#Every knee shall bow

[yeslordmyking]

Isaiah 2:22 — Today's Verse for Thursday, February 22, 2024

[bookkats]

#Advent Day 14 Christ is Coming

Dr. Wil Gafney “Christmas is not Canceled. Festive Christmas celebration and public displays are. But the Feast of the Incarnation will continue to be observed. There will be church services for the local residents. Tourism is strongly discouraged.” Layla Darwish: Most average Americans doesn’t even know Christmas is cancelled in Bethlehem. Christ IncarnatesChrist always comesthat is the…

[bonbonly]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: when I'm down on my knees, you're how I pray - when bishop!max decides to stay for the christmas festivities, chapter!charles leclerc finds it harder to hide his true religion: you. (this is a continuation of Temptation) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: this is a dark fic! you have been warned! do not read if you are not comfortable with dark fics or any of the following: noncon/dubcon, slapping, p in v, fingering, lactation, oral (m receiving), stoning, almost burning at the stake. this fic contains heavy catholic themes/guilt, and also includes angst and redemption. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4k 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: based on popular demand, i've made the sequel for Temptation! (read it if you haven't already!) writing this series made me a charles girlie omg

from the light through the cathedral's glass windows, the heavenly father centered his glory around the statue of virgin mary carrying her holy son, the loving baby jesus. above the ledge from where you stood, you glimpsed down to see the swarm of people shuffling into the main altar, getting on their knees as your child's father offered the lord's blessings to each loyal devotee. you watched the gentle smile on his face as he bowed his head, forming a cross on his chest with his hands. a soft amen fell from his lips, his eyes creased together as he giggled at something a child had said to him. his soft nature contrasted his demeanor towards you every night when he snuck into the attic to deliver another basket of bread and milk. he was a different man past the hours of the cathedral, the devil himself. you glanced down to your blissfully asleep bundle of joy in your arms, his tiny hands wrapped your finger as you gently rocked him back and forth. you could've loved the being in your arms had it not been out of a horrendous union that brought you turmoil more than love. you could've had the heart to smother him in kisses like any mother would to their child, to gift him every joy in the world had he been born to a man that you loved.

"you look cold, here have my cloak," charles leaned forward to kiss your forehead, draping the fabric over your shoulders. his head nestled onto your shoulder, ignoring the disdainful expression on your face. both your eyes fell down to your son, his soft coos echoing in the dark room where charles stored his obsessions. love was not in his vocabulary. for if he loved you, you knew he would let you go. charles gave your cheek a soft kiss, letting his warm lips linger on your cold skin, so that you could understand he would always be a part of you. a reminder of your new life as the mother to his child, another servant of god. your shoulders sagged at the declaration inside your head: this was your life. this was how you would spend the rest of your years. buried away in a dark attic where no man shall ever know of you existence - save your son - and you would rot away without the luxury of having a stable family. you envied your friends who were married and had a robust family tree, a dozen children to their name which they had wanted willingly. charles could see the sadness in your eyes, the way your head cast downwards with tears rolling down your cheeks. his breath hitched when the rays of light shone down on you; he saw the weeping virgin stand before him for a split second, her pain from the earthly world, from him. his eyes cast down to his child giggling with his arms outstretched for his father, and charles picked up the infant.

"leo is looking very healthy," he whispered, his eyes flickering to you for confirmation. you slowly nodded your head, your gaze transfixed onto the stone cracks. "i expect some words from you, mon ange."

"he is very healthy," you murmured, slowly lifting your gaze to face his. his eyes hardened into a glare, not happy with your attitude as of late. you acted as if it was the end of the world. what better pleasure would a woman such as yourself have if not being a servant of the lord, the mother to his child, his only possession far greater than the rosary he hung around his neck. he placed his son in the wooden cradle secretly made a long time ago when he first learned you were pregnant, and he grabbed hold of your arm to have you stand on your feet. his fingers dug into your jaw, forcing you to stare at him,

"what is wrong with you? have you forgotten your duties?" he questioned, watching you squirm under his grasp. your pitiful attempts to push him off were swatted away with his free hand, "you could've been a whore on the streets had i not rescued you. the grace of the holy father has led you to me, this is your chance at salvation and yet you act as if you'd rather live in perdition than with the heaven i have gifted you!"

he watched your tears collect onto his fingers, those rosy lips of yours now a small pout. he sighed out loud, repenting for his mistake of treating you so harshly and he leaned down to capture your lips into a kiss.

"oh, ma chère reine, come now. i am only doing this for your good," he kissed away your tears, caressing your face with his thumb. "it is not good for you to cry, i hate to see you cry. i only want to ever see you happy, n'est-ce pas vrai?"

your response is ignored as he sweeps you off your feet, carrying you to the bed he had placed besides the cradle. there was a small curtain that separated the "room" between yours and your son. charles laid you onto the mattress as if you were a dandelion, at any second you could be blown away out of his arms. his lips found your forehead once more, his touch gentle that for a moment, you were fooled into thinking that maybe he did love you. maybe, despite all the horrible things he had done to you, you could be safe in his arms. with parted lips, he cradled your face in his hands to pepper your face with kisses. your weeping eyes, your red nose, those cold cheeks and those rosy lips that always beckoned to him like the devil that you once were. his lips traveled down your neck, providing your bosom with open-mouthed kisses that were sure to leave marks. you were his, and had it not been his fate to serve for the lord, he would've married you as soon as your belly swelled with his child. it would've been a child out of wedlock and it still was but he didn't really care, but you were a mother. a beautiful mother that gave birth to such an extraordinary child. he undid your corset, letting the fabric slide down as his fingers popped through the strings of your shirt, revealing your swollen tits, already leaking with your milk.

the cross on the valley of your breasts was now a pale scar, and his fingers ghosted over the memories of events precisely a year ago. when he made you his. you weren't even looking at him, your attention on the curtain with your son's soft snores flooding the room. it sickened you that there was no comfort anywhere. charles rolled your nipples around with his thumbs, applying pressure on your hardening peaks as your milk trickled down gently. he squeezed them, leaving his mouth wide open to catch your strays. you always tasted so good. he almost envied his own child for being able to nurse off of you. he moved to nestle himself between your legs, hiking the skirt up. he kissed your ankles, using his free hand to push your panties to the side. spitting onto your cunt, he watched his own saliva glide down your folds, spilling onto the bed beneath the both of you. he would've taken his time with you had he not been occupied with his role as the chapter priest, but nonetheless his throbbing cock was free from its confines and he pushed into your velvety walls, groaning at the sensation. even after birthing a child, you still felt so good. so warm. you felt like home to him. he rocked his hips against yours, smiling when you finally broke your vow of silence to moan out loud and he leaned over to capture your areola in his mouth, drinking up the milk you had to offer him. his thrusts were always sharp, burying himself to the hilt to ensure that even without him filling you up, you'd always feel him inside.

"si parfait et tout à moi," he whispered, tilting his head up to watch you throw your head, completely gone in pleasure. he wrapped his arms around you, pressing your body flush against him, his cock drilling into you with fervor. "that's it, you can cum for me..."

that's all you needed to let yourself go, lips parting into an oval shape as you let out a guttural moan, sobbing into his arms. he silenced your whimpers with his lips, his cock still pummeling into you with erratic thrusts that signaled his climax was approaching. his goal was to fill you up again and again, hoping you'd be able to grow his family. you were so beautiful like this, slumped out against the bed, completely spent. upon hearing leo fussing, he dressed himself up quickly and scooped the baby up in his arms. you deserved some rest anyway.

"you have such a beautiful mother, you are so lucky leo. the lord has bestowed everything you ever need to you, un garçon vraiment très chanceux" he smiled. your eyes traveled up to the debilitated ceiling, unsure if your body could take the toll of having any more children. leo's birth was so tiresome, and it didn't help that you were kept as a secret. charles had acted as if he wasn't the actual father of the child, and he had your face covered so that no one could see that you were back from the supposed dead. you barely had time to recover from giving birth when charles immediately placed you on the wagon to head back to the cathedral. it was a nightmare you never wanted to relive ever again.

charles had left you and the baby to sleep, locking the door behind him. he trusted you enough not to try and escape him, but he knew for sure if you were willing to stay with him. the lord worked in mysterious ways, and perhaps his doubts were best to be cleared after a few hours of prayer. as he descended the back staircase, he passed by father gasly's cell who grinned at the sight of his friend.

"father leclerc! i was just wondering where you could've gone, mon cher ami, you almost could've missed it!" the french man slapped his hand onto charles' back, guiding him down the hallway.

"missed what?"

"bishop max is coming to spend christmas week with us. he was issued by the pope to see how large the spirit is during the holidays," father gasly explained, and charles rolled his eyes. since the day he joined the church, he'd always hated max. it didn't help that max had such close connections to the former pope at such a young age. if charles was the golden boy to his church, max was the son of the catholic religion. it was so clear that in another 10 years, max would become the pope one day. charles hated him for it, he already saw what was going to happen: max would come over and gloat in his face. he always used to beat him to prayer, getting the guidance offered by the senior priests first and charles would get the crumbs. he sucked his teeth, stepping into the main altar to find archdeacon vasseur laughing along with a man in a pointed hat, a cane in his hand that he tossed from one side to another. the archdeacon glanced over the man's shoulder to see charles, a wide grin on his face as he greeted the young man.

"ah, father leclerc! look who has brought glory to our cathedral with his presence!" the old man laughed, and charles' jaw went taut at the sight of max standing there, a crooked smile on his lips.

"ah, father leclerc! such a pleasure to see you again!" max's accent was still as thick as charles last remembered,

"good to see you again bishop verstappen," charles bowed his head slightly, feeling all his anger boil up to his head. he bit his tongue, remembering father bozzi's words from a year ago: never let your emotions get the best of you. keep that tongue of yours in check. charles clutched onto his rosary, hoping the holy cross would burn into his palm so that he would remain silent.

"you may call me father, no need for even more formalities," max laughed, "now i haven't been to this cathedral in quite some times. looks a bit worn, does it not?"

"we have so many visitors that our focus is mainly on them," charles snapped, ignoring the blatant side-eye father gasly was giving his friend. max raised an eyebrow, a hint of an amused smirk on his lips,

"i suppose so. i might need to go around this entire place. do some checks and see what could be added before christmas. pope hamilton said this place was one of the holiest in the world, and it ought to look like it." max adjusted his hat, glancing around the altar with an indifferent expression on his face. using his cane, he pushed charles to the side before walking off.

"what did pope hamilton see in him to promote him to bishop?" charles seethed, and father gasly nudged him with his elbow,

"father leclerc, jealousy does not suit you. if he heard you, he'd have you-"

"let him hear, i don't care. walking into my church and acting like he owns the place," he scoffed.

"your church?" father gasly snickered, "is this church not in the rightful ownership of the holy father? you don't own anything save your bible and rosary."

charles stared at his friend with a very dark expression on his face. he did have ownership. maybe not to the church, but definitely you and your child. he held his tongue, moving towards the altar to get onto his knees and pray. the father from the heavens had to ensure nothing bad would happen with max's presence. christmas was only a few days away, and the last thing charles' needed was a reflection on his cruel actions. no matter how many times he convinced himself that he was doing the world good by having you as his personal whore, he still felt like something was amiss. the light from the cross above him always seemed to dim when he stood before the altar. the organs did not sing the same tunes it once did when he pressed his fingers upon the keys. a mystery that he could not understand. the rosary around his neck reflected the light from the glass panels, right onto his heart. his eyes were closed, however, blind as always to the message the lord gave him.

max had past the hallway to the individual cells for the priests, but his eyes quickly caught hold of the staircase that was covered in sooth and dust. he frowned, running his fingers over the railings and recoiled in disgust at the dirt that stained his pale skin. he shook it off and grabbed his cane, tapping at the wood to make it wouldn't collapse onto him if he decided to climb the staircase. when his checks were through, he carefully ascended up to the top of the cathedral where the gargoyles slept peacefully. the bell-ringers were out for break so he wouldn't have to deal with their thousand questions. from what he could see, it was an open empty space, a clear view to the village down below. there was a room at the end of the passageway that had a few windows. he assumed it was for the bell-ringers to take short breaks and was about to head back downstairs when he heard a slight hum travel through the air. he circled back to the room, taking note of the lock on the door. pressing his ear against the door, he could hear a baby laughing while another voice sang soft lullabies. max moved to the window, peering through the bars to see you sitting on the ground, holding your son up as you took note of the way his legs scrunched together. you bent down to kiss his nose, watching his little face light up.

"didn't know the church held its own nursery here," max watched you stare at him with wide eyes, fear in your features as you held your baby firmly against your chest, his little head nestled in your neck.

"w-who are you? h-how... what are you doing here?" you questioned. even the bell-ringers had never come over. charles had convinced them all that they could do their duty one floor down. the well kept secret was now in the hands of a man you didn't even know.

"no need to fear me, schat." he smiled, "i'm bishop verstappen. i've come here to celebrate christmas with your church."

there was some sort of an edge in his voice, something that you could not explain. you glanced around your room, trying to avoid his sharp gaze. you never realized how suffocating this room really was until now. you set leo back down in his cradle, feeling your back being burned just being in his line of sight.

"you live here?" max inquired, the sound of his cane raking against the bars of the window making you clutch your ears. the metal scraping brought back horrid memories of the confines charles had you in, the whip of air as the flog drew red marks on your tits. you clutched your chest, still feeling the edge of the rosary being dragged on your skin to form the cross.

"y-yes," you breathed out, peering over your shoulder to see what new devil was at your doorstep. he frowned, tilting his head,

"interesting. and who knows about you? other than me of course."

you debated on telling him the truth. should you tell him the events from a year ago? but what if he was just as bad as charles? what if he found out you were originally a heretic and wanted to kill you? you gulped, deciding to play safe in the moment, "father leclerc, but he is nice enough to gift me bread and milk for the baby and i. aside from him, no one else knows."

"father leclerc does charity work? that's new of him," max snickered, "he keeps you locked away in here, though. do you offer him service for his hospitality?"

"n-no," you whispered, gulping, "none of that kind."

"a child out of wedlock," max pointed towards the cradle where leo was fast asleep, "and father leclerc has pitied you for it? he never was the type to do so. he was always stuck up from what i remember."

"he has changed."

"very much so indeed." max's lips formed into a thin line, "well, i shall see to it that you are free from your confines. a woman such as yourself should have the right to roam around this cathedral freely. as long as no one sees your baby, you should be safe." had he known the truth of your situation, you knew he wouldn't have been so kind to you. you nodded your head, listening to his footsteps fade away. you collapsed onto your bed, head in your hands as you thought about what would happen if charles came to hear of this.

charles was listening to a father lament about his dying son, torn between wanting to give him a proper burial but not having enough money to do so. he furrowed his brows, feeling sympathetic towards the man and he took off one of the rings given to him a long time ago by his late father. it was made out of gold, and he usually wouldn't have parted with it but he figured his father would rather the ring be used for something good than just an accessory. he dropped the ring into the palm of the man's hand and bowed his head,

"it is not quite equal to your son's burial but as stated from genesis 23:6 - none of us will withhold from you his tomb to hinder you from burying your dead," charles began, watching the man's face light up, "bury your son with the money the ring offers. if one dares question you, bring him to me and i shall discuss with him. may the lord guide your son's soul to the heavens. i shall send a chaplain soon to your quarters for his last rites."

the man held onto charles' hand, kissing it gently with tears in his eyes, "thank you, father leclerc. thank you, thank you. the holy father has done us all great service by having you among us."

charles' chest tightened at his words, a sensation that became more frequent these days. guilt was eating him alive, but he did not know why. he knew he was continuing the lord's work, being a very devout servant. but in the back of his mind, he remembered you all alone up in that cold room with leo, the sad look in your eyes. he watched the man exit the tall doors of the cathedral, and he caught hold of the statue of virgin mary carrying the infant jesus. his chest tightened once more, remembering the weeping virgin he saw in your eyes earlier. right when he was about to head back to his cell, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. much to his dismay, it was bishop verstappen and charles rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek.

"father verstappen, did you have a nice tour of our church?" charles glared at him, wanting to make his disgust extremely evident.

"mhm, very nice. i just didn't think you to be so charitable. giving away your father's ring just like that?" max sighed,

"i had nothing to bury my father in when he passed away. i only wish for this man's son to not suffer the same fate. everyone deserves to be buried," charles responded.

"tsk, tsk, tsk, you have gotten much softer, father leclerc, last i remember you were very keen on banishing my soul to hell if given the opportunity."

"that hasn't changed, actually. i'm just trying to be cordial since pope hamilton sent you here." charles growled, "charity is a good thing."

"i never argued with you about it, i'm just surprised the extent to which your charity goes." max narrowed his eyes, "and in the name of charity, i hope you haven't abused your rights as a servant to the lord. the kleine duif wishes to escape her cage. don't keep dogs tied up for too long."

charles gaped in horror as max walked off with a knowing smirk. he straightened his shoulders, glancing up to the ceiling of the cathedral before grabbing his rosary and heading up the back staircase. unbeknownst to him, max saw the chapter priest swiftly ascending the staircase and the bishop laughed to himself, realizing that he had charles exactly where he needed him to be: beneath him at all costs. the pretty dove upstairs was a sight for sore eyes, and by no means was max a perfect man. he had flaws, too. as any man would. years of celibacy could not be easily achieved in this modern world. not when women such as yourself always tempted the innocent priests into sin. he wondered if charles had ever touched you, ever marked you as his. there was no way he wouldn't have, but charles was always known for being so perfect and prudish that it wasn't far out of the question to assume that he was only helping you and nothing else.

charles had unlocked the door to your room, his chest heaving in anger as he saw you laying on your bed with those empty, forlorn eyes. he slammed the door behind him, marching over to see you sitting up on the bed with a finger to your lips.

