#hes a man loyal to the bit and i respect that

[eclipse-has-come]

- Every step you take, I'll be watching you

part 1

A/N: Hello, I’m back with another part! Once again, i have no beta reader and i’m not a native english speaker so there might be some weird mistakes 😭 This chapter is mostly John’s past and his feelings about reader! I thought it was important to see things from his perspective, i hope you enjoy! Warnings: There are desriptions of murder, guns and war in this chapter (but that kinda comes with the territory). John might come off as a bit creepy but he's just a lonely guy :(( also parasocial relationship vibes

When John Price first died, he didn’t even realise what had happened until he heard his footman’s yell. Poor Kyle, seeing his captain with a bullet between his eyes must’ve been quite the traumatic experience.

Price wasn’t expecting the general to go this far but- well, he was playing with fire wasn’t he? Three years ago, in 1857, when the rebellion started, the queen sent out her best soldiers. John was included in the bunch. Loyal to the crown as he was, he rushed to battle, defending his country.

During his service, he got acquainted with three other men who were unfortunate enough (they wouldn’t agree with that statement) to be placed under his command. Simon Riley (a man so mysterious that one could even call him a ghost), John Mactavish (a Scottish warrior with a loud disposition) and Kyle Garrick (a young man looking to prove himself). The four of them bonded, ‘brothers in arms’ - that’s what Mactavish called them anyway.

Half a year into their service, a skirmish changed the trajectory of their lives forever. General Shepherd’s poor decision led to Johnny (“Aye, with the two of us, one of you’s bound to make a mistake callin’ us nae? Call me Johnny!”) getting heavily injured. ‘Two days’ the medics said, that’s how much the poor man had to live. 

In the end, he spent two months in the nurse’s care.

By some miracle the bullet just grazed his skull. Captain John Price didn’t consider himself particularly hotheaded, better to be patient and make calculated choices than to end up with regrets or a bullet through his heart. He was raised to be obedient so even as a child John had great respect for and would never dare to deliberately disobey his superiors. This, however, was a step too far - even for him.

For the first time in his life, Price cut his strings and made his own choice.

When Johnny was cleared by the nurses, they did not join Shepherd back on the battlefield. Instead, John took his men and sailed back to Britain. All of them received a less-than-happy letter from the General but it was easy to ignore (at first) with how peaceful their life got.

Simon took on the role of the cook, his previous experience of being a butcher making him quite an extraordinary fit for the role. His dishes would make anyone salivate, they were always perfectly seasoned and prepared, Kyle would say that Simon makes meals fit for the queen.

Johnny became the Head Gardener, as the injury caused him too much trouble to do anything physically taxing. Everything man made was either too loud or too bright, so the peacefulness of nature was a great reprieve. So with the help of the Scot, the desolate and grey garden soon took on a new look, filled with lush greenery and colourful flowers.

With his need to please and earn praise, Kyle made a wonderful footman. He knew John’s schedule down to the smallest details, such as only taking his tea at 7:06 sharp or refusing to eat anything other than an English breakfast as his first meal of the day. He would accompany his lord on any outings, his handsome looks and open nature made it easy for him to strike up new connections or better deals.

Price would never admit it but he had grown quite fond of his men. He had accepted that he would never have a family back when he first joined the army (what woman would wish to live in constant uncertainty?) so when the boys came along, he felt as if he suddenly gained three sons he never would have expected to have. The once too-quiet-and-empty halls took on a life of their own and everywhere you went you’d hear Scottish yells or quiet grunts.

That happiness- it made him soft. Too soft, so much so that he failed to realise just how fucked he truly was. Turns out Shepherd wasn’t too happy with just sending them a few scolding words. No, the general was much too cruel to let them off easy.

The fog was heavy the morning It happened. When John lit his cigar by the window, he couldn’t see anything but grey for miles; Kyle knocked on his door and informed him that breakfast was served. The routine went as usual, thus it made the next thing that happened even more shocking.

When Price sat down at his desk ready to read the newspaper in peace, he was greeted by a gun at the back of his head.

“John.”

He recognised the voice immediately.

“General” Putting down the paper gently, he folded his hands on his lap. He heard the perpetrator behind him grip the gin tighter.

“You couldn’t have truly expected to get away with it- right?” Shepherd paused, as if contemplating what’s left to say. “You were better than this John.”

Price merely hummed, not willing to entertain the other man. “We both were”

“If you want to beg for your life, go ahead, I’ll gladly wait.” 

Price let out an amused huff.

“Wouldn’t do me any good.”

The general stayed quiet and raised his gun higher; John heard a loud shot and then-

Silence.

-

His funeral was beautiful, his boys made sure of it. The only ones present were them but still, that was more than enough. The coffin was surrounded by flowers, John laughed about the fact that it was probably the first time he ever received any.

His first week as a ghost consisted of him following his men, making sure the estate was in good hands. They took their duties seriously, sometimes they even spoke to him as if he were there with them. He always replied but- well, no one ever heard him.

When the boys started getting older, he would try to make their lives easier. Move the cane closer to Johnny’s bed while he sleeps, rattling the cupboard to make sure Simon remembers to take his pills or even picking up items since Kyle can barely bend down with his bad back.

He knew they couldn’t see him but they still thanked him out loud every time. It’s as if they could feel his presence, as if they knew he was there, watching over them. His heart was happy and when their time came, he waited with bated breath for them to join him but-

They never did.

Price was left alone. His men moved on but he couldn’t seem to do the same; and with them gone, his purpose was lost too. He spent years occupying the empty home, thinking of a solution. 

No one bought his home after the late soldiers departed from this world, he wondered whether that was because of who it belonged to or just because of the sorry state it was in after the boys died.

Years of lone walks and no one to talk with made John realise that being a ghost was plain lonely. He felt miserable wandering the empty halls and knowing that he might never see his close friends again made it even more difficult. 

Losing track of time proved easy in such a desolate building. His only companions were bugs crawling on the walls and his own thoughts, he had no way of keeping up with the world. Not that he really wanted to, his time had been over for a long, long time.

Finally, after an unknown number of years, a man and his family joined him in his residence. He overheard that it was now 1939 and a second World War started (there was a first one?). John’s first instinct was to pack up and fight but- he wouldn’t be much help in his state. He could already imagine bullets passing straight through him and hitting some poor sod behind him.

John watched as the head of the family left for war, wishing it was him instead as the wife and son cried after him. The scene broke his heart and he knew that if he had gotten married and started a family, this is what it would have looked like. He knew he made the right choice to not start one back then, as he could never imagine himself leaving his hypothetical wife and child behind. 

In the end, the man never came back. John was the sole man to witness the son grow up, start his own family and continue the legacy.

Time passed and before Price knew, he had witnessed generations live and die in his home. He didn’t know how much he missed the hustle and bustle in his home until it came back. The chains around his heart lightened their load when he heard the giggles of children and conversation in the kitchen.

Over the years, he tried to subtly signal his presence to the different residents of his home but all of them were met with fear or disbelief and so, he stopped. He would rather have the families be comfortable and unaware of him than be left alone again, his heart couldn’t take it. 

The years passed, the world was slowly growing too unrecognisable for John. New inventions seemed to appear every day but he could still barely comprehend the existence of phones (and they were invented back in his time!).

The latest owner of his building was the lone descendant of the poor lad who never came back from war, a grumpy old man (who rivalled even John with his impressive moustache) that was convinced the house was haunted. He wasn’t wrong of course but John didn’t purposely make his presence known so it was curious that the elderly gentleman was sure of his existence.

He rarely visited because of that fact, causing the place to slowly grow into poor condition. Mold-covered walls and broken floorboards was an everyday sight now, which saddened Price greatly. Although the residence hadn’t been truly his for a long time, he was still the one that built it; and he would much rather see it fall into capable hands than to grow into disarray.

His silent fuming seemed to have been answered when a lone woman entered through the front door one day. Still young but too old to be the old man's grandchild, so who was she? Price was both curious and cautious, as the owner hadn’t visited for a while before her arrival.

The beginning of their relationship (if you could even call it that) was rocky, to say the least. 

At first, John was convinced she was a squatter and was determined to run her out, scaring her by creaking the stairs and pushing objects off of tables and desks (he did however feel a smidge of guilt when something shattered in one of the boxes he nudged; he was taught to never disrespect women's belongings after all).

It was only after she bought the paint and tools, that he realized what was really happening. The poor girl had bought his home and was intending to renovate it back to its original state. Instantly his guilt skyrocketed to insane heights, never before had he felt this embarrassed for misjudging a person. 

John had a new mission now: to help the wonderful lady as much as he can; starting with trying to assist her with her projects. What John didn't expect is the he seemed to fumble like a school boy with a crush. The woman was beautiful, with her lively eyes and quiet remarks. He particularly enjoyed her habit of talking to herself, it made him feel as if he was a part of this, as if he was real, at least to her. 

His crush admiration caused him to become soft for her, evident in his inability to focus. When he tried to move the heavy paint can closer to the wall, he got his foot stuck in the handle and proceeded to fling the whole thing on the wall while trying to get it out- not his proudest moment, he admits. He was even more embarrassed when the lady seemed discouraged after seeing the mess.

After a few more tries which ended in disaster (lodging a stray pebble into the front window- plus a few others he'd rather not name), he decided that his attempts to help her were only making her life harder. He ceased his unhelpful ministrations and decided to observe her progress, silently encouraging her.

She made quick work of the place and before he knew it, the first floor turned into a cozy antique (well, modern to Price) store. John walked through the aisles of beautiful trinkets, they reminded him so much of his previous life and how it used to be.

He didn't realise it until now but he missed his past more than he thought; years of loneliness made him numb to just how good he had it and what he lost.

This quiet epiphany gave him food for thought, about how he didn't wish to be alone once more. Sure, the families filled the home but they didn’t truly care (or even know) about him. He wanted someone to acknowledge his presence, to treat him like a person and not a silent observer.

He wanted it to be her.

The woman who stumbled her way into the empty house and made it her own, she didn’t know it but it meant so much to him. Over the months of her getting used to the new environmet, he had grown fond of her quirky nature. He didn’t even know her name and yet, he knew exactly how she took her tea or how much time she spends on laundry since she doesn’t enjoy doing it.

He felt a bit guilty that she was unaware of his silent observation but his happiness outweighed that. Besides, he would apologise to her soon enough.

He won't- no, he can't take another hundred years of loneliness. He promised himself he wouldn't interfere with her affairs anymore but the urge is too strong. She wormed her way into his head and heart with her endearing determination and kind eyes. He knows she’d make a good friend.

He made his move a week later. The poor lady was tired after seven days of hard work ('That should be your husband's job Darlin’.’ he thought to himself) and decided to enjoy a nice hot shower. Now, John is nothing but a gentleman; sure, he might be entering a woman's bathroom but it's for a good cause! He’ll make it up to her anyway.

He had been selfless his whole life: serving his queen and putting his men's safety above his. His afterlife was the same, consisting of helping his home's tennants and being a quiet observer. He was done pretending to live in the past, living in the moment is all that matters to him now. His whole life he wanted to have a domestic life but his sense of responsibility wouldn’t let him commit to anything other than war.

John is tired; tired of being a leader, tired of being a mere trick of the eye and most importantly, tired of being alone.

He just hopes the kind woman will see it that way too, he thinks to himself as he writes on the fogged up mirror.

[ratatatastic]

my favourite thing is that its been 3 weeks and we're still asking about the tincan ocean mishap and how it wasnt supposed to happen in the way that it did.

"i did not know that wasnt allowed i promise you...we had nobody with us to say matthew dont be an idiot dont do that" and other lies to tell yourself

KSDK News | 7.18.24 (x)

Sun Sentinel | 6.28.24 (x)

"i think somebody said its technically not allowed but i said it was too late it already happened" oh so there was someone who did do a matthew dont be a idiot dont do that to him but it was AFTER the fact huh and they only allowed this to happen on the terms that the cup wouldnt touch the water...

so heres matthew dunking the cup into the ocean and also matthew and ekky throwing benny overboard during the incident in question and yes multiple local news sources had to reassure viewers afterwards that cup in saltwater should be fine (it was not fine)

Las Olas Beach | 6.25.24 (x)(x)(x)

[benny pic came from his igstory so we mourn the fallen sourcelink o7]

heres them bringing up the cup ocean incident while sasha was in wimbledon to cheer on his gf and guest starred on the volkswagen desk for a bit a week after the incident

Wimbledon Championships 2024 | 7.4.24 (x)

and its so funny he says that he knows saltwater is bad for the cup because...

id like to bring up exhibit A (written account of him bringing the cup over to the beach which incited the cup ocean incident)

and exihibit B (visual of him bringing the cup over to the beach which once again incited the cup ocean incident)

it isnt clear if sasha was aware of the whole "dont dunk the corrosive metal into the ocean" before or after the incident i just think its particularly funny how now he has to go on tv and go yeah that was bad we cant do that from now on like a scolded kitten

and also brady getting upset over not getting credited for the idea because this is what matthew said about it when asked the day after it happened

Pat McAffe Show | 6.26.24 (x)(x)

is he absolutely in every right to get a little pissy about it? yes. does it also make him seem even more like a little brother in the process especially with the way matthew had to go BY THE WAY. IT WAS BRADYS IDEA. AND HE WAS MAD AT ME FOR NOT SAYING THAT SO IM SAYING THAT NOW BUT ONLY AFTER TARYN BROUGHT IT UP. oh yeah absolutely. from one little brother to another it very much reads like that.

EDIT: it was actually ellie his fiancee who quips this because she was in attendance during the hospital visit (youll see her in the bg here) when this interview takes place and that makes it even cuter that she was like hey remember to give your baby brother credit oh this family is so cute 😭😭

[saintobio]

blank canvas.

problems arise when your tattoo artist boyfriend starts getting too cozy with the girls that wanted him to do more to their bodies than just inking their skin. the thing is, they knew what he wanted and they knew what you couldn’t give.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags. nudity, insecure!reader, virgin!reader, dry humping, mentions of needles, mentions of cheating, slutshaming

notes. if you’ve been here for a while, yes this is a repost from an old hq fic :’D i rewrote and remodeled it for sukuna bc i feel like he fits this au!

part 2 | part 3 | epilogue

Sukuna had seen it all.

He wasn’t dumb and he most definitely wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he was attractive, bringing him a clientele of adoring women who would frequently visit his tattoo parlor. Who could blame them? He was handsome, had a good physique, and an overwhelming aura that pulled the attraction of many women, single or not, who were desperate to vie for his attention. His tattoos and his dyed hair even added to the overall bad boy persona that he had which, to be fair, was a girl’s guilty pleasure. 

The women were very assertive, it seemed, to try and lure Sukuna into their little seduction game. Was he getting tempted into it? No. He was loyal and he’d like to stay loyal to his kind and beautiful girlfriend. After all, winning you over wasn’t as easy as it would with any other girl. 

However, there were certain moments that almost tested his loyalty to you, especially when some of the women would ask to have their tattoos done on the most intimate places of their bodies. 

Take yesterday as an example: one girl asked to have a tattoo on her buttocks and she was certainly more satisfied at the feeling of Sukuna’s palms on her bum rather than the actual tattoo she was getting. And to top it all, she bluntly asked if he offered more service rather than just giving tattoos. Crazy. 

He had previously mentioned it to you that as part of his job, he was obligated to give his clients the tattoos they requested, regardless of where on their bodies they wanted them. It was strictly business. Ironically, despite dating a tattoo artist like himself, you had no single trace of inked art on your body. You were an untouched canvas that had never been painted on. Still, Sukuna respected your choice and he surely respected your boundaries even more. 

He knew that you had always been a gentle girl when he first met you at the floral shop across the street. You were always prim and proper, always dressed modestly, always following the rules, and always doing the right thing. All you cared about doing was to express your love through the delicate petals you arranged in your flower-scented haven. You were happy to be in your own little bubble, content in the company of fragrant blossoms and soft-spoken solitude. Introverted. Reserved. Pure. Unassuming. He was the exception to your goody-two-shoes nature, because he ended up winning your heart despite being the complete opposite of you. It wasn’t an easy task, either. Deciding to get to know you was on a whim at first, since he was intrigued about your simple joys in life and how you weren’t the type of girls that would visit his tattoo parlor. Something about your demure nature pulled him in until he realized that there was nothing else he wanted in this world but to make you his. He began by greeting you every morning from across the street, then giving you the same bouquet of flowers he purchased from your shop, followed by sending you texts complimenting how beautiful you looked as he watched you from his store, and finally asking you out on spontaneous dates.

It may be a bit peculiar to see the two of you together, but Sukuna pursued you because liked you. He was undeniably in love with you. He liked your smile, liked how cute and adorable you were, and liked how a simple look at you made him want to be a better man. He loved the idea of being with a girl he could protect. 

The main issue was, Sukuna dropped out of college and just decided to open a tattoo parlor business because he simply didn’t want to waste his years studying for something that he wasn’t passionate about. But that was the source of your parents’ distaste. They told you that you had no future with a guy like him. They said that they would disown you as a daughter if you decided to choose him. They called him dirty, rebellious, and uneducated. 

At that point, he thought that you would leave him after learning his rather reckless choices in life, but you stayed. 

You left your parents' home and stayed with him.

And he was grateful that you did. 

So to ask the question again, would he ever do something to betray you after everything that happened between you two? Of course, not. Not in a million years, no

But then again, he was also just doing his job and it wasn’t like he was purposely flirting with the girls that often flocked him during work hours. He was simply accommodating a client. Nothing more, nothing less. 

And on one of those typical days, he had to work overtime when one of his returning clients asked for her fifth tattoo to be done by him. He just finished picking up the tools he needed as she walked towards the recliner seat asking, “Should I sit here?” 

He nodded once, turning around to face the girl who looked at him with her alluring eyes. “Yeah, just let me know when you’re ready.” 

Oh yes, she was surely ready. She even had a smirk displayed on her face when she slowly unbuttoned her shirt, keeping her gaze at him while teasingly revealing her busty pair. 

He didn’t really pay attention to the size of her tits but instead, just casually pointed to a certain part of her body, “Is this where you want it?” he asked, referring to the lower left part of her breast.

With a very flirtatious grin, she nodded, clearly knowing that her assets were her biggest weapon. “Yes. Would it be easier if I took off my bra, yeah?” 

“You don’t have to. I can work it out,” he casually responded, reaching for his glove and busying himself with all the tool preparations. 

The girl let out a silent giggle along with her best friend who sat on the side, waiting for her turn. Waiting to be the recipient of Sukuna’s full attention. Sigh. 

“No, I can take it off for you,” the girl insisted, unclasping her bra and setting her huge breasts free for him to ogle at. They were perfectly round, probably a 40D, and a light pink shade for her nipples. With how firm they were sitting on her chests, she had probably gotten them done.  

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he asked her to sit on the recliner chair. Sukuna had seen women half naked in his shop before, but this was the first time someone willingly got naked in front of him, most especially with other intentions rather than to simply get a tattoo. 

Because of the awkwardness, he went ahead and blasted some heavy metal music to distract his mind. He had to think of something else and not stare at the girl’s luscious tits. He had to shift his mind to somewhere else like, for example, why the girl chose a calligraphy of the words ‘la douleur exquise’ on her skin this time.

“Is this French?” he nonchalantly asked, motioning for her to rest her back while he wiped the chosen area with a damp cotton pad. He specifically avoided brushing his hand on her breast, but it looked like the girl was actually angling herself to make him touch it more. 

“It means exquisite pain,” she purred, batting her thick eyelashes at him. 

His lips formed a smirk, impressed at how much of a skank she was willing to be for him. It wasn’t new, as established before. He’d also had a fair share of women who tried to get into his pants last week, but none of them were successful. He actually found it entertaining to watch them do all sorts of stunts to make him give in. To make him submit himself to his carnal desires. He was a man after all. He had needs, he had to get some form of release, otherwise it could pose a problem in his masculinity. 

All while she was getting her tattoo done, the other girl got up from her seat to walk closer to her best friend. Sukuna decided to refer to them in his head as Slut 1 and Slut 2 because he had no intentions of knowing their names. He knew slut-shaming was terrible, but he never said he was a man of virtue and truthfully, how else could he describe them? 

“Hey, Sukuna,” the other girl called, sitting at an empty stool with a smile. “You’re single, right?” 

He kept his eyes focused on the skin he was inking on. “...No.” 

Even from the corner of his eye, he knew that both girls looked surprised, “No way? You have a girlfriend?” 

Was it really that much of a shock? 

“Yeah, she owns the floral shop across the street,” he mumbled, wiping the trace of blood on the girl’s skin after he finished another letter. 

There was a visible pout on Slut 1’s face as if learning that Sukuna had a girlfriend was more painful than the needle pricking at her skin. “So, what’s she like?” 

Sukuna thought for a while because he didn’t know where to begin. It was too much of a long story for them to hear about. You were everything he wanted in a woman and that was all he knew. “She’s cute and kind.” 

His words earned a giggle from Slut 2. “Is she like the good girl type?” 

“She is.” He figured it would be okay to converse about you like this. Besides, he would rather be talking about you than to have these girls just try to flirt with him relentlessly. 

“How much of a good girl, though?” Slut 1 egged on, “I bet she’s a virgin and a prude.” 

That was obviously none of their business, but damn. They hit a nerve that they shouldn’t have. No one else had managed to bring up a topic like that to him, more so a topic that he himself knew not to cross. His sex life wasn’t as fruitful as anyone thought so, yet not once in his life did he complain. Not once did he talk about it to anyone. Not once did he tell anyone that he had been dating you for a year now and you two never really went further than making out. 

“I respect her,” was his answer, much to the two girls’ dismay.

“That’s kinda boring, though,” the other girl claimed, draping her arm around his shoulder before leaning close to his ear. “You’re still a man and you have needs. If I were her, I’d sleep with you every day. In every position.” 

The girl on the recliner chair grinned. “Totally! Like, you’re so hot and I feel like you’re good in bed.” 

Fuck. 

He almost messed up one of the letters because his mind just flew to somewhere unforgivable. It was a sin to even think about, but shit, he definitely missed the feeling of fucking someone. He couldn’t even remember the last time he did so. 

“Sukuna?” 

He snapped out of his trance and looked up upon hearing the familiar voice, only to find you by the door, your eyes filled with hurt.

“Hey—” 

Your voice was caught in your throat as you avoided his gaze. “I just... I thought you were done.” 

In a swift motion, you hurriedly walked out of the room before dashing out the door. You didn’t even bother to look back, dead set on leaving him alone with the girls. Your footsteps were far too quick to even catch and he was hoping that you would at least slow down. 

“Babe!” he called, unable to chase after you as you shut the door. An exasperated sigh followed. 

This was going to be a big problem 

Just what was he thinking? 

He had a half naked girl in front of him and another girl clinging to him like he didn’t have a girlfriend. It must have hurt you a lot. No, it definitely wrecked you.

“Uh-oh...” the girl mocked. “I can sense trouble” 

He decided to leave it be for now and get his job done as soon as possible, even thinking of banning the two girls from going into his shop just to avoid further trouble. He had a lot of explaining to do and he couldn’t wait to go home to make sure that you would listen to him, not overthink the whole thing and place your assumptions because hurting you was the last thing he would do.

At least, he hoped you knew that.   

You were washing the dishes when Sukuna came home and the first thing he did was to wrap his arms around you. He had your waist caged in his tight embrace, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispered sweet nothings to you. To be real, you weren’t in the mood to see his face after what you saw this afternoon. You get it—he was exposed to all sorts of people with his line of work and most of them probably couldn’t just ignore his physical appearance. You were aware that some girls were only getting a tattoo to get close to him. Heck, you were aware that they all wanted to be with him.

But the only reason you were hurt wasn’t because he was desired by women, but because those very same women were all better than you in more ways than one. They fit his type more than you did and you were sure that they could give him exactly what he wanted. 

Still, it awfully tugged at your heartstrings. 

He was yours, not theirs. You had the right to be jealous when a girl was getting cozy with your man, but to see him letting them have their way? That was a different story. 

“Baby, talk to me,” he mumbled, planting a soft, apologetic kiss on your neck. 

You gave him the silent treatment as you walked away and dried your hands with a towel. What else would you say? He should already be aware of why you were acting that way. He should be the one to try and talk to you, not the other way around. And with your stubborn mind, you did your best to keep your insouciance, pulling his tattooed arms off of you and heading towards the couch. 

You could hear his sigh as he followed you, but you were determined to keep your eyes glued on the TV screen. If he wanted to talk, he should do the talking, you reminded yourself over and over. 

“You’re really pissed at me, huh,” he spoke as soon as he sat next to you, a hand carefully placed on your thigh. “I’m sorry.” 

“They’re pretty hot, aren’t they?” The bitter question left your mouth before you thought of holding back. 

He scooted closer and hooked an arm around your shoulder this time. “Definitely nowhere near as hot as my girlfriend.” 

What a load of… You rolled your eyes, remembering how the girls looked and how comfortable he was with them. “Yeah, right.” 

You couldn’t explain the tightness on your chest every time you recalled the scene earlier because you knew, you just knew, that there was more that could have happened if you didn’t check on him. You saw it in his eyes, even for a split second, that he almost gave in to temptation. How could he not? You were a prude just as they described—just because you didn’t have any sexual experience like they did. Perhaps when they called you boring, they were right and Sukuna wanted to agree. 

He couldn’t be stuck with a girlfriend that he couldn’t even have sex with, could he? 

“I shouldn’t have let them put their hands on me like that,” he admitted, showing his dire attempt to look apologetic. “Only you can.” 

You took a deep breath and shook your head. “I don’t even know why you’re still with me, Sukuna. I put so many boundaries between us. Don’t you get tired of me?” 

“Fuck no,” he quickly answered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Never. You’re the only one for me.” 

Truth be told, you did feel bad that he couldn’t fully experience you as a girlfriend, but he had been very patient and respectful towards you. He never crossed the line and never forced you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He said he was doing that because you never gave up on him even when you had the choice to. He said that you were worth waiting for. He said that he was satisfied with what you two already had.

Maybe you could let this one incident go, after all, he was never really a bad boyfriend to you. Sure, he looked like a bad boy, but when it came to you, he was surprisingly soft. 

“Okay,” you muttered, sighing in defeat and finally meeting his eyes. “Just don’t do it again. I don’t care if they get naked in front of you. Please set some boundaries and don’t entertain them too much or you’ll give off the wrong impression.” 

Your leniency earned a smile from him, delighted to earn your trust again so he made an effort to peck your lips. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“You’re annoying.” 

“You love me.” 

“I do,” you professed, placing a hand on his cheek, “so much.” 

Pleased with your words, he leaned in again to give you a much, much deeper kiss. He knew it was all he could do with you, but he wanted to make you feel that his kisses were satisfying enough for the both of you. Just with the way he moved his lips against yours and how your tongue rolled around his—it was almost impossible to breathe at one point, but he softened the kiss to allow yourself to catch some air. 

Gosh, you were jealous again. You were becoming annoyed as your mind ran at full speed, thinking of how those girls thought they could put their hands on your man. You were livid at how they tried to steal him from you. 

“You’re mine, right?” you asked for reassurance, pulling away to look at his dominating eyes. 

The smirk on his lips was replaced by a cheeky grin. “All yours, darling.” 

You didn’t know what gave you the sudden confidence to straddle his lap after he said that, but it just felt right. You wanted more of his physical affection and felt like you couldn’t get enough. Both of you were taken aback, obviously, because this wasn’t something you would normally do, and so the heat on your cheeks was mixing with the surprised look on his face. You were sitting directly on his crotch and he was having a hard time to control himself. 

“Babe,” he breathed on your neck. “You don’t have to force yourself.” 

He was right, but the thought of the other girls constantly seducing him behind your back just gave way to your deepest insecurities. You didn’t have the most perfect body in the world and you most definitely didn’t have the skills in bed that he expected—you were scared that you might lose him because of these facts. Or that he would find someone better, even at the cost of having them on the side. 

“Hey,” he spoke again, making you look at his eyes as you relaxed into his touch. “It’s fine. If you want it, I can be gentle. We can go slow.” 

“I-I don’t know... I just,” you hesitated, not knowing exactly how to put it into words. 

