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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 7 months ago

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ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀ ғᴀʟsᴇ ᴀʟᴛᴇʀ

⤷ Credits: Pinterest

Summary : Your father is fed up with your shenanigans, so he arranges a marriage to Rome's famous general and gladiator, Marcus Acacius.

Warnings: DUB-CON (Forced/Arranged marriage) SMUT, LOSS OF VIRGINITY, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Oral F and M, Implied age gap, Scars, Misogyny, Spitting, both give switch vibes,

A/n : I put a dub-con warning just because it is a forced/arranged marriage also ty and enjoy @multiversed-daydreamer for listening to me yap about this all day luv ya 💕

The table was set, lit, and ready for a feast. Grapes, wine, cheese, and meats lined the table. Being the daughter of a powerful general had its perks, not that you liked the kind of life you had. You understood you were privileged, your place in society clear. You knew that if it weren't for your father's position, you would probably be a slave to the hierarchy. But it didn't mean you had to like your life.

You were 18 and shockingly unmarried—not that you cared. You had more fun sneaking away to the parties that would happen late at night. You were happy for the fact you weren't tied down yet. The thrill of escaping your father's watchful eye and diving into the forbidden world of Rome's underground festivities made your heart race.

You had a reputation, one that was far from ladylike. Wild child, they called you, and you wore it like a badge of honor. You knew what sex was, what things happened in the dark corners of those parties, but you were still a virgin. Your knowledge came from observation, whispers, and the daring escapades you had witnessed, but you hadn't crossed that final threshold. Not yet.

Your father, a stern and formidable general, was a man who worked with gladiators and other powerful figures in Rome. His influence was vast, and his expectations were high. He had grown increasingly frustrated with you lately, and you couldn't quite understand why. His annoyance with your antics was palpable, but there was something more, something beneath the surface that gnawed at him.

As you sat there, wine goblet in hand, you sipped slowly, savoring the taste. You knew he would tell you to only have a single glass, a rule you delighted in bending. The door to the grand hall burst open, and there he was, your father, his expression a storm of irritation and something deeper, something darker.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice echoing through the hall. "Drinking again?"

You looked up at him, feigning innocence. "Just a single glass, Father, as you always insist."

His eyes narrowed, and he crossed the room with swift, purposeful strides. "You think I don't know what you get up to, do you? Sneaking out, causing trouble. Do you have any idea how this reflects on me? On our family?"

You sighed, placing the goblet down. "I know, Father. But you can't keep me locked away forever. I'm not a child anymore."

He stood before you, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "You're my daughter, and you will behave with the dignity and decorum befitting your station."

You met his gaze, unflinching. "And what if I don't want that life? What if I want to be free, to make my own choices?"

His frustration seemed to boil over, and for a moment, you thought he might explode. But then, he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You don't understand the dangers out there. The people I deal with—the gladiators, the politicians—they're not like the ones at your little parties. They're dangerous."

You softened slightly, sensing the genuine worry behind his anger. "Then tell me, Father. Explain why you're so frustrated lately. What aren't you telling me?"

He hesitated, the walls he had built around himself momentarily crumbling. "It's complicated," he finally said, his voice quieter. "There are threats... to our family, to our position. I'm trying to protect you, even if it doesn't seem like it."

You reached out, touching his arm. "I want to understand. Help me see what you see."

He looked down at your hand, then back at your face, a mixture of anger and sorrow in his eyes. "Maybe it's time you did," he said, his voice resigned. "But you must promise me, you'll be careful. This world is not as kind as you think."

You nodded, determination filling your chest. "I promise, Father. I'll be careful. But I won't be caged."

Your father's expression hardened once more, and the momentary softness disappeared. He sat down at the table, grabbing a handful of grapes and popping one into his mouth. "Enough. This isn't up for discussion," he snapped. "You are to be married."

Your heart plummeted. "Married? To whom?"

His eyes were cold as steel. "To a man who can protect you, who can secure our family's future."

You jumped to your feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "No! I don't want to be married off like some piece of property. I won't do it!"

He towered over you, his presence suffocating. "You have no choice. This is for your own good."

"Who is it then?" you demanded, your voice rising in defiance. "Is it Lucius? That lecherous old man who can't keep his hands to himself?"

Your father shook his head, his jaw clenched. "No, not Lucius."

"Is it Gaius, then?" you asked, pacing around the table, barely noticing your father grabbing a slice of cheese and eating it with deliberate calmness. "The pompous fool who thinks he's the smartest man in Rome but can't even string a coherent sentence together without tripping over his own ego?"

"Not Gaius."

"Then it must be Quintus! The brute who only knows how to solve problems with his fists, who would treat me like a possession rather than a person."

"No, it isn't Quintus either," your father snapped, his patience wearing thin. He took a deep drink from his own goblet, trying to steady himself.

"Who then? Who could possibly be suitable in your eyes?" you spat, your desperation clear.

Your father took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's Marcus Acacius."

The name sent a jolt through you, and you took an involuntary step back. Marcus Acacius, a name whispered in both awe and fear throughout Rome. A man known for his prowess in the arena and his cunning outside it. A man with a reputation as cold and unyielding as stone.

"Marcus Acacius?" you echoed, disbelief coloring your tone. "You can't be serious. He's a gladiator, a killer."

"He's more than that," your father insisted. "He's powerful, respected, and capable of protecting you from the dangers you don't even know exist."

You shook your head, your mind reeling. "No, Father. You can't do this to me. I won't marry him."

"You will," he said firmly. "And you will do it for our family, for our future."

You felt the walls closing in, the life you had known slipping away. You slumped back into your chair, staring at the untouched food before you. "What if... what if I've already been with someone else?" you blurted out, hoping to find some way out of this nightmare.

Your father's eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Have you been taken by another lover?"

You hesitated, the lie heavy on your tongue, but the fear of his wrath kept you silent. "No," you finally admitted, defeated.

"Then it's settled," he said, the finality in his voice chilling. "You will marry Marcus Acacius, and you will do so with dignity."

Tears of frustration and anger welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. "I won't be happy, Father. Not with him, not with this life."

He reached out, a rare gesture of tenderness, and touched your cheek. "Happiness is a luxury we can't afford," he said softly. "But safety, security—that is something I can give you."

You pulled away, the weight of his decision crushing your spirit. "I don't want to be safe. I want to be free."

His hand fell to his side, and his eyes hardened once more. "Freedom is an illusion, my daughter. And you will learn that soon enough."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the grand hall, the weight of your impending marriage pressing down on you like a vice.

Rage bubbled up inside you, a seething mass of frustration and helplessness. The weight of your father's words pressed down on you like a heavy shroud, suffocating your spirit. With a sudden, violent motion, you swept your arm across the dining table, sending grapes, cheese, and meats crashing to the floor. The wine goblet toppled, spilling dark red liquid like blood across the pristine tablecloth.

Breathing heavily, you glared at the mess you had created, but it did nothing to alleviate the fury burning within you. Without another word, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the grand hall, your footsteps echoing through the marble corridors.

You reached your room, slamming the door behind you. The silence was oppressive, the walls closing in as your mind raced. You had to get out. You couldn't marry Marcus Acacius. You couldn't be trapped in a life you didn't choose, a life that would suffocate the very essence of who you were.

You paced the room, the dim light from the oil lamps casting flickering shadows on the walls. Your eyes darted around, searching for a solution, a way out of this nightmare. Your thoughts turned to your mother, a fleeting glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness.

Your mother had been sent to the countryside years ago, a decision made by your father to keep her safe from the political intrigue and danger that plagued Rome. She lived a quiet, secluded life on the family estate, far from the city's chaos. You hadn't seen her in years, but you knew she would help you if you could reach her.

It had been a month of plotting and planning, each day dragging on as your impending fate loomed ever closer. Today was your wedding day, the day your life would be sealed into a destiny you hadn’t chosen. Final preparations had been completed yesterday, and now you were meant to step into the role of a dutiful daughter and bride. You had woken up earlier than your maids would have roused you, knowing your father would want you to rest more so you appeared extra fresh for Marcus. Instead, your nerves had kept you up all night, the shadows on the walls morphing into ominous shapes as you thought of your future.

The first light of dawn crept through the narrow window, and you knew you couldn’t waste any more time. Your small bag, packed with bread, a few pieces of jewelry to sell, and the spending money your father occasionally gave you, lay hidden under the covers of your bed. The plan was simple: catch the slightest bit of rest before your handmaid came in to wake you, then escape before anyone noticed.

The door creaked open, and Lucia, your handmaid, entered with her usual gentle and serene presence. She glided to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains. Sunlight flooded the room, casting a warm glow that felt almost mocking given your circumstances. You sat up in bed, the light highlighting the bags under your eyes from a sleepless night.

"Good morning, my lady," she said dreamily, her voice like a lullaby. "The sun is shining so beautifully today. It's a perfect day for a wedding." She moved to your side, her hands deftly beginning to arrange your hair with practiced ease. You watched her reflection in the mirror, feeling a pang of guilt for the deception you were about to execute.

"Your dress is so beautiful, my lady. It's like a dream come true. You'll look like a goddess, a vision of perfection," Lucia continued, her words meant to comfort but only adding to your anxiety. The dress she spoke of hung in the corner, a symbol of the life you were being forced into.

You let her continue, her words a soothing balm against your churning thoughts. As she began to apply a light makeup, using berries to tint your lips and cheeks, you couldn't help but feel a sense of finality creeping in. "You'll be the envy of every woman in Rome," she continued, her voice full of admiration. "Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You'll be safe with him."

Safe. The word echoed in your mind, tinged with bitterness. Safety was a cage, and you longed for freedom. Suddenly, you sat up, startling Lucia. "I need your dress," you blurted out, your voice urgent.

She looked at you, shocked and confused. "My dress, my lady? Why would you want my dress?" she asked, her hands frozen in mid-motion.

You gave her a reassuring smile, reaching under your bed to pull out a dress you had kept for a long time. It was a simple yet elegant gown, one she had always admired. "I have something for you," you said, handing her the dress. "I've seen how much you like it. Today, I want you to wear it and have fun. I just... I want to feel normal before the wedding."

Her eyes widened, and a smile of pure joy spread across her face. "Thank you, my lady. Thank you so much!" She looked at the dress, then back at you. "But what about you? Where will you be?"

You hesitated for a moment, crafting a believable lie. "I'll be eating breakfast with the soldiers. I need a moment to myself before the chaos begins."

She nodded, believing your words, and quickly changed into the dress you had given her. You watched as her usual plain attire was replaced by the elegant gown, the transformation bringing a genuine smile to your face despite the turmoil in your heart. "You look beautiful," you said, forcing a smile. "Now go, enjoy yourself."

Lucia beamed, her happiness palpable. "Thank you, my lady. I'll remember this day forever." She gave a small curtsy and hurried out, eager to enjoy the brief taste of luxury you had gifted her.

As soon as the door closed behind her, you sprang into action. Your heart pounded as you grabbed your small bag from under the covers and moved swiftly towards the door. The corridors of the castle were quiet, the early hour ensuring most were still in their beds. You moved with purpose, your sandals barely making a sound on the stone floors.

Every step you took was filled with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. You had never been so bold, and the risk was immense. If you were caught, the consequences would be severe, but you couldn't live a life that wasn't yours. The thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage with Marcus Acacius spurred you on.

You reached the courtyard, the cool morning air filling your lungs as you dashed towards the farthest end where the horse stables were located. The sound of hooves and the scent of hay greeted you as you approached, your eyes scanning for a suitable mount. Freedom was within reach, and your heart soared with the possibility.

But then, a familiar, stern voice cut through the morning air. "Where do you think you're going?"

You sprinted, your sandals slapping against the cobblestones as the guards closed in. Heart pounding, you reached the barn, your fingers fumbling with the latch. The sound of pursuing footsteps fueled your frantic efforts, and finally, the door swung open. You dashed inside, the scent of hay and horses enveloping you. There was no time to lose.

Without wasting a moment, you chose the newest and fastest horse, a powerful chestnut stallion that had always intimidated you with its raw strength. It was your only chance. Your hands shook as you grabbed its mane, your heart hammering in your chest. The stallion snorted, sensing your urgency. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

"Hyah!" you urged, kicking your heels against its sides. The stallion reared, its powerful muscles tensing beneath you, then surged forward, galloping towards the gates. The wind whipped through your hair, the thundering of hooves drowning out the shouts behind you.

The gate loomed ahead, freedom tantalizingly close. You leaned forward, urging the horse faster. As you rode, you navigated the narrow alleys and sharp turns of the castle grounds, the stallion's speed making every twist and turn feel like a life-or-death gamble. The guards were not far behind, their yells growing louder, but you kept pushing, your eyes fixed on the gate.

You had run from the guards before, slipping through their grasp with quick wits and nimble feet, but this was different. The stakes were higher, the danger more palpable. The horse beneath you was your only hope, its powerful strides eating up the distance between you and the gate. But it was also a wild, untamed force, difficult to control.

As you neared the gate, you saw it beginning to close. Panic surged through you. With a desperate cry, you urged the stallion faster. The ground seemed to blur beneath you, the world a whirl of motion and sound. The horse’s breath came in powerful snorts, its muscles straining with effort.

