#I will one day conquer middle parts

[fallenleafofmaple]

Fanart for @wutheringmights ao3 fic Call Them Brothers! This is the one I was dreading and excited about the most. I really enjoyed doing the alt version for this one. Anyways, this is the last one of the set but I definitely will still be around >:). 3/3

[m00ngbin]

Ok I will admit that that was the most fun I've had researching something more academic ever. Ronda Spain is actually so interesting

Just so you know in the tags I meant to say halves not halfs I just don't feel like retyping everything

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah, Ziegfeld Girl)—Look. I'm sure someone has already submitted Hedy Lamarr because she was spectacularly beautiful, and a very strong lady too: she fled both an abusive marriage AND nazi persecution at a very young age and rebuilt a life for herself pursuing her love for acting all on her own!! Her career as an actress was stellar; while she began acting outside of Hollywood (her very first movie, Ecstasy, won a prize at the Venice Film Festival), she conquered American hearts very quickly with her first movie in the US, Algiers, and then just kept getting better and better. If all this isn't enough, she was also an inventor: her invention of the frequency-hopping spread spectrum radio transmission technique forms the base of bluetooth and has a lot of applications in all kinds of communication technologies. I think that deserves a prize, don't you?

Marilyn Monroe (How to Marry a Millionaire, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Some Like It Hot)— Ngl I thought you all were lying about sexual attraction until I saw Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Hedy Lamarr:

The only person you can find both on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and in the Inventor's Hall of Fame--her radio-frequency-hopping technology forms the basis for cordless phones, wi-fi, and a dozen other aspects of modern life. She was also passionate in her efforts to aid the Allies in WWII (unsurprising for a Jewish-Austrian Emigree to America), and her name served as the backbone for one of the best running jokes in what is possibly Mel Brooks' best movie. Look, Louis B. Mayer apparently believed he could plausibly promote her as "The world's most beautiful woman". Is an entire website full of people going to be less audacious than one Louis B. Mayer? I didn't think so!

Described as "Hedy has the most incredible personal sophistication. She knows the peculiarly European art of being womanly; she knows what men want in a beautiful woman, what attracts them, and she forces herself to be these things. She has magnetism with warmth, something that neither Dietrich nor Garbo has managed to achieve" by Howard Sharpe, she managed to escape her controlling husband (and Nazi Germany) by a) Disguising as her maid and fleeing to Paris or b) Convincing the husband to let her wear all of her jewelry to a dinner, only to disappear afterwards. Also she was particularly clever and helped develop Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum (I can't really explain it but anyway...)

Her depiction of Delilah and Samson and Delilah just lives rent free in my head. The woman was gorgeous.

One of the most beautiful women ever in film, spoken by many critics and fans. Beautiful shapely figure, deeper seductive voice, and often played femme fatale roles. She was also brilliant and an inventor. Mainly self-taught, she invested her spare time, including on set between takes, in designing and drafting inventions, which included an improved traffic stoplight and a tablet that would dissolve in water to create a flavored carbonated drink, and much more.

Gorgeous and brilliant pioneer of modern technology and the middle part.

Marilyn Monroe:

She's amazing!!! A classic bombshell, as well as a strong women who overcame so many obstacles. She also advocated for others, like Ella Fitzgerald.

That fucking saxophone that cuts in whenever she appears on screen in Some Like it Hot

I mean, it's Marilyn Monroe. She's adorable. She's gorgeous. She funny. She's the total package

She's the original American sex symbol, an iconic beautiful woman with eyes you could get lost in, legs for days, gorgeous hair, and a cute tummy. Her voice! Just listen to her voice!!!!!

She is considered one of THE sex symbols of the 1960s and one of the greatest actresses of all time! She HAS to be on this list!

no vintage movie woman is more iconically hot

People are most familiar with pictures of her in the white dress or the Happy Birthday Mr President one, but imo she is at her most beautiful and looks most comfortable when she is photographed by women like Eve Arnold

It’s Marilyn Monroe. If Aphrodite was an actual person, she’d be Marilyn. Do I really need to say more?

What can I say that hasn't been said? Marilyn's legacy is so much bigger than she was in life. She's a defining symbol of 50s and 60s Hollywood sex and it's obvious why. She was absolutely stunning and the camera loved her.

[ddejavvu]

Tyler Owens x Shy!Reader giving each other a good luck kiss before a tornado chase🩵🌪️

Spotlight - Tyler Owens x Reader

come participate in tyler owens night !

You're relieved that Tyler won't be gone for days, crossing state lines to chase this twister, but that comes with a downside: it's local. That means that, though the tornado's path isn't projected near your home, you're still on high-alert as anxiety convinces you that something will change and your house will be torn down plank by plank and blown away into oblivion.

"I'll be back for dinner," Tyler vows, grinning at you with the thrill of the chase already gleaming in his eyes and smile, "You just sit pretty 'til I'm back, darlin', and we can go out tonight. Get somethin' real nice, then we can go dancin' afterwards. In our own little corner, I promise." He tugs you close, miming how things will go only hours from now, knowing your tendency to be shy in large crowds.

The roaring of tires on gravel lets you know that Tyler's crew has arrived, and you've mostly conquered your nerves surrounding them. They're lovely people, if only a little intense, but you still feel sometimes like a complete outsider. Still, you wave sweetly to them, and a chorus of greetings floats your way over the open Arkansas air.

"Alright," Tyler pats once, twice against your hip, "That's my cue. If I don't get goin' soon, Boone's gonna start throwing shit at me."

"I'll protect you," You shrug, drinking in the last of his embrace- logically, the last of it for only a few hours. Irrationally- the last of it you might ever get. You shake away a shuddery feeling in your chest as Tyler laughs at your joke, squeezing you tighter around the waist.

"That's right, you're my little protector, aren't you? 'Gonna get those big ol' muscles out and show 'em all who's boss?"

Flexing your biceps does absolutely nothing to show them off like it does when Tyler does it, and you can feel the fondness in his ear-to-ear grin.

"Alright, darlin'." He lets go of your waist and suddenly the handprints on your sides are cold, terribly so, as a mild wind blows through your front yard, "Stay safe in here, m'kay? The storm's projected to go east but you know the drill; keep weather alerts on and hole up in the cellar if anything changes. Love you," He squeezes your hand in lieu of a kiss, something you're decidedly uncomfortable with in public, but when he turns to walk away, you act on impulse and grab his wrist.

"Ty-" You gasp, almost as shocked at your actions as he is when he turns to raise a questioning brow at you.

"Hm?"

"Uh- I," You stammer, his eyes like spotlights showcasing your awkward stance before you realize that words are failing, and the only thing you can do is kiss him.

You surge forwards, tugging him along to meet you in the middle as you lean up to press your lips to his. He's surprised if the way that his eyes go wide is any indication, and you feel like you're stealing his breath when his chest tightens up. It takes him barely a second to melt into it, but it's a second that feels like an eternity as your brain and heart race in tandem.

There's cheering, whooping, shouting, and a slew of other reactions from his crew that you'll lay awake embarrassed about later tonight, but for now you kiss Tyler Owens like it's the last time you'll see him- because it might be.

The words, 'Good luck,' are whispered softly against his lips when you part from them, and his eyes are hazy before he blinks away the cloudy daze he's trapped in. He stares down at you, equal parts bewildered and head-over-heels, and his grin is less cocky, more sappy now as he watches you.

"That was one hell of a kiss," He remarks, smoothing his tongue between the seam of his lips and catching your chapstick, "I don't even think I wanna go out now. Tornado be damned, the real fun's right here."

"Go," You push against his chest, and your laughter comes easy despite having just stepped so far out of your comfort zone, "Go and be back for dinner and dancing!"

"Yes ma'am!" Tyler calls, walking backwards towards his own truck as his crew splits in half to fill both vehicles equally, "I love you!"

He says it like it's an inside joke, like it's something he's informing you of for the first time instead of something you'd just pressed against his mouth.

You grin back, lazy and sure even amongst the watchful eyes of his crew, "I love you too, Ty."

[infiniteglitterfall]

Someone on Reddit made the mistake of saying, "Teach me how this conflict came about" where I could see it.

Let me teach you too.

The common perception is that Jews came out of nowhere, stole Palestinian homes and kicked Palestinians out of them, and then bombed them for 75 years, until they finally rebelled in the form of Hamas invading Israel and massacring 22 towns in one day.

The historical reality is that Jews have lived there continuously for at least 3500 years.

There are areas, like Meggido iirc, with archeological evidence of continuous habitation for 7,000 years, but Jewish culture as we recognize it today didn't develop until probably halfway through that.

Ethnic Jews are the indigenous people of this area.

Indigeneity means a group was originally there, before any colonization happened, and that it has retained a cultural connection to the land. History plus culture.

That's what Jews have: even when the diaspora became larger than the number of Jews in Israel, the yearning to return to that homeland was a daily part of Jewish prayer and ritual.

The Jewish community in Israel was crushed pretty violently by the Roman Empire in 135 CE, but it was still substantial, sometimes even the majority population there, for almost a thousand years.

The 600s CE brought the advent of Islam and the Arab Empire, expanding out from Saudi Arabia into Israel and beyond. It was largely a region where Jews were second-class citizens. But it was still WAY better than the way Christian Europe treated Jews.

From the 700s-900s, the area saw repeated civil wars, plagues, and earthquakes.

Then the Crusades came, with waves of Christians making "pilgrimages to the Holy Land" and trying to conquer it from Muslims and Jews, who they slaughtered and enslaved.

Israel became pretty well depopulated after all that. It was a very rough time to live there. (And for the curious, I'm calling it Israel because that's what it had been for centuries, until the Romans erased the name and the country.)

By the 1800s, the TOTAL population of what's now Israel and Palestine had varied from 150,000 - 275,000 for centuries. It was very rural, very sparsely populated, on top of being mostly desert.

In the 1880s, Jews started buying land and moving back to their indigenous homeland. As tends to happen, immigration brought new projects and opportunities, which led to more immigration - not only from Jews, but from the Arab world as well.

Unfortunately, there was an antisemitic minority spearheaded by Amin al-Husseini. Who was very well-connected, rich, and from a politically powerful family.

Al-Husseini had enthusiastically participated in the Armenian Genocide under the Ottoman Empire. Then the Empire fell in World War One, and the League of Nations had to figure out what to do with its land.

Mostly, if an area was essentially operating as a country (e.g. Turkey), the League of Nations let it be one. In areas that weren't ready for self-rule, it appointed France or Britain to help them get there.

In recognition of the increased Jewish population in their traditional, indigenous homeland, it declared that that homeland would again become Israel.

As in, the region was casually called Palestine because that was the lay term for "the Holy Land." It had not been a country since Israel was stamped out; only a region of a series of different empires. And the Mandate For Palestine said it was establishing "a national home of the Jewish people" there, in recognition of "the historical connection of the Jewish people with Palestine and to the grounds for reconstituting their national home in that country."

Britain was appointed to help the Arab and Jewish communities there develop systems of self-government, and then to work together to govern the region overall.

At least, that was the plan.

Al-Husseini, who was deeply antisemitic, did not like this plan.

And, extra-unfortunately, the British response to al-Husseini inciting violent anti-Jewish riots was to put him in a leadership role over Arab Palestine.

They thought it would calm him down and perhaps satisfy him.

They were very wrong.

He went on to become a huge Hitler fanboy, and then a Nazi war criminal. He co-created the Muslim Brotherhood - which Hamas is part of - with fellow fascist fanboy Hassan al-Banna.

He got Nazi Party funding for armed Muslim Brotherhood militias to attack Jews and the Brits in the late 30s, convincing Britain to agree to limit Jewish immigration at the time when it was most desperately needed.

He started using the militias again in 1947, when the United Nations voted to divide the mandated land into a Jewish homeland and a Palestinian one.

Al-Husseini wouldn't stand for a two-state solution. He was determined to tolerate no more than the subdued, small Jewish minority of second-class citizens that he remembered from his childhood.

As armed militias increasingly ran riot, the Arab middle and upper classes increasingly left. About 100,000 left the country before May 1948, when Britain was to pull out, leaving Israel and Palestine to declare their independence.

The surrounding nations didn't want war. They largely accepted the two-state solution.

But al-Husseini lobbied HARD. And by mobilizing the Muslim Brotherhood to provide "destabilizing mass demonstrations and a murderous campaign of intimidation," he got the Arab League nations to agree to invade, en masse, as soon as Britain left.

About 600,000 Arabs fled to those countries during the ensuing war.

Jews couldn't seek refuge there; in fact, most of those countries either exiled their Jews directly, confiscating their property first, or else made Jewish life unlivable and exploited them for underpaid or slave labor for years first.

By the time the smoke cleared and a peace treaty was signed, most of the Arab Palestinian community had fled; there was no Arab Palestinian leadership; many of the refugees' homes and businesses had left had been destroyed in the war; and Israel had been flooded with nearly a million refugees from the Arab League countries and the Holocaust - even more people than had fled the war.

That was the Nakba. The one that gets portrayed as "750,000 Palestinians fled or were expelled!" in the hope that you'll assume they were expelled en masse, their beautiful intact homes all stolen.

Egypt had taken what's now the Gaza Strip in that war, and Jordan took what's now the West Bank - expelling or killing all the Jews in it first.

(Ironically, Jordan was originally supposed to be part of Israel. Britain, inexplicably, cut off what would have been 75% of its land to create Jordan.

Even more inexplicably, nobody ever talks about it. I've never seen anyone complain that Jordan was stolen from Palestinians. Possibly because Jordan is also the only country that gave Palestinian refugees full citizenship, and it's about half Palestinian now.

Israel is nearly 25% Arab Palestinians with full citizenship and equal rights, so it's not all that different -- but the fundamental difference of living in a country where the majority is Jewish, not Muslim, probably runs pretty deep.)

Anyway: that's why Palestine is Gaza and the West Bank, rather than being some contiguous chunk of land. Or being the land set aside by the U.N. in 1947.

Because Arab countries took that land in 1948, and treated them as essentially separate for 20 years.

Israel got them back, along with the Golan Heights and the Sinai Peninsula, in the next war: 1967, when Egypt committed an act of war by taking control of the waterways and barring Israel from them. It gave the Sinai back to Egypt as part of the 1979 peace accords between Egypt and Israel.

Israel tried to give back the Gaza Strip at the same time. Egypt refused.

Palestine finally declared independence in 1988.

But Hamas formed at about the same time. Probably in response, in fact. Hamas is fundamentally opposed to peace negotiations with Israel.

Again: Hamas is part of a group founded by Nazis.

Hamas has its own charter. It explains that Jews are "the enemy," because they control the drug trade, have been behind every major war, control the media, control the United Nations, etc. Basic Nazi rhetoric.

It has gotten adept at masking that rhetoric for the West. But to friendlier audiences, its leaders have consistently said things like, "People of Jerusalem, we want you to cut off the heads of the Jews with knives. With your hand, cut their artery from here. A knife costs five shekels.  Buy a knife, sharpen it, put it there, and just cut off [their heads]. It costs just five shekels."

(Palestinians were outraged by this speech. Palestinians, by and large, absolutely loathe Hamas.

It's just that it's not the same to say that to locals, as it is to say it where major global powers who oppose this crap can hear you.)

Hamas has stated from the beginning that its mission is to violently destroy Israel and take over the land.

It has received $100M in military funding annually, from Iran, for several years. Because Iran has been building a network of fascist, antisemitic groups across the Middle East, in a blatant attempt to control more and more of it: Hezbollah in Lebanon. The Houthis in Yemen.

Iran has been run by a very far-right, deeply antisemitic dictatorship for decades now, which pretty openly wants to take down both Israel and the U.S.

Last year, Iran increased Hamas's funding to $350M.

The "proof of concept" invasion of Israel that Hamas pulled off on October 7th more than justifies a much bigger investment.

Hamas has publicly stated its intention to attack "again and again and again," until Israel has been violently destroyed.

That is how this conflict came about.

A Nazi group seized power in Gaza in 2007 by violently kicking the Palestinian government out, and began running it as a dictatorship, using it to build money and power in preparations for exactly this.

And people find it shockingly easy to believe its own hype about being "the Palestinian resistance."

As well as its propaganda that Israel is not actually targeting Hamas: it's just using a literal Nazi invasion and massacre as an excuse to randomly commit genocide of the fraction of Palestine it physically left 20 years ago.

Despite the fact that Palestinians in Gaza have been protesting HAMAS throughout the war.

[thewritetofreespeech]

kinktober: frottage

tags: frottage, making out, secret relationship, targaryen incest [aemond/rhaenyra's daughter], immense pinning by aemond

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

“Where is Aemond?”

“I do not know your grace,” Larys replied. Remaining calm in the Queens frustration. She had been hunting for her middle son for hours, and he was no where to be found. “I have checked with the guards and sentries, and no one has seen him leave by Vahgar or horse.”

“So, he must still be in the city.” Alicent deduced. Hoping he was still in the castle as well. “The conclave starts soon, and we need…a united front for the court.” The plan to weave her family’s place to the crown was to start today. First, but claiming Driftmark back from Rhaenyra's brood. Then, with them illegitimized, start making the case that Aegon should be king. “He knows how important today is. How could he do this to me?!”

“The prince is nothing but a servant to duty.” Larys assured her. He may not see eye-to-eye with the prince, at least with the one he had left, but the Lord did respect that he seemed committed to his family and their goal. “I’m sure he will come out of hiding eventually.”

In a further, deeper part of the castle, indeed hidden away from all those who had not truly explored it, Aemond laid sequestered with his maiden. Marveling at her beauty in the low light between kisses. Beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck from the warmth of the candles in the small space and their hot, panting breath. Bucking against each other with soft gasps & grunts in the nest he had built for them

“We have to go.” His lady insisted. For the umpteenth time, yet neither one of them had made a legitimate effort to move.

“No, no. Not yet.”

Aemond didn’t want to go back to the ‘real world’. A world where his family and hers were fighting. Where the rift between them seemed to grow every day. Separating them. Lines in the sand now a chasm that seemed impossible to overcome.

He also knew what was to happen today to Rhaenyra's bastards, and that she might not forgive him for his part in the plot of disinheriting her brothers. Aemond wanted to stay here a little longer, where she wouldn’t be mad at him.

“People will be looking for us.” She told him as he moved to her neck, which was freely given.

“They’ll never find us.” It had taken him years to find this place and even then it had been difficult to remember where the opening was until he had committed it to memory.

“Oh yes. Because you’re so clever. Ow!” His lady yipped but then moaned when he bit at her neck. A true Targaryen. Wanting a little pain with her pleasure.

“We should just leave and never come back.”

He’d made the offer before. To take their dragons and ride until they reach new land. Conquer it like their ancestors. Build a new kingdom, instead of being stuck in this conflicting one.

Yet, every time, she just laughed it off as a joke like she did now. Not realizing the seriousness of how much he wanted to leave, and never come back, and just be the two of them in the world. “You would miss the tarts too much if we left. Come on. Let’s get going.”

Aemond finally let her go, though disappointed about it, and let her right herself.

In the right light, her mused hair and clothes looked like she had been riding. No one would think where Rhaenyra's Targaryen jewel had truly been. In the arms of her scorned, much less beloved uncle. His cock throbbed in his breeches. Desperate to make her truly his, but he would not take such liberties. Aemond would not tarnish their jewel nor besmirch her honor. He loved her too much for that. That’s why he wanted her to run away with him, so they could be together. Growing up in a world beloved & adored, she does not see that her parents will never allow them to marry. Never allow them to be happy. Their jewel will be given to someone politically inclined to help secure her mother’s place on the throne, and Aemond would be unhappy & unfulfilled.

He would join the Watch before he call anyone but her wife.

Righted and upright, Aemond tucked a lock of silver behind her ear. Marveling at the affection reflected in her eyes. “Will you see me later? After the conclave?”

“Of course.” She told him. Her earnest something he wanted to hold on to. “Here, or somewhere else before dinner?”

“Here.” Where he could pretend. And if he spoke his words sweet enough maybe she would take him up on his offer to finally run away.

They exit their nook and depart. Her back to her family and Aemond to his. His mother found him readily enough, given how frantically at this point she had been looking for him, and asked where he had been.

“Day dreaming.” Was all he told her. It was a peculiarly enough answer that it halted all further questions from his mother and left him to get ready for the meeting.

After today, his daydreams where all he might have left. Let him keep them for a little while longer at least.

[traveler-at-heart]

Come running back to me

Request by @esposadejoyhuerta - babe, I tried, but angst evades me.

Summary: Wanda cheats on you and Natasha is there to help you heal.

Wanda Maximoff x F!R, Natasha Romanoff x F!R

A/N: Reader has Magneto like powers.

There’s something in the air that makes you restless as you walk down the streets. It’s too calm for an autumn afternoon in London.

“Blonde suits you” you say as you stop at a corner. There’s a chuckle behind you.

“Though I’d fool you” Natasha says, coming out of the shadows and standing next to you.

“I’m not easily fooled. It’s nice to see you”

“Likewise” the woman nods.

It’s been almost two years since part of the Avengers have been on the run. Your abilities have made you an especially important target, so you spend most of the time hiding on your own. Divide and conquer.

“And how are things?” you say. It’s been a month since you spoke with Wanda, and you don’t know if Natasha knows.

“Great. They’re about to get even better” she sighs. “If you don’t mind, we need to borrow Wanda. Could use your help as well”

“Wait, what? Wanda is not with me” you look at Natasha, alarmed.

“She left two days ago… the same she always does when she meets you”

“Did she say where…?” Natasha shakes her head no and you feel like throwing up. You can’t lose her, not now.

“Steve” the woman calls through her burner, but is interrupted. “Understood, we’re on our way” Natasha turns to you. “Come on, we have a lead”

—

The joy of reuniting with Steve is short lived, because your mind is reeling with the possibilities of what could have happened to Wanda.

Was she captured by the US? Did HYDRA find her? You’re not sure which one of those is worse.

You also think back to your last conversation. How you offered her to stay together, have your own place away from everything… a future in the middle of uncertainty.

Guilt invaded your mind. What if she was overwhelmed by your proposal and left to think things through?

“We have an alien aircraft and four subjects” Sam informs. The four of you descend from the Quinjet, Natasha holding on to you. You set her down gently, and you both jump right in to fight the aliens.

Wanda looks at you with relief, and then a flash of panic crosses her features.

As you spot a cut in her forehead, your patience runs out, and you use the alien’s own blade to cut its head off. The weapon floats in the air as you manipulate it with your powers, sending it across the train station to knock down another alien that Natasha was fighting.

There’s an exchange between your friends and the creatures, but you’re too busy walking to Wanda.

She’s not alone. Vision is holding on to her hand, looking up at her as if…

No, that can’t be.

“Y/N” Wanda pleads when everything clicks for you.

Wanda and Vision, together. For how long, who knows, but long enough for her to leave you behind without a word. She risked getting caught just to see him, all the while you were the one putting your neck on the line to make sure she was safe.

“Please” she sighs when you step back.

“Don’t” you shake your head, going around the corner to hide yourself from the team. Leaning against a wall, you pinch the bridge of your nose, holding back tears. The feeling of betrayal burns your throat as a sob escapes from your mouth. You try to stiffle it, breathing to calm yourself down.

A hand rests on your shoulder, and you don’t need to open your eyes to know who it is.

“I’m sorry” Natasha says, wiping away another tear that rolls down your face. “I’m really sorry, Y/N”

“I can find my way back from here” you say after a beat of silence. You won’t spend another moment with Wanda.

“Well, that’s not gonna work” Steve says, joining you. There’s compassion in his eyes, but also a sense of urgency. “New York has been targeted as well. Time to assemble”

—

The trip to Wakanda will take at least 6 hours. This aircraft is smaller and slower than the Avengers’ Quinjet. You understand they’ve had to lay low and make the best of the resources they can find.

This also means you’re left with fewer places to hide from Wanda.

You go to the back of the jet, sitting on the floor. It’s cold and uncomfortable, but you don’t care. The silence is defeaning, Steve coordinating with Natasha in a low voice, Wanda reassuring Vision while you refuse to look her way.

“We’re almost there” Natasha says after a few hours.

“I can tell” you nod, stretching.

“How?”

“The vibranium. I feel it. It’s a little overwhelming”

“How so?”

“I’m used to sensing different materials that can be manipulated by my powers. They’re everywhere. But vibranium is so rare so it’s not part of my… filter. I’m just not used to its presence”

“Is it uncomfortable?” Natasha says with a frown and you shake your head. She nods, placing her hand on your shoulder.

As you watch her walk back to the copilot seat, your eyes meet Wanda’s. You look away, swallowing to keep the tears at bay.

Once you arrive, the team meets, reaching out to everyone that can join the impending battle. You barely register the conversation, looking out the window. It’s a nice view.

There’s talk about how to destroy the Mind Stone while keeping Vision alive.

“You should destroy it while we still can” he asks Wanda.

“But you’ll die”

Good.

There’s a gasp and you turn around, looking at Wanda. Natasha stares too, confused, which confirms that You didn’t say it out loud, only thought about it.

“That’s too much, even for you” Wanda says.

“Get the fuck out of my head, then. If you want warm and fuzzy thoughts, maybe don’t cheat on me, Wanda”

The silence hangs in the room, and you leave, knowing your presence is only making it worse for everyone. Steve asked you to come and fight, not put on a show.

You stand at the first line of defense, next to Natasha, Steve and Bucky. As soon as the alien aircrafts show up, you bring them down, or make them crash against each other.

Once Thor joins the fight and takes over, you direct your attention to hand to hand combat. Using their own weapons against them, you keep the aliens at bay, clearing the path for Natasha and Steve.

“I’ve had enough of you” one of the aliens you saw in Edinburgh jumps, and they’re too quick, punching you and throwing you across the field, leaving you out of breath. That and the exhaustion from using your powers for such an intense fight make you dizzy, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to stand up in time.

Red wisps of magic throw the alien against a machine, killing them instantly.

“Are you ok?” Wanda runs to your side. Up until now, she had stayed next to Vision.

“I’m fine” you lie. She’s about to argue with you when everything goes quiet.

Thanos, you hear someone whisper, and you immediately turn around. A chill runs down your spine as a gigantic figure shows up in the middle of the battlefield.

“I’m too tired to fly all the way there. Throw me and then get back to the stone”

“You’re too weak” she protests.

“Just do it”

Wanda listens and you join Thor, Steve close behind. You close your hands in fists, so Thano’s armour closes around his own body, crushing him. As Thor wields his axe, you pull away the gauntlet, throwing it to T’Challa. He carries it, putting distance between it and Thanos.

The creature let’s out a groan, throwing you against a tree while Thor pushes the axe against his neck. His arms shake with the force he is exerting, but it’s not enough.

Reaching forward, you use your powers to push down, moving the weapon further down his neck. You begin to see black spots, exhausted from the physical exhertion.

Thankfully, Steve shows up, delivering a final blow that separates Thanos’ head from his body.

You’re too tense to let go, fearing he’ll be able to grow a second head. It’s only until Natasha runs to your side that you drop the headless body.

Out of breath, you fall to your knees, trying to stop shaking.

“Are you ok?” Natasha asks, inspecting every inch of your body.

“Fine” you mutter. Then, you bend over and throw up blood. “Ok, maybe not”

—

Shuri is next to your bed, checking your vitals. She’s been making her rounds between Vision and you. It seems like she’ll be able to separate the stone from the droid.

“How is she?” Natasha asks, looking at you. It’s been 12 hours since you passed out.

“She’s stable. Her body needs to recover. It was overexhertion from exceptional use of her power, there are no other injuries. But I am told she can heal faster than a regular person, so…”

“Yeah” Natasha nods, sighing. “She’s strong. I’m just worried”

“It will be fine, agent. The price of saving the universe”

You wake up the next night, in a dark room lit only by the monitor that keeps your vitals visible. You feel weak and thirsty, but you also know you have the get out of here.

Leaving the room behind, you walk out of the building when a voice stops you.

“You’re up” Wanda says and goes after you when you keep walking. “Wait, what are you doing? You can’t leave”

“I can’t stay here. I’m an outlaw”

“I’m sure that will change now that you’ve saved the universe. Come on. You need your rest” Wanda takes your arm and you yank it away, as if her touch burns.

“Don’t act like you’re concerned for me. You don’t care about me at all, Wanda”

“That’s not true…”

“How long?” you finally turn to her, and hold her stare as a tear rolls down her cheek.

“Six months”

You nod, feeling like you might throw up again for a very different reason.

“Hope you’re very happy with him. Goodbye”

“No, wait! I didn’t mean for it to happen… I didn’t want to hurt you”

“And yet here we are” you mumble, wiping away the tears that run down your face. “Go be with him. We’re done here”

You use the little strenght you have to turn invisible, hoping that will be enough to stop her from following you.

Still, Wanda stays glued to her spot, sobbing quietly.

“Is Y/N ok?” Natasha rushes to your room. “Where is she?”

“She’s gone”

“Why did you let her leave? She’s too weak to do anything”

“I couldn’t stop her”

“I wonder why that is” Natasha bites back and Wanda glares at her.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Natasha, you have no idea…”

“I do, actually. She risked her life to keep the government away from us. She was alone for two years while we protected you, Wanda. You’re the one that screwed up here and it’s on you if something happens to her” Natasha says in an even tone, as if she’s bored with Wanda’s childish complaints. “Your precious robot is ready. Go be with him. The rest of us will clean after your mess”

It’s been a month.

You’re in Norway, in the middle of nowhere. No internet, radio or phone. You’re clueless about what happened after the Battle of Wakanda and honestly, couldn’t care less. 

All you do is go around the forest, think about Wanda and hate her.

You miss her terribly, but it’s not like the other times, when you were apart, knowing you’d see her again. There’s no reunion or anticipation to hold her in your arms again. To hear her laugh and feel her lips on yours.

That part of your life is done for good. There’s nothing left.

The rain starts in the middle of your run, so you create a force field to shield you from the drops. As you approach the trailer, you notice the door is ajar.

Alerted, you go inside, ready to attack.

Natasha is fast asleep in your bed.

“Hey” you nudge her with your foot and she grumbles.

“You took forever” 

“Well, there’s nothing else to do around here so I’m usually gone for hours” you explain. “Wanna go for a swim?”

“The water is freezing, are you insane? Oh, never mind, you are!” she punches your arm and you laugh.

“What are you on about, Romanoff?”

“You left Wakanda half dead. And for a moment I thought you were, it took me forever to find you” 

“How did you find me?” you wonder, taking off your wet sneakers, leaning against the wall while Natasha sits up, crossing her legs. 

“McDonald’s security camera”

“I do love me some fries” you sigh. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Just checking to see if you’re ok”

“I’m alive” you shrug your shoulders. “That’s about it”

Natasha stares for a little too long, and you fidget under the intensity of her green eyes. You know what she means, but you refuse to mention Wanda or your break up.

“Come home with me” she pleads, her voice soft. You’re surprised at her vulnerability. 

