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charliemwrites · 7 months

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Nikto's Commandments part 8! (and the first half of the Jealousy Duet).

I'll be honest, I got stuck with this one! For some reason I just couldn't get a good flow going and had to try writing this a few different times. I think it shows in the beginning, but I get the rhythm back towards the end.

Also, apologies if there are more errors than usual. I kind of powered through it and am too afraid I'm going to hate it if I try to read it over.

Anyway, please enjoy as always <3

Content: Jealousy, Acts of Devotion, Declarations of Love, Kissing

It’s your first mission since Nikto failed you.

(You may have forgiven him. He’s even accepted that you have, merciful as you are. But that doesn’t change the truth of what happened – that he failed you. That he left your side, and then almost didn’t return. You’ve forbade him from hanging himself with “almost,” but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel the noose around his throat.)

You’re long since healed and recovered under Nikto’s devoted watch. Nurturing may not come naturally to him, but he’d bend himself into any shape for your use. So, he made himself into your caregiver. Weeks of helping you sit up, walk, bathe… until you were back in the gym, right by his side, gritting your teeth through physical therapy.

A scar is all that’s left now, silvery and tender. The only sign that Nikto’s world nearly bled away on dirty concrete. A reminder of his failure, his disgrace. How could he possibly deserve a place at your side, when he couldn’t even protect you? When he thought, for even a moment, that vengeance mattered more than your life?

Still, he returns to your side. Because you told him to, all that time ago. Because he has so much to make up for after everything. And because you haven’t given him leave to be anywhere else.

(He prays that you don’t the only way he knows how. Through meals from his own hand while you grin, nipping at his fingers. Through tea shared from one cup. With fragrant products in your wet hair while you sigh. You haven’t told him he could be anywhere else, beckoning him into a bed bigger than the one on base, still tucking in close like one of you might fall off the edge.)

It’s not that he thinks you incapable now. He would never blaspheme that you are anything other than utterly competent. It’s just that every blink superimposes pools of blood over his vision, a strobe of you near death.

In his most selfish, private thoughts, he imagines taking you away from it all for good. Tucking you away warm and safe in the cathedral of your off-base apartment, where a god belongs, in their own house. He soothes himself on visions of devoting himself to you fully and wishes he were a prophet. But for all you’ve given him, visions of the future are not one of them.

You were eager to return to duty, nearly cornered O’Conor once you got final clearance from the doctors. Nearly shook him down for a new assignment – for the both of you. Even if he had reservations about sending you to duty so soon, an opportunity to keep Nikto and his temper away a little longer was too tempting. (The bruises Nikto left on his throat were long gone, but the memory clearly was not.)

And so here you both are, in the gym of an SAS base, sparring with Task Force 141.

“Oi, lass! Care for a match?”

“Bring it, MacTavish!”

Nikto stands back to observe as you and the sergeant square off.

The 141 has been cooperative, despite previous tensions with KorTac. You, Nikto, and Konig have managed to build a decent working rapport – though most of that work has been yours. Their captain seems to like your friendly personality and straightforward professionalism; their lieutenant has been cordial. But the two sergeants (especially the Scottish one) have taken a liking to you.

“Fuck!”

Nikto jerks as you get taken down on your bad side – no, it’s not your bad side anymore. You’ve fully recovered; he must remember that. Interrupting a sparring match would be unwelcome and unnecessary. Not just overprotective on his part, but disrespectful to you as well, as if he doesn’t think you can hold your own. Still, he balls his hands into fists as you struggle against the sergeant.

At least you’re laughing, breathless and curse laden as it is.

“She is okay, ja?” Konig asks.

Nikto grunts the affirmative, eyes sharp as he watches you knee MacTavish’s side. Good, he thinks proudly as you twist to get on top. You’ve been working tirelessly to improve your groundwork techniques, learning all the different ways you can use your smaller stature against bigger and stronger opponents.

“He is… friendly,” Konig continues.

Another grunt of agreement. Most people are with you. It’s a natural reaction in the face of divinity; to reach out to a smiling god. It worked on Nikto, anyone else would be helpless. It’s just the natural order of things like green grass, blue skies, or gravity.

There’s a pause that starts to prickle the back of Nikto’s mind. Disinterested as he may be in socializing, he understands how it works. A program that runs in his mind – body language, tone, inflection, facial expression. A complex algorithm that computes to emotion, conversation, feeling. It’s just not an equation that applies to him, or that he can apply to himself anymore.

And right now, Konig is trying to imply something. Nikto cuts his eyes to the side, meets Konig’s.

“Too friendly, don’t you think?” he adds.

Nikto snorts and turns back to the match – where you are just tapping out. MacTavish is unwinding his arm from your windpipe. You’re sat between his legs, back to his chest. A tough position to get out from in a fight. As you’re scooting away, the sergeant pats your hip, leans to say, “good match” in your ear. You shoot him a grin over your shoulder and then push to your feet, sauntering back to your own team.

“Whose turn is it?” you ask, wiping sweat from your brow.

You don’t see MacTavish’s eyes darting up and down your body, zeroing in on the sliver of skin revealed by your lifted shirt. But Nikto does.

“Mine,” Konig answers, stepping forward.

You smile at him, bump fists with him. “Kick his ass for me, yeah?”

“Ja.”

He shoots Nikto one last, pointed look before stepping onto the mat. But Nikto has no interest in watching his match. Not when you’re right in front of him, a sheepish look on your face.

“I can’t believe I lost like that,” you groan. “Guess I need more practice.”

“We will practice,” he promises.

You beam and knock the back of your hand gently against his.

Like an insidious weed, Konig’s observation takes root and sprouts. Sergeant MacTavish’s friendliness.

It’s almost like Nikto is hallucinating again – or perhaps that he has just stopped. A veil pulled away from his eyes. A creature camouflaged in the brush, his eyes skipping over the landscape until an irregularity in the pattern was pointed out to him. And now he cannot stop seeing it.

MacTavish saying hello to you first every morning, asking how you slept with a twinkle in his eye. He offers to accompany you to training sessions, often chooses you first for cross-team drills. In downtime, he’ll invite you to socialize (with the rest of the 141, sure) and always save you a seat or a spot. Usually right next to him.

And it is not that he doesn’t acknowledge Nikto or Konig. He is amicable with both, works well with either of them when paired up. But there is always a tilt to his mouth when he speaks to you, a lilt to his voice. A subtle incline to his shoulders that makes every interaction seem just that slightest bit intimate.

A week into the assignment, and he is touching you freely. First a hand tapping elbow or shoulder. Then an arm around the back of your neck. Platonic, commiserating. Within a day, that arm drops to your shoulders and he’s leaning the side of his head against yours, something a bit warmer than a hug.

One morning, he scoops you up in a hug, your toes nearly off the ground. You seem surprised, reciprocate with a pat to the back before you’re set down and offered a chair.

And the sparring… the sparring gets worse. Not just an exchange of blows and a chance to improve skills with a new partner anymore. It’s become a game of teasing you, joking with you. Tagging you with hits to coax you into going after him. Wrestling with you on the ground and dragging it out while he grunts and huffs against you.

And Nikto… Nikto burns.

This is not hell, he knows; but maybe this is some form of purgatory.

He has no place, no right to suffer. Knows that trying to claim you as his own would be like trying to cage the sun. It wouldn’t just be selfish; it would be heresy. You’ve already given him a miracle; you told him you love him. That is far beyond anything he could deserve, anything he could hope or dream or long for. To take after all that, to demand more of the time, attention, energy you pour into him like holy water…

And yet.

And yet he wants to claw his skin off when MacTavish winks at you. Wants to set the world on fire when that accent purrs “bonnie” or “hen” at you. An awful, deafening static scream fills the fractures of his mind when you smile at the sergeant, when you wish him a good morning or evening.

“How are you with a sniper, hen?” MacTavish asks one day.

You hum, glance over at Nikto. He’s been training you with his own rifle for months now – though it’s obviously been on pause since your injury. “Well, I’ve been working on it, but I definitely need some improvement.”

MacTavish crosses his arms, biceps bulging against the sleeves of his t-shirt. “I wouldn’t mind giving you a few pointers, if you want to come down to the range with me some time. Promise I’m a good teacher.”

You blink, hesitate. Then lightly, “Yeah, maybe!”

Nikto can’t hang himself on an “almost,” but he’s gutted on a “maybe.”

That night you come out of the bathroom frowning. There’s a furrow between your brows that you only get when you’re both frustrated and worried; if it stays, you’ll have a headache within the hour.

“Nikto?”

He glances up from the knives he’s polishing. You stop, eyes darting all over him, towel frozen in your hand.

“Hm?” he prompts.

You don’t answer. Instead, drop the towel carelessly on the floor and stride across the room. Towards him. He only just manages to shove his equipment out of the way by the time you reach him. And you don’t stop, climbing onto the hard desk chair he’s in, straddling his lap. Your fingers curl so tight in his chest straps that he can hear them creak.

He’s trapped as much by your gaze as your weight. Something swimming in the pools of your irises that he hasn’t seen in them before. Doesn’t know how to name or how to tame.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

He jerks back in surprise, but you’ve got a solid grip and there’s nowhere to go.

“Did I… do something?” you ask. “Or… or not do something?”

He stares. “What?” he asks, mouth gone suddenly dry.

Your eyes are still darting between his, like you’ll find answers playing peekaboo between them.

“You haven’t been right the past few days. Maybe even a week,” you explain. “I’ve been giving you space to tell me, but you won’t. And I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure you, but please just talk to me.”

Now his brows furrow. “I haven’t been…?”

You sit back a bit, assured that you have his attention – as if that isn’t guaranteed.

“You’re not eating the same. Didn’t even take the green beans I put aside for you,” you say. “You’re not sharing my tea or letting me wrap your hands. You keep leaving for a smoke in the middle of the night. Hell, you’re wearing your mask in our room.”

It dawns on him like apocalypse. That he has been worrying you, affecting you.

“And you’re not… you’re not talking to me.” Your white-knuckled grip eases a bit as you run out of steam, sadness tinging your expression. “I know we don’t talk the normal way but… I haven’t been able to read you. You won’t look me in the eye or press our legs together. You’re even pulling away in your sleep.”

His heart is trying to claw out of his ribcage, wants to crawl into the palm you press to his chest.

“So… if I’m doing something or not doing something… you can tell me. I promise I won’t be upset. I just miss you.”

He crumbles.

Weeks under torture, but he breaks at four words.

You gasp as he rips the gear off his face. Try to help, but he just pushes your hands away. Knows he’s aggravated the old wounds, but a balm is at hand, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“моя любовь,” he whispers fervently. “моя надежда. моя богиня.”

You curl around him instantly, arms around his shoulders, fingers fluffing through the fuzz of hair at the back of his skull. Gentle and kind and everything that sinners and saints would fall on their swords for. And yet all you ask of him is to speak, to confess.

“I fear,” he rasps into your skin.

“Fear what?” you ask.

He is your protector, your disciple. Yours to command, to damn, to sacrifice if you so wished – and he would gladly spill his corroded innards at your feet, careful not to bloody your shoes. And he fears that you won’t ask him to.

“You are not mine, but I fear losing you,” he admits. You suck in a breath, arms tightening around him. “If not to MacTavish, then to the world. I will be left here without you again.”

He squeezes his eyes shut as the scars sear all over again, crushes his crooked nose against your collarbone.

“I am yours,” he whispers, lungs burning, “and I cannot be that if you are gone.”

You shift, pressing closer, tighter. Lay your cheek on his head and squeeze him so tightly he wonders if you’re not inviting him inside your ribcage.

“I thought you understood,” you whisper, and even that cracks with emotion. “I’m sorry, I thought I made it clear. I thought you knew…”

You urge him back. He wants to resist. Wants to stay right there in the hollow of your neck, breathing in the soap you two share, basking in your warmth. But you are bidding him to do something, and he is a weak man to your command.

Your eyes are shiny, but there’s a smile on your face when you look at him.

“You’re mine,” you assure him, “you will always be mine. I will never turn you away.”

His eyes flutter with relief. Always. He has no business questioning the truth of that. You’ve said it; it is so.

“I’m yours too, Nikto.”

His eyes snap open again, but you hold him still, hold him right there.

“Our love isn’t a cross for you to bear,” you murmur. “I belong to you the same way – the exact same way – that you are mine.”

“I don’t—”

“You remember what I told you in that car all those months ago?”

Don’t deserve it? That’s not your choice. Don’t understand? You don’t have to. I just do. It wasn’t a choice I made.

Your word is genesis. It is revelation. It is creed and commandment, redemption and atonement.

You’ve said it; it is so.

“Here.”

You snatch a pad of black ink from one of the desk drawers, grab at one of his useless, hovering hands.

“What are you—”

You smear his bare fingertips across the damp pad. Then press them to your forearm. He jerks his hand back, but it’s too late. His smudged fingerprints stain your skin in inky little pools. When he looks up at you, you’re grinning. Wide and beautiful and so damn proud of yourself.

“C’mon,” you coo. “Do it again.”

He hesitates. But his eyes are drawn back to his fingerprints on your skin. His mind echoes with your declaration.

You are his. You are his.

To deny you this, to deny your belonging, would be beyond blasphemy. Beyond sin.

You have said it; it is so. You. Are. His.

You beam as he takes the inkpad and gets his fingers wet again. Begins leaving marks all over you. Along your arms, over your collarbone. Lean back to get palm prints on your thighs. Sits you on the desk to smear lines up your calves. You even tug your shirt up, giggling all the while, so that he can mark up your stomach.

He pauses at the gunshot. Places his blackened thumb over the entry scar. Pulls it away to see the whorls of his fingerprint covering it.

You soften, kind hands cupping his jaw and guiding him up. Up and up… until your plush lips are slotted against his. His own stained hands land on your hips – likely ruining your little sleep shorts – and pull you as close as he can get you. Infusing himself with the taste of you, of your love, of your belonging.

“Yours,” you murmur against his mangled mouth.

“Yours,” he repeats.

The next day, you walk into the mess hall with Nikto’s fingers hooked into your belt loops. There’s a single black smudge on your jaw.

First | Previous | TBC...

Masterlist

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #nikto x reader #cod nikto #nikto's commandments

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 3 months

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The Arcana HCs: When M6 are forced to attack MC

-- to set the scene --

It was a nightmare.

Thick clouds of miasma hung over the city as you and your lover confronted the sorcerer in the fields outside its walls. Between a series of traps and some well-placed taunts, you had successfully cornered them, which meant that while victory was in sight your opponent was down to their last desperate measure.

The measure in question, it seemed, was for the most horrifying three minutes of your life as you watched your lover struggle against a vicious spell before suddenly turning on you. Their usual loving gaze was replaced with a cold glare and they didn't hesitate to lunge at you with the intent to kill. You ended up choosing to take the hits and focus your energy on dealing the last blow to the evil sorcerer instead, not wanting to waste time hurting the one you love.

As the dust settles, you're too relieved to see cognizance return to your darling's face to notice their horrified expression, or to feel your own blood soaking the ground below you.

Julian

Too busy focused on trying to keep you conscious and heal you to do anything else at first. He's already crying, tears leaking from under his eyepatch as he gives you frantic first aid

Can barely bring himself to look at you once you're safely tucked in at Mazelinka's and being tended to by visitor after visitor. You will need to remind him day after day that it's not his fault

And, yes, convince him not to leave you because of it

Still won't be able to find any peace with it until you tell him you've forgiven him, and even then struggles to believe he's worthy of it

Tends obsessively to your wounds, in a weird combination of torturing himself by constantly checking them and redeeming himself by being the one to help his uncontrolled actions heal

Is able to hold it against himself less the less he sees you suffering. Once you're fully recovered and back on your feet, it feels more like a distant nightmare

Has a new interest in learning magic, if only enough so he can protect himself against behind hijacked like that in the future

Asra

Completely numb and on autopilot. You're hurt. They're going to do whatever it takes to fix that. Just hold on, it'll be okay - it'll be okay

Refuses to leave your side or sleep for very long at a time while you're recovering. It's like his world has narrowed to your survival

Unusually quiet. As in, barely speaks unless you speak to them first, and yet hyper-observant to the point that they're bringing you what you need before you even realize that you need it

Neglects everything beyond his own basic self-maintenance in the process. It's easier to forget himself and save his own pain and guilt to be processed until after he knows you're safe

Itching to heal over any scars left over and terrified of suggesting it and seeming like they just want to brush the whole thing aside

Has to be pushed to talk about it and won't open up until after you're completely back to normal, at which point he breaks down and spends an afternoon hiccuping "I'm sorry"s into your chest

Regresses to a lot of their previous boundaries until you can tell them that you still feel safe with them physically and emotionally

Nadia

She has no doubts about you being a strong person. While she's horrified at what her body was used to do to you and the injuries you sustained, she's most upset at her losing control so easily

She feels guilty for you getting hurt, because she's convinced that she should have been able to withstand the sorcerer's spell

Surely, if she loved you as truly as you deserve to be loved, she would've been able to break free or stop it from working

Carries you back to the Palace herself and sees to it that you have everything you could possibly need, before effectively avoiding you for the next few days. She's convinced your relationship is over

Either because you're leaving her for not being able to protect you, or because you've lost your respect for her as a partner

It's also tapping into her own trauma of being trapped inside her body for a three year coma, which doesn't help the frustration

Genuinely unsure what to do with your forgiveness, understanding, and continued love and admiration for her

She doesn't know what she did to deserve you but she loves you

Muriel

The first count he holds against himself is that he hurt you. The second count is that he was so horrified and traumatized by what just happened that he froze while you were still bleeding out

Thankfully there were other people present to help you out, and you didn't have to find out what could've gone wrong

Refuses to touch you for days. If anybody else had caused the damage he sees on your body, he'd be wishing hell on them. Except not only was it his hands that did it -

He was controlled that easily. He's spent years reclaiming control and ownership of his body after being made a spectacle of in the Coliseum, and in a flash it was all taken away from him again

And it was used to hurt you. None of his nightmares adds up to the combination of violated, afraid, and horrified that he just felt

Relegates himself to being your bodyguard and keeping you provided for, but terrified that you're not safe around him until you're able to convince him otherwise

It's still a reoccurring nightmare for years to come

Portia

So angry at you for not fighting back

Already crying and scolding you while she's putting pressure on your wounds to stop the bleeding and helping you get back home

Did you think she couldn't take it? Did you think she wanted you to get hurt at her hands? Why didn't you fight her back if it would have spared you so much pain?

