#SO WHEN I WATCHED THIS. I DIED ON THE INSIDE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 2 days ago

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Bruhhhh. I read this just as I woke up and it left me so fucking hit and bothered. 😭😭😭😭 I legit di my chores and was in the middle of watching a movie when I realized I still had yet to come back to this and I just want to say I am not the same person I was 1 fic ago fucking hellll what the fuck.

You say a quick prayer to the Mother as you gaze at the moon, praying for your sister’s safety during her pregnancy; praying that this one would carry to term and that the Seven would bless your sweet niece Rhaenyra with a little brother or sister.

ARRYN READER?! you had me at this honestly. I have not yet read an arryn!reader fic and it's so girlie pop refreshing we love to see it

She better than me. I simply would have jumped him again

As per usual, though, your ever-observant husband was one step ahead of you. His toned arms wrap around you and pull you up, until you’re sitting in his lap, your legs on either side of his muscular thighs as you straddle him, balancing yourself by holding onto the rim of the tub as his hands remain on your waist, “It is the prince, is it not?” He asks slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving your own.

First of all [obscene noises], second of all HES SO BIG DICK ENERGY SUCH A DADDY SUCH A GIVER CUZ WHAT DO YOU MEAN IS IT THE PRINCE HELLO

“Husband,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut as you mewl into his neck, the lavender scent of your bath oils filling your lungs, “Oh, Gods!” You moan, your aching bud catching on the head of his cock.

FUCKING hell fuck

“I imagine I shall see Prince Daemon in the training yard today,” he had softly cooed, a warm hand tenderly caressing your cheek, “If I do, I shall speak with him about our…offer. See what he says.”

😭😭😭😭😭 HE SO JDJDJDJDKSKSKSKKSKS I WOULD SUCK HIS DICK LIKE YOURE GONNA GET ME THE PRINCE FOR MY BIRTHDAY FUCK I WOULD PAY TO SEE WHAT THEY TALKED ABOUT FUCKKKKKK

What if he thinks me perverse?

🧍‍♀️ bestie. That men bred not 1 but 2 of his nieces

You know this is nonsensical — [...]

YEAH calm ur tits

“Konir sagon ñuha gaomilaksir,” a deep, smooth voice answers from behind you. You gasp, whipping your head around just in time to see Daemon step into the courtyard, dressed in his familiar dark metal armor, Dark Sister hanging from his belt, “Ñuha riña.” He nods simply. (That would be my job.) (My lady.)

THE WAY THIS HAD ME SCREAMING (CREAMING) AHHHHH

“To ride Syrax!” She giggles, “She’s getting big and the keepers say she is almost ready!”

🥺🥺🥺 my baby girl. My baby girl

“Nothing to worry your pretty head about,” Daemon chides, shaking his head with a small smile, “Just some news from the council, nothing that would be of interest to you,” he continues quickly, waving his hand dismissively before nodding his head to the old stone archway that leads back inside the Keep, “I need to speak with your aunt quickly, run along to the dragonpit. I’m sure Syrax would appreciate a treat before we begin training.”

HES SO COCKY AND FULL OF HIMSELF. I NEED TO BE FULL OF HIS COCK

“Ser Harwin approached me earlier this morning in the yard,” he starts, eyes sweeping over your body like a predator eyeing its prey, “Vēttan nyke iā jiōragon.” He smirks, watching you blush under his gaze. (He made me an offer.)

I WANT TO KNOW I WANT TO BE A FLY ON THE WALL SO FUCKING BAD. HE MADE ME AN OFFER GOT ME LIKE

(I am legally obligated to say that I fucking hate this gif but love it so much every time I use it it's so fucking horrible and hilarious I loathe it HAHH)

“Consider this my agreement,” he says proudly, gaze straying to the neckline of your gown, “I’ve been asked to arrive at your chambers at the hour of the owl,” his lilac eyes meet yours once again, “Is this acceptable, naughty girl?”

GNAWING AT THE FUCKIN BARS OF MY FUCKING ENCLOSURE HELLO?????

“There’s no need to be so formal,” he chides, reaching forward to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, “Certainly not with the way we’ll be so intimately acquainted later this evening,” he steps back again, still smirking, “You may call me Daemon…or sir.” He adds, noting the way it makes you squirm.

HES SUCH A LIL SHIT SUCH DIPSHIT ENERGY IM GONNA WRECK IT

“Ser Harwin,” Daemon drawls, looking your husband up and down as he strides into the room, cocky as usual. Finally, his eyes land on you and you can’t help the small fizzle that takes hold in your belly at the way he stops suddenly in his tracks, his eyes glazing over as he looks you over, “My lady,” he says softly, nodding at you as he stalks closer to where you stand, feet still planted firmly in the carpet, “Ȳdra daor ao jurnegon gevie.” (Don’t you look beautiful.)

NSJJSNDJSKSKSN IM SO FUCKING SORRY FOR REQUOTING YOUR ENTIRE FIC BACK BUT THE IMAGE OF DAEMON WALKING IN FUNDAMENTALLY SAYING SUP BRUV & HEY BEAUTIFUL IS SO FKDKKDNSNSNSNSJ

“He says I am beautiful,” you tell your husband, translating the Valyrian for him, an act that is second nature for you now.

KSJJSSJS I LOVE HOW THEY LOVEEEE MDKDKSNJSJSKSJSJ NAURRR 😫😫😫😫😫

“Oh, hush,” the prince dismisses, prying his hand from Harwin’s grasp with a tsk, “She’s enjoying it, naughty little thing.”

“You told me, yes,” Daemon interrupts, giving your husband a pointed look before shifting his gaze back to you, “However, it is her nameday. I believe she should get to decide.”

HES SO SASSY I WANT TO KNOW HOW HARWIN PROPOSITIONED HIS FUCKING WIFE TO HIM PLEASEEE

At that remark, Daemon looks at you with great interest, making your cheeks heat up as Harwin helps you remove your robe, draping it over a nearby chair. He turns around quickly when he hears you gasp, only to see the prince laving his tongue over your nipple again, mouthing at it through the paper thin lace of your nightgown, as one of his hands busies itself with your other breast, palming at it desperately; his other hand visible through the thin material of your gown as his fingers tease at your center, brushing through the slick folds with practiced ease.

Just as your husband's fingers speed up within you, Daemon traces tighter and tighter circles around your eager bud, his mouth growing more insistent on your breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth, sucking it harshly into the warmth of his mouth.

DONT MIND ME I JUST HAVE TO REQUOTE ALL THE SCENES THAT MADE ME CREAM MY PANTS

“What a naughty, dirty girl,” the prince teases, fingers only leaving your bud once your legs had started to twitch from the overstimulation, “Peaking over the fingers of two men,” you whimper as your husband carefully removes his fingers from you, face flushing when he immediately takes them into his mouth, licking off the evidence of your arousal, “No better than a common Flea Bottom whore.”

🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡YES SIR WHATEVER YOU SAY SIR THANK YOU SIR SORRY SIR

“She is a good girl,” Harwin corrects him, hands lovingly stroking over your body, “For peaking exactly when I commanded her to. Such a good, obedient girl.”

I WOULD CREAM MY PANTS HES SUCH A GIVER HES SO SOFT HES SUCH A SOFT DOM I WOULD GIVE HIM 100 BABIES

“Please…” you start softly, finally finding your voice, “Please, husband, sir, please may I have my nameday spankings?”

SCREAMMINNGGGGGGGGGGGG SHE LIKE ME FRRRR SHES SO ME WHO IS THIS DIVAAA

“Pretty little cunt,” Daemon quips, smirking when he hears you whimper as he spreads your cheeks apart, hands gripping you hard enough that there are sure to be fingerprint sized bruises, “Wetter than the Narrow Sea.” He remarks, chuckling as he runs a thumb over the slit of your heat, marveling at the way your slick remains connected to his thumb by a thin thread for a second as he pulls his hands away.

“N-no,” you say tearfully, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, “I want to, please.”

SHES SO ME A FULL BLOWN MASOCHIST

Harwin has Daemon pushed against the wall next to the bed, one of his forearms pinned down across his chest to hold him back; Daemon looks enraged, his teeth bared as he stares down your husband, “Unhand me, Strong.” He growls.

I WOULD CRY BUT ALSO TOUCH MYSELF BUT ALSO CRY AND CREAM MY PANTS AND SO MANY EMOTIONS BIG DICK HARWIN COMING THROUGH

Daemon whimpers.

DAEMONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN FUCKIN GGG HEELLL DAEMON MY BRAT SUB HES SO ME I WOULD NOT MAKE IT I WOULD MOAN AND BEND OVER AND BEG AND

He’s quiet for a second more before a teasing, nearly sinister smile slowly spreads across his face, “She likes being spanked, you say,” he starts, putting more pressure on Daemon’s throat, “And you, your grace, like being choked, don’t you? Nothing more than a common Flea Bottom whore, right?”

GAGGGEEDDDDD JAW ON THE FLOOR HARWINS SUCH A GOOD DOM HARD DOM STERN DOM SOFT DOM I NEED HIM PLS FUCKING HELL

You’ve never heard your husband use that tone before, so deep and threatening, it makes your thighs clench, a soft breath escaping your lips.

GIRL YOU AND ME FR MOVE OVER IM TRYNA GET RAILED BY FUCK AND FUCKER

“Come now,” Harwin shoves him a little, just enough to make him jump, “Answer properly.”

Me and daemon, except one of us is more in denial I wonder who it is:

��Such a lovely, precious girl,” he grunts, his eyes nearly black but still shining with adoration, “Gods, princess, you’re perfect like this.”

NFJDNDNDN I LOVE THE DEGRADATION NEXT TO THE PRAISE I THINK IM PREGNANT WHAT

“Seven—“ Daemon chokes, hands gripping your waist enough to bruise. You can’t help but ruck your hips against him, your bud dragging deliciously against the barely there hair on his chest, “Fuck you, Strong.” He grunts, legs twitching as Harwin meanly squeezes at his length.

IM SAYIN DAEMON MOVE THE FUCK OVER IF YOURE NOT GONNA GET YO ASS FUCKED I WILL

“Please, let me fuck your pretty wife,” Daemon sighs, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, making you gasp and rut your hips against his stomach again, “Please, ser.”

🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤 head empty no thoughts I think is should be stuffed somewhere else

The man below you groans, the wild look returning to his eyes as you start bouncing more frantically, “Fucking perfect,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around the small of your back and pulling you down to him, your chests pressing together, “Perfect, wet, fuck, wet little cunt.” He groans into your neck, hands gripping at your ass again.

MMMM GOOODDD SOUPPPP AM I BEING SO SI ANNOYING GOOD

“Ooh, she’s getting close,” Harwin observes, lightly tugging at his length as he watches you come undone atop Daemon, “Don’t you want her to soak your cock?”

Literally creaming

“Aren’t you going to ask my permission?” Harwin teases, smirk spreading across his face at the frustrated groan that leaves Daemon. “You need my permission to make her peak,” your husband says, his gravelly tone making you shiver as you lose yourself, “Beg for it.”

SWEATING SO MUCH IM SO HOT AND BOTHERED AND HANDMSKNSNSN HELLO

He laughs, kissing the top of your head, “You need not thank me, princess,” he says tiredly, his choice of pet name making your heart skip a beat, “The pleasure was mine.”

FUCKKKKKKKK DAEMONNN SCREAMING

“Fuck her,” Daemon says suddenly, his eyes scanning over Harwin, “I wish to see her break.”

JAW ON THE FLOOR YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT ME YOU DO NOT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT ME WHAT HE FUCKING SAID

“Fuck,” he grunts, rutting into you as you squirm beneath him, “I swear to the Seven you feel better every time.” He praises, looking down at where his cock disappears into you, marveling at the way your cunt shines in the light of the many candles placed around your chambers.

WHAT IF THIS EAS MY LAST STRAW IM LITERALLY TOO FUCKED UP IN THE HEAD I MAY BE OVULATING THIS MAY BE WHY IM SO AFFECTED BY THIS HELLO

A second later, he is leaning down again, his lips nearly connecting with yours as he spits into your waiting mouth, sharing Daemon’s seed with you.

When I tell you I SCREAMMMED well I've been screaming but NDKZJNDNSNSNNSNSMSKNS FCUUKFN SUCJNCNDMMDMXUJ DNDNSNSS BARKKINGGGG I WISH I COULD PUT A MEME BUT IM ON MOBILE AND I HAVE ONE LAST CHANCE

“Yes, yes, yes!” You moan in time with each of his thrusts, nodding your head wildly as you thrash within his grasp, pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

She's so me 🫦💅😋

“Watch as I claim her,” he commands Daemon, tangling a hand into his silvery hair, pointing his gaze exactly where he wants it — where the two of you connect, “Watch as I breed our princess.”

“Vaogenka riña,” Daemon drawls, his hands grasping one of your legs, massaging the muscle of your calf as your foot rests delicately on the center of his chest, “Taking pleasure from watching your husband with another.” (Dirty girl.)

I never said I was more than a hole

Daemon kisses you, much sweeter than he had before, “Hen rhinka, dārilaros.” He smiles, picking you up by the backs of your legs, making you squeal with laughter as he carries you over to the tub, sitting on the edge with you on his lap as Harwin prepares the bath, just the way you like. (Of course, princess.)

This was so self indulgent I may have to reread this because fuck and I don't like rereading stuff cos my brain isn't wired like that but fuckkkkkkkkkk FUCKKKKKKKKKKK AND ITS 11K WORDS BUT ITS NOT DRAGGING AT ALL FUCKKKKKK it so good lobotomy me rn

Hour of the Owl

summary: there's only one thing you want for your nameday and your sweet husband is more than happy to let you have it

pairing: dom!harwin strong x sub!reader x switch!daemon targaryen

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors go away!), afab reader, reader is described as having some targaryen features (white hair, lilac eyes) but no other physical descriptors are mentioned, threesome, oral sex (f & m receiving), handjobs, piv sex, brief spitting, cum play, brief breeding kink, choking, spanking, daemon ignoring the rules, fingering, breast/nipple play, hair pulling, facesitting, very brief mention of miscarriage (world building only, does not directly affect the reader), praise kink, degradation, aftercare included, some fluff, "good cop/bad cop" trope, hair pulling, creampie, bi!daemon and harwin (they're at least experimenting asdfgh), daemon whimpering!!! i repeat, daemon whimpering!!!

word count: 11.8k (genuinely HOW)

a/n: this is dirty, y'all, i won't lie. this is filthy, filthy stuff. there's literally about 7.2k words of just pure smut here. gird your loins, this one is a wild ride. godspeed.

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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A soft breeze blows through the sheer curtains of your chambers, filling the room with the scent of the sweet smelling flowers your older sister had planted in the gardens of the Red Keep a few moons prior. You busy yourself with removing the countless delicate golden pins your ladies had stuck in your hair that morning, silvery hair pooling around your shoulders as you undo braid after braid. Finally, you run your fingers through the last one, lost in thought as you walk out onto your balcony, your feet bare against the cool stone floors.

You sigh as you lean against a stone ledge, looking out over the many fires and torches that light Kings Landing each night, spread out below the Red Keep like a field of stars. You say a quick prayer to the Mother as you gaze at the moon, praying for your sister’s safety during her pregnancy; praying that this one would carry to term and that the Seven would bless your sweet niece Rhaenyra with a little brother or sister.

You smile as you hear the heavy wooden door to your chamber opening, practically skipping to the door as Harwin slips inside, already unbuckling his leather armor.

“My love!” You call happily, giggling at the exaggerated groan he makes as you thud into him, practically attacking him as you wrap your arms around him, “I missed you!” You whine playfully, breathing in his scent as you bury your face in his chest, your cheek pressed against the tunic he wears.

“I missed you too,” he laughs, his hands hooking under the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his middle. He walks you over to your large bed and gently sits you down on the plush fabric, “My sweet little wife,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead before turning around and striding over to the mirror leaning against the wall next to your wardrobe. “What meanness did you busy yourself with today, I wonder?” He questions, smiling adoringly at you over his shoulder.

“No meanness,” you smile, eyes scanning his muscular body as you watch him unbuckle and untie his leathers and tunic; you bite your lip when he finally pulls the tunic over his head, eyes scanning his bare back, lightly tanned with various scars and bruises from his training. You feel a heat building in your belly at the sight of him, which only grows stronger when he turns to face you once more, your eyes roaming over his strong chest and stomach, covered in dark hair that disappears beneath the tops of his trousers. “I simply assisted Aemma in choosing decorations for the princess’s upcoming nameday celebrations,” you start, standing from the bed and making your way over to Harwin, watching for a second as he struggles with the knot at the top of his trousers before you finally push his hands away and begin pulling at the strings yourself, “Then I aided her in welcoming some new maids, worked more on my needlepoint, and responded to the letter from our mother.” You shrug, finally pulling the ties free before returning to the bed.

“A busy day indeed,” he smirks, running a hand through his curly hair as he stalks toward you, “Mine was much the same; we started training the new recruits today.”

“My poor husband,” you pout, sitting on your knees at the edge of the bed, “Working so hard.” You coo, aching between your thighs as Harwin places his hands on your waist, feeling his warmth through the thin, nearly translucent Myrish lace of your nightgown. You press a soft kiss to the middle of his chest, the hairs there tickling your lips, before you bring your hands up to his shoulders and begin kneading the skin there, massaging around his neck and shoulders.

He groans appreciatively, letting his eyes slip closed and his head tilt back as he allows himself to savor the feeling for a moment; your sweet hands, so small and delicate compared to his, still send shivers down his spine. He can’t help but think of the first day he saw you – you had looked so ethereal stepping out of your family’s carriage in the courtyard, draped in a fine silk dress in the sky blue color of House Arryn’s coat of arms. You had arrived the day Princess Rhaenyra was born and had made King’s Landing your home ever since.

He had been fond of you from that moment forward, offering to give you tours of the Keep and personally escorting you anytime you ventured from its walls. He had known you for nearly eight years and in all that time, he had yet to find a single fault with you. Were it up to him alone, the two of you would have been married within a week, although you had always joked with him that those were the exact sorts of thoughts you’d expect from the foolhardy teenage boy he was at the time. Eventually, your families finally came to a marriage agreement, Lord Rodrik Arryn pleased with the promise of you one day inheriting Harrenhal with Hawin. He smiles, thinking back to your wedding day, in disbelief that it was nearly a year ago now.

Finally, he opens his eyes once more, finding your mesmerizing lilac ones already gazing back at him. “You are so handsome,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair as you lovingly smile at him, “The most beautiful man in all the kingdoms.”

He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his arms holding you tightly to him, wanting to feel as much of you pressed up against him as possible. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet smells of the oils you use in your baths, “And you are positively divine, my sweet love,” he murmurs, pulling back to gaze at you once more as he twirls a silvery strand of hair between his fingers, “The Seven have truly blessed me with the most heavenly of creatures.”

You blush, lying back on the bed as he kicks off his trousers, his entire form finally bare to you. Your eyes roam his tanned skin appreciatively as you lean back against your pillows, fingers fiddling with a tie at the front of your dressing gown.

“Would you do me the honor of joining me in the bath, my lady?” he asks, reaching out a hand to help you up from the bed.

“Oh, I would be honored, my handsome knight,” you joke back, kissing his cheek before the two of you make your way over to the bath, separated from the rest of your chambers with a decorated screen you’d gotten from a trip to Dorne many years ago.

You quickly undress, draping your gown over the screen, as Harwin steps into the bath with a hiss, “Seven Hells!” He curses, wincing as his skin adjusts to the water, “Did you have your maids retrieve this water from the belly of the Dragonmont itself?”

You snicker, gently easing yourself into the water at the opposite end of the tub, “After all this time one would think you would know how I take my baths, husband.”

He simply rolls his eyes, finally lowering himself into the rest of the water with a pained groan, much to your amusement, which earns you a splash. The two of you laugh together for a moment and you tell him all about the various decorations you’d chosen for Rhaenyra’s nameday as the two of you quickly wash. Finally, he beckons you over, resting his arms on the rim of the bath as you settle yourself against him, curling into the side of his long, burly body as you lay your head on his chest, creating swirly patterns in the hair on his chest with the point of your finger as you finish describing the decadent flavors you and Aemma had chosen for the cake.

“Speaking of namedays,” he begins, chuckling as he hears you groan, “A certain someone’s nameday is a mere two days away and she has yet to tell me anything she wishes for.”

“I’ve told you,” you start with a sigh, peering up at him, “How am I meant to wish for anything when you spoil me so?”

“I do not spoil you!” He admonishes, a guilty smile tugging at his lips, “I simply give you all that you deserve for being such a sweet little wife.” he teases, punctuating each word of the pet name with a kiss to your forehead and cheeks, making you giggle – his favorite sound in the world. You lay in a comfortable silence for a moment, still tracing various shapes and patterns onto his chest before he speaks again, his voice soft and questioning, “There must be something you long for, my love. Anything you want, simply name it.”