“I can’t stand to watch her with that toaster every single day”

“They’re not in New York” 

“Where are they, then?”

“Does it matter?” she challenges you. Of course, it doesn’t. It’s not your business. Not anymore. You sit next to her, bringing your knees to your chest.

“I was barely an Avenger, and the Compound… I don’t know, Nat. I don’t feel like I belong anywhere anymore. Especially in places where we were together”

“Who said anything about the Compound? I’m in my thirties, I figured having a bunch of roommates was too much. I’m living in my own place now. And looking for someone to split the rent with, since I have very good taste and it’s in an expensive area” 

“I thought roommates were too much for you” you say with a smile.

“Multiple, yes. One, I can handle” 

You sigh, looking around you. You’ve been miserable and bored out of your mind. At some point, you’ll have to live again. And if you’re gonna hate life, might as well do it in a city where you can get decent food.

“Ok” you nod, smiling when she extends her hand to seal the deal.

“You better not leave wet towels in the bathroom floor” she warns you.

—

“You lied to me” you grumble, giving the wall a second coat of paint. Natasha ignores you and you glare. “You just wanted someone who’d help you paint the place for free”

“Absolutely not!” Natasha shakes her head no. 

Except, maybe she left out how the apartment needed some work and there was nothing on it except the walls. You’re being annoying, but you actually don’t mind. This is the first time in your life where you get to decide how to live. It also helps to get your mind of everything that happened in the last month. When you’re assembling furniture and arguing over color palettes, heartbreak is not at the forefront of your mind.

You have not settled on a couch, so you’re still using the one you got from the Compound. Natasha insists that it doesn’t have to be anything too expensive, but you keep saying a good living room is the soul of any great apartment.

“It’s not like we’re having a lot of people coming over, we’re both loners”

“All the more reason to get a nice couch. We watch movies every night in the living room” 

“I’m picking the movie tonight, by the way”

“You already had your chance” you mumble. “Those privileges have been revoked for the rest of the week”

You had to sleep with the lights on after a marathon of all those Insidious movies she likes so much.

But still, you let her choose the movie because it’s nice and there’s no point in fighting with the one person who’s going out of her way to keep you company in your misery. After the movie’s done, she stands up, stretching her arms. 

“I’m calling it a night”

“Ok” you smile, taking over the entire couch and covering yourself with the blanket. Natasha stares. “What?”

“You’ve been sleeping in the living room. Don’t say it’s because of the movie, it’s been happening since you got here, Y/N”

“I… uh” you scratch the back of your neck nervously. “My room feels… lonely. Here I can listen to the sounds of the street. And sometimes when you go to the kitchen I hear your footsteps and feel less… horrible. It’s stupid”

“It’s not” she shakes her head. “We’ll get a new couch tomorrow” 

“Alright”

“Good night, Y/N”

“Night, Nat”

—

People walk past you and you ignore them as you sit, Natasha to your right. 

“Pass the popcorn” you say and she pretends to grab something from the air, handing it over to you. “I’m not feeling it” 

“It’s a nice couch” Natasha protests, trying to be patient. She has a feeling the couch is a metaphor for your love life, but you’re being impossible in your shopping trip.

“It’s not the couch” you insist, pulling her up and walking around the shop. You mumble a number of things as you inspect different furniture. The color isn’t right, it’s itchy, it’s too small.

“We’re getting close, I can feel it” you promise, walking backwards to look at Nat.

“Watch where you’re going…”

Too late, as you trip over and fall on your back. You yelp, landing on a cream colored sofa that feels perfect.

“Are you ok?” Natasha hurries over and you laugh, pulling her towards you by the hand. It’s big enough to fit the both of you when you lie down on your side. “Wow, this is great” 

“Right?” you snuggle next to her, sighing. “We found it, Nat” 

“Yeah, we did” she smiles. “Let’s take it home” 

You celebrate, hugging her until a store clerk comes by and ask if you need help. Natasha blushes as she breaks apart, confirming you’re buying it. Her hand never leaves your back as she speaks to the clerk. 

“We should celebrate” you say as you leave the store, not dwelling too much on why buying furniture makes you so damn happy.

“I’d love to, but I have a mission” Natasha sighs.

“Oh. I understand” 

The universe might have been in danger, but the world -and the bad guys- certainly didn’t stop. The Avengers were still operating, albeit with more freedom than before.

“We’ll do something when I’m back” she promises and you nod. 

You can handle a day alone, right?

The apartment feels empty without her and you can’t help but think about the past few months. You isolated yourself, then Natasha brought you back to the city, where you focused on fixing your apartment. 

Sooner or later, you’d have to face the reality of your situation. 

Wanda wasn’t part of your life or future anymore. Sitting around doing nothing was not an option in the long run.

Which is why you show up at the Compound first thing in the morning, knocking on Steve’s door. 

“Natasha won’t be back until later today” he says as you sit in front of him. 

“I know. I wanted to talk to you about… coming back to the team” 

“We’d love to have you, Y/N. Your skills are incredibly helpful on the field, and we’ve all seen that you’re very loyal. I know how much you risked to protect us as we were on the run” 

“I feel a but coming” you say and Steve laughs.

“I just want to make sure you’re doing it for the right reasons. Because you want to, not because you feel like there’s no other place to go to”

“I think I can be useful, in a way only few people can. I mean, what am I going to do with magnetism manipulation? Work as a barista?”

“Fair enough” he nods, leaning forward. “Welcome back” 

You have the presence of mind to ask him to hold off on telling Natasha, because you want to let her know yourself. It may be silly, but you make dinner and get her favorite wine as you wait for her to be back from the mission.

“What smells so good?” she greets, closing the door behind her. She’s out of her work clothes, wearing jeans, a simple white tee and leather jacket.

“I made chicken alfredo” you say, moving the pasta around as you turn off the stove.

“Smells delicious” she looks over your shoulder, placing her hand on your lower back as she reaches for two plates and wine glasses.

During dinner, you listen to Natasha talk about the mission and how Sam and Bucky can’t get along even after everything they’ve been through. 

“I’m telling Steve to keep his boyfriends under control”

“Speaking of… Steve” you put your fork down, nervous all of the sudden. “I’m rejoining the Avengers”

Natasha chews for a moment, sips from her glass and wipes the corner of her mouth. Once she’s done, she sighs, looking up.

“I’m gonna kill him”

“What? Who?”

“Steve! This is low, even for him. This is why I didn’t want to leave for a mission just yet. I suspected he’d find a way to guilt you into thinking you owe the world something”

“Wait, no. That’s not what happened. Nat, listen to me” you plead, reaching for her hand and forcing her to sit down. “I went to see him this morning. Maybe I’m just… done with moping around and doing nothing. I can’t go like this forever. Plus, we’d get to go on missions together, right? Or maybe not, you’ll get sick of me, we already share an apartment”

Natasha calls for you, the way she says your name full of care and gentleness.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes” you say, still holding her hand.

“Then I’m happy” she nods, smiling as she raises her glass.

—

Life is gentle, if only because you let yourself be. A routine develops, with training, missions, dinner and movies. Sometimes you go out, sometimes you cook for Natasha. 

The constant is each other’s presence. And whenever she has to be away on a solo mission, you find comfort in the things she leaves behind, like her clothes. She doesn’t question anything the first time she comes back home and finds you napping in the couch, wearing one of her hoodies.

Natasha has also accepted every bouquet, commenting that it will look beautiful in the kitchen table. She’s right, but that’s not why you buy them; it’s because you’re enamored by her smile as she inspects each flower. 

Home takes on a different meaning. It’s not just the apartment you share, it’s the mornings when Natasha comes back from her run with your favorite muffins; the days you find your favorite cookies in a grocery bag and those times when Nat insists on cleaning after eating whatever it is you prepared and she listens to you talk about your day as she washes dishes.

One day, as Natasha comes back from training new recruits, you greet her at the door. Her smile is gentle, but distant. 

“I was wondering if… you’d like to go out tonight?” you ask, sensing this isn’t the best time but you also know you’ll chicken out if you don’t do it now. 

“I’m kinda tired. I’ll probably take a shower and call it a night”

“Oh, yeah” you nod, fidgeting with your hands.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a weird day. My mind’s a mess” Natasha steps forward, reaching for your hand.

“It doesn’t have to be today. What I meant was… would you like to go on a date with me?” you finally look up, trying to decipher her expression.

Natasha smiles and you sigh with relief.

“How about tomorrow?”

“Sounds perfect”

That’s exactly how the evening goes. You’ve shared so many nights together, but there’s something different in the air. It’s electric and it makes your head spin, craving more each time her hand touches yours.

“Next one is on me” she promises when you insist on paying for dinner. You lean against her, until her arm goes around your shoulders.

“So, there’s gonna be a next one?” 

“I’d like that, yes” Natasha nod and you blush, practically hiding in her arms. She laughs, kissing your temple. The walk home is quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way.

Inevitably, your mind goes to your previous relationship. Truth be told, most of the time you spent with Wanda was brief and under difficult circumstances. There were never dates or any semblance of a normal life. There’s no way of knowing if you’d had worked out together. But, for the first time in six months, it doesn’t hurt to think about what you lost.

You can’t imagine your life without Natasha.

“One episode, that’s all” you argue playfully as you go up the stairs, hoping Natasha wants to watch the show you were binging the other day.

“We have an early morning tomorrow” 

“I’ll make it worth your time…” you say, laughing.

“Y/N” a different voice calls from the end of the hallway. You look back, your eyes meeting Wanda’s. Natasha doesn’t seem as surprised.

“Wanda, what are you doing here?”

“I came back a few days ago…” the girl turns to Natasha, upset. “You didn’t tell her I was here”

“I was hoping you’d leave her alone” Natasha admits, avoiding your eyes.

“Is that really the only reason?” Wanda looks intently at the way you’re holding Natasha’s hand.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Natasha steps forward, but you pull her back.

“It’s not worth it, Nat”

“Y/N, I just need five minutes. Alone” Wanda asks, focusing entirely on you. You can tell that Natasha feels defeated as you nod, but still goes inside without another word, the door closing behind her.

“Five minutes” you say, crossing your arms. You miss Natasha’s warmth as soon as she leaves.

“I came back to say I’m sorry. To say that I think I made a mistake”

“You hurt me. I think that was a mistake, yes. Is that all?”

“These past few months I… I have tried to convince myself that what I did was not so bad, or that it was meant to be between Vision and me. But lately, I’ve wondered if it wasn’t only the stone. The connection was so strong between us, but now that the Mind stone is gone…”

“Now you’re bored and coming back to me” 

“It’s not like that” 

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested, Wanda. I’ve moved on, worked on myself. Found someone who makes me happier than I’ve ever been. I’m sorry, truly, that things didn’t turn out the way you wanted. But coming back to me is not an option. That door is closed for good” 

“Of course” she sighs, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’m sorry for interrupting your date, I’ll leave now”

“Wanda” you call as she walks down the hall. “I really hope you can find happiness again”

With that, you walk into your apartment. 

“Can we talk?” you say, approaching Nat. She smiles sadly.

“Look, I understand. Wanda’s the one. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you she was here… I guess I just wanted to be a little selfish and have one date with you”

You sigh, sitting down next to her.

“She’s gone now. I’m not… whatever it is I felt for her, it’s over now, Nat. I’m sorry if I made you feel insecure” you place your finger under her chin, making her look up. “I like that you sing while you wash the dishes. I know your favorite flowers are tulips. I’d watch twenty horror movies just to see you smile” she chuckles at that, reaching for your hand. “I’d do anything to give you a fraction of the happiness you’ve given me, Natasha”

“It’s hard to believe, that’s all. I’ve never been easy to love” 

“And yet, it’s the only thing that’s kept me going for this long. Your love. Will you let me pay it back?”

“Yes” she nods, her nose rubbing against yours as you lean forward, kissing her gently at first, and then pushing her until she’s laying on the couch. She pulls you closer, eager for more. 

“I did say I’d make it worth your time” 

You laugh against Natasha’s lips, feeling how she’s smiling into the kiss.

“Lucky for us, we have the best couch in all of New York City, and all the time in the world”

“Yes, we do” you confirm, kissing her until you’re both out of breath. “And we have each other”

“That too” Natasha nods, her hand on your cheek.

And you’d have each other, in the home you built.

[trulycertain]

On Dragon Age & Accents

(My unhelpful tuppence, as an English player.)

One small thing I wish had come up in Veilguard from previous games: the accent worldbuilding. It wasn't always consistent - DA:O only seemed to care about country or race, anyone non-human being generically North American and anyone human being mostly RP English unless they were Antivan; for regional accents, they seemed to purely use them for effect or go with VAs' natural ones. (There are about two bandit NPCs who seem to have badly-done Midlands English accents purely because they're not meant to be very bright; thanks, love Canadians reinforcing that stereotype. Anders being Lancashire seems to be pure coincidence because of his voice actor - you rarely ever hear the accent in any consistent way in other NPCs, and it's completely ignored in his very Southern DA2 recast.)

But by DA2, there seemed to be definite trends: Free Marches could be RP English or North American depending where you came from; dwarves tended to sound North American but there were exceptions for some people raised on the surface; elves tended to be either Welsh or Irish, which matches the "very old culture with a linguistically completely different root from Trade/English". Starkhaven is most definitely Scots.

And then DAI! DAI, my love.

DAI kept DA2's trends, while finally giving us more complexity and regional accents, albeit limitedly (and still with some inconsistencies). Finally, we have a (vaguely Germanic) Nevarran accent! And Miranda Raison did such careful work constructing it! The Avvar, Ferelden's mountain folk, sound Northern English. I'd hazard a guess that several sound Yorkshire, actually - this matches the whole "the Orlesians got up there less" lore in real terms; Northern England and Scotland, particularly Yorkshire, was under Viking rule longer than the South, which became Norman-conquered earlier, and there are subtle dialectal differences to this day. (Similar thing happened with the Celts and Romans, and the Avvar are blatantly Celtic and Pictish). There's a reason that RP ("neutral posh") English is Southern, from the seats of power. Cullen's from Honnleath, somewhere smaller and less Orlesianified, and while it's softened by the character's travel and the VA's own posher bents, there are moments the Northern English accent gets leaned into, a little similarity with the Avvar. It's a coincidence but it works so well, lore-wise. Sera's VA sounds... Derbyshire? I think? which is Midlands/Northern border and sounds more than Northern enough to keep a consistent Fereldan sound. And in terms of NPCs? A lot of Fereldan NPCs suddenly start turning up Northern, albeit less broad in their accents! Have a listen round the Crossroads. I remember Gaider mentioning Dorian wasn't originally meant to be Indian, they sealed it for sure when they cast Ramon Tikaram, at which point everyone went, "Yup, let's run with it", cast his dad accordingly, and Gaider figured that Dorian was either part of a pretty big migrant population (which, other than the Dorian Gray reference, the fact his name roughly means "from across the sea" also makes sense), or quite a lot of Tevene folk natively were. Considering Tevinter started as essentially "mage Rome" and morphed into, even according to the writers themselves, "mage Byzantium" and it's very close to Seheron, which I feel is North Africa/Middle East influenced - Tevene folk being akin to folk of Turkish, Middle Eastern, Indian, Pakistani, Bangladeshi, Sri Lankan and Bengali backgrounds makes a ton of sense.

It is... exceedingly rare to hear working-class British accents in fantasy series at all (unless Brits make them, and then we're still often peasants or generic NPC #2, a la Origins). It is even rarer to have a fantasy series bother to keep immigrant accents and show the moulding of them through the generations. And I can only think of one other video game that has consciously cast British Asian actors, that's how rare it is even in games that supposedly care about representation - despite the fact that Asian folk make up something like 30% of our population.

Now: would I like some more background on why some accents in the Marches sound British and some don't? Yup! Would I have liked to have more regions in the elves' Irish accents and the dwarves' NA? Yup! But do those really matter? Nope! They would have been lovely icing on the cake, but the underlying cake was great. The plot didn't need it. It didn't have to be perfect, and the filtering of British culture through Canadians, and strategic anachronism? Those are things I love about Dragon Age. I loved how much they seemed to be trying and how much they were thinking about the lore. And I loved hearing a "British accent" that finally made sense to me, not played into the long attempts by toffs to stamp out everything North of London or outside England.

And then Veilguard sort of... forgot about it most of it? Adored that we could play as a Geordie! I really, really love them continuing pointed casting of folk with British Asian ancestry for several Tevinters (*waves lovingly at elek and neve*). But then... uh... look! Working-class Tevene people with generic Mancunian accents! To show they're working-class! That's fantastic progress... for Origins. But lore-wise, by DATV we've already shown that Manchester and Northern English accents live... *points at Ferelden* somewhere over there. We're back to "Tevinters mostly sound like generically evil English folk", as in DAO and bits of 2, which, sure, Dorian doesn't contradict - but then why not have everyone sound Southern, like him? Or add a different tint to it? And no, I am not saying everyone should put on bad "ethnic" accents, and I do appreciate the number of American, English and Mediterranean accents in Tevinter showing a very Roman "you're a citizen of the Imperium but you might have been born in one of its several countries" - but…

Gideon Emery's slight Afrikaans tint made a ton of sense with Fenris and what part of Tevinter he was meant to be from, even if it was unintentional; Jennifer Hale's take on Krem was going for English but came out more Aussie to my ear. Something like those could have been really interesting. But that also means that, including Fenris, we've now had several slaves with an accent that reads... quite posh, to English ears. Same with Neve, who is supposedly proudly from the shithole part of Minrathous, but she and several others have very RP "posh" accents (while others like Tarquin and Elek are Mancunian). Now, not everyone picks up their local accent! I am one of those people! I ended up cursedly plummy for a long time! But... we had hints through the series that Tevinter class markers would be very different from Fereldans', but they're now the same, for some reason?

Add that to the fact that they didn't want to make even one VA suffer through doing the Nevarran accent... See, it makes total sense for Emmrich, who's a posh professor who's done a lot of international study and would probably have learned Common as a second language with a very generic, "neutral" accent; he also was very concerned about appearances with his class background and trained himself not to give much away. And I'm sure the Mourn Watch has international students. But no Nevarran NPCs sound pointedly Nevarran? Not a one? Kal Sharok has hints of something interesting going on but it's rare, and the Anderfels is just... full of sad English and American-sounding people. Rivain is supposedly Caribbean and there are a bunch of actors of Caribbean descent they could've cast, but we only have one NPC sound even slightly so? That's when it stops being "Trade is taught with a neutral accent and there are a lot of Fereldan immigrants and slaves in Tevinter" and starts feeling handwavey.

Basically: I wouldn't mind if we'd gone with most fantasy games' "Eh, we cast broadly based on sound, stereotype or none of the above"; I'm very happy to just go with it. However, DAI told me to pay vague attention because the accents meant something. Then DATV has heel-turned and is telling me "Nah, go with it" the way Origins did. My ears are... confused, to say the least. And we're back to "'working-class' has one accent, and characters with something to say who aren't cast as stereotypically plucky underdogs are all Southern and posh", which just... makes me really sad. I don't hear people who sound like me, my family, or my friends growing up, in Dragon Age anymore. I did hear they had a different voice director in DATV, so maybe it's that?

[mischiefmaker615]

Chef's Choice

Over the past time of having tumblr, i have collected my personal favorites- stories that i always get drawn back to when i need inspiration, something to read, and/or something to enjoy with whatever mood or situation that needs tending LOL (not in order and there are so many others i love!!)

Thought it be best to introduce you to some of the greats out there :D

“Seems like the prince of Asgard is seduced by a mortal woman”

By: @fictive-sl0th

(OMG i absolutely LOVE the doctor themed stories with Loki XD ya never know what direction it's gonna end up ;) )

A Coveted Bride

By: @magicbystarlight

(i absolutely LOVE jealous Loki, anything in the realm of dark theme and possessiveness XD we don't judge here. it's an enquired taste and darling, you cooked!!)

Duplicitous *Long Snake Moan*

By: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

(everything you write, i got to read! truth be told, we didnt ask for but we absolutely needed!!)

Pinned Down The Rite

By: @lokisgoodgirl

(come on, just by the titles alone you know it's gonna be good! everything you've written, i've fallen in love with each detail, nothing is rushed and personalities are captured beautifully! i've caught myself gasping out loud in public with some of the stuff you bring us and i absolutely love it!)

Overstimulation Welcome Him Home More Between His Thighs

By: @sarahscribbles

(had me drooling in kinktober!!! just the title alone, i hit favorite so i could read it when i got time and darling, you didn't disappoint! so many stories just draw my attention and every aspect of them is truly perfect!!! i need more!!!)

thirty seconds

By: @muddyorbsblr

(what i would give to be in the readers shoes!! omg i loved this!!! hit all the right feelings and i cant help but reread this far more than thirty times LOL)

The Chambermaid

By: @wheredafandomat

(i want Loki to step on me!!!! i wouldn't mind slave life if it meant serving him LOL gods this was perfect!! i always loved maid x Loki themed stories, keep them coming!!)

Kinktober Day 16

By: @suguru-getos

("we listen and we don't judge" *cough* i love me some CNC! seems like a very hidden kink topic so i got positively excited when i saw this mentioned in your writing and just HAD to read it Lol kinky indeed!!! truly my favorite fic of yours so far!)

Overtime Safehouse Conquer Close Quarters

By: @cleo-fox

(I'm pretty sure all of tumblr knows who you are Lol i have enjoyed EVERYTHING you've come out with; your plots, details and character embodiment, Loki is on point!! i cant even fathom where to begin on making storylines this deep with all the bells and whistles. you are truly an incredible writer!!)

"I can do….terrible things to you."

By: @oh-look-at-her

(i can't literally do anything but bow down to you and get up only when given permission LOL truly a damn good time reading your work!!)

Firestarter

By: @delaber

(who doesn't love a good enemies to lovers story Lol can't tell you how many people i've shooed while i was in the middle of reading this XD)

Frozen Stiff Happily Never After

By: @simplyholl

(tbh i struggle finding REALLY good Jotun Loki fics and absolutely fell in love with this one!!! thank you for letting me die in peace now Lol had me giddy and blushing!!)

Have Mercy

By: @mochie85

(you captured his hot and pain in the ass personality so well!!! i LOVED this went through all the emotions on this one!! kinda like an enemies to lovers story Lol why cant it be me!!!)

A Tales of Tangled Desires

By: @angelremnants

(i fell in love with the part one, not expecting for my request to be answered but i got a part two and absolutely have become obsessed!! i love your writing so much and thank you for the prayer being answered! Lol)

And The Gods Made Love

By: @thefairywithboots

(thank you for my request being answered!! anything you publish, i cant get enough of and love the pure art like pace you take to form every inch of your story!!)

Plus One

By: @societyfolklore

(EXACTLY what i needed to start the new year ;) thank you!)

Mission Accomplished

By: @asgards-princess-of-mischief

(i love the whole "there's only one bed" scenario LOL this was absolutely perfect!)

Handcuffed Together

By: @anonymousfiction211

(it's in the title LOL this had all of my emotions :D it was fun, hilarious and incredible sexy!! truly loved this!)

[he3ts]

THIRTY ONE DAYS

pairings: the salesman x reader

warnings: in this part none in particular, except use of guns (?)

plot: a recruiter and an fbi agent. you are mutually obsessed with each other, what could go wrong?

The air was still in the empty hotel, as if the building itself was holding its breath, and there you were, alone, standing in the middle of the lobby. The dim light from the neon flashing above the lobby, filtered through the dirty windows, but did little to brighten the room. Darkness lurked in the corners, like a waiting predator. That darkness reminded you of your training at Quantico, of how you had conquered all fear just to continue your work. Your heart was pounding, every shot ringing in your ears like a dull drum.

After months of pursuits, of traps that seemed perfect and instead failed miserably, after sleepless nights spent calculating and recalculating your every move, there he was.

The recruiter.

He was in front of you at last. He sat in a worn and weathered armchair, his legs crossed and a calmness that disarmed you. The light danced on his face, but the shadow of the cigar between his lips was the thing that stood out in your eyes. It was as if he had been waiting for you, not the other way around. His relaxed posture, that barely-there smile, everything about him conveyed an uncanny confidence, as if he knew your every weakness, your every intention.

"I must say I'm impressed, agent"

His voice was soft, but the sarcasm that accompanied it was as sharp as a blade. Those words made you clench your fists, an instinctive gesture that revealed the anger you were trying to hold back.

"I thought you would have given up long before," he added with a slight tilt of his head, as if he was studying you, looking for a reaction. You stared at him. Motionless, as if you were pinned down by an invisible force. Inside you, however, was chaos. Anger bubbled in your chest, alongside something else you did not want to acknowledge: a deaf obsession, a disturbing attraction to the man you had pursued for so long. There was also curiosity, a disturbing curiosity that gnawed at your soul. You wanted to know. You wanted to understand.

You had imagined it a thousand times, this moment. You had experienced it in your dreams and nightmares, you had predicted it and repeated it in your mind like an obsessive ritual. Yet, now that you were there, the only sound was that of your labored breathing and the distant hum of a faulty electrical tube.

Finally, it was your voice that broke the silence, even though it sounded almost foreign to you. "There is no one here to save you," you said, in a tone you wanted to be harsh, implacable. "This time, you have no way out"

He laughed. Not a full laugh, but a short, sharp one, enough to make you grit your teeth. "Oh, really?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "Do you think I'm the one who needs saving?"

Those words hit you like a fist, heavy and impossible to ignore. For a moment, you hesitated. There was no one there with you.

No allies, no reinforcements. Just you and him. And there was something in his voice that made you tremble, a realization you could not ignore: every move, from then on, would be decisive. Every mistake, potentially fatal.

You realized that no matter how much you had planned everything, the game was starting at that moment, and he, with his unflappable smile, already knew all the rules. You were cursing Gi-Hun for that assignment, but you was technically helping a friend. However, you were missing the evidence, which unfortunately your colleague had disappeared into the ocean.

You had moved a step closer, your eyes fixed on him like those of a hunter who did not want to lose sight of his prey. Every muscle in your body was tense, ready to react, but you did not draw the gun hanging from the holster under your vest. Not yet. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your impatience, nor your anger.

"You've been hiding for months," you said, in a tone as sharp as a razor blade, "always one step ahead. But no more. I will stop your fucking inhuman games"

Your words echoed in the empty hotel lobby, but he did not react as you expected. No sign of fear, no trace of anxiety. He tilted his head, as someone observing a painting whose meaning he could not grasp. His eyes scanned you, analyzing every crease in your face, every breath, as if you were an enigma to be deciphered. A lock of black hair had fallen over his forehead, jauntily, nothing seemed to disturb him.

"Oh, honey," he said with a thin smile that made you grit your teeth, "you still don't understand, do you? I was never the one hiding. I let you chase me. Every move you made, every choice you made, every decision--it was mine. I guided you here"

Those words hit you like a punch to the stomach, a shiver ran down your spine, but you would never give him the satisfaction of seeing your upset. "Liar," you spat, trying to maintain control. "You're just a coward playing with other people's lives because you don't have the courage to face your own misery!"

Yet, his smile did not falter. On the contrary, it widened, revealing a dark sparkle in his eyes. He rose slowly from the chair, his movements fluid and calculated, like a predator stretching before attacking. He looked taller than I remembered, or maybe it was the shadow that made him that way.

"Face my misery?" he repeated, with a short, heatless laugh. "You talk about courage as if you know anything about it, but look at you" He took a step forward, and then another. "How long have you been living just for this moment? How long has your obsession with me consumed you? Isn't this the real misery?"

You stiffened, and for a moment you felt the need to take a step back, but you stopped immediately, forcing yourself not to back down. "You're good with words," you replied, your voice colder than you felt. "But it won't work"

He stopped, a few steps away from you, the calmness radiating from his body almost unbearable. He made a gesture with his hand, pointed to the environment around you. "Do you know why I brought you here?" he asked, his voice low and velvety, almost hypnotic. "Because this place is perfect. Empty, isolated, silent. No one will hear you scream"

Your breath quickened, and without realizing it, your hand was already on the gun. But before you could pull it out, he raised a hand, a slow, theatrical gesture. "Wait," he said, his tone calm as if he were explaining something to an old friend. "Before you do something you might regret, let me ask you a question"

You stared at him, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Are you really sure you want to know why I let you find me?" he continued, moving another step closer until you could hardly hear his breath. "Are you ready for that?"

The air felt heavy, as if the very walls of the hotel were tightening around you. Every fiber of your being was telling you to act, to do something, but his words had you immobilized, as if some part of you knew there was truth in what he was saying.

"Because, you know," he said, tilting his head slightly, "you're not so different from me. You like to think you're the hero, but really ... you're just another piece in this game"

The gun slid from its holster with a firm movement, and you pointed it at his chest, your hands steady despite the tremor you felt inside. "One more word and you'll regret it," you hissed, your voice hard as steel. But he didn't seem scared at all. In fact, his smile grew wider, almost amused. "Perhaps," he said, his tone light, almost cheerful. "But have you ever considered that, just like everyone else, you too could be a player?"

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt as if you were hovering on a thin wire, with emptiness beneath you. And for the first time, a thought crossed your mind like a bolt of lightning: what if you were not in control of the situation? That you were going crazy? That this was yet another trouble you had gotten yourself into?

The gun was pointed at him, and you felt your finger resting on the trigger, steady, ready. Every fiber in your body was tense, every muscle waiting for a signal to act. The cold metal of the weapon pressed against the palm of your hand, but it was his gaze, that mocking smile on his face, that weighed most heavily on you. He did not turn his eyes away from yours, not out of fear, not out of anger, but with that disarming calm that made you want to pull the trigger just to erase it.

"I'm not afraid," you said, your voice hard but just a little cracked.

Yet even as you spoke those words, you knew it would not be that simple. You knew it in the way he moved, slow and calculated, as if he was in control, even though you had the weapon. You knew it in the way his every word seemed to slip under your skin, creeping in like poison.

The recruiter did not seem the least bit intimidated. In fact, the smile on his face widened, subtle, dangerous. It was as if he had been waiting for exactly that moment. "Would you really?" he asked, his voice soft, almost curious. "Would you really think that pulling that trigger would solve anything? Or maybe ... you just want to do it for yourself?"

Those words struck you more than you would have liked. For a moment, a flash of doubt crossed your mind. But you forced yourself to banish it, to focus only on him. "Enough of your games," you spat, clutching your weapon more tightly. "They won't work"

He laughed softly, a laugh that seemed made on purpose to irritate you, to test you. He took a step toward you, so slow and measured that you almost didn't notice until he was too close. "Ah, but they work already, Y/n. Look where we are. Look how I got you here, exactly where I wanted you"

You felt the finger on the trigger tighten just a little more. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions: anger, frustration, and something darker, something you didn't want to admit. It was him. His presence. The way he seemed to know your every thought, your every move before you even made it.

