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leadyoutothelight · 5 days ago

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Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

This wasn’t supposed to be your place in life, you were the second daughter, a spare given to the temple of Minerva to serve as one of the many temple maidens. But when your father comes to you, telling you of your sister’s sudden passing, suddenly you’re thrust into a new role. Expected to fill her place in a political marriage to the famed General Marcus Acacius Rome’s beloved war dog.

Rating: Explicit +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Dubious Consent/Coerced Consent, Age Gap (no specified ages), Virginity Loss *discomfort mentioned, no blood* , Implied physical abuse from a parent, Patriarchal world and expectations of women, Grinding, Unprotected p in v sex, reader is a virgin, first time sex *please let me know if I miss anything*

Word Count: 8k

Author Note: Hello, first time writing for a Pedro Pascal character, but finally saw Gladiator II and I couldn't resist writing this! Please note, there is very little research into Rome actually done, I'm not writing this based on historical accuracy, just had an idea and wanted to write it. The title is based off a common Roman wedding vow meaning, Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.

Please let me know what you think!

Your sister is dead, you shall be the one to marry General Acacius.

It had been the most your father had ever spoken to you in your entire life, the most he’d even looked at you.

Being born the second daughter of a noble family is about as important as a new pair of sandals. Especially when you were the last born of five, and three of the five being boys. Your father was more than happy to direct his attention to his sons and his wars. Your sister and yourself were content to live in the house learning from your mother, waiting for the day your father drafted a marriage contract and sent you to a new household.

Until it was decided that in a bid to gain the gods favor you were given to the temple of Minerva as a temple maiden, at ten you were bundled up with your few worldly items and left to the Priestess' devices.

It was a sudden and chaotic change. But after the first year you found, you didn’t mind this new living arrangement. Yes, you had chores now, and you needed to share things. But you grew to like your new home with other women and girls working in the temple. Learning the day-to-day needs, and expectations of your new home. You flourished, and your mother and sister visiting every now and again helped you settle as well.

The last time you’d seen your sister she’d been an excited mess talking the whole time of her engagement to General Acacius, that they’d be wed as soon as he’d returned home from another conquest.

“Just think sissy, me, a famed general’s wife!”

Her eyes glowed in the lamplight as she’d clutched your hands in hers. You’d given her a smile and a nod, as she went on and on. Whilst you’d thought to yourself that you’d be stuck cleaning the temple floors for the next week due to staying out longer than allowed.

“You’ll be there right?”

Her question pulls you out of your glum thoughts, and you give her a wide eye-scrunching smile. You don’t have the heart to disappoint, maybe with your father’s status you can ask for the time…

A pain twinges through you at the thought, the high priestess had been kind, giving you the time in exchange for you doing more chores when you returned.

But today, a day you expected your sister to visit, with her finished bridal veil in tow. You expected to ‘oh’ and ‘aw’ over her hard work, compliment her delicate needlework, ask her jokingly which parts your mother had helped with. To comfort her, she’d mentioned fainting spells had started since the date had been announced.

Maybe you’d even offer to bring her into the inner sanctum to ask the goddess to protect her, and her future husband. To give her calm in the coming ‘battle’ of marriage.

But now you sit across from your father. A beast of a man, skin tanned and leathered from the sun. Scars criss-cross along his arms, you resist the urge to glance at his left pinky. Where only a ghastly stump sits.

His voice brokers no argument, yet, you can’t stop yourself.

“What do you mean?”

He blinks, those dark eyes boring into you, and you see a flash of anger, mixed with surprise. Again, your existence has been a fleeting one in your father’s opinion. He was the one who sent you here…he was the one who gave you to the gods. He can’t just–take you back.

“I wasn’t aware you were an imbecile–”

“I’m not, but you cannot take me from the temple–from Minerva herself–”

“I have made the appropriate tithes and the priestess herself has granted your hand–”

“I am to serve the goddess, that is what you–”

“And now you shall serve the family!” It’s the way he stands, the clatter of the chair he once occupied. The roar of his voice, the one you know he uses to order his troops into battle with. You cower, well aware that this rage is one you don’t survive.

Tears brim over your lashes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from arguing further, here in the temple, you are free to share your opinions. Voice concerns, even vent frustrations, rare luxuries in this male dominated society. You’ve found you enjoy the thrill of conversing, and theology the other maidens and priestesses provide.

But now, that’s all being taken, when you’re so close to the priesthood. To take the sacred robes of Minerva, learn the sacred rights. Bless soldiers, generals, and emperors in their great conquests for the Roman Empire.

That was your purpose, your place in this world. Being born a woman was a curse in this empire, but here you were safe, here you could make a life.

“You shall be collected in the morning, the wedding will take place in a week's time.”

That tone again. One brokering no peace, no argument. The voice he commands thousands with, and you are one of them.

The next morning passes in a blur, your few things taken by slaves. You’re barely given enough time to hug the girls, and women you’ve come to see as your new family. Careful to hide your tears as the High Priestess stops you outside the temple doors.

“Go with Minerva’s blessing,” her voice is soft, though there is an edge to it. You don’t respond, for fear that you’ll fall to your knees and beg her to stop this. Claim Minerva’s hold over you, refuse your father’s demands.

But she won’t, your father is a powerful man, marrying you to another powerful man, and not even the goddess of war can prevent it.

You’re whisked away on a chariot handled by one of your father’s trusted soldiers. A clear warning to behave, the city passes by. A few of the bustling crowds pause to watch you entourage, but it’s fleeting, they return to their day-to-day lives as it's nothing new to see a noble pass in their gilded transports.

A blink and you’re home. The home you hadn’t seen in years, still a marbled behemoth, a villa of luxury befitting one of Rome’s finest generals. The sandstone pillars glow in the mid-afternoon sun. Banners the color of blood mark the door, along with coal black braziers that will be lit when the sun disappears behind the mountains.

Awaiting you is a group of slaves, heads bowed, they drop to kneel as you are escorted from the chariot and into the house.

It’s barely changed, since you last ran about the halls, as a wild precocious child. Tripping over your feet to follow your older brothers. The large atrium, with a lapis lazuli lined pool. Filled with various plants your father brought home to your mother. More braziers and torches line the halls.

Gold, and weapons decorate the walls, all of them spoils of war taken by your father. Silk curtains billow in the afternoon wind, and distantly you smell the incense your mother uses throughout the villa.

Your sister used to smell of it, well, the incense and rose water. A pang ricochets through your chest. Her voice doesn’t greet you, and you’ll never hear it again. Instead it’s the rush of silks, and the patter of feet, and your mother enters the atrium, in the warm glow of the sun she shines.

Dark hair in tight ringlets cascading down her back, her eyes shine with unshed tears. She stops seeing you in the entrance, then her arms spread wide, and like a child you rush into them.

She smells of her personal fragrance of jasmine, and cinnamon. The mixture your father had gifted her after a long campaign many years ago. She buries her nose into your hair, fingers threading through the tresses. She presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head.

“Mama,” you whimper into her bosom, and she shushes you. Pulling back, her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against the apples of your cheeks.

“Well, not the way I expected my beloved child to return to me but,” another kiss is pressed to your forehead. Her lips are soft and warm, tears well and threaten to spill a lump gathers in the back of your throat. “I am grateful to have some time with you again.”

For a moment, you’re grateful for the reprieve as well. But it’s short lived. She ushers you into the house, into her personal chambers. Where she sits you on the lounge, it’s darker here. Not as many windows, and most of them blocked by curtains.

The incense is thicker here, and you stifle a cough as you settle into the dimness with her.

“Oh my dear one, how I’ve missed you.” She smiles, and again her eyes take you in. Just as you do her, she’s aged in the years you’ve been gone. Where once was smooth skin, you see wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. The creases of her lips, a few grey hairs decorate her dark curls.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t under…better circumstances.” You mutter, fingers toying with the robes you had left in. They’re still the temple robes, a simple woven woolen tunic. Good for completing chores, and easy to move in.

Not like her opulent robes, her pure white muslin, with a deep blue dyed sash. A golden belt cinching in her waist. Her smile falters, a look of pain crosses her expression.

“Y–your sister fought hard against the sweating sickness,” her voice wavers, and tears spill over her lashes, smudging the kohl lining her eyes. “But, she has been given her last rights, and she rests now in Elysium.”

You nod, your chin quivers, as your own tears rain down from your eyes. Your mother tuts, and leans forward her hands warm and soft, unlike your now calloused fingers and palms.

“She would not want us to mourn–”

“But Mama, she wanted this,” you gesture to the room of grandeur around you. Feeling your mother’s gaze watching you as you struggle with your next words, “I was promised to Minerva–to the gods!”

You stand beginning to pace as you consider everything, and are finally able to do so.

“She should be here, I should be at the temple, learning the rites, blessing soldiers–”

“My darling you’re here now,” your mother’s voice is firm, a tone you recognize as her warning, and just like your father you know she’s not going to entertain you abandoning this marriage. “Come.”

She offers you a bedecked hand, rings, and bangles gleaming against her skin. All the finery a woman could want. Sullenly you take her hand as she pulls you beside her, her hands take yours in a solid grip.

“Your sister’s passing was a tragedy, but the gods have smiled upon us, in that Acacius is willing to continue the betrothal with you,” her voice is soft, you stare at your clasped hands. She’d done this before, when you’d first been promised to the Temple of Minerva.

How strange to be here again, a child begging her mother to see reason and send you back. She pulls your hands up to her lips, pressing a warm kiss to them, as more tears spill from your eyes. Rolling warm, and wet down your cheeks.

“I don’t want to marry him Mama,” a soft sob leaves you, and you bury your face into her shoulder, losing yourself in her smell once more, you forget how much you’ve missed her. Missed this, just being with her, but there’s a hollow feeling inside of you, your sister should be here, and that makes more tears form. Another tut and her arms wrap around you, a hand goes to your cheek, another to your back. “I was happy at the Temple.”

She hums low in her throat, the hand on your back rubbing soothing circles against your spine. She is warm, and solid, a soothing presence and she lets you weep. You don’t know how long you cry for but finally the hiccuping sobs ebb and you calm.

She pulls back her hands returning to your cheeks as she takes in your red eyes, and tear-streaked face.

“My love, I will say this to you, I understand more than you know,” she brushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, curling the wayward pieces behind your ear. “I know the fear of marrying a man, much less a military man.”

You sniffle as she gives you a weak smile. “I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.”

She pulls back, her hands resting on her lap, your tears have dried and you sigh, nodding, face downcast as you consider her words.

“I swear my love, I know your sister dreamed of love, and of a grand marriage, I assure you that General Acacius is a good man,” her fingers lift your chin and your eyes meet, she gives you a final wistful smile, “it may not be a marriage of love, but…maybe it can be a marriage of equals.”

The next week passes in a blur, and suddenly it’s the hour before your wedding. The final adjustments to your sister's dress are being made. You stand alone, a slave placing pins in the areas the garment might drag.

Silently staring at the reflection in the copper before you. You don’t recognize the girl in the reflection. Your hair has been styled in the traditional bridal braids. A golden hairnet pinned against your scalp, a few strands have managed to escape. Make up paints your skin, mica shimmers on your eyelids, kohl darkening your waterline.

The slave pauses in her adjustments, she glances up with a fearful look.

“M–my lady, I’ve run out of pins–”

A spark of your father’s rage courses through you, of course it doesn’t fit you it was meant for your sister.

“Go fetch some then!”

You don’t mean to snap but your nerves are shot as it is. She jumps and with a fearful bow leaves the room. Alone you slump, staring at yourself, unwilling to keep staring at the stranger before you. Your sister truly spared no detail, the embroidery along the edges is her finest work. With golden thread painstakingly sewn into the edges, when it catches the light it almost seems to glow like fire. The main shawl dyed a deep burgundy, is decorated with words of protection, along with her favorite flowers, pale lilies blooming along the skirt.

I want him to think me a goddess made flesh.

You hear her in the back of your mind, and wonder…if you should have admonished her. Maybe her vanity was her downfall, and the gods sought to correct her error. Tears spring to your eyes at the thought, no, they couldn’t have.

She was good, and kind; her only wish was to marry and give her husband strong sons. Now she lays alone, and cold in the family crypts.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud chorus of calls from the atrium.

You hear it somewhere below, the revels have begun. The boisterous voice of your father as he jokes and cajoles with his old war fellows. The wine is flowing freely tonight, he has much to celebrate.

“-it’s a good thing you had another one!”

A laugh from your father as he claps someone on the back.

“Ha! The only thing a second daughter is good for!”

The rage sparks again, and before you can stop to think, you’re grabbing a jar of perfumed oil. Throwing it with a shriek, it lands with a satisfying shatter against the copper mirror. The thick liquid drips to the floor in a dark puddle on the sandstone.

Your outburst has called attention to the crowd, a few moments of silence and your mother appears with the slave who left you. She gives a withering glare to the woman, who cowers, before turning her gaze to you. You clench your fist ready to fight, the rage in you growing, daring your mother to say something, anything.

“My love–” there is no time to admonish you, as a great rushing of horses and the wheels of a chariot sound, along with calls from the atrium.

He's here.

Before you can think your mother and the slave rush to finish the last minute adjustments, and finally the fine veil is placed over your head. You're dragged through the halls, almost tripping on the skirt, that’s still too long for your legs.

Your sister’s belt is cinched so tight it cuts into the soft fat of your stomach, at least an old pair of your sandals fits, one of the only things of yours on you tonight. Your mother stops you just outside the atrium. The crowd is rowdy, the sweet smell of wine, the smokey herbs of the many roasted beasts, and finally the mixture of the florals from the many bundles of your sister’s favorite flowers fills your nose.

It’s beautiful, and your sister would have been beaming. You feel your stomach churn, your mother’s fingers rub soothingly along your arm, but it doesn’t quell the fear to run, the deer forced into the hunter’s trap.

You don’t want to, but your eyes search the crowd, none of your brothers are in attendance. Your mother mentioned that all had been called away to far reaches of the Empire, one a rising commander in his own right. Another a promising scholar in Alexandria, and the last is a Senator, most likely schmoozing with the twin emperors to gain more political favor.

Of course none of them felt it dire to come to their younger sister’s funeral, and the other’s marriage. You’re not surprised…though maybe a bit hurt, after all…they should have at least come home to give your sister her last rights. But even that is too pitiful a request compared to their great lives.

There are others here, all your father’s friends, and their wives, entertaining themselves with food and drink. Dressed in the finery expected for nobility, none of them take your attention for too long.

You see your father speaking animatedly with someone you don’t recognize. He wears the traditional Generals uniform, the armor a pitch black, with the extravagant golden embellishments. A long red cape, fastened at his shoulder, you almost wonder if the man came straight from campaign.

Then again…the twin emperors have been insistent that their empire grow, and the General has been the ever faithful war dog. You’d never met him in person, only the high Priestess of Minerva could bless the generals before a campaign.

You are loath to admit it, but he's handsome. In a rugged way, a strong jaw, full lips, a proud nose, with tanned skin. His beard is shorter but well kept, and his hair, was probably once a deep brown, has greyed and silvered with age, is kept in neat curls.

His eyes remain on your father, but as if the gods enjoy your torment, seem to feel your gaze upon him. He turns, and those eyes the color of polished mahogany lance through you.

For a moment you forget to breathe, forget to think. Those eyes take you in, just as you had done moments ago. But it’s short lived as your father spots you, and your mother.

“Ah! Acacius, your bride arrives!” He leaves the General to come usher you over, you’re grateful for the veil, the fabric is thick enough it hides your face, so he can’t see your face very well, can’t see the panicked look in your eyes, as your father yanks you from your mother’s protective grasp.

You want to reach out to her, to claw your way back, scream, dig your fingers into his eyes till he releases you, but resist. As he pushes you to the General, up close he’s nothing like you thought. He bows his head to you with a soft, “my Lady.”