Why didn't you help her enforce what you knew were her own wishes, and at the cost of your safety and well-being too?

Simultaneously dedicating every fibre in her body to taking care of you. If you so much as breathe a little differently she's checking you over and bringing you whatever you need

Eventually able to find her own healing by being able to accept your love and by beating the absolute crap out of the sorcerer in question until she gets an "I was wrong" out of them

Determined to learn defense and protection magic to makes sure neither of you is left that vulnerable, ever again

Still cries when she sees the leftover scars, sometimes

Lucio

Pale from the shock of what's just happened and trying not to panic as he gives you all the first aid he's picked up through years of battlefield injuries and experience

Frantically muttering "don't leave, don't leave" through clenched teeth and pouring tears while he tries to get the bleeding to stop

Rushes you to the nearest doctor and won't leave your side

Convinced that you're not going to be able to love him after this

He knows he's done things worse than this in the past. He knows that you know that, but the thing that's made a better life possible has been his commitment to not being that person any more

And now he was that person. Event though it wasn't his choice and technically not his fault, he still did it. To you. You experienced it

Also worried that you won't understand that it wasn't his fault this time and wondering if maybe it was his fault, somehow

Able to accept your love and forgiveness pretty easily, but has a much harder time believing that he didn't lose all the progress he's made so far in making good use of his fresh start on life

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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billysgun · 9 months

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forgiveness

billy the kid x cowgirl!reader..pt2 of loyal |requested!|billy finds you after you ran from the gang, and falls apart in your arms|

the dimly lit cabin warmed your bare feet as your nightgown tickled your ankles, hand running down to your bloated belly, a tiny bump only you'd notice.

you're in arizona territory. the trail was hard with throwing up the little food you had and protecting yourself and your horse from thieves and murderers.

you've been here before, the abandoned cabin way out from civilization, a one-in-a-million find.

so how did he find it?

you should have known. the heavy thumps of a horse you prayed would pass you, and the running to your door with frantic knocking.

you crept toward it, already knowing it was him from his newly stolen horse tied next to yours through the window. you took a breath and then opened it.

his eyes were red and swollen, tears rimming the edges. he flew towards you into a back-breaking hug, and your body melted as his scent enveloped you.

"I thought you were goin' to clear your head- I didn't know. I'm sorry I'm so sorry" he babbled into your hair, your gown wetting at the shoulder from his tears, but you didn't want them.

you didn't want his tears, his apologies, and certainly not his presence

"billy stop-" you whispered, but he shook his head as he faced you, hands still wrapped around your frozen body

"no, I went 2 weeks without knowing if you were alive." he stays adamant. your hands slowly push his off of you as his touch is too much to process, your hands find your stomach to try and calm you but his eyes follow and his shoulders relax at the sight of you showing

"billy, I'm not with them anymore." you reference the gang, trying to find any way on why this wouldn't work.

he said it wouldn't. he didn't choose this but you're the one pregnant, so, obviously you did, right? you haven't forgiven him.

"I'm not either. I'm not doing that anymore" he picks up your hands

"we can do this. we can get a cabin like this or a ranch. raise our child together" he talks like it's so simple. just forgive and forget. he's ready now, so what's the issue?

you stare at him dumbfounded. yes, you know maybe that entire last argument was a little reactive and reckless, he did just find out that second. but you found out that day, too. and the last thing you needed to hear was how he didn't want it.

"billy...why?" you whispered, head too full of different emotions of wanting to hug him, slap him, and cry. you end up doing the last thing as tears softly fall down your cheek and he drops your hands slowly

"...what?"

"why are you just saying this now?"

"because before I was scared. I didn't want you to get hurt and I didn't want some outlaw father raisin' our child."

"but I'm not just an outlaw. and I'm not a cowboy. I'm here, and I want this baby" he whispers sincerely, teary eyes never breaking with yours

it was honest, and it was real. and how the trail is 2 weeks travel, and you only got here late last night, he would've had to leave hours after you did.

"please, love. I'm so sorry" his thumb brushed your tears before hugging you gently

"ok." it was a small sob, but it was all that billy needed. he scooped you up and took you to bed where you both laid. recovering your love as your child grew.

an: you guys really wanted a part 2..so here it is! I hope you guys enjoyed it <3 ilysm!! THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH 💞

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sen-ya · 3 months

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First off, I love ur art so much. Ur style is so amazing and the stories u come up with are so fun (or sad) and I think they're incredible.

Second, Law and Luffy at the pool headcanon bc it's over 100 degrees where I am rn. Luffy cannonballs in before they even set up their chairs and Law just stares at him. He refuses to get in, so Luffy has to surprise him and push him in. He's mad, but then Luffy laughs and all is forgiven because he is the sucker for Luffy's laugh/smile.

Ahhh hello!! Tysm for the kind words! 😭❤️ funny story it is ALSO 100 degrees where I am and I have spent today recovering from dehydration and heat exhaustion 🫠🫠

#I had heat stroke like 2 yrs ago and since then am such a weenie in the heat #and yesterday I went to the zoo w my friends and it was Too Hot and I ended up ignoring feeling bad for too long #and ended up right on the edge between heat exhaustion and heat stroke #but my wife is awesome and saved me and I didn’t even puke 😎#I did have to leave my long weekend trip w my friends early tho #which really sux #ANYWAY HI HELLO SATURN!!#we’ve been mutuals as long as I can remember having this account #so I have that weird thing where I’m like yea ofc I have talked to them before!!#but perhaps I have not I am sorry #just know I have always loved ur url #okay okay tags sorry u just came in with something v close to home today 😂😂#my art #one piece #lawlu #lulaw #law x luffy #luffy x law #trafalgar law #one piece law #trafalgardwaterlaw #monkey d luffy

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wildernessuntothemselves · 1 year

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Love you, love you, love you...

Summary: You go into your arranged marriage already distrusting your husband and all other men, and despite him repeatedly attempting to gain your favor, you are resolved to rebuke him at every turn. Will you manage to keep up the walls you’ve built to protect yourself, or will prince Beomgyu succeed in getting through your defenses?

Word Count: 11k

General warnings: oc is basically a misandrist, she will not hear gyu out, her calling him a pinhead, gyu using the word rape (no one actually gets raped), oc being a bitch about their first time and making fun of gyu’s hesitance, oc is emotionally stunted, inaccurate description of first times, beomgyu and others calling him a sissy, arranged marriages.

Smut warnings: sub!gyu, dom!reader, riding, cunnilingus, masturabtion under guidance, edging, premature ejaculation, breeding kink, playing with nipples.

“We don’t have to do this.”

You stand in front of your newly-wedded husband, livid.

“You think I’m too fragile to consummate my marriage?”

“No, I–” He attempts to explain himself but you cut him off. “Just because I was forced into this marriage doesn’t mean I can’t fulfill my duties.” You growl, offended by how weak he must think you are.

“I was just saying that you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” He stammers, trying to recover from his unintended offense, and you snort derisively. “It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?”

He gulps and shakes his head. “I know you didn’t want to get married to me but I can do right by you. I will never–”

You roll your eyes, drowning out his yapping. This is your least favorite breed of men–the ones who pretend they’re not like the others. Had you been less jaded, you might’ve fallen for it, but when your own father sold you out to the highest bidder, you’d be forgiven for your lack of faith in men.

“Shut up and take off my dress.” You cut him off.

“You really–” He tries again and you snap, all patience gone. “Fucking do it, you sissy.”

His jaw smacks shut and he levels you with a glare. There it is, that male aggression you’re so familiar with. He storms over to you and clumsily undoes the intricate lacing on your wedding dress, struggling with them for some time until he finally, finally pushes the dress off and it falls to the ground at your feet.

But no further movement comes from him and you turn around to see him sheepishly looking at the floor, avoiding glancing at your bare body.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” You grunt, reaching out to take his own clothing off. He lets you do it without a fight, the only protest being his flaming red cheeks.

You let out a laugh when you pull his pants to the floor and are greeted by the sight of his hard cock that smacks against his naked belly. “All this protest, trying to act virtuous, when you’re just as horny as the rest of the pigs.”

That gets him angry. Good, at least it’s not fake righteousness. “I am not a pi–ah!”

Whatever his rant was going to be is quickly cut off when you grab his cock and pump it in your hand. “You can pretend all you want but your body says it all.”

“What? So I’m a pig for being attracted to my wife?” He manages to grit out, calling you out for your judgment of him, but you’re not interested in having this conversation right now.

“Shut up.” You throw back lamely, getting onto the bed and spreading your legs out. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

But he remains rooted to his spot, scowl full-fledged on his handsome face now. “I don’t want to feel like I’m raping my own wife.”

“Either way I have no choice.”

“Then I’ll make the choice for us. I can sleep in a different room.” He announces, bending down to pick up his discarded clothes and you panic. Yes, you didn’t want to get married to him in the first place, but the rumors that will spread about you if people find out that your husband fled your marital bed on your wedding night,–you shudder to think of it. It’s one thing to be viewed as a pariah among your peers, but it’s another thing entirely to fuel their outlandish claims.

“I want this!” You exclaim frantically, blushing as he gives you an incredulous look. “I want you to fuck me.”

His will seems to weaken for a second, and he looks like he’s about to give in, but then the doubt sets in again. “You don’t really–”

At your wit’s end, you reach out to grab his arm and tug him towards you, causing him to basically stumble on top of you on the bed.

“I’m–I’m so sorry–” He quickly apologizes even though it was clearly your fault, and he props himself up on his elbows so he’s not pressed against you. Though he curiously doesn’t stand back up, and there is one particular part of him you can feel pressed against your belly, still hard.

“I want you to fuck me, Beomgyu.” You repeat firmly, and maybe it’s the close proximity or the feel of your skin against his hot dick, but he finally gives in. “Okay.”

He wedges a hand between your bodies. You can’t see what he’s doing but you know he had grabbed his cock because a moment later you feel it pressed against your pussy. Harshly, you will down a shiver that tries to slither its way up your spine at the touch.

But the strange sense of excitement is short-lived, lost in the clumsiness of the man above you trying and failing to find your entrance.

“I just–it’s hard to see–” He explains awkwardly, pulling back to get a better look. You can’t refrain from rolling your eyes at the pitiful scene, which only makes him more nervous.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” You groan after a while of watching him fumble around with his dick, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top of him. He stares at you, wide-eyed, as you grab his dick and line it up with your entrance before you start to sink down on him.

Your outburst may have been more powerful if you didn’t then stop one-third of the way down because of the pain. “Oh.”

Beomgyu notices your discomfort and reaches out to hold you up. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You grit, forcing yourself to take more of him.

“Wait–take it slow–” He wheezes out, even as he clearly fights to not get lost in the feeling of your hot cunt.

“I can take it.” You tell yourself more than him, bracing yourself as you take the rest of him in. Once you’re perched on his hips, you give yourself a moment to get used to the painful stretch. Beomgyu on the other hand is in ecstasy, his breathing heavy and his fingers clenching around your plush thighs to keep himself in check.

Seeing him so affected by you like this is what begins to lift the shock of the pain and allows you to feel a bit of pleasure as you will yourself to relax. He just lies there all pliant and still beneath you, not once using his grip on you to make you move despite you clearly feeling his hips twitch with the attempt to hold back from thrusting up into your heat.

“Are you a virgin?” You ask, intrigued by his reactions, and his affirmative response is a given. “Yeah…”

If any other man had claimed virginity, especially a wealthy, privileged man like him, you would’ve called bullshit, but with him you one hundred percent believe it.

Finally feeling like you’re ready to move, you start swiveling your hips over him, trying to stretch yourself out in preparation for more. “Is it everything you imagined it to be?”

He shakes his head, and for a second you have to contend with the ugly feeling his rejection sparked in you. But then he continues, “It’s better.”

You scoff. Liar. You’re barely even moving. Why is he bullshiting you? What does he stand to gain from that? Whatever, you’ll give him something to really make his head spin.

Bracing your hands onto his tummy, you lift your hips up before letting yourself drop down.

“Oh god.” The breath whooses out of him, and you’re surprised to find that the action actually sparks a tiny bit of pleasure in you too. So you do it again and again, moving up and down until you’re all out riding his cock.

“That good?” You coax, trying not to think about why you even feel the need to have him affirm his enjoyment to you.

“Too good.” He answers tightly, biting his lip. You feel his grip move from your thighs to your ass, getting more purposeful as he tries to control your movement. “Slow down.”

Like hell you will when it just started getting good. You grab his hands and pin them down beside his head. "Keep those here, understand?" You hiss at him. You won’t let him try to control you

He whimpers, nodding, and something about his easy submissiveness makes your pussy clench. But that seems to spur him on again, and his hands shoot out to grab you once more. “Hold on!”

You snatch his hands up and shove them onto the bed again, keeping them pinned down this time. "Shut up." He might be the man but he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. This isn’t for his enjoyment. This is purely for the purpose of fully consummating your marriage. You want this to be over as fast as possible.

Except you didn’t expect it to be over this fast.

“You don’t understand, I–I–” He flounders, and suddenly you feel something warm paint your insides and you stare incredulously at the panting man under you, clearly in the throes of orgasm.

"Fuck, did you cum already?"

"I'm sorry. I asked you to slow down." He answers pathetically and you look down at him in disgust. Well, there goes any hope of you getting off tonight. Not that you expected it in the first place.

"Whatever. This is better anyway." You go to hop off him but he reaches out and one of your arms. “Wait. I can make it up to you.”

“How?” You ask skeptically.

"Let me make you cum."

Let’s see, do you want him to clumsily try to fuck you to orgasm for the next few minutes before he inevitably ejaculates prematurely once more?

"No, I'm tired." You shoot him down, disinterested, but he doesn’t give up, grabbing onto you tighter and peering up at you earnestly. "Please, just give me a chance."

It’s clear that he won’t give this up. It’s probably gonna take longer to convince him to leave you alone than it will for him to try and fail to make you orgasm. So with a heavy sigh, you lie down on your back, closing your eyes and willing yourself away from this moment. "Fine. You have one chance."

But your eyes snap back open when you feel something wet against your pussy, and look down to see him with his head between your legs, licking you.

Most men would never do this. They just feel entitled to getting their dicks sucked while acting like it's so gross to repay the favor. But here is Beomgyu eating you unreservedly after he just came inside you. Either he's really not as bad as the others or he's a fucking freak. Probably the latter. Definitely the latter, but that doesn’t mean you can't take advantage of it.

Beomgyu clearly doesn't know what he's doing, clumsily licking at your pussy like it's a tart, but that's okay. You can guide him through it. That would end this sooner and you might actually get an orgasm out of it.

"Flatten your tongue out and lick from the bottom to the top." You instruct and he eagerly obeys, licking from your entrance to your clit again and again, his eyes never leaving your face as he monitors your reaction.

“Yeah, just like that.” You encourage, starting to feel a twinge of pleasure at the pit of your stomach. “Now wiggle your tongue. Good… go back to licking.”

You guide him, making him alternate between sharp quick movements and long languid licks along your whole slit. Every once in a while, he’d pull his tongue back in his mouth to wet it and his lips would pucker and he would suck on your sensitive pussy, making your whole body tremble. It doesn’t take him long to notice, and then he starts doing it on purpose, more frequently, sucking your lower lips or you clit into his mouth before letting them go and attacking them with sharp swipes of his tongue then licking up all the arousal his actions produce.

You hate how quickly he picks it all up, reducing you to a shaking mess in no time.

Nearing your end, you grab his hair and push his face against your pussy. “I’m close. Focus on the clit now.”