"You think you're in control," he continued, his voice a whisper that seemed to fill the entire room. "You think you're the one in charge, but in reality-you're exactly where I wanted you to be. Doesn't that sound curious?"

His calmness infuriated you, but you could not deny the knot you felt tightening in your stomach. It wasn't fear. It was something else, an emotion you could not define. An obsession you didn't want to acknowledge, one that had driven you to follow him, to pursue him for months, years.

"Shut up," you hissed, but your voice was less firm than you had hoped.

"Ah, there," he said, tilting his head slightly. "That's what you want, isn't it? Silence. But you can never find it, can you? It's you. You and your need to understand, to control. That's why you haven't killed me yet"

You felt your breath quicken, your finger trembling slightly on the trigger. You hated it. You hated the way he could turn your every action into his victory, your every word into a weapon against you. But, most of all, you hated the fact that a part of you knew he was right.

And he, as if he had read your thoughts, took another step forward. He was close now, too close. You felt his presence like a shadow, heavy and looming. "Come on, agent" he said, almost softly. "Pull that trigger. Do it. It will set you free, right?"

His words were a venomous whisper that squeezed your throat. But you hadn't done it. Your finger remained there, motionless, still on the trigger, but unable to move. Because, deep down, you knew he was right. Shooting wouldn't have solved anything. It would not have erased what you were feeling. It would not have stopped the game.

The recruiter took another step forward, getting so close that you could almost feel the heat of his body. You could feel your finger on the trigger pulsing, your heart beating hard against your ribs. But he didn't seem to mind. In fact, his calm seemed almost surreal, as if he was sure you would not fire.

Then something had happened that you had not expected. Slowly, unhurriedly, he extended a hand toward you. Your reflexes prompted you to stiffen, to point the gun more firmly at him, but he did not stop. With infuriating slowness, his fingers reached down to your hair, taking a strand between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes widened, your breath caught. You felt your heart quicken as he, with a soft gesture, brought that lock of hair to your face. He sniffed it, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring a memory, or something sacred.

"Agent," he murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. "This is what I've been chasing all this time. This is what drove me to play"

His words hit you like a lash, but you were too confused, too overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment to react immediately. He opened his eyes and looked at you, and that look affected you more than his closeness. There was something dark, morbid in those eyes of his.

"You don't realize it," he continued, his hand still in contact with your hair, "but it's always been you. Not the games. Not the power. Not the victory. Just you"

"You're crazy," you hissed, your tone harsh but cracked. You wanted to push him away, push him away, but it was as if your legs didn't respond.

"I know," he replied, with a shameless smile. "But maybe that's why we're perfect. Because you too, deep down, are like me"

Those words set you off; you finally found the strength to back away a step, shaking his hand out of your hair. "Stop it," you said, raising the gun again. "We are not the same. We never will be"

He did not move, his smile barely widening. "Really? Then why don't you pull that trigger? Why don't you put an end to this?"

Yet, inside you, something was breaking. Like a rope pulled too long, ready to give way under the weight of that night, of those words that seemed to hit you where you knew you were most vulnerable. The recruiter, motionless before you, barely tilted his head, his gaze charged with morbid interest, his smile now slow, calculated.

"What's going on? The big moment and you're paralyzed? You can't decide whether to shoot me or stay and watch me, as you've been doing for months!" His voice was like glass against skin, sharp and thin, but it was that amused, almost indulgent tone that made you grit your teeth. "Don't worry, we can stay here all night. I'm in no hurry"

You felt the weight of each word. They dug into you, lurking like thorns, but you wouldn't let go. Not yet. You didn't have to believe them, not even for a second. But those eyes. Those eyes seemed to be able to read you better than you could read yourself. And for a moment, you felt that terrible doubt creep into you. What if he was right?

But you were too weak, because he was right, you had turned around so fast that the gun almost slipped from your hand. But you had let it go. The dull sound of the gun falling to the floor had been the last sound before the chaos. Your legs had begun to move, as if they knew where to go better than you did. Each step took you farther, each breath was a cry of rebellion against the weight of his presence.

You were running away.

His laughter had filled the hotel, bouncing off the peeling walls as you ran down the dark hallway. Your feet pounded on the floor, the sound of footsteps almost covered by the distant hum of neon lights wavering above you.

You had not stopped. You couldn't.

MASTERLIST.

[ladamedusoif]

Laurels

(Acacius x F!Sex Worker Reader)

Pairing(s): Acacius x F!Reader; Acacius x Lucilla

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 13.5k

Summary: You met him as a young soldier, brought to the brothel you worked at to celebrate a victory. Now, almost two decades later, his return to Rome in triumph sparks memories of your time together - and the secrets you still hold.

Content Notes/Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MDNI - Sex worker F!Reader; no physical description of Reader except that she is curvy and has hair (but this can be taken as a wig, as was common in imperial Rome); spans events of Gladiator and parts of the sequel; canon-compliant but no spoilers for Gladiator II; we love and respect Lucilla in this house; Acacius is a lover boy; period-typical derogatory terms for sex workers; oral sex (M and F receiving); PiV sex; mutual masturbation; discussion of pregnancy; forbidden love; secret marriage; discussion of death and grief; implied character death; implied that Reader is more sexually experienced than Acacius when they meet; references to alcohol consumption; some uses of strong language

Author Note: I've been thinking about and sketching out this story since I first laid eyes on Acacius in those promotional pictures released during the summer, but wanted to wait until I'd had a chance to see Gladiator II three times before writing it up properly, to avoid any issues with characterisation. I hope you all enjoy it.

I've referred to him as Acacius throughout, as that's what Lucilla and everyone else calls him and because we have no goddamned idea what he's actually called. (I've used certain tags, though, to make sure people see this. Hopefully. Maybe.)

There are some Latin/Roman terms used throughout: lena is the madam or brothel keeper; cella is the part of a temple dedicated to a specific deity; meretrix is a Roman term for a prostitute; mercatus is a market or shopping area.

The cover image is entirely based on authentic Roman mosaics and interiors: top left is a 1st century CE mosaic; bottom right is a 4th century CE mosaic from Sicily of a sex worker with her client; and background is the interior decor of a bedroom in Pompeii.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

Enormous thanks to @mescalpascal for beta reading this story.

Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

The city has resonated to the sound of his name these past weeks. A hero of empire, of conquest; the perfect role model for Rome’s young boys, already being prepared from birth for war and glory. 

Or, more truthfully, for death. 

Today he returns to the city in glory, to be honoured with a triumph in recognition of his role in conquering the far-off lands of Northern Africa. The crowds are already thronging the streets, trying to secure their perfect vantage point to catch a glimpse of the victor en route to be crowned with laurels. 

No one notices an ordinary woman in middle age, simply but elegantly dressed in her best clothes for the occasion, discreetly slipping up the steps and onto the balcony of a tavern overlooking the triumphal route. No one pays a woman like that any mind, especially not on a day like today. 

You quietly secure your spot and slip down your veil, patting your hair to ensure the style is still in place. Why, exactly, did you go to such effort, knowing you’d be at such a distance from him? Knowing how many years it has been?

You take the cheap little metal effigy you’d purchased from a street hawker from your purse, gently rubbing your thumb over the crude rendering of his handsome face. 

You told him he would go far. You told him he would be feted like this, one day, all those years ago. You smiled as you imagined meeting him again, showing him the tiny metal version of himself. 

“See? I told you you’d be cast in bronze, didn’t I?”

A ripple of excitement courses through the crowd and it becomes apparent that the procession is near. They cheer and chant his name in unison. A mixture of excitement and fear grips you. Why had you done your hair just so, put on your best jewellery from your meagre selection?

Just in case. In case his dark eyes found yours, again, and bridged the years with a glance. 

The rumble of chariot wheels and horses’ hooves becomes more intense, the cheering of the crowd more frenzied. You grip the ledge of the balcony in nervous anticipation, the golden metal of your favourite ring glinting in the light. 

For a moment, it feels like being frozen in time. He is a god among men, the bright sun reflecting beautifully off the white and gold of his special, ceremonial armour as he receives the acclamations of the crowd. He’s uncomfortable, you can tell: that nervous wave and unsettled expression giving him away. This is not his natural environment, though you suspect he has had to get used to it since he assumed his command and since his marriage. 

You are unable to make a sound as his chariot approaches, overwhelmed by the sight of him, the sound of the crowd, the way he is received and acclaimed with more enthusiasm than any emperor you can remember. He is still beautiful . From here, you can see the streaks of grey that frame his handsome face now, making him even more distinguished than you remembered. His tanned skin only serves to make the white and gold armour gleam all the more. His beard, neatly trimmed, is more grey than dark these days, lending him an air of absolute authority. 

But you know that behind the guise of the conquering general, battle-scarred and triumphant, lies another man: strong but gentle, intelligent and kind, a man who likes to laugh and to joke and to love . 

She is a lucky woman, you muse. 

He’s almost directly in front of you now, and you can see in those soft, dark eyes the brave young man you knew so well, once upon a time. 

His gaze shifts. He finds you. 

His expression changes to one of surprise and… joy ?

The moment lasts barely a second before he has passed by in the relentless journey to his apotheosis. But you are left with his name on your lips, whispered like a prayer as your mind travels back through the years to the time you first met. 

“Acacius.”

***

War is shit. But it’s good for business when your business is your body. 

When you left your rural home for Rome as a teenager, accompanied by the man you were promised to, selling yourself was not part of the plan. But there’s little a girl can do, when her betrothed reveals himself to be a liar and a crook. He left you alone, without resource or recourse, when he was stabbed to death over an unpaid gambling debt. 

You had certainly landed on your feet, all things considered, and with the benefit of a few years’ hindsight. The lena who ran the place was kind and understanding, the other girls bright and friendly, for the most part, and the brothel itself marketed as a cut above the usual fare for the average legionary, brought to the imperial city after a stint killing Gauls or Goths or whoever the enemy was that week.

Besides, it was even fun , sometimes. You, with your curves and ample bosom, earned a reputation for kindness and understanding. Sometimes you wondered just how many nervous young men had learned how to please a woman from a night or two in your arms.

The night you met, the lena had gathered the free girls together in an excitable cluster, hissing about the arrival at the brothel of a group of young legionaries from various parts of the Empire.

“Some of them are absolutely gorgeous , girls! And they’ve had a recent victory - you know what that means.”

Catalina, who never lacked confidence, grinned. “It means big bonuses.”

The lena beamed. “Exactly. Big bonuses, big tippers… and who knows, maybe big in other ways?” The girls roared with laughter as she clapped her hands. “Alright, neaten up! Best behaviour, now. And as usual with the legions, you’re theirs for the night.”

You picked up a goblet of wine, and you and your fellow whores struck your usual enticing poses. 

“Heroes of Rome…my finest girls, for your delectation.” 

***

His eyes find yours through the slew of pairings, dark as pitch but warm as fire in the low light of the brothel’s main antechamber. He is, as your lena had suggested, gorgeous : young, beautifully handsome features, clean-shaven; the strong nose and fine jaw universally considered the epitome of male beauty, wavy dark hair curling around his brow in his neat, regulation haircut. 

And then he smiles at you. And you are lost, entirely, in the way his eyes sparkle and his open, kind face beams.

The beautiful boy would surely choose one of the more beautiful girls, as was always the way. But instead he strides through the melee, broad shoulders cutting a path with ease, and stands in front of you, a soft, nervous smile on his face. 

“Hello, soldier. Where are you from?”

His eyes are warm . He seems kind. You feel a wave of lust coursing through you: if he wants you, you thought, you might really enjoy this one.

“Hispania,” he answers. “But we were fighting tribes in Germania.”

His voice, like warm honey, sends a throb through your core. 

“And you have been rewarded with a trip to the imperial city! You must have been really brave.”

He chuckles, a half-smile on his handsome, tanned face. “I tried to be.”

His nerves are apparent in the way he carries himself, in the little glances he gives you, seeking approval. You take his hand, thumb stroking his palm gently.

“Do you want to let me reward you tonight, soldier?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Please.” He gives your hand a little squeeze. “But tell me your name, won’t you? I would like to know your name.”

You tell him with a smile. “And yours?”

His grin is warm and genuine. “Acacius.”

***

The yellow glow of the oil lamps illuminate the murals that decorate the walls of your chamber, and throw shadows from the fabrics draped over the low couch and bed. Acacius looks around, unsure where to sit, and you gesture to the couch.

“Wine, soldier?”

“Yes, wine. Please. Thank you.”

Goblets in hand, you join him and lean slightly towards him. It is impossible to miss the way Acacius’s eyes focus on your breasts, barely covered in the diaphanous folds of your pale, loose robe. 

“Do you like what you see?”

His gaze trails upwards to your eyes, and he nods: seriously, with absolute conviction. 

“Do you want to see more?” 

Another serious nod. You slip out of the dress for him, letting the thin, pleated fabric loosen around you until you are revealed, naked and soft, for his hungry eyes. 

One strong arm wraps around your waist while the other fondles handfuls of your tits. He holds you there, mouth finding your nipples, sucking and licking them until they are pert and pebbled and glossy with his saliva. 

In that instant, you close your eyes, daring to imagine that this was not a transaction but real : that the gorgeous young man worshipping at your bosom is your lover, all yours , helping himself to every inch of you before he takes you. 

 “What do you like , soldier? What do you want me to do to you?” You move to your knees before him, putting your hands on his strong, tanned thighs and lightly slipping your fingers under the hem of his short tunica .

He hesitates, breath hitching, eyes wide as he takes in the sight of you between his legs. This isn’t his first time, you suspect, but something tells you Acacius may not be as practiced as some of his comrades in the art of love. The thought of showing him, guiding him, sends a thrill through you. 

Your hands undo his undergarment and find his cock. He stammers, trying to find his words to respond. 

“Would you like my mouth, hmmm?”

He nods, eyes trained on you, mouth open as you lick your lips and wrap them around the head of his cock. You move slowly, expertly; one hand holding him in place while the other caresses his balls, the way you know men like. 

It’s not that you were forced into the profession, not like some of the girls sold into it - though Juno knows, you’d have preferred another line of work. But there, in the lamp-lit room with this big, handsome, polite young soldier falling apart at your skilled touch? It’s a fucking joy . 

He whines and gasps as you vary the speed and movement, tongue flicking over his tip before you swallow him back down again. Acacius’s broad hand holds the back of your head as you move faster, taking him deeper. You feel his balls tighten as he falls back on the low couch, moaning and grunting with pleasure. 

“I’m…oh fuck , I’m close, I’m….”

He comes in your mouth with a cry, head thrown back on the couch and beads of sweat glistening along his neck, broad chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath.

A discreet spit and wipe and you tuck your naked curves against his spent body, fingertips slipping under the collar of his tunic to trace the line of his shoulders, the hollow of his throat.

He blinks his ebony-dark eyes open, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His exposed cock still glistens with your saliva and his come. “I didn’t mean to finish so quickly. I’m…I’m still dressed .” He grins, you giggle, and both of you burst out laughing. 

“No need to apologise, soldier. We have plenty of time, time enough to go again, surely. I’ll help.” You rise from the couch and gesture for him to follow you to the bed. 

“First things first - tunic off .”

You survey him now, naked, from your position on the bed. His body is taut and lean; too lean, perhaps, for his broad shoulders and long limbs. A few scars and bruises on his torso testify to his experiences in combat.

“Join me, won’t you?”

He settles close to your own naked form and his eyes move to your tits, pressed against the warm skin of his arm. You reach for his hand and bring the broad, calloused palm and fingertips to cup your breast.

You never forgot the fascination he seemed to have with your body. That first night, he traces the curve of your tits carefully with his fingers, playing a little with your nipples, pinching just enough to make you gasp, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh before caressing every bit of you in turn. The softness of your belly, the meat of your thick thighs and ass, the line of your hips, the flesh of your arms and neck. 

Perhaps, you think, it has been a long time since he’s been with someone. Properly, that is. Perhaps his previous encounters were a more rushed affair, skirts hitched up to fuck hastily against a wall or a tree. 

Now he can take his time with you. Wetness pools between your legs, anticipating him. You bring his hand to your pussy, guiding him to the little nub of pleasure hidden in your folds as you ride his fingers.

“You feel that?” He nods, transfixed by the way your hips roll against him, the way you pant and moan as you get closer and closer to your peak. “Find this sweet spot on a woman, and she’s all yours.”

He’s getting hard again, you notice, and starts to work you more quickly with his thick fingers. He looks to you for approval, warm eyes round and earnest, and you praise him with breathless words before coming undone on his hand.

“ Gods , that was very good, soldier.” A few strokes of your hand to his cock, and you know he’s ready. “Your turn, now.”

Acacius shifts his broad body on top of yours, using one knee to push you open a little further for him. As he breaches your pussy for the first time, he leans forward and kisses you: slow, soft, tongue slipping between your lips as you hitch your knees up and wrap your arms around his neck. 

The young Spaniard fucks you deep and slow, his plush lips brushing against yours as his kisses mingle with both of your grunts and moans of pleasure. Such a display of tenderness is unusual here, where most men have one thing and one thing only on their minds as soon as they enter your chamber. 

There have been plenty of young soldiers, plenty of officers, plenty of Rome’s heroes in your arms, in your mouth, in your cunt. Some handsome. Most not. Some respectful. Most rough.

Acacius is…different. You couldn’t explain it, not back then. Not yet. But you know in that instant, as he moves inside you and you look into his dark eyes, that there is something special about this man.

***

He comes to you every second or third night for the remainder of his furlough in the city, to the point that the lena begins to refer to Acacius as “your soldier”. You, privately, miss him on those nights that he does not visit. 

He brings you gifts: wine, flowers, little cakes and sweets wrapped in pretty cloth. “You’ll have spent all your coin,” you chide him as you sit together on the couch, drinking wine and feeding each other the treats. “What will you say, if someone asks about the money you earned on campaign?”

Acacius leans in and plots a course of kisses down your neck, culminating at the fastening of your robe on your shoulder. He unpins the brooch and watches the fabric fall with a smile.

“I will say that it was money very well spent.”

***

The lena ’s knock on your chamber door is unusually early that day - not yet noon, you estimate, as you hastily finish pinning your hair and stand to receive her.

She smiles wryly as she leans against the doorframe. “You have a visitor .”

“This early?”

“Might I remind you that I determine the opening times of this house? Yes, this early, but…he wants to take you out .” She throws up her hands in response to your confused expression. “I know, I know, but you’re paid for! Put on something respectable, I doubt he wants you to look like a whore in public.”

You dress suitably, and fix your cloak around you before emerging into the large antechamber normally reserved for meeting clients. This morning, it is silent and empty, save for a lone figure standing with his back to you in the centre of the airy room.

He was a little broader, now, than he’d been the last time you saw him, eight or nine months ago. His arms and legs had grown more muscular, his garments evidently more expensive than the simple woollen tunic and cloak he wore the first time you met.

“Acacius?” 

He wheels around and that familiar smile greets you like a beam of warm spring sunlight after the long winter. After a close embrace and a kiss, he stands back to take you in.

“How have you become more beautiful since the last time I saw you?”

You shake your head and laugh, cupping his face in your hands and rubbing your thumbs against the bristling scruff he now wears. “And you seem even more handsome and dashing, soldier. You look like the emperor now, too, with this beard.”

Acacius blushes bashfully. “Perhaps…in truth, it was my commander that inspired it, as he favours a beard too.” He smiles and winks conspiratorially. “But then maybe he wishes to resemble Aurelius, no?”

With a smile you lead him back into the main hall of the brothel and towards the door that opens onto the street. “The lena tells me you wish to take me with you into the city today.”

He offers a little bow in confirmation. “I do. I would like to walk with you, away from these four walls.” A glance over his shoulder in the direction of the lena sitting at her desk, whose all-seeing, eagle-eyed gaze bores into the two of you. He speaks a little louder, for her benefit. “And I have promised to bring you back.”

He gives you his hand, you open the door, and together you step into the bustle of the imperial city.

***

“Am I correct in thinking that isn’t a native Roman accent?”

You nod, looking at Acacius from under your lashes. “It is not. I am a country girl by birth, from a farm in the north.”

He smiles with satisfaction. “I have an ear for accents. Hard not to, when you fight for an empire as vast as ours. How did you end up here, then?”

It is as if he is speaking to a… normal woman, not a whore. You swallow hard, looking at the ground as you compose yourself to answer, not wanting to sully your relationship with this man with the painful memories of the past. 

“I…was promised to a man, and he brought me to Rome. But he lied, and he cheated, and he died over an unpaid debt, and I…”

Acacius holds you in his kind, concerned gaze as your words trail off. Enough , you muse to yourself, I have said enough . 

“And you…had to stand on your own two feet.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze that feels as comforting, somehow, as if it were his warm embrace.

In the mercatus adjoining the new forum, he buys little cups of wine and a jar of olives for you to share as you walk together through the packed marketplace and public squares. The tall column honouring the victories of the emperor Trajan casts its long shadow on the gleaming marble pavements below.

“Perhaps some day they will build a monument to you,” you suggest, a wry smile on your lips. “A great bronze, to the great warrior Acacius.”

He raises his eyebrows in astonishment and laughs. “A monument to an ordinary centurion? I don’t think so, somehow. Now, a statue of my commander , on the other hand, would be entirely more likely and more fitting.”

“You admire him, don’t you?”

Acacius sips his wine and nods. “He is the greatest of commanders and the bravest of men. Kind, too, away from the battlefield. I… I would die for that man.” He turns to you and grins, excited. “Have I told you that he is from Hispania, too? He tells me sometimes that we’re the finest fighters in the empire.”

You give an impressed little coo. “Have I seen this great man? Perhaps he was with the rest of you, that first night…the night we met.”

“He was not.” He takes an olive from the little clay jar, a wistful look on his face. “General Maximus has a family - a wife, a little boy - and such love he has for them as I’ve never seen. He is the emperor’s most loyal general, but in truth he would give anything to return home to them, for good.”

The two of you fall silent for a few moments, each lost in your own thoughts. You study his handsome features as you walk together: his strong, proud nose, now marked with a fresh, livid scar; his fine brow, knitted in thought; the line of his pink mouth, framed by his dark beard.

“Is that something you would like, too - a wife, a family?”

He nods and smiles as he meets your gaze. “It is something I would like very much indeed.”

***

You think of him, worry for him, miss him in the long months of campaigning in far-flung corners of the empire. Without realising, you have become part of an invisible sisterhood: yet another daughter of Rome who goes about her business and makes her living, but whose heart and mind march, always, with “her” soldier. For the first time, you really see the careworn women carrying offerings and lighting candles at the little street shrines or in the temples, muttering prayers to Juno for the safe return of a husband, a lover, a brother, a son. 

You try to listen daily for updates from the newsreaders in the public fora, steeling yourself for news of a defeat. Even your work provides opportunities to stay abreast of the progress of the northern legions, as you hone your small talk with clients to focus on questions of war. Though other men might have your body for a short time, your soul is always and only with him , longing for the day he’ll be in your arms again.

He’s gone longer, this time. In your lonelier moments you wonder if perhaps he has met someone else, someone with whom he can have the family life he dreams of. 

He is not yours , you remind yourself as you make up your face for another night’s work. He can never be yours .

A commotion coming from the direction of the entrance hall startles you: strong, confident footsteps on the marble floor; the lena ’s voice calling angrily after someone; and suddenly, a knock on your chamber door. 

“My sweet, beautiful lady.”

Acacius sweeps you into his strong arms before you have finished opening the door properly, pulling you tight to him and covering your face with kisses as you wrap your arms around his neck and giggle with joy and relief at the sight of him.

“Your soldier hasn’t paid, girl!”

The lena ’s irritation is obvious even from the other end of the hall, her arms folded and jaw set. You break Acacius’s embrace and reach for his hand to guide him into the room.

“He’ll pay, don’t worry,” you call out to her down the hallway. “He’s been away fighting for a long time and he deserves his reward, one can hardly blame the man for being impatient!” 

He’s waiting for you as soon as you close the door, cloak discarded and body poised to pin you against the wall as he holds your face in his hands and leans in for a long, slow kiss. He drops one hand and you feel your garment being lifted as his thick fingers make their way between your thighs.

“Gods, I missed you. I’m so sorry I was away for so long.” He sucks on the delicate skin of your neck as you whine with pleasure, his fingertips finding the little nub of your pussy, just like you taught him. “Did you miss me, my love?”

“Mmm, I… oh, Acacius !” First one, then two fingers slip inside you, and you struggle to form a coherent thought. “I missed you, so very much, so much.”

He fucks you with his fingers there against the wall, the sound of your wetness both lewd and erotic as it mingles with your pants and little moans. He’s still in uniform , you realise, wrapping your arm around his leather-clad torso as you pull him tighter to you. Gods, he really couldn’t wait to see you. 

“I need to have you here, now,” he hisses in your ear as you edge closer to your peak. “Need to be inside you, feel you again.”

He withdraws his hand and turns you to face the wall, bending your body forward a little and caressing your ass appreciatively. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, opening and stretching you as he slides smoothly into your cunt with a low groan.

“As good as you remember?” You turn to give him a sly look as he starts to fuck you, deep and hard.

“ Better ,” he hisses. A broad hand reaches for your breast while the other grips the meat of your hip, holding you in place. “Been thinking about this, about you …every day, every night …”

His beard bristles against your skin as he angles his lips against your neck and shoulder, sucking and kissing and nipping at you. He’ll leave marks, you know that, and you know you shouldn’t let him, not in your line of work. But instead you just twine your fingers through his dark curls and keep him there, revelling in the sensation as you start to fall apart for him. 

Acacius mutters praise and filth into your ear in equal measure: how beautiful you are, how good you feel, how tight your cunt is, how well you take him. The fastenings and metal ornaments of his uniform press into your flesh as he fucks you harder and faster against the wall.

You shouldn’t have let him leave marks on you. And you definitely shouldn’t let him finish inside you. But, more than anything else, you want him to make you his, really and truly, inside and out. As his rhythm starts to falter, a slight arch of your back and an extra tilt of your hips sends him even deeper and makes him come. His groans of ecstatic pleasure as he fills you with his seed are music to your ears.

***

You bathe together in the brothel’s small, steamy bathhouse, your fingers tracing the scars and bruises his strong, solid body had acquired since the last time you were together. Acacius hums with pleasure as you wash his hair and rub perfumed oil into his skin, pressing your lips gently to every mark and freckle.

“I love you, you know.” 

Strange, how this impressive warrior could become so vulnerable as he says the words: eyes wide, expression open and hopeful, as he reaches for your hand and kisses your palm with tender reverence.

“I love you, too.”

***

Dawn breaks over the city and the early morning light reaches through your small, high window. The night was sleepless and perfect: lovemaking punctuated by conversation, by fruits and wine, and culminating in your two bodies wrapped naked around each other in your bed.

Acacius kisses you awake, smiling as your eyes blink sleepily open.

“My love is tired, I think.”

You arch an eyebrow and smirk suggestively. “Gods, I wonder why ?”

As you cuddle against his broad chest, you spy a leather coin purse resting on the table beside the bed. The sight pierces your soft, loving cocoon like an arrow to the heart.

He pays for you. 

Before you can second-guess yourself, you speak. “You don’t have to pay any more. Unless you would rather continue to buy me…”

His expression shifts from confusion to concern. “What do you mean?”

“You pay for me, but you love me and I love you and…It was different before, but now I think our love shouldn’t be bought .”

Acacius smiles and pulls you to him, kissing your forehead. “I know, my love. And I agree, but… Don’t you think your lena would be suspicious, if I stopped paying?”

“She only gets a cut, either way.” A thought occurs to you. “Perhaps we just give her the cut she’d get anyway, for appearances’ sake? And I’ll tell her you gave the rest to me directly.”

He nods, reaching for you again and holding you close against him. 

“Perhaps you won’t need to worry about the lena at all, any more.”

It’s your turn to be confused as you pull back a little and look in his eyes. 

“I was going to ask you anyway, I’ve been thinking about this all the time I was away… I wonder, would you be - would you consider being - my wife?”

“I could pay off any debt you owe to the lena, to this place.” He hastens to reassure you, seeing the look of shock on your face. “And I have money enough to buy us a beautiful home, some land… I have been promoted again, since I saw you last, and now we have some time together until the next campaign, we…we could marry, be together. Husband and wife. What do you say?”

Your heart says yes. Yes. Forever and always, yes , thank Juno and all the gods that brought this beautiful man to you. 

But hearts don’t make the rules in Rome.

You kiss him gently, twine your fingers through his, caress the dark curls that frame his handsome face. “I would give anything to be your wife.”

He smiles sadly. “But?”

“We can’t . Even if I left this world behind for good, I still wouldn’t be allowed to marry, and -”

“I have known men whose wives were once meretrices , it’s not always so strict,” Acacius interjects.

“Were these men imperial officers with a bright future ahead of them?” you ask, as kindly as you can. “At best, I could be a mistress.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “I don’t have to be an officer forever. I don’t want to do this forever, to wage war forever. So I’ll give it up, find another occupation, use my savings…I just want you , my love.”

His thumb wipes away the tears glistening on your face as you fight the sob rising in your throat. “I want you too, I love you too, but…you are under oath, under contract, are you not? They would come after you if you broke it, I would rather die than see you hurt on my account.”

Those beautiful dark eyes are resigned now, full of pain and all too aware that there is no way for this dream to become a reality. Acacius puts his arms around you and holds you tight to his chest, silently kissing the top of your head.

When he leaves you a couple of hours later, to attend to business elsewhere in the city, you turn over and weep, sure that you will never see him again.

***

Catalina knocks on your chamber door a couple of days later, anxiously looking around her, as if afraid she might be seen.

“I don’t think there’s a rule against visiting each other in our rooms, you know.”

“Can’t be too careful, now, can we?” She lowers her voice and beckons for you to come closer. “I’ve been given a message for you. From your soldier boy.”

You move quickly to sit on the couch, afraid that your legs might give way. “He…he came to you ?”

Catalina laughs a little too loudly, and claps her hand to her mouth. “No, he did not - sent one of the other legionaries to me, just so he could get word to you. Well, not just that, we did have a good time, me and young Sextus…” A knowing smile spreads across her face.

“The message . What was the message?”

She snaps out of her reverie and sits beside you. “Tomorrow, noon. The big temple on the Capitoline, at Juno’s cella .”

You nod, taking in the information and already plotting your excuse for the lena . “Catalina, why didn’t he come directly to me?”

“Apparently he was afraid you wouldn’t see him. He’s got it bad for you, according to his pal.” She turns and pulls you into a warm hug, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Good luck. I’ll make an offering for you.”

***

He’s already there when you arrive, standing at the entrance to the main cella and dressed simply but beautifully in a tunic, belt, and dark green cloak that only serves to emphasise his strong, broad build. You cross the marble floor to join him and he immediately reaches for your hand.

“I am so glad to see you, my love.”

You smile and squeeze his hand. “But why here?”