You respond in kind with a low bow and a muttered, “my Lord.”

And with that the ceremony begins, with Acacius taking his place besides the officiant. One of your father’s many senatorial friends.

Your father’s grip is a painful shackle around your wrist, the stump of his left pinky digs into your arm.

“You will do well to make him happy girl,” he snarls beneath the music, his gaze burning a hole into the side of your skull. “It’s because of me, he accepted you, remember that.”

You bite your cheek, the taste of copper filling your mouth as you ignore the remark, in favor of staring at the man who will take his place.

The ceremony is short, the officiant stumbles over your name, as he clearly practiced for your sister’s name. It makes the ache in your chest grow, through the ceremony you feel the General’s gaze upon you as the final call for the gods to bless your union is made.

“General, you may now reveal your bride, and take her to your home as is commanded by the gods.”

Your heart has leapt from your chest to your throat as his hands take the veil and lift, revealing your face to him.

Your eyes meet his, and he stares silently at you, those dark eyes taking you in, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His lips are soft, the rasp of his beard against your skin sending a chill down your spine. The kiss is quick, emotionless, before pulling away, he glances to the side, you follow his gaze. Your mother stands beside your father, tears stream down her face, and your heart breaks seeing her in such despair.

“Take a moment with your family, I will collect you in a moment.”

You don’t waste a second rushing away from him to your mother’s arms, she collects you with a soft sob. You can’t help the tears that spring forth.

“My love, my dear,” she weeps into your hair, and you cling to her, a little girl once more. Afraid of your father’s anger had you broken something, or worse he had come home from a failed campaign, and no one would be spared from his rage.

She would be alone after this, alone with only your father for company, and he barely stayed home long enough to acknowledge her. She presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Please…Mama, please,” a whimpered plea into her bosom, where your tears stain the silk, you look up to her eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t let him take me.”

Her lower lip quivers, and more tears spill from her beautiful eyes, she shakes her head, her answer, and it cleaves your heart into two. She can’t stop this, no matter how much you beg, plead, all she could do was make sure he was a good man. You feel it then, Acacius’ arms wrap around your middle, the shriek that leaves you is animalistic, your fingers claw into your mother’s dress.

“No! Mama! No!” It only takes one pull from Acacius for your mother to release you, your fingers pulled from her dress by your father. So you go to the next best thing, his arms, nails dig into skin. He grunts, the only sign of his pain, as he hauls you away from your mother who wails in chorus with your panicked shrieks.

Your mother collapses, her palms slapping against the marbled floors in grief, your father just stands there, no better than a statue. No one will comfort your mother tonight…though you hope, somehow your sister will. That her spirit will curl about your mother’s form and give her rest.

Or maybe she’ll spare you the horrors of the wedding night, but as you struggle uselessly against Acacius you know neither of those things will happen. As he drags you from the atrium to his chariot. You struggle, scream, and cry a final plea to Minerva to intervene.

But alas she does not answer, and you're dragged from the safety of your mother’s arms and to Acacius’ villa where your wedding night awaits.

It’s quiet in the spacious bedchamber, as you consider the marble flooring beneath your feet. Acacius hasn’t appeared since he placed you here. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you’ve ripped the veil and golden hairnet off. Your hair remains in its painful tangle of braids, you’re unsure of how to get them out without help.

You take in the room around you, and from what you could see of Acacius’ villa like you thought it’s a luxurious home, maybe even greater than your father’s.

You take in the fineries here, golden chairs and marble-topped tables. The fires of the braziers warm the room comfortably, and a soft breeze from the outside keeps the air fresh. The light of the fires gleam off the cups, and decanters of wine placed about the room, even the bed silks are a fine fabric you’ve never felt before. You absentmindedly run your hand over the softness, considering your options. The bed is pushed to the farthest wall, a behemoth of dark wood, and fine muslin curtains.

Large windows line the eastern wall, to let in the light of the morning, and doors lead to what you can only assume is a terrace. Your legs twitch as you consider rushing to the doors, seeing how far the drop is, escaping into the night, the General none-the-wiser.

But the idea is foolish, he’s a General with thousands at his beck and call, you are a noble girl, raised in the halls of a temple…You’d get no further than the city gates if you’re lucky.

Your thoughts are interrupted as the sounds of footsteps echo into your silence. Your head snaps to the noise, a deer suddenly aware of the danger lurking somewhere in the trees.

He stands in the doorway, orange light of the fires play over his face, his eyes black pits, face unreadable. Your heart stutters in your chest, as you both consider each other.

He’s removed his armor, though it does nothing to soothe you, he still stands with the rigidity of a military man. Prepared for battle should he need to be. You consider fighting him, but it’s a laughable idea.

He could kill you with a flick of his wrist if he so dared, but he hasn’t moved closer. So you both remain silent, observing.

It is a tense standoff, both of you sizing the other up, Acacius makes the first move. Taking a chair and settling into it with an exhausted huff.

You tense, watching him as he takes a cup and decanter, pouring a healthy swig of wine, before drinking deeply. He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his fingertips trace the rim of his cup.

“I am pleased to see you haven’t run yet,” he gives a humorless chuckle, and takes another drink. “I will say, this is not how I expected my wedding night to go.”

You remain silent, waiting for his next move, he doesn’t say anything for a moment staring into the cup with a pensive look.

“Those braids look uncomfortable,” those umber eyes meet your gaze. You can’t find your voice, so you nod. He sets the cup aside and stands, you can’t help your gaze falling to his exposed legs. The bunching of his muscles beneath his skin, the subtle strength there as he approaches you, a subtle grace to his movements that years of swordplay, and war-making has refined. The glow of his skin in the firelight, paints golden highlights along his flesh.

A clearing of his throat stops your exploration, your gaze snaps up to Acacius, he gives you a small gesture to turn around. Tense you follow his directions, a moment of indecision, before the softest touch against your scalp.

You can’t stop the yelp that leaves you, and the jolt of your body. The touch leaves, and there is a sigh through his nose. You wince, awaiting the strike that’s sure to come.

Acacius surprises you again, a hand cups your chin and turns you to face him. You’re shivering, and fearfully you look up at the General.

“I–I’m sorry–”

“I promise, I will not strike you my Lady, I just want to unbraid your hair.” His hand is warm, his fingers large, and his palm is rough with calluses from holding a sword. You try not to notice how his hand easily encompasses your lower jaw. You nod, and again turn away.

This time when his touch returns you steady yourself. For such large fingers, you’re surprised at their delicate caresses. As he finds the pins, and ties that keep your bridal braids in place. Slowly the pain of the too tight braids are relieved.

His touch is gentle, the final braid is undone and he takes a moment to card his fingers through your tresses. A ripple of something courses through you, goosebumps alight along your skin. He chuckles, you finally find your voice.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

He doesn’t answer, instead you feel the brush of his knuckles against your cheek, again you jolt away.

You know what must be done tonight, but you had hoped, and prayed, that he’d busy himself with his something, anything else. That you’d be forgotten and left to your own devices for the night. Acacius sighs through his nose, disappointment clear in his tone.

“It is our wedding night—”

“I know my Lord–”

“I do not wish to force you.”

The statement silences you, your heart pounding in its cage as you clench your fists in your lap.

“My Lord Acacius please–”

“My Lady,” he kneels beside you, one of his hands easily encasing both of yours. You resist every urge in your body to pull away from him, to scream, shout that you won’t allow him near you. “Your father told me, he would visit in the morning, to assure his daughter had done her duty.”

You will give him this, he looks disgusted at the prospect, those full lips pulled into a grimace as he considers you. You glance down at his hand over yours, before meeting his gaze again.

“Lord Acacius please, I was given as a child to the Temple of Minerva, I have no…no sense of the things required of a wife.”

You press forward, one of your hands leaving the captivity of his to cover it. He seems surprised at the touch, glancing down at your hand before meeting your gaze again. His eyes are beautiful, and considering him for a moment, you recall your sister’s voice.

He’s handsome sissy, you would agree.

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes, you do agree, he’s handsome. A part of you was jealous that she remained at home, with your mother. But after settling in the temple you knew this life would never be yours, and some small part of you…knows that hint of jealousy still lingers, somewhere deep in your mind. It would have grown a bit more seeing who she married today.

“You can learn–”

“I was given to Minerva,” you snap, a spike of your father’s rage, Acacius’ brows lift, a flash of surprise crosses his face. The hand beneath yours tensing.

“What’s done is done, and your father would sooner kill you then return you to the temple.”

His eyes darken and your shoulders slump, he’s well aware of your father’s reputation then. Well aware of the violence he so easily wielded even when not in battle.

“But you could return me–”

“I do not intend to.”

That statement leaves you bewildered, and scrambling to come up with something, anything for him to change his mind. He leans forward, in the glow of the braziers he looks otherworldly, and you can’t find your voice.

“I swear to you, I shall be a devoted husband, and I am willing to give you liberties in this union,” you consider silently, gaze going from his eyes and to his lips, “I cannot give you all the freedoms priesthood promises, but you will want for nothing.”

You bite your cheek, searching his umber eyes for any hint of a lie. His other hand comes up once more to cup your cheek. This time you do not flinch from his touch.

“I can make it pleasurable for you,” heat rises to your face as his thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, “but this union must be consummated tonight, as the gods demand.”

The silence between both of you is thick, he’s right, you know he is. There is no way you will be able to return to the temple, it is either death or Acacius.

I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.

Your mother’s words ring out in your mind, you close your eyes to stop the tears forming there, and nod.

“I need to hear you,” he whispers, he’s moved closer to your face, the warmth of his breath ghosts over your lips. “Please, my Lady.”

“I–I accept Lord Acacius, but–” you don’t know why it tumbles from your lips so freely, “but please, I don’t want it to hurt.”

His lips press to yours suddenly, your eyes snapping open at the touch. The kiss is quick, he moves on from your lips to your cheek, then jaw, ending at your neck.

You gasp as his tongue slips from between his lips, wetting the skin above your pulse. A heat rushes through you as his lips suck on the skin there, teeth nipping.

Your fingers turn to claws as they grasp at his tunic, his hands shift easily, one going to cup your head. The other around your waist pulling you against him. His lips continue their exploration of your neck, finding new bits of flesh that he attends to.

Pulling noises from you that surprise you, as a feeling courses through you, like you're hot and cold at the same time. You can feel your pulse between your legs, his mouth shifts further up your neck, Acacius pauses at your ear.

“As we are going to be husband and wife,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, his lips sending electric zaps along the cartilage. You shiver as his voice drops to a rasp, “please call me Marcus, can you do that?”

He nuzzles into the corner of your jaw, giving the skin another nip, a soft keen leaves you, as the nip sparks with a soft pain before dulling to a throb. As your fingers flex again in his tunic, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push you both apart.

He has to be doing something, must have given you something, for this–feeling, this sensation to be burning through you.

The hand at your waist is quick, fingers plucking at your sister’s belt, and it releases with a soft clink. The soft leather falls away, leaving your dress to sag, heat rises again to your cheeks and you squirm a moment.

Acacius’ hand in your hair tightens, and for a moment you fear you’ve angered him. But all he does is move lower, the tip of his nose trailing down your neck, along the path he created with his lips.

Marks of varying colors have bloomed across your skin, before stopping just above the cut of your bodice. Those deep brown eyes meet yours in silent question, you give a nod. The pulse between your thighs is growing.

He works quickly finding the folds of your dress that keep it around your shoulders and covering your breasts. The silk falls away, you move to cover yourself, only the other temple maidens, and the priestess’ had ever seen you naked.

Embarrassment fills you, should he see you, but Acacius is quick, his hands find your wrists. The short tussle sends you back onto the bed, Acacius hovering above you. He positions your hands beside your head. For a moment you consider fighting once more, thinking he intends you harm, but freeze as you see his eyes explore your newly exposed flesh. You can feel every touch of his gaze as he takes in the swell of them, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill.

“M–Marcus–ah!”

Saying his name spurs him into his next move, his face descends and he presses a kiss to your sternum, then shifting to your right breast. The scrape of his beard on your skin sends flutters of pleasure through you.

A surprised moan leaves you as his lips find your nipple, pulling the hardening bud between them, sucking lightly your body convulses. Your eyes roll, the muscles of your abdomen clench, fingers twitch digging into his knuckles as he keeps them pinned. You gasp, back arching, pressing harder into his mouth. As if your body begs for more of the sensation.

“M–Marcus,” you whimper his name as his tongue swirls around the bud, and gives it another suck, toying with it gently between his teeth. “Marcus please!”

Your mind is becoming a fog, unsure of what you’ve begun to beg for, but the pulsing between your thighs has grown almost painful, and even as Acacius switches to your other breast giving the neglected bud the same attention.

You squirm, thighs pressing together, another soft moan leaves you as the pressure gives some relief. Acacius pauses in his attention to your breast, his eyes are changed, that umber brown swallowed by the dark of his pupil. He presses kisses to the swell of your breasts, before asking, “What do you need of me my Lady?”

You whine struggling to understand his question, as your thighs writhe, you bite your lip whimpering.

“You said it wouldn’t hurt–”

“Where does it hurt?” His reaction is quick, he returns to your face pressing a kiss to the underside of your chin. “Tell me.” His breath is warm, and smells of the sweet wine he indulged in before all this.

“B–Between–” it feels foolish to say it, to mention the heat between your legs, the strange throb that’s continued to grow since he began to touch you.

“Where?” he asks again, another soft kiss to your jaw.

“Between my legs,” you whine, the writhing of your thighs no longer offering the necessary relief. You feel feverish, unwell, your stomach tightening uncomfortably. Acacius huffs a laugh against your neck, he releases your hands trailing his fingers down your arms. Over your breasts, where he pauses a moment to toy with your nipples once more.

Your body reacts back bowing, pressing yourself into his palms, Acaius hums appreciatively, before his hands delve lower. Pushing down the rest of your sister’s wedding gown, you’re left bare to him.

Again the embarrassment of it floods you, but Acaius is quick to stop you, laying on his side, he pulls you against him, one hand cupping your hip, cradling it between his legs where something rubs against you, your other hand nestled between your bodies, the other splayed to the side finding purchase in the sheets.

Acacius pauses taking his bottom lip between his teeth whilst considering you.

“I promise this will make the pain go away,” he whispers against your cheek, and you nod, half mad with the overwhelming sensations devouring every coherent thought.

“Please.” You whine, and his hand slides between your legs, a noise leaves you that’s closer to a howl than anything. The rough pads of his fingers find your clit, two circle the bud slowly, teasingly. Before pinching it between them, your hips buck into his palm. He groans softly into your hair. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, the sudden onslaught of pleasure leaving you reeling in its wake.

Only a few garbled pleas, and his name can leave your lips, it’s all your mind can remember to say. As his fingers release your clit, and return to swirling in indiscernible patterns around the sensitive bundle.

It feels like too much, the rough stroke of his finger pad against your clit, your fingers close around his wrist.

“W–Wait–” your tongue can barely form the words, it’s too much, and if he keeps touching you like this, you fear you’re going to break. A sensation you can’t name growing in your belly, the throb between your legs. The wetness there drips down your thighs, staining the sheets beneath you.

“T–too much, it’s too much.” Acacius hushes you, the muscles of his wrist flexing against your palm, as he continues his pattern. Every touch sends bolts of lightning up your spine, clouding your thoughts.

“It’s alright, let it come,” he whispers against your throat, the rasp of his beard adding another feeling that makes your body ache. Muscles bunching, toes curling, your mouth opens in a silent scream as something washes over you. Overwhelms you, your nails dig into his shoulder. He muffles a noise into your collarbone.