He moans at that, the sound traveling straight through your pussy, and it's the push you need to cum, crying out and tugging sharply on his hair as your orgasm shakes through you. Beomgyu doesn’t mind the roughness. On the contrary, it motivates him to nuzzle further into your pussy, encouraged by your reaction and fishing for more, until you tug his hair in the opposite direction, moving him away from you.

"Beomgyu, enough." You squeak at the overstimulation, and he whines in protest, trying to fight against your grip to dive back in but you close your legs, denying him.

He whines again but settles on pressing wet kisses against your heated thighs, looking up at you like a pup who just finished playing and is now resting on his master's lap, and just as adorable.

At that final disturbing thought, you push him off you and get up to grab something to slip on. Beomgyu doesn’t make any attempt to do the same, his eyes glued to your figure as you put a nightgown on.

"Aren't you going to get dressed?" You ask, trying not to glance at his naked body that he doesn’t even try to cover.

He shrugs. "It's too hot."

"Well, I'd prefer if you put something on. I don't want to sleep in the same bed as a naked man."

He looks at you like you’re being ridiculous. "We're married. We just fucked." He says slowly and you put your hands on your hips, not appreciating the way he's speaking to you like you’re stupid.

"Yeah, and now we're done. I don't want to see your floppy dick anymore."

"It wasn't floppy." He frowns, upset at the way you're speaking about his precious dick. Typical man, the slightest suggestion that you wouldn't be grateful to see his dick hurts his pride.

But he gets up nonetheless, quickly putting some pants on before rejoining you on the bed. He doesn’t wear a shirt and you don’t bother fighting him on this. You just turn your back to him and close your eyes, determined to go to sleep quickly and end this ridiculous night.

But any thought of sleep is stolen from your tired brain when you feel arms wrapping around you. "What the hell are you doing?" You ask him incredulously and he stammers in response, clearly not expecting you to object to the action. "I–I just thought we could… cuddle."

You can see the blush on his face even in the dim light. "No. No. There will be none of that. I’ve fulfilled my duty as a wife already so keep your hands to yourself."

His face falls, hurt crashing across it, and you’re suddenly hit with the sickening realization of what's going on here.

Beomgyu likes you.

It should've been obvious. From the way he looks at you, to wanting to make sure you don't do anything you don't want to, to striving to please you too, and now to trying to hold you to sleep.

Well, too bad. You don't owe him love.

You turn your back on his dejected expression. Just because he ate you out doesn’t mean you’ll start playing at being in love.

________________

But you learn that Beomgyu isn't so easily deterred, and he seems determined to chip away at your walls brick by brick. Though, you’re just as determined and as soon as he takes one away, you put ten in its place.

“Darling.”

You wince as you hear your husband’s voice call out. Damn it, he’s found you.

He trots down to you like an excited puppy, entirely too happy to be seeing you. He can’t actually be this excited to be around you despite your constant rejection of him, can he? Why isn’t he out there with the rest of the men doing whatever the men do?

“Oh, you’re playing chess? Can I play next?”

“Sure. I’m done anyway.” You say, getting up and getting hit by the most puppy-like pout you’ve seen on a human. “But I thought we could play a game together.”

“I’m tired. I want to lie down.” You lie, wanting to get away from him, but your treacherous friend chooses now to pipe up. “Oh, come one. Play a game with him. Or are you scared he’ll beat you?”

Damn her, she knows how to get to you. You know she’s doing this purely because she’s been sucked in by your husband’s guileless act and she’s been consistently trying to get you to give him a chance, telling you that maybe he really isn’t like other men. You should pick better friends.

You huff and plop back down on your chair, your friend grinning widely as she gets up and lets Beomgyu take her spot. Whatever, you’ll beat his stupid ass and humiliate him so bad, he’ll show his true colors. Men never like to be bested by the women they look down on.

But to your horror and utter dismay–after an embarrassingly short game where you flounder and fail to mount any meaningful attack against him–Beomgyu ends up beating. And he does it with a smile too, like it was so easy, like he was beating a child.

“Checkmate.” He claps his hands happily. “I’m pretty good, huh?

You don’t reciprocate his excitement. Instead you level him with a cold look that projects all your shame and self-doubt into hatred and accusation towards him. "You think you're better than me?"

All semblance of joy is suddenly sucked out of him, his eyes widening in alarm. “No! I was just–”

“Let’s play again. I will beat you this time.” You pointedly assemble the pieces back on the board, slamming them into place, face set in a severe frown.

“I just wanted us to have fun together doing something you enjoy. Maybe impress you…” He mumbles but it’s all background noise to you, already formulating a plan of attack in your mind.

You win the next game, but you draw no satisfaction from it. How can you when your opponent clearly wouldn’t fight back? He misses obvious plays, leaves himself vulnerable to easy attacks, and his moves are devoid of the quit wit he displayed earlier.

“Take this seriously, dammit.” You yell at him after you win once again because he just wouldn’t attack your pieces.

Take me seriously. A voice pipes up from deep within your unconsciousness before you squash it back down.

“Not everything is a competition.” He huffs glumly and you stare at him incredulously. “It is a competition, pinhead. That’s the definition of a game.”

“Haven’t you heard of a friendly game?” He asks, a hint of sharpness you’re not used to from him tinging his voice.

“We’re not friends.” You answer dumbly, and he scoffs softly. “Clearly.”

He gets up and you gawk at him. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m done. God forbid I accidently make you actually have fun.”

“Hey, I have fun!” You shout, getting up too, and he has the audacity to roll his eyes. “Yeah? When?”

“All the fucking time.” You lie through your teeth, for some reason feeling like you need to prove yourself to him, like you need to best him at something, but he still doesn’t believe you.

“Show me then. Let’s do something fun.”

“Sure! Let’s go to–let’s check out the–let’s–let’s–” You stammer and he gives you a skeptical look. “Oh, fuck off. Like you have a blast every day.”

“I do, actually.” He straightens up, happy with himself for some reason.

“Oh yeah, then show me what you do that is so fun.”

_______________________

‘You deeply regret challenging him,’ you think as you watch the idiot that is now perched onto a tree branch, grabbing a rope that is dangling from higher up on the ancient tree.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You yell, craning your head up to look at him.

“Well, then at least you’ll be happy.” He comments off-handedly and you frown. You wouldn’t be happy if he hurt himself. Yes, you didn’t want to get married to him, but that doesn’t mean that you wish the idiot any actual harm.

Before you can think whether to refute his words out loud, he clings onto the rope and takes off into the air, swinging over the lake under him before letting go and plummeting down into it with a big splash.

“Oh my god!” You scream, frantically peering over the edge of the water, scanning the outpour of bubbles for signs of your dumb husband.

After what felt like eternity, he resurfaces, whooping in excitement. “Whoah, that was awesome!”

You give him a skeptical look, eyeing the water warily, when he pipes up again, “Try it. You’ll love it!”

“Yeah, no thanks.” You dismiss him quickly, having absolutely no desire to willingly follow him into the murky lake.

“What’s wrong? Scared you might actually have fun?” He goads.

Yes, you’re scared. Not of having fun, but of the ominous water. You’ve never been a big fan of swimming, not trusting your fate to the fickle gods that control those menacing depths. But you’d never tell him that. You’d rather die than admit to him you’re scared of an activity he performs so nonchalantly.

So you steel yourself and head towards the tree he had jumped off earlier, taking off your dress to get it out of the way before climbing onto the thing.

"Do you need help?" He calls out, swimming towards you.

"No, thanks, I'm not a damsel in distress." You snark, grabbing onto the tree firmly and using the branches to pull yourself up.

You can feel his eyes on you the whole way, no doubt waiting for you to fail and call for help, but he's got another thing coming if he thinks you’re a weak girl who needs a man's help to do anything physical.

"Whoa, look at you go." His laughing voice wafts up to you and you can't tell if his surprise is good-natured or condescending.

The climb is easy enough. You’re used to doing such physical activities, much to the chagrin of your parents who always urged you to act more ladylike and stop embarrassing them.

'Well, fuck them, and fuck him,’ you think triumphantly as you reach the large branch he jumped off. But your triumph is short lived, promptly snuffed out by the sight of the cold abyss underneath you.

He must've seen the dread on your face because he calls out once again. "Hey, you okay?"

You shift your gaze from the water to his face, and the uncertain look on his face annoys the fuck out of you. You will not have him doubt you. You will not show weakness.

You grab onto the hanging rope, cringing at the slimy feel under your skin, but you power through your disgust and your fear, clinging onto the slippery thing as you swing forward.

But can’t get yourself to let go, the dreary water swirling underneath you compelling you to cling tighter to the rope.

"You gonna jump or what?" Beomgyu laughs and you almost don't hear him through the beating of your own heart in your ears. Still, you don't let go despite his provocation, your fingernails digging into your palms and your muscles burning as you continue to clutch onto the rope tightly.

"Hey, don't worry. I'm right here." You hear his voice right under you, taking on a concerned tone as you clearly struggle. "Come on, let go."

You don't want to. You want to go back to shore but you're stuck, suspended in the air, the slimy substance on the rope making your fingers slip bit by bit.

Fuck, you're gonna fall. You're gonna fall. You're gonna–

You scream as your grip finally falters and you plummet to the lake below. As you breach the surface, water rushes into your open lungs through your open mouth, suffocating you. You thrash around in panic, certain you're going to drown over a stupid dare.

You feel something grab onto you and you thrash harder, your panicked brain convincing you it’s the lake itself trying to bring you down to your demise at the cold, dark lakebed.

“Hey, hey, calm down.” You hear Beomgyu's muffled voice, followed by his face coming into view, his expression scared but trying to keep calm. "It's me. I got you."

I got you?

It takes a few more seconds for you to realize that the thing that had grabbed a hold of you earlier was not the lake but Beomgyu, and that instead of trying to pull you under, he's trying to keep your head above the water.

As soon as you realize that, you wrap yourself around him, clinging onto him for dear life, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Beomgyu keeps one of his arms wrapped around your waist and moves the other one up and down your back soothingly. “I got you. You’re okay. Take deep breaths.”

You do, following his lead, focusing on his breathing and mimicking the slowing rhythm until the both of you are sufficiently calm.

"There you go." He smiles, no hint of judgment or mockery on his face. “You alright?”

“I’m fucking cold.” Is all you can think to say, and he laughs, the sound warming you up. “Let’s get you out of here.”

What? Where the hell did that come from?

Beomgyu carries you on his back as he swims to the shore. It feels like forever but you eventually reach it, and as soon as you find your footing, you let go of him and scramble out of the water, throwing yourself to the ground. Eyes closed, you take in deep breaths, finally able to breathe properly once again.

"Do you not know how to swim?" Beomgyu asks, and you hear him sit down next to you.

"I know how to swim." You retort sharply, too sharply to a man who just saved your life. But you can’t help it, your pride is wounded after you embarrassed yourself like that in front of him. Besides, it was his fault all this happened anyway–him and his stupid wit and his stupid carelessness.

He is silent, but you know he clearly wants you to explain yourself. So begrudgingly, you add, "I just don't like it. The water freaks me out."

"Then why did you–oh." That small little syllable stings at your already bruised pride. You wait for him to make fun of you but he doesn’t say anything further, mercifully choosing to spare any possible remnants of your ego.

It’s quiet for a bit, and as you sit drying out, you feel something other than the sun burning your skin. You peek your eyes open to see him staring at you. He looks away when caught, blushing like a young boy caught staring at his crush instead of a man looking at his wife. He's ridiculous.

"What?" You prompt irritably.

"You're pretty." He murmurs bashfully and you scoff. "I know. That's why my father was able to sell me to a prince."

Beomgyu frowns, unhappy about you bringing this up again. Oh, did you ruin his little make-believe scene? "I didn't choose this either, you know?"

"You sure don't seem all that torn up about it." You retort, unkind about his obvious liking towards you.

"Because I can see that even though neither of us chose this, I was blessed to end up with such a smart, strong, beautiful wife. But you clearly don't think the same of me."

You don't think his response would elicit such a gnawing feeling of guilt inside you, but his self-pitiance coupled with his compliment of you makes you almost regret your attitude. But you refuse to give in to his guilt tripping. You don't owe him happiness. You're not going to bow down and be grateful because he deigns to like you.

At your silence, he scoffs and gets up. You fully expect him to turn around and walk away, leaving you behind, but to your surprise he offers you a hand instead.

"Don't look so surprised. You may choose to be cruel to me but I will never treat you the same way."

The nerve of this man! God, he pisses you off so much.

You push his hand away and pull yourself up on your own, getting dressed before stomping back towards the palace.

_______________________________

He keeps away from you after that. True to his words, he remains civil and courteous, but doesn't try to press for anything more… and you have to admit, you start to miss it.

Not because you hold any affection for him–of course, not!--but because you're alone here with no family and so few friends. Beomgyu on the other hand is surrounded by people who are delighted to have his company, ensuring he is never wanting for company or affection.

You on the other hand are woefully lonely, so much so that eventually you reach your breaking point, grabbing him one night while you're both getting ready for bed and kissing him.

"What? Am I finally worthy of your affection?" Beomgyu derides when you break the kiss. You have no right to be upset at his abrasiveness when you're the one who caused it but you still are. Why can’t he just shut up and give you what you need? Why must he make you feel even more embarrassed about your need for him? Not that you’d ever admit either to him.

"I'm in my fertile period. We need to make a baby." You cover your tracks, and he somehow still manages to be hurt by your response, as if he was actually expecting you to confess your undying love to him. "Wow, that is so sexy."

You roll your eyes and slip off your dress. "Is this sexy?"

He doesn’t even try to hide the way he ogles your body and you laugh, stripping him before pushing him onto the bed. "I thought so."

_______________________

As punishment for forcing you to almost reveal your alarmingly developing need for him, you concoct a cruel plan designed to repay him tenfold. You set out to satisfy your need while simultaneously maximizing his own by restricting any sexual intercourse between the two of you to your fertile period of every month, and spending the intervening time alternating between depriving him of your touch and teasing him until he’s begging you to let him have you.

He comes to memorize your schedule and, like a trained dog, starts getting restless close to the when you’d be fertile, staring at you like he's fucking you in his head, humping the bed in his sleep, sporting a semi-permenant hard on as the day draws closer.

"Did I say you could slow down?"

You take to edging and denying him during your sex-free periods on the pretense that you want him to be full and ready to breed you when the time comes. It's bullshit of course and he knows it too, but he wants to have a family with you so much and wants to please you so badly that he lets you do whatever you want to him.

"I'm close." He tries to excuse his disobedience but you have no patience for it.

"You can hold it." You assert, knowing full well he's near his breaking point, but it's just so fun to watch him fight with his own body to try to please you, caught between continuing as you want and risking cumming and angering you or stopping and angering you by disobeying.

"I can't." He shakes his head, despairing.

"You can." You say more gently this time, going for a different tactic, though no less devious. "You want to knock me up don't you? Wanna see me get big and round with your baby?"

"Fuck, stop it." He whines, his hand barely moving over his cock but not daring to stop.

"You're so pretty like this." You coo, knowing he's a sucker for your compliments. They're rare but he lives off of them.

"Oh." He gasps, speeding his pace on his cock, needing to hear more. You can see the muscles of his tummy tensing as he tries to hold back but his hips can't help but buck into his own hand. "Please. Just let me cum once. My balls are so full. I'll have so much for you still. It's been so long."

God, you love making him do this. He'll do anything you ask of him. Maybe he's rotten like all men but at least his brand of sickness is fun to watch.

"It hasn't been one week. Are you that addicted to sex? Did you fuck yourself every day before I came along?"

He shakes his head, denying your accusations. "You keep teasing me, wearing those revealing clothes to bed. Touching me under the table. Whispering dirty things in my ear when we have company…"

"You love it, you dirty pup. I know you do."

"I love it. Love you touching me, love you toying with me, love you…"

He doesn't finish that lost one. He doesn't get to–or maybe that was the end of the sentence-before he suddenly spills his seed.

"Oh god. Oh god, I'm so sorry." He cries, just as surprised about his orgasm as you were. "I didn't mean to, I swear."

"But you did." You tsk, intent on milking his "disobedience" to death and making him whimper and cry like a scolded dog. But the sheer panic in his reply throws you off. "I know. I'm sorry. I tried to–" His voice cuts up in a hiccuping cry. "I tried to–tell you–to stop–I couldn't–help–ittt."

You stare at him in shock. He has tears streaming down his face, shoulders going up and down with every gasping breath he takes, and his hands are hovering nervously in the air as if he wants to reach out to you but is scared of what your reaction would be.

So you take it upon you to reach out to him instead, holding his hands in yours as you scooch towards him. "Hey, hey, it's okay."

"No, it's not." He shakes his head vigorously, tears flying off his pretty lashes. "I try so hard to be good for you and I can't even control myself. I know you’re mad."

"I'm not mad." You deny, but he just keeps shaking his head and mumbling sadly, "Didn’t mean to disappoint you."

"I'm not disappointed." You reassure him, more firmly this time. "It's just a game."