You stay silent for a minute longer, pondering exactly how to voice your thoughts. There was something you wanted, or rather someone — Daemon, the king’s younger brother. Like Harwin, he had caught your eye quickly when you’d first arrived at King's Landing. According to Aemma, Viserys had even been considering betrothing the two of you for a time; though your sister had put a quick stop to that, she had never been the Rogue Prince’s biggest fan.

Yet, still, there was something about him that simply drew you to him, something intriguing in the way he moved, the way he spoke. You loved your husband, more than anything else, but Daemon was…tempting, you couldn’t lie.

You look up at Harwin, still silent as you stare into his soft brown eyes, before looking away again, unsure of how to even broach the topic.

“Husband,” you start, worried he is upset with you, “You must unde–”

“I understand, my little love,” he soothes, pulling you closer to him, relishing the way your breasts press against the firmness of his chest, “You need not explain it to me,” you rest your head on his warm chest, your face buried in his neck, “Lust for him does not do away with your love for me, I know this.” He confirms, gently carding a hand through your hair.

Even with his reassurance, you remain silent for a moment still; this is new territory in your relationship – never before had you seriously considered the possibility of sharing yourself with another, your husband so adoring and protective of you that you never dreamed he would entertain the thought.

“You…wish to share me in this way? Truly?” You question, heart skipping a beat when you feel his cock beginning to harden between your legs.

“I admit I was wholly against the idea at first,” he starts, his calloused hands slowly running up and down your thighs, half-submerged in the warm water, “I am still not thrilled that the object of your desire is Prince Daemon,” he laughs, teasing you, “Of all the knights in all the seven kingdoms, you pick him.” He jokes, his chest vibrating underneath you as he laughs.

“Harwin!” You gasp to hide your own laughter, though you know the cheeky smile tugging at your lips gives you away, “Please, be serious!” You reprimand, playfully slapping at his chest.

“I yield, I yield,” he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. Eventually, the two of you settle down once more, a quiet calmness descending over you, “But I see the way you look at him,” he smiles, indicating that he isn’t upset when he sees worry cloud your soft features once again, “Very different from the way you look at me…only lust. And I see the way he looks at you,” your head shoots up at this, a soft blush creeping over your cheeks at this knowledge, “Lust, yes, but also a certain softness,” his hands come to rest on your hips once more, gently rocking your slick heat against his length, “Like you are something sacred to behold.”

He finishes finally, taking pleasure in the way you shudder against him, small whimpers and whines escaping your lips as your bud is dragged up and down his cock, his hands gripping your waist so tightly there are sure to be bruises in the morning.

“He should look at you in that way,” Harwin grunts, thighs bending under the curve of your rear as his knees come up out of the bathwater, giving him more leverage to rut against you, “Like you are, fuck, like you are something divine.” He groans into the hair at the crown of your head, big hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs swirling against your sensitive nipples, “You are, my love,” his words come out in breathless, broken gasps, “Divine, sacred, a gift sent straight from the Seven.”

You nod wordlessly, whines and moans getting caught in your throat as your hands roam over the firm planes of his chest, lips busying themselves against the column of his throat. No further words are needed between the two of you, a common understanding being enough for now as your bodies press closer together, nearly melding into one beneath the warm, sweetly scented water.

Golden morning light shines in through the sheer curtains of your chambers as you busy yourself with dressing for the day, your maids flitting around you as they button, tie, and lace you into your dress.

Harwin had left much earlier than you, already strapped into his leathers before the sun rose above the horizon. Just like every other morning, he had gently kissed you awake to let you know he was leaving, telling you he promised to be safe when training and that he would see you at supper. Unlike every other morning, however, he had added, “I imagine I shall see Prince Daemon in the training yard today,” he had softly cooed, a warm hand tenderly caressing your cheek, “If I do, I shall speak with him about our…offer. See what he says.”

At the time, you had simply mumbled sleepily, head too clouded with sleep to truly process his words. Now, though, you could not keep from wringing your hands with worry, fidgeting uneasily as your hair was pinned up, half your hair braided and wrapped up into a bun at the crown of your head, the rest left to cascade down your shoulders like a pearly waterfall.

Your maids finally finished, leaving you in your chambers with your still steaming breakfast, which you could only bring yourself to pick at, the nervous knots in your stomach keeping your appetite at bay.

What if he thinks me perverse? You worry, staring out at the morning sky, watching as puffy clouds blow in from the winds of Blackwater Bay. You know this is nonsensical — if even half the rumors of Daemon’s various appetites were true, he had no justification to call you of all people perverse. What if he tells everyone? You wonder, halfheartedly sipping at your tea, but even this you know was absurd. He was brash, incredibly rude at times, but the prince knew when to be discreet, and if he truly gazed at you in the way your husband claimed, you had no doubt he would keep your secret.

After exhausting your list of worries, you finally stand up from your small breakfast table, intending to find Aemma and ask for her to accompany you on a walk through the gardens.

You make your way into the hallway, winding your way through the various passages of the Red Keep in your search for your sister, saying polite thank you's to anyone wishing you a happy early nameday.

“Auntie!” You hear a small voice call behind you as you step out into the Godswood, the stoic face of the weirwood tree there peering at you from under its canopy of red leaves. You turn on your heel, smiling brightly when you see Rhaenyra running at you at full tilt.

You scoop her up at the last second, grunting a small “Oof!” as she barrels into your arms, “If it isn’t my favorite little niece!” You chirp brightly, her small arms hugging around your neck, “What wickedness are you up to?”

“Training!” She answers, excitedly squirming in your grasp, perched atop one of your hips.

“Training?” You question with exaggerated interest, “Whatever for?”

“To ride Syrax!” She giggles, “She’s getting big and the keepers say she is almost ready!”

“How exciting,” you nod, setting her down before crouching before her, “She is growing quickly indeed,” you add, motioning for her to turn around before you begin braiding her hair, the same pale shade as your own, “Are the keeper’s training you as well?”

“Ñuha dārilaros,” you nod in return, quickly finishing Rhaenyra’s braid before standing and turning to face him, “I trust the morning has found you in good spirits.” (My prince.)

“Oh, it has indeed,” he says, eyes flashing with mirth as he smirks at you, his head cocking to the side, stands of pale hair contrasting against the dark metal covering his chest, “Eman ryptan mirri udir, ñuha riña.” He drawls. (I have heard some news, my lady.)

This catches Rhaenyra’s attention, her Valyrian lessons clearly paying off as she gasps excitedly as she bounces between the two of you, “What news? What news?”

Rhaenyra nods happily, twirling a small yellow flower around in her hands as she practically skips from the courtyard, singing, “A treat for Syrax, a treat for Syrax!” as she disappears down the hall.

“Ao jorrāelatan naejot ȳdragon lēda nyke?” You question once Daemon returns his attention to you, politely clasping your hands together. (You needed to speak with me?)

“Gōntan ziry?” (He did?)

“Konir sagon paktot,” he continues, voice nearly patronizing as he slowly paces around you, circling you like a shark in the water, “He says you want me to fuck you.” He finishes, coming to stand before you once more, a proud smile on his face once he sees the shock on yours. (That’s right.)

“Iksis bisa drēje?” He asks once it becomes clear you don’t know how to respond. (Is this true?)

“Kessa.” You say simply, inwardly wincing at the wobble in your voice, though you try your hardest to appear confident. (Yes.)

Daemon snickers, “Naughty, naughty girl,” he tsks, shaking his head teasingly, one hand casually perched on the hilt of his sword, “He tells me I’m meant to be your nameday present; quite the honor, I must say.”

“Mērī lo ao agree naejot se jiōragon, ñuha dārilaros.” (Only if you agree to the offer, my prince.)

You flush deeply at his nickname, only used to sweet praises from Harwin, “That is most acceptable, my prince.” You nod.

“Very well…Daemon.” You tease, feeling proud when you see his eyes widen just the slightest bit.

“Perhaps this sweet little kitten has claws after all,” he smirks, eyes looking you up and down once more, “Very well,” he says with a nod, “I’m needed at the dragonpit, but I shall be seeing you and your husband later this evening.”

“Hen rhinka.” You nod as you watch him leave, your entire body relaxing, releasing unrealized tension, as soon as his back disappears from view. You allow yourself to breathe for a few moments, standing in the silent courtyard as your heartbeat returns to normal, before you leave, once again going to try and find Aemma, or really anything else to keep yourself occupied until the evening. (Of course.)

“I promise, sweet girl,” Harwin says, watching from the small sitting area in your chambers as you pace back and forth across the stone floor, “I told him all he would need to know. About you, about what you like, all of it.”

You nod, half listening, as you walk back and forth, feet bare on the large, plush fur rugs that cover the floor in front of the fireplace. The warmth of it on your skin was usually a welcome feeling, although tonight you only felt overheated. Outside, the sky was dark, the sun having set quite a while ago. King’s Landing once again sprawled out like a sea of stars beneath the Keep, mirroring the stars in the black sky overhead, the bright light of the moon reflecting off of the waters of the bay – the hour of the owl was drawing close.

“We do not have to do this if you’re having second thoughts, my love,” he says, standing and striding over to you, “If you wish, I will simply tell Daemon to fuck off.” He jokes, chuckling as you relax in his arms.

“I do want to!” You sigh, tilting your chin up to peer up at him through your lashes, “I’m simply nervous, I suppose. We’ve never done anything like this before,” you bite your lip, looking away from him as you resume speaking, “Honestly, I’m still shocked you agreed to it at all.”

“I want to share you,” he shrugs, pressing a comforting kiss to the top of your head, “Show off what’s mine.” He says lowly, chuckling when he feels you shiver against him – he knows very well that his possessiveness gets to you.

Suddenly, a knock sounds on the thick wooden door of your chambers, making you jump, which makes Harwin chuckle as he stands to open it; he had dismissed the guard that normally stood at your door in the evening, insisting that he take the night off. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you merely stand in front of the fire, nervously fidgeting.

Your husband gives you one last look, his eyes questioning; you nod to him, signaling that it was okay, that this was truly what you wanted, and he opened the door.

“He says I am beautiful,” you tell your husband, translating the Valyrian for him, an act that is second nature for you now. “Kirimvose.” you say, trying your hardest to keep your voice from trembling. (Thank you.)

Daemon comes to stand in front of you, his eyes searching yours for a second, looking for any hesitation you suppose. When he finds none, he hooks a finger into the delicate ribbon tied around your waist, the one keeping your silk dressing gown shut; again, he catches your eyes, and again you suppose he must find what he’s searching for because suddenly he’s pulling the bow there undone.

“She looks ravishing all the time,” your husband said, his breath fanning over the back of your neck as he seems to materialize behind you, rough hands skirting up your arms before coming to rest at your shoulders, “The most beautiful creature.”

“A beautiful creature,” Daemon agrees, his hands, not as rough as Harwin’s though still battle-worn, settling on your hips as he looks at your body appreciatively, his light eyes growing darker by the minute, “And a naughty thing.” He finishes, smirking when he hears a small, barely there whimper escape your lips.

“Is she?” your husband asks, gathering all your hair over one shoulder, exposing one side of your neck before he kisses you there, relishing the sigh he gets in return. You gasp as one of his hands comes up to cup your breast, warming your skin through the thin lace of your nightgown, “She’s such a good, obedient girl.”

You lean back into Harwin, your back against his firm chest as he kneads your breast, sending sparks flying down between your thighs. “Only bad little things fantasize about being taken by two men.” Daemon practically growls. Your eyes are only half open but you still don’t miss the look he gives your husband over your shoulder, nor do you miss the way the brunette subtly nods against the column of your neck. You moan when Daemon’s lips finally press against your own, his mouth soft and warm, tongue already licking into your mouth.

The motion presses you further back against Harwin, pressing his half-hard cock into the small of your back, the feeling making you near dizzy with lust as you realize that he truly wanted this just as much as you. Daemon’s tongue eventually wins its battle for dominance and the two of you kiss for a moment longer, the only sounds in your chambers being being yours and the prince’s lips moving together as your husband kisses, licks, and bites along your neck, causing you to mewl softly into Daemon’s waiting mouth like a puppy.

“Are you a bad girl, sweet little thing?” The prince growls against your jaw as he finally separates his lips from yours, trailing kisses down the opposite side of your neck.

When you neglect to answer, too caught up in the men’s attention, Harwin suddenly palms at the plump flesh of your rear, roughly grabbing and squeezing it enough to have you whining, “I believe Daemon asked you a question, my love,” he chucked, his other hand pulling down the neckline of your nightgown, nearly ripping the delicate lace, to reveal your breast, “It would be rude not to answer.”

“Gods!” You moan, sucking in a breath when you feel the blond’s lips wrap around your exposed nipple, his teeth teasing at the sensitive, peaked skin, “I-I’m a good girl!” You gasp, your fingers carding through silky hair, the same silvery shade as your own, “Harwin says I-“ You start, only to be brutally cut off as one of Daemon’s large hands wraps around your throat.

“Harwin may claim what he wishes,” he sneers, nose touching yours as he speaks, “But to me, you’re nothing but a lovely whore.”

You gasp, having never been called such a thing before. A part of you knows you should be offended, yet you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze together at his harsh treatment, knees nearly buckling beneath you.

Your husband tenses behind you, his kisses freezing on your neck before he lifts his head. Narrowing his eyes at Daemon over your shoulder, he grabs his forearm and pushes his hand off of you, “You are not to speak to her in that manner,” he growls, jaw squared, “Nor handle her so harshly. We discussed this earlier.”

“Oh, hush,” the prince dismisses, prying his hand from Harwin’s grasp with a tsk, “She’s enjoying it, naughty little thing.” He nods his chin at you, noting the blush on your cheeks and the way your chest is heaving.

Harwin’s eyes shift to yours, his hand tilting your chin up as he peers at you. Before he can speak, though, the large bells at the top of the Keep begin to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Finally, the hour of the owl had arrived, and with it your true nameday.

“Well, well,” Daemon drawls, abandoning you and Harwin to perch at the edge of your bed, helping himself go to the pitcher of wine sitting at your bedside, “You know, the girls in Flea Bottom have quite the… interesting nameday tradition.” He smirks, studying you and Harwin with amusement as he takes a sip of wine.

“What is it?” You ask, pulling your husband behind you as you approach the bed, accepting a glass of wine from Daemon. Beside you, Harwin shakes his head, glaring at the other man.

“We talked about this. I told you that I would be taking the lead–”

“You told me, yes,” Daemon interrupts, giving your husband a pointed look before shifting his gaze back to you, “However, it is her nameday. I believe she should get to decide.”

“Decide what?” You inquire, looking between the two men.

“Who will be giving you your birthday spanks, naughty girl.” The blond smirks, gazing at you appreciatively, “One for each year you’ve graced the realm with your presence.”

You looked back and forth between the two men again, Daemon looking at you as if you were a piece of prey, a prize to be won, and Harwin looking at you concerned, as if you were a precious treasure in need of protection. You deliberate for what feels like a long while in your mind – on one hand, Daemon was new and exciting, but you also knew of his unpredictable nature; on the other hand, Harwin was comfortable and safe to you, but wasn’t the entire point of this endeavor to branch out?

“Can…” you begin hesitantly, looking back and forth between the two men, “Can both of you do it?”

“I think that can be arranged, my sweet girl,” your husband says huskily, excited at the promise of exploring this particular act with you once more, “Why don’t you be a good little girl and kneel on the bed for us, hm? On all fours, as you normally do.”

He can’t help but admire you for a short moment, cock hardening at the soft blush that settles across your cheeks, the way your chest heaves as you gasp with pleasure, tits bouncing as you writhe against the other man’s hand. Finally, he comes out of his reverie and strides to where you and Daemon stand, taking his place on the other side of your body.

He begins toying with you once more, guiding your mouth to his while his hands roam over your curves before one finally settles on your breast, the one unoccupied by Daemon’s tongue. His tongue battles with yours as his palm gently squeezes your breast, fingers teasingly pinching at your nipple, causing him to groan in satisfaction once you start mewling in the way he loves. His other hand joins the prince’s at your core, two of this thick fingers teasing at your opening, “Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth, “So wet, my love.” His fingers slide into you with a practiced ease, knowing exactly what you like after having spent nearly a year taking you apart on a practically daily basis.

They crook up perfectly, rubbing against that spot within you with the perfect pressure and accuracy. If there was one thing Harwin was determined to perfect from the moment you were officially declared his in the eyes of gods and men, it was bringing you pleasure in greater amounts than you’d ever thought possible. He couldn’t help the satisfied smile that spread across his bearded face as the sounds of your whimpers and whines grew more and more desperate, telling him once more that he was successful in his mission.

“Getting close, naughty thing?” the blond asks teasingly, lilac eyes peering up at yours as he continued stimulating you.

You nod frantically, whining as Harwin begins tracing his lips down your jaw, right to that spot on your neck that he knows drives you crazy. “Let go, princess,” he husks, the tips of his fingers zeroing in on that small rough patch within you, “Give us your pleasure.”

You can’t help the noise that leaves you, a loud, desperate, whining moan that would leave you horribly embarrassed at any other time, but right now you don’t have the ability to care. The ministrations from the two men, along with the utterance of the one pet name Harwin only dared utter in private, send you tumbling over the edge. You feel your knees buckle, although you aren’t worried about falling, too dumb with pleasure to think but still reassured that two pairs of strong arms will surely hold you steady.

Fireworks explode behind your eyelids as you feel your center contract around your husbands fingers; the two men groan when they hear the slick sounds pouring out from between your thighs multiply nearly tenfold as your peak takes you, soaking Harwin’s fingers and wetting Daemon’s hand.

Again, Daemon’s words send a shiver up your spine, the knot that had just come unraveled in your stomach tightening once more. “She is a good girl,” Harwin corrects him, hands lovingly stroking over your body, “For peaking exactly when I commanded her to. Such a good, obedient girl.”

Your head spins at their words, head swimming as one man degrades you, clearly gaining pleasure from the way his teases and rude remarks affect you, while the other praises you so lovingly, proud at way his tender words affect you so after months of perfecting them, learning exactly which phrases drive you to madness and fully exploiting them.

“Are you ready for your sweet spanks, my good girl?” Harwin asks, brown eyes shining with love.

You nod breathlessly, still leaning on both men for support. Beside you Daemon chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Ask for it properly, naughty girl.”

“Ask us, sweetling.” Harwin nods encouragingly.

“Please…” you start softly, finally finding your voice, “Please, husband, sir, please may I have my nameday spankings?”

Daemon growls lowly in his chest, satisfied at you finally learning your place and addressing him the way he feels he deserves, “Get on the bed.” He commands easily, leaving no room for backtalk or questioning.

Blessedly, your sweet husband still sees fit to help you arrange yourself on the edge of the bed, taking your shaky legs into account as he helps you move. You’re indeed kneeling on all fours, your legs tucked up under you as your feet dangle off the bed, your ass in the air, though still covered by the lace of your gown.

You feel the air shift behind you as they move, both standing behind you still but Harwin to the left and Daemon to the right. The one of Daemon’s hands strokes down your back, you can feel him leaning over you as he trails his hand down from the very top of your shoulder blades all the way down to the small of your back, right where the curve of your ass starts; you can hear him hum appreciatively. His other hand drags up the back of one of your thighs and slowly, he slips his fingers under the hem of your gown. He pulls it up over your ass, letting the soft, silky fabric pool in the dip of your spine; your walls clench around nothing when you hear both men groan behind you.

“Gods,” Harwin breathes, rough fingers lightly tracing over your skin, “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

“Ready, princess?” Harwin murmurs behind you, hands soothing where Daemon had grabbed you.

“Please!” You nod, hands gripping the furs spread across the bed.

Suddenly, a hand comes down on the left side of your ass, harsh but not overly painful; you whimper at the impact, walls clenching from the pleasant sting left behind. Harwin. You were sure of it – the two of you had only experimented in this way a scant few times but enough that you knew the feel of his blows.

Again, a hand comes down, this time making you jerk as a palm strikes the right globe of your rear. A sharp cry leaves your lips, back bowing for a second before the same hand is pressing harshly at the small of your back, “Keep that back arched, naughty little thing.” Daemon hums.

Harwin gives you a moment to breathe, a gesture you appreciate very much, before striking you once again. Again, you mewl as you feel the welcome heat spread across your skin. You turn your head, burying your face into the soft furs beneath you, only to practically inhale the wolf pelt there as Daemon brings his hand down again, making you gasp. Another cry leaves your lips, louder and harsher than the last as tears pool in the corner of your eyes, some already leaking onto the coat. The right side of your ass practically feels as if it’s on fire, the sting so harsh it makes your ears ring.

“That’s two,” Daemon taunts, smiling wickedly as he sees an outline of his handprint already blooming on your ass, “So many more left to go.”

Harwin leans over you, brushing the hair from your face, brows furrowing with concern when he sees your tears, “Are you alright, my love?” He asks, smoothing a hand down your back, “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to continue.” He reassures you, smiling lovingly.

You shake your head, determined to see it through – determined to impress Daemon, really. “N-no,” you say tearfully, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, “I want to, please.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Daemon cuts in, gripping your cheeks harshly once again as he spreads them, tugging them somehow further apart than before as he clicks his tongue, pleased, “You love this,” his hand wetly smacks against your slit, making you whine as Harwin further soothes you, glaring daggers at the prince, “Little cunt’s soaking the bed.”