Just as you thought you might make it, the stallion stumbled on a loose cobblestone. You were flung from its back, the world spinning around you as you hit the ground hard. Pain shot through your body, your vision swimming with stars.

When you opened your eyes, the sky above was a brilliant blue, and the scent of earth and grass filled your nostrils. You groaned, trying to sit up, but a gentle hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"Easy there," a deep, soothing voice said. You turned your head and found yourself staring into the concerned eyes of a stranger, his face handsome and strong, framed by dark curls. He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his brow furrowed with worry.

You blinked, trying to focus through the haze of pain and confusion. "Who... who are you?"

A small, enigmatic smile played on his lips. "My name is Marcus Acacius. And you must be my bride."

The revelation hit you like a bolt of lightning. This was the man you were meant to marry, the man you were running from. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw not the tyrant you had imagined, but a man filled with genuine concern and curiosity.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," Marcus continued his voice a mix of authority and kindness. "It's dangerous. Let me help you."

The irony of the situation was almost too much to bear. You had been fleeing from your fate, only to run straight into its arms. As Marcus helped you to your feet, his hands strong and reassuring, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps your destiny was more complex than you had believed.

Marcus's strong arms guided you inside, each step a reluctant surrender to the fate you had been trying to escape. The castle's grand corridors, usually bustling with servants and courtiers, were eerily quiet in the early morning light. You were disoriented, the pain from your fall mingling with the turmoil of your thoughts.

As you entered your bedchamber, a familiar and unwelcome face greeted you. Aurelia, one of your father's maids and his well-known mistress, stood there with a smug expression. Her presence was a bitter reminder of your father's indiscretions and the fractured state of your family.

"Well, well," Aurelia purred, her voice dripping with condescension. "What a surprise to see you here, my lady. Running away on your wedding day? How very unbecoming of you."

You shot her a withering glare, your temper flaring. "Spare me your lectures, Aurelia. I'm not in the mood for your sanctimonious drivel."

Aurelia's smile widened, enjoying your discomfort. "You should be grateful for the match your father has arranged. Marcus Acacius is a powerful man. You could do far worse."

You clenched your fists, your anger barely contained. "Is that what you tell yourself to justify spreading your legs for my father? That you're doing it for power and security?"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she maintained her composure. "Watch your tongue, girl. You may not like me, but I'm here to make sure you fulfill your duty. Now sit down and let me get you ready."

Reluctantly, you sat down, feeling trapped and helpless. As Aurelia worked on your hair and makeup, her touch was firm and unyielding. Her presence was suffocating, her every word a reminder of the life you were being forced into.

"You think you can escape your destiny?" Aurelia continued, her tone dripping with disdain. "You're just a foolish girl. This marriage is your only chance at a future."

You bit back a retort, knowing it would only fuel her smug superiority. Instead, you focused on the mirror in front of you, watching as she applied the final touches to your appearance. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable—a vision of beauty and elegance, but one that felt like a mask hiding your true self.

Once Aurelia finished, she stepped back, admiring her handiwork. "There," she said, a note of satisfaction in her voice. "You look perfect. Ready to be a proper bride."

You stood, your heart heavy with dread. The grand hall awaited, filled with guests and the weight of expectation. As you made your way towards it, you felt the walls closing in, your fate sealed with every step.

The hall was decorated with lavish flowers and banners, the scent of incense filling the air. Guests whispered and watched as you entered, their eyes following your every move. At the far end, Marcus Acacius stood, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

The ceremony began with the priest’s voice, resonant and solemn, echoing through the hall. The guests fell into an expectant silence, the only sounds being the faint rustling of their silk garments and the distant clinking of goblets. The hall, lavishly adorned with ivy and flowers, seemed to shimmer with an almost otherworldly glow, casting shadows that danced like phantoms along the walls.

You stood at the altar, your heart pounding against your ribs like a trapped bird. The priest’s words, though intended to be a comfort, were like a dark incantation, each syllable wrapping around you tighter, dragging you deeper into the abyss of your fate. Your eyes flickered over to Marcus, standing with his back straight, his gaze unwavering. He looked every bit the powerful man he was rumored to be—tall, imposing, with a presence that commanded the room.

You recalled the whispers you had heard over the past months—the stories of Marcus Acacius. The tales were rife with speculation and fear, his name often mentioned in hushed tones. They spoke of a man whose ambition knew no bounds, whose cruelty was whispered about in every corner of Rome. Some said his eyes held a darkness that could see through to the soul, while others claimed he had a penchant for the macabre, often indulging in extravagant displays of power.

As the priest began the traditional vows, his voice a monotone murmur, you tried to focus, but the words blurred into a cacophony. "Do you, Marcus Acacius, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, until death do you part?"

Marcus’s voice was steady, unwavering. "I do," he said, his tone deep and commanding, sending shivers down your spine.

When it was your turn, the words caught in your throat, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I do," you managed, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, the weight of your submission crushing your spirit.

The priest nodded, a satisfied smile curling his lips. "Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife."

As the priest declared you bound by law and faith, the room erupted into applause, the sound a thunderclap that seemed to echo off the very stones of the castle. Marcus took your hand, his grip firm and unyielding, leading you down the aisle. The guests showered you with petals, their faces a blur of congratulations and forced smiles. You felt like a puppet, each step you took dictated by an invisible string.

The reception hall was a whirlwind of opulence, the air thick with the scent of spiced wine and roasting meats. Long tables groaned under the weight of sumptuous feasts, while musicians played melodies that mingled with the laughter and chatter of the guests. The hall’s high ceilings seemed to stretch into eternity, adorned with golden chandeliers that sparkled like stars.

You clung to the edge of the hall, the laughter and music a distant hum, your mind wandering back to the dark tales you had heard of Marcus. The rumors were impossible to ignore: they spoke of his ruthless ambition, his cold demeanor, and his unsettling fascination with power. Some said his parties were a mask for darker pursuits, where the line between pleasure and pain blurred into obscurity.

As Marcus moved through the crowd, his demeanor was that of a king—gracious yet commanding, his laughter rich and resonant. He was surrounded by his closest allies, men whose eyes gleamed with greed and ambition. They raised their goblets in his honor, their voices melding into a chorus of congratulatory toasts.

You stood near a heavy oak door, the cool stone beneath your fingers a reminder of the stark reality you now faced. The night was growing darker, the moonlight streaming through the tall windows casting an eerie glow on the festivities.

Suddenly, a hand gripped your arm, pulling you away from the door. It was one of the guards, his expression grave. "My lady, you mustn't go near that door. Your father has given strict orders. Any guard who aids your escape will be put to death."

You stared at him, a chill running down your spine. "What do you mean? You can’t be serious. There’s no way out of here. You’re all trapped too."

The guard’s eyes flickered with a mix of pity and resolve. "It’s true, my lady. Your father’s command is ironclad. He has spies everywhere. If you try to leave, he will know. And the consequences for anyone who helps you are severe."

A knot of fear and frustration tightened in your chest. "What do you expect me to do? Just stand here and pretend everything’s fine?"

He hesitated, his grip on your arm softening. "No, my lady. But perhaps you could find a way to make the best of this night. Try to speak to him, learn his intentions. There may be more to him than the rumors say."

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, your mind spinning with the guard’s words. With a determined stride, you made your way through the crowd towards Marcus, who was leaning casually against a pillar, a goblet of wine in his hand. His eyes were slightly glazed from the alcohol, but his gaze sharpened as he saw you approaching.

"Marcus," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. "I wanted to thank you for your help earlier today. I... I appreciate it."

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You mean when you tried to flee?" His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it. "You have spirit, I'll give you that."

You forced a smile, trying to gauge his true nature. "I only wished for a moment of freedom. But I suppose that is behind us now."

Marcus took a sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving yours. "Freedom is a fleeting thing, my dear. But power... power is eternal. And together, we shall wield it."

Your stomach churned at his words, the rumors about him echoing in your mind. "Is that all you care about? Power?" you asked, unable to keep the bitterness from your voice.

His smile faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "You misunderstand me. Power is not an end, but a means. It ensures safety, prosperity, and control over one's destiny. Is that so terrible?"

You struggled to see past the image you had built of him. "I’ve heard things about you, Marcus. Dark things."

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "People fear what they do not understand. Let them talk. What matters is that I have the means to protect those I care about."

His words, though seemingly sincere, did little to quell your doubts. You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, your father’s voice boomed across the hall.

"Honored guests!" he called out, drawing everyone’s attention. "The hour grows late, and it is time for my daughter and her new husband to retire to their bedchamber."

A murmur of approval and knowing smiles rippled through the crowd. Your heart raced, a mixture of dread and resignation filling you. Marcus extended his hand to you, his grip firm and possessive as he led you through the throng of guests towards the grand staircase.

As you ascended the stairs, the weight of your future bore down on you. You glanced back once, seeing the guests' faces fade into the distance, their laughter and conversations becoming a dull roar. When you reached the door of the bedchamber, Marcus paused, turning to face you.

"This is just the beginning," he said, his voice low and intense. "We have much to learn about each other."

You swallowed hard, forcing a nod. "Yes, we do."

He opened the door, and you stepped inside, the room lit by the soft glow of candlelight. The bed, draped in rich fabrics, seemed to loom ominously in the center. Marcus closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding like a final seal on your fate.

As he moved closer, you felt a mix of fear and curiosity. This was the man you were now bound to, and despite the darkness that surrounded him, there was a part of you that longed to understand him, to find the truth beneath the rumors.

"Let's start anew," he said, his hand gently brushing your cheek. "Whatever you have heard, whatever you fear, put it aside. We are bound by more than words and vows. Let’s see where this path takes us."

You recoiled from his touch, your anger bubbling to the surface. "I'd rather fuck a pig than you," you spat, your voice dripping with venom. The shock on his face quickly morphed into a cold, calculating expression.

"You need to learn your place," Marcus hissed, his grip tightening on your arm. "You should consider yourself lucky to have me, especially with your reputation."

You glared at him, your temper flaring. "Lucky? Is that what you think this is? A blessing? I know what people say about you, Marcus. They call you ruthless, a monster. I'd rather die than be your plaything."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You speak so boldly for someone in such a precarious position. But let me make something clear: you are mine now. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you in line."

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and defiance. "You can't control me. I'll never submit to you."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Is that so? Tell me, my bride, are you truly a virgin, or have your wild antics already sullied you?"

The question caught you off guard, your cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. "How dare you—"

"Answer me," he demanded, his eyes boring into yours. "Are you a virgin?"

You clenched your fists, refusing to be cowed. "Yes, I am," you snapped, your voice trembling with rage. "Not that it's any of your business."

He seemed taken aback for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face. "So, you are pure, despite everything. Interesting."

"You think you can just claim me like some prize?" you retorted, your voice rising. "I won't be your obedient little wife. I won't be another notch on your belt."

Marcus's expression hardened, his grip on your arm like iron. "You will be my wife, and you will learn to respect me. You don't know the first thing about power or survival. But you will."

"You don't scare me," you lied, your voice faltering slightly.

"Don't I?" he whispered, his lips dangerously close to yours. "You should be scared. But perhaps you're just too stubborn to realize it."

"Stubborn?" you scoffed. "Is that what you call it when someone refuses to bow to a tyrant?"

His eyes flashed with anger, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you. But instead, he did something even more unexpected. He leaned in and kissed you, his lips crashing against yours with a fierce, passionate intensity.

You froze, your mind racing as his kiss deepened. There was a raw, undeniable heat between you, a clash of wills and desires. Your initial shock gave way to a whirlwind of emotions—anger, fear, curiosity, and something else you couldn't quite name.

As his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, you found yourself responding, your body betraying your mind. The kiss was a battle, each of you struggling for dominance, neither willing to yield.

When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your heart racing. His eyes were dark and intense, a storm of emotions swirling within them. You stared back at him, defiance and confusion mingling in your gaze, unsure of what to say or do next.

"I'm sorry," Marcus said, his voice unexpectedly soft. "I shouldn't have forced myself on you like that."

His words, so out of character, only fueled your anger further. "Sorry?" you scoffed, pushing him back slightly. "You think a simple apology will make up for everything? For the way you've treated me, for the way you think you can just claim me?"

His jaw clenched, but he didn't back down. "I know I can't make up for it. But perhaps... perhaps we can find a way to understand each other."

You were silent for a moment, then your eyes narrowed. "Understand each other?" you echoed, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what this is about? Understanding?"

A dark, reckless impulse surged within you. You grabbed him by the front of his tunic, pulling him closer. "You think you can control me?" you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. "You think you can just take what you want?"

Before he could respond, you pressed your lips to his again, this time with even more intensity. The kiss was fierce, a clash of wills and desires. You could feel the tension between you, the thin line between hate and something far more dangerous.

Marcus responded in kind, his hands gripping your waist with bruising force. The room seemed to spin as you lost yourself in the raw heat of the moment, your anger and frustration boiling over into something wild and unrestrained.

You broke the kiss, your breathing ragged. "You want me?" you demanded, your voice a low, challenging whisper. "Then take me."

His eyes blazed with desire and a hint of confusion. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Shut up," you snapped, pulling him closer. "No more talking. Just... take me."

