onto your clit, causing you to squirm above him.

He’s testing the waters, starting slow to gauge your limit. It’s gentle at first, toying with your bud until it’s plump and sensitive. Until your wanton moans are bouncing off the walls of his big, fancy apartment. There’s no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s obvious this man has years of experience beyond you. Having this stranger swirl his tongue on the most intimate parts of your body makes you weak in the knees. This is the first time all night that you’re thankful to be turning thirty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this apartment, getting wrecked and torn apart by him.

“I’ve always wanted a plaything I can ruin,” he breathes out, finally wrapping his lips around you. “Will you be my pretty plaything tonight?” He surrounds your clit, drawing an erotic whimper from your mouth.

“Fuck, Kishibe. Yes. Use me as your plaything, fuck.”

He eats you out noisily, emphasizing every wet sound his mouth makes on your swollen bud. Several times, he spits on it, spreading his saliva up and down your pussy, plunging his tongue into your entrance to get it lubricated with his own drool.

“You’re fucking drenched down here. When’s the last time you let a grown man eat you out like this? I bet you’ve never been with someone like me, huh?”

You shake your head, swiping through his hair, spreading yourself wider for him. “Never.”

“I can tell,” he says, slipping his middle and ring finger into your entrance. “So fucking wet for me. I love it.” He pumps into you, curling his digits just right, resonating all the way down to your toes. His lips latch onto your clit, drinking you up to quench his insatiable thirst.

“Hold these for me,” he says, guiding your fingers to your panties. “Want to stroke my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy out.” You hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of him shoving his fist into his slacks to jerk off. The vibrations from his moans tickle your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper into your arousal, practically drowning in it, flattening his tongue to smear his warm saliva all over. You whine in ecstasy, heedless of attracting any neighboring attention to your explicit blubbering.

“Come on my face,” he muffles, too busy lapping up your clit to pull away, fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny and sleek with your slick.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your orgasm, pleasure jolting through your body while he works you until you’re overstimulated, twitching from the euphoria. He laughs softly, face glistening with your essence, taking a seat beside you. You watch him in a daze as he sticks his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You want a taste, too?”

You nod, disoriented from your intense climax. He drags your bottom lip down using the pad of his thumb, mumbling, “Open.”

Obediently, you stick your tongue out for him, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. Your pussy throbs again, ready to be fucked for real by this provocative stranger you were so fortunate to meet tonight.

He grazes your open tongue, then spits in your mouth. “Swallow,” he demands, voice husky with desire. You do, making sure to gulp loudly, incredibly aroused and needy for his cock.

“Show me,” he whispers, opening his own mouth to mimic you. “Ah.”

You show him your tongue again, a dumb expression on your face while he inspects. Satisfied, he grunts, “Fuck, you’re bad. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” He reaches down to your soaked panties clinging to you. “Take these off.”

He slides out of his trousers, revealing briefs that barely conceal his obvious bulge. As you slip out of your underwear, he removes his, displaying his impressive cock. “You going to ride this cock now?”

Without a word, you nod. You’re already anticipating how fucking amazing he’s going to feel inside you. Your brain is jumbled with naughty thoughts of him taking you in all positions in every room of his apartment.

There’s a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watches you mount him. You hoist your dress up, stripping it from your body. He unclasps your bra, baring your breasts to him while he still wears his dress shirt and tie. For some reason, you want him to keep it on. Get it nice and dirty with slick and sweat.

You reach behind you to position him at your entrance. Once aligned, you slowly sink onto his cock, allowing yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size. Given his stature, it’s not surprising how big he is, both in length and girth. When you bottom out, he lets out a raspy fuck, holding your ass to squeeze your plush cheeks. “I’m ready whenever you are, princess. Like I said, take what you need from me. Milk me dry. I know you want to.”

Spurred by his provocative encouragement, you ride him, rocking your hips back and forth onto his lap, gripping his cock tight with your wet cunt. Forehead pressed to his, lids closed, jaw hanging open, experiencing the best fuck of your life. With a brief glance, you catch him watching you, a similar dazed expression on his face. You bounce on him faster, his dick pounding into you over and over again, determined to feel every inch you possibly can.