Your husband knocks his hands away, the ferocity of it making you gasp and peer over your shoulder, “We’ve discussed this,” the brunette hisses through his teeth, knuckles white as he grips Daemon’s wrist, “You will not handle her in such a manner, we agreed on this.”

“Oh, please,” the prince huffs, rolling his lilac eyes as he jerks his arm from Harwin’s grip, “She’s enjoying it, see?” You don’t have any time to react before his palm is once again smacking against your flesh, harder than the previous two hits combined. Your vision swirls, eyes stinging as tears blur your sight, a scream ripping its way from your throat as his hit shoves you further up the bed. You feel as if your entire lower half is radiating with pain, ears ringing once again.

There’s some commotion behind you, though it takes you a few seconds to get your whits about you enough to turn over, grimacing as the tender skin of your rear brushes against the pelts, ones that normally feel so soft now digging into your skin like dozens of little thorns. When you do finally clear your eyes, rubbing the tears away, your mouth practically falls open at the sight before you.

Harwin presses him down harder, chest heaving with anger, “You dare harm her,” he mutters, his other fist clenched at his side, “We trusted you for this and you harm her!”

“She fucking liked it!” Daemon retorts, struggling against your husbands strength — although strong in his own right, he had nothing on Harwin, “Go look at her fucking cunt, it’s soaked! She loves being hit!” He positively seethes, nodding his head toward you.

The brunette sneers, lip curling up in disgust as the other man continues to squirm in his grasp. You watch, worried, as the hand not pinning the prince to the wall shoots up and roughly grips Daemon by his throat, forcing his head back.

Daemon whimpers.

The world seems to stop in a single breath, the three of you staying quiet and still. Your eyes are wide, not believing the small sound you heard, but there was no mistaking it. Harwin seems just as shocked as you, taking a half step back from Daemon as soon as he hears the noise.

You’ve never heard your husband use that tone before, so deep and threatening, it makes your thighs clench, a soft breath escaping your lips.

The small sound seems to remind both Harwin and Daemon that you’re still there and their heads whip toward you. They remain silent for a moment but then your husband smiles, looking between you and the prince with a mischievous smirk.

Harwin leads Daemon over to where you sit on the bed until both men are standing in front of you once again, the blond in the front with the brunette behind him, one hand holding his arms behind his back while the other remains wrapped around his neck. There is still a fire in Daemon’s eyes, though it’s merely a simmer now instead of a blazing inferno; you can’t help but be reminded of a tamed animal, of the dragons in the dragonpit — so much wildness choosing to be contained.

“I think you need to apologize,” Harwin starts, pushing Daemon forward until his legs hit the side of the bed, the two of them towering over you, “For hurting our lady, hm?”

Your breath catches at his choice of words, our lady. You watch as Daemon nods, his eyes half closed, glazed over by some kind of fog, his breathing slow and calm, as if he’s in a trance.

“Come now,” Harwin shoves him a little, just enough to make him jump, “Answer properly.”

“Yes….” Daemon whispers, hardly able to get words out around the grip Harwin has on his throat.

“Yes what?” Your husband asks slowly, words spoken through clenched teeth, his lips right next to the prince’s ear.

Daemon sighs, his shoulders sagging as any fight that remained in him seemed to vanish, “Yes, ser.”

“See?” Harwin teases, patronizingly tapping him on the cheek, “You can be good.” You see Daemon shiver at that.

Leaving Daemon to stand at the side of the bed, your husband bends down and kisses you softly, “You still desire this?”

You nod, looking deeply into his eyes as one of your hands cards through his curly hair, “Yes husband,” you whisper, “More than anything.”

“Stand.” Harwin commands simply, and you obey, coming to stand beside Daemon. “You,” your husband snaps, motioning at the man standing next to you, “Strip and lie down.”

Daemon does as he says, with no fuss for once. You can’t help but admire the way he moves as he removes his tunic and pants, his movements still so fluid and graceful despite the haze he seems to be in. After a moment, his clothes lie in a pile on the floor as he takes his place on your bed, laying on his back, half hard cock lying on his stomach, already leaking and flushed.

“Good.” Harwin praises simply, though you see Daemon’s brows flutter with pleasure. “My love,” he addresses you, giving you a gentle kiss, “Let me?” He asks, gesturing to your nightgown. You nod with a smile, letting him undress you. “Perfection,” he groans once you’re bare before him, dark eyes roaming your body.

“I want you to do something for me, princess,” he says, leading over to the bed, motioning for you to kneel on your knees next to Daemon.

“What’s that?” You ask, looking from your husband to the prince.

Harwin grabs your waist, much gentler than Daemon had ever touched you, and you can’t help but whimper, loving the way he manhandles you into position. Before you know it, he has you hovering over Daemon’s face, your entire body flushing as you realize what he wants.

“Sit.” He says lowly, letting you drop onto the prince’s waiting mouth.

“Oh!” You say in surprise, your thighs clenching around Daemon’s head. Immediately, you feel a rumble beneath you, making you whine as you realize he’s groaning with contentment as his tongue meets your aching heat. “Gods!” You gasp, hips moving of their own accord over his lips as your fingers tangle in his pale hair, causing him to groan more underneath you.

You pant, humping against his face like nothing more than the wanton whore he claimed you to be, mewls and whines escaping your lips constantly as your eyes squeeze shut.

You hear Harwin shuffling next to the bed and open your eyes, peering over your shoulder and shivering at the sight of your husband undressing, his muscular body on full display for you. Finally undressed, he turns to you, stroking his cock as he stalks toward the bed, eyes scanning over your body.

“Is he making you feel good, my little love?”

“Yes, sir!” You pant, nodding frantically. The bed dips under his weight as Harwin kneels on the bed next to you, his free hand coming up to palm at your breasts, thumb teasing over your nipples before he pinches them, humming appreciatively at the way you squirm atop Daemon.

“Good,” Harwin chuckles, leaning over to mouth at one breast while his hand continues teasing the other, “He must atone for earlier.” He finishes, letting go of his stiff cock to slap at Daemon’s thigh, making the man below you jerk and moan, his hands gripping at your rear tighter as his cock twitches against his abdomen.

You gasp, surprised by both the slap and the way Daemon’s lips seal around your bud in response, sucking it into his mouth and teasing it with his hot tongue as your hips grind down harder, “Oh, Gods, fuck!”

Beside you, Harwin stands on the bed, bending to kiss the top of your head, chuckling at the way you cling to him for support. “Shh, little sweetling,” he soothes, standing up straight, the sight of his cock making your mouth water as he fists it in front of your lips, “I have something you can occupy yourself with.” He teases, moving closer to you.

Smiling up at him, you softly lick the tip, pride swelling in your stomach at how much the slit is already leaking. You wrap your lips around the head, suckling softly as one of your hands untangles itself from Daemon’s hair to stroke the rest of Harwin’s length. You mewl around him as the prince continues feasting on your slit, plunging his tongue inside of you, deep groans vibrating through you every time he feels your walls clench around the muscle as he fucks it into you.

Slowly but surely, you take more of your husband into your mouth, eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat. He groans above you, half lidded eyes keeping contact with yours as he gently strokes his hands through your hair.

“Such a lovely, precious girl,” he grunts, his eyes nearly black but still shining with adoration, “Gods, princess, you’re perfect like this.”

Your husband’s sweet praise pushes you closer to the edge, the knot in your stomach growing dangerously tight as you rut against Daemon’s mouth, his tongue zeroing in your bud as he feels you moving more and more determinedly against him, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you taste.

“Are you getting close, sweet girl?” Harwin asks, gently fucking his hips into your mouth.

You nod around his length, eyebrows furrowing together as you stare up at him pleadingly. Blessedly, your sweet husband can never bear to make you wait very long.

“Find your peak, my love,” Harwin huffs as he strokes his length, “Cover him with it.”

As always, you do as he commands. The knot in your belly finally snaps once more and you moan above Daemon, practically crying at the way each wave of your orgasm crashes over you, sending shivers down your spine. The prince slurps noisily below you, savoring your release as his cock twitches, leaking heavily onto his stomach.

“Ah!” You cry, hips twitching as Daemon’s tongue persists against you, only stopping when you lift yourself off of him and settle back onto his chest, “Seven Hells.” You breathe, your wet slit pressed tightly against the center of Daemon’s chest.

Harwin once again kneels on the bed and you peer over your shoulder, eyes widening as you see him swipe a finger through the pool of of arousal leaking from the flushed head of the prince’s cock, where it rests against his stomach, bringing it to your lips for you to suck off, which makes the man below you groan.

“Seems he wants something,” Harwin teases, “Shall we let him have it?”

“Please, sir,” you whine, nodding pathetically at the chance to finally sink onto Daemon’s cock, “Let him, please!”

“Aww, sweet thing,” Harwin coos, tenderly caressing your cheek, “Thank you, although you are not who I wish to hear from.”

At that, you can feel Daemon squirm beneath you, a determined set to his eyes, “Forget it.” He shakes his head, hands tracing over your curves.

“Really?” Harwin asks, reaching behind you and grabbing Daemon’s aching length, stroking him slowly, making the prince’s body go rigid as he practically whines beneath you, “You don’t want to feel our lady’s sweet little cunt on your cock?”

“I don’t think it’s me you want to fuck,” your husband taunts, shaking his head, “I know you want it, know you want to have your way with my little wife,” you can tell when Harwin begins stroking Daemon’s length again as the man underneath you tenses, his muscles pulling taut, “Simply ask nicely and you may have her.”

You watch Daemon for a moment, studying the pained look on his face, his jaw still clenched and determined. You know he won’t do as your husband commands, still too proud no matter how true Harwin’s taunts are. So, you take pity on him, unable to reign in your own desire either. Bracing your hands on his chest, you move yourself back along the length of his torso, coming to hover over his stomach just above where your husband continues teasing at his length.

Leaning down, you gently kiss along Daemon’s jaw until your lips are positioned just under his ear, “Tell him what he wants to hear,” you implore, your breath tickling his pale skin, “I want it as badly as you, please my prince, please just do as he asks.” You beg, rutting your hips against his firm stomach.

Daemon opens his eyes finally, dark with desire as he looks at you, watching as you nod encouragingly, your own brows set in a pleading furrow. Again, the prince sighs, his body deflating, “Please,” he starts, his voice barely a whisper at first, growing louder once you dip your head down and begin teasing his neck, “Please let me fuck her, let me please her.”

“Let you fuck who?” Harwin teases, finally releasing Daemon’s cock.

“Please, let me fuck your pretty wife,” Daemon sighs, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, making you gasp and rut your hips against his stomach again, “Please, ser.”

“That wasn’t so difficult, hm?” Your husband chuckles, making himself comfortable at the head of the bed, his back against the plush pillows. He fixes you in his dark gaze, muscular arms folded over his chest, “Ride him. Tame our dragon, sweetling.”

Our dragon. Again, his words make you shiver and you nod wordlessly, sliding further down Daemon’s lithe body before your center, dripping and aching, is finally positioned over his length. Once more, you look down at the prince’s face, his silvery hair spread in a halo around his head; he’s breathing harshly, his cock twitching against your center as he gazes at you, the animalistic lust in his eyes replaced with a glimmer that makes your heart twist — you’ve seen the same one in Harwin’s dark eyes time and time again.

Before you have time to dwell on it, Daemon’s hands grip your hips, pushing you down slowly. Both of you groan, his length stretching you deliciously. You brace your hands on his chest, nails digging into his skin as your hips sink lower and lower, cursing as he’s finally pressed inside you completely, his cock filling every inch of you as your walls pulse around him.

“Fuck,” Daemon grunts, his hands gripping at your waist and hips as his eyes roll back, “Tight little cunt, so good.” His hands suddenly grip your ass, making you whimper and grind yourself against him at the feel of his rough hands against your still tender skin.

You can’t help the moans and whimpers that escape your lips as you begin rocking in Daemon’s lap, angling your hips in a way that causes his head to brush against that spot deep within you, the one that makes your head spin. “Gods, shit!” You can’t help but gasp at the way he feels inside you, his cock stretching you nicely — not as wide as Harwin’s but just a hair longer, filling you to the brim.

“Does he feel good, my love?” Your husband asks, causing you to open your eyes and look over at him. You nod as you meet his eyes, the brown almost totally taken over by blackness as he relaxes against the pillows, eyes sweeping up and down your body as he watches you grind yourself atop the prince, “How does she feel, your grace?” He addresses Daemon.

You whine at the feel of his lips and teeth on your neck, your hands tangling in his hair. You whimper when you feel him bend his legs behind you, his thighs pressing against your bum; your whimpers turn to sharp cries as he begins thrusting up into you, spearing you down onto his cock over and over, the head nearly kissing your cervix as he does.

Your cries rise in volume the closer you get, your thighs tensed against his movements as the knot in your stomach tightens, your walls clutching at his length. You gasp as one of his hands comes up, abandoning your ass to wrap lightly around your throat, only holding it instead of squeezing. His movements make your bud rub against the small thatch of hair at the base of his cock, sending sparks throughout your body.

“Ooh, she’s getting close,” Harwin observes, lightly tugging at his length as he watches you come undone atop Daemon, “Don’t you want her to soak your cock?”

“Gods,” Daemon groans, feeling the way your walls keep getting somehow tighter around his cock. He pants as he moves his hips faster, punching his length into you relentlessly, savoring the way you gasp and moan into his mouth, “Yes, yes want it.” He groans brokenly, spiraling toward his own release as well.

This time, thankfully, Daemon does not protest, both of you too desperate. “Fucking hell,” he hisses, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, “Please, fuck, please I need to make her peak, please!” He huffs, pressing his forehead against your own, staring deeply into your eyes as he grabs at any flesh of yours he can reach.

“Very good,” you do not miss the way Daemon shivers at Harwin’s praises, “Make her come undone.” Your husband commands.

At this, one of Daemon’s hands buries itself between your two bodies, fingers frantically seeking out your bud and rubbing tight, wet circles into the sensitive flesh. Within seconds, you unravel, light bursting behind your eyelids as you cry out, fire igniting in your veins. Your walls pulse around Daemon’s cock as you cry out, your whole body shaking as your release flows over you in waves.

Even through the blinding pleasure you can tell Daemon is teetering on the edge, savoring your orgasm before he allows himself his own. Harwin can tell too and his smirk grows, a devious idea coming to mind, “You cannot finish inside her,” he growls, shaking his head at Daemon, “That is mine and mine alone.”

The prince curses, his eyes squeeze shut as he manages to lift you up, pushing you back to sit atop his thighs as one of his hands comes up to strip at his cock a scant few times before a low, rumbling growl settles in his chest. A second later, he jerks suddenly, abdomen contracting as he finishes over his fist, pearly cum dripping onto his stomach, some of it shooting onto your chest and torso as well, making you gasp.

The two of you breathe heavily as you collapse forward onto his chest, your tired muscles unable to hold you up; you whimper softly at the feel of his seed on your stomach, one of his hands stroking over your hair. “Thank you.” You sigh.

He laughs, kissing the top of your head, “You need not thank me, princess,” he says tiredly, his choice of pet name making your heart skip a beat, “The pleasure was mine.”

You feel the bed shift beside you before a pair of lips descend upon your back, kissing up to your shoulder. Your husband pushes your hair back and you smile up at him shyly. “You are truly perfection, my little love,” he smiles, “Has our dragon tired you out?”

You shake your head, reaching out for Harwin, “I want you,” you breathe, letting him flip you onto your back until you’re lying next to Daemon, “Please, take me, my love.” You beg, grabbing onto every part of Harwin you can as he positions himself between your legs.

“Fuck her,” Daemon says suddenly, his eyes scanning over Harwin, “I wish to see her break.”

You shudder at his words, your core clenching at nothing, making you whine. Harwin shushes you lovingly, running his length through the slick still dripping from your center. “Shh, I will give you what you want, sweet one,” he says as he pushes his head into you, already deliciously stretching you, “As I always do, always will.” He grunts, sinking into you.

Your eyes flutter, his cock still stretching your walls, causing your center to ache beautifully, your back arching on the furs. “Gods,” you breathe, moaning as Harwin bends down to lick into your mouth, your hands grabbing at his thick shoulders, “You feel so good inside me.”

He chuckles into your mouth before leaning back up, brown eyes gazing down at you adoringly, watching your chest bounce with every frantic breath you take as his hips finally press against yours. Groaning, he grabs at the backs of your knees, your legs bending as he pins them back, nearly folding you in half.

The two of you move together for many moments, slick sounds from your center making you blush as you lose yourself in Harwin’s strong thrusts. He knows exactly how to unwind you after this much time together, and he wastes no time in doing so, a proud smile on his face as he feels your muscles tensing underneath him.

“Close already, pretty girl?” He asks, his curls tumbling wildly as he moves. You nod, words catching in your throat as you clench around his thick cock.

Beside you, Daemon, who has been watching with dark eyes all the while, slowly strokes his length, his other hand resting on your throat once more, his own breath growing more ragged each minute.

Harwin’s gaze shifts to him, his thrusts speeding up as he looks over the prince’s lean figure, “Up,” he commands, motioning for Daemon to stand next to him, “Watch as I claim her, see her in the way I do.”

Again, Daemon listens without a fight, rising from his place next to you as he comes to stand at the side of the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Harwin as he continues pumping at his cock, breathing heavily as he stares at the place where you and your husband connect.

Harwin bends down suddenly, the motion pulling his length from you and causing you to whine — though that quickly turns to a sharp gasp when you feel his tongue lick at your stomach. Tilting your head up, you look down in just enough time to see his tongue sweep through the pool of Daemon’s seed, still splattered on you. “Oh!” You exclaim, surprised as you watch your husband gather the other man’s spend on his tongue.

Leaning up, Harwin once again spears you on length before hovering his face over yours, his eyes searching your gaze. Knowing what he wants, you open your mouth, smiling through moans at the familiar sight of him gathering spit in his mouth. A second later, he is leaning down again, his lips nearly connecting with yours as he spits into your waiting mouth, sharing Daemon’s seed with you.

Your eyes roll back as you swallow, savoring the unfamiliar, heady taste of the prince as your cunt flutters. Above you, Daemon lets out a groan so loud he almost sounds as if he’s in pain.

“Good girl,” Harwin praises, smoothing a hand through your hair as he resumes his harsh thrusts, his other hand bracing itself against your lower stomach, thumb toying with your bud, “My good girl.”

“Seven Hells.” Daemon groans, fisting his cock harder and faster as he nears his own release.

“I’m close, my love,” Harwin pants, his thumb pressing against your bud harder, making your hips twitch under him, “With me?” He asks, half lidded eyes watching your own.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You moan in time with each of his thrusts, nodding your head wildly as you thrash within his grasp, pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

His words send you over the edge, your walls milking his length as you feel the heat of the two men’s gazes fixed on your cunt. You gasp as your peak washes over you once more, the strongest of the night, causing your entire body to spasm uncontrollably in Harwin’s strong grasp.

Above you, Harwin grunts as his cock spasms within you, painting your walls with his seed. As he tips over the edge, he turns his head to Daemon, pulling the dragon to him, their mouths crashing together. Hearing their twin groans, you manage to open your eyes, the sight before you nearly making you peak again. Their lips battling for dominance, neither relenting as their tongues tangle together, grunts and growls filling each other's mouths.

Daemon finishes at nearly the same second your husband does, his seed splattering onto the furs beside you as his chest heaves.

Harwin comes to a stop within you, his hand softening in Daemon’s hair though he does not pull away. You watch them kiss for a moment more, surprised at the heat building within you at the sight. Your walls clench around your husband's spent cock, making him jump and finally pull away from the other man, facing you with a knowing smile as you blush, your eyes flitting between four others.

“Watching him with you.” You clarify with a grin.

Happily groaning, Harwin withdraws his length from you, shushing you as you whine. You feel your husband's seed dripping from you a moment later and both men hum appreciatively at the sight.

“Shall I draw us a bath, sweetling?” Harwin asks, brushing sweat from your forehead, “I know you do not like to go to sleep so dirty, though if you are too spent…”

You shake your head, giggling as both men help you stand on shaky legs, “I would gladly take a bath, husband,” you look between the two of them before your gaze settles on Daemon, “With both of you?”

A few moments, and kisses, later your husband confirms it’s ready. He steps into the bath first with a curse, “I do not know how you find pleasure in this heat,” he jokes, gritting his teeth as his skin grows accustomed to the hot water, “Caraxes may as well be burning me where I stand.”

Daemon laughs at that, the two men helping you into the bath, settling you against Harwin, a position you’d taken many times before. You sigh gratefully as the water warms your tired skin, the sweet smelling oils relaxing you, “Hush,” you chuckle, watching as the prince lowers himself into the water as well, on the opposite end of the large tub, “It feels perfect.”

Daemon sighs in agreement, long arms resting on the lip of the tub as he tilts his head back, the steam making silvery strands of his hair cling to his shoulders and chest. “Perfection indeed.” He says contentedly, making Harwin’s chest shake with laughter against your back.