This must be the gods, or death, or–or something. Your body convulses, the throbbing between your legs pulses with every beat of your heart. Eyes rolling in your skull, Acacius groans as you settle. Something hard presses against your hip, but you're still caught in the undertow of whatever spell he’s placed you in.

“M–Marcus,” you whine, as his finger toys with your clit again, the feeling borders on painful, as the touch causes another throb to race through you. “Wh–what did–”

“To help with the next part,” he hums, his fingers leave between your legs. He pulls away from you. Body shivering at the loss of his warmth, the solid form of his body against yours, and you feel more exposed than ever before. A deer caught in the line of Diana’s arrow. As those soft umber eyes look over your exposed flesh, pausing at the swell of your breasts heaving with every breath. He pulls instantly at his wedding tunic, shucking the last article of clothing off.

His skin is a sun kissed tan, and scars lace across the expanse of his flesh. Swords, spears, knives. All manner of brutality has marked him, as your gaze travels lower you stop. The hardness you felt against your hip, long, with a mushroom-like head, a pearl of fluid leaking from the tip. It bobs with his breathing, veins pulse along the shaft, it looks painful. You pull your hazy gaze to meet his, and your breath hitches.

His eyes gleam in the firelight, he reminds you of the towering Jupiter, or Mars. A god made flesh, and your heart stutters as he kneels on the bed between your legs. That fear returning full force. You stumble, and scramble in the sheets. They stick to your sweat-coated skin, and you can’t escape as he settles over you.

Caging you beneath his form, you struggle, Acacius traps your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I will go slow,” he whispers, as again, tears brim along your lashes. His thumb rubs the hollow of your cheek, in an attempt to soothe. It doesn’t, as your heartbeat spikes, and your hands go to his chest weakly. His skin is rough, the scars knotted and strange against your fingers. He makes a noise low in his throat as your hands splay over his flesh.

“But–I thought–” he settles between your thighs, you look into his eyes, pleadingly, a gasp leaves you as his length brushes against your core. He grunts, and his length twitches, you feel it, sudden and foreign. You squirm, and a hand lashes out grabbing your hip to still you.

“Be still,” he whispers through clenched teeth. It’s a command and you listen, forcing your eyes closed, his hand leaves your hip to trail between your bodies. For a moment you think he only means to pleasure himself, but you tense as the head of his cock brushes against your cunt.

“Acacius what–” you're silenced by the pain, though his previous ministrations helped, he’s large. The stretch of him entering you burns, your fingernails dig into his flesh, as if that will quell the pain of him entering you.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, as all your mind can focus on is the stretch of his cock filling you. The way his length spears you, opening you, a soft whine of pain leaves you. Acacius huffs above you, the fingers beside your head curl into the sheets. He leans down forehead against your shoulder.

“So tight,” he rasps, he almost sounds to be in pain as well. You think for a moment, maybe he’ll stop, that it’s too much for him as well. But he presses on, inch by painful inch he opens your cunt. “I’m sorry.” It’s whispered to the flesh above your heart, his lips brush the skin, sending a jolt of something through you once more. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he settles. You whimper feeling the press of his hips between your own.

“Acacius, please…” You don’t know what you’re begging for, as the uncomfortable fullness settles. You swear you can feel every part of him, the throb of his cock as it rests heavy and thick in your cunt a warm sort of pain that lingers behind your navel. His cock twitches and you jolt, Acacuis grunts above you, again that hand returns to your hips.

“Y–You must be still,” he gasps, your fingers flex, you glance down, seeing the red half moons where your nails dug into his flesh. You silently hope he felt a bit of the pain he put you through. “Tell me when it stops hurting.”

You glance up, those eyes giving you pause, he’s watching you. Taking in every wince, every hiss of breath as he remains still inside you. For a moment you consider lying, telling him it’s too much, but as you both remain there you feel it. The burn subsides, though the fullness remains.

You take your lip between your teeth considering him, the greatest General of Rome, waiting for your lead. You shift, and Acacius gasps, your cunt flutters around him. He shudders above you and his length throbs again inside you.

“D–Don’t–move,” he pants his fist clenching again on your hip, his head lowering to press his forehead to your shoulder again. A stutter of breath against your skin. “Does it still hurt?”

A whispered plea into your breast, you hesitate to answer him, fearing another onslaught of pain. His voice is soft, as his hips give a subtle thrust, “I swear my lady, I will make sure we both find our pleasures.”

A choked noise leaves you, as his pelvis grinds against your clit, your cunt walls quiver around him. Acacius gasps, his arm shakes, and you whine.

“Please–” he grunts, “tell me I can move.” His dark eyes meet yours and your lungs refuse to breathe, your heart stops beating for a moment, and the world slows. His skin shins with a layer of sweat, he’s trapped his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Move,” a whispered acceptance, Acacius takes it with fervor, pulling his hips back, your head falling back into the softness of the sheets. You feel every inch of him, every pulse of his veins as he pulls from your soaked core.

Acacius curses under his breath as he begins a steady, hard rhythm. Every thrust of his hips sends new shock waves of bliss up your spine. Your cunt flutters around his shaft, with every thrust he seems to plunge deeper.

Your legs shift, thighs settling on the solid form of his hips, the movement making you tighten. Acacius gasps, you feel it, another pulse of his cock. He grunts a hand moving from beside your head to between your bodies. Fingers finding your clit again, you keen, toes curling as another wave threatens to overwhelm you.

“Are you close?” He huffs, his hips continue in their thrusting, his fingers dance along your clit. Your eyes can hardly focus on the man straining above you, all you can offer is another high pitched moan, your hips beginning to rise to meet his thrusts.

Acacius groans again, his arm shaking as he pistons into you with a gratuitous fervor, the sounds of your coupling fill the room. Your skin shines with sweat, as does his, those eyes meet yours as he grits his teeth.

His fingers press against your clit, and his cock thrusts so deep inside of you that for a moment you see stars. Your body stills, you forget to breathe for a moment, you think a scream of his name leaves you, as your back arches pressing into Acacius who shouts.

Your cunt quivers around his length, you feel a warmth as his cock throbs inside of you. Both of you remain still, breath returning in soft pants as your vision returns to you. Acaius huffs above you, his hair, once well styled is mussed about his face. But you think distantly that it suits him, he leans down pressing his forehead to your chest.

For a moment you wonder if you will have to remain like this, until with a slow movement Acacius pulls from you. A whine leaves you, as he pulls from your cunt.

You lay on the bed, eyes closed, sweat cooling uncomfortably on your skin. None of your muscles wish to work, and you don’t sense Acacius still in the room.

You’re shocked to feel…disappointment worming its way into your mind, after everything you should be grateful that he’s left you be.

But you’re surprised again as his footfalls sound, with a tired blink you open your eyes and glance up. Acacius has put on a robe, and he kneels beside the bed with a rag, he takes his time cleaning you.

It reminds you, for a moment, of the baths in the Temple where you would clean, and help clean other initiates. His hands are careful as he reaches between your thighs, noticing you tense he’s gentle. Careful of your still sensitive core the roughness of the rag makes you whine, hips bucking away from it. His hand steady's you as he works.

The rag cleans away the wetness that drenches your thighs, and butt. He finishes his cleaning, and then moves to lift you from the edge of the bed to the middle, carefully tucking you into the soft sheets. Your body doesn’t respond to anything, not even the want to help him does it respond, until he turns to leave.

“Marcus,” your voice is soft, unsure, but he stops and turns looking at you, “aren’t you…going to stay?”

His eyes seem to lighten at the question, he bows his head, “Would you like me to?”

You nod, and he relaxes moving back to the bed he settles in beside you, careful not to move you too much. You don’t mind it though, you notice that his sheets smell of jasmine. You huddle into the sheets, staring at the general silently.

And you consider…this marriage my not be one of love…but maybe…of equals.

#marcus acacias x reader #general marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #gladiator ii

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rowarn · 8 months ago

Text

THEE DEARLY WED !

kyle 'gaz' garrick/reader | MDNI

tags: noble!reader, noble!kyle, arranged marriage (not to each other), forbidden love

cw: technically infidelity (kyle and reader cheat with each other despite both being engaged), loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet and messy, body worship elements, consent, soft!kyle, piv, soft sex, simultaneous orgasms

a/n: thank u to everyone in the silly discord server for helping me decide on this one LMAOOOO i never woulda done it without you. also!!! don't expect any kind of accuracy on this, it is merely a work of fiction!

; it was decided when you were young that you would get married to someone you didn't even love. your heart belonged to the electrifying Lord Kyle Garrick despite him being in the same boat as you.

8.1k words

From the time you were a child, you had been fated to marry someone chosen by your parents. It was a silly, annoying custom among nobility and one you simply didn’t get a choice on. He was decided for you the moment you were born.

It’s all you’ve ever known. Your betrothed, Owen Knightly, was someone of high standing. It would be remarkably good for your family to marry into his.

You may have even been content with the life you were given if he had never come into your life. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if you weren’t in love with someone you simply couldn’t have.

You met when you were children. You were barely five years old and he was a few years older than you. It was one of your fondest memories, one that always brings a smile to your face when you reminisce.

“This is Lord Kyle Garrick,” your mother had crooned as she introduced you to the young boy who knelt upon one knee and gingerly kissed your hand. It was a sweet, innocent display of affection that had you swooning right then and there.

Your families ran in the same circles, the Garricks were on equal social standing as your own family. Every party and gala that the two of you were invited to, you managed to gravitate towards each other. Both of you knew how wrong it was – how it would ruin both yours and your families lives if you stepped one foot out of line. But the draw between you two was undeniable. You could see it in his eyes when he stared at you from across ballrooms, the longing that you experienced just the same.

Fate was incredibly cruel and fickle. You watched as Kyle grew to be a handsome man, desired by aristocratic families from all over the country. He was handsome, well bred, and so kind. You’d have to be blind to not see how incredible of a man he was.

Anyone would be lucky to be his betrothed.

You just wish it was you.

Unfortunately, the lucky person he was engaged to was chosen for him from the time of his own birth, someone whose status would benefit his family. The two of you were never fated to be together. It was a painful, irrefutable fact.

Still, that didn’t stop the two of you from making eyes at one another every time you saw each other at aristocratic gatherings.

He was the only thing that made a long, boring gathering interesting. Every time you received an invitation to a gala or a ball, you felt the excitement of being able to see him again.

Even if you were with your own fiance and he was with his.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Kyle greeted, bowing down to place a kiss to the top of your hand.

“Hello to you, My Lord,” you smile, meeting his gaze for an electrifying moment.

The two of you break eye contact quickly, all too worried about raising suspicion.

Your gaze met his fiance’s who stood off to the side, nursing a glass of wine. She seemed completely disinterested in the conversation going on, instead glancing around the room.

“Our wedding is coming up awfully fast,” your fiance mused, placing his arm around your shoulders affectionately, “Isn’t that right, darling?”

It made your skin crawl but you mustered up a proper, practiced smile to shoot him, “Yes, it’s just a few weeks away. Oh, My Lord, you’ll surely be attending, correct?”

“Oh come now,” your fiance chided, “Lord Garrick is surely preparing for his own upcoming wedding. He’ll be much too busy to attend ours. What a silly question for you to ask.”

“Nonsense,” Kyle smiled, a sight that made your heart race despite the irritation you feel towards your fiance’s condescension. His dark eyes flitted to you, dropping to your lips before meeting your husband’s gaze again, “I wouldn’t miss such a blessed union.”

“You flatter us, My Lord,” you breathe, biting your lip. Hearing the man you love praise your upcoming wedding, even if it was a charade he put on, made your heart ache terribly in your chest.

“My love,” Kyle’s fiance wraps her arm around his arm, making your heart seize up in jealousy.

Kyle barely glances at her, instead keeping those deep brown eyes on your, “Yes?”

“Can we dance?” she asks, pointing in the direction of all the couples currently dancing in the center of the room.

“Of course,” he agrees easily, bowing gracefully at you and your fiance, “Please excuse us.”

“I say we should have a dance as well,” your fiance says, taking your hand, without even bothering to see if you wanted to in his, to lead you to the group of dancing people.

You fight back a sigh as he pulls your close against him, your chest pressed against his. One of his arms wraps around your waist, holding your other hand in the air while you rest your free hand on his shoulder. It was a practiced pose you’d learned all your life but it still made you want to curl your lip in disgust at being so close to this man.

The two of you begin to sway across the dance floor in time to the gentle rhythm of the music playing through the room. You stare over your fiance’s shoulder at all the people scattered around the ballroom. You find this entire endeavor to be rather dull, just high society people sucking up to one another in an endless cycle.

“Isn’t that right, darling?” your fiance’s voice grates in your ear, drawing you out of your daydreams.

“What?” you ask, meeting his gaze, “I didn’t hear you.”

“You’re so cute,” he gushes, clicking his tongue, “Always zoning out. Don’t need to think about anything when you’ve got your fiance here.”

You bite your tongue, feeling your eyes twitch at his continued condescension, “I was just admiring the beautiful ballroom.”

“Indeed,” he hums as he spins you around the dancefloor, “As I was saying, however, that Lord Garrick is an incredibly refined man, is he not?”

“Of course,” you agree, wishing so badly you could look around the room to find the mentioned man just to catch a glimpse of his handsome face, “His family is held in such high regard, after all. It’s only natural.”

“Indeed,” your fiance agrees, “And his upcoming union will only increase their status.”

There’s a lapse in the conversation as you both continue to dance. The mention of your beloved’s wedding tastes bitter on your tongue, sullying your mood even more. You zone out until the music slowly comes to a stop, slowing your steps to a complete stop.

The music starts up again, another song beginning to play immediately. Your fiance opens his mouth to say something but stops short.

“Excuse me,” a familiar, smooth voice interrupts the two of you.

You turn to see Kyle standing there in all his glory, smiling kindly, “If you would be so kind as to let me have the next dance.”

“I was just about to go get myself some refreshments anyway,” your fiance grunts, passing Kyle your hand.

He takes it gently, treating you like the finest, most delicate glass. It sends shivers down your spines, just feeling his skin against yours.

“I thank you,” Kyle bows politely before leading you deeper into the crowd of dancing couples.

Once hidden away from the prying eyes of your fiance, Kyle tugs you snuggly against him, assuming the same position you had before. His spicy, floral scent invades your senses and makes your eyes flutter at how nice it smells.

“Where did your fiance go?” you find yourself asking, though you don’t particularly care about her whereabouts.

“Not sure,” he responds, “Said she wanted to go talk with some friends.”

“I see,” you hum, eyes drifting to your hand clasped in his. His thumb occasionally strokes over the soft skin atop your hand.

“I’ve been dying to have a single moment alone with you this whole evening,” he confesses, keeping his voice low so no one nearby could hear the adulteress confessions coming from his lips.

“My Lord,” you breathe, your heart picking up as you meet his soft gaze. He looks at you in a way you’ve never seen him look at anyone else and it makes you flustered, “I was so happy to learn that you were also going to be here.”

“As was I,” he agrees, squeezing your hand in his, “I wish so desperately the two of us could slip away unseen.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve found ourselves alone,” you muse, chuckling to yourself.

“There will be a rather gaudy announcement shortly,” he says, “If you can slip away during it, I’m sure that no one will miss either of us so long as we’re back in time for the desert to be served.”

“Where shall we meet?” you ask, all too aware that this song was winding down.

“There’s a balcony overlooking the back gardens,” he says, the two of you slowly coming to a stop.

“I’ll be there,” he smiles at that, carefully dropping your hand to your side despite the fact neither of you want to let go of the other.

You miss his touch as soon as it’s gone but you know that you can’t maintain physical contact with him without gossip and speculation filling the hall. It’s already a dangerous game the both of you play with the way you’ve spent secretive moments alone despite your engagements. You crave so desperately to be able to love him publicly like other couples.