"You are–"

He obviously won't listen to your words so you go for a different route, cutting him off with a kiss that, thankfully, he easily melts into.

The kiss is tender–every diminishing sob released against your lips unwillingly tugging on your heartstrings until you feel completely wretched for somehow making it so he reacted so strongly to something so stupid. It was never your intention to make him actually suffer. You merely wished to protect yourself. But how do you do that when your distance is what's making him so miserable?

You do not owe him your love but does that mean that he can't earn it?

"I'm not mad." You repeat when you end the kiss and he nods, eyes glued to your lips as he licks his own, his wish clear. But before he can ask for another kiss, you choose instead to let go of him to grab something to clean him up with.

He never takes his eyes off you as you wipe his hands off and clean the cum off his body. And he still stares at you as you dispose of the rag and lay back down on the bed.

"What?" You ask, sharper than you intended and he flinches. So you try again, gentler this time. "Do you need something?"

He stares down at his hands as he speaks, wringing his fingers nervously. "Will you hold me to sleep?"

Your following silence prompts him to finally look up at you, and the wet, vulnerable look in his big brown eyes physically prevents you from rebuffing his request.

You sigh, throwing an arm out pointedly and he doesn't waste a second jumping forward and snuggling into your side.

__________________

That small action--Beomgyu having you hold him to sleep instead of the other way around–makes you realize something that should've been obvious to you from the start… unlike other men, and despite your worst fears, Beomgyu isn't looking to control or lead you.

He never did, from your sex life to what you do in your free time and even to public appearance, he lets you do as you please, only ever venturing to appeal to be included in it. You've even embarrassed him in public a couple of times before and yet he never lashed out against you in any way.

Other people were decidedly less kind though. You know they're gossipping about you. How you're a shame to other ladies and he's a disgrace to his family and the prince title. It gets to a point where you can't help but inquire about it to him, perplexed by his seeming indifference to what anyone else had to say.

"Does it not bother you?"

"What does?" He peeks an eye open to look at you from where he is laid down on the grass next to you, another successful hijacking of your time.

"What they say about you?" You spare him the details he knows all too well–that he's not a man, that he isn't fit to be a prince, that he's so weak and feeble even his wife rules him

"It does, of course. Everyone seeks to be accepted by others-be it friends, family, society, a lover…" He trails off tenderly, and you ignore the longing look he gives you. "But I have a loving family, supportive friends, and a secure life. I'd be a foolish man indeed to ignore all of that and spend my days trying to gain the approval of those who think ill of me." He says with a smile that suddenly and unexpectedly falls, "Why? Does it bother you? Me not being manly?"

"Would you change if it did?" You ask curiously and he frowns in thought before answering. "No, I want you to be happy with me, but I want to be happy too. I want us both to be happy."

"Why do you want me to be happy so badly?" You ask genuinely. It might be a stupid question to ask your husband but the sad reality is most husbands don't care much for their wives happiness.

"I believe a marriage should be built on respect and affection. Your spouse is meant to be your life partner, they’re there to witness it all, your everyday life, your ups and down, the mundane and the exciting. Why not try to make the best of those years? Why not be each other's rock when the world tears you down?" He espouses thoughtfully, a wiseness you never expected from him coming through, making him look mature and worldly. But then an innocent bashfulness takes over his face and he returns back to the boyish prince you’ve come to know. "And… I've always had a crush on you."

"Me?" You ask, surprised. You’ve met the prince many times before. You were hardly strangers before your marriage, but you wouldn’t have considered yourselves friends and certainly didn’t suspect that he held any romantic sentiment towards you. But you suppose that explains his existing partiality towards you despite your less than sweet reaction to the marriage.

"I have always loved how bold you were despite everyone trying to force you to fit the status quo. It gave me courage to be myself too. I thought if you could manage to act so decidedly outside of what is deemed proper for a lady and still remain the most radiant and exhilarating woman in the room, then maybe others could find beauty in me too."

You gape at him, at a loss for words. He finds the parts of you that are so repulsive to everyone else attractive? Is he messing with you? Is this some cruel joke? Or is he actually telling the truth?

You so badly want to believe him, but you can’t bring yourself to. It’s too good to be true.

"Did you ever… think of me that way?" He asks timidly, not daring to look at you, fearing your response, and for once, you feel saddened that you’re unable to give him the answer he’s looking for.

"No." You tell him honestly. You haven’t given him much thought before you got married. Sure, you could see that he was handsome, and he had always made himself known by his unusual behavior but other than that you hadn't really paid much attention to him, too caught up with your own troubles to pay any mind to his. You come to regret that now. At the very least, you might’ve made yourself a friend who would accept you for who you are. Or so he claims anyway.

"What about now?" His follow-up question is even more timid, whispered so quietly you almost didn't hear it. And you wish you didn’t because you don't have any answer for it.

"Let's not go there." You reply uncomfortably, getting up in order to physically remove yourself from the loaded question, refusing to consider that you might actually have developed any affection for him.

But Beomgyu quickly sits up and holds onto your hand. "No, please, don't leave. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He begs dolefully, which doesn't help your uneasiness in the slightest bit.

"It's fine." You lie to no one's benefit. "I just have things to do." You excuse yourself unconvincingly, taking your leave before he can fully articulate his next argument.

You hate seeing him so down, but what can you do when he insists on breaching this delicate topic again and again? You have no answer for him, you really don't. Why must he keep prodding?

____________________

"Is it time to go to bed yet?" Beomgyu whispers in your ear. He has been giving you needy looks the whole night, when he wasn't actively hanging onto your arm like he is right now.

It's the first day of your fertile period, and like you always do, you love to stay out as long as possible just to torment your poor husband. And lucky you, tonight there was just the perfect excuse to stay out even later–a ball hosted by the royal family and inviting noble and rich families from all over the kingdom.

"We're the hosts. It would be rude to leave this early." You tell him sharply as if you weren’t counting on him acting this very way, as if you’re not immensely enjoying it.

"But it's been hours." He whines and you feel him grind not-so-subtly against you.

"Are you seriously humping me in the open like this?" You ask incredulously, "Can't you control yourself?"

He shakes his head. "You know I can't." He tells you helplessly and you smile. Yes, you know very well. "I need it."

You chuckle. "Oh, you need it? What if I don't give it to you?"

He wails at the idea and a few heads turn towards you.

"Don't worry. He just hit his toe against the chair." You wave the curious and concerned glances off before turning towards Beomgyu with a sharp look. "Now look what you've done. Do you want everyone to know what a needy whore you are, my dear?"

"I don't care. Just need you." Throughout it all he hasn't quit pressing his bulge against your hip.

"That's too bad because we're staying for some time still. Now run off and talk to your father's guests and stop being such a rude host."

"But–"

You disentangle yourself from him despite his protests. "Go or you won't be getting fucked tonight." You threaten against his ear before pressing a quick kiss to the skin below, causing goosebumps to erupt in your wake.

You walk off with a big, self satisfied smile, your excitement building as you imagine how desperate he'll be once you actually take him back to bed. You wonder if you can get him to cum untouched. He has very sensitive nipples and you've always wondered if you can actually make him cum just by playing with them. You’re sure you can. Maybe tonight you'll try.

You’re so focused on what you have in store for your poor husband that you don't notice the two people approaching you.

"Oh darling, look how happy you look." You hear your mother's voice next to you and your mood immediately sours. You turn towards the pair with a scowl. "Hello, mother. Hello father."

"Hello, dear. How is my precious flower doing?" Your father asks, leaning forward to give you a kiss on each cheek that you don't reciprocate.

"Deflowered." You deadpan.

"Oh, come off it, baby. You know your father chose Prince Beomgyu because he was sure he would cherish you. That boy positively adores you." Your mother chastises, and you frown. Did your family seriously know of Beomgyu’s feelings towards you before you did? "And from what I'm hearing, he's doing just that. I mean even today, he can hardly leave your side for a minute."

You snort. If only she knew what was really going on... But to be fair, they weren't entirely wrong. Beomgyu does cherish you. That doesn't mean that you'll let them feel good about what they did.

"Your mother is right, love." Your father says gently but firmly, "We just wanted to ensure a good life for you with a man who adores you as much as we do. You are our only child and if you hadn’t gotten married, you would have been the object of many a wicked man's greed."

You roll your eyes at them. You could’ve handled yourself just fine. Not that they ever believed in you. "Whatever."

Are you being immature? Yes, but you’re still bitter about them not giving you a choice in the matter or even the man you were to marry, even if their choice turned out to be decent.

"Excuse me. I have to go find me dear husband." You give them a sour smile and turn you back on them. Their worried murmurs fade into the background noise as you step away from them and search for Beomgyu in the crowd, determined to go back to your room now.

When you spot him though, your mood takes an even more severe plunge. He's not alone, and the way he's entertaining the guest is way more intimate than you had instructed. The woman next to him is standing way too close to be proper, and she has one of her hands on his shoulder and the other one trailing down his chest.

Of course. Typical man behavior, as soon as you're out of sight he's wrapped up in some other woman’s arms. And here you thought he actually cared.

A dull pang starts out from the middle of your chest before it quickly spreads all across your ribcage in sharp stabs that take your breath away– a testament to the hurt you're feeling at this betrayal. He really got you fooled, huh?

You were contemplating whether to march off and slap the both of them silly or go back to your room, locking him out and crying your eyes out, when you hear his panicked voice floating into your full ears.

"I'm married!" He stammers, trying to wiggle out of the woman's hold on him but she just steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him.

A rage like no other fills up your body at the sight, searing off the wounds that were just covering it from the perceived betrayal, but you force yourself to stand still and watch how this will play out.

"So? All princes take mistresses. I hear she's not even letting you fuck her. What a heartless bitch."

That’s it! You make a move to step forward and smack her filthy hands off your husband, but he does it himself, throwing her hands off him angrily.

"Don't you dare speak about her that way." He shouts, furious in a way you've never seen him before. "She is my wife and I love her. She satisfies me much better than you could ever hope to do. I want no one else but her so kindly fuck off before you embarass yourself any further."

You freeze. Beomgyu loves you?

Yes, you knew he liked you and he was never shy about expressing it, but love?

It's at this moment, while you're rooted to your spot in shock, that Beomgyu finally sees you. A big smile replaces his affronted expression as he calls out to you. "Oh, darling there you are!"

But then he notices the look on your face and his own expression pales, his eyes jumping between you and the woman who is still standing next to him. "It's not what you think. I told her to back off, I swear."

Oh, he must think you're upset because of her. Well, you were but not at him. Not after he proved himself right in front of you. Still, this is a good distraction. It's better that he thinks that. You can't discuss the other thing now. You can’t even process it yet.

You quickly compose yourself and walk up to them, wrapping your arm around his waist and giving him a sweet kiss on his lips. "I saw." You smile at him before turning your withering gaze towards the woman. "You heard him. Fuck off and go find another man to lay under."

The woman scoffs and walks off, shouldering you as she goes, but you don't care. You turn back to Beomgyu, and whisper cryptically to him. "I want to speak to you, dear. In private."

His eyes widened in fear. "Darling, I'm sorry–I really tried–"

"Let's go." You snap, pulling him after you into the garden.

You choose a place deep enough into the garden you're sure no one will see you before you push him against a tree.

"You just attract them, don't you?" You raise an eyebrow at him, pressing your thigh between his legs. "Standing out there looking all needy and pretty."

"I told her to go away." He cowers pitifully, but he’s already rutting his cock against your thigh.

"But she just wouldn’t, huh?" You ask with mock sympathy, "You're just a helpless slut aren't you? Need me to be around you all the time to keep you in place?"

"No." He whines, shaking his head roughly. "I can behave. I can be good."

You spit on your hand and put it down his pants, stroking his cock and making him keen and melt into your touch. "Look how easily you give in." You tsk, "How long would you have held out if she did that?"

Beomgyu shakes his head again, tears brimming his pretty eyes. "Never would've given in. Only yours."

"Aw, how cute. This cock is only for me?" You murmur against his lips, palming the head of his cock and feeling his precum already leaking and wetting your hand.

"Everything. I'm all yours." He confesses, his eyes conveying an affection so strong, you can't weather it. You take your hand out of his pants and flip the both of you around so you're the one pressed against the tree. "Fuck me."

"Here?!" He gapes.

"Yes. Want you here."

"But anyone can see." He looks around as if searching for those phantom voyeurs.

"Didn’t you say you’re all mine? Show them." You press your lips against his, coaxing him into giving in with sweet kisses that he craves.

“Honey…” He whines, but you wrap one leg around his waist and pull him against you, his body reacting on its down and his hips bucking against you, his cock searching for your warmth that you’ve kept away from him for so long.

You ignore his half-hearted protest, pulling his cock out of his pants and lifting the skirt of your dress up so he can feel you directly. His breath leaves him when he feels his cock glide against your wet pussy. “Oh… you’re not wearing anything underneath.”

“Uh-huh.” You nod, biting your lip and looking at him seductively. “Wanted to be all ready for you to take me. Didn’t know you’d be entertaining other women.”

You’re really dragging out this other woman farce, partly because it’s fun watching him scramble to deny it and appease you, and partly because you feel entitled to him as your husband. You’re not going to be the woman forced to marry a man, only for him to cheat on her too.

But still, you can’t deny the jealousy and hurt you felt seeing him with someone else after he’s spent the last few months professing his affection to you and forcing his way into your life. He said it’s only you he wants, right? Well, you want him to act like it, damned by the reasons behind your unwelcome feelings.

Beomgyu’s eyes widen in horror and he finally presses forward, pushing his cock into you in one needy thrust. “No! Was only thinking about this pussy. I promise.” He wails in earnest, “Only want you.”

His words are like a balm to your wounded ego, and you reward him with a messy, open-mouthed kiss–the kind you know gets him all riled up. “Then fuck me like it.”

“Yes, darling.” He holds up the leg you have wrapped around him with one hand and uses the other to grab your waist and press you flush against the tree, stabilizing you so he can drill his cock into you, an urgency to his movements that tops even your previous encounters.

“Good boy.” You pant, feeling his cock hitting places deep inside you that have your toes curling. "Is this what you wanted all month?"

"Yes, baby. Been thinking of it every night, wished you would just flip over onto your tummy and let me fuck you."

You grin evilly. “I know, baby. I felt that hard cock against me every night. Loved to wake up with it pressed right between my asscheeks.”

“You’re so cruel.” He mewls, fucking into you desperately, making up for all the torture you put him through.

“I know.” You laugh, trailing your hands up his body to play with his sensitive nipples, and when your thumbs brush over them, his hips stutter and he rewards you with the most debauched moans.

“Fuck, don’t do that or I’ll cum.”

“But I want you to cum.” You retort, pulling lightly on his hardened nipples and causing his hips to give a particularly harsh thrust. "Cum inside me. Knock me up. Let them all know who you belong to."

Your words drive him crazy, and soon he’s fucking into you like a wild animal. "Fuck, you’re going so rough. Were you that needy?"

“Yes.” There is no shame in his reply, just pure want. He's not shy about letting his need for you show, his mouth wide open, panting heavily, and eyes glazed over as his hips slam against yours. "Thank you. Thank you for letting me inside your pretty pussy."

Just his face brings you close to the edge, and his wild thrusts threaten to push you over at any moment.

"Look how slutty you look." You tease, cupping his face. "Are you all pussy-drunk, my dear?"

He nods, leaning into your touch and only managing a few garbled moans in response.

"That's okay, pup. All I need from you is your pretty cock. You don't need to have any thoughts in that pretty head of yours. Just keep fucking me like a good boy."

He nods again, enraptured, and his blind obedience finally sends you over the edge.

“Fuck–fuck–good boy… good boy.” You moan out, the praise coming out long and slow as your body tenses up before spasming, your pussy milking his cock and drawing his own orgasm out of him.

Beomgyu buries his face into your neck, letting out choked moans that later turn into heavy pants as his high crashes through his body. But even when his breathing settles down, he is reluctant to pull away from you.

“Beomgyu?” You call out. He lets out a small hum and nuzzles further into your skin, mumbling something that you can’t quite hear.

“We need to go.” You start again, the leg he’s still holding up starting to cramp while the cool air bites at it, and he whines. “But this feels too nice.”

You smirk. “What does? Your cock all warm and snug inside my pussy?”

You feel his cock twitch inside you and he nods. “Yeah. Also this.” He says, running kisses up your neck that makes you shiver. “You never let me do this much.”

You know. You only allow these intimate moments after sex, not wanting a repeat of what happened before, but also needing to limit them to protect yourself. Which is exactly why you want him to pull away now.

“We have to go.” You repeat, jostling him a little bit, feeling your heart picking up at the precarious moment. You feel him sigh against your skin, and he finally pulls back. “Okay. Let's go to bed.”

“Oh, we’re not going to bed. We’re rejoining the ball.” You say nonchalantly, holding back your laugh at the way he gapes at you once again.

"But–but…." He stammers, his eyes raking over your body.

"But your cum is dripping down my legs? I know." You smirk evilly, pulling him behind you.