“I wanted to talk to you, and I needed courage - so I have made some offerings to the goddess.” Acacius nods towards the doors that lead to the cella of Juno, where priests busied themselves with candles, incense, and laying worshippers’ offerings on the goddess’s altar. “I hope she looks favourably upon me.”

“And me,” you add, and he grins. “Come, tell me. What is it that is so important?”

He leads you away from the cella and guides you through the throngs of people making their way to the great temple until you reach a quieter spot under a small portico.

“I meant what I asked you. I want to marry you, more than anything. I know, too, that the rules of this empire won’t allow it.” He takes both of your hands in his. “But I wondered if we could make our own rules.”

“Our own rules?”

He reaches into the leather purse hanging from his belt, and produces a small gold ring set with a polished garnet stone. 

“If we cannot marry by law, then perhaps we might marry in spirit.” He places the ring in your palm, wrapping his hand around yours.

The bustle of the city fades far into the distance. In that moment, it is just you and him.

“You wish this, even though I cannot tend your home, be a real wife to you? In spite of my… work ?”

Acacius nods, hand still cupped around yours. “You will be a real wife, in all the ways that matter to me. And in time I will find a way for us to make a home together.” He looks into your eyes and smiles that hopeful smile you love so much. “And, perhaps, to raise our children there.”

“My work, Acacius. I would still be doing…what I do, at least until then. This does not concern you?”

He shakes his head. “It is a profession, it is not you, no matter what the law says. You do not mind that I fight and kill for a living, this is no different.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t mind, but you are fighting for Rome , for an empire, not…selling yourself.”

“It is a profession .” Acacius reassures you, kissing you on the cheek. “And it is not forever.” He holds up the ring to you again. 

Your smile and nod is his cue to slip the gold band onto your finger, leaning in for a deep kiss as he pulls you tight to him and whispers in your ear.

“I am yours .”

A passing temple worshipper tuts loudly at the public display of affection, and you giggle. 

“And by Juno, I am all yours.”

***

The wedding feast, such as it is, is wine and sweetmeats purchased from a street vendor and consumed, picnic-style, in a quiet, secluded grove of trees near the river. He spreads his cloak on the ground, helps you down, and lays out the food before toasting you with the cup of wine he pours from a wineskin.

“You deserve a far greater feast than this, beloved.”

“This is already far more than I could ever have hoped for, my love.” You lean in and kiss him gently. “I only wish I could be a wife to you in the eyes of the law, too.”

Acacius shakes his head and strokes your cheek. “You are all I need, just as you are. Hang the law; I will find a way for us to live as man and wife. I promise.”

The dappled sunlight catches the garnet of your ring and you hold your hand up, delighted.

“It pleases you?”

“Very, very much.” You rest your head on his shoulder, both content in the quiet. Such pleasure, you think, to be here, with him - your husband , in spirit if not in law - away from the brothel, from the noise and the lena ’s eagle eye.

His hand drifts gently down your bare arm and along the line of your thigh as his lips find yours again. At your ankle, his thick fingers slip under the hem of your dress, hitching it up as his palm caresses your calf, your knee, and starts to plot a course towards your pussy.

“In public , husband?”

Acacius sighs happily at the word, encouraging you to lie back on the cloak as he moves himself between your open thighs. “There’s no one around, wife .” The bristle of his beard scratches at your neck as he nips and sucks at you, fingers already parting the lips of your cunt. “Aren’t couples supposed to consummate their marriage?”

You chuckle and writhe under his broad body as he pushes one, then two fingers into you. “Arguably we consummated this some time ago, my love,” you hiss, reaching under his tunic to undo the undergarment and stroke his cock. He whines with pleasure and fucks you a little faster as his thumb traces tight circles over that most sensitive, intimate place, smiling as you buck against him. 

“What did you tell me, that first night? Find this sweet spot and she’ll be all mine?”

“All yours.” Gods , you’re close. “And I am…I am all yours.”

You come almost as soon as his thick cock pushes inside you, unable to contain the cries of pleasure. You give no thought or care to the possibility of being discovered here, of a passerby witnessing your lovemaking. 

Let them see , you muse, as he fucks you hard and deep, fondling your tits through the fabric of your garment. Let them see how he takes me, fills me; how a man makes love to his new wife.

***

He comes to you every night, then, maintaining the fiction of a transactional relationship by having you give the lena her dues directly. She raised an eyebrow sceptically when you first explained the situation, but money is money, and if she suspects anything she does not let on.

In your chamber, you can almost pretend you are a normal couple. You dine together, bathe together, talk together. As he recounts his experiences with his legion, you realise the extent of his unassuming heroism and his nobility. Unlike many of the other soldiers you have encountered in this work, Acacius has a real sense of the human cost of war, of the humanity involved, whether Roman or barbarian. 

“It is no wonder General Maximus has sought to promote you, my love,” you tell him one evening as you pour him another goblet of wine. “You are clearly a great leader, as well as a great fighter.”

“He has trained me well.” He sips his wine and looks bashfully at the floor. “He does not seek to waste good men like some of the other commanders; he knows the value of their lives. And we look up to him, admire him, for that.”

Your private connubial bliss must, of course, play second fiddle to the demands of the empire. One night, he arrives with a dejected air, explaining sorrowfully and apologetically that his legion is returning to the northern campaign immediately - far sooner than he had anticipated. 

“I thought we had more time, my love. I am so sorry.” 

You smile, shake your head, and kiss him. “We will have plenty of time to come.”

That night, the last night together before fate would make her intervention and change the course of your lives, Acacius is content simply to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to him as he sleeps.

***

The emperor is dead, and the city mourns. In the public squares and fora the newsreaders proclaim that Marcus Aurelius, philosopher-emperor, has died on campaign with the armies of the north, and succession passed to his heir, Commodus.

The armies of the north . Your thoughts turn, as they so often do, to Acacius. His commander was close to the old emperor, you remember, and the heir had a rather more difficult reputation. You walk back to the brothel and imagine your love, clad in the fur-trimmed woollen cloak worn on campaign in the north, willing your love and strength to him across the many miles.

Emperors come and emperors go, but life goes on. A months-long series of gladiatorial games is announced, to mark the death of Aurelius and the accession of his son. The lena cheers when she hears the news, knowing that the attendant surge in visitors to the city means a boost for her business. 

You keep abreast of political and military developments, as usual, via the more informed and talkative of your clients. Severus, a senior aide to one of Rome’s senators, is always happy to oblige.

“Quite the news from the north,” he says one evening, as you help him unwrap his heavy outer toga. 

“Is that so?” Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you steady yourself on the table before pouring him a goblet of wine. “Sit, tell me.”

“A traitor general , if you’ll credit it!” He sips the wine and shakes his head in astonishment. “Cursed the new emperor, took off and left his men. They think he went south, to his homeland. A Spaniard, you know.”

Your breath catches.

“Do you - do you know the name?”

Severus chews the inside of his cheek momentarily. “Marcus? No, that’s not it, it’s…Maximus. Maximus Decimus Meridius. One of Aurelius’s best men, they say, but off he went, revealed as a traitor.” 

He puts a hand on your thigh and leans in to kiss your neck, ignorant of the stunned, horrified look on your face as you try to process this information. He does not seem to notice or care that you barely react. You move into position on the bed unthinkingly, letting him strip you and bend you over so that he can fuck you the way he likes. 

You barely hear his grunts and moans, barely feel it when he pulls out and spills his come on your back. He says something to you before he leaves, but his words are a discordant buzz. Curled up on your bed, your mind races into the small hours until you drift into a fitful sleep.

***

The weeks pass, the games begin, and the blood of men and beasts stains the sandy ground of the Colosseum day after day. The new emperor, out for blood and driven mad with power, seems to want to undo the work of his father with each passing day, starting by crippling the senate.

Information about the fate of Maximus’s legions is scant and often contradictory. Some say that a new commander has been appointed and that the campaign continues, as usual. Others tell of a mutiny in the ranks, of infighting and chaos. Still more swear that the legions will come south and unite in Rome.

“He’ll come and find you, I know he will,” Catalina whispers to you as she passes in the hallway one morning. “Don’t give up. He’ll come.”

The not knowing is unbearable. You make daily offerings at the little shrines and altars in the streets, praying that you might, at least, discover Acacius’s fate for good or ill. 

As you pass a butcher’s shop, you overhear a familiar name, and stop in your tracks to listen as the butcher and his assistant regale their customers with the story of the great general who has become a gladiator.

***

“Where are you off to?”

The lena eyes you up and down in the entrance hall, arms folded across her chest.

“I’m going out for some air and to buy some little cakes, for tonight. We’ve got a while before today’s games are over, I want to take advantage of it.”

“Fair enough. Be back in plenty of time, mind, we want you all fresh and perfumed and powdered!”

You navigate the packed streets, stopping at the baker’s shop to buy a selection of the tiny fruit and honey cakes you like to have in your chamber, before turning back in the direction of the brothel. Your route is a little quieter and you know it by heart, making use of side streets and alleys to avoid the crowds.

You do not notice the hooded man standing in one of the doorways until he steps out in front of you. The parcel of cakes falls to the ground as you cry out with fright, and the man immediately kneels to retrieve it. His fingers caress the back of your hand, and in an instant, you know him.

“You came back to me, my love.”

Acacius lowers his hood slightly, eyes sparkling but alert to his surroundings, and takes your free hand in his, kissing it repeatedly. “Of course, my beloved. I have been trying to come home to you for a while, but given…” He pauses as he searches for the right word. “Given everything , it has taken a little longer than I’d hoped.”

He keeps his hood up as you open the door into the brothel, pulling you back to whisper in your ear. “I’d rather it not be known that I’m here, my love. Not tonight. Here, take this purse, tell the lena I’m a foreign visitor.”

You don’t ask for an explanation. He follows you inside, hanging back in the entrance hallway as you tell the lena that this gentleman approached you in the street and wanted to spend the night.

“He’s a quiet one.” She surveys Acacius suspiciously, and you pray she does not recognise his broad frame.

“He’s nervous, is all,” you suggest, as lightly as you can manage. “First time in the big city, he’s come from a long way off. Best make it a special night, eh?” 

She sighs, nods, and counts the coins as you lead the way to your chamber.

***

“I can explain everything, my love, or at least as much as I’m permitted to say.” Acacius takes off his cloak and settles on your couch, pulling you to him. You press your fingers to his lips.

“After. Explain after.”

The lamps and candles cast a soft glow on the contours of your body as you slip out of your dress and gently sit on his lap, tracing the lines of his features with your fingertips as you kiss his face, featherlight. 

“I hope I’m not too heavy for you, love.” 

He smiles and shakes his head, mouth a little ajar as he takes in the sight of you. “You are perfect.” He tilts his head and sucks on each of your nipples, holding you in place around the waist, as your hand slips under his tunic. A shift of your hips and you are straddling one leg, rocking your hips back and forth against his strong thigh, gasping at the sensation as your cunt grazes against the warm skin, soft hair, and firm muscle.

He watches you, enthralled, one hand resting on your ass and the other squeezing your tits. You hold his gaze, then, caught in the dark fire of his beautiful eyes as you reach your peak and come hard on him, head thrown back and body quivering with pleasure.

“Gods, you are extraordinary.” He helps you stand up and guides you to the bed, tucking a pillow under your head before he strips off and joins you. “My extraordinary woman, I have missed you so.”

His beard scratches against your skin as he kisses your body, moving from your tits down to your soft belly and generous thighs. His lips press against your mound, your pussy, tongue diving into the slick that’s pooled between your legs. 

“You taste spectacular,” he murmurs, shifting forward. He kisses you, deep and slow, so that you can taste yourself as he pushes his cock inside you.

“See?”

You giggle as he begins to fuck you, pulling in and out slowly and deliberately, making sure you feel every inch of him and he every inch of you. 

The worries and uncertainty fade as you make love, bodies moving in perfect harmony, mingled voices gasping and moaning with pleasure, and sweat glistening on your skin. 

After . Explain after.

***

“There are legions at Ostia.”

You pop one of the little cakes into his mouth and settle against his shoulder. Ostia . You like the way he pronounces it, the inflection of his accent.

“Legions?”

He looks at you cautiously. “Legions.” His face tells you he cannot say more, and you fill in the blanks for yourself.

His legion. Maximus’s legions?

“And you rode into the city on…business?”

He nods and reaches for the cup of lemon water on the bedside table. “Business, yes. In preparation for the games to come.”

“Can you stay tonight, or must you return to…?” You daren’t name the place.

“I can stay tonight, but must leave at first light.” He puts his arm around you and lowers his voice. “My love, there may be some trouble in the days to come. I will come for you as soon as I can, but…be warned. Be ready.”

He speaks with such grave sincerity that you immediately understand the stakes involved. “I will be ready, love.”

***

The commotion outside in the streets brings you and the rest of the girls into the main antechamber, wondering what on earth is going on to cause such tumult. There is no sign of the lena , though her ledger and pen have been left in their usual places on her little table. 

Althea runs a finger along the edge of the scroll and emits a low whistle. “You don’t think she’s done a runner, do you?”

Catalina shakes her head. “She wouldn’t leave the ledger behind. Or, for that matter” - she gestures to a little box discreetly tucked between a pillar and the wall - “her petty cash.”

The sound of the main door opening hushes the gathering, and the lena strides purposefully into the room.

“Suppose you’re all wondering what’s going on, hmmm? Well, ladies, looks like we’ve got another dead emperor. No-one seems to be mourning that lunatic, though, unlike his father…Anyway!” She throws up her hands and rolls her eyes in exasperation as she seats herself at the table. “Just another ordinary, quiet day in Rome.”

You and the other girls cluster around the lena , asking question upon question as you vie for information. With a roar, she silences you again.

“All’s I know is this - he died in the arena, and it was that Merciful Maximus or Maximus the Merciful or whatever in Hades’ name they call that gladiator who did it. Commodus challenged him to a duel, didn’t he?” She sucks her teeth. “Not the brightest, that one.”

“Maximus?” Your voice cuts through the gasps and mutterings of the other girls. “Maximus defeated the emperor?”

The legions. This is why they were at Ostia, to overthrow the emperor and restore the senate. You wonder if Acacius has already entered the city - indeed, if he was there to witness the fight.

“He did,” the lena sighs. “Fat lot of good it did him, he’s dead now, too. Right! Back to your chambers, we might get a few boys in festive mood now that Commodus is gone.”

Your stomach churns as you walk silently down the hallway and back to your room. If Maximus’s legions had massed at Ostia to march on the city, and were already on the move, who knew what fate awaited them now that the general was dead, leaving a power vacuum at the very top of Rome? Or perhaps, you reason with yourself, the senate will work quickly to restore order, and will not punish the legionaries who were ready to stage a coup. After all, it was the senate they were fighting for.

One way or another, tomorrow you will begin the search for Acacius.

***

Trade was as dead as the emperor that night, much to your relief. In the early hours, you lie awake and stare at the painted ceiling, thinking over and over about the places he might be and where you should start. Sleep, eventually, finds you.

You dream that he has come to you, that he is calling you by name, over and over, shaking you by the arm until you respond.

“Please, my love, wake up.”

No dream at all. He is there, real and whole, sitting on the side of your bed. His handsome face is marked with dirt and grime, hands and knees grubby, as if he has come fresh from a long journey on horseback. 

You sit up and reach for his hand. “Acacius…husband. You’re alive, you’re safe.”

He nods in response, until he buries his face in his hands and leans forward, head between his legs, and gives a devastated, feral roar the likes of which you’ve never heard before. You tentatively move beside him, fingers working to undo his cuirass so that you can rub his back through the thin fabric of his tunic. His big, strong body shakes with fury and hurt under your gentle caress. 

Neither of you speak for some time. You try to ground and console him with your touch, your closeness; and in time his rapid breathing slows and he raises his head to speak.

“I would have come sooner.” His voice is low and croaky, worn out by a day of shouting. “I would have come…I had to help them, had to get the boy away, get him safe.” He looks at his grimy hands, as if noticing them for the first time. “The road was dusty, I’m covered in the stuff. I’m sorry, I…”

You shake your head and nod at him to continue. Acacius sighs despondently. 

“I was in the arena today. Me, a few other officers, other centurions, all loyal to Maximus, the senate, the people. We wanted to be ready, to prepare for the others.”

He reaches for your hand, cupping it in both of his and kissing it with reverent care. 

“I…we…” His voice breaks a little. “He died , there on the arena floor. Murdered by his own emperor.” He steadies himself, a note of rage entering his tone. “He was a hero of Rome. A hero of Rome . And that was how his life ended. That was his reward.”

He looks at you, features set hard, eyes burning with anger. And then his face softens, expression crumples, and he cannot hold back the tears as he buries his face against your shoulder.

***

You wash him clean of that terrible day in the baths, anointing his cuts and bruises with balms, ointments, and kisses. 

He watches as you apply the mixtures carefully to his skin. “I did not know you were a doctor, sweet lady.”

“No doctor,” you smile. “Just some knowledge passed from my mother and aunts, about healing plants and balms. I like to keep a few with me, just in case.”

“Just in case?”

“In case I marry a soldier.”

When he is clean, you dress him in a plain tunic from the linen cupboard and take him to bed.

Acacius rests his head on your bosom as you stroke his hair, his strong arm draped across your body. After a time, he breaks the silence.

“How can I keep fighting, if this is the fate of a Roman hero?” He shakes his head a little. “And yet, I am bound by my oath to serve.”

You kiss his forehead and stroke his cheek, tracing the line of a scar. “What would he say to you now?”

He looks up at you with those pitch-dark eyes, permitting himself a little smile. “Apart from ‘how did you ever manage to get a woman as lovely as her to marry you ’?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Apart from that.”

“He would probably say that the dream of Rome is worth fighting for.”

“I think you have your answer, then.”

He does not seem entirely convinced as he sits up beside you and leans in for a kiss. “Perhaps.” Another kiss. “Or perhaps only love is worth fighting for.”

You lie down and pull him to you, happy to feel his solid weight on top of you again. “Aren’t you fighting for love, though, when you fight for Rome?”

“If only she weren’t such a cruel mistress.” He kisses your neck, tugging down the neck of your robe to expose your breast. “Gods, I need you, my love.”

With your help, he discards his own tunic and takes off your dress. He sits back on his heels for a moment, running his big hands up your bare legs as he looks into your eyes.

“I am all yours, Acacius.” You extend your hand to him, guiding him into position. “Let me help you forget it all, even if just for tonight.”

He moves forward on top of you, holding your gaze for a few moments as he caresses your face and strokes your hair. His kiss is tender but urgent, his hand reaching for your breast as he starts to grind against you. 

“All yours, my love,” you repeat, watching as he moves back down your body. “Take me as you wish, as you need.”

He tries to take in every part of you with his mouth, lips moving with desperate need and grazing over your tits, your soft belly, your hips. One, two thick fingers slip between your thighs, keen to remind you what you taught him that first night together. You writhe against him as his beard scrapes against the delicate skin and curls that cover your mound, unable to stop yourself guiding him between your legs.

”Mine. Mine .” Acacius mutters the word as he hooks his arms under your thighs and buries his face against your cunt, nose rubbing against you while his tongue parts your folds. It’s as if he wants to devour you, such is the urgency with which he sucks and laps and licks. He runs his fingers over your dripping core and drops his hand to his cock, using your wetness to stroke himself as he continues to eat you out. He laps greedily at you as you come, your slick still glistening all over his face as he shifts forward and enters you.

He holds you down as he fucks you hard, fingers twined through yours, sweat dripping from his beautiful body onto your tits. There’s a desperation to his lovemaking tonight, a desire to escape his grief by losing himself in you - in your cunt, your flesh. He comes with a roar, filling you with life as he tries to rid himself of the bloody memory of death.

***

He leaves in the early morning, following military orders to assemble at the Field of Mars in spite of his misgivings and wavering loyalty. You make love before he goes: slow, soft, congress in the dawn light. 

You watch him dress, sitting up naked in bed. “Be careful, my love.”

Acacius fastens his cloak and leans in for a final kiss. “You too, love. I will come for you as soon as I can.” Before he leaves the room, he nods towards a leather pouch resting on the table.

“That isn’t payment , in case you are wondering. It is my duty as your husband - some money, should you need it urgently while I am away.” He looks as though he would rather sacrifice himself in the arena than leave. “I love you.”

That was the last time you saw him, until he appeared, a decade and a half later, as a vision in white: the triumphant hero of empire.

***

The crowds have dispersed now, the city humming with excitement at the prospect of a series of games to celebrate the feats of Acacius and his army in Numidia. 

The terracotta oil lamps cast a warm, comforting glow around your small home, nestled in a side street in a decidedly unfashionable part of the city. The brothel is firmly in the past for you now, as you earn a living making medicinal balms and ointments, using recipes learned from your mother and aunts. You prepare your simple evening meal and eat it quietly, preoccupied all the while by Acacius. 

He had seen you today, you were sure of it. What did he remember of you, of your love, of the secret “marriage” of spirit the two of you had entered into? Had he recognised you at all? He had grown even more handsome with the passing of time. You were not sure the same could be said of your beauty.

The little metal figurine lies on the table before you, your fingertips tracing over the outline of the man you had loved so much. With a gentle sigh, you move to the corner of the room and retrieve a plain, well-worn wooden box from the chest that holds your most precious possessions. He fits in well here, this Acacius, nestled among carefully-folded fabric you have preserved like a relic all these years. 

What might have been, in another world. But you have your memories, and your relics, and the comfort of having seen him one more time, after all these years.

***

A day or so later, you are about to turn in for the night when you hear the distinctive sound of a horse coming to a halt just outside your home, swiftly followed by a firm knock. A knock on your door at this hour is not usual , but neither is it unexpected or unprecedented. People have, on occasion, come in urgent circumstances, desperately seeking this balm or that ointment. 

You reach for your mantle and open the door a little. “Tell me what the problem is and I’ll get you what you need, if I have it.”

The cloaked figure at your door chuckles, turns, and takes down their hood.

"So you really do live. I am not sure one of your fine balms could fix the problems I’m facing, dear lady.”

You steady yourself on the doorframe, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or touch him to make sure he’s really there. 

“Oh, gods… Acacius .” You shake your head and correct yourself quickly. “I mean, General Acacius, I… how ?”

“Acacius, please. I’ll always just be Acacius with you.” He crosses an arm over his chest in a gesture of honourable sincerity, those dark eyes warm and oh so familiar, even after a distance of nearly twenty years. “May I come in?”

You gesture towards the table at the centre of the room and close the door, still not quite believing that he is really here , in your little home. He is no longer wearing the dress uniform, you notice, spying a simpler tunic and belt under the cloak. 

“I have some wine, if you would like? Nothing like the fine stuff you’re used to now, of course, but…”

“Anything you have is perfect.” Acacius moves closer to you and reaches for your hand, pressing his lips to it and smiling with delighted recognition when he realises you still wear the ring he gave you. He seems reluctant to let go, caressing your hand in both of his as his eyes take you in from head to toe. “I am so happy to see you…I thought I would never see you again. I…”

Before he can finish his sentence, you throw your arms around him and pull his beautiful, broad frame to you in a tight embrace.

***

The conversation is light, at first - small talk, mostly about the triumph, about the campaign in Africa, the sheer weight of the special armour and cloak he had worn for the procession, his relief in seeing his wife, Lucilla.

You smile when he mentions her. “You are both very lucky indeed, I think. She’s much loved, very beautiful, kind… maybe now you are home we will see more of her in the city? She is missed by the people.”

Acacius purses his lips. “Her movements are…not always in her own hands, these days.”

You nod in understanding as silence settles over the two of you.

He sips his wine and takes a deep breath. “I came back for you, did you know that? All those years ago. I kept my word, my vow to you. But you were gone .”

He tells his side of the story simply, though at times he struggles to keep his emotions in check. After Maximus’s death, it was well over a year before Acacius saw Rome again. In the political turmoil that followed the demise of Commodus, young officers like him were deployed to various parts of the empire to secure the Roman presence - and, he suspected, to prove their loyalty to the litany of new emperors who followed in quick succession. 

“As soon as I got back to the city, first chance I got, I went to find you. And everything was different - a new lena in the place.” He shakes his head at the memory. “When I asked about you, she…well, she said you were gone.”

You press your fingertips against the surface of the table. “I had returned to the family farm, I meant to come back, but…”

Acacius nods. “She knew you had gone to your family, but she told me you were dead . Said the news was that you’d died, a few months after you left Rome.”

He tells how he refused to accept your death. He searched for you as best he could, trying to piece together the little he knew about your life before Rome, before the brothel, before him . Dead end after dead end eventually convinced him, against his instincts, that you were really gone.

”I mourned you as a…a husband . Grew my hair for the period of mourning, didn’t trim my beard…” He smiles sadly. “I even covered my head and burned that linen tunic you’d dressed me in, that last night we spent together, in lieu of a funeral pyre. It was all I had of you.”

You reach for his hand, noticing the scars and callouses that were not there the last time you held it so tenderly. “I am so sorry, my lo-” The words came as easily as they did that last morning together. You checked yourself. “I mean, Acacius .”

He squeezes your hand and continues. “I kept telling myself I had let you down. Had I been here I could have helped you, made sure you were safe, protected you.” A sombre look darkens his features. “When I saw you up there in the crowd, for an instant I wondered if I was seeing things, if you were an apparition…reminding me that I had failed you.”

“You could never fail me, Acacius. Never. Not then, not now.” 

You sip your wine as you prepare to tell him your side of the story.

“I left Rome a couple of months after you did, and went back north to my family. I had to go but I intended to return, because I knew you would keep your word.”

Silence, again, and you know exactly what he’s going to ask you.

“Why did you leave the city…why did you have to go?”

Another sip of wine.

“I was with child.”

***

When you were absolutely certain, about two months after he left, you packed your things and made the necessary arrangements. His money helped pay your way northwards and home - and paid off your outstanding debts to the lena .

“Don’t you have siblings who can look after your ailing mother?”, she’d said, already starting to count your coin. “Can’t be doing with losing good girls like you, these days.”

“Only my brother remains on the farm, and he cannot manage it and care for my mother at the same time.” It wasn’t a lie , not really. Your sisters were scattered, and since your father’s death the farm was your brother’s responsibility. And strictly speaking, he did have to care for your mother - even if she wasn’t ailing in the way you’d described to the lena to justify your sudden departure.

You looked carefully at every soldier you saw on the road north, hoping against hope that one of them might be yours . In a roadside tavern you even asked after Acacius, after you overheard a group of legionaries talking about Maximus, but to no avail. 

At home, you were circumspect about your situation in Rome - and about the circumstances of your pregnancy. Pressed repeatedly by your mother, you told her the father was a young officer who loved you very much.

“And where is this lover boy, now that he’s got a child on you?” She surveyed your swelling belly with a mixture of irritation and resignation.

“He returned to his legion and we have had no word since.” Another not-really-a-lie. 

Your mother rolled her eyes, but could not disguise the sympathy in her tone. “Tale as old as time.”

You did whatever work you could, within the limits imposed by your condition. And one day, as you rested for a few moments in the meadow, the sun glinting off your garnet ring as your hand lay protectively across your swollen stomach, you felt the child quicken in your womb.

In your lowest moments, you worried that your certainty about paternity was misplaced, given the nature of your work. With every fibre of your being, though, you knew that this child was his. It could be no one else’s.

You planned, originally, to give birth and raise the child to the point where they could be taken care of by another while you worked. At that stage, you assumed, you and your child would return to Rome - and to Acacius.

But fate dealt a very different hand

***

There’s shock and sadness and a kind of excitement, even, in Acacius’s eyes as he listens to you tell the story. Realisation dawns: he was a father .

His voice is hushed. “A boy or a girl?”

You squeeze his hand, as much for your own comfort as for his. “A boy. And your double, from the moment he came into this world - all dark eyes and curly hair and even strange little habits and gestures that I knew were yours . I…named him for you.”

“A son .” He seems awestruck. “I have a son . Gods, I wish I had known.”

“I am so sorry, Acacius, I wish I could have found a way to tell you, for you to know…but I had no idea where you were, how I could find you or reach you.” You swallow back the tears. “Truly, please forgive me.”

He shakes his head and leans a little closer to you. “You don’t need to apologise, there’s nothing to forgive.” He kisses the back of your hand again before wiping an errant tear from your cheek. 

You look at him - really look at him, really take him in properly after all this time apart. He wears his age beautifully, from the lines on his face to the silvery strands of hair that frame his brow. Acacius has acquired more scars in his years of soldiering - across the bridge of his fine nose, a more livid, longer mark to his right cheek. But his eyes, in spite of all the terrible things he has seen and all the blood he has spilled, are as warm and kind when they look at you as they were the first night you met. 

“I always meant to come back to the city,” you continue. “I thought we’d return once he was old enough, find you again, and somehow make a life together. And then my mother died, and I couldn’t leave my brother to tend the farm alone, and my… our boy was so happy there. You were rising through the ranks, too, and a woman and child would have been the last thing you needed.”

Acacius shakes his head, regretfully, and sips his wine. 

“Did you tell him? About me?”

“As soon as he was old enough, yes. I told him all about you.” You smile at the memory of that time and tell him about your little boy’s bright eyes and dark curls, the wide smile on his face as he dashed here and there on the farm, chasing chickens and helping his uncle plant seeds. Your brother whittled him a rudimentary wooden sword, so that he could fight imaginary battles in the fields and cry out, with all the force his little voice could muster: “I am Acacius, hero of Rome.”

“He’s near a man now, I suppose?” Acacius looks around the room, as if making sure he hasn’t missed the boy somehow. 

You close your eyes as another memory casts a long, dark cloud of grief and pain: a memory of fever sweeping the countryside, of the horror as your bright, clever boy fell ill overnight, of your desperate attempts to heal him. And that indelible image, the one that still wakes you at night, sometimes: your brother, tears rolling down his weathered farmer’s face, carrying the small body in its small shroud.

***

Acacius says nothing for a long time, just holds your hand on the table and stares at his cup of wine as he tries to comprehend what you have told him. He breaks his silence with just two words.

“How old?”

“He was seven.”

You rise from the table, gently squeezing his shoulder as you cross towards your wooden chest and take out the plain wooden box where you had placed the miniature Acacius a couple of nights before. Settling back beside him at the table, you remove the lid and show him the contents.

“Is this…” He smiles wryly at the little figurine, picking it up to examine it more closely.

“I told you, didn’t I? They would cast you in bronze some day, Or, if not bronze, whatever that is.”

Carefully, you take out the rest of the items you’d stored with such love since the day you lost your beloved boy. A small tunic. A pair of his sandals, still marked with dust from the farm. A wax tablet, inscribed with his rudimentary letters and numbers. 

Acacius handles his son’s belongings as though they are the most precious objects in the world. He turns a little figurine of a soldier, carved from bone, over and over in his palm.

“He loved that one best.” 

It is strangely comforting and intimate to sit with Acacius in this shared grief, watching him somehow try to know the little boy he never met through the few belongings he left behind in the world.