With a growl, Marcus responded, his hands tearing at your clothes with a desperate urgency. You mirrored his actions, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his tunic. The fabric fell away, and you pressed your bodies together, the heat of his skin igniting a fire within you.

"You're infuriating," he muttered, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And you," you retorted, your hands exploring the hard planes of his chest, "are a tyrant."

He paused for a moment, his breath hot against your skin. "Then why are you doing this?"

"Because," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desire, "I hate you. And I need to feel something other than this... this helplessness."

He captured your lips again, his kiss searing and demanding. "I hate you too," he whispered against your mouth, his hands roaming your body. "But I can't resist you."

The world outside ceased to exist as you gave in to the storm between you. Clothes fell away, and you were left exposed, vulnerable yet defiant. You pushed him onto the bed, straddling him, your eyes locked in a battle of wills.

"You think you can control me?" you challenged, your voice breathless.

"I don't need to control you," Marcus replied, his hands gripping your hips. "I just need you."

Marcus brought his thumb to circle your clit, his rough touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. You moaned slightly, your head falling back in bliss. His voice teased you, dripping with arrogance. "What, haven’t you touched yourself before?"

You gasped, grinding down against the hard length of his cock straddled between your legs. His smirk faltered at your audacity. "Of course I have," you retorted, your voice edged with defiance, a spark of rebellion lighting your eyes.

Marcus gripped your hips, lifting you off him with ease before moving to sit back against the headboard, his arms casually behind his head in a display of smug dominance. "You want the virgin to do all the work?" you taunted, your eyes narrowing in displeasure as you crawled closer.

His smirk returned, darker this time. "The virgin, huh? That's what I get to call you now?" He paused, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. "You're the one who's on me like a dog in heat."

You looked at him with a dark expression, sitting back on your thighs, your chest heaving with frustration and desire. With one hand, you began to caress his upper thigh, mimicking the movements you'd seen from the sex workers in your father's employ. Though inexperienced, you weren't ignorant; you'd read secret novels and asked questions of your father's mistresses. But nothing had prepared you for the raw reality of this moment.

"You know what to do?" he questioned a challenge in his eyes, his voice a low growl.

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward, your tongue darting out to lick from the base of his cock to the tip, tasting the salty pre-cum on your tongue. The taste was oddly addictive. You wrapped your hand around his thick length, marveling at how it almost didn't fit in your grip. Steadying him, you licked the tip, eliciting a deep groan from him.

"Don't be shy," he patted your head condescendingly, his fingers tangling in your hair. Despite your nerves, you collected spit in your mouth and let it fall onto the tip of his cock, watching as he rubbed it around with a satisfied smirk.

You took the tip into your mouth, savoring the taste of his pre-cum, and groaned at the flavor. He moaned deeply as you sucked gently, guiding your head with his hand. You gagged slightly as you tried to take more of him in, your hand still gripping the base, your eyes watering with the effort.

"Spit on it," he commanded. You did as he asked, letting more saliva dribble onto his length. He patted your head again, a gesture both condescending and encouraging, and you resumed sucking, taking him deeper into your mouth. You gagged again, but he didn't let go, enjoying the sight of you struggling to accommodate his size.

"Come on," he urged, pulling you up to straddle his hips once more. You thought he was finally ready to take your virginity, the moment you'd both been building towards, but he surprised you. Gripping your hips with firm hands, he moved you so his face was between your thighs.

"What are you—" you began, but he cut you off, his lips attacking your clit with a fervor that stole your breath. He completed the arc with his tongue, taking your bud between his lips and sucking hard. You almost screamed, the pleasure overwhelming you. "Oh God," you moaned, your hands flying to his hair to steady yourself.

He paused for a moment, his dark eyes meeting yours with a predatory glint. "Marcus, baby… Marcus," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need and desperation.

He resumed his assault, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive you wild. You began to grind against his mouth, the sensation too much to bear, yet not nearly enough. The tension built rapidly, your orgasm approaching with a force that took you by surprise.

"Marcus!" you cried out, your fingers gripping his hair tightly as your body tensed and then shattered into a million pieces. He held your hips firmly to his face, lapping up every drop of your release as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue.

You fell back onto the bed, spent and trembling, and he crawled over you, his face slick with your essence. "Well, well," he said, a wicked grin spreading across his features as he rubbed his cock against your still-sensitive pussy. "Are you all fucked out already?"

You managed a weak glare, but it melted into a moan as he pushed into you. The stretch was intense, making you claw at his shoulders for support. He kissed your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire as he pulled out slowly before thrusting back in deeply. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching to meet his every movement.

"You hear that?" His gruff voice asked, pulling you back to the present as his cock dragged from your cunt, pushing back in slowly. The squelch of him pushing deep inside you was loud, the sound of your arousal undeniable. You threw your head back, moaning his name.

"Yeah, you do," he muttered, his breath hot against your neck. His teeth grazed your delicate skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Hear how wet you are?"

You opened your eyes slowly, your vision filled with the sight of him. His beautiful, sweat-covered face was close to yours, every scar and wrinkle telling a story, the grey in his beard adding to his rugged appeal. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your heart race.

A moan escaped your lips as his thrusts grew more desperate, more hungry. He caught your wrists together in one of his big hands, pressing them down into the mattress with a grip that left no room for escape. Your thighs were splayed wide, almost uncomfortably so, pressed down by the width of his hips. His cock was splitting you open, and you were so impossibly wet that you could hear it every time he pushed back into you, a lewd squelching sound that only seemed to spur him on.

He grinned wildly, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You like that, don’t you?" he taunted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Only I can make you this wet, make you submit so completely."

You could only moan in response, your body arching beneath him, every nerve ending on fire. "Marcus," you whimpered, the intense pleasure making you delirious. Your mind was a haze of sensation, every thrust sending you spiraling further into a world where only he existed.

His grin softened slightly, a hint of something almost tender in his eyes as he looked down at you. "That's right," he murmured, his voice a low growl. His thrusts were deep and relentless, each one driving home his dominance. "You're mine now."

You wanted to hate him, to deny the truth of his words, but with your body quivering beneath his, you knew he was right. You were his. Every thrust, every touch, every whispered word claimed you, bound you to him in ways you had never imagined.

His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the wet, obscene noises of your coupling. His free hand roamed over your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear. "I can't get enough of you."

Your response was a garbled moan, your head thrown back in ecstasy. His words, his touch, everything about him overwhelmed you. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the coil of pleasure tightening in your belly, ready to snap.

He seemed to sense your impending release, his movements becoming even more deliberate, his thrusts hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over again. "Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough with his own need. "Let go. I want to feel you."

The command sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you with the force of a tidal wave, your body convulsing beneath him. You cried out his name, the sound echoing in the room, a testament to your surrender.

His weight pressed you into the mattress, his skin hot and slick against yours. You felt every throb of his heartbeat, every shudder of his breath. It was an intimacy you had never experienced before, raw and all-consuming.

As the waves of your shared climax ebbed, you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his body. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, tangled together in the aftermath of passion.

As he lifted his head, his eyes met yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions. The intensity of his gaze made your heart flutter, but the softness in his expression was unexpected, almost tender.

"Well," he murmured, his voice low and taunting, "I guess the rumors were wrong. You're not a virgin after all." He paused, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Well, not anymore."

You felt a flush of anger rise within you. "And what if I wasn't? What difference would it make to you?"

He smirked, the familiar arrogance returning. "Just proves you're not as innocent as you pretend to be."

You pushed against his chest, forcing him to roll onto his side. "You're insufferable," you snapped, your breath still coming in short gasps. "You think you know everything, but you don't."

He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe not everything. But I know enough."

You glared at him, the heat between you not entirely dissipated. "You don't know anything about me."

His hand moved to your cheek, thumb brushing over your flushed skin. "I know you're stronger than you think. And I know you feel something for me, whether you want to admit it or not."

You scoffed, turning your head away. "You're delusional."

"Am I?" He leaned in, his lips ghosting over your ear. "Or are you just afraid to admit it?"

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, a shiver running down your spine. "Get over yourself," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that made your insides twist. "I could say the same to you."

You pushed at him again, trying to create distance, but he caught your wrists, holding them against the mattress. "Let go," you demanded, struggling against his grip.

"Not until you admit it," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Admit what?" you hissed, your anger flaring again.

"That you feel something for me," he said, his eyes boring into yours.

You glared at him, refusing to give in. "You're impossible."

He sighed, releasing your wrists and rolling onto his back. "Maybe I am. But so are you."

You lay there in silence for a moment, the tension between you thick and palpable. Despite everything, you couldn't deny the magnetic pull you felt towards him, the strange mix of hatred and desire that left you breathless and confused.

Finally, exhaustion began to creep in, your body heavy with the aftermath of your intense encounter. "This doesn't change anything," you said, your voice softer now, almost resigned.

"Maybe not," he agreed, his tone equally soft. "But it's a start."

You turned your head to look at him, finding his eyes already on you. "What do you want from me, Marcus?" you asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.

He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice a whisper. "But I want to find out."

You closed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips. "I'm too tired to argue with you."

He chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly comforting. "Then don't. Just sleep."

You turned onto your side, your back to him, trying to create some semblance of space. The room was silent, the only sound the soft rustle of sheets and the faint crackle of the dying fire in the hearth. You closed your eyes, willing sleep to come, but your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Despite your best efforts to maintain distance, you couldn't ignore the warmth radiating from Marcus's body, the solid presence of him beside you. There was a strange sense of comfort in his nearness, an unexpected feeling of safety that contrasted sharply with the chaos of your emotions.

As you lay there, the exhaustion from the night's events slowly began to overtake you. Your muscles relaxed, and your breathing grew steady and slow. You felt the mattress shift slightly as Marcus moved closer, his arm draping over your waist in a possessive yet gentle gesture.

For a moment, you considered shrugging him off, but the weariness was too much. Instead, you let yourself sink into the feeling of his arm around you, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your back. It was oddly soothing, a stark reminder that despite the tumultuous start to your union, there was a potential for something more, something deeper.

"Goodnight," Marcus murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear.

You hesitated before responding, the word barely a whisper. "Goodnight."

PART 2

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shasat-uk · 1 year ago

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Unravelling IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41: The Intricacies and Prospects of the Expected Credit Loss Impairment Model

Since the implementation of the IFRS 9 Financial Instrument on January 1, 2018, a new era of financial accounting has emerged, transforming how organizations recognize expected credit losses. This forward-looking provisioning model aimed to provide a more accurate assessment of credit risk and timely recognition of potential losses. However, challenges persist as many entities worldwide have yet to fully implement IFRS 9's requirements or establish robust Expected Credit Loss (ECL) models. Furthermore, the unpredictable nature of the COVID-19 pandemic has raised concerns about the predictability of existing ECL models.

To address these issues, the International Accounting Standards Board (IASB) is conducting a post-implementation review (PIR) of the expected credit loss (ECL) requirements in IFRS 9. The review encompasses critical areas such as the recognition of ECL, determining significant increases in credit risk, measurement of ECL, and disclosures, with the aim of enhancing the effectiveness and relevance of the model.

In parallel, the accounting landscape is undergoing a significant change with the introduction of IPSAS 41, effective from January 1, 2023, replacing parts of IPSAS 29. IPSAS 41 introduces a revolutionary single forward-looking model that eliminates the threshold for impairment recognition. Under this new model, entities are required to recognize expected credit losses continuously, utilizing a dual measurement approach of either 12-month or lifetime expected credit losses. This forward-looking approach enhances the quality of information available to stakeholders, aiding better decision-making.

For those seeking a comprehensive understanding of these changes, a one-day workshop dedicated to navigating the challenges and opportunities presented by the IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 impairment models is being offered. This hands-on session provides participants with a clear roadmap for implementing the ECL model and highlights the synergies between regulatory and IFRS 9 impairment requirements. Expert instructors will guide attendees through real-life examples and group case studies, addressing critical issues such as ECL models, back-testing challenges, and best practices, all within the context of the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic.

During this workshop, participants will have the opportunity to delve into key aspects of the expected credit loss impairment model, including understanding the transition from the incurred loss model to the expected credit loss model under IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 and the implications of this transition. They will also explore the scope and objective of the expected credit loss impairment model, discussing the latest challenges and modifications required in the ECL model, particularly in response to the COVID-19 pandemic.

Additionally, participants will examine proposed models for measuring expected credit losses, including the three-bucket model and credit-adjusted effective interest rate. They will gain insights into the application of the ECL model to specific financial instruments such as loan commitments and financial guarantee contracts and explore the intricacies of implementation challenges associated with the ECL model, including the issue of pro-cyclicality and building buffer.

This workshop also addresses the alignment of the expected credit loss impairment model with Basel III/IV requirements and sheds light on the disclosure requirements under the ECL model and the challenges ahead. Participants will have the opportunity to develop an implementation roadmap and plan for the transition to the ECL model while comparing it with the proposed impairment model by the FASB (CECL approach). Furthermore, they will identify emerging issues and challenges related to the ECL model, ensuring a comprehensive grasp of this vital financial accounting change.

By attending this one-day workshop, participants will not only gain a comprehensive understanding of the expected credit loss impairment model and its implementation under IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 but also have the opportunity to participate in group exercises and case studies to reinforce their learning. Additionally, they will be able to seek clarification during the Q&A sessions to address any doubts or concerns they may have.