Your eyes droop closed after a moment, Daemon massaging your feet and legs as Harwin busies himself with washing your shoulders, neck, and chest.

A gentle breeze billows through the sheer curtains of your chambers, the cool air feeling delicious on your heated skin, the smell of Aemma’s sweet blossoms in the palace gardens making your lips quirk up into a tired smile.

“Sleep, princess.” Harwin commands gently, whispering against your neck.

“Ēdrugon.” Daemon echos. (Sleep.)

You obey.

taglist: @fan-goddess @marthawrites @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

#harwin strong x reader #harwin strong smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #i am not the same person i was one fic ago

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jinxedbychaos · 3 days ago

Note

vi x reader, where in childhood they were somewhat involved with each other . Like you can tell the love is there but they have yet to realize it themselves. And when they went to save vander, reader got hit in the head and loses their memory. And Vi is put in prison.

then Vi gets out, and they find each other. And Vi hugs reader and goes on a good “i missed you, there wasn’t a day i haven’t though about you” spiel, and reader just doesn’t know how to feel about it. Because in their mind this is just some stranger. But at the same time they feel like they know and care deeply about this stranger.

Forgotten

Vi x reader

Word count: 1,275

Warnings: some mentioned deaths (that's all I think.)

This is the first ever request I've ever done so I hope I meet the expectations of the person who send this request.

You and Vi grew up together in the the lanes. life wasn't easy, but you had each other, and that made it bearable. she'd always mess with you, messing with your hair, ruffling it playfully whenever she got the chance. You'd pretend to be annoyed, swatting her hand away with a huff, but secretly, you liked it. It made you feel warm inside.

After her fights, you'd sit her down and patch up her scraped knuckles, muttering about how reckless she was, She'd grin at you, acting like it didn't hurt, but you always knew better. You could see through her tough exterior, and she could see right through yours. Neither of you ever said what you felt, but it was there, in lingering glances, unspoken gestures, and the way your hearts seemed to beat in sync.

Then everything changed.

It happened when Silco made his move. Watching Benzo-your father figure, the man who had taken you in when you had no one else, fall dead right in front of you helpless to stop it, shattered you. The thought of Vander meeting the same fate was unbearable. And the idea of Vi having to endure the pain of losing him, too, was more than you can handle. You couldn't let that happen.

So when vi decided to go after him, you went too. You stayed by her side as the others followed, determined to save Vander.

You were right beside her when the explosion went off. The force of it knocked you off your feet, and pain seared through your entire body like fire. The last thing you saw before the world went dark was her pink hair splayed on the ground unmoving.

When you woke up, everything was gone. Vander. Claggor. Mylo. Vi. Even your memories.

All that remained were fragments, hazy feelings of warmth and safety tied to a face you couldn't quite place.

Years later-

Life without your memories felt hollow. The Lanes still felt familiar in a way you couldn't explain, like a melody you couldn't recall but keep humming anyway. you did whatever you had to do to survive, jobs you weren't proud of, choices you tried not to think about. You pieced together a new life, but no matter how hard you tried, it always felt incomplete.

And then she appeared.

You were carrying a crate of scavenged parts through the bustling streets, just trying to make it another day, when someone stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

"Hey" You began, irritation flaring. But when your gaze meet hers, the words died in your throat, she looked familiar.

The girl, no, woman stood frozen, her pink hair catching the dim light. Her wide eyes, a mix of disbelief and something far deeper, softened as they locked onto you.

"Y/N…" She breathed, her voice cracking.

The name sounded foreign to you, yet it struck something deep inside, a string you hadn't realized was there. Before you could react, she rushed towards you and wrapped her arms around you. The crate in your hands fell to the ground with a loud clatter, its contents scattering everywhere.

Her hold was tight, desperate, as if she were afraid you might disappear. "Gods" She whispered, her voice trembling "I missed you so much. There wasn't a day I didn't think about you. I-I thought you were dead after the explosion."

Her words pierced the fog in your mind, stirring emotions you couldn't explain. Images flickered in your head. flashes of pink hair, laughter, a hand reaching for yours in the dark. You didn't know her, not really. And yet…

The way her voice trembled, the way she held you like you were her lifeline. It felt familiar. Like home.

"I…" your voice wavered as you pulled back, stepping out of her embrace. The confusion and overwhelming emotions made it hard to think. "Y-you know me?" You swallowed hard, shaking your head, "I don't… I don't remember. I don't remember you"

Her expression faltered, the pain flickering across her face like a fleeting shadow. She took a shaky breath, forcing a small, fragile smile. "That's alright" she murmured, her voice trembling but steady enough to hide the heartbreak beneath it "We'll figure it out together. I'm not letting you go this time."

The days that followed were a whirlwind of emotions. Vi tried to reconnect with you, sharing stories of your childhood together, each one laced with hope that might ignite a spark of recognition. sometimes, fragments of those memories felt familiar, like shadows of something long lost. But just as quickly, they slipped away, leaving you more confused than before. How could someone care so deeply for you when you couldn't even remember who they were?

And yet, there were moments. Her laugh carried warmth that tugged at something buried deep within you. the way she said your name felt like home, even if you didn't understand why. The fire in her eyes when she talked about protecting you stirred something unspoken, something that felt like it had always been a part of you.

Despite the confusion, you couldn't help but feel drawn to her. Maybe it was the tenderness in her gaze, or the way your heart raced whenever she smiled. or perhaps it was something deeper. Something you couldn't name but felt in every fiber of your being, like a truth just out of reach.

one night, sitting on the rooftop, the hum of the lanes below was a distant murmur in the silence between you. You sat side by side with Vi, the weight of unspoken thoughts in the cool night air.

"Vi…" you began, your voice quiet as you stared out at the city "I-I don't know if I'll ever remember everything. I don't know if I can be the person you remember" You hesitated, your fingers twisting together nervously "But I want to try. I want to be that person for you"

Vi turned to you, her gaze soft but unwavering, her expression a mixture of hope and understanding. "you don't have to be anyone but who you are now" she said gently, her voice steady "I just… I just want to be here with you"

Her words stuck something deep within you, cutting through your uncertainty. for a moment, you were overwhelmed by how much this woman. this stranger who somehow felt like home. Had given herself to find you again.

"Vi…" you murmured, your voice trailing off as her eyes locked with yours. The space between you seemed to shrink, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy in the air.

slowly, tentatively, you leaned toward her, your heart pounding in your chest. She met you halfway, her lips warm and soft against yours. Her kiss was gentle yet filled with a quiet desperation, as though she had been holding back for years, waiting for this moment.

It wasn't just a kiss. It was a connection. A fragile bridge between the fractured pieces of your past and the uncertain promise of your future.

When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, your breaths mingling as you both tried to steady yourselves. Vi smiled, her voice soft and teasing, though her eyes glistened with emotion "I've waited a long time for that, you know"

you couldn't help but smile back, a warmth blooming in your chest that chased away the lingering doubts "I think… maybe I've been waiting too. I just don't realize it"

in that moment, the weight of the past seemed lighter. What mattered wasn't what had been lost but the connection you were building now. one step, one moment at a time, together.

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Hope you enjoyed reading :] don't forget to like.

I'm still working on some requests that should be out soon enough, if you want you can leave a request.

#vi arcane x reader #arcane #vi arcane #vi x reader #arcane league of legends #league of legends #arcane x reader #arcane x you #vi x you #vi x y/n #fluff

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aboutcustardcreams · 2 days ago

Text

To a Love that Never Dies

Summary: Neither you nor Agatha can divine when Rio will return. Sometimes, the uncertainty feels like a blessing, but on other days or nights, as in this case—it becomes a real struggle. You and Agatha share a moment.

warnings: none, hurt/comfort.

previous chapter

1756

You had been quiet for a while, sitting cross-legged on your shared bedroll. The only sound you could focus on, other than the soft snoring of your son, sleeping close to you. His breathing kept you alive. The fire crackled and hissed, its warmth licking at your cheeks. Your fingers danced towards it, as if tempted to reach out and touch. Fire didn’t scare you– it should have, and yet there were worse things to be afraid of. You learned the hard way. You had to say goodbye to one of the loves of your life, to begin with. And the possibility of having to go through the same trauma, but with your son, was crashing you in the most unimaginable way, slowly but constantly.

You let out another sigh. Agatha had lost count of how many you’d released that night. She was watching you intently from the corner of her eye, for minutes now, as your eyes darted from your son to the flames, then back to your son, bundled snugly beneath a thick blanket a few feet away from you. A small, tentative smile touched your lips as your gaze lingered, soft and loving, but also apprehensive. It was the look of a mother. The look of someone willing to do anything to grant their child’s safety. When Agatha scooted closer, her fingers found their way to your thigh, gently brushing it, to pull you out of your haze.

When you turned, the smile on your face didn’t reach your eyes.

“Your silence is awfully worrying, my love,” she whispered gently.

A wave of guilt rushed through you, as you pursed your lips, “I’m sorry–” It seemed the most sensible thing to say, because you were sorry and for so many things, you didn’t know where to start.

Agatha’s brows knitted in a frown, then. Her confusion grew considerably the moment unshed tears clung to your lashes and welled up those beautiful eyes of yours, signaling her you were this close to crying.

“No, no, no, hey–” she cooed, her face leaning inches closer to yours, “whatever are you sorry for?” Always ever so gently, Agatha kept stroking your skin at your thighs.

You focused on her hands and exhaled a shaky breath as you conjured up the memories of that day. It was supposed to be any other day really, and yet, as you and Agatha plotted to corner a lone witch who was wandering by herself in the woods, Nicky had decided to interfere. He didn’t just ask you not to kill the witch. No, he had actually begged in a way you knew you couldn’t refuse. In a way that kind of paralyzed both Agatha and you. ‘We can kill more witches tomorrow’, he had said, hopeful. That sentence had hit you like thousands of bricks crushing upon you. The weight of that plea had been unbearable, not just for what it meant, but for what it revealed. What if Nicky was starting to believe that killing witches was something normal to do, something that needed to be done, every other day? But worse, so much worse, what if he felt responsible, as much as you and Agatha were? The way he said ‘we’, that single, damning word– You’d rather die than let him carry even a shred of your guilt. Of the actions only you and Agatha were to blame for.

“I feel like I let him down,” you muttered breakingly, unable to elaborate further.

Agatha’s frown deepened as she shook her head slowly but firmly. She had her suspicions that your distress could revolve around that. But she would be damned before letting you believe that, in any way, you had disappointed your son, “You did exactly the opposite. Don’t you see? You… we showed mercy.” Despite the circumstances.

Your gaze shifted to the flame again, as you nibbled at the inside of your cheek. You didn’t know if that was true. You wanted it to be, but–

Agatha’s hands ran up to your face then, fingers brushing the curve of your jaw before settling beneath your chin. She turned it, eager to meet your gaze, to dive into those eyes of yours and suck away your pain, “you listened to him. You did exactly what he asked of us.”

Despite your initial snort, the curve of a tight smile crossed your lips, “how could we not?”

Agatha nodded with a grin, as she playfully nudged at your arm, “he’s too much like you not to question every single thing we do.”

When she heard you chuckle quietly, her gaze softened. There you were, the real you, slowly crawling back to her.

“He’s got the best of each of us.”

Agatha’s chin tilted up, pride flickering across her face at your remark, “absolutely.”

“Do you ever think about her?” She knew right away who you were talking about, but waited for you to say her name to answer you, “I mean, about Rio.”

Agatha raised her head to better look at you in the eyes, “Course, I do–”, she admitted with a tight smile. There was no point in lying, was there? Despite everything, Rio would always be a part of her heart that unfortunately got ripped from her, from you. And Nicky.

Your features dimmed a bit, and your nose scrunched up in thought, “she warned us, so we would be prepared for that day to come, and yet–” you exhaled, your voice still barely above a whisper. So small and fearful, Agatha’s heart ached right away.

She slid an arm around your middle, “and yet?” She repeated, encouragingly, her fingers smothered over your arm.

You sighed. “It’s not just Nicky I’m worried about,” your voice came out in a low murmur, and Agatha had to lean closer to you to grasp it. “It’s Rio, too. I’m terrified that someday this love I feel for her will twist into hate.” And that was the last thing you wanted. Because you loved Rio, despite everything. And you wanted to keep that sentiment intact, because it made you, you. “But if she takes him–” your voice dropped in fear, your chest suddenly too tight to allow your words to slip out completely. You were afraid of the person you’d become if she succeeded and you failed. Afraid of change in general.

Agatha’s arms tightened around you, and at the same moment her lips pressed against the top of your head, in a small, comforting gesture, that served for the both of you.

“I just wonder why–?” Your voice croaked, and you had to swallow a lump in your throat, before continuing, “why does it have to be this way?”

She clenched her eyes at your question, “I don’t know, my love. I wish I knew, I wish–”

“It’s just not right, Agatha. It cannot be.”

It was easier to be delusional, to fool yourself into believing that as long as you were alive, Nicky would be too. All you had to do was kill witches every other day. It was wrong, a cowardly move, but neither of you knew any better.

“It’s not,” she muttered firmly. When you pulled away to take in her face, her fingers smothered your hair, exactly as she would do with Nicky every morning, “I wish things were different,” her lips curved into a faint, fragile smile that barely held.

You nodded weakly. She was trying her best, too. Honestly, at this point you thought everyone was doing his part. Rio included. After all, she was giving Nicky time, when he wasn’t even supposed to take his first breath.

When a single tear slipped from Agatha’s eyes, it was your turn to brush it away.

“I never thought there would come a time where I’d hate one of you.”

Your eyes widened in shock at those words.

A pout formed on your lips. “No, hey. Don’t talk like that,” shakingly, reverently, your palms cradled her cheeks. Your eyes welled up once again, you couldn’t help it. Agatha didn’t hate Rio, of that you were sure. And you didn’t either. “Maybe the answer is to not hate her. I mean, who says we have to?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and said nothing for a moment, thinking, mulling over the possibility of still loving her, despite everything. “If she does take him, as she said she would–” she hesitated, her voice dripping with a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, anger, frustration. Agatha had always known what Rio was capable of, that she was a much more powerful witch than she could ever dream to be. And if it never bothered her at first, it surely did now because she was powerless against her, against the things she could do.

“I’m not sure I could ever forgive her. Damn–” a breathless chuckle, humourless and bitter escaped her. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same…”

You stilled and looked momentarily taken aback by her words. Agatha was being honest with you, she was once again opening her heart to you, but the weight on your shoulders could only duplicate, because you and only you were the key to save Nicky, to prevent things from changing drastically. And if you failed, it was on you. Agatha’s pain, Nicky’s and yours. Even Rio’s.

Your jaw tightened, as you tutted, “sometimes I wish we could jump to that, end all the suffering now and give him a proper chance.”

In order to live, Nicky needed to die first.

Agatha’s face paled, however she didn’t dare to interrupt you.

“And I know that my magic doesn’t come without risks, but I’m ready. Hell- it feels like I was born for this. I can save him, and I will– no matter the cost– no matter how much it will shatter my soul to–” To hold your lifeless child’s body.

Noticing your struggle, Agatha decided to step in, “hey, no, shhh– don’t go there. He’s here. He’s still right here.”

It was true. But for how long still?

Leaning closer, Agatha ran both her hands up and down your arms, in a featherlike touch, meaning to ease your panic, “I’ll be there with you, you hear me? You won’t have to face it alone. Never. Your price to pay is mine, too,” she promised solemnly.

Hesitantly, you attempted a weak nod of your head and she nodded back, in an encouraging way.

“And then…” She trailed off, fingers gently ghosting over your skin. Never leaving. Never daring to. You were her anchor, after all. “We will be okay. Finally free.”

It was nice to imagine a happy ending. So you focused on that, you had to. A pang of relief washed over you, as soon as you did. She was right. Of course, she was. She had to be. You nodded again, a watery chuckle slipped from you.

Agatha opened her arms, then, “Come here,” pulling you closer, she pressed her forehead against yours. When her mouth brushed against the corner of yours, your eyes glimmered, and so did Agatha’s, despite still being a bit red and puffy for all the crying.

After a moment of silence, you cleared your throat to speak again, “I was thinking—” your eyes darted back to Nicky. You stared at him for a bunch of seconds, memories of that morning coming back to you, and causing your lips to press in a line. He didn’t look well. You wanted to blame the light of the moon for making his skin appear so milky, yet you knew it had nothing to do with that. He needed help. Magic, to be exact. And that day, you and Agatha had failed to grant him some.

“You should take some of my power— you know, for Nicky,” you tumbled out.

As soon as your words slipped out, Agatha pulled away from you, her eyes stared into yours, long and hard and shadows fell across her face.

You winced, “Agatha.. I know it’s scary, but–”

Her eyes narrowed, as she sat up, putting a small distance between you and her. Her tone came out sharp, “I’m sorry but you don’t know anything.”

You took the blow in silence, looking away from her. It hurt. You knew your request could upset her and it did. But it was worth a try, “if you say so.”

She raised her eyebrows when you said that, then she grabbed your chin, forcing you to keep your gaze on her. She wasn’t going to let you look away, not now, not with that tone you’d used, condescending, as if you were the only one fighting, the only one willing to try anything.

“You know I can’t do this,” her breath hitched, frustration filling her voice. “I could kill you, damnit!”

All you wanted was to help your son. A soft hum tumbled from your lips, causing her heart to burst, quite literally. You knew what she was capable of, and yet you still believed she could stop in time, if she only tried.

Her fingers softened against your jaw, so did her voice, “tell me why you’d suggest something like that?”

Nicky didn’t look good, that’s why.

You stared at her with the same intensity, “because Nicky needs it, Agatha.”

She stilled for a moment and clenched her jaw, “That’s not enough reason to willingly and dumbly sacrifice yourself!”

You swallowed– you didn’t mean to. But before you could say it, she urged on. “He needs you. Hell, I need you. You’re his only hope to– we just talked about that!” Agatha wanted to scream, to raise her voice, you saw that by the way her magic was trembling and gathering around her, around you. You sure pushed a sore point there.

You recoiled then, “okay… okay,” you muttered, reaching out to touch her shaky hands. She was right, you knew she was, but the fear for your son’s health had blurred your judgment for a second.

Agatha’s voice dropped, “what makes you think I could ever live with myself if I took your life?”

A whimper tumbled from your lips. “I’m sorry— I only asked because I trust you,” you trailed off, your voice shaking a bit. “I’m not deliberately asking you to kill me. I would never. I quite like being alive,” your attempt at humor made Agatha crack a smile, a tight, very brief gesture, you wished you could freeze in time to always replay in your mind.

“Well flash news for you, I can’t,” she muttered, in a lower tone. Resigned, even. “So please, don’t bring it up again.”

You nodded carefully. “Okay. It’s fine.” It really wasn’t but you couldn’t really force her, so you didn’t push it any further. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

When Agatha lifted her gaze once again to meet your eyes, she noticed your face all scrunched up and her stomach dropped. How soft she was for you was beyond her understanding.

“If you apologize one more time, so help me Dark Mother–” she responded, her tone a tad more playful and light than a moment ago.

You gave her a sheepish look then.

“I understand you. I truly do,” she breathed out, her fingers curling around yours. “I just can’t bear the thought of putting you in danger. If something were to go wrong–”

Your eyes softened, you looked at her in a way to say that it wasn’t necessary for her to continue, “I got it. It was a bad idea, stop tormenting yourself now, ‘kay?”

She scoffed, yet you could clearly see her lips curling up a bit, “easy for you to say after nearly giving me a heart attack-!” she pulled back with a click of her tongue.

You chuckled again, “I’m sorry–”

Agatha rolled her eyes, which only made you chuckle harder. Hadn’t she told you to stop apologizing for whatever reason? You had to bite your bottom lip then, when she cocked an eyebrow at you. Agatha’s hands slid down and gripped at your waist. With extreme ease, she pulled your body even closer to hers, and then, she pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. When she pulled away, she caught you blushing and her heart bursted with so much love.

You cleared your throat, as she tucked a strand of your hair from your face, “you’re such a wonderful mom to our son, Agatha Harkness.”

She stilled. You could clearly see the emotion in her eyes, raw and vulnerable. It meant the world coming from you, “you’re not bad yourself,” she teased, making you nod and chuckle again. Then she turned serious, her thumb grazing your cheekbones, eyes getting lost in every detail of your face, “I couldn’t have asked for a better mother for him, actually.”

You looked momentarily taken aback, but in a good way.

She adored everything about you, every expression that crossed your face, every little reaction she could draw from you. There wasn’t a single thing about you that felt out of place. You were beautiful, so beautiful, sometimes she thought she didn’t deserve you.

Unaware of Nicky stirring beneath his blanket, his small body shifting as he rubbed sleepily at his eyes, Agatha leaned in and placed her lips, warm and plump, against yours. Her hands rested firmly on your waist, grounding you in the moment, while your fingers found their way into her thick, unruly hair, twisting and tugging gently exactly how she liked it.