You didn’t know why sex intimidated you. It should be as easy as 1-2-3,  just him putting his member inside you, right? But you weren’t really scared of doing the act itself, you were scared that once you did it, he would leave you because he already got what he wanted. Losing it to the wrong person sounds like a nightmare and that was why you were having trouble coming into terms of losing your virginity before marriage. 

You could feel the hardness on his crotch pressing against your core and you didn’t expect a moan escaping your lips when you moved at the slightest. The fabric of your shorts were thin enough for you to feel the outline of his hardened member, displaying a prominent bulge on his sweatpants. You haven’t seen how big he was, but you could tell just by looking at his bulge that he was huge. Could you even take that? 

He held your waist and guided you to move again, this time urging you to move your hips back and forth, allowing you to feel the friction from his hard erection. Lust was clouding his eyes and it made you feel weak. 

“How does it feel?” he asked, his hot breath tickling your ear. 

You continued grinding on him with your lips parted, releasing your silent moans, “G-Good.”

He leaned forward to kiss your neck, eventually sucking the soft skin to leave his beautiful marks. “I wanna eat you down there, baby,” he growls under his breath, squeezing your right breast, “You’re gonna taste so good, I bet.” 

“Suku—” you whined, gripping his hair while he started matching your movements with his own. It was a foreign feeling for you to feel his bulge rubbing against your untouched core. 

“Fuck,” he cussed in a low voice, squeezing your ass with his huge hands in growing excitement. “Let me get a condom.” 

This was it. 

It was happening. 

Or was it?

Your eyes widened in panic as you pushed him back onto the couch. It was as though all of your senses were awakened and your body was telling you that you shouldn’t be doing all this. “N-No, I... I’m not ready.” 

You didn’t mean to always chicken out when you two were almost about to do it. You just didn’t feel confident enough to give yourself yet and even if you badly wanted to, you just couldn’t make yourself do it.

You could see the hint of disappointment on his face and he was trying to hide it. 

“Right,” he exhaled deeply with his head thrown back on the headrest. “It’s alright. Maybe next time,” he convinced himself. 

“I’m sorry,” you softly mumbled, hand gripping on his shirt. 

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before pulling you out of his lap and getting up from the couch. “Yeah, yeah. It’s fine.” 

You stayed seated as you watched him walk away. “Where are you going?” 

“I have to finish this off on my own,” he answered without looking back. You realized he was referring to the act of touching himself because you just couldn’t do the job for him. It was obvious how frustrated he was and for goodness sake, you did feel guilty, but then again, he didn’t act like this before. When you told him you didn’t want to do it further, he would simply laugh it off and say he would wait for you. 

This wasn’t the same Sukuna that said that. 

You became a little paranoid. 

Considering that girls would still pay your boyfriend a visit at the tattoo parlor, you always ended up overthinking about what he was doing while you were supposed to be busy at the floral shop. In the middle of arranging a bouquet of beautiful peonies, your mind was on haywire. You just didn’t feel at ease. You felt like anyone could easily snatch him away from you because you weren’t particularly a striking girl to begin with. You were leaning on the simple, conservative side rather than the rebellious, liberated women that swarmed his shop in hopes of sleeping with him. 

Because your thoughts were eating you alive, you decided to head to his tattoo parlor after closing the shop to make sure that he wasn’t doing any funny business. 

And you were somehow right. 

About three girls were in there this time, two of which you had already seen a couple of days ago, and they were already leaving the parlor just as you arrived. 

“You’re really amazing, Sukuna,” one of the girls told him in gratitude, “I might get another one soon.” 

You watched them walk past you with a smug expression on their faces as they left the shop. Sukuna had then seen you standing by the door with your arms crossed. 

“Really?” you questioned, walking inside with a frown. “They’re here again?” 

He sighed and walked back to his station while cleaning the mess from the tattoo session. He wasn’t even trying to win you over anymore. “I can’t just ask them not to come anymore. They’re still clients.”

“Let me guess,” you continued, “Did one of them get naked in front of you again? Did you let them put their hands all over you again? Did you perhaps forget that you had a girlfriend again?” 

His brows, now furrowed in annoyance and his mouth, thinning in displeasure. “No. We talked about this.” 

You held your breath, raising a brow in return. “I’m starting to think you’re doing more for them than just giving them tattoos.” 

“Like, what? Sell my body?” His question was clearly a taunt. A spasm of irritation crossed his face, but he still managed to display a mocking smile. “Is that what you’re suggesting, angel?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Then, what?” 

“You know what I mean,” you replied, trying to get your point across while keeping your composure. “You’re an attractive man and they’re the type of women you would willingly sleep with.” 

“Jesus. You’re so insecure, it’s crazy,” he retorted, rolling his eyes at you. 

Insecure? You couldn’t believe, just couldn’t believe he called you insecure. The air crackled with tension as your jaw tightened, muscles twitching with every suppressed urge to lash out.

“I wonder why!” Your voice rose hysterically. “If you weren’t busy flirting with those girls, maybe I won’t be so insecure.” 

“I said I’m not flirting with them!” he argued, slamming his gloves on the floor. His face contorted into a mask of rage and he looked at you with frustration that you had never seen before. It hurt. It certainly hurt. He had been acting distant since the night you didn’t give in to him and you knew that his exasperation towards you was rooting from that. 

Your breathing became unsteady. “But you know you’d sleep with them if given the chance. Since I couldn’t do it with you.” 

“Then, just fucking do it with me instead of bitching about it every day!” he snapped, voice thick with insinuation. “I don’t wanna be stuck acting like I give two shits about your interest in flowers and whatever nonsense you like to talk about. I wanna be with someone I can have sex with, not sit on the couch all day with a boring person like you!” 

His hurtful words left you frozen like a statue, unable to move while being dominated by the shooting pain inside your chest. 

You knew this day would come—that he would eventually get tired of waiting around for something that he could easily get from others. However, what hurt you most was the fact you believed he wasn’t that type of guy. That he wasn’t with you solely for what you could give, but rather, for what you just had. You thought he sincerely understood your boundaries and respected your choices the very same way you respected his, but it seemed that he had another thought in his head all along. 

After seeing the look on your face, Sukuna had softened his gaze and walked closer to you in reproach to his words and actions, “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean that.” 

A tear fell from your eye as you looked at him with both anger and pain building inside of you. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You wanna have sex? Is that what you want?” Your voice cracked in the middle of your sentence. “You wanna do it so bad, let’s fucking do it, then!” 

Your fingers forced their way to spitefully unbutton your blouse despite his desperate efforts to stop you. You must be going crazy. But also, he drove you to this point. 

“Baby, no,” he said in remorse, grabbing your wrists tightly. “No, I’m sorry. I’m content with you. I really am, I’m sorry. Please.” 

Your chest heaved as you cried, unable to stop your emotions from exposing all of your vulnerabilities. “It’s obviously not enough for you.” Your voice quivered, each word a fragile whisper trembling with the weight of unspoken sadness as you sniffled and wiped your eyes. “You knew what kinda girl I am when you dated me.”

He pulled you for a hug and kissed your temple way too many times that you lost count. He felt absolutely sorry for ever hurting you with his words, but they just hit you so painfully to the point that your gaze grew distant and your face was clouded with resignation. 

“I know what kinda girl you are and I’m in love with you for it,” he reaffirmed, as if trying to get it through your head but his words were beginning to feel empty. “Please, believe me. I really didn’t mean what I said. You’re enough for me, baby. You’re all I want.” 

You didn’t feel comfort from his words, but you still returned his embrace because you loved him. Because you knew, even if he said more hurtful words, that you would still love him. Sure, you would be angry, but your love for him ruled higher than your pride. 

You were just scared of losing him over something like this. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered in your ear before placing a soft, apologetic kiss on your lips. 

When he pulled away, your heart still felt heavy, but you managed to conceal your face with an agonizing smile. 

“I love you, too.” 

He ran his thumb across your cheek and held your waist on his other hand. You just couldn’t get his words out of your head even after he apologized, because you never knew he was seeing your relationship that way all along. 

The girls were right. He was a man after all and he had needs. 

The fact that he was staying with you despite not fulfilling his needs must be a work of charity for him, and eventually, he would get sick of waiting around. He would desire you less and less the more the days passed by and it wasn’t absolutely crazy to think that he could potentially meet another girl he liked that was willing to give it all. 

The mere thought of it scared you. 

“I’ll do it with you tonight,” you offered, your voice breaking, hoping that you could finally break the barrier and be enough for him. 

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings

Author's Note: Let me start this by saying I mean absolutely zero disrespect to Hugh's ex wife with this story. I'm just coming up with ideas for chapters and trying to be creative, so please do not hate me for the story. I got this inspiration from a song I'd been listening to, so once again, no disrespect meant for his previous marriage or his ex-wife. This story is pure fiction and just meant to satisfy your need for Hugh Jackman fluff. 

Hugh and I have been friends for many years, despite our age gap of 20+ years. He was married to Debbora Furness and had been for the past 27 years. Our friendship was a platonic one, but we'd always had this strange chemistry. Hugh has been extremely loyal to Deb over the course of their marriage, despite his flirtatious nature. I'd love to tell you that I didn't have a thing for him, but I'd be lying to you. With that being said, I respect his marriage and I know my boundaries, which I'd never cross. 

I was sitting in my hotel room in California, it was coming up on 7pm, the sun starting to slowly sink down producing a beautiful cotton candy sky that could be seen from my suite's balcony that overlooked the city. I was getting ready for a date with a musician, who shall remain unnamed. I heard my phone ring from across the room, walking over and picking it up, expecting it to be my date, I noticed it was Hugh. 

"Hey Hugh, I can't-" I began but was immediately cut off by him sounding frantic, "I really need you right now." He said with a shaky, almost hoarse voice. 

My voice grew concerned, "Is everything okay?"

"Just send me your room number and the name of the hotel. We'll talk there." He said quickly before hanging up. 

What in the actual hell is going on? Did someone die? Is it cancer? I mean what is going on? A thousand thoughts raced through my mind as I quickly typed out my suite number and hotel into a text and sent it to him. Within minutes I heard a knock on my suite door. I ran up, opening the door to see a disheveled looking Hugh Jackman looking frantic. I quickly pulled him inside my room and he pulled me into a hug. I stood before him frozen in place, slowly wrapping my arms around him. 

"What's going on? Are you okay? Are Oscar and Ava okay? Is Deb-" I began to hit him with rapid fire questions trying to understand what's causing this kind of emotion from the man I'd known to always be so happy, go lucky. He cut me off, "She's gone. Deb's gone." He said, his voice trembling. 

I gasped in shock as my eyes widened, "What? What happened?" I asked, rubbing his back, leading him to the tan leather love seat that sat in the living room area of the suite. I'd never seen him this emotional outside of his acting. 

As we sat on the sofa, he continued holding me as if I were his security blanket. I repeated, "What happened?" causing him to look up at me with broken eyes. 

He covered his face, "She told me she wanted a divorce. She's moving her stuff out of the house and wants to be gone before I get back." I bit my bottom lip in disbelief, "Did she say why?" I asked trying to process what I was being told. 

He took a shaky breath before looking at me, "She says we've fallen out of love and are two different people now that 27 years have gone by. She says we want two entirely different things out of life." 

I shrugged, placing my hand on his knee. "Is she wrong?" I asked softly, looking at him, continuing to tremble with each word he spoke. 

He sighed, running his hand through his messy hair, "She's not wrong." 

I blinked, looking at him, taken back by his response, "What do you mean she's not wrong? What did you do?" 

He took a deep breath and began looking down, refusing to look me in the eyes and began shaking his head. I grabbed his hand, caressing it softly, "What happened, babe? You know I won't judge you. You know after years of confiding in me that you can tell me anything." 

He nodded, wiping a tear from his eyes, still shaking his head as if he were trying to process his own thoughts. He was being extremely cautious with his words. The sound of my phone ringing caused me to almost jump out of my skin. It had to be the guy I was supposed to be meeting tonight. I quickly grabbed my phone, silencing the call and put my attention back on the man that was sitting in front of me. 

He finally looked up at me, "Being married for as long as we were is hard work after awhile, especially when your world stops due to a pandemic and you're forced to actually face the problems in your marriage instead of being away for weeks or months at a time and being able to avoid them." I nodded, allowing him to continue, watching nervously grit his teeth, "I fucked up. I let my emotions get the best of me and instead of envisioning her, I began envisioning someone else. I knew it was wrong, so I stopped and began focusing all of my attention on Deb." 

I looked at him, "Okay, well I mean...That happens. You didn't physically do anything, did you?" I asked, furrowing my brows. 

He shook his head, "No, I didn't. But she knew something was up with me. And now, I can't keep running from it. Deb is a great person, she truly is. But this other person, it's like whenever I'm with them, life suddenly just...makes sense again." He said lowly while staring off into space as if actually saying the words caused him too much pain to admit. 

My phone began ringing again, I quickly grabbed it and answered, "Hey, look I'm sorry. I just had an emergency come up and I'm not going to be able to make it. I hope you understand." I said quickly, Hugh gave me a questioning look, and I knew he was curious as to who I was speaking to or who I had plans with. 

My date was disappointed to say the least, but he understood, so I took that as a chance to end the call. Hugh looked at me, "I shouldn't be here bothering you with this. Go on with your plans."  He sniffled, wiping his face with his head and standing up. 

I grabbed his hand, rolling my eyes, pulling him back down on the sofa, "No, it's okay. So things make more sense when you're with this person?" I asked, he looked at me nodding, but not speaking. "Does she feel the same way?" I asked. 

He shrugged, refusing to keep eye contact with me again, "I don't know if she does or doesn't. But I've been in a marriage that's lacked intimacy and has been more of a friendship arrangement for the past two years. This was not something I planned. I would never cheat on Deb, I just couldn't handle the charade anymore and I'm guessing she felt the same way."  

I wasn't exactly sure what to say anymore as I gazed at him allowing him to continue venting, "I just know that whenever I'm with this person, we can be in a room full of people and it's like they're not there. She makes me feel things that I haven't felt in the longest fucking time." 

I threw my hands up, "Go tell her then. If that's how you feel for this person, go talk to her. Hugh, you are an amazing man. What happened is unfortunate but people grow apart sometimes and there's nothing that can be done about it. You need to go tell this person how you feel." I said softly, giving him a small smile. "So who is it anyways? Is it the girl you're on broad way with? The one the rumor was about? Wasn't her name Sarah or something?" 

"Are you referring to Sutton?" He asked, looking at his hands. 

I nodded, "Yeah, that's her name. Sutton. Is it her?" 

He sat silent for a good two minutes, staring at his hands. There had been articles going around for months about him and his Music Man co-star, Sutton Foster having an affair. I honestly wouldn't be surprised at this point. I knew the effect the pandemic had on his marriage. He tells me literally everything and I've always been there as an ear or eyes for his texts regarding the issues he and Deb dealt with. 

After two minutes of complete silence, he spoke, looking at me, "I have something to tell you." 

I looked up at him with soft eyes, his hazel ones piercing through my soul, "It's Sutton, isn't it?" I asked knowingly. 

He slowly shook his head, "It's not Sutton and no, I didn't have an affair with Sutton." He simply said. 

I chuckled, "Okay, so who is it? It's not Zendaya, is it?" I asked, cringing at the thought of he and Zendaya together. Nothing against Zen, we're friends. But she also knows about the crush I have on my dear friend. 

He looked at cringing himself, "What? No. She's like a daughter to me." He said with a chuckle, "It's you." He said lowly. 

I took a deep breath, "It's me?" 

He looked down at the floor again, "Yeah." He was being short, as if he himself were in disbelief.

I furrowed my brows, "Why?" I asked, shaking my head in disbelief of what I was hearing.  

His voice began trembling again as he reached for my hand, interlocking it with his own, "Do you remember when my father died?" He asked, I nodded, "I rang you, and you jumped on a plane to come see me. You spent days going over my lines for The Son with me. That was when I realized it. I rang Deb first. All she could say was that she was sorry. But you, you booked a flight and flew across the world for me. I was in hysterics and you comforted me each time." I took another breath, remembering what had taken place when Hugh's dad passed away on Australia's Father's Day in 2021. 

"I swear to you, I tried. When I got back home, I tried to make those thoughts go away. That's why I distanced myself from you that following year. No matter what I did, no matter what she did, all I could see was you." He spoke honestly, tilting his head slightly, a hitch in his breathing as he continued to look at me, begging me to say anything. 

"I fell in love with you, but I didn't want you to know. I didn't want Deb to know. I didn't want anyone to know, so I tried my fucking bloody damnest to push it out of my head and it only made it more apparent. And I don't know if you feel the same w-" I couldn't take hearing him speak anymore, overwhelmed with emotion, I tightened the grip he had on my hand with my own and sent my lips crashing against his stopping him in his tracks. 

He brought his other hand up, grabbing my chin softly as his brain registered what was happening and began slowly moving his lips against mine. Pulling away, but pressing my forehead against his, as we both kept our eyes shut, I spoke, "I love you." barely above a whisper. I slowly opened my eyes to see his eyes staring into my own, our foreheads still pressed together, "But I didn't want this to happen like this."

I sighed, pulling away, "I don't want to be the reason your marriage ends. I'm not a home wrecker. I've loved you for years, why do you think I flew across the country when your father died and you called me hysterical? But I respect you, I respect Deb and I respect your marriage."

He looked at me, "My marriage ended two years ago. You're not a homewrecker and you did not cause this. Deb and I knew this was coming since the shut down over COVID. We didn't want to divorce for the sake of our children. We've just both gotten to the point where we want different things out of life and have decided for the sake of our happiness to end things. I'm heartbroken because I genuinely do love her as a person, and I did not want things to go the way they have.  But her and I have to find our own happiness and we've realized it wasn't with each other anymore." 

He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, "It's you. For the last two years, it's been you and you didn't even know it. You did nothing wrong, love."

I sat in silence. I'd worked so hard over the years to keep my feelings to myself and to never cross a boundary. But whenever he called me in tears over his father, I couldn't help myself but to want to be there for support. He needed it and was falling apart at the seams. I don't know why Deb didn't rush to his side. I don't know why all she could say was "Sorry, I'll see you when you get back to New York.". 

His eyes began pleading with me, as he slid off the sofa and onto the floor on his knees in front of me, still holding my hand, now grabbing my other one, "Please say something. Please." 

I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, exhaling the deep breath I had been holding, "Just hold me..." was all I could manage to say. 

He nodded, quickly sliding back to his position on the sofa, pulling my body into his chest, "Yeah?...I can do that." The feeling of his arms tightening around me as I sank my head into his chest. 

Where do we go from here?

[kneelingshadowsalome]

What about princess reader who falls for Konig? He's a retired royal soldier (Bit of an age gap but I was thinking more like he was so good he was able to retire early) that she saw every once and a while and she does the typical "disguise myself as a commoner so i can sneak into town" routine and he pretends he doesn't know but he used to serve her family so ofc he fucking recognizes her

He tries to be gentle with her but honestly she should just be happy he isn't ratting her out to her family 🙄🙄🙄 (not that she minds)

CW: 18+ MDNI. Medieval AU, forbidden love, mutual pining, virgin!princess!reader x veteran!knight!König. Undefined age gap (reader is of legal age which means she’s "old" for an unmarried woman of this period). Reader is kinda coercive, König is implied to be a virgin too. Bittersweet romance vibes, brooding guy/gentle girl trope, ambiguous ending.

Word count: 6.4 k

You never thought you’d have the guts to slap a knight. 

Violence is unladylike, and even if you’re a princess, it doesn’t mean you should force your status down someone’s throat like that. Far less his, the man you were taught to respect and listen to because he’s a man, and older than you. 

The fact that he was also an anointed knight didn’t seem as important as the simple truth that he possessed a cock between his legs, and it always annoyed you to no end that this was the reason why men ruled the world. As a lady still unwed, you’re supposed to be afraid of cocks, especially if they’re old and gruff. 

But you never were afraid in the presence of your father’s most loyal knight. He was your sworn shield too, and the only time he had been away from your side was when he asked to go on a pilgrimage to some chapel nearby. Said he wanted to seek forgiveness for his sins.

A man like him must have a lot to pray forgiveness for, but knowing that he could split a man in half with that greatsword of his doesn’t stop you from sneaking out one night as you follow him outside the castle walls and into the local inn.

Dressed as a stable boy, you watch with wide eyes how he gulps down three pints of beer and doesn’t turn any dumber from it. His speech never slurs, his shoulders never slump, but when some kitchen wench sits down beside him, your breath gets caught in your throat. 

You look at the odd couple for a moment or two, watch how your father’s knight, the secret object of your silly daydreams, finally loosens the strings of his purse and offers the girl a copper coin. 

It’s more than you can take, so you shoot up from your bench and march to him. The woman looks up at you with lousy disinterest as you ask the man of your dreams if he’d like to have another pint of ale. Your knight recognizes you immediately, even in your too-big tunic and your uncomely hose, even with that dirty felt hat covering your hair.

And he’s mortified, from what you can tell.

Both your eyes are wide now, and the woman beside him is smart enough to leave. She slides herself off the bench and sneaks past your side, and your valiant knight just looks at you, looks at you, looks at you. 

You should be worried that he’ll snitch about your adventures to your father, but right now, all you can do is stare at him like he’s the thief, caught fresh and red-handed. Because he is a thief, and a devil, the worst man on earth when he was supposed to be the best. You snort to let him know how much you despise him—for coming here and bedding women for money when he’s supposed to be a sworn, celibate knight—but what truly hurts here is that he’s bedding someone else than you.

When you march out of the inn, he follows you, even dares to lay his hand on you by grabbing your arm outside. That’s when you turn on your heels and deliver a fat slap on his cheek, lightly stubbled and sweet, something you had hoped to plant a kiss on for many, many years.

“Your grace,” He grunts and rubs his chin, slightly amused. “Have I offended you?”

The slap couldn’t hurt that much, and this man never does amused. Even now, the mirth extends only to his eyes, never to his lips. 

“You know perfectly well that you have, sir,” you clasp your hands in front of you, now entirely his princess even though you’re dressed like a peasant.

“My lady,” he bows both in body and in voice. “I truly don’t know what crime I have committed.”

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

Usually this knight looks like there’s a stick up his ass, that someone pissed in his porridge and shat in his stew, that there’s nothing but hailstorms and calamity in his life. 

Were you any more clever, you’d leave him be, but God has made it so that you’re drawn to battered and beaten animals. Of course you’re drawn to him too, lonely and spiteful as he is. This man broods so much you sometimes wonder if he’s the reason why it rains so violently up here in the hills. He probably summons dark clouds above the castle with those ponderous frowns alone – but now he’s looking at you as if he just woke up from the dead and walked into the shy sunshine after a long, harsh winter.

“You… You shouldn’t bed women,” you tell him, and he looks at you even more curiously.

“You shouldn’t pay for it,” you mumble next – unladylike, again, especially when your eyes turn to your shoes and away from that hawk-like, calm stare.

There’s a short silence after that, and you almost turn heel and walk back to the castle from the desire to escape the weight of his eyes. Eventually, he shifts his weight to the other leg and clears his throat.

“I sometimes pay for women to hold me. There’s nothing more to it.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, but the mirth is all gone now. It’s replaced by solemn acceptance, some sorrow you never even knew he had. Yes, he’s always silent and looks a bit pissed, but he’s not heartbroken, no, not your brave knight…

“To “hold you”, sir?”

The sorrow is covered with white lashes before you get to the bottom of it. Something tugs at the corner of his mouth—shame and frustration, probably.

“To hold me. Like a mother would. Is that a sin?”

His eyes search for yours from under dark brows, they beg for your consent as if it mattered to him. They’re quite catching, his eyes; enchanting in their intangibility. You know he doesn’t need your acceptance, nor is he threatened by your disgust. He’s unreachable, untouchable, forbidden—a mountain you can never climb because you wouldn't even find it among the mist. And those eyes see everything but feel nothing: they haven’t taken part in the troubles of this world in years.

…

He evades you for the whole of next week. 

Leaves the hall if you choose to dine there, walks away when he sees you at the stables, looks through you if you have the courage to address him. You stand watch by the window every night to see if he slips out of the castle, but it seems your knight has lost his interest in kitchen wenches and copper hugs. 

It burns like hot broth in your stomach, the thought of him in some other woman’s embrace. This mighty giant of a knight, kneeling in front of a girl, paying for her to simply put her arms around him. 

You’re not sure if you’re childish to believe him and his words. To trust that he truly goes to them just to be held. You’re not sure if you’re the worst lover of poor, crippled creatures for not wanting to let him have even that...

Because you wish to hold him yourself, here, in the softest of all beds. Just wrap your arms around him after you’ve unburdened him of that heavy mail and thick gambeson; you’d help him with anything he needs. Let him sigh against you and have those lines of worry on his brooding face smooth somewhat. Maybe sing a soft song for him to help him sleep...

The thought of him being so lonely that he spends his wage on girls just to have a hug is driving you to madness.

It’s tearing you to pieces because he would never, ever have to pay you to hold him. 

It’s forbidden, you know: this love you’ve harboured for years. He’s far below your rank, even as a bannerman, he’s far below you even if he’s taller than the tallest war horse in your father’s stables. He’s older than you too, but that’s hardly the biggest problem: your father took his second wife when he was five and thirty and the maid was seventeen. The match was considered perfectly normal, even healthy, but this would not. This would cause an outrage.

Oh yes, you’re to be wed far away to some sadistic young lord if your father has his way. You’re sure they’re already gossiping about it in the streets: how you should’ve been sold like a horse years ago. How is it that you’re still here, burdening the kingdom with your presence and swallowing up coin? 

If they only knew that you’ve fought against every match with tooth and nail, the townsfolk would work themselves into a small uprising. And you’re not against marriage because you like it here so much... You’re against it because the knight who dresses himself in black mail and makes the servants piss themselves with his heavy footsteps alone makes your heart flutter like never before.

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

And you wonder… What would he do? Your pale, brooding knight?

Would he scoff and turn his head away if he knew you dreamed of him before sleep, would he be appalled to hear that you’ve touched yourself to the thoughts of him? Would he think you a whore…?

You dress differently that night, the night you catch him escape the dull horrors of the castle once more. Boredom oozes out of the walls here, a poison of nothingness and despair. The stones won’t offer warmth, not even during the height of spring, so it’s no wonder that your knight is headed elsewhere for warmth and a mug of ale. 

You dress accordingly to see what this toughest of knights is made of: with a brown woolen skirt and a white cotton blouse, you look the part of a kitchen maid who forgot half her garments at home. 

People look at you in the streets, but without your usual attire and with your hair styled differently, they wouldn’t know who they’re looking at even if they saw you frolic around like this in court. You know they’re looking at you because you're a half naked woman ripe for taking, stubbornly out at night and dressed so suggestively it’s a miracle no guard rapes you before you reach the inn. 

Maybe it’s the royal pride that keeps them away: you certainly look like you haven’t toiled in the fields or shoveled horse dung in your poor miserable life. There’s an air about you, and he notices it too, far before you’ve sat your pretty bum on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing,” he asks with a slightly alarmed voice.

He has that stick up his arse again, sits so straight that you’ve never seen such a ramrod back on anyone. When you set your hand over his, he only blinks.

“One silver to hold you, sir,” you lean to whisper on his skin, the shaved cheek you’ve wanted to kiss for so, so long. “What do you say...?”

He’s still breathing, even if there’s no sound to prove that he is. You can only see it from the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a stained, cream-white gambeson, that he’s breathing. He’s big, even without his armor, big and strong and intimidating, a tower of strength in one man.

“I cannot bed women,” he talks to the stout logs that make the walls of the inn, refusing to even look at you after one quick horrified glimpse.

“Who said anything about bedding?”

“This is a dangerous game, your grace,” he warns with a low purr when you won’t relent. 

His voice is parched but smooth, and you smell smoke; delicious smoke from the fire that sticks to the clothes of a person who spends too many hours staring into a fire. You smell ham and earth and leather and sweat, horses and metal, the rusty stench of mail gone bad.

You wonder how you smell to his nostrils – is it something sweet? Fresh herbs and lavender oil maybe, or soft, spun wool, some tangerines and summer wine?