“Acacius…” He looks at you, eyes glistening with tears, and you fight the urge to embrace him again. “I think you should keep that. If you wish, of course, but -”

He nods, cupping the toy in his big hand before placing it with great care and tenderness in the leather pouch on his belt.

“I can carry him with me.”

***

Before he leaves you, you give him a jar of your very best healing ointment as a parting gift. 

“For your next campaign, to help with cuts and bruises.”

He kisses you on the cheek, smiling as he opens the jar and inhales the warm, fragrant aroma of the balm. “I hope to get some respite from the battlefield for a while.”

You grin. “I’m glad to hear it. And I am so glad that you have a wonderful wife to go home to.”

His travelling cloak once more around his broad shoulders, Acacius bids you farewell and holds you in a long, tight embrace and murmurs into your ear.

“I loved you so very much. Always remember that.”

***

More games. More bloodshed. You stay at home, away from the festivities and the crowds. 

Another late-evening knock to your door, and this time you decide not to answer. The games have brought a rowdy crowd to the city, and it’s impossible to know what awaits on the other side. 

They knock again, firmly, clearly. Not the knock of a drunk, you muse.

You open the door to a young man, dressed in the typical garb of a servant, and a woman of regal bearing, dressed in a simple hooded cloak. 

“May I come in?”

She leaves the servant outside and checks that the door is firmly shut before she takes down her hood, revealing her fine features and blonde curls as you gasp in recognition - and panic.

“Gods! I mean…my lady, I…”

Lucilla smiles that sweet smile so beloved of the ordinary citizens and reaches for your hand, attempting to steady your evident nerves. “Please, don’t be alarmed. I cannot stay long, but…may we sit?”

Dumbfounded, you gesture towards your simple wooden chairs, watching in astonishment as the daughter of Marcus Aurelius seats herself at your table. She nods towards the other chair, encouraging you to join her.

“I am very sorry for arriving like this so late in the evening, unannounced. I do hope I’m not putting you out.”

You shake your head quickly, panic and terror still written all over your face, and she chuckles gently. “Please, I meant it - you have nothing to fear from me. And yes, I know my husband came to see you.” 

“He…I mean, I…I mean, we …”

Lucilla places her elegant, pale hand on the back of yours by way of reassurance. “I know. He has often spoken of you to me - and of his sorrow at not being able to protect you. When he realised you still lived, well…I simply wanted to meet the woman who meant so much to Acacius. We have a lot in common, you and I.”

For a moment, you wonder if you are dreaming. Most women would rather ignore their husband’s past loves, let alone want to visit them. 

“You didn’t mind that he came to see me?”

She shakes her head, blue eyes meeting yours. “Not at all. In fact, I encouraged him to seek you out, after he saw you during the triumph.”

“I…I’m not sure I understand, my lady.”

“We’ve lived , you and I, haven’t we? When Acacius and I met, I had already lost so many people. My husband, my father, my brother…and the man who was my first great love.”

Lucilla looks away for a moment, emotion threatening her poise. She speaks haltingly, more quietly now. “And I lost my son, too. I was very sorry to hear about your boy.” 

In that instant you forget all etiquette and protocol and extend your hand to hers, to comfort and to share the burden of your common grief. No more a former prostitute and the daughter of a great emperor - here, at your rustic table, you are simply two women united by the experience of loss.

“So we do have much in common, it seems, my lady.”

“We do. And that’s without even mentioning Acacius.” She smiles at you conspiratorially, and laughter fills the small room. 

“It haunted him, not having been able to find you again. Not getting to say goodbye, to tell you how much you meant.” She pulls her cloak more tightly around herself and rises from the table. “I was able to bid farewell to my first great love. When we realised you were alive, well…I wanted my beloved Acacius to have that chance, too.”

Before she takes her leave, Lucilla embraces you, kissing each cheek. “Thank you for loving him so well, all those years ago.”

You nod, still not quite believing that this conversation is really happening. “And thank you , for loving him now. And for encouraging him to visit me. He…he married a very good woman.”

She pulls up her hood and moves to the door, pausing for a moment. “He has always had impeccable taste, it seems.”

A final smile and nod, and she is gone, helped onto her horse by her servant before they ride away into the night, and home to the waiting arms of a hero of Rome.

[trulyumai]

To Destroy and Conquer

Pairing: Messmer x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Death, violence, possessiveness.

Synopsis: Before his reckoning, the red haired protector was a husband; a caring one at that.

A/N: It’s been a little since my last update but im back! Thank you everyone for being so patient <3

Enjoy!

“In Death, I would rise and burn thy enemies; harmers of thy soul,” Lightly, the tall man brushed his fingers against his wife’s face.

With her lips parted slightly, tuffs of air dampened his pale cheeks as he blinked down at her with a longing, loving gaze.

His knuckles met with the skin of her cheek, moving them up and down his rougher skin met with the softened surface. he began to memorized each groove, each crevice.

His little wife didn’t know of his plans, his extortions for power.

She was unaware of the dead fleets that lay scattered on the field, just by the castle walls.

She was unaware of the burning hunger for strength that seemed to corrupt a new piece of his soul with every passing day.

No, for how could she?

She was ever the dutiful wife; cleaning, cooking, waiting patiently for her knight of a husband to come back, arms open with kisses to spare.

Tonight was the night he would regain his namesake, no more would he be shunned, forgotten in the shadow of his family.

Blinking he took his little wife in once more.

Dusting his lips across her neck he decided his next move.

He bit, hard.

A perfect red mark shined back at him, with red and purple blood vessels rewarding the man for his efforts.

The woman didn’t stir, for their night before was full of plenty roughness on its own .

Instead she leaned into him, and he coughed out a chuckle.

“Even in sleep Darling, thy craves violence, hm?”

Adoringly he placed dry kisses upon her cheeks, down to her lips and up to her nose.

“I will have it all. Yes, and thy own’s beauty will be there, baptized in flame.”

With his head leaned in, his eyes moved forward, to the open window that let in the petrichoric smells of the land.

The golden castle met his gaze, it laid in the distance with its bordering walls. Trees scattered before the land, and smoke began to peek behind the stone barriers, the aftermath of Messmer’s past display of power.

With squinted eyes he laid back, his wife’s head laid upon his bare chest as his gaze never left the castle.

Messmer sat there, idly scraping at his knuckles while his other arm wrapped around his wife and imagined; imagined a life of fire and smoke, in the middle of it all stood him.

With no enemies left, he could rein, and his little wife would wait just as she always did, for him to return home.

[lennadanvers]

The Heartbreak Chronicles

 Edward The Freak Munson was your first love.

(In more than one way).

(None of them ended up well).

High school Edward was something. Jean and leather, band t-shirts and patches. The shiny chains were still there. He had picked up guitar and stuck with it, as you found out at the talent show. His hair and his opinions had grown.

And his big, sad eyes were still there.

He had a reputation now: dangerous, freaky, dark. Maybe it was true. Maybe it had always been. It was just that people took a while to realize. He was the same over dramatic, fun, imaginative boy you had lost. Except that he took his drama all the way up to the tabletops of the cafeteria now.

It was hard not to enjoy the show. It was even harder to wonder how would it be to know him again. He had so much determination and sarcasm, he was so over the way the world worked, so full of disdain and passion… As someone who had served under the Queen’s orders- even if it was a fantasy queen, years ago, in the battlefield that was kindergarten-, you wanted to be loved by him.

How would anyone not want to be worthy of his love?

You knew better, of course. He had distanced himself. And yeah, maybe it had been a long time ago, but why should you give him another chance? No, sir. You didn’t have many things, but your pride was something no one could take from you.

Besides, he had never asked for another chance.

But he was fucking everywhere. He had founded the coolest club in the whole state. His van took up half the parking lot, a lighthouse in the middle of a naked shore. His hair was impossible to miss in the hallway, and your lunches were plagued by him and his stupidly interesting speeches. He even showed up at every party, ready to supply the sheeples with the only best weed in Hawkins.

And not once, in any of those scenarios, were you the object of his attention.

You could have stayed away, of course. It was just a matter of willpower. But your curiosity was bigger. Also, the sheet to sign up for Hellfire Club ended up being taped to the wall right next to your locker. It had to be a sign, if fate could be any more literal: just sign the sign.

It was a terrible idea. Made your nerves skyrocket and your appetite disappear, and your hands were trembling more than usual. You promised yourself you wouldn’t go back if it turned out to be as awful of an experience as you feared.

It was much, much worse: your first day at Hellfire was amazing. You had actual fun- something you hadn’t had in years, if you were honest. The boys were nice in a warm way, talking over each other and, frankly, more excited about the game than you. It was great, because it didn’t make you feel like a guest, but like you belonged.

And Edward welcomed you.

After years without talking to you, without even glancing at you, he smiled and bowed, arms wide as if to show you his kingdom.

“Be welcome to our humble table, mighty lady. Be prepared to face more adventure than you’ve ever heard of, more danger than you can fear and to conquer more victories than anyone can dream.”

He acted that way with everyone. And he lied.

You had heard of that much adventure, sure as hell. Actually, some of his adventures sounded familiar- they were detailed evolutions of childhood games.

But you fell for it anyway. It was good to be back home.

Even if he stabbed you in the back every now and then.

After the first session, as everyone was tidying up, he had cocked his head at you.

“We used to play together when we were kids, didn’t we? You’re not as boring as you look.”

And he had the audacity to wink, as if it would do anything but burn. So you punched back.

“Oh… Did we? I have a pretty bad memory. Sorry.”

Cue innocent and nonchalant shoulder shrug, finished off with a tight lip smile.

The second time Edward Munson broke your heart was worse, because you saw it coming. And you still followed him, like a reflection on a dark mirror, like you had no choice but to help him shatter you.

Second part! The next one is Eddie's POV! Please comment or reblog if you like it, that really motivates me to keep writing! Also, my inbox is always open (not just for requests and ideas about fics, you can also come say hi and tell me about your day or whatever you want to talk about). If you want me to add you to the taglist, just let me know!

Taglist: @arabellagreenleaf , @stylesxmunson , @am0iur

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

The Stag and the Young Wolf

Pairing: Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader

Length: 14k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, unethical medical practices, mention of disturbing imagery, past character deaths, talk of pregnancy, child death, mild smut

Notes: This is a rewrite of some deleted scenes back during Robb's era in the story, I had a lot of fun writing these two again so I hope you enjoy! Associated Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

Harrenhal had been cursed since it’s first stone was laid. Or, that at least was what some spoke of it. More then enough rumours were spread of the ruined castle and it’s lands. No lord or family had ever been able to hold the great castle for more then a few generations before tragedy would befall them. And that went back right to it’s very start.

The castle greater then the very lands most lords held in their entirety, and yet most of it laid unused. Great walls which stood so high that some bridges between the high towers would kill a man without a doubt between falls. But only the lower two thirds were used. It was all that could be afforded by any. The higher the towers sat in the sky, the less usable they were even moreso with the bats adorning them. By now the centuries passed, stories spoke of men seeing masses of black within the halls like a dark figure following them, but when searched further were just bats in so many numbers they looked as one creature.

But it was not just bats making it unlivable. Each hall and corridor and room was surrounded by ruin and decay. Stones never rebuilt or restructured, water dripping from every corner exposed to the air as if the rain which would come could drown out the remaining rooms. The main hall in it’s peak had something near thirty five hearths to keep the castle warm, and now all that remained were fires in each rooms used when it still wouldn’t be much. It was clear why those who even held Harrenhal seldom chose to live within it’s walls.

Yet, the worst of it all was why. The strongest towers and the highest walls, a million men could have marched on the castle and a million men would’ve been repelled. But there was one thing it’s cruel yet brilliant creator Harren the Black did not account for. An attack from the air, a burning of dragonfire. It was said the day it was complete, did Aegon the Conquerer fly over the castle and let Balerion the Dread melt the stone walls within a few mere hours.

Some claimed that it was the burning from the dragon which left it cursed, but you thought there must have been more to it then that alone.

Right along the edges of the castle sat the Gods Eye. A vast lake that in and of itself held memories of death. A mighty battle between kin was fought above the waters, the strong yet terrifying Daemon Targaryean had done the unthinkable. In exchange for the life of he and his dragon, had slain the mighty Aemond the Kinslayer, and took the dragon Vhagar with him. The Valyrian Steel sword of Dark Sister had been found decades later in the waters still shoved deep into the kinslayers eye along with the bones of he and his dragon.

Yet still, that was not the strangest part. The Gods Eye itself was the largest lake in Westeros, but sat right in the middle was a small patch of land. A land with so little known about it, it had become as mysterious as the curses of Harrenhal itself. The Isle of Faces was the last known location outside of the North were Weirwood trees still stood beyond some single trees in a castle’s godswood, and even then so few existed still. Named for the faces carved into them much like ones you knew existed like the heart tree in the Winterfell Godswood. Harrenhal too had it’s own immense godswood and a heart tree, but it paled in comparison to what wonders sat across the lake.

Thousands of years ago, it was said the First Men had met with the Children of the Forest to agree to a peace after centuries of fighting. What agreement was made, none knew, as the First Men seemed to leave no trace of any scrolls, books, or written language behind. Some stories spoke that the Children had used the power there to break the Arm of Dorne, preventing any men to travel to their lands further. Creating what the realm knew now as the Stepstones. A useless patch of rock and rubble squabbled over by pirates these days. Were that true, few knew. Maesters said that storms had broken apart the land and nothing more.

Many had tried over the years to reach such a place, but to no avail. The closer one got to the isle, it was said flocks of ravens drove them off, or were forced away by sudden and powerful windstorms. Those who survived such attempts would sometimes say they saw figures that looked like green men at the shores, but fewer then none seemed to believe them. A mysterious land surrounded by bright blue water and black swans adorning the shores it was a place that sparked the imaginations of many.

Events haunted the memories of this place over the years and yet as you now walked through it’s halls you felt little of it matter. The oddities of Harrenhal tried to seep into your mind and yet you heard and felt none of it.

Olyvar Frey, Robb’s young squire the poor lad was trying so hard to serve you well. But each time it seemed he spoke to you alone it left him more weary then the last, always delivering news you’d rather not hear. This time, a raven scroll. You had enough news for the day.

Two rounds of news came first, word from Riverrun from Edmure Tully to Catelyn. Their father Lord Hoster Tully, a man ill for many years had finally passed. But the ravens carried more news. From the North. Roose Bolton’s bastard had reached Winterfell and found it abandoned, in ruin, and with no sign of Bran or Rickon. Only rumours of bodies of burned boys that some straggling locals claimed were the poor two themselves. With no word of Theons whereabouts, or any terms sent, it was not likely that Bran and Rickon were taken back to the Iron Islands as hostages.

The most likely scenario, is that those bodies of burned boys were them. No matter what yourself and Robb had tried telling Catelyn. Little could console her by now. Most of her children were gone. Her two youngest most likely dead, Arya was most likely dead, and Sansa was still in the hands of Joffery and the Queen. Only Robb remained to her, and now the world took her father too.

You hadn’t known what to say, or even how to feel. Your own mind was cluttered and clouded and there was little that could be said to make any of it right anyways, perhaps you didn’t know how to try.

Instead, you were sought out by Olyvar and handed a raven scroll of your own. In an instant something felt wrong. The sigil was nothing you’d expect. A black sail boat with an onion as it’s banner. Your eyes glanced up to the boy narrowed and on edge, him taking a moment to make his leave. “My Queen.”

Your eyes followed the entire path before looking around you. Men were everywhere, but it would take no time to find solace here. Tucking it away, your feet begun to carry you into the barley warmer indoors until you found an alcove tucked away, of which there were countless. Back pressed against the stone, ignoring the drips of water heard falling down towards your feet and the muffled voices all around you you pulled it back out.

Unfolding it’s contents, you too recognized the writing and your eyes jumped down to the end right away seeing the name etched at the bottom. Marya Seaworth still struggled to sign her name as such, her tendencies to only use her first with those she knew. But, you realized that perhaps she wasn’t writing to you as a lady, but a woman whom knew you well, and knew you needed to know.

It was not the first time members of House Seaworth had gone behind Stannis Baratheons back to send you word of what was happening. Allard did it first. Her and Ser Davos’s eldest son. He had been part of the household guard for the Baratheons of Dragonstone, and when you were very young only three or four, he was assigned personally to watch over you.

From girl to woman you had Allard commonly at your side, and some days he felt down south like your only companion that did not speak to you with ulterior motives. He would write to you at first, and it was him who told you of what your father was doing with the Lady Melisandre. The red woman he said the men had come to call her behind her back. That it was your mother she had convinced first, and none found out until he travelled back to Dragonstone with your father after Lord Arryn’s sudden passing.

But then Renly died, and you stopped hearing word. You didn’t question why, or you didn’t want to know, but this was the first you heard from any since then. Marya was a sweet woman, too sweet to be involved writing you such things. Too sweet to be feeling the heartbreak you now knew Catelyn was also feeling. A mother having lost a son.

Marya wrote to you about what happened in the battle. That Tyrion Lannister had set the Blackwater on fire. A sea of green fire and it, like the dragon fire against the walls of Harrenhal, had melted ships and burned the men in them, alive. And that amongst them, was Matthos Seaworth. Her and Davos second eldest son, and once a friend to you.

A few years older then yourself, he was a scribe for your father and had yearnings to be a knight. Allard spoke that he had bought into this red god without any doubt, and you chilled to think he died thinking fire was the way he was supposed to go. Marya spoke that there was no word that her husband was alive, but she knew men who would’ve told her and they had yet to report such grim news. She had hope Ser Davos was still out there, but where, only the gods knew. But Matthos was dead, no body to even bury, and way of knowing what state her husband was in.

The raven told more though, details Marya herself claimed she didn’t think she should be telling you, but she did anyways, you had never proven to be a traitor for simply standing by your own husband she said. If it came down to it, she’d choose hers over any King any day as well, and she wouldn’t treat you different. That’s how you put together what happened.

Reading over the words, you felt a twist in your gut, and one that didn’t belong to the babe you were still able to hide. Despite such a devastating loss, Stannis had pushed onto the Mud Gate at Kings Landing and nearly got in. That was, until the night was overpowered by the forces of Tywin Lannister, with the strength of the remaining Tyrell army at his back.

You knew Ser Loras, you knew him rather well and didn’t wish to feel ill of his choice or why he made it, but he had gone from Renly’s foolish side, to the side of the enemy all were fighting against. Together, Lannister and Tyrell had pushed back the Baratheons to the sea once more and victory was found for the Lions and the Roses wrapped around them.

Tywin now sat in Kings Landing as Hand of the King, his son set your fathers forces on fire and Matthos included. You felt your jaw tensing along with that feeling inside of you. Eyes dark as they tore themselves up from the raven to the stone on the ground as your hands tensed. Wanting to tear it the way Cersei had Robert’s last words in the Throne Room.

Instead, you steadied yourself. You were better then that, for now. Hiding it away once more, you inhaled deeply as your head turned side to side making sure no one was watching you. A hand running over your face trying to peel off the layer which showed how much was on your mind and truthfully, little was replaced with it. All the news, and this was the most relevant to the war you all fought and yet no one you could confide in felt right to go to.

Robb had more then enough on his shoulders then needing this right now, and the Blackfish had a brother to start grieving for on top of it. But you couldn’t hold it all in, someone needed to grasp what you were putting together. It would cause conflict, what your mind was asserting and it needed to be handled delicately so it did not come out in ill before Robb himself could handle this. Finding your feet, you begun moving through the halls, needing to quietly search out the only counsel you felt would truly listen and understand what you were implying.

Only, you did know one you could hear an answer from what may have occurred. Robb didn’t need to handle this, his grandfather, Bran, Rickon, you wouldn’t steal or force his focus from them, so you took that spot. Searching through what felt like the caverns each looking more grim then the last, as long as you were deeper within and couldn’t look up and see the broken skies you could have tricked yourself into thinking this looked not unlike Dragonstone.

The stone made of black, the vast grand nature of it as if meant to awe as much as it was to make a statement, and it was dour and grey and uninviting no matter where you went. And too, even without the statues and books and decor to remind you, Harrenhal was loomed over by the shadow of a dragon all the same. To what ends, you asked the gods keep that to themselves. You had seen the skulls, that was all of dragons you needed.

Walking down the steps, you nearly thought you may have had to bring a torch along with you the more into the depths you travelled to get to the destination how dark it got with how unkempt so many halls of this place were . Some of the men insisted he could be brought to you, but you rejected the thought. Something about this place made you feel as if you needed to wander. Still recovering from his wounds, you approached the strange man.

Found in the main court which you entered through days before, the men had found someone still alive. Not a soldier of any sorts, but what seemed to be a prisoner when the Lannisters had been capturing people around the Riverlands for information. None of which it seemed helped Tywin get any closer to Robb. How he was planning to beat him on the battlefield now you had no idea.

Being led to the area which the man, a strange sort of man by the name of Qyburn, was recovering, you glanced behind only to signify that you wished to speak to the man alone. “Your grace,” Moving to at least bow no doubt, you held a hand out. Gesturing him to remain seated, commenting there was no need when he should be resting. A chuckle came from him with a wince coming up from his chest. “I’m afraid it is long passed that, with a knife to the throat one becomes beyond comfort.”

Walking somewhat around the small area serving him as a room, you glanced down to his attire and the back up. Almost an expecting look in his eyes. He was a small man, looked on the weak side likely put up not a single fight but somehow survived. Those eyes though, a bit unnerving. As if they were always watching. “The robes, but no chain. I thought all Maesters wore something of a chain they earn.”

“I was one. Once, your grace.” Your brows narrowed, face twisting down into a confusion as he seemed unperturbed with explaining himself further. “I was stripped of my chain, and expelled from the citadel some time ago.” Your voice was short in asking why, but he seemed uncaring of your more stern nature. “They considered my experiments to be on the bold side, and they did not appreciate the findings which came with that.”

He was being purposely vague, which you did not quite appreciate. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a man being thrown out of the order before. They must have been quite the experiments to garner that reaction.” Why you even asked, was mostly for courtesy. He seemed a man more comfortable in his situation then most, and perhaps he would be more open with you if you asked open questions first. “Would that be a story you’re willing to share?”

The look was bright in his eyes, as if recollecting better times despite what would come from his mouth about them. “I would. Being thrown out was a regretful consequence, but I am not shamed of the learning I have found conducting them. I always found myself interested in disease. Curiosity always was my weakness. The need to learn all about it in order to treat it. And the only way to treat disease, is to understand disease. And the best way to understand disease, is to study the afflicted.”

“Study?”

Nodding, your face fell, the feeling in your gut growing more ill but this time with a new wave at the implication you both knew you had come too. “Men who were already dying, who would serve the realm far better allowing me to gain insights on their condition then dying from it and changing nothing.”

Your voice rather flat, arms resting across your chest as you moved little. “I imagine the world will rejoice in their names when you surely give them credit for cutting them open and watching that happens to their insides.” Asking not with a genuine wonder but almost as if humouring you as you were him, if you disapproved. “Do I disapprove of you experimenting on living men to understand what was killing them? Yes, I can say I disapprove of that with some conviction.”

His head leaning back the slightest, he found another route of question as if examining you before his eyes with only your words and expression. “Tell me, my Queen, how many have you killed? Five? Ten? A dozen?”

Your eyes slipped to the side, both of you knew the answer was more complicated then that. Certainly now. Only years ago could you say that number was zero. It was even further away from zero, you had never gotten into such a physical confrontation so seriously before. But the day Lannister men surrounded yourself, Lord Stark and Jory Cassel, that number only increased to one, but it only takes that first to change everything. In near the same instance did Jaime Lannister himself shove a dagger through Jory’s eye, did you make eye contact with him, your own shoved through the neck of his own guard. The blood more prominent on you then it even was him, and he was the greatest swordsmen, or one of them. Then you fought at Whispering Wood, and that number lost count. So you were honest. “I lost track of that along time ago.”

A hum came from his throat as you looked at you, possibly seeing an image of the Lady Baratheon the realm had heard of most your life and finding an image not at all matching. “A rare thing for a woman. Not only to be one to take a life but so many at that.” You made no comment, the weight carried with you all the same no matter the sex. “And how many lives have you saved?”

That came quick. Quicker then he was expecting. “None.” Yet just as fast you changed gears on him, “What can you tell me of the confrontation we came in on the other day? What happened here?” Claiming his knowledge was limited, you cut him off before he could finish. “Limited is better then none.”

Trying to find someone in this castle was a nightmare.

Corridor to courtyard it was endless. As if plucked in the middle of Flea Bottom and told to find one man, even with so much of the castle out of any sort of use. Your patience wearing thin by the time you spotted him locked in a conversation with one which would destroy the rest of that patience. The voice speaking to him falling on somewhat deaf ears as Lord Karstark found your person and a struggle to pretend he had decorum still underneath the anger. “I have my best men on it, if he is out there, we’ll find him.”

Eyes still locked onto you as he responded, “Aye, but what then? We give him a scolding?” His companion turning to see where his attention went and found you. One of them at the least still understood what respect was on some level, a small nod in place of a bow as you approached.

Skipping right to your point, today of all days you did not wish to entertain the anger of the Karstarks. “My lord, if you could give us a moment to speak. Alone.” A glance shared between them before he begun to walk with a grumble just under his breath, only for you to catch the glaring eyes of Harald Karstark, his now only living son left being sent your way before following his father.

If you weren’t mistaken, you’d have thought you were the one who wrapped your chains around Torrhen Karstark’s neck yourself, the way you were being glared at. But, you would take it over any of that ire being sent Robb or Catelyns way in the middle of this such fresh patch of grief.

Left with only one, Roose Bolton gave you his full attention with no hangups to stand behind him at the very least. “Northerners can be as stubborn as our winters, your grace. It will take time for those wounds to heal.” Nodding, your eyes watched the path the men left towards now out of sight before looking back, a curious expression on his face. “But I presume that isn’t why you’ve sought me out this afternoon.”

“No.” Your eyes purposely glancing around to the grim outsides of the sight, most of the dead taken care of which were left out, but the lingering scent of death was never so easily washed out. “What happened here was not at Robb’s command.” Rumbling in a low agreement, already did he begun trying to connect where your own thoughts were. Grateful that as intimidating of a man he was, Roose Bolton was smart and trusting in the world of battle. Quickly rising in the ranks between yourself and Robb as someone whose counsel you both not only trusted but would seek out. Now feeling no different, if not just for the tenseness on him which you could easily attribute the general feeling around all the men presently.

Speaking only enough for the two of you to hear, “If you are asking my thoughts on the matter, I would have to guess that one of the River Lords became a little too over eager, and tried to take on the Mountain and his men themselves. To what ends though, I’m not sure.”

You didn’t confirm the information which Qyburn told you, not to Lord Bolton, but you did have enough to know your worries were indeed, the right ones. “I do.” His brows raised as his face twisted in curiosity, but yours remained stern and rigid as something was holding you back from near speaking through gritted teeth. “Five dead Lannister men for every one of ours, but nowhere along the way did we see any sign of them. Whoever did this, attacked the Mountain and won, and sent them running.” Asking where, your answer lead to a narrowing in his eyes that you both understood. “South.”

More details were skipped, mostly this time such personal ones relayed about the ones you knew in what felt like another life. But what you spoke gave Roose Bolton enough to catch up and his assessment matched your own, as you both could tell you were on the same understanding. “If you mean to tell me you suspect these two events are related, I would have to agree with you. Driving the Mountains forces out of the west would give him enough time to join with Tywin Lannister.”

Finishing for him with a more flat knowing. “Which would give him more forces then Stannis Baratheons, to drive him out of Kings Landing before he could take it.” Your jaw clenched, hands behind your gloves tensing as if to try and dig through the leather and sink your nails painfully into your palms. “My fathers army outnumbered them five to one, even if the Tyrells at his side that wouldn’t have been enough if everything had gone according to Robbs plan.”

Smart man as he was, picking up on how easily you deferred your own part in the plan to Robb alone, and how for everything you were you were so easily willing to give credit to your King instead of demanding the equal share. Sometimes still did you manage to suprise the Northern Lords no matter how close they thought they were getting to knowing you. “I presume you have an idea whom was responsible for this?” You nodded once and quick he was to catch that you were not sharing. If you were right, this for Robb would be far more of a family matter. One which you were not going to throw onto the coals for all to see, Robb could decide for himself how to handle his uncle when the time came, if you were right.

“If I may ask, your grace, of you suspected all of this already, why come to me first and not the King?”

Your expression fell, if not softened the slightest. It was known by this point what rolling news came one after the other that morning for the Starks and Tullys in one blow. Arms crossing more over your front, hands tightening again as if to channel that energy into where you wish you felt a sting instead of whatever conflict sat in your chest. “I needed to know I was right before I brought it to him. He has enough to handle right now without having to put all this together on top of it.”

You both knew what it was you meant in specifics. Roose Bolton had been a great help at Robbs side the entire time from the moment news was sent your way. Ravens had come from White Harbour, Barrowton and the Dreadfort of what Theon had done. What all the Greyjoys had done and were containing to do and it was all a mess.

Theon had raided Torrhen's Square before moving onto Winterfell. Balons own daughter Yara held men at Deepwood Motte, and beyond GreyWater Watch was where Victarion Greyjoy held Moat Cailin. Other pockets of Ironborn were scattered around, but without much organization. It was the Greyjoys themselves holding this together, but it was Theons which was the worst.

A betrayal you felt hurt deeper then you thought, turning swiftly to such an anger that he had done this, that you and Robb had not even hesitated to proclaim he’d die for this. Robb meant it then, you had meant it then, and certainly you both did now. Bran and Rickon. One boy crippled, the other only seven or eight and their blood was now on the hands of someone they knew from the day they were born. You could only imagine how confused they were by it, why Theon had done this.

Did they think the same thought you did? Did Theon secretly hate you all the whole time?

Almost being snapped back into the moment, Roose Boltons voice hit you once more as if forgetting where you even were. “If my bastard had been able to get there faster-”

Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh. Eyes closing only as long as it took for the breath to leave your lungs in a large chunk. “Word hadn’t gotten in or out of Winterfell for months. There would be no reason to kill all the ravens unless he had something to hide. Meaning he was hiding this for a long time. Longer then your son would’ve had to try and prevent it.” A small appreciation could be somewhat found on his face. “No matter what he found when he got there, give your son my thanks. Robb and myself, both. He tried, and that’s all we can ask for with what we didn’t know.”

Almost to part ways, Roose called out just as you turned. Your body pivoting halfway back, “Is there nothing else on your mind?” Your brows narrowed for a moment as he elaborated. “You seem tense, more tense then the present issues at hand alone. If there is anything on your mind, my counsel is always here.”

Your smile was half made and did not reach his eyes, but you ignored the twisting in your gut with a more low tone that didn’t feel very meaningful. “Just a long few days is all, my lord.”

A few long days indeed, but by the end of it, things had changed drastically. And everything, at least between yourself and Robb would be out in the open and no doubt ready to spread throughout the ruins of the castle by sunrise. But in the very moment your mind considered it all, that was really the least on your mind.