Agatha hummed pleasantly, a smile curling upwards, "delicious,” she praised.

Your eyes lit up, a chuckle slipped out, “thanks. You’re yummy,too.”

Agatha threw her head back and blew a raspberry, “yummy? How old are you? One hundred and fifty?”

You scoffed. Before you could reply to that, another voice preceded you. Both you and Agatha spun around towards your son sitting down in the middle of his bedroll.

“Moms?” He said with a yawn.

“Hey, big man,” you brushed a stray lock of hair back, tucking it behind your ear, “What’s up?”

He looked pale, paler than usual, but you tried with all your being not to focus too much on that detail. You’d kill a witch first thing in the morning tomorrow. That was the plan. It was going to be fine.

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Of course, you can–” Agatha smiled. “Hop here,” she patted the spot between you and her, and he immediately jumped to his feet, his blanket still over his shoulders, as he landed between you two. Once settled, you three laid back, your arms wrapped instinctively around Nicky’s body, his cheek on your chest, your chin above his head. Agatha snuggled closer, she placed a protective arm over you and Nicky, and pressed a soft kiss over Nicky’s temple.

“Better?” You asked him.

“Very much. Thanks.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, as you stared at him with pure fondness, occasionally peppering small kisses over the crown of his head. In the meantime, Agatha ghosted her free hand over Nicky’s hair, knowing way too well that little trick would make him fall asleep.

When you lifted your chin, yours and Agatha’s eyes met. She mouthed ‘I love you’ in your direction, which made your heart flutter. You gave her a grin, before reaching out, trying not to disturb Nicky’s sleep, and pressed your lips to hers in a kiss– a goodnight kiss, perhaps. As your lips parted, you stayed close, your breath mingling with hers as you whispered, “love you, too.”

#agathario #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #wlw #nicholas scratch #agatha harness x rio vidal #agatha x rio x reader #hurt/comfort #emotional #witches #lesbians

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myownwholewildworld · 2 days ago

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iv. two inches - acta, non verba

chapter 3 | series masterlist | ao3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: will the stars finally align so you can have who you want? a/n: hiii! sorry it's taken me a month to update 🥲 after watching gladiator ii, i knew i had to come back to these two asap. as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care 💖 warnings (spoilers): 18+, mdni. smut incoming. sexual tension galore. marcus jerks off to the thought of you. kissing. breast worship. mentions of past sexual trauma/marital abuse. the tip goes in. misogynistic views. infidelity. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin). marcus is 49, ofc!reader (callie) is 26. w/c: ~8.4k. dividers by @\saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

Niamh’s appearance had startled you, bringing you back to reality. For a second you had let yourself rejoice in the moment, in having Marcus—quite literally—on the palm of your hand. You had not intended on it going so far; on grabbing his manhood with resolution and pumping him with delight. His hardening dick had been so hard to ignore, you just gave in to temptation.

His initial reticence to not be touched was what had spurred you on. Marcus had attempted to reject your advances, although unsuccessfully. Him turning you down only encouraged you more, wanting to prove to him how badly he desired you, even if he tried to conceal his lust.

The sooner he realised he wanted you, the faster your plan would move along.

And by the Gods did he realise, his steely cock living proof of his appetite for you.

What you had not expected though was your own body’s reaction to Marcus’ undeniable desire. Your pussy had been gushing all along, each stroke on his girth unravelling something within you — especially when you hinted at the idea of slotting his cock between your lips to suckle on him. That simple thought sent a warm wave down your spine, your folds wetting almost instantly. In fact, you could still feel the dampness your thighs were harbouring for him.

And it was all part of your scheme, anyway. Eventually you planned on it happening — sooner rather than later, preferably. If you experienced a few orgasms thanks to him in the process… well, even better. The trash sex Iain had subjugated you to for a decade was the only thing you had known in the bedchamber — not once did you climax, yet many a times—if not always—you wailed in pain. Considering how your flesh had reacted to Marcus, perhaps the General would be useful in more than one way to you.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you glanced at him over your shoulder — a quick peek through your lashes, your teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.

You were riding together on his horse, his arms tight around your shoulders pinning you in place. His bulge was pressing against the soft curve of your ass — no wonder your pussy was still laced with slick.

Knowing Marcus was in hell right now, you wiggled your hips back, the plumpness of your buttocks nuzzling his swollen groin. The General swallowed a groan, his arms tighter around your shoulders, and you smirked to yourself, feeling his erection hard pressed against you. Marcus had found no relief since Naimh interrupted you both and was still at full mast. And understanding that caused your insides to melt.

Truth be told, you would have liked to finish what you started. Not for his sake, but for your own. Making him come in your mouth would have partially put out the hellfire that burnt inside you, wreaking havoc in your seam.

The animosity between Marcus and Maximus shimmered in the atmosphere.

The Commander had only brought his own horse and yours had deserted you, which meant that, if you were to come back, you had to choose between the two Romans. Maximus had gracefully offered you to ride with him, and the mischievous sideways look he shot in Marcus’ direction didn’t escape you.

But before you could accept or decline, Marcus had mumbled something under his breath before ordering you to ride with him. Maximus was delighted with the whole exchange, and you understood that the Commander was actually teasing the General.

A little possessiveness wouldn’t hurt. It meant you were stirring Marcus in the right direction — yours.

You ventured another sneaky look at Acacius, your curiosity concealed by the cover provided by the trees.

His lips pursed in frustration, but his eyes distilled exhaustion. Marcus had lost enough blood to put a man to sleep for a week, but here he was, standing and conscious, away from Dhuosnos’ realm.

You had made sure of that, not only by mending his wounds, but also by killing one of the attackers. That ambush had left a crawling suspicion in the back of your mind, bothering and nagging. There was something weird about it all but couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.

Maximus spoke, filling the silence and voicing your inkling.

“And you’re sure you didn’t recognise them, General?”

Marcus slowly shook his head again, his chest rubbing your back with the motion.

“No. They spoke that barb— uhm, the local language,” he muttered, briefly looking at you sideways, almost apologetic.

You knew how the original sentence was going to finish: that barbaric language. A reminder of who he was after all—your enemy. You shouldn’t lose sight of that, of the true purpose of your actions.

It felt wrong, how your lust awakened for none other than your enemy. Yes, you intended on bedding him, but your previous thought of getting Marcus to make you come now angered you. Your arousal felt like a betrayal to the memory of your family. You shouldn’t wet at the idea of fucking him — if anything, you should feel disgusted of your own reaction.

Straightening your back, you just rolled your eyes with disdain, letting him know of your annoyance.

“I’ll ask around, see what I can find out,” Maximus thought out loud, then glanced at you through the darkness. “Did you recognise any of them? Their accent?”

Slowly shaking your head, you grasped the saddle’s horn.

“No, I didn’t. I’m not sure they were from around here,” you explained, wondering if you were saying too much.

They hadn’t recognised you, which showed they were not your clansmen. But they were pretending to be.

You went quiet, your frown deepening.

“What’s bothering you, my lady?” Marcus’ breath caressed your ear, your skin bristling instantly.

“Nothing,” you replied quickly.

Too quickly.

“I’m sorry you had to defend yourself,” he whispered, his husky voice low so only you could hear him. “I should have paid more attention. I won’t let it happen again.”

Suddenly you realised he thought this was your first time killing someone. Little did he know, you probably had reaped as many souls as he had. You were no stranger to the battlefield — your father had taught all his children how to wield a sword, how to take a life. You learnt how to detach your soul from your body whenever someone’s life was cut short in order to preserve part of your humanity. It was the only way you could live with yourself, because it didn’t matter if they deserved it or not, it still gnawed at your conscience at night.

Marcus, on the contrary, seemed to be oblivious to how much pain his killing had caused. Had caused you.

Another reminder.

But then you realised what he had said. He wouldn’t let it happen again — a fissure in his impassiveness. Was he starting to care about you?

So you played on his protectiveness, on his words. Pouting lips, doe eyes and all, you nodded.

“I… I just wanted to protect you, Dominus. I was afraid he would hurt you,” you mumbled back, faking your fear for him.

The decade with Iain was paying off after all. To survive by your late husband’s side, you had to master the ability of make-believe, to pretend you were feeling ways you truly weren’t — afraid, amused, sad, happy, distraught, content. You had acquired the skills to feign a whole range of emotions, and this would be useful with the General.

He bought it.

“Don’t worry about me, Callie,” his voice was but a whisper, but that wasn’t what distracted you.

His broad—massive actually—right hand had landed on your right knee, squeezing it lightly, as if to soothe you; your suffering for having killed a man. His touch was light and brief, but long enough to leave goosebumps in his wake.

You were not sure which one of you were more taken aback — him because of his sudden show of worry, or you because of how that had made you feel.

“But I appreciate what you did back there,” he quickly added, clearing his throat, both of his hands gripping the leather reins.

“I would do it all over again, Dux Meus. For you.”

Perhaps you were buying it too.

Nay, can’t be.

The whole ride back to Inbhir Nis castle was literal torture. A tempting nymph on his lap, warm and inviting, was the last thing Marcus needed to worry about.

But instead of the last, you had become the first on a never-ending list of concerns. Curbing his desire for you had been a herculean task, one he did not accomplish. Because as soon as the door to his chambers closed behind him, he stripped himself of all his clothing.

The moment the jail of his armour was gone, freed from its heaviness and tight grip, Marcus sighed, just finding a miniscule relief.

The erection that you provoked him was as hard as a couple of hours ago, shaft throbbing against his happy trail. It had been at least two hours since you had worked him to this state of unsatisfied lewdness and now it was just damn uncomfortable to be at full mast.

A warm bath was awaiting him, and Marcus only took a second to dive in. The hot, milky water was welcoming, soothing his strained muscles. There were herbs floating around — rosemary, lavender and thyme, at least the ones his sense of smell recognised.

A scent that had hit him before, when he encountered you getting out of the garderobe a few weeks ago. Why did that aroma remind him of you? Why would you just not leave his mind? This thought of you lingering was dangerous, distracting. But so fucking alluring too — there was something about you, the mischievous aura you exuded, that reeled Marcus in.

It was intoxicating, really. No, you were intoxicating. And he just wanted to drown in it, in you.

Marcus grunted in frustration, one hand sinking under the water to find his heavy balls and massage them gently. His head tilted back, resting on the edge of the wooden bathtub, and his eyes squeezed shut when his imagination took him back to the moment you wielded his cock.

Now that the haze of his fainting had lifted, he should have shown himself some self-restraint to stop whatever this was. But he couldn’t, the memory of your tight grip too unravelling, too compelling.

So, in the privacy and safety of his bedchamber, he gave in to temptation. A last squeeze on his full testicles and then he was pumping his thudding dick to the thought of you doing exactly the same. His hand was your hand, and that was everything Marcus needed.

His thumb pressed on the slit, just as you had done. Then the bobbing of his hand picked up a faster rhythm, his free hand drifting down to hold his balls again, and Marcus jerked himself off while he envisaged you sealing your lips around his plump head, just as you had teased.

That was his undoing — you suckling on him, milking him dry with your mouth. Marcus could envision it perfectly: on your fours between his hairy, thick thighs, hand twisting on the base of his shaft while you sucked in his mushroom head, dick pulsing hard for you. And you glancing up at him with those green orbs — full, hypnotising eye contact, almost too intimate.

A few more strokes on his cock, imagination running wild, and he finally came. His breathing hitched and accelerated, becoming irregular, as his fist clutched harder around his girth. Spurts of white, tacky robes left his slit, his glans just peeking out of the water, and landed on his chest.

It took Marcus a couple of minutes to come down from his high. This was a new low for him, having to masturbate himself to the thought of someone because he was too horny to let it go. Too proud to ask you to finish what you had started. Too loyal to his cheating wife.

The last thought annoyed him, not wanting to think about Livia at this precise moment. He resented her, probably more than what he should. But her betrayal stung like fire licking on his skin, their holy matrimony reduced to a farce. For all he knew, he did not have any children of his own blood now. Marcus loved them equally though, but it still gnawed at him that he had been raising the children of another man unknowingly.

The life he had carefully built seemed to have crush down to its foundations. Marcus truly did not know what to expect upon his return. He had left abruptly, called by the Emperor and Agricola, with no time to discuss his family life with his wife. He didn’t think he could just go back to normal, not after what had emerged.

Being out here in the wild Caledonia, Marcus felt his life on hold, postponing the inevitable. But he couldn’t think about that now, not when he had so many tasks ahead of him.

Absentmindedly, Marcus cupped some water and washed the cum off his chest, watching it swirl around in the tub.

A knock, then the creak of the door as it opened.

His heart jumped and he quickly sat back up in the bathtub, water splashing as he did. He had forgotten to put on the latch.

He hoped to hell it was Atticus, at least.

“Dux Meus?”

Wrong, fucking wrong.

Had he thought of you so hard that he had willed your presence?

Your profile peeked through the crack in the doorframe.

“Can I come in, General?”

Your ask was a mere formality, because before he could say anything, you had already entered the room and closed the door behind you.

Marcus’ back straightened, his relaxed muscles tautening again in your presence. Could he have no moment of respite, when he would not be haunted by bewildering scents and suggestive lips?

For a brief second, Marcus watched you look around, taking in the details of the room. A big, four poster bed with translucent veils hanging from every side; the matching oak furniture; the vivid, colourful tapestries on the bare stone walls telling stories he never heard of; a wonky standing shelf with a small library, books he had flicked through at candlelight before bed; the rudimentary chimney where a fire burnt and crackled.

Because even in spring, the thick walls of the castle kept a cool atmosphere inside. The pyre warmed up the room, but Marcus thought the temperature shot up the moment you stepped closer to where he was.

“What are you doing here?” his question sounded almost accusatory, his fingers gripping the edges of the tub, knuckles whitening.

His wary demeanour didn’t put you off, light feet closing the distance with a smirk.

As you approached, Marcus couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of you. Your green skirt flowed around you, hugging your voluptuous hourglass figure in all the right places. Your red hair framed your delicate features, freckles dotted around your nose and cheeks on your moonlight skin. Cherry lips as plump as figs, reddened and curled up. Some flickering green eyes as fiery as the orange sparks in the flue stared at him with unknown intent. A marble neck that led the path to the esplanade of your collarbone, and then, right underneath…

His mouth watered, and his cock inevitably pulsed again. Your full breasts almost spilt over the low squared neckline of your dress, like sunny hills welcoming him home. Pebbled nipples greeting him. A deep cleavage so inviting, he could imagine pumping himself in between them, his glans just peeking through and kissing the center of your clavicle.

Another twitch in his groin made him steel himself and drawing a deep breath in to calm himself.

You crouched down, squatting right beside the bathtub, and placed one soft hand over his.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright, Dux Meus. That your wounds were not bleeding, and the stitches were holding up,” the concern tinting your voice felt real to him.

Marcus cleared his throat, tense.

“They’re all fine. My healer certainly knew what she was going,” he conceded, then remembered. “Except for the blunt tip of the needle. That I did not appreciate.”

You laughed and patted his hand a few times in jest.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure an acclaimed General like yourself can withstand a little bit of pain, Dominus,” you joked, long eyelashes batting at him. “But for that I am sorry, I had to work with what Naimh had at hand.”

“Thank you. For saving my life twice,” he whispered, almost solemnly. “I am indebted to you, Callie.”

You waved a hand to dismiss his gratitude, gifting him a crooked smile that quickly reached your eyes.

“You killed two men. I think we are even, Dux Meus,” you muttered back, a low, wicked husk that knocked him off his senses momentarily.

With the smile still painted on your round lips, your eyes slowly drifted down his chest. The milky water was murky enough so you wouldn’t see through it, wouldn’t see how hard he was getting again.

And then you bit and licked your lips, the grin almost fading as a darker, sensual expression transformed your face — a mesmerising gesture that forced Marcus to follow your sight. Then he saw what had caught your attention: his cum floating around, gathering around the herbs that scented the now lukewarm water.

A moment of silence stretched between you, his heart racing up as your gaze lingered on the water, as if you were hoping for his erection to peep its head out above it.

Your fingers reached down into the water; palm cupped to trap some of his wasted seed. It filtered through your fingers until it all fell back into the bath water. Swirling your fingers around, you grabbed a tiny bunch of rosemary, dragging it across the water until the small leaves caressed the exposed skin of his chest.

The summit of your tongue licking your bottom lip as your eyes locked intimately.

So fucking suggestive, Marcus’ breath hitched, close to losing his mind.

“Marcus,” you cooed, your wet fingers dropping the rosemary and lifting up.

Your hand slid to his, wrapping around his wrist, a warm touch that spiked his heart rate.

A thunder crawled under his skin the moment you guided his hand over to your bosom. You squeezed his hand, smoothing it over your lush left breast. He couldn’t help but cradle it, feeling the taut nipple grazing the thin fabric, rubbing his palm.

“Please,” you almost sobbed, moving his hand in circles over your boob.

To hell with everything. He shouldn’t let himself be distracted by the pleasures of the flesh during such an important campaign, but Marcus wanted you so badly — his new erection living proof of the desire that burnt for you.

Just one time, to satiate the caprice, and then he could go back to his duties.

Your mouth was agape, beckoning like a siren. And as he was about to relinquish to the temptation you offered, leaning forward, another knock on the door swept the moment away.

“Dominus, Commander Maximus necessitates your presence immediately,” Atticus forewarned him before his steps faded in the distance of the hallway.

Perhaps you despised Atticus more than you hated Marcus, and that was a feat to beat.

The universe was intent on your plan not taking form at all, otherwise you could not explain all these fucking interruptions. Another person might have taken the hint, but not you. Stubborn as a mule, you would not stop at anything — Marcus would fall in your tangled web, whatever the cost.

You only needed to remember to keep a cool head. Among the hatred, pleasure shimmered, and it certainly bothered you. How your body had a mind of its own and responded to his obvious desire, damp fold hidden away between your thighs.

It’s just an act, you reminded yourself.

But as much as you tried to convince yourself, your drenched pussy agreed to disagree.

Huffing and puffing, you went down the spiral staircase and sauntered towards the kitchens. You were in dire need of some light-hearted jest, and the old cook would help take your mind off things with his banter.

Cormag wasn’t there, just Isla and Brighid shuffling around the hearth, keeping it alive. The smoky smell filled the room, almost suffocating, and you coughed.

“That chimney is close to getting clogged,” you managed to say, clearing your throat. “Should put the fire out and get one of the helping lads to go in there and clean it out.”

Isla turned around, her head bowing down as a quick curtsy. They all really needed to stop doing that, even when no Romans were around.

“We can’t do that yet, mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, she replied, her hands busy kneading the flour on the counter. “Apparently there is a feast to be had tomorrow, one of the Romans’ birthdays. We’ve been asked to start the preparations for it, so will have to pull an all-nighter…”

Brighid voiced her discontent, crouched down by the fire, feeding it some logs.

“I don’t understand why we are wasting so much food on them. My family’s starving, we barely have any bread left, and these cu…” she quickly looked at you, embarrassed, but you nodded, encouraging, “these cunts eat like gluttons. Last night you were not here, my lady, but some of them even started throwing the food around at one another. Disgraceful.”

“Aye,” Isla agreed. “I had to pick up some unspoilt veggies off the floor. My nan has not had anything to eat for the last two days, she was worried that my siblings and I wouldn’t have enough to eat.”

Their struggles broke your heart. Not only because they were your clan, but because of the injustice of it all. No person should go to bed hungry, and these undesirable guests were forcing people to go without a meal.

You knew both of the maids, their families. Brighid’s son was three and had started to talk; her husband had returned with you from Raedykes and now was an amputee, trying to find a job to provide for his family. Isla’s parents had perished during the battle of Mons Graupius too, serving your father till their final days.

It was frustrating, but it was even more infuriating. Your hands were tied, and you could not wait to break free of your tethers. You looked forward to the moment this all would be over, that you could face a defeated Marcus Acacius and impart upon him the same misfortune he and his people left in their wake.

You stayed with them a little longer, helping out where they needed you to. A couple of hours later, tired and in need of your niece and nephew’s hug, you were flying by the hallways of the keep, heading back to your aunt Bonnie’s crannog, when male voices stopped you in your tracks.

The door to the great hall was ajar, Maximus’ raspy tone filtering through.

“Cassius’ henchman and some of his men went back to the spot where you were attacked. There were patches of blood on the grass, but the bodies were gone,” the Commander husked. “I find it weird, honestly.”

“So do I,” Marcus agreed. “I didn’t want to say it before, but one of them spoke in Latin to me. His accent was… definitely Roman.”

“That makes no sense,” Maximus replied, their voices clearer now. “What did he say to you?”

“Just ‘Die, bastard’. That was all, but I could tell he was fluent.”

“Leave it to me, I’ll see what I can find out.”

Heavy steps approached, and you knew they were close.

Picking up your skirt, you ran down the corridor, mixing with the shadows until darkness wrapped around you.

“What were you fucking thinking, Callie? You could’ve gotten killed!”

Torcall was not impressed with your outing, to say the least.

You rolled your eyes at him, arms folded. You shouldn’t have explained why you had been missing for so many hours, but you were not one to lie to your allies. Especially if they were family.