“Fuck, Kishibe, feels so fucking good,” you moan, directing his fingers down to your clit. “I want to come all over this cock. Make me come, Master.”

Bingo. His eyes widen as soon as it slips from your mouth. It’s the magic word. The trigger.

Without hesitation, he brushes his thumb ruthlessly onto your swollen bud. “Say it again,” he demands, pressing it hard as he massages it, eyes wild with lust.

“Fuck, make me come, Master. Make me come.” You’re riding him so fucking good, couch creaking, clutching his shoulders tight, his carnal stare locked on your every movement.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he growls.

“I’m close, I’m close!”

Suddenly, he pulls out, cock covered in your arousal, wet and stiff against his abdomen. Strings of slick cling to the hem of his dress shirt. You’re about ready to yell at him for teasing you. Before you can, he stands up, grabbing your wrist to lead you into the bedroom. His breathing is heavy as he points to the bed, hastily removing his clothes. “On your knees, ass up. I’m going to fuck you so good. Make you squirt all over my fucking sheets.”

The anger immediately subsides and you’re back to being eager again, knowing damn well that he means every fucking word he says. You do as he commands, wiggling your ass to entice him. He chuckles behind you. “I’m sorry for denying you earlier. I just really want to see this ass bounce on my cock like this.” He teases you with his tip, tapping your clit, sliding it along your pussy lips.

“You’re not forgiven,” you pout, growing impatient.

Placing a soft kiss on your lower back, he laughs again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about this stranger you met mere hours ago, it’s that he is a man of his word.

He guides his cock into you slowly, stretching you little by little until you’re squeezing him, his entire length inside you. “Look at you, sucking me in again like you were made for me.” He starts thrusting, holding you steady to penetrate you deeper.

“So fucking good!” you cry out, fists bunched on his silky sheets, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“I know, princess. It’s amazing for me too.” His heavy balls slap your damp skin with every brutal thrust of his hips, fucking you hard, dipping into your sweet spot until you’re woozy with pleasure. “You take it so good. So fucking sexy.” He tightens his grip on you, increasing his pace. “So fucking beautiful.”

You throw your ass back, arching your spine to get the perfect angle. With your cheeks bouncing obscenely against his thighs, you beg, “Spank me, Master. Spank me like a bad girl.”

Not wasting a second, his rough palm connects with your ass, the loud smack ringing in your ears. He spanks you again and again, your pussy clenching him tighter while you continue to thrust back onto his cock. You’re about ready to burst, desperate to reach your second orgasm after being denied earlier. You play with your puffy clit, electricity rippling through your body upon contact. Whimpering, you rub your bud faster as he pounds into you, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck,” he moans, staring at your ass jiggle after each fresh slap he delivers. “Come on my cock, princess. That’s it. Get it creamy. Just like that, fuck.”

Waves of pleasure sweep over you, the intensity of it causing you to tremble before him. In the midst of your climax, you plead for him to finish inside you, greedy for his cum. It doesn’t take long for him to fill you up, staying nestled deep in you as he releases his warm load, letting out a husky fuck.

He pulls out, his warm release leaking from your pussy, dripping onto his sheets. He ogles at the pornographic sight in front of him, pleased with himself.

“Like what you see?” you tease, lowering your torso and relaxing on the bed.

“You are a naughty, naughty girl,” he says, collapsing beside you. “Can’t believe I let you seduce me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You were the one who offered to give me something good for my birthday.”

He raises a brow at you. “Did I succeed?”

You gaze at him, properly examining his appearance. Scruffy facial hair, eyes that are perpetually tired, the striking scar aligned with his frown. You find yourself wondering what his story is; someone this fetching must have a story.

“Considering the mess we made, I would say you exceeded my expectations.” You lay your palm on his firm chest, his now steady heartbeat lightly thumping against your fingertips.

“I’m glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment.” He doesn’t take his gaze off you. Normally, you’d be intimidated by such intense eye contact. With him, it’s different. You feel safe. He places his hand on top of yours, rugged thumb gently caressing the skin of your knuckles. The two of you stay like this, enjoying each other’s presence in an easy silence.

“We can’t do this again,” he mutters, finally looking away from you. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, your hand still snug under his.

“Why not?” The shift in energy surprises you. This is not the typical pillow talk you’re accustomed too.