“I’m not your grace,” you tell him, nose now touching the bridge of his ear. “Not in here.”

You see from the turned sleeve of his padded tunic that the hairs on his arm are standing on end. His eyes are closed, and you can finally hear his ragged breaths. Desire speaks in them, or then you’re in over your head... Why else would he sound like that, like he’s already making love?

“One silver, sir, and I’ll hold you all night,” you repeat softly, and he swallows with a dry, open mouth.

“I don’t have such money on me,” he rasps, voice drenched in slow, drowsy want. 

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

You breathe a smile upon his skin, the place where his neck meets his jaw. Running your fingers across his wrist, you leave little to the imagination and you both know it.

“You can pay for the room and we’ll see how much you have left after that.”

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

He’s in pain now, you can see it: the sharpness, the distant eagle gaze from his eyes is gone. He can barely keep his lids open, and when you peel the sleeve back with your hand, pet him like he’s one of your cats, press your lips on the spot you know is the most sensitive, he groans.

“You’re going too far,” he whispers, but won’t move. Breathless now, he can’t even speak with dignity. Gone are the distanced grunts and the composure, even the stick in his arse has melted away. 

If a touch of your lips and the softest caress can do this to him, what would happen if you straddled his lap? How would it feel to be pressed against him, naked and entwined in a mutual embrace?

“You didn’t say no to that other girl,” you breathe more kisses on his skin. “Am I so horrendous…?”

“You–” he starts, opens his eyes somewhat. “You are teasing me on purpose.”

“You never were the brightest of my father’s knights,” you smile a little laugh in his ear. 

He grabs his pint as if that could save him; out of fury or lust, you don’t know. And that’s when your little adventure gets interrupted: someone must’ve had enough of this disgusting display of seduction and whoring. 

“Pardon me, lovebirds. The room’s a copper, if it please you,” a tired voice says from somewhere above. “And the ale is–”

“Ja, ja. I’ll pay,” your knight grunts with such annoyance that you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or the poor soul who interrupted you two. 

Everyone here must think that you’re here to make some coin on a lonesome, desperate man. And he’s desperate, by God, he’s desperate… But when you walk upstairs and into your room, he takes a dip in cold waters without you knowing anything about it. When the door shuts behind you, your knight is back to the unbroken effigy he was last week, as he has always been. 

“You sleep there,” he points at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

“One more word from that pretty mouth and I’ll tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

You’re sent to your bed without supper, in your silly clothes, and get to watch how he barely takes his boots off before setting himself down on the floor, back turned to you. The innocent question “You think my mouth is pretty?” only gets an irritated scoff for an answer.

From under the linens, you watch him sigh and slowly turn to stone on the cold floor. There’s a big rug there but it’s barely enough to keep the chill out, and the hearth is cold during late days of spring. You’re warm enough here under your sheet, but you would be warmer if your knight was here with you… Warm body against yours as you both hold each other through the night. 

If only he could be enticed here by lying that you’re freezing... His honor would force him to share the bed with you, and your poor knight wouldn’t have to wake up with sore joints. The more you listen to him let out those occasional sighs, the more you want to shake this man. This silly act of martyrdom has to come to an end, now.

Slipping out from the warmth of your bed, you tiptoe to him. You know he can hear you, probably cursing in his mind with that crude foreign tongue of his. Laying yourself down behind him, you snuggle close until your front is glued to his back. 

It must pain him to have a maiden leave the comfort of her bed and trade it for the dirty floor, but you wonder if there’s pleasure in the pain when your touch finds him once more. And it’s not just want and lust you feel when you place your arm around him. It’s not motherly love either, although you do feel like you’re embracing a giant child who doesn’t want to be comforted. You know nothing about how lovers touch or hold each other, you’ve never touched a man other than your father, and those touches were never affectionate and warm, those touches were barely there at all. 

You wonder if you should be scared: you were taught that men will fuck everything that moves when given the chance. If a man of his size chose to take you here on this floor, there would be nothing left of you. Such an outcome seems dubious, however, when your sworn shield acts like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper when he continues to be stiff as a rock in your embrace. “You don’t have to pay me. Surely you know that you don’t have to–”

He moves, and at first you fear he’s about to rise and dart to the door. Make a run for it and slam it shut because you pushed it too far, his dumb, danger seeking maiden. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he turns around and buries his face somewhere in your neck. He does it so forcefully that you’re almost sent to lie on your back, and you barely catch the naked pain in his eyes before a rough arm snakes itself around your waist and pulls you close.

Warm breaths hit your skin, sending all the little hairs in your body shooting up – were he to move an inch further down, his face would be buried in your tits…

And then come the tears.

You’ve never heard a man cry like that – well, you’ve never heard a man cry at all. You didn’t even know they knew how to weep. It’s like all the tears in the world are reserved for women and children because there’s no wetness even now: your knight cries in thick, dry sobs, shudders that shake the both of you, years and years of suffering sighed through gritted teeth and into your hair.

Slowly, so slowly, you place your arm around him once more. Your hand barely reaches the middle of his back, so vast is this man, now only a crumbling mountain in your embrace. But when you won’t waver, when you refuse to turn your tail and run, he slowly melts in your arms like spring snow.

He still breathes as if in pain, the sounds that come out of his mouth heartbroken and strained. You’re not surprised to see that even his crying is an act of violence; he’s a man inconsolable. 

And yet, you console him. Comfort him. Like a mother, you stay and let him cry his fill in your ear as he clutches you, threatening to tear the back of your poor cotton blouse while doing it.

When he’s done, the shakes recede and his body is warm and calm, soft, almost. He pants and swallows, comes down from it with so much shame that you’re sure he has never done this with anyone, not ever before.

And then…

“I beg for your forgiveness, my lady,” he gruffs on your skin. “That was–”

“Shh... It’s alright.”

You caress the back of his neck, sweaty from the toil. He releases the fabric of your blouse only to grab it again in an even tighter fist. The face in your neck is buried deeper, his lips now pressed right over your throat.

“It has always been you, Geliebte... God knows it has always been you.”

You freeze in the middle of his confession, the panting on your skin intolerably thick now. When you swallow against his mouth, he pulls you against him, the body that used to be rigid and cold now like a hot, thick furnace, threatening to devour yours.

“You must know it too,” he whispers. “You must. You’ve seen my torment. Tell me you’ve seen it…”

He’s not demanding more than he is desperate, some dam suddenly being breached by a long-held flood.

If anything, you thought he hated you... You thought you were alone in your anguish, but it turns out he has carried the same soft secret all these years.

And it drowns you for a moment, his want and yours. Hands trying to touch whatever they can, mouth searching yours like he’s about to die if he can’t have a sip. You’ve heard what happens to women who allow themselves to get groped in dark hallways and winding steps; they hardly ever escape a man’s touch with their maidenhood still intact. And yet, this is what you’ve always dreamed of; a hot, blunt, forbidden encounter with this man. 

Now that he’s finally on fire for you, you’re not so sure though. What if you’re about to mate with a beast?

“Sir…” you whisper when he plants trembling kisses down your throat. He thinks you’re only moaning his title in the throes of pleasure, and squeezes you against him so hard that a tight little whimper is squished out of your mouth.

“I’m–I’m untouched,” you tell him before he sends his face between your tits, and it finally has the effect you feared and hoped for.

He freezes too, in the middle of tearing down your blouse. A shivering hand releases the fabric slowly, reverently; it rises to cup your face as your flushed knight meets your stare with shame.

“Of course you are,” he hushes upon your lips, strokes your cheek softly. “I cannot bed you. I know. But let me…”

He blushes while searching for the right words. That’s the moment when you start to suspect if he’s ever even been with a woman. What kind of a womanizer would blush when they’re about to make love to a lady?

“Let me make you feel good,” he finally suggests. “I’ve heard… of a way.”

He almost stutters when he says it, and you wonder if this is what he’s prayed forgiveness for. If he’s been thinking about different ways of wrecking you so much that it’s enough to send him to hell…

“And then,” he continues, “we’ll never speak of this again. You’ll become my lady, and I’ll become your sworn shield once more. We’ll be as we always were. As it always was...”

You’re not sure if you like that – returning to your status quo, becoming who you were before clutching each other on the floor like mad animals about to mate. But you nod. 

Whatever he wishes to do to you, it must be something good, and you trust him. Even after he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before, you’d trust this man with your life.

Your valiant knight carries you back to bed, and delivers on his promise. He never undresses you, he never defiles you. He just lifts your ankle to his lips and gives it a soft, reverent kiss, grazes your shin with his mouth before starting to worship you like a pagan idol of old.

You don’t know where he heard about it–at the stables, or the kitchen, at the barracks or the taverns–but the way with which he makes you squirm doesn’t require a cock, not even a hand. His lips are gentle, but his mouth is hungry, and you don’t know how to feel shame when he’s buried under your dress like that. You can’t even see his face when he makes you his, claims you with his mouth alone. 

It must be a sin to not take you like a man takes a woman on a wedding night; it must be a sin that it does not hurt at all, what he wants to do to you. But you don’t care. Love is much better and far messier than how they depict it in the songs, and no one ever talks about the noises a man can make when they pleasure a woman.

He groans like a beast, but moans like a whore – it sends a flush of hot blood up your cheeks to hear him so utterly needy and vile. Your knight who barely gave you a grunt as a greeting in your father’s hall now whines with a broken pitch between your legs. His hot sighs drown your own, and you thank Saint Mary and all the angels that there’s loud music and booming laughter downstairs. It’s still there, the dirty tavern, even if you’re being sent to heaven on this bed...

He gives you mercy only after you break upon his mouth with a series of tight cries. Spends a lengthy amount of time under your dress too, licking and kissing you clean.

He doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there, but when he emerges, he looks like a drowned, happy puppy, this giant, brooding knight… The sight seizes your heart in a flaming hand that you know will never let go: it’s forever engraved in your heart, that drunken, devoted stare. You thought that men had the needs of an animal and that women were put on this earth just for them to have their fill, but when you look at your knight, it appears it’s the other way around... This man has finally found what he was looking for. Between your legs, he just found his Heaven on earth, his Holy Grail.

And so he returns from his quest with a devotion that leaves you breathless. Takes you in his arms like an injured bird, making you feel like it’s summer already, and the world is nothing but songs and tales and long nights of bliss.

“Know that I am yours,” he says. “Until my dying breath and even beyond, I’m yours.”

It’s a pledge, not a statement, and it’s said with so much weight that the vow he swore to your father pales in comparison. 

“Sir... You always say such silly things,” you whisper back while lying in a pool of shimmering love, a heaven on earth indeed. Not even anointed, true to their faith knights talk like this… And he just smiles languidly when you raise a hand to brush his cheek. 

He looks like another hug could save him, like a simple adoring stare from you is all that is needed to keep him going for another year. It irks you that he’s ready to settle for so little when you’re ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted and more. With what just happened, he’ll live on for a thousand, thousand years, he’ll survive even the coldest of nights – but you won’t.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him, and a flash of fresh panic crosses his eyes.

“Süssling…”

He says it with worry, but does nothing when you send an exploring hand to his bulge. Drawing a sharp breath when you sweep your hand over it, he goes rigid again, this time for reasons other than just nervousness.

You’re younger and therefore more impatient, which means you’re at the strings of his pants in no time. He looks at your greed with a slack jaw and a set of furrowed brows, but never tries to prevent you. It only spurs you on that he’s acting so shy in front of an eager maiden when other men would already be bullying their cocks in your unexplored heat.

“This is madness,” he whispers when you pull out the heavy, hard cock that reminds you of the members you’ve seen on horses and bulls. 

Of course the man’s big down there when he’s practically a myth walking… And there must be a way to pleasure him too, some lovely devilry that will leave you a maiden. A virgin for him to take on your wedding night – because you will marry this man, no matter what anyone says. You’ll burn the whole kingdom down before giving yourself to any other man.

You wrap your fingers around him to punctuate it that he’s yours. If he feared you might mirror what he just did to you, he makes no comment about it when you don’t, only whines when his cock is snared by a frail but eager hand.

“Princess,” he warns, slightly out of breath. “I will stain your dress…” 

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

The worry in his eyes is wild and bright, but the way your fingers mold around him leaves no space for arguments. A broken, stiff sigh is punched out of him when you begin to move: if he won’t show you how, it’s no trouble at all to try and find out yourself. 

But when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of him, he finally brings a trembling hand upon yours. He starts to guide you, adjusts your grip, huffs when you both apply pressure on it. The curious creature that you are, you look down to witness the ugly beauty of it all.

It’s intimidating and rough, the cock in your hand... It looks like a weapon, honestly, a battering ram that leaks heady liquid from the head. Smooth and heavy and ripped with veins, it’s like a too hard muscle about to bludgeon something, and your hand is making it drool profusely. Would that it were inside you, you would be in grave danger, and why is it that you find the prospect so seductive?

His hand is far bigger than yours, and it makes your heart run wild, the way he tries to be gentle while using your grip to get himself off. He can’t even keep his eyes open from the shame, just takes a quick glance at your enthralled face before squeezing his eyes shut once more. 

“Look at me,” you command softly, and he obeys – what else can a sworn knight do? – but you can see that the poor man is on the verge of tears. Shaking and panting, he stares at you while fucking himself with your hand, and when you close the small breath of air between you and kiss him, he melts.

The first thick spurt surprises you completely, you even mewl into his mouth when it shoots to stain your dress. You didn’t expect that to happen, at least not so fast… And because this is the first time you’ve seen a man come undone, you quickly leave the panting, moaning mouth and look down. 

There’s so much of it, and the release is so violent; it looks and sounds like it hurts because the man is shuddering and groaning as if stabbed. Thick, white pulses of seed coat the brown wool of your dress, but it soaks the semen gladly: there’s nothing left of his cum other than dark, damp stains after he’s done.

And there’s no end to his shame. He pries your hand away from his cock as soon as he’s somewhat composed. Does it with a shaky hand, wipes what little stains of hot, wet seed you have on your palm to his pants, and all you’re thinking about is what it would feel like to have this giant trembling and groaning like that above you, inside you… If you could even take all of that thick, brutal length. If he would be able to move away when inside your heat, if he’d let you hug him again, just hold him close so that he’d never ever leave anymore…

“I have soiled you,” he mutters while looking at your skirt.

“Nonsense. You have only claimed me... I’m yours now.”

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You actually manage to kiss him silent. Tears begin to run down his face when you show him where he belongs. It’s the final surrender as he pulls you into his arms and finally drowns you in love – at last, you find yourself under him as he takes what's his. What seems like hours later, he breaks the kiss, only to look into your eyes with full-blown adoration.

“How am I to live without you after this?” 

“You don’t have to. Not ever,” you say.

“Princess. If there was any hope for me to have your hand, if there was any hope that your father would give it, I would have carried you away from this place years ago.”

For a while, you fear it’s the fear of sin that burns him. But then you realize it was always only just you. 

He looks so anguished now, even more in pain, when all you wanted to do was relieve his agonies. This was only a taste of what he can’t have. You both took a bite of the forbidden fruit but can’t eat the entire thing – no wonder he looks like he’s cast out of heaven he didn’t know even existed.

“Sir, I cannot do this,” you grab his face with both hands now. “Please don’t make me do this...”

He sighs and looks at the mess you just made. He’s broken every oath he’s ever taken, and the evidence is scattered right there between you. The only thing deadlier than this would’ve been if he pumped all of that hot, fluid sin inside you.

“Sweetling,” he laments. “Look at us. You’ve already ruined me. Ruined us both…”

“It’s called love, silly.”

He breathes a short, shy smile, the first you’ve ever seen on him. It’s cute and makes him look young, the quick flash of teeth between unruly lips, the almost bashful, downcast eyes that are not quite ready to meet the full brunt of your devotion.

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

Then he brings his eyes back to yours, his smile slowly making way for a more serious expression. He lifts a hand to touch your cheek, and you find yourself soaring in the sky like a bird, a phoenix that has risen from the dead. It’s heavenly, the way you both caress each other, here on the lowly tavern’s bed, covered in salt, sweetness and sin.

“Your father will have both our heads if he finds out,” he tells you as if you needed the reminder.

“I pray our heads will never be separated then.”

He snorts a quick smile again. It makes you heady, that you’re apparently the only one who can make this gruesome giant laugh. 

“You’re dangerous, princess,” he gruffs. “I knew you were trouble… And yet I curse all the years I left you in peace.”

“I know,” you smile. “Never the brightest one, my love...”

When you lie in his arms that night and tell him about your silly little fantasies, he grows hard again. When you tell him you now have new ones—ones where you’d want to feel him inside you—he looks like a man condemned to death. 

The stares he shoots your way make it clear that he’s lost – no matter what he says, he can’t be kept away from you, not anymore. You suppose he’ll forsake even more secret promises and vows before forsaking the pledge he swore to you. Even at the cost of your lives, he’ll come scratching at your door, howling for some quick, hot love in the night, begging for you to give him everything he has denied himself. 

And eventually, you grow more serious too. While lying in his arms, safe and tucked away from all the horrors of this world, you play with the leather strings of his gambeson, tugging them and twisting them around your finger like a child.

“There will come a day when they promise me to another,” you whisper, wondering if he’s already asleep. 

He promised to never leave your side again, he promised. And still… What will happen when the carriage and horses take you to some distant, hostile kingdom, far away from him? What if you only get this summer together, and then nothing no more?

“They’ll take me away,” you tell him, almost without a voice. 

A soft, hearty grumble answers, a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for.

“No one will take you away, sweetling. Not as long as I live.”

[pyrettawychwiggin]

Nanami Kento Relationship Headcanons

(Nanami through the phases)

Warnings: none. This post is SFW, and is mostly full of fluff.

Acquaintance (I'm just another face in the crowd)

• This isn't a love-at-first-sight type of situation. Romance is so far from his mind in general, and as far as he's concerned, it's off the table, no matter who it is.

• If you're another sorcerer, you're just another colleague - his only concern is whether or not you're competent. If you're a non-sorcerer, you're just another stranger in the world trying to make your way however you can. Nothing more.

• He treats you no different than any other person, with painful indifference and total professionalism. Short responses - no longer than is required to get a point across.

• Any time you'd try to have some form of friendly chat or banter with him, you're met with little more than a 'hm' or an ' I see' before he would return to what he was doing.

• His responses would only be a little longer if it pertained to work or if it were absolutely necessary.

Friend (If you slip and fall off-track - I'll carry you on my back)

• It took a long while to get to even this point with him, but he's less guarded around you - only a little. It's not that he doesn't trust you; it's just how he is with people. The difference is that when he asks about your day, he genuinely wants to know - it's no longer an obligatory means of the bare-minimum 'polite conversation between strangers/colleagues' type of situation.

• You're one of the few people he'll ask out for drinks after work. He's a good drinking partner, and he always tends to buy the first round. This is around the time you realize just how well he can hold his liquor. The man can drink like a fish, and it takes him an insane amount before he seems to show any subtle signs of inebriation. That being said, he's a pretty quiet drunk; he'll sway a bit more when he stands, and his ears/cheeks will turn a little redder, but he tends to stop before he even gets to that point.

• He has genuine respect for you (even if you're also a Jujutsu Sorcerer).

• You get to see him crack a small smile on occasion. Even though he's not typically one for jokes, you're one of the few people who make him chuckle.

• He knows how you take your coffee and/or tea (or what you prefer if you don't drink coffee or tea). If you're a colleague, he'll sometimes bring you something from the coffee shop if he'd happened to stop by to pick up a coffee for himself.

• (If you're a sorcerer) He trusts you to be able to handle yourself, and doesn't feel the need to babysit you on missions. He knows your style pretty well, and is able to adapt his own to better compliment yours if needed. Still, he's always looking out for you in his typical 'Nanami' way.

• (If you're not a sorcerer) He keeps an eye out for you when he happens to be around; making sure you're not stuck dealing with some unknown minor curse. If you do happen to catch the attention of a curse, he'll go out of his way to deal with it for you - though you'd never know it; he doesn't want to bring you into his messy world by telling you things you don't need to know.

• All in all, Nanami is a fiercely loyal friend. He has your back through anything and everything, even if that means giving you a scolding for doing something foolish.

Crush (I've got my eye on you)

• Once you catch his eye, he almost seems to become a little less talkative around you than he was before. At first, you're worried that you did something wrong.

• If anything, he's kind of in shock. These feelings just came out of nowhere for him, and he's not really sure how to handle it.

• He specifically did NOT want to be romantically involved with anyone while he's in this field of work. In fact, he's fully intending to keep his feelings to himself and just hoping that they go away over time, even if you're also in the same business of fighting curses.

• Any signs of affection are extremely subtle - almost imperceptible - but they are there.

• When he brings you your coffee/tea/etc. he now always pairs it with some sort of sticky note message. Nothing cutesy - just a simple 'have a good day' or 'stay safe.'

• When you're around each other, he seems to stand a little closer than usual - especially if it's crowded, he takes the opportunity to stick almost shoulder-to-shoulder with you (but he always says a quick 'apologies' when he does).

• You have your own ringtone and vibration pattern, now - though he hasn't brought it to anyone's attention; not even yours. Your ringtone changes from his usual default to something different so he can hear if it's specifically you contacting him. Your vibration tone is a subtle 'bzt-bzt' that he noticed sounded like a heartbeat. Whenever he hears that tone or that vibration, he tends to stop what he's doing to check his inbox.

• You've never noticed, but if someone seems to be eyeing you, be it a creep or just some would-be troublemaker, he's able to subtly put on that scary-dog aire which never fails to deter them from coming anywhere near you. In fact, one time, he happened to notice some creep was following you home after work while he was driving by, so he pulled over to the curb beside you and got out of his car to greet you. 'It's not safe to be out alone in this area this late. Let me drive you home.'

Before you can say anything, he's gently leading you to the passenger's side door, opening it for you to let you in before carefully closing it behind you. As he's moving around the car to get into the driver's seat, he's sure to flash a death glare to the stalker (and no one - and I mean NO ONE - can death glare like Nanami).

Once he's arrived at your place, he suggests carpooling with him after work. Even if you decline, he requests that you text him when you get home. Either way, this starts a trend of you two either carpooling home or texting each other most nights.

• You have noticed that his usual habit of buying the first round of drinks has turned into him picking up the entire tab basically every time.

• You are the only person that has ever seen this stoic man flustered. The first time you saw him remove his glasses, you complimented the amber colour of his eyes. He cleared his throat and scratched the bridge if his nose, flushing with a 'thank you.' You heard from Gojo later that day that Nanami seemed to be in a better mood than usual for the rest of the day.

• He actually compliments you, now - and not just for work-related things. He keeps it simple, but one day he notices you'd changed something small - maybe the way you parted your hair, the way you did your makeup, maybe you shaved, or he noticed the perfume/cologne you were wearing, maybe a new accessory you bought - and he makes a point to say something (ie; 'Ah, you changed your hair part. It looks good.')

Dating (What would happen if we kissed? Would your tongue slip past my lips?)

• This was not what Nanami was intending to happen. You either had to make the first move, or once you noticed the hints he was unintentionally dropping, you practically had to pull it out of him. He was convinced, without the shadow of a doubt, that his feelings were completely one-sided.

• If by some chance he were the one to make the first move, however, he had originally decided to confess to you in hopes that his feelings would pass once you'd inevitably turned him down. You could imagine his surprise when you returned his feelings. He decided it would be best to take you out for lunch at a coffee shop you both liked to frequent. After you'd taken your seats, you noticed that he seemed nervous. That's when he tells you.

• Either way, once you both decide to start a relationship, he turns out to be a textbook-perfect boyfriend. He holds doors open, buys you gifts, plans great dates, gives great massages, and he's a shockingly good kisser. He's also unsurprisingly great at communication; he likes to talk things out, and is very solutions-oriented, so the two of you may disagree on occasion, but you rarely 'fight.'

• His only real failing as a boyfriend (at least early on in the relationship) has everything to do with his habit of being a workaholic. It can be hard to make time to spend time together outside of work, and when you do, he's often rather tired, though he tries not to show it.

• You two didn't share an official 'first kiss' until the end of the third date. You'd hugged, held hands, cuddled, and you'd both even come close to kissing a couple times, but neither of you wanted to make the other feel rushed or uncomfortable. He'd kissed your hand, fingers and forehead before, but at the end of your third date, as he was dropping you off at your place, he asked you to wait a moment before getting out of his car. He started to lean forward and gently slipped a hand on your jawline, holding intense eye contact for a moment before asking if it would be alright for him to kiss you. You basically just managed to get a 'yes' out and his lips were on yours in the blink of an eye - as if he'd been unable to think of anything else for his entire life. All too soon, he pulled away an inch, letting out a deep sigh of relief. He drifted his thumb gently over your bottom lip and smiled. 'You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that.'

• He seems to exhibit many forms of the love languages, but his most prominent are acts of service, gift giving, and physical touch.

Long-Term (Come with me, my love, to the sea - the sea of love)

• Nanami always enjoys his dates with you, regardless of what you're doing, but he specifically loves dates where the two of you get to learn something together. Taking classes, be they painting, cooking, dancing, learning a language, etc. he finds them to be the most interesting.

• Nanami asked you to move in with him about a year into your relationship. The first day you came 'home' after work, he'd made a point of being there first so he could set up a 'welcome home' banner and prepare a nice in-home date night for the two of you.

• Coming home to you is easily the highlight of most of his days. His favourite post-work ritual is to slide off his tie, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, and to fall into you to cuddle on the couch together.

• He loves when you read books out loud while he's curled up with you, feeling your fingers running through his hair. It never fails to put him at ease.

• After having taken many cooking classes together, the two of you can flawlessly work around each other in the kitchen - something many couples seem to struggle with.

• It was about 3 years into your relationship when you realized he has a shockingly nice singing voice that he rarely uses. One evening, the two of you were slow-dancing in the living room when he started humming a song in a low, smooth tone that took you by surprise.

• Nanami's always had pretty good fashion sense, but he enjoys coordinating his outfits with yours, and low-key revels in getting to show you off a little when you're out together.

• He never forgets anniversaries - ever. He remembers that during your first anniversary, you bought him a midnight blue silk tie with a simple wave pattern that he adores, and makes sure to wear every anniversary without fail.

Married (After all this time, I'm still into you)

• The two of you take at least a one week long vacation together every year; but for your 5th anniversary, he pulled out all the stops. We're talking a first-class flight to a private villa by the sea with a balcony and an ocean view that boasted some of the most incredible sunsets imaginable. After spending the week getting absolutely pampered with amazing meals, couples massages, and anything under the sun that the two of you wanted to do, he presented you with an envelope.

You opened it to see that he had purchased the ocean villa so the two of you could come back any time you wanted; but that's not all.

He had signed it under both his name, and under a 'Mrs. Nanami Kento.' You looked at him in shock as he rose to his feet and dropped down on one knee beside you to offer you a ring with your favourite stone.

• The wedding was, in a word, perfect. He had a blast planning it with you, and the entire event went off without a single hitch. It was small, beautiful, elegant, intimate, and perfect for both of you. You like to joke that the two of you had a future in event planning if Jujutsu Sorcery stopped being an option.

• It's not long before he (and you, if you were also a sorcerer) decide to retire from Jujutsu Sorcery to open your own business together - be it event planning, a restaurant, a bakery, etc. which goes on to be incredibly successful.

• This man never stops trying to win your heart. Even decades into your marriage, he's always trying to find new ways to charm you and sweep you off your feet.