Here is the schedule of upcoming programs by Shasat. However, we recommend you continue to visit Shasat's website for the most up-to-date program schedules.

IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 Impairment Workshop | GID 23002 | Zurich: November 4, 2023

IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 Impairment Workshop | GID 23003 | Dubai: November 15, 2023

IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 Impairment Workshop | GID 23004 | Singapore: October 17, 2023

IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 Impairment Workshop | GID 23007 | Cape Town: October 10, 2023

IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 Impairment Workshop | GID 23012 | Sydney: November 23, 2023

IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 Impairment Workshop | GID 23013 | Miami: December 16, 2023

IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 Impairment Workshop | GID 23000 | Online | Available on request

For more details and to enrol in IFRS 9 and IPSAS 41 Impairment Workshop, please visit:

#IFRS 9 #IPSAS 41 #Financial Accounting #Impairment Models #Financial Standards #Accounting Workshop #Expected Credit Losses #Financial Instruments #Regulatory Compliance

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ceclexpress · 1 year ago

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A Deep Dive on Vintage and Roll-Rate Methods

The Financial Accounting Standards Board (FASB) proposed the Current Expected Credit Loss (CECL) to anticipate and reserve against losses in a timely manner. Within the CECL umbrella, the Vintage and the Roll-rate methods give us some of the best estimates when determining expected credit losses. Both these methods come with their own unique set of advantages.

#cecl express #current expected credit losses

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seelestia · 8 months ago

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✧ the gambler and his knight.

aventurine can't stand having his outfit exposed to the elements nor to the rude hands of clients that won't cooperate – luckily for him, he has you to take care of it all. { aventurine with a bodyguard!reader. }

⎯ fluff & angst. 2.9k wc. headcanons w/ some written scenes. the plot is vv subtle but it's there a.k.a aventurine simps for you (jokingly) but you both end up catching feelings (not jokingly). mentions of violence, death & russian roulette. pre-penacony timeline. a self-indulgent piece to celebrate this blog's 2nd anniv! ★

★ 〜 masterlist.

aventurine who graciously welcomes you under his employment with a game. just a little something to ease your nerves and get you used to his ways. you look at him with such incredulity as if he just fell and hit his head silly. he pays no mind to this – finds it to be amusing a great deal, actually. keep it up, newcomer!

“heads or tails?” he asks, flipping a coin in the air and catching it seamlessly. a routine for him, you would've figured from the sight. “that's. . . an odd way of saying hello,” you point out but your tone bears no hint of protest. he notices that.

“i've heard that one before,” aventurine tilts his head with a smile, nonchalant. “so what's your guess?”

“tails,” you reply without any delay. it's a mindless answer; getting it wrong this way would prove to bear less disappointment compared to putting actual thought in it. “heads for me then,” he whistles.

aventurine opens his palm. it's heads. you frown as if to suspect foul play—but you don't because you know about his notoriously good luck—and your new boss chuckles, almost placatingly.

“looks like i win,” he grins without a care in the world at all. “aren't you starving? let's fetch ourselves a meal, friend.”

a loss rewarded with a prize? you blink. with grace so in contrast to the whiplash you feel, aventurine walks past you with a trail of expensive perfume in his wake. obviously, he expects you to follow and you do after a moment's reluctance.

(this guy is more confusing than the stellaron.)

aventurine who grows quite fond of seeing you acquiesce to his wishes, whether serious or trivial. could you ward off those reporters? could you pour him a drink? could you play a game of poker with him? could you join him for lunch? you're always so professional that he starts to find some mirth in pushing your buttons (never too much). unlucky for you, he does it to be affectionate and lucky for him, you always say yes even if you roll your eyes every single time.

aventurine who trusts you with his credit card. . . to a worrying degree. when asked if he's sure about this, he just waves it off and says it'll be safer in your hands. seriously, this card has been in your possession longer than it's ever been in his. sometimes, he does ask for it back – only to drop some 200k credits to your account. “a tip for doing a good job,” he'd wink casually while you're flabbergasted beyond belief.

aventurine who finds it extremely attractive whenever you step in to protect him from harm. dealing with uncooperative clients is a day in his life, yet some are so brutish they resort to getting physical – but he has you to make sure their hands stay off him. a gun in his direction? knocked off before the trigger even has a chance to get pulled. reaching out to grab him by the collar? they're already on the ground, your foot threateningly pressed on their back as a warning. what a dashing sight – and thanks to you, his pristine outfit has been saved more times than he could count at this point.

aventurine who likes to call you his “knight in shining armor” teasingly. awh, you don't like it? he thinks you're more than deserving of that title with the way you always swoop in to get him out of trouble. if the thousands of credits he gives you aren't enough yet, won't a cute title suffice? “it sounds corny,” you tell him with a grimace—and maybe, yes—but he just chirps coyly, “dunno. i think it's fitting.”

aventurine who makes it his responsibility to check on you after a rough mission. credits are no problem, he'd even reserve the most expensive private doctor in the cosmos if that means you'll recover faster. sadly, he has little to no medical skills – so the most he can offer you is bandages. sure, you can take a bullet to the stomach and handle a punch or two, that's your job, but what about tiny scratches? . . .don't tell him you're about to reject his kind offer.

“what's your favorite color?” he queries, somewhat out of the blue considering the situation where he is helping you tend to a minor cut on your finger. you raise an eyebrow, “why do you wanna know?” as he gently plasters a plain-colored bandage on your skin (which he's only been granted permission to after minutes of begging you to let him do it).

“for the bandages,” aventurine answers. he finds no need to hide his intentions as he runs a thumb over the bandage, softly as to not hurt you, to keep its position secure. “so that the next time you ask, i'll have some in your favorite color for sure.”

“how. . . thoughtful of you,” you snort, amused.

(briefly, he resists the urge to ask if he can place a kiss on your cut for 'luck'. but if he does, you might have his head. so, he'll try another time.)

aventurine who slowly begins to find a sense of comfort in your company. maybe, it's the way you scoff at his quips with a smile or the way you always tell him to be careful. maybe, it's the way you take him seriously or the way you stay by his side—is your job description the only reason why?—or maybe, he's just pathetic and reeks of so much loneliness you feel sympathetic. he can't tell, but he hopes the luxuries he has can persuade you to stay just a little longer. even if you don't actually care. (you do.)

aventurine who notices how anxiety brims in your gaze when you watch him gamble at the table – with a sum too high to be considered sane and sometimes, his own life. he can see it all; how your hands shake as if you want to reach out, how your lips tremble as if you want to tell him to stop. but this is what he's made for, is it not? he'll survive one way or another. . . until fate decides the bill for all his past good fortune is finally due. and when the time comes, he'll be ready for it. (will you?)

a game of russian roulette.

it always starts with thrills only to end with carnage spilled all over the table. luck is the only thing worth praying for at that point and oh, is luck not the dearest friend aventurine ever had? hence the reason why he always agrees, not with a yes but with a “why not?”.

you're there as his protector, yet utterly condemned to the role of a witness as soon as aventurine nods along to that darned game. panic rushes through your veins as the gun is passed around so relaxedly, so easily with laughter all around. aventurine's next in line, you realize grimly. the next decision that comes after is spontaneous, so different from your usual calculated nature – you drag him out of the casino in a frenzy before the weapon even lands in his hand. in your head, there is no other thought louder than: he could've died.

“a shame i didn't get to the fun part,” you hear him hum from behind you, too disturbingly calm for your liking. the bustling noises inside the establishment have all but faded into the background. “that was close, hm?” he laughs, a sound you would've found endearing if this was another occasion. any occasion that doesn't involve teetering dangerously on the precipice of death.

you stop in your tracks and aventurine, behind you, naturally follows. your silence is something he first takes note of and the way your hand shakes as it holds his is the second. you still haven't let go. what's going through your mind? he calls out your name softly, perplexed at your lack of explanation.

“. . .why did you say yes?” you respond with a bitter question. “you could've died. you almost died,” you try to hold back a shout – yet, your words are spat in such a fusillade he feels a seed of guilt starting to bloom inside his lifeless heart. he discards it in favor of putting on a frivolous smile.

“oh, relax,” he lets out a chuckle, one that sounds so ignorant of the taut tension in the air. “it's just some russian roulette. why so serious?” he shrugs as if to physically brush off any seriousness clinging to his figure. his remark gives off the assumption that every single hint of your worry has flown over his head.

“it is serious. . .” you bite your bottom lip. he sneers in return, “yeah? since when?” as if to challenge you to give an actual answer. his life is full of risks, to say otherwise would be a lie. “you're sweet for worrying but you don't actually care about me that much, do you?” he snickers to himself. like the thought of your caring about him can't possibly be true, like it's all just a terrible joke.

but he's the only one laughing.

aventurine falls quiet and finally, genuinely meets your gaze for the first time that night. he doesn't like what he sees. your lips are downturned, unamused and saddened—you do care, a realization that has been left unsaid—and all remainders of levity in him are replaced by immediate dread. it only now registers that the anger, concern, frustration on your face are for him; they're the unavoidable consequences from caring about him.

(his eyes widen. no, no, no.)

“c'mon, you—” he covers it up with a carefree smile, as feigned as it came. he shoves his hand in one of his pockets. it's shaking. “. . .worry too much. you've seen me play a handful of games before. i've never lost a wager, remember?”

you don't look convinced at all. in fact, you look as if you've arrived at the brink of seething. “and if you do? for once in your life, you lose?” you prod him for more. for something, for anything – perhaps, for a promise that he won't do it again.

(but you know aventurine, you know there would be no such promise.)

“then i lose,” he says, final and resigned. “there's really nothing else to it,” he tries to offer you another smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “hey. at least, you'll be there to witness my spectacular fall, right? it'll be a show to remember.”

he nearly doesn't manage to keep up the façade. it's already as precarious as it can be. you don't reply to him this time – instead, you let go of his hand to wipe at your cheeks. his gaze trails after your fingers and it freezes upon seeing the pearly tears falling free from your eyes.

aventurine has never seen you cry before. you're always so stone-faced, so hard to break that he recalls almost cheering when he heard you laugh for the first time. that was when you finally won a round of poker against him. a pity, he would've reminisced about the memory more. . . if only the matter of losing and winning a game isn't as serious as it is now.

“don't say that,” you mutter, harshly wiping away at the incessant tears pouring from your eyes more than you'd ever allow them to. some make their way into your mouth, they taste just as bitter as your current frustration. does he truly value his life so little? you can't fathom it, you can't fathom him at all.

but there is one thing you were certain of, at the very least: “you hired me to protect you,” you shake your head unrelentingly, “so i'll do it. until you throw me away, i won't let you die.”

you've stopped crying then. aventurine feels remorse; the tears that you shed because of him are starting to dry. the selfish part of him wants to reach out and brush them away with his thumb – but would you let him? would this lead you further down the rabbit hole that is him? in the end, he decides against it.

“. . .i'm sorry,” he sighs instead, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. whatever it is he is apologizing for, he doesn't have a clue either. he lets his eyes slip shut. he can't bear to look at you, can't bear to look at his pitiful reflection in your eyes.

(he's not worth caring about, can't you see? he dances hand in hand with death – there is no need to subject yourself to being a spectator.)

the two of you then part ways that night with shallow pleasantries on your tongues. no inside jokes, no evident yearning for the other to stay, no more than an awkward exchange of “i'll see you tomorrow.”

on his way 'home', regret and relief clash to form something inexplicably hollow inside kakavasha's chest. he wanted to wipe away your tears—what a regret—but if he did, they would've burned on his skin and became another mark to haunt him—what a relief he didn't. and frankly, if destiny is about to reap his debt, he'd rather go with no regrets at all.

whether those regrets include you? he doesn't have an answer just yet.

(the name at the bottom of his contract with fate is signed as kakavasha. but you wouldn't recognize that name. not as him, at least.)

aventurine whose eyes can't flutter close at night ever since thoughts of you fill his mind more than they already do before. you care for him, you want him to live—all his fault, he allowed himself to get too close—but these realizations are rooted in too deep and refuse to leave. what to do, what to do, what to do?

it isn't supposed to turn out like this.

what he and you have is meant to be transactional; he'd be spared from unnecessary scuffles and you'd be compensated with monetary payment. he means to keep it superficially fun; for him to tease you with jests—so you'd stay and save him from the deafening silence in his head—and for you to dismiss him with that adorably annoyed look on your face. just some silly banter, that's it.

so then, since when are there rounds of poker where he'd coo over your frown when you lost? or the sound of your lecturing after he secretly got you a high-end item? or meals shared together where you'd bicker over the bill? or bandages in your favorite color kept inside his bedside table? since when do you start to care? . . .since when does he start to care?

think of something else.

kakavasha tosses and turns in his bed, but the soft pillows and blanket do nothing to quell these bothers of his. are feelings always this complicated? he places a hand over his eyes, tired and exhausted, and stares at the ceiling as if it could provide him with an answer.

but there's no use.

in a moment void of logical thinking, he reaches for his phone and hovers a finger over your name in his contacts. he is usually good friends with bad ideas – but not this time, he sets his phone down and lets out a frustrated sigh that only his expensive pillows are there to hear.