“No. We won't talk this out, he dies for this.”

It was almost precisely what was about to come out of Robb's mouth, and yet you beat him to it with a hissing anger and flashing rage in your eyes. He was furious, but once the dust settled he found himself surprised you were as angry as you were. But in truth he supposed it made sense. It was one hit after another for you and Robb knew you refused to talk about it over his angers.

You and his mother seemed to have spoke something in silence that afternoon when she told you of Renly Baratheon's death. She faded her own words off, but your head whipped up to meet her eyes with a morose knowing falling upon them. But you wouldn't handle it from front of all them, so you switched tactics and spoke of the matter solely on a strategic value. And yet before he had the chance to find the right way to approach you about it, did you and Roose Bolton come into the tent he and his mother were in.

He held a look of a stern knowing of bad news, and you were stiff and trying not to show the shaking in your hands as you gave him the raven scroll. You had only read it moments before Robb had, and as Roose explained it in greater detail, the intensity rose tenfold between both of you.

He couldn't comprehend it at first, there was no way it could be true. Half his life he was raised there. Bran, Rickon, and Arya had never had a life were Theon wasn't in, and Sansa would've been too young to recall what life was like before he showed up. Theon grew from a boy to a man right alongside Robb and Jon both. Robb knew his father treated Theon was good as a son as he could have, what right did he have to stab his family in the back for one that hadn't wanted him for over a decade?

It wasn't until late into the night, you fast asleep with your back tucked tightly against his chest, Robb running a free hand up and down your bare hip did it finally make sense. You went into this war in a difficult position. On an opposing side to a father who thus far had not made any attempt to make peace with his daughter. Knowing were you to have sided with Stannis, you'd have been a Princess of House Baratheon, and without being seen as a traitor by him, many all knew he'd have named you his heir in place of a son.

But you gave all of that up willingly. You set all of that aside to stand by Robb's side, and he pitied the version of his life he went through this war without you. You couldn't fight with Robb and your father both, so you chose him, you chose the family that had made you welcome and showed you love without question. You made the difficult choice to set aside what law dictated was your birthright, and stood with the Starks.

It made sense to Robb, that you took Theons betrayal hard. You were now watching the version of your life that you once feared the North would think of you. But you didn't, you stood out as a Southerner, a foreign girl with a father opposing Northern independence, and yet you were Robbs wife, his Queen, the North's Queen.

Theon went crawling back to a family that didn't want him and betrayed everything he was raised with in order to what? Impress his father? What about his father in Ned? What about Eddard Stark's memory deserved to be insulted like this? Ser Rodrick was dead, his brothers then what he could only assume were hostages.

You and Theon had a rough start, but once you both set aside the grudges against the others family, you both were such easy friends. Robb recalled how amusing it was that once you both stopped hating each other, it was as if that chapter of your dynamic never existed in the first place. You were both the outsiders to the Stark family, and your drastic opposites ended up meshing in some amusing ways that created the foundation for a friendship he knew you and Theon both cared a lot about.

In the easy days, neither of you would admit it as such, but if you weren't doing your duties, if you weren't spending time with either Robb or Jon, they all knew somewhere in the castle walls or wolfswood you and Theon were off competing in some fashion or another. Of course this hit you hard, first your uncle, then Theon, the life you once knew was unravelling before your eyes.

It only got worse when you and Robb returned to the encampment, and found out his mother had released the Kingslayer in the middle of the night. Now, you only had each other. Allies and friends were in this army yes, but in terms of who had the others backs in such a close way, you had only Robb and Robb had only you now.

He loved his mother, but there was no denying the rage at what she had done. Maybe he was harsh about it, but there were going to be untold consequences for setting Jaime Lannister free and Robb couldn't afford to risk your life on top of his mens.

And yet, it never stopped getting worse. Robb barley had time to even consider what had happened at Harrenhal yet. Once Roose Bolton came to he and you with two raven scrolls, it felt as if the world was testing if Robb could keep his kingdom together let alone his family. He told you he'd tell his mother alone, that she wasn't going to take any of it well and she might react easier if it was only him.

You had accepted with too much ease, Robb knew something was wrong but so much had piled on both your shoulders, he had not the foresight to guess. So you left him be, and Robb had to deliver the news to his mother.

“I hadn't seen him in years. I don't even know how many.”

His grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun, had been ill for some time, and finally it seemed the end of such a long bout of sickness took it's toll. Robb could tell his mother had spent well over twenty years in the North by now, she held her resolve in front of her son as well as Robb was doing in front of his mother. She'd fall apart later, and he'd fall apart later. For now, Robb had to be firm as he was comforting. “We'll travel to the funeral together. Roose Bolton will garrison here until we return.”

Robb wanted to feel guilt when she asked him, but he knew he couldn't let his personal attachment to his mother over take what she had done. And so he chose not to answer her comment of, “Will I be wearing manacles when I lay my father to rest?”

The answer was no, but he had a feeling that wouldn't make what news he needed to tell her next any better. It needed to be said, and he needed to not dose the words with honey. She needed to hear the truth as you and him were forced to learn it. “By the time Bolton's bastard Ramsay got to Winterfell, the Ironborn were gone. They massacred our people and torched the castle.” Robb paused to let the burning in his lungs try to deflate just the slightest, keeping the waver from his voice. “Bran and Rickon haven't been found.”

His mother found reason right away as he knew she would try. “They may have escaped, Theon may have taken them back to the Iron Islands as hostages. Have you received any demands?”

No, Robb thought to himself. He hadn't. But Ramsay and his men did find something. Something that painted the picture as clear as it could be, and as her son, this was the last news he wished to tell his mother. But as King, he did so anyways. Because amongst the dead they found, there were two bodies which stood out.

Charred, black, burned, and small. One smaller then the other and just the right size, and from the word of survivors which had hidden away in Winter Town, Theon had let them all know too well who such two little burned bodies belonged too.

By the time Robb reached what was acting as his chambers for the time being, he let the tears flow freely in silence. Head handing in his hands as he sat at the edge of the bed. By the time you had gently walked in, kneeling in front of him with your softness and delicate care, Robb knew he only had you left. The agony of losing everything but you hit him rough in his heart.

Until that was you guided his hand to sit against your stomach just under your clothes with a sweet, tender, whisper on your lips. “You have us.”

Not very warm the chambers you were in, even with a fire going all night. The cracks and chunks missing from the walls anywhere meant that nowhere was so in tact that it could keep the warm in. Though, with the fur atop you almost hiding you away under it and the figure behind you, keeping your back pulled firmly into his chest, you seldom needed to think of it as long as you didn’t leave the bed.

But, you couldn’t do that forever. Your legs itched to move and stand and you knew in bed you’d only fidget around until it woke Robb up, but he didn’t make the task simple. Inching ever so slowly out of his grasp and out of the bed, quickly did you find yourself grabbing a long robe. Draping almost against the floor like a gown as you tied it’s front before making your way along the room. Stepping into a smaller shoe then your usual boots to hide the coolness from your feet as well.

Somewhat along the room was a hall, you suspected once a door existed where it stood but none anymore, burned away no doubt. And no inclination to properly fix, your answer as to the question of why coming shortly thereafter. Wherever it once led, it didn’t anymore. A drop off down to the lower levels, bodies from up here looked like ants and sounds were muffled if any voice could carry to these heights.

The air was cool and a set of stones sat between you and below but little else, but no fear was felt surprisingly. The insides of this great structure exposed to you, and yet that didn’t make you feel fear. The bones of what happened once made you angry, but now you knew there was little to be gained in that thought. They were gone, whats left of their power scattered and being fought over by blood. You feared what this war would bring to the ones you loved even more, not dragons long since dead.

Though, there was one more thing you were afraid of, small touches and a deep voice rumbling in your ear out of nowhere. Followed by a flat expression as the voice laughed. Robb tugged you into his back, one hand on your hip and the other sitting flat against your stomach. You didn’t even need to turn to see his handsome smile as he laughed at your jump. Leaning down to your ear, “It’s a dangerous fall from this height.”

Your smile was soft, nor did you move. “Which is why I still have two feet planted on the ground.” That time his chuckle was more in his chest and yet pulled a greater smile out of you. The quiet sat between you only for a moment before it was you who filled the silence. “I’m sorry.” Asking for what, your voice grew a bit more quiet, a bit more somber. “For everything that happened yesterday, I never said anything about your grandfather.”

Pulling you a bit closer, you felt his thumb run over the material over your stomach more in a gentle pattern. “It’s alright, my love. You had more then a few things on your mind too, yeah?” Tilting your head in a small agreement, Robb rested the side of his head against yours as he looked to the sights over your shoulder. “You weren’t the only conflicted one. My grandfather passed, Bran and Rickon are probably dead, and yet I felt the happiest I ever have when you told me. Suppose we’re a strange mix of both.”

Nodding slightly, your hands reached down, pushing up the material along his forearm of whatever he must have tossed on, you let your hands sit along there. Your eyes narrowed slightly as the wind blew somewhat in your direction, a feeling sitting in your heart that travelled down to your stomach once more. How strange it was that you were scared just last night to tell him. A laugh almost leaving you but of course it did not pass Robbs notice. Asking what, you turned your head slightly before leaning back against him almost more for support. “Everything we’ve seen, everything we’ve done and the thing that scared me the most was telling you about this.”

Another grin left, Robbs lips finding the hair at the side of your head before resting against it once more. Something soft on his tongue without any judgment, “You thought I would be mad. You thought telling your husband, who loves you as much as I do, whose always wanted a family of his own, would be mad his wife is pregnant. For such a smart girl, you’re a bit slow.”

Mouth dropping in part mock offence, Robb laughed only to all but yank you back when you tried leaving his touch. Knowing he was stronger then you, but your voice was more high pitched in an attempt to defend yourself. “We’re also at war, in the middle of Harrenhal when we came here expecting a fight. Of course I thought you would be mad now of all times.” Robb didn’t have to tell you he rolled his eyes for you to know, you could simply sense it.

His hand pressed more firmly down. “You could never make me mad. Certainly not about this. It doesn’t matter what happens in this war, we’ll make this work. I was actually thinking-”

You couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. “That’s a rare thing.”

A yelp followed as he pinched the hip he held, you laughing after apologizing as he pushed passed what you said. “What I was saying, is that I was wondering if you should stay in Riverrun when we get there.” Your head tried turning to the side with a furrowed brow, a feeling dropping in your chest only for Robb to pull it back and lull you back down. “We thought we were walking in on a fight. You were willing to fight in this state, but I don’t want to risk it anymore. You’ll be safe in Riverrun, you and my mother.”

Inhaling a bit, you let your hand drift downwards to rest over his hand. Only to have him switch places, Pressing it firmly against your stomach before covering with his own. The idea made sense, it wasn’t terrible, it made sense, but the thought sounded awful in your heart. You didn’t see the benefit for you in being apart from him that way. “What about you?” A hum came out in question behind you. “Your mother and I hide away in Riverrun, what are you doing without me?”

His head jolted back in amusement at you. “You saying I can’t fight this war without you?” You said nothing, which was as good as an answer to him. Holding you closer, you felt the need to grin in his voice. “Aye, you might be right there. I’ll be useless if I can’t have you beside me at night.”

What sleep would you find without him though? Every since you rode through the gates of Winterfell, three days without food or sleep you hadn’t spend a single night away from Robb. He was always there, always with his arms wrapped around you as you fell asleep. Nightmare or not, Robb was there to ease all of it.

The idea of being without him almost felt scary. What would you even do without him there at this point? You dared not want to actually find out. Shaking your head, you knew you had dropped the tone rather abruptly in your silence but Robb could adjust anyways. “I know I’d be safer. In Riverrun, with the baby, but my place is by your side. This war is yours as much as it’s mine too. As long as your fighting in it.”

The hand on your hip reached upward. Running along to cup your chin and turn you enough to look back at him seeking your eyes over your shoulder. “I’m not doubting that. I’m just trying to plan ahead is all. We might still be out here when the baby comes, and I need to know we have a plan.” Commenting that it was still around seven months in the future, Robb just pressed against your hand on his stomach more firmly. “Just wait and see how much I have planned out when that time comes, then.”

You both stood there for a while, neither feeling the need to say anything. The wind blowing just enough that Robb gently pulled your hair behind you off to the side out of his face. You felt his head moving, stretching upwards to gaze around. Taking the sight in, much like all of you took turns doing. All highborns, some more then others, inevitably learned about the fires of Harrenhal. The horrors of that day no matter how much the written texts by once Targaryean supports claimed it was otherwise.

Cursed and destroyed, no good could ever come of this no matter what. Harren the Black spent decades acting as a blight on the River Lords and the smallfolk, but no one thought this should’ve been the end to him, his sons, nor the castle so many people had struggled to help make. Nothing could justify this, and it seemed Robb did too. Mumbling low in your ear, “So, what exactly happened here?”

Face twisting, you more then halfway turned to look at him with a pure confusion, “I know you know the story, Robb.”

His hands wrenching from your body, he grabbed your forearms to turn you back to the sight, wrapping around you once more when putting you in place. “I do, but you’re the Targaryean expert here. I want to know how you’d tell it.” Asking with a hint of jest, questioning his usage of expert. “You know more about them then anyone else I’ve ever met.”

Sighing deeply, you knew he was not wrong. How much you wished it was, how much your head was tormented as a child growing up surrounded by their memories. Even as you walked over the graveyard of their dynasty, your family creating their new one on top of them, you couldn’t escape how much they haunted you and your thoughts. Everything they did and you rarely ever found something to like. “Well, the Great Council was held here.”

Silence was met before Robb muttered low and bemused, “That’s the first thing you think of in this place?”

Protesting with a grin, “To be fair, that involved my family.” Giving Robb pause, he looked down to you asking how. You didn’t blame people for not recalling that fact, it was obscure history and naturally only you would recall it. Head filled with so much information that held no significant anymore. But, you explained anyways. “Princess Rhaenys Targaryean. She was originally up for a claim as heir at the Great Council. Her father was King Jaehaerys’s firstborn son, but her mother was Jocelyn Baratheon. Our blood was meant to be on the Iron Throne through her before the Great Council.”

A grin came over Robb, as you did knowing exactly what conclusion he came to as you did. “Shame how that never turned out for your House. Baratheons on the Iron Throne.” Your eyes rolled, only to turn in his arms to look more up at him. Your hands grasping at his waist, looking down his shirt mostly left open and his breeches just barley pulled on. Perhaps your eyes lingered just a tad too long, his hand nudging your face up to meet his eyes from under your chin with a knowing glint in his bright blue eyes. “See something you like?”

Biting down on your tongue, any clever retort died on your lips before you let your hands drift upwards. Sliding flat against his torso, slightly letting them drift inside his shirt before running up along his collarbones still under the shirt before wrapping around the back of his neck. Robb held a smile, something both smug and yet soft down towards you, knowing he had caught you leering when you had been in such a more serious conversation. “Can you blame me?”

Oh the grin Robb gave you, making something needy in you almost ready to let the robe fall from your shoulders here and now. “My needy little wife.” Seeing a bright look grow on his face, coming to a realization before your eyes that not you had even gotten to yet. “So thats why you’ve been desperate for me for weeks now.” A flush fell over you, painting over your eyes so obviously as it only made Robb lean down with something more smug overtaking everything else in his eyes and voice. “My needy, pregnant wife can’t get enough of her husband.”

Trying to suddenly leave, your feet carried you only a few paces back into the room before Robb followed. Tugging you right back into his chest. “Oh no, you’re not running from this.” Instead of letting both hands stay at your hips, he let one rise up. Sliding down into the exposed loose fabric of your robe, he found your breast with a greed right away.

Grasping roughly as you gasped, your voice stammering in a pathetic attempt to pretend he couldn’t see so clearly how easily he worked you up. “It isn’t-it’s not that bad..”

Seeking your nipple, he twisted and tugged as much he could from the position he was in. His lips running along your check upwards towards your ear as he was warm in both sound and the breathe against your skin. “So if I pull this off,” His other hand now grasping at the tie keeping you dressed against the cool air as you tensed up, but from nerves, need or the shocks pleasured through you as he groped at your breast, you couldn’t tell. “And slip my hand between your pretty legs, I won’t find you wet already?” You knew he knew it was a lie, but you shook your head no to try. Robb only laughed. ‘You’re a bad liar, my love.”

Ever so slowly, Robbs hand grasped at the loose tie around your waist, pulling enough you felt every tug and pull and the fabric as it loosened around your front. A knock at the door however, stopped both of you in your tracks. Eyes flying upwards as a voice spoke muffled through, “Pardon, your grace, a message for you.”

Looking down at you, your eyes wide and trapped between a need he so easily dragged out of you, or a conflict of wanting to desperately asking him to ignore all his duties and strip you bare and take you back to the bed for anything he wanted to give you. Robb though, grinned before pressing his lips to your cheek. “Tonight, my Queen. If you’re good and wait for it, that is.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, a sigh leaving you in a high pitched need before Robb prompted you across the room for you to begin getting dressed. Moving himself towards the door, only opening it enough his figure could be seen as to indicate that whatever was needed would need a moment to get himself together.

It was an odd time for the feeling to strike, that the other lords would need to be told. Catelyn would need to be told. By the end of the day everyone would know, there would be no chance Robb wanted to hide his pregnant wife from his men, proudly wanting to show you off.

Routine at least sufficed for now, standing before him, you were so used to dressing him that neither of you even needed to say anything. He got his under clothes on, and you came to his side to put on his armour. Something at that point, you felt you could do with your eyes closed. His though were open and peeled down to your person. Not reaching out to you to interrupt, but his voice never found reason to hold back.

Robb always ready to fill the air to your quiet, that time a softness and adoration dripping through. “You’re going to have to stop wearing all this.” Your eyes flying upwards, he only flickered down to yourself. “I’m keeping you with me, but if you think I’m letting you anywhere near a battlefield, you are mistaken.” Your head looked up with a flat expression, but he didn’t listen to your silent protest at all. “My mother should have some dresses she could spare for you until we get to Riverrun. Have ones of your own made then that have room for when you start showing.” His eyes looked up as if pausing in thought before looking back down, your hands still uninterrupted at work. “Did the healers tell you how far along you are?”

Your eyes flickered up and back down quickly, your name coming from his lips accusingly. Your eyes down against his chest as you did the straps properly, voice quiet and knowing you’d get into trouble for not mentioning it. “Just over two moons..”

Name coming out more with an audacity, you knew Robb didn’t mean it angrily but he took the tone regardless as if scolding you. “You’ve been pregnant for two months, and you’ve known what? A month of that time and kept it from me?” Muttering under your breath you knew he didn’t hear you, he leaned down, “What’s that?”

Only saying quietly as if to put blame off of you, “Maege has known for a fortnight now.”

If you would’ve looked up to see Robbs face, you’d have seen the most fallen flat expression on him you’d ever seen. Mumbling under his breath with an annoyance you knew he only half meant. “Remind me to have a chat with her later.” Shaking your head with an amusement, you ran your hands along the armour against his arms as it separated from the leathers with a sigh. One signifying a satisfaction in your own work as he glanced down and back to you with a bright expression. “How does a man ever need a squire when he has you?”

A brief flicker of your eyes up and then back down, you only shrugged as you turned to put on a more loose fur lined coat almost too quickly for Robb to even move to do it for you, much to his dismay. Mumbling a bit as you fussed with the clasps at the front, you knew it was something a tad more insecure as it came from you. “It might be a better idea if you’re the one who tells the news to your mother.” Asking why, you felt his presence pace a bit closer but you didn’t look back yet. Still a bit under your breath as if trying to pass yourself off as casual when he knew better. “After yesterday, I don’t think she’d appreciate me coming to her to let her know she is to be a grandmother.” Glancing back up, you let a sigh more come out hoping the nerves left with it, which only marginally worked. “It may come across as insensitive to come from me right now.”

Nodding, Robb let his hands trail down your arms with a warm tone to match his soft gaze towards you. “I’ll handle my mother, you try not to let the men overwhelm you when they find out.” Asking how quickly that would get out, Robb rose an eyebrow as if assuming you should know the answer already, which perhaps you did as he said it. “Once I tell her, the first solider that overhears will tell another-”

Your voice came out much more flat and monotone then his own, knowing the teasing of Northerners coming your way. “Then the entire camp will know by midday.” Robbs head tilted in agreement before letting a hand rise up.

Cupping your cheek as he ran his thumb along the softer skin and tilted you up to meet his gaze as he stepped a tad closer to you. “We’ll make it through this, do you understand?” The words were firm even if his voice had not been, a gentle manner of trying to assure you there was nothing to be scared of. There was, but not for this. Of all things, Robb only wished you not be scared of what was to come with this. But you trusted him without a doubt.

Nodding gently, Robb didn’t say anything further. Instead choosing to lean down, and press his lips to yours. Nothing of greed or even a passion, but something lingering and chaste as you felt him savour the feeling as your hands slid up along his torso to around the back of his neck. His free hand sitting at your waist pulling you closer as he barley allowed himself to part before seeking you out again.

This marriage was nothing either of you expected. Thrusted upon both of you without any foresight that this was coming, you could only imagine how he must have felt hearing of it. You knew yours was less of a reaction and more of a shock.

For years, your father had done all he could to keep you from being pursued by the apparent many suitors which held interest in your name and status. Choosing rather to keep you firmly at his side, learning his trade and skills to one day prepare you to take over Dragonstone when the time came. You weren’t a son, which is what he always wanted, but you were all he had in place of one, and Stannis Baratheon was not a man to leave himself woefully under prepared when he could help it.

You had tried to argue, that he could not just throw this on you, then tear you back here to do his job while he was away when he wouldn’t even explain to you what was going on. For a Baratheon, your father did not often raise his voice, but he had a different tactic with you. A more edge to it that bordered on about to be lectured and it almost sprung something in your head that naturally feared getting on his bad side. Telling you with a deep frustration that he didn’t want to hear another word and that you were doing this no matter what. He had claimed it was the Kings choice and he had none.

The next day you were the only one brave enough to accompany your uncle to the throne room where Jon Arryn’s body was being prepared by the Silent Sisters. Asking in a quiet voice as you both stood to the side, why he was so sudden on this marriage. It was then he told you that it was in fact your father who came to him, all but demanding he make this betrothal as soon as possible. He had already gotten on a boat to Dragonstone then, you couldn’t ask him.

You knew now, why he used you as a pawn to gain the loyalty of the Starks and therefore the North, not that it worked. Only just barley opening your eyes as Robb pulled back, he looked down at you with all the softness you grew up thinking a husband would never show you. It came easy to Robb, as loving him came easy to you.

It had been a very long time since you ever knew something you wanted, but even standing in the blasted ruins of a haunted castle, you could say you had right in front of you all you could ever want. As long as you and Robb had one another now, that was enough. Just as it was enough with the little one between you.

Not all showed perfect respect to your position, but some were more amusing about it then others.

A sudden shout of your name had you turn on the spot some hours later, but not enough before all but being slammed into with a mighty grab. Looking up, the ever bright look in Dacey Mormonts eyes were enough to catch your attention as did her words, “My bloody mother kept this a secret from me for weeks. You trusted her with it but not me?”

A laugh came from you, knowing this was as good as a congratulations to her. “I never really told her, she put it together and I simply never denied it.” Daceys face only dropped amusingly flat, stating that such a thing wasn’t the same as what she meant. Letting an arm stay around you though she backed off enough so you didn’t looked like she was about to tackle you once more. “I wasn’t going to firmly tell anyone without a doubt before Robb.”

Dacey only giving her mother Maege a narrow eyed expression which she clearly read as a question. The later nodding amusingly towards you with a jesting tone, “I tried telling her she’s a fool for thinking he’d be anything but over the moon. Stubborn as all hell this one. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were one of my own girls.”

Sitting you down, more familiar faces begun to gather but it was all in good fun it seemed, teasing you for what seemed the only good news any had heard and would hear for a long time. But it wasn’t the same everywhere, or for everyone.

While back and forths were made at your expense, the air was not the same level of ease in the room Robb stood in. He knew she wouldn’t handle it as well as she might have were their lives all normal as they desperately yearned for, but he had to tell her himself. She’d figure it out and he needed his mother to to be at your side. She half raised you along with his father, Robb knew she deeply cared about you but for many reasons she had let personal feelings get in the way of being there for you the way Robb knew she wanted to.

“She’ll be in danger.”

Robbs voice though raised. Because despite the amount of understanding he could afford her, to did he feel at his wits end going rounds with his mother about you. Some subjects were far worse for his sanity then others, but all aggravating the same. “You think I don’t know that?”

Catelyns face twisted into her own frustration as she turned away. A hand running along her mouth before turning back to her son. “She should stay at Riverrun once we get there.” Robb only muttered that he wasn’t going to hide you away from him the entire war. “She will be safe there.”

Robb turned to face his mother with the hope he looked a bit more collected then full of a nerve then he felt broaching that topic. “Anywhere but by my side she’s not safe.” Catelyn took a moment to look at her son, seeing through his facade as a mother always could and saw the worry in his eyes all too well. Only getting as far as his name when Robb trampled over what would be her consoling to explain himself further with more coherency. “Mother, I didn’t bring her into this fight to hide her away. She’s my wife, and my Queen. I want her by my side, where she belongs.” Gesturing vaguely out to the walls they both knew Robbs men were scattered about. “My men all listen to her, respect her as much they do me. She could’ve gone anywhere, but she rode day and night to come to me when she escaped Kings Landing. I didn’t want to leave her behind then, and I won’t do it now.”

Looking away for a moment, Robb knew sometimes that was hard to consider. Knowing how much this marriage was dumped onto he and you both, Catelyn could almost forget that Robb knew you for near fifteen years before then. You weren’t some stranger, you were someone he knew and cared about but watching how deeply in love her son fell in such a short period of time was jarring he figured.

And it was fast, but Robb knew he has no problem with that. Everything between he and you started fast and he saw no reason to slow that down when you both were comfortable. Your own wedding night, a flustered, shy maiden but you did not hesitate. You knew what was expected of you, and instead of doing it out of only duty, you allowed Robb to teach you how to enjoy it, how to enjoy each other and you never looked back. Why should he? Why slow down when nothing about your lives together would ever give you a chance to do that?

Only when he had you and his child safe in Winterfell would he be able to slow down with you, but he wasn’t afforded that luxury just yet. So he was going to keep the speed you both went at, and that meant keeping you at his side to ensure you both always were at the same pace. Never one maybe leaving the other behind.

But, his mother had a point in her next words. “She’ll be in far more danger when word of this gets out beyond your men, Robb. Both of you will be in far more danger. If the Lannisters hear word that you are to have an heir-”

Robb only cut her off to solely finish her sentence. “They’ll do whatever they can do stop it.” Thinking for a moment, Robb only found himself sitting down. His mother slowly approaching to sit across from him at the small table of her temporary bedchambers. In truth, he wasn’t sure why he said it, but if he could be that honest in front of anyone, no matter their issues now, he could do so in front of his mother.

A furrow in his brow and a roughness to his voice as he said it, not looking at anything in particular. “I thought I’d already be a father by now.” Her eyes flying up to look at her son, but he did not return the gaze. Trapped in a memory of what he wished. “I knew she had to go back to Kings Landing, but I kept hoping she wouldn’t stay. That something would change early and she could come back to Winterfell. Nothing going wrong and maybe I could’ve ended up where I am now by the end of that year at least.” It was a thought, and it was distant and sad but he saw it and he knew his mother of all people would not judge him for it. “They’d nearly by two by now.” Your name coming back up. “Maybe she’d be in the same position, only she’d be pregnant with a second. Make you a grandmother in better circumstances.”

Catelyn let out a gentle huff meant to replace a laugh, the image not too far from the life she truly envisioned for her first boy. Robb had always wanted a family of his own, and while it being with you came as a suprise, all she had wanted for him was what Robb wanted now. For him to have that family, to be together where you all belonged. Not dead or lost or scattered or sworn away to a life never to have a family of their own.

Everything now felt broken, and Robb wouldn’t let go of what was left. And really, what truly was left to him was you and that baby. He loved his mother, but you and the baby were a bright spot on his darkened life. Something hopeful and something that spoke that a future for you all still existed. You and that baby to him were everything and he wasn’t going to leave you behind. Maybe you wouldn’t be safe out here with him, but you’d be together at least.

His mothers voice cutting in, no doubt trying to lighten the mood for his sake. “Do you have any idea what it is yet? Boy or girl?”

Robb only shook his head. “We haven’t gotten that far. She’s two months though, it won’t be long until the healers will be able to make a good guess.” His mother repeating the two specifically with a more narrowed gaze of question that he tilted his head with an answer. “Everything around us, she didn’t realize when she started feeling different until far passed what most women notice.”

He knew she didn’t mean it that way, but she still said it rather dry. “Well, after taking almost two years.”

Robbs gaze turned towards her with almost a glare, “The war has been hard on her.” Not saying anything, he almost now defended his own ability. “It wasn’t for the lack of trying.” Catelyn only gave a bit of a huffing scoff, muttering that she was unfortunately well aware of that.

His mother looked as if she had something more to say, and he knew what. She wanted to say his father would be proud of him, but she had said it once and he wasn’t ready to hear it only months after he was gone. But, he wasn’t ready now either. His mother was to have a grandchild, and he was still fighting a war against the Lannisters who took his fathers ability to meet his grandchild away in the first place.

Robb called his banners to rescue his father, but in turn the gods took him, his sister, and his brothers away from him. The only ones left to share this with were right here, and it was not lost on Robb that he didn’t feel proud of that. He didn’t even know if he’d ever be able to share his new life with Sansa either. With Tywin Lannister in Kings Landing, it was impossible to guess what fate could possibly befall the only sister he had left.

His sisters adored you. Sansa for years now had tried to pretend it was otherwise since growing to her teens, but he knew better. Deep down, Sansa was still that little girl who clung to your leg wanting to beg mother to let you stay and be her big sister forever. She’d be thrilled to be an aunt, but now he dared not think how she would hear that news. What those people must be saying around her of this war and her family, what they were no doubt forcing her to say just to survive.

Robb only had two siblings left to him, and they were the two which he was not sure would ever get a chance to share the new life for this family Robb was building with you.

If anything was true, it was all rather simple for Robb to find you despite being in this place. With the intimidating size of Grey Wind as he always found himself at your side, Robb seldom found it hard to seek you out. Whether he somehow could tell where his direwolf was, or something far stranger neither of you knew how to bring up was going on, regardless, Robb found you with ease.

A hand running along your back to slightly keep you more pressed into his side as Robb came up behind you, you heard his voice address his men with as much collected form as possible considering you knew all day he and you had been bombarded with Northern celebration of their Kings news. “If you could give me a moment with the Queen.”