“I didn’t have a choice, Torcall. He saw me leaving and decided to accompany me. What should I have done? Tell him his gallantry was no longer needed because I decided not to go? That would have been so suspicious,” you reasoned, your own anger flaring. “And I was in no real danger, anyway. They were Caledonians.”

You downplayed that on purpose. They were Caledonians, aye, but they were really intent on killing you. You were still ruminating on that detail.

“And you killed one of them. For him. To protect the fucking General of Rome,” Torcall barked, teeth clenching. “Why didn’t you let them finish him? All of our problems would be over.”

His accusation, although deserved, enraged you. Even more so because you had thought exactly the same thing, and still decided to defend him.

“You’re so short-sighted, seriously. If I did, his entire army would have come hunt me down, ye eejit (idiot)!” You stood up, the legs of the chair screeching against the cobblestone. “Half of the castle saw us leaving together, I would’ve been the first one they suspected. And you know they tend to kill first and ask questions later.”

Torcall scoffed, fury distorting his features. But then a change of demeanour: he got up too and closed the distance between you two. For a moment he doubted, and then his arms wrapped around you, hugging you close to his chest.

The sudden proximity made you feel weird. Uncomfortable.

“I was just worried for you, Callie,” Torcall mumbled, his breath fanning over your ear. He leaned back, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “You’re like family to me. To my children.”

The intensity his eyes distilled caught you off guard. They were soft and pleading now, all his anger forgotten. And then they drifted down, landing on your mouth.

The whole atmosphere shifted, your heart beating wildly. Surely this all felt wrong to the both of you.

“You are family, Torcall,” you remarked. “You’re my sister’s husband, that’s actual family, not ‘like’ family.”

Your words carried meaning, and more than meaning — a subtle warning. A reminder too, of who he was and who you were to him. He shouldn’t forget himself. Torcall was your brother-in-law, and although pain had brought you closer these past weeks, it meant nothing more than that.

At least to you.

Torcall cleared his throat, his arms falling slack to his sides.

“Aye, I guess we are,” he sighed, pinched the bridge of his perfectly straight nose, and sat back down on the chair. “So, were they our brethren? You said they were Caledonians.”

You were relieved at the change of subject, the tension between you fading.

Nodding, you sat too.

“Aye, although their accent was not really from around here. But Acacius seemed to think they were Romans,” you added, your fingers drumming on the wooden table between you. “Think he’s wrong though, you can’t fake an accent like ours so easily. Do you reckon it’s got something to do with the attempt on the General’s life a few days ago?”

Torcall seemed to take a moment, contemplating his answer before he spoke. His eyes flickered for a second, his pupils a well full of doubts, something you thought odd.

“I don’t think so. They were just lads, highly doubt they could pull something like that off,” he commented, almost cautiously.

You frowned, eyes slightly squinting.

“They could be part of a larger group. You said so yourself, people don’t listen to reason when they feel threatened. Perhaps some of them have decided to take justice into their own hands. I never got a chance to speak to my cousins yesterday—”

“I did,” Torcall cut you off.

The wrinkles between your brows deepened.

“You did? You went to Bun Craobh?”

“Aye, had some errands to run,” he didn’t add any further explanation to that. “Ran into them and told them about your plan when I realised you hadn’t spoken to them yet.”

“That wasn’t for you to do, Torcall,” you replied, mildly infuriated at him for taking the liberty to do so. “What the hell did you tell them?”

“Nothing in too much detail, mainly because they’d try to talk you out of it the same way I did,” there was a note of reproach in his voice, one you decidedly ignored. “Just that you were planning on spying on the General to get details of their next steps.”

How you got to Marcus was none of his fucking business. Now you questioned whether you should have shared that information with Torcall or not, if he was going to fucking judge you at every step of the way. What you did and how you got what you wanted was entirely up to you. You hadn’t broken free from Iain to fall under the controlling hands of another man.

“Tiugainn (come on), Callie. I just told them enough so the word would spread that Murdoch’s only living daughter is planning on fighting back. Give the people a reason to hope,” he pleaded, sensing your anger.

“Aye, but next time, ask me. I don’t appreciate you bypassing me in these matters, not when I’ve got enough enemies at my doorstep.”

Marcus did not like all this unwanted attention. He was adamant this had been one of Maximus’ jokes, just to get on his nerves.

The General did not like celebrating his birthday. In fact, hated it. His wife would throw lavish parties back at home, wasting gold on unnecessary decorations and gifts — Livia would use any excuse to show off how full their vault was. Having made himself from nothing, Marcus understood how hard he had to work for each and every denarius to his name.

His most trusted Commander knew this and ignored it completely. He had mobilised the people of the castle to prepare a feast, food filling tables and wine spilling out of goblets in celebration. A fire had been lit in the big chimney presiding the great hall, white flower arrangements hung from the stone walls. There was even music being played in the background, the soft sounds of the lyre accompanied by a female voice who sang in Latin and praised all his conquests.

And what angered him most: there was a good handful of meretrices (prostitutes) lingering around. Most of them were local freedwomen, but others were slaves that Agricola’s men had brought with them. Marcus had not allowed his own army to bring any woman into this new land, needing them focused on the task ahead. Agricola was, on the other hand, very lenient in that respect — encouraging almost.

“How are you this beautiful afternoon, Dominus?” A sensual hum whispered in his ear tightened his muscles uncomfortably.

Looking over his shoulder, Marcus saw the blonde woman who had been eyeing him for a while. She was wearing a white toga, obviously one of the Roman slaves brought from overseas.

Unrequited, she sat on his lap, her round butt cheeks kneading his soft bulge, while one of her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Would you like a taste?” she asked with a bright smile, bringing a cup to his lips.

Marcus shook his head no, one hand stopping the chalice from getting closer.

“No, thank you. And I rather be left alone,” he told the prostitute, rejecting her advances flatly.

She just laughed, putting the goblet back down on the table. Then she leaned forward, her lips brushing the artery on his neck.

“Oh, we don’t really need to play this game, Master,” she whispered in his ear.

Unbothered by the suggestive talk and her pressing onto his lap, Marcus swept the great hall, a burning sensation in his chest commending him to.

Your eyes locked through the observing crowd. The green orbs that stared him down were filled with playfulness. Suddenly, that sensual wickedness transformed into brief anger, then disappointment.

It took Marcus a second to understand why you seemed upset. He had forgotten about the prostitute sitting on his lap, talking his ear off.

You stiffed, chin lifted up with disdain, and turned around with a wooden jug on your hands.

Fuck. Wait, no. It’s not what it seems, he wanted to say.

Marcus tried to get up, almost throwing the woman to the ground in his haste to get to you.

“I won’t require your services,” he politely declined when she looked at him in surprise.

“Oh…” her disappointment was visible, but it wasn’t the one he cared to soothe.

“Don’t worry, love, come here. The General seems in a hurry to leave. Some important matters, I wager,” Maximus extended his arm towards the blonde woman, inviting her onto his lap.

The sneering look Marcus threw Maximus’ way did not go unnoticed, his Commander laughing it off.

Ignoring him, he quickly walked off the dais, following your trail among the crowd. Your fiery red hair was like a beacon, one he followed to the main doors. A second later he was in the hallway and looked around, just in time to see you disappearing into the garderobe storing the wine.

Why he was following you, he was not sure. Why he needed to put your mind at ease, he was not sure either. All he knew was that the crushed expression you had given him stirred something within him.

In a few strides, he was right behind you, his hand holding open the wooden door to the garderobe.

“Callie,” he called you, your name rolling easily off his tongue, like a trained whisper.

Annoyed didn’t cut it, disappointed didn’t either. You were pissed. There you were, breaking your back to get Marcus to yield to you, for a prostitute to easily find comfort on his lap.

The man behind the façade was unknown to you, but you hadn’t taken him for someone who enjoyed his free time in the whorehouse. Judging by how his hand cupped the small of her back and how the blonde was basically licking his neck, you were mistaken.

You were not jealous though. Just pissed, that was it.

Mumbling to yourself, you had walked out of the great hall to refill the empty jug with his favourite wine, not wanting to see such a spectacle unfolding in front of you. The burning sensation in the pit of your stomach would eventually fade, you were sure.

Although the door behind you was open, the inside of the garderobe was pitch-black. Patting blindly in the dark, you found the open barrel.

As you were about to turn the iron tap on, the sound of your name made you jump on the spot. Your pulse accelerated and the jug fell from your hands, clattering on the stone floor. You didn’t need to look to know who it was — considering how your skin bristled and warmth pooled low in your tummy, you already knew.

“Fuck, Marcus!” you exclaimed when you turned around to look at him.

Your heart rate spiked again, for a very different reason this time.

He had followed you; he had left the prostitute behind to come look for you. That had to mean something. Perhaps you had a tighter grip on him than what you originally thought.

And that pleased you immensely, to your dismay. The butterflies in your belly should be fucking dead, not fluttering their wings in excitement. Your heart kept on pounding against your ribcage, even harder when Marcus entered the tiny room and swung the door behind him, leaving it ajar.

A sliver of light flooded in through the crack, just enough so you could make out his features and the hard lines of his body.

Suddenly, the garderobe felt extremely small with him inside too.

“It’s not what it seems. I wasn’t—”

“You owe me no explanation, Acacius. What you do or you don’t do, it’s not my business,” you cut him off with the right amount of bitter venom distilling from your tongue.

The General pursed his lips in frustration. A dose of his own medicine wouldn’t hurt him.

“It’s not like I’m waiting around for you to make up your mind,” you added, lying through your teeth.

But you were such a good liar, Marcus was none the wiser. He believed every word. His nostrils flared and his hands tightened into fists on his sides.

“What do you mean?” his raspy voice came out in a threat.

You cocked a brow, proud chin up.

“You know what I mean. Or do you need me to draw it down for you, so you understand?”

The provocation was, most probably, the last straw for him. Marcus almost snarled at you as he closed the distance. He grabbed both of your wrists with his thick fingers, yanked at them and pushed you into his chest.

The sudden display of anger took you by surprise. A pleasant surprise, especially when you noticed his swollen bulge pressing on your belly. Saliva pooled in your cheeks and slick in your pussy.

“I know that’s not true. You wouldn’t be so desperate—”

“I am desperate?” you laughed, the shaking of your tummy stroking the lump in his white toga. “You can fool yourself, Marcus, but don’t try to fool me.”

Marcus stiffened, pulling your wrists down and around his waist as his head bowed down to you, his lips ghosting over yours.

He was about to kiss you.

“You’ll be missed on the dais. I’m sure that blonde is looking for you. Is she the reason you are so hard right now?” you grumbled, your best attempt to get on the last of his nerves.

“She can go to hell. I want you,” he groaned, his mouth brushing yours. Your pussy gushing some more. “You are the reason why I can’t get it down.”

Marcus didn’t wait for your sneering reply — his mouth crushed yours, teeth colliding. The tip of his tongue pulled your teeth apart and he laid waste to your mouth. The stroke of his tongue on yours tasted sweet, warm. It swirled around in your cavity, looking for a crack in your determination to remain impassible.

But you were only human. You had wanted this since the moment you came up with your plan to destroy the General — you would never admit it out loud though.

So, you gave in, your tongue responding to his with little whimpers as your hands laced together on the small of his back to push him into you, feeling his erection through the fabric. One you knew how big and curved and thick it was. One you wanted to know the feel of in the most intimate way possible.

Marcus moaned in your mouth, and you breathed him in, bewildered by his taste and the herby smell his skin gave off. Your throat let go of a similar quiet wail, as you stumbled back, your back meeting the cold wall behind.

The General kissed you fiercely, the same way he waged war upon his enemies — relentless. His hips grinded against yours, rubbing his bulge on you to get off while his lips abandoned your mouth to lick the marble column of your neck. He trailed the path of your vein, leaving wet kisses on his way down.

Then he brushed the point where your left breast swelled, and the tip of his tongue skidded through your skin until it found the valley of your boobs. He licked between them, both of his hands cupping them up.

“I need to see them,” he whispered, your skin bristling instantly as his thumbs travelled up and rubbed the visible nipples. “Been dreaming about them since I met you. Can I?”

You did not expect him asking for permission, not when you assumed that, as the conqueror he was, he only took with no consideration.

Nodding with half-lidded eyes, surrendered to your own desire, you let him pull the neck of your dress down until both of your breasts were spilling over the hem.

“Good Gods, you are beautiful”, he muttered, marvelled at the sight of your boobs. His thumb brushed your taut left nipple, and you shivered. “They are perfect, columba (dove). So round and so full and so—” Crouched down over you, Marcus briefly licked it. “So fucking tasty.”

With no warning, his warm lips sealed around the tight button, and you couldn’t help yourself but moan, your hands burying in the nape of his neck and lightly pulling from his silvery curls. Marcus sucked it in, his tongue twirling around the nub. Then the caress of his wet muscle was replaced by his teeth lightly biting on your nipple and tugging.

Perhaps the sweet scent of the wine filling up the garderobe messed with your senses, with how you perceived the intensity of it all, of him.

You sobbed loudly, your cunt drenching and beating in response. Pressing your knees together, you wondered if this was how it was meant to be — how sex should feel every time. Warm, desperate, slick, needy. Because if this was it, if this was how it was supposed to be, you could never have enough.

A rush of wet warmth dripped onto your woollen loincloth, your lower belly inundated with a coiling feeling unknown to you — like a tense bow ready to fly an arrow.

Marcus’ right thumb found your unattended nipple, stroking it slowly as his devilish mouth devoured your other boob like a man starved. His tongue flicked and rippled against the tiny lump between his lips while his hips rutted into you, your dress and his toga impeding the contact you most craved.

“By Mars I swear you’re so fucking perfect,” he managed to say between licks before moving on to your other tit.

The General repeated the same process again and your legs trembled with elation. Tilting your face up, you massaged his scalp, soft moans slipping from your plump lips. His smothering tongue was so persuasive, lapping at you with precision, your mind went numb with pleasure. The coil in your belly tightened harshly, so much so you had to bite down your bottom lip to stop yourself from screaming his name.

Your damp pussy pulsated, another wave of slick wetting the pearly skin between your inner thighs.

“Marcus, oh, God,” you whispered, short of breath — your heart pounding in your ear drums, deafening.

“Let go for me. Come for me, sweetheart,” Marcus whispered before attacking your nipples again, one with his mouth and the other with his thumb.

His clothed cock rubbing low, right between your thighs. The roughness of your underwear abrasing your begging, writhing clit.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The overwhelming sensation between your legs was too much — your leaking cunt wanting to find release. And it did: the coil inside you finally snapped, warmth and dew soaking you. All your limbs went slack as you felt the last wave of your climax washing over you.

Then absolute peace, your brain numb with your first experience of an orgasm. Now you understood what other women whispered about when the men were away.

Speechless, you laid back against the wall as Marcus towered over you, a satisfied grin curling his lips.

“You’ve done so well for me,” his praise fell like sugary water from his lips, the palms of his hands cradling your face as he pressed his erection against you.

His tongue flicked between your lips, coaxing them apart, and you obliged. A soft, almost puritanical, kiss pressed on your mouth before his lingered to your cheek, then your ear.

“Callie, please, I need to fuck you,” the inflection on the word need made you whimper.

Unable to still find the words, feeling all mushy and heavenly, you nodded.

The sigh of relief that bubbled up Marcus’ chest would have made you laugh in other circumstances. But there was nothing laughable about this, about two people chasing the highest of highs.

“Praise be to the Gods,” he prayed at your acceptance, his broad hands landing on your hips to turn you around.

The cold stone wall greeted your nipples, the General pinning you against the wall with your back leaned on his hard chest. Tilting your hips back, your ass sweetly nuzzled his swollen groin, then his hands rode up the skirt of your dress, exposing your loincloths.

You gasped when Marcus pushed your underwear down to your knees slowly, his fingertips dragging along your velvety skin.

“I just know you’re gonna take me so well, mel (honey),” he purred in your ear, cupping your naked buttocks. “So, so well.”

The side of his hand slid across the fold between your ass cheeks until it found the dampness you harboured for him.

Marcus groaned in your ear, and you reciprocated, his touch so welcomed your clit twitched in response.

“Marcus, please,” you implored, eyes shut and mouth agape.

“I know, mel, I know.”

His clothes rustled behind you and knew he was naked from the waist down. Tempted, you looked over your shoulder just to confirm your suspicion, and your knees almost gave way. Pearls of precum topped the plump head of his throbbing cock, his hand holding it from the base.

As beautiful and tempting as last night, his dick twitched in need. Marcus stroked himself in a feeble attempt to calm himself. Leaned towards you, his lips nipping the crook of your neck, his beard tickling your sensitive skin, and you whined in desperation.

Guiding his thudding cock between your thighs, you felt it drag across your seeping furrow, wetting himself with your slick. The warm touch of his shaft along your puffy lips made you moan uncontrollably, back arched and your butt pressing onto his lower tummy.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m going to feed it to you slowly,” he husked, voice raspy with want.

You wept some more, his cock sliding through your seam easily and freely. His mushroom head hitched on your clit, and then slipped back down to your entrance, catching too. Marcus pushed in ever so slightly, just half an inch, and your head tilted back, resting on his shoulder.

Another half an inch and then you felt it: the trained reaction of your inner walls clutching, not wanting to let him in. Years of abuse had taught your body to put up a fight, to squeeze your hole shut so your late husband wouldn’t hurt you.

You fought with yourself, asking your pussy to let Marcus in, as he intruded another inch.

He felt your hesitation, your inner struggle.

“Relax, columba, you’re too tight,” he groaned behind you, one hand sliding across your hip to your belly and diving between your thighs. Two of his thick fingers caressed your clit, the flick of them over your bundle of nerves softening your body. “That’s it, sweetheart, relax. I got you.”

Your inner walls loosened up ever so slightly as Marcus rocked his hips back and forth behind you, fucking you with just his tip. Easing his way in, helping you calm down as only his throbbing, leaking head pumped in and out of you. He was only feeding you a couple of inches, your pussy hugging him extremely tight as he did.

“Too damn tight,” he whispered, and you knew he was grasping for control, the pulsing of his cock rhythmic with the gentle petting of his fingers on your clit.

“Marcus, I can’t—”

Perhaps the trauma your husband had inflicted upon you reached further down than you thought. What a fucking moment to realise that.

“Shhh, it’s fine, it’s okay, mel. I’m more than happy with just the tip for now,” he reassured you, soothing your nerves. “Anything you give me willingly, I’ll take.”

True to his word, Marcus kept on fucking you with just the first two inches of his thrumming dick while his fingers worked your clit with expertise. Not too long after, your felt that burning, coiling sensation converging in your swollen pussy again, your cunt smothering Marcus’ tip even more.

“Oh, fuck, melculum (my little honey)… Come for me again, yes, come all over me,” he moaned in your ear.

At his command, you let go. A rush of liquid fire lapped at your pussy, then leaked over Marcus’ erection as you shrieked. Gathering your ridden-up skirt around your waist, Marcus wrapped one of his strong arms around you to keep you standing on your feet, rutting into to shallowly so he wouldn’t feed you more than two inches.

His cock pulsed hard in your entrance, a gruffy groan rumbling in his chest, almost tearing his throat apart. Marcus pulled back quickly, leaving you empty, and the tip of his cock rested on your left buttock as he jerked off.

A minute later, his warm white seed sticked to the skin of your round globe, dripping to the floor when it got to the cliff of your ass cheek.

Marcus kissed the back of your neck, both of you breathless and sweaty.

The first time you both found relief, together.

“You’ve done so well, mel,” he lauded you again, pulling your loincloth up.

You felt exhilarated, high and fucked out. Numb and spent. Satisfied.

You hoped he was too. He hadn’t been able to bury himself deep down in you, but you hoped you had been enough.

All the bravado you had showed him so far faded, a carefully built façade, and you felt slightly insecure with what had just happened.

“Marcus, I—”

Suddenly, the door to the garderobe swung open.

Marcus reacted quickly, pressing you against the wall some more and his hand placed against the wall, his arm blocking your face from the sight of the unwanted guest. His entire body along with the darkness shielded you from being recognised.

“Oh, Ò DHÌOL (oh my god)! Tha mi duilich (I’m sorry), General, tha mi cho duilich! (I’m so sorry),” you identified Brighid’s panicky voice and even though you couldn’t see her, you knew she blushed.

Then the door slammed shut.

Both of you started laughing.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel

@pepperstories @mewantpeepaw @inept-the-magnificent

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waynes-multiverse · 2 days ago

Text

I was soooooooo excited for this! *breathes in sharply* Okay let's get started 🍿😎👏

“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.”

I love their friendship so much 😂 And kudos to Dory. It takes a lot to agree to this. It could potentially get very awkward 😝

“You know, it’s been about twenty years since I’ve seen him,” she said. “We’ve had entire lives already. I see him now, and there’s some of the Russell I knew when we were kids, but…there’s just a lot I don’t know about him, who he’s become.”

