#his own mother was sent away

[ladysophiebeckett]

the way connor is constantly reduced to this,,,he really is forgotten bc over 1k of u don’t understand him at all.

[astral-catastrophe]

me and the generic extra strong Tylenol and the pure rage in my system

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Emily..." Randall began, almost tearfully, but it was June and Wilhelm who spoke up over him-not to agree, not to rush her out the door and warn her not to come back, but instead to ask her to stay.

"Please," Wilhelm began, as June reached out to take the young woman's cold hand, stopping her as he continued, "W-Would you stay, just a little longer, lass? Really, we...we'd like it if you stayed. I-I promise, y-you're not intruding; Junie and I weren't able to sleep anyways..."

"You saved our son's life, and you brought him back home to us," June continued gently, as Randall sat up a little, just as surprised as Emily was at this sudden turn of events, this change in reaction in his parents. "We...we can't thank you enough for that. Please, won't you sit down? I...I think we have a lot to talk about...and a lot to apologize for."

At this, Randall's eyes widened further, as he looked between Emily, his mother, and his father, that surprise turning to a sort of tentative relief, as his mother encouraged Emily to make herself comfortable, while June moved to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea, to perhaps soothe their frazzled nerves. She hoped the young woman (not a monster, she thought to herself, but a young woman) would accept, and hear out what the Pace parents had to say.

[sunni-stuff]

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Reader who gets pregnant off of a one night stand with some soldier during armed forces day, showing your appreciation for his service a little too well.

You had a support system, friends who joked about you having way too much fun, hence your predicament, others already offering to buy things for the baby and your parents who couldn't be happier to meet their grandchild.

But what about the father?

Well, it's not exactly like you could track him down. Fuck, you didn't even know the man's name, only how he made you feel, his filthy words strumming in your ear, big hands tight around your waist, hips slamming away in a desperate chase.

Let's forget how you leg-locked him.

When your daughter was born, everything changed, and time slowed down. She was a quiet baby, barely crying or having any outbursts like a normal child would but outspoken in her own little way. That chunky thing came out of the womb with a glare. Brown eyes staring down anyone and everyone but you.

That's something she definitely got from her father. You vividly remember how his umber eyes watching you from across the bar. He was like an eagle waiting for the perfect moment to strike his prey. A perfect soldier.

So, you named your daughter Adira in memory of his strength. That's one thing he could have.

Adira loved to be by your side. Her chubby cheeks pressed into the nook of your neck, holding you close with strength of a thousand babies. Your clingy little thing was a koala, always by her mommy's side, never straying far no matter how curious she got. When she learned to walk, her favorite thing became to hug your leg, especially while in stores. She hated people, wearing a tiny scowl whenever customers passed by tucking herself closer to you.

Maybe it was a good thing her father wasn't around. Having to compete for her first words would've been a bloodbath.

You spent two years in bliss. The fact that you were a single mother an afterthought to raising what you considered a blessing.

With Adira's second Christmas coming up, you wanted to do something special. She loved trains and found them absolutely amusing, often mimicking the honk as she ran around your apartment. Thankfully, there was a train ride for kids around the park during this time of year.

Here, you stood in line, bundled up to the nines. Big poofy coat, warm gloves, and fuzzy boots. As the crowd moved, Adira clung close, arms wrapped around your leg, glowering at any passerby with an annoyed look on her rosy cheeks.

That one was new. Maybe something else she got from her father.

The two of you took steps in tow, keeping Adira close and comfortable as the train came into view. Her expression shifted, excitement palpable. "Twain!" She squealed, jumping up and down.

Before you could respond to Adira's childlike joy, a man bumped into you by accident, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He turns to look at you, blue eyes meeting yours, but you were too focused on the weird ass Mohawk on his head.

People wore still those?

"Sorry bout that lass." The man starts to apologize, a Scottish accent lacing his voice.

That breaks your stare, laughing awkwardly to mask your wandering gaze. "Oh no, it's fine. You should be careful. you might slip on ice."

He nods, giving you a kind smile. The Scottish man starts to leave, but the look your kid was giving him sent shivers down his spine.

Little Adira was giving him a fierce stare down from behind your leg before ultimately cutting her eyes at him as if he were merely a nuisance.

"Next in line! Mctavish!"

The man doesn't stay after that. You assume that it was him they were calling with the way he hurried off. Hope he doesn't fall, seemed like a nice guy.

Soap can't help but do a double take when be gets to the front. The little rascal was wearing his Lieutenants face, hawk eyeing anyone who dared got to close. It was like looking in a mirror.

He nudged Gaz, making a gesture to look back without making it obvious. "See the lass and her bairn in line?"

Gaz gives him a raised brow, looking back for a second before turning around. "There's a lot of kids with their mother's, Johnny."

Soap glances back, double checking to make sure you were still in line. “The lass with the wee one—she’s got the same wicked look as Lt. You cannae miss her.”

Gaz rolls his eyes but humors Soap by looking once more, his eyes scanning the crowd until they land on a little girl already mean-mugging him from a distance. He swiftly turns around, blinking in surprise, trying to comprehend what he saw. "Uh..."

Soap only nods in agreement. That was Ghost's face, on a kid no less. He wastes no time, elbowing Roach and getting him to look back as well, leaving the other Sergeant in the same shock as Gaz. "That is not a face a kid should have."

"Agreed." Gaz added, shuddering at the thought.

"Where's the cap?" Soap asks, the train ride no longer feeling like fun now that he’s discovered the jackpot.

"Market place with Lt. for cigs," Gaz knowingly remarked, remembering that Price had run out on their way here.

"Well, let's go show them a Christmas miracle," Soap shot up from his seat all too eagerly.

The sergeants just got their Christmas present.

[tonycries]

Bad Boys Bring Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You’ve never dealt with the yakuza - not once. So why is the future head of the Gojo clan suddenly coming up to you, demanding that you marry him for 30 days?

Pairing. Yakuza boss! Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, yakuza! au, fake marriage, annoyances to lovers, elders suck, mentioned k*lling (not reader or Satoru), Satoru is INSANE and SO down bad, one bed trope, praise, biting, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, flower language, kníves, bit dark, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 9.1k (whoopsies)

A/N. I just HAD to get this out of my mind like I wanna write an entire book series on this. Spent too long researching rose language as well so see if y’all catch that hehe.

You thought the wedding invitation was a joke when it had arrived - a delicate, lacey little card that you’ve probably read over a million times by now. It had been stuffed haphazardly into your mailbox, along with a ridiculously large bouquet of purple roses. Seemingly inconspicuous when you first tore into the thick envelope, wondering which one of your friends was getting married now. 

And it was - that is, until you saw your name at the very top - right where the blushing bride’s was supposed to be. 

We hereby formally invite you to the marriage of…

What? 

No return address. No date. No groom’s name either. Only yours, written in beautiful, golden writing - inviting you to your own wedding, exactly a week from now.

You remember perfectly the way you’d flipped it over and over in your hands, the gears turning in your head as you tried to crack down on the motive behind this invitation. A threat? A joke? Texting all of your friends about what a cute prank that was - only to get a shared confused reaction, and a few “April Fool’s has already passed, y’know.”

Hell, you’d even cornered the mailman, desperate to get to the bottom of this. But that wasn’t particularly helpful when he was only able to shake his head in protest, pale as a sheet, and trembling ever-so-slightly as he sped away from you. Weird. 

Without a clue as to who sent the letter, or even a follow-up in the days after, you stuffed the invitation somewhere deep in the back of your closet and handed the bouquet to your mother. Not bothering to tell your parents where it was from - because who’d worry over a stupid prank like this? It was probably one of the kids from down the street that’d gotten their grubby lil’ hands on a printer. 

You, however, had more important things to focus on - like trying to help your father revive his failing diner. It was a family business, a quaint, hearty little shop. One that was quickly, and dangerously, losing both customers and employees with the brand new fast food place that’d popped up right across the street. 

Which is why you found yourself here - working overtime on a Saturday night, looking over the empty chairs and stacks of boxes from behind the counter. Whatever, it was only a few weeks until relocation anyway.

You heave out a sigh, eyes flitting to the clock beside you - 11:21pm.

Nine minutes more, you drum your fingers in boredom, maybe you should just close up early. Because sure as hell no one else was-

“Oh? Still open?”

“Ah- Uh, yes, welcome!” Jolting out of your reverie, you stand up ramrod straight, taking in the customer standing at the door. He wasn’t one of the regulars - no, you think you’d remember if he was. Cloudy white hair, piercing blue eyes that twinkle from above his shades, even in the dim light of the diner. He was so very tall, taking up almost all of the doorframe, only getting more and more imposing as he walks up to you in quick, long strides. Magnetizing. 

And if you dared let your eyes wonder, you caught a few tattoos peeking out from his unfairly snug button-up, clashing with its flashy blue color. Dragons? Trees? Or were they flowers - roses?

“Roses.” the man in front of you answers your unspoken question, voice so very deep, and melodic - tinged with something playful in it that you wouldn’t have expected at first glance. At your raised brow he continues with a wink, “Could tell ya were checkin’ me out, sweetheart.”

“F-forgive my rudeness, sir.” you sputter, face burning. You look away from the way his muscled ripple as he crosses his arms, immediately turning to fumble with the menus, “Please take a seat and I’ll be there with you shortly.”

You’d expected him to take up a booth, or maybe head towards one of the good tables around the corner. What you did not expect was for him to plop down on the stool right in front of you, flashing you a playful grin before humming, “S’alright, m’just waitin’ for someone.”

Oh. Well, it made sense that someone like him would be taken. Swallowing, you hand over the menu, before giving him a close-lipped smile, “A lover?”

Resting his head on his palms, not bothering to even glance at the list of dishes before him. “My fiancée.”

“Congratulations, Mr…”

“Gojo Satoru.” he tilts his head, looking way too happy with himself. “Please, call me Satoru.” 

You nod softly, picking up your pen and notepad to get this conversation over with - and maybe to also avoid his heavy stare that made something hot and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. “Right, Mr-” at his disappointed whine, “Satoru. Congratulations, must be one heck of a thing to plan.”

“Oh I’m having fun with the wedding planning.” He waves off your words with a chuckle, missing - or pointedly ignoring - the way you were waiting for his order. “How’s it going for you?”

What?

You narrow your eyes at the way Satoru was batting those long lashes up at you, deceivingly innocent and waiting for your answer. “I’m sorry- Me? Did you mean with the diner relocation plans or-”

“No no no.” he laughs, loud and boisterous. And usually you’d have a thing or two to say at someone interrupting you if you weren’t so mesmerized by that little dimple at the corner of his grin. One that moves as he plows on, “M’asking how wedding planning is going for you, wifey~”

There’s a beat of silence. One. Two. With you gaping at the pure audacity as Satoru quiets down to little titters, seemingly studying your reaction in amusement. Which slowly, but surely, drains from his face as you grit out a sharp, “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave, sir. We’re very busy and don’t have time to entertain your pick-up lines.”

Those widened blue eyes sweep the painfully empty diner, letting out a low whisper. “I can see that.” you let out a strangled noise of embarrassment at that. “But you’re really gonna ask your husband to leave?”

Huffing in frustration, “I don’t have a husband.”

“...you do.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I don’t. And who the fuck are you to tell me I do?”

“What?!” Satoru jumps out of his seat in shock, fast enough that the stool clatters to the floor with a deafening clang! Hands slamming on the counter as he leans over it - so close that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face with each hurried, shrill word that tumbles out of his lips. “What do you mean you don’t have a- I’m gonna kill those fuckin’- After I bought Canva premium just to make that invitation? Did the flowers come at least?”

And while Satoru is panicking, words spilling out of his mouth a mile a minute - only one of those rings in your mind - invitation. 

“You.” you hiss, barely audible over meltdown in front of you. Pointing a finger accusingly, “You’re the one behind that prank with the dumbass roses.”

That seems to snap Satoru out of his dramatic monologue - and you’re glad it did. Because he looks up to meet your glare, “Hey! You didn’t like the roses?” 

And for the first time, you see Satoru more serious than he’d been ever since stepping into this diner. Eyes somewhere behind you, ablaze and almost…frightening. “Didn’t you ask him?” 

You whirl around to see your father, who’d apparently rushed downstairs at the commotion. Baseball bat to fight off the intruder hanging in midair as he stands frozen, taking in the scene before him - but more importantly, that man in front of him. “You.”

---

And, well, it’s not everyday that you’re having late night tea with your parents and one of your father’s…business associates. Even rarer when said business associate is…you gulp, praying to whoever’s above that this is all some sick dream you’ll wake up any second from. 

“So, let me get this straight…” you sigh, pinching your nose in frustration. It’s been an hour or two of trying to understand whatever this was. Giving a stern look at the two men squirming across from you in the booth. “My father was conned by one of your-” you gesture your head at Satoru, which only makes his smirk grow, “-men to take a loan from your um-”

“Family, yakuza. Anything goes.” he supplies helpfully.

You wave him off, trying as quickly as possible to brush off the ‘yakuza’ bit that makes your stomach lurch. “And now he owes you a favor of…what exactly?”

Satoru leans across the table, t-shirt opening tantalizingly. Voice dropping to an almost-pleading murmur, “Look, I just need you to pretend to be my doting, loving, charming, gorgeous-” backtracking at your withering glare, “...Anyway. I just need a fake wife for a few months, convince my family to get off my back about arranged marriage n’ carrying the Gojo legacy. Then bam! you stomp all over my heart, we divorce and I’m too heartbroken to ever get married again. Easy.” 

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

You bet Satoru’s disappointed groan echoed across all 23 words of Tokyo, because it was definitely ringing in your ears amongst whirlwind thoughts of marriage? To a yakuza? Completely, and utterly ridiculous. And from his talks of “carrying the family name” it seemed like he was some sort of future head as well. Though, he definitely wasn’t acting like it right now. 

“Alright. Plan B, then.” 

Oh? You couldn’t help but think that maybe he wasn’t that much of a manchild as sits up from where he’d been splayed all over the table in tragedy. Lacing his fingers together before turning to your father, continuing in a more diplomatic tone, “But I want the cash you took. In full. Now. Gonna hafta disguise my best friend as my wife, n’ dresses for a six foot man aren’t cheap.”

Your mother looked like she could faint right then and there. Choking out a noise of surprise, “B-but we’ve deposited it all for the relocation- Please, can’t we pay any other-”

At the firm shake of his head, you stammer, “Now? Aren’t you some yakuza nepo baby, can’t you just ask your parents for money?”

“No.” Satoru chuckles, in a tone which told you that he probably could but might just lose his head for it. Only further supported as he muses, “Not unless I want a finger cut off for dealin’ money on the side. Seriously, sweetheart, why did you think I sent you the invitation last week?”

“Take me instead.” you father cries, trying to negotiate above Satoru’s half-joking mutters of “Ugh, I’m not into ol’ men dumb enough to sign yakuza contracts.”