"you'll wake the baby," you chastised him, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you to him,

"did anyone see you?" he hissed, "answer the truth. if you lie to me, i won't hesitate to have you punished for your disobedience to me."

you swallowed, thickly and shook your head slowly. he could see your eyes gloss over, the rosary shining in your eyes. he grabbed your hair and yanked it backwards, disregarding your pained whimpers,

"do. not. lie. to. me." he punctuated each word with a slap to your face. you bottom lip quivered, your scowl deepening, "tell me the truth. who saw you here? was it max?" he would never give the title to a man he hated, much less the respect he deserved.

"max saw me," and you brought out your hands to try and calm charles down, "b-but i didn't tell him anything. i only said that you had me here to save me from the outside world. you were giving me a place to hide my baby and me!"

he raised an eyebrow, "and how should i believe you?"

"you have to trust me, charles!" you begged, growing frustrated at his lack of respect for you, "if i wanted to jeopardize your future at this church i would've done that a long time ago!"

"oh, really?" charles laughed bitterly, "so you've thought about that before have you not? is that what you're telling me?"

"charles, no!" you cried out, struggling to escape his firm grip in your hair, "you're not listening to me! the door was still locked, all max did was ask who i was and i lied to him! he does not know about our arrangement, he does not know anything!"

"get on your knees," charles hauled you off the bed, dragging you onto the stone floor, "open that mouth of yours. unless your mouth serviced me, i'll assume you have used it to speak lies."

you groaned out loud, clamping your mouth shut as you glared at him. that defiance, that anger in your eyes. he'd last seen it when he first captured you. if looks could kill.

"open your mouth, espèce de petit diable," he commanded, his voice brooking no disobedience. "take my cock into your lying mouth and let it purify your wicked tongue." he pressed the swollen, throbbing head of his cock against your lips, rocking his hips to let his cock slide against your sealed mouth. his fingers tightened in your hair, yanking it harshly and when you cried out in pain, he slipped his cock inside your throat, giving you no space to breathe as he began to fuck your throat harshly. tears streamed down your cheek, your drool seeping down your chin as you stared at him with pure hatred in your eyes. he took note of the expression on your face and he snarled as he forced your head to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvis.

"take the holy sacrament deep in your lying throat. let it purify your wicked soul." He held you there, buried to the hilt, as he ground his hips against your face, his heavy balls slapping against your chin. "god commands it," he panted, his voice filled with lust, "you cannot deny his will. you cannot refuse your sacred duty to serve his servant, to serve me."

you struggled to swallow all of his cum when he came, coughing and gagging uncontrollably, spluttering out his semen. you watched him tuck his cock back in his robes, grabbing your hair once more so that you could look at him, "let this be a reminder, mon cœur, i won't be so forgiving next time. no one sees you, no one other than leo and me." and with that, he stormed out of the room and locked the door. you laid on the ground with a hoarse throat, sobbing on the floor. was this the "lord's" method of punishing you for being a heretic? in what world was this supposed to make you love the holy father? your questions are silenced by the exhaustion that took over your body. your bitterness was only heightened when you noticed how leo was still fast asleep. the plump baby always slept without a care in the world after he had his dose of your milk. you wished you could sleep in peace like that.

it was a rule that after you misbehaved, you would have to seek forgiveness from the holy father. the only way to do this was to walk with charles down to the main altar very late at night when everyone was asleep. he took note of your busted lip from his abuse earlier in the day, running his thumb over your bottom lip as you winced in pain. he muttered a soft apology, kissing your forehead before taking leo from your arms. you needn't burden yourself so much, besides your only focus should be on being forgiven for your sins. while you moved forward to begin your prayer, father gasly had woken up from his sleep to grab some water when he saw charles holding a baby in his hands. he frowned, approaching the latter,

"father leclerc, whose child is that?" he asked, and charles was just about ready to punch his friend. having to explain himself out of this one would be quite difficult. charles glanced down at his son, taking note of his peaceful features. his little fingers were wrapped around charles' forefinger, and he smiled at the sight. it reminded him of the older man from earlier in the day, asking to bury his son. charles' felt the air in his lungs freeze for a split second, imagining if he would have to do the same for his little boy in the future. it was a thought that scared him. he never wanted to lose leo, he never wanted to lose you. he inhaled, sharply and looked up at father gasly,

"i saw this little boy at an orphanage. i didn't have the heart to leave him out there in the cold so i took him in. he's beautiful isn't he?" charles' cooed, kissing leo's nose.

in the meantime, you had gotten to your knees and clasped your hands together. no matter how many times charles taught you how to pray, it never was an easy task. not when you still refused to believe in the existence of a higher being. if such a god existed, why didn't he save you? why would he have let you be tormented like this? you stared at the cross, tears welling up in your eyes at how hopeless everything seemed. you casted your eyes downwards, remembering what charles had said to you months before when you were faced complications in your pregnancy. your eyes had to be hidden. no one should know about your existence. no one should recognize.

"and if in the case someone meets your eyes, and sees you as (y/n) (l/n) the whore who used to dance in festivals and preach hersey with her followers, i shall find a diamond-encrusted dagger and gouge your eyes out so that no one shall remember what you used to look like..." charles' words echoed in your ears. you shook as you pretended to pray, your head empty with silence surrounding you. you felt a presence besides you, and you turned to tell charles that you had finished your prayer when instead you faced max.

"he's finally let you out, what a surprise," he whispered. you snapped your head back to the cross, your breathing now rapid as you tried to calm yourself. he took note of the way your breasts - from the small glimpse he had under your cloak - rose and fell in quick successions. "schatje, i've told you before, you need not fear me. i won't do anything to you."

"i cannot risk it. i cannot bring attention to myself," you whispered, and max rolled his eyes,

"there's barely anyone awake at this hour. come, i know a good place." he held out his hand, standing up on his feet. you hesitantly accepted his offer, finding it strange that he was treating you so kindly. he was asking, rather than demanding. you knew following max into the confession booth would land you in much more trouble tonight, but sat down besides you with a very soft look in those blue eyes. "here, you can tell me anything, schatje. how did you end up here? who is your child's father? whatever you wish to tell me you can."

perhaps it was out of desperation to finally have someone to properly talk to, but you revealed everything to max. you told him about your previous life, you told him how charles was obsessed with you, how he fucked a prostitute dreaming about you and how he burned your house down when your parents were away, kidnapping you and storing you away in the top of the cathedral in that hidden room to teach you the bible. you told him of your baby leo, how he had your eyes. you cared for the baby, but you could never bring yourself to love him. you sighed out loud after finishing your tale, staring at max as you waited for his reaction. he merely licked his lips, leaning his head back on the wall of the booth as he processed your tale.

"so the baby... is charles'. i knew the bastard wasn't pure," he chuckled, dryly. your face fell, having expected him to say something else. you were oblivious to their rivalry, already caught up in your own misfortunes. max tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, "ah, my poor lady, you have gone through so much. what all did he teach you?"

"he used to read the-" you stopped when you saw max shake his head,

"no, no, not about the bible. what did he teach you in bed?" he pried your lips open with his thumb, letting your mouth envelop around his digit as you began to suck. "such a good little slut, fuck... i can see why he chose you. i have to give it to him."

"for christ's sake, pierre," charles snapped out of the formality he usually gave his friend, "pierre, snap out of it. the baby was abandoned, no more questions out of you." he was still stuck up in the cell of father gasly, rolling his eyes at the millionth question he had to answer.

"oh come on, charles," pierre scoffed, dropping his act of formality as well, "it's a cute baby. what awful creature would leave this baby to die?" he turned to face the infant, peppering his little face with kisses before pressing his cheek against his own, "can i keep the baby, charles? he's so cute."

"he's not a dog, pierre. he's my-" charles paused, clearing his throat before continuing, "he's an infant."

"an infant abandoned so close to christmas! and he has come to our church! is this a sign from the lord?" pierre asked, and charles' shoulders sagged. he ran his hands over his face,

"pierre, give the infant back to me. i assure you, it's..." charles paused, picking up max's voice from the distance, "is that father verstappen?"

"possibly, i've been told he likes walking around churches at night since the lord has a different ambience then... isn't that right, leo?" pierre cooed, nuzzling his nose against the baby's face. the infant merely giggled in response, trying to grab onto the chaplain's nose. charles bit his lower lip, the realization of having left you alone at the altar crossing his mind. he smacked his hand on his forehead, hurrying out of the cell.

"wait, the baby!" pierre called out, and charles shook his head,

"you can take care of leo for the night," and he hurried down the hallway, grabbing a candle. his fingers looped through the hole of its holder, and he stormed around the dark cathedral, spinning in circles to see where you could've gone. you weren't in front of the cross, you weren't in the aisles. he stopped for a moment, hearing the squelching of juices coming from the confession booth. he could see a small candle through the holes, the shadows of two bodies dancing together like the flames before him. charles' heart sank for a moment, praying that it wasn't you. it shouldn't be you. you were his, only his. he swung open the door to the confessional, and saw a sight that burned his eyes.

max had the top of your dress bunched down to your waist, his lips wrapped around your nipple, drinking your lavish milk while your greedy cunt sucked his fingers. your head thrown back as you let out soft moans, bucking into his hand as his palm rubbed against your clit. max released your tit with a pop, licking his lips as beads of your milk dribbled down his chin and he brought his mouth to kiss your jaw. he was grinning like a madman, eyes snapping to face charles' anguished expression and he picked up his pace, curling his fingers inside you, scissoring your poor cunt as you let out strangled moans, trying to be quiet. you squirted all over max's fingers, your juices coating the walls of the confessional, breathing heavy.

"the dove's quite the slut, father leclerc," max snorted, "so beautiful and perfect. she'd be my personal whore if i took her with me back to rome," he smiled, licking his fingers and sucking on them to relish your taste. "oh schat, you taste amazing."

"get the fuck out of here," charles hissed, jerking his thumb to the side. max slid you off his lap, standing up and straightening his robe. he pushed past charles, placing his cane at charles' neck,

"she told me everything. you're lucky you're loved so deeply by this church, or i would've convinced them to throw you out a long time ago," he threatened, letting the edge of the cane dig into charles' chest. the sharp pain made him grit his teeth, and when max left to return to his special quarters, charles' dark eyes slowly turned to you. you were shaking in the corner of the confessional, hooking the sleeves of your dress back up your shoulder as you got to your knees,

"charles please, i didn't mean it... it just happened so suddenly, i don't know how to-" a sharp sting bloomed on your cheek as your head snapped to the side. charles' shook his hand, the crack of his lap even hurting him. he looked at you with such disgust,

"i should've known... the devil hasn't left you, has she? she's stored in your heart, n'est-ce pas vrai putain?" he pressed his finger against the scar on your chest, forcing you back up against the wall. his hand shot out to grab your throat, dragging you out of the confessional and onto the aisle. your head hit against the wooden furniture, your temples throbbing in pain as you felt him bunch up the skirt to your dress. without much preparation, he thrusted himself in you in one-go, clamping your mouth shut to silence your screams. he did not care if he was defiling you right in front of the holy cross. this would be a mistake you'd never make ever again. he was your rightful owner, not max. his fingers dug into your hips, hips snapping against yours as he continued to drill his cock into your overstimulated cunt your previous orgasm had still left you in a daze because of max's skilled fingers, and now with charles' cock ravaging you, you were crying and begging for him to have mercy on you. your tits were leaking with milk, your body unable to control the sensations you were feeling. charles' hands groped your tits, squeezing your milk out for his tongue to catch and soon he flipped you onto your stomach, bringing his cock right back into your spent pussy. your gummy walls tightened around him, trying to push him out but it only motivated him to drive further into you. he grabbed your hair, yanking your head to face him as your back arched.

"why can't you see it?" charles hissed, slapping your ass firmly, "why can you never understand? you belong to me! only me! you're mine!" and with each thrust of his hips, his hold on you was loosening. you were sobbing onto the carpeted floors of the cathedral, burying your face in your arms as his cock stretched your unwilling walls into oblivion. "how many times do i have to prove myself to you?"

charles' dropped his head down to the back of your neck, his weight pushed onto you as he continued to snap his hips relentlessly. you could feel tears on your back. charles' tears. "why can't you understand?" he whimpered, wrapping your throat with his hand as he brought you closer to him, "will nothing i do satisfy you? what more should i do?"

his words didn't make sense to you, and you couldn't follow along with what he was getting at. not when he was destroying your poor cunt like this. he pulled out of you just shortly after you silently screamed, cumming around his cock and instead flipped you onto your back so that you could face him. his cock was still achingly hard, the tip all red and angry, waiting to cum. a needy moan escaped his lips, his hands fighting the urge to finish himself off, to let his cum coat your skin. but he was denying himself. instead, he glanced down at you as began to sob,

"you know how much i love you?" he whispered, and your eyes widened, realizing that he had finally said the words you knew he would never feel, "my love for you... i love you... i love you so much. why can't you...." he took in a shaky breath, standing up and confining his cock inside his robes, "i love you so much. i just want to be with you, to be loved by you. i love you so much, why can you never see it?"

since charles' confessions, he distanced himself away from you as much as he could. he'd give sermons and return to his cell. the door to your room was permanently unlocked, giving you access to roam around the cathedral as much as you pleased. it was a stark difference from the man you once knew, and you didn't know if he finally cleared his soul, or if this was a storm brewing. father gasly took care of leo so often that you felt free from the confines of being a mother. charles' would escort you to pierre's cell, insisting that a proper woman could only take care of a child even though the both of you knew it was just so that your son still remembered who his mother was. you'd walk the hallways of the cathedral at night, admiring the various statues and glass panels up close, taking note of its details. charles would stand in a corner, never once meeting your eyes. the thought of even touching you made his skin crawl. his chest always felt heavy, a newfound burden taking a toll on his body with each step that he took around the cathedral. the light on the holy cross no longer dimmed when he stood before it, instead it shined brighter. a chance for redemption, but he did not know how to gain your forgiveness. everything that he had done to you finally freed his clouded thoughts; he was a monster. he was the very devil he had claimed to have seen in you. his lust brought his own ruins, he felt ill every time he gave a sermon about avoiding all sins. he'd whimper in his sleep, feeling like a kicked puppy as he replayed the nights where he'd keep you awake to satisfy his carnal urges. he'd wake up more frequently at night, crying to himself at how unfit he was to be a chapter priest. he should be publicly stoned to death for what he had done. he always felt more than he should, father bozzi always told him that. it surely didn't help his emotions when he saw bishop verstappen talking with you more frequently in the darkness of the night. you were opening up to him more often, actually smiling and enjoying his presence, in a way that you never did with charles. he deserved it, rightfully so. he'd shuffle back to his cell, taking leo into his arms from father gasly and would hum some small lullabies to usher the infant back to sleep. he could not stare at the statue of virgin mary anymore, could not stand to see the imagery of the weeping virgin. he brought this upon you. it was all his fault. he had to make it up to you, but he just didn't know how exactly.

bishop verstappen had slipped a piece of paper to charles to watch out for something important later in the day, a special early christmas present for the chapter priest. it was the morning of christmas eve, most of the people were getting ready to settle with their family for the night. the church had been fully decorated, the bell ringers coming with big wide smiles on their faces as they ran to and fro, getting small gifts from the archdeacon for their work throughout the year. charles had let the church discover leo's existence the night before, letting each of the divisions of priests fawn over his "adopted" son as they put it. 

"commendable charity work," father sainz smiled, "you really know how to represent what christmas is really about." and charles smiled, thinly. 

you had followed bishop verstappen into the streets of your village. the bright light so foreign to you after so long. you brought your cloak over your face, watching the small children run around. some of the faces you recognized as your neighbors' children, the very ones you'd laugh and play with after you finished your work at your stall. you smiled warmly at the memories, laughing as they nearly bumped into you in excitement for some magic show happening around the corner. the sounds of families giggling and embracing each other on the streets made you miss your own parents. you had to know what happened to them. what would they think if they saw their daughter well and alive. and your friends! frederick, oscar, all of them! you knew they must've missed you. you turned to max, grinning at him as you held onto his hand,

"i want to see my parents. they have to be here." but you failed to see the way his arm recoiled at your touch, the way he stared at you as if he had something far sinister in his mind. he merely pulled off the hood of your clock and with an accusatory finger, shouted at your face,

"the witch! she's a witch! she's back from the dead!"

charles had been on the second floor of the cathedral, pressing the keys to the organ to entertain his son who looked at the instrument in awe. he nearly missed the yelling downstairs if he hadn't stopped toying with the organ. he glanced down to the main altar to find bishop verstappen waiting downstairs with his hands behind his back, a grin on his face. charles could feel that something was wrong, but nevertheless, he approached his enemy.

"what's going on outside? a commotion?" charles' inquired, patting leo's back as he bounced the infant in his arms a couple of times. he took note of the crowd outside the gates to the cathedral and he furrowed his brows, moving to investigate before max grasped onto his shoulder.