“I know you will,” he bows, kissing the top of your hand before turning on his heel and vanishing into the crowd on the other side of the room.

You have no choice but to find your fiance afterwards, despite the way dread fills your stomach when you lay your eyes upon him. He’s standing among noblemen, chattering away.

When you come into view he beams, “There is my beloved betrothed,” he says, “Such a sweet little thing, no?”

“Ah yes,” one of the other men hum, looking you up and down in a way that makes you cringe internally, “You are a lucky man, Owen.”

“Aren’t I?” your fiance wraps his arm around your waist, tucking you firmly against him, “Such a lovely doll all for me. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, as expected, but such a pretty face. Anyone would be envious of a man like me in my position with a beautiful fiance on his arm.”

You want so badly to roll your eyes at his insults and pompous attitude. Instead, you tune out the conversation and choose to look out over the party hall where all sorts of people mingle.

Your gaze finds Kyle from across the room. His fiance is on his arm and that prickly sensation of jealousy fills your chest but quickly vanishes when he looks away from the people he’s talking with to smile at you.

The melodic sound of a bell ringing across the room gets everyone’s attention. It falls completely silent as the host approaches the top of the stairs, dressed extravagantly to the nines. As she begins to address the crowd, you catch Kyle slipping out.

You turn to your fiance, “I’m afraid I must go to the washroom.”

“Take your time,” he nods, “Do return before the cake is served.”

“Of course,” you smile and carefully follow Kyle’s lead and slip out into a side hall.

The labyrinth of halls were easy to navigate since they were all too similar to your own manor. The music and chatter from the party quickly faded the further into the manor you got until you were finally at the doors leading to the balcony. You push it open, slipping through the opening before letting them softly close behind you.

Kyle stood, leaning against the balcony, staring off into the gardens. He was beautifully illuminated by the full moon and it made you breathless.

He turns to look at you, smiling, “I knew you’d make it.”

“I always do,” you whisper, taking his outstretched hand when he offers it.

“You look absolutely marvelous,” he breathes, pulling you close to him just like when you were dancing. Only this time, he spins and presses you back against the railing of the balcony. He crowds himself around you, leaning in to brush his lips against yours but not quite sealing you in a kiss. Your breath stutters in your chest, your noses grazing together from the proximity.

“You look handsome yourself,” you whisper against his lips, “I wished so badly to be the one on your arm this evening.”

“You’re all I’ve thought about this whole time,” he assures, hands gripping your waist, pressing himself even closer to you until his hips meet yours, “Every time I look at her, all I can think about is you. I wish it was you I was marrying.”

“Me too,” you whimper, “Owen is such a pig. All he does is talk down to me. He thinks me nothing but stupid.”

Kyle clicks his tongue, “That idiot has no idea what he has. He has everything that I desire and he doesn’t even know how to appreciate the life handed to him.”

He reaches up and cups your cheeks, hands warm and soft against your skin. He smells so good and the dark look in his eyes, illuminated by the moonlight, makes your heart race.

He can’t seem to help himself anymore, surging forward to press his lips completely against yours. You gasp into the kiss, winding your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. One of his arms winds around your waist, pulling you up onto your tiptoes so your chest is pressed completely against his.

“I adore you,” he breathes before kissing you again, unwilling to break the kiss for more than a second as he talks, “I’ve never wanted anyone in my life more than you.”

As you’re hidden away on this balcony, secretly kissing the man you truly love while your betrothed is waiting for you to return back to him just down the hall, you feel tears pricking your eyes. You sniffle and Kyle pulls back, eyes softening at the sight of your tears.

“What is it, my heart?” he asks, thumbing your tears away despite the way more takes their place.

“I love you, Kyle,” you confess.

“And I love you,” he smiles but it only makes you cry harder.

You pull him snug against you, hugging him as tightly as you can. He hums, winding his own arms around you to return the hug. His large hand rubs your back until you’re left just sniffling and hiccuping.

“I hate this,” you whimper, “I wish I could marry you.”

“I know, my heart,” he sighs, pulling back to cup your cheeks again, “These cards we’ve been dealt in this life are so unfair.”

“How am I supposed to marry that man when you’re all I want?” you ask, taking his hand in yours.

He nods his head, “I feel the same. I know for a fact you’re who I’m meant to be with.”

A silence lulls between the two of you as you both lament the lives you’ve been given. While you both had everything materialistic one could want, neither of you could have what you really, truly desired.

With you still tucked against him, he whispers in your hair, “We should be getting back before anyone misses us.”

“I don’t want to,” you whine, “I want to stay here with you forever.”

“I know, my heart,” he mutters, “I wish that were possible.”

You sigh and haphazardly straighten your clothes out, “Let’s get the rest of this evening over with.”

“You head in first,” he urges you to the door with a hand on your back, “We don’t want anyone to see us come back together.”

You turn around and lean up, pressing one final, fleeting kiss against his lips before you turn and disappear through the doors. Leaving him behind makes your heart feel like a lead weight in your chest but you push through it and force one foot in front of the other down the winding halls.

You follow the sounds of the party still going, music and bustle of people getting louder and louder the closer you get. Stepping back inside, you notice everyone’s chatting happily and eating cake. Your eyes scan the crowd before falling on your fiance who is still chatting away with the same noblemen as before. You take a sharp breath, steeling yourself as you approach him, plastering a practiced, fake smile on your face.

“Ah, there you are!” he greets with a broad grin, “I’m sorry I didn’t get you a piece of cake. I didn’t quite feel like holding it.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and instead shrug your shoulders, “That’s quite okay. I didn’t want any anyway.”

Your fiance nods, “Probably a good idea. Don’t want my betrothed putting on weight before the wedding!”

He and his friends laugh and anger flushes through you. Your jaw hurts from how hard you clench it shut so you don’t snap at your fiance. You catch movement out of the corner of your eye and turn to see Kyle’s fiance rushing up to him. He catches her as she throws herself into his arms and you once again feel the sting of jealousy.

You avert your gaze and tune in and out of the boring conversation your fiance is engaged in.

“Say, have you been crying, darling?” he asks, finally taking note of your red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh, no,” you laugh softly, “I’m afraid I’ve been struck down with a nasty case of allergies. All these roses must be emitting some dreary amounts of pollen.”

“Ah,” he nods, taking a bite of his cake as he looks around at the array of roses decorating the ballroom. “That makes sense. They are quite beautiful though. Perhaps we should have some planted once we’re married.”

You plaster on a fake smile again, “Maybe.”

He sends a smile to you in return before turning his attention back to the other men. You promptly tune out and let your eyes glance across the hall, hoping this entire ordeal will be over soon.

Before long, the party begins winding down and people begin to leave, bidding goodbye to one another.

“Oh, Lord Garrick,” your fiance greets as said man comes up to the two of you.

“Hello,” Kyle smiles, “I just thought I’d come and say goodbye.”

“Oh yes, goodbye, My Lord,” Owen bows.

Kyle turns his gaze to you and lifts your hand to his lips, giving you one last kiss goodbye. You wish so badly you could feel his lips press against yours again but you know that won’t be happening again for a terribly long time.

“I believe the next time we’ll meet will be your upcoming wedding,” Kyle said as he straightened up.

“Most likely,” you nod, “Unless someone plans to have another party again.”

Kyle huffs a laugh, “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

You smile at the sound of his laugh. His fiance tugs on his arm, bidding both you and Owen goodbye before they’re off.

“I guess we should head off as well,” he says, much to your relief.

Your bed sounds absolutely heavenly right about now. And you, quite honestly, just want to get away from your pig of a fiance and put this night behind you.

Before you know it, the wedding is just a few days away and anxiety practically consumes you. It seems like the days pass all too quickly. The apprehension of a wedding you want no part of seemingly making it creep up faster.

Your days are filled with wedding preparations. You and Owen spend your time sampling food to decide the wedding menu and signing invitations that are to be sent out as soon as possible. It’s a rather dreary time.

One weekend, you finally have a chance to escape the anxiety-inducing manor. You make your way into town, intent on doing a little shopping for yourself.

You’re wandering from shop to shop – thankful that you’ve managed to get out without any of the help on your tail. It was all hands on deck as the manor was prepared for the wedding and after-party, except for you, that is.

You’re busy looking at an array of expensive, imported fabrics when someone calls your name from behind. You whip your head around and find Kyle standing there, pretty, brown eyes wide and sparkling.

“Kyle,” you whisper.

He says your name again, taking a few, long strides over to you until he’s standing in front of you, “I was passing by and I swore I saw you in here.”

“It’s me,” you smile, already feeling your heart race at having him so close to you once again.

“I see that,” he laughs, raking his gaze down your body before finding your eyes once again, “You look lovely as always.”

“Thank you,” you feel your cheeks flush at the compliment, “What are you doing in town?”

“I had some errands to run,” he explains with a shrug, “What about you? I’m surprised to see you out and about with the wedding preparations.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “I managed to find an opportunity to get out of there while everyone was preparing the venue for the wedding. You should see the place, it’s a frightful vision with all the decorations and flowers.”

“Ah, of course,” he hides his laugh behind his hand, “The wedding is awfully close now isn’t it?”

Your smile fades and you hum, anxiously turning to look at the fabrics again, “3 days away, I’m afraid.”

Kyle falls silent behind you, watching as you comb through the materials. Your shoulders seem so heavy and there are dark circles under your eyes that no amount of powder on your face could hide.

He reaches forward and snags your hand up in his, “Come with me.”

“Where?” you ask but eagerly follow behind him as he leads you out of the store. He could lead you to the end of the world and you’d follow him.

The streets are noisy and bustling, thousands of people going about their day and lives. It feels nice to not be tailed by your servants because this way you can just feel like a normal person in society. With your hand tucked within Kyle’s, you almost feel like a regular couple going about your day together.

Kyle leads you through the maze of the streets before the two of you find your way to his carriage. The horses idly lift their hooves and step back down, clearly antsy to get going.

“Where’s your driver?” you ask when he opens the door for you.

“Left him at home,” Kyle answers easily, “Don’t worry I’m an excellent driver. You’re in good hands.”

“I’m not worried,” you giggle, sitting back when he slams it shut for you.

The spicy, floral scent that seems to always waft off him still lingers in the cabin. The carriage rocks as Kyle hoists himself up into the driver’s seat, taking the reins for the horses before setting off.

The hustle and bustle of town is left behind as the two of you make your way to a destination you don’t know. You look out the window, admiring the view of nature. With the gentle lull of the carriage and the soft sound of the horse’s hooves on the ground, you realize just how sleepy you are. The wedding preparations were apparently more exhausting than you realized.

Your name sweetly being called is what roused you. A soft hand cups your cheek and you open your eyes to see the handsome face of Kyle.

“We’re here,” he coos, taking your hands to help you stumble out of the carriage.

You look around, finding yourself standing in front of an imposing manor.

“Where’s here?” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Another manor that my family owns,” he says, slamming the door.

“I see,” you hum, taking a look around. It’s a lovely place with neatly trimmed hedges and a fountain in the center of the circle driveway.

“What about the servants here?” you ask, allowing him to lead you up to the grand doors.

“There aren’t any here at the moment,” he assures, “All the servants are currently occupied with my own wedding preparations. You don’t have to worry, we’re alone here.”

“That’s lucky,” you laugh, sharing a soft look with him.

Once the two of you are inside, you take in the beautiful manor. There’s a beautiful staircase and the walls are adorned with expensive paintings, some of which you recognize yourself despite not being too knowledgeable on art.

“This was to be my home after my marriage,” he explains, waving for you to follow him up the stairs to the next story.

“I see…” you hum, trailing your fingertips over the beautiful wood banister but then pause, “What do you mean ‘was’?”

He stops in front of a door and pushes it open with a soft creak. You peek inside and discover a lavishly decorated bedroom. Being alone inside of a bedroom with a man who is not your fiance was incredibly improper. But Kyle is the man you love so you step inside with your heart racing in your chest. It feels so wrong, this rule was implemented in you your whole life being broken like this.

“I mean,” he hums, “If you’ll hear me out on what I have to say then the wedding will no longer be on. Neither will yours.”

Your heart lurches up into your chest as he leads you to take a seat beside him on the edge of the bed. He takes your hand in both of his, cupping it in his lap, stroking his thumb across your knuckles.

“What are you saying?” you ask, voice tight.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time,” he explains, “I want you. I don’t want to see you married off to that pig of a man they’ve set you up with. I don’t think I can live a life married to someone else when all I can think about every single day is you.”

“Kyle…” you whisper, squeezing his hand tightly, “Are you saying you want to call off the weddings? Our families wouldn’t–”

“No,” he grumbles, “I don’t want to call off the weddings. I want to marry you. Our families would never allow it but,” he takes a deep breath, “If we’re not under their charge anymore then what can they possibly do?”

“You want to run away?” you gasp, anxiety filling your chest when he nods, “But that-!”

“Our lives would be infinitely harder,” he smiles ruefully, “We wouldn’t have any of the comforts we have now. Our families wouldn’t support us. We’ll be disgraced by society and our friends. It’ll be hard but it would mean we can be together like we desire.”

“Kyle…” you whisper, eyes wide as you stare at him.

“I understand it’s daunting. And if you choose to tell me no then I will do as you wish and continue to live my life this way,” he breathes, “I will continue to live with the agony of only getting to see you in secret, if that’s what you wish. But…” he reaches forward and cups your cheek in one big hand, “If you say yes then I will kiss you right now and I will show you just how much I love you and how much I need you to be mine.”

Your lips are parting before you can even make heads or tails of your own thoughts, “Yes, Kyle.”

Just as he promised, he surges forward and presses his soft lips against yours. The kiss is desperate and heated with one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head, keeping your lips firmly planted on his.

You whimper into the kiss, the euphoria of having your love’s lips once again too much to bear. You feel the bedding beneath you as he pushes you down, holding his own weight above you with one hand to avoid crushing you. But you crave to feel his body against yours.

You wrap one arm around his waist and pull him closer so his chest is flush with yours. Despite the layers of clothes separating the two of you, you can feel his body heat permeating through to you.

That spicy, floral scent that wafts off of him is all around you. Your heart flutters in your chest and your hands tremble like leaves in the wind as you desperately grasp at him. He doesn’t break the kiss, even as you feel the hardened press of his member between your thighs.

The air feels thick with every inhale, a foggy haze settling over your mind the deeper the kiss gets. After a moment, he finally breaks the kiss only to dive down to press his lips to your neck. His hands flutter around your clothes, working the buttons and ties open so the fabric can easily be pulled away from your body.

With every inch of bare skin exposed, his lips touch upon it and goosebumps rise in response. Your trembling fingers grip the expensive fabric of his shirt, needing to feel grounded to him as his lips wrap around one of your nipples.

You whine, back arching when his hand comes up to roll and pinch your other nipple between his fingers. You’d never been touched like his before and it felt electrifying, each swirl of his hot tongue making your thighs twitch where they rest around his lithe hips.

“Kyle,” you gasp, “C-Can you–?”

“What?” he asks, barely separating from your breast to ask.

“T-Take off your shirt,” you request, cheeks feeling impossibly hot from the new stimulating pleasure your body is receiving.

He chuckles, parting from the torture he’s inflicting on your nipple to sit up on his heels. He pulled off his suit coat, letting it fall to the floor. You watch with wide eyes as he pulls his tie free from around his neck before his fingers drift to his waistcoat to pull the buttons apart. You follow those long, pretty fingers as they meticulously undo his shirt button by button until the smooth expanse of his chest is exposed to your greedy eyes.

You reach up and slide your hands up his chest, pushing the articles of clothing off of his shoulder until he lets them drop to the floor to join his jacket.

He’s on top of you again in seconds, large hands gripping your waist, your skin dimpling under the grip he has on you. You whimper when he cups your breasts, thumbing over your nipples as you sigh in pleasure.