It was all too much. You couldn’t take out the relocation deposit - it was a new start, possibly the only thing to save your family. Nor do you have enough in savings to pay back the loan. And if Satoru’s warning was anything to listen to, then you knew that dealing with the yakuza could be dangerous. Why you? Why you? Why you? 

“Fine.”

The moment that word leaves your lips, it’s like the whole world freezes. Everyone in the room - including yourself - unsure of whether they heard you right. “I’ll do it.” you clarify, voice hesitant but firm. Eyeing the way Satoru’s eyes begin to sparkle, the beginnings of a smile curling his lips. Raising a finger to shush your father’s protests, “But for a month, until we leave this place. After that m’going with my family and you’re never to contact us ever again. Deal?”

And oh Satoru seemed over the moon, reaching out to grasp your hand in a handshake - so warm, and softer than you’d imagined. “Swear on m’life, wifey. You can kill me if not.”

He was so intimidating - and intimidatingly exhilarating.

Only an hour more of arguing and a quick phone call later, men - yakuza, you assume - were flooding your family’s little diner. All tattooed and burly, looking somewhat comical as they carried your few packed-up suitcases outside. Well, at least they stayed for a late dinner. 

And ended up being witnesses to a very rushed, very rushed signing of marriage agreements. Evidence to really show up your alleged marriage. It barely even lasted a few minutes before, well, that was that - you were married, to the son of a yakuza head. 

You say a quick goodbye to your teary parents, soothing them with promises of “I’ll be back before you know it. One month. That’s all.” 

“And don’t worry about a thing,” Satoru sing-songs, coming up behind you. “If there’s anyone she’s safe with, it’s me.”

“You better keep your mitts off of my baby.” your father warns, raising the baseball bat still clutched in his hand menacingly. 

“I won’t lay a hand on her, father-in-law. And anyone that even thinks about it…” he cackles, breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll kill.”

Prancing off to hold the door of that shiny black Mercedes parked outside open for you. “Ladies first.”

With another quick hug to your parents, you hastily make your way inside. Feeling extremely out of place amongst the overly luxurious interior in your slightly-stained work uniform. God, the covers on these cushions themselves probably cost more than your house. 

“Like the car? I can buy you one. Or four, as a wedding gift.” Satoru grins. 

Oh, right. You weren’t in here alone - you were here with your new…husband. The word felt so strange to even wrap your head around, instead you turn to meet his easy smile. Clenching your jaw as you grit out, “So how do we act m-married?”

You swear he brightens up impossibly, scooting closer to you on the seat. Heart lurching as he raises his eyes to meet yours, dizzy with the heat of his proximity, he promptly pulls out his Notes app. 

“Well, you see. I forgot to send this with the invitation so you better memorize this before we get home.” flashing you a long, long list of likes and dislikes, “Here’s my favorite color and my favorite Digimon and-”

That car ride could not have been longer. Because in addition to arguing with Satoru about who the best Digimon was, you had to fill out your own version of his overly extensive list. “So we can be foolproof.” he’d whined. And you’d been so engrossed in the process that you barely noticed the looming estate out the window.

“We’re here, young master and madam Gojo.”

It took a second to register that the driver was talking to you as well as Satoru, immediately pushing your face against the window to take in the scenic site before you. Heavy wooden doors - probably taller than an average house - opening to reveal sprawling gardens. Koi ponds and rose bushes lining a pathway that led to a traditional Japanese house - all power and glory. You half wondered whether you were still in Tokyo. 

“Home sweet home.” Satoru grunts. “Such a beautiful hell, huh?”

Your home, for the next month. At least. 

And if you had any doubt that Satoru was in fact the future yakuza head, that all went out the window at the welcome you got. Men lining the wooden hallway, bowing at the waist while your all-new husband wraps a hand around your shoulders, pointing out the various rooms and ornaments as he led you in. 

“-and this is going to be our room.” he brings you in front of a large tatami room, one the size of your entire diner. 

“Ours.” you repeat. Walking unhurriedly to the king-sized bed in the middle - the only bed. Heart pounding as you take it all in. 

“Ours.” Satoru echoes, happily. And if he was any bit as affected as you are, then he doesn’t show it, instead pulling out a blue yukata from the closet, a golden Gojo emblem stamped on the back. Made with such a pretty, delicate fabric that it made you shiver to think how much it cost. “Now, I had these made jus’ for you last week. You can give me a lil’ fashion show tomorrow, so make sure you get some rest, wifey.”

It’s only when he says the word “rest” that you realize exactly how tired you are. Your long shift and the entirety of this having your eyes feeling heavier than usual. 

“Um…” you start, risking a glance at the bed. 

Satoru jolts, “Ah- don’t worry, sweetheart. You take the bed.” beginning to saunter outside to meet his team. “Got some work, so I’ll be sleeping in my office. Dream of me~”

And, really, you almost felt bad splaying yourself out on the crisp navy sheets. Sinking into the heady smell of fabric softener, and something so so Satoru. Addictive. Like an expensive cologne that made your head spin, one that wafted through your mind as you dreamt of summer weddings, and blue, blue skies.

“Ichiji.”

“Yes, young master.”

“See to it that the madam is safe. Anyone try anything funny and you bring them back alive. I wanna be the one to play with them, okay~?”

“Of course, young master.”

---

Admittedly, you probably have the best sleep of your life at the Gojo estate- or, it would’ve been if your husband didn’t burst in every morning at 7am. Handing you a ridiculously big bouquet of white roses, straight from the garden, before dragging you outside. 

Milling about the estate, Satoru was never too far behind, chattering away. Letting you hold onto his strong arm crossing the bridges, occasionally having you show up to yakuza meetings as his plus one. Relishing in the rumors spreading all through the yakuza syndicates in Tokyo. Gojo Satoru, and the commoner wife he’d do anything for.

Weirdly enough, some strange little part of you thinks he puts in a lot more work than necessary for some pretend relationship…

“I think that stupid plan is really working, y’know.” you muse to him after a few days of this. Dipping your fingers into one of your favorite koi ponds with a nod at the figures watching you from a distance - Gojo clan elders, you assume. “Those old coots hate being within a five mile radius of me.”

Satoru huffs out a laugh, “That so? S’probably the method acting then, huh? Taking good care of me, wifey?” he wiggles his eyebrows, nudging you from where he was holding an umbrella beside you. 

Furrowing your brows mockingly, “S’funny for you to say, they don’t even look at me. But they follow me around everywhere.”

“Do they annoy you, must I do my duty as a husband and gouge their eyes out?”

He…didn’t sound like he was joking. 

Rolling your eyes, you pointedly ignoring the way your heart lurches at the word “husband.” Still so jumpy at the idea. “Speaking of, your parents give up the marriage proposals, yet?”

At this, Satoru clenches his jaw. “Still nagging, but they’re finally considering you as my actual bride rather than some hijink.” he spits out, seemingly recalling whatever conversation they’d had before. “And they want to have some family ‘dinner’, but it’s going to be awful and you don’t-”

“Let’s go.” you interrupt, nodding determinedly. “The realer this marriage seems, the faster we can divorce, no?”

He blinks at you slowly, “That’s…true. For the divorce, then?”

“For the divorce.”

And, well, that was settled - you were to meet your new in-laws. The ever-elusive heads of the Gojo clan. Also one of the most powerful yakuza in all of Japan, but, semantics really.

You spend the evening cooped up with Satoru in the library, poring over the bloody history of the yakuza - with the Gojo’s heading them all. The only time he actually leaves your side is a few hours before the dinner. 

“For you.” he’d murmured, lips ghosting your ear, slipping something cold onto your finger. You look down to see one of the most beautiful rings you’ve ever seen - gold, with delicate blue and white diamonds encrusting it, cut in the shape of roses. “Can’t be married without a wedding ring, huh? Think of it as a good luck charm for tonight.”

And with that he’s swept away in a flurry of bodyguards and ruffled men, and you’re left standing there all alone. Cheeks burning, wondering how the hell he knew your perfect fit. 

You worry longer about the dinner than you spend actually preparing for it. Though, that’s probably because of the group of stylists that come into your room to help you dress. Wordlessly fussing around you despite your weak attempts at conversation, eyes averted. Almost like they were…scared of you. 

But there wasn’t much time to think of that - not when you’re being marched off in the direction of what you remember Satoru had called the family dining room. “More like a fuckin’ meeting room for those hardasses.” he’d snarked.

The moment you step in, all eyes turn to you - the only ones you recognize being Satoru’s, who immediately stands with a smile. “Ah, wifey! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” pulling you into a tight hug. His voice drops into a low, raspy murmur in your ear, “Ya look fuckin’ gorgeous in my colors, y’know.”

Traitorously, jolts of electricity run down your spine. Especially at how fucking gorgeous he looked in traditional wear. Whispering back, “Playing up the doting husband bit, huh?”

“Only for you.”

Pulling away, you drink in his dangerously handsome state. Hair so effortlessly styled, tattoos winking at you from just above his yukata - blue, to match yours. So pretty.

Stammering out, “Corny.”

“Only for-”

“Now that the girl is finally here, may we begin with dinner?” A stained voice sounds from behind Satoru, old and tinged with a tone that years of customer service told you did not bode well. Craning your head, you look over his broad shoulders, meeting the eyes of several disapproving elders. 

Shit. Some of the most dangerous people in this country right now. 

Gathered here - for you. 

Automatically, you knew which ones were his parents - painfully upright, and hauntingly beautiful in a cold, calculated way. Sat right at the head of the long table. With a jolt, you realize that you two are seated right opposite them. 

“So.” his mother starts, as you take your seat with a bow. Satoru doesn’t waste any time on niceties, plopping down right next to you, scooting closer than necessary. “Congratulations on the…wedding, my son.”

My son. You ignore the way both parents pointedly avoided looking at you. Your husband, however, does not. “What~ Not gonna wish my dear wife as well?”

It’s a silent staredown - one that has the entire room on edge. You don’t realize that you’re clenching your fists in tension until Satoru untangles them, slipping his larger hands into yours. Gaze still alarmingly intense and locked on the other side of the table.

He wins.

“Congratulations. Let us begin now.” 

You breathe out a sigh of relief, the tension only slightly broken as butlers stream into the room, carrying decadent trays of food. Well, at least the food might make up for how appalling this dinner is going to be.

It’s only 15 minutes in that you realize how very, horribly wrong you are - because the elders of the Gojo estate really don’t hold back, do they? Thank God you memorized every part of that stupid likes and dislikes list.

Besides picking apart every aspect of your relationship that they could manage to squeeze out of you between the appetizer and the main course, the main scrutiny tonight seems to be you. But in that icy, subtle way that has Satoru’s jaw clenching tighter each second. 

Lips curling, Gojo senior eyes you over his wine glass. “So, dear,” voice dripping with underlying venom despite the pet name. “Is it true our Satoru missed an esteemed marriage meeting with the Zenin group to ambush you at some rundown old diner?”

You fight to keep the smile plastered onto your face, painful and cracking under the pressure. A hand squeezing under the table to stop Satoru from opening his mouth to retort, you answer instead, “Well, ambushed wouldn’t be the word. You could say we fell in love over the counter - at my family’s diner.”

“A waitress, she said?”

“Now we know why it was this rushed. Probably pregnant.”

“The scandal. How far the Gojo name has fallen.”

The few stifled gasps from the other end of the table are so dramatic that you could almost laugh. But you don’t. Breath hitching as Mrs. Gojo chuckles, “Marrying the daughter of a lowly diner owner? How... quaint.”

“Mother, be quiet or-”

“What?” she throws her hands in exasperation. “Can’t I say anything around here. Honestly, Satoru, I’m just trying to make conversation with your new wife.”

Before either you or Satoru can react, his father speaks up, apparently not done with the interrogation. “You understand that we’re just worried, right, dear? Especially with marrying into prestigious families, of course.” The emphasis on “prestigious” is not lost on you.” And it drives you insane. 

Steeling yourself, you train your eyes on the untouched food below you. “I understand.”

Plowing on as if trying to infuriate you, “And you understand that this position is dangerous? You’ll be targeted.”

“I understand.”

“Do you? Don’t be swept up in our Satoru’s charm and wealth, dear, my son just wants a way out of duty.” tone dripping with disdain, Satoru’s grip becoming tighter and tighter on yours. “The Gojo syndicate owns half of this city, we could bulldoze over that little diner of yours with only one phone call”

“My wife and I are leav-”

“I said I fuckin’ understand.” Your words hang in the air like a foul stench, and you raise your head to glare. If looks could kill, all the elders in this room would be six feet under and you’d be dancing on their graves already. “Neither me, nor my husband would ever let that happen because he knows a thing or two about respect, unlike you.” Lacing your fingers tighter with Satoru’s. “So shove your mighty family up your wrinkly asses. I don’t give a flying shit.” 

Eyes wide, jaws dropped, the old couple opposite you finally seems stunned into silence. And if it was any other situation you could’ve almost laughed at how similar they looked to Satoru when he found out you thought his proposal was a prank.

His father adjusts his glasses. “Perhaps that is so.”

Ah, if only the rest of the table would be quietened just as easily. 

“Not only is she a slut she’s a-”

Thud!

It all happens so fast you’re not even sure if your eyes are playing tricks on you. Because in a split-second, the knife that was at your side is suddenly embedded, deep into the wooden table - barely even an inch away from the elder that had spoken up. 

“You’re lucky I’m matching with my wife n’ didn’t want to dirty this new yukata.” a voice sounds from your side. Melodic and so so eerie that you don’t realize for a second that it’s Satoru - your Satoru. 

He loops an arm under your legs as he stands up. Easily maneuvering you into a princess carry, forcing you to cling onto his robes for dear life as your feet dangle from the floor. You look up - maybe to snap at Satoru to put you down - only for the words to die in your throat at how absolutely fucking feral your husband looked. Eyes wide, aura menacing. A grin gracing his features, not the familiar one which had your heart racing, no - something so dangerous and cold. 

“Now,” he hums. Turning his back to the room, gaze still locked with the shocked heads inside, “My lovely wife and I will be retiring. Won’t you all say goodnight to your future madam?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the way everyone in that room mumbles out a disdainful little “Goodnight, ma’am.”, or the way Satoru cackles as he carries you to your shared bedroom. Laying you gently on the mattress with a quiet, “Be right back, sweetheart.”

What the fuck happened?

He could’ve killed that man. And looked like he wanted to. 

Your brain yells at you - run away run away run away- But you weren’t…scared? In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever been less fearful in your entire life. Especially not when Satoru stumbles back into the room, clearly rushing. Something warm spreading in your chest at the trays of food in his hands.

“Dinner’s better without a bunch of fossils on my kill list.” he grins. Settling right next to you on the bed, setting out the dinner he’d brought for you. And, well, you didn’t doubt that they really were on his kill list. 

“Hey, wifey.” Satoru speaks up after a few moments of silence, satisfied with the food laid in front of you. “M’sorry for putting you through that. No more family dinners from now.”