Much like the rowdiness his father could summon, Smalljon Umber easily carolled the other men and lords up and out. “You hear the King. It’s a big castle, plenty of places to fuck off to.” Not leaving himself though, the just as large man he was like his father, gave a mighty pat on the arm to Robb with a knowing look as Robb only nodded with a held back smile.

Head turning both of you to watch as the last of them fell from earshot, Robb leaned to mutter amusingly in your ear, “Hope they haven’t been giving you the kind of grief they’ve given me.” Turning to him with a curiosity, you only asked what exactly was the kind of grief they were giving him. Robb though, only smirked, turning you to lean you more back against the table as he stood at your front, making you more comfortable as he could manage. “Heard more then enough about how they have no idea why it took you and I so long.”

Raising a brow, your voice was calm as your arms gently crossed along your front. “And, did you also explain to them that being at war makes that sort of thing not so simple?”

It seemed though Robb had an amusement within him. “Oh it is that easy, my love. It’s having it take that was the troublesome part. Not that I didn’t try.” Your gaze filtered away a bit, a fluster wanting to rise up into your face despite how little of yourself you had to hide from Robb at this point. A hand rose up, running along your cheek as you let your hands sit comfortably at his sides. His other sat at your hip, his eyes torn between your face and stomach. “I’m leaving Roose Bolton to hold Harrenhal, he and his men will keep any of whatever scattered Lannisters still out there from coming back here, and we should have everything North secured from them at the least.”

Nodding, your hands felt the need to toy with something, almost fidgeting against his side innocently as if the day had begun gathering up and needing to be expelled somewhere. “Well, at least Lord Bolton suits this place far better then Janos Slynt.” Robbs eyes narrowed a tad as you elaborated. “Commander of the City Watch, a complete imbecile.” Robb only let out a breathy laugh at how plainly you had put it, causing you to look up at him more amused trying to defend your own words. “If you spoke to him you’d agree. Well, maybe you wouldn’t. I’m fairly certain it was just me he had a particular hatred for. They gave him Harrenhal as a reward for arresting myself and your father.” Muttering almost under your breath, “So skilled, having his men do the killing while he held a knife up to the throat of an unarmed girl.”

Looking up and around, Robb only turned back to your attention with a bemused question. “What exactly about this place suits Roose Bolton better then?”

Your answer made him genuinely laugh at how plainly you put it right away. “A cursed ruined castle that everyone fears? Why wouldn’t a man like him suit that?” Robb only saying you had a point, something of the man as admirable to seek as counsel as he was intimidating and off putting to a somewhat fearful degree. You dared not imagine what being at the mercy of a man like him would be should he see you as an enemy.

Leaning you back more against the table in a loungeful manner, Robb let his hands sit more along your waist and hip as he stepped into you with bright eyes. “I was wondering,” Your head turning a bit in wonder not knowing how much he was going to trap you in this spot. “Do you still remember anything in High Valyrian?”

If you thought you could afford to pull away, you would’ve tried. Your eyes and face as flat as you could possible make them. “And why are we bringing that up?” Robb only pointed out the obvious, that this place was now synonymous with the Targaryeans, and he knows you learned their language and he wondered if you were still fluent. “I might be.”

“Say something.” Your voice raised more high pitched but amusingly incredulous with wide eyes to match as you asked why. But Robb only laughed, keeping you close in his hold. “I’ve never heard you speak it before, I want to hear you say at least something.”

“You-”

Cutting yourself off as you looked away with an exaggerated sigh, Robb only grinned brighter knowing he wouldn’t let you leave until you did. “Just one sentence.” Another deep sigh, you didn’t return his touch. Crossing your arms over your chest instead almost like a petulant child asking what he wanted you to say. His answer was just as audacious. “How about my pretty little wife tells me in her foreign language how much she’s looked forward to her King taking her apart tonight?”

Biting down against your tongue, you didn’t want the fluster to arise, giving credence to the fact that he was right and you had indeed been thinking about it. In this state, it was becoming so much more wanting within you to just stay in bed with Robb and focus on nothing else, much to your complete embarrassment over your sudden needs.

“Nyke'll sagon va ñuha ondos se knees syt ñuha dārys, gō kessa sesīr jorrāelagon naejot demand nyke naejot beg zirȳla syt ziry.”

It came out smoother then you thought it would. It had been years since you spoke a word but it came out as naturally as it did as you were fluent. It seemed that fluency did not leave, and what a joy you thought. In no way shape or form did your future entail anything that would make still being fluent in High Valyrian in any way useful.

Robb looked amused though, enjoying the way it rolled off your tongue in a manner which almost held a bit of an accent not yours. The idea taught to you that speaking another language in the accent its spoken in normally, makes it come more fluent and natural to any ears who understand it. “What did you say?”

As if you were going to tell him that. Saying something far more debauched then you’d want to come out of your mouth in Common willingly. No one around knew what you said, you’d rather they not. Prompting you once, twice to get you to tell him, you just laughed saying his name in protest. “You asked me to say something, not to say something you’d ever understand. Maybe I just said you’re a ponderous oaf with a fat head.”

Robb only held more of a smirk and a glint in his eye. “I’ve trained my good girl far too well to worry she’s insulting me in another language.” Your eyes widened as you looked around, but any scattered eyes could not hear you even a little bit. His lips pressing to your cheek before he grasped your chin, leaning down and turning you to face him, his breath dancing across your skin as he muttered lowly, “If I had to guess, my girl just told me how much she wants me to throw her on her hands and knees tonight.”

Your eyes wished to explode from their sockets as you felt a complete embarrassment fill you. “How-”

Robb only grinned with such a smug look that was so enticing on his handsome face. “I know my wife by now.” Before pressing his lips back to yours. Keeping you against him for longer that time, both of you taking the rare moments in such a strange and dour place to feel any happiness. That Harrenhal could ever be a memory of good for anyone, let along yourself and Robb. But as your arms rested along the back of his neck as you kissed him right back, it was certainly so. A place where some good actually arose.

The dreams however, were not. As a night of passion once more between lovers, once sleep fell upon you did strange dreams fill your head. Ones never more vivid then when in the walls of this castle. Whispers in your head as if being spoken to from across the Gods Eye and filling your head with dreams you did not comprehend.

A winged shadow over the skies of Kings Landing, a freezing so cold it shivered your bones in your sleep, and a baby. Dark curls with bright eyes, not green nor blue though, a notable grey staring up at you as did a gentle womans voice whisper in your ear, that you would nearly forget by the time you awoke. As if something about the lands of Harrenhal were trying to show you something far before you were ever capable of comprehending it.

“Promise me, Ned.”

[redtsundere-writes]

Part 17: Everything Is Cursed

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst. Beta read.

Word Count: 6371 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

One question was bothering you. You had been through hell and you still hadn't received your reward. That inquiry was running in circles in your mind. There were many answers, but none were facts. What was happening? Why were you going through it? How long would it be until it was over? Many possibilities, none seemed to be the right one. It was a doubt that arose the morning after the small funeral you prepared for your sister.

There was a small chapel past the garden and crops behind the terrible castle. Its white facade, with a classical curved parapet and a red tiled roof, emanated serenity in the middle of hell. On top of the facade, the emblem of Sukuna’s kingdom rose towards the sky. Vines grew around the open arch that reveals its interior. That small place had existed since Sukuna conquered these lands. With no function for that small building, Sukuna decided to leave it as it was. Sometimes the servants would go there in their free time to pray for their souls in case they didn’t survive another day.

You carefully placed the golden urn with Yorozu’s ashes on one of the shelves. Uraume had given it to you the morning after your little expedition with the king. That morning, you woke up, surprised to be in your room in the castle. Apparently, you had fallen asleep while watching the sunset and the king had to carry you back in his arms. “How embarrassing,” you thought before getting ready for the funeral.

You put on the cap of your black cloak so that no one would disturb you as you dedicated a minute of silence to your sister’s soul with your cheeks completely dry. You had quickly accepted that she was no longer with you and that you couldn’t do anything for her in life. Now the only thing you could do was honor her short life. Everything had happened so fast. A couple of months ago you were crying from happiness to see her, and now you didn’t want to cry from disappointment.

You listened to Kenjaku give his class, but you couldn't pay attention. It had been a week since Yorozu's death and something was missing. The reason why you had committed that atrocity that you wanted to forget but would haunt you for the rest of your life. You tried to pay attention to your teacher, but that doubt kept pulling you into the limbo of probabilities.

“Once you understand your opponent's point of view, it is easier to defend your own position more successfully, especially because that's how you avoid misunderstandings and arguing about aspects that the other side hasn't really said,” Kenjaku explained while writing the keywords on the board. “That's why studying the rival is very important in the debate.” He turned around to find you lost in your thoughts. You looked at the board, but you weren't really reading what it said. “Do you have any questions?”

“Why hasn't the king proposed to me yet?” You asked him, coming back to your senses. Kenjaku looked at you confused.

“I meant about class…”

“Ah.” You quickly read what the board said about the steps to learn how to argue. “I have no doubts about that.”

Kenjaku had noticed your strange attitude for a couple of days now, but as you continued with your education without delay, he never asked you. He thought it was because you were still mourning your sister's death or sad about not knowing the true whereabouts of your sisters. The teacher smiled to himself, just when he thought he could read you like an open book, it turned out that he wasn't.

“So that's what's been distracting you lately?” Kenjaku inquired.

“Did I do something wrong? The king promised to marry me once I killed someone of my kind, but he hasn't done it yet,” you explained worriedly.

“Do you want to marry him that much?” Kenjaku joked tenderly. It was nice to see a girl completely in love.

“Of course,” you answered without hesitation. Your master smiled at hearing you so excited. “My sister died because of that, I better do it.” That was not an answer he expected to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“I lost Yorozu because of that deal. If Sukuna doesn't propose to me, I would have killed my sister for nothing,” you explained, crossing your arms in frustration. “Do you know why the king hasn't done it yet?”

Kenjaku's enthusiastic smile disappeared just like that day when Sukuna came back with you in his arms, completely asleep and, worst of all, without a ring on your finger. The king was stupid for not taking the opportunity to ask you to marry him after all.

“I have no idea,” Kenjaku answered. “Maybe he's been very busy.”

That could be a possibility. You hadn't seen the king as often as before. You used to see him at every meal of the day, in the afternoon when you gave him your daily report, and when he sometimes poked his nose into your education. Now, you only saw him at breakfast time because he spent the rest of the day locked in his office. You couldn't even report to him because he wouldn't let you in. It was strange how everything around you had changed after your sister's death.

"I hope he didn't scam me," you thought, holding your head in guilt.

"The king may be many things, but a scammer isn't one of them," Kenjaku, I assure you.

The door opened, interrupting the teacher-student conversation. You recognized almost immediately the naturally bitter face, the gray hair, and the dull uniform in dark tones. It was that new servant who was so kind to you. All you knew about him had been from Mrs. Inoue, who had told you that he was such a reserved, serious, and somewhat grumpy man. It seemed so strange to you that you never perceived it like that.

“Sorry to interrupt you. The king calls you to his office,” he announced.

“Maybe the time has come,” Kenjaku commented with a smile.

“Finally…” You sighed.

It was strange. Kenjaku thought you would be more excited about marrying the king. You studied complicated subjects that fried your brain, trained until exhaustion, and got ready early to please the king’s eyes. It made no sense for you to work so hard for this moment and not be excited.

Sukuna let them into the office. You and Kenjaku entered after bowing in respect to the king and his right-hand man, Uraume, who stood faithfully behind him. Sukuna’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. He gripped his pen tightly to mask his nervousness at being in your presence.

Returning to the castle after his failed marriage proposal, he carried you to your room as you snored softly. He gently laid you down on the bed so as not to wake you up. He took off your boots before tucking you into bed. He sat next to you to admire your calmness. Your chest rose and fell slowly to the rhythm of your breathing. Your eyelashes stood out more when your eyes were closed. Your half-open lips invited him to come closer to kiss you like that night you spent together. “Enough!” Sukuna scolded himself in his mind to stop and immediately leave your room so you could continue your dream.

Since that night, he realized that he can’t think coherently when he iswas near you, so he decided to take immediate measures so you wouldn’t distract him when working. It was frustrating how your mere presence could upset him like that. He had to fight with all his instincts to concentrate on what mattered most now, the future of his kingdom.

You and Kenjaku approached the desk. Quickly, you noticed a large black box with a gold engraving of roses on it. It was almost as long as the desk. That must have been the reason you had been called. It seems that this was not what you were expecting.

“Open it.” Sukuna ordered you.

You looked at Kenjaku for a second, worried about what might be inside. Your master patted you on the back a couple of times, inviting you to come closer. You worked up the courage to open the box without a hint of fear. The latches clicked open at the same time. You lifted the lid to reveal the immaculate treasure.

A beautiful rose gold bow that radiated a special aura against the light. Your mouth dropped to the floor as soon as you pulled it out of its box, along with its matching pink-dyed leather quiver. You never thought you'd see such a beautiful weapon in your life. You pretended to load the bow with an imaginary arrow to test it out. It was lighter than the one you had before, and you could tell it was made with the best quality materials. As you lowered the bow, you noticed a small detail. In the small hollow of the handle there was an engraving, a small daisy. You smiled at the cute detail. You thought it would have a rose, since it was a common symbol in the Sukuna kingdom, but daisies are cute too.

“It's a cursed bow,” Sukuna explained, catching your attention. “That means you can kill curses with it. Keep that in mind when you train with my soldiers.”

“What's the difference from a normal bow?” You asked curiously.

“This bow is infused with the cursed energy from Yorozu’s body,” the king replied bluntly.

“Are you saying that part of my sister is here?” You stammered. Everyone in the room could tell that you were about to burst into tears.

“Yes,” Sukuna replied in the same tone.

You hugged the bow to your chest as you sobbed softly, hiding your face behind your hair and the upper limb. A pang of guilt attacked Sukuna’s chest. He really thought you would like his gift, since you deserved a cursed weapon made especially for you, but it seems he was wrong.

“Thank you…” You sobbed. “Thank you for giving me something to honor her life with.”

You looked into his eyes with tears running down your cheeks and a nostalgic smile on your face. Sukuna’s heart quickly skipped a beat as he realized the true reason for your crying. His lower hands, hidden beneath the desk, clenched into fists to control himself. How could you play with his feelings without even trying? Sukuna Ryomen, the king of curses, the powerful tyrant and the commander of thousands, was being corrupted by a mere mortal.

He hated these feelings you caused him. You made him so embarrassed he looked like a tomato, you annoyed him so much, but he couldn't get mad at you, and now, you could manipulate him with a simple smile. He would lose his temper when he was around you and that drove him crazy. If you wanted, he would be in the palm of your hand. He had to keep you as far away from him as possible to prevent the situation from getting worse for him.

“Just go train already,” Sukuna ordered in a grumpy tone, turning his gaze to an empty document to avoid seeing you.

It was a shame he hadn't asked you to marry him yet, but the king really did look busy. You could see the physical effect that being locked up in his office for so long had caused. He had purple eye bags, his posture was stiff, and his eyes scanned the document lazily. “Maybe later,” you thought disappointed before taking the quiver with pink feathered arrows.

“Yes, my king,” you replied with a bow to leave.

“We must leave then,” Kenjaku made you second.

“Who gave you permission to leave?” Sukuna ordered him.

The master was surprised at that. You and Kenjaku shared a confused look, but you decided to obey the king so as not to cause any more inconvenience. Your legs walked as quickly as possible, closing the door behind you as you left the office. Sukuna’s hands relaxed as he no longer had to keep his emotions in check. After making sure you had already left, Kenjaku approached the king.

“Why so secretive, my king?” Kenjaku inquired curiously.

“It’s not a secret, it’s just that she’s not ready to know what I’m planning yet.” Sukuna got up from the desk to take one of the scrolls that were displayed on a bookshelf. He unrolled the scroll with a snap to reveal an updated map of the great world they knew.

It was a large map made from parchment and black ink with wonderful detail. It showed all the important kingdoms and places of interest that made up the world. The Kingdom of Sukuna and the Kingdom of Jogo were to the west, the kingdoms of Gojo, Geto and Yaga; to the north. The kingdoms of Zen'in and Nanami; to the east, and finally, the Kingdom of Tsukumo was to the southeast. Currently, the great tyrant owned the east and planned to expand soon.

"I'm going to declare war on the Zen'in," Sukuna announced, pointing at the large territory with his finger.

Kenjaku looked at him impressed, but not surprised. He knew that one day the king would not be satisfied with keeping the infested lands with only curses, so he would go to conquer human lands. Kenjaku glanced at Uraume out of the corner of his eye, who had not said a single word the entire time they were there. He expected nothing less from the shadow of his majesty.

“Wow, how ambitious,” Kenjaku commented while looking at the map. “May I know why you made that decision?” He returned his gaze to the king with curiosity.

“The Gojo Kingdom and the Geto Kingdom are allied, so an invasion could be complicated with my current troops. The Nanami Kingdom, Tsukumo and Yaga are small but distant. They will be my next targets once I have the Zen'in.” Everything the king said made sense, but there was still a small kingdom that was at the equator of the world to consider.

“What about the Kamo Kingdom? It is small and right in front of the Jogo Kingdom. It is the perfect target.”

“How many times have Commander Mahito and his troops tried to kill them?” Sukuna asked him seriously. Kenjaku gulped at that indirect accusation.

“I have already lost count, my king,” he answered, embarrassed by his comrade.

“They may be a small kingdom, but they are stupidly powerful. They are watching their lands at all hours for living so close to the Jogo kingdom. If anyone is ready for an invasion, it is them.” Sukuna explained. "As this is my first invasion into the heart of a kingdom, I have spent all this time carefully choosing my first victim. Because once I do, the other kingdoms will know what awaits them."

"If you have already decided, I am ready to obey your orders as always." Kenjaku gave a bow of respect that Sukuna completely ignored to look at the window.

"My plan will be carried out once I secure the life of my heir, in case everything goes wrong," Sukuna explained. "During that time, you will take care of the troops of the Jogo kingdom."

"And what about the education of the miss?" Kenjaku asked worriedly.

"I already have that covered." Sukuna answered.

"So what is the first step?" Kenjaku inquired.

“Wait for the Zen’in to make the first move.”

You left your room after finishing getting ready for the day of training that awaited you. You had decided that from now on you would use Yorozu's dresses to train since they were lighter than yours, perfect for moving with complete freedom. Archery is a sport that requires complete mobility of the upper body, so it is annoying to wear elegant dresses that require a corset. You were heading to the courtyard, moving your shoulders in circles to warm up on the way, until you ran into that kind servant. He was dusting off an obsidian vase propped on a marble column with great laziness.

"Did everything go well with the king, miss?" The man asked you when he noticed your presence.

"Yes, he gave me a new bow." You showed it to him to show it off. He was amazed to see it.

"It is very beautiful. It is made with the best fiberglass and carbon. It must have cost the king a good fortune." He explained as he took it to examine it carefully.

“It's obvious that you know about this,” you said, somewhat surprised, taking back your bow.

“Of course I know, I was a hunter before I was a servant,” he replied.

“Really?” You asked, fascinated. The gentleman was going to answer, but another servant, who was passing by, intercepted their conversation.

“Wasuke, leave the lady alone and get back to work!” The servant scolded him angrily.

“Shut your mouth, idiot!” Wasuke replied in the same tone.

That sudden change in attitude took you by surprise. Now you understood why Mrs. Inoue said he was a grumpy man. One moment he could be a kind man and, the next, someone extremely rude.

“In fact, he is working. He is going to help me train,” you defended him. “Isn't that right, Wasuke?” You gave him a knowing wink.

“Of course, miss.” He gave you a slight smile when he realized what you were planning.

The other servant rolled his eyes and walked back the way he came, muttering insults under his breath. Typical attitude for an 80-year-old man. You and Wasuke looked at each other knowingly before smiling at each other as if you had done some mischief.

“I shall warn you that I am a very strict master,” Wasuke warned you.

“Just what I need,” you told him. “My name is Y/n,” you introduced yourself with a bow of respect to your new master.

“Everyone knows who you are,” he joked. “My name is Wasuke Itadori. It will be an honor to train you.” You had a good feeling about this.

Wasuke shouted encouragements at you while you barely did push-ups. As soon as you reached the parade ground, he told you that you were the weakest woman he had ever met in his life, so he forced you to do different exercises to strengthen your arms, shoulders, and back. Your weak muscles could barely support the weight of your own body each time you climbed up, keeping your back as straight as possible. You sweated, even in places you didn't know could sweat.

“Lift that neck, lady! Even a little girl can do 30 push-ups!” Wasuke yelled at you, small drops of saliva escaping from his mouth every time he opened his mouth.

“That's what I'm trying to do!” You complained between moans of exhaustion.

“I don't want a try, I want you to do it!” Wasuke spat. “Three more!”

With the little breath you had left, you lowered your body. The grass tickled the palms of your hands, but that wasn't going to stop you. You climbed up with your back straight and then lowered yourself again. This was more complicated than it seemed. Wasuke kept yelling at you to finish the simple exercise with a good grade. When he said he was a strict teacher, he meant it. You did the last push-up and collapsed to the ground. You groaned in pain as you breathed in the freshly cut grass.

“Get up now,” Wasuke ordered you. You reluctantly obeyed. “Now you are going to hold the bow in front of you for 5 minutes.” That sounded simple.

You took your bow, extended your arms in front of you and held the weapon with both hands. All was well until your limbs began to shiver from the exhaustion of the previous exercises. You tightened your grip on the bow to keep it from slipping from the sweat. You didn’t think you could last 5 minutes like that.

“Can I ask you something?” You tried to distract your brain from the exercise so that time would pass faster. “Why are you here? You look quite young compared to everyone else.”

Unlike the other servants, Wasuke was the youngest of them all, like you at the time. Most servants were between 60 and 80, he looked to be under 50. He had gray hair but still had dark hair, wrinkles from age, but he didn't look like a raisin, and sometimes he didn't hear well, but he was still strong.

“Do you want the truth?” He asked you. You nodded.

The truth was something he had a hard time telling. He was always a good liar to protect his family, especially his daughter. He didn't want her to live in fear because of living in a commune that was in constant danger of being attacked by a curse. His lies were the cause of his only daughter's giant curiosity. 

“My daughter died because of a curse. My wife committed suicide because she couldn't bear the mourning," Wasuke confessed with all the sadness in his heart. "I was a coward and couldn't follow the same path. That's why I'm waiting for the king to decide when it will be my time to join them." Your heart broke when you heard that. It was a tragic fate to suffer. "It's only fair that I too die at the hands of a curse. It's the price I must pay for not protecting my little girl." 

You knew perfectly well what he was talking about. There is no worse feeling than the helplessness of not being strong enough, fast enough, or smart enough to protect what you love. You had lost your family by not being able to fight adversity. You couldn't even protect that child at the harvest for a day who was killed by your lack of courage. You tightened your bow again, this time, out of frustration that both of you had to go through that.

"I'm so sorry," you stammered. You didn't think his answer would be so heartbreaking.

“Don’t apologize. Life is cruel by nature,” Wasuke sighed.

“Still, I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I know what it’s like to lose your family.”

“I know, Miss.” 

Wasuke remembered seeing you cry and scream at the sky for your sin of killing your own blood. He had never seen a person suffer so much physically, emotionally, and psychologically. Even though he was behind the strong walls of the castle, a giant window separated them, and he had a deafness problem, he could still hear the powerful wails of your soul in mourning. Your palms open like books, the blood splattered on the canvas that was your body, and your face in sorrow. It was such a powerful image that he doubted he would ever forget it.

The loud bells woke them both from the memories of their sad pasts. It was the alarm announcing an invasion. This was the second time you had heard it in your time in the castle, and you had an idea of ​​who it could be. Several armed curses ran towards the castle entrance through the battlements that were on the walls, while incoherent instructions were shouted to you.

“Don’t let him pass!” A strong-bodied curse ordered as he summoned a dark screen that slowly covered the entire castle.

“We must go!” Wasuke asked you before taking your arm. You were going to follow him, but you remembered what Sukuna told you on your first day of training:

“In case of an invasion, you will need a cursed bow that allows you to use special arrows to kill curses and use it against sorcerers.” You tightened your grip on the cursed bow he had recently gifted you.

“You go. I will stay here as reinforcement,” you told him, removing your arm so he could leave alone. “Tell everyone to prepare to escape if it gets worse.”

“Are you sure, miss?” Wasuke asked.

“It is an order,” you said, sure.

Wasuke looked at the entrance one last time and nodded, accepting the order you had given him. He returned to the castle at a quick pace to do what he had just been asked to do. You looked ahead before pulling an arrow from your quiver to load your bow. You were completely alone in the courtyard, as all the curses were either outside the castle or on the perimeter. You could only hear the war cries of the curses. You gulped, shaking at not knowing what was going on the other side. You had an idea, but you weren't sure.

The screams turned into wails in a moment. You gripped your bow, mentally preparing for your turn to engage in battle. Though, you were sure you wouldn’t be alone. There was Kenjaku and Uraume to fight next to you. Sukuna can defeat any enemy in the blink of an eye. He would take down this strong foe, wouldn’t he?

The curse screen dissipated into the air, announcing that this curse was annihilated. The chains of the drawbridge began to jingle, and the castle gate swung open. The large bridge fell into place, the ground beneath your feet rumbling. It shook you completely, staggering you in place. You tightly gripped your bow and aimed it at the invader. “A man?” you thought, faltering in your shot.

A tall man, great posture and immaculate aura, walked in confidently, leaving all the curses behind, turning into ash. His spotless black boots thudded against the thick wood, announcing his arrival. His splendid bottle-green military uniform had several gold medals decorating his chest, a black leather belt, and dark pants. He smiled proudly as he combed his blonde hair with black tips back with his fingers.

“Oh?” He stopped upon entering, staring at you in disbelief for a second, as if he had entered the wrong house by accident. “Where is the white-haired guy of questionable sex? He is the one who always greets me,” he asked, confused.

“Did you kill all the curses?” You asked, surprised to see so much ash evaporating into the air.

“You must be new.” The man smiled and confidently approached you. Not knowing his intentions, you stretched the string to load the bow to its limit, but this did not make him stop. “It is a very large weapon, do you know how to use it? I could teach you.” He spoke to you as if you were stupid. You frowned further, this stranger's attitude starting to bother you.

You had recently realized that people like him were the type you disliked the most. Self-centered people who think they can do whatever they please. Yorozu had given you the tools to deal with people like this. You forgave her because she was your sister, but him? This guy was a complete stranger to whom you owed nothing.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” You questioned with the most demanding tone you could fake, you had copied it from Sukuna from hearing it so much.

“I am Commander Naoya Zen'in,” he announced himself with a proud smile. “So I was right,” you thought.

You had only been a servant in the castle for a short time when you heard that name for the first time. You were washing the king's long robes in the backyard with a few other maids. Your fingers were beginning to wrinkle like they do from being in the soapy water for so long. The quiet and the voices of the gossiping maids kept you company. The little peace of the task was interrupted by the alarm bells that echoed throughout the castle. You stopped at the strange noise, having no idea what you were supposed to do.

“An invasion,” one of the servants announced, surprisingly calm.

“Do you think it's Naoya Zen'in?” Another servant, one who had been in the castle the longest, asked, somewhat excited.

“Winter is almost over, most likely,” Her coworker answered, wiping her hands on her apron after finishing her task.

“Who is Naoya Zen'in?” You asked them, butting into the conversation.

“A very handsome commander from an enemy kingdom who comes every year to deliver a letter to the king,” the first one answered. “Let's go see him,” she invited you to go with them to the entrance of the castle.

“No, thank you. I still have to finish washing this,” you politely declined.

The three ladies quickened their pace to find out if it was the man they could see annually. You looked at them curiously. “Was that man so attractive that you had to see him in person?” You wondered. Now you were curious to see this man, but you had a task to finish. You dipped your hands into the soapy water again to try to remove the stubborn blood stains from the king's white robes.

Now you understand why this man caused such a stir among the maids. Someone with such a presence had not been seen since Geto Suguru's corpse appeared in these parts. You looked towards the window that overlooked the great hall, a small group of ladies greeted Naoya from the safe point. The flattered young man returned the gesture.

“Women being women,” he sighed with a big smile. “Anyway, I have an important letter from Zen'in.”

“You can give it to me and leave,” you told him without lowering your bow.

“I think you don't understand your position as a female,” Naoya came closer without a hint of fear nor respect for you. “You're not going to be able to stop me.”

“No!” You shouted, making him stop at the loud objection. “You're the one who doesn't understand.” You lowered your torso so that the arrow's trajectory would change from his torso to his face. “One shot, and you're a dead man, commander Zen'in.”

Naoya smiled at the offense. Not because of the clear threat of death, but because a woman thought she could be a match against him. You and your pink bow were nothing compared to him. A replaceable servant couldn't be in front of a great commander of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the world. He was about to teach you a lesson, and it would be the hard way.

"Are you sure you don't want me to save you? I doubt a girl as weak as you would survive long here," Naoya offered, giving you one last chance to redeem yourself.

"I don't need you to save me," you spat angrily.

"Fine," Naoya pulled a knife from his back, spinning it in the palm of his hand to wield it. "Whatever you say."

You let go of the rope when you clearly saw his intentions to hurt you, and the arrow flew into his face. He dodged it with his knife before lunging at you in the blink of an eye. Before you knew it, he was already on top of you and his knife was already at your throat. It had all happened too fast. You had no idea how he had reached you so quickly. The blade swung down as Naoya's smile grew wider. You raised your hand to deflect it, but it wasn't going to make it in time. It came so fast that you couldn't even close your eyes to await your fate.

Out of nowhere, a gigantic fist sent Naoya flying, completely away from you. The powerful commander ended up being slammed into the nearest wall. Naoya groaned in pain before falling to the ground. You were perplexed at how bizarre that had been. You touched your neck on instinct, you didn't have a scratch on it. You sat down on the grass to look around for your unexpected savior.

At first glance, he looked like any other human, but up close, things were different. He was a curse with skin covered in stitches as if his body was made of patches. He had long, blue-gray hair that reached past his neck, and was divided into three large locks with bows at the ends. He also dressed like any other human. He was wearing a black shawl that separated into three pieces on the left sleeve and matching pants with white shoes.

“I'm just arriving, and they're already welcoming me with a sorcerer to kill, how fun!” The curse exclaimed as excited as a child in the park.

Naoya stood up with difficulty, dusting off his uniform. You stood up in the same way to retrieve your bow and load it with another arrow. You approached the curse with confidence, since it had saved you, even if it had only been for its own entertainment.

“Are you okay, miss?” The curse asked you with a big smile without taking your eyes off Naoya.

“Yes, I am fine. Thank you,” You told him, along with a small bow. “Who are you?”

“My name is Mahito, I am the commander of the Jogo kingdom. You must be the lady that the king ordered me to protect.” He introduced himself. “Did the king ask you that?” You asked yourself surprised. “So let me take care of this stupid sorcerer.”