___________________

You and Beomgyu are stuck in a limbo of your own making, unable to let him in fully but also unwilling to shut the door in his face, stubbornly thinking that this way you’ll be saving yourself from any heartache. But can you really make that claim anymore when seeing him hurt himself over you wounds you just as much?

That is the precise situation you find yourself in right now, running towards one of the rooms you’ve just been informed that Beomgyu and your previous suitor, Yeonjun, are dueling within.

You expect this foolishness from Yeonjun. He has always been brash and hard-headed, always reaching for his sword when his words meet resistance. But Beomgyu? Has that idiot ever even been in a duel before?

Your heart hammers in your chest as you run, images of Beomgyu struck down and bleeding coming unbidden to your mind. Fuck, if that idiot got himself hurt over some inane dick-measuring contest, you’re going to kill him yourself.

When you gain entrance into the room and peek Beomgyu’s fallen form through the gaps in the crowd that formed around the two men, your heart falls to your feet and you get ready to grab Beomgyu’s sword and strike down Yeonjun yourself.

But then you hear Yeonjun speak to him. “Come on, get up. Be a man.”

After which a member of the crowd comments snarkily, “You’ve got the wrong person. If you want a fight then you need to look for his wife. She wears his balls around her neck.”

You see red as you shove your way through the crowd and into the clearing in the middle. “Who said that?” You growl, surveying the crowd. No one speaks, and you laugh hauntingly. “Come on, show me how much of a man you really are. Surely, you’re not afraid of me, a woman?”

Again, no one speaks up, and you scoff. “Of course, you are all a bunch of cowards who like to bully good people in order to feel better about your own vile, miserable selves.”

“Hey, don’t speak to my men like that.” Yeonjun interjects and you shoot him a withering look. “What men? All I see are a bunch of dogs sniffing up their master’s ass.”

At the insult, one of the men steps forward threateningly, but Yeonjun holds him back.

“What? Are you going to hit a woman?” You challenge and he spits. “What woman? All I see is a rabid bitch.”

No sooner had the man spoken than he was on the floor, felled by a punch from Yeonjun. “Don’t you dare speak to a lady like that.”

The man looks furious but he holds his tongue, not daring to defy his master, choosing instead to get up and storm out. A few other men follow suit but Yeonjun ignores them, turning towards you, “I’m sorry about that, my lady. Please accept–”

“I will accept nothing. What gave you the right to come here and attack my husband?” You growl at him, walking towards Beomgyu and helping him off the floor. But Beomgyu doesn’t even glance at you, keeping his gaze on the floor and making you feel uneasy.

“I wanted to see what you left me for.” He mutters bitterly, as if you had been together and you had left him to be with Beomgyu. He’s so fucking delusional.

Yeonjun and you used to be childhood friends, and you suppose he assumed on the basis of that and by merit of him being the son of one of the most wealthy and influential men in the whole country, that you’d fawn at his feet and accept his hand when he proposed to you.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. You liked Yeonjun well enough as children, but as you grew up he turned into a controlling asshole who tried to tell you what you can and cannot do, already acting as if you were his woman, something which you despised and have expressed so to him repeatedly. You don’t know how he could possibly have thought that you’d actually accept his hand in marriage but his scandalized reaction served to cement your decision even more.

“I didn’t leave you for anyone. If you were the last man on earth, I still wouldn’t have picked you.”

Yeonjun’s face grows pale at the harsh proclamation, but you don’t stay back to wait for his response, barking at one of the servants to help you take their prince back to his bed.

______________________________________

But Beomgyu’s weird behavior persists even when you’re alone, and when you attempt to tend to his injuries, he withdraws from you harshly.

"Why are you doing this? Am I so pathetic that even you feel sorry for me?" He hisses in disgust.

"What has gotten into you?" You snap back, not willing to take shit from him too.

"You want someone like him, don't you?” He accuses bitterly, and when you give him a confused look he continues. “Don’t deny it. You were childhood sweethearts. He told me you were set to be married before your parents forced you to marry a sissy like me."

"And you believed him?" You balk and he scoffs, looking away. "Then you’re even more of an idiot than I thought you were."

His head snaps back to stare at you, eyes glistening with tears. “You think I’m an idiot?”

That’s what he focuses on? “Of course. You must be if you honestly think that I ever even entertained marrying that sexist, disgusting, pompous asshole."

“Then why did he say that?” He asks in a small voice and you yell out in frustration, “Because he can’t fathom how I can be happy with you and not him when everyone around him licks the ground he walks on.”

“You-you’re happy with me?” He peers up at you through his wet lashes and your heart hurls itself against your ribcage at the hope you see in his eyes.

"Yes, I am.” You admit, and watch as the bright rays of happiness start to shine across his face, before they’re covered by another gloomy cloud. He shakes his head. “You just want someone weak to control. That’s why you like it with me.”

You grab his face, a little rougher that you probably should but he was really pissing you off. “No, I want a man who is secure in his manhood that he doesn’t need to engage in these stupid dick measuring contests to feel good about himself. I want a man who is secure enough in himself that no matter how much I challenge him, he never lashes out at me for it. I want a man who even though I’ve been nothing but a bitch to him again and again, he still stuck by me because he saw the good in me when everyone else saw fault. I want you.”

Beomgyu shoots forward, meeting your lips with his in a passionate kiss that you gladly reciprocate. He has been so brave for you. You can learn to be brave for him too.

“I love you.” He professes when the need for air forces him to pull away.

You cup his cheeks gently, staring into his kind eyes and hoping he’d be kind to you one more time, even if you don’t deserve it. “Just give me some time, okay? I promise I’ll get there if you give me a little more time.”

That feeling of dread you get when you rebuff one of his advances and sit in fear of him finally getting sick enough of you to stop trying bubbles in your stomach as you wait for his response. But Beomgyu is even more merciful than you had ever dreamed of and his gentle smile washes away all your fear.

“I will wait for as long as you need me to. I will never give up on you. I just needed to know that you wanted it too.”

“I do. I really do. I want you.” Tears flow down your face unbidden and you let yourself be pulled into his warm embrace.

This is what you could have if you could just learn to trust him–to really let yourself be cared for and loved without constantly being on the lookout for an inevitable betrayal. He can give you that. You know he can, and maybe with time, you too can give him everything he deserves.

_____________________________

A/N: well there you go. honestly it came out a lot different than i had anticipated and a lot shorter, but i hope you still like it anyway. let me know which prince gyu is your favorite, yamqn pyscho prince gyu or sweet playful love you prince gyu?

if you can guess why the title is that, you get a treat.

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #sub!idol #dom!reader #prince!au #arranged marriage au #mort talks

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girlgenius1111 · 9 months

Text

she'll be the best you ever had if you let her

r recovers from her injury. and realizes she may not be ask okay as she says she is with what Alexia did.

angst, fluff. hurt comfort. you know the drill :)

Recovering from a concussion was hard, even when you hadn't been in a coma because of it. You'd never before struggled this hard in the few days following an injury. You felt like your body was betraying you: you were constantly tired, and your brain felt like mush.

Alexia seemed determined to prove herself to you, waiting on you hand and foot. She could tell that, although you'd forgiven her, you were still hurt by what she'd done, still holding back from her, just a little.

The few days following your return from the hospital were pretty rough. You were bored, in pain, clingy, and irritable; all of which Alexia had to balance with going to training.

-----

On your 3rd day home, you woke up as you normally did, with your head aching, to the sound of Alexia's alarm. You groaned into your pillow, the noise making the pounding in your head worse.

"Buenos días bebita," Alexia called softly, after turning the alarm off, placing a hand on your back. You rolled on your side to look at her, cracking your eyes open only slightly. She rubbed your cheek gently, watching as your brow uncreased at her motions. "How are you feeling today?"

"Hurts." you responded, as was customary. She'd asked you the same question the past 2 mornings, and you'd given the same answer.

"I'm sorry, amor," she said, leaning forward to gently kiss your forehead. She'd been incredibly gentle with you since you'd come home, her touches featherlight. You leaned into her, wrapping your arms around her waist to tug her closer. She smiled against your forehead, hugging you back.

"When d'you have to go?" You mumbled, from your spot nestled against her chest.

"A half hour. I should get up now, and you should go back to sleep."

You lightly pecked her jaw, before rolling over and tucking your head back against your pillow, pulling the blankets up tight around your shoulders.

You drifted in and out as Alexia got ready to go, barely grunting out a goodbye when she tucked you in tighter, before telling you she was leaving.

Alexia was trying not to hover; she knew you hated that. She was so worried though, all the time. You were recovering well, but your head clearly still hurt, you had a hard time thinking straight, and you had to be careful about the dizzy spells you'd been experiencing. All of it was normal, and would improve as your concussion did; this, however, did not make you feel any better, or any less frustrated with yourself. As she left the house she hoped that you'd have a better day today.

-----

A better day did not seem to be in the cards for you. Once Alexia left, you couldn't fall back asleep, missing the warmth of her body snuggled up next to you. You were exhausted, but you tossed and turned for an hour, before giving up and slowly making your way downstairs. You ate something, before moving to the couch. You did fall back asleep there, but when you woke up, you were groggy, it had been hours, and Alexia was due home any minute.

You'd wanted to do something today. A load of laundry, or unload the dishwasher. You felt like you were slacking off, and you hated not doing things. More than that, you hated feeling too reliant on someone, and you didn't want Alexia to get annoyed with you for being useless. You didn't let yourself think about why you were so worried about that: you'd told Alexia you'd forgiven her, and you had. That didn't mean that it didn't still hurt, or still scare you.

You'd slept the entire half a day away, and you wouldn't have any time to do any of the things you'd wanted to. Still, you got up, thinking that you could maybe make Alexia a snack before she arrived. As you walked, a wave of dizziness hit you and you stumbled, before losing your footing and collapsing into the wall. You let yourself sink to the floor in the hallway, fighting back tears.

Everything was so hard, and you were so desperate to do something normal, just one time. But you couldn't even walk to the kitchen without ending up on the ground.

Keeping in tune with the days events, you heard the front door open, and the sound of your girlfriend entering the house. She softly called out for you, not wanting to wake you, but not seeing you on the couch. You took a deep breath before answering, knowing that she would freak out when she saw you on the ground.

"I'm here, Ale," you responded, and as Alexia made her way to you, she noted the dejection clear in your tone. Once she spotted you, though, all she felt was panic.

"Amor! What are you doing on the floor?" She said, all but running over to where you sat, leaned against the wall, chin resting on your knees.

"Got dizzy," you told her, trying to keep yourself together. Alexia already had to deal with the fallout of this stupid injury, she didn't need to deal with your chaotic emotions too.

"Did you fall? Did you hit your head?" She asked, worry filling every part of her being.

"No, I just kind of tripped. I didn't hit my head."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Alexia, I think I would have noticed if I hit the part of my body that throbs at all times," you snapped, immediately regretting it when you saw the blonde's face fall. "Sorry," you said quietly.

"It's alright, y/n. Let's get you off the floor, okay?" Alexia responded, shaking off your apology. It made sense to her that you were frustrated, she couldn't blame you. "Can you walk?"

You tried to stand, feeling the dizziness come hurtling back, before you sunk back down to the ground, biting your lip as you shook your head.

If Alexia noticed your semi-emotional state, she elected to ignore it, instead easily lifting you off the ground and carrying you back to the couch. She placed you in the corner of the sectional, her favorite spot, and your heart melted, just a little, at the gesture.

You took in her appearance, freshly showered and dressed in comfy clothes. Her hair smelled like green tea oil, and the scent wafted into your nose, filling your body with warmth. Not saying a word, Alexia wiped away the tears that had fallen off your face with the pads of her thumbs, pulling the blanket you'd been using earlier over your legs almost absentmindedly. She patiently waited until the world stopped spinning before speaking again.

"Were you going to the kitchen?" she asked. "Did you want something from in there?"

"I was going to make you a snack," you mumbled back.

"Amor, you don't need to do that, you should be resting," Alexia scolded softly.

"All I do is rest. I just wanted to do something for you," you cried. Alexia was looking at you closely, seemingly confused at your desperate need to do something for her.

"Why?" she questioned.

"Because, Ale, you're doing too much for me. It's not fair. I'm not doing enou- anything in return." Alexia caught what you were going to say; you weren't doing enough. Things were starting to make more sense.

"I'm taking care of you," she replied, "that's my job as your girlfriend. Because I love you, and I care about you. You don't need to do anything in return for that, mi amor."

She paused, watching as you didn't reply, looking anywhere but at her.

"What's going on, niña bonita?"

"I don't want you to get tired taking care of me and break up with me again," you murmured, voice cracking slightly as pain spasmed across your face. Alexia felt her heart fall out of her chest.

"No, mi niña, no. I'm not going to get tired of you, ever."

You didn't look convinced. "Those days where we weren't together were awful, Ale, I don't think I could do that again,"

Alexia had never felt guiltier in her life. She scooted closer to you, turning your face to look at her. Her touch was soft, her gaze even softer.

"You won't ever have to do that again. I'm so sorry I put you through that, cariño. I promise, what I did had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. You are perfect. I could never get tired of you, and I am not going to break up with you again. Te prometo que." Alexia vowed, and you nodded your head once, leaning into her. She held you easily, kissing the top of your head repeatedly, thinking for a minute as you stayed silent.

"I know I messed up, and I know everything isn't going to be perfect right away, but I promise, I will prove to you that I'm here for good," Alexia said into your hair.

"I trust you," you told her, voice shaking slightly. "I'm just a little scared I guess."

"I know, amor. That's okay, you can be scared. I'll be right here, though, even when you're scared."

"Te amo mucho, Alexia," you said, sitting back to look into her eyes. You wanted her to know that you loved her and trusted her, even if you were still hurt from what she'd done.

If the watery eyes were any indication, she got the message. You only spoke spanish occasionally, when you were saying something you really wanted her to understand. You telling her that you loved her in her language was one of her favorite things.

She kissed you, then, harder than she'd dared to in days, yet still cupped your face with her hands like you were made of glass. You kissed her back, just as hard, ignoring the pain in your head. Sometimes, a little pain was worth it.

-----

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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deedeeznoots · 2 months

Text

Hope I Never Forget

➺ Characters: Choso Kamo, GN!Reader

➺ Word Count: 1.7k

➺ Genre: Fluff, Angst (With Comfort)

➺ Content: JJK Anime Spoilers, Mentions of Death, Grief, Choso Crying, Reverse Comfort, Established Relationship

➺ A/N: Thank you @emmyrosee for requesting something from my 100 followers post! I hope I did your request justice!

➺ Synopsis: Choso’s fondest memory after being incarnated was his younger brothers helping him with his hair. Years later, he’s ready to relive that memory with you.

Choso remembers that day like it was yesterday.

It had been years since the deaths of his brothers, and while he has long forgiven the people who killed them (especially his other younger brother Yuji Itadori), he will never be able to fully recover from losing them.

As the years passed, life moved on for Choso. He no longer had to fight anymore, and even found himself in a loving relationship. Yet, every so often he still thinks about his brothers, about all the little things they couldn’t do before their deaths that he has the privilege to experience. Every birthday he celebrated, every Sunday morning he spent in bed, every late night spent laying next to his loved ones watching movies, all things his brothers have never and will never be able to experience with him.

His brothers were only able to experience one small shred of comfort before their deaths, and that was tying their older brother’s hair. The day the brothers incarnated, they insisted on tying Choso’s hair for him. The feeling of his hair being pulled into two pigtails by his younger brothers was the last memory Choso had of all of them together, and that day was the last time Choso ever saw their smiling faces.

Choso remembers that day like it was yesterday.

The hairstyle brought Choso a sense of comfort, it was the one thing that remained untouched by the new life Choso led as a human. Every day, Choso would take two hair ties and carefully put his hair into the familiar pigtails that his brothers did for him years prior.

Still, tying his hair up would be a struggle sometimes. Even though it was a style that he’s done for years, some days his hair would simply choose to not cooperate. Today was unfortunately one of those days for Choso.

Each time Choso tried to put his hair up, something would feel off. Whether it was the pigtails being uneven, his hair slipping out of the tie, or finding his hair in knots from constantly pulling on it. What seemed like two simple pigtails turned out to actually be quite difficult to put up. Yet, Choso was determined to do it correctly, he had to for his brothers.

He started tying his hair during the early morning, but enough hours had passed that the once rising sun began to set. Even as the world moved, Choso stood still in front of his bedroom mirror, trying to tie his hair perfectly…but he just couldn’t get it right. Choso began to grow frustrated with each failed attempt. He thought about how much easier this would be for his brothers, how they would be able to do it so easily. He thought about how much easier everything would’ve been if he just had them by his side.

Choso’s chest began to tighten. He wasn’t even focused on his hair anymore, his only thoughts consisting of how much he missed his family. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, when he suddenly heard the front door open.