You inch closer to lay your head on his sculpted shoulder, a hand bringing up the food to his pretty lips. He smelled so good, faintly like pine, and clouds. It made you so dizzy. “Eat, Satoru.”

That’s all which is said, because maybe that’s all that was needed. And for a second there, you almost forget that this is all pretend.

---

“Hey, uh- mister. You alright?” you call out, voice barely audible over the rain. 

The sullen figure didn’t react at first, soaked through and eyes trained on the ground. Unmoving, even when you hesitantly drew closer, umbrella quivering in your hands. 

You should turn around - walk away like everyone else on the sidewalk was doing. But no, something about the way he sat alone, stoic to the storm around him made you inch closer. “Here.” you hold out your umbrella. “S’our diner’s, but you look like you could use this more than I do.”

He jolts, as if hearing you for the first time. A flash of blue, so quick you almost think you miss it. Still not raising his head fully, the man’s snowy hair tousles as he jerkily closes around the handle. Pretty. And so so sad.

“It’ll be alright.” you nod. 

And with that, you turn, running back in the rain to the haven of the diner, where your father was waiting impatiently - he’d just bought the boxes to start packing up for relocation. Fingers still burning ever-so-slightly where his hand had brushed against yours. How strange, you wondered his name.

---

Satoru stayed true to his word over the weeks that followed. His parents seemed well and fully intent on avoiding you. And, well, other than a few disdainful remarks, the elders mostly scurried away in fear at your very sight. 

The only thing that made your skin prickle was that the housekeepers had a penchant for peeping in on the two of you. Increasingly following you - they always did, but now…honestly, it was a bit disconcerting. 

But other than that, it was almost…peaceful. You wake up every morning to a large bouquet of burgundy roses at your bedside table - and a husband. Because Satoru had taken to sleeping on the little couch at the corner of your room every night - saying something about not wanting to rouse suspicion because if he actually had a wife he’d be “taking her to bed every night”. Somehow, you didn’t doubt it. 

“Funny how it’s getting close to a month of being married, but you haven’t even kissed me yet.” you deadpan. Looking down at where he was resting his head in your lap, sprawled across the soft grass in the garden.

Something else also happened - something different.

Because Satoru was a bit touchier, a bit closer. Like right now, preening into your fingers carding through his soft hair. “Oh~? Why, wanna take me to bed, wifey?”

“You wish.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your hands still, pulse racing as your eyes bore into Satoru’s, trying to figure out what sort of bad joke this was. Subconsciously, you find yourself leaning down closer - too closer. Close enough that you could count every shade of blue in his hungry gaze. But by the grace of whoever was above-

“Young master, please excuse the intrusion but you have-”

Sitting up abruptly, addressing the newcomer in a stone-cold tone. “How many fuckin’ times have I not told you to never bother me when I’m with my wife?”

The servant bows apologetically, sputtering out apologies as you move to get up. Flashing a smirk at Satoru’s dramatic pout, “I have to catch up on some reading anyway. See ya, Satoru.” 

“Noo~ my sweetheart don’t leave me~” 

You stifle a laugh at his little tantrum, so different from when he was serious. He was so….dizzying. “You’ll be okay, Satoru.” Glancing up nervously to meet the servant’s intense stare, studying the scene before him, how different his master was. “I’ll be at the library now.”

And Satoru notices - of course, he does. He sees that tiny flash of concern in your eyes. One that you might not have noticed yourself. He lowers his voice as you walk away, so you don’t hear him speaking behind you. Words dripping with a similar venom he always heard from his parents, “Now, tell me who you’re spying for. Names, first and last.” 

Satoru doesn’t join you in the library that day, the first time in weeks. And you find yourself missing him more than you should. It’s dark out by the time you’re raising your head from the books, joints aching from poring over them for hours. The house seems a lot quieter. Somewhat bigger. 

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. 

Scratching the back of your head, you wander through the wooden hallways to your bedroom - wondering what was amiss. Your feet take you there as if on autopilot, thankful for Satoru’s meticulous tours. 

“Hey,” you smile softly at a servant making your bed, “Where are-”

Your question dies in your throat at the way she yelps at your words, hurrying down the corridor with a jerky bow. Weird. Leaving you all alone, and confused, muttering to yourself, it’s only then that you notice the flash of red by your bedside table. 

Not a bouquet. Only a single, red rose - a note tied around the stem, something you’d never gotten before. 

“The marriage proposals have been revoked, your contract is fulfilled, my ex-wife.”

Oh, reading that hurt more than it should’ve. You should be happy at being free, a few days earlier than expected at that - but it was over - just like that. You didn’t want to leave him. You didn’t want to leave him.You didn’t want to leave him.

 Were you going insane?

Clutching the flower like a lifeline, heaving out a sigh, “Maybe Satoru knows…”

“Thinking of me?”

Startled, you whirl behind to face your husband. In the dim-lighting, making out the stoney expression on his face, eyes wide and a little duller than they had been earlier today. 

“Satoru?”

His eyes light up at the mere sound of your voice - then you’re engulfed in him. Wrapping you in his arms, bowing his body into yours, so tight that it almost hurts. But you let him, fisting the fresh yukata in your hands - and that’s when you realize, he’s changed his robes since this morning. “Are you okay?” you whisper into his shoulder. Drinking in the smell of his cologne, and something faintly metallic. 

Every cell in your body is screaming at you to take the opportunity - to run away from this yakuza and his slaughter and whatever this was. But how could you? Staying rooted to the spot, not even a speck of fear.

Satoru heaves out a heavy breath, tickling the hairs at your nape as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Those nosy elders won’t be bothering you anymore, sweetheart. You’re free to go.”

A shudder runs down your spine at his words, and you didn’t want to think too hard about what they meant. Instead, you guide him to your bed - and, surprisingly, he allows you to. Letting the two of you sink into the plush mattress. With Satoru still in your arms. He repeats, “You’re free to go.”

Run away. Run away. Run away-

There it was again - that strained little manta. You stare right into his eyes, voice thick at the sinking feeling in your stomach. “My 30 days aren’t over yet.” 

“Leave. Please.” he grunts into the crook of your neck, like your hands drawing patterns down his back had broken some dam. “M’not a good man.” 

You press your lips to his forehead, searing and a desperate attempt to soothe the man. “I think I’ll be the judge of that.”

“I’m yakuza, sweetheart. Doomed to follow my parents here.” he mutters, strained and voice more unsure than you’ve ever heard. And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into your skin, “I hate it here, and you should, too. All these fuckin-”

“So go with me instead.”

“What if-”

“Toru.‘ you cut off his words, slurring and spilling out of his mouth. Gently, you pry him away from his little haven, reeling back to take a good look at the face he’s been hiding for so long. Hair mussed, curtaining his whirling eyes - all disheveled and vulnerable where he was once so suave. 

Your eyes bore into his, unwavering. “It’ll be alright, Toru.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. Only when his lips meet yours, soft, and so so sweet, do you realize that this is everything you ever want right now - possibly these past few weeks. “Y’can kill me if you don’ want his.” he mutters into your open mouth.  

It’s so desperate - a messy clash of teeth and saliva, Satoru was drinking you in like you were the last drop of water on Earth. He tasted so sweet, like candy almost, and the gentle caress of a lover. You were addicted like you could do this forever and ever and-

And then he’s pulling away. A disappointed little whine leaves you involuntarily as he parts, delicate strings of saliva snapping in the space between you two. Satoru’s mouth drops into a soft oh! at the noise, surging forward minutely like he was about to kiss you senseless again. Only to halt with a pained grunt, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. 

“M’sorry.” Claiming your lips once again, like a man possessed. Drinking in your breathless gasps. Like he never wanted to let go. “F-fuck, sweetheart. Y’don’t know how crazy you drive me.” he pants.

“Why did you pick me?” you blurt out, a question that had been nagging at the back of your mind every time Satoru slipped his hand in yours, introducing you as his loving wife. “Was it just the debt?”

He’s kissing your pulse now, canines hovering over the erratic little cadence. Breathing you in like you were intoxicating. “No.” he’s licking a long, languid stripe up your neck. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down every inch of skin he could reach. 

“Then why?” your words come out in almost an embarrassing plea. But by the way his breath hitches, you know that Satoru loves it. 

“Because.” he breathes, “You treated me like a human.”

He’s capturing your lips with his again, nipping at your bottom lips. You squeal as he pulls, suddenly wanting him to tease you like this everywhere. To have him absolutely ruin you like you know he could - treat you like the wife he claimed you were. 

But Satoru wasn’t done yet - far from it. He chuckles, kissing down your neck, fumbling with the ties of your yukata, “Remember that night? You probably don’t, was rainin’ so hard I thought I’d drown out there.” Worshiping the valley between your breasts as he hastily unbuckles your bra. “That night was when the marriage proposals had come in. They said I’d either carry the legacy or be forced to leave the family. Kicked out of my own home.” 

And you’re reeling from both his words and the way Satoru was rocking his hips into yours now, something hot, and so achingly hard pressing in the damp area between your legs. “Thought I was gonna take ‘em all out that night.”

“Take them all out?” your breath hitches.

“Every. Single. One.” Fingers dancing across the hem of your panties. “Wouldn’t have felt bad about it either.” 

Satoru’s licking down your navel now, humming in confirmation into your skin. “But then…” he groans, taking in the first fucking sinful sight of your drenched panties. So flimsy and already dripping for him - and after just a few kisses, really? You were heaven on Earth. “But then along came you. So pretty and all worried f’me. The daughter of that diner owner I’d loaned money too.”

You watch, heart racing as Satoru swallows in awe. Darkened gaze locked on the way your slick beads out of your pussy, bare thighs trying to close - give yourself some semblance of dignity. But no- how could you? When Satoru’s holding them apart.

“And then I knew…” he’s sliding his index underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertip before popping it into his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut at the taste, and you’ve never seen him look so blissful. “I just had to have you.”

Rip! 

The cold air brushes against you before you even know it - only when you feel Satoru’s hot breath against your dripping cunt does it hit - this bastard just ripped your panties off. And he was dangling it like a badge of honor, breathing in your juices so animalistically. 

Your lips wobble as he just admires your pussy, the way it glistens and clenches around nothing. “Hah- please.”

“Please what?” he grins, and you can feel him licking little circles around your inner thigh. So close. “The wife of a yakuza boss has gotta know how to use her words.”

“You’re awful.”

“And yet you married me.”

With such a cute lil’ whine that makes Satoru’s cock twitch so painfully, you buck your hips closer to his hot mouth. “Wan’ your mouth on me, to eat me out. Please, Toru.”

He lets out a shuddering breath, “There’s my girl.”

You gasp when he surges forward, burying his pretty face nose-deep in your pussy. Holding your breath as he lazily licks up your folds - long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Swirling deftly around the sensitive nub. 

Drunk off your pussy with the way he’s so messy - seemingly unable to decide between sucking harshly on your poor, ravaged clit to dipping into your sloppy hole. And it’s driving you mad, keening and pulling at his soft locks. You haven’t been touched this good in ages, and Satoru was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

“Shhh, don’t worry, wifey.” words muffled into your cunt, “Your husband’s gonna take care of you.” He’s throwing your legs over his broad shoulders.

“Real good care of you.” Then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, the tips of his long fingers massaging your plushy walls. Messy enough that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Roaming for that one spot he knows will have you moaning deliciously. Pressing down, hard.  “Found it. Gonna have you screamin’ my name til’ the entire estate hears.”

You tug on his hair, urging Satoru’s mouth towards your cunt - partially because you wanted him there, partially because you really needed him to shut up right now. 

And shit how could he ever say no to his pretty wife?

Satoru is grinning, you can feel it on your throbbing clit as he wraps his pretty pink lips around it. Pumping his fingers in and out, hitting that little spot each and every time. Looking like he was absolutely in heaven as he rolls and swirls his tongue against your clit over and over and-

“Sh-shit. Toru-”

“Mmm, yes- fuck, love it when you call me that.” he groans. And oh he’s looking at you like he wants to devour you - eyes half-lidded, such a pretty blush disting his cheeks - and making out with your pussy just as much. Tilting his head back, back, back so that your juices slide down his throat. “Feels good? Ya like when m’ruining your pretty pussy?”

“Yes!” you squirm. Shaking, bucking your hips into his touch so desperately. “Wanted it s’bad.” 

He’s becoming frenzied now, drinking in your cute little whimpers like he was addicted. But it wasn’t enough - it never was and fuck Satoru wanted more more more-

“Move your hips, yeah- jus’ like that.” Satoru’s grunting and smacking his lips against your own. Letting you pull and angle him just as you please. 

“Gonna be the best fuckin’ husband you’ll ever have. N’ anyone that says otherwise, m’gonna fuckin’ kill.” The vibrations have your body jerking violently. “Make you cum harder than y’ever have. C’mon, say yes.”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and bullying his tongue through your swollen folds. Stretching you, thrusting in and out of your sloppy hole. Jaw grinding deeper into you as he eats you out like his last meal. “Ngh- fuck, yes yes yes-”

“Beg for it, beg for your husband.”

“Wanna cum- Ah! Please, wanna cum, Toru.”

One hand so messy toying with your dripping entrance - not having the patience or the sanity to even draw circles anymore. Just quick, hurried patterns to get you off. The other digging into your hips, so hard you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. Making you drag your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. Using him. 

“Hngh- Toru! Ah- fuck fuck Toru Toru T-”  You’re shaking - crying out as you cum. A guttural, strangled moan of your husband’s name. So violent, and hard that you don’t even realize at first. Just that you’re rocking your hips into Satoru, white-hot pleasure behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears.

And he doesn’t stop - not even once. If you were in any better state of mind you’d wonder whether it hurt - whether his fingers were cramping up, and his tongue was tired. If they were, he didn’t show, only letting you chase your high as roughly as you want. 

Greedily lapping up all your juices. Even when you’re blinking your vision back, chest heaving as you try to regain our breath. “S-Satoru.” you mewl, stars behind your eyes with each flick of his tongue. 

“Jus’ a bit more. Wanna taste all of you.”

You weren’t going to make it out alive.

Big, fat tears pricking at your eyes from the overstimulation as Satoru finally rises from what you almost worried would be his favorite seat. “All done. Now, keep that pretty lil’ cunt on display f’me, my girl.”

And your cunt is clenching in- fear? Anticipation? As your husband finally unties his yukata, letting it slide off those milky, toned shoulders. And shit he was such a fucking masterpiece. The dim-lighting bouncing off every curve and dip of those carved abs. Delicate swirls of his tattoo inching from his collarbone, down, down, down, hugging Satoru in a way that made you so half-lucidly jealous. All the way till the last inky thorn meets the neat tufts of white hair peeking up from the hem of his underwear. 

“Touch me.” he groans into your ear. The words barely leave those pretty lips before your hands are everywhere. Dancing down his tattoo, groping at this pecs - too much to worship, not enough time. 