"you're free from the devil, father leclerc." max smiled and charles scowled,

"what do you mean?"

"you have such an esteemed reputation at this church," max scoffed, rolling his eyes at the stupidity of charles, "we wouldn't want to ruin it. no one knows about this child, you can't keep the truth hidden forever. so you get rid of the truth."

"i... i'm not following along, what?"

"for fuck's sake," max groaned, shaking his head, "i accused her of being a witch, of coming back from the dead. she'll be burned at the stake later today, and you can thank me for it. all your guilt, all your lustful thoughts, all of it will be gone if she's gone. perfect, is it not? i would've kept her as my personal slut like i said earlier, but there's bound to be a million other women like her."

"are you insane?" charles yelled, startling leo who began to cry, "who asked of this from you? she... she trusted you!" he gulped, thinking about how you must've felt at this moment. putting your trust into a man after he had ruined everything for you, only for this cunt to betray you so openly in front of everyone. charles' anger knew no bounds and he shoved max to the side, storming out of the church to see the sight of you on a stick, hoisted into the air. your head hung low, bruises all over your body after being being stoned and flogged accordingly to your crime. charles' gasped out loud, pushing past the crowd to see them bring you over to the pile of hay in the center of the town square, ready to set fate. he watched the other priests, ones that he knew so well, cheer on for this heretic's damnation. leo cried louder, the screams hurting his ears and charles shielded his son into his chest, and with anxious eyes faced you. with what little strength you had left in you, you glanced up to the sky with tears cascading down your cheeks, blood spilling out of the inside of your mouth and there he saw it.

no longer was the weeping virgin just a flicker of his imagination or a sight meant to fool him, she was there right before him. he could see your tears as the holy water he used in his sermons, the glow around your head ready to accept your fate. no, he couldn't do this. after everything that he had put you through, he had to redeem himself. charles would never forgive himself if he stood to the side and let everyone take advantage of you, not to the virgin mary that he worshipped every day and night.

"enough with this foolishness!" charles' bellowed, stepping onto the pile of hay as he glanced down at the crowd surrounding you. "all of you stop this nonsense!"

he took in a deep breath, waiting for each idiot to silence themselves to let him speak. "enough... what are you all doing?"

"she's a heretic!" one man cried out.

"she's come back from the dead!" another hollered.

"a witch, a witch!" the crowd chanted in unison, and charles stomped his foot and screamed,

"silence!" he took in a deep breath, glancing down to see leo staring at him with wide eyes. he always had your eyes. he gulped, tilting his head back up to face the crowd once more, "today is christmas eve. tomorrow is christmas morning. you want to mark this holy tradition with the killing of a woman? is this what our holy father has taught us?"

he watched the crowd shift awkwardly and he continued, "she has progressed much in her religious journey. she is not back from the dead. she was actually... learning the glories of our savior. listen to me, all of you, put aside your fears. she will not... she won't hurt any of us."

"then what do you expect us to do with her? she's not welcome in this village," charles' stared at the man who said this; it was your own father. he sucked his teeth in, shaking his head and sighing loudly,

"we send her to exile. she stays alive, but she shall never step foot in this village ever again." charles' declared, and despite the crowd coming to agreeance, he glanced to see you staring at him with a look of horror in your eyes. he gulped, turning his back to you as he held onto leo, hoping that the holy father would commend him for saving your life.

the wagon sat outside the back of the cathedral. it was snowing outside, too cold for leo but he had his son bundled up in the finest fabric to ensure his little toes wouldn't get frostbite. he stared at the cross from behind him. something felt... empty inside his heart. he had saved your life, but the thought of sending you to exile. it was all his fault, all of it was his fault. and no matter how long he stayed at this church, no amount of penance could save his damned soul for what he had done to you. he watched you seat yourself on the wagon, face all bruised as you weakly smiled at him.

"thank you, charles... for what you did back there." you whispered, groaning in pain as you shifted in your seat. you saw the pained expression in his eyes, and you cupped his cheek, letting him feel the warmth of you skin. "what you did charles, that was real love."

he fell to his knees at your words, tears pricking at his eyes, "no... no, don't say that. i've done awful things to you. i've been a horrible person. my lust clouded my thoughts, i... i really love you. i can't bear the thought... of... no, i can't let you leave me." he grabbed hold of your hand, bringing it to his forehead as he sobbed. his cheeks flushed into a rosy shade of red as he glanced up at you, "t-take me with you. i can't... i can't live here. not after what i've done. i'll come up with you. we can live together in a small hut, we can just be by ourselves and i'll make it up to you, i swear i will, just give me one more chance mon ange-"

"no, charles," you snapped, "no... i deserve to be free. i deserve to have the life i wanted. and as for leo..." you stretched your arms out, ready to take your infant but charles shook his head,

"i refuse. i refuse to let you go, i refuse to let you take away my son. i love both of you. just say you forgive me, say you'll take me with you."

you sighed out loud, groaning under your breath as you felt a sharp pang of pain course through your veins. you bit your lip, "i think we can come to a compromise then."

your wagon departed with your belongings. you never once looked back at charles as you left. you had said what he wanted to hear: "i forgive you. a life for a life. your debt is paid." but it wasn't enough for him. you left leo to his care, knowing that despite how he had treated you, he would never commit horrors to his child. charles could learn to properly love. you knew he had it in him. his heart was always large, always taken by emotions.

he felt too strongly. it was his curse.

he took leo back into the church, and set him down on the table right before the holy cross. he glanced up to see the holy spirit shine before him, wiping away his tears. there was still a long road for him back to salvation, but he promised that he would attain it. he would make up for all the sins that he had committed. he would spend the rest of his life craving for the love that he felt for you. if only you had stayed. the longer that he served for the church, he realized that he was wrong all along. the holy father could not save his soul no matter how hard he tried. all the countless sermons, the masses, the christmas and easter holidays, the verses from the bibles, the holy crosses, the tears from the weeping virgin, all of it was in vain.

because you were his religion.

[sukunasweetheart]

beneath snowfall, we meet and part ways.

sukuna x reader, canon compliant, mild fluff and angst. a prequel to uraume's epilogue.

the forest is a haven of pure white.

your feet sink into the floor with each step, making the journey home a more difficult one. cheeks feeling frozen and achy, you wish to make a little stop to thaw your face out in some heat, but you are almost home, and it seems like a waste of time to build a fire so close to the end of your travel.

your head feels heavy. halting momentarily, you take your kasa hat off, and brush away the built-up snow from it, before putting it back on. the cold has now permeated into your fingertips, making them icy and stiff - you bring them up to your face to blow some warm air on them, to alleviate some of the numbness.

being so preoccupied with warming your hands, you are completely ignorant to the predator that is prowling behind you, ready to pounce and sink it's teeth into your neck.

when you finally turn around at the sound of snow crunching beneath a heavy weight, the wild bear is already charging at you in full speed.

the shock and fear has planted your feet deeply into the snow - you cannot run, or muster the strength to even try. but before it could tear through your soft and warm flesh and lap up your blood, it suddenly stops in its tracks, and collapses into the floor at it's feet. deep crimson trickles into the pure white snow, dying it red.

you're huffing from your anxiety and as the adrenaline leaves your body, you lose strength in your legs and fall backwards, onto your behind, palms sinking into the ground.

a third figure approaches the scene. he is almost the same size as the bear, and appears half naked, with only a black haori draped over his shoulders. how bold, in this weather...

he ignores your presence entirely, and is only inspecting his newly hunted fresh meat. you fall to your knees and say your gratitude, from having your life saved. there's little to no response, as the man is seemingly only interested in the bear.

you slowly stand up and your gaze falls to his bare feet in the snow.

"kind stranger... are your feet not cold in this snow?" you ask innocently. "i'm only a self-taught tailor, but i could make you some simple sandals and clothes just to-"

"unnecessary. piss off."

he uses a tone that's as cold as the air around you.

the nameless man hoists the bear into his shoulder, as if it weighs nothing, and carries it away like a sack of rice. you watch as he disappears into the distance, only leaving behind deep footprints into the snow.

roughly a week has passed since his first interaction with you.

this forest is where he frequents to hunt for wild animals, and so it was inevitable for him to also run into you again, since you use this same path to get to and from town twice a week to trade goods.

when he spots you again, you are foolishly trying to grasp his attention from a distance away, jumping and waving your hand around, almost like you want to attract, or scare, every possible wildlife animal to your location. sukuna ignores you, and walks away to try his luck in a different patch of the forest. but you catch up from behind.

he narrows his eyes. what an annoying pest. perhaps he shall have you as his dinner tonight?

his hand is itching to cleave you, but when you stop in front of his path, you are holding up a neatly folded kimono and a pair of large sandals on top of it.

"it may be imperfect... i worked with only what i saw of your size on that day. but please, take them and use them as you see fit."

the straw sandals look as though they're seamlessly woven. you're standing there, sweating, hoping he takes the items, wondering if he will be displeased if you grab his hand and make him take it. he hasn't spoken to you once since you called over to him. and yet again with silence, you watch as he holds your offerings with one of his four hands.

your anxiety turns into relief, and you're smiling tenderly. after a deep bow, you walk away to return home.

once you are gone, sukuna finds a branch to hang his haori onto briefly, to try on the items. they both fit perfectly, eerily so. you made this after only eyeing and estimating his size, hm? the tiniest smile is on his face as he continues his hunt, in the remainder of the afternoon.

he seems to run into you at least once every two weeks. overjoyed to see him wearing your gifts, you always bow as he walks past you. he pays you no mind.

but for the most part, he tends to clear out the wild animals closest to your area.

in a few weeks' time, he notices his sandals are getting worn out, which makes him click his tongue in annoyance.

the next time you see him, the man approaches you on his own accord, and holds up his sandals that are now full of holes. it should have lasted a bit longer, but the battle that he fought last week left them a little more damaged than he would've liked.

"oi. these are getting unusable. do something about it," he tells you, bluntly.

"... it would be my pleasure," you respond, taking the old sandals from him. you can use them as reference to replicate the exact same size.

the following week, you see him once again, and he receives a brand new pair. there is a look of satisfaction on his face.

such a routine continues, for the remainder of the year.

seasons pass. oddly, he hasn't seen you in some time. and the next time he does, it just so happens to be a snowy winter's day, once again.

you have a larger amount of luggage than usual, on your back. when you see him, your eyes light up and a small gasp escapes your lips as if you're glad to see him.

"sir!" you wave, walking close towards him. "it's always pleasant to see you. there's something i must give you."

you take your luggage off your back and start fishing for something.

sukuna stands with one pair of his arms crossed, silently looking down at you and watching.

"i've been recognised by a nobleman in town. he has expressed his desire for me to come and travel with him to the city for a permanent position as a tailor," you explain as you're going through your things.

"...is that so," sukuna replies monotonously.

what you bring up is a sack, seemingly filled with items. sukuna takes it and opens it up to find multiple pairs of shoes and clothes.

"there was no longer any need for any of the materials i had at my home as i was told not to bring them with me... so i used them all up to make clothes and shoes that could be of use to you," you continue, hoisting your luggage back onto your back.

sukuna sees that this is evident in your hands, as they look like they've been overworked and scratched up from strenuous straw braiding and sewing.

"i... probably won't be able to come back. the city is a long way away," you smile wistfully, "so, if you're ever in need of shelter or an icehouse for your hunts, please make use of mine. it should be down along this path, south-east, in the outskirts of this forest."

you give him a final bow.

"i'm truly thankful. my travels to and from town became much easier since the wild animals began avoiding this area. we never shared our names... but i will remember you for the rest of my life as my saviour."

you've always wondered if it was purposeful for him to always go hunting in this particular area.

sukuna scratches his ear at your awful lot of chattiness, being unused to listening to someone for this long. he hadn't really even meant to "save you" back then as you like to state, it was a simple coincidence. but he knows such details don't matter to someone like you.

"i wish you all the best," you say, beginning to walk off, as you wave at him.

sukuna... stands silently as he watches you leave. you're a few metres distance away now, but a sudden question he's wanted to ask blossoms in his mind, with a deep-seated annoyance sitting in the pit of his stomach.

"...why did you never question my abnormalities in appearance? is this something you're giving me out of sympathy?" sukuna asks in a loud voice, holding your bag up in his hand.

you stop in your tracks, and turn back around with a face of silent surprise at the sudden question from the usually wordless individual.

"...eh? uhm... well..." you stutter, seemingly troubled. sukuna raises an eyebrow.

"i've never thought about the situation in such a complicated manner... when i first saw you, i thought that the person who saved my life deserved clothes befitting him, and there was nothing for me to offer except my hard work, despite being an unremarkable tailor..."

you look like you're struggling, while lost in your thoughts.

"as for your appearance - i'm struggling to see what relevance that has with anything. clothes can be worn by anyone, and it's an essential part to any human's life."

sukuna sighs at your naivety.

"... nevermind, i suppose. get out of here," he mutters, turning his back to you.

you smile again, the confusion being wiped off your face entirely.

"farewell, sir! may you be blessed!"

sukuna feigns as though he's leaving with his back turned to you, but a few moments later he turns around to watch your figure disappear in the distance. this will be the last time he ever sees you in this lifetime.

it was the first time someone had viewed him as nothing more than a human, and treated him with any sense of everyday normalcy. and perhaps it is the first time he has received a genuine blessing, in this life of his that is always filled with conflict and malevolence.

but what use is a singular blessing against the multitude of curses that stir deep within his gut? sukuna has already established his path, and has no intention of changing his ways.

regardless of that...

he throws your bag of items over his shoulder to bring with him, and walks alone through the snow, following your directions towards your home. he shall make good use of that icehouse of yours....

- fin -

author's notes; my first proper canon compliant fic!! you may think of this as a late christmas fic hehe

in my humble opinion, sukuna was truly not capable of committing to loving someone in his jjk lifetime. i wouldn't say not capable, but he actively was against going down that path - the only reason he was able to choose to change his ways was due to his loss in the final fight - losing his life in a battle of ideals was the one and only way to get him to accept the value of love! (stubborn old man)

anyway i hope u liked this, i had fun writing it, i wanted to mention that yes, reader's icehouse is the same icehouse that his fatass accidentally crushed a while later before finding uraume! i tried to think of a creative way to involve reader in his life without altering jjk canon...

you are his soulmate, but you found him at the wrong time. perhaps if you'd met him earlier...

sukuna is probably somewhat relieved that you parted ways with him without knowing his true nature and he finds that it was better off this way; he is far too deep into this side already at this point, it would've been impossible for you to understand him to his core.

hopefully his encounter with you in his next life won't be so brief! <3

masterlist

[shegatsby]

I’ve been thinking of one where Reader is a concubine of Paul, but she gets ignored because he has Chani & Irulan. Paul mainly has her around because she gets along with him, Chani, and Irulan and keeps the peace between them as a concubine and as a healer. He is possessive of her but doesn’t love her romantically, but reader wants to be loved and held. Then Feyd comes in-he gets injured-reader tends to him and he falls for her, but she doesn’t know what to do because she’s loyal to Paul and never had this type of attention before. Then Feyd becomes like her personal bodyguard & shenanigans ensue.

A/N: Omg this was in my drafts for so long. Thank you so much for the request I loved writing it. Hope you'll like it.

Warnings: Battle but not any detailed gore or depictions.

“Lord Paul expects his wife and his concubines. It is urgent.” You were chatting with Chani when one of the guards barged into the garden section of the palace, drinking spice coffee and talking about life was your favorite activity to do with her, she was a great friend to have. Whenever something important accured Pauld would request his partners at his side, his wife and Chani on his right and you were standing on his left.

Paul was sitting on his gold throne, the colorful windows at the ceiling casted rainbow lights on the marble floors of the throne room. He was dressed in Atreides colors, red and after his victory dark shade of green. Irulan was already there, Chani smiled at you kindly and took her place. Paul didn’t even notice you, he wasn’t a bad person, he took you in because you were an orphan and you had great skills. Especially healing, because at the Siech you helped your old Reverend Mother, she thought you many things. You stood in your space, facing the tall doors and waited. “Let him in.” Paul’s voice was heard and the tall heavy doors opened, you wondered about the person you were about to see. He must be important.

You saw a tall, bald headed man walk in with pride, his uniform was jet black, his combat boots made it sound like he was marching to war… or was he?

“Bow before your Emperor Paul Muadib Atreides.” Duncan Idaoh’s voice harsh voice echoed in the throne room. The bald man looked at Idaho and then Paul, and he fell on his knees. “Your message intrigued me.” Paul began which made the man look up at him, “Rise and explain your scheme, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.” He finished and you felt your heart burn in fire, “A Harkonnen?!” You thought, they were the reason you were an orphan, they were the reason why your people suffered for years. Your hands were in fists you had to be calm. Your harsh gaze found his already staring blue eyes, his eyes were originally blue not because of the spice. His eyes trailed a path on your body and found your face, you were wearing a tight orange dress, your long hair loose, you had golden bracelets on your arms. You didn’t flinch from his stare, in fact, you stared back into his eyes with primal fury in your soul. His gaze turned back to Paul, ''I have interesting news about my uncle and I thought you might like to hear and make an alliance.. so to speak.'' his raspy voice sent shivers to your body, so dominant and cold. Paul didn’t say anything, just let him speak.