(for gaiathra's sake, he hasn't even told you his real name yet.)

aventurine who becomes awfully distant the next time he sees you. you accompany him to meetings with clients per usual, but it's different. . . he talks to you succinctly, not verbosely with that trademark grin of his. his face is bereft of the things you grow to like seeing on him. a sincere smile instead of one just for show, for example. but even that's difficult to ask for since he only speaks to fill the silence with empty chatter. he doesn't look you in the eyes either; you feel a pang of hurt, you've always loved his eyes.

aventurine who discards all thoughts of you as soon as he steps inside pier point to be assigned a project. a conclave between the stonehearts is a matter of top confidentiality and you, dutifully, are ordered to wait for him outside the office. though, he'll admit; your absence by his side actually does leave a gaping void—such hypocrisy, really—but at least, those pesky voices in his head know how to shut up when it comes to work.

“penacony. . . is diamond finally ready to do something about it?”

aventurine rests his left hand on the small of his back, fiddling with the clubs-shaped detailing on the fabric there. it looks like an act of idleness from afar, but anyone observant enough would know it's a way to subdue whatever nerves he wishes to hide.

he waits for the person in front of him, gazing at the purplish-red sky of pier point at sunset, to speak. for their next words shall mark the start of his next journey in fate's course.

aventurine who hesitates to let you come to penacony with him at first. but it'd be poor reasoning not to, since some might have a bone to pick with him as the corporation's representative. . . and he knows you'll protest to come with anyway. fine then, situationship discomfiture be damned – not even a second after he steps out of the meeting, his neon eyes finally meet yours. “so, how does a trip to penacony sound?” he announces with a confident smile. you blink, noticing how his lips are wobbling at the sides. you don't say no, however. (if only the two of you know what sort of ride you're getting yourselves into.)

— thanks for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. why don't we all sob over this man like it's a cryfest ♡

#hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x you #hsr headcanons #hsr imagines #hsr fluff #hsr angst #seelestial.inks #gambler & knight 🎲

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rootedinrevisions · 5 days ago

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Juice Boxes & Bedtime Stories

Summary: When a last minute babysitter cancellation forces you to leave your little girl in the hands of Lt Jake Seresin, you return home later expecting chaos. Instead you find warmth, laughter, and a glimpse of a future you never thought possible.

Warnings: Mentions of Partner Loss (implied death but undefined)

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Based on the Superbowl Commercial Glen is doing for Ram. Gif credit goes to @kaizsche (the BEST blog for gifs!)

The soft clatter of toys echoed through the living room as you adjusted the strap of your dress, glancing up just in time to see your daughter wrapped in a fluffy blanket like a burrito pouting from her spot on the couch.

“But why do you have to go, Mommy?” she whined, dramatically flopping onto her side. “I want to have a movie night with you and Jakey!”

A chuckle rumbled from across the room. “Jakey, huh?” Jake stood near the kitchen, arms crossed, grinning in amusement at his new nickname.

Your daughter giggled, momentarily distracted from her sulking.

You stood, smoothing your dress with a smile. “Sweetheart, I won’t be gone long. And the babysitter is super fun, remember? She said she’d even bring that princess coloring book you love.”

“But what about my bedtime story! You always read me my story! And she always forget!” Your daughter pouted, lips pursed.

Jake immediately stepped in to try and help. He made his way over to her and crouched beside her, tapping her nose lightly. “Tell you what, kiddo. While your mom finishes getting all fancy, how ‘bout we build the biggest pillow fort ever?”

Her eyes lit up. “Bigger than last time?”

Jake smirked. “Way bigger.”

That was enough to pull her attention away. As she scrambled off the couch to start gathering pillows, you mouthed a thank you to Jake before slipping down the hall to your bedroom.

You grabbed your earrings and slid them into place as you took one last glance in the mirror. You didn’t get nights like this often. Time to be you, and not just "Mommy."

You reached for your phone to check the time when a notification popped up. Babysitter: Hey, I am so, so sorry, but I have to cancel tonight. I’ve been feeling kind of sick all day and don’t want you guys to get it!.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered to yourself. You immediately dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail.

Okay. No big deal. You had other options. You scrolled through your contacts, calling the first backup. No answer. The next one was busy. One by one, your already limited options dwindled, and by the time you lowered your phone, a sigh slipped from your lips. There it was. Your long-awaited girls' night, slipping through your fingers.

You took a breath, pressing your fingers to your temple. Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” You turned to find Jake leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with that familiar cocky tilt of his head.

You closed the distance between the two of you, stepping into his space and wrapping your arms around his torso. The moment your head fell against his chest his hands slid down your back resting there with a comforting squeeze.

He didn’t say anything at first, just held you. Let you take a second to breathe.

You let out a long sigh. “The babysitter cancelled.”

You felt Jake shift, glancing down at you. “Alright,” he said slowly. “Not ideal, but not the end of the world.”

“I called my backups. No one’s free.”

“Ah.” He nodded, like the picture was coming together. “So, what? You’re canceling your night?”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, frustration flickering behind your eyes. “I mean, what else can I do? I can’t leave her here alone and I can’t take her with me.”

Jake’s response was instant, casual, like it was the simplest solution in the world. “I’ll watch her.”

You blinked. “What?”

He smirked. “I’ll stay. You go.”

You froze for a moment. You and Jake had been together for about six months now. And you had introduced them about a month ago. He was great with your daughter. He was sweet, playful, and patient in ways you hadn’t expected. But he’d never been alone with her before. And this was a whole night. Dinner, getting her ready for bed…

Jake must have noticed your hesitation because he let out a chuckle, squeezing your waist. “Come on, sweetheart. I can handle a tiny human for a few hours. How hard can it be?”

Before you could answer, the sound of little feet against the hardwood interrupted. You turned just as your daughter skidded into the doorway, her eyes wide with excitement.

“You’re staying with me, Jakey?!”

Jake grinned down at her. “If your mom says it’s okay.”

She gasped, spinning back to you. “Mommy! Please let him! Please, please, pleeeease?” She was practically bouncing on her toes, hands clasped under her chin like she was making the biggest wish in the world.

Jake arched a brow at you, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Well?”

You let out a slow breath, scanning his face. He looked so confident, so sure of himself. Your daughter adored him. And deep down, you knew you could trust him.

Still, you leveled him with a serious look. “Alright. But there are rules.”

Jake smirked. “Hit me.”

You started ticking things off on your fingers. “Bedtime is at eight. No more than one juice box. Snacks are in the pantry, but no chocolate after six.”

Jake held a hand over his heart. “Got it.”

You pointed toward the fridge. “Emergency numbers are on the fridge. If anything happens—”

Jake cut you off with a cocky little grin. “I’ll call you. But we’ll be just fine.” He leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your forehead before nudging you toward the door. “Go have fun, mama.”

Your daughter squealed, throwing her arms around Jake’s leg. “This is gonna be the best night ever!”

Jake laughed, ruffling her hair. “That’s what I like to hear, kiddo.”

And as you grabbed your purse and slipped on your coat, you couldn’t help but smile.

JAKE’S P.O.V.

A little later Jake leaned against the kitchen counter arms crossed, watching as your daughter stood on her tiptoes to peer into the fridge.

"Alright, kiddo. What sounds good for dinner?"

She spun around, her face scrunched in deep thought. “Mac and cheese.”

“Solid choice.” He nodded as he turned towards the pantry to go find the box of Kraft. “Anything else?”

A beat of silence. Then, with a completely straight face, she added, “With ketchup.”

Jake blinked. “With what now?”

“Ketchup,” she repeated, like it was the most normal thing in the world. She got the ketchup bottle out of the fridge and held it up like it was a trophy.

He squinted at her. “Is that good?”

She giggled. “Duh.”

Jake sighed running a hand down his face. “Alright, but if this is some kind of prank, I’m calling your mom.”

She gasped, clutching her chest like he’d just betrayed her. “No! You can’t tell Mommy.”

Jake smirked. “Why not?”

“Because…” She glanced around like she was about to spill classified intel. Then she leaned in, whispering, “She thinks it’s gross.”

Jake laughed, shaking his head. “Kid, I gotta be honest…she might be onto something.”

Your daughter gave him an unimpressed look. “Just try it.”

He sighed dramatically, pushing off the counter. “Fine, but if it tastes bad, I’m making you eat all of it.”

She beamed, already climbing onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Deal!”

Jake got to work, boiling the pasta while she chattered away about everything that had been going on at preschool.

When the mac and cheese was ready, Jake slid a bowl in front of her, watching as she enthusiastically squeezed ketchup right on top. He tried not to wince.

“Try it Jakey!” She grinned, pushing the bowl toward him.

Jake hesitated, then took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. And, to his surprise, it… wasn’t terrible.

Still, he scrunched his nose for dramatic effect. “Alright, I admit it’s…okay.”

She clapped. “Told you!”

He chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Alright, alright. You win this round.”

As she happily dug into her dinner she grabbed her juice box and started slurping away. Within minutes, it was empty. She held it up, shaking it a little.

Then, with the sweetest voice she could muster, she turned to Jake. “Jakey…Can I have another one?”

Jake leaned on the counter, arching a brow. “What’s the rule?”

She pouted. “One juice box.”

He smirked. “Mm-hmm.”

A pause. Then, she tried again with big, pleading eyes, bottom lip slightly pushed out.

Jake sighed, shaking his head. “Kid, that’s cheating.”

She didn’t answer. Just kept looking at him with those ridiculously cute eyes. The ones that were just like her mama’s.

Jake groaned, rubbing his temples. With a sigh of defeat, he grabbed another juice box from the fridge and slid it toward her.

She gasped, grinning. “Really?!”

He held up a finger. “On one condition.”

She nodded eagerly. “Anything!”

Jake lowered his voice like it was a top-secret mission. “This stays between us. Don't tell your mom or I'll be in big trouble.”

Your daughter’s eyes went wide. Then she grinned, holding out her tiny pinky. “Pinky promise.”

Jake smirked, locking his pinky around hers. “Pleasure doing business with you, kiddo.”

She giggled, grabbing the juice box and sipping it like it was the best secret in the world.

And Jake? Yeah, he was pretty sure he was screwed. Because this kid? She already had him wrapped around her little finger.

A while later it was 7:50, and Jake was starting to realize your daughter was a master at stalling.

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Bedtime’s at eight. You ready to hop in?”

She gasped dramatically. “But I need water!”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t you just have a juice box?”

“Yes, but juice doesn’t count. I need water.”

With a sigh, Jake grabbed her cup from the nightstand and trudged to the kitchen. When he returned, she took the smallest possible sip before setting it down.

“Okay, now you’re ready for bed?” he asked.

She shook her head solemnly. “I can’t sleep without my stuffy.”

Jake looked around. “It’s right there.” He pointed to the pink rabbit sitting by her pillow.

She frowned. “No, not that one.”

He sighed, hands on his hips. “Alright. Which one are we talking about?”

Her brows scrunched in concentration. Then she pointed. “That one.”

Jake turned to where at least ten stuffed animals were piled in a corner. He groaned. “Kid, you got options. Just pick one.”

She hummed in thought, tapping her chin. “Mmm… maybe the bear.”

Jake grabbed the bear.

“No, wait! The unicorn.”

Jake grabbed the unicorn.

“…Actually, the bear and the unicorn.”

Jake huffed, tossing both onto the bed. “Alright, final answer?”

She nodded, satisfied, and finally scooted under the covers.

He checked the time. 7:55. Not bad.

With a sigh of victory, he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing the book she’d picked.

“Alright, let’s do this. The Very Cranky Bear.” He opened to the first page. “In the Jingle Jangle Jungle on a cold and rainy day…”

He barely got through the first sentence before she giggled.

Jake frowned. “What?”

“You’re doing it wrong,” she said.

“…Doing what wrong?”

“The voices!” She gave him an expectant look. “You have to do the voices.”

Jake blinked. “There are voices?”

She nodded like this was common knowledge. “Duh.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Kid, I don’t do voices.”

She gasped, sitting up. “But that’s the best part!”

Jake huffed, glancing at the book. “Alright, alright. Show me how it’s done.”

She cleared her throat, then dramatically deepened her voice. “‘GRRRR!’ roared the bear!”

Jake arched a brow. “Okay, that was solid.”

She beamed. “Now you try.”

Jake rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and attempted his best bear voice.

“GRRRR!”

Your daughter giggled, but then shook her head. “Hmm. That was… okay.”

Jake scoffed. “Okay?”

She shrugged. “It could be scarier.”

Jake groaned. “Tough crowd.”

She giggled again, flopping back onto her pillow. “Keep going.”

YOUR P.O.V.

Stepping into the house, you braced yourself for the worst. Maybe some crayon drawings on the walls, a kitchen disaster, or maybe even Jake waving a white flag of surrender.

But instead, as you kicked off your heels and followed the soft murmur of voices, you were met with something entirely unexpected.

Leaning against the doorframe of your daughter’s room, you found Jake perched on the edge of her bed, actually reading her bedtime story.

Well, trying to.

Your daughter’s arms were crossed as she huffed dramatically. “Jake isn’t doing the voices right!”

Biting back a laugh, you stepped inside. “Oh no. That bad?”

Jake scoffed. “Excuse me, I think I was nailing it.”