“Toru…” you trail off, hand reaching out to brush his waistband. Tugging just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, fat tip weeping down his length, already so soaked in precum. He was so intimidatingly long - longer than anyone else you’d had before. Thick enough that you wondered whether you’d hurt yourself. 

And he sees right through you.

“Now now, none of that.” he tuts, pushing your bare thighs as far apart as they’d go. He spreads your cunt so shamefully with his thumb. Spitting once, twice. Some of it splatter against your thigh as Satoru mixes his saliva with your slick. “Don’t worry, wifey, m’gonna make it feel good for ya.”

You flinch as he uses you like some object. Dangerously liking it more and more as he drags his fat head down your folds. Wetting himself, all the preparation he was going to give you because fuck Satoru needed to be inside your pretty lil’ pussy right now. 

Then you feel like you’re being split apart - as if Satoru’s cock was pushing all the way to your lungs as he presses through the first ring of muscle.

“Ah! Ngh- Toru, s’too big!” you yelp, eyes locked on the way your lips were stretched so lewdly around his tip. Clamping and quivering as he keeps pushing in, inch by fucking inch. No mercy. Absolutely none at all. 

And while he sounded like he was on cloud nine, you were having your head spin, torn between wanting to run away from his massive cock and just push yourself down for more more more. His lips claim yours - absolutely animalistic because God he needed to shut up your pretty whines or else Satoru was going to cum right here right now.

“Breathe, sweetheart, breath. Ngh- You can take it.” Satoru pants into your mouth, fucking into you in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to fit inside your snug cunt. Sounding like he was losing his sanity each time your heavenly walls milked him. “So fuckin’ tight. Jus’ relax f’me. Oh yeah, jus’ like that. You can take it you can-”

You gasp for air when he finally bottoms out inside you, tears streaming down your face and clawing at his back. 

Satoru only coos, letting you mark him up all you want. Pace increasing relentlessly, “Aww, my good lil’ wife. Taking me so well, huh?” Starting to rock his hips just a bit faster into yours, “Always knew y’would.” 

“Can y’feel me, right-.” Balls smacking against your ass, his finger tracing an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “-here?” Thumb stroking where he could feel himself bulging inside you, pressing down. Hard. 

You almost sob at the pressure, jolting - you should’ve expected that the yakuza boss would fuck so mean.

And shit you can just do nothing but take it, hips jerking wildly as Satoru pounds into you with reckless abandon. Clutching at his shoulders, the sheets, his hair - just anything. 

“C’mon~ Don’t run away from me,” he grunts, strained like he’s struggling to maintain restraint. Lacing his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper onto his cock. “Jus’ fuckin’ got you, so don’t you dare run away.”

You can only nod. Eyes glazed, cockdrunk and letting him thrust so sloppily. “Won’t run away Toru…” you babble, “Wan’ you to make me yours.”

“Mine? Gonna be all mine?”

“All yours, Toru.”

And maybe you were an idiot, maybe you were a mastermind - because with a choked out little moan of what sounded like your name, Satoru’s pulling you both to sit up. The gravity makes you bury his cock deeper and faster into your tight pussy.

With the new angle, your husband’s hitting all the right spots easily, almost as if he knew your body better than you did. Veins rubbing so deliciously against your walls, shifting around your hips to fuck up into that poor, abused spot. 

“Ya like this, huh?” he groans, fingers now toying with your ravaged clit. Rolling it around harshly between two fingers. “Always knew this cute pussy could take me s’well. Just didn’t know it would feel this fucking heavenly.”

Faster, sloppier. Bouncing you on his rock-hard cock  like he was claiming you from the inside. So, so desperate and debauched.

And exactly where you wanted to be. 

You leave delicate pink bites down this pale neck, alongside those roses - marking him in your own way as you edge closer and closer. It was too much. Everything was too much. 

“Toru-” you sob. And he already knew what that meant. With how your voice breaks so adorably and the way you’re clenching around him hard enough that it’s almost difficult to ruin that cute pussy. 

“Close?” 

“Mhm…”

“Well then.” thrusts getting sloppy, with no reason or rhythm now. Grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Cum f’me like a good lil’ wife, then.”

And that makes you throw your head back in ecstasy - it makes you cum. Thighs quivering, jolts of electricity running down all the way from your overstimulated cunt to your hazy mind. It has you chanting Satoru’s name like a lifeline while his teeth dig into your flesh. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood.

Letting out low, muffled moans into your neck while he cums as well. Hot ropes of seed filling up your poor, bloated pussy, painting your walls such a sinful white. Cumming and cumming so hard you wondered whether you’d make it out alive.

And because of the obscene position, you could feel the way it dribbled down your legs. Thick globs landing in a pool on the overpriced sheets below, smearing so lewdly between you two. Hips still fucking up into you - not even thinking about it as he pushes his seed deeper and deeper. 

You managed to raise your eyes, still dazed to meet his - exhausted, and dark with lust and something else that you really weren’t in the right mind to decipher right now. 

And then Satoru’s lips find yours again, biting and tugging lazily. Tasting so unfairly of candy and sweet, sweet trouble. Body melting into you like all the worries have been lifted from his shoulders. He’s looping his arms tighter around your waist, crushing you into an almost-painful hug against him. 

Something soft. Something new. Something that makes a little part of your heart twinge to break the kiss and pull away mere millimeters. “We better not divorce after this.”

“Of course not.” He chuckles into your lips, resting his forehead against yours like he was trying to map the constellations in your eyes. “I haven’t even given you my wedding gift yet.”

Smirking, you lock your legs tighter around Satoru’s toned waist as he lets the two of you fall back into the mattress. Sinking into it - and each other - with both exhaustion and something of a quiet, unspoken little fondness. Batting your lashes up at him, “Mhm, I remember someone talking about giving me four mercedes as a wedding gift and I’m leaving if not.”

“Well then, better get to it. Four for my in-laws to get on their good side, too,” he nuzzles the bite mark on your neck. “Because I plan to stay like this for a long, long time.”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.

[fortunatefool]

Not to date myself but sometimes in the middle of a crisis u get to hear Pursuit of Happiness (Nightmare) by Kid Cudi featuring MGMT and Ratatat, Steve Aoki Remix and feel joy for the first time in a week and a half

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

Gift Ribbon

“suguru—fuckkk…” the words slipped past your lips as you rode your fiancé’s massive cock, blindfolded and with your hands tied.

“sssshh, baby. you wouldn’t want to wake the girls, would you?”

oh no, you definitely wouldn’t. having the girls catch you—their soon-to-be mother—and their father in such a filthy, compromising position was definitely not part of the plan.

“but—but…” the sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, and once again, you questioned how you’d ended up like this. yet every time suguru’s cock hit that sensitive, pleasure-filled spot inside you, all your thoughts evaporated.

god, it felt so good.

you had always welcomed your fiancé’s cock with greedy enthusiasm. the way your warm, snug walls clenched around his cock made it impossible not to surrender yourself as his little plaything, eager to do anything he wanted.

“s-shit…” suguru leaned his head back, groaning. “just like that, baby. ride my cock so hard that tomorrow morning—ugh—every step you take reminds you of this moment.” his head lolled against the back of the couch, one hand moving to toy with your sensitive nipple.

this was torture. exquisite, mind-numbing torture. with your hands bound and your vision stolen, you were utterly at his mercy, drunk on the way his massive cock stretched you open. and the way he pinched and played with your nipple only heightened the intoxicating pleasure.

“sugu—baby…” your head tilted back as a loud moan spilled from your lips. you had no strength left to keep going. your hips had been rolling against his cock with quick, rhythmic movements, but the effort was taking its toll.

“oh, is my baby getting tired?” his teasing drawl sent a flood of heat to your cheeks, and you cursed softly under your breath.

his large fingers were still playing with your nipple, alternating between gentle strokes and firm squeezes. sometimes, he’d roll it between his fingers, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

he was entirely in control.

“guess I can’t let my fiancée wear herself out, huh?” in one smooth motion, suguru pulled you flush against his chest, the hand that had been tormenting your nipple now gripping your waist. he started thrusting into you, deep and hard.

his pace was relentless, his thick cock filling you up in a way that made you want to melt into him forever. the soft, velvety tip kept brushing against your g-spot with every thrust, making you wish you could stay like this—utterly wrecked and ruined by him. but the need to keep quiet gnawed at the back of your mind. if you got too loud, the girls might wake up. so, desperate to muffle your moans, you bit into his left shoulder.

“fuckin’ feral girl… hah, you know that only turns me on more, don’t you?” one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling your head up from his shoulder. his lips crashed onto yours in a bruising, desperate kiss.

there was nothing gentle about it. suguru’s tongue invaded your mouth, his kisses hungry and wild, claiming every inch of you. you wanted to tangle your fingers in his hair and pull him even closer, but your hands were still bound behind you.

even as his lips devoured yours, his hips never faltered. each deep, rough thrust sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, his cock pushing deeper, harder. the slick mix of his precum and your arousal dripped down your thighs, evidence of how completely he owned you in this moment.

suguru geto always fucked you like he worshipped every inch of you.

when he finally broke away from the kiss, gasping for air, you managed to stammer, “you’re too fast… c-can you just slow—”

“slow down? not a chance, baby. I know you’re close. fuck—this pussy is going to be the death of me… FUCK.” he yanked you tighter against him, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, his growls vibrating through your skin. his hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pounded into you with a feral intensity.

“come for me—fuck—come all over my cock, baby… OH GOD—” his voice broke into a guttural groan as you felt his thick, hot release flood you. the warmth of it sent you over the edge, your walls clamping down around him as you came with a cry muffled against his shoulder.

neither of you moved, both of you panting heavily as you tried to catch your breath. his cock remained buried inside you, still twitching slightly as the aftershocks ran through both of your bodies. your hands were still bound, your vision stolen by the blindfold, leaving you completely at his mercy.

pressing his lips softly to your ear, he whispered, his voice low and rough, “merry christmas, my soon-to-be wife.” his fingers brushed over the silky ribbon tying your wrists, the same one he’d used to bind his favorite present of the night—you.

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[entitled-fangirl]

Tradition.

Cregan Stark x Pregnant!reader

Summary: the reader and Cregan go to King's Landing to support her nephew, Luke's, Velaryon claim. She goes into early labor away from the North.

Warnings: Aegon is his own warning, body shaming, talks of brothels and stuff, labor, blood, death, fighting, all that stuff.

A/n: Based on an ask! I'll proofread later 😭

Masterlist

.......................................................

Cregan held out his hand to help his very pregnant wife out of the carriage. 

He absolutely hated riding by carriage. It seemed pointless when you could ride a horse instead. But when summoned to King's Landing by King Viserys with his Targaryen wife to join the rest of her family, he had to guarantee her safety on the travel by any means necessary.

Alicent's face lit up at the sight of her daughter, practically running over Cregan to get to her. She embraced the pregnant woman tightly, "Oh, my love! How you've changed!" 

Y/n hugged her mother back just as firmly with a smile, "I've missed you, mother."

Alicent pulled away and admired her grown girl, "King's Landing is better with you here." Only then did Alicent notice Cregan, "Oh. Lord Stark."

Cregan bowed his head politely, "My queen."

"Cregan has been eager to see King's Landing again," Y/n chirped in, "He has only been a few times."

Alicent's brows lifted, "Really? I wouldn't have thought that."

He nodded, "I could've been patient enough to wait until after the birth, but alas, when the King calls, you answer."

Alicent gave a forced smile, "Right. Of course. The birth." She looked to her daughter, "How far along are you, my dear?"

"Nearing eight moons now," she said nervously with a hand on her swollen stomach.

Alicent didn't miss the equally nervous and protective look in Cregan's eyes.

…

Dinner that night was beyond tense. 

What was joy for Viserys was misery for everyone else.

Watching the king decay at the table and the rest of them squabble over trivial matters that seemed of great importance.

"A toast to the young princes and their betrothed."

Aegon leaned over to his nephew Jace, "Well done, Jace. You'll finally get to lie with a woman."

A glare was sent his way by Jace and Baela.

Y/n caught on and quickly looked to Aemond, who sipped his wine with no reaction.

"You do know how the act is done, I assume?" Aegon continued. "At least, in principle. Where to put your cock and all that?"

Jace's jaw clenched, "You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed."

"Aegon." Y/n hissed through her teeth across the table.

His head immediately snapped to his sister in annoyance, "What?"

"Let it alone."

He scoffed lightly, "What do you mean? I'm only asking." He gained a grin, "It's not like I have to ask Lord Stark that. Look at the state of you!" He gestured to her swollen belly.

Cregan's grip on his fork tightened, turning his knuckles white. 

She placed a hand over her stomach and grimaced, "At least I was able to find a husband that wanted me. Mother had to force you to marry the only girl around, and that was Helaena."

Aegon gave an incredible glare, one that his sibling shot back.

Aemond became amused.

"Let us not fight at the table," Alicent reprimanded lightly.

Y/n looked to Jace, who gave a small nod of gratitude.

Silence filled the room until the King's long monologue of the need for peace in the house. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent gave small and seemingly back-handed toasts but Y/n was too set on the continuous mischievous look in her brother's eye.

And she called it right when he stood and moved to whisper in Baela's ear.

It was clear that it was muttered with the intention of riling up Jace, which it did quite well.

He stood up in anger, slamming his fist on the table.

Cregan, who had remained entirely silent thus far, instinctually moved a hand across his wife as if shielding her and the child.

The tense toasts only got worse from there.

Luckily, the music seemed to drown out the intensity, as well as Jace's good gesture of faith in dancing with Helaena. 

Y/n leaned over to Aemond, "Brother."

His brow raised as his eye traveled to look at her.

"It has been… long since I've seen you. I see you've faired quite well."

He hummed lightly, "I see you've… managed."

She could feel Cregan's intense gaze from behind her, "Wh…what do you mean?"

Aemond smirked and leaned in to where only the two Starks could hear him, "Inpregnanted by a brute-"

Cregan's jaw clenched so hard he feared for his teeth. His voice was a hushed whisper, but still held furiously to it, "Watch your words."

Y/n held Cregan's shoulder, "Let us not do this here."

Aemond smirked with Cregan sighed and leaned back in his chair.

When Viserys was escorted from the room due to his pain, Y/n decided to leave as well, and Cregan behind her.

They claimed a pregnancy illness and Rhaenyra smirked, knowing she'd used the same card many times.

…

Cregan helped her into bed, "I don't understand their need to crawl under everyone's skin like beetles."

She sighed, "They've never known life outside of a castle, Cregan. They've never been told no, and they never will. It's best to let it go."

"They mock us both. My name has been through dirt, blood, and tears, and I do not care, but yours?" He scoffed, "I will not stand by the next time you are mocked."

"It is only for a little while longer," she rebutted.

"Know that I do this for you, and only you, my love."

She smiled, "That's all I ask."

…

"The north has done a number on you, really," Aegon said as he appeared at her side.