“Cho! Where are you?” your distant voice was like a lifeline for Choso, and he took a deep breath to calm himself down. He didn’t want to cry in front of you, not today. “I’m in our room” his deep voice boomed throughout the house, and you rushed to that spot the moment you heard him. You entered the bedroom to see Choso sitting by the mirror with his hair down. You looked at him confused, “You’re re-doing your hair?” you asked him. Choso stood still for a moment, he didn’t like lying to you, but how could he explain that he spent the entire day doing his hair?

You knew Choso more than anyone though, so his silence was enough. Every so often Choso would be so focused on a task that he’d lose track of time, and you assumed this was one of those days. “Here let me help you” you said gently, but as you reached out to touch his hair Choso suddenly stood away from you “No!”.

You immediately move your hands away from him, staring at him wide-eyed. Choso never yelled at you, so you were concerned about something being wrong. You look at Choso now standing, as looks shocked at his own behavior toward you.

You see Choso’s body tremble as he slumps down into the floor. The tears he tried so hard to hold back now freely falling down his cheeks as he sits in a seated fetal position, trying his best to make himself as small as possible. “I– I can’t…” he whispers to himself, but you are able to hear it. As you slowly sit next to him, you are able to hear his full sentence “I can’t do this… not without them” you hear him repeat over and over in between soft whimpers.

You know immediately who he’s talking about. You slowly inch closer to Choso, making sure he’s comfortable with your distance between each other. You breathe out a sigh of relief when you feel Choso lean into you, connecting your bodies together.

“I’m sorry for yelling…” Choso says softly, his own breathing calming down the moment his body touches yours. You wrap your arms around him, making sure to speak softly to not frighten him more “It’s okay Choso… but why won’t you let me help you?”. You didn’t want to make assumptions, you wanted Choso to tell you his feelings directly.

Choso thinks for a moment, choosing his words carefully when he says “No one other than my brothers ever touched my hair. If I let someone else do it now… what will it mean for them? What if I forget the day they did it?” Choso makes himself even smaller than before, shuddering at the thought of one day forgetting his baby siblings.

Hearing his words breaks your heart, and you can’t help but put your hand to his cheek and wipe away the warm tears from his eyes. Caressing his cheek, you say “I won’t do it for you if you really don’t want me to… but you would never forget your brothers, and I’m sure they would want you to ask for help when you need it”. You touch your boyfriend’s forehead to your own. Looking into his eyes, you see him trying to contemplate his thoughts “Are you sure…?” he asks, trying his best to trust you at this moment.

You smile softly… still holding Choso’s body close to yours, “Completely”.

The both of you take a seat on your shared bed. Choso, feeling soft and comfortable, leans into you as you comb your hand through his tangled hair. He still felt a bit odd feeling someone else touch his hair in this way, but eventually he was able to fully let go and allow you to take care of him. It helped that your touch was gentle, making sure to not pull too hard. You didn’t rush with his hair, something that even Choso did sometimes when he put his hair up. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time.

You continued gently brushing his hair, making sure to get rid of all of the little knots that appeared. Choso felt his eyelids get heavier as you massaged his scalp, and while he tried his best to stay awake, his eyes continued to close for longer and longer periods of time before he finally succumbed to slumber while sitting down.

You didn’t notice that Choso fell asleep at first, continuing to gently brush his hair until it was completely untangled. You eventually took two hair ties and securely tied his hair into two pigtails… making sure to keep his bangs down, just the way Choso liked it. Finishing up, you exclaimed “Perfect! My boyfriend is so handsome” with a giggle in your voice.

When you don’t hear Choso respond you get slightly worried, wondering if you did something wrong. That was until you heard him softly snore and realize he’s completely asleep. You can’t help but let out a soft laugh, making sure you aren’t loud enough to wake him up. You slowly turn him toward the pillows and lie him down with his hair still up.

You softly kiss Choso’s lips and lay on his chest, feeling him rise and fall as he breathes in and out in his sleep. Feeling comfortable with your boyfriend’s warmth enveloping your body, you feel yourself slowly fall asleep on his chest, your heart beating with glee at Choso allowing himself to be vulnerable with you and being brave enough to share a part of himself that he hadn’t before. Eventually, you feel your eyes completely close, with your last thought before completely falling to sleep being your loving boyfriend.

After a few hours, Choso is stirred awake and he wakes up. “What happened?” he sits up confused as he rubs his eyes. Your lying figure next to him helps him relay his memories slightly. Right. You were doing his hair when he must’ve fallen asleep.

He sees you asleep and he can’t help but kiss your forehead. Still feeling the ties around his hair, he gets up to look at himself in the mirror. You did an amazing job, and two pigtails still stand proud on his head even after his sleep.

A big goofy smile is plastered on his face as he admires your work. He thinks about his brothers once again, that soft feeling of familiarity as he allowed them to take care of him. He thinks about you and how you allowed him to feel that feeling once again with your gentle touch and understanding. Grief is no easy feat, and Choso has to go through that grief every day. Still, he thinks about you and how you comforted him today through such a small action, and he can’t help but smile.

He was so afraid of taking away the memory of his brothers by letting you tie his hair, but he realizes that it isn’t true at all. His brothers will forever live in his memory now through the both of you, and he feels them all around now more than ever. He was going to be okay, because he had you.

Choso remembers that day like it was yesterday… and he hopes he never forgets.

A/N: So…I have a prequel made for this story of Choso’s brothers doing his hair. It was originally supposed to be part of this post but after writing it I realized it didn’t really fit so I decided to just make it a separate post. I’ll be posting it tomorrow!

A/N: Love Choso? This story also features him! (Be warned, it’s 18+)

Taglist: @emmyrosee

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happyhauntt · 4 months

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— april fic recs, brought to you by happyhauntt.

it's that time again! a wee fic rec post for a few of the fics i read in april that altered my brain chemistry!! i've put a lil comment next to each rec because honestly writers don't get praised enough for their work these days and i wanted to show my appreciation for these talented souls!!

criminal minds.

➡ spencer reid.

in every other life by @irndad. notes: adorableness incarnate honestly.

trouble almost all my life series by @januaryembrs. notes: might honestly have to put this on every masterlist til the end of time.

forgiven by @reiding-writing. notes: um HOW DARE YOU i sobbed my way through this

grishaverse.

➡ kaz brekker.

breakfast by @sophierequests. notes: look i'm a simple human i see badass characters and i fall in love

➡ jesper fahey.

i'm your gal by @atlabeth. notes: NOT ENOUGH JESPER FICS and this one is GLORIOUS

star wars.

➡ poe dameron.

the f-word by @the-little-ewok. notes: i reread this constantly pls it's so good

moon knight.

➡ marc spector.

i should've been there by @januaryembrs. notes: not em out here ruining my life and making me sob AGAIN you simply never miss

9-1-1.

➡ evan buckley.

take my hand by @redocity. notes: cute cute cute cute cute

emergency room by redocity. notes: the ANGST i feel well-fed

won't say i'm falling by @borntobewondering. notes: this was DELICIOUS

➡ buck / eddie.

a bleeding sun on a silver screen by @hoediaz / rarakiplin on ao3. notes: i was fully choking back sobs while reading this. i binged this fic in less than 24 hours and it has changed something fundamental inside me. i will never be the same person again. i'm billing you for my therapy.

good luck, babe by @hattalove. notes: i cackled my way through this, potentially the funniest shit ever.

hate to say i spent it all on masquerades by hattalove. notes: i sobbed and sobbed and sobbed while reading this. this fic is everything to me, it should be required reading for all my friends who want to understand me, it is beautiful and magical and i want it tattooed on my face.

don't wanna let you love somebody else but me by @shitouttabuck / fleetinghearts on ao3. notes: sheer adorableness i will well recover from this!!!!

tried and true blue by shitouttabuck / fleetinghearts on ao3. notes: SCREAMING I'M SCREAMING I MAY NEVER STOP SCREAMING

like a dog with a bird at your door by shitouttabuck / fleeting hearts on ao3. notes: iconic. truly iconic. quite possibly one of my fav fics ever written.

let the world have its way with you by shitouttabuck / fleeting hearts on ao3. notes: you don't understand how hard it was not to include every single one of shitouttabuck's fics on this list and there will almost certainly be more in future but i just want them tattooed on my forehead i feel insane

i have dreams where i kiss you and it's pink by shitouttabuck / fleeting hearts on ao3. notes: the cutest and i mean THE CUTEST shit ever

all my shattered oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels on ao3. notes: i sobbed. i sobbed so hard i think i burst something honestly. everything from this author is immaculate but THIS is the holy fuckin grail and i will truly never be the same again.

let my ink stain your pages by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels on ao3. notes: castle au CASTLE AU i'm a sucker for a castle au and this is EVERYTHING

even in winter there is eranthis by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels on ao3. notes: i think about this fic daily.

your love is an oil slick by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels on ao3. notes: this is everything this is EVERYTHING to me i will reread this weekly for the rest of my life

even the darkest night by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels on ao3. notes: stardust au STARDUST AU aka my favourite movie and my favourite ship combined into a fuckin masterpiece

curl up in my heart and let me keep you by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels on ao3. notes: soft sweet my brain is mushy and i adore this

hoping it gets to you by @bucktommys / hammersmiths on ao3. notes: cute adorable stunning MAGNIFICENT

you're my whole house by @/bucktommys / hammersmiths on ao3. notes: THIS FIC OUT HERE MAKIN ME SQUEAL AND KICK MY LEGS

left unsaid by c_m2 on ao3. notes: this is mcfuckin adorable i'm crying buck deserves everything in the world

say yes to heaven by dylaesthetics on ao3. notes: okay full disclosure this made me cry so much i threw up. also it hit some pretty intense trauma for me. still so glad i read it because it was also kinda healing. and i want everyone else to suffer like i have because fuck i suffered.

if i need to rearrange my particles, i will for you by dylaesthetics on ao3. notes: author you will always be famous bc you're knocking my emotional stability OUTTA THE PARK

honestly, truly, completely by dylaesthetics on ao3. notes: simply fuckin adorable

feels like magic by 42hrb on ao3. notes: there's nothing i adore more than an urban fantasy au and this one is EXQUISITE

fallin' into your ocean eyes by princessfbi on ao3. notes: okay every part of this au is absolutely fuckin perfection i am so deeply in love with it

until now by tearsthissideofheaven on ao3. notes: a reincarnation au??? it's like you know how to ruin my life

if i never hear your voice again by @actualalligator. notes: disability rep!!!! brilliant writing!!!!

life sure can try to put love through it by @capseycartwright / wafflesofdoom on ao3. notes: ahahaha ruin my life why don't you

sometimes its hard to see what the future holds by @/capseycartwright / wafflesofdoom on ao3. notes: olympics buddie au??? didn't know i wanted it but now i can't live without it

all good things come to an end (but it's not the end) by @/capseycartwright / wafflesofdoom on ao3. notes: i will, in fact, devour every buddie!fwb au ever written but this one is especially great

you smiled and it was the most beautiful thing that I'd ever seen by @/capseycartwright / wafflesofdoom on ao3. notes: coffee shop!buddie have become everything to me wdym

it's funny 'cause i've always dreamed of me and you by @/capseycartwright / wafflesofdoom on ao3. notes: yes i did sob my heart out reading this and i'll do it again

'cause darling, you're the one by @/capseycartwright / wafflesofdoom on ao3. notes: icymi i think this author is the best author to ever exist and i want to devour everything they write forever

i don't think that we should have friendly sex, anymore by @/capseycartwright / wafflesofdoom on ao3. notes: !!!!!!! that's it that's the note. brain: faye you can't put this many fics by the same author on one masterlist. faye: bET-

still i call it magic (when i'm next to you) by @clusterbuck / lecornergirl on ao3. notes: urban fantasy is, in fact, my shit.

(this kiss is) something i can't resist by @/clusterbuck / lecornergirl on ao3. notes: NO BC THIS HAD ME CACKLING AND ALSO IT'S BRILLIANT

give me five more minutes, baby (i'm not finished loving you) by @/clusterbuck / lecornergirl on ao3. notes: fake dating or immaculate writing??? both

cuffing season by @/clusterbuck / lecornergirl on ao3. notes: i am still laughing at this and i may never stop

#this is late as fuck but i'm posting it anyway #yes i got into buddie fic this month is it that obvious #* faye's monthly fic recs.#* type: fic recs.#spencer reid x reader #poe dameron x reader #evan buckley x reader #buddie fanfic #buddie fic recs #buck x eddie #911 fanfiction

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platinumshawnn · 17 days

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Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood — pt viii

Synopsis: Serra and Benjicot's newly-wed bliss is interrupted by news from the Battle of Burning Mill, leaving Raventree in a state of grief amidst changes. Serra attempts to comfort Benjicot and better understand him in the early days of marriage.

Content warnings: MDNI 18+ — adult language, mentions of blood, violence, and war; era related sexism and gender based harassment/discrimination, sexual content (smut — I.e. female oral/cunnnilingus, implied p/v intercourse), mild depictions of family based violence, implied suicide ideation, mention of major character death.

masterlist | audio playlist | backwards — 7 | forwards — 9

A/N: hi this ain’t my best work but we’re here — sorry to disappear and have no updates for scheduling, I have returned to university as of this week and in that same time, had my wisdom teeth removed so am recovering/getting settled in so editing may be worse than usual

Word count: 8.4K

His ribs pressed against hers as the sun cast in through the window, his eyes closed and lashes fluttering against his cheeks as she lay naked beneath him; waist between her thighs. The bed sheets had been since replaced after the night’s endeavours, where the white ones had not been seen since the feast, grateful when they had returned to find the red silk ones that now hung low around her husband’s hips and bunched underneath him to provide her with some coverage as he slept — his mouth partially ajar and his cheeks pinkened with warmth; Serra didn’t have it within her to wake him from the peaceful slumber as his head rested against her bare chest, instead taking the opportunity to observe his youthful features, free of any of the daily stressors that often exasperated the frown lines between his brows and creased around his mouth. His hair had grown out in the past weeks, nearly in his eyes now as she brushed it back from her forehead with the tips of her fingers — she found he radiated a warmth that protected her from the cool nip of the morning as his body easily covered hers.

She had woken to the sun on her face hours prior, unable to sleep as the sound of horses whinnying kept her up most of the night after the tense events of the night’s feast; but Benjicot…he found sleep like it did not require even an ounce of thought, and kept it like a child did their childhood toys, unmoving and dreaming even after sleep had long-since abandoned her. She found peace and enjoyment in just watching him, however, unable to hold a grudge for the lack of sleep she had achieved — it seemed the only comforting thing in the night.

Once again, she had been haunted by dreams of her mother, longing for her to be present and guide her through what marriage had in store for her, and offering her wisdom on the quarrels of men that lingered; tense in the air even after the group had dispersed, Emrys skulking off with Henry in tow, pleading for him to come back -- she had seen the glare on Kermit’s face, rolling his eyes as he brushed past her and muttered a comment of, “Do you still defend him?”

The feast was tense and uncomfortable, catching pitiful stares as she wandered around the room, a hushed whisper following her with every step — even as the aftershocks of the confrontation had subsided, she was still followed by the reminder that they had yet to forgive the claims against her husband’s role in the death of Rodrik Bracken and his temper that never seemed to know peace; constantly simmering beneath the surface. A trait that was not comforting, to say the least, while his father was away on the frontlines of a battle, causing tension that was only further exasperated by the war for the Iron Throne. A boy who was also yet to be forgiven for the possibility that he — a nobleman who was to be lord of Raventree — fathered a bastard before he’d even had a chance to break free from the confines of their doubts. She’d heard a whisper the night prior, muttering about the disgrace their union brought, averting eyes of Lord Robbard as he watched her move past him and towards the doors where Benjicot never seemed to leave. She had heard the reply that Benjicot had been only a boy who followed the path of his grandfather before him, having an uncle who was a bastard too. She was miserable that her wedding had been dampened by the clouds that lingered over the room of men and women who seemed to sober up following the news of Samwell’s whereabouts.

Benjicot was silent after that, tense with his jaw clenched as he hung near the wall; she was unable to find it in herself to even fight to convince him otherwise, as she was drained and exhausted after the long day it had turned out to be — she always knew that her wedding would be a long, exhausting feat but she had never considered the amount of fighting that had entailed, her joints sore from holding all that tension inside of her for hours on end. Willem continued to circle the room, and every so often, she felt his eyes on them; fixedly watching Benjicot in particular who deliberately made it his night’s mission to avoid his uncle’s eyes as he visibly swallowed and kept that same blank, emotionless look for the remainder of the evening and stared off out the windows. He hardly argued when she insisted they retire for the night, only giving her a quiet grunt as she took his hand, met by her father’s announcement as he and their guests bid them a final congratulations as a series of blessings was offered -- Serra had never felt so many hands on her shoulders as they exited the hall and ascended the stairs back towards their shared room where they had only left some short time earlier.

She had practically collapsed into bed the minute they closed the doors, his heavy footsteps behind her and lingering by the door. It was only then did she witness that tension melt away, his expression softening as he touched her face, allowing her to help him strip down to his underclothes and ready himself for bed; his eyes watching her every move as he sat at the foot of their bed, whilst she rushed around the room, taking a cloth to his face and wiping the sweat from his brow. It then, too, had been by her lead as she brought his hands back on her body, eager to feel his skin on hers once more.