“Will you let me undress you completely, my heart?” he whispers, sounding breathless.

“Yes, please, Kyle,” you nod, eagerly lifting your hips so he can free your lower half of the last bit of clothes that cover your body.

He sucks in a deep breath when your pretty form is fully exposed to his gaze for the first time. He knew you were beautiful but like this, with shy hands over your bare breasts and smooth thighs clenched tightly together to hide the most intimate part from his greedy, prying eyes.

“You’re magnificent,” he whispers as if any louder would break the sanctity the two of you have cultivated together in this bedroom, “Why do you hide from me?”

“I-I don’t know,” you respond, cheeks burning hot as you avoid his gaze, “I feel so shy like this.”

He smiles, pretty teeth on full display, eyes crinkle up when he does. Gentle hands cupping your knees, he tenderly strokes your skin, “There’s no reason to be shy around me. I adore every inch of you and your body. Won’t you let me admire you like you deserve?”

His gaze is so soft and kind that you feel your body relax at his assurance. Your arms fall to your sides, letting him see those pretty tits again. His mouth waters at the sight of your perked nipples.

But then you let your thighs fall open and the prettiest little cunt he ever could have imagined opens up to his greedy eyes. Your folds are shiny with a layer of slick and his tongue suddenly feels much drier than it did a second ago.

He realizes, in that moment, that he needs nothing more than to quench this apparent thirst right there between your legs.

You gasp when he grips beneath your knees and spread you open even wider. Your hands fly to cover your face, unable to take the embarrassment that floods through you when his face gets closer and closer to your pussy.

Two fingers dip into your folds, a loud, sticky noise sounding when he parts them. Your clit is puffy and swollen while your little hole twitches and drools messily at the contact. Slowly, almost painfully so, his tongue falls from his mouth to lick a wide strip over your cunt. You practically wail when his tongue drags over your clit, the little bud hard and twitchy against his muscle.

His lashes flutter at the sound. It encourages him to lick over the bud again. It earns him another sound, like a little reward for every correct touch he gives you.

He focuses there, pinning your hips down when you start twitching and wiggling beneath him. His tongue swirls and swirls around your clit, drool and slick coating his chin and dripping down to the bed. He doesn’t care, the mess isn’t even on his radar. He’;s too lost in the sweet taste of you dancing on taste buds. You taste better than the most exquisitely crafted meal he’s ever had in his life.

Your hands slam down to grab the bedding, fisting it desperately until the fabric creaks under your grip. The feeling of his tongue swirling and licking your clit is too much, you feel like you can’t take a breath deep enough. He moans and sighs softly into your cunt with every sweet little sound you gift to him.

One of his fingers finds your entrance, the little hole clenching pathetically around nothing.

He detaches his lips from your clit, swallowing the sweet slick filling his mouth before asking, “Have you ever touched yourself here before?”

Your cheeks flush unbearably hot at the question but find yourself shaking your head, “N-No.”

He sweetly smiles at you, “I’ll be gentle.”

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins sliding one of his fingers into you. It burns, even that minute stretch and his heart aches at the wince on your face. He leans forward and lets his tongue find your clit again, slurping it into his mouth so he can wrap his lips around it. The feeling makes your entire body tremble, your jaw falling open but no sounds actually come out.

He doesn’t let you think too much about this feeling, using your relaxed, almost brainless state to introduce a second finger. It finally makes a whine break through from your chest, back arching and eyes rolling back into your head once he sinks them to the last knuckle.

You never would have thought that something like this could feel so good. Your brain feels hazy, like no coherent thoughts can form. All you can focus on is how wonderful it feels to have Kyle’s thick fingers stuffed inside you while his pretty lips suckle on your sensitive clit.

“K-Kyle!” you wail, feeling a hot ball swell up in your tummy.

“What is it, my heart?” he coos, looking up at you through his lashes.

“I-Is it supposed to feel like this?” you meekly ask, lips swollen from biting them through your pleasure.

“Like what?” he asks, slowly moving his fingers snug inside your walls, careful not to hurt you. You’re coating them in sweet, syrupy slick and it’s a marvelous sight.

You twitch when he does that, your head falling back against the pillows, “Good.”

“You deserve nothing but pleasure, my heart,” he coos, eyes locking back onto the sight of his fingers stuffed inside your cunt.

When he pulls them back, they’re coating in a milky white sheen. The sight makes him moan under his breath, carefully fucking you with them in preparation for something bigger. He keeps the pace slow, not wanting to overwhelm you with pleasure. His fingers crook upwards, hitting that gooey little spot inside that makes your hips buck up. Your cheeks burn when you hear the filthy, wet, sticky noises that come from where he’s fucking you open on his fingers.

He can’t believe he gets to see you like this; open and exposed for him. Any ounce of shyness has completely evaporated, allowing him full view of you in your basest, dirtiest state.

“I’m a lucky man,” he huffs to himself, still fucking his fingers into that perfect spot in your cunt. You’re making the sweetest sounds and twitching so cutely on the bed from how good he’s making you feel on just his fingers alone.

You can’t even bring yourself to answer, too consumed with how fucking good it feels being fucked with his fingers. While you’re too dizzy to even think straight, he brings a third finger to your hole.

It burns when he pushes it in but he brings his thumb up to rub your clit. You relax again, pain and pleasure mixing intoxicatingly, allowing the third digit to easily slide in alongside the others.

He has you worked open on his three fingers, fuller than you’ve ever been in your life. You’re so hot and wet inside that it feels like his skin is burning, he can’t wait to know what it feels like to have you speared on his cock.

“K-Kyle, wait!” you wail, reaching down to grip his wrist.

He freezes, letting you push his hand away. His fingers slide out of your cunt, your little hole clenching around nothing now that it was empty.

“What is it?” he asks, panic gripping his throat, “Did I hurt you?”

“N-No, I just…” you’re panting as you clumsily sit up, “I-I just wanted a break. It was…a lot.”

His anxiety melts off of him and he smiles, “Alright.”

“Can I…” you look down at his own pants where you can see the bulge of his cock against his thigh. Even clothed, it’s intimidatingly big. You swallow down the anxiety at the sigh and reach out to palm at him.

“Oh, let me undress,” he pants, quickly shedding the last few layers until he’s as naked as you are.

His cock is long, thick and pretty. It’s hard, twitching against his stomach as it drools precum down the shaft. You lick your lips and reach your hand out, glancing at his face to make sure that he��s okay with it before your hand wraps around him. He sighs, shoulders relaxing where he stands at the first bit of pleasure on his neglected cock.

He reaches down to guide your hand, showing you how he likes to be stroked. Your movements are clumsy and your grip is unsure but the sight of his fat cock wrapped up in your pretty hand is enough to make his cock drool messily all over himself.

“Can I…” you look up at him, pretty eyes sparkling, “Can I use my mouth like you did for me?”

His cock twitches at the question, imagining what it would feel like to have his cock buried in your tight, hot throat. But he finds himself shaking his head despite how badly he wants it, reaching out to run his thumb over the seam of your lips.

“It’s dirty, sweetheart,” he coos, “You don’t need to do that.”

“But you did it for me,” you argue, pouting at his words.

He smiles, “It’s different. I live only to give something as divine as you pleasure, my heart. You don’t need to degrade yourself for me like that,” you open your mouth to argue but he pushes you back onto the bed, “Besides, I want to get to the main event.”

“This isn’t over,” you pout but settle into the pillows, letting him arrange your legs so they’re situated around his hips.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he laughs, “You are quite stubborn.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” you giggle, feeling incredibly at ease despite the imposing image of his monstrous cock resting on your stomach, showing you just how deep he’s going to reach when he’s inside you.

He leans down, letting his weight rest on one arm above your head. You feel safe, protected under his body like this and can’t help but wind your arms around his neck when you have him so close.

“Can you just relax for me, my heart?” he asks, lips brushing against your ear as he uses his free hand to direct his cockhead to your drooling entrance, “Just relax…that’s it. So good for me.”

You’re so wet and slippery as he slides the head between your folds that it’s embarrassing. Your body twitches beneath his when he slips the head over your clit before pressing against your entrance again. Your jaw falls open as he pushes inside ever so slowly, centimeter by centimeter.

Your nails bite into his shoulders but he ignores it. He knows it has to burn, has to hurt with how tight your precious little cunt is around his big, fat cock. He forgives you for clawing up his back like this because it’s the least he deserves for bringing your divine body any kind of pain. But he knows it will all be worth it when he’s finally balls deep.

You’re making the sweetest sounds as he works you open, sinking himself deeper and deeper with every passing second. Before long, he balls are pressing against your ass and his pelvis meets your clit. Your walls seize around him at the pleasure, a moan of his own breaking from his chest. There’s a deep ache from the way the tip prods against your cervix but even that still feels good.

You can’t keep quiet even if you wanted to as he begins slowly and gently working his hips back and forth. You have this delirious look in your eyes, they’re sparkling with your pupils blown wide and you stare at him like he’s a god. This pleasure you’re feeling for the first time is hypnotic, addictive.

“You can’t ever marry anyone else now, my heart,” he coos, gripping your chin so you look at him, “No man will ever be able to satisfy you like I can.”

You shake your head, “Don’t want anyone else, Kyle,” your words are slurred as you speak them, “Only want you. I only love you.”

“That’s right,” he whispers, sweat beginning to bead along his forehead, “Only me. You’re all mine, I won’t ever share you again.”

He pulls back to look between your bodies, seeing the way you’re creaming messily around his cock. It aids in the movements, makes them smoother and deeper. He prods against the gooey, tender little spot deep inside of you that makes your moans pitch higher and your pretty eyes roll back into your head. You’re the vision of sin.

One of his hands finds yours, threading his fingers between your own as he pins it to the bed. He uses it as leverage to work his cock in and out of you. His hips slap against yours over and over again.

He hits that tender, sweet little spot inside you that makes lights explode behind your eyelids. You eagerly spread your legs for him, wanting to feel him more and deeper. You’re gasping, moans being punched out of your lungs every time he sinks completely inside you.

You’re making a mess around his cock, thick strings of sticky cum connecting his hips to yours. Filthy, sticky, wet noises of your cunt being fucked just like it deserves fills the room.

“Kyle,” you huff, jaw falling open as your eyes widen, “I-It feels…”

He knows. God, does he know. He feels the way your walls seize around him, clenching and spasming as the orgasm builds inside of you. His balls draw up, his own orgasm brewing inside him.

“Hold on for me, my heart,” he pants, “I want us to cum together.”

“Wh-What do you mean?” you manage to stumble out, eyes fighting to roll back into your head but you want to see him.

He looks beautiful, sweat coating his skin. The sun is dipping beneath the horizon outside, painting the room in beautiful shades of orange that only make him look ethereal. The light coming in from the window behind him gives him a halo, he looks positively enchanting and you find your mouth suddenly feels dry.

This man is yours, all yours. He’s yours to hold and to keep. No one can keep you apart anymore. He’s here with you in this bed, sealing his own fate to be with you for the rest of his life because he loves you like he’s never loved anyone else in his life.

From the day you were born, you were told you were to be with someone else. But you knew, in this moment, that you were truly destined to be with Kyle. You were put on this Earth for the sole purpose of finding him and loving him for the rest of your life.

You squeeze his hand in his when he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. You’re both panting and gasping into each other's mouths.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers, cock aching and twitching within the tight, snug, grasp of your precious little cunt, “Don’t look away.”

You wouldn’t be able to look away even if you wanted to. He has you hypnotized, big, pretty eyes are deep pools of black. His pupils are blown impossibly wide and his lashes flutter with every wave of pleasure he feels within your pussy.

Your body seizes up as that tight thread of pleasure suddenly snaps, “Kyle-!”

His lips meet yours, sealing you into a kiss as his brows furrow. The blissful clenching of your cunt brings him to his own end. He grunts as he spills inside you, rocking his hips to work both of you through the electrifying, dizzying high that you share together for the first time.

You’re whimpering and whining into his ear as he works the two of you down with lazy, messy humps of his hips. His cock is softening, coated in a hot, sticky layer of your cum and his. It’s a filthy mess, dribbles from his length when he pulls out. Your cunt still clenches through the aftershocks, spilling out onto the bed – not that he cares.

Your arms wind around his waist and you pull him flush against you again. You don’t want him to go anywhere, you crave having his body close to yours as you catch your breath and wait for your heart to stop pounding like a scared rabbit.

He lays on his side beside you, curling himself around your body as he tucks himself protectively into his chest. There’s a comfortable, soft silence between the two of you. You can hear the birds outside as they chirp and you can hear Kyle’s soft breaths and beating heart.

“We’ll stay here for a few days,” he suddenly says, “After that, everyone will begin looking for us. We’ll have to leave town by then.”

“Where will we go?” you ask, affectionately kissing his chin so he’ll look down at you.

He smiles, brushing some stray hairs out of your face, thumbing over the soft skin of your cheeks where they’re still flushed hot from your activities. You kiss his thumb when he rubs it over your lips, “I’m not sure. Somewhere that no one will recognize us – where we can start a new life.”

“Anywhere will be a good life as long as I have you, Kyle,” you assure, leaning up to peck his cheek this time.

“I feel the same, my beautiful,” he kisses your forehead, “magnificent,” he kisses your nose, “betrothed to be.”

He seals those words with a sweet, soft kiss to your lips.

this work belongs to rowarn. do not modify or repost to other websites. reblogs OK!

#kyle garrick smut #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #gaz smut #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick smut #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz smut #cod x reader #cod smut

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kyu-piddy · 8 months ago

Text

The mark of a soulmate

Small drabbles about meeting your soulmate.

Gn reader x Silver, Rook, Trey, Sebek, Kalim

Tw: None

2.5k words

Soulmates. A strange concept to you, but not to the residents of this strange world. Will you find yours?

When you came through that mirror, to this strange place of Twisted wonderland, you could feel a sting on your wrist. A small pain, like a sting of a needle, and then it was gone. When you had looked down at it, you had seen an intricate design. Curious about it, you asked the headmage.

“That is the mark of a soulmate! My, are they not common where you’re from?”

You shook your head.

“Not to worry. I’ll explain it to you, for I am so kind.”

“That mark is proof that out there, there is someone who is your other half. Their soul and yours complements each other in a way that no one else can. Meeting them will make you love the world just because it has them in it. Some people have multiple soulmates, others have platonic soulmates, but the most common is a romantic soulmate, and looking from your mark, it seems you have a romantic soulmate, and they’re rather close by. The mark gets darker and more defined the closer you are to them.”

With so much information, you could feel your head spinning. A soulmate? Such a thing really existed in this strange world you had been thrust upon by a dark carriage?

You stared at the headmage with a confused expression.

“Oh, you doubt me! How can you think that of your headmaster?”

You sighed.

“But how would I even know who my soulmate is?”

“You’ll feel it.”

“Feel it?”

The headmaster nodded.

“You’ll feel something pulling at your heart. Like a string.”

It all still felt like bogus to you, but who were you to deny his words? In a world filled with magic and talking animals, soulmates wasn’t such a strange concept.

“A soulmate, uh? I can worry about that later. It’s not like I’ll meet them any time soon, even if they are close by. This campus is massive.”

Silver

The mark on your wrist was a beautiful sword, glimmering silver enveloped by roses and their thorns, but they weren’t menacing, more like a protection to the splendor of the weapon.

Being in this strange new world was stressful. You didn’t know any of the material in class or had any street smarts. You were a stranger in a strange land, and everyday felt like a fight to stay afloat and not lose yourself in the unknown.

It all felt so overwhelming, that you couldn’t help but run into a remote place and hide under a tree, tears streaming down your face, hiccups assaulting your body.

A gentle tap on your shoulder made your head shoot up.