She tilted her head, "I don't know what you mean."

He shrugged, "You're…" he then gestured his arms widely. "I dunno… well indulged?"

She pushed down the tears that welled up in her eyes, "Why do you care?"

He scoffed and leaned in towards her, "You know how many friends of mine asked for whores that looked like you? Many."

"And?"

"And?" He asked mockingly. "And? Who wants to fuck a whore that looks like you now?"

Her jaw went slack for a moment, completely shocked by his words. 

Finally, with now watery eyes, she spoke. "You're the worst kind of man, Aegon."

"Oh? And what kind is that?"

A sudden punch came from nowhere, landing on Aegon's jaw and sending him to the ground. 

Cregan stood over the man's body, a predatory look in his eyes and a murderous tone in his voice, "One that can't defend his fucking words."

Y/n pulled Cregan back, "Stop!"

He wanted to fight against her, but he knew better. His shoulders rolled back and he stood tall. 

She cursed under her breath as she took in exactly what had unfolded, "They could have your head for this, Cregan."

"Only if your brother wishes to defend his words against me again," Cregan scoffs as he looks down at the man.

Aegon sits up and huffs, wiping his nose that begins to leak blood. "Northern brute-"

"-Aegon!" She reprimands. 

Cregan glared at Aegon for a while, then scoffed and walked off a few steps to calm himself.

Aegon stands on shaky legs as he glares at his sister, "I liked you better when you lacked a guard dog."

Cregan immediately turned back to the man with a look that said he was ready to murder him. As he stepped forward, Aegon stepped back as he began to regret his words.

"Take me to our chambers, Cregan," she lightly pleaded. 

The wolf of the north only stared for a while before nodding, "Lead the way."

She sighed as she gave a final look to her brother. "Clean yourself up. You look like shit."

…

Standing behind Rhaenyra, Y/n and Cregan whispered idly to Daemon when someone would comment something out of hand. 

Luke's legitimacy was coming into question, and though the Starks knew the truth, they would not dare pry the inheritance from the boy's hands. That was not their place. So next to Daemon they stood as petitions were made to and against him.

Daemon leaned in to speak to Y/n, "how far along did you say you were?"

"Eight moons now," she whispered back.

Daemon let out a surprised grunt. "You're to have the child here then? That seems unlike you."

"Uncle, my father insisted I come, and I have. Whether the child is born in the North or the South, it is a Targaryen and Stark all the same."

He smiled lightly, "I suppose you're right. If you wish for someone to accompany Lord Stark to the dragon pit to choose a proper egg for the child, only say the word."

Cregan, who had been listening quietly, now leaned in, "I am to choose an egg?"

"It is tradition," she explained. "It can be before, during, or after the birth, but the father chooses the egg. If… If you would wish to continue that tradition."

He grinned, "I'd be delighted to try."

When Vaemond Valaryon stepped up forward to speak his mind, the Starks quieted. 

He spoke in anger, trying to take Luke's right. 

Y/n looked past him to her mother and siblings. 

Aegon looked like he'd rather be doing anything else. He didn't care the outcome of this ordeal. Aemond watched intensely with his one eye, taking in every detail. And Helaena… sweet Helaena. 

She needed to visit her and the children soon.

"And her children are…" Vaemond paused.

The room stilled.

"Say it," Daemon whispered under his breath.

"Her children are BASTARDS!" He screamed.

Y/n jumped back in surprise as Cregan's steady hands caught her waist.

"And she. Is. a. Whore." Vaemond finished.

The air in the room stilled and became stuffy as the tension reached an all time high.

Viserys stood on unstable legs as he unsheathed his dagger, "I will have… your tongue for this."

A sudden slice moved through the air, and half of Vaemond's head was gone.

Blood splattered across the ones' nearest, meaning the Starks. Cregan let out an annoyed grunt.

"He can keep his tongue," Daemon said proudly as he lowered his sword.

Y/n rested a hand over her swollen stomach with a shaky hand, trying to ignore the blood that began to seep into her clothes. 

Cregan leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Are you alright?"

"I… I want to go," she shuddered back.

He nodded, looking around as the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves. He held a hand firmly against her back as she became to let out an uncomfortable whine.

"Cregan, please," she whispered.

"Alright. Alright, let's go, my love," he said as he tried to move her through the crowd.

But her legs faltered as she let out a pained noise.

He caught her in panic, "Are you in pain?"

"The babe…"

No longer caring for proper manners, Cregan stood tall and looked over the crowd. "MOVE!" He yelled out.

The people quieted and moved as Cregan helped his wife through the room and out of the doors.

Alicent only saw a brief glimpse of her daughter's silver hair go through the doors, and she was on edge. She ran through the crowd to follow behind them.

He held onto his wife's arm with one hand and held her waist with the other, trying to support her as they moved to their chambers.

Y/n let out a gasp, and her water broke.

Alicent caught up to them and grabbed her daughter's other arm. "It's alright. You're alright." She turned to a servant and ordered him to get the maester. 

Sweat began to break out of the poor woman's forehead as the weight of what is happening began to settle. 

Once on her bed, Cregan refused to move from her side, Alicent as well. Alicent rubbed soothingly across her daughter's forehead as Cregan paced at the foot of the bed.

The maester and midwives came quickly, immediately moving to the woman in labor.

"My lord, it is best if you remain outside," one of them said.

Cregan's brows furrowed in confusion. "Out… Outside?"

Alicent chipped in, "It is tradition. The husband waits outside of the doors."

He stared at Y/n in thought. Tradition. How that word weighed on them like boulders. 

"Alright."

…

He tried to ignore the sounds of her cries as he stood in the corridor. 

Nothing could ease his worries. 

In the North, it was not uncommon to be by their wife's side. 

This was unusual to him.

"My lord," a midwife questioned as she poked her head from the room.

His eyes widened, "Is she alright?"

"The child is… having trouble, my lord."

That was Cregan's greatest fear. The maester in Winterfell had spent endless hours with Cregan to determine a plan for if such a thing were to occur. Now he was without a plan entirely.

"Alright?" He finally breathed.

"What do you wish for us to do?"

"What options do I have?" He spoke barely above a whisper.

The midwife gave him an empathetic look. "We can cut the child out-"

"-No." He was quick with his answer, the very thought of taking a blade to her seeming the greatest sin he could commit.

"Um… it will be painful, but we can help her force the child out."

"Is that safe for her?"

The midwife shrugged lightly, "More than any other option I can give you."

He nodded.

She gave a weak smile and moved back into the room, but Cregan caught the door before it closed and forced his way in.

At the sight of his wife, he felt as if a blade went into his own stomach.

She was crying in pain, the midwives forcing her hips down as she tried to move away from the pain, as if that was possible.

At the sight of him, her entire face relaxed, "Cregan…"

He moved to her side, "I'm here. How can I help?"

Alicent glared slightly at him. 

"They won't… I can't…" Y/n whimpered out.

"They won't what?" He looked up to Alicent, "What are they doing?"

"She wishes to get up. We cannot have her standing," she explained.

Cregan was thrown off by that. "She cannot? W… Why ever not?" When in labor with him, Cregan's mother was said to have walked the length of Winterfell 3x over. 

"It hurts… please, Cregan…" 

He nodded as his expression hardened. "Let her stand."

The maester shook his head, "She is nearing the labor. She should not-"

"-She wishes to stand. She will stand."

Alicent spoke up. "Lord Stark-"

"-This is my wife and child. If she wishes to walk, then she will," he barked. 

A fire lit behind the queen's eyes. "She will not."

The midwives watched the tension grow.

Finally, Cregan calmly reached down and began to help his wife sit up.

Alicent cursed under her breath and grabbed Cregan's wrist in an effort to stop him.

Cregan's eyes slowly moved up to Alicent's face as anger began to overcome him. 

But she was first to speak. "You are no longer in the North. You abide by our traditions when you are here."

He'd heard enough of that word for a lifetime. 

His words came out sharper than he intended, but he cared little to soften them. "Your family is made of vipers and cutthroats. When I take my wife and child back to Winterfell, it will truly be a miracle if you ever see them again, for I will not let her sit and be neglected and tormented. I am a brute, but I am not without heart. Now, Let. Go."

Alicent reluctantly let go.

Cregan helped Y/n sit, and she immediately felt relief. "I want to walk," she panted.

He nodded, practically holding her up as she stood. "We will walk the corridor and return." His voice had no room for argument.

Once they paced the corridor a few times, she was returned to the bed, only to find that Alicent had left. Cregan only cared about it when he noticed the tinge of sadness that moved over his laboring wife.

But he was quick to fill the gap. As she moved back to the bed, Cregan sat behind her and held her against his chest, messaging anywhere that began to ache.

The labor came soon after that. Cregan held her close as she screamed in pain and gripped his wrists. She surely left bruises.

"The babe is crowning, princess," the midwife exclaimed. "Keep pushing."

The pain came in waves that made her see white. 

Cregan began to panic when the midwives gave one another a look. "What?"

"She is not pushing hard enough."

Y/n began to cry in frustration.

"She is pushing," Cregan sighed. "What else is there to do?"

One of them reached up and began to push on her stomach, prompting the princess to cry harder as the pain multiplied. 

"Allow me," Cregan shifted her in his hold and carefully placed his hands where the midwife had, slowly applying pressure to the same place.

As Y/n screamed and cried, Cregan placed assuring kisses against her neck and cheek and whispered calming words to her. "You're doing well."

If the pain had not been so bad, she may have blushed.

…

Cregan held the baby close to his chest as his wife slept.

"My lord," a servant finally entered and interrupted the silence. "The queen has requested to see the child."

An annoyed feeling washed over the man. Of course, she wished to. 

The servant took note of his changed demeanor, "I can take-"

"-No," he countered. "I will go myself. Should my wife awaken in my absence, give her anything she desires."

His heavy feet stormed from the room and he walked to the queen's chambers.

Alicent turned and shock overcame her. "Lord Stark. I did not expect you to-"

"-Neither did I."

The two stared at one another for a moment before Alicent's eyes wandered to the bundle in the large lord's arms. "Healthy?"

"The very picture."

She nodded, unsure of what to say next.

"A boy," Cregan stated.

"A boy?" Alicent whispered. Any thoughts of annoyance were past to her, and she walked to the lord and eagerly looked at the child.

The baby was indeed the picture of health. Bright purple eyes looked up at the two. Dark hair sat atop his head.

"He's quite northern," she stated.

"Indeed." Cregan was sure she meant it as an insult, but he could care less. The thought of such a gift as a northern boy filled him with pride. 

"Congratulations, Lord Stark."

He nodded. "Your daughter is fine as well."

Alicent moved away from Cregan and sat down. "That is a blessing. To all of us. She will be a perfect mother."

"Aye, she will."

The tension between the two was evident, but they wouldn't let it dull the excitement of the newest addition to the line.

"I should return to my wife."

"Please, do."

Cregan moved to the door.

"Lord Stark?" She asked.

"Yes?"

Alicent stared at him and then the babe. "Thank you. For caring for her. And now him. You are a better man than most."

Cregan sighed. It wasn't a compliment, but it was something. "Thank you, my queen. She will want for nothing until my dying breath."

"This is all I wished for her."

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Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver

[stylesispunk]

'The soldier in the armour' | part i

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

next part

summary: Lucilla arranged a wedding between you and General Acacius to protect you from Emperor Geta. Acacius doesn't love you but he has swore to protect you.

w.c: 12k>

warnings: power imbalance, age gap, arranged marriage, creep man, suicide attempt, smut, fluff, and angst.

a/n: this is a mix of two requests! I lost one of the requests in my asks so if you see it, please feel free to yell at me haha there is it! 😭 I wanted to say sorry for taking so long on this, but I made the choice to mix both because I didn't have the time to write separately and I didn't want to make you wait anymore, don't hate me, please.

| dividers by @/saradika-graphics |

There were blurry reminiscent of the life you once had. It wasn’t very different from the one you had now, but it wasn’t the same either.

The empire seemed at peace back in the day, the sun caressed your skin with the tenderness of a loving mother touch, but now it burnt your skin as if you had been set in a fire.

You remembered your grandfather death.

You recalled your uncle’s death in the arena.

Maximus death, and with him the dream of Rome died, swapping the peace of the empire away.

You recalled a brother. He was your twin, and you remembered loving him.

Lucius.

Your mother had sent him away under sacred protection, with Comodous’s death, he was the next emperor in line.

But you had stay here. After all you were a woman and your blood didn’t have the value running through your veins.

You had been forced to live with the faded memories of Lucius's blue eyes, those that mirrored your own somehow, the ones that used to gleam with the particular mischief of a kid. Now, they haunted your dreams like ghosts, a reminder of the bond torn apart by politics and promises of protection.

Each day in the palace felt like a gilded cage rusted by the passage of time, where the air was thick with deceit, and every word spoken seemed laced with hidden agendas. Emperor Geta’s obsession with you had made life unbearable. His attention was suffocating, his gaze lingering too long, his presence a constant reminder of your vulnerability as a woman in the imperial court.

Under his and his brother rules.

And when your mother and the council proposed your marriage to General Acacius, you had resisted. Marriage was meant to be a union of love, not a transaction of protection. That what you were told by her when you were a kid. Yet, as Geta’s obsession grew more unhinged, and whispers of his plans to claim you as his own wife reached your ears, you knew there was no choice.

Lucilla braided your hair, the same way she had been doing it since you were a kid. Her touch was gentle, but her face displayed her worry. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and the occasional quiver in her fingers spoke of the weight they carried on her hands, not just as your mother but as a woman who had maneuvered through the treacherous politics of the empire her entire life.

"My sweet girl," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "I know this is not the life you would have chosen. If I could take your pain and bear it myself, I would."

You turned to look at her, meeting her gaze through the reflection in the mirror. Her eyes, though still fierce, carried a shadow of regret that seemed etched into her very soul. For a moment, you weren’t the daughter of a woman which fate as empress, had been stolen, you were just a child looking for comfort in your mother’s arms.

"But you can’t," you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold back the emotions threatening to spill over. "You sent Lucius away, and you kept me here. You say it’s for my protection, but sometimes it feels like I’ve been sacrificed for a safety it’s not real.”

Lucilla’s hands paused in your hair. Her reflection in the mirror faltered, the weight of your words cutting deep. "I sent Lucius away because he was a target," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "I thought once he was older enough, one day he would reclaim what is rightfully his. But you... I couldn’t send you away, too. I couldn’t lose both of you."

"Instead, you bound me to this place," you said, unable to stop the bitterness in your tone. "To a life I didn’t choose, to a marriage that will feel like another cage."

Lucilla moved to face you, her hands resting on your shoulders. "Acacius is a good man," she said firmly. "He may not have been the man of your dreams, but he is a man who will protect you. And I swear to you, I chose him because I saw something in him. Something that told me he would be more than just a shield for you”

Her words hung heavy in the air, and you didn’t respond. Deep down, you knew she believed she was doing the right thing, but it didn’t make the ache in your chest any less sharp.