[ninetailedfoxmanchi]

The Northern Winds (pt. 2)

PART 1

Plot: Arranged marriage between the Lord of Winterfell and a lady from a minor house

MASTERLIST

Warnings: profanity, mention of blood, violence & death, menstruation, miscarriage, sexism and medieval notions of women, mature NSFW content (18+), possessiveness/over-protectiveness, brief mention of r@pe

Summary: Whilst Cregan is on a march against the wildlings, Lady Y/N navigates the ruling of Winterfell in his absence as she awaits his return

Words: 15k

A/N: There will be a part 3, with which this series will end (I think). The intro of this part is a bit long but it gets better I promise! (Cregan comes back 🤫)

Taglist: @nixtape-foryou @accountforreading123 @melsunshine @lovemesomevesey @goldenxshine @beebeechaos @mckennah123

@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion (I hope I didn't forget someone! <3)

***

It has been a week since the Lord of Winterfell took his host north to Last Hearth, the seat of House Umber, to fight against the wildling invasions. The number of his warriors and those of his sworn bannermen was strengthened by some three thousand men provided by Lord Jonos Whytefort in exchange for his daughter’s hand in marriage with the Warden of the North. Lady Y/N and Lord Cregan Stark were wed for near half a turn of the moon before he was bound to ride north. Although Lady Y/N was instructed in the ways of Winterfell’s functioning and her duties before Lord Stark’s departure, it was one thing ruling the North with her husband by her side and a whole other to do it on her own. Lady Y/N had noble servants whose loyalties lied with Winterfell to advise her, yet the burden of duty and responsibility weighed heavy on her shoulders. The North was a vast and colossal place to rule with hundreds of thousands of people who looked to House Stark for leadership. Even in the days before Aegon the Conqueror, the North knew no king but the King in the North whose name was Stark.

Winter is coming. The words resonated with Lady Y/N as if they were those of her own House. She thought them every morning when she woke up for her duties and every evening as she laid to rest. The emptiness of her bed at night proved an even greater challenge to Y/N than the absence of her husband at her daily duties. She was surrounded by people great and small whilst the sun was still in the sky. Yet at night, Y/N grew lonely and yearned for home, yearned for Whytefort. No matter how hard she attempted to persuade herself that Winterfell was her home now, Y/N had yet made no memories in this place, felt no familiarity nor true comfort. She found consolation only in her mare, Blackspur, and her ladies-in-waiting, particularly Lady Ellyn Mormont. Whilst Y/N did not mind the company of the other ladies, she had grown the closest to Lady Ellyn. They would often share their meals and walked the castle grounds, although they could not ride together for Lady Mormont had a terrible fear of horses. She was thrown off her mount when she was but a child, which caused Lady Mormont to break her leg. Y/N had not noticed it until it was pointed out to her but there was a small limp in Lady Ellyn’s walk because of this accident. Lady Y/N did not wish to make her companion uncomfortable so she shared her rides with Ser Tybald Cassel, the master-of-horse, or lately more often with Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms. Whilst Ser Tybald was undoubtedly a man skilled and knowledgeable when it came to horses, he often gave the impression that if Lady Y/N had not been Lady Y/N Stark, he would not have paid her the respect she deserved on the account of her being a woman. Ser Harwyn, on the other hand, proved himself a man as loyal as they come and a pleasant companion on adventurous rides around the grounds of Winterfell. Lady Y/N grew even fonder of him than of Maester Bennard, who was also a tremendous help in navigating the ways of her duties as the Lady of Winterfell.

One day, as Lady Y/N and Lady Ellyn walked the glass gardens of Winterfell that were warmed with hot spring water on which the castle was built, Lady Ellyn asked her mistress whether she had been able to grow accustomed to living at Winterfell after near a moon of staying there.

“I imagine it is not the same now that Lord Stark is gone as well,” said Lady Ellyn as they sat down on a stone bench beneath an orange tree.

“No … It is not,” thought Lady Y/N saddened as she played with the sleeve of her lilac gown.

Y/N gazed around the glass gardens. Half of the plants in them Y/N had only seen painted and documented in books. They did not grow in the north, especially not in an area as mountainous as Whytefort. They would not grow here either if not for the thermal waters. Most of the plants were brought from the south through White Harbor in large wooden crates, tended to by maesters specialising in botany and herbology. There was a type of fruit that looked much like an apple, red and yellow with fuzz on its skin that reminded Y/N of moss. She could not remember what it was called, however. And another which seemed like pumpkin yet its flesh was green and sweeter than that of a pumpkin although the foreign fruit smelled similarly. There were also strawberries the size of pebbles unlike those as small as raindrops that grew in the mountains. There were vegetables a plenty too: all sorts of green leafy plants that were often served at nuncheon or for supper along with grains, seeds, and eggs. There were many medicinal herbs and roots as well, particularly for the brewing of potions and infusions.

Nevertheless, Y/N’s favourites remained oranges. She looked up at the big round orange fruits. “Do you suppose we could take one and share it?”

Lady Ellyn smiled to herself. “Of course, my lady. Everything you see is yours.”

Lady Y/N smiled as well although she still felt like nothing more than a guest at Winterfell, especially without Cregan in the castle.

“It …” began Lady Y/N, unsure whether she could trust her thoughts into Lady Ellyn’s care yet she had to speak to someone or she might go mad. “It is hard being away from home,” said Lady Y/N whilst Lady Ellyn’s smile slowly disappeared as she listened.

“I know Winterfell is my home now but I cannot help but long for the familiarity of Whytefort. I miss even the people I thought I despised – and I do, I do despise them still!” Y/N laughed but she might as well have cried. “It is only … It is only this feeling in my chest …” told the Lady of Winterfell as she held a hand over her heart as if to keep it from falling apart. In that moment, she really did think she might cry for everything that she had to leave behind.

“It seems to me that everyone expects me to fail, that they think less of me because I am not from as a great and noble House as they would expect the Lady of Winterfell to be,” spoke Lady Y/N evenly as she tried to contain her emotions. “Lady Daela—” considered Y/N, remembering the comments she swore were meant only as jests and the looks given to her by Lady Manderly when she believed Lady Stark was unaware.

“My lady,” Lady Ellyn cut her mistress off. “I believe Lady Daela’s moods may be a consequence of her having harboured notions of becoming the Lady of Winterfell herself.”

Lady Stark’s gaze darted to her lady-in-waiting. She felt a sting inside of her, an itch she did not only want to scratch but cut out altogether. Suddenly, the thought of Lady Daela made Y/N’s stomach twist into knots; not only of Lady Daela alone but of her and Cregan.

“I had believed you knew, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn. “That is why I did not mention it sooner. I thought you did not wish to speak of it.”

“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N when so many things about Lady Daela suddenly made sense. The looks and the comments, her little japes and glares.

“I do not know much, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn. “As you would know as well, she is the youngest of Lord Manderly’s four daughters and all of them are already married to men of great and noble Houses: Tallhart, Mallister, and Arryn. White Harbor is one of the largest harbours in Westeros and the largest in the North. The match between Lord Stark and Lady Daela would not be unseemly.” Not like the one between Lord Stark and me, thought Lady Y/N with a heavy heart.

“But Lord Manderly is already fighting his own war at sea with the pirates from Essos,” thought Lady Y/N aloud. There was often news from White Harbor at the councils Y/N attended as the Lady of Winterfell. “He has no men to spare whilst my father has nothing but men.” And sheep.

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Ellyn. “Yet as far as I am aware, the match was never proposed by Lord Manderly. The prospect of Lady Daela’s hopes of marrying Lord Stark are but that – hopes and illusions,” Lady Ellyn gave her mistress a reassuring smile.

“I see,” said Lady Y/N, her blood boiling at the thought of Lady Daela and Cregan, and yet at the same time, Y/N felt a heavy weight in her stomach. She had already felt like everyone was judging her before Lady Ellyn told her of this – a match between a lady much nobler than Y/N herself and the Lord of Winterfell – and now the feeling only grew worse.

“If I may be so bold, my lady,” spoke Lady Ellyn when she saw the storm of thoughts in her lady’s features.

“Of course,” said Lady Y/N, “I wish nothing more of you than to speak plainly and in the manner you feel.”

“I long knew I would be a lady-in-waiting for the Lady of Winterfell when Lord Cregan would wed,” began Lady Ellyn. “Yet when I left Bear Island, I felt just as you do, my lady. Lost and alone, with everyone staring at me and watching me. I too had to leave my home and my family, my sweet little brothers and my lord father,” spoke Lady Ellyn, a sadness to her voice. “Even with Lady Daela, with Jocelyn and Harryett, I could not find peace here at Winterfell… Until you arrived.”

“Me?” asked Lady Y/N, her big eyes widening still.

“You were so kind to me – to us. Even when you need not have been,” said Lady Ellyn quickly. “We … We all bear names of great Houses: Manderly, Dustin, Karstark, and Mormont. But we … Lady Daela is devious, Jocelyn barely speaks a word without being called upon, Harryett is in her own world of gallant knights and pretty maidens, and myself … I cannot even accompany you at the thing you love most because of my stupid, stupid fear of horses.”

“And yet it matters not because you are a friend to me,” said Lady Y/N honestly as she took Lady Ellyn’s hand and squeezed it. "A true friend."

“I … I cannot make friends easily,” confessed Lady Stark. “Acquaintances, yes, quick friends perhaps, but not true friends, not loyal friends.”

“If not for you, I …” said Y/N as she looked away. “I would have no one to talk to but Maester Bennard,” she said. “He would have tried to invent a healing potion for my thoughts or ascribe it all to moonblood,” Lady Y/N laughed and Lady Ellyn joined her.

Just so, both the Lady of Winterfell as well as the only daughter and the oldest child of Lord Mormont breathed a little easier and shared an orange on their way back to the castle.

***

It was a moon’s turn since Lord Stark departed for north. Lady Y/N’s days were still filled with council meetings, settling disputes, and listening to the woes of the smallfolk and trying to find solutions. She hosted lesser members of House Dormand and later House Flint. If Y/N could not find the time to take Blackspur for a ride, she would at least take a walk around Winterfell. Yet she would visit the godswood everyday even if the sun had already set only to pray for her husband’s safe return. For the longer he was away, the less news arrived, and the more anxious Y/N grew. She prayed for her family as well; for her lady mother and her brother, and even her father, who was fighting against the wildlings alongside Lord Stark. If there were no duties waiting for her, Y/N could sit beneath the heart tree for hours, wrapped in her thick fur coat as she would lean against the weirwood tree. Whilst her own bed brought her nothing but sadness these days, Y/N encountered what little peace she could find at the godswood and sometimes in the presence of Lady Ellyn, when Y/N found the strength for company.

The stars appeared in the sky that night and the moon was so bright it made the evening frost glisten like crystals. There had not been any snow in a week yet the cold was even greater than before. Lady Y/N was returning from the godswood, hardly needing a torch to light her way as the moon was bright enough. She was more restless then normally and her body felt as exhausted as if she had climbed up to the top of the Iceraven. There were weights bound to her legs and a pressure in her stomach. Y/N had venison for supper with buttered beats and a slice of blackberry tart. The sweet must have been too much because Y/N had to steady herself against a tree and catch her breath. Cold drops of sweat gathered on her chest and neck before she bent over with nausea. All that she had eaten that evening left her body. Y/N leaned against the tall pine and tried to find the strength to return to the castle. She slowly made her way up the cobbled path that lead back. She had to stop twice when she felt too weak to continue.

As Lady Y/N finally made it to the castle, she was awaited by Lady Ellyn.

“My lady,” gasped Lady Mormont as she hurried to her mistress’ side. She took her arm as Y/N leaned against her friend. “Somebody call the maester!” called Lady Mormont. The servant girl nearby dropped the linen from her hands and ran to fetch the maester whilst Lady Ellyn escorted Lady Y/N to her chambers, her skin as pale as the weirwood tree.

“I do not need the maester,” spoke Lady Y/N weakly when she laid in her bed. “I only need some rest.”

“My lady,” implored Lady Ellyn. “You have to allow Maester Bennard to see you.”

“Tomorrow,” whispered Lady Y/N. “If I do not feel better.”

“At least allow me to stay with you, my lady. You must not be alone like this,” said Lady Ellyn as she helped her lady out of her clothes. She brought Lady Y/N her nightgown and a cup of water which Lady Y/N could not be more grateful for. Yet even simply drinking some water made Y/N nauseous again. Lady Ellyn fetched the basin for washing and held back her lady’s hair.

“I beg of you, Y/N,” spoke Lady Ellyn gravely. “Allow Maester Bennard to see you. My lady, you could be gravely ill—”

“I am not ill,” said Y/N as her eyes let in hot tears. She had known it for some time now yet she did not want to admit it to herself. She realized it that afternoon in the gardens when she joked with Lady Ellyn about Maester Bennard.

Lady Y/N rose her gaze to her lady-in-waiting, who could read the answer from her mistress’ eyes.

“You are with child,” breathed Lady Ellyn. Y/N nodded as salty tears slid down her pale cheeks. Lady Ellyn put her arms around her mistress. Lady Y/N’s hands clutched to her friend’s back as she sobbed.

“Are … Are you not glad, my lady?” spoke Lady Ellyn carefully and not without compassion.

“W-What … What if he … What if he does not return?” Lady Y/N’s voice broke. The thought of her alone at Winterfell without him was unbearable, what more alone but with his child. The child who would never know their father nor could their mother tell them much about him as they were only wed for half a moon before he had to march north. The child that she would love with all of her heart but would remind her of the man she had lost.

“Lord Stark?” asked Lady Ellyn.

Lady Y/N nodded.

“He is one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms,” said Lady Ellyn with every confidence. “Everyone says so and not only because he is our Lord of Winterfell. He will come back to you safely, my lady.”

Ser Harwyn said so himself, Lady Y/N considered, although that is not what concerned her. She had seen Lord Stark train with the master-at-arms herself and many other seasoned warriors with whom he won every time. Yet Lady Y/N also remembered her husband’s body, his scarred chest. If the savage’s arrow had aimed but an inch lower and pierced Cregan’s lung …

There was a knock on the door with Maester Bennard awaiting outside. Lady Ellyn got up to speak to the maester whilst Lady Y/N managed to change into more comfortable garments.

Lady Ellyn asked Maester Bennard to return in the morning, explaining of her lady’s sickness – but never mentioning the pregnancy – and how she was feeling better already.

As she closed the door behind her, Lady Ellyn’s heart grew heavy. She had not known Lady Stark for very long but they had grown quite close in the recent weeks. Lady Ellyn wished to help, to comfort her Lady Y/N but she could not find the words that would do so.

“Lord Stark will come back,” assured Lady Ellyn once more. “And he will be delighted with the news,” she tried to cheer Y/N up. It worked because Y/N’s dark thoughts were replaced with bright, happy memories the child would bring to her and Cregan. She imagined telling him, mayhaps sending a raven or a messenger to deliver the news. Or she could wait for him to return and see for himself.

Lady Ellyn was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her mistress, gently caressing her hair. Although they had spent a lot of time together, she noticed Lady Stark was shutting herself away from others. She would take her meals alone more often and spend much of her time in the godswood. It must have been since she found out she was with child, Lady Ellyn considered. Whilst herself, Lady Daela, Jocelyn, and Harryett could somewhat bond over their duties as the ladies-in-waiting to the Lady of Winterfell, Y/N had no one to share her burden with, not truly.

“Allow me to stay with you tonight, my lady,” asked Lady Ellyn, her hand pausing on her mistress’ shoulder. Lady Y/N nodded, allowing someone in properly for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Lady Ellyn laid down in bed beside Y/N, who turned around to face her lady-in-waiting. Her eyes were closed as her tears slipped down into the pillow. They fell asleep together in silence, Lady Ellyn’s hand tightly wrapped around Y/N’s palm.

It was in the hour of the owl when Lady Stark woke in terrible pain. She had felt it coming for hours but half believed the pain was only in her nightmares. Lady Y/N whimpered in pain as she sat up in bed, her nightgown wet with blood. The candles were out but there was still the light from the hearth and the brightness of the moonlight through the windows. Y/N cried in horror, waking up Lady Ellyn, who sat up immediately. Her gaze followed Lady Y/N’s, her mouth parting in shock at the sight of the blood.

“Gods …” breathed Lady Ellyn as her mistress’ hands shook uncontrollably. “Guards!” called Lady Ellyn and got up. “GUARDS!”

Ser Martyn, Lady Stark’s sworn shield, burst into the Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s private chambers.

“Get the maester! NOW!” shouted Lady Ellyn, surely waking half of the castle before she returned her attention to the Lady of Winterfell. “It’s alright, it’s alright, my lady,” whispered Lady Ellyn soothingly over and over again yet she could not mask the doubt in her quivering voice at the sight of all the blood.

“N-No, no, no … No, no …” cried Lady Y/N as she stared at her blood-stained fingers. “Wh … What is happening?” she whimpered. Lady Y/N clutched to her abdomen in the moment of another striking pain, more painful than anything she had been feeling throughout the night. Lady Y/N’s nightgown was soaked with sweat, her wet hair sticking to her chest.

Although an old man, Maester Bennard rushed to his liege lady immediately. His assistants were with him, all three of them freezing at the sight of all the blood. Maester Bennard knew then that Lady Stark had been with child but no was longer so.  

After the maester and his assistants did the best they could to stop Lady Stark’s pain and bleeding, they let her rest. Although Lady Y/N was given milk of the poppy, it only helped with her physical pain, which was nothing compared to what Y/N felt in her heart. The dawn had already broken and yet Lady Stark could not stop weeping since she had awoken in the hour of the owl.

All four of her ladies-in-waiting wept with her yet none could truly understand. Even Maester Bennard’s heart went out to his lady although he was a man of science, who placed logic and stoicism above most everything else, particularly feelings.

Nevertheless, Maester Bennard allowed himself to approach the foot of the bed. “Even if you had let me come see you last night,” spoke the maester gently, “I would not have been able to make a difference, my lady.”

Lady Stark was blaming herself for losing the babe and her eyes would not go out of tears like deep and endless dark pools do not run out of water.

“It is not uncommon for women to lose their first child, especially this early in the pregnancy,” continued Maester Bennard. “And they go on to have perfectly healthy children, my lady. Do not despair …” The old man wished to comfort her but Lady Y/N could not be consoled. A part of her believed Maester Bennard’s words. If one of her ladies-in-waiting had been in her position, Y/N would be sure to tell them the same as the maester told her. Yet she could not help but feel that it had been her fault. That she had not loved it enough, that she had not wanted it enough and feared for it too much, and that that is the reason why it went away.

Lady Stark’s chest broke into a heart-breaking sob as she clutched to her chest. Maester Bennard decided to leave his lady in the company of Lady Ellyn instead. She wrapped her arms around her lady but Y/N’s pain could not be contained. That day Lady Ellyn shared Lady Stark’s bed once again for Y/N could not bear to be alone with her thoughts. She took some sleeping drought prepared by the maester and drowned her pain in the depths of sleep.

***

The days which followed were the hardest. Lady Y/N spend the first few days in bed, recovering from the loss of blood, but mostly from the loss she felt inside. Lady Stark commanded the maester not to send a raven north to the Lord of Winterfell. If someone was to tell Lord Stark of what had happened, it was going to be Y/N herself. She recalled their final night together at Winterfell and how he said she might be with child by the time he returns. A part of him spoke with hopefulness and Y/N’s heart broke even further at the thought of it.

The recovery was hard. Lady Y/N could not even think of food, much less make herself have an proper meal, which did not go unnoticed on her weight.

“The servants will prepare anything you wish, my lady,” said Lady Jocelyn as she helped her lady get dressed properly for the first time in days. “Lemon cakes, apple tarts, anything you wish. Lord Stark will not be pleased to find you like this when he returns,” begged Lady Jocelyn and did the lacing on Lady Y/N’s dress.

The mention of Lord Stark made Lady Y/N turn around to look at her lady-in-waiting. Lady Jocelyn Karstark was plain of face with brows which would always have one believe she was saddened. Her hair was like wheat, her frame slim yet hardy. She enjoyed wearing gowns in blue shades as she thought it would make her hair seem more golden than brown. Yet what Lady Y/N learned of Lady Jocelyn was that she was timorous in the face of authority and did not care much for Y/N personally, rather what the Lord of Winterfell and his maester will write to her family of her service at the castle.

Once when in her cups, Lady Jocelyn confessed she wished nothing more but to be married. She never wanted to come to Winterfell and doted on a boy from her family’s castle in The Grey Cliffs. She was Lord Karstark’s youngest niece through his only remaining brother for fever took the rest some years ago.

The boy Lady Jocelyn spoke of had only his name but no House he belonged to. He was the castle smith’s apprentice. Neither her father nor Lord Karstark would ever allow for them to marry but Lady Jocelyn refused to lose faith. She sometimes accompanied her lady to the godswood where she prayed that the Lord of Winterfell should send her home and she could marry the boy.

Lady Stark felt sorry for the girl. She was only four-and-ten, and although a girl flowered, Lady Jocelyn was not yet a woman grown. She had yet to learn that life was not as simple as a maiden’s dreams or Y/N would have been a stable master’s apprentice or a knight in some lord’s service, trained in swordplay and travelling on horseback throughout the Seven Kingdoms. She had always wanted to see the yellow sands of Dorne and the Red Keep of King’s Landing. She wanted to ride the Rose Road through The Reach and have wine in some meadow outside Highgarden. And if she would have found the courage, Y/N would have even boarded a ship to Essos.

“Go and break your fast with the ladies, Lady Jocelyn,” said Lady Stark as she fixed her earrings herself. She wore a gown of deep juniper green with a slim headpiece of yellow gold and a matching belt.

“And have the servants prepare stewed beef with wine and cloves for nuncheon,” Lady Y/N instructed her lady-in-waiting. Lady Jocelyn curtsied and left Y/N’s private chambers.

Alone at last, Lady Y/N sat down at the table and helped herself to some cheese to break her fast. She was not truly hungry. She had not been able to gain appetite in days. Nevertheless, as the sweet and savoury taste of bread and cheese mingled in her mouth, Y/N’s body recognized the need she had been avoiding. Y/N had some wine with her food when a knock came on the door. Ser Martyn entered and bowed, announcing that Maester Bennard wished to see his lady. Y/N had half a mind to ask him to meet her later when the council was to take place.

“He speaks of a raven from the north, my lady,” said Ser Martyn. Lady Y/N’s heart stopped in her chest as she looked up at her sworn shield.

“Send him in,” urged Lady Y/N and got up immediately.

Maester Bennard entered her private chambers, a scroll of parchment in his wrinkled hand.

“My lady,” the maester bowed. “A raven flew in from the north bearing Lord Stark’s seal.” He handed the scroll to Lady Stark. She took the letter eagerly, but once in her hands, the parchment paper seemed to her as heavy as an sword of steel. Even if the news were grave, Y/N could not wait any longer. She broke the direwolf in the grey wax and rolled out the parchment. Her heart beat savagely in her chest as heat crawled all over her body.

Y/N left out a shivery breath.

“What is it, my lady? What word comes from the north?” asked Maester Bennard with haste.

“They are well,” breathed Lady Stark as her eyes welled with tears. The scroll in her hand, she leaned against the table, her chest raising heavily as her tears soaked the walnut wood of the furniture. Lady Stark took a deep breath as she collected herself and brushed the tears from her face. She looked at the maester who was visibly relieved as well.

Lady Stark offered him the scroll to read.

“They had already pushed the wildlings north of The Gift. It is only a matter of time before the host is defeated and whoever is left flees back across the Wall,” told Lady Stark as she sat back at the table with great relief whilst Maester Bennard read the news for himself. He nodded, a hint of a smile hiding in his usually unemotional features. He was neither a tall nor a strong man but the wisdom of books and age made his presence as prominent as any.

“Will you sit, maester?” asked Lady Y/N and poured the man who brought such joyous news from a flagon of sweet Dornish red.

“If it pleases my lady,” said Maester Bennard. Although they have always been courteous to each other and Maester Bennard was an indispensable source of wisdom with a deep personal loyalty to House Stark, Lady Y/N never found a moment to form a personal bond with Maester Bennard unlike with Ser Harwyn, with whom it happened almost naturally.

“The wildlings are just that, my lady, wild and untamed,” commented Maester Bennard on the letter. “Their kind may fight in numbers but not in form and organization, nor is their steel any match for ours.” He never doubted the strength of Winterfell or its lord, yet strange things may happen when an army goes on a march – disease and weather being just two of them.

Lady Y/N saw a wildling once. He was caught in her father’s mountains stealing sheep from the shepherds. The men brought him to Whytefort to her lord father. The man wore sheepskin and leather and seemed to Y/N no different then any man she had met other than in his choice of garments and lack of courtesy. Lord Jonos made his men cut off the wildling’s hands at the wrists before he was hanged and made an example to warn both the smallfolk as well as any other wildlings that thought of sealing in his lands.

“If my lady would consider writing back to Lord Stark,” suggested Maester Bennard carefully.

“I will write to him,” Lady Y/N nodded.

“I am sure my lord would wish to know of my lady’s recent condition,” agreed Maester Bennard. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to him, an unusual coldness lying in her eyes.

“No,” said Lady Stark. “I would not worry him. He needs a clear mind,” she concluded although that was only half of the truth. The other half was that Y/N did not know how she would tell Cregan what had happened. She did not know how he would react and if he too would blame her as she blamed herself.

Maester Bennard wished to speak, to persuade her, but Lady Y/N got up.

“I would have the council gather today, Maester Bennard. It has been too long since I sat in it,” said Lady Stark. Near a week had passed since she fell ill. The North had been in the capable hands of Winterfell’s councillors in the meantime, but Y/N would not allow herself to disappoint the Lord of Winterfell in failing to rule the North in his absence as well. She mustered all of the strength she had left.

“As my lady commands,” said Maester Bennard and left her chambers.

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers running through the soft furs laid on her husband’s side. He will come back, thought Y/N. The smile slowly faded off her lips at the thought of it. She was grateful to hear that the warriors were successful, that Cregan was alive and well. She could cry out of happiness. But Y/N could not imagine telling him, not even at the insistence of the maester.

***

Yet another turn of the moon passed before the raven came with news of Lord Stark’s return to Winterfell. Some of the warriors remained south of the Wall to make sure the wildlings were gone, one of those hosts led by Daeron Whytefort himself whilst Lord Jonos returned to Whytefort with the greater part of his army.

Lord Stark’s host was to return to Winterfell half the moon’s turn after the raven of the same news arrived. The castle was in upheaval with the preparations for its lord’s return. There would be a feast held in the honour of the victorious host of warriors. The lords and commanders were to dine in the Great Hall whilst a feast for the soldiers and warriors of Winterfell was to be held in the winter town.

Lady Stark ordered the servants to prepare sweet beef, pork-and-onion pies, roast venison and baked mallards for the feast in the Great Hall.

Lady Y/N paced around the watchtower in her skirts of deep blue with embroidery of flowers in the string-of-gold on her long bell sleeves and ornate bodice. She wore her tear pearls with yellow gold and a cloak of deep blue and fox fur for warmth. Y/N watched the horizon every day, waiting for an army of men to appear in her sight. It had been so for days until a rider came in one of the evenings, announcing the return of Lord Stark’s host on the morrow.

“My lady,” said one of the soldiers who was with her atop of the watchtower. Lady Stark’s gaze followed that of the young man where it found riders on the horizon. Y/N’s heart began to beat harshly against her ribcage, threatening to tear her chest apart and escape. She licked her dry lips when she saw the banners of House Stark flying in the cold, northern winds.

It was midday when the host of warriors reached the castle gates. Lady Stark was waiting in the courtyard with Maester Bennard, Ser Harwyn and Ser Martyn, and countless others. Even the smallfolk who served in the castle gathered in the courtyard to see their lord’s return, at least those who were not busy preparing the feast.

The sound of hooves approaching echoed through the castle walls. Lady Y/N’s arms prickled with goose bumps. She held her breath as the riders arrived into the courtyard, Y/N’s gaze immediately finding that of the Lord of Winterfell. Lady Y/N’s chest quivered. Cregan’s hair was longer and his cheeks covered in yesterday’s stubble. Other than that, Y/N felt like nothing had changed, and yet everything. For a moment, it seemed to her that she was looking at a stranger, someone from a dream she remembered but did not know.

The Lord of Winterfell and his men dismounted as the stableboys and squires took care of their coursers. Lord Stark made his way to his wife with Maester Bennard and Ser Martyn by her side.

“My lady,” spoke Lord Stark, a warm smile hiding in the somber line of his lips. He took Lady Y/N’s hand into his, kissing the top of her knuckles and held it a moment. The touch of his hand felt so familiar and yet so strange to Lady Y/N.

“Husband,” breathed Lady Y/N quietly. Their gazes entwined as neither could manage to fill the silence with words and yet their eyes spoke a thousand phrases.