You locked eyes with a beautiful silver haired stranger, his kind purple gaze making you want to cry even more.

“Are you alright?”

He asked, a voice so soft and soothing, you broke into tears again.

You wailed and wailed and the stranger remained in place, his comforting hand stroking your shoulder until all your tears dried up and you just hiccuped like a child who just had a tantrum.

You finally felt calmer, but embarrassment was settling in.

“It’s going to be okay.” said the stranger, his sweet voice resonating through your head and making any embarrassment die down.

Looking at his eyes again, now calmer than before, you could feel something. A gentle tug, a pull from your… heart?

Your eyes widened. According to the headmaster, this meant that this guy was your soulmate.

As if he could read your mind, he murmured:

“I think we might be soulmates.”

You tried to speak, but instead a hiccup left your mouth.

The stranger put a hand in his pocket and took out a white handkerchief, using it to gently dab at your eyes.

“Do not cry, soulmate. It will be alright. I’m here for you.”

And he smiled. A smile so soft it felt criminal to be the cause of it.

Your hiccups finally settled, you thanked him.

“Thank you, …?”

“Silver. My name is Silver.”

Rook

The mark on your wrist was of a bow and arrow, poised to hit its mark with staggering accuracy, but more in the way a Cupid would hit its mark, a piercing of the soul and not of the flesh.

For the first time since you had come to NRC, you had Crowley's permission to head to the local town in this mysterious isle.

You had missed the hustle and bustle of strangers of different ages, of being a face in a crowd with no connection, even if at every turn you could spot the tell tale uniform of NRC.

Wandering through the town, starry-eyed and distracted, you tripped on someone’s foot and fell, grabbing onto them and making them fall too.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

You quickly got up and offered him a hand, but he refused, getting up on his own.

“You dirtied my uniform shirt!!” he screamed at you, a frown etched onto his features.

From the color of his vest and his peerless complexion, you knew he was a Pomefiore student.

“I’m really sorry. I’ll clean it-”

He looked you up and down and sneered.

“I should have noticed immediately. You’re the magicless half a student of that rundown dorm. No need for you to touch my uniform. Your filthy hands will only dirty it further.”

Rage filled you to the brim, and you were about to give him a piece of your mind, when an arrow passed through you both and landed on his vest, right above his shoulder.

“What do we have here? An altercation between our Trickster and Monsieur étudiant? What seems to be the problem?”

A man spoke from behind you, his voice close to your ear.

The student in front of you turned as pale as a ghost.

“Vice-house warden Rook! T-t-there’s no problem! None at all! I was actually leaving to take care of my dirty uniform!”

He scurried away, not even looking back.

“What a difficile Monsieur. Such cruel words for something so little.”

You turned back, seeing a blond man with a bow and a quiver filled with arrows, a gentle smile decorating his sharp features.

“Thank you for saving me. He was being really horrible for no reason.”

He reached over to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, and you felt your heart pulse erratically beat in your chest.

“Non, non. It was my pleasure to save you, soulmate.”

Trey

The mark on your wrist was of a playing card, three green clovers dotting its white space, comfortably in each place, pieces of a puzzle missing a hidden piece, to be found by itself and no one else.

The campus of NRC was a truly gigantic thing. It felt so labyrinthic, paths and more paths crossing with each other and becoming one or diverging into many, butterfly wings of concrete and bricks.

Getting to each class felt like a wild expedition. Where would each corridor lead you next?

You mostly relied on asking others, but in a school full of villains not many would tell you the way, or worse, not many would tell you the right way.

You stared at the edge of a corridor, no path to “turn left” like that student from Scarabia had told you.

Frustration bubbled inside you and rose up, small tears threatening to slip from your eyes, but you held strong, and kept them trapped.

You turned back around and started your scavenge for your classroom again, tracing your steps to the entrance of the school building.

You counted each step in your mind, walking backwards but sometimes looking back to make sure you were going the right way.

You didn’t even register the change in the deafening silence around you, so concentrated you were.

A pair of steps became two, and as you were about to look back, your face collided with a wall covered in fabric.

You exhaled a quick “ow”, pinching your sore nose, closed eyes watery.

“That was quite the hit. Do you need some ice?” asked the wall.

Opening said watery eyes revealed that the wall was in fact, a person.

A tall man, green hair and glasses and a worried expression.

His worry for you made you feel strangely happy.

“I don’t think I need it, but thank you. Oh! But I do need your help with something else.”

You scrambled to explain to him your problem.

“Ah, so you need to go to animal linguistics class. It’s really close by. I can take you there.”

His smile was so mature, it made you feel like you could rely on him for anything. He couldn’t be lying.

“Thank you so much, senpai!”

Giving him your brightest smile, you followed after him, your heart soaring with happiness, the mark on your wrist so defined it looked like a fresh tattoo.

He’d let you notice it for yourself.

Sebek

The mark on your wrist was of a crocodile curled around a beautiful dark rose, its piercing gaze and ferocious fangs turned to any who dare harm it, but rather than animalistic, it felt noble, like a knight protecting its liege.

The horses of the equestrian club were magnificent things, varied coats and manes and tempers, all in (sometimes not so) clean packages.

You liked observing them, their manes floating in the wind, some of them unruly, some of them as docile as a house cat, as their riders took them around and around the race track, perfecting their skills as you watched from afar.

But curiosity had gotten the best of you one day, and you decided to approach the stables.

Sneaking in right after practice, the tired horses were resting on their wooden homes, the smell of hay and horse dung infiltrating your nostrils and making you gag, but you were already here, so why stop now?

You didn’t dare to approach too much, but being this close to them made you feel better. Even in this weird magical place, some things were the same.

A loud sound came from behind you, and you felt yourself freeze. The main door to the stable had opened.

Louder than the first sound, a voice yelled from behind you.

“WHO IS THERE? NO ONE IS ALLOWED IN THE HORSE STABLES AFTER PRACTICE!”

You slowly turned around, coming face to face with a tall light green haired man, his expression serious, frightening and yet also ethereal.

“I’m really sorry! I know I shouldn’t be here, but I got really curious and really wanted to see the horses.” you explained.

“THAT IS NO EXCUSE! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN SEVERELY HURT, HUMAN.”

Even though he had approached you, he was still screaming loudly, making you flinch.

The horses didn’t seem to mind, perhaps used to his booming voice.

His tone wasn’t the nicest, but it didn't feel mean either. It was a strange mixture of emotions that neither of you were entirely sure of.

“You’re correct. I sincerely apologize.”

He kept his hardened posture and gaze, but an almost imperceptible twinkle in his eye told you that he appreciated the apology.

“IF YOU EVER WANT TO SEE THE HORSES, YOU NEED TO ASK TO BE ACCOMPANIED BY A MEMBER OF THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB. AS A GUARD OF LORD MALLEUS AND A MEMBER OF THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB, I WILL DO MY DUTY AS BEFITTING OF ONE OF HIS KNIGHTS AND ACCOMPANY YOU IF YOU SO WISH.”

That was unexpected. The screaming, lightning eyebrowed boy that had the expression of someone with extreme constipation wished to accompany you. What a strange and wonderful thing.

“Then, Knight of Lord Malleus, I accept your offer. Next time you’ll have to show me around the stables and let me meet all the horses.”

You gave him your brightest smile, and watched as the tips of his ears turned pink.

In the dim light of the stable, neither noticed the intricate design on their wrist become fully inked, its splendor in full bloom.

Kalim

The mark on your wrist was of a beautiful exotic carpet, gold, red and purple thread intermingled to create an embroidered tapestry, who instead of laying flat or being rolled on its side, looked ready to soar into the sun.

Potions class always made you feel like some sort of ancient magic bearer, living by a bog and making frog stew.

It simultaneously felt mindless and stimulating, being so precise with temperature and ingredients and color of the potion but also mandating that you stir a pot for 10 minutes while looking for a color change from burgundy to pale red.

It all took ages to perfect, and a second to explode on your face.

You stirred the pot, your mind already outside of the classroom and in the lunchroom, boredom and hunger fueling daydreams of snacks.

You almost even wished for something to explode, just so you wouldn’t be as bored out of your mind.

Like the universe had read your mind, a loud thwack echoed from the window beside you, scaring you out of your mind, your arm moving on its own and accidentally elbowing your cauldron, the whole thing spilling on the floor, a goey slippery mess of red and chopped ingredients.

From the other side of the room, Professor Crewel gave you a look that said it all.

A thorough scolding later, and your after class lunchroom plans were dashed, as the bubbling mess of a potion on the floor was your mess to clean.

You sighed, but armed with a mop and some cleaning solution, you’d deal with it.

Looking at the window that had started it all, your eyes widened, seeing what you assumed to be the perpetrator of the loud sound still there waving at you.

It was some sort of a rug? And it was waving at you? But the strangest part of it all, is that you felt like you recognized this rug, like one recognizes a friend lost in a crowd.

You stared back down at the spilled potion, wondering if in its liquid state it caused some sort of hallucinations.

Your contemplations of your state of mind were interrupted by the door to the classroom loudly opening, and someone exclaiming:

“Found you!”

Turning back, you saw a silver haired youth barreling towards you and the spilled potion.

“Wait, watch out-“ you warned, but it was too late, as the young man was already with one foot on the puddle and the other in the air, his body directly projected towards you.

“waaaAAAAAHHH” he screamed as he fell on you, squishing you against the ground.

He quickly got on his elbows, looking down on you with an easy going smile.

“Oh, hi there! Sorry for falling on you. But my carpet flew away and Jamil would be super mad if he found out so I’ve been searching for it everywhere.”

You blinked slowly, the whole situation feeling like a fever dream.

You should be more appalled at whatever just happened, but seeing this stranger's smiling face made you feel soft.

Everything dictated that he should get off of you, but strangely you didn’t want him too.

A light turned on in your head, and you peaked at your wrist, the once slightly faded mark a vibrant work of art, like a freshly painted portrait.

Your eyes met the smiling strangers' red ones, and you smiled back at him.

“I think I already found the carpet.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #Silver Vanrouge #Rook Hunt #Trey Clover #Sebek Zigvolt #Kalim Al-Asim #KyusBow

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amourcheol · 2 months ago

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ave, general (teaser)

❝The Eagle of Rome has returned to you at last.❞

historical! au | fluff, smut, crack | approx. 15k words

s u m m a r y : after your husband returns from the wars in foreign lands, you could not be more proud to see him be the shining pride of rome. however, even among the celebrations and your own personal news, lee jihoon only wanted one thing—some time alone with you.

c o n t e n t s : roman! au, roman general! jihoon, husband! jihoon, father! jihoon, mother! mc, a lot of historical background and roman terms to add historical accuracy, soldiers! bss + wonwoo and chan, all of them are so annoying it's a wonder they aren't executed, seungcheol is, in a literal sense, a baby, this is a bullying chan campaign, the soldiers do NOT know how to talk to a baby, domesticity <333 mature content ↠ dirty talk, petnames (my love, my sweet, darling, mea vita), fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), slight exhibitionism, unprotected sex (roman contraceptives are dookie), multiple orgasming, slight aftercare

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @gyuswhore @lexyraeworld @moonlightwonu @spooky-goose1003 @dvalitaes @cookiearmy @lllucere @syluslittlecrows @mrsjohnnysuh @fancypeacepersona @thepoopdokyeomtouched (send an ask if you wish to be tagged <3)

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : can you tell i have a thing for generals…formally apologising to jay from enha LAWL but a big thank you for gladiator 2 coming out the movie has revived the urge to revamp this fic !! enjoy the teaser everyone <3

back to masterlist | READ FULL FIC HERE!

"WHAT IS THE LAUGH FOR?"

“Your commanders, darling,” you mused, wrapping an arm around your husband. “They are more bizarre than usual.”

Exhaling through his nose, he returned your embrace twice over, engulfing you within his hold. “My half-witted commanders,” he reminisced, running his fingers across your back. “They are delighted to be back.”

“I can tell,” you giggled out, leaning into him. “I missed them greatly.”

His face ghosted a little smugness. “But you missed me more.”

“You keep convincing yourself of the notion.”

Feeling his laughter reverberating off him, you felt yourself being pulled at arm’s length, looking up at him once more. Your husband leaned in then, gently pressing his forehead against yours. “No one is at home anymore, vita.”

A raise of your eyebrow. “Chan just asked me to stay here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he insisted, brushing his nose with yours. “We are alone...with no one to bother us again…”

Much as you would like to follow his intentions, you feared the state of the pending party. It had been two years since the Eagle and his centurions’ return—their triumph will be celebrated without fault.

“Jihoon,” you murmured, taking great pains in retracting from his kisses. “I must go.”

His lips trailed down to your chin, making your willpower all the more weak. “Can you not spare me even an hour?”

If you could spare him half that hour, you would have gladly indulged him, but the party arrangements awaited. The soldiers, and your general, deserved the best of welcomes.

So you made yourself separate from his tempting hold, taking a few steps away from him. “I cannot offer even a second, my love.”

The man pretended to be beyond upset at your resistance. He waited till your feet landed on the entryway when he spoke.

“Perhaps it was better you did not give me a mere hour, vita.”

You looked back. Leaning against the stone cot, he let his lips curl upwards. “It simply would not suffice.”

The curiosity in your eyes had him further smirking. “I need an entire day to make up for the two years of absence from you.”

It was sheer luck you were holding onto the doorframe.

“Careful, love,” he cooed, which only had you stumbling further out of the door in shock. His laughter followed you faintly as you left the room, blood rushing to your cheeks in drastic speed.

You hoped ardently, without shame, that he would carry out his intentions.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen smut #lee jihoon imagines #woozi imagines #woozi smut #lee jihoon smut #svt imagines #svt smut #jihoon imagines #jihoon smut #seventeen x reader #lee jihoon x reader #jihoon x reader #woozi x reader

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judesmoonbeauty · 22 days ago

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Jude Jazza’s 2nd Birthday: “The Cursed Moon Within His Merciless Arms” Epilogue POV

This is a fan translation. 100% accuracy cannot be guaranteed. Please expect grammatical errors and lack of nuance. Creative liberties were taken in order for a smoother translation. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not repost or claim my translations as your own. Thank you for your support! ☾⋆

MDNI. NSFW.

Victor: Welcome back, Jude!

It was late at night when I returned to Crown castle after finishing up work at Raven Co.. That’s when Victor greeted me.

Jude: …..Why’re ya still up?

Victor: Why of course, to prepare for your birthday party tomorrow, Jude! …..

Victor: …Oh, look the date has already changed. JUDE, HAPPY BIRTH—

Jude: —Hold it.

Victor: I can’t even give you my wishes? ….That makes me feel so lonely.

Jude: Already gotta prior engagement with ‘em words.

After I rejected him, I thought back to the conversation I had with Kate before I left for work.

[Flashback]

Jude: I’ll be back late t’night.

I don’t share my schedule with others unless it’s necessary.

…..However, my birthday was tomorrow, and she asked me about my schedule a month in advance in order to celebrate it.

She’d been counting down the days, so I felt like I owed it to her to say something.

Kate: Oh, really….?

Seeing Kate look disheartened, guilt that I thought I’d long lost, started to surface.

Kate: ….Um, well, I just have one favor to ask, Jude.

Kate: I want to be the first to wish you happy birthday, so I want to come back to your room no matter how late it is.

Kate: If you sleep at Raven Co., your employees might be the first to tell you…

Kate: Oh, but I’m not saying you have to do it. Just only if it’s possible……

Kate said that with a pasted smile on her face.

It was obvious that she was trying to suppress her feelings so she wouldn’t burden me.

— A woman who understands circumstances, or a woman who doesn’t understand circumstances.

If you ask me which one is better, naturally it’s an understanding woman who stays in her lane.

(But…what’s this?)