“I wish I was dead” you whispered to yourself only.

The wedding day arrived cloaked in grandeur, yet it felt suffocatingly hollow. The palace was adorned with gold and crimson, every corner lit by the soft glow of countless lamps. Musicians played melodies meant to celebrate unity, but their music tortured your aching heart. Guests gathered in their finery; faces painted with polite smiles masking their true thoughts. You stood at the heart of it all, draped in a gown of ivory silk embroidered with golden threads, a symbol of wealth and duty, not love.

As you walked towards Acacius, flanked by your mother, the room blurred, as if it wasn’t truly real. The man awaiting you at the altar stood tall and composed, his features carved from stone. Acacius wore a ceremonial armor, the white and gold catching the light, but his expression was unreadable. His eyes met yours, steady and unyielding, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what he truly thought of all this.

The vows were spoken. His voice was deep, calm, and detached. When he slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch was light, almost hesitant. There was no tenderness, no sign of warmth. Only duty. The ceremony ended with applause that echoed in the vast chamber, but the sound felt distant. You were bound now, not by love, but by necessity.

Emperor Geta would stop his courting towards you.

Later that evening, you found yourself alone with him in your new chambers. The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. You sat at the edge of the bed, your hands folded tightly in your lap, while Acacius stood near the window, his back to you. He seemed restless, as if the weight of his armor had been replaced by the burden of this union.

"You don’t have to speak to me if you don’t wish to," you said quietly, breaking the silence. Your voice was steadier than you expected, though your heart raced. "I know this wasn’t your choice any more than it was mine."

He turned then, his gaze settling on you. For a moment, his cold exterior softened, though only slightly. "It wasn’t," he admitted, his tone measured, as if he were weighing every word. "But it was necessary. Your mother asked me."

His honesty stung, even if it wasn’t unexpected. You nodded, unable to meet his eyes. "My mother,” you echoed, her title feeling heavy in your mouth.

Acacius sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the movement breaking his usual composed demeanor. "This isn’t what I imagined for my life either," he said, his voice quieter now. "But I’ve sworn to protect you, and I will. Even if this arrangement feels..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Unnatural."

"Unnatural," you repeated with a bitter smile. "What a lovely way to describe a marriage."

His jaw tightened at your sarcasm, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he crossed the room, stopping a few steps away from you. His presence was imposing, yet his movements were deliberate, careful, as if he were afraid of overwhelming you.

"I will do my duty," he said finally, his voice firm but not unkind. "And I will honor you as my wife. But I can’t pretend to feel something that isn’t there.”

His words were a knife, cutting through the fragile hope you hadn’t even realized you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard and nodded, keeping your gaze fixed on your hands.

"If you need anything, you only have to ask. I’ll be in my chambers." he said. And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the vast, empty room.

That night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of your new reality pressing down on you. Acacius’s words echoed in your mind, and though they weren’t cruel, they felt colder than any rejection. You couldn’t blame him, not really. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

You wished you could close your eyes and be anywhere else. In the gardens with your brother, in the safety of Lucius’s protection, or even in the quiet stillness of a life unbound by imperial chains. But instead, you were here, in this gilded cage, with a husband who was as much a stranger as the walls around you.

The following days were a blur of formality and silence. Acacius remained distant but civil, his actions guided more by duty than emotion. He escorted you through the palace when required, his hand resting lightly on your arm but never lingering. At meals, he was polite, engaging in conversations when prompted but offering little more than what was necessary. You were a pair in appearance, but the gulf between you was undeniable.

Lucilla watched it all silently. She offered no commentary, but her concerned glances betrayed her thoughts. Her belief that Acacius was the right choice remained unwavering, yet even she couldn’t deny the strain in your union.

One evening, after the day’s obligations had ended, you returned to your chambers to find Acacius standing by the window. He was in his tunic, having removed the heavy armor that seemed to weigh him down as much as the marriage itself. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense as he gazed out into the fading light of dusk.

“Do you regret this?” you asked softly, breaking the silence. The question had been clawing at you for days, and you couldn’t keep it bottled up any longer.

Acacius turned to you; his expression unreadable. “Regret isn’t the right word,” he said after a pause. “This wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s the path I’ve chosen. I will honor it.”

You crossed the room, stopping a few paces from him. “You speak of honor as if it’s enough to make this work,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “But what about us? Are we just to coexist in silence, fulfilling obligations without ever truly living?”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, his cold demeanor cracked. “Do you think this is easy for me?” he asked, his tone sharper than you expected. “I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. But I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can to give you the life you deserve.”

“The life I deserve?” you echoed, anger bubbling to the surface. “I deserve a life where I’m not a pawn, where my choices matter. I deserve a marriage built on something more than duty.”

Acacius looked away, his jaw tightening. “And yet, here we are,” he said quietly. “Bound by something neither of us chose.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself as you tried to hold back the tears threatening to spill. “I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“I know,” Acacius said, his voice softening. You felt his presence behind you, and a moment later, his hand rested lightly on your shoulder. “I can’t change what brought us here, but I can promise you this; I will protect you. Always.”

“Why do you don’t like me as a person?” you asked, unable to meet his gaze

Acacius’s hand froze on your shoulder, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The weight of your words hung in the air; unspoken questions laced with vulnerability. Slowly, you turned to face him, your arms still wrapped around yourself as if shielding your heart from the answer you feared.

“Why don’t you like me as a person?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “Is it because you didn’t choose this? Because I’m nothing more than an obligation to you?”

Acacius’s jaw tightened, his eyes searching yours as if debating whether to speak the truth or spare you further pain. Finally, he exhaled deeply, stepping back to create some space between you. His hand fell to his side, the warmth of his touch fading.

“It’s not that I don’t like you,” he began, his voice low and measured, as if choosing his words with care. “You’re intelligent, strong-willed, and far braver than anyone gives you credit for. But... this isn’t about you. It never was.”

Your stomach twisted, the pit forming at his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair as he stared out of the window. “Your mother,” he said finally, the words falling like stones. “I... I loved her.”

The breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening as if the room had suddenly closed in on you. “What?” you managed to choke out, disbelief coloring your tone.

Acacius turned back to you, his expression a mixture of regret and resignation. “Lucilla. I loved her long before any of this. Long before Commodus fell, before your world became this mess of alliances and power struggles. But she...” He hesitated, his gaze softening.

“Asked you to marry her daughter because of Geta’s courtesy” you ended his sentence. You felt disgusted by his confession and guilty for destroying the chances of your mother and Lucilla of being happy together.

Acacius's eyes widened slightly at your words, but he didn’t deny them. Instead, he looked at you with a mixture of shame and helplessness, as though he carried the weight of his choices like chains he could never cast off. “It was more than just Geta,” he said quietly. “Lucilla believed—she hoped—that this union would keep you safe from him. And I thought... I thought I could do that for her.”

You stepped back, your heart pounding. The walls of the room seemed to close in, suffocating you under the weight of his confession. “And in doing so, you destroyed any chance you both might have had for happiness,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because of you, she sacrificed everything—for what? To tie me to a man who doesn’t even want me.”

“Hey,” Acacius said quickly, stepping closer, but you held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “Don’t try to justify it. You will never love me, and now I know why. Because all you see in me is her shadow.”

“No.” His voice was firm now, his eyes blazing with an intensity that startled you. “You’re wrong. I never wanted this to be about her, and I never wanted you to think I see you as anything less than who you are. But I can’t bury my feelings, and I can’t undo the choices we made.”

Your stomach churned with anger, disgust and despair. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” you demanded. “You’ve tied me to a life I never wanted, a life where I’ll always wonder if I was just a piece in someone else’s plan. I’m always trapped in the middle of something.”

The tears you had been holding back finally broke free, spilling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body. The weight of Acacius’s confession, of everything you had endured, crushed you, and the walls of the room seemed to close in around you.

“I can’t do this,” you said, your voice trembling, thick with emotion. “I can’t stay here.”

“Please,” Acacius began, his tone urgent as he stepped toward you, his hand outstretched. But you recoiled, shaking your head fiercely.

“Don’t!” you cried, your voice cracking. “Don’t come near me! Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay when nothing ever is. You’re just another person who’s used me, another person who doesn’t see me.”

The rawness of your words hung in the air, and for a moment, Acacius froze, his face etched with a mixture of pain and helplessness. But you couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The walls of the room blurred as your tears continued to fall, and you turned abruptly, your feet moving before your mind could catch up.

You fled the room, your sobs echoing in the empty corridors as you ran blindly through the villa. Servants and guards turned to look at you, startled by the sight of their lady in such distress, but you ignored them. You needed to get away, away from Acacius, away from the suffocating weight of expectations, away from everything.

Eventually, you found yourself in the gardens, the cool night air biting at your skin. The sky above was scattered with stars, their distant light doing little to ease the turmoil within you. You collapsed onto a stone bench, your arms wrapping around yourself as you cried, the sound of your grief swallowed by the rustling of the trees.

You had tried so hard to find a place in this world, to make peace with the life forced upon you. But tonight, every fragile piece of that illusion had shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and pain.

As your sobs subsided, a cold breeze swept through the garden, chilling you to the bone. For a brief moment, you thought of Acacius, of the way his eyes had softened when he spoke, of the regret laced in his voice.

But the anger and betrayal still burned too brightly within you to let those thoughts linger.

The cool night air stung your cheeks as you sprinted through the gardens, past the rows of manicured hedges and marble statues. The villa loomed behind you, its walls suffocating even at a distance. Your lungs burned, your heart hammering against your ribs, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it had to be far away from Acacius, from the weight of his confession, from the life you no longer recognized as your own.

Your feet carried you to the outer grounds of the villa, where the shadows grew darker, the torchlight dimmer. The muffled sound of distant voices reached your ears, guards patrolling the perimeter, but you veered away from them, toward the narrow dirt path that led to the forest. The trees ahead beckoned like a sanctuary, their darkness promising solitude.

You barely noticed the snap of a twig behind you until a voice cut through the silence.

Before you could gather your thoughts, you heard soft footsteps approaching once more. Your heart lurched. "Acacius?" you called out tentatively, but when the figure stepped into the moonlight, your breath caught.

It wasn’t Acacius.

It was Geta.

He stood there, his face shadowed yet unmistakably troubled. The smugness on his face was characteristic but still you couldn’t name his expression you couldn’t place what he was feeling, desperation? Anguish? The way his chest rose and fell told you he’d been running, as if chasing you had been his sole purpose.

“Emperor Geta? wha-what are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice shaking, not with fear but with a volatile mixture of emotions you couldn’t quite name.

“I was on my way to pay a visit to our beloved General” he answered, his sinister smile still on his face, "I must admit," he said, stepping closer, his tone dripping with false amusement, "I didn’t expect to find you wandering out here all alone. What would dear Acacius think, hmm? Leaving his precious wife unguarded in the dead of night?"

Your heart pounded harder now, but for an entirely different reason.

Geta took another step toward you, and you fought the urge to recoil. The air between you felt suffocating, charged with a tension that made your skin crawl.

"You’re drunk, emperor" you said sharply, hoping to mask the fear creeping into your voice. "Go back to the palace, Geta.”

But he only laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Oh, I’m perfectly sober," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And I think it’s time we had a little... talk, you and I.”

“What more could you possibly want from me, Emperor?”

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, they weren’t cold or calculating. They were raw, bare, and filled with an emotion that made your stomach churn.

“You,” he said, the word barely above a whisper.

Your blood froze. “What?”

“I’ve loved you,” he said, his voice trembling. “For as long as I can remember. And I’ve hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop. Not even when I tried to keep my distance. Not even when I told myself it was wrong.”

The ground seemed to shift beneath your feet. This was a nightmare—a fever dream born of the turmoil of the night. It had to be.

“No,” you said, shaking your head vehemently. “No, you can’t—you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said, stepping closer, though he didn’t reach for you. “I’ve tried to bury it; to pretend I could be the dutiful emperor everyone thought I was. But every time I see you, every time I hear your voice...” He broke off, his hands clenching into fists. “It is like I am set on fire.”

“I—” you started, but words failed you.

Geta took another step forward, his desperation palpable. “Do you see now?” he asked, his voice softer but no less intense. “I’ve only ever seen you as mine.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice trembling as you raised a hand to keep him at bay. “Just stop. Whatever you think this is, whatever you feel—it’s wrong.”

He froze at your words, his face twisting with a mixture of pain and defiance. “Wrong?” he repeated, his voice cracking. “How can it be wrong when it’s the only thing I’ve ever been certain of?”

“Because I don’t feel the same!” you shouted, your tears spilling over now. “I will never feel the same. I’m married.”

Geta flinched at your words as though you’d struck him. His face, already a storm of emotions, darkened further. “Married,” he spat, his voice low and bitter. “To a man who will never truly see you. A man who cannot love you the way I do.”

Your chest tightened as anger began to bubble within you, momentarily overpowering the fear and confusion. “Love?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “This isn’t love, Geta. Whatever you think this is, it’s twisted. You’ve turned me into some...some object to claim, a possession to own!”

His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I have done nothing but love you,” he said through gritted teeth. “When no one else cared about your happiness, when they made you a pawn in their schemes, I thought of you. Always.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” you demanded, stepping forward despite yourself. “Why didn’t you, with all your power, say something? Do something? If you loved me so much, why didn’t you fight for me?”

Geta’s gaze faltered for the briefest moment, a crack in his otherwise unyielding façade. “Because I couldn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Because to love you openly would have been to destroy you. You think I don’t know how they look at me? How they whisper? They already call me unfit to rule, unstable. If they knew how I felt, they would have turned their wrath on you.”

“That’s not love,” you said, shaking your head, your voice breaking. “Love doesn’t hide in shadows. It doesn’t tear someone apart from the inside. It doesn’t...” You trailed off, pressing a trembling hand to your mouth as sobs threatened to escape. “It doesn’t feel like this.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the night wind.

“I didn’t want this,” Geta finally said, his voice almost a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you. But watching you with him, knowing you’re his...” His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “It’s killing me.”

“I’m not yours,” you said firmly, the words sharper than you intended. “I’ll never be yours.”

Geta’s face hardened at that, the softness of his confession replaced by something colder, more dangerous. “We’ll see,” he said quietly, his tone chilling in its calmness. “The gods have a way of changing fates”

The sound of hooves pounding the earth broke through the tension that had built between you and Geta. The rhythmic thundering grew louder, and you instinctively turned toward the noise, your heart racing in your chest.

Acacius appeared from the shadows, his silhouette cutting through the night as he rode forward, leading a group of horses. His eyes immediately locked on you, and in an instant, his expression shifted—darkening, as though a storm had formed within him. When his gaze flicked to Geta, the atmosphere around them changed.

Geta remained still, but his eyes narrowed. He knew exactly who had arrived. A low tension crackled in the air, like two opposing forces on the verge of collision.