God, I know. This is honestly what I think about the most when I watch Tracker. The whole story line is insane and intriguing and... 😅 I have a thousand questions, and there's so much you could do with it in fics. I love it (clearly) 😂🤍

Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”

I do think Russell knows a lot more about their past than he lets on. Also, he was way too chipper for someone who was accused of patricide by his own brother for twenty years. The dynamic between the brothers is just... interesting 👀

Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.

Right... 😆

“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said.

Oh, she's going full Reagan! 😂 I sense some trouble coming from the brother, though...

“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”

Well, I hope he already picked out his casket... 🙈💀

“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.

I'd be a puddle before I even made it to the damn seat 🫠

And they are literally so cute together! I'm full on swooning over here 😍

Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.

Ah, yes, the family business. Love that sublte hint 😆 Would be a good name for a brewery, tho 👍

He was starting to get a clearer picture of who your brother was. It struck at familiar chords inside himself that he wasn’t so comfortable with. He shifted in his seat, fingers flexing over his glass on the counter.

I like that you emphasized the darker parts of his life. Like I said, I don't buy his whole "I'm happy and funny and quirky" act. There's a lot more stirring beneath the charming surface 😅 (Another thing he has in common with Dean lol)

And oh, don't we love a good cry on the first date? Poor thing 😂🤍

“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said. “Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.” He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”

Indeed 😂 I would've loved to be a fly on the wall when Dory had this conversation with her lol

How he very eloquently avoided talking about Colter accusing him of murdering their father. I wanna be a fly on the wall for that future convo too 🤣

And he slapped you right on the ass.

Loved that she got a punch in before even Russell got there. He might have actually killed that pig lmao

“Aw, it doesn’t look as bad as all that. But can I see?” he asked. You allowed him to take your smaller hand in his. Your knuckles were red and tender to the touch when he gently pressed. You hissed in pain.

I'm having vivid flashbacks to Smoke Eater 🥵🔥

But his hands were gentle for you.

This line just about killed me... 🫠🫠🫠

“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”

I appreciate that kind of humor 😂😂

“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

I absolutely can see him saying that 💯😂

He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car.

Probably one of my favorite scenes is when characters are so hot for each other they lean against a car. There's just something so incredibly passionate about it 🔥🫠

“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.

Oh, Russell, this is not what the lady wants to hear. Bless him tho 😂

And I figured she wanted more than a one-night-stand or fling. His job and lifestyle truly is a bit of a problem. But he wanted out anyways, so... 🤞

I loved their first date! 😍🤍 Hopefully, they'll see each other again soon and might give this another shot. I have a feeling it's gonna involve her brother's bullshit somehow 😅

Every Second Counts - Part 1

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the first one you trust to help you find him.

AN: Finally, here we are at Part 1! Remember that A Line and a Half functions as our prologue here.

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some mature thoughts. Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort, drug use, mentions of drug addiction and alcoholism, skeevy men, and a tinge of spice.~

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 1: "Permission Granted"

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips.

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still at the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

After brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she went to you and set her hands on your shoulders.

“You have my blessing,” she said. “All I ask is that you don’t scar me with any gushy details afterward.”

Your face began to heat up in a blush. You crossed your arms.

“All right, no one said there was going to be any of that,” you replied. “It’s just a date. Barely a date, mind you.”

“A-huh,” Dory said with a sneaking smile. “Out of curiosity, what was it about him that hooked you? You’ve been dodging Chris’s valiant attempts for like a month now.”

Chris was a French and Spanish professor. His office was on the same floor as yours, so you two occasionally crossed paths whenever you ventured into the teacher’s lounge.

He usually caught you in the morning while you were grabbing your free coffee fix at the Keurig. He’d chat you up about his classes and his dog and his new boat, and all the while you’d struggle to get a word in edgewise. Despite that, he was good-looking and pleasant, for the most part. It was just…

“I don’t know. He’s not my type, I guess,” you shrugged. You kind of liked conversations where both people got to speak.

“And Russell is?” Dory said, in a teasing tone. You chewed the inside of your lip, fighting a smile.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “Kind of want to find out though.”

“Okay, well, let me know what you find,” Dory said, more wryly. You caught a bit of melancholy when her gaze drifted off. Your brows furrowed in concern as you drew closer, setting a hand on her arm.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

She was hesitant, but she eventually answered you with a confession.

You could understand that. You squeezed her arm in sympathy.

“Well, he really seems to want to know you now,” you said. You remembered all the questions he asked you when he helped you carry your files back to your office after lunch today—most of them about Dory, about her career, your friendship, and ultimately, if she was happy.

“What happened to you guys?” you asked. “Why are you all so distant? Colter included.”

Dory’s face tightened. “It’s a long story. I’ve told you some of it. But basically, after our dad died, nothing was ever the same again.”

You dimmed at that. You knew their mother still lived in the cabin they grew up in, but Dory had never quite been able to tell you what happened to their dad. You’d never pushed the subject. You knew better than anyone what kind of pain that was.

“I just wish we’d been able to stay with each other. Me and my brothers, at least,” Dory said. But she adopted a smile for you, before she returned to her desk.

“Okay. Go on your non-date at your favorite bar with Russell. I’ll be here, grading papers until Judgment Day,” she said, with a small laugh that felt like a coverup for thoughts she no longer wanted to think about.

You let her do it. You grabbed your purse and work bag off the spare chair in front of her desk.

“So you’re sure,” you wanted to confirm. “One last chance for me to tell him I came down with food poisoning.”

Dory collected her stack of midterm papers and gave you a cheeky look that said, class dismissed. Then she clicked her red pen and pointedly looked down at the first batch of papers to read through.

You smiled. Okay, you thought, giving her a little wave goodbye when you turned to leave. You had just a couple of hours to drive home and get ready to meet Russell.

“Goodnight,” you called.

“Goodniiight,” Dory replied.

You heard the smirk in her voice without even having to look back.

After fighting through rush hour traffic, you were exhausted when you got home from work. Your tentative excitement and nerves about tonight gave you some new energy though, even if you thought those nerves were silly to have.

Barely a date, you reminded yourself, as you unlocked the door to your house. Barely a date, barely a date.

The Ring Camera beside the door chimed when you entered the house, signaling your arrival. You had to wrinkle your nose at the dank-ass smell that greeted you.

Frowning in annoyance, you dropped your stuff on the kitchen table for now and shucked off your heels. You made a beeline down the hall, to the bedroom that lied across from yours. You pushed it open without knocking. There you caught your older brother, Charlie, snoozing in his bed with the covers half pooling on the floor.

His room was a mess, as usual. Your gaze locked on the evidence of half a blunt on his nightstand and two smoked roaches beside it. You were glad it wasn’t remnants of white lines of powder, like times before, but there was also a large bottle of whiskey. It was almost empty, and hanging loosely from his hand.

He managed to raise his head a bit when you came in.

“Hey,” he said, blinking bleary eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to sit up.

You shook your head and picked around piles of dirty clothes and a couple of used paper plates on the floor. You swiftly grabbed the bottle from his hand and slammed it on the nightstand.

“You promised me, Charlie,” you snapped. “You promised me for the hundredth time that you’d quit all this shit. Where even were you last night? You weren’t home when I left for work this morning.”

He sighed, frowning at how loud you were, and sat up in bed. He swung his legs over the side and held his swimming head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair. It was nearly black, like Dad’s had been, but he’d inherited Mom’s lighter eyes.

“I got invited to a party,” he said. “I’m sorry, I know. This is the last time.”

You expelled a frustrated breath and shook your head.

“You’re a grown fucking man, Charlie! Do you really need me to give you the just say no speech?” you said.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it,” he said. He shut his eyes tight, probably trying to fend off a headache.

Good, you thought. Let that be a reminder of how bad he’d screwed up again.

“And while we’re at it, what about your half of the bills? You’re a week late,” you said, testily crossing your arms.

“Yeah, I’m a little behind,” he said. Once again, he cleared his throat past a wad of phlegm. He was still a bit crossfaded too, you could tell. “You know they cut my hours to part-time at the museum. I’ve, uh, I’ve been looking into getting another job—”

“I already paid the phone bill. And the internet, the water bill, the electricity,” you said. “The house may be paid off, but the least you can do is pay your half of living here.”

The longer you stared at him, seeing the guilt hidden behind drunken eyes, you realized he wasn’t just late on his half of the bills.

“How much?” you asked.

He frowned up at you. “What?”

“How much do you owe?” you said. Your voice was as cutting as your gaze. Charlie lowered his.

“It’s okay, don’t worry—”

“How much,” you pressed.

He looked up at you again, this time with pursed lips. After a beat, he sighed and gave in.

“About two grand,” he admitted.

You raised your eyes heavenward, muttering a curse. Your hands went to your temples as you had to pace the room. You were angry and exasperated in equal measure.

“Who the fuck do you owe two grand?!” you asked.

Charlie shook his head. “It’s better that I don’t tell you that.”

You paused. As you looked down at him, your anger dissolved into sadness, like it always did.

“If Mom and Dad could see you now, they wouldn’t recognize you,” you said.

Charlie fought not to react to that, his brows furrowing. Instead, he just looked down, unable to answer you.

“Charlie, you need help. I can’t keep doing this with you,” you said. Your shaky breath gave way to the burn of tears.

His red-rimmed eyes became glassy as well.

“I’m sorry,” was all he said.

He was always sorry. And you always had to be the one to nurse him back to health, pick up the pieces, pay the bills. You were exhausted. The bone-deep kind of tired that felt like gravity wasn't so much keeping you down, but pushing you.

“I’m going to ask for two things: do what you need to do to get paid, and clean up your shit. If you can’t accomplish that, then I’m taking you to rehab,” you said.

“You know I’ve tried that,” Charlie said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Didn’t really work for me.”

“You left the program after two weeks!” you retorted.

“I did it on my own! I’ve been clean for months,” he argued.

“And what happened? You go to one party and all your good sense, all your training, mentally and physically—that all goes out the window?” you said. You had half a mind not to believe him.

“Yeah well, maybe just for one night, I wanted to relax without you harping on my back,” he said, glaring up at you. “Is that too much to fucking ask? For you to give me some goddamn slack?”

Your mouth fell open incredulously.

“I’m on your back?” you said. “Okay. I’ll get off. Do whatever the hell you want, Charlie. I’m done.”

You left his room in an angry huff. You headed over to your room so you could take a shower and start getting ready to meet Russell at Howley’s.

By the time you got to your bedroom, you heard the front door slam closed.

The truth was, you were no longer in a mood to have fun when you pulled up to Howley’s, but you needed to escape your house. Also, you weren’t someone who canceled on people last-minute, especially not on Dory’s own brother.

You found Russell waiting for you at the bar. He waved to you with a fifth of whiskey in hand and an easy grin. He’d saved you a seat beside him.

You found yourself smiling. Your mood began to lighten as you went over to him. He looked more or less the same, but this time the jacket and jeans combo was navy blue and dark wash, respectively. His hair was swept back, lightly gelled. You smelled the familiar, rich woodiness of his cologne when you drew near, along with a hint of spicy soap.

“Hey, there.” He greeted you with a warm hand on your back. He helped you into your seat.

“Hey, yourself,” you replied, and thanked him for the assist onto the tall stool. You’d opted for jeans and a blouse, paired with your favorite leather boots. It was less dressy than he’d seen you before, but that was “work mode.” This was a more casual affair, even if you’d spent at least twenty extra minutes on your makeup.

You were glad he picked a spot at the end of the bar though. It put some distance from the group of guys getting rowdy as they cheered at the football game playing on the TV.

“How was the rest of your day, Professor?” he asked. “And what’re you wanting to drink?”

You let out a long sigh and turned toward him, resting your elbow on the counter.

“Awesome. I’m going to need two shots of tequila and an order of something fried, and preferably covered with cheese, please,” you replied.

Russell’s grin deepened. “Okay, I’m thinking ‘awesome’ is code for something. But we can get started on that order of Forget Today’s Unfortunate Events.”

He flagged down the bartender with a raise of his hand, but he shot you a glance.

“Though I’m hoping it’s not all of today that you wanna forget,” he said.

Your lips threatened another smile, as the memory of your hand being swept up into his, and soft lips meeting the back of your hand filtered through your mind.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s possible,” you said.

After about ten minutes of playfully debating the appetizer menu (you swore by the pretzel and beer cheese, but Russell had his eye on those spicy wings), he finally settled on ordering both.

“When in doubt, don’t go without,” he’d remarked.

You swept a pretty coil of hair over your shoulder and downed your tequila shots with a lime wedge. Meanwhile, Russell tried not to linger his eyes on the way your tongue swept over your finger to catch a drop of lime juice. Your nails were manicured, and the shade of the polish matched your lipstick.

Russell didn’t pretend to know the art and science of a woman’s wardrobe, but everything about you was thought out, it seemed, falling in line with what he’d expect from a (sexy as all hell) college professor. You’d also told him at lunch today that as of last year, you now had two doctorates: History and Ancient Studies.

Even with all that under your belt, you also seemed refreshingly down-to-earth, a lot like Dory in that sense. He could see why you two were friends.

“So, are you from here, or are you a transplant, like my sister?” he asked.

Dory hadn’t come to live in Wyoming until their aunt and uncle took her in, when she was about eight years old. Before last month, Russell hadn’t seen her since. It hurt his heart to think about, but he tried to focus on you.

You now seemed to be staring a bit listlessly at the glass of whiskey in his hands. He laid a hand on your arm and called your name.

“Hmm?” Your brows rose as you blinked to attention. “Oh! I’m sorry. Yes, I’ve lived here pretty much forever.”

“You okay?” Russell asked. “Tequila hit ya a little hard?”

You shook your head. “No, I’m sorry…”

You raised your hands up to your temples. You debated whether you wanted to open up about this, but…considering who Russell was, you thought he might just understand.

“Dory told me you’ve been trying to reconnect with your brother, right? Colter?” you said.

Russell nodded. He wasn’t sure how much Dory told you about their family business, but it dimmed his mood.

“Well, you could say I’ve got a brother issue of my own,” you said, laughing humorlessly. “You don’t have to talk about yours, but maybe you’ll understand… My brother is a veteran too. He was a Captain, air force pilot. He fought in Afghanistan, mainly.”

Russell processed that with a nod. “Yeah, I was there too. Special Ops.”

“Wow, okay. Then you know what it was like for him, coming back home,” you said. Your gaze fell to your empty shot glasses. “It was hard, after…”

“After?” he prompted.

You sighed. “Near the end, he lost half his unit in a raid, off of some flawed intel.”

Russell’s brows knitted together. Hmm. Grief, survivor’s guilt, feeling like you don’t belong.

You didn’t notice, but you did push the shot glasses away from you.

“I helped him the best I could,” you said. “I got him a job at the museum I interned at when I was in undergrad. He’s there as a security guard, but it’s not really enough, you know? It’s like, nothing satisfies him. I just…I don’t think I know how to help him anymore.”

You couldn’t help it. Emotion bubbled in your throat, making it close up on you as tears stung in your eyes. Your lower lip wobbled, and you tried to turn your face away. Embarrassment coiled up in your chest and made your face hot.

You felt a hand cover yours on your thigh, squeezing warmly. You looked up and met Russell’s gaze, both sympathetic and understanding.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, trying to calm your shuddering breath. “This isn’t exactly first date material. I can’t believe I unloaded on you like that.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “Believe me, I get what your brother’s going through.”

He pushed the plate with the last piece of soft-baked pretzel over to you.

“You finish that if you want, then you go ahead and pick something else off the menu. I won’t even argue with you this time,” he promised with a grin.

It got you to laugh, at least, and he gave you a napkin for your tears.

God, get it together, you told yourself. You’re a damn mess.

“Thanks,” you said. You managed to smile as you blotted at one corner of your eye. You hoped you hadn’t just irreversibly smudged your mascara.

Russell surprised you by brushing his thumb against your other cheek, wiping a stray tear away. Your face began to warm with a blush.

“Again, I’m sorry for dumping on you. We had a fight right when I got home,” you admitted.

“What’s his name?” Russell asked.

“Charlie.”

“Older or younger than you?”

“Four years older,” you replied. “He enlisted a few years after he graduated high school.”

Russell flickered at a smile. Enlisted, huh?

Yet another thing he and Charlie had in common, except Russell hadn’t made it through high school in the classic sense.

“What do you think?” you asked.

“I think your brother sounds lost right now. I’ve known a lotta guys like him, unfortunately,” Russell admitted. “Walking back into civilian life, it ain’t easy. That I know my damn self. Just like I know a thing or two about being an older brother. He’s probably doing his best to keep it off your shoulders.”

You shook your head at that. Trying, maybe.

You weren’t even sure of that anymore. Still, it made you all the more curious about Russell and his family.

“I know I said I wouldn’t ask this, and you don’t have to answer. But did you and Colter have a falling out or something?” you asked.

Russell expelled a deep breath and took a sip from his glass. How was he supposed to navigate this minefield with you?

“You gotta understand that me, my brother, my sister, we didn’t grow up like a normal family,” he said.

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded. “Dory’s told me some of it. It sounded…rustic.”

He snorted. “Putting it mildly.”

He shook his head and drained the rest of his glass.

“Well, my brother’s got an idea about me that isn’t true,” he said.

Your head tilted in curiosity. “Which is?”

His lips briefly raised in a wan smile.

“We don’t gotta get into that one tonight. But uh, the truth is, I’ve tried reaching out to him several times now. He just doesn’t wanna hear from me,” said Russell.

You considered him for a moment. You laid a hand on his arm, covered by his jacket.

“Don’t give up,” you said, with a sigh of your own. “Despite some things I said to him today, I know I can’t. My brother’s the only real family I have.”

Russell grew curious then. “What about your parents?”

You gave a weak smile.

“They passed away when we were young, but…we don’t have to get into that one tonight,” you said, borrowing his words.

His expression fell. “Jesus. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” you accepted, twisting the napkin around your fingers.

An awkward lull of silence fell between you, until Russell nodded and blew out a breath.

“Well. Heavy, huh?”

You chuckled and rested your head against your hand.

“I know. Again, my fault,” you replied.

“It’s okay, swee—. Mmm,” he cut himself off, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Were you about to sweetheart me?” you asked playfully, nudging his hand. “You know how I feel about that.”

“No, ma’am. Not at all,” Russell shook his head. His smile gave him away though. You laughed and grabbed his arm.

“Come on,” you said.

He allowed you to lead him out of his seat. He already had a tab open, so he’d settle up with the bar later. “Where we going?”

“You’re gonna lose to me at pool,” you said with a smirk.

Russell laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist instead.

“Oh, okay. I’m gonna give you a run for your money, though,” he promised.

And he was true to his word.

Russell Shaw turned out to be a more than worthy opponent. You studied the board as you changed the angle on your cue stick no less than five times.

“You gonna make a move, or we going to be here all night?” he said.

He was smiling as he leaned against his own cue on the other side of the board. His clever moves had left you in a difficult position to get your three remaining solid-colored balls into the pocket.

“You hush. I’m thinking,” you said, fighting your own smile.

“Careful, you’ve got steam coming out of your ears,” he teased.

You shot him a narrowed look for that. But then you smiled, as the answer came to you. You walked around to his side of the board and nudged him with your hip.

“Excuse me, sir,” you said to him over your shoulder.

Russell made way for you, but his eyes followed the way you bent over to line up your shot. Namely the curve of your ass in those tight jeans. He could see you knew exactly what you were doing, in more ways than one.

You shot your shot. The solid green ball leapt over his white-striped blue one and managed to sink into the pocket. You straightened up and gave him a triumphant little smirk.

He tried to temper his smile (and ignore the way his cock twitched).

“All right, go on, do your little victory lap," he said. "But remember, I let you go first.”

“Like that matters,” you quipped back.

You went back to the other side of the board to line up your next shot. Russell noticed a pair of drunk men ambling your way from the bar, but before he could make a subtle move to put himself in between, one of the men’s gazes slid down your form and gave into the base urge to let out a low whistle.

And he slapped you right on the ass.

You gasped, grabbing hold of the pool table. Then your shock melted into ire.

Russell was already heading toward you with an angry frown of his own, but even he had to stop short, when he watched you throw a punch that cracked the drunken man across the bridge of his nose.

Good form, Russell thought, when the guy reared back with a howl. His nose dripped blood when his hands came away from his face.

His buddy started to raise his hackles, but that was when Russell stepped to your side. He angled himself toward you and loosely gripped his pool cue by his hip, like it was an extension of his arm. He was fully prepared to use it like one.

“Fucking bitch!” said the one who was still dabbing his nose in vain. He glared at you, his eyes watering involuntarily, while his friend tried to keep him upright. You rolled your eyes.

"You're the one who's crying, bitch," you returned. Russell held in a snort. He cleared his throat and looked on at the pair of idiots.

“I’d have a little sit down if I were you,” Russell told them, with a smirk. “Let that be a lesson to ya. And if it don’t stick? Well. Whatever you start, I can damn well finish.”

His steely gaze reinforced the promise of his words. The other men were still angry, but even drunks had some sense of self-preservation. They ambled toward the back of the bar to find another pool table.