Your daughter shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “The bear is supposed to sound grumpy!”

Jake shot you a look. “She’s a brutal critic.”

Grinning, you slid onto the bed beside them, gently plucking the book from his hands. “Alright, let me show you how it’s done.”

Jake sighed in mock defeat, leaning back against the headboard. “Please do.”

As you started reading your daughter snuggled into your side, eyes drooping with sleep. What surprised you though, was Jake—his arm rested lazily around your daughter’s tiny frame, fingers idly playing with the end of her blanket. He looked so at ease, so comfortable with her.

You stole a glance at him between sentences, your heart doing something warm and ridiculous in your chest.

This was Jake Seresin, the cocky, self-assured aviator. The man who walked like he owned the world, who threw out one-liners like they were effortless. And yet, here he was, cuddling a sleepy four year old like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your chest tightened, something deep and achingly fond settling in your bones.

By the time you finished the story, your daughter was barely awake. You kissed her forehead, tucking the blanket securely around her. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Jake ruffled her hair gently. “Night, kiddo.”

Just as you both stood to leave, your daughter’s sleepy voice piped up.

“Mommy…you forgot to give Jake a goodnight kiss.”

You froze.

That smug grin spread across Jake's face as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, clearly relishing this moment.

Your face burned. “Oh. Uh—”

Your daughter blinked up at you expectantly. “What if he has a nightmare cause you didn’t give him a goodnight kiss?”

Jake, ever the menace, tilted his head. “Yeah, sweetheart. Don’t want me to have a nightmare.”

You shot him a glare before huffing out a laugh. Cocky bastard.

With your heart pounding far too fast for such a simple thing, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a quick, feather light kiss to his cheek.

Jake’s smirk softened, eyes warm as he murmured, “Sweet dreams, kiddo.”

Then with a hand at the small of your back, he guided you out of the room shutting the door behind you. The second your daughter’s door clicked shut, you exhaled, pressing your back against the hallway wall. Your heart was still beating faster than it had any right to.

Jake smirked, hands sliding into his pockets as he leaned against the opposite wall. “So, how’d I do?”

You gave him a teasing smile. “Well, given that there are two empty ones on the counter I think you caved and gave my child a second juice box, let her stall bedtime for as long as humanly possible, and butchered the voices in the bedtime story.”

Jake chuckled, completely unrepentant. “Okay, but I got her fed, kept her happy, and had her in bed by eight on the dot.” He arched a brow. “I’d say that earns me at least a B-plus.”

You hummed, pretending to consider. “Fine. Solid B-plus. Maybe even an A-minus.”

Jake grinned, stepping closer, his voice dropping to that lower range that always made your breath catch. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep talking me up, and I might start thinking I’m the favorite around here.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was impossible to ignore. With a shake of your head, you pushed off the wall, heading toward the kitchen. “Come on. You at least earned a beer.”

Jake followed easily, eyes twinkling with amusement. “See, now that is a reward I can get behind.”

You grabbed two beers from the fridge, passing him one as you both leaned against the counter.

For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of the house around you. It was a different kind of silence than you were used to. Comfortable. Familiar. Easy.

Jake took a sip of his beer, then glanced at you, something softer in his gaze now. “You know,” he said, voice thoughtful, “tonight wasn’t so bad. She’s a good kid.”

Your chest tightened, that warmth curling deeper. “Yeah,” you murmured. “She is.”

And then, before you could stop it, your mind drifted. To the past. To him. To the man you thought you’d spend your life with. The man who had held your daughter when she was just minutes old, who had whispered promises into her tiny ear, who had loved her with everything he had.

The ache in your heart was always there. Some days it was dull, a quiet hum in the background. Other days it was sharper, catching you off guard when you least expected it.

For so long, you’d feared that no one would ever be able to step into that space he left behind. That no one could ever love your daughter the way he had.

But tonight seemed like something changed. Just a little. Because Jake hadn’t just stepped in. He hadn’t just babysat or kept her entertained.

He had been there. Patient and warm and soft in all the ways you hadn’t expected. He’d let her win their little battles, humored her bedtime stalling, and held her close like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t the same. It never could be. But maybe he could be something else for you and your daughter. Something just as important.

Jake set his beer down, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I meant what I said earlier,” he admitted. “I can handle a tiny human for a few hours. I’d do it again for you.”

Your grip tightened around your bottle as you looked up at him, searching his face. “You would?”

Jake’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Yeah.” He smirked a little. “Even if she is a tough bedtime critic.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but there was something else behind it. Something more.

Jake tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing just a fraction. He wasn’t smiling anymore, not like before. He could sense it. The shift in you, the way your thoughts had pulled you somewhere else. But he didn’t push.

He just reached for you, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist before sliding up to tangle with yours. He gave your hand a small squeeze. And that was all it took.

A shaky breath slipped from your lips as you let yourself lean into him, pressing your forehead against his shoulder. Jake didn’t say a word. He held you. He was solid and warm with one hand pressed against the small of your back.

For the first time in a long time, the ache in your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy. It didn’t disappear. It never would. But standing there in Jake’s arms feeling the quiet steadiness of him, you thought maybe you didn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

Jake pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His smirk was gone now, replaced by something softer, something real.

“What?” He murmured.

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. This was him choosing to be here. Choosing you. Choosing her. And maybe you weren’t ready to unpack all of that just yet, but standing here in your kitchen, with Jake Seresin drinking a beer and telling you he’d do it all over again?

Yeah. You could feel yourself falling. Hard.

But before he could press you on it, you took a step closer and pressed another kiss to his cheek, slower this time. Your lips lingering just a second longer.

When you pulled back Jake was watching you with something unreadable in his expression. Something softer than his usual bravado.

Then, ever so quietly, he murmured, “A-minus, huh?”

You laughed, swatting his chest as you turned away. “Drink your beer, Seresin.”

And as he chuckled, taking another sip, you had the distinct feeling that tonight was just the beginning of something much bigger.

Something that, for once, you weren’t afraid of.

#Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin Fanfiction #Jake Seresin Fanfic #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Hangman x reader

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creganslover · 6 months ago

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Sneak Away

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Fem! Sister-wife! Reader

Requested?: No

Summary: There's perks in knowing Maegor's tunnels, and Aegon makes the most of it, by going to you every time the world seemed to turn against him, and tonight, you remind him how good he can be.

Word count: 3.2k

Warning/s: 18+ MINORS DNI!! canon-typical incest and language, smut! piv, unprotected sex, virginity loss, porn w little plot?? help- sub! aegon, dom but virgin! reader (is that a thing or did i make that up), slight angst? hurt/comfort, aegon having a praise kink, possesive aegon, breast play, riding/cowgirl, mutual orgasm, slight breeding kink from aegon, lmk if i missed anything!

Note: mind empty- need aegon- first time writing for him i hope i did okay- i don’t think i was thinking when i was writing this <3 likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are always appreciated!

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

Only few knew the hidden pathways hidden within the Red Keep, Maegor’s tunnels, they call it, some say the secret passages were haunted by every stonemason, woodworker, and laborers who participated in building such intricate pathways- only to be ordered to be slain by Maegor, promising that only those of the blood of the dragon would know where every path led, whether it leads out into the streets, or rather a different room in the Red Keep.

For Aegon, he had grown to use these secret pathways for his own escape and enjoyment possibly out in the streets… or mostly to visit his sister-wife at night in her own chambers when she does not sleep in his chambers, using the tunnels to effortlessly keep away from prying eyes and ears.

You. You were the twin-sister of Helaena, the princesses ever so adored by the realm and yet barely seen out the Red Keep. You and Helaena, much as twins you were, you two had contrasting personalities.

As Helaena liked to keep to herself with her fascination with critters and such, you were more into the knowledge of the realm, nose always buried within a book or always eagerly attending your lessons with the Septa.

Until you had come of age along with Helaena, wherein your mother, Alicent Hightower had initially proposed Helaena to be wedded to Aegon, in which you did not agree with, having witnessed Aegon’s recklessness and his debauchery, you cared for your twin too much to imagine her with someone like Aegon.

And therefore you were the one wedded to your older brother, Aegon. Aegon, however, wasn’t also somehow pleased with the notion, he found you utterly annoying, ‘too smart for your own good’ as he could recall your countless banters with one another.

However, as your marriage came to be, it almost gave you whiplash on how different Aegon had acted before to now. Yes, he despised your marriage, but soon he also found himself stuck with your company whether you both liked it or not.

One night you had found Aegon stumbling into your chambers drunk, of course, you had braced yourself for what was he about to do to you since he was quite unpredictable, but what he did was far more than what you expected.

Instead, he drunkenly blabbered away at his insecurities, of not being enough, of always doing what was expected of him yet your mother had always found ways to call him all sorts of names to his face, and your father the King never even once tried to make a bond with him, when all he ever wanted was to hear just once that he had done well from your mother and father, now all that seems too far within reach as the King’s health was declining.

That night, you had suddenly understood why Aegon was the way he was. Since then, Aegon has found no judgment with you. Sometimes it was a surprise to find him sober, at your chambers, seeking comfort in your arms. You, his sweet sister, was like a salve, a remedy for it all.

Aegon still had trouble showing his true emotions verbally, but he always wanted to show you how much he appreciated you, it was even surprising that he had yet to fill your womb with a child, but he often had bought you gifts and little trinkets that reminded him of you, thinking it would be enough to somehow show that he was trying, for you.

And in turn, you understood, you always knew what to say that had Aegon melting into your arms.

And that’s when he finally pressed at the stone wall disguised as any other wall within your chambers, the stone gliding easily behind a tapestry on the wall as he stepped in, candles lighting the way as he huffed a breath, finally able to catch some fresh air after being in the narrow passages. Flicking the tapestry back into place, his feet immediately take him to the foot of your bed where your figure lay underneath the blankets.

Aegon felt something stir within him at the sight of you, locks of platinum hair splayed upon your pillows, eyes closed, chest breathing rhythmically as you lay on your side, a strap of your loose nightdress down on one shoulder, your exposed skin seeming to tease him as he stood there dumbfounded for a few moments.

However, the remnants of the infuriating day he had ground him back to reality as to why he was here, sneaking into your chambers. Aegon found himself sliding underneath the covers behind you, the warmth of you immediately making him sigh, a comfort he had longed for throughout the day, contrast to the chill that had seeped in his bones.

Slowly, his arm found its way around the curve of your waist, leaning in as he desperately wanted to just nuzzle against you, hot breath fanning on the back of your neck. “Wife…” He breathed softly, not wanting to startle you. He waited for a response, thumb absentmindedly running circles on your abdomen, he should’ve probably let you sleep- he was content with only laying beside you, but a selfish part deep within him wanted you to wake.

In your sleep, you had already felt the bed dip from behind, stirring as you felt an arm drape around you, the hot whisper on your skin making you finally rouse, shifting as you felt the hold on you tighten as you turned your head, coming to your senses as you blinked traces of sleep from your eyes.

Registering the presence, your brows knit. “Aegon?”

It wasn’t uncommon for you that he would often find his way into your chambers when he had his days. “Mhm, it’s me.” He replied, now noticing you were awake, he brought his hand back to rest on your waist from behind.

“What happened?” You ask, as you always did. “I… couldn’t sleep. Mother was being… difficult again.” He responded hesitantly. “Did I wake you? Would you like me to go?” Typical of Aegon to dismiss himself easily when his mind would berate him for seeking comfort.

Aegon was already making the move to sit up and get off your bed when you sleepily turned and tried to grab at his hand or wrist, only to fall short and manage to grab at his tunics, tugging on it. “Hush, stay.” You mumbled and Aegon swallowed.

“Do not think this foolish.”

Slowly then Aegon allowed himself to fall back onto your bed, creaking in response.

Shifting, you layered a pillow behind your back leaning against the headrest, before grabbing Aegon’s arm and tugging him to lay atop you, something Aegon never did before but you tugging took him by surprise, laying on top of you as you looked down at him, his head moving to lay on your chest.

He was about to whine at the feeling of being coddled when his ear picked up on the sound of your steady heartbeat and it was enough to close his mouth shut, seeming to zone out as you slowly raked your fingers through his scalp, adding to the sensation in which Aegon sighed and screwed his eyes shut.

“I am not good enough.” He murmured. “Never will be.”

“You are, Aegon.” You counter. Aegon huffed onto your chest, the action sending you flushed as his face was directly on your breasts. “You always have the chance to be good, mother does not see it yet but I know you are doing your best.” You continued, ignoring the way your heart began to pick up its pace as Aegon’s hot breath fanned through your nightdress.

Oh you prayed to the gods he would not notice.

But Aegon clearly did, the thumping of your heart growing against his ear as he shifts his head, craning to look up at you. Your body felt suddenly hot. “You can be good, you are good… the crown is a heavy burden but it has placed itself upon your head, this is your chance to prove yourself.”

Your words turn to a weak whisper as Aegon’s eyes trailed from your eyes to your parted lips, your chest starting to rise as he spoke whilst his eyes stayed glued to your lips. “You think so, sweet sister?” He asked, now his eyes flickered back to yours and there was a hint of vulnerability and… hunger to them.