The only singular thought that had not been consumed by the memory of his distraught eyes at the news regarding his father and the dreams of her mother was the embarrassment she felt when she had woken; her body sore from the remembrance of him between her thighs, her body moulded to fit his perfectly as the soft sighs of pleasure echoed throughout the room and down the halls well into the night — the perfect distraction from the feast’s events and the growing remorse in her chest and resentment that gnawed that her. She envied her lord husband who was oblivious to knowing such shame, as he laid against her, an arm finding itself around her in his sleep and clinging to her.

Her thoughts were disturbed by the low groan that rumbled from his chest, the sound vibrating against her collarbone as her fingers carded through the roots of his hair, “How long have you been awake?” He grumbled.

“Not too long,” She lied, her thumb brushing his forehead.

His head lifted, turning to look up at her through squinted, tired eyes that were only half-open, “You’re a terrible liar, wife,” He softly teased, voice thick with exhaustion and gruff as he spoke, “Did you sleep at all?”

She knew there was no sense in trying to lie again — he had seen right through her and hadn’t even hesitated to call her bluff as he slowly moved to sit up on an elbow that was planted against the mattress by her waist, “I did— only a few hours,” Serra confessed.

He hummed, visibly discomforted by the fact as his hand stretched up to brush along her arm, “What kept you awake?”

The urge to lie once again arose, heavy in her chest with a relentless sense of anxiety as she contemplated her answer, “It’s just not been easy to find sleep lately,” she admitted, his chin propped against her chest as he looked up at her, “Do you think…your parents cared for each other?” She asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing as she slowly enunciated each word.

His mouth twitched, a frown etching itself into her brows — she had to fight back the urge to massage the lines from his forehead with her thumb and smooth it away, “In what way?”

She felt it seemed a straightforward question, “As husband and wife, did you ever think they cared for each other?”

Benjicot’s mouth opened, letting out a sigh after he hesitated for words, “I suppose in some ways they did, yes,” he answered, his hand lifting from her arm to brush back the hair from her face as a strand had fallen into her eyes, “why do you ask?”

“I have been thinking about my mother lately,” she admitted, pausing — his features softened at the words, “I realise we have never talked much about yours. I remember your father as a child and what he was like, but I’ve come to the conclusion I don’t remember your mother. I don’t remember what it was like to see them together.”

“They never spent much time together,” he quickly pointed out.

Her eyebrows furrowed, “didn’t they?”

“They hadn’t since I was young,” he said, “not since I was seven.”

“How do you know they cared for each other then?”

He moved to prop himself up on his elbow, the joint pressed above her hip as his head rested against his palm, “I’m not sure, a feeling I’ve had I suppose,” Benjicot explained, “She pulled away after my brother died in the cradle, my father tried hard to pull her out of her grief…but I think it was too much for her. I remember she felt…things much greater than anyone could ever understand, he used to get angry with me because he said I took after her as a boy in that way, and boys were not supposed to be so soft. He sat by her door for weeks though, despite that he couldn’t understand.”

Her hand rested on his shoulder, fingers brushing over the bare skin as he spoke, “When we lost her, he sat there for days. He wouldn’t let them touch her belongings or take anything away— still to this day, he hasn’t let them touch her room,” he rambled, “I think the only time I ever saw her relax or snap out of it was whenever he came by to visit. They didn’t do much talking, I think they were just content being near each other some days…I was angry with her for a long time, for pulling away and never quite being like your mother— yours loved you so openly, I remember she was willing to fight so fiercely for her children if she’d had to, all to protect you.”

“And now?”

He inhaled sharply, sighing, “I’ve forgiven her, I think. She did as best she could manage,” he said, his shoulder shrugging, “You remind me of her in some ways. From what I remember her for at least, which scares me at times.”

“What do you mean?” She asked.

“Your ability to feel things much greater than the rest. You are nurturing and kind,” He said, his head turning to allow his mouth to press a kiss to her shoulder, “your ability to be kind to a man like me.”

She reached out, her hand tracing the outline of his face, fingers brushing his hair from his brow for a moment and delicately exploring the shape of his high cheekbones; her thumb skimmed over the skin, a shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “It’s not always as hard as you think.”

Benjicot snorted, “Always?”

“Some days you’re insufferable,” She replied, her hand dropping to grab his shoulder and encouraging him up to her face. The sheets rustled with the move, his chest landing over hers and his face coming to hers with a grin. Her hand found the planes of his back, wrapping underneath his arm and coming around his shoulder as her thighs dropped to accommodate his waist, welcoming him with open arms.

Serra’s fingers continued to trace Benjicot’s jaw, her touch light yet purposeful. She watched him closely, sensing the weight of his memories and his carefully chosen words. There was a softness in his gaze, one that surprised her, as if he had unlocked a piece of himself that he rarely let surface — a glimmer of who he once was as a boy.

“Does it scare you?” Serra asked, her voice barely above a whisper, “That I remind you of her?”

Benjicot’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as though her question had struck a chord. “Sometimes,” he admitted, the honesty in his tone sending a shiver through her. “Because I watched her break. And I know… I wouldn’t know what to do if you ever felt that way.”

Serra’s brow furrowed as she absorbed his words, her heart aching for the boy he must have been—watching his mother disappear into grief. “I’m not your mother, Benjicot,” she said softly, brushing her lips against his temple. “I won’t leave you to bear the weight alone.”

His arms tightened around her as though he feared she might slip away at that very moment. “It’s not easy,” he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “Sometimes I fear I don’t know how to… be the kind of husband you deserve.”

Serra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, pressing her forehead against his. “You’re already more than enough,” she murmured, her thumb stroking along his cheek. “You listen. You care. That’s more than many could say about their husbands.”

Benjicot’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but the shadow of doubt still lingered in his eyes. “Do you think we’ll be different?” he asked, the question heavy with uncertainty. “From my parents?”

Serra tilted her head, considering his words carefully. “I think we already are,” she answered, her fingers running through his hair as she spoke. “We’re talking, aren’t we? We’re here, trying to understand one another, and that’s more than some ever do.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his forehead pressing against hers. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, though his tone held a quiet hope as if he wasn’t quite ready to believe it yet.

Serra’s hand found its way to his back, drawing gentle circles against his skin. “We don’t have to be perfect,” she said, her voice steady and reassuring. “We just have to try.”

Benjicot’s smile widened, his gaze softening as he looked down at her. “I’m lucky,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “to have you.”

Serra’s lips curved into a playful smile as she tugged him closer. “I suppose I’m lucky too.”

He laughed, the tension between them dissolving as he leaned in to capture her lips in a slow, tender kiss. The sheets rustled again as he shifted, his weight pressing her further into the bed, and for a moment, the world outside of them disappeared. Serra’s heart swelled as she felt the warmth of his skin against hers, her breath hitching as she then felt his right hand creep up along the length of her leg, his knuckles pressed to the inside of her knee and gliding up until he reached the apex of her thigh and stopping to rest there — the breath she took was shaky, her lips parting and finding the nape of his neck as he craned up and into her; his chest pressed against hers, “Ben…” She quietly muttered against his lips.

“I could stay here all day…” he replied, his free hand lifting to cradle her face against his palm, his other finally moving over her mound; his fingers dipping into her with an eagerness that shared a likeness to a bear drawn to honey that drew a soft gasp from her mouth, “just…like…this.”

Her head leaned back, pressing into the pillow behind her as his fingers sank into her, pressing up into her walls with slow meticulous in-and-out movements that orchestrated a slew of soft moans with such ease — Benjicot leaned forward, pulling the sheet down and away from her body until she was bare to him and him alone. His lips found the curve of her breast, pressing a soft kiss to the skin before lowering his head; ducking to bring his mouth over her nipple, his teeth dragging along the sensitive peak. Her chest instinctively pressed up into his kiss, mouth falling open with a low whine as she found hold by his hair, “Oh good Gods…” she cried out.

Her walls clenched around his fingers, warm and wet as her womb welcomed him, “We needn’t see anyone today,” he muttered, shifting down her body enough that his lips brushed her ribs. He once again yanked the sheet away from their bodies, further bunched low around his hips and leaving her exposed to the cool Spring air that trickled in through the windows that were left open. He spoke in between kisses to her belly, “could stay here in bed…performing our duty. Creating a babe to rule Raventree.”

“We…have other duties to attend to, m’lord,” She panted, a hand again finding the crown of his head and fisting the locks of hair between her fingers.

Benjicot’s mouth found her hip, using his shoulders to force her thighs apart for him as his hand continued its slow ministrations, “Oh, so formal,” he teased, “those duties will still be there later, the council can spare us a moment more.” His words were muffled by flesh, his voice a low timbre that sent a shiver up her spine as he looked up through thick, dark lashes.

“But breakfast…” she gasped, his fingers curling up into her, “the gift ceremony— you have meetings and…and— dear gods.”

“Sh, my love,” He said as his mouth turned up into a grin. He pressed a final kiss to her pelvis, his mouth then finally closing around her clit and lapping at her with such fervour she felt as though she was burning from within, pleasure surging through her veins; she felt her breath catch in her throat, letting out a high-pitched moan. She was quickly overwhelmed by her peak, her skin ablaze and clutching to the roots of his hair like life alone depended on it, her hips desperately grinding into his face as he coaxed her through it. Her body tensed above him, a tremor settling into every bone as her head pressed as far back as the mattress would allow clenching her thighs around his head.

“Ben,” she finally whined aloud.

—

Benjicot was never quite fond of the idea of marriage — he always imagined that when the day came that he did marry, he would be miserable and only do it solely for the sake of duty. He’d pictured it would be some round faced Perryn girl that he had never paid any mind to, avoiding her gaze during their wedding and throughout the feast, disgusted as he’d bedded her — he had long since settled that he probably would only bed her once or twice a month and hope for the best. Hope that she would be with child quickly as to not have to bear another moon of the tiring routine; hopeful that the old gods would spare him the mercy of a wife who was slow to come with child and put him through that experience time and time again — if the prospect of marriage and his wife-to-be was not going to be by his choice, he at least hoped they would spare him that at least. He’d experienced that once before when his older cousin had dragged him to a pleasure house in the Street of Silk as a boy of ten-and-six, citing that he’d come of age and as a man grown, there came a certain appetite for women — he’d been plunged into the room of a woman who feigned arousal and had done her best to put on a show for him, exaggerated moans and just too much touching him. He had been grateful for the entire experience to be done with, awkwardly dismissing her after he struggled to…be present and perform. There had been no missing Kermit’s snort when he compared her to having horse-like features, eager to return to Raventree and scrub himself raw. He swore he would never step foot in that place again after that.

He’d always pictured a version of marriage that was cold and distant, not something that was born out of love but rather obligation — and yet, surprisingly, he felt lighter that morning. He did not feel shame embracing the touch of his wife, and he didn’t feel the urge to avoid her eyes and feign love for her out of said obligation — it had taken every ounce of willpower to tear himself from their chambers that morning; wanting nothing more than to delay his other duties for another day. He felt at ease with her, and like maybe he could be absolved of any sins he wore like marred scars on his skin; she was a breath of fresh air that Benjicot had not known in a long time, especially in his home.

He had only left after another hour at her insistence, her handmaiden waiting outside the door to enter and draw her a bath, ready to start anew as the morrow stretched into midday. She had practically dragged him out of bed, her robe scarcely clinging her her shoulders as he protested, her face flushed and having to flick back the hair from her eyes as she bid him a final goodbye for the time being with a kiss to his cheek, insisting he go bathe as well, “I will see you tonight.”

It was a relief to hear, something to look forward to. He would see her tonight and she would only be on the other side of the hall, just at an arm's length where he could find her at any moment should he need to — he had sighed and agreed, cupping her face to give her one last kiss before he retreated towards his private rooms. He would die before he admitted that she was right in saying that a bath and some supper would do him wonders — he felt better prepared to face the council that afternoon, at ease as he took the head of the table, all eyes on him the minute he had stepped into the room.

If anything, Benjicot radiated a newfound confidence as he sat down, slowly addressing each member who took a seat after him.

After the pleasantries and greetings, some further congratulations on his marriage, the meeting had been tense and brief, “Have we heard anything from the Red Fork this morning?” Benjicot asked.

There was a pensive silence, Benjicot’s uncle Willem speaking up when the silence stretched too long, “No, we’ve yet to hear anything from your father or Alysanne. They arrived before midnight, according to a messenger.”

Benjicot nodded, though his thoughts momentarily drifted back to the morning he'd shared with his wife. Her warmth lingered with him, even now, as he returned to the pressing matters at hand. The mention of his father and sister, absent from Raventree, only sharpened his focus. His duties as lord could not be delayed any longer, even if the idea of returning to her chambers tempted him far more than facing another day of conflict.

“They’ll send word soon,” Willem continued, noticing Benjicot’s silence. “I trust your father will have it handled.”

Benjicot nodded, though he wasn’t entirely convinced. The tension near the Red Fork had been escalating, and while his father was a seasoned hand at dealing with disputes, there was a sense that this time things might go too far. The Brackens were a thorn in their side, and with every passing day, it seemed more likely that words alone would not suffice to settle the rising disputes.

“We need to be ready,” Benjicot said, his voice steady as he addressed the rest of the council. “If we hear nothing by dusk, I’ll ride out myself.”

His uncle frowned but did not object, biting his tongue with a tense nod that was short and curt. Benjicot’s newfound confidence, paired with his sense of responsibility, was undeniable. It was clear he was no longer the young boy who had once sought to avoid such burdens. Something had changed, and the men around him could see it.

The meeting had spiralled into further updates from the west, an empty him of sound that Benjicot had only half-listened to as he absentmindedly found himself twirling his dagger; his fingers tracing over the intricate digit and blade as he nodded, offering very little to the conversation — there did not feel as though there was much to say. He had grown weary of the dry talk that was often followed by long silences, pausing and exchanging looks with the few lords who surrounded the table, growing restless quickly and dismissing them until the morning after three gruelling hours of staring back at their uncertain expressions.

He sheathed his blade as he stood, ensuring it was secure there as the room emptied — amidst the tense silence that followed the men out of the room, he had found the back of Kermit’s head, slotted between Oscar and Elmo as they trickled out behind the crowd; as angry as he was still, he could not find it in himself to hold that resentment against the boy he’d long since considered a brother.

—

“Do you mind if I join?” He asked, watching as Kermit tensed, freezing mid-swing on the training dummy in front of him.

The sword dropped, and turning to look back at him — he could see his shoulder slump, his jaw clenching as he fully turned to face him from his place in the centre of the training circle, “If that is what you wish, my lord.” He stiffly replied.

Benjicot nodded, blinking rapidly and approaching him, his sword held underneath his arm as he made work of shrugging off his cloak and dropping it into the grass at the edge of the dirt circle. He unsheathed his sword, “I take it you knew of my father’s intentions?”

“I can’t say I didn’t,” He curtly replied.

He slowly approached him again, Kermit’s body still radiating his annoyance as he stepped back, lifting his weapon again, “And you did not think to warn me?”

“It was not my place to, My Lord,” he said through gritted teeth. Silence befell them again.

“You’re still angry with me,” Benjicot said, his gaze going towards Kermit’s feet as circled him, averting his eyes away towards the treeline. He heard as he sighed, his sword dragging across the dirt for a moment.

“You’re not particularly the face I’d wish to see right now,” He admitted.

“Would you rather it be Serra’s?”

Kermit snorted and rolled his eyes, stopping on his right and looking down at the weapon in his hand, “No, she wouldn’t even step within this circle anyways. You know that.”

They quieted, the air filled with the soft sound of birds as dusk slowly approached.

“You know, I never really thought about it— how hard it would be to look you in the eye afterwards,” Kermit started to complain, squinting as the sun struck his eyes. His friend panted, shifting his stance and shuffling back a few steps, an inquisitive look on his face as he adjusted his grip around the hilt of his sword, “knowing you’ve bedded my sister and all. Bit weird, innit?” He finally explained, visibly uncomfortable, trying to make conversation the longer they paced in circles.

Kermit’s sword suddenly lunged forward, swinging towards Benjicot; quickly deflecting it with a clash and releasing a breathless laugh, “Surely you had to have considered it, it’s part of the martial duty,” He huffed. Kermit swung again, their blades meeting halfway and straining as he attempted to overpower his, “marriages and the marital act, it brings children -- heirs. You’re familiar with the marital act, aren’t you, Kermit?” He taunted, shoving his sword and him back suddenly.

He stumbled back a step, sword by his side as he heavily breathed, eyeing him, “I’m familiar with it. I considered that there might be heirs, that was partly the intention,” He said, voice laced with disgust, “but the thought of you—” he said, lunging at him again, his sword being swatted away by skilful hands, “—and my sister makes me sick.”

Benjicot twirled the weapon, swinging it at his side, a wild grin on his face, “Would you rather I bed you instead?” He goaded, taking a few slow steps to his right. “Though I’m sure your father might have some reservations about the idea.”