(I reckon it’ll be fine to listen to some of the selfish stuff she asks.)

Jude: …..Can’t make no promises, but I’ll try my best.

Kate: Really? Thanks, Jude!!!

[Flash Back Ends]

Remembering Kate’s bright smile, like a moon emerging from the clouds,

I parted ways from Victor towards my room, my pace a little quicker than usual.

When I returned I could tell Kate had waited for as long as she could, having fallen asleep in the chair.

(…..Whadda pain.)

I picked Kate up and carried her to the bed,

The line actually reads that he picked her up behind the knees. Essentially, he princess carried her. However, I felt this is already implied and opted to leave it out.

And then I quickly fell asleep thinking about the wishes Kate would say to me when she woke up.

When my birthday arrived, it was a crazy day.

In the morning, I wasted time dealing with a group of weaklings trying to kill me off,

And that afternoon, Crown celebrated my birthday with a song….

It was late in the evening when I was finally alone with Kate.

Kate: Ohh….Jude…..it feels so…..good…

When I bit into her throat and drove myself deep inside her, Kate clung to me looking blissed out.

When I saw that look, I swallowed hard.

I wanted to make her feel even better, to mess her up even more. To drive her even crazier……A violent need surged throughout my body.

(…..Am I a kid who gets turned on for seein’ my girlfriend gettin’ excited?)

Kate’s tearful eyes, her knitted brows as she tried to endure, her melted expression as she comes…..

I got excited by Kate’s expressions as our bodies melded together,

Just like a boy falling in love for the first time.

Jude: ….That so?

I replied bluntly as I cynically laughed internally at my own immature feelings, when Kate’s eyes flickered anxiously.

Kate: Jude……?

Jude: ……

Jude: …….Ain’t no way I’m gonna strain yer body by tanglin’ up with ya if it don’t feel good.

I gave a round about reply and then slowly moved my hips further forward.

As I dragged against each of Kate’s favorite spots, she let out sweet, soft moans.

However, even though she was completely absorbed in pleasure, Kate didn’t stop asking questions.

Kate: Jude, I…..feel so good…right now….I’m losing my mind….

Kate: Can you….say it more clearly….?

(….This woman’s way too worried if I’m feelin’ good or not.)

All she needed to do was surrender herself to the pleasure I was giving her, but she wanted both of us to feel good.

Each time that happened I felt this itchy sensation deep in my heart, like it’d been tickled by a feather…..

I could feel the presence of the thing called love.

(….Feels even weirder answerin’ without thinkin’ it’s a hassle.)

Jude: Guess ain’t no gettin’ ‘round it…..

Jude: ….Feels good, Kate.

Kate laughed as I brushed her bangs away from her sweaty forehead, and kissed her softly.

Kate: Hehe….hey, Jude….

Kate:……To be honest , I was hoping on your birthday, you’d say “I like you” or “I love you”…..

Kate: I kind of thought you’d say it….

Kate: But….this is plenty for now.

As if to say that she understood all the feelings I couldn’t express,

Kate smiled contentedly and caressed my cheek lovingly.

Illuminated by moonlight, Kate glowed brilliantly….giving the illusion of the moon falling from within reach.

(….Beautiful.)

Kate: ….Oh! But…..you can say them whenever you feel like it, okay? Words of love.

Jude:….If I feel like it.

When I brushed it off Kate pouted in dissatisfaction, and immediately I pressed my lips against hers.

In surprise, Kate tried to escape, but my tongue captured and entangled with hers.

(If I don’t say things like “I like ya” or “I love ya”, you’ll keep chasin’ me for ‘em.)

Just as I chase and cry for the moon, you can chase and cry for me too.

Just keep chasing me under a curse that will never be broken for all time.

I have no intention of telling her that….and I can’t let go yet.

Kate: Mmmm……Jude…..

The voice calling me in between kisses, dissolved all of my sense into a puddle.

Jude: …..Ya might’ve had ‘nough, but I ain’t had ‘nough.

Kate: Mm….the present?

When I attended Crown’s birthday party for me, Kate gave me a tasteful fountain pen as a gift.

It was chosen to match the same diameter of the pen I normally used,

'A tasteful fountain pen' was repeated in this line, but I dropped it because I felt it was redundant.

I’ve no intention of nitpicking about it now, and if you asked me to return it, I wouldn’t give it back.

Jude: Haven’t had ‘nough of ya .

Kate: Huh…..Oh!

I resumed the flow from earlier, and as Kate whimpered sweetly I bit her over and over again, sucking her up.

As I etched red marks into her skin, leaving behind traces of our love-making, Kate moved like she was trying to escape.

Jude: …..Oi, whadda tryin’ to run for?

Kate: B-because….if you leave marks there, I won’t be able to cover them with clothing…..

Jude: Tch…..yer tryna hide it now?

I was surprised that my retort carried a sulky tone to it.

….However, Kate didn’t notice the tone of my voice, but kept staring blankly at me.

Kate: …..Is that okay?

Jude: Is what okay?

Kate: Well….if the Crown members see it tomorrow morning, they’ll say something about it, right?

Kate: Jude, you seem bad with that sort of thing…..

Just as Kate said, some of the Crown guys might tease me if they saw the hickeys.

Or maybe they’ll just look on and not give a lick.

Jude: It’s fine ya don't do that…….Were ya avoidin’ me ‘cause ya were frettin’ over that?

Kate: …..Yeah, but if you don’t care Jude…..

Kate: Then I want you to leave lots of marks on me.

Kate:….Oh, I’m asking you to do everything again.

Jude: ….There’s nothin’ wrong with that.

You were the first to give me birthday wishes, kicked out those gits who attacked me, chose a gift that made me happy,

Called out to me with a soft, sweet voice, accepted me in deepest parts of you, and wanted to cater to me.

…..Kate might think it’s only natural since it’s my birthday, but it’s not just about getting someone to do something for you.

Jude: If that’s whatcha want, I’ll engrave ‘em on ya ‘til ya hate it.

This cursed, cursed night was far from being over.

[Story Master List] [Birthday Letter] Dividers: @.natimiles @.cafekitsune

PLEASE, he is SO SWEET. The way he's slowly noticing emotions in himself that he thought no longer existed, and the fact that he can feel the presence of love inside of himself (when he feels that he out of all people wouldn't, and feels it's suffocating overall.) Ugh, I can't wait to see his character growth over time. And that BLUSH when he admits he hasn't had enough of her!

Tags List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @complexivelovely @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul

If you wish to be added to my tags list and are 18+, then please comment below and specify which suitor, or all translations!

#jude jazza #ikevil jude #jude jazza translations #ikevil #ikevil translations #cybird translations #mdni

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munson-blurbs · 8 months ago

Note

hope you don't mind me asking but could reader adopt harris officially? it'd be a sweet little blurb ☺️

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

Summary: Harris makes a special request on his birthday: for you to adopt him and officially be his mommy.

TW: mention of parental neglect/drug use, pretty much just all fluff and happiness

WC: 2.2k

A/N: Happy Mother's Day to all of the moms out there! Y'all are badasses who deserve to be celebrated. I used this video for the judge's dialogue to ensure accuracy.

February 2001

“So, Har,” Eddie starts through a mouthful of cake, “did you have a good birthday?”

Harris nods emphatically, digging into his own slice. A dollop of vanilla frosting dots the tip of his nose, but he continues eating, unbothered.

Eddie looks at you as you try to contain the inevitable mess that Hendrix will make. His chubby cheeks are already decorated with chocolate cake, and he’s only a few bites in. “Can you believe we have a nine-year-old now?”

You shake your head. The years truly have flown by, and though you haven’t had the privilege of being there for all of them, it feels as though Harris’s fifth birthday was only yesterday.

“What’s crazy to me is that Harris is the same age you were when I took you in,” Wayne says to Eddie. He glances at his nephew, a wistful look in his old eyes.

“Oh, yeah!” Harris grins. “I forgot you took care of Daddy.”

Eddie leans back in his seat and smirks. “Did you ever regret adopting me, Old Man?”

“Every damn day.”

While he may have tuned out his dad and grandfather’s back-and-forth, you can see Harris pause before he continues eating. He’s never been one to stifle his curiosity, the wheels in his head turning as he processes the information.

His time to ask a question grinds to a halt when Hendrix slams his little palm right into the cake slice, grabs a chunk of it, and smashes it into his face. If any actually got in his mouth, it would be a miracle.

Harris gets his opportunity later that night. Eddie tucks him into bed, pulling the SpongeBob comforter up to his chin, and kisses his head.

“Daddy?” Harris asks before Eddie can stand up.

“Hmm?”

“Why did Grampa adopt you?”

Eddie exhales, chewing on the inside of his cheek. As his eldest son has gotten older, he’s become more honest with him, not constantly shielding him from painful truths. He chooses his words carefully before speaking again.

“Well, my mom and dad weren’t good parents. They didn’t take care of me, and they made a lot of bad choices,” he says. Memories flash through his mind, ones of eviction notices and strangers constantly in his home. Ones of police officers snapping handcuffs on his parents’ wrists, the two of them too far gone to even register to the severity of the situation. He shakes it off, turning his attention back to Harris. “And so Grampa Wayne took me in and adopted me so I would have a safe, happy home.”

“Like how my mom made bad choices? My real mom?”

Eddie nods, wondering if Harris knows how closely their situations resembled each other. Except you did what your father didn’t–you changed, he reminds himself.

“Yeah, like that.”

Harris thinks for a moment. “But now Mom is my mom. So does that mean she adopted me?”

“No, she didn’t adopt you.” His heart sinks when he sees the small pout forming on Harris’s lips. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Why not?”

Eddie scratches at his jawline, his nails digging into a particular itchy patch of stubble. “Well, honestly…we wanted to make sure it was what you wanted, Har. Because Mom will love you no matter what,” he makes sure to add.

Without any hesitation, Harris declares, “It’s what I want.”

“Are you sure? You can sleep on it—” Eddie feels a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth despite his attempt to remain neutral. Yes, his son often acts on impulse, but Eddie can tell this isn’t one of those instances.

Harris huffs out an impatient sigh, irritated that he even has to explain himself. “Dad, I’m nine now,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m almost double-digits. And I know I want Mom to adopt me.”

Eddie grins wider, pressing a kiss to his son’s forehead. “All right, bud. You got it.” He stands up with a grunt, something that Harris has already dubbed an ‘old man noise.’ “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow, okay?”

“Mm-hm,” Harris agrees sleepily, cocooning himself in his blankets while Eddie turns out the light.

Eddie is teeming with excitement when he sees you sitting in the family room, an open bag of sour cream and onion potato chips in your lap. Hendrix was fast asleep in his crib, and it was finally time for you and your husband to relax.

“So,” Eddie says, sliding onto the couch cushion next to you and plucking a chip from the bag, “it turns out that the birthday boy has one more gift request. A big one, actually.”

You raise your brows. “How big? Like, Hot Wheels track big or space camp big?”

“Neither.” Eddie’s eyes gleam. “He wants you to adopt him.”

You sit up quickly, a smile stretching across your face. “Are you…are you serious?”

“One hundred percent.” Eddie says with a nod. “He insisted on it, actually. I don’t think you could say no even if you wanted to.”

His teasing would normally draw a snarky retort from you, but you’re too overwhelmed to come up with a quip. “Harris wants me to adopt him,” you say slowly, letting each word seep into your tongue.

Eddie kisses your cheek, his nose brushing your warm skin. “This is everything I ever wanted for him, you know,” he murmurs. Another kiss, then he tilts your chin so he can place his lips on yours. “Thank you for loving him.”

You snuggle in closer, your head resting on his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me.”

September 2002

It’s a special occasion when you can convince Eddie and Wayne Munson to wear a suit and tie, but you didn’t even have to ask today. Both men are dressed with their shirts tucked into their slacks—not jeans.

You smooth out a pleat in your dress, scoop Hendrix out of his Pack-N-Play, and grin at your family.

“You guys ready?” You ask, desperate to get everyone into the car before someone spills something on their clothes. While Harris and Hendrix would be the most obvious culprits of a mess, the men are just as capable of causing chaos.

Eddie slings Hendrix’s diaper bag over his shoulder and takes Harris’s hand in his. “Let’s ship out, team.”

“Ship out!” Hendrix echoes–loudly, right in your ear. You wince, but you can’t stay annoyed for too long, considering how happy you are. How happy everyone is; even the baby of the family, who doesn’t know why he’s in a good mood, just that he is.

Everyone piles into the sedan: Eddie in the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat, and Wayne squished between his grandsons in the back.

“Don’t know how I ended up here,” Wayne grumbles, reaching behind for his seatbelt.

Eddie grabs your hand as he pulls onto the road, giving it a tender squeeze. This is a huge deal; logically, you know this. To Eddie, he’s officially giving his son the mother he always deserved, and you’ll be able to make all sorts of important decisions for Harris. But to you, there is no piece of paper that can strengthen or weaken your love for your oldest son. Still, this is a promise from you to Harris, one that you will never break.

The courthouse’s silence is promptly broken with the Munsons’ arrival, as your family’s presence tends to do. Hendrix enjoys the way his delighted shrieks reverberate down the empty hallway, and Harris grips a nearby bench to jump out his nervous energy.

“Har?” you call out, waving him over to a private spot. He stops jumping long enough to follow you, shaking his hands excitedly.

You crouch down to his height and dig through your purse until you find what you’re looking for: a shiny silver compass with a quote engraved on the back:

“If you don’t get lost, there’s a chance you may never be found.”

“Uncle Dusty recommended his favorite compass, and he said you can bring it on your next camping trip” you say with a smile, your lower lip trembling as you hold back tears. “I hope that every time you use it, you remember that I’ll always be here to help you find your way.”

Harris looks from you to the compass and back again. He grins and flings his arms around you, nearly knocking you over in the process.

“This is so cool!” He cheers. “I’m gonna show everyone!”

“What do you say?” Eddie reminds him, a twinkle in his eye.

Harris barely turns around to you to yell, “Thanks, Mom!”

Mom. That title never gets old, and you don’t think it ever will.

“Munson?” You jump slightly when a bailiff announces that it’s your turn to see the judge. He gives a small smile as you enter the courtroom, probably relieved that this is a joyful occasion that won’t likely require his intervention.

This is it, you think. You wish your dress had pockets to hide your trembling hands.

Everyone takes their positions. Harris stands between you and Eddie, and Wayne holds Hendrix at the end, ready to make a quick getaway in case the youngest Munson decides to throw a tantrum.

The judge addresses you directly. Her tone is firm but warm as she says, “Do you understand that if your petition for the adoption of Harris Wayne Munson is granted, you will be legally responsible for him?”

“Yes.” You feel Harris’s palm slide against yours; when you briefly look down, you see that his other hand is holding Eddie’s.

“And do you understand that this support includes food, clothing, shelter, as well as medical and educational support?” She continues.

You nod. “Yes.”

“And do you understand that if your request is granted, that you will be Harris’s parent in all respects, just as if he had been born to you?”

“Yes.” Your heart swells with love. Just as if he had been born to you. Even with the memorable pains and trials brought on by carrying and delivering Hendrix, you considered Harris just as much your son.

“And do you understand you will be undertaking the intellectual, spiritual, and moral guidance of Harris?”

You can almost hear your husband’s thoughts: Better her than me.

“Yes.”

The judge goes through a few more questions, all regarding your abilities to care for Harris. With each one, you feel Harris’s bouncing get more exuberant; part of you wishes you could join him.

Finally, she declares, “Based upon the reports and recommendations, this court finds that granting this petition is in the best interest of Harris.” She looks directly at Harris as she says, “Congratulations, she’s officially your Mommy.”