His body pressing against yours did not help as you could feel yourself start to throb, his gaze igniting something primitive within you. You tried to shift, needing friction between your legs- but it made Aegon groan, his gaze dropping momentarily.

Until you had felt something hard pressing against your leg. You swallowed thickly, the need starting to boil within you. You needed him.

“Aegon…” You broke the silence and he let out a weak hum in response, he doesn’t seem to be doing anything as you felt like you were being consumed from the inside.

He was holding back, you could feel it.

Moving your hand, you tilted his face to meet yours, before you had given and leaned in, kissing him sloppily and inexperienced, it made Aegon’s brain shut as his brows knit, eyes closing as he let out a low groan, hand immediately moving to grasp the back of your head.

Your hands began to roam around him, wanting to feel all of him but he pulled back for air, which you realized you were also out of breath, mind in a daze.

Aegon’s gaze raked over you, he had held back for so long and this is the first night he was about to have you. Yet he doesn’t want it to be rushed or perhaps take advantage of you in the heat of the moment, his thoughts running as he stared at you.

“Aegon, please.” You said, your sweet tone sounding like the Seven heavens in his ears.

You were getting increasingly frustrated, making the bold move to pull and push him down onto the bed, Aegon momentarily blinking in surprise, not expecting such an action to come from his sister-wife, taking the control away from him.

And oddly enough, it sent a thrill running down his veins and straight to his cock.

He liked it.

You swung your leg over him, straddling him as you could feel his throbbing cock directly against your damp underclothes, rolling your hips which had sent you both moaning at the feeling, Aegon’s hands landing on your hips to keep you still.

“You don’t- we don’t..” Aegon tried to talk but the view and feel of you on top of him was making that very difficult as of now.

“I want to.” The firmness in your tone was a contrast to his, Aegon was near to turning putty in your hands and you haven’t even near touched him yet.

His nod made you move your hands to slowly lift off your nightdress, the moment it hit the floor, revealing your shape to him, no longer hidden by layers of fabrics, it was enough to make Aegon stare in awe.

You felt hot under Aegon’s gaze as you moved to shield yourself but his hands caught your wrists, stopping as he sat up, making you shift yet still straddle him, his hardness still apparent and warm against your thigh under his tunics.

“Fuck you’re..heavenly.” Aegon murmured, his hands still holding your wrists loosely but his eyes now drifted down your face to your tits, nipples perked.

You took the initiative once more, your turn in grabbing his wrists before guiding them to your breasts, his rough palms slowly cupping them making you whimper, jolting and needing more friction as your body moved without you thinking, guiding his hands to cup and squeeze your breasts.

Aegon’s brain finally caught up with him as his hands moved to his own accord, oh you looked and felt heavenly he felt like he was already about to spill himself just by seeing you like this, taking control of him.

Your hands then moved to his head, grasping and tugging at his hair, making him moan low as you then pulled him to you, wasting no time as Aegon lathered hot open mouthed kisses against your skin, leaving flames in their wake as you sung sweetly on top of him.

His mouth trailed down your neck to finally your breasts as he suckled and licked at your mounds, taking one in his mouth, sucking lewdly as you looked down at him, eyes meeting yours and you felt yourself overcome by the sight, nodding to urge him to keep going.

With a final suck, he pulled back, mouth letting out a pop sound as you shivered as the night breeze cooled his saliva on your breast.

Moving to help him shrug him out of his tunics, you traced your hands down his torso, Aegon shuddering. “You’re so good.” Your praise was but a thought voiced, yet to Aegon, it had him melting. You can almost see the gears in his brain stop working as you realized this.

Of course, as your mother had often degraded him most of his life, your father is present but nearly absent in caring for your siblings.

Just an ounce of praise had Aegon craving it like a man parched in the desert, willing to do anything to quench that thirst- to be able to hear you praise him again. Only you. Fuck anyone else.

It was only you, his sweet sister-wife who mattered, who had always seen him, who always understood him, nobody would come close to you. He damn well would behead a man if one ever had thought of taking you away from him.

Thank the Gods you married him.

Leaning in, you peppered kisses onto his face, murmuring phrases all the way that had him grabbing your hips, feeling your soaked cunt rubbing against his stiff cock, sweet maiden juices leaking onto him but he doesn’t enter you.

His neck craned to give you more access as you kissed him all over, his hands running up and down your sides, wanting to feel and take his time with you even if every fiber of his being cried to fuck you senselessly.

No, you were in control of him tonight, or for any night that you wished, rather.

“See how good you are..?” Your voice whispered into his ear, breath fanning stray locks of his platinum hair. Aegon whimpered. Even though you were a virgin and inexperienced, you were coming to learn the gist of it as you had went on… but there were more chances to explore further in the future.

“P-please.” Aegon whined, never in his life he had seen himself begging, yet you had changed all of that. Pulling back, you raked your fingers through his hair again, his head craning back.

“Look at me, Aegon.” Your tone wasn’t even commanding, it was gentle- however his eyes were quick to find yours again.

You relished the control you had over him- but this was also him being vulnerable. You gave him a small smile as you spoke. “What do you want?” You asked. Aegon breathed and his mouth parts open, a squeak leaving as you also felt the need burning now deep in your stomach, your cunt throbbing.

“Speak.” You followed, dragging your folds along his length, making you both shudder and for Aegon to grunt, squeezing your hips to halt you in order to clear his mind.

“You- please- please let me fuck you, let me be inside you.” Aegon rephrased but it made you burn hotter nonetheless.

If you were right, your hand reached down between your bodies, your soft hands wrapping around his shaft, your soft hands heavenly compared to the times he had touched himself to the thought of fucking you before, which he would not admit even if dared.

Pre-cum was already leaking from him as he helped you, his own hand coming to guide himself against your folds, his reddened tip rubbing against your clit momentarily that had you clenching from the sensation.

As he slowly positioned himself to breach you, his eyes found yours, your hands resting on his shoulders as you took a deep breath as his hands rested back onto your sides, rubbing as you slowly sunk down upon him, his cock sliding within you inch by inch, making you cry out as he bottomed fully.

Aegon never thought he’d had your cunt clenching around him, sucking him in further making him shudder as he whimpered, nearing to burst if he moved further.

Moving your hips, you slowly started up a rhythm, Aegon’s eyes screwing shut as you began to ride him, hands guiding you but mostly it was you who moved, his grip on your waist was but a grounding sensation for him. It truly felt like he was about to ascend from how good you felt, and you were all his.

You felt yourself letting out noises you had not imagined before, the sensations of having Aegon sheathed within you was intoxicating, nails digging against his shoulders as Aegon returned his attention to your breasts once more, heightening your pleasure as you arched your back.

A knot was forming itself in your belly, your muscles beginning to contract as you chanted Aegon’s name like a prayer. “You feel so good, Aegon!” You cry, whining as your hips seem to chase an edge fast approaching.

“I’m- fuck– not gonna last long-” Aegon murmured now hotly against your neck, guiding you bouncing up and down his cock. “Please, please…” Aegon begged for your orgasm to hit so he could spill within you.

And it did, making you gasp as euphoria filled your body, sending you shaking as bouts and waves of pleasure overtook you, clenching around Aegon’s cock as your body continued to tremble atop him.

Aegon soon followed as your peak triggered his own, pulsing within you and releasing his seed within you, having him whimpering and panting. You could feel yourself overcome with warmth as you both had come down from your peaks, bodies covered with light sheen of sweat.

You both had stayed there for a while, Aegon still sheathed within you as you both regained your breathing. Looking down at him, you brushed stray platinum locks that matted to his forehead, moving to peck his forehead and his cheeks, Aegon murmuring in turn as he gazed up at your beauty illuminated by stray candles and the moonlight.

“Thank you.” Aegon rasped, making you smile down at him as you cupped his face, placing a tender kiss to his lips.

After fixing and rearranging yourselves, not bothering to throw your clothing back on, only the blankets laid over you both as you laid face to face, your head against his chest, curled against him so peacefully.

You had soon fallen asleep from exhaustion whilst Aegon had lied awake, thumb running over your side before it moved over to your stomach, no doubt both your labor would bear fruit.

And when it did, Aegon had sworn it upon himself to be the good loving father he never had upon your child, and to be the good king the realm did not think he would be. All because of you.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd aegon #aegon the second #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon x reader #hotd x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #hotd #hotd x y/n

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drdemonprince · 2 years ago

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The Barbie Movie is confused -- and it is confused on purpose, because it can't actually acknowledge the role that capitalism and white supremacy play in the patriarchal system that it wants to give itself credit for acknowledging. And so the film introduces patriarchy as a force with no agent or system behind it.

Ken, an oafish goof is able to find the concept of patriarchy and transmit it to the entirety of his society simply by learning about it and speaking about it to his fellow Kens. There is no use of force, no political organizing (notably, the Kens try to take over the political system after they have already taken hold of the culture), no real persuasion even -- simply by hearing about patriarchy the women in Barbieworld somehow become brainwashed by it.

This means we never have to really see the Kens as genuine antagonists, we can still laugh at their bizarrely crammed-together multiple dance numbers and forgive them when they, like the women, are freed of the patriarchy simply by women speaking about the fact that sexism exists. Both the origins of patriarchy and the solution to it is as simple as an individual person telling their story.

The CEOs that run Mattel in the Real World in the film are similarly cartoonish and devoid of real agency. They're even portrayed as generically interested in the idea of Barbie being inspiring to girls. The movie can't even acknowledge their profit motive, and it can't make any of the men running the company look too powerful or even too morally suspect -- but the film does still want to have Barbie encounter sexism in the real world and grapple with the harm "she" (the consumer product, and not the social forces and human beings that created her) has supposedly done.

In the Barbie Movie, patriarchy is a genie in a bottle, and no one is to blame - except maybe Barbie herself, since the movie spends a significant amount of time discussing how she is responsible for giving women unrealistic beauty standards.

And so Barbie is depicted as both sexism's victim and sexism's fault. She's dropped into a patriarchal world that the film acknowledges has a menacing, condescending quality -- but the film can't even have an underlying working theory of where this danger comes from, and who had the power to create this patriarchy in the first place, because that would require being critical of Mattel and capitalism.

And in the film, ultimately the real world with all its flaws and losses and injustices is still preferable to Barbieworld, because you get to have such depth of feeling and experience and you get a vagina, so how bad could really be? And hey, when you think about it, the Barbieworld is just an inversion of the real world, isn't it? A world with women in power is just reverse sexist, so it was justifiable for the Kens to want to take over, and what does it say that all things being equal Barbie still would prefer to leave behind her matriarchy and join the patriarchal capitalist world? That's the real world. Real world is struggle and sexism and loss and pain and capitalism and death and we must accept all of it but it's worth it..

It's not that I'm surprised the film's a clarion call for personal choice white feminism and consumer capitalism. I just expected the call to be a little more seductive or in any way coherent. I wanted to have frothy fun, and instead I was more horrified by the transparency of its manipulation than I was by even the most unsettling moments in Oppenheimer.

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dollarbils · 5 months ago

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my stalker | b.e.

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. your stalker isn’t too happy about the police report you’d just filed.

warnings. stalker billie, harsh words, physical struggle

masterlist

the drive back from the police station was nerve racking. every turn you took you felt like someone was watching you. like she was watching you. your paranoia had overtaken your life as you watched every step you took, constantly checking your surroundings and double locking the door. you were scared, and she loved it.

the buzz of your phone interrupted your hasty movements to get out of your car. you waited until you had gotten inside, double locking the door of course, before answering.

“hello?” you didn’t recognise the number but you’d assumed it was the guy you met last night at a party. you’d left him your number since he was hitting on you.

“well that wasn’t very nice of you, was it?” her voice was deep, somewhat angry. and it took everything in you not to scream and panic.

“stay the fuck away from me you psycho!” you yelled through the phone, not hanging up though, wanting to hear her response.

“it’s in your best interest to be kinder to me, baby. i’m not here to hurt you.” here. here. here?

“i’m going to call the police if i see you in my garden again.” you peeked out of the window, scanning the bushes.

“oh please, give me more credit.” this time, the voice didn’t come from your phone, it came from behind you and you spun around in a quick movement to dodge her arm that was reaching for you. however, you weren’t quick enough, as her other arm pulled you back towards her. she pushed you against the wall, her hands pinning you in place and her strength defeating you.

“what on earth do you want from me?” you held her eye contact, masking your ever growing fear. she seemed surprised. you couldn’t make out her features completely due to the darkness. her eyes however, were captivating all the same.

“i want you to stop reporting me to the police, it’s annoying.” she pressed into you, pinning your face in place with her hypnotising eyes.

“maybe don’t stalk me.” you suggested and she rolled her eyes.

“you’re scared of me. i can tell.”

“well what did you expect exactly? a hug and a kiss?” it seemed to be that pissing her off more was the strategy you were going with.

“don’t be afraid of me. i’m what you need.” she whispered on your cheek. “i can hear your heart beating. calm down baby.” you squirmed in her arms, trying to fight her grip but she only pushed you back harder. however soft her words were, her actions never matched. her face was still impossibly close to yours as she waited for a response.

“nothing to say?” she commented, teasing you for your sudden silence.

“fuck you.” you moved quickly, catching her by surprise and getting past her grip to reach for your phone. she was quicker however, grabbing it and shoving it in her back pocket.