Y/N remembered to breathe and curtsied gracefully, “Welcome.”  

“Thank you, my lady,” said the Lord of Winterfell and watched her as if he had just seen her for the first time. His grey eyes were neither cold nor warm, neither hiding nor revealing; at least not to her.

The Lord of Winterfell greeted the rest of his court whilst the commanders expressed their courtesies to the Lady of Winterfell. Y/N could hardly focus on them as her gaze kept escaping to her husband’s broad back hidden beneath a heavy cloak of wolf fur. Y/N’s eyes watered yet she was unsure whether it was from the icy wind or her husband returning. She could feel Maester Bennard’s gaze on her, however, hiding only one thought.

***

“I would have a bath, scalding hot,” Lord Stark instructed the servants as himself and the Lady of Winterfell reached their private chambers. The servants disappeared to fetch the water and the tub as Lord Cregan took off his heavy coat with a suppressed groan.

“Are you well?” asked Lady Y/N, not anticipating the strange awkwardness that lingered in the air after the comfort she had grown to feel in their time together but that was four moons ago.

Lord Stark smiled to himself whilst he hung his coat over one of the chairs. He had been longing to hear his wife’s voice in the long, lonely days that he had been away.

“I am well,” said Lord Stark as he took Lady Y/N’s hand and gently pulled her to him. “Only tired from the ride,” he spoke more quietly, leaning his forehead against hers. Lady Y/N wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and came closer, resting her cheek against Lord Stark’s chest. He smelled of horses, smoke, and pinewood but she did not mind, not in that moment. Cregan held his wife, realizing how much he had missed her. There was nothing but blood and slaughter and battle everywhere around him, frustrated advisors and fellow commanders, and warriors impatient in the cold northern climate. Lord Stark’s mind often drifted to his lady wife, to Y/N. He longed for the peace of holding her in his arms, for the touch of her soft skin beneath his sword-calloused hands. He missed her big, pensive eyes and her warm, gentle voice.

“Have you been well, my lady?” asked Lord Cregan in turn. Y/N paused. The moment was perfect to tell him yet she could not do it.

“Yes,” spoke Lady Y/N quietly and nodded. In truth, she had been anything but. Ruling Winterfell in her husband’s absence was one thing, yet trusting her body and finding leave to grieve at the same time was a different matter entirely. When Lady Y/N was with her moonblood for the first time since she lost her babe, she wept. She wept from happiness of things going back to normal and she wept from sadness as the blood only reminded her of what she had lost.

The servants returned and prepared a bath for their lord. Lady Y/N stood by the window as she noticed the snow had begun to fall almost as if it knew the Lord of Winterfell had returned to his castle. The servants retired once they readied the bath, leaving their lord and lady alone once again.

Cregan began unclasping his thick, leather jerkin lined with warm wool.

“I can leave you if you wish,” offered Lady Y/N gently as Lord Stark pulled off his boots. He turned to her with a frown.

“I have been gone from you for neigh four turns of the moon, wife,” said Lord Stark. “I do not wish to be parted from you a moment longer.”

A blush crept to Lady Y/N’s face as her spoke those words, an even greater fever flushing though her cheeks when Lord Stark took off his tunic and breeches and stepped into the bath. The feeling lasted for but a moment, however, because Y/N’s gaze fell to Cregan’s built chest, which was bandaged beneath his armpits and across his left shoulder.

Lady Y/N hurried to him and knelt by the bathtub.

“What happened? You said you are well,” asked Y/N quickly, her eyes wide and her brows in a frown. She wished to reach out and touch the bandage yet she did not dare.

“I am,” assured Lord Stark, the hint of a smile returning to his lips. His wife’s concern for him warmed Cregan’s heart.

“But—” Lady Y/N shook her head, looking at the red-brown stain of a wound trying to disguise itself in the pale bandages.

“You have my word, my lady,” said Lord Stark as he reached his hand to Lady Y/N’s cheek. His thumb brushed against her soft skin. He leaned in slowly as Y/N’s hand reached just beneath his jaw and their lips met in a kiss not of lust and desire but of profound longing. Y/N wondered how she could find the strength to hold back and not kiss her husband the moment he climbed off his horse. An overwhelming set of emotions washed over Lady Y/N as she rested her hand on her husband’s cheek, his lips leaving ever so familiar kisses on her own. It has been too long.

Lady Y/N pulled away hesitantly and reached for air. Her husband’s eyes lingered on her lips before they shifted to her eyes, his gaze warm and full of longing.

“I should call Maester Bennard to attend to your wound. Gods only know what sort of pretender treated it on the battlefield,” said Lady Y/N, whose voice was grave with worry and even anger at the thought of some charlatan posing for a maester treating her husband’s injury.

“Later,” agreed Lord Stark to reassure his beautiful wife. “I would have this bath first.”

Lady Y/N nodded, still holding her husband’s hand that held her cheek only moments ago. It was wet from the water yet still Lady Y/N held it tightly, drawing shapes into his palm with her thumb. Her eyebrows were in a deep, troubled frown, her eyes like big pools of worry and sadness.

“What is it?” asked Lord Stark, not unkindly, yet his own voice was grave with worry and suspicion. Something was amiss, something must have happened whilst he was away for Maester Bennard’s eyes were also hiding something when he awaited Lord Stark in the courtyard. He saw the meaningful look the maester gave to his lady wife yet the meaning was still unknown to the Lord of Winterfell.

Lord Cregan’s brows hung formidably as he studied his wife.

“Hm?” Lady Y/N looked up. She felt as if she had been caught red-handed yet Cregan could not have heard her thoughts. “Nothing,” lied Y/N and pressed a soft kiss atop of her husband’s hand before she let it go. “I was only … I am glad you have returned.” Lady Y/N offered a small smile but she could not mask how troubled her mind was to Cregan. He had learned to recognize in their short time together when something was amiss with his wife even when no one else would notice. 

“I should prepare for the feast,” Lady Y/N changed the topic and got up. Lord Stark did not question her any further yet his grey eyes lingered on Lady Y/N as she walked to the dressing area.

Lady Y/N had a gown made especially for the feast in the white and green of the field of House Stark’s banner and string-of-silver for its grey direwolf. The base of the dress was white with the hems of the sleeves, collar, and the bodice embroidered with dark green jewels, Myrish lace, and string-of-silver. Lady Y/N wore her necklace of emeralds and pearls and matching earrings gifted to her by her mother and had her handmaidens braid her hair for the occasion.

When Lady Y/N emerged from the dressing area, Lord Stark was already in his dark boots and breeches yet held off the tunic and jerkin until the maester would change his bandages. As the servants and the handmaidens left, Lord Stark’s grey eyes fell upon his wife wearing the finest gown in the colours of his House. His mouth parted softly.

“I had it made for this occasion,” said Lady Y/N when her husband would not speak. She felt a mixture of self-consciousness under Lord Stark’s gaze as well as some satisfaction at his reaction.

“I hope it pleases you,” said Lady Y/N as she locked her hands, offering a small smile.

“Pleases me?” breathed Lord Stark and got up eagerly. Yet before he could even take two steps towards his wife, the door of the chambers opened, announcing the arrival of the maester.

Maester Bennard brought his assistant, who carried a heavy yet ornate wooden box of herbs, potions, and medical supplies. Lord Stark’s gaze lingered on his beautiful wife a moment longer before he sat back down and allowed the maester to change his bandages. Lady Y/N stood by, watching it all from a distance. When Maester Bennard revealed a gash in Lord Stark’s chest just above his heart, Lady Y/N’s brows returned to a concerned frown. Whatever blood there was was old, dry and crusted on the bandage whilst the wound seemed to be healing. It was a cut caused by a wildling’s short axe who managed to steal into the Lord of Winterfell’s tent one night. The savage came at him with a dagger but did not know Lord Stark was still awake. Cregan knocked the man on the floor and took his dagger but the wildling recovered as they rolled on the floor. When the man got up, he came at Lord Stark with his short axe but managed only a weak blow for the Lord of Winterfell broke his arm when he had knocked him on the floor. Cregan got to the wildling’s own dagger and stabbed him in his side and then in his heart.

As Lord Stark told the tale of his new scar, he did not look at his wife. Cregan could feel her worried gaze on him with every word he spoke and did not want to give her any more cause for concern. Lady Y/N, however, had to hold her breath to keep the tears from her eyes as she listened, refusing to show her feelings, least of all in front of Maester Bennard. They have been working relentlessly since Lady Y/N recovered from that night, never speaking of it once since Lord Stark’s letter from The Gift arrived – other than checking on her health once in a while to ensure the lady’s recovery. Lady Y/N did not want to give Maester Bennard any more cause to see her as weak or incapable of ruling Winterfell in her husband’s absence. She made all the efforts to keep the council happy and Winterfell functioning as it should.

“Considering everything, the wound is healing nicely, my lord,” concluded Maester Bennard after he changed the bandage and stored away his supplies.

“Thank you, maester,” said Lord Stark as he got up and pulled on his tunic and jerkin. His cheeks were shaven clean and one of the servants must have shortened his dark hair some. For a moment, it seemed as if the march north had never happened, thought Lady Y/N, although in truth she felt as if four years and not four moons had passed since Lord Stark marched.

“Will you join us at the feast, Maester Bennard?” asked Lord Stark.

“I will. Thank you, my lord,” smiled Maester Bennard and bowed courteously. “And if I may, my lady, you look exquisite,” he added, turning to his lady and bowed as well.

“Thank you, maester,” said Lady Stark, slightly taken aback by Maester Bennard’s comment.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell joined the commanders in the Great Hall where the feast was held. The music was already playing merrily as the lords drank on ale, waiting for their liege lord to begin feasting on delicious foods as well. Once the presence of Lord and Lady Stark was noted with everyone rising in respect before they sat down together, the servants began to bring dishes of beef and venison, meat pies, buttered vegetables, and even baked mallards. When all of the food was brought into the Great Hall, the Lord of Winterfell rose with a cup of ale in his hand.

“My lords,” addressed Lord Stark firmly, his voice booming and as solemn as ever yet unmistakably pleased. “Another march north is behind us and once again we have defeated the wildlings and sent them beyond the Wall where they belong!” he spoke with a heavy northern accent as the Great Hall roared with cheers and fists and cups slamming against the heavy oaken tables. “We protected our homes and we protected our people; our wives and our children—” the Lord of Winterfell continued but Lady Y/N’s heart sank to her stomach at the sound of his words. Her eyes rose to Maester Bennard, who was holding onto his cup of warm honeyed wine and watching his lord address his noble commanders. Still, Y/N wondered whether the maester wrote to her husband in secret, whether he told him of what had happened without her leave.

“This feast is for you! The finest warriors in all of the Seven Kingdoms and PROUD NORTHERNERS!” Lord Stark’s voice thundered through the hall as he rose his cup. The men cheered even louder and got up as well as did Lady Y/N, all emptying their cups to Winterfell’s victory over the savages.

The men dug into the delicious food prepared for them, having lived off stew and porridge for too many days on end. It was difficult enough to cook anything in a camp, much less something that did not come from a big pot for a great many people.

The Lady of Winterfell helped herself to some sweet beef and some buttered potatoes, having no more than a cup of wine all evening as she feared it might make her say something she would regret. For a moment, Lady Y/N considered it was all in her head – Maester Bennard’s burning gaze that she seemed to feel on her at all times. Nevertheless, when she rose her eyes to the maester, he was already looking at her. He averted his gaze when the Lady of Winterfell caught it. A part of her was furious with the old man and yet a part of her understood. He would not have his lord remain in the dark about anything, not even his wife.

Lady Y/N lost her appetite even before the desserts came. She made the kitchens prepare blueberry tarts and rice pudding with spices that warmed up even the coldest hands.

The Lord of Winterfell did not care for sweets yet he nevertheless had a slice of the blueberry tart. The tension at the high table could be cut with a knife, the mood no longer reflected only in Lady Y/N and Maester Bennard, as well as Lady Ellyn who sat by her lady’s side, but also in Lord Stark himself. The uneasy looks, the silence on both sides, where there was usually at least talk of the weather, made Lord Stark’s thoughts drift into dark and unsettling places. A seed of anger and frustration grew inside of him and it did not go unnoticed in a man who was usually as calm and stoic as a rock. He was tired and his patience was thinning.

“Would you tell me what is it that you are hiding from me?” suggested Lord Stark to his wife as he washed down the slice of tart with a cup of ale. The tone of his voice was harsher than he intended but once the words lingered between himself and Lady Y/N there was no taking them back and his wife’s silence only frustrated him more.

Lady Y/N stared into her husband’s eyes as if she were searching for something, something she hoped to recognize from many moons ago. She squeezed the fingers of one of her hands inside the other until it hurt. Lady Y/N licked her dry lips as she realized she would no longer be able to keep her secret to herself. If it would not be she who tells Lord Stark, the maester surely will.

“Will you … Will you walk with me?” asked Lady Y/N as she avoided her husband’s gaze.

Cregan studied his wife as his brows rested in a formidable frown but agreed nevertheless. “I will.”

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell got up from the high table and walked the grounds of their castle, its walls filled with the sound of merriment of its warriors. They walked the path to the godswood, the crowns of the pine trees blocking the snow some. Lady Y/N slowed her pace once they were finally alone and away from even the smallfolk attending the castle.

“Do you …” began Lady Y/N, not sure where to start. “Do you remember what you said to me the night before you left Winterfell?” she asked, her voice small and shiver-like. Her breath came out in small, white clouds.

Lord Stark looked at his wife as they walked. His face was frowning in such a formidable way that made Lady Y/N’s stomach twist into painful knots. She remembered her father and his anger.

“You asked me to return safely and I said I would,” said Lord Stark, his voice clear and sombre. Lady Y/N nodded but he could see that that was not what she meant. They walked down the path of cobblestones towards the godswood. It was narrow enough for only one person to walk it at a time. Lady Y/N went first, Lord Stark following on her trail. Y/N could almost feel his warm breath on the back of her head from his closeness. Goose pimples rose on her arms and legs. She held up her skirts as she passed some stairs until they reached the godswood, the heart tree, and the black pond.

“I told you that I loved you,” tried the Lord of Winterfell as they stood beneath the great, haughty weirwood tree. Lord Stark’s voice turned quieter yet remained earnest.

Lady Y/N’s gaze rose to her husband’s grey eyes as her entire body froze. Her heart broke into a million small pieces like a figurine made of glass shattering on the floor. Her eyes watered with tears although she had been doing everything in her power to keep herself from crying. She turned her head away and bit her lip to keep her chin from quivering yet it was all in vain. Hot, salty tears escaped her eyes and stung her cheeks as she closed her eyes. She could not make the words pass her mouth.

Cregan watched his wife, his own heart aching at the sight of her tears. A thousand and one thought had passed his mind on their way to the godswood. If something had gone wrong with the ruling of Winterfell in his absence, if there had been a falling out with one of the Houses, Maester Bennard would be sure to write of it to him whilst he was away. Yet another, more pressing thought weighed heavy on Lord Stark’s mind, a thought that made him burn with anger, with fury and jealousy unlike he had ever known before. If his wife had been unfaithful … He would not allow himself to believe that thought. He did not know what he would do if it proved to be true. Yet when he saw Y/N’s tears when he mentioned the time he told her of his love for her, Cregan had almost believed it – believed there was another man. But as his wife turned away, her body shivering with tears and a sadness so great that it threatened to break her, Cregan knew it could not be the love of a man that made her weep.

Lady Y/N’s small, delicate hand rested on her stomach as she looked down, her cheeks stung with tears.

“You might be great with child by then,” the Lord of Winterfell remembered his words from the night they last lied together. Cregan’s heart dropped to his stomach and he could not swallow the heaviness that formed in his throat. Furious with himself for his foolish thoughts and his harsh behaviour, Lord Stark’s mind overpowered with concern for his wife. He understood now too why the maester was involved.

Although Cregan was saddened about the babe, the feeling could not be compared to the sight of Y/N, his wife, in such a state of sorrow.

Lady Y/N’s chest allowed a small sob to escape, her hand closing over her mouth.

“Y/N …” spoke Lord Stark, his voice deep and hoarse as he reached for his wife. Y/N took a step back instinctively, her shoulders tensing around her neck as if she believed he might strike her.

“I am so sorry,” whispered Y/N as she shook her head, tears stinging her cheeks.

“If you will ever … ever be able to f-forgive me,” Lady Y/N’s voice broke as she made to kneel.

“Y/N,” Lord Stark spoke again, this time even more gently as he took her shoulders. The frown on his face was no longer one of anger and frustration but one softened with sadness and worry. Y/N’s eyes were red, her lashes clumped with tears.

Cregan pulled her into his arms. Lady Y/N resisted at first but Cregan held her tightly. At last Y/N’s chest broke into a painful cry, one with sobbing so sorrowful it made even the Gods cry. The face of the heart tree was lined with red streaks as the Lord of Winterfell held his wife.

“I am so sorry … I am so sorry,” spoke Lady Y/N over and over again against her husband’s chest. Her fingers were buried in his coat as Lord Stark held her head close.

“It is not your fault, Y/N,” assured Lord Stark with all of the authority in him but it made no difference to Lady Y/N. “You are not to blame.”

“I was so afraid, Cregan,” cried Y/N. “I was so afraid you would not come back … And it … It made it go away …”

“That is not true, my love,” Lord Stark spoke more gently against Y/N’s hair. “It is not your fault.” Cregan kissed the top of his wife’s head and rested his chin there as he held her trembling frame close to his.

“Maester Bennard said there was nothing he could have done,” whispered Lady Y/N tearfully as her crying soothed down some. “There … T-There was just s-so much blood.” Lady Y/N's chin quivered as she remembered that night. “I was so scared …” she whispered so quietly she thought her husband would not be able to hear but he did.

“It is not your fault, my lady ... I am here now, my love,” spoke Lord Stark quietly against his wife’s hair as he caressed her head.

“I thought … I thought you would be so angry with me,” spoke Y/N in the same voice.

“Why would you think so?” frowned Lord Stark, his body tensing.

“I only thought … I thought you wished for it …”

“I did,” spoke Lord Stark gently and cupped his wife’s cheeks and made her look him in the eye. “But not as much as I wish for your happiness and health,” he said earnestly. Y/N closed her eyes. She could not look into her husband’s eyes no matter how much he wanted her to.

“We will have dozens of children if that is what you wish,” said Cregan but he could not stop his wife’s tears.

“Two dozen,” tried Cregan again. Lady Y/N laughed a small laugh through her tears and nodded. Cregan wiped away the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs before he kissed her forehead. Their lips met as snow began to fall. Lord Stark leaned his forehead against his wife’s, his eyes closed whilst he took in the scent of her hair. He longed for her; not only for her body but for her company.

“Come, my love,” spoke Lord Stark quietly, his hand caressing his wife’s cheek before they returned to the castle.

***

Neither the Lord or the Lady of Winterfell got up at the break of dawn that morning. Cregan laid on his side with his wife’s arm hung over his waist as she pressed against his warm back. Even in her sleep, Lady Y/N could not make herself part from the safety of her husband’s touch now that he had returned. As Lord Stark began to wake in the late hours of the morning, he took his wife’s hand absently and pulled it to his chest where it rested in his. Cregan could hear her sigh, her nose nuzzling against his broad back and making him smile. He turned around carefully.

“No …” murmured Lady Y/N as her source of warmth shifted, her eyes still shut tight.

Lord Stark smiled to himself and guided his wife’s small hand over his side once again. He pulled her closer and watched her catch the last minutes of sleep before the morning would turn into day. He studied the colour of her beautiful hair and the line of her jaw and her nose, the shape of her shoulder, which disappeared from his sight beneath the covers. Lord Stark guided his hand from his wife’s ribs down to the curve of her waist, which made his body warm with desire. The feeling did not linger long, however, as Lord Stark’s mind drifted to his time away on the march and the loss not only he but especially his wife suffered. Cregan reminded himself to speak to Maester Bennard about Lady Stark’s health and what happened. He caressed his wife’s head and shifted his body lower so that he could kiss her forehead. Cregan left soft kisses on Lady Y/N’s cheek until she smiled through her sleep and slowly opened her eyes.

“What time is it?” mumbled Y/N just before Cregan softly kissed her.

“Late,” said Lord Stark yet did not seem to care. He had just returned from a march – he was entitled to a good night’s sleep for once.

“I can get dressed,” said Lady Y/N but snuggled closer to her husband’s body. The Lord of Winterfell smiled yet could not hide the worry that settled in him. His body was tense and his hands secured its grip protectively around his wife’s body.

Lady Y/N rose her head and looked at her husband. “Is something the matter?” she asked softly. After they returned to the castle last night, they only went to sleep. They had not been together since Cregan returned although in truth it has only been a day’s turn.

“I’m sorry I was not here for you when it happened,” said Cregan, caressing his wife’s cheek. All of the sudden Y/N was wide awake. She hoped they had closed this matter last night in the godswood.

“Why … Why are you sorry if I … If I was the one …” Y/N tried to find the right words without triggering any tears but that was harder than she thought.

“You had to go through such a terrible thing alone,” said Lord Stark solemnly. “If I were here—” But Y/N could not hear it, she would not hear it, and so she placed her palm over her husband’s mouth.

“Please,” pleaded Lady Y/N. “Don’t make me talk about it any further … I just want to forget.” 

Cregan nodded and took his wife’s hand and kissed it. “Forgive me.” But Y/N only shook her head. She leaned in and softly kissed her husband. His large hand cupped her cheek instinctively as he brought her closer.

“You cannot imagine how I longed for you all this time, my lady,” said Cregan against Lady Y/N’s lips in a deep, husky voice of the morning. He shifted and leaned against his arm so that his wife laid beneath him. She wrapped her soft legs around his waist. Y/N realized how she too longed for him and his touch and how it was even possible they had not been together yesterday already. She pulled Cregan closer, her hands wrapped around his neck as she tugged gently on his hair. A soft moan escaped Y/N’s mouth when Cregan’s hardness brushed against the inside of her thighs. She gathered the hem of his shirt, yearning to see his body. Cregan pulled off his loose tunic, revealing his strong, built chest but also his injury that sobered Y/N some.

“Are you in pain?” asked Lady Y/N quickly. “Should we—”

“I am only in pain from not having you,” Cregan cut her off and pulled off his nightbreeches before entering his wife. The pleasure he felt was so great that when Lord Stark steadied himself against the headboard, the wood cracked beneath the grip of his fingers. Cregan could not be bothered as he savoured the delight of his wife’s body. He tried to go slow and gentle but his desire was too strong. Instead, he slid an arm behind Y/N’s waist and turned them around without leaving her. Cregan laid on his back and let his wife take control or he would lose it.

Y/N pulled her hair to one side of her neck as she leaned down to Cregan’s lips and kissed him passionately. She almost leaned her arms against his chest before she saw the bandage that she had forgotten about in her pleasure. Y/N steadied herself against the bed instead whilst Cregan’s hands wrapped around her hips as she moved steadily against his waist. Her heart beat hard against her chest when she began nearing her climax. She both wanted to stop and have Cregan take over but at the same time Y/N would do anything for the feeling never to end.

“Fuck,” muttered Cregan when he saw how close Y/N was. He sat up, drunk on desire, and helped her by moving his hips as well. His hands reached for her soft breasts that he squeezed and kissed, his fingers brushing against her nipples that made Y/N whine in pleasure.

Y/N was almost there. Her thighs quivered and her nails dug into Cregan’s back. She leaned against his body when a series of quiet whimpers escaped her mouth and her entire body trembled with pleasure. Her shivering breath disappeared in her husband’s loud groan with his arms locked around her waist tightly. They were breathing heavily in each other’s arms, incredulous how they could bear so long without each other. Cregan was still inside of her as they already laid back on the bed, him unable to stop kissing Y/N. His strong arms were wrapped around her bare shoulders, holding her to him as if he feared she might disappear if he let go.

“Gods, I love you,” murmured Cregan against his wife’s lips. Y/N pulled away some, looking up in to her husband’s grey eyes, the warmest she had ever seen them.

“And I you,” spoke Y/N softly.

***

After breaking their fast, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell attended the council together. Lady Y/N wore a grey dress with embroidery of string-of-silver in the pattern of tree branches with small red leaves representing the heart tree. She wore her pearls and the ruby necklace of her wedding day.

Lady Stark sat beside her husband at the long table whilst the councillors discussed the matters of the past few moons. Lady Y/N spoke herself at times, adding and taking from some of the words of the lords. Some would make things seem better or worse than they were to please the Lord of Winterfell and look good in his eyes. Y/N did not say anything then but after the council, in the private audience only between herself, Cregan, and Maester Bennard, the three could discuss plainly what was said and where the real truths lied.

“Thank you, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark as they came to the end of both daily matters as well as things concerning his recent absence. “I will see you in the evening should there be more ravens and matters to attend to.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Maester Bennard. His small eyes glanced between the Lady of Winterfell and Lord Stark. “Would you allow me a private audience, my lord?” asked the maester carefully. He looked down in respect and Lady Y/N did not think twice of it. She told Cregan everything and if the maester wanted to check on that, she would let him. If it was about another matter, Y/N could not be happier to be relieved of her duties for once.

Lady Y/N looked at her husband but Cregan was already waiting to hear her wishes. Y/N smiled reassuringly and curtsied.

“I will take Blackspur for a ride. It has been too long,” said Lady Y/N and left the maester and her husband to speak privately.

Lord Stark leaned in his chair and watched his loyal advisor take a seat before him. He had been meaning to speak to Maester Bennard himself ever since he learned of what had happened in his absence.

“My lord,” began Maester Bennard hesitantly, which was rather untypical of the maester. He usually spoke with conviction and certainty.

“If you mean to speak of my wife’s passing condition in my absence, I would have you know she had already spoken to me about it, maester,” said Lord Stark neither kindly nor upset. The maester seemed relieved at the news and nodded.

“It gladdens me, my lord,” said Maester Bennard. “Lady Stark commanded she should be the one to tell you.”

“I see,” said the Lord of Winterfell. “And if she had not spoken to me prior to this audience?”

Maester Bennard paused as he sensed tension in his lord’s voice. “I was of a mind that a raven should be sent to you when my lady fell ill,” said the maester. “These things rarely happen without complications. If nothing else, the loss of blood can be significant.”

The maester’s words made Cregan sick to his stomach. He had seen men’s limbs torn from their bodies, their heads hacked in half and cut off; he himself cut off many a man’s head be it as punishment or in battle, but the thought of his wife in a puddle of blood made Lord Stark’s stomach twist.

“But my lady recovered well,” said Maester Bennard encouragingly. “I believe she found solace in work although she is spending less and less time with her ladies-in-waiting, even with Lady Mormont, who was a comfort to Lady Stark in her darkest hours.”

The Lord of Winterfell listened.

“Whilst losing a babe, especially if it is the first, is nothing unusual and the body oft heals relatively quickly,” said the maester, “The healing of the heart, especially a woman’s heart, is a different matter.”

Cregan nodded to himself. “Thank you, maester,” said the Lord of Winterfell, understanding now.

“My lord,” bowed Maester Bennard and left Cregan be. Lord Stark looked through the window on his right. The sun glistening in last night’s snow blinded his eyes. He wished he knew what to do.

***

Buried in his work, the Lord of Winterfell lost the sense of time. One of his personal servants came to call him to a late nuncheon, making Lord Stark realize how long he had been chained to the desk.

"I will join the Lady Stark in a moment," said Cregan and pressed his seal into hot, grey wax.

"My lady has yet not returned from her ride, my lord," said the servant cautiously.

"What do you mean she has not returned yet?" said the Lord of Winterfell, his stern, grey eyes rising to the servant's. The young man looked down.

Lord Stark rose from his desk and stormed to the master-of-stables who informed him that Lady Stark had left only with Ser Martyn as her escort.

“How could this happen?” Lord Stark rose his voice mindlessly at his servants. They all bowed their heads and looked at the ground, even Ser Tybald. “She is the Lady of Winterfell! She should have an escort of at least a dozen knights!” thundered Cregan with anger boiling within him. His fists were squeezed tight as he stormed outside and called for his men to gather. The hour grew darker by the moment with a snow blizzard on the horizon. A party of two dozen men was gathered, most of them horsed save for the master-of-kennels, Ser Jon, and his apprentices that held the hounds on their chains.