“Baron Vladimir Harkonnen has been gathering troops from Salusa Secundus.”

Duncon Idaho whispered but enough for you to hear, “Old Emperor’s troops.”

“He is planning on attacking Arrakis in a few days.” He finished, staring at Paul with a smirk.

Paul regarded him suspiciously, “Why are you telling me this? He is your uncle after all.” He was right.

“I am tired of being Na-Baron of Giedi Prime, I desire to be it’s Baron and only ruler.” He confessed one of his deepest desires, Paul raised an eyebrow, “I would like to discuss this with my advisors. In the meantime you’re our guest. You shall have a second of the palace for yourself and servants to attend your every need.” Paul swiftly stood up from his throne, and walked down the stairs, his subjects including you following him. You never liked these situations where you had to follow him like a puppy. You wanted to stand next to him as his concubine. He was a nice man to you but it was obvious that his affections laid with Chani, not you and certainly not Irulan. You desired to be held by him, considered to be his equal but he discarded you so many times. His cold eyes never regarded you with… anything really. To him and others you were just a Fremen healer girl.

As you walked past Feyd-Rautha, he looked at you again, in a way all women wanted to be looked at… your trainings had told you so but you brushed his intense gaze off, kept your composure and walked past him gracefully.

Next day you were having breakfast at the gardens, the palace had gardens but the part you usually went was at the back. Not many people visited here so it was peaceful and calm. You were seated by the fountain which used to overflow with water but you made the servants cut the water. To you it was a waste of water and Arrakis was never kind to her residents whom regarded water as insignificant.

Over time you started to tend to the flowers and trees, ever since you became Muad’Dib’s you could access to knowledge of anything thanks to the lavish library. You started to learn about plants which you have never seen or heard before and slowly it became your passion. You were in your deep thoughts when a sudden cough attracted your attention, you turned to face the owner and it was him. Even though you didn’t want it you had to get up and bow respectfully, “My Na-Baron.” You greeted him. He was wearing a sleeveless tunic and satin, loose pants. His arms looking strong, up close he looked paler than usual. “What’s your name?” His direct question startled you. “Y/N. My Lord.” You said, still in shock.

“Your name is pretty as your face.”

You could feel your cheeks heat, it had been a long time since someone had complimented you.

He sat on the empty seat, “Sit.” He gestured for you to sit and you did. “Eat.” He said as he started to eat a fig from your plate. You continued eating, there was a silence, noticing his piercing blue gaze on you.

“What are you to him?” He was the one who broke the silence.

You understood what he meant, “I’m sure my Lord already knows.” You replied, didn’t want to say it.

Feyd smiled wickedly, was he playing a game?

“I do… but I want to be sure.”

You sighed before you spoke, “I am Paul Muad’Dib Atreides’s concubine.”

He scuffed in annoyance, “A concubine who doesn’t warm a bed isn’t truly a concubine.” His remark made you look up at him sharply, he was still smiling. How did he know that Paul never had you? Not even once…

“Our Muad’Dib-“ he cut you off, “He doesn’t care for you-“ he paused for a split second, “properly. Does he?” His tone carried something carnal. You couldn’t reply back to him for he was telling the truth.

“If you were mine you would be… looked after and taken care of.”

What was he trying to say to you?

You had heard so many horrible stories about him and how he treated the slaves he took to his bed or his servants in general. Most died in a few days. Thankfully you weren’t alone. You belonged to someone, even though he didn’t want you in that way.

''My Lord Na-Baron..'' you protested in shock, didn't know how to reply in a respectful manner and you saw the wicked smirk on his face. He got up from his chair, got a purple grape from your table and he leaned on the small table, you had no idea what was going on before it was too late. He made you open your mouth and eat the grape, the juice running from the corner of your lips, he wiped the juice with his thumb and licked it, ''Just saying.'' he said and left.

The rest of the day you couldn't eat anything or focuse on anyhting, even the servants around you had noticed but didn't dare to utter a word.

The second day he was on the palace you ran into him. You were walking to accompany Princess Irulan in her chambers, you had to bow when you saw him, ''Lord Na-Baron.'' you greeted him properly, you had no choice but your cheeks flushed with the memory of yesterday. He hummed in pleasure when he saw your cheeks, he had two bodguards wgiven him by Paul hismelf. Of course they were spying on him and reporting everyhting he did so he wanted to put on a show for him, ''Lady Y/N, how lovely to see you here.'' he began, his raspy voice wasn't something one could get used to, it sent electricity to her body, she nodded in return. ''May I accompany you to your destination?'' he offered extending his arm to you and you could not refuse a Na-Baron.

You took his arm and together headed to the section of Irulan's chambers, ''I cannot stop thinking about our conversation yesterday, I would love to talk to you more.'' he mentioned, making sure the bodyguards aka spies heard him correctly. ''I do love to entertain you with conversations Na-Baron but unfortunately I am very busy.'' you reached to Irulan's double doors, no men was allowed from here.

''I must attend to our Princes Irulan. I bid you good day.'' you said getting your arm back from him, he swiftly held your wrist and planted a kiss on the back of your palm, ''Till next time.''

You walked into Irulan's chambers dizzy.

The news of Feyd's interest in you have reached Paul's ears. He was in his study when his spies had explained the situation, was this a game or was he actually interested? Nonetheless you were his, his concubine. It was unacceptable. He specifically asked if you were also interested but his spies only said that you were respectful and didn't cross a line, he was glad to hear that your loaylty laid on him.

It was the 5th day of his arrival that he took things further, until today he kept teasing and impyling things to you but you were stubborn. Why did you insisted on belonging to someone who didn't take you? Or showed any interest at all. In these past 5 days all he had seen was that you followed Chani and Irulan like a lost cub, you hid behind the shadows but no longer. His plan was to tear you from the shadows and give you the spotlight you deserved.

As he was dwelling on these thoughts siren was heard, it was show time. He had told Paul that it was most likely for Baron to strike on the 5th day and he was right, he quickly wore his uniform which was given him by Paul himself, earlier today he was visited by him.

''I want you to lead the attack. I want Baron to see you in Atreides unfirom.'' he demaned and it was the perfect opportunity for Feyd, ''If I do so I might ask something in return.'' he replied as he was holding the dark green uniform with a golden Atreides badge on the left shoulder, ''You shall have your planet and rule it as it's Baron, as we have agreed.'' Paul pointed out the agreement, ''I know but I want something else too.''

Paul was intrigued, ''Which is?''

''Once I have won your battle for you I will reveal it. Do not fret.'' Feyd placed his hand on Paul's shoulder and gave a wicked smile. Paul didn't know what it was but if it was soemthing he could give then it was settled if he won the battle of course.

The battle took only few hours for Atreides soldiers ready and plannes have been made beforehand thanks to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. He led the troops to victory, as he fought his brother Rabban in a combat he got injured but he managed to defeate Glossu Rabban Harkonnen, by defeat Feyd took his head and put it on a spike and placed it on the battlefield, after that Atreides chanted their voictory shout. Baron was sent to prison along with remaining Sardaukar soldiers.

Feyd marhced the marble halls of the palace to the throne room, the doors opened for him, he heard Paul clap in victory, ''As you have said, Baron attacked on the 5th day and you have defeated him. Bravo Feyd.'' he greeted him with a smile, seated on his golden throne. Feyd was glad that he had audience, advisors, politicians and highly ranked soldiers.

His eyes found you, behind Irulan and next to Chani, and yet you had chosen to stand a step behind her. You wore jet black today, why? He loved the color on you and he couldn't wait to touch you. Your eyes also found him, he was covered in blood and you noticed that he got stabbed. Why was he here instead of getting treatment? He was a crazy man you were sure now.

Others had followed clapping, chanting in his name.

After the loud sounds died down Paul spoke, ''As I have promised, you shall have Giedi Prime and run it as its new Baron. I am sure our alliance will continue from generation to generation.'' he announced.

Feyd bowed on one knee, ''Emperor!'' he raised his head from his place, ''I have another wish too. A small and pretty one.''

''Oh, yes you have mentioned something earlier, pray tell.''

''I do not wish to run my planet alone. I want a woman by my side.'' he began which attract the entire ton's attentin.

''I want Lady Y/N by my side, as my wife.''

And everyone held their breaths, everyone in this room knew that you were an untouched concubine, his least favorite companion. However you were still Paul's. You were in shock, was he serious or joking? Harkonnens do tend to have a strange sense of humor. Chani held your hand and squezzed in reassuringly.

Paul Muad'dib's face was stoic, not giving any clue on how he felt or what was he about to say. His most rusted soldier and advisor was by his side, Duncon Idaho looked more stern than his Emperor.

''She is my concubine, as you know.'' Paul's voice was flati matter of factly.

There wasn't a single sound in the entire throne room, Feyd got to his feet, he could feel his open wound, throbbing softly but he didn't mind.

''Haven't I been generous?'' Paul said questioningly, ''You have your own planet to yourself now and no doubt high ladies in Giedi Prime would love to be your wife.'' Paul didn't understand Feyd's reasons behind this request.

''You are right, however I do not wish to have any of them. I only want Lady Y/N. In my time I have come to a realization that,'' he turn to the audience to gain their favor, ''she is the only one who could be my equal and represent my name with respect. Her loyalty is unmatched and If you let me,'' he turned back to Paul. ''I am going to take care of her and make sure she is comfortable till the day she closes her eyes to this galaxy.''

Your heart was beating at it's full capacity, was he telling the truth or was this just a game? It was true that these past days he was courting you and trying to get your attention but now it was serious.

The ton started to ramble, he heard whispers saying that

''He betrayed his uncle for god's sake''

''New Baron looks devoted''

''He won the battle in few hours''

Paul raised his hand to silence the crowd, ''Due to Feyd-Rautha's outstanding victory in the battle and his sacrifice of his family, I would love to give Lady Y/N to him, however..''

he looked around, testing the waters, ''It is for her to decide. It isn't my place.''

Paul was hopeing maybe you would stay, now that someone was interested in you he thought how beautiful you were... it was too late though.

Chani urged you to walk, you walked down the stairs of the throne and you bowed once you were below Paul. ''My Emperor, thank you so much for your protection over the years,'' she began, her body was calm but her mind was screaming at her ''What are you doing?''

''I believe I have served you enough. I would like to be on Baron Feyd-Rautha's side.'' once the words slipped her mouth there was no going back. She couldn't believe herself.

''Then it is settled. Congradulations.'' Paul announced with a sullen look but only Duncon could tell.

You turned and walk to Feyd quickly with the worry in your eyes, ''Let's take care of your wound my Baron.''

He liked it. ''My Baron.''

Back at his chambers you were stitching his sound on the side of his stomach in silence, the events of what happened still ringing in your ear. ''Why?'' he asked calmly, watching your sitting form, your hands quick and with his question you hurt him unintentionally of course. ''Sorry,'' you looked up, ''Why did you accept me?'' he asked directly.

You were silent for a few seconds, after you were finished with his wound you rubbed an oil to heal it quicker, his back was leaned on the couch, legs spread, you got up from the couch, placed your healing stuff back to the kit and turned to him, ''Because of you.''

He looked puzzled so you explained, ''You look like you would kill an entire nation if someone touched a strand of my hair. Paul could never give me that.''

It was true and it made Feyd smile to see that you understood how possessive and protective he was towards you.

He got up from the couch, walked to you and his hand went to your hair, he had never seen scuh beautiful color and length, he had wanted to touch your hair for so long and now he felt how soft the strands were, ''You and I, against the galaxy.'' he whispered as he leaned for a kiss.

Thank you for reading. :)

[cirqosmos]

broken lipstick. yjw

2024 | 16+ | ONESHOT 1.8K. | G-yandere; W-obsession, possessive, unhinged jungwon lol, forced kissing with lipstick yes.

DIRECTOR's CUT, found an old note of ideas in my phone from 2022 about jungwon × lipsticks, and thought that it would be a pity to not write about it so here it is. this is kind of like an experimental storytelling, just finding my way with the rhythm and pacing of the words, sentences, and grammar. so if it kinda sounds weird, apologies in advance lol !

finding yourself trapped in this world he created for you drives you terribly insane.

down, and down you go.

every words he spills—he claims that he had spent hours and days of effort for this room, curating it just how you would like it; makeup palettes and brushes, lipsticks, magazines, jewelries, pretty and dainty sundresses, coquettish bows and laces perfectly matching your taste.

everything single thing before you—was all you've ever dreamt for, wished for, manifested for. bare skin planted firmly on this king-sized bed you've listed as one of your life wishes, wrists and necks adorned with saccharine gemstones—ones you've often seen on magazines.

every single damn thing was here.

he claims that he did it because he wishes nothing but to see the finest shade of happiness be illustrated on your visage; for bliss and satisfaction weaved under the strings of fairy tales, you shall wish nothing more but to remain abode.

yes, it is an exact replica of your dream room yet a lot more bigger, lavish, but certainly not home. a doll house would be a much better, fitting term. or perhaps, a prison—masquerade as the definition of your perfect little utopia.

his eyebrows knitted at the way you worded it, saying that such comparison is absurd, and certainly is not the truth. for all that was before you, is all yours to take—and so is he.

all yours to take, he says.

but if it was yours, then why can't you wear all it outside? has he ever thought that all these things is fucking useless if you can't even bring it with you out of this sickening room? what's all these even for, you asks. he replies with that same sickening smile, "why, silly, of course it's for you."

you repeated it with spite, "no, this is not for me. you're doing this for you."

"if you say so," he brought his finger against your cheek, stroking it ever so sickeningly, causing you to lean away. "you're my priority here, your wants and needs are at the best interest of my heart. nothing more, nothing less."

it didn't miss your eyes how his composed visage falters ever so slightly, so subtle—it almost slips away from your fingers but you saw it and you didn't care.

his soul, you despises—every word etched of his existence, you loathed. death shall greet him, and you'd never spare a glance.

why would you? when just a month ago, a world filled with the brightest prospects was all waiting for you, but his grim arrival dims every glowing lantern ahead of your path, ultimately sealing the door to your future tight and begone.

akin to a rat in a trap under a cat's claws; your sanity wilting with each passing day. how many days or months has it been? you lose track of time. where is your phone, even? oh why, he asks? books and magazines was what you'd prefer over some petty little devices, so why would you need them now?

rage, despair, helplessness; you released all these pent-up frustration with each object you slammed against the floor, scattered about in a hazard mess. broken, shattered in pieces like you do. he should see it, feel it, of how his own hard work are gone into the drain, like what he had put you into.

footsteps approaching from the distance.

the door flew open, just like how he often appears, ruining every single opportunity you had back then. he appears too composed, inexplicably unfazed at the ravage scene before his eyes. his own efforts obliterated into nothing, every single thing he spent time on perfecting was wasted, in downright shambles.

you drop on your knees, suppressing your sobs as he approaches with small steps.

it was all too silent, with only your shaky gasps blending with the solemn air. with your head down, eyes locked against the wooden floor, and on your clenched fists shaking with grueling anticipation, you glance nervously at how he stands so still—staring down at you like you were an object.

you wish he just would kill you right now.

in your peripherals, however, you caught the sight of his fingers grabbing the tossed lipstick, now broken in half—it's smoothened tip now uneven. you waited for him to say something, perhaps throw profanities at you for ruining this dollhouse he had spent hours and days at.

grow mad at me, hate me, and then throw me away. in your head, you chanted these words—prayers it ultimately morphs into.

however a gasp spills out of your lips, your breath caught at the back of your throat upon seeing him applying the lipstick on his lips, still and all—while humming a melodic tune as he does so.