“I’ll keep wanting to see you if we keep this up,” he admits. Although it’s a sweet sentiment, he’s deciding to end it here and now, not even waiting until the morning like in a typical one-night-stand.

Matching his candid demeanor, you ask, “What’s wrong with wanting to see me again?” A strange feeling of unease swells in your chest, anxious for whatever truth he’s about to reveal.

He takes a breath before explaining, “I’m a Devil Hunter. The best in the world. My job is very dangerous. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.” He avoids you while he speaks, eyes laser focused on the ceiling, barely blinking. It’s as if he doesn’t want to say it; rather, it’s part of a script, forced to recite the lines like it’s standard procedure. How often has he had to deliver this sober spiel to his ex-lovers? You start to pity him, speculating how detached he must remain to the outside world strictly because of his risky profession.

You continue to stare at him, letting the information sink it. The air is thick with a serious tension. It’s a sudden switch from the wild romp you just experienced. Choosing not to pester him further, you decide to lighten the mood. You scoot towards him, mouth skimming his ear, muttering, “Well, l didn’t really like you anyways.” The cold metal of his piercings contrast the soft warmth of your lips.

He turns to you again, the tension in his brows easing slowly as he gives you a small smirk. “Oh yeah?”

You nuzzle your nose against his. “Yeah.”

“Good. It’s better this way,” he says, planting a kiss on the forehead.

Sighing, you ask, “Can I at least spend the night?”

“Of course. I’ll even cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey and a couple cigarettes,” you joke.

He chuckles. “I’ll throw in some eggs for protein, does that work?”