The cruel northern winds whistled mercilessly as Lord Stark mounted his courser Nightkeeper. The snowflakes were dancing in the air, not a single one reaching the ground in the wild wind seeming more like ash than snow.

The party did not even make outside of winter town before they ran into the Lady of Winterfell and her sworn shield, Ser Martyn. He looked as pale as the weirwood tree in the face of his lord’s anger yet his sword was bloodied and his armor soiled red.

The Lord of Winterfell dismounted immediately as did Lady Y/N and Ser Martyn. Cregan stormed to his lady wife, grasping her shoulders before he pulled her into an ardent kiss of relief never minding his men watching. Lady Y/N was knocked out of wind and would have stumbled backwards if Lord Stark had not held her arms so securely.

“Where were you?” demanded Lord Stark from his lady wife. He still held her tightly by the shoulders, his brows in a terrible frown. Lady Y/N’s cheeks were flushed red where the cold wind lashed at them but not only that. The redness masked the small cuts that neither bled nor remained insignificant. Her neck, where visible, was more of the same and her head of long hair loose from its braid and windblown.

“And you!” snapped Cregan before Lady Y/N could manage a word and grabbed Ser Martyn’s breast plate. “How could you leave without an escort?” Lord Stark roared at one of his best men, but in that moment, Cregan could just as well kill him with his bare hands for endangering his wife. Lord Stark could not tell what angered him more: the thought of his wife alone with another man or that man, her sword shield, allowing Cregan’s wife to leave the grounds of Winterfell without a proper escort to protect her.

“Please, everything is alright now,” urged Lady Y/N as she came up to her husband, “A host of bandits attacked us ... ” She touched Lord Stark’s arm but he winced livid with fury, his cold, grey glare snapping to his wife.

“I should think,” snapped Lord Stark. Lady Y/N took a step back and lowered her gaze. Cregan was breathing heavily, still holding onto Ser Martyn’s breast plate although his eyes were on his wife. Lord Stark’s breathing began to calm although not so much his anger born from concern.

“I will hear of your pretensions later, knight,” the Lord of Winterfell growled at Ser Martyn as he let go of his breast plate with a yank.

A shivery breath of relief escaped Lady Y/N’s chest as she stared at her lord husband. He turned as did she, intending to mount Blackspur.

“No,” commanded Lord Stark, his insides still boiling with anger. Lady Y/N’s big eyes found her husband’s furious glare as he took her hand and led her to his courser. The dark brown stallion paced restlessly as he sensed his master’s rage. Cregan grabbed a hold of his wife’s waist and lifted her effortlessly on his courser. Y/N gasped soundlessly but dared not say a word. She had never seen her husband so furious or his anger so slow to cool. She wanted to tell Cregan what had happened and how Ser Martyn was not to blame but the wind whistled so loudly she could barely hear her own thoughts. They had to get back to the castle and quickly.

Heavy snow began to fall as the Lord of Winterfell climbed up into his saddle, one of his arms tightly wrapping around his wife’s waist. Lady Y/N held onto his strong, tense arm as Cregan spurred his mount around and they rode back to the castle. One of the men took Blackspur’s reins and led her to the castle with them. Y/N could almost sense the white-hot anger radiating off her husband’s body as he held her to him. Lord Stark’s anger only cooled some when he began to realize his wife was unharmed for the most part but was fuelled yet again as he knew none of it would have happened if a larger party escorted her. A tempest of thoughts ran through Cregan's mind. He doubted they could have got lost and were ambushed. Ser Martyn may not have been born in Winterfell but he had been a squire for his father since he was a boy of seven. He knew Winterfell as well as any.

Cregan’s heart pumped furiously as a seed of jealousy began to grow in him once again. Just the thought of Y/N alone with another man, any man. The foolish idea in Lord Stark's mind was soon overpowered by a thought that could prove to become all to real if Ser Martyn had not brought Y/N back safely. A pack of bandits, if they had prevailed over Lady Y/N's sworn shield ...

Cregan’s grip on Lady Y/N’s grip tightened even more just as they passed the castle gates. Lady Y/N squeezed Cregan's forearm, trying to tell him wordlessly that the grip was too tight but Lord Stark was too deep in his thoughts. The more Y/N tried to peel his arm off her waist, the stronger Cregan’s grip became.

“You’re hurting me,” said Lady Y/N at last. Her words sobered Lord Stark immediately and woke him from his poisonous thoughts. His hold softened immediately and he released a long held breath.

They reached the castle where one of the stableboys took the reins of Lord Stark's horse. The Lord of Winterfell dismounted and took his wife’s waist carefully. As her feet reached the floor, Cregan towered over her easily. He was suddenly acutely aware of his strength and how his thoughts carried him away.

“Forgive me,” asked Lord Stark of his wife, “It was never my intention to harm you.” Lady Y/N looked up into her husband’s eyes, taken back by the change in his voice. Cregan was far from calm, she could tell, but calmer still than he was only moments ago.

“Only if you can forgive me, my lord,” said Lady Y/N and bowed. Her hands began to tremble as she remembered the group of bandits. Neither herself nor Ser Martyn were sure they would be able to escape and it was her fault for persuading the knight they do not need more men with them. But she was no longer the young Lady Whytefort who no one knew of. She was the Lady of Winterfell, wife to the Warden of the North, and therefore much more valuable to bandits and delinquents.

“There were six of them,” told Lady Y/N once in her husband’s solar. “One of them was slain by Ser Martyn and another lost his arm at the wrist but the rest of them remained unscathed. Some of them had swords and short axes, and two of them were ahorse – one of those died at the hands of Ser Martyn when they chased us through the Wolfswood,” said Lady Y/N quickly, her words flying out of her mouth as if they were in a race to be heard by Lord Stark and Maester Bennard.

“Is there anything else you remember, my lady?” asked Maester Bennard as he wrote down the details for there would be a search party and an award for anyone who would provide information of the delinquents.

Lord Stark stared at his wife, wondering what it would be like if her and Ser Martyn had not returned, if he could not find her in time. Cregan had only just returned home only to neigh lose his wife, the woman he dreamed of every night on his march north.

The snow blizzard raged outside but that was the least of Lord Stark's concerns. If Lady Y/N could not have managed to escape the bandits … The wax stick in Cregan’s hand snapped like a twig. He had been rolling it around his fingers to keep his focus and pace his temper.

Lady Y/N’s eyes moved from Cregan’s eyes to his hands and finally to the maester. She shook her head.

“Thank you, my lady,” said Maester Bennard curtly and put the quill away. Lady Y/N nodded and finally felt at ease enough to remove her cloak. She hissed when the heavy fabric drew across a deep gash on her shoulder that she had forgotten about in the midst of it all.

Cregan jumped up hastily at the sight of the wound. The sleeve of Lady Y/N’s riding gown was drenched in blood.

“I think I caught a branch when we were running away,” said Lady Y/N, her fingertips red with blood as she inspected her wound.

“Why didn’t you speak before?” asked Lord Stark, rushing to his wife’s side. Lady Y/N looked up into her husband’s eyes, his formidable frame looming over her. He looked the wound before he tore off a strip of his tunic and wrapped it around her upper arm to stop the bleeding, whilst the maester went to fetch his things.

“I forgot,” said Lady Y/N quietly yet in all honesty. Cregan frowned at her, hardly believing what she was saying. Only then could Cregan see the tremble in her hands and the fear in her eyes. The small cuts on her face became more prominent once the blush from the wind drained from her cheeks. Lady Y/N should have taken a larger escort but the bandits had no business lurking the grounds of Winterfell in the first place, much less attacking its high lady. If Cregan feared for his wife's safety, how frightened must she have been in the face of it all.

Cregan caressed his wife’s cheek gently and pulled her closer, careful not to brush against her shoulder. He kissed the top of Y/N’s head as he felt her small hands reach around his waist.

“Please forgive me,” said Y/N quietly. Tears soaked her voice as she leaned against Cregan’s steady frame. "I was a fool not to heed Ser Martyn's advice. I never thought ..."

“Forgiven,” murmured the Lord of Winterfell against her hair. A different kind of anger rose inside of Cregan as he caressed his wife’s hair.

“I will have their heads and hang their from the walls of Winterfell, my lady. You have my word.”

***

It took a week for the snow blizzard to settle and near another three for any traces of the bandits to be found. Ser Martyn led one of the search parties, knowing full well what the men looked like. Just so, it was his group of knights who found them. Ser Martyn delivered the news as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell had their nuncheon in private. They had trout prepared in a skin of herbs with baked potatoes and a flagon of dark ale.

Lady Y/N’s heart paused in her chest when she heard the news.

“How did you find them?” asked Lady Stark. It has been so long everyone began to lose hope of ever catching the group of delinquents.

Ser Martyn hesitated a moment, showing a clear discomfort. “We found them despoiling a peasant girl,” he told.

Lady Stark’s lips parted but she could not find the words she wanted to say. Her stomach twisted and turned into knots and Y/N had to do everything in her power to keep her meal down. Blood began to boil in her veins. Out of nowhere, Lady Y/N could see the men’s faces in her mind as if it were yesterday that she encountered them in the Wolfswood. The man slain by Ser Martyn, the one who lost his hand, the short one with missing teeth, the two lanky men who seemed to be kin and the one who remained on horseback. Y/N did not know why but she wanted to see how the life would leave the bandits’ eyes. She wanted to be there when Cregan would pass the judgement and condemn them to whatever punishment he saw fit.

“I will see them,” said Lord Stark severely and got up from the table. Lady Y/N's eyes followed him.

“There are only four of them left, my lord,” informed Ser Martyn. “We interrogated the men separately and all claim the fifth was taken by the snowstorm.”

“After I am through with them, they will believe the frozen fool fortunate,” said the Lord of Winterfell.

***

The bandits were brought to Winterfell in chains, unharmed at the command of the Warden of the North. When the day of their execution came, most of Winterfell and the winter town gathered in the main square to witness the deaths of the men who had been pestering their lands. The Lady of Winterfell was not the first person they attacked and the peasant girl would not have been the last if not for Ser Martyn and his knights.

As the four men were led to the scaffold, not one of them walked without a limp. Their faces were broken and bruised but Lady Y/N could recognize them still even with the blood drying on their wounds. As per law, their heads were to be cut off for their crimes, but the Lord of Winterfell ordered their carcasses be hanged above the main gates of the castle as a warning to others.

The morning already broke but the snow was falling heavily in the silver-blue light of day. Lady Stark was standing with Lady Ellyn on the dais beneath a canopy that shielded them from the worst of the late autumn snow. Lady Y/N had trouble sleeping and had been feeling uneasy all morning. She could not find comfort not even in her husband’s embrace. Y/N could not stop thinking about the peasant girl nor of the day herself and Ser Martyn were ambushed. She could have ended up as the peasant girl or worse. The whole of it made her sick to her stomach. Lady Y/N wanted to be there for the execution, she wanted to see, and yet she wished for all of it to be over as quickly as possible.

The Lord of Winterfell marched on the scaffold where the prisoners waited in line. Thick snowflakes nestled in his heavy fur cloak and his long, dark hair. Ice hung solemnly on Lord Cregan’s back as the charges were told to the prisoners and the crowd that gathered.

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” Cregan told Lady Y/N when she asked last night who will bring doom to the bandits in the morn. The words rang almost as profoundly of House Stark as those of “Winter is coming”. Y/N had long thought it an old-wife's tale yet the longer she stayed at Winterfell, the more she began to believe there really never was a Stark without honour.

An eerie silence filled the square when the Lord of Winterfell unsheathed his great longsword. Cregan took off the prisoners’ heads one by one yet before he could reach the third, Lady Y/N’s head grew light as a summer cloud and a sickness settled in her stomach. She could not watch any longer but it was too late. Y/N tried to grasp Lady Ellyn’s hand to steady herself but her grip was no grip at all, merely a touch before she came crashing to the ground and darkness swallowed her vision.

Lady Y/N could feel the pillows beneath her as she began to wake but even the slightest movement of her head sent her head spinning. Y/N groaned and steadied herself against the mattress, slowly opening her eyes. She recognized the ceiling of her private chambers. There were voices speaking but there was ringing in her ears and she could not understand them. Suddenly, a heavy nausea came over her and she threw up, a basin already by her side. Someone took her hair and held it back as sweat coated Lady Y/N’s neck and forehead. The ringing in her ears gradually stopped as did her vomiting. She was offered a cup of water by someone. Lady Y/N rose her gaze and saw her lady-in-waiting.

“It’s alright,” whispered Lady Ellyn with a small smile.

“What happened?” asked Lady Y/N as she looked around her chambers. Cregan was standing by her side, his eyes bright and restless and his brows in a concerned frown. If this were a battle, he would have been swinging his sword and shouting orders. But this was no battle although his body was just as tense.

Lady Y/N noticed Maester Bennard was there as well as were her other three ladies-in-waiting. The ladies wore cheerful smiles and exchanged silent whispers.

Maester Bennard offered a small smile. “I am pleased to say that your ladyship is with child again.”

[dark-konohagakure2]

Hi! Could you please write an Akatsuki X reader scenario where they kidnap shinobi Reader and the best way to convert her to their cause is by fucking her until she breaks? (If you could include Obito that would be awesome too)

tw: noncon, forced kissing, degradation, nipple play, abuse, mind break, forced orgasm, overstimulation, biting

All characters depicted are 18+

Deidara knows firsthand just how bothersome it is to be forcibly recruited into the Akatsuki, but despite the shared experience he isn't very empathetic when he tells the young kunoichi that she has no choice but to join their ranks, either willingly or by force.

The girl is loyal to her village, so she'll initially refuse, which angers the blonde artist. He didn't have a choice when it came to his recruitment, so why should she? Deidara is going to make her join, and he knows just how to do it.

Despite his being a lean man, he's very strong, so Deidara is able to knock her backwards with her clay and pin her down with his body, sitting on her chest as he holds her wrists with one hand and covers her mouth with the palm of his other hand, using the mouth on that hand to forcibly kiss her.

The tongue on his palm will force it's way down her throat, making her gag as Deidara rips her clothes off with the other hand, practically salivating at the sight of her perfect breasts, but he doesn't have time to enjoy the scenery when his main goal is to force her over to the Akatsuki's side.

Deidara isn't one to pull his punches verbally or physically, bullying his cock inside of her vulnerable entrance, manhandling her into whatever position works best for him as he shouts threats and insults at her.

"Cmon you little idiot! Just agree to join before I get more forceful, hmm! I'm not gonna stop until you say yes, un!"

He'll force his hand-mouths onto her breasts, using them to lick, bite, and suck her sensitive nipples, his actual mouth forcibly on hers as he pounds into her, the wet sound of skin slapping against skin filling the air as Deidara shoves his tongue down her throat.

He isn't very experienced due to his age and eccentric personality, so he's just fast and rough when he fucks, his his slamming against her ass while his only goals in mind are to convert her over to the Akatsuki's side and get his rocks off, and there is nothing she can do about it.

Deidara will have her overwhelmed from the bombardment of stimulus from his hands, mouths, and cock, he'll leave her whining and squirting underneath him despite herself, much to the artist's delight and smugness.

Deidara is a energetic young man, so he can go for hours if he really wanted to, but he'll stop on one condition. Each time he pulls out after cumming in her, he'll ask her if she's ready to cooperate yet, and if she is; he'll stop, but if she isn't; he'll go for another round with her body.

"Ready to cooperate? Well should be! Because I'm not gonna stop fucking you until you turn into a good little Akatsuki member!"

Deidara is glad that he's able to recruit a brand new member for their little Akatsuki family, now he'll earn the respect of his senior members, and he gets to have a brand new toy to play with as a bonus.

tw: noncon, kidnapping, drugging, aphrodisiacs, fuck or die, age difference, riding, mind break

Sasori hates dealing with new recruits, they're all just brats who know nothing about art and respect, so when he's tasked with coverting a shinobi they captured over to the Akatsuki's cause, the red haired puppet master isn't the slightest bit happy.

He feels nothing, so Sasori can't appeal to emotion in order to sway her, instead he'll use threats towards both herself, her comrades, and loved ones, but when she doesn't budge, Sasori decides to show her that his words are anything but empty threats.

Before she can even react, Sasori is already injecting her with a special poison he created just for brats such as herself, it isn't fatal in small doses, and it's designed to instill obedience in it's user, but it comes with the very unfortunate side effect of forcibly increasing her arousal levels as well.

Sasori totally didn't anticipate this side effect, but he's not going to let this unique opportunity pass him by, in fact he's going to take advantage of it. He'll force her warm and soft body onto his own cold and wooden one, forcing her onto his cock and telling her to make herself useful for once.

"Faster, brat, or do you want me to increase the dosage? Good girl, now ride it like your life depends on it, because it does."

Sasori won't make any noises, facial expressions, or even blink as she reluctantly bounces on his wood, her discomfort contrasting his indifference. If she slows down too much for his liking, Sasori will inject her yet again, although he's careful not to give her too much of his poison, he doesn't want to kill her yet.

Despite his lack of moaning or any expression at all, Sasori is rather enjoying the sight of the needy prisoner moving up and down on his cock while under the effects of poison is very satisfying to the emotionless puppet master, but the only time his satisfaction will be known is when he's cumming inside of her.

Eventually the combination of the stimulation, humiliation, and the drug is too much for the poor kunoichi to handle, being too drugged up and overwhelmed to even resist anymore, reduced bouncing on his cock and obeying his demeaning demands like a good little puppet, much to Sasori's satisfaction.

Sasori won't even bother to hold back his taunts at her expense, finding it incredibly satisfying that he was able to reduce a respectable ninja to his own personal puppet with just a few injections and his cock.

"Good little puppet, you'll make a perfect pawn for the Akatsuki, and the perfect hole for my cock..."

Before he knows it, the Akatsuki has a brand new member and Sasori himself has a brand new puppet to play with, which is very convenient since he's been looking for a new test dummy for his poisons.

tw: noncon, genjutsu, mind break, size difference, fingering, forced kissing, mental torture, mild degradation

Forcing people to do things they don't want to is a rather trivial task for Itachi Uchiha, but he prefers to not use violence to get his way, so when he's tasked with forcibly recruiting a new Akatsuki member, he'll get the job done using his specialty: genjutsu.

It's almost too easy, all he needs to do is make eye contact with her, and she's all his. He won't just use a genjutsu that makes her loyal to the Akatsuki, because it would just wear off eventually which would cause problems in the future, instead he'll cast a genjutsu that will make her more susceptible to his demands and advances.

Itachi is much bigger and stronger than she is, especially when she's in such a state, so it's not much of a challenge for him to take advantage of her, slipping his hand into her panties and his tongue into her mouth while she squirms in his grasp, under the effects of his sense heightening genjutsu.

His enjoyment won't be very evident on his face due to his stoic nature, but it's most certainly evident in his pants, the bulge in his pants pressed against her clothed pussy as his fingers move inside of her and he speaks to her in his usual flat tone, yet with a hint of mockery underneath.

"This feels uncomfortable doesn't it? I would stop if you would just cooperate, but I can plainly see that someone like you wouldn't know compromise if it stabbed you in the face..."

Eventually he'll pull his fingers out of her, which is somewhat difficult with how tightly her cunt is squeezing them, although her pussy won't be left empty for very long once Itachi forces his cock into her, hitting even deeper places inside of her that his fingers couldn't reach, such as her precious womb.

Itachi doesn't just jackhammer into her like a uncouth mutt, instead his pace incredibly slow, bordering on torturous as his cock slowly stretches her out and hits her womb with each thrust, his cock forcing her into submission better than any genjutsu ever could.

He'll have her whimpering and squirming underneath him in a matter off seconds, reapplying the genjutsu on her whenever she fights back too much, eventually she'll be so deep in the genjutsu that she won't be able to distinguish between reality and illusion, she won't even be able to tell if she's actually getting fucked or if it's just another genjutsu, it's an incredibly disorienting and terrifying experience, one that Itachi tells her she can end anytime if she just cooperates with the Akatsuki.

Eventually she'll become so disoriented and overwhelmed by both the illusion she's under and the sensation of him roughly fucking her that she'll practically burst into tears, weakly whimpering and sniffling as she begs Itachi to stop the genjutsu already, she won't even ask him to stop fucking her, she just wants to be free of the illusion, and if she agrees to the Akatsuki's terms, he'll gladly oblige her.

"Good girl. See? That wasn't so hard was it? All you had to do was ask nicely, it's quite simple really, even for someone so bereft of knowledge..."

He isn't surprised that she ended up caving to his demands, mental torture is his forte, and if she ever steps out of line with the Akatsuki's goals again, he'll have no qualms about giving her another 72 hours worth of suffering.

tw: noncon, size difference, double penetration, monster cocks, mind break, creampie, breeding, biting, degradation

In terms of physical appearance, Kisame is the most terrifying member of the Akatsuki, standing at nearly 7 feet tall with a set of razor sharp teeth and a shark-like appearance, he's the best in the organization at intimidation, and Kisame is more than happy to use brute force when attempting to force a potential recruit over to the Akatsuki's side.

Usually just flashing his teeth or brandishing Samehada is more than enough for Kisame to get his way, but when his dear little prisoner future coworker doesn't give in, Kisame decides he needs to take a much more rough and physical approach with her, the blue skinned man has been rather pent up as of late, and dealing with a brat is just increasing his frustrations, so he decides to kill two birds with one stone.

He's a brute, so he'll just throw here down onto the ground and force himself on top of her, his body huge compared to her slight form, Kisame practically moans at the sight of her eyes widening in terror when she feels his massive bulges rubbing against her, making it more than clear what Kisame is going to be taking from her.

Her pussy is almost comically tiny compared to Kisame's twin cocks, it would be damn near impossible for him to fit even one of his huge members inside of her virgin cunt, but Kisame Hoshigaki has never been one to let a little bit of difficulty stop him from getting what he wants from someone.

"Oh come now, don't go whining and crying on me yet! You don't even have the first one all the way in yet! So save your bellyaching for when they're both deep inside of you, sweetie..."

Befitting his appearance and reputation, Kisame is rough when he fucks, forcibly cramming both of his cocks into her tight pussy as he pounds into her, his huge body engulfing her's entirely while he's having the time of his life turning her body into his personal cocksleeve.

Kisame is a biter, he just can't help himself, it's in his nature after all, and he especially can't hold back his more primal urges when his cocks are balls deep inside of her and he's cumming directly into her fertile womb, his sharp teeth digging into her neck hard enough to draw blood, and when sharks see blood, they go into a feeding frenzy.

Kisame's sheer size is all the more apparent when his entire muscular weight is pressed down on her as he rearranges her insides with his cock, his huge body smothering her only adds to the poor girl's disoriented state, it's nearly impossible to breathe when a giant shark man is on top of her and using her as his breeding toy.

When Kisame eventually cums inside of her, he cums a lot, emptying his huge balls into her sensitive little womb, and the poor kunoichi is left completely cockdrunk just from one round of Kisame bullying her poor pussy with his big cocks.

"Oh how cute! You did didn't even last one single round! What was our leader thinking asking a pathetic weakling like you to join our little family..?"

This entire experience has once again reminded Kisame why he just adores newbies so much, they're so weak and overconfident even when against someone as fearsome like him, and the stubborn toys are all the more fun to break.

tw: noncon, sadomasochism, abuse, degradation, fuck or die, misogyny, slapping, blood play, fear play

It's no surprise that a sadist like Hidan loves nothing more than causing distress and pain to others, even if it isn't for his religion or organization, so he's as giddy as a schoolgirl when he's given the task of forcing their latest recruit into submission, and if there's something that brings Hidan joy, it's forcing people.

He isn't the strongest in the Akatsuki, but he's one of if not the scariest member when it comes to just how unwaveringly brutal and heartless he is, and not only is Hidan brutal, he's also a complete pervert, a fact that will become almost instantly apparent to his already scared captive when he starts groping her and talking about how pretty of sacrifice she would make to Lord Jashin.

Hidan hurts people as easily as he breathes, so the morally bankrupt Jashinist has absolutely no qualms about forcing himself onto someone, it's like a power trip to him when he gets to have complete free reign over the organization's prisoners, subjecting them to his depraved whims at his leisure.

The white haired man will absolutely love it when she desperately fights back, kicking and scratching at him with the futile hope of getting him to back off, but getting hurt by her mid-fuck just turns Hidan on even more, he's the kind of man who loves both giving and receiving some of that sweet pain.

"Ohh..! F-Fuuuck yes~! Keep fighting me like that, babe~! It just makes me want to hurt ya right back, you feisty bitch!"

While Hidan really does love receiving pain, he's still going to return the favor tenfold, he'll slap her across the face for every kick that lands, and practically stab her with his spike each time she scratches at him. See? Hidan isn't a selfish lover at all! He's returning all of the sweet, addictive pain she's so graciously giving him, she should be thanking him really.

Hidan has the highest sex drive out of all his comrades, practically using her as a pocket pussy to empty his balls into, and to no ones shock, he doesn't even try to be gentle, forcing his fat cock in and out of her with the main goal of getting his rocks off, slapping her ass or breasts with each rough and sloppy thrust.

She'll inevitably start to bleed a little bit from how many times he's bitten her or poked her with his sharp weapons, but that won't deter Hidan in the slightest, in fact it'll only excite him more, and he'll even lick up the blood from her wounds, resulting in his skin taking on it's skeletal pattern, which only terrifies her all the more.

It doesn't take too long for his sheer sadism and brutality to take a toll on her, and she's begging him to stop, sobbing that she'll do whatever the Akatsuki says as long as Hidan just stops. Hidan is incredibly annoyed and disappointed that his fun is being cut short, and all because she can't handle him going easy on her.

"Huh?! Done already?! Geez, this is just what happens when ya let the broads join the boy's club, but fine! Welcome to the Akatsuki, you whiny cunt!"

Hidan isn't particularly happy about having another shrill pussy with legs in the same organization as him, but he manages to look on the bright side of things; at least he doesn't need to go down the street corner for a quick fuck anymore, now he only needs to go down the hall.

tw: noncon, age difference, size difference, tentacles, gaping, degradation, misogyny, bondage, anal

Kakuzu hates newbies, they're all brats without a shred of respect for their elders, it's bad enough that he has to put up with Hidan's nonsense, but now he has to deal with converting a new member? He's going to make her pay for his troubles, despite the fact that she wants to be there about as much as he wants her there.

He'll cut straight to the chase, plainly telling her to join the Akatsuki or else, although he doesn't elaborate at all on what the 'or else' will entail, so she doesn't take him seriously and immediately refuses. Kakuzu doesn't like that very much, he absolutely hates not being taken seriously, so the miser decides that there's no time like the present to make sure he knows that he's a very serious threat to her.

She can barely even react when his threads emerge from underneath his mask and cloak, quickly wrapping around her limbs and forcing themselves down her throat, muffling her noises of protest when the rest of his threads start slithering towards her vulnerable holes between her legs with no regard for gentleness or permission.

Kakuzu's metallic tentacles are uncomfortably harsh as they force themselves into her pussy and ass, stretching her holes out to 'prepare' them for Kakuzu's big cock, all she can do is weakly struggle and bite down on the threads in her mouth as Kakuzu gives her a stern talking to about how much of an ungrateful brat she allegedly is.

"Stop biting, brat. It hurts when you bite down on them like that. But I'll hurt you a hell of a lot more than you could ever hurt me if you don't shut up and take it."

He'll use his tentacles to spread her pussy out enough for him to get a good look at it, being sure to make sure he knows how shocked he is that she's still a virgin with how indecent she acts. Girls these days are just so disrespectful towards men, probably because none of them have a big strong daddy to put them in their place, but Kakuzu is about to change that.

His cock is just as big as the rest of him, so it will stretch her out a great deal when he forces in inside of her, even after all that preparation. Kakuzu is a product of his time, he doesn't prioritize his pleasure over her's at all, because that would imply he even considers her's in the first place.