"is this how you do it?"

you didn't answer, only imbued with aghast at the deep shade of crimson hugging his lips. as peculiar as it may seem, you can't deny that this visage of his perfectly adorns it.

he steps closer, alarming you—manifesting straight to your eyes widening in sheer panic.

with strong arms, jungwon catches your legs before you could push him away, pulling you closer where he forces you to face him, gripping your jaw so tight and suffocatingly so into his well of eyes; with it's depths you could never fathom till your last breath.

yet he begs you to drown in them, to answer all the questions written all over within—what's so fucking wrong to just stay obedient, and be his oh so sweet darling? why can't you see his love and dedication for you? of how he's ready to give up everything for you?

maybe a slap to your pretty face would tighten the screw in your head a little, or perhaps a yell pulled out from his throat would do the trick, but oh darling—profanities don't suit you, nor does it do you justice to be treated so harshly.

fragile you are, and such a fragile one should be nested, sheltered away from this merciless world. you do not need to lift a finger, or tire your pretty little head over useless things but..

but why is it that you refuse to understand him?

evident it was, through the way you dug your nails on his hands, imbuing your ever growing hatred to him. not a single word spoken, nor spitting at each other but through your eyes—your rampant wishes of spitting him death grows enormous.

die, die, just die.

you held your breath, as a stroke of his finger on your temple—slides down your cheek. a grimace takes form on your feature as he leans in, propelling your body to fight harder against his—though, he remains stronger and faster—pouncing on you like a prey, diving in with his venom-laced fangs into your lips, forcefully so.

his carnal desires takes form across your visage; smudged, blotted, and smeared. a shade so intensified through his vows to make you understand his perception of love.

they say that love is patient, love is kind, love is forgiving.

no, that's bullshit. it's fucking slippery, a mess, metallic taste leaking out from your lip—spilling into his tongue, only for him to hum in frenzied delight. a taste so sweet, so divine, like caramel melting in his cavern.

tilting his head sideways—his tongue went further into yours, twisting and knotting like wet fabric—pooling an amalgamation of saliva, blood, and lipstick down the corner of your mouth. sticky palms on the back of your neck, spiralling you down and down into these candied greed.

heat, searing, throbbing immensely—this pain, do you understand it now? that's how his heart mourns towards your ungratefeful, petty actions. have you perhaps realise it? maybe not yet, as you still had this little fight in you, a funny sight to behold.

your head spins, flashing in mismatched colors, jaw throbbing by his gracious mouth of flames—infiltrating every corner.

soaking everything in you with his relentless rhythm—a pace you could never match as it accelerates beyond what you can take with each second. his lips, like a paint brush—and you, like a paper being crumpled into every way possible. moulding your speech into incoherent sentences, strings of pathetic cries for help drowned out into the void, your prayers to god himself had been engulfed by a devil's kiss.

what's a god, even? they say humans are made in the image of god, but he dare say that not even god are comparable to you, nor those who reign above the heavens—angels, sirens, succubus or whatever the hell are there—your feet they shall kiss.

a canvas you are—pure, and untainted. a masterpiece in the making, not even the greatest artist known to mankind could do justice to your beauty.

you're his haven, his abode. yet also a temptation, a sin, his inferno. every edge of your portrait tweaked perfectly into his own ideals and fantasies, yet also a curse, the poisonous bane of his life, so toxic—it contaminates his soul.

decaying, decomposing—perhaps he was the serpent, and you're the tenant of the garden. insatiable, the apple of eden couldn't be as mouthwatering as your visage.

so why, can't you understand his love?

if you couldn't see it before, then he'll make sure you'll see it now.

dragging you across the floor, jungwon forces you to meet your reflection in the shattered mirror. on your knees, you met this drowned out visage of yours, all visible for you to observe; disheveled hair, your cheeks bathed in intense shades of red, all the same to your neck and shoulders, lips swollen with a visible cut, drenched in all his unspoken words. a mess, you are.

his pretty little mess.

yet what a masterpiece you are, still. he coos with lips pursing up in a sweetened grin, as if he had sucked out all remaining little bits inside your little jar of hope. do you see it now? how every part of you belongs to him, all for his lips to take and taste.

"you look even prettier, all broken like this." jungwon isn't very much different, but while you look like a corpse bludgeoned into mayhem. the image he bears was of a bloodthirsty demon, an animalistic abstraction.

through the mirror, you could see him shuffling around—looking for something amongst the mess, only for the same lipstick he used as an instrument for this macabre play—returning to his palms.

with him back to your side, he delivered a stroke down your hair, tucking your locks behind your ear. a chin he places on your shoulder, one hand under your tummy and the other looped around your shoulder to reach for your lips.

the same broken lipstick, made its way on your lower lip. a shade so deep, so heavy, amplified by his twisted affection. all dolled up for only his eyes to see. your luscious hair—inviting him closer and closer, savoring the way it hugs his fingers. too delicate, the broken mirror could only shy away from you.

"mirror, mirror on the wall," the lipstick tossed on the floor, replaced by his thumb lapping your lip. "who's the fairest of them all?"

© 2022-2024, pieroulette on [tumblr].

[solkver]

MR. GYM TRAINER ⸝⸝ ANTON LEE

#%! smut oneshot (3,096 words) #%! bottom anton x top male reader

requested by ༘⋆ anonymous

synopsis ! is his hot gym trainer looking at him like he wants to eat him alive? or is anton just horny? or both? maybe both. definitely both.

content warnings ! whiny anton, softdom reader, shower sex, hair pulling, anal fingering, public sex (?), slight exhibition, dacryphilia, sir kink overload, pet names, marking (bruises & hickies), praising, age gap (10 years, altho not explicitly mentioned), strength differences, manhandling, kind-of mirror sex (not really), reader talks anton through it, gym terms inaccuracy, non-idol au, aftercare !!!!!, perv dilf reader lol

anton dreads gym day. in fact, he dreads exercising as a whole. but sohee had just told him that he's lost all his muscles. if he had any to begin with.

so, here he is now, clad in a tank top and basketball shorts, standing in front of the reception of the closest gym to his apartment. the lady was taking too long for his liking, thinking he could do her job twice as fast.

“alright, anton lee, 21 years old, professional training every monday, wednesday, and friday. correct?”

anton hums, a kind smile on his lips. “you may enter, he’s inside probably doing some reps” she motions for anton to go, clearly uninterested. he bows and walks past the reception table, pushing the glass doors and makes a b-line to the benches.

see, now, how does he know who his trainer is? the receptionist lady hadn't mentioned any names— not that he remembers, at least.

sigh, guess he’ll have to go with his hunches. as he takes his water bottle and towelette out of his duffel bag, a man positively thrice his own size approaches him.

“I’ve never seen you here. are you the new kid I’m mentoring?” you ask. anton looks up, your voice rich, a deep rumble in your chest with just a bit of rasp. maybe from the age.

anton sputters, “oh– uhm. yeah, anton lee” his voice soft and slow, making a gentle smile tug on your lips “great. follow me, anton”

ever so obedient, anton does just that. he follows you with careful steps, afraid he’ll bother the other people in the gym. the other people being 3 other much older men.

“come here” you call out to anton, your hand patting the mat beneath you as you crouch down, “why don't we stretch first, yeah?”

anton follows, sitting down on the mats. you situate yourself behind the younger, gentle hands on his bare knees, “spread your legs as far as you can” anton hums, allowing you to pull his legs apart as far as it could go. which, he realizes, was not much, “ouch, ouch”

the expression makes you chuckle, “not very flexible, I see” anton looks away, a shade of pink gracing his ears. “It’s fine, we can work on that” anton nods.

“reach forward as far as you can” you tell anton, your right hand on the small of his back, slowly easing him into reaching forward, “just like that” anton inwardly groans, he could really feel the pull on his hamstring.

“just a little bit more” your left hand remains on his knee, your thumb caressing the skin there as your right runs up his spine, his flimsy tank top riding up. the gesture makes anton gasp softly, the air conditioning touching his bare skin.

anton holds his breath, the mixed feeling of his legs aching from the stretch and your hand caressing his knee making his sight blur. fuck, he’s getting hot and all he’s done is stretch.

“alright” your voice breaks anton out of his trance, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. you help anton up, a firm grip on his bicep, “let's move to the leg press, shall we?”

he’s dizzy. anton is so dizzy and he’s only been inside for ten minutes. “yeah, sure”

the leg press’ seat is cold, probably from being untouched. a shiver wracks anton’s whole body as he takes a seat “cold?” anton looks up to where you stood next to him, nodding his head once, “want me to warm it up for you?” you ask.

anton’s eyes shake. he looks at you and back at the machinery in front of him, and then back at your gentle eyes “n-no, it's fine” he mumbles, not quite sure if you heard. it doesn't matter, it doesn't make him any less nervous.

“if you say so” you chuckle, reaching for the weight of the press and adjusting it before grabbing both anton’s legs from the underside of his knees “put your legs like this, don’t lock your knees”

anton lets a shaky breath out, words getting stuck in his throat, the heat of your palms on his legs are so, so distracting.

you guide his knees as he pushes the press up, a low groan coming from anton. after a few presses, you let go, allowing him to do it on his own. anton hadn’t realized how heavy the press is without your guide.

you watch as anton’s face scrunches up, beads of sweat slowly rolling down his forehead, a deep groan falling from his parted lips. your eyes follow the way his basketball shorts slide down his thighs, almost immediately imagining him without it.

just the sight of his skin gets you worked up. you can't help but reach a hand out to grope his thighs, the skin plush and glistening from the sweat. you bring your face right next to his, your lips brushing on his lobe just so lightly, “that's it darling, just like that” you whisper, your words fanning into his ear.

anton’s breath hitches, his knees faltering momentarily, the heat from your breath traveling all the way down to his crotch. anton looks forward, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. the position you both are in is nothing but compromising. fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, your face right next to his, chin on his shoulder and all.

“keep going sweetheart” anton shivers, your teeth grazing his ear is enough to get him hard. were you doing this on purpose, or is he just horny? that can't be the case, not in a professional place, no.

but with the look in your eyes that anton can’t quite decipher, anton’s sure he’s not delusional “last set, darling. keep going” yeah, he can’t be. not with the way you call him pretty names.

“sir–”

“not yet” you cut him off, your hand moving past his thighs and under his shorts, slow fingers tracing his groin. anton gasps sharply, his knees completely giving up, the weight of the press pushing his legs apart.

this position gives you enough space to roam, your hand pushing past the elastics of his boxers to cup his bare cock, semi-hard on evident. it makes anton moan, head thrown back and hands gripping the sides of the seat, “not too loud, baby”

anton whimpers, the rise and fall of his chest getting faster. your free hand grabs a hold of his jaw, bringing his face leveled with yours, “look” you whisper, watching every tremble in his body through the mirror. anton obeys, eyes following yours.

he sees the way your hand moves inside his shorts, then his eyes travel up to his chest, now aware at how fast he's breathing. then to his face, the way your hand fully encloses his jaw, the way your thumb is tugging on his bottom lip, opening his mouth for you.

you hum, “good boy” that same thumb grazing his teeth, enjoying the feeling of the ridges against your skin, before pushing it in. the pad of your thumb pressing down on his pliant tongue, “that’s it” encouraging anton to suck, his tongue swirling around your finger. 

saliva slowly trickles down the corner of anton’s mouth, he should be grossed out, really. but hell, he's so turned on right now he couldn't care less. you pop your thumb out of his mouth, smearing the saliva on his lips without breaking eye contact through the mirror, “look at how pretty you are, anton”

anton does just that. he looks. at you, and then at himself. shit, this is so hot. never in his whole life did he imagine himself in a position like this. he moans at the thought.

in return, you grunt, the sound so beautiful in your ear. you could no longer keep playing this teasing game, even if you started it. your own cock tight in your sweatpants.

the way you abruptly let go of anton all at once makes him choke a gasp out, eyes following your every move “sir?” you look at his reflection pointedly, “follow me” the strain in your voice is clear, like you’re barely holding on. you tap his cheek twice before walking off.

anton blinks once, twice, before he scurries to stand on his feet, almost failing to do so from how weak his knees are. he mumbles a couple cuss words before taking quick steps to where you walked off to.

you push past the double doors of the men’s shower room, not missing a glance at anton who's a couple steps behind. seeing where you entered, anton walks even faster, the excited thrum in veins making him lose all morale.

the chill in the locker rooms brings anton to a shiver, his hands automatically coming to rub at his arms. where did you go? before anton even gets to walk further into the room, a hand grabs at his wrist and pulls him into a stall.

back pressed on the glass door, anton’s eyes widen. he looks at you from head to toe, a hand flying to cover his mouth as he gasps. you're naked. under the running shower. you're naked and wet and big.

“mmm” you mouth at his neck, licking a long stripe up to his ear, “take your clothes off” anton could only whimper as he tried his best to do so. with your hands roaming every inch of skin you could touch, it was a feat.

anton whines when you nip at his neck, his clothes sticking to his skin because of the shower, making it so hard to take off “sir please..”

anton sounds so desperate, so broken. you can't help but curse “fuck, darling” your own hands scrambling to tear every piece of clothing off of anton.

it's been so long since anton had last been fucked, his desperation seeping out into his whines, his cock standing tall and leaking. “sir.. sir please..” anton begs for nothing in particular. he's not sure what he wants either. you spin anton, his head directly under the shower. the water making his hair stick to his forehead.

you place a heavy palm on his shoulder, pushing him and forcing him down. anton grunts, his knees colliding with the hard tiles, he’s sure it’ll bruise later.

you grab your cock by its base, tapping the tip on anton’s cheek before smearing the precum over his lips, “open up for me, beautiful”

anton’s eyes flutter shut as he open his mouth wide, the feeling of your cock sliding in enough to make him moan, gagging when you reach the back of his throat “mmm shit” you throw your head back with a groan.

there on the floor is anton kneeling, hands flat on your thighs as he tries his best to take every inch of your member inside his mouth. he looks up at you.

he looks so beautiful under you like this, beads of water collecting on his lashes as tears and saliva roll down his features. his own cock a fiery shade of red against his stomach.

you grab a fistful of his soaked hair, guiding his head back and forth on your cock, his teeth grazing it just enough to feel good. fuck.

even with him choking and gagging, he does his best to swallow around your head, his tongue swirling on the slit, eliciting a guttural moan from deep in your throat. you pull on his hair, your cock popping out of his mouth with his tongue hanging out “that's enough”

you help anton up on his feet, his legs wobbling from kneeling too long. “hold on tight,” you murmur, giving anton absolutely no time to do so as you lift him up.

his back is pressed against the tiled wall, his legs hooked on your forearms as you pin him up. anton gulps, his eyes tracing the veins on your biceps “need it, please..” anton whines.

you hum, leaning into a bruising kiss, teeth clashing and tongues fighting. drool and water drips down from the corners of both your lips, anton moaning into your mouth as a wet finger pushes past his rim.

anton breaks the kiss to gasp for air, a string of saliva connects you both. you dive into his neck, sucking into the underside of his jaw as you add a second finger, effectively making anton wail.

“enough please, I can take it” anton sobs as a third finger enters, “I’ll be so good, sir” you kiss his shoulder, “I know you will” pulling all three fingers out, holding your cock by the shaft and aligning it with anton’s hole.

“fuck!” anton inhales sharply, already feeling so full with just your tip in. you adjust your hold on him, hooking one leg on your shoulder, gripping his hip like a vice. anchoring yourself from pounding into the poor boy.

you drop your head onto his wet shoulder, “breathe for me sweetheart, you're so tight” anton’s nails dig into your shoulders, his breath hitching, “t-trying..”

after a couple bruising kisses on his neck and collarbone, anton finally eases, “that’s right baby, you're doing so good for me” you hum into his ear, biting and pulling his earring, slowly grinding your hips forward.

anton mewls at the friction. he could feel every vein against his walls, the tip brushing against his prostate ever so slightly “more, please sir”

you could feel every bit of your resolve crumbling apart at how much anton begs and whines, no longer having it in you to hold back. your hips snap forward, causing anton to slide up the wall, his mouth falling open and his eyes rolling back.

“yesyesyes– right there!” anton cries, one hand digging into your back as the other entangles itself in your tousled hair. the echo of skin slapping against skin amplified  by the water pouring from above, the sound resonating through the stall that you’re sure it's heard outside.

your lips clasp around his right nipple, your tongue swirling against the bud causing anton to shake. the harshness of your hips snapping against his ass and the constant hitting on his prostate has anton’s mouth hanging open and his tongue lolled out, wonton moans coming from deep in his chest.

anton’s eyes roll back, a throaty whine coming from him with every thrust, his legs completely limp in your arms and his nails digging into your back and scalp. you're sure it’ll leave marks.

“fuck– shit, darling–” you gruff, “you feel so good around me” making anton whimper, nodding his head again and again, the praise making his cock leak more precum “you look so gorgeous getting ruined by my cock”

his head falls onto your shoulder as he sobs into the crook of your neck “so– mnggf– feel so good, so full..”

“touch yourself for me, baby” your tone commanding, drilling your hips into his hole. anton follows, his own shaky hand grabs at the base of his cock, a cry falling from his lips as he strokes himself, ultimately giving up “c-can’t, sir..”

“poor baby,” you coo, your hands guiding his arms around your shoulders and his legs around your middle, “hold on tight, let sir do it for you” you bring a hand to his member, rock hard against your palm as you quickly stroke him.

anton chokes against your neck, his toes curling on your back, he cries out “too much, sir! too much–” he gasps when your cock breaks from his hole from how hard you're snapping your hips “shit”

you guide your length back in a rush and swiftly pushes all the way in, hammering into anton’s ass “m’gonna cum– fuck, I’m gonna cum, sir, please–” he cuts himself off with a hiccup.

“yeah? cum for me darling,” you coax, “you’ve been so good, begging and taking everything I give” anton whines, a mantra of yes’ falling from his lips “do it. cum for me, show me how much you love getting fucked like this”

that seemed to have done for him, his eyes blurring and white spots spreading in his vision. his mouth falls open wide, head thrown back against the wall, the shower soaking his hair as his nails dig into your scalp.

his cock shoots steady streams of white, the clench enough to bring you close to the edge yourself, “just like that baby, I’m so close”

and when anton comes down from his climax, he's left a whimpering, limp, mess against your upper half, his entire weight on you as your hips drill inside him. sure enough his walls will remember the shape of your cock.

with final thrusts into anton’s fluttering hole, you bite into his shoulder, a raspy moan falls from your lips, your own seed shooting inside him, plunging anton full.

you hold anton close, his chest touching yours as you both catch your breaths “you think you can stand for me, darling?” anton only shakes his head, barely feeling his own knees. he’s going to be so sore, he's sure of it.

the gesture makes you burst in a laugh, “did I fuck your legs off of you?” anton groans, his hand squeezing your bicep, however futile “..shut up”

you snort, “is that the way to talk to your sir?” which effectively makes anton squeak, the reality of the earlier events dawning on him. post-nut clarity, if you will.