“what the fuck.. stalker.” you contemplated on what you should call her. she simply chuckled at what you came up with.

“it’s billie.” she clarified her name.

“i don’t care, give me my phone.” she kept her distance, no longer making a move to reach for you.

“come and get it.” she challenged. “don’t be scared.” she added when you made no move to get your phone back.

“just tell me what you want and give me my phone back.” you moved away from her slowly but she just followed, keeping the exact same distance between you no matter how far back you traveled.

“i think you know what i want. and im not about to give you your phone back so that you can wait for your boy toy to text you.” her grin revealed the glistening metal on her teeth, even in the dark.

“how..?” you were at loss for words. a sick feeling rising to your stomach. no matter where you went she’d always know, she’d always be there too.

“hm?” she mocked you, waiting for you to continue.

“just leave me alone.” you pleaded her but she just chuckled.

“but you’re so fun to play with.” her smile was bright but her eyes were dark. she moved closer to you as you backed away but like always, she was much quicker.

“you’re sick.” you shook your head as her hands came up to your face. you didn’t bother stopping the action.

“i feel quite good.” her lips came down to yours, kissing the side of them, but missing them by a millimetre.

“what are you doing?” her hands caressed your neck as she moved her face to look at you.

“i know we’re meant to be.” her words were soft, contrasting most of what had transpired. you felt her hand on your ass for a second longer than it should’ve been. but when she closed the door behind her and you reached inside of your pocket, you found your phone, as if it had been untouched.

as she walked away from your house calmly, a smile was plastered on her face. she knew you’d be thinking about her for the rest of the week. and that’s all she wanted. for now.

part 2

#billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fic #billie eilish gf #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish #Spotify

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bctdigitalai · 10 months ago

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Precision in Risk Management: BCT Digital's Expected Credit Loss Solutions

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BCT Digital's Expected Credit Loss solutions represent a paradigm shift in risk management, enabling financial institutions to move beyond traditional approaches and embrace a more proactive, predictive strategy. With unparalleled accuracy, transparency, and scalability, BCT Digital empowers institutions to navigate uncertainty with confidence and achieve their long-term objectives with precision.

#expected credit loss

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itsjusthockey · 7 months ago

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Hughes Your Daddy pt.2 - Jack Hugges

wow.

It took longer than expected, but you should all be thankful because I was going to quit this blog, but I didn't give up

tell me how proud you are and how much you love it. pls & thx

Anyway, enjoy ❤️

w.c: 2,754 (credit to gif maker) (don't steal my work)

The crisp 100-dollar bill you’ve just won sits nicely tucked in your back pocket as Jack breaks the world record for sprinting and dodging almost a million cameras to get to you. As soon as he crashes into your waiting arms, he lifts you into the air and lets out a breathy laugh in your ear that’s only reserved when you’re with him. It’s light, happy, and maybe even a little giddy.

After a moment of you being suspended in the air, he gently sets you down, giving you one last tight squeeze, then backs up to see your face.

“Did I embarrass you?”

You give him a slight smirk and shrug your shoulders. “You did okay.”

He playfully rolls his eyes, shaking his head at you as he moves on to hug his waiting parents. With his attention away from you, you survey the space and catch sight of the other Hughes brothers walking toward the group.

Luke is doing his little half smile and has a slight pep in his step that comes with a nice win, and Quinn looks about unbothered with everything as usual. You make a mental note of that, knowing that your evil boyfriend is going to push his buttons later to get any sort of reaction to his loss.

“Nice game, Lukey,” you pull him into a hug as he gets within distance, patting his arm as you pull away. “You’re kinda being a stud out there.”

Luke blushes a shade darker at your comment, and you can’t help but love knowing you can still get a rise out of him. Luke moves on, too, and you’re left facing the only Hughes brother who didn’t have a win tonight.

“Tough loss cap.” You hug Quinn tightly before glancing back at your boyfriend and leaning in slightly to whisper in his ear. “But we all know you’re still the best.”

Quinn gives you a small laugh, and you can see his head is held a little higher as you pull him to join the circle with the rest of the family. As soon as you do, Jack opens his smart mouth.

“Family circles are for winners only.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, Ellen hisses his name, and you pinch the back of his arm as hard as you can.

“Ow,” he yelps at you, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

You give him a look that tells him exactly what that was for, to which he rolls his eyes at you.

“He knows it’s in good fun,” Jack says. “Right Q?”

This time, Quinn rolls his eyes but nonetheless nods his head.

The group chats about the game for a couple of minutes before unanimously deciding that family dinner is a must, and then you’ll head back to Quinn’s place for one last night altogether. As soon as the decision is made, you beeline to follow when Jack holds you back for a second.

“Dinner, just you and me, okay?” He all but pleads, pulling you toward him.

You glance back at his family walking away, seemingly unaware you two fell behind.

“They want to see you too, J.”

He grabs your hands and pulls even closer, leaving no room for any personal space. “They don’t care that much, and I haven’t had a second alone with you.”

His point is fair, but you also are torn by the fact that it isn’t very often that all three brothers are together.

“C’mon (Y/N). The winner should get a reward dinner right?”

You raise your eyebrow at him. “Then shouldn’t we invite Luke?”

He snorts at your comment and shakes his head.

“Please, I did the heavy lifting.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re at a nice restaurant in downtown Vancouver. It’s big yet cozy and has low lighting, making it slightly romantic. You’re impressed with Jack's pick, but you also know deep in your heart he probably asked Quinn for his recommendations.

Your reserved table is in a cozy little corner, and a bottle of wine is sitting out, ready to be poured. You’re beyond happy with the setup, but you can’t help but feel a little underdressed as you both walk toward your seats. Jack has his game-day suit, but you’re still clad in a red and black jersey with the number eighty-six plastered across the back.

“This is wonderful, J, but you couldn’t warn me to wear something a little nicer.”

He pulls out the chair for you before you sit down, and as he crosses to the seat directly opposite you, he laughs.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He smirks. “This is my favorite outfit for you to be in.”

You roll your eyes as far back as possible but let it go. You are proud to be his girlfriend, and you allow him to have this little ego boost for one evening.

You spend the next hour talking about everything and nothing, and when the bill comes, Jack hands over his card, and you two pack up the leftovers you have, knowing Luke will destroy them once you get back to the house.

Once the card returns, you head out into the chill Vancouver night with Jack's arms wrapped around your waist. The walk to the car is short and filled with your usual light banter. As soon as you're within the view of the car, you go to swat away Jack's arm when he gets a little too handsy, but not before your boyfriend reaches into your back pocket and pulls out the hundred dollar bill that was safely hidden.

He eyes the bill with curiosity and darts his eyes back and forth between you and the bill for a few seconds.

“What this?”

“Cash?” You deadpan, moving to snatch the bill away, but he holds it out of your grip.

“You never carry cash.” He narrows his eyes slightly, then a dawning look crosses his face.

“This is the fourth hundred I’ve found in your pocket after a game with my brothers.”

You give him a surprised look but shake your head no.

“It’s just a coincidence, Jack.”

He passes you back the bill, but let’s put a low whistle. “Twice is a coincidence. Four times is a pattern.”

Before you can open the passenger door to the car, Jack blocks his body with it, tilting his head to the side and eyeing you up and down.

“You wanna know how I think you’re getting the money?”

You let out a puff of air, wishing he’d drop it, but you also know your boyfriend, and he will never let it go.

“Sure.” You take a step closer to him. “Let’s hear your theory.”

He smirks again and leans toward you as if he’s going to tell you a secret.

“I think you’re betting with my dad.”

You freeze when he speaks and must admit he’s smarter than he looks. You want to deny the accusation, but you simply shrug your shoulders and lean away from him.

“An excellent theory, J, but alas, it’s none of your business.”

You meet his stare, lean into him to kiss him on the cheek, and then body-check him from the side, and he stumbles just enough to allow you to climb into the passenger seat.

He heads to the driver a second later, and when he climbs in, the conversation is merely forgotten. You go back into talking about everything you’ve missed in each other's lives until you pull into the familiar driveway.

The house is decently quiet when you walk in, and when you round into the dining room, you see Luke and Quinn on opposite sides of the table, a checkerboard between them. Luke is stressed, chewing slightly on his hand, and across from him, Quinn sits with a smug smile and a stack of chips next to him.

“C'mon Lu, you’re better than this.” You say, gently patting his shoulder as you bring the leftovers to the fridge.

He huffs and glares at Quinn. “I am better, and I think he’s cheating somehow.”

Jack pipes up from behind you. “How can you cheat at checkers?”

Luke huffs again and mutters a quiet “he’s finding a way” under his breath, returning his attention to the board.

Jack crosses the room and sits down next to Luke, saying he’s playing the next round to defeat Quinn for the second time that night, and as soon as he takes his attention off you, you beeline to the living room in hopes of finding your gambling partner.

You find Jim and Ellen in the living room, and when you enter, they’re beyond excited to see you. You sit on the opposite chair and lean over to them both, whispering so the boy in the other room won’t hear you.

“Jack is onto us.”

Jim gives you a confused look.

“He knows about the betting.”

Ellen lets a giant laugh bubble past her lips, and soon enough, you’re all laughing about the situation.

“Out of all of them to figure it out,” Jim says, shaking his head.

You smile at them both, telling them how the secret came out, and in the end, they shrug it off.

“Just because he knows doesn’t mean we should stop. If anything, maybe it will be more of an incentive.”

You smile ear to ear and relax back into the chair, knowing that the little game won’t end, even if the boys know about it. You settle back into casual conversation for a while before you hear some commotion from the dining room, and Ellen gives you a knowing look.

You walk swiftly back into the dining where the chaos is, and when you enter, you see Quinn sitting calmly with his arms crossed and Jack standing in front of him, surrounded by all the tiny checker pieces with the board flipped upside down.

You can’t stifle your laughter, and you high-five Quinn across the table as Jack turns to you with a cold stare.

“You two can laugh all you want. I still won the actual game tonight.”

Quinn shrugs his shoulders at Jack. “Well, I just won the game that clearly matters more. So who’s the real winner tonight.”

Quinn throws you a wink as he begins cleaning up the pieces on the floor, and Jack follows suit, angrily putting them into the little pouch they came in.

You watch them clean up the game and go to stand by Luke, who’s eating your leftovers and quietly watching the scene unfold in front of him.

“Did you just stand here the whole time?” You ask.

He takes another large bite. “I enjoyed the show.”

You knock your shoulder against him, and a few minutes later, all the games are put away, and you all decide to join the parents in the living room. There, you watch a few episodes of The Office under Jack's hold, and soon enough, you find yourself dozing off in the comfortable position and extra body heat.

You're not sure how long you're asleep until you wake up hearing some shuffling around you. You open your eyes and see that Ellen and Jim have already left, and Luke and Quinn are moving around, getting ready also to leave the shared space. Quinn folds up a blanket and places it on the couch when you quietly whisper at him.

“Is he asleep?” You ask, referring to the boy behind you who’s gripped has softened a bit and whose breath has gone steady.

Quinn nods and whispers back a goodnight, leaving you and Jack alone in the living room. You’re perfectly content to stay on the coach, but that doesn’t last until you feel Jack move behind you.

“What time is it?” He mutters.

You look around for your phone, and when you click on the screen, it reads about half an hour before midnight. You show him the screen, and he hums.

“Wanna go to bed?”

You nod, slinging your legs to the side and getting up. Your muscles are stiff, and you stretch them out as Jack follows close behind you to the shared bedroom you've been occupying this weekend.

As you are busy getting ready for bed, Jack joins you in your domestic bliss, washing your face together and brushing your teeth. You can’t help but smile into the toothpaste because every time you go to stare at him, he’s already looking at you, and a blush creeps into his cheeks when he gets caught.

You finish up, climbing into your pajamas, and when you walk back into the room, Jack is already under the covers, looking at his phone. As soon as he notices you, he tosses the device away and lifts the sheets, patting the space beside him.

You crawl in, and within a moment, his arms wrap securely around you, and you’re pulled to his chest. All the stress of finals, flying back and forth, and life in general melt away, and for the first time in a long while, you know you’ll get the best sleep tonight.

You settle in even deeper into Jack's hold, reading yourself to enter the dreamland until you’re slightly brought back when he gently taps your arm three times, your relationship code to see if you’re still awake.

“Yeah?” You ask, flipping over to face him in the darkness.

“I just have a question.” He whispers

You wait for him to ask, and after a second passes, he does.

“Of course, I’m not mad or anything. You betting with my dad is the funniest thing ever. But one thing is bugging me.”

You gently rub his arm, and he continues.

“How did you win?” His voice is soft. “Did you bet on us winning even though we haven’t been playing the best? Or was it something else? Do you switch teams? Or how do you decide which team you bet on?”

He throws so many questions at you that you silence him with a light kiss pressed to his lips. It effectively shuts him up, and he stays quiet until you answer.

You take a minute to speak on purpose, wanting to make him wait, but you know that his wheels are turning, and he honestly doesn’t know your secret to success, and you know you have to tell him.

It’s never a question when you’re betting with Jim; you always pick with your heart, and you’re rarely wrong, and even when you are, you’re still correct with the outcome, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“I never have to decide.” You press another kiss to his lips. “I always bet on you.”

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