He doesn't even really need to hold her down given how strong he is, he has her bound for his enjoyment, not his convenience. Kakuzu always finds it amusing when his prey struggles against his superior experience, and he finds it almost hilarious how she squirms against him, even with his thick meat buried balls deep inside of her.

Kakuzu doesn't really care where he cums, just as long as he does. He doesn't think it really matters if he cums inside of her, he's nearly a century old, he probably can't get her knocked up, so she can stop being so damn hysterical about such a slim possibility.

"Shut up. Trust me, idiot, I'm far too old to give anyone a baby, much less a whiny twerp like you. Besides, having a baby is all women like you are good for."

New members are always so troublesome for Kakuzu, all they do is drain the Akatsuki's finances even more, and Kakuzu is going to make sure that his dear newbie pays him back every last cent.

tw: noncon, power imbalance, mind break, god complex, violence, piercings, humiliation, kidnapping

Pain is the leader of the Akatsuki, so he'll deal with coverting potential members more often than not. He's the best man for the job, he has the reputation, status, intimidation factor, and most importantly; he has the abilities to back all those qualities up with action. Only a fool would try to deny Pain, but it seems that his dear future subordinate is something beyond just foolish with how much she's resisting.

She can resist to her hearts content, but she's a mouse in a trap compared to his godlike powers. When she inevitably true to make a break for it, Pain will simply use Universe Pull to force her back towards him, pinning her down underneath his cold body, his body temperature being enough to nearly make her shiver, even with his cloak on, and the proximity doesn't help matters at all.

Pain's method of restraining her is swift and cruel, he'll stab one of his chakra rods straight through both of her hands, pinning them to the ground and causing immense pain, to which he shows no remorse, because he's about to show her an even more intense pain with a very different kind of rod.

His Rinnegan eyes will be locked onto her's as he forces himself on top of her. She isn't as foolish as he initially suspected, and she instantly knows what he's attempting to do to her, but Pain will pay no heed to her struggles, treating what he's about to do to her like its the most justified thing in the world.

"Enough resistance. It's futile against me. I am God, and now you'll get the privilege of witnessing what happens to those who resist God's will."

Pain's cock is both thick and pierced, so it fills her up to the brim and the cold metal of his piercings touch every inch of her untouched depths. It's hard to tell if Pain can even feel the sensations of her pussy gripping his member, since his remains cold and impassive throughout.

Its unsettling how calm Pain is throughout the ordeal, lecturing her about understanding pain and the Akatsuki's goals, all while he's pounding into her, his thick cock bullying her womb with each thrust, increasing the intensity of the agonizing mix of pleasure and pain.

He could just use his Rinnegan to put her under his control and 'tame' her, but Pain doesn't have to do that, he's physically strong enough to brute force her body into submission, and the most effective way to do that is to brute force her pussy into submission first, and the rest will follow.

Once Pain has had his fill with her holes, he won't even need to ask her if she's going to come along with him or not, she has no choice. He's already destroyed her village, so she has no choice but to join his cause or be left to die alone.

"Playtime is over, little one. It's time for business. You will join the Akatsuki, or I'll just have to put you through this torment again..."

Swaying even the most stubborn of individuals onto his side is a trivial matter for someone like Pain, it's truly amazing how a little bit of destruction and degradation can go such a far way in terms of the elimination of one's insubordination.

tw: noncon, facesitting, suffocation, cunnilingus, rimming, age difference, piercings, power imbalance, fuck or die, humiliation

Being one of the most important members of the Akatsuki, Konan is used to recruiting new members. While she isn't a brute, Konan isn't above using physical means to get what she wants from the more particularly standoffish individuals.

Konan will attempt to negotiate at first, gently explaining the benefits of being a part of an organization as well-known and feared as the Akatsuki, and how it's much better than serving any village. But when the young woman continues to refuse Konan's kind offers, she decides to take more forceful measures.

Like a stern mother about to punish her unruly child, Konan will give the girl a few moments to reconsider her foolish choices, but when she inevitably doesn't, Konan decides to test just how stubborn someone is able to continue to act when they're unable to move or breathe underneath their superior.

Konan is a very strong woman despite her lithe physique, so she's easily able to hold the other woman down and sit on her face, pressing her entire weight down as her mature pussy presses against her face, practically suffocating the younger woman underneath her perfect ass, not budging an inch until she secures the girl's cooperation.

"Sorry, but you aren't allowed to come up for air until you agree to join the Akatsuki. If you keep squirming like that I'll simply add another ten minutes to your sentence..."

Konan is a very patient woman, she has all the time in the world, so she won't be in any rush to move from her rather comfortable seat on her face, simply occupying herself with her origami or by explaining more details about the Akatsuki and their goals, being sure to speak very highly of the organization that the girl will belong to in the very near future.

While patient, Konan is no saint, so she'll get bored of simply sitting around and waiting for the uncooperative girl to come around, so she'll demand that if she wants to live, she better get Konan off before the suffocation gets to her first, with how stern Konan sounds it's difficult to tell if she's being serious or not, but it would be foolish to take that chance.

While not usually very vocal, Konan will let out soft moans when she feels the younger woman's tongue against her perfect womanly holes, the wetness caressing the piercing on Konan's clit. If she keeps up the good work, then Konan will be more than happy to let her live.

She's a stern woman, but she isn't overly cruel, once Konan is brought to climax, she'll finally let the poor girl breathe, that is, if she agrees to the terms, and between joining a criminal organization and dying in such a humiliating way, becoming a rouge ninja is the much more preferable fate.

"That's a good girl... Now I just know you'll be a lovely fit for our great organization, you have the perfect... talents for us all to enjoy..."

Konan is very glad that the Akatsuki finally has another female member, now the purple haired woman will have someone she can go to whenever she finds herself needing a more female touch.

tw: noncon, overstimulation, degradation, pussydrunk!Tobi, size difference, exhibitionism, humiliation

Tobi is giddy at the opportunity to prove himself to his comrades by converting their lastest member over to their cause. But there is one small problem: she doesn't take him seriously at all, and really who would? He presents himself as a bumbling and immature man child, so nobody really pays him any heed, much to Tobi's dismay.

Poor, sweet Tobi tries to be nice, he really does, but she's just so mean to him, calling him an idiot and shoving him away whenever he gets close to her. Tobi looks like he's about to give up and sulk, when the masked man suddenly remembers the advice his sempai gave him; that a true Akatsuki member needs to be cool, concise, and mean.

Tobi is shockingly strong for someone so apparently airheaded, his muscles pressed against her body as he gets on top of her, revealing a surprisingly huge bulge in his pants as he does. Tobi seems completely oblivious to the fact he's rubbing his cock up against her however, scolding her in his squeaky voice to stop squirming and being so mean to poor Tobi.

He'll act as though its a freak accident when he fat cock slips into her pussy, he'll even sheepishly apologize when it happens, but since it's already in there, Tobi decides that this is the perfect opportunity for him to get to know his new best friend even better!

"Whoopsie daisy-! You were moving too much and I slipped! Now you have to be a good girl and take responsibility for getting Tobi stuck!"

For someone who's apparently so well meaning, Tobi is incredibly rough with his new toy friend, his hips slapping against her ass while he roughly holds her in place with his gloved hands and making obnoxiously loud noises of pleasure from behind his mask, clearly he's never gotten his cock wet before judging by how whiny and overwhelmed he gets almost instantly after sticking it in.

He's so loud that it's more than likely that the entire Akatsuki can hear what he's doing behind closed doors, the more annoyed members will even chime in, telling him to 'shut up!' and 'keep it down in there!' from outside the room, the fact that her other captors can hear what's happening to her is all the more embarrassing, but Tobi is too lost in the feeling of her perfect cunt around his meat to care.

Tobi is just too pent up for his own good, recklessly dumping his load into her pussy whenever he cums (which is a lot), and he'll feign surprise when she panics about him cumming inside, he as a grown man will claim that he didn't know that was how babies were made, demonstrating that he's either completely stupid, or a brilliant actor.

After spending so much time playing with her perfectly snug pussy, Tobi loses his composure, his voice dropping multiple octaves as he let's his mask slip, although not the literal one, but even with his face still covered, it's like there's a completely different person talking now.

"Soooo are you gonna be a good little girl and join the Akatsuki? You are?! Great~!! Now learn your place in our ranks, you pathetic slut."

She's most certainly learned a very valuable lesson now, she was right in only one assessment; Tobi isn't someone to be taken seriously at all, but Obito sure as hell is.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 66th Tilt

Sir Gwaine, BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012) VS. al'Lan Mandragoran, The Wheel of Time (2022)

Propaganda

Sir Gwaine, BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012) Portrayed by: Eoin Macken

“THEEE flirt of the five kingdoms!! He's so hot and annoying and charming and loyal and stupid,,, and he hates the rich! He has weird sexual tension with an alien despite it being a medieval setting.... he has big brown puppy dog eyes.... most ideal man in Camelot fr”

al'Lan Mandragoran, The Wheel of Time (2022) Portrayed by: Daniel Henney

“He's a kickass but intelligent and stoic warrior who is amazing with a sword. He always puts others first. He's devoted practically his whole life to protecting a woman who he has no romantic relationship with, just because he respects her and her cause that much.”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Sir Gwaine:

“He brings a certain Irish charm to this role and every single character in this show fancied him. Every single person watching this show fancied him. I fancy him a bit and I'm a lesbian.”

“I'm someone who rarely crushes, but I was OBSESSED with him. The hair, the attitude, the loyalty. Plus he's just hot.”

“Just look at him”

For

[yawnderu]

Heaven only gives you the chance to say the right thing once. Simon never once used his— not when he was tortured, not when he rescued hostages, not when he was the judge in front of an executioner— no, he saved those words for the moment he was holding his beloved's hands in his, looking down at her with tears threatening to escape his eyes.

''I've been alive for 11315 days, and I can tell you this is the happiest one so far.'' He offers you a small smile as he squeezes your hands gently, eyes glossier as he feels you squeeze back.

''Never in my life I considered the chance of romance. Never dated, never even thought about what having a girlfriend was like. My duty was to protect my country and my family, never letting anything distract me— until I met you.'' His hand goes up to wipe a stray tear falling down your cheek, looking down at your beautiful face before he went back to hold your hands. He ignores the whistles and cheers from his mates, though the smile on his lips is clear.

''You somehow broke down all my barriers. You took the time to get to know me, never once doing anything that was out of my comfort zone. You learnt my body language, how to talk to me, how to get close, and before I knew it, I was planning our future in my head.'' A small chuckle escapes his lips, looking slightly embarrassed to be confessing this in front of his mates.

''You were the reason I was extra careful in missions, more so than I've ever been, because I never wanted you to open the door just to find the old man holding my dog tags.'' He looks back at Price, who looks just like a proud father and gives him an encouraging smile.

''Thank you for bearing with me even when I was difficult. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me and thank you for showing me what love is. With you, I learned that home isn't just four walls; home is a tent in the middle of the woods, home is a cup of tea after a long day, home is being held in your arms when I need it the most— home is anywhere you're at.'' Simon sniffled, trying his best to hold back tears despite the way your figure was getting blurrier by the second.

''You showed me love, patience, care, and never once complained about me being difficult. I know I never told you, but I fell in love with you ever since I first saw you. I pushed those thoughts to the back of my mind until I was unable to hide them any longer, and I know that if I ever did something right, it was falling in love with you.'' A single tear rolled down his cheek and he let it. There wasn't any shame on crying in front of you or his mates.

''I, Simon Riley, swear to protect you with everything I have. To be loyal, caring, faithful, honest, respectful, and kind. I promise I'll always be there for you. To listen to you, to make you laugh with my great jokes.'' Your giggle interrupted him, brown eyes shining with pure love.

''To cry with, to laugh with, to celebrate with. I make these promises in front of our loved ones, and I will keep them for as long as I live.'' He smiled down at you, leaning in for a kiss before realizing that he couldn't kiss you until the priest finished the ceremony. Instead, he leaned his forehead against yours, the look in his eyes telling you he will keep those promises forever.

A/N: little wedding fic I owed @connorsui , thank you for always supporting my content, your reblogs are always so much fun to read<3 and thank you so much to everyone, we made it to 3.5k a bit after I reached 3k<333

I'll start answering the asks I have pending!!<33

[jellybonbons]

Calm husband x Assertive wife headcanons

DI!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

A/N: heavily inspired by safa and fahad’s relationship from dubai bling.

Leon with a wife who is a bit of a firecracker—she's got that bratty streak, a stubborn side, and isn't afraid to speak her mind. But beneath all that, she's also incredibly understanding, compassionate, and fiercely loyal (only to him and her loved ones).

After all he's been through, he's looking for someone who can keep him grounded, bring him back down to earth, or just take charge in the relationship. He wants to be pampered and taken care of.

Leon, who's all about going with the flow, has this "it is what it is" mindset, but you, his wife, are the one who calls the shots on his behalf. As Leon grew older, he stopped giving fucks except for his darling wife.

Take driving, for example. If someone cuts him off, he's the type to shrug it off. But you? You're the one with road rage, ready to give them a piece of your mind. And when his order gets messed up, he'll just eat it, but not you. You'll be marching up to the manager, making sure he gets what he paid for because, hey, it's all about getting your his money's worth.

"Sweetheart, it's fine, really," he said, offering a small smile.

"No, it's not. You specifically said no chilli. And what do they do? Add it in anyway. It's like they're gunning for you," you replied, clearly irritated and a tad dramatic. Poor white man can't handle his spice.

Sometimes you'd push the limit, and he'd have your back. But once you're home and out of the public eye, he'll give you a lecture about where you went wrong. It might take you a minute to actually hear him out because, let's face it, you're stubborn. But he's got his tricks to make sure you eventually listen, if you know what I mean.

People might raise eyebrows at your marriage because you two are total opposites. They whisper nonsense behind your back because of your straightforwardness and confidence, and that's something Leon doesn't let slide. That's when he gives a damn, because nobody gets to badmouth his wife.

"I heard Leon's wife is quite controlling. Poor guy can't even make a decision without her approval," someone remarked, their tone condescending.

"Excuse me," Leon quickly interjected. "Let me make one thing clear: my wife is not controlling. Decisions in our marriage are made together, as equals."

“And if I hear anyone disrespecting her again, there will be consequences. Understood?" His tone was firm as he addressed his subordinates with a hard gaze. 

"Yes sir," the subordinates replied hastily, scrambling to return to their tasks.

This might have been the only instance he'd wield his authority as the top agent, but it was a line he wouldn't allow anyone to cross. 

What really makes your relationship click is the mutual respect and understanding you both share, along with your shared drive and ambition. You get that his job can eat up a lot of his time, with weeks and even months away from home, and sure, it gets to you sometimes. But he's pretty good at making it up to you (material gestures and physical affection).

Leon really appreciates how you get his career demands, and he's all for you pursuing your own career path too. He'd rather see you doing your thing than stuck at home while he's away. However, if and when you decide to have children, he might lean towards the idea of you being a stay-at-home mom, though ultimately, he respects it's entirely your decision.

As for that tracker thing, it's not about being controlling; it's more about being protective. With him going on those risky missions, you like having a way to keep tabs on him and make sure he's safe. At first, he wasn't too keen on the idea, but when you explained how it eases your mind, he kinda got it. Plus, it's kinda fun to mess around with it sometimes, right?

“Hey, where'd you sneak off to earlier?" you asked with a mock sternness, tapping your foot as Leon entered the room. "Your little dot disappeared for a while there."

Leon raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What are you talking about? I've been right here the whole time."

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Oh really? Because according to the tracker, you vanished into thin air."

A grin spread across Leon's face as he produced a cup of boba from behind his back, "I may have noticed a certain someone was feeling a bit down, so I thought I'd surprise her with her favourite pick-me-up.”

“Aw, Leon!” you exclaimed, jumping on him and nearly causing him to drop the boba and possibly break his back in the process.

[star2fishmeg]

can you share some of your Luke recs?

Of course! I may have gone a bit overboard but I just love love love all these fics and their authors so so much. I highly recommend all these writers and their blogs, from the nsfw to the sfw, I couldn't stress how highly I respect and recommend them enough:

≡ᴍᴇɢ's ʟᴜᴋᴇ ʜᴜɢʜᴇs ғɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄs

—SMUT

♥ again by @hhughes (you can find her on @bedsyandco now I think) ➥ I frequently find myself going back to this one, the way Cami has written it is just so addicting and it's so hot.

♥ the mortifying ordeal of being a 20 year old virgin by @theemporium ➥ This series is hard as hell, literally love it. Each chapter is just divine and I love Luke and reader's dynamic, it's so juicy and with every new chapter, I think I literally heel click and do a jig.

♥ escape from la by @eyesthatroll ➥ Another one I go back to often, still think about it to this day actually, I just picture it vividly and it gives me butterflies every time.

♥ locker room by @lucijawriteswords ➥ Words cannot describe how much of a chokehold this one has on me. Angry Luke is so hot and I can't stop thinking about the imagery and I want this so bad.

♥ those sleepless nights - @wineauntie ➥ I present to you; my bedtime story. Sleepy smut is just so yummy, you know? And I just wanted Luke wrapped around me after I read this, I now go back to it when it's some silly hour of the morning.

♥ stress reduction by @goldfades ➥ Bro I cannot begin to explain how many times I've read this one. Short and sweet and so sensual, I want it. You'll literally read it and feel something.

♥ risqué reflections by @sweetestdesire ➥ This is the place for filth and I'm a loyal customer. This fic had me doing deep breaths and GOD it's so yummy. Read it once and then went back because the buzz it gave me.

♥ the green eyed monster by @puck-luck ➥ Jealousy has never looked hotter on a man. I remember reading this one morning before uni and yeah let's say I wasn't thinking about my class that day. Andy went all in with this and Jesus it was hot as fuck.

—FLUFF

♥ he's been a bit of a jerk by @quinnylouhughesx43 ➥ I've never liked the winter more, I need Luke to come find my lonely ass and kiss me too. This was too cute honestly and the second part is just as good. Recommend reading them back-to-back.

♥ too tall by @toasttt11 ➥ Anything to do with height differences has me in shambles and this was so cute. I just love the image of Luke standing in the kitchen at 12am like a deer in headlights.

♥ uh oh by @be4chywritez ➥ The Curtis-Luke rivalry will always make me giggle and even funnier with the sneaking around trope, I adored this and the locker room scene. The whole thing is so cute and lighthearted.

♥ jelly on a plate by @wineauntie ➥ I dislike the process of flying so this was a really comforting read and I love it so much. It's adorable and reassuring at the same time and if you're not a fan of flying, I really recommend having Luke with you in spirit.

♥ my princess by @lvrhughes ➥ No because this one's fun and fresh and adorable. Something about drunken nights will always get me, especially when it's one looking after the other. Filled my heart with warmth.

♥ caught by @ifimdreaming ➥ Love this one a lot, it's funny and cute. It perfectly portrays siblings having an argument and Trevor making an appearance will always be funny. Luke is just too cute and love me protective Luke.

♥ kiss her you fool by @withwritersblock ➥ Tooth rotting fluff, friends to lovers and just pining and that's my cup of tea. Loverboy Luke has you aching for him to be honest and you'll wish you were y/n and so much touching that has you tingling.

♥ "are you awake yet?" blurb by @bedsyandco @hhughes ➥ I wish I had this in my life, honestly. Read this and you wish you did too. It's so sweet it makes me kick my feet and twirl my hair, run laps around my room, go through my Luke Pinterest board. I love the way Cami writes Luke.

[lynn-w3st]

MK: Preference One Shot #4

Prompt: Syzoth, Johnny, Raiden, Liu Kang, Rain, Bi Han, Tomas, and Hanzo react to the reader having a confident flirtatious and sassy personality like Bayonetta. Bonus Noob Saibot.

Note: This was requested from my dear bestie @khaotic-kris. I hope you enjoy it and I was more than happy to make this for you 😊🥺.

This took a long time to make but I’m very honor and happy to make this. So sorry if some of these came out to inaccurate, I tried my best but if you have questions please message me.

Raiden

This precious pookie is so down bad for his mommy (Y,N). He blushes deeply when you tease him but admires how confident you are.

He would literally do ANYTHING for you. Raiden often wonders how he landed with such a magnificent woman like yourself.

You often tease him when you both would be having a friendly spar in the academy. Johnny teases him badly when he is caught staring at you. (Please let him marry you.)

Raiden gets super flustered when you flirt with him and often tries to flirt back but your mommy rizz is to much for him.

Aside from all the teasing and flirting, you have a very strong and unbreakable bond with him as you are willing to go through hardships and obstacles to protect him.

Raiden worries for you as he knows that you hate being emotionally vulnerable in which he reminds you that it is ok to seek help as he’s willing do anything for you.

This precious pookie would do anything for you and his deep unconditional love for you is what makes him train harder and vows to always protect you and make you happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Liu Kang

This man is precious and a gentleman. Please he gets super flustered when you tease him or jokingly flirt with him on random occasions.

Liu Kang doesn’t really know how to handle a woman of that caliber such as yourself but he is respectful and caring towards you.

He is such a gentleman towards you it’s so adorable. Gets shy when you flirt with him to rizz him up but he is extremely loyal.

This man immediately notice your fake behavior by trying to act sassy to cover up your emotional vulnerability. Please this man will remind you that it is ok to show emotions and to let yourself be vulnerable.

Liu Kang will support you and show you how much he loves you and how much he cares even when he’s busy as an Elder God.

He admires your overprotective attitude towards him and to others as you are willing to go through hell to protect those you love.

This adorable pookie is a gentleman and a softly because he’s willing to always protect and shower you with his unconditional love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zeffeero (Rain)

Zeffeero admires your confidence since he’s also confident and a bit arrogant himself. He is old school will court you the old fashion way.

Rain will actually flirt back at you but in a formal and romantic way. He is Outworld’s best mage so he is immediately courting you by sending you love letters and flowers.

He loves the way you tease others and admires your sassy attitude as he finds it very attractive when you use your rizz.

Zeffeero will show you his magic and often do little shows with it to make you smile and laugh just for you because he’s in love.

Since you are a powerful witch yourself, Rain would often ask if you don’t mind training him so he can admire your skills.

He notice how much you would cover up your emotional vulnerability by putting up a fake sassy behavior but will remind you that it is ok to be vulnerable and seek support.

Rain loves you so much as he is willing to support you and will do anything for you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Syzoth (Reptile)

Like Raiden, Syzoth is deeply in love with you but often times he wonders why would you fall in love and marry with a freak monster like him.

This cutie of a man get so flustered easily as he deeply loves you with all his heart and often gets scared that you would get taken away from him like his previous family.

Szyoth would get extremely flustered and cover his blush face when you flirt with him and shower him with kisses and cuddles.

Please he would do anything for you as he is afraid to lose you to and often tells you that he’s will be there for you all the times.

Johnny teases the hell out of him when you flirt with him. He deeply admires your confidence and headstrong attitude.

Syzoth deeply worries for you as he sees how much you dislike being emotionally vulnerable and often reminds you that he is there for you and will do anything for you.

To say the least Szyoth can’t image a life without you as you are his world and new purpose. He loves you and will protect you

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tomas (Smoke)

This pookie cinnamon roll is in love with you that it’s so wholesome and adorable. He loves his strong and confident princess and is a good boyfriend to you. Biggest green card ever.

Tomas gets extremely shy and flustered when you tease him occasionally. This man will blush super madly that smoke (no pun intended) will come out from his body.

This man will do anything for you and often admires your confident and sassy attitude as it lightens up his day after feeling down.

Smokey bear treats his princess with lots of love and care. Often makes you relax as he cooks, cleans and tends to your needs. You both would cuddle in each others arms.

Madam Bo (Granny) playfully teases him when he would take you on a date to her tea house. She is proud of her baby boy.

Often worries for you when you try to hide your emotional vulnerability as he wants to help you and is willing to share your burden.

He admires your fighting skills and has heart eyes when you would take down your enemies. His loyalty to you is unbreakable as he is willing to go to the end of the world just for you as he wants spend his life with you and hopes to start a family of his own.

Johnny Cage

Knowing his cocky and arrogant personality this man has a huge mommy kink for you. (He doesn’t mind you stepping all over on him.)

Johnny will literally worship the ground you walk on. This man is such a big simp to you that he is willing to do ANYTHING for you.

This man will constantly posts about you on social media like it’s not even funny. He is so super down bad for you that he gets extremely blushy and hot when you flirt.

Star boy here would faint at the amount of teasing and flirting he gets from you. Your mommy rizz makes him feel so blushy.

Please this man desperate for his mommy that he is puppy material when you save his life and vows to treat you like a Queen.

Aside from his simp behavior, Johnny is a good partner and often makes you feel safe and comfortable by making dinner or giving you loads and loads of hugs and soft kisses.

Johnny loves your sassy nature but often gets worried as he notice that you dislike showing emotional vulnerability which he reminds you that he is supporting you and that he’s willing to help you out in anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bi Han (Sub Zero)

Like Johnny, this man secretly has a mommy kink. The Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei is a simp for a strong and loyal woman like yourself that is the only one fit to rule by his side as his wife.

Bi Han will lowkey get a bit erotic when you flirt and tease him. This man is secretly a mommy worshipper he’s down bad for you.

He admires your confident personality and fighting skills. Worships you by treating you like an empress and gifting you expensive gifts for you like jewelry, clothes and etc.

The Grandmaster will not allow anyone to disrespect you and show them how much you mean to the Lin Kuei. He will kill for you and gets jealous when you tease others. (He gets rizz up by your teasing nature.)

Expect a lot of heating and intimate private moments between the two of you. Let’s just say he makes sure to show you who you belong to by marking you as his.

Bi Han would shower you with love and affection and does secrets services by massaging you after a long mission or simply cuddling with you in his arms.

He may not be very good with emotional support but he’s is willing to tear the world apart if someone threatens you and won’t rest until that poor bastard is dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hanzo Hasashi (Scorpion)

The new Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu would be both in awe and down bad in love with you. You better believe this man is on cloud nine.

This man is so in love that he gets flustered when you tease him in front of his students. He will make sure to punish you for that 😉.

Hanzo admires your confidence and loyalty and often finds your sassy nature attractive.

He knows how you hate being emotionally vulnerable so he remind you that it is ok to be vulnerable and he’s always there for you.

His students often tease him when he would get flustered when you flirt with him, this man has a bit of a mommy kink for you.

He gets a bit hard when take down the enemies and use your flirtatious skills to seduce your enemies for any information.

Hanzo loves you with his whole being and is such a gentleman towards you and will do anything for you like cooking dinner, giving you a massage or simply cuddling with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bonus: (Something extra)

Noob Saibot (Bi Han)

Just like his counterpart, this man has a very big mommy kink for you. He sees you as his beautiful goddess and will gladly serve for you.

Like I said, this man will be like Johnny and have a massive mommy kink towards you. This man will and would mark you as his.

Bi Han gets erotic when you flirt with him or tease your enemies in front of him as he felt himself get extremely possessive of you. He gets jealous and would get extremely hard.

This man will literally worship the ground you walk on. He is such a big simp to you that he is willing to do ANYTHING for you.

Expect a lot of heating and intimate private moments between the two of you. Let’s just say he makes sure to show you who you belong to by marking you as his.

Noob Saibot would gladly serve you and would deal with anyone who dares to use your emotional vulnerability against you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you guys enjoy and this took very long to make so I’m deeply sorry if some characters came out inaccurate but I did tried my best.

[vettelsvee]

I CAN BUY YOU SOME FLOWERS | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | requests or let's talk!

redbull sebastian vettel x journalist!reader

word count: 1955

warnings: seb just being a flirt and then, a shy sunshine who just wants to surprise reader :) use of y/n.

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

After an intense race dominated by Red Bull, with Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber securing a 1-2 finish, respectively, it was Y/N Y/L/N's turn to interview the winner. With her notebook in one hand and a recorder in another, she quickly adjusted her attire to look as presentable as possible before the interview with who she considered her favorite person to interview started.

"Congratulations, Sebastian!" the girl began as the blonde approached her. "As always, an impressive victory. How do you feel about it? You've achieved, if I'm not wrong, a total of six consecutive wins this season."