Kermit scoffed in disgust, letting out a sudden yelp when his friend lunged forward; quickly reacting in time to deflect his blade, his hands coming up to his shoulders to shove him back a step, “You’re fucking vile, you know that?” Kermit said, a laugh slipping from him as he caught himself from tumbling backwards.

“Oh come now, I only jest,” Benjicot said, stepping back to bounce on his toes as his eyes followed the Tully heir’s movements, “but don’t worry, I plan to make you a proud uncle sooner than not.”

Kermit charged forward, blade swinging up and just missing his chin, twisting his arm and bringing it down quickly -- the movement stunned Benjicot, tripping backwards over his foot and scarcely catching himself with a flail of his arms. He took the opportunity presented in front of him, kicking his foot to slide back and bringing the sword tip to his throat, just touching as his partner stared at him with a wide-eyed stare; mouth opening. Benjicot stuttered for a moment before he grinned, tongue pressing to the corner of his mouth as he panted for air, his chest heaving, “Is this what you have come for? To brag to me about bedding my sister?” Kermit asked between breaths, “Because for once, I find myself rather disinterested in the details of the women you bed.”

He dropped the sword suddenly, stepping back a few steps and allowing him to compose himself again as Benjicot wiped his blade against the fabric of his tunic, his arm holding it against his side with the move, “You owe me.”

His head lifted, confused as Kermit stared at him expectantly, “What?”

“You owe me,” Kermit repeated. His words suddenly clicked in, his mouth opening but shutting and deciding on silence, “As boys, if one bested the other, the winner was owed a favour— I need a favour of you.”

Benjicot eyed him, already suspecting the direction the conversation was going as he sheathed his sword against his side and nodded, “Alright. I’ll bait,” He said, “What is your favour?”

“The truth,” Kermit replied.

The training yards were silent as the two men stared at one another, Benjicot’s heart racing as he blinked a couple of times before he nodded again in response to his request, “I noticed, you know…” Kermit began to state, tone hinting he had yet to get to his question and would drag things out to make a point first — Benjicot had become familiar with the routine when he was procrastinating getting to the point.

He sighed, “Noticed what?”

He glanced down at his feet as his sword was dragged through the dirt, disturbing the rocks as it was moved with a grinding sound as the dirt was overturned, “You left every time we went on hunts,” He admitted, “I never thought anything of it at the time, I just assumed you were being stubborn and went hunting on your own after the rest had retired for the night. I noticed how close you always insisted on hunting towards the Brackens.”

Benjicot clenched his jaw, swallowing, “What is your question, Kermit?”

He looked up at him, blue eyes fixed on him as though he was trying to see right through him and dig out every secret Benjicot held in his body, “I know maybe you will never admit it out loud, I know you will never claim the babe as your own,” He said, his voice low, “but did you ever think to come to me about it? Ask me for help with your…predicament?”

“What help might you have offered?” He quickly replied.

His weight shifted from one foot to the other, “I’m not sure, I suppose— I could have helped you over the boundaries, pushed Amos and my father to agree to a union between the two of you, let you live the life you chose…” he explained. “I wouldn’t have pushed for Serra to marry so soon and could have allowed for you both to choose for love, rather than obligation.”

A pang of guilt washed over Benjicot at the thought of what could have been had things been different, picturing the face of the Bracken girl at the weirwood with him instead of Serra — to have even the inkling of yearning for a girl that was not his wife, a woman who had done nothing to wrong him and had been nothing but kind and sweet even when he did not make it an easy task. He felt guilt for picturing another woman when he could still feel her — his good and sweet wife — on his skin, taste her on his lips, her soft voice still clear as day in his ears as he looked away for a moment and looked up over the walls that enclosed Raventree, “You to wed Myrna, and Serra to Aeron—Rodrik alive, and you and I still like brothers. Maybe I could have prevented this whole mess had things worked out differently.”

He breathed a laugh, “I don’t think that would have done anything for the war.”

“No, but maybe it could have saved our houses all the unnecessary grief,” Kermit reasoned. “Did you ever think about it?”

His head tilted, thumb stretching to twirl a gold band around his fourth finger on his left hand that symbolized his marital bond to the very woman whose brother stood before him, “What?”

“Running away to be with her instead.”

He hesitated, “Once, yeah.”

It was not a confession he was proud of, but there had been a moment that last night that he considered what would have happened if he had not returned to Raventree the next day — if he had taken what little belongings he had on him and disappeared in the night with her, never to return or be heard of again. He wondered how angry his father would have been upon hearing the news — wondered how much of a head start they would have gotten before his father sent men searching for him, how long it would take before he gave up and accepted that Benjicot would never return. Would he discover the true reasoning behind his disappearance? Or would he assume he died somewhere in the woods? Would he hold a funeral in his name, without a body? He had almost found the courage that night to ask her to leave with him, but he knew despite her frustration towards her house and her father’s antics, she was forever loyal to her house and would never agree if she was to still possess any ounce of sanity and therefore, the idea of even suggesting it seemed risky. He cowered away that night.

“Would you still have her if you were given the chance?” Kermit suddenly asked.

Benjicot spluttered a laugh in his disbelief, “You’re not seriously asking me this…” He said, finding his friend’s unwavering expression — his smile dropped, “now of all times. Why are you asking me this?”

Kermit hesitated, the stoic expression breaking with a sigh as he looked up towards the sky where the sun shone bright with midday, “Because I’d like to offer you a favour in return.”

“And what, pray tell, might that be?” He asked, stepping towards him.

Kermit’s eyes followed him, hands tight around the hilt of his sword — he could have killed him, right then and there and not given it a single thought, he could do it — he cleared his throat, “I will give you the chance to leave,” he finally responded, the air around them thick with tension, “to be with your true love and to raise your child away from the confines of politics as you see fit, I will help you out of the gates and to Essos with enough supplies to last you long enough to get settled…”

“Kermit, you can’t be serious.”

“—Just leave my sister out of it, I ask that you not speak a word of this to her. She can’t know,” he continued to speak.

“What are you talking about?” Benjicot asked.

“I can send you a small allowance for the first year, to help with the child but after that, you are on your own,” Kermit finally said, out of breath as though he’d yet to take a breath, his eyes searching his face, “should that be what you want, but that is all I can do for you. That seems like a generous offer.”

Benjicot barked a bitter laugh, beginning to move again as he had grown restless with nerves the longer the conversation had continued — the longer he stood in place, the closer he came to losing his mind and lunging at him, his hand reaching towards the hilt of his sword again and drawing it suddenly, “Don’t be fucking mad, Kermit,” he spat, the taste of bile rising the back of his throat and threatening to coat the ground beneath him as he used his sleeve to wipe his brow, “You would ask me to abandon your sister because of some petty vendetta against me? Do you hate me that much?” He asked, his voice laced with hurt by the suggestion.

All those years of friendship, all those years of being playmates as boys felt like another lifetime as Kermit’s blank expression faced him, “I only mean to protect my sister.” He quietly explained.

“And if your sister is with child?” He asked, voice low as he rushed forward to him until they were practically nose-to-nose and heavy breathing with anger. There was no restraining himself — just as it had some days prior and landed them in this exact position; his temper flared, in his face and clutching his sword as Kermit only blinked, “You would have me abandon my flesh and blood, my house?”

“It would not be the first time,” Kermit calmly replied, though he caught the edge in his tone, “you forget, there are remedies for…undesirable pregnancies—”

Benjicot suddenly brought the weapon up, pressing it to his throat until it just bit into his skin, threatening to ooze blood while he forced his friend back a step, his teeth bared into a snarl as Kermit flinched, “You would do best to mind your fucking tongue!” He growled.

“I only act in the best interest of Serra and her future,” He replied, holding his stare and swallowing thickly; a trickle of sweat rolling down his left temple.

“By implying you’d have her kill my child?” He spat, the blade pressing further into his skin, “I could kill you, you know that? I could kill you right now—

“Benjicot.”

Alysanne’s voice was sharp and stunned as his head whipped around to look over his shoulder where she stood at the entrance to the training grounds, equally surprised to find her watching him with eyes that screamed horror — a look that was so foreign to her, he felt the urge to shrink away and hide in shame, faltering in his hold of the blade as he stuttered for a moment. She was dirtied from head-to-toe, still in riding gear that was marred by blood and dirt, the fabric of her pants torn at her right knee as she held her gloves by her side — her expression a haunted one as she stared in silence, “What are you two doing?”

Benjicot dropped his hand, carefully lowering the weapon and stepping away from his companion who quickly fixed the collar of his tunic by smoothing it out, “I…”

“We were just training,” Kermit quickly answered for them both, “we just got a bit carried away.”

His gaze anxiously looked over his shoulder to where Kermit stood, wiping his neck with the sleeve of his doublet, catching his eye for a moment, “Benjicot should also know better than to get carried away,” Alysanne said, a hint of warning to her words as she eyed her nephew. “Especially now of all times.”

The two men seemed to share a thought, moving in unison to bow their heads to her, “I did not realize you had returned, Aunt Alysanne.”

She scoffed a laugh, stepping down from the steps to approach the circle as she slapped her gloves against her leg; a slew of dust flying up from their fabric, “No, I suppose you were distracted, weren’t you?” She scolded. Her eyes turned to Kermit, observing the wound at his throat that still oozed, “Go to Maester Edric and have that seen to.”

Kermit stammered, “Oh…it’s nothing, it will be fine.”

“It was not a suggestion, Kermit,” She stated, looking again at her nephew who lowered his eyes, “I must speak with my nephew.”

“I…” Kermit began to say, stopping abruptly when Alysanne’s eyes drifted to him again. He bowed his head and cleared his throat, “Of course, my lady.”

The two kin were silent as Kermit uttered a quiet bid goodbye, brushing past them and heading back inside, dark eyes following his every step until he was out of sight — Benjicot could still feel his anger that simmered below the surface, right in his chest as he clenched his jaw and finally let out a scoff once he was out of earshot and looking up and away from his aunt who looked at him. How was he to face Serra later, knowing her brother had even suggested such a thing?

“Benjicot,” Alysanne said, drawing his attention to her.

Benjicot continued to avoid her gaze, grinding his teeth and clenching his sword, focused on slowing his heart that hammered against his ribs — he looked towards the trees, “Benjicot, look at me.”

He finally gave in, turning to Alysanne. "I need you here with me. I know whatever's happening with Kermit is important, but I need you to listen and be fully present with me," she said, her tone urgent as she nervously wrung her gloves in her hands, “are you here?”

He frowned, “Yes.”

She nodded, stepping closer and lowering her voice, “It may not be my place, but I must ask, how did the night go? Was it successful?”

“In what way?” He asked, letting out an uncomfortable laugh as she then reached out to grab his wrist, finding his hand with an incline of her head, “Nobody is dead, so I suppose it was…as best it could be. Though, you’d have known that had you had the decency to stay and witness it. Or at least forewarn me of your intentions.” He grumbled.

“Benjicot, please,” she sighed, her tone exasperated — she lifted her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. When they opened, he felt there was a shift to her stare, tense and anxiety-ridden as she squeezed his hand, “The marriage— has it been consummated?” She boldly questioned.

His nose crinkled in displeasure, “Yes.”

“Successfully?”

“Successfully?” He echoed.

“Is Serra with child? Is there to be a new heir?” She asked, words coming quickly as she grew increasingly agitated. He had to bite back the urge to splutter a laugh, freezing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, becoming visibly unsettled by her words.

“It’s…too early to confirm, but I’m confident in the likelihood there will be a new babe by the end of the year,” he slowly replied, “Why? Alysanne, what’s happened?”

She visibly hesitated, glancing towards the house as she sought the words — Benjicot could feel the air around them shift into something tense and uneasy as she sucked in a breath and sighed, looking down as she took his other hand in hers, “I feel it necessary to tell you myself, now before anyone else has the chance to get to you, it has to come from me,” she quietly said.

“Alysanne, what is going on?” He asked, his panic rising.

“It’s your father,” She said suddenly.

He felt the colour drain from his face as he stilled, staring at her with a blank expression, awaiting her next words, “Your father has been killed at the Battle of Burning Mill.”

Benjicot's world seemed to tilt. The silence that followed was suffocating. His heart pounded in his ears, yet his body felt numb, and disconnected. "No," he whispered, his mind rejecting the reality she had just spoken.

Tears welled up in Alysanne’s eyes as she watched him, her heart aching for him, knowing there were no words to ease the blow. “I’m so sorry, Ben,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He shook his head, stepping back, pulling his hand from hers. His thoughts spiralled—his father was gone. He’d never see him again, never hear his voice. It was too much. The pain surged in his chest, overwhelming and raw, “How?” He asked.

“Benjicot—

“How?” He snapped, his voice shaking with anger.

“Amos Bracken,” She finally replied after a brief pause, “who was also slain in battle by my own hand.” She added.

Benjicot swallowed thickly, nodding — he was not sure where to go and what to say, settling on shoving past her to collect his cloak from the ground despite her call of his name. He wanted to shrivel up and hide, like a child scared of thunder, but he knew there would be no hiding — it was only a matter of time before everyone was aware. He wanted a chance to change, wipe his face and find his wife — god, his wife — the only source of light despite the chaos. He clenched his jaw as he stalked through the hallways and towards his room, his gaze straight ahead as he attempted to brush past the great hall before anyone noticed his arrival, his nose being wiped off on the sleeve of his doublet.

It was there his gaze settled on the familiar back of his wife who was in conversation with her father, a hand of hers in his much like Alysanne had done to him just moments prior — the image made him want to be sick as he halted abruptly. She turned to look over her shoulder as he approached, following where her father’s gaze had shifted to focus on him, a pitiful expression on his face as he released her hand — Serra’s expression softened as she found his eyes, her mouth opening but being interrupted.

“Lord Benjicot,” Lord Perryn suddenly announced.

Benjicot fought the urge to growl in annoyance, flinching at the greeting and freezing. He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment to collect his thoughts and ground himself before he uttered something stupid, “It is with great sympathies…to hear of your father’s passing,” Lord Perryn stated.

His eyes opened, watching as Serra approached him and found rest against his side, his arm wrapping around her shoulders and shakily exhaling through his nose, “Thank you, Lord Perryn.” He grumbled.

“I would like to be among the first to once again declare my loyalties to your house, and in support of your claim to Raventree,” he said, slowly bowing his head, “House Perryn recognizes you as the true heir, despite our quarrels in the past. We would like to remind you that should you need anything, we will be among those willing to aid you in whatever way we can.”

“Aye,” Robbard Mooton reluctantly said after a brief pause, “House Mooton as well.”

Benjicot barely registered Lord Perryn's words. The weight of the day—his father's death, the responsibility of Raventree, and now the unexpected pledges of support—crashed down on him. He nodded numbly, tightening his grip on Serra as if she were the only anchor keeping him grounded.

"Your loyalty is appreciated," Benjicot muttered, his voice hoarse, struggling to find the right words. "I will remember this."

Serra pressed her cheek against his shoulder, her hand slipping into his as if sensing his turmoil. The warmth of her touch steadied him, though the storm within raged on. He could feel eyes on him—Perryn, Mooton, all the gathered lords—waiting for him to speak, to take command of his father’s legacy. But all he wanted was to escape this suffocating air, to retreat from the weight of expectation that seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.

Instead, he straightened, meeting Lord Perryn’s gaze with as much composure as he could muster. "You honour my father’s memory with your words. Raventree thanks you, and I will ensure your loyalty is not forgotten."

Lord Perryn bowed his head once more, satisfied, though Benjicot could feel the subtle pressure behind the man’s gaze—there would be expectations now, alliances to be honoured, promises to be kept. Robbard Mooton gave a stiff nod, his reluctance still evident, but even he couldn't ignore the power shift.

The murmur of voices behind them began to swell, the lords discussing the future of the Blackwoods, already talking strategy and alliances. It felt like a faraway hum in Benjicot’s ears.

Serra pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his, “Ben,” she whispered, "we don’t have to stay here." Her voice, tender and filled with concern, was a balm to the overwhelming weight pressing on him. "We can go… take a moment."

He looked down at her, the soft kindness in her eyes soothing the jagged edge of his grief. For the first time since he’d heard the news, Benjicot felt something other than rage or sorrow. It was a quiet longing for a reprieve, even if just for a moment.

With a short nod, he turned toward the gathered lords. "If you'll excuse us," he said, his voice carrying a finality that left no room for objection.

Without waiting for a response, he gently guided Serra away, her presence beside him the only comfort in the chaos that had swallowed his world. As they moved further from the crowd, the voices behind them faded into the background, and Benjicot let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

They reached the edge of the courtyard, the cool evening air brushing against his skin, and Benjicot finally stopped. Serra turned to face him fully, her hand slipping into his again.

“I’m here,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, but in that moment, it was all he needed.

He closed his eyes and let the grief finally settle. His father was gone, and the weight of his house now rested on his shoulders, but for now—for just a moment—he allowed himself to feel the solace of her presence, the promise of tomorrow yet to come.

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