“don't remind me..” the younger murmurs. you hum, slowly putting anton onto his own feet, instantly holding onto his hips when his knees buck and wobble “let's get cleaned and go, come on”

since the moment both of you had entered the locker rooms, the shower had finally served its real purpose. you help anton wash up, cleaning your cum out of his gaping hole just as he whines from sensitivity.

and by the time you two had been cleaned off of sweat and cum, anton’s eyes were already fighting for its life to stay open. it makes you laugh, “let’s get you dressed, baby”

really, anton could do this all by himself. but then again, who is he to deny himself of aftercare, right? right.

“all done” you smile, a gentle throttle in your voice as fond eyes look at him “let me drive you home, yes?”

anton blinks. and then he smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes, “I would love that”

and when the two of you walk past the receptionist, catching a glimpse of her knowing eyes, you both pay no mind. maybe going to the gym wasn't too bad.

welp 🤓 there's three thousand words of anton getting screwed from behind LMFAAOOK requests and taglist are open!

permanent taglist ! @fatedrisk @the0p

© solkver 2025 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms. thank you.

[thewordfortheday]

THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT THAT NAME: "His NAME IS JESUS, for it is He Who will save His people from their sins." (Mt 1:21) "There is salvation in no one else; for there is no other NAME under heaven that has been given among men, by which we must be saved." (Acts 4:12) "God highly exalted Him, and bestowed on Him the NAME which is above every name that at the Name of Jesus every knee shall bow, of those who are in heaven, and on earth, and under the earth, and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord! " (Phil 2:9-11) "These things have been written that you may believe that JESUS is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing you may have life in His NAME." (Jn 20:31) As many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His NAME." (Jn 1:12)

[yandereunsolved]

Hello yan, bae its me who gave the isekai reader.

What if instead of isekai reader who is in a panicky state just matched The Cannibal's vibe, matching energy since riders and dragons at the least had some semblance.

Intimidating menace dragon with an equally intimidating, despite being short,menace rider.

Reader: Khan, fetch *pointing at the knight who pissed them off*

Cannibal who responds to the nickname: *roars before chasing the poor guy*

-

Aegon: you have a dragon that belongs to the house targayen give them back to us

Reader: boy make me

Aegon: I am no boy! I'm the king! And you shall bow before me

Reader: you're a bitch I was trying to be nice

Aegon:...

Thank you for the idea. I definitely love it. The Cannibal and reader being feral together is so much fun.

Here's my addition—

All of the Targaryens would immediately see reader as a threat. They would also be interested.

'Who is this man!?' kinda vibe.

Some would become obsessed with them because of the power they hold. Others would see them as a beacon of safety and hope.

🐉

The Cannibal loves Helaena because you like her. She's so sweet to you. She shows you all of her bugs and info dumps to you. The Cannibal is just sitting around the both of you. The fierce beast is ready to burn anyone who dares interrupt your time with her.

He also loves Dreamfyre. She's one of few dragons he can stand.

You giving her basic human decency causes her to obsess over you.

Helaena: "What do you want from me?"

Reader "Wot :?"

Helaena: "You're so cold with everyone else. Everyone fears your anger. You're so nice to me."

Reader: "That's because I enjoy spending time with you! I just want to hear your thoughts and have a friend."

Helaena: nose bleeds. "R-Really?" passes out.

🐉

Aegon II is jealous. Only because he's attracted to you, but you aren't attracted to him. He's needed a new plaything and you'd be perfect for it! You're so dom. It makes him salivate like a starved dragon.

Aegon II: "Darling—"

Reader: "No."

Every attempt by you is rebuffed. Even Cannibal has distaste for him.

He does what he does best. He threatens you and uses his power to make you bend the knee.

You have one dragon.

He rules seven kingdom and has many more.

🐉

Nyra is attracted to your fierceness. She recognizes it in herself. You feel like an escape for her. So naturally she becomes infatuated. She is a queen.

She tries her best to acquaint herself with you. She knows making friends with Cannibal is the biggest test.

Does Cannibal like her? Does he not?

[a-hermit-pining]

Crown For a Flower

Request: @queenondeezmatatas A RAFAYEL MERMAID AU SET IN THE 1800s WHERE MC IS A ROYAL LIVING IN A CASTLE BY THE SEA OFC AND THEIR LOVE IR FORBIDDEN BUT IT DONT MATTER PLSSSSS PLS PLS PLS let them be happy even if just for a millisecond😭🙏🏻

AN: This turned out to be different but I could not resist this idea. I just love dramatic stories sooooooo much. It isn't 1800s esque but I promise to get to that someday.

Pairing: Rafayel x Empress Reader

Genre: Fluff and ROMANCE

Summary: "It was a wedding unlike any other," the merwoman whispered to her sleepy daughter. "The union of Prince Rafayel and the Empress..." And so, she began to tell the tale.

The Lemurian court waited. Bowed on their knees. The seabed itself trembled beneath the drums that announced the emperor.

The tyrant. He who bled both lands and seas, had come. Invading the quiet bliss of Lemuria to uphold the ancient oath.

Peace had arrived with feet that dragged blood into its halls.

To wed, to form an alliance, the emperor came. And just like that, the court bowed lower, accepting the wedding that promised an end to a one-sided war.

Rafayel bowed with the rest of his father’s brood. The bastard, crouched behind the legitimate princes.

And standing at the altar was his aunt, Talia. The bride. The offering.

Where there should have been shame, there was only relief.

Assurance that their world would be spared. That the emperor would not strip the very seas of water to slaughter every last one of their kin.

Worse things had been done to the dragons of the West, burned alive with the mountains they guarded. And to the angels, plucked from the skies to amuse the emperor’s court.

So, marriage was a merciful fate.

It would grant them protection, from the emperor, and the monsters he had made of all others.

“All bow to the sovereign of the world,” a guard announced. And the kneeling court bowed further still.

The footfalls of soldiers echoed through the sacred hall. The clang of armor, the hiss of swords that had bled nations.

And yet, within that grim procession, there came a note of sweetness. A chime, delicate as windchimes swaying in spring.

A sound not of death, but of beauty.

“Rise.” The voice rang clear. Firm, but not unkind.

And in place of the tyrant, stood you.

The princess. Now crowned. Now empress.

Rafayel stared from a distance, his view obstructed by the silhouettes before him. But he could still hear the sound, the cheerful chime of a silver hairpin catching the current. Even as the court broke into whispers.

“I apologize,” you said, “but my father did not live to keep his word. So I have come. His heir. I shall complete this alliance.”

Rafayel pushed through the crowd, just in time to see you standing before Talia, your hand outstretched.

“That is, if your heart is not taken by another.”

The tyrant who tormented heavens, earth, and sea, had fallen. Slain by his own daughter, with the same cruelty he had borne unto others.

And now, the savior of worlds stood in their court. Not with demands, but to keep the word of peace.

The word of marriage went out. Of the newest empress seeking her groom. Word carried to every corner of Lemuria.

A simple challenge accompanied it. Issued in the quiet wake of Aunt Talia stepping down from the marriage proposal.

Rafayel stared at the wooden box in his brother’s hand. It was smooth, polished, its grain fine beneath his fingers, like a breath trapped in time.

To win the empress’s hand, One only had to open the box.

But not with hands. Not with keys. Not with tools.

The box was to be opened by its own element. In a way that required no force.

And those who resorted to force, who pried or cracked or cut, had been named. Called out by you directly.

The court had been abuzz with the puzzle. Dozens had tried.

None had succeeded.

Whatever lived inside the box shattered at the touch of violence.

A box that refused to be opened with force…What could slip into the very grain of wood itself?

"May I?" Rafayel asked quietly.

His brother sighed, handing over the box before marching off in exasperation.

Rafayel hadn't been given one of his own. He wasn’t even meant to be a part of the challenge. No one expected anything from the bastard son, barely a prince.

But he had wanted to try. Not for the marriage. Not for a crown.

He just wanted a reason to see you again.

To get a little closer. To catch another glimpse of the hairpin that had snared his attention in the court. It haunted him now. It rang through his sleep. Slipped into his drawings.

It was everywhere. Like you.

And this box… this puzzle… It was the only way to stand in your presence again.

To look at the one who wore the chime in her hair.

The one who was leaving tonight.

Leaving behind the challenge. Leaving behind Lemuria. To return to your empire.

Unless. He could solve it. Unless he could make the box bloom.

He will find you. He will make it so that you come to him

As his bride.

You stared at the block. A blooming weed stared back.

After two months, the answer to your challenge finally arrived from the courts of Lemuria.

Delicate wood had been parted. Split not by blades, nor keys, But by the slow persistence of roots.

A flower had bloomed, and in blooming, revealed your heart. Your aether core within the box.

A soft laugh bubbled from your throat. Not of amusement. But of quiet, content recognition.

A fragment of your soul seemed to glow from the cracks. Your heart, unveiled. Nestled between petals.

"Let it be known," you said, rising to your feet, "that the Empress is eager to be wed, to the one who holds the mind to unveil my heart with such beauty."

You turned, voice unwavering, lips soft with something dangerously close to a smile.

"Prepare for the wedding."

They say he never tried to pry the box open.

While others scorched it with spells, cracked it with blades, whispered incantations to break its seal. Rafayel only placed it in the sun.

He watered the soil beneath it each morning. Let the dew kiss its corners. Watched for mold, checked the grain.

He tilted it toward the light when the tide shifted, knelt beside it to whisper apologies on stormy nights. Some nights he rested beside it, cheek pressed to the stone, breathing with it as though it were alive.

And when he noticed a single thread of green peeking from beneath the lid, he didn't touch it. He simply watched.

And when the bloom finally opened, delicate and white, cradled in the broken seal, he wept.

Leaf by leaf, he witnessed the box part, not with force, but with trust.

Its edges softened. Its roots slipped into the wood like secrets. He charted the curves of each petal. Studied how they curled. How they clung.

Not for triumph. But for the quiet, impossible sight of your aether core. Glimmering red piece of you that lay in his blooms.

A treasure that refused to yield to force. Had revealed itself under his care.

"It was a wedding unlike any other," the merwoman whispered to her sleepy daughter. "The union of Prince Rafayel and the Empress..."

And so, she began to tell the tale.

Welcomed with gentle waves, the new Empress walked along a path paved in gold coins and pearls.

With a procession of two hundred, the humans came to Lemuria. With drums, with songs, with joy that had been lost for centuries.

Never before had there been such grandeur. Not for a wedding. Not for any union.

With them came the surviving dragons, seeking the calm of the sea to soothe their scorched wounds. Elves from ancient forests. Fae from veiled worlds. Angels, freed from their shackles.

Delicacies unheard of were offered to the court. Treasures brought by every race to honor the Empress who had brought order from ruin.

Peace had come to Lemuria with the promise of this union, but it had touched the entire world. It was as if the whole of creation had paused, just to witness them.

And Rafayel stood at the altar, when he heard the chimes again.

He looked up.

And there you were.

He had to force his eyes away from your hairpin, to allow himself the full, unshaken sight of you. Standing beneath the Cove of Oaths, you wore no crown. Only the hairpin.

And nestled beside it, his flower. His breath caught.

The vow taken by the heart of the ocean.

You stepped closer, alone in this moment. Alone in this oath.

This belonged to no court, no kingdom, no god. Only to you and him.

"You already have my heart," you said, smiling softly as you stood before him. "Yet, I have not had the chance to have yours." You tilted your head, "Is this to your wish? Our wedding, is it more than an oath to you?"

And Rafayel looked at the flower.

"Pilin flowers," he said quietly, "grow only with love."

"They bloom yellow with infatuation... blue with lust..."

His hand rose, fingers trembling as they brushed the white petals resting in your braid.

"And white," he whispered, "with love."

[jacaerysgf]

Unexpected Surprise

Summary: While attempting to gain the support of the vale, jeyne arryn has plans of her own for the prince.

r.q: Everyone forgets house Arryn😔🤘🏻 baddies of the vale Can you write something w Jace and an Arryn maybe lady Jayne’s little sister or daughter or something? Not a totally unreasonable alliance !! They have the coolest castle and knights also Ms Aemma Arryn ™️ like hello!! (I’m impatient as hell for more Vale coverage in season 2)

w.c: 900+

c.w: baela and jacaerys are not betrothed, arryn!reader jenye’s daughter, FLUFF, just a very cute fic, drabble, not proofread

a.n: IVE HAD THIS DONE SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR NO REASON OMGGGG but with the recent jeyne content i felt inspired to write this !! just something super simple <3 HOPE YOU ENJOY !! LOVE UUUU GUYS

masterlist - requests open

“Im sorry, what my lady?”

“I wish for you to marry my daughter.”

This is not how jacaerys thought this would go. When he arrived in the vale he thought he thought he would have to make simple small talk, present some of the benefits, hells even throw some complements her way in order to convince her. This however had not been in his cards.

“I'm sorry my lady i do not understand.”

“My daughter, y/n remains unmarried, around your age, a sweet girl, agree to wed her and me and my men will bend the knee.”

He blinks. He has no clue what to say to her. Jeyne stands after a moment, “I shall go fetch her.” He watches as one of the guards tries to stop her and tells her he will go retrieve the girl but Jeyne seems determined to go herself and he moves letting her leave. Jacaerys stands awkwardly in the middle of the room unsure of what to do.

He is not too sure he can just flat out agree to a proposal without his mother position, it is not like he is a second son, he is the heir to the queen. The next king, his wife to be the next queen. Yet when he sees you walking into the room, wearing a long dress in your house colors with your mother trialing behind with a pleased look on her face he finds himself wanting to agree to the marriage right away.

You are stunning. Easily the most beautiful women he’s ever seen, sure he hasn’t seen that many women but it doesn’t matter. He watches as you bow and mindlessly nods in acknowledgment, unable to take his eyes off you.

Jeyne looks between the two of you with a satisfied look. “Why don’t you show the prince around?” She gives you a pointed look to which you nod, “Of course i would be happy to.”

He walks over and offers you his arm with a smile on his face and you graceful take it before you begin to walk off with him. Jeyne stays behind and smiles to herself.

“My mother is very forward i apologize to you.” He simply shakes his head, he finds himself look at you instead of the halls he’s supposed to be looking at. “It is not an issue my lady, I rather appreciate it.” You look at him curiously but turn away once you notice he is already looking at you. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Many people speak in riddles, not saying what they mean or truly want, your mother is a rare gem.” You smile at the praise of your mother, “She truly is.”

You lead him outside and begin to tell him about the different plants and different sculptures around the courtyards. He is so charmed by you. The way you light up when you spot something and you begin to tell him of a memory you have, like how your mother scolded you for jumping around in the fountain, or when you almost fell out of one of the window's when you fell asleep.

“You truly love this place.” He can tell. The way you smile at the guards as they walk by or the way you know every detail about everything in the walls. But he sees the way you falter slightly at his words, “Am i wrong?”

You shake your head vigorously, “no no i do, its just i have never been away from here. My mother is a very protective woman, she waves away any suitors, she never even lets me leave the eyrie it is ridiculous!” You realize you're letting your emotions show too much and bow your head, “i am sorry that was out of line.”

He grabs your hands and you look at him with wide eyes. “I understand my lady, my mother is similar, i have truly never traveled to far, i wish to explore, once my mother has her rightful throne i believe i will take the time to see westeros a little bit,” He pauses before he speaks again, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “I could take you with me? if that is what you wish my lady.”

He watches as your eyes begin to glow and you beam at him, “truly? oh nothing would make me happier.” He nods and grips your hands tighter, “I shall take you everywhere.”

He does not expect you to throw your hands around his neck and pull him into a hug. He wraps his hands around your lower back, pushing his head into your neck and breathing in your scent. “I will accept your mothers propsal at once. You will fly with me to winterfell.” You pull back and give him an eager look. “Winterfell? Truly?” He nods, “I am to go meet lord cregan stark.”

You can barely contain your excitement at the thought of seeing something that was not the eyrie, especially a place as grand as winterfell.

Jeyne watched you two smile at one another from a window above with a small smile on her face. She does not hear the guard approaching her from behind, “You seem pleased my lady.” She says nothing to him for a moment, simply continuing to stare at the two of you. “Tell my men to ready themselves for war. It seems he will accept my proposal.”

perm jacaerys taglist <3

@tyronesien @itsbookworm987 @cruelworldlana @smurfelle @ireneispunk @hxtd @venmondiese @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aegonswife

[yeslordmyking]

John 1:2-3 — Today's Verse for Tuesday, January 2, 2024

[yandere-romanticaa]

Jade is a contradiction of many things, all wrapped up in a little pink bow which you can never fully unwrap.

And she likes to keep it that way.

In her heart she will always be a businesswoman first and foremost, which means that she's always looking for things to be in her favor. As good as she is at her job it can get so tiring. Even she fantasizes about days in which she could just put her feet up, have an ice cold drink and have a cute little thing to fuss over her, telling her all sorts of silly and amusing things...

And you just happen to check every single box she has.

It's so easy to rope you into her arms. She can give you anything and everything. The best part is that it's all 100% guaranteed, literally every single person you've spoken to who has had her as business partner can attest to her skills, wit and charm. Honestly, you would be a fool to not work with her - that's what everyone says at least.

She comes to you like a whisper in the wind, her presence calming and reassuring. "Don't worry that pretty little head of yours." she croons, a soft pout on her pretty pink lips as her hand hovers over your tear stained cheek.

"I shall take care of everything."

And indeed she does.