Russell focused his attention back on you, finding you looking down at your hand, rotating your wrist and flexing your fingers.

“Well, look at you, slugger,” he said. You met his smile with one of amusement.

“That’s just what I needed tonight. A broken hand,” you quipped.

Damn, she really gave it to him, Russell thought.

“Sorry,” he said, but your hand felt fine, at least. More than fine. His gaze flicked up to yours as his amused grin deepened. “Good hit though.”

If he liked you before, he might’ve fallen half in love with you right there.

You laughed through the pain. “Yeah, my brother did teach me something. Shit.”

Russell led you back to the bar after you grabbed your purse. There he called to the bartender for some ice. The guy nodded; he’d seen the entire exchange and was sympathetic.

You knew this sort of thing was just par for the course at this kind of bar, but they had the best drinks. Charlie had to carry you out of here on your twenty-first birthday, drunk off your ass. Not to mention, he’d punched out two handsy dicks that night.

You recounted the story to Russell over a couple more drinks. Your conversation was lighter then, filled with laughter and a warm, companiable feeling. He was still rather evasive about his job, but you supposed he had to be, since it was government contract work.

Private security, mainly. Or so he'd said. This man made you infinitely curious, and a bit apprehensive, if you were honest.

And yet, at some point while you two shared and laughed and split a hot sandwich with another round of beers, you realized it.

I like this, you thought. And I like him.

However, the night had to come to an end sometime. Your third involuntary yawn told Russell it was time to call it.

"I'm okay," you tried.

"Nah, you've gotta work tomorrow," he said. He signaled to the bartender. "Let me go ahead and close out my tab."

“Oh, I can pay for half,” you said, reaching for your purse now hanging from your hip.

“You kidding me? Put that away,” he said, guiding your hand with your wallet aside.

Smiling, you accepted his generosity with a small thank you. Then, you let him take up your sore hand again, just to carefully press the half-melted bag of ice over it.

“Feelin’ better?” he asked.

Your smile became softer. “Yeah.”

You had no doubt that this man, tall as he was, with his broad shoulders and the controlled way he carried himself, could’ve laid both of those drunken assholes onto their asses. His intimidating gaze had promised as much.

But his hands were gentle for you.

“I was about to win that game, no contest!” you said, laughing as you and Russell headed out of the bar and into the parking lot.

“Hey, hey, I still had time to win it back,” he argued. “I only had three more balls to go. I could’ve sunk that with my eyes closed.”

“Three balls, huh?” you said slyly, and maybe, a little tipsy. “Might wanna get that looked at.”

Russell snorted. “You think you’re funny, huh?”

“Hey, you laughed!” you said, pointing at him.

He shook his head, despite his amusement. He slowed to a stop in front of his car.

“Where’d you park, huh?” he asked.

“Over there,” you said, pointing several parking spaces down. Your eyes were drawn to his car, however. “Wow. This is your car?”

Russell grinned and patted the top of his black Chevy.

“Aw, yeah. That’s my baby,” he said. “She’s a Chevelle, 1967.”

You didn’t know much about cars, but you could see this was a classic beauty. You passed a hand over its sleek paint job without touching, so you didn't get any fingerprints on it. Though you quirked a smile over your shoulder at him.

“She?” you intoned.

“That’s right. She,” he confirmed.

You smirked and crossed your arms. You paused in front of the passenger door, and when Russell drew in closer, you had to crane your neck up to meet his warm gaze.

“Now, if I go in for a kiss goodnight, are you gonna deck me?” he asked, with a teasing glint in his eyes.

You tilted your head, your own eyes dancing.

“I’m sure you’re brave enough to find out,” you said.

Russell decided he’d take that bet.

He leaned in slowly. He made a show of hesitating, raising a brow, as if waiting for a blow. You were tempted to laugh.

But then he let loose a true smile, and he bowed his head to press his lips against yours. Your eyes fell shut, and your hands moved to flatten against his chest. A firm fucking wall. Jesus.

He circled his arms around your waist, bringing you in closer. Your fingers wound up in his hair, while he tilted his head to kiss you again. You met him with the same fervor with each new kiss, and the feel of your body, soft and pliant under his hands, each little sweet sound that you made, it all drove him to delve in deeper.

You moaned into his mouth at the first warm swipe of his tongue against yours. He tasted like the burn of good whiskey.

You pressed yourself flush against him on instinct. He found no other recourse but to back you up against the side of his car. His hand tangled into your hair, gripping, then easing through the soft strands.

Russell veered away from your soft mouth after a while, just to burn a line of warm, wet kisses along your jaw, and down your neck with the added rasp of his beard.

His lips found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder. He kissed and sucked at your skin, even grazing with his teeth. You gasped softly in his ear, shuddering against him. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his strong back out of a need to feel him.

His hands were heavy along the curve of your waist then, squeezing your hips. It all felt incredibly right. And by right, you meant body tingling, warmth churning in your lower belly, and wetness growing between your legs, for sure dampening your panties.

You tugged him back by his hair, so you could reach him for another steamy kiss.

“I’m staying at a motel, if you wanna…” he said, between kisses.

You paused against his lips, parting from him softly.

“Or not," he added. "Just thought I’d mention.”

You giggled, catching your breath, and then smoothing your hands down his chest. The faint throb of your core was telling you one thing, but the warning signals of your more cautious mind were telling you another. You thought for a moment…but then you sighed.

“How long are you really in town?” you asked.

His wet lips tugged to one corner, ruefully. “A few more days, probably.”

“Right,” you said with a frown. “Russell, I like you. I actually, I really do. If you were sticking around for a while, it’d be one thing. But you’re my best friend’s brother, and I—”

“No, I get it. I can’t predict when I’m gonna be able to swing back into town, and you’ve gotta live your life,” he said, but not without care. He curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear.

Your heart tugged, almost painfully.

“You’re a good guy, Russell Shaw,” you breathed. “Why can’t you be a good guy who’s staying?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. Then he cringed, knowing how you felt about sweethearting men. “Ah, sorry—”

You smiled and covered his mouth with your fingers.

“It’s okay. You have permission to sweetheart me.”

After blinking his surprise away, his face eased into a grin.

“Then I’ll wear that badge with honor,” he said.

Your shoulders shook with laughter when you let your forehead fall against his chest.

Russell remained what he had been throughout the entire night: a gentleman, who accompanied you over to your car.

After another stolen kiss or two in front of your sedan, you parted ways from him with a bit of a heavy heart. You wondered if you made the right decision, or if you should’ve just gone for it for once, instead of second-guessing yourself like usual.

You did know this. The rumble of his Chevelle driving down the opposite road would be imprinted on your memory.

When you returned home, you realized that the house was empty, and in complete darkness.

Charlie still wasn’t home.

Worried, you flicked on the lights and began to text his cell, only to find a note for you on the kitchen counter.

And it worried you even more.

I’m sorry. I’m going to make it right.

— C.

AN: 😬 Well then! lol We're diving straight into the drama and feels on this one. What did you think of her "barely a date" with Russell? 😂

And where do you think we're going next with Charlie?

Next Time:

Dory was sat next to you on the couch, rubbing your back with sympathy and concern in her own eyes.

“You should call the police,” she advised.

You’d thought of that, but if Charlie was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then depending on what it was, you didn’t necessarily want him locked up in a cell. He wasn’t a bad person, he was just…lost. You wanted him to get help.

You set down the butterknife beside the jar and turned to her, after drying your eyes the best you could.

“Do you think your brother would be willing to come back to Wyoming?” you said. After a beat of hesitation, you specified:

“Colter, the tracker.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

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#wayne reads #russell shaw #russell shaw x reader

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moonmaiden1996 · 1 day ago

Text

Bound By Fate Chapter 7

I know I usually update on a Friday or a Saturday but I couldn't help myself. I am obsessed and this chapter has been my favorite to write!

Chapter 1,2,3,4,5,6

For the most part, in the coming days you’d managed to stay in the shadows, keeping out of the crew’s way as they took inventory and prepared the provisions you assumed were stolen goods from their latest raid. The scent of saltwater mixed with the sharp tang of sweat and the ever-present burn of tobacco that lingered in the air. It was a familiar, chaotic scene—one you’d long since grown used to. But then, the sound of footsteps behind you sliced through your thoughts, halting them in their tracks.

Beckman stopped a few paces away, his cigarette glowing faintly in the dim light. The steady rhythm of his boots on the wooden deck was deliberate, a cadence that commanded attention without a word. His eyes met yours—sharp, assessing—as if reading you like an open book with a single, piercing glance.

“Evening,” he said simply, his voice low, almost too neutral, but there was an undertone to it that you couldn’t ignore.

“Evening,” you replied, keeping your tone steady, despite the unease creeping up your spine.

He didn’t speak immediately, his gaze still fixed on you. His eyes were cold—like shards of ice—peeling back layers you didn’t realize were there. You felt exposed under that scrutiny, as if he could see straight through you.

Finally, Beckman took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up and dissolving into the cool night air. It hung between you, lingering like a barrier, adding to the stillness of the moment.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, his voice flat, but there was something else there—an edge, or maybe a warning. You couldn’t tell.

You shifted slightly, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Is that a problem?” you asked, your voice deliberately calm. Was he making conversation, or was there something more behind his words? You weren’t about to indulge him.

“Not yet,” he answered, his tone colder now, sharper. “Just an observation.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He wasn’t one to speak without purpose, and this didn’t feel casual. His words were deliberate, measured—as though he was testing you in some way.

“If you’ve got something to say, just say it,” you said, irritation bubbling up despite your best efforts to keep it in check. You didn’t want to stand here in silence any longer, didn’t want to keep playing these unspoken games.

Beckman didn’t flinch. His gaze never left you as he took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke with controlled ease. He spoke again, his voice deliberate and measured, each word like a stone dropped into water, rippling with consequence.

“You should stay close to the crew when we reach Westrow to restock,” he said, his tone casual, but the words carried unmistakable weight. “Shanks... won’t take kindly to you wandering off. You know he’s always watching.”

The words struck harder than you'd expected. Beckman didn’t need to say it, but you understood. Shanks wasn’t just protective. The way Beckman phrased it, it felt like a warning—like a promise that if you stepped out of line, there’d be consequences. The thought of being watched, of being kept so tightly under his control, made you feel small and trapped.

You nodded, throat tight, and for a moment, it felt like the whole air had grown heavier, more suffocating. You weren’t sure if it was Beckman’s words or the weight of the growing realization that something was about to shift—something you couldn’t control.

Beckman studied you for a moment longer, his sharp gaze still fixed on you, before he flicked his cigarette away into the darkness. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small leather pouch, tossing it toward you. The faint sound of coins inside rattled as it landed in your hand.

“Here,” he said, his tone unchanged. “You’ll need this. It’s for new clothes. Clothing tends to... disappear on a ship this size. One shirt looks like another. Least now you can get women’s clothes. Won’t be so many mix-ups in the laundry.”

The weight of the pouch felt heavier than the coins it held, settling into your palm with an eerie finality. It meant you were staying. Beckman’s words sank in slowly, and you felt the chill creep up your spine.

You swallowed hard, the urge to question him rising in your throat, but something in Beckman’s eyes stopped you. There was no room for defiance here. No space for argument. This was the way things were, and you were too small to fight it.

Beckman gave you one last, unreadable look before turning away, his boots clicking steadily on the wooden deck as he walked off.

“Stay with the crew,” he called over his shoulder, his voice carrying the weight of a final warning. “Shanks is... protective. You don’t want to see what happens when he feels threatened. Be on deck in five.”

The words hung in the air, thick with menace. Protective? It felt more like a cage—one you couldn’t escape from. Possessive, you thought. That was the word. And it suffocated you, tightening with every step. Honestly, you were surprised you could leave the ship, but if Shanks was always watching, what could you do? Where could you go?

xxxxxxxxxx

As you wandered the deck, trying to find some peace, you overheard the low hum of voices from a few of the crew members. Hongo, Lime Juice, Yasopp, and Lucky Roux spoke in hushed tones, but their body language gave them away. Their eyes flickered to you when they thought you weren’t watching, but as soon as you noticed, they quickly turned their gazes elsewhere. There was a tension between them, a silent understanding that didn’t quite reach you, but you could feel it, just beyond your reach.

You approached the railing, resting your hands on the cold wood. The rhythmic rocking of the ship beneath you did little to calm the unease coiling in your stomach. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him approach until his voice rang out across the deck, full of life.

Shanks’s laugh shattered the stillness, loud and carefree, a stark contrast to the knot of tension in your chest. He was at the center of a small crowd of men, his presence undeniable. As always, he radiated power, but tonight something about his laugh felt strained, like a mask hiding something darker underneath.

You didn’t know what to make of it. His fingers brushed against your arm in a casual touch, but there was something deeper there—something possessive. You shuddered involuntarily and took a step back, though you didn’t dare pull away completely. You couldn’t.

“We made anchor,” Shanks said with his signature grin, but there was something behind it—something off—that you couldn’t quite place. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. “Are you ready to disembark?”

Westrow. The word itself twisted in your stomach. You had no idea what awaited you there, but the idea of walking into it blind made you feel even more trapped than you already were.

You nodded, giving him the answer you knew he wanted. The one you had no choice but to give. You would follow him, just as you had no choice but to follow everything else.

The ship creaked as it docked at the bustling port of Westrow. You stood at the edge of the deck, your eyes scanning the town as the crew disembarked, the familiar hum of the market and the salty breeze from the sea mingling in the air. It was a town alive with energy—a far cry from the isolating weight of the ship. Shanks was quick to join the crew on the docks, his magnetic presence drawing attention, his laughter already rising above the sounds of the market.

You stood near the edge of the gangplank, hesitant to take the first step, but Beckman’s eyes lingered on you—silent but watchful. His presence always made you feel like you were being measured, even when he didn’t speak. The crew scattered quickly in all directions, their mission clear—to stock up on supplies. You were left to follow, keeping close to the familiar faces, the ones who didn’t look at you with discomfort, even if it was thinly veiled.

As Shanks turned to lead the way, you fell into line behind him. The others joined in, and you let yourself be swept along.

xxxxxxx

The marketplace was alive with color and sound, but to you, it felt like a maze of chaos—one where you were an unwilling player. The crew went about their business, laughing, haggling, and making deals that could just as easily be for treasure as for mundane trinkets. You kept your distance, walking a few steps behind them, moving with the ebb and flow of the crowd but never truly part of it. You were out of place in the frenzy, your body tense and on edge, trying to make yourself invisible.

Shanks had disappeared into the crowd, his absence like the silence before a storm. It never went unnoticed. You could feel the absence of his presence in a way you couldn’t explain—like an invisible thread pulling at you, always drawing your attention. You tried not to look for him, tried to ignore the gnawing sense of unease that crept into your chest every time he was out of sight.

You hadn’t intended to stop at the stall, but something drew you in. The vibrant fabrics, the colorful dresses, the soft texture of the material as your fingers brushed against them. The merchant, an oily-haired man with a lopsided grin, immediately took notice of you. His eyes roved over you, not with the curiosity of a typical merchant, but with something darker, more calculating.

"Quite the lovely lady we have here," he said, his voice smooth but laced with a familiarity that made your skin crawl. "Need help picking something special, love?"

You recoiled slightly, your stomach twisting at the unspoken implication in his words. You wanted to pull away, but he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His gaze traveled down to rest on your chest, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

"You’re the only woman aboard, aren’t you?" he mused, his voice dripping with false warmth. "Bet you’re a right little goer, especially to serve all those pirates. I imagine you could use some proper clothing. Something... more fitting for someone like you."

You took a small step back, but before you could retreat further, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a painful grip. His fingers were cold and rough, and his breath smelled faintly of stale liquor. "What’s the rush, sweetheart? I’m sure we could work out a special discount," he purred, tugging you closer, his body invading your space.

You yanked your arm, trying to break free, but his grip tightened. "Let go," you snapped, your voice sharp, but he only smirked, unfazed.

"Oh, come on now," he laughed lowly, his eyes narrowing in a way that made your pulse race. "You don’t have to pretend. I know what women like you do on board those ships. Why don’t you let us landlubbers have a go... or maybe you need to be treated the way you used to."

The force of his words made you stumble back, but his hand was relentless, dragging you toward him. Panic surged in your chest, and you felt for the first time an electric charge sizzle under your skin—powerful, moving from a dull hum to a sharp, searing hiss. But before you had even a moment to think about your vibrating skin, his palm collided with your face in a sharp slap, the impact sending a jolt of pain through your skull.

The crack of the slap echoed in your ears. You felt the sting of it, your lip splitting open, blood spilling from the cut, warm against your skin. You gasped, taken aback, but the merchant didn’t release you. His fingers tightened around your arm, pulling you closer again, his breath hot on your ear.

"You’re just like the rest of them," he sneered, voice low and venomous. "All the same. But you’ll come around. You’ll see."

Everything felt blurry in that moment, the edges of your vision spinning with the sting of your split lip. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, a mixture of fear and fury, but before you could react, you heard it—like a distant rumble that sent a chill down your spine.

Shanks’s voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the noise. "What the hell is going on here?"

The merchant froze, his eyes flicking to you, then to the source of the voice. But the moment he smelled the blood, something in him changed. He didn’t release you. Instead, his eyes hardened, and his grip on you only grew stronger.

Shanks didn’t need to say another word. His aura alone sent a ripple through the crowd, sending the spectators crashing to the floor in unconscious heaps. His Haki. You saw it in his eyes—the shift from casual disinterest to something darker, something dangerous.

His gaze locked on yours for a moment, his eyes flicking down to your split lip, and the air around him seemed to crackle with rage. A growl rumbled from his chest, low and threatening, and you could see the change in him, the primal fury that burned behind his gaze.

"Let her go," Shanks’s voice was low, but it carried an unmistakable threat.

The merchant hesitated, his bravado faltering as he looked between you and Shanks. "I—I didn’t mean no harm," he stammered, his voice shrinking under the weight of Shanks’s fury.

"You did mean harm," Shanks snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "And you’re going to regret it."

In the blink of an eye, Shanks was on him. His fist blurred with movement, striking the merchant’s jaw with a sickening crack. The man stumbled back, crashing to the ground, but Shanks wasn’t done. His rage was unrelenting, each punch landing with brutal force, a fury unleashed with no intention of stopping.

"Shanks, stop!" someone shouted from the crowd, but no one could move. No one dared intervene. The force of his blows continued, each one fueled by the fury of someone who had just witnessed something precious to them harmed.

You stumbled back, shock flooding your senses as you watched the destruction unfold before you. The violence was raw, a side of Shanks you had never seen before, and yet, in that moment, you understood. You were his. To harm you was to hurt him, and that was something no one could get away with.

The chaos in the marketplace seemed to freeze. You tried to flee, to escape, but before you could make it far, two strong arms wrapped around you. You barely managed to gasp before you were lifted off the ground, carried away from the scene.

"Move!" Beckman barked, his voice commanding and cold. The crew parted like a wave, making way for him as he pushed through the stunned crowd. Hongo and Yasopp flanked you, their hands firm on your shoulders, guiding you away from the storm that raged behind you.

"We’ll protect you, don’t worry," Hongo murmured, his voice low but steady, his eyes glancing nervously over his shoulder.

But no matter how far you moved from the scene, the roar of Shanks’s fury followed you. Burnt in your eyes. His face was distorted, muscles bulging, staining underneath his skin, fist painted in blood as it repeatedly collided with something that was once a head. The violence echoed in your mind, the image of his rage still burning in your memory. You were safe from the man but were you safe from Shanks?

Then, the roar came again—louder this time, deeper. "Get away from her!"

Shanks’s voice, ragged with anger and something else—something raw—cut through the air like a blade. Beckman turned quickly, stepping in front of you, his hand raised to block the approaching threat.

“No,” Beckman’s voice was sharp, filled with authority, unyielding. “You need to calm down.”

The two men locked eyes, and for a brief moment, there was silence. No words, only the crackling tension in the air. Then Beckman spoke again, his tone colder than the chill creeping up your spine.

"You gave us an order, Shanks. The old order. Do you remember?"

Shanks’s eyes burned with fury, but there was hesitation in them. He was torn between the power he wielded and the depths of his desire. “Screw the old order. She’s mine. Give her to me!” His words were a growl, hoarse with longing and anger.

Beckman stood his ground, his gun now drawn, aimed directly at Shanks’s chest. “No one touches her,” he said coldly. “Not even you.”

The crew, ever loyal, moved to form a protective barrier around you, their faces set and unyielding. Yasopp, Hongo, Lime Juice—each of them standing between you and the storm that was Shanks.

“You gave us an order, Shanks,” Beckman repeated, his voice unwavering. “We’re here to protect her. Even from you.”

Shanks’s fists clenched. His anger burned bright, but for the first time, he seemed unsure of how to proceed. The crew had chosen their side. And it wasn’t his.

Hongo stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. "Time to go, let’s move."

And as you were guided away, your heart thundered in your chest. You could still hear Shanks’s voice, a fury like nothing you had ever imagined, but in the midst of it, there was one thought that clung to you like a shadow.

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