“Emperor Geta,” Acacius said sharply, his voice hard, his stance unwavering. His hand instinctively tightened on the reins of his horse as if it were a weapon, a subtle warning. “It is too late for you to be out in the middle of the night”

For a moment, Geta didn't respond. The intensity of his stare met Acacius’ head-on, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. But Acacius didn’t flinch. His presence was commanding, and even Geta, in his turmoil, could sense the shift.

You stepped back slightly, the weight of the situation dawning on you. The conflict between these two men was palpable, and it made the ground beneath your feet feel unsteady. Your heart pounded, not just from fear, but from something deeper, more painful. The realization that you were now caught between these two men who seemed to hold pieces of your life in their hands.

Geta’s lips curled slightly in a sardonic smile, though there was an edge to it.  “I bet is too late to pay a visit to our beloved general"

Acacius ignored the provocation, his eyes now focused solely on you, his voice softening. “Are you all right?” he asked, though it was laced with an undertone of concern, almost as though he was afraid to hear the answer.

You could feel your chest tighten as Acacius’s eyes met yours, the concern in his voice stirring something deep inside of you, something vulnerable. You wanted to say something, anything to ease the tension, but the words wouldn’t come. Your emotions were a storm, a swirl of anger, fear, and confusion that made it impossible to think clearly.

Before you could respond, Geta’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Does he really care, or is this just about keeping control? Do you really think he’s here for you?” He sneered, stepping forward as if trying to push Acacius out of the space between you. “Or is it just the idea of you that he wants to control, the power that comes with your bloodline?”

The truth was beyond the obsession Geta had towards you, there was fear. He was aware your blood belonged to the realm, so you weren’t a lover he wanted to possess but a treat he wanted to eliminate.  

You weren’t just a woman who caught his eye; you were the reminder of the power he feared losing. Your existence in the realm, your connection to the throne, made you a target in his mind. His twisted love for you wasn’t love, it was a deep-seated need to control, to erase what he couldn’t possess or manipulate.

Your marriage to the General of Rome put you in a place where you could go back to ruling the empire.

Acacius stood tall, his eyes still fixed on Geta, the tension between them thick enough to choke the air around you. His expression was hard, his jaw clenched with quiet fury, but it was the protective energy that radiated from him that caught your attention. He wasn’t going to let this spiral any further.

"Whatever matter you think needs discussing, Geta," Acacius began, his voice steady but firm, "it can wait until tomorrow. Not tonight. Not in the presence of my wife."

The words were sharp, final. There was a strength in them that sent a clear message, a line that Geta could not cross. Acacius’s gaze never wavered as he took a step forward, a silent challenge to Geta, daring him to try anything more.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, torn between relief and dread. Acacius's words were a shield, but they didn’t seem to do anything to quell the storm brewing between the two men.

Geta’s face hardened, the flicker of emotion that had passed through him earlier replaced by a steely resolve. “Your wife, Acacius,” he said, the venom in his tone unmistakable, “is a part of this empire, and the future of it is bound to her. Don’t think for a second you can keep her out of this.”

Acacius’s grip tightened on the reins of his horse, his knuckles white as he kept his stance, unwavering. “I’m not keeping her out of anything,” he said, his voice low but deadly. “But as her husband, I will not let you use her to fuel your delusions of power.”

For a moment, the air seemed to freeze, the threat hanging between them like a sword poised to fall. But Geta, ever the strategist, knew when to back down. He held your gaze for one last moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned away, his posture stiff, and he strode off, leaving the two of you standing there in the quiet aftermath.

You exhaled shakily, feeling a weight lift from your chest, but it didn’t last. The shadows of what had just transpired seemed to cling to you, the fear, the confusion still buzzing in your veins. Acacius’s protection, though fiercely given, couldn’t erase the uncertainty of everything that had just happened.

He turned to you then, his expression softening, though the hard edge from earlier remained in his eyes. “Are you all right?” His voice was gentle now, and the concern in his gaze pulled at your heart in a way you couldn’t explain.

You nodded but soon after you moved your head, everything went completely black.

The world slowly came back into focus, the heavy weight of unconsciousness lifting from your mind like a veil being drawn aside. You blinked, the sharp light of the morning creeping through the windows, and the gentle rustle of sheets beneath you signaled you were no longer outside. You were back inside, in the cool, quiet comfort of your chambers.

Your body felt heavy, as though every muscle had been drained of energy, but the pain from the night before had faded, replaced by a strange weariness that seeped into your bones. You tried to sit up, but a soft voice stopped you before you could move.

“Careful,” Lucilla said, her tone gentle but firm. She was sitting by your bedside, her eyes fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calm reassurance. “You need to rest.”

Your heart raced for a moment, the fragments of the night’s events rushing back to you. Geta’s confrontation, the threat in his voice, and Acacius standing between you, the tension thick enough to choke the air. You could still feel the sharp edge of fear in your chest, but for now, you were safe.

“Mother…” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “What happened? Is… is everything all right?”

Lucilla’s eyes softened, and she reached out to brush a lock of hair from your face, her touch soothing. “You fainted, my lady. After the confrontation with the emperor, you collapsed. Acacius was frantic. He had you brought inside immediately. He’s been by your side all night.”

Her words made your heart flutter, a strange mixture of emotions flooding you. Acacius had been there, waiting, watching over you, just as he always did. But there was something else in the air, something unspoken between you and him that neither of you could ignore.

“He stayed with me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The thought of him there, protecting you, made something twist inside your chest.

Lucilla nodded, her expression softening. “Yes. He didn’t leave your side for a moment. He’s worried about you.”

As Lucilla’s words settled into your mind, the door to your chambers creaked open. You barely had time to turn your head before Acacius stepped inside, his figure towering in the doorway. His presence seemed to fill the room, his eyes immediately locking with yours. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a depth of emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. For a moment, it felt as though the world outside of your small room had disappeared, leaving just the two of you, caught in the stillness of the moment.

He took a step forward, but it was the way he looked at your mother that made your breath catch in your throat. The same tension you had felt between you and him last night now seemed to make sense. The raw honesty, the confession he had made—the admission of his feelings, the vulnerability in his voice—was clear in that single glance. And in that moment, something inside you recoiled.

You were a burden.

“Acacius…” you whispered, barely able to speak, your mind reeling. You could feel the panic rising inside you, suffocating, as if there was no room to breathe in his presence. Was this what you had been running from all along?

He stepped closer, his voice steady but strained. “You’re awake,” he said quietly, almost as if he was still processing the fact. His eyes softened when they met yours, but there was a flicker of something darker behind them, something you couldn’t place.

“I was worried about you,” he added, his tone still holding a thread of concern, as if your well-being was his sole focus.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. Lucilla, sensing the weight of the moment, quietly excused herself, leaving you and Acacius alone in the quiet of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, the silence between you two seemed to grow heavier, more suffocating. He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it fully. Every part of you screamed for distance, for space, and yet, he remained close—too close.

“Acacius, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. How could you put into words what you were feeling? The confusion, the fear, the overwhelming weight of it all? It wasn’t just about what Geta had done or said; it was about the emotions Acacius had stirred in you, emotions you didn’t know how to deal with.

You wanted to feel loved in a way your skin felt when the sun caresses your face in the midst of a cold winter.

But Acacius could never love you.

The days passed like slow, heavy drops of rain. The storm of emotions that had churned inside of you seemed to settle, but it wasn’t a calm; it was the oppressive stillness before something darker took hold. Acacius remained by your side, always present, but the warmth that once ignited in your chest when you saw him, when you felt his concern, began to dim. His confession, those raw words of love for your mother, left a lingering sting that you couldn’t ignore, no matter how hard you tried.

Each time you saw him, you felt a coldness creeping into your heart, like the chill of winter settling into your bones. It wasn’t that you hated him, far from it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something fundamental had broken. You had wanted to feel cherished, wanted in a way that made you feel whole, like the sun warming your skin during the harshest of winters. But instead, you felt like the shadows of something lost were all that remained.

The days blurred together as you drifted through them in a fog. The joy that once accompanied your moments with Acacius, his gaze, his touch, seemed to fade with each passing day. You were still there, still functioning, but you weren’t alive in the way you had once been. You were a shadow of the person who had laughed freely, who had dreamed of a future with the man who had stood beside you through every storm.

Now, his presence only reminded you of what could never be. Every word from him felt weighted, laced with an unspoken truth you couldn’t escape. He was there, yes—but it was Lucilla’s name that seemed to linger in the air between you, a constant reminder of what could never happen.

You stopped meeting his gaze as often, your conversations clipped and polite, but distant. You couldn’t pretend anymore that things were the same. You couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling that had taken root inside you, gnawing at you like a slow, insidious poison.

The days felt endless. The life you had once felt for each moment, for each glance he gave you, slipped away bit by bit. You told yourself you were strong, that you would move on, that you could adapt to the life in front of you. But the spark that once filled your soul, the fire that had kept you going, was slowly being smothered. Each day without clarity, without answers, without that spark, made you more resigned, hollower.

The days blurred into weeks, and life continued its chaotic, inevitable march forward. The grandeur of Rome, its towering structures and ancient streets, became a distant backdrop to the turmoil that had taken root within you. Despite the growing tension surrounding you, your presence at the grand events of the empire remained. There were battles in the Colosseum—events that had once stirred the blood, filled with anticipation and excitement. Now, they were merely noise, the sounds of clashing steel and roars of the crowd unable to penetrate the numbness that had taken hold of your soul.

Geta's obsession with you deepened, his presence more frequent, more invasive. His eyes never seemed to leave you, and every word he spoke, every look, was an attempt to assert control, to draw you into his tangled web of fear and power. But his attempts only felt more suffocating. You were trapped, like an animal in a gilded cage, unable to escape his watchful gaze. He wasn’t interested in you as a woman; you were a symbol to him, something to manipulate, to dominate, to erase the threat you posed to his fragile claim on the empire.

Despite your growing isolation, Acacius remained at your side. His concern for you was evident, though he seemed to be walking on a thin line, careful not to overstep or push you too hard. He knew you were withdrawing, knew that something had shifted between you, but he didn’t know how to reach you. He could see the distance in your eyes, the way you pulled away when he tried to comfort you. And it broke him, though he never spoke of it.

There were feelings he didn’t know he was able to feel, appearing.

The battles at the Colosseum grew more brutal, the spectacle becoming more and more gruesome with each passing day. The roar of the crowd no longer thrilled you. The sight of blood, the cries of victory and death—it all blended into a backdrop of life that felt increasingly distant, like you were watching it all from behind a veil. You were alive, yes—but you weren’t truly living.

One evening, as you sat beside Acacius in the grand hall, your hand in his, you tried to force a smile. You knew he was watching, hoping for some sign that the woman he once knew was still there. The fingers that held yours were strong, steady, but you felt a chill crawl up your spine. His warmth didn’t reach you anymore. His presence, once a comfort, now felt like a reminder of everything you had lost.

"Smile," he whispered, his voice gentle, coaxing. "Just for tonight. For me."

You nodded, a small, strained smile curling at the corner of your lips. But as you smiled, something inside you felt hollow. You knew what he saw—the facade of a woman who was still whole, still alive. But inside, you were dying. The life that once burned brightly in you had been extinguished, snuffed out by the weight of betrayal, fear, and a love that could never be returned. And as you smiled for him, you felt like an actor playing a part—faking a life that wasn’t truly yours anymore.

The crowd cheered as Acacius raised your hand, the symbol of his victory and his loyalty to Rome. But you couldn’t feel the victory. You couldn’t feel the joy. You just felt death. Not the death of your body, but the death of everything you had once been. The woman who dreamed, who hoped, who believed in love and light, was slipping further away with each passing day.

Acacius, for all his strength, could never reach you. You could see the worry in his eyes, the way he would glance at you when he thought you weren’t looking, as if he was searching for something—anything—that would tell him you were still there. But you weren’t. You were a shadow, a flicker of the woman you used to be, trapped in the space between life and death.

As the days stretched on, Geta’s obsession with you grew more dangerous. His presence became a constant reminder of your captivity, the ever-present shadow of his desire to control. He wasn’t content with merely watching anymore. No, now he was making his move, pushing harder, testing boundaries. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t in the room. He was always there, lurking, waiting.

Acacius noticed it too. He saw the way you tensed whenever Geta entered the room, the way your eyes darted nervously, the way your smile faltered. He knew you were becoming a shell of the person you once were. And for the first time, Acacius found himself unsure of how to help you. He had always been your protector, your constant, but now, it felt like he was failing you.

“You don’t have to pretend for me,” he said one night, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I see it. The distance. I see you slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

You wanted to tell him, to let him in, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you turned your gaze toward the distant horizon, watching the sun set behind the buildings of Rome, casting long shadows across the streets. It was a beautiful sight, but you couldn’t appreciate it. The beauty of the world was lost on you now.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, though the words didn’t feel like enough. They would never be enough.

Acacius squeezed your hand tighter, as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you from slipping away entirely. But you knew, deep down, that it was already too late. You were already gone.

The days continued to stretch on, the weight of your own existence pressing down on you with each breath you took. You moved through life like a specter, haunted by your own thoughts, consumed by the shadow of everything that had transpired. The air around you felt thick, suffocating, and nothing seemed to reach you anymore.

One evening, after yet another long day of feigned smiles and empty conversations, you retreated to your chambers. You had long since stopped caring about the grand appearances, the masks you were expected to wear. In the silence of your room, the darkness that had begun to take root in your heart felt heavier than ever before. It was as though the weight of your despair had become a tangible thing, pulling you under, drowning you from the inside.

You moved toward the bath, the cool marble surface inviting you with its quiet promise of solitude. You sank into the warm water, hoping, if only for a moment, to drown out the noise inside your mind, to forget the suffocating reality that had become your life. The water enveloped you, and for a brief moment, you felt weightless, free—free from everything that bound you, from Geta's obsession, from the looming presence of the empire, and from the love you could never have.

But the peace was fleeting. The thoughts came rushing back, overwhelming and relentless. Acacius’s touch, his words, his confession of love for your mother—it all swirled in your mind like a storm, too much to bear. And in that moment, something inside you snapped. You wanted it all to end. The pain. The confusion. The crushing weight of everything.

As the water rose higher, you slipped under, the coolness surrounding you like an embrace. It was quiet. So quiet. The pressure in your chest intensified, a cold finality settling in. Your body felt heavier, the world fading as you sank deeper into the water. The voices in your head quieted, the darkness enveloping you completely. And for the first time in a long while, you felt... peace.

But fate had other plans.

Just as the darkness threatened to consume you completely, a sudden hand gripped your arm, pulling you from the water with desperate force. The world rushed back in an instant, blinding, harsh, and you gasped for air, coughing, choking as water flooded your lungs.

“No!” a familiar voice cried out, filled with fear. “Don’t you dare do this!”

Your vision swam as Acacius’s strong arms pulled you up, his face a mask of panic and determination. He moved quickly, his hands steady as he worked to lift you from the bath and cradle you against his chest. His voice was shaky, though he tried to hide it.