All of your debts are paid. All of them, every single one. Even your friends and family start getting random sums of cash, and there's such a large amount that they don't even know what to do with it! You can finish school in peace, start a business from scratch, travel the cosmos, the whole world is your oyster really!!

Jade gave you a pair of wings you never even dreamed of having. And she archived it all without even breaking a sweat. You thanked her profusely, over and over, showering the wonderful Lady Bonajade with every single kind word there ever was.

However, just as you were about to soar high into the sky, the horrible reality of the situation made you crash right back down to earth. Hard.

There's a sudden coldness around your neck, like a necklace of sorts. Her gloved fingers dance around the soft flesh, her eyes laser focused on the task at hand. You don't even get to ask her what was going on, not until she suddenly yanked you to the floor.

With a grunt, you fell onto your knees and was forced to look up at her, a satisfied glimmer in her eye.

"There." she said, her tone laced with confidence. "You look so much better like this."

She yanked on the chain once more, forcing you even closer to her, so much so that you could feel her thigh against your face. She kept you there on the ground for hours as she did her paperwork, her hand occasionally stroking your hair in a way an owner would pet a dog.

She didn't seem to care for your tears and if she did, she didn't comment on them. Any and all pleas were ignored, especially when they were about the dreadfully tight collar around your neck.

You were a fool to think that you could have gotten such a good deal without paying some sort of price. There was a part of you which was ready to sell something of yours, perhaps even an organ if need be.

You just didn't think that Jade would want your freedom in exchange for her services.

[inthefoxholes]

veilguard, i hated it.

So i finally finished veilguard, and guys, what. a. shitshow.

So apart from the fact that it feels like a half-finished game (which it probably is), I mostly hated it on two accounts: 1) the overall lore implications (we knew this from this reddit q&a, but I'm still angry, and I won't stop talking about it) BOTH in regards to previous games and this one and 2) how this was not at all a roleplaying game. (sorry, english is not my first language and I'm tired and enraged)

Let's look a little closer, shall we.

One: The Lore Implications. This pisses me off in two ways:

First, the amateurish attempt at a "clean slate". This is just so insulting. If they wanted to make a game without any of that icky baggage, then the should have chosen a new ip for this. I get that it's complicated after three games with a lot of moving parts, I get that the decision to move away from southern thedas was an attempt to curtail a lot of this, but COME ON. Walls of nonsensical (seriously, they read ai created) text from the inquisitor, that mainly tell you that everything you fought for, all the people, all the places, is gone? And not for effect, not for the story, entirely offscreen and nonsensical, just so the writers don't have to care for this anymore? This does NOT get me invested into the story. No mention of who your Divine is; no mention of who sits on the orleasian throne - and it should matter, shouldn't it, whether or not your EXILED the grey wardens, whether or not you have an elf with a SPY NETWORK close to the orleasian throne, whether or not you DISBANDED the inquisition. All of that does influence what happens on the world state, or at least it should. (And if you want to ignore it, why not do in a way that's less obvious, less bad, why not have your protagonist be someone with no ties to the inquisition, who genuinely does not know whats going on in the south? Why have a world state when you don't want anything to do with it?)

Second, and that's even worse: you cannot take a fully established world, and then alter it to your weird specifications. THE FUCK you mean, there are no slaves in Minrathous, the goddamn slave capital of the world?? Why THE HELL is there a whole questline where we try to find disappeared people, snatched from the street for the ritual, when it should be perfectly possible to buy a few batches of slaves and have them express delivered to your ritual site. (So we can show up and fuck up your slave operation.) But no - I get shamed when I don't save Minrathous?? Well, fuck you, Fenris sends his regards, I hope you all burn.

To this ties the overall simplificaton of the world: Nobody is really bad, just the few super bad guys, but they are so evil as to have no real motiviation, they are basically Thanos or otherwise racist cartoons (totally believable that the Qunari, or a sect thereof, would be on board with mad sorcery). They rest, they are good guys! The pirates are very mindful of cultural heriatages! The crows are just your friendly neighborhood assassins (I remember the stories Zevran told slightly differently), and, as assassins, they naturally wear uniforms, so you see them coming (as do the "secret" "underground" "rebels" from Tevinter). I'm not saying that everyone should be evil, but the fact that whole organisations are presented to us as benefical is so insulting, ESPECIALLY when it was always a point of pride for the Dragon Age franchise that it was morally complicated. There is slavery and poverty and darkspawn. NOPE, you can stand knee deep in blight, not a problem anymore. (if only Carver had known) There is racism against elfs. (well, as the elfs seem to be respnsible for EVERY problem thedas faces, from the veil to the darkspawn, maybe that was precient? - also, always nice to have everything tied in such a neat bow, everything tied to one ONE causality, that makes things really believable and realistic) The Templars are fascists, sure, but abominations are a problem that does not get solved easily. NOPE, not anymore! When before, even a spirit of JUSTICE got corrupted in this world (therby making the valiant and sublte point that abstract concepts rarely hold up well when coming in contact with messy reality), now you can be possessed by a demon of SPITE and HE DOES NOT DO ONE SPITEFUL THING AT ALL. Nice, if only the mages knew that, you just have to accecpt feelings or whatever and then everything's well. SO NEAT!

This brings me to point number two: Why do we play this game? The complex and previously established word is gone; what's left are cartoons thereof. And then, there's not even a hint of role-playing left. Why can't I be mean to Harding?? I loved her in Inquisition, now her overly-girly manner grates on my nerves and I want to be mean to her. I can't, i have to be everyone's friend. In the end, I cannot decide anything, except the slight configuration of the final companion armour (why would I care, I don't know these people, I could not ask them a single question), and some slight cosmetic change regarding Solas - there is not even talk about tearing down the Veil. We've come full circle back to Mass Effect 3 and the groundbreaking decision we get to make is what colour the magic space beam is gonna have. Except, Mass Effect 3 was still a much better game, because you knew your crew - in this game, I have acutally no idea why Rook should lead anybody, why anybody would follow them, and why the literal fate of the world should be in the hands of this bunch of (after 100 hours of gameplay) near strangers. There ARE narrative work-arounds for this kind of shit; the writers just didn't care enough.

There are a hundred more small things I could say about this, about the story (Solas' prison was made of regret and he wanted to put Elgarnan there?? Who feels very good about everything he does?? Is he stupid? And then everyone is so impressed about Rook getting out to quickly, but seriously, what the fuck did Rook have to feel regretful about? They did not get to make a single decision. They did not order anyone to sacrifice themselves; they did not use people, or cities, as pawns in a war or whatever, BECAUSE THIS GAME HAS THE EMOTIONAL DEPTH OF A SMALLISH PUDDLE) and the in-game approach to the player (how often do i have to be told that i need to take care of my companions business?? This got so repetitive and made them seem like imcompetent children. Why wasn't there a better way to make me care, or better yet, trust the player to want to play this game), but I stop now. Fuck Bioware and EA.

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Seven - The prince

♡♡♡

Once again, you find yourself sitting in the pleasant blue drawing room that belongs to the Bridgerton's. It is a colour you could get quite used to.

Most of the family were present, so it was quite a nice gathering. Daphne had been the one to greet you when you arrived, but Benedict insisted you sit beside him once you came into the drawing room.

You smiled at Anthony as you passed him, and he gave you a gentle smile in return, bowing his head. This did not go unnoticed by the second son, who gave you a questioning look that you offered no response to.

"Daphne, have you thought about who you would like to dance with at tonight's ball?" Violet asks her daughter.

"I have some ideas. Lord Weaver is a fine dancer." Daphne says.

"Lord Hardy was asking about you at White's last night." Anthony tells his sister.

Daphne comes to sit beside you.

"Lord Hardy? What about the duke?" Her mother asks.

"The duke has not proposed, Mama. I am still considering my best course." Daphne says.

Gregory steals from Anthony's plate behind you, sending the eldest brother into a frantic motion. His sneaky little brother.

"Wise girl," Anthony says, once he is over his brother's thieving ways.

"And Lord Hardy is a fine option. Although, he is rather boastful."

"My dear, why ever do you complicate matter so?" Violet asks. "You must simply marry the man who feels like your dearest friend."

"Oh? Is that it, Mama? Well, how very simple indeed!" Daphne sighs.

"Yes, quite."

Benedict, who has been slouching slowly inch by inch on the sofa since you sat down, looks up at you with a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes and nudge his knee.

Daphne, deciding to shift the conversation from herself, turns to you. "You did quite well yourself at the last ball."

You smile and glance back at Anthony who smiled at you in return. "I had help."

"Hm?" Benedict sits up and looks at you. "What does she mean?"

You turn to him with a proud smile. "Well, my usual dance partner wasn't present last night, so Anthony stepped in. Dancing with your brother garnered a little attention, and I had several dances with different gentlemen that night."

Benedict turns to look at his brother so quickly that he could have gotten whiplash. Anthony smiles smugly at him.

Violet leans forward with some interest. "Oh? Do tell me more."

Talking about Daphne any more seemed like a dead-end, so Violet decided to move on to you.

"Your eldest offered to dance with me. He's quite the skilled dancer. Afterwards, I was approached by several others. I honestly think Daphne may be my good luck charm. Her magic is rubbing off onto me."

Daphne smiles at you, pleased that thongs are turning around for you.

Benedict glares softly at his brother. "She's my dance partner."

"You weren't there." Anthony argues.

"Still..."

"It matters not. I think I may be not he without a partner for the rest of the season. Even if none wish to call upon me, I shall dance at every ball."

Benedict isn't sure he is comforted by your words, but at the same time, he can't fault you. Perhaps this will be your way into the marriage market, after all.

♡♡♡

Benedict made it a point to attend this ball. The idea of Anthony stepping in for his role as your dance partner didn't quite sit with him.

While Daphne is off dancing in the next room, you hang back in the connected room with the other Bridgertons.

"Give me your dance card." Benedict says.

"Hm?"

He reaches for it without speaking and signs it. You chuckle.

"I'm just making sure," he says.

"Yes. Of course."

"Did you hear?" Colin asks, rejoining you both after fetching a drink.

"Hear what?" You ask, turning to him.

"There is a prince attending tonight." He sips his drink.

"Ah yes." You recall hearing that. "I'm sure everyone knows."

"Does Mama know?" Benedict asks him.

"I'm not quite sure." Colin muses.

You look at Benedict. "Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason. I just wondered. After all, if he's eligible, and the Duke has yet to still propose to Daphne..." He drifts off.

Colin looks at his brother. "You can't be serious?"

Benedict shrugs.

Chatter grows near the entrance, and you look up in time to see the Queen enter with a younger man by her side. There is no doubt in your mind that he is the prince that was expected to arrive. He is dressed like one.

"That shall be him now," you say, watching walk into the ballroom.

"Princess Daphne, eh?" Colin grins.

Benedict smacks him lightly. Colin glares at his brother. You rolls your eyes and walk away.

"You owe me a dance!" Benedict calls out.

You laugh as you head into the ballroom, wanting to see what is happening. The Queen introduces the prince to Daphne and you watch curiously.

After a few moments, Daphne lets out the most unladylike laugh you have ever heard. You chuckle quietly to yourself.

As the music begins to play again, Benedict comes up beside you. "Done swooning?"

"I was hardly swooning."

Benedict holds out his hand and gives you a look. You chuckle and place your hand in his.

"My name is on your card."

"I know."

You both join the others and dance around the room. Benedict and you smile at each other, enjoying each others company. Dancing with him has become a rather nice moment for you, but you haven't forgotten your initial attempt to find a suitor.

When your dance with Benedict comes to an end, another gentleman approaches you, and another after that.

Benedict finds that your dance with Anthony last time has really improved your chances. He thinks nothing of it as he rejoins Colin in the other room.

The evening passes, and you find that you had enjoyed every moment of it.

♡♡♡

Prince Friedrich of Prussia had garnered a lot of attention. The ladies flcoked to him in the masses. While he was trapped outside with the ladies and their Mama's, you were inside looking at the art.

The Bridgertons. Were here, too.

The gallery was phenomenal. Artwork covered every inch of every wall. There was so much to admire and take in.

You were currently with your mother as you took in some of the artwork. Your eyes are taking their time to trail over the details of paintings. You didn't know much about art, but you could certainly admire it.

Violet Bridgerton had her arm hooked with her eldest son. She scanned the room and pointed out some of the lovely ladies present. Anthony sighed and looked at his mother.

"Were I looking for a list of debutantes and their dubious accomplishments, I could have stayed home and read Lady Whistledown." Anthony frees himself from his mother and wanders off.

Violet turns to take Benedict's arm, but he catches on quick and wriggles out of her grasp, also fleeing.

Poor Colin is left behind to take the fall.

Benedict finds himself looking up at a painting in deep thought. Lady Danbury joins him along with another gentleman.

"It's much too cold," Benedict says, looking at Danbury. "Where's any sense of the subject's spirit? And the light! Given the quality, I do wonder why the piece was not skyed with the other daubs."

"Perhaps we should ask the artist," Lady Danbury says.

"That would be something, Lady Danbury." Benedict nods at her.

"Mm... Mr. Granville, why was your piece not skyed?" She turns to the gentleman beside her and Benedict wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

"Mr. Granville, I--"

"If you will excuse me, um, I must find my wife." Granville leaves.

Benedict is left starting in utter shock. "You diabolical... How could your leylt me rattle on like that?"

"How could I not, my dear Mr. Bridgerton? It was riotously funny, you must admit."

Lady Danbury walks away.

Benedict looks back at the painting and sighs.

"Penny, for your thoughts." You say, coming to stand beside him. Benedict looks at you and then back at where Lady Danbury had gone.

"I was humiliated just now."

You look around but don't see who he is looking for. "Surely not."

Benedict looks back at the painting. "What do you think?"

You look up at it and give it a good look. "I... can't say I know much about art. Do you?"

Benedict smiles a little. "You could say that. I have a passion for it."

You turn and look at him. "You're an artist too?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far. Not yet." He looks almost sheepish.

You smile as you look at him. "Is there any possibility of me seeing your work?" You ask.

Benedict isn't sure why his heart races at the thought of you seeing something so important to him. His personal hobby.

"You wish to see my work?"

"If you'll allow."

Benedict stares at you for a moment and then tears his gaze away, realising he was perhaps looking for far too long.

"Perhaps one day."

You hear the far away tone of his voice as he looks up at the painting on the wall. You wonder what he's thinking.

Perhaps he hopes he can paint something for all to see one day. Maybe then he will let you see his passion.

The crowd behind you gasped, and you both turned to see Cressida on the ground with Prince Friedrich comforting her.

"Ah, the art of swooning." You chuckle.

Benedict chuckles, too.

You turn your gaze away from the crowd and back to the painting on the wall. Your eyes trailing along it. This piece doesn't make you feel much of anything, if you were honest.

Yet, somehow, you believe Benedict's painting would certainly have a way to move you. Whether you understood art or not.

♡♡♡

Benedict sits in an empty room of the house, all by himself sketching away in his book. He has already torn out and tossed a couple of pages in frustration.

There is a lingering thought in the back of his head. The thought of showing you his work. You asked him so innocently too.

If Benedict is to create anything worthy of being admired by you, it would have to be perfect.

He wasn't entirely why your wish to see his work mattered so much. Perhaps it was because you became friends. Perhaps it because he felt you would understand.

Your kind-hearted nature and sense of humour were perfectly admirable traits, but it was your wish to know him on a deeper level that had Benedict desiring your company.

You were one of the only people to really see him. It felt good.

The second son swore to himself that he would draw something worthy of your gaze. Nothing less.

It was just going to take him a while to create such a piece.

If only Daphne would play a different tune kn her piano. The constant repetitive notes he can hear from the drawing room were driving him insane.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff -

[granolawriting]

To break you

pairing: sith!Anakin x princess!Reader

Summary: a suitless darth vader find your home planet to be a threat to the galactic empire. and as he takes you into his custody, he gives you an answer; to wed him, or to die. and as your decision looms over you, he makes it his goal to break you before the wedding day.

word count: 4.2k

content warning: NSFW WARNING!, dark!anakin, there is no fluff he is just using you, spanking, name calling (slut, toy), condesending pet names (my doll, princess), hair pulling, nipple play, kind of public p in v, he cums in you, no aftercare, master anakin kink, sadism/masochism, stockholm syndrome pretty much, cocky and evil vaderkin, forced submission kind of, kind of dubcon but you do enjoy it

masterlist

A/N: hello!!! this is super diffrent than what I usually write, and I would want to put a content warning that this is pretty dark, but the people want and I deliver! This was a request by this anon, so thank you for the request :) Make sure if you like my work to check out my requests/comissions or my ko-fi!!!

“Kneel.” 

The hiss of a door that centered your prison was met by a brooding anakin. Well above 6 feet, drenched in black from head to toe did the heaviness of his boots only add greater loom of intimidation to engulf the room as he stood before you. Commanding you. 

Darth Vader. He is who stood before you. Who caged you in this prison and moreover, destroyed everything you knew in mere hours. Scenes flash before you of what once was your home, one where you reigned comfortable leadership. A princess of a far off planet, known for well intended democracy and a desire for unity within its people. You were happy, especially under the old republic's rule. Even knowing who vader was, be it briefly, before he became the man before you. 