A choked sob escapes your throat, and your free hand flies to your mouth. You and Eddie both crouch down to embrace Harris, and you can’t help but notice the tears in your husband’s eyes. Wayne makes his way to you and, as best as he can with Hendrix still in his arms, wraps you in a hug. You think he might be the only adult not crying, but a tell-tale sniffle gives him away.

Hendrix is very confused by the overt display of emotion. The last time Wayne cried was well before the boy was born, back when the Colts won the 1970 Super Bowl against the Cowboys.

“Daddy? Mommy? Grampa?” He asks. “Why you cry?”

“We’re fine, buddy. Just have some big feelings. Happy feelings,” Eddie clarifies, kissing Hendrix on a chubby cheek. He looks at Harris and grins. “How does it feel, Har? Now that Mom adopted you?”

Harris scrunches up his face. “Like the same.”

You laugh and ruffle his hair. It’s not as wild as it was when he was your student, his curls less of a mop. “Good ‘the same’?”

He grins, nodding and hugging you again. “I can’t wait to tell all of my friends, and Uncle Dusty, and Mr. Will…”

Harris continues listing people he’s going to share his news with all the way to the parking lot. Some names you recognize, and others he might as well be making up.

“Wait! I almost forgot!” You reach into your purse and pull out a Ziploc bag containing five Oreos. “Everyone take one, but don’t eat it yet.”

When each person has an Oreo in their hand, you raise your own to eye-level and begin your toast. “To my first son, Harris. Thank you for making me a mommy.”

“To Harris!” Wayne and Eddie chorus, and Hendrix just yells his brother’s name before chowing down on his cookie.

As you all pile back into the car, Eddie takes your hand in his. Chocolate is still tucked into the crevices of his lips.

“To you, Sweetheart. Thank you for being the mommy Harris always wanted. Thank you for making us a family again.”

The kiss tastes of vanilla creme, sugary sweet, and you swear you wouldn’t have broken it if Wayne didn’t clear his throat.

“No need to make a third kid up there,” he mutters under his breath.

Eddie glares at him, hoping Harris didn’t overhear the comment, but you press on. “Shall we celebrate at the diner?”

“Can we share pancakes?” Harris beams.

You crane your neck and look back at him, once again overwhelmed by the amount of love you hold for him–for your son.

“I’d love to.”

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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pcr-alice · 2 months ago

Text

DPxDC - The Bat Key

there were a few posts going around a bit ago about Danny being Bruce's mentor in his early years, and they planted this idea in my head. i mixed in some cryptid danny for fun and to fit the halloween vibe. also on ao3

Batman grunted in pain as he hurried down the dark, townhouse-lined sidewalk. The cloudy night blocked the moonlight, and the lamps along the entire street were out, but they still moved between the shadows under the trees. The slash wound in his side was painful to the point that he had an arm around Robin’s shoulder to prop himself up. He scowled with each grunt. At least the blade hadn’t been spiked with venom. The same couldn’t be said for Red Robin’s wound. He was barely conscious, and Nightwing had to practically carry him. But they had finally made it here.

“Door.”

Nightwing hobbled up the few steps to the small porch and leaned against the wall to help hold some of Red Robin’s weight. Robin rushed to the door, already pulling a pick set from his utility belt. Batman managed to ascend the few steps himself, double checking the 13 to the side of the door.

“Wait.”

Robin scowled once again, but he complied. Batman pulled a small strip of metal from the lining of his utility belt. The tip was cut into a jagged, hooked pattern. He slipped it behind the bat symbol on his chest from underneath and twisted it a half spin. When he slid it back out, there was a house key attached to the end. Once free, he inserted it into the deadbolt and removed his hand. The temperature immediately dropped. Batman sighed in relief.

“What are –”

Robin’s question died before it was finished as the key began glowing green. It slowly rotated itself with the sound of grinding gears until a click echoed from behind the door.

“Oh great, I’m hallucinating” Red Robin wheezed out.

Batman turned the knob and pushed the door open.

“In.”

Robin entered first, crouched and alert. Nightwing followed, Red Robin draped over his shoulders. Batman took one more look around and spotted one of their assailants across the street, staring with their two glowing yellow eyes. He held the gaze for a silent few seconds, tension slowly leaving his body as they remained deathly still, then stepped inside and closed the door.

The large circular window high above the door lit the entryway with moonlight from the clear night sky. A staircase on the left led up into the dark, its railing marking out a small hallway balcony above. To their right was a small table, empty except for an unlit lamp. Past that on the same wall was an archway that led to a dark room pierced just enough by the moonlight for a large couch to be visible. The hallways straight ahead stretched into void.

“Couch.”

Once again, Robin entered first, disappearing into the shadows to scout the room. Nightwing lugged Red Robin into the room and laid him down on the couch to examine his wound. Batman followed and watched over the back of the couch.

“Bruce.”

Robin spun and threw a knife at the voice.

His senses had been honed to perfection since as long ago as he could remember. From the age of eight the only two members of the League who were capable of sneaking up on him were his blood relations. Now that he was out, Cain was alone on that list. Not even Batman could go unnoticed. Whatever this voice was, it managed to surprise him. But the League taught him to have no weaknesses, so even if his senses failed him, his reflexes could pick up the slack. The best tutors known to man had trained him with strict discipline, instilling perfect form and pinpoint accuracy that he could replicate from a dead sleep in pitch black darkness, all before he had even formed a single thought.

All together, this meant his blade was in the air before he could even parse what was said or what tone it was said with. When he realized that the voice had called Father by his civilian name in a calm greeting, he realized he made a mistake. But luckily, the voice wasn’t injured. Nor even startled.

“Danny.” Bruce greeted back.

This Danny had caught the knife by its handle well in front of his chest with what Robin evaluated to be his off-hand. Bright blue eyes pierced through the darkness straight to his position. They glowed in the darkness despite emitting no light, almost like a cat’s but without a source to reflect. If he had to guess, this unknown was a bit older than Red Robin. A bit taller, too. His deep black hair was unkempt, as if he had just been in a windstorm, sticking up at gravity-defying angles. He wore a dark robe made of fine material, not quite up to League wear standards, but too formal for a nightgown.

Robin cautiously stepped out of the darkness toward the others. Danny’s squinted eyes followed him, head angling slightly as it rotated to track his movement. Then they flicked away to look at Nightwing and squinted further. After a scant two seconds that stretched far too long, he raised his other hand to push his sleeve up, revealing a cheap plastic Batman-themed digital watch with a bright blue rubber strap.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” He murmured.

He pushed his sleeve further to reveal another, different watch, analog and much more elegant with a black strap most likely made of leather. It looked like something Father would wear to a gala. His eyebrows raised as he looked at it.

“Late, too.”

Batman grunted. Danny dropped his arms to his side, grip loose on the knife. He dipped his head at Damain and looked at Batman.

“My son, Damian.”

Damian tensed at the revealed information.

“He’s sharper than you were.”

“Being raised in an assassin cult will do that to you.”

Damian tensed even more despite the relaxed familiarity, almost teasing tone, that Batman fell into. Danny hummed a deep note and nodded his head toward Nightwing.

“Dick?”

“Nightwing.”

“And the one bleeding all over my couch?”

“Red Robin. Tim. Also my son, not by blood.”

Danny hummed again and lazily tossed the knife into the air toward Robin (who easily caught it, of course) as he walked to the other side of the couch. His movement made no noise whatsoever. Nightwing stepped back cautiously, positioning himself to step between Danny and Red Robin at a moment’s notice.

“What kind of poison?”

“We don’t know.”

He sat down on the edge of the couch to look down at Red Robin but paused as he was leaning down. Instead, he pushed up his sleeve again, and the watches were gone. In their place was some sort of wrist computer that took up half his forearm. The screen was covered in undecipherable text and was surrounded by several buttons marked with hieroglyphics. Robin narrowed his eyes and gripped another knife behind his cape.

“If you throw another blade, I’m confiscating all of them.”

“Stand down, Robin.”

He scowled but let go of the knife. Danny looked to Batman.

“You seem to be getting a call, Bruce. You can take it in the entryway.”

Batman nodded and walked back out the archway, tapping his comm.

“Oracle. We’re safe for now. Red Robin is being treated for poison”

Robin and Nightwing watched him go, turning back after a brief second, only to flinch into defensive stances.

The entire room had changed. It was now lit by a blazing fireplace with a large coffee table between it and the couch where Danny and Red Robin were situated. The table was covered in supplies – glass bottles with colored liquid, mason jars filled with water and fruit and herbs, bowls of nuts, trays of fruit, plates of granola balls, and stacks of labeled first aid kits.

They each stole a look back to Batman, who kept speaking over his comm, not bothered in the slightest.

“I know you can’t. Have the others pull back.”

He flashed them the hand signal for safe.

“I’ll explain when we return. Hour at most.”

They focused back on Danny to see that he had a much larger first aid kit open on the floor next to him and was skimming his fingers across Red Robin’s forehead, brushing his hair away.

“Oh, this one’s cute,” Tim slurred, and he was Tim now, his mask resting on his chest.

Danny snorted and shifted Tim’s uniform away from the slice in his side. He wiped the blood away with some bandages and tilted his head in confusion. He lifted a bloody finger to stare at it. His eyes squinted and he brought the finger up to his nose, where he gave it a sniff. A low growl vibrated through the room, and Robin gripped his knife again. Danny tapped the bloody finger to his tongue, and Robin threw his knife. Or he would have, had Batman not caught his arm.

“Well?” Batman asked.

“It’s a good thing you brought him here,” Danny responded, voice deeper than even Batman’s, “No one should have access to this.”

He raised his other hand and a glowing green post-it note shimmered into existence in his palm. He flicked his wrist toward Nightwing, offering the note to him between two fingers. It was now covered in tiny writing, just as indecipherable as his wrist computer had been.

“Take this into the greenhouse,” he nodded to a door behind Nightwing that had almost certainly not been there before, “Give it to the Gardener; she’ll get you what you need.”

Nightwing hesitantly took the note and looked to Batman, who nodded to him and began walking to one of the chairs next to the couch. He stepped backwards to the door and cracked it open, giving them all one more glance before slipping inside and closing it gently behind him.

Batman slipped his cowl off and grabbed one of the bottled drinks, twisting the cap off and taking a large sip.

“I’ve tried countless times to replicate this flavor, all of them unsuccessful.”

“It’s made with long-extinct fruits, Bruce. I’d be impressed if you managed it.”

Bruce grunted as the door behind him opened and Nightwing stepped in, looking slightly shell-shocked, carrying two small jars and no post-it note.

“Took you long enough,” Danny scolded while gesturing him over.

He handed the jars over and sat down in the chair opposite Bruce, squinting in confusion at his lack of cowl and relaxed snacking. Robin slid into place next to him, still tense and on guard.

Danny unscrewed one of the jars and stuffed a roll of bandages inside before screwing the lid back on. He tossed it to Bruce without looking (who easily caught it, of course) and unscrewed the lid off the other jar.

“Help yourselves, by the way,” he vaguely gestured toward Robin and Nightwing with his head and pointed to the table with his elbow.

Bruce shook his jar and pulled some of the bandages out, sliding them underneath his suit around his wound. Danny scooped a finger’s worth of paste out of his jar and spread it over Red Robin’s wound. He screwed the cap back on and tossed the jar to Bruce just as the other one came flying back to him. They were both easily caught, of course.

Despite the initial hiss of pain, Red Robin’s whole body had been relaxing since the paste had been applied. His eyes slowly opened while Danny was cleaning his hands off and flicked around the room in a quick assessment.

“Who’s this?”

“Danny.” Bruce supplied.

Red Robin looked around the room slowly this time, taking in Bruce’s cowl-less head, the half-drunken jar of colored drink in front of him, the pile of nuts in his hand, Nightwing’s slightly traumatized face and awkward posture, Robin’s irritated scowl and distrustful glare, and he groaned loudly.

“Please tell me this isn’t another Selina situation. He’s like my age.”

“Bold of you to assume my age and gender.” Danny deadpanned.

Red Robin gaped back.

“I met Danny when I was first starting out as Batman.”

“When he was what, eight?” Dick blurted.

“Still with the assumptions,” Danny muttered to himself.

“We thank you for your assistance...Danny.”

Robin was stiff and formal and struggled through the Danny. But that didn’t stop Danny from giving him a slight smile. He looked down at Red Robin then up at Nightwing then finally back at Bruce.

“I like them,” he declared, grabbing a jar of water off the table.

Bruce grunted as Danny unscrewed the lid and handed it to Red Robin.

“Danny has not aged since we first met.”

“Not exactly, but whatever,” Danny mumbled as he tidied up the first aid kit.

Nightwing opened his mouth as if to speak but shook his head and kept quiet. Robin stepped forward to grab a banana off the table with a polite nod to Danny. Red Robin stared down at the jar in his hands. It was full of cold water with a thick slice of pineapple and sprig of mint. After a quick glance to Bruce, he took a sip that turned into a gulp that turned into him emptying the jar in one go and releasing a contented sigh afterwards.

“Do you know anything about the Court of Owls?” Bruce asked.

A tremor shook the house. Bruce tensed in reflex but didn’t leave his chair after a glance to Danny. Nightwing leapt to his feet. Robin slid backwards and drew a blade. Red Robin jolted up and winced through the half-eaten pineapple slice in his mouth. There was a tense silence for several seconds.

“Only that they are not welcome in Gotham,” Danny eventually replied.

After a few more seconds of silence, Danny flicked his eyes to the fireplace mantle as a small object tipped itself over. Nightwing shot his hand out and snatched it out of the air before it could hit the ground. He opened his fist and looked at a miniature gargoyle statue in confusion.

“I may have to become involved,” Danny nodded to Nightwing, who gently replaced the gargoyle on the mantle.

Bruce grunted. Danny tilted his head, staring into the middle distance.

“The occult shop on 4th and Finger between Asher’s Deli and Panadería Golosos,” he recited.

“There is no such shop.” Robin scowled.

“You are correct,” Danny turned to look at him, “And now that you know it’s there, you’ll be able to find it.”

“Emergencies?” Bruce asked.

“Entryway table, same rules.”

The exchange seemed to satisfy Bruce, who stood with a grunt and pulled his cowl back over his head. The others rose with him and followed him toward the entryway, each nodding a thank you to Danny as they went.

They stepped back into the moonlight of the entryway and saw the previously empty table now had four keys laid out on top of it, evenly spaced and covered in a thin layer of dust. When they looked back through the archway they came from, they saw a dark room back to its original form, no Danny to be seen anywhere.

Batman grabbed one of the keys and slipped it into a belt pouch. Robin followed his lead and took a key for himself.

“Father, were you ever going to inform us that you befriended a vampire?”

Batman grunted and cracked the door open to peer out.

“He’s not a vampire,” Red Robin scoffed, grabbing a key for himself.

“I don’t know, creepy house, magic shit, you should’ve seen the gardener,” Nightwing swiped the last key with a flourish.

“He tasted your blood, Drake.”

“He what!?”

“That was after you called him cute,” Nightwing teased.

Red Robin froze with his mouth open, eyes slowly widening.

“I was hoping I just imagined that.”

“Seriously Tim, he’s probably like 300 years old.”

“Tt, I believe Brown would call this robbing the cradle.”

Nightwing and Red Robin turned to look at Robin in silent surprise.

“Shall we leave?” He ignored their incredulous looks and followed Batman out the door.

They scrambled to not be the last out the door, finding themselves in an entirely different part of the city than they entered from.

#dp x dc #dpxdc #my writing #i personally think this works best in a pure batman universe (no JL)#but imagine it how you will #also im ambivalent on how dp fits in #same universe/different dimension/something else #theres clearly some sort of time stuff going on #that could fit into it too idk #probably not ghost king danny #maybe cw apprentice cuz of the time stuff #or maybe theyre just chilling #not totally happy with my writing here but it is what it is

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