"Thank you very much, Y/N," Vettel replied as professionally as he could. "It was a really tough race. We had to push hard and extract energy from the car where there wasn't any to maintain our lead," he explained, focusing his gaze on the journalist. "Still, I can't help but be happy with the result. The team has done an incredible job."

Y/L/N was nervous. She knew that, sooner or later, the world champion would start with the back-and-forth banter so characteristic of their relationship, punctuated with his... kinda romantic jokes.

"Let's talk about today's strategy," the journalist abruptly changed the subject, following the agenda outlined in her notebook. "Do you think it lived up to previous ones, or should it improve in any aspect for future races?"

Sebastian laughed, crossing his arms.

"I don't think I should tell you anything about strategies just in case the other teams hear us, Y/N. But for you... I'll say that strategy is like dancing in a nightclub," the blonde explained. "Sometimes it's crowded, and you have no space. Other times, the floor is all yours, and there are moments when you have to improvise to get the girl, and that's what I did today, trusting myself and my instincts."

She nodded, inwardly amused by the ridiculous comparison made by the current championship leader.

"So, you see," he continued, "it seems the strategy turned out to be a success. I hope Horner and Marko are proud of me."

"They surely are, Sebastian," the journalist affirmed. "And now, I'd like to move on to talk about your teammate, Mark Webber. Your ups and downs are known worldwide, especially among your team's loyal followers. Is there anything you'd like to highlight about him? We've never heard you say anything positive about the Australian, and I'd like to give that scoop to the world."

"You're right. If I don't mention Mark, he'll probably give me a good scolding as soon as I finish talking to you," Vettel commented in a mocking tone. "Okay, I'll be honest with you: if it weren't for them, I wouldn't have many great races. But don't tell Mark or his ego will skyrocket!"

The young woman laughed once again. She knew that, in some way, Sebastian was right, but she was also aware of all the great achievements he had accomplished as the three-time world champion.

"Don't worry, Sebastian," the brunette assured him, "your secret is safe with me."

"Call me Seb, darling."

There it was.

The moment she, deep down, had been waiting for. Sebastian the flirt Vettel had once again made a stellar appearance, and the journalist was sure he wouldn't leave anytime soon.

She didn't know why it mattered to her. After all, he had the same stupid behavior with the rest of the female journalists.

She wasn't special.

"Let me improvise a bit, Seb," she suggested, emphasizing the pilot's nickname.

Before he could utter a word, the girl was already formulating the question that had been eating away at her every time she saw the seductive side of the man in front of her.

"Everyone knows that you're quite the charmer. Why do you show this kind of character every time you have an interview, especially with people of the opposite sex?"

Vettel chuckled, somewhat surprised by the question even though he didn't want to admit it. If there was one thing he had liked about Y/N Y/L/N from the moment he met her it was how direct she was in each of the interviews he had had the pleasure of conducting with her.

"Are you seriously accusing me of being the greatest seducer Formula 1 has ever seen?" the pilot asked with a mischievous smirk. "What can I say: it's all because of the adrenaline of the races. I also quite enjoy female company, especially yours."

The woman exhaled, knowing it was one of his many tactics to charm women into bed, as she had heard from other colleagues.

"I'm just being myself, enjoying the moment, and speaking my mind, trying not to mess up too much because, as you may have noticed, I don't always come out on top," the blonde continued, now completely opening up to the woman.

"You have a natural charm that makes you very special. Now I understand why you have so many fans," the journalist clarified. "Sometimes it feels like a One Direction concert here!"

"Yeah, I've heard of them," Seb said casually. "But I think it's also because I enjoy the conversations many of them offer me, because they're very beautiful. But not more than you, by the way."

Sebastian Vettel was totally playing with her, but try as she might, she couldn't help but start to fall for his charms.

"Oh, wow... Thank you, Seb," Y/N whispered, blushing.

"I'm just saying the truth. I mean it."

The young woman was static, unsure whether to believe what the pilot was telling her at that moment. His eyes seemed sincere, and as her grandmother used to say: eyes never lie.

"Changing the subject, princess. What are your favorite flowers?"

"Tulips," the young woman blurted out without thinking, impressed by Sebastian's compliments. "If it's possible, yellow ones."

"Noted," the blonde replied, touching his temple with his index finger.

"But why are you asking me this...?"

However, Sebastian Vettel was already walking away from the girl accompanied by Britta, his PR. The last thing Y/N saw before turning around was Seb smiling at her as he waved with his left hand, and all the media astonished by the conversation they had witnessed between them.

It had been a few weeks, almost a month, since Y/N had her last interaction with Sebastian, and to say she missed him was an understatement. The summer break had allowed her to rest and, fortunately, disconnect from everything, although not as much as she would have liked.

Most importantly, despite her incredible memory, she didn't remember a part of the conversation she had with the German.

So, as soon as she returned to work at the Belgian Grand Prix and found a large and beautiful bouquet of tulips in her hotel room, along with a box of chocolates and an anonymous note, she was surprised. No one cared about her enough to behave in such a way.

The same thing happened the night before the qualifying session at Monza. When she opened her door to go to the buffet for dinner, her eyes lit up upon discovering a large bouquet of yellow tulips on the floor, arranged in a green vase. Next to them was a handwritten note that read, "For the most charming journalist. Enjoy these tulips and rest for tomorrow's race, you deserve it for all the hard work you're doing. With love, you're number 1 fan."

Curious and excited, she took, somewhat trembling hands due to nervousness, a small wrapped box hanging from the vase. Carefully, she began to open it, revealing a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a Formula 1 steering wheel, something she was passionate about.

A few weeks later, the Friday before the Singapore Grand Prix, Y/N was busy finishing preparing some questions and other different dynamics from the usual ones for the meetings she had with the drivers, including Sebastian. As she finished and made her way from her hotel to the circuit to do her job, she saw something that puzzled her: a figure that looked quite familiar was standing in front of a flower stall, casually choosing a bouquet of tulips and communicating with the vendor as best he could.

She stopped dead in her tracks, surprised, though not as much as she had expected, to recognize Sebastian as the cause of all those details that had been reaching her since last August. Although she was aware that she was running late and might miss the opportunity to speak with some other drivers, she couldn't miss the chance to see how the German was preparing everything.

Sebastian, after some indecision, chose a bouquet of tulips, but this time they were white. After exchanging a few words with the shopkeeper and having paid and thanked him for his service, he left with a big smile on his face.

So it was Vettel all this time..., the girl thought to herself.

When she arrived at the paddock, she found the German driver sitting in a corner away from all the hustle and bustle writing a note. The look of concentration he showed while writing, with his tongue sticking out slightly, melted the journalist's heart.

Undoubtedly, if Seb was doing this, she didn't know what to think about it. Maybe she had judged him too quickly, and he wasn't as much of a womanizer as she initially thought he could be.

After a few minutes, eaten away by impatience, she decided to approach him. As Sebastian looked up and met her gaze, she couldn't hide her nerves.

"Oh, hi, Y/N," he greeted, blushing. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Looks like I caught, huh?" she questioned. "You seemed very focused preparing another one of your famous surprises."

Sebastian laughed nervously; he was definitely caught red-handed. He knew it would happen sooner or later, but he still didn't feel ready to face the girl he loved.

"It seems so. Surprise?"

"Why didn't you ever tell me it was you behind all of this?" the journalist scolded. "You have no idea the headaches I've had these past few months."

"Well..." the boy started, playing with his hands. "I wanted it to be a surprise, and maybe... I was also a bit afraid of how you would react to knowing it was me. I know you think I go from flower to flower, like a sailor, and I thought you might have a bit of a grudge against me for that," he confessed.

Y/N felt weird, because that was exactly what she had been thinking all this time about the driver with whom she had had to spend so much time in interviews, press conferences, and other events.

Once again, life was teaching her not to judge people by their appearances or the comments of others.

"Sebastian," Y/N began, "I loved receiving the surprises you had prepared, but you didn't need to hide behind anonymity. I would have preferred them if you had been more direct."

"Really?" Vettel replied, looking at her intently. "I didn't think you'd like me showing up at your door with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a box of chocolates, and singing you a song like some mariachis."

"In fact, I would have liked it a lot," she contradicted him. "It shows that you care about whatever you want to have with me and, above all, that you make efforts to make me feel special."

Was Y/N intimidating a three-time Formula 1 world champion?

"Then I think it's time for the surprises to stop being anonymous," Sebastian declared, doing his best to calm his anxiety. "Give me an opportunity and I'll show you how much you mean to me right now, and how important you can be in my life in the future."

[dragon-ascent]

Hello, how are you ? Since you have open request I’d like to ask something : How do you think our favorite dragon Zhongli will react to his wife being accused of lying because they have corrected an historian on a false fact about Morax ?

Since English isn’t my first language I’m afraid this is not clear, I’m sorry.

Ooh, I like it, here's what I've come up with <3

-----

The tension is palpable and certainly not what you were hoping to land yourself in when you accepted Zhongli's request to be his plus-one aboard the Pearl Galley.

"Forgive me, Mr. Changying, but that's where I'll have to correct you," you tell the stocky man before you. The food and drinks on the table are long-untouched. "Rex Lapis didn't take on such a grand ten-headed and eight-armed form to exterminate those sea creatures. In fact, he personally went door to door to trap them in little Geo contraptions, even having a bit of trouble with the.... particularly wrigglier ones."

Changying's eyes practically roll into the back of his head. "Do you truly believe that rubbish just because that is what's commonly peddled? That the Geo archon, who could raise the mountains and calm the tides without breaking a sweat, found the task of getting rid of tiny sea creatures tedious and challenging?"

Sighing, you say, "Even the gods are subject to being less-than-perfect in their methods. And besides, the damn things were inside people's houses - brute strength would not have been handy at all. Rex Lapis needed to be careful and meticulous so that none of his people were harmed. Hence the Geo cages."

Despite how neatly you'd presented your counterpoint, Changying merely scoffs as he adjusts his glasses. He jabs a finger at you accusingly. "You're lying, just like everyone else," he growls, "and you clearly have no respect for our late archon! Do you even like him?"

Your breath nearly hitches in your throat as you gaze up at him in shock. "Ex...excuse me?"

The man pulls no punches as he continues his rant against you. "How can you so blindly believe what the masses think? Maybe if you were a real Rex Lapis follower like me, you would learn some critical thinking skills and draw more accurate conclusions!"

"I'm afraid I am on the side of my partner here, Mr. Changying," cuts in Zhongli, placing an arm on your shoulder. Relief floods your veins as you let out the breath you'd been holding. "They are correct in explaining that Rex Lapis had to go the simplistic route when dealing with Liyue's sea creature infestation."

Changying's eyes grow wide. "Forgive me, Mr. Zhongli," he murmurs, and you're not ignorant to the way his tone mellows out and becomes more respectful as he continues to speak. "I didn't know you were also in agreement of that story. But let me explain why he likely-"

"It is alright for you to have your own interpretations of events, especially for a being with an expansive history that is always being debated over," says Zhongli calmly, poised as always, "but when these interpretations are unrealistic and you still try to present them as fact...while belittling other people, no less...the line must be drawn somewhere, yes?"

Changying blanches, stammering, "Er, but don't you think Rex Lapis would appreciate deviating thought processes more, especially when..."

Zhongli's eyes narrow ever so slightly, his visage still calm as a pond. "Perhaps so, but what he would not appreciate is his people trying to one-up others in an attempt to prove they are his most loyal followers." Your husband glances at you. "I know my partner well, and they love Rex Lapis dearly. Not only do you accuse them of lying, you also undermine the love they hold for the deity."

His hand brushes against yours and he interlaces his fingers with you, giving a gentle, reassuring squeeze. You smile softly.

Changying scrambles for words, useless excuses and explanations that hardly justify him being on his high horse.

Zhongli, unamused, fires his parting shot. "Far be it for an ordinary man like myself to tell you what to do, but here is some advice: gather reliable citations for your claims, provide succinct evidence, and be respectful of those with opposing views, and perhaps then Rex Lapis would consider you a favorite of his."

With that, Zhongli escorts you away from the scene, knowing full well you will always be his favorite by far - the approving smile he gives you conveys that perfectly.

[moodymisty]

Author's note: @mothiir You wanted it, I delivered. I decided to stop poking at it and just post it or else I’ll keep changing it forever.

Relationships: Konrad Curze/Fem!Reader/Sanguinius

Warnings: NSFW, Not a menage e trois more so like you have your husband and also the feral rat man who comes out from under your bed at night fingers you and then leaves, Double penetration, I will tag incest purely because having your brother join you while you fuck your beloved is pretty fucking weird lol, A bit of breeding kink on Sanguinius' side, Rough sex, Anal

Konrad had been able to tell the moment he caught sight of Sanguinus that he was hungry.

His skin is pallid, feathers oddly misshapen. The spaces under his eyes were just that bit more hollow, his hair was limper and lacked some of that golden glow.

He has been so busy on Terra, fluttering from primarch to primarch giving greetings and advice, he has forgotten- once again- to care for himself. It's unsurprising; He's done this to himself many times before.

He’s talking with Lion now; They’ve been there for hours as the Dark Angels train in the massive open flats of marble tile surrounded by golden pillars.

You aren't with the angel, which doesn't surprise Konrad. While most of the primarchs know of Sanguinius' beloved, who Sanguinius' own sons have begun to call Mother Angel, he doesn't often bring you along when he is preforming his role as primarch.

Konrad thinks it's because he's attempting to spare you from it. To make you think he's less violent, less bloodthirsty than his brothers. He wants you to remain this gentle figure, soothing his sons with your voice and smile when they fall wayward.

Sanguinius in reality is just as bloodthirsty and tyrannical as the rest of them- he is just far better at keeping that side of him covered with silken fabrics and deep within himself, for the sake of his relationship with you. For the sake of seeming like the most human of all of them.

But Konrad... He doesn’t know what the relationship between you and him is. What to call it. How to describe it.

You are Sanguinus’ beloved; But your relationship with him started because Konrad brought you to him in one of those neglectful fits, where Sanguinius refuses to satiate in his own desires. To reap his reward after toiling so hard to save the galaxy.

But despite you being fully loyal to your angel, your lord husband, your primarch, both you and said angel have been more than amicable in letting Konrad continue to, indulge.

He’s never felt less like garbage- dirty water flowing through a sewer pipe. He knows your heart is bound to Sanguinus, but you’ve reserved a place somewhere in it for him. He is fine with that arrangement; It is far more than he would've ever expected to have. More than he would've even dared to think he could have. But he still feels as if he shouldn't touch you- you're The Mother Angel, and yet you are often at mercy to the blood stained hands of a nightmare in the dark.

Your gentle hands weave through his greasy hair; He feels the soft smooth caress of your skin.

‘You deserve respect just as much as them, I don’t believe that your birthplace should deny you that.’

He remembers a bit of a vision that had racked his mind little more than a week ago. He wonders when it will come to pass.

A vision he… Looks forward to.

Perhaps this situation is the least kept secret between the two legions; Sanguinus has hinted that his sons are displeased he allows the Night Haunter near their legion mother. While most of his own Night Lords find the situation amusing. Shang jokes that he is slowly turning their legion mother into something other than an angel- and Konrad doesn't find the jest entirely inaccurate. Other Night Lords often goad fights by making remarks about the Sanguinius' beloved and Curze, of which rarely ends without some form of altercation.

Once Lion finally leaves and Sanguinius is suitably alone, Konrad pulls himself from the shadow of a large marble pillar and starts walking towards him. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his loose trousers, the oversized cloth covering his torso hiding most of his body's shape.

"You don't look very well."

Sanguinius turns to look at him, before loosing the expression of mild surprise in place of irritation over Konrad's upfront observation.

"I could say the same about you, brother."

Raking a hand through his wavy blonde hair he adds a bit of body to it, so it isn't laying as lifeless against his face. But even after doing so Konrad can still see the dull sheen of his skin and hair.

“How long has it been since you've been with her? She’s more than healthy for you to bite her again.”

Sanguinus looks at him tired and a more than a bit irritated, shifting his tight jaw. His feathers are tight to his wings, and Konrad catches one twitch out of the corner of his eye. Turning away, Sanguinius sighs and purses his lips before managing to gather his words.

“I... Do not have the time to indulge myself like that.” Konrad rolls his eyes.

“Then make the time.”

Sanguinus stutters just a bit, as if somehow not expecting him to be so succinct.

“I cannot just, abandon my brothers- I only have so long with them before we are all separated again on our own journeys.”

Konrad lets out a sharp laugh, taking his hands from his trouser pockets and gesturing one arm out into the wide open space.

“They are not children, Sanguinus! I am sure Lion and Horus and whoever the fuck else demands your presence can more than survive in the few hours you don’t gossip with them.” Konrad gestures vaguely behind him with a pale, bony hand.

"Go. Eat. Go fuck her- do both I don't care, or I will drag you there myself. I didn't give her to you so you could lock her away and not enjoy yourself."

Sanguinius doesn't falter yet, and holds firm that he is far too busy to indulge his inhuman appetite. No matter how much Konrad thinks he deserves it; To take what he wants after so long of giving.

If this method won’t work, then perhaps he’ll have to change gears. Konrad's face is somewhat neutral and loses his previous frustration.

“You know she misses you, yes? She wants you.”

Sanguinus softens expression slightly. He's assuming Konrad has been near you quire recently, he can smell the scent of your perfume distantly around him. He had gifted it to you.

“Her body stinks,” Konrad uses a foul adjective despite the smell being the exact opposite; inhumanly addicting to the post-human men like Konrad who can smell it. “She wants you to fuck her so badly her body is crying.”

The angel looks away from him, clearly at the thin edge of his patience. In that wayward glance he notices Lion returning- but when he looks back, Konrad is gone.

The quiet of the massive, primarch sized room breaks occasionally from the sound of wet squelching, and the gentle whimpers that you fail to swallow.

Konrad's fingers slip into the wet, velvety heat of your cunt, listening to you cry underneath him. The room is dark other than a few dim light sources in the corners, illuminating just enough for you to see the sinewy figure that traps you if you look over your shoulder. You can only see him caging you onto the bed, a hand pushed beneath the blanket to pull your nightdress high enough to access the apex of your thighs.

"If you're a little louder, maybe you can call him."

Konrad jokes at your expense, commenting on your whines and gasps as he roughly fingers you. They slip so deep inside of you it's like he's finding places untouched, curling and beckoning you that your hands grip the pillows like a lifeline and your legs kick at the air and the blankets; But Konrad's weight holds you firmly in place.

He knows the angel is coming. He can hear the sound of his heavy footsteps, as the bait he had laid was too tempting for him to ignore. Konrad knew it would be.

The door opens not moments later, and he quickly shuts it behind him when he hears the soft, wet noises of your cunt tightly wrapping around Konrad's fingers, and the smell of sex hits his nose.

"Konrad, she should be asleep."

He laughs, pulling his fingers from your greedy cunt and looking over his shoulder at Sanguinius. The angel is on his last edge, swallowing thickly.

The smell in the air is sheer torment to him; You already were so sweet smelling when you were aroused, but now underneath that sweet scent is the heavier note of your body telling him you're fertile. Konrad was right.

He had done the dirty work of making sure you could take them, relaxing and stretching your cunt until your own juices were slick down your inner thighs.

You still looked a bit drowsy as you lay trapped in the position you'd been sleeping in on your belly- though Konrad had little care about waking you up with the fabric of your underwear being torn away- listening to the cute little scream you let out muffled by the heat of his palm.

"She'll be fine. Come here."

The tired angel stands firm, despite the way the knot of his throat bobs when he swallows. Konrad rolls his eyes. Sanguinius continues to try and ignore his own urges, and it pisses him off.

"Fine. Then I'll fuck her myself."

That sentence is what finally draws an explosive reaction from Sanguinius, who suddenly takes multiple steps forward and almost reaches a hand out for him. Konrad can hear the borderline growl in his voice, the strain of holding back something far more primal than what he's ever shown beyond the battlefield.

“You don’t touch her cunt. Not now.”

He acquiesces, if only because he finds Sanguinus' defense of your fertile womb amusing.

“Fine. She has other holes.”

Konrad pulls away to allow the Angel to descend upon you, the pearly white of his wings seemingly glowing even in the dim lighting of the room.

"But then you better use it. The little whore has been begging to get fucked all these days you've abandoned her here."

Sanguinius pulls you from the blankets you were entangled in and into his lap, hands wrapping around your waist. You latch to him like he's been gone for years and go to kiss him, pressing your lips against his. The angle is awkward, Sanguinius sitting on the edge of the bed back arched to meet your wanting kiss. One hand slips between you both to undo his trousers, and the back of his hand brushes along your dripping cunt. You push your hips forward to follow the sensation of his warm skin, clit pressing against the back of his hand.

By the Throne he can smell it; The normal scent of your dripping arousal, along with something more. It tugs at his sanity and his hunger like fishhooks caught in a cheek.

His cock throbs in his hand as he frees it, and when he moves to notch the head of his cock at your entrance, you keen and gasp at the stretch; Hips wiggling.

"You're not going to eat first?"

Konrad says, hovering nearby and moving closer. The angel watches his every step. He's still wearing all of his clothing; It covers most of his thin form in a shapeless mass of dark fabric contrasting against his pale skin. Sanguinius hesitates for a moment, watching the way your small hands grasp at his own clothes, the bottom of your nightdress just barely covering your thighs and hiding the sight of his cock sinking into you.

"This is, this is more important."

Konrad laughs, showing his sharp canines.

"Sure, brother."

Konrad rounds to the back of you, as Sanguinius slowly moves to seat you onto his cock. The minute he's fully rooted in your cunt he can hear your desperate whimpers, full to the absolute brim. Even after multiple times, after so long of being teased and worked open, taking a primarch is still leaves you with almost no space to spare. The head of his cock lands frighteningly close to your cervix, threatening to knock on it.

Hands still covered in the sticky sweetness of your cunt, Konrad steps closer behind you- reaching a hand towards you. He glances to see Sanguinius' eyes. They're sharp and dark, near feral; Letting Konrad close but watching.

"What are you doing,"

He says when Konrad reaching a hand towards you and listens to the way you suddenly gasp, tightening around his cock. The feeling makes Sanguinius' teeth grind against each other, the already tight velvety feeling of our walls clenching around him like a vice at the other primarch's colder and less forgiving touch.

"I said she other holes. You didn't think I was going to come in here, warm her up for you and then leave without taking something for myself, did you?"

Sanguinius hums but it sounds more like a growl, allowing him into your personal space as Konrad slips two fingers into you. You mumble underneath your harsh breathes, of which Konrad hears but chooses not to heed.

"Konrad, go... Go slow,"

For a brief moment, Konrad wonders how much longer he'll be allowed to indulge in you, if Sanguinius is getting this possessive. He would be foolish to think this arrangement would last forever; In the end he knows he's getting to enjoy things he doesn't deserve.

He also knows that Sanguinus wants to get you pregnant. And if he manages it, Konrad knows you’ll be forever out of his reach.

"Konrad!"

You suddenly squeal as he pushes his fingers deeper into your ass, thrusting them in and out of you, the juices of your cunt making them slide in and out of you with without too much resistance. His other hand clumsily pulls at the groin of his loose and ragged trousers, trying to free himself. His fingers rock you on Sanguinius' cock, your thighs shaking as they already threaten to crumble under your own weight.

Once he manages to free himself, it isn't long before he takes a step closer and removes his fingers, replacing them with the head of his cock.

Sanguinius is already so much that it feels like your stomach is full up to your throat, and Konrad adds even more so much so that it feels like you're going to get rearranged and permanently changed.

As he pushes the head of his cock into you he hears the way you let out choked, desperate whines, hands tightening on Sanguinius nails digging into his skin. He feels your muscles clench and it almost hurts- how tight you are, but he loves it.

"Konrad- Konrad that's too much-"

He ignores your pleas; You're not in pain, if you were you'd be crying, begging and hiccuping-

He pushes himself deeper and deeper and feels your guts wrap so tight around him, as you lean forward into Sanguinius' chest.

"You're fine my love, you can take all of him, can't you?" Konrad talks over Sanguinius' soothing praises.

"She is, the little whore is damn well going to or I'm going to f-"

You gasp as he pushes even deeper, managing to seat himself entirely inside of you and feel the fabric of his trousers against the bare skin of your ass and thighs.

You've always felt that full, overwhelmed feeling whenever it was just one of them fucking you, but now you feel like one is going to push the other out, fighting for the limited space inside of you, or they will just readjust your organs to make room for the both of them. You don't know if you'll ever feel the same after.

Your nails dig into Sanguinius' flesh but fail to leave little more than marks, tears pricking the corner of your eyes as Konrad roughly pushes himself deeper. You didn't think he could but you gasp as he pulls out a bit and shoves himself back in, putting your forehead to Sanguinius' chest. Your clit throbs, stomach twisting in knots as they bully your insides and grind against nerves barely touched inside of you. Pressed between the two Primarchs they both argue over how to treat you, while in the end you’re stuck between them as a tight, warm thing to fuck.

"Careful. She's mine. I won't have you breaking her."

Konrad laughs, ignoring the snarl that stays on Sanguinius' face when the man thinks Konrad won't take him seriously.

"I won't. Unless she wants me to," Konrad leans down and puts his mouth close to your ear. His hot breath fans over your skin and his teeth nip at the shell of your ear, threatening to nick skin.

"Do you want me to? I can fuck you rough enough to tear you apart, you'll cry and cry and you'll never be the same-"

Sanguinius makes a noise deep in his throat and one of his hands raises to push the paler man away, and Konrad backs off with a sneer teeming with discontent while continuing to fuck your ass.

The two continue to drive themselves into you, pressing your body between them as you cry helplessly. Sanguinus holds your waist tight, keeps you upright against his chest, trying to support you as your body finally gives out from the abuse they're putting your body through. Sanguinius can feel when you cum around him, thighs quaking as your velvety walls clench around him. You don't have the voice to let out more than a shaky cry however, trying to catch your breath.

Konrad grits his teeth as you tighten around him, mewling as he relentlessly forces himself as deep as he can manage. He’s close, his hands grip your hips pulling you closer as you arch your back.

Konrad hisses as he finally cums inside of you, filling you with a seemingly never-ending warmth that makes you let out a weak, defeated moan. It wavers like you want to cry, and the sound almost makes him want to fuck you all over again.

Konrad pulls out of you, hearing your whimpers of complaint. His cum gently leaks down your thigh, but you don't have the energy to say much more. Sanguinius however stays seated in you just a bit longer, using the freedom of Konrad being done with you to have his fill. He bounces you on his cock with an urgency that says he's close, and mere moments later does he finally finish and coat your insides with and overwhelming amount of cum. He eventually pulls from you and watches his own cum dribble from your battered cunt and down your thighs, mixing with Konrad's.

Once he's finished, and hears your heart and your breathing begin to calm, he lays your back onto the blankets- watching you lay limp underneath him.

Sanguinius nudges your neck to the side, exposing the vein that runs along it. You look up at him softly and tilt your jaw in the way that exposes it to him enough so that he can see the throb of your heartbeat through your skin.

"Stay still, my love. You know what to do."

You feel his lips brush along your neck trying to find that perfect spot, before he opens them and presses his teeth against your skin. The moment he puts pressure on them you whimper, feeling you skin break, and Sanguinius' hands slide along your skin before gripping tight to stop you from wiggling.

His mind is foggy, the taste of your blood is intoxicating against his tongue and he can feel his body gaining strength again- He also hears Konrad's one note laugh faintly. While Sanguinius may not be coherent enough in the moment, he does appreciate that Konrad keeps an eye on him when he does this.

Sanguinius has incredible restraint over his curse, but it would only take one tiny slip up, a little error, before you were hurt or killed. He doesn't even want to entertain the idea of that happening.

He pulls away from your neck, licking his lips to catch the droplets of you blood he missed, still tasting the sweet iron in his mouth. Two beads of blood threaten to drip from the small wound he's made in your neck, and he leans back down to lick them away and kiss the bruising wound he's left you with.

You're tired, fucked into oblivion and now woozy from Sanguinius' meal, as you lay against the blankets. Your nightdress is wrinkled and bunched, and Sanguinius can see the tattered remains of your underwear on the floor from Konrad's ambush.

When the angel looks around however, he notices that Konrad is already gone.