“Who are you calling stupid, you fucking curse?!” Zen'in exclaimed before launching into combat for a second round.

Mahito pushed you away suddenly to transform his arms into two tentacles with dozens of knives on them and run towards his fast opponent. Naoya's knife challenged Mahito's along with the clicking of metals. The curse laughed as if it were a game, angering Naoya even more for underestimating him. They were both moving at speeds your eyes could barely keep up with, but you loaded your bow with another arrow anyway. You tried to aim for Naoya, but he was stupidly fast and Mahito was in the way. “Maybe it’s best I don’t get involved now,” you thought with some disappointment.

Mahito changed one of his tentacles into a large sword that fell on top of Zen'in. Naoya barely dodged it, his breathing ragged from the cursed energy he was expending by keeping his technique active for so long. "Who is this guy?!" He thought annoyed before moving away with a couple of backflips until he landed on his feet.

"Fine, you win..." Naoya took the envelope out of his jacket and threw it at you like a ninja star, landing on the grass in front of you. "Just for today," he said before running towards the nearest wall to climb it and escape.

"Oh, not so fast!" You exclaimed annoyed before pulling the rope.

You looked for a target before he left your sight. You focused on his back, which was the area that was free, as he climbed the wall as if he were an agile ant. You let go of the rope and the arrow flew through the air. Naoya saw it coming and dodged out of its path, but the arrow unexpectedly changed its trajectory and stuck in his back. Naoya bit his tongue to stop himself from letting out a cry of pain and continuing on his escape route. In less than a second, he had disappeared from your sight and Mahito's.

"Ah, the king is going to scold me for running away!" Mahito whined, disappointed in his efforts.

"How come that arrow didn't stop him?" You asked yourself confused. Clearly, it hit him, but he still slipped out of your hands like a damn cockroach.

"Those Zen'in have a very strong pride. That's probably what it was," Mahito complained. "But you're very good." He gave you a thumbs up. You smiled slightly.

You looked back at the card that was lying on the grass. You picked it up to examine it. It was a brown envelope with the Zen'in Kingdom's crest stamped on a wax seal at the opening. A purple orchid on the stamp decorated the envelope, giving the package a more elegant touch.

“Gimme that,” Mahito snatched it from you, ready to open it.

“You shouldn't open it,” you warned him. “It's for the king.”

“It's from an enemy,” Mahito said as he looked for a way to open it without destroying the contents. “It could contain poison, activate some bomb or a weird technique they made up. Believe me, these Zen'in are capable of anything.”

Mahito pushed you roughly to get you away from the possible threat. You had no choice but to listen to him. This was an unusual curse. He had a playful attitude, very different from what you imagined a commander should have. You covered your ears as soon as he finally opened the envelope, in case it was a bomb. Instead of a glass or smoke bomb, it turned out to be a confetti bomb. It shot towards Mahito's face, surprising him immediately, as a colored piece of paper fell into his eye.

“Oh!” You quickly approached him. Mahito rubbed his eyes in an attempt to get it off. “Let me see,” you asked.

You grabbed his chin and pulled his hands away to meet his different eyes, since his left eye was navy blue and the other, gray. Even though it was a strange looking curse, his eyes were very pretty. You blew into his eye so that the paper flew away. Once near the tear duct, you reached for it with your thumb to remove it completely.

Your touch was very kind and warm. Mahito was so used to humans treating him so badly that it was a little uncomfortable for him that you were treating him so calmly and with such appreciation. He now understood why Sukuna had chosen you as the future queen, you were a special human.

“That's it,” you smiled at him. “What does the letter say?”

“You read it, my eye hurts,” Mahito reluctantly gave it to you, rubbing his injured eye.

You opened the envelope to check its contents. You thought it was a declaration of war or some important meeting, but no. Nothing like it. Your mouth dropped to the floor as soon as you saw what it was.

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[jeonginsleftcheek]

The sun to me

Chapter XI. Keep.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

word count: 5.7k

chapter summary: a love so great it appears in the reflection of a tear, in the sound of hushed voices and three words exchanged between lovers that bring a deeper meaning to the thread that connects.

warnings: lots of kissing and sweet nicknames(again), multiple sex scenes, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (again), choking, creampie, public sex (there's no one there), hyunjin is a bit possessive

~ Masterlist for the series

~ next part

🌹 Rose - true love, romance

The door slams loudly with the wind as Hyunjin's sneakers squeak on the clean wooden floor.

Isaac's head snaps from his newspapers as he looks up and sees the boy who's supposed to be staying at his house, seemingly in a rush as he looks around and scratches his head in thought.

"Oh, look who's here."- Isaac sighs with a warm smile, putting the newspaper down on the table.

Hyunjin lets out a chuckle, running his hand through his hair and smoothing it out a little.

"It's me, I'm here."- Hyunjin wiggles his fingers in a funny manner as Isaac motions for him to come closer.

"At least give me some time of the day and join me for tea."- he says. "Unless you're going to see your darling."

"Well, I was... I was actually gonna look for some paints I wanted to use today at her shop."

"Is she working now?"- Isaac asks and Hyunjin nods.

"Then, join me for a little while."

"Of course."- Hyunjin smiles as he sits down next to Isaac.

"So, tell me, how are things going?"- the older man asks as he pours a cup of tea for Hyunjin.

"Perfect. Almost too perfect. But I have this nagging feeling inside me, because I know at some point, I will have to leave this island and I don't think y/n would leave her garden behind, even for me. Besides, I would never ask that of her, I know how much she put into it and the flower shop. It's like asking her to choose between me and her precious flowers."- Hyunjin quickly shakes his head.

"You said once before you'd like to stay here."- Isaac remembers.

"I did, but I have a gallery to attend to. God knows what Charlie has done with it by now. It was always my dream to open up a gallery of my own and have exhibitions of my art there. To have people come in and admire my work as well as work of other artists whom I admire. It's all I ever dreamed of, a life of art."- Hyunjin talks with a wistful look on his face.

"And what is your dream now?"- Isaac asks and your smiling face, your warm hands, your sweet lips swirl in his mind instantly.

"Y/n. She's my dream."- he smiles and Isaac lets out a quiet chuckle.

"There you have it, the end to your dilemma."- he says and Hyunjin looks up from his cup to him.

"Listen, if two people are in love and willing to work on their relationship, nothing can come in their way and make them fall apart. I believe in both of you. As I came to know you, I realized you're both strong individuals with strong hearts that have endured hardships in their lives. What you need is a little warmness and kindness and if that's all you have for each other then there are no worries! You can conquer the world together so an ocean between you shouldn't mean a thing."

Hyunjin chews on his lip a little as he thinks about Isaac's words, a flicker of hope burning wilder inside him.

"Thank you, Isaac."- he smiles.

"No problem, son."

Hyunjin makes his way to your flower shop with a promise on his lips.

You're tending to your dear flowers, an unwavering smile on your face as you touch their petals and inhale the sweet scent.

Footsteps approach your shop and as they enter, you know it's Hyunjin, you have it engraved in your mind, even the sound of his footsteps ring familiarity in your soul.

"Hey, flower."- his arms wrap around your middle before you can even turn around to see his face.

"Hey, lover."- you melt into him instantly as he holds you tightly, inhaling your sweet shampoo and kissing your neck and shoulder.

"Did you wait for me too long?"- he says as he lets you go so you can turn around to face him.

"No, it's okay. I had to take care of some things around the shop anyways."- you say as you wrap around each other.

Hyunjin forgets to answer when your lips are closer to his and he gives into temptation, closing the gap between you and kissing you until you're breathless.

His hands grip at your waist as you hold the back of his head, fingers tangled in his soft hair.

"The shop is open, by the way."- you mumble as he presses you against the shelf, the flowers above you like a crown for the most beautiful queen.

"Mm?"- Hyunjin smirks, leaning in to kiss your neck.

"Anyone can come in."- you grip his hair a little as he kisses you harder.

"Mm."- he mutters against your skin.

"You'll have me tonight."- you chuckle and he leans back with a pout on his face.

"I want you all the time."- he says cutely.

"You have me, Jinnie."- you gently grab his face, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs.

"Always?"- he asks, something loving flickering in his eyes.

"As long as you want me."- you smile.

"Always it is then."- he gives you a big smile and you kiss him lovingly, unable to contain yourself.

Soon enough, Hyunjin is sat at his easel as you take care of your flowers.

He paints, his hand tireless as he creates yet another vision of you he had in his mind, capturing it on the canvas, to make it last forever, always etched in time.

When you finish with your flowers, you sit down and read your book next to Hyunjin as he paints.

Nothing could ever be better than sharing comfortable silence with a lover you feel safe with.

You feel more and more encouraged every day, Hyunjin's affection lifting you up to the sky and making you feel as if anything is possible.

One look at his smile and you know he feels the same.

Come evening, Hyunjin and you are at your house again, exchanging kisses and stories as the two of you sit on the couch all comfortable after dinner.

"Love, there's something I'd like to do."- he starts, his hand on your cheek, caressing you as you hold each other close.

"What is it?"- you ask.

"I'd like to paint you nude. Would you let me?"- he asks, voice low and a wave of electricity runs through you.

"Of course. I'd like that."- you smile. "Now?"- you add, chuckling.

"If you're comfortable, then yes."- he nods.

"Give me one more kiss and then I'll let you know."- you smirk and he smirks back at you before he leans in and gives you a passionate kiss.

Even the slightest touch drives you insane and makes you burn up for Hyunjin, and when he kisses you so ardently, you can't help but melt into him, arousal already pooling on your panties.

"Was that enough to convince you?"- Hyunjin jokes and you giggle in a haze.

"More than enough."- you say and the two of you decide to go to your room for the painting.

Hyunjin sets up as you slowly strip, feeling a bit self-conscious out of nowhere.

"What is it, my love?"- Hyunjin notices you struggling as you wrap your arms around your naked body to shield yourself.

"I just... feel a bit self-conscious. You can see everything."- you mutter and he gives you an endearing smile as he makes his way to you.

"I've already seen everything."- his hands are on your face as he makes you look at him.

"Yeah, but this is different. You'll have to stare at me as you paint me. And then you'll notice every blemish and-"

"And I will admire it and worship it."- he says as he kisses your forehead.

"Jinnie..."- you pout a little as your heart beats faster and he chuckles.

"You're my goddess, there's nothing I don't admire about you."- he smiles genuinely.

"Okay, if you say so. Sorry for being like this."

"You don't have to apologize for your feelings, darling."- he says as he takes you to the bed.

You smile and kiss his lips, his cheeks and his jawline.

"If you keep doing that, I will toss the painting out and just take you."- he smirks and you giggle as your face heats up.

"Okay, I'll be good."- you tease as you sit on the bed. "So, what position do you want me in?"

Hyunjin bites on his lip, as he lays you down comfortably into the pillow and puts your arms on either sides of your head.

He spreads your legs slowly, one of them falling off the bed to reveal your pussy to him.

You swallow as you look up at him, the tender touch is leaving you shivering and wanting more.

Your hair is splayed around your head like a halo, your lips parted as you look at Hyunjin with eyes full of love.

He almost gives in and lays his body on yours but somehow he comes to his senses, only leaning down to kiss you shortly.

"Beautiful."- he smiles and you chuckle.

Hyunjin sits behind his easel as you make small talk while his eyes travel from your naked body to his canvas.

Silence covers the room like a warm blanket as Hyunjin concentrates and you're melting into the bed, feeling so relaxed and comfortable that you almost fall asleep.

"Love? Are you sleeping?"- Hyunjin chuckles and you jolt.

"No, no, I'm here. I'm present."- you say and he lets out a little giggle before he gets up.

"Maybe I need to wake you up a little."- he states as he sits on the bed.

"Mm. How will you do that?"- you smile at him blissfully as he sits down next you, his hand on your knee.

You gulp as he slowly slides it up, fingertips touching your inner thigh.

His other hand is gentle on your breast before he squeezes it.

"H-Hyunjin."- you whimper as he touches you and plays with your nipple.

"You look so alluring right now."- he looks at you darkly, his fingers coming up to touch your folds, glistening with arousal for him.

Hyunjin touches you gently, getting you to breathe faster and lose your mind slowly as he plays with your clit and nipples.

As you get more and more wet, his fingers slip between your folds as he pushes only the tips in teasingly.

"Ah!"- you moan as he grips your breast.

Just as your eyes close, the stimulation stops and you whine as you look at him.

"Jinnie..."

"Sorry, baby, I have to finish my painting."- he smirks. "But as soon as I'm done I will give you all my attention."- he promises.

"Okay."- you pout a little but let him go back to the canvas so he can continue.

You're now fully aware of the breeze that's coming from the window touching your sensitive nipples, and the arousal dripping between your legs, and the way Hyunjin's eyes are dark and concentrated on you, mapping out every little detail of your body.

You thought you would feel scrutinized but you feel so vunerable in a good way, like you're only his and he loves every little thing about you, it's all for him to admire.

"Jinnie... Are you done soon?"- he can hear the neediness in your voice and he can't deny you the pleasure you crave anymore.

"Just a few more finishing touches but that can wait."- he says as he gets up. "My flower needs me, hm?"- he asks.

"Yes, I need you so much."- you whimper and before your brain can even compute what's going on, Hyunjin is on his knees, pulling you towards the edge of the bed, your pussy right in front of his face.

"Oh."- you let out a gasp and see him smirk.

Always gentle and taking his sweet time with you, Hyunjin surprises you as he dives in immediately, his lips attached to your lower ones as he kisses you, lower lip dragging on your wetness before he finds your clit and sucks on it.

"Ah! Hyunjin!"- you whimper at the onslaught of his lips and tongue making out with you as he holds your legs open, hands pressed in your inner thighs, leaving imprints on your skin.

The greedy, slurping sounds are sinful and arousing only resulting in making you even more wet as Hyunjin drinks from you, his saliva mixing with your sweet juice.

"Oh my god."- you whimper as his tongue works his way inside you and he laps at you like a man starved, and you feel his fingertips pressing on your entrance.

Arching your back off the bed, you whine his name loudly as he pushes his fingers inside your heat to his knuckles, working them together with his tongue.

You let out a broken moan at the stimulation as he gives it his all, sucking on your clit again and pushing his fingers all the way in, filling you up deliciously and finding that special spot inside you that makes you see stars.

You lose yourself in the pleasure, shaking and lifting up to meet his hand, your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, as you explode and release on his face and hand.

"Jinnie!"- you moan his name as he kisses you once more.

He hovers over you, his fingertips on your parted lips.

"Open up."- he says and you open your lips, letting him push his fingers in, and you lick at them, cleaning them up and tasting yourself.

The sight of you slightly choking on his bony fingers as you look at him like he's some kind of god makes his legs turn to jelly and his cock twitch in his pants.

"Good girl."- Hyunjin praises you as he pulls his fingers out, leaning down to kiss you sloppily, his tongue deep in your mouth, asserting his dominance.

You gasp for air when he pulls away, grabbing at his arms.

"I need you."- you whine.

"You need more, baby?"- he smirks and you nod.

"Yes, please."- you say quietly.

"Anything you need."

Hyunjin takes off his shirt as you admire his toned physique. He looks at you lustfully, sliding off his pants and boxers.

You lick your lips at the sight of his hard and leaking cock, made just for you to use as you please.

He tugs on his length a few times before coming closer to you.

"I wanna see you on top of me, my goddess."- he says, voice dark and low.

You sit up and give him a lazy smirk.

"Make yourself comfortable, lover."- you whisper, fingertips grazing his neck and collarbone.

Hyunjin sits up in the pillows, his whole body on full display for you as you crawl over to him.

Your legs are on either sides of him and you hover over his cock, your palms planted on his chest.

You slowly rake your fingers down, and he arches into you, his eyes fluttering and he looks at you with hooded eyes.

You can feel every shiver of his body under your touch and you know you have the same effect on him as he does on you.

You grab the base of his cock, running the tip over your folds.

"Please, baby stop teasing me."- Hyunjin whines and you giggle, teasing his length just for a few more moments, before you finally slide down on him, slowly taking his whole length, little moans spilling from your lips.

"Mm, that's it, my flower, take all of me in."- Hyunjin groans as he grips your hips and pushes up into you.

"J-Jinnie."- you cry out as he fills you up perfectly, it's almost too much and you grip his shoulders.

"Take your time."- he whispers, hands running up from your lower back up, then down on your waist, to your ass as he grabs handfuls of it, pulling you on him and making you grind.

You start moving slowly after you adjust and he observes you the whole time, holding your hips, his eyes looking into your soul, then to your parted lips, then down to your breasts, bouncing slightly as you take him gently.

He pulls you into a kiss, and it gets more heated the more kisses you exchange, your mind and body buzzing and screaming for more.

You start fucking on him faster, needing to feel him deep inside you, all of him, and he helps you bounce, meeting your movements with his.

"Hyunjin!"- you moan his name as he hits your spot.

"Ah, my rose, my beautiful rose."- he moans as he fucks up into you, driving you even more feral.

"I need you, I need you deep inside me."- you bounce harder, making the bed creak and Hyunjin grunts loudly as he digs his nails into your hips and lets you use him.

"Take me, my love. Take all you need. Devour me."- he keeps moaning as your hands wrap around his neck, something primal waking up inside you as you drip on his hard cock, using it for your pleasure and Hyunjin looks at you with eyes full of admiration.

You squeeze his neck a little, making him whimper as he grips your hips even harder, probably leaving bruises there as evidence of the passion shared between you.

"I- I can't hold it much longer, flower. I'm gonna cum."- Hyunjin whines.

"Cum inside me, lover."- you say and he gasps a little, hands on your ass, gripping it again.

"A-are you sure?"- he looks at you sweetly, with puppy eyes and his lips jutting out.

"Yes, I want you to fill me up, Jinnie. Make me yours forever."- you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Fuck, okay I'll make you mine forever."- he groans and fucks up harder into you.

Your vision blurs as you scream, throwing your head back and cumming all over his cock, his name on your tongue.

Hyunjin explodes inside of you before he can even control it, the feeling of his warm cum filling you up makes your eyes roll back in your head.

He grabs onto your breasts as you keep moving your hips on him, overstimulating him.

"Mm, y/n, my muse."- he whines and his lips attach to your nipple, sucking on the sensitive bud as you tangle your hands in his hair, gripping it a little, his cock slowly going limp inside you.

His arms wrap around you as he lays his cheek on your breast and you wrap your arms around him, caressing his head gently, running your fingers through his hair dampened with sweat.

The moment is sweet and quiet as you stick to each other, not wanting to leave the embrace that's full of safety and love.

Suddenly, you feel something wet on your skin and hear Hyunjin sniffle.

"Hyunjin?!"- you panic, grabbing his face and lifting it up to make him look at you.

Your heart breaks when you meet his eyes, big and glassy, hot tears sliding down his cheeks as his lips tremble.

"What's wrong?"- you're still in panic mode as he isn't answering, your thumbs catching his tears.

"I love you."- he says like it's been weighing on his soul, like he waited for an eternity just to utter those three words to you and now he has found relief.

A wave of warmness travels through you, hitting your heart with an explosion of love for the man beneath you.

"I love you."- you say sweetly, giddily, gently, like saccharine is dripping from your very lips and Hyunjin's face lights up with a big smile, almost as that of an innocent child, their soul still untouched by everything bad in the world, heart still pure and unbroken.

Hyunjin starts chuckling happily, his plump lips kissing you everywhere they can reach, making you laugh as you hold onto him and endure the loving agression of his kisses.

"I didn't mean to cry."- he shakes his head. "I'm just overwhelmingly happy."

"I know, lover. But, you can cry in front of me if you need to, don't worry about that."- you smile, holding his face in your hands like you're holding the whole world.

"Thank you, y/n, you're so wonderful to me."- Hyunjin almost cries again so he buries his face in your neck and leaves kisses on your damp skin.

"You don't have to thank me."- you smile as you kiss the top of his head.

The same night as your tired limbs tangle together and you find home in each other's arms, hushed voices repeat those three words until you both fall asleep, hearts full and eyes teary.

It's just around 5am when Hyunjin squints his eyes, tilting his head at you as you bring him a cup of coffee.

The morning air in your garden is crisp and welcoming after a warm night under the blankets with Hyunjin's body pressed against yours.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."- you chuckle, pinching his cheek and leaning down to kiss his forehead.

You're about to move away but Hyunjin is quick to grab you and keep you in place, his arms enveloping you as he buries his face in your tummy and whines.

You giggle, your hands on his head instantly, giving him pats and caresses.

He says something into you, sending vibrations through your stomach that tickle you and you laugh.

"What was that?"- you ask and he looks up at you, his chin still leaned on you.

"Why are we up this early?"- he pouts.

"I'm taking you to my last favorite hidden place here."- you smile.

"Oh really? I almost forgot you were my tour guide."- he smiles cheekily as you play with his hair.

"Your tour guide got distracted."- you smirk.

"The distraction was worth it, though."- he says and pulls you down for a kiss before he releases you so you can actually eat breakfast and drink some coffee.

Hyunjin wakes up after that, and the two of you prepare some picnic food and stuff you'll need.

"You're not telling me anything?"- he asks with a cute pout.

"Nuh-uh."- you shake your head and kiss his pouty lips.

"What if I bribe you with kisses?"- he asks and you laugh.

"I'd enjoy your attempts but you'll see it when we get there."

"Give me at least one hint. Cause I really feel like I've seen it all."- Hyunjin whines.

"Okay, we're using a boat. Delmar lent it to us."

"Oh? Who's gonna steer it?"- he asks and you smirk.

"I am."

"I didn't know you could do that."- Hyunjin gasps with a smile.

"Well, now you do."- you say and he shakes his head in disbelief before giving you a sweet kiss.

"Alright, lead the way captain!"- he salutes you and you laugh as the two of you walk out of the house.

You talk quietly on the way to the pier, not wanting to disturb the silence enfolding the sleepy island.

"I'm gonna need a little help."- you say as the two of you arrive to Delmar's boat. "I need you to pull the boat towards the pier."

"Okay, I can do that."- Hyunjin nods quickly, stretching his arms a little and rolling his sleeves up.

He grips the rope and pulls, grunting a little and you bite on your lip as you stare at his arms.

You let out a giggle and he turns to look at you.

"Am I funny?"

"No, you're hot."- you wiggle your eyebrows.

"Oh."- he smirks.

"But you're funny too."- you nod and he pouts at you jokingly.

"Okay hop on, captain, I can't hold this forever."- Hyunjin says and you laugh as you see him struggling a little.

After you're both in and moving, Hyunjin sits close to you as you steer the boat.

"What?"- you yell slightly over the loud sound.

"That's kinda hot."- he says and you laugh, shaking your head.

Both of you enjoy the view after that, and Hyunjin feels excited about where you're taking him.

"We're here."- you say as you slow down and a small island comes into view, even smaller than the one you just left behind.

After you successfully moor the boat and get out, you walk out to the beautiful and almost untouched beach.

"This isn't technically on the island, but it's one of the smaller islands surrounding ours that is uninhabited. There's only a few birds and insects here and of course plants."- you chuckle.

"So I thought I'd show you a place I discovered on my own, per se."

"We're completely alone here?"- Hyunjin chuckles and you nod.

"That's it then. This is Hyunjin and y/n's island. No one set foot here or they will be destroyed!"- he says, pointing at the sea with his brows furrowed and lips pursed.

You burst into laughter, smacking his arm in the process.

"Okay king Hyunjin, let's go find a nice spot to sit down and watch the sunrise."- you snicker, linking your arms together.

"Yes, my queen."- he smirks and kisses you as the two of you walk on the beach.

After you find the spot, you take out the blanket and Hyunjin snaps a few photos of the island.

"We could take a walk later?"- he asks and you nod.

"Mhm. After the sun is fully up. There's lots of woods here and I don't wanna get lost in the darkness. I mean, it's always darker amongst the trees."- you say as the two of you sit down.

"Okay, I don't wanna get lost in the woods either. Are you sure there isn't a serial killer hidden somewhere around here?"- Hyunjin adds and you laugh.

"Baby, this isn't a horror story."- you say.

"What kinda story is it?"- he smirks, scooting closer to you and wrapping his arms around you.

"A love story."- you answer.

"I like those kinds of stories the most."- he smiles and kisses you.

"Mhm. Me too."- you mumble against his lips. "Are we watching the sunrise?"- you snicker as he keeps kissing you.

"We are."- he chuckles and pats the space between his legs. "Come here, darling."

You sit between his legs and lean your back on his chest, your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you, and you lay yours on his and play with his fingers, tracing patterns on his skin, fingertips touching the soft hairs on his arm.

He kisses your cheek and jawline gently, holding you tighter.

You watch as the sun rises, bathing the sea and your faces in a golden hue. Hyunjin closes his eyes for a moment, his mind turns the scene into a lovely painting, that the two of you belong in, one that people would admire and wish they'd had a love like you do.

You spend some time in that warm embrace before you move away as the sun moves higher in the sky and you take out some food and coffee.

Sketching together became one of your favorite activities to share and you try to sketch Hyunjin only to end up frustrated because nothing can capture his beauty.

He notices you frowning and huffing to yourself, so he looks up from his sketch of the beach.

"What's wrong, my muse?"- he asks.

"I'm trying to sketch you but you're too beautiful for my poor skills of sketching faces."- you say annoyingly and Hyunjin can't help but laugh.

"You are way more beautiful than me, my sweet flower. My paintbrush could never capture the perfection of you."- his hand cups your cheek and you lean into his touch.

"Sweet talker."- you smirk and he giggles.

"You love that."- he wiggles his eyebrows and you know he's right.

"I love you."- you say making his heart dance again.

"I love you."- he says it sweetly, moving closer to prove it with his kisses.

Your sketchbooks lay forgotten on the side as the two of you lose yourselves in each other, hands roaming everywhere, bodies craving to get closer and closer, lips stuck to one another's.

Hyunjin pulls you into his lap and you feel him under your wet core.

"H-Hyun-" - you whimper as he pushes his hips up into you.

"There's no one here."- he says, his lips relentless on your sensitive neck.

"I know, but-"

"I need you."- Hyunjin whimpers desperately as his hands grip you.

"I need you too."- you cup his face and kiss him passionately.

He slides your dress down to reveal your breasts, kissing them, licking and sucking on your sweet nipples as his hand travels between your legs.

You lift up a little to let him touch you as you throw your head back and moan quietly.

Hyunjin moves your panties to the side, fingers on your wet folds and pressed in to your clit, his movements driving you insane as you grind on his fingers.

As he leans back to look at you, eyes dark and hazy, your hands travel to his pants and you pull them down with his boxers just enough to reveal his hard cock.

You wrap your hand around him, thumbing his slit and playing with the pre-cum, smearing it on his head and down his twitching length.

"Mm, baby."- Hyunjin moans, biting on his lip as he leans on his hands.

You're so desperate to feel him inside you that you can't wait anymore so you lower yourself on him.

"Ah, y/n! So warm and tight."- he whimpers as you clench around him.

"Jinnie... My Jinnie."- you moan, arms wrapping around him, clinging to him as your emotions start wilding inside you, your body and heart burning up only for Hyunjin.

"Yours, only yours."- he holds onto you equally as desperately as you fuck into each other slowly.

You both lose yourselves in the moment, desperate for each other and Hyunjin is going crazy, every single movement brings him immense pleasure.

All the times he wanted to love, but found it hard to do so, with you it was so easy, it was easy to love you and every cell in his being screams your name as he flips you over, making you squeal in surprise.

"J-Jinnie!"

"I can't hold back, my love."- he pushes his cock back inside you and you take it, fitting him so perfectly inside your warmness, shaping around him and making it a home for him, forever only his.

"Don't hold back. Fuck me. Fuck me, Hyunjin."- you burn with desire and his eyes roll back.

"Ah, when you talk like that..."- he growls as he brings your knees up to your shoulders.

He starts pounding into you hard, harder than ever before as brings his whole weight down onto you, his cock hitting the deepest spot inside you where no one else has ever been before.

"Ah, fuck, Hyunjin, ah-" you moan and babble as you grip onto the blanket under you.

"You're mine, flower. Only mine."- he growls as he grabs your breasts, squeezing them and fucking you even harder.

You can't even form a sentence anymore as he fucks you senseless, the only word on your lips is his name.

"I'm gonna worship this pussy forever. It was made for me, made to take my cock."- he says and you whimper loudly.

"H-Hyunjin!"- you moan as you cum around his length, driving him even more insane when you clench around him so wetly and perfectly.

"Shit!"- he groans and pulls out, giving a few tugs to his wet cock and cumming on your breasts and dress.

Hyunjin takes in the erotic sight of you as you come down.

Your legs relax as you breathe hard, eyes filled with tears of pleasure.

Hyunjin catches his breath and his arms are around you instantly.

"Are you okay, my flower? Was I too harsh?"- he asks with concern on his face and you quickly shake your head.

"No, you were perfect."- you say with a smile.

"Yeah? So you liked it rough?"- he smirks and you smack his arm.

"Shut up."- heat rises to your cheeks as you try to hide from his cheeky smile.

"Aw, don't be shy now."- he says as he gently grabs your arms. "You can share what you like with me, I wanna fulfill all your desires, y/n."- he adds, kissing your cheeks.

"Mm. I wanna fulfill all your desires too."- you say.

"You already do."- he smiles and kisses you gently.

"I'm sorry I ruined your pretty dress."- Hyunjin adds when you part.

"It's okay, I can wash it."- you chuckle as he helps you clean up.

After the two of you are clean and dressed, Hyunjin leans on your chest and holds you tightly.

"Play with my hair!"- he whines and you chuckle at him and start running your fingers through his hair.

You enjoy the sweet moment before you decide to get up and round the island, as you walk and hold hands, the beautiful nature around you inspiring your souls and Hyunjin captures you surrounded by it's beauty on his camera.

You come back to the beach and sit once more to eat.

And you finish first, your eyes glued on Hyunjin's pretty frame.

You can't believe this man is yours.

Your hands can't help themselves as you reach out towards him and start caressing his cheek with your knuckles.

He looks at you with a mouthful of sandwich and you laugh.

"Cute."- you pinch his cheek and he whines.

"Is this a black onyx stone?"- your eyes fall to the necklace adorning his neck.

"I have no idea."- he says and you chuckle. "You like it?"

"Mhm, it looks pretty on you."- you say.

"It's gonna look even prettier on you."- he smiles, wiping his hands on a napkin as he's done eating.

"What?"

"I want you to have it."- he unclasps the necklace.

"You don't have to-"

"No, I want to, really. Please, I'm happy to see you wearing my clothes or jewelry."

"Okay."- you smile and lift your hair up so he can put the necklace on you.

"There. Beautiful. What's mine is yours, my flower."- he smiles at you sweetly.

"Likewise."- you smile back.

As you make your way back to the island, bathed in the sun and full of happiness, Hyunjin knows he'll soon have to tell you and burst the bubble the two of you fell into.

He'll have to tell you that he's leaving.

Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @lemonadeboun