Anakin skywalker. That's who really stood before you. No grimace upon a face, no merciless killings could ever shake him from being that person. The curve of his jaw in a scowl was the same one that greeted you all those years ago on your home planet-- sharing a single dinner together as he and his master asked for direction on a mission they were set upon. You knew what a smile looked like along his face, what a laugh may sound like from the cords deep within his throat. And as the man stands before you now, towering over you with no semblance of that boy surviving within him the scar on his face remains. The curl of his hair, the shape of his nose. It was all him, it was anakin. 

Your knees instinctively met the cold metal of the floor of your cell. Bowing before him with great fervor, fear enveloping every sense in your body. 

Looking up, you are met with Anakin as he looks down upon you. A face you couldn't read only exacerbated your fear as he looked at you with selfish intent. 

He kneels, shoes flat upon the ground as knees bend together to get a closer look at you. Still towering over you does he stay, studying you, every muscle on your face every inch your eyes move. A gloved hand reaches out to grab you, flinching ever so slightly as you feel the cool leather grip onto your jaw. He moves you, taking you in, you move with him and submit yourself to his touch. 

Standing up once more, a smirk grows upon a dark face. 

“Let me ask you, shall I wed you, or kill you?” 

your heart drops. It feels as though it stops beating as his eyes bore into you, taking in every lick of petrification that coats your face at the sight of his question. You knew deep in your mind there was nothing you could say to sway his decision, nothing you could argue or beg to urge one or the other; it was merely a matter of watching how you would react. The sadistic joy he felt in seeing you take in your options, the only two left for you in a life once bearing endless ones. Tears well in the sides of your eyes as you break eye contact with him, sobbing into the floor beneath you as wet tears hit the cool metal of the prison floor and a laugh emits from him. A sickening smile coats his face as he gathers great joy from your faltering. A once high princess, kind and polite, now bearing shackles at his feet. He found no greater joy. 

“You can stop the melodrama now, princess, is it? Are you even able to form a single sentence? Come on now, beg for my mercy.” 

You didn’t know what would be more merciful, to be ended or to be saved-- both with their pros and cons. But as you stare at the metal vaguely mirroring your reflection, you see your own face through muddled shapes. The look in your eyes, you were reminded of your humanity. Above all else, you didn't want to die. It wasn't your time yet. 

“Please, please master. Let me wed you, I beg you not to kill me. I will do whatever you please master Vader just, don't let me die.”

You double down, almost curling up as tears fall from your face and horror shocks you to your core at what you’ve just done. Begged for, even. To wed the man who killed your family, slaughtered them like animals. Use them as an example, the death of your home planet serving as a reminder of the power of the empire over any semblance of the old republic order. 

A small sucking of teeth exits Anakin as he paces back and forth, slow heavy stomping of boots echoing in the chamber, armed guards flanking either side of him. You can sense a smirk on his face, a sadistic smile growing on him as you kneel before him in pain and powerlessness. He gets drunk off the power he has over you, the way he can make you submit. He decides, it’s a fair thing to not give away. Not to mention the undeniable beauty you held, though that was only a bonus to him as such a beautiful face contorted to his favorite expression. 

“So be it then. By 3 days time we shall be wed.” 

He faces the guards stationed at the door. 

“Please send for someone to clean her up, and fix her a room for just the night. By the next, I shall have made arrangements for her cohabitation with me for after the wedding.” 

“Right away sir.” 

… 

You stare blank at the woman that looks at you within the mirror, studying her, questioning her likeness to you. It had been a single day since Anakin had taken you as his bride. And as the maids outside the steel door of your bathroom chattered about laced detailing and color coordinated floral arrangement, you were sick to your stomach in anguish over the dealings he’s made since. He reveled in the stir, the attention that was put on you-- the spotlight. He knew you hated it, and were humiliated by the mere implication. But as he sent maids to your room in and out as the day went on, asking your opinion on certain design choices and cuts of dress, he made you intimately tied to the process at hand. 

You knew anakin hated being in the spotlight, almost as much as you did. But he would do about anything to break you. 

…

Hiss 

Heavy feet invite themselves into your temporary home. 

“Hello lord vader.” 

You stand almost at attention, previously mulling over small books lying around to distract yourself from what glared ahead of you, standing up as his presence enters the confines of your room to face him with full alertness. 

“Please, princess. You are to be my wife aren’t you? No need for such formality. Anakin, will do. Master, anakin.” 

He seemed to enjoy it when you called him master, even as his old name still held in its following address it still set a dynamic of extreme power to tower over you and him. He got off on it, owning you. 

“Hello, master anakin. What can I do for you?” 

Though his demand for formalities was adhered to in their most basic sense, you still felt no comfort in portraying anything but robotic response to what he demanded of you, to try and cater to him as emotionless as you could. 

“Oh well, I was just stopping in to see what you were doing. Did you enjoy the wedding preparation earlier today?” 

He knew you didn't, and a smirk upon a dark face proved it. He wanted to get a reaction out of you, toy with you. 

“It was alright. Though, I don't understand why go through all of the hassle. I have no real say in the matter.” 

Anakin fakes a sense of hurt as you make such a claim; 

“No real say? Why could you say that? I tried to make every little part of the process down to your liking. It’s going to be quite large, after all. I even invited the remaining survivors from your planet, our own special guests to lie front seat to such a momentous occasion. Should you not be thanking me for such consideration?” 

your throat goes dry, and small balls form unconsciously within your fists. He was set on humiliating you, letting the people you swore to protect watch as you wed their captor, their murderer. Composed of women and children assumably, the next generation of your world strapped in to watch the death of what they once knew in a cacophony of sound and extravagance. 

Anakin watches as your expression grows dark-- he has gotten a reaction out of your stoned face. A sadistic grin grows upon his face. He steps closer to you.

“Oh my doll, no need to look so angry. It doesn't suit such a pretty face now does it? Come on, can you show me a smile, some gratitude for everything I've done for you? This wasn't cheap, you know.” 

A leathered hand outstretched to meet your chin, lifting it up as it faced inward to your chest as means to lock eyes with the ground, and not his eyes. Slowly, a heavy hand pulls your chin up to face him, as he bends his head low to greet your eyes while he towers over you. He awaits your response with eagerness. 

“Th.. thank you master Anakin. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” 

It falls out of your mouth through gritted teeth, rage stuffed deep inside of you as you watch him grow joyful at the sight of your repression and submission. His smile grows even larger at the sight of it. 

“Good girl, now-” 

He takes a heavy stride over to the lace and flower samples littered all over your room. He held his arms loosely to his back as he paced. 

“I've taken the liberty of choosing your dress, as well as the floral arrangements. I just wanted you to take a glimpse of all the options I had planned out for you, all the things I picked out with you in mind hm? I'm sure it was stressful, but what wedding isn't mmm? We will make sure to get you fitted tomorrow. And,” 

He now looks back over at you. 

“That shall also be the day I move you into my personal chambers.” 

your heart sinks once more. 

“Now, I know that it isn't your planet's code of ethics to bed someone before they tie the knot; however we are no longer on your planet are we? The repairs and modifications have been finished early, and I find no means to wait. After all, I would like to know what I have to look forward to in days to come.” 

Hooded eyes and lustful darkness overtake him as he takes in your body, its shape, and you feel utterly naked. He meant to test you out, before the wedding. Take what was never his thought in the process, please himself with the attraction he found to your body. You were just a toy to him, and by his means of taunting did he make that ever so clear. 

… 

White lace coated every inch of your body in extravagant pattern and stitching, a dress perfectly fitted to your body did it look utterly beautiful. Though as you gazed upon yourself in the mirror behind the curtain where you were to dress you felt nothing but despair. To look so beautiful, so wonderful, in the wake of such a nightmare was something you could only go numb to the feeling of. It was not one you would have chosen, the fit too tight for your usual formal attire, though he knew that well. This dress was out of your comfort zone, revealing, and above all else it was not who you were. Beautiful nonetheless, he wished to remind you that it is no longer you that exists within your body, it is his bride. 

“Come out for me, my doll, I wish to see the bride.” 

A coo coats the voice of taunt that Anakin relays to you at the wake of his impatience to see you in the dress he picked out for you. And thus slowly you emerge from curtained blockers to expose yourself to him. 

He goes speechless for a moment, taking in your frame as you stand there feeling naked-- his eyes undressing every part of you that was accentuated, exposed. 

“Maids, leave us for a moment. I shall call for you when you’re needed.” 

You feel a sickening fear pool within your stomach, anything that he wished to have you utterly alone for was nothing to feel good about. 

The hiss of the door signifying their exit left you trapped, utterly alone as Anakin was yet to voice reaction or concern with your attire. 

“Do a spin for me princess.” 

He is sat upon a cushioned chair, a leg crossed and back relaxed as he watches you, taking you in as you silently follow his command. 

Though as you finish a slow spin, he gets up to approach you, a loom of sadism follows his aura. 

“You look irresistible, you know that? I knew this dress would flatter you, your curves, however I could have never imagined it to look like this. You always wear such stuffy, loose clothing when you’re given the chance. No means to flaunt what is so desirable about you.” 

He outstretches hands to place on your waist, the touch of them sending shock up your spine as his touch feels so foreign to you. Any touch does, really. 

“Aww, what's that? Don’t tell me no one’s touched you like this before. Have you ever had a boyfriend before?” 

Fuck. 

“Uh.. no. no master anakin. This is uh, my first ever relationship, if you will.” 

A selfish and downright evil grin unabashedly covers his face at the sound of such things. That not only did he take you as his bride, but he took your first relationship. You were pure, starved of affection.

“Tch, what a shame that is. I would think boys would line up for a piece of you, princess.” 

His eyes trail down your body as his hands slowly move upward to your breasts, his hands softly cupping them as yellow eyes flick up back to your own to watch a reaction. Maintaining eye contact with you as he begins to massage them, slowly toying with them as you bite back any sort of unconscious response your body would have to such a foreign feeling. 

“Aw, come on now my doll, no need to hold back with me hm? No one has ever touched you like this before have they, I know it must feel nice. Look me in my eyes.” 

The thin fabric along your breast allows friction to your nipples that accentuates the feeling of his touch upon you. You’re not supposed to like it, but there's something irresistible about the feeling he gives you-- something you can't control. 

His fingers move to the center of your breast, moving small circles around your nipples as he watches your face for reaction, searching for the contortion of your eyebrows and the closing of your eyes at the feeling of his friction. He wanted to break you, make you grow desperate for his touch. He got off seeing you melt in his hands, an untouched body waiting to be used by him. 

A small moan escapes your mouth unconsciously as you’re unable to hold it in anymore, the feeling of him massaging you feels less like a violation and more like pleasure as the minutes pass, and as that happens a pool of slick begins to grow between your thighs as you keep eye contact with him, dark yellow eyes loom over your as brown waves softly fall to the front of his face, the tan of his skin growing more desirable as contrasted with the pink of his lips. As he made you so vulnerable for him in this position, the undeniable attraction that resided within his merciless body became evermore apparent. 

At the sound of your approval of his touch he slowly lets off of it, leaving you feeling bare and needy for more. 

“That's it, good girl. Now take that dress off.” 

“What?” 

“I don't wish to repeat myself again-- take that dress off.” 

“Y…yes master anakin.” 

Every inch of your body is screaming with sensitivity at the sight of such an exposing display. Anakin watched as the hairs stood up on your body, slowly as you disrobed yourself. The slipping of arms out of lace detailed sleeves sent shivers up your spine as the embarrassment of being watched overtook you. Slowly unzipping the back of your dress, allowing your body to shake loose it's tight curves on you and fall upon the floor with an airy landing, you stand before him in just what you wore beneath. Laced white underwear, matched with a laced white bra. 

Anakin circles you, once more with hands held behind his back as he studies your body, remaining perfectly still do you allow him all he needs to be able to take in everything you are. 

“I made a good decision deciding to wed you. Beneath those rags you wore I couldn't quite tell but now, now I know it was the right choice princess.” 

You watch as his eyes grow dark, hooded with lust as a smirk overtakes him. His fingers slowly make their way to your waist, feeling a hard leathered hand on one side and a calloused fingers on another as he makes his way up your naked body, sliding upward as he grips onto your breasts and watches the way they fall into his hand. His free hand snakes to the back of your bra, unclasping it as he watches them fall out of their hold. 

“Bend over. On that table for me.” 

He motions to a nearby table sized at around your waist. 

“Yes, master.” 

Eagerness seeps from your voice as his touch upon you grows more and more desired. The feeling of his attraction to your body becomes what weakens your knees as the sight of the unknown grows more enticing. Perhaps it was his brainwashing finally working, the desire to please him becoming genuine priority for you, or perhaps it was primal attraction to being used. Being his doll. 

You do as you're told, and as your exposed chest and stomach are pressed against the cool metal of the table, you feel as the cold air within the room hits the wet spot in now exposed underwear and makes you feel exposed. 

Anakin's hands reach out to feel your ass, toying with it in his hands with a heavy grip-- spreading it apart before slipping off thin underwear that kept him from seeing you entirely. You felt the slick of your excitement drip down the side of your exposed thigh as your underwear dragged along your legs to fall onto the floor. 

“Oh doll, is this all because of me? And here I was thinking you didn't like this. What a little tease, pretending like you don't want me while hiding this from me the whole time. What a slut.” 

A hand slaps an exposed cheek. The sting seeps into your nerves with masochistic pleasure, you weakly hold back a whimper. 

“Does this slut like being spanked around? You said you’ve never been with anyone but you still loved to be fucking used.” 

He slaps you again. 

“Spread your legs for me.” 

You obliged, and as the cool air hits your exposed fold you hear the drop of heavy fabric from behind you. You turn your head to see him, though heavy hand shoves your head back into the metal table; 

“I didn't say you could look at me, did I? Be a good toy and let me do what I wish without distraction.” 

You feel his cock touch your entrance and your breath hitches. Slowly he coats it with your slick as he feeds it in and out of your folds, feeling his tip hit a sensitive clit made your hips buck at the feeling. 

After small strokes along your clit he brings himself back to your entrance, penetrating you for the first time with little regard for how it may hurt for you. Not going too fast, but keeping a steady pace as he shoved himself deep into your cervix and making you yelp at the pain. 

“T..too big… please master..” 

A hand grips onto your hair, pulling you back so he can curve his body over yours, and whisper within your ear; 

“Keep your fucking whining for me baby, I love hearing how much it hurts.” 

And with that he keeps pumping into you, using your hair and waist to hold himself as he uses your hole like it's just a toy. Feeling him pulse inside of you at every sound of cried and yelps for how he slaps into you, echoing in the room sounds of moaning and grunts, wordless begging to go slow and the sound of him fucking into you. 

Though soon the pain turned into unimaginable pleasure, and your desperate attempts to make him slow down were exchanged for the feeling of your hips riding out his thrusts to amplify their intensity inside of you. 

“Feels…sogood.. Master..” 

“Yeah, my pretty toy finally likes my cock inside her hm?” 

He taunts you, teases you the whole time he’s inside of you. Fucking you in and out he calls you his toy, his slut, everything that you are he owns and is but an object to him. His words make a fire burn inside your stomach, white hot does it blaze as he goes faster inside of you with no sign of stopping. 

“God.. Anakin, master I, i'm.,.” 

You can't put together the words to say it, every word interrupted by a moan of desperation as you try and think while your body is completely enveloped by the feeling of him, completely ruined at the way he used you. You were his, and his alone you realized. 

“Are you going to cum? Cum for me you fucking slut, let it swallow my cock.” 

He increases his speed, your body falling up and down the top of the table as he rocks you back and forth with his intensity, and after only a few more strokes you feel your body convulsing over his cock. Legs growing weak and shaking and they’re barely able to hold themselves up anymore do you feel him keep pumping into you through your orgasm, his cock pulsing inside of you as your walls tighten around it. 

“God, fuck good girl, you’re so fucking tight for me i'm-” 

As your orgasm dies his begins, feeling liquid shoot deep inside of you for what seemed like an eternity, his cock warmed inside your pussy as he rode out the pulses of his seed in slow strokes in and out of you. Watching as he finally exited you and pools of his finish slowly seeped out of you and onto the floor. 

Before you could even properly adjust yourself, you heard as Anakin reapplied his fallen clothes and was headed for the door. 

“I will call for the maids to come clean you up.” 

… 

The day of the wedding had arrived shortly after, and you watched as the trumpets began to blair with a cacophony of sound to signify your descent upon the path to the rest of your life. Anakin stood at attention far at the end of white coated floors littered with different flowers, surrounded by the high emperors of the galactic empire as well as the front row full of your own people. You felt numb, broken. There was no fear left inside of you as you descended the rows, clad in beautiful white lace as the onlookers watched in awe. You felt nothing, watching Anakin at the end of the walk flanked by groomsmen he cared nothing about, and you soon to be flanked by bridesmaid you knew nothing of. Only a sick smile coated his face as he was drenched in black robes once more, watching you approach him with grace.

The ceremony began, a large beckoning exclamation filled the room as the looks of horror upon your peoples faces made you only avert your gaze. 

“You may kiss the bride.” 

Anakin's lips met yours, it was the first time he was to have kissed you. And the first of many he would use to remind you of your place, his hands folded to hold yours did you feel strings upon his fingers that held onto you like a marionette to a puppet. 

You watched as he let up from your lips, a cacophony of cheers erupts from the crowd as the only thing you can focus on is him, the whisper he lets out that only you can hear. 

“Til death do us part, my doll.”