“Sure. I’ll take whatever I can get, since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes at you. A minute passes and he reaches for you, grazing your cheek delicately. You feel comfortable in bed with him. Protected. You snuggle into his chest, his arms wrapping you into a bear hug. Cozy in his embrace, you listen to his rhythmic breathing, lulling you to sleep.

~~~

In the morning, you wake up alone, tucked under the covers, clothed only in a dress shirt, barely buttoned. The bedroom door is wide open, the sound of a pan scraping on iron ringing in your ears and the inviting smell of food cooking wafting from the kitchen.

You spot a pack of baby wipes on the drawer next to you, noticing that your body is fresh and clean, opposite the sticky mess you fell asleep to. Next to it is a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste. With these items in hand, you tip-toe into the bathroom, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

When you’re done, you study his bedroom for the first time, and probably last. There are no pictures hung anywhere, no personal touch to anything. Only small traces of a man whose entire existence is his job. Several ties scattered on his dresser next to a metal flask. A mini calendar on his nightstand with random scribblings of future work commitments. Hamper in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with white dress shirts, black slacks, and a couple of mismatched argyle socks. You’re slightly tempted to investigate some drawers to see the type of weapons a Devil Hunter of his caliber carries, but you don’t.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him in the kitchen. He’s in a plain white t-shirt with navy-blue pajama pants. As promised, he is cooking a batch of scrambled eggs over the stove, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, spatula in the other. Looking domestic and sexy as hell. His words replay in your mind. You shouldn’t get attached to someone like me. You almost regret sleeping with him, knowing you’ll miss him after you leave.

Quietly, you stroll towards him until he notices you. When he does, he takes a sip of coffee and mutters, “Morning, princess.”

Positioned behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist, raising your heels to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. It’s only now that you realize how much taller he is than you. “Good morning, handsome. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I told you I’d cook you breakfast, didn’t I?” He cranes his neck to face you, smirking.

“You did. I’m pleased to see you keep your promise,” you tell him, resting your cheek on his back. “You’re truly a man of your word. I think that deserves a reward.” You slide your thumbs under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, teasing him.

“If you tempt me, you won’t be able to taste this delicious meal I prepared for you,” he comments, setting his coffee mug down the counter and turning off the burner. His hand covers yours, maneuvering it over the growing bulge in his pants.

“Maybe I’m craving something else for breakfast.” You start palming his erection, suddenly hungry for him rather than the food.

He turns to face you, looking at you up and down in his dress shirt, your legs clenched together to hide your arousal. Still smirking, he says, “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.” He slowly pushes you against the counter, running his fingers up your inner thigh, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt.

You moan, anticipating another round of intense fucking, this time in his kitchen. It makes you want to christen every part of his apartment.

“How are you this fucking wet for me already?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb on your throbbing clit. “You’re so sexy, it’s driving me insane.”

“Kishibe,” you breath out, struggling to steady yourself. “Fuck.”

“I got you. Get on the counter for me, princess. Spread those legs so I can lick that pussy clean.”

With his hands on your waist guiding you, you hop up, opening wide for him. Knees bent and body folded forward, he starts licking your clit, palming his erection through his pants. You come within minutes, gushing over his tongue as it glides along your slit, nose digging firmly onto your swollen bud.

“Fuck me, Kishibe. Want that big cock inside me. Want you to fill me up again with your cum.” You hop back down, turning around and lifting the hem of the dress shirt past your ass, ready to get railed right there on the countertop.

“Not like this,” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “Wait for me in my room. We’re going to have breakfast in bed together.”

Minutes later, a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon set on top is temporarily forgotten as the two of you fuck on the other side of the bed. Him sitting up, back pressed to the headboard, you riding him until he spills inside you, causing you to orgasm again all over him.

You slump forward, resting your head on his shoulder, tired and satiated from another amazing fuck. Attempting to slide off him, he kisses you on the lips, his grip firm on your waist, unyielding. “Keep my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?”

In your blissful state, all you can do is nod, getting comfortable on his lap. He reaches for a slice of bacon on the tray, letting you take the first bites before he finishes it, doing the same for a piece of buttered toast. He feeds you forkfuls of scrambled eggs, using the same utensil for himself. It’s pleasantly intimate for two people who just met. Playing the role of a long-term couple, indulging in simple delights together, like breakfast in bed.

Plate cleared, both your bellies full of nourishment, you stay in this position, kissing each other leisurely, no rush to separate. He whispers your name, fondling your breasts through the fabric of his dress shirt that you’ve made yours. He repeats it a few more times, relishing how it feels on his lips before he never has to utter it again.

It’s bittersweet, knowing it’s ending as soon as it begun. You have no reason to be so smitten with him. You’re two people who hardly know each other. Still, you find yourself not wanting to say goodbye yet. Something’s there. A tiny spark flickering in the distance. Maybe you’re one of many women he’s done this with before. Maybe you’re nothing special. But in this fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it’s real.

The two of you reluctantly part after an especially long, passionate kiss. You dismount him, grabbing the wipes to clean up the mess that was made earlier. He gives you a smooch on the forehead before getting out of bed to exit the room, returning in less than a minute to hand you your outfit from last night. You briefly recall carelessly discarding it all over his living room floor right before you pounced on him. Is it too soon to consider that a fond memory? It hasn’t even been 24 hours and you’re reminiscing about him already.

He leaves you alone in the bedroom to change. Before you undress, you bring the sleeves of the shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, memorizing his scent. You almost want to keep this shirt as proof that this happened. That Kishibe is real.

Back in your black dress, you sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his return. When he walks in, he points at the sash and tiara next to you on the bed. “You’re not going to wear that?”

Shrugging, you respond, “It’s no longer my birthday, so it feels silly wearing it. Just toss it.”

You check your phone, estimating the time of arrival for the ride you requested. Any minute now, they’ll be here, ending your short-lived tryst. He offers to drop you off, but you refuse, not bothering to explain that doing that will result in you dragging him into your own apartment and keeping him a willing hostage for another few hours. It’ll only make it more difficult to not get attached. He doesn’t question it, probably understanding this himself.

The ping from the app chimes through your phone. You stand up, smiling at him, swinging your purse over your shoulder. “That’s my ride.”

He walks you to the door, waiting for you to strap on your heels. Once they’re on, you smile. “I guess this is it. Thank you for a fun night.”

“Thank you too. This was fun.” It could be wishful thinking, but you hear a waver in his voice. Is he a little bit sad too?

You face the door, ready to turn the knob, when you feel his grip on your wrist. He spins you towards him, kissing you feverishly, his hand caressing your cheek, the other behind your neck. Yearning for one more moment of intimacy with you. He breaks away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes shut as he says goodbye with one last whisper of your name. You avoid his gaze as you exit, walking out of his life.

It’s better this way.

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