“Stay with me,” he urged, his voice breaking as he held you close, his hands pressing against your wet skin. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

You were too weak to respond, your body trembling, your mind foggy. But his words—don’t leave me—cut through the haze. They echoed in your ears, but they didn’t make sense. Why would he want you to stay when you were nothing more than a burden, a shadow of what you once were?

“Acacius…” you whispered weakly, your throat raw as you fought to speak. His name felt like the last thread that held you to this world. "Why...?"

His grip tightened on you, his body radiating warmth as he looked down at you, his eyes filled with desperation and anguish.

“Because I want to love you,” he said, his voice shaking but steady with resolve. “I’ve always wanted to love you. You don’t have to carry all of this alone. I don’t care about the empire, about the danger, or the expectations of the world. I care about you. I want to be there for you—to love you.”

His words hung in the air like an echo, reverberating through the silence that had settled between you. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to reach for that spark of hope, the promise of love he was offering, but the weight of everything you had been through, everything you had lost, held you back.

You closed your eyes, your breath still shaky, and tried to push away the wave of conflicting emotions that surged within you. Acacius’s love, though it was sincere, felt like a distant dream—a dream that you didn’t deserve. How could you accept his love when you felt so broken, so consumed by the darkness inside of you?

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but filled with the depth of the regret you felt. “I’m not who you think I am. I’ve lost so much of myself...”

Acacius gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and comforting, as though he were trying to steady you from the storm that raged inside of you. He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze soft but unwavering.

“You’re not lost,” he said, his voice low but steady. “You’re not alone, even when it feels like it. I’m here. I will always be here, whether you believe it or not.”

The warmth of his touch seemed to seep into your skin, like a quiet promise. But even with that promise, there was still a part of you that resisted. You were drowning—not just in the water, but in the weight of your own thoughts, your own feelings. How could you possibly let yourself love again, after everything that had happened?

“I don’t know how to let anyone love me anymore,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "Not after everything I've been through... everything that's been taken from me."

He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against yours as his hands moved to hold you more firmly. "You don’t have to figure it all out right now. Just let me be here with you, for as long as you need. You don’t have to carry the world on your own anymore."

His words settled in your heart, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel his presence. It wasn’t a solution to all that haunted you, but it was something—something real.

“You’re not alone, either,” you whispered, your voice still fragile but more certain than before. “I don’t want to be alone, either.”

The quiet between you felt like an unspoken promise, an understanding. You didn’t have all the answers, and you didn’t know how to fix what was broken.

Acacius carefully lifted you in his arms, his movements gentle yet strong, as though he feared breaking you. The room was quiet, save for the sound of his steady breathing and the soft rustle of the sheets as he settled you onto the bed. His hands lingered at your sides, making sure you were comfortable, as though he couldn't bear to be too far away, even for a second.

You lay there, your body trembling from the cold of the water and the emotions that had swirled through you in such a short time. But there was a warmth now, a steadiness in the way Acacius was with you, something that grounded you amidst the chaos. His presence filled the space between the silence, and you wanted to hold onto that feeling, to keep it close as though it were the last thread that could save you from the darkness.

But even as your thoughts tangled, your voice came out soft, barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the fragile calm that had settled around you.

"Acacius," you said, your voice catching slightly. "Stay... please."

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, and you could feel your heart beating faster as you waited for his response. You weren’t sure what you were asking for—comfort, reassurance, or simply the presence of someone who cared when everything else seemed so uncertain.

Acacius didn’t speak at first. He simply moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his gaze intense, but filled with an understanding that pierced through the barriers you had built around yourself. His hand gently rested on yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, soothing motions.

"Of course," he finally said, his voice a soft promise, like the calm after a storm. "I’m not going anywhere."

He pulled the blanket over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable, and then he settled beside you, close but not too close. His presence filled the space beside you, but there was a tenderness in the way he lay next to you, giving you the space you needed while still remaining close enough to feel his warmth, his care.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the room. The vulnerability in your chest, the fear of asking for too much, made you hesitate for a moment. But then, with a shaky breath, you spoke again, this time more urgently.

"Stay with me," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "Just... for tonight. I don’t want to be alone."

Acacius’s gaze softened, his lips curling into a faint, reassuring smile. Without saying a word, he shifted closer to you, his arm slipping around you as he pulled you gently against him. His warmth enveloped you, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to rest, truly rest, without the weight of the world pressing down on you.

In that moment, as you felt his heartbeat steady against yours, the storm inside you quieted, if only for a little while. The darkness still lingered at the edges of your thoughts, but Acacius’s presence, his steady, unyielding care, was a reminder that, for now, you didn’t have to face it alone.

And so, you closed your eyes, letting the warmth of his arms around you pull you into a fragile peace, knowing that, for this one night, you were not lost.

In the days that followed, something shifted between you and Acacius. It was subtle at first, like the quiet change of seasons, but it was unmistakable. His devotion to you became more evident in every action, in every word. It wasn’t just the caring gestures—though those were abundant—but the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his touch seemed to convey more than words ever could. You could feel the change in the air, like the warmth of the sun breaking through the clouds.

Acacius, the loyal general, who had always been steadfast in his duties to the empire, had turned his focus entirely toward you. His thoughts, his actions, and his very presence were now centered around ensuring that you were safe, that you were cared for.

Every morning, he would bring you breakfast, a small smile on his lips as he placed the tray before you. He would sit with you, talking about the day’s events, but his attention was always on you, his eyes soft with concern, his every movement thoughtful. If you showed signs of fatigue, he would insist on helping you with whatever you needed, no matter how small. And when the nights came, he would always stay, watching over you as you slept, keeping his promise to never let you be alone.

At times, you felt the weight of his care, the devotion he gave so freely, and it both soothed and unsettled you. The fear of being a burden gnawed at your mind, but each time you tried to withdraw, Acacius was there, offering reassurance, pulling you back from the edge.

“What about when you have to go into battle again?” you asked once, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been haunting you ever since your marriage. No matter how much Acacius promised protection, he was a general first—a soldier bound to the empire’s whims.

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the confident, stoic mask he always wore faltered, and you saw the man beneath it, a man burdened with duty and uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I will make sure you’re safe before I leave. Always.”

His honesty was disarming, and for once, it didn’t feel like an empty reassurance. Still, the thought of him riding off to battle, leaving you behind in the suffocating grip of the palace, sent a shiver down your spine.

“And what if you don’t come back?” you pressed, your voice trembling.

Acacius stepped closer, his gaze steady. “I will come back,” he said firmly. “I’ve survived countless battles, and I’ll survive the next one. Because now, I have a reason to.”

His words made your breath catch, and you turned away, unwilling to let him see the tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t say things like that,” you murmured. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

“I’m not making promises,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m telling you the truth.”

You looked at him then, your emotions a whirlwind of fear, anger, and something else—something you weren’t ready to name. “You make it sound so simple,” you said bitterly.

“It’s not,” he admitted, his expression unflinchingly honest. “But I’ve faced death more times than I can count, and I’ve always fought to live. Now, I fight for you, too.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice raw.

“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come back.”

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “You won’t be,” he said. “If anything, you’re the reason I will.”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much to bear. You closed your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to do this, Acacius,” you admitted. “I don’t know how to let myself care for someone when everything in my life has been taken from me.”

He stepped closer, his hand sliding down to take yours. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he said. “But let me stay by your side while you do.”

His grip was firm yet gentle, and in that moment, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years: hope.

“Just... come back,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I will,” he promised, his gaze unwavering. “Always.”

And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him.

After the gladiators’ fights had concluded in the Colosseum, you and your mother, left the arena, your minds still lingering on the chaos of the day. Acacius had been by your side throughout the event, his protective presence never wavering. But you noticed something had shifted in him—the tension in his jaw, the restlessness in his eyes, as if his mind was elsewhere. It was as though the very air around him had grown heavier.

As you made your way back to the villa, you could feel the weight of the looming battle on his shoulders. The orders from Emperor Geta and Caracalla had been clear: Acacius was to return to the front lines in two days. The idea of losing him, of seeing him walk into another battle with the same fierce determination he had shown every time, filled you with dread.

The villa felt quieter that night, the cool breeze brushing against the stone walls, but inside, the silence was almost suffocating. Acacius was pacing in his chamber, his armor now set aside, but his mind seemed far from peace. You watched him from the doorway for a moment, your heart aching as you saw him battle with his own thoughts.

"Acacius," you said softly, stepping closer.

He didn’t look up right away, but when he did, his eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world.    "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I know you want more from me, but right now, my duty—my loyalty—it demands more than I can give."

You walked toward him, the soft sound of your sandals barely reaching his ears. "You don't have to apologize," you said quietly, touching his arm. "But I can see it... you're restless. You're carrying the burden of something you shouldn't have to face alone."

He sighed deeply, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I have no choice. The orders are clear. If I don't return to battle, I dishonor my men, and if I do... I risk everything. Including you."

Your heart fluttered at his words. You moved a little closer, your voice softer now. "You don't have to risk everything alone. I’m here, Acacius. If you need my company tonight, I will stay. I will help carry your burden, if only for this one night."

For a moment, he stood still, as if weighing your words. Then, slowly, his hands reached for you, gently pulling you closer until there was no distance left between you. The tension in his shoulders softened, but only slightly. His eyes, filled with uncertainty and longing, met yours.

"I don’t deserve you.” he murmured, his voice rough.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You are more than that. You are the man who has kept me safe, and for that alone, I would follow you anywhere."

He seemed to hesitate for just a breath, then, with a sudden urgency, he kissed you. It was gentle at first, a soft press of his lips against yours, as if he were testing the waters. But the moment your lips met, everything else faded. The weight of the empire, the war, the orders—none of it mattered in that instant. The world outside was silent, and the only thing that existed was the warmth of his kiss, the soft but undeniable spark between you.

As he pulled away slightly, his forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing a little faster, your hearts racing. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "You’ve made this so much harder”

You smiled softly, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want," you whispered, a playful glint in your eyes.

His lips brushed against yours again, this time more urgently, more desperately, as if the fear of losing you in the battle, or the fear of losing everything in the coming days, had driven him to this moment.

And in that kiss, you both found something you hadn’t realized you were searching for. You had been lost in the chaos of the empire, in the uncertainty of what came next, but in this moment, with him, everything felt right. You weren’t alone anymore.

As you pulled away from the kiss, Acacius didn’t let go of you right away, his hands still resting on your shoulders, as though afraid you might slip away. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling in time with your own. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the world outside the villa’s walls completely forgotten.

Carefully, he brought his hands to your shoulders, traveling down your arms, at the same time your skin bristled under his touch. You had never felt this before, the mixture of nerves and lust of being touched with delicacy and love that you didn't know could exist.

He carried you to his bed gently, in slow steps without taking his gaze from your eyes that looked at him with curiosity and lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

Lust and desire.

The fabric of your dress felt suffocating against your skin and as if he had read your mind, he peeled your clothes off your skin leaving you completely exposed under his gaze. You gaped at him, half embarrassed, half impressed, then he pulled his lips back upon yours, palming your breast, as he made his way to his bed.

You chuckled as you lay there, and his face matched your smile as he continued to kiss you down your neck. The warmth of your uneven breaths mingled, enveloping you both as he quickly worked on his garments, and as soon as his clothes were removed, there was nothing to keep you apart. You curled your fingers in his hair as he kissed you all over your body for the first time. You could sense the emotions, but the intimacy and lust were like a fire in your core.

You felt Acacius' lips against your hips and angled them up for him. You were already dripping as he licked a route from your thigh to your cunt before sucking on your clit and pressing his fingers against you.

You whimpered while holding his head between your legs. His cock hardened as the sound from your lips and you clenched around his fingers. He sucked like he was hungry, forcing your legs apart till you had one calf under his shoulder. His free hand moved up your torso, grabbing your breast, as his nose rubbed against your clit. For instinct, you buried your heel into his back and dragged him closer until all he could taste was you.

He fucked you slowly, taking his time to taste your wetness on his lips before locking eyes with you. You were flustered, and your eyes shone.

"You...fuck," you whispered.

"I want you; I need you before leaving" he whispered desperately, going forward between your legs, forcing your knees up to your breasts, and plunging into you easily. You sighed and leaned forward to kiss him. Your hands were on the back of his neck, and he was on your breasts, attempting to touch you everywhere. As you both kissed, you raised your hips to fuck up into him as he drove down into you, attempting to be as cautious as possible.

You mumbled "Acacius, I love you" into his ear before he reclaimed your lips. He leaned down and sucked your nipples, lightly biting your breasts.

“I’ll come back for you cara mia” he promised, between thrusts, grinding his cock as deep as into you as it could go as you encouraged him with your moans and nails scratching down his back. Those marks would accompany the wounds of thousands of battles.

He slid his hand down to your pussy and rubbed along your clit. You fucked yourself harder on him by thrusting back against him right away.

When you came, he whispered something on your neck. You clutched around him and your hips trembled even as he continued to fuck you. Soon after, he began thrusting into you and eventually pulled out while making uneasy gasps in your shoulders. After that, the only sound in the room was the mingling of your breaths.

Acacius was nosing at your throat, promising he would come back alive to continue his life adoring you

The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of your breaths, which mingled together in the stillness. Time seemed to stretch, the weight of the moment settling around you like a gentle, unspoken promise.

his warm breath grazing your neck, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. His hands, still holding you with a tenderness you hadn't known before, seemed to search for something, as though memorizing the contours of your skin, tracing the lines of your jaw, your shoulders, your breath.

"I’ll come back," he murmured, his voice hushed, as though sharing a secret only meant for you. "I promise, I will come back to you. I won't leave you alone."

His lips brushed lightly against the soft skin of your throat, and you could feel the intensity of his words in that simple, delicate touch. You felt a sudden knot tighten in your chest, a mixture of longing and fear, but more than that, a deep, consuming need to believe him, to trust in the promise he was making.

"I will continue my life loving you," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, as though each word was a vow, a binding thread between you two. "When the battles are over, when the storm has passed, I'll be here and I will adore you for as long as I live."

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body pressed so closely against yours, the heat of his devotion seeping into your soul. For a brief, fleeting moment, it felt as if everything else faded away—the empire, the scheming, the endless pressures. It was just the two of you in that room, your hearts beating as one, a bond forged in the quiet moments when nothing else mattered.

You took a deep breath, feeling his hands gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the stray tear that had escaped. Your hand instinctively reached for his, holding onto him tightly as if the act itself could somehow make his promise real, could anchor him to you forever.

"I need you to come back," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth behind them.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hands steady and comforting. Then, with a soft and almost hesitant voice, Acacius finally asked, "Could you stay with me tonight? Sleep beside me."

The vulnerability in his words surprised you. Acacius had always been the strong, unshakable general, the one who carried the weight of the empire on his shoulders with unyielding resolve. But now, in the quiet of your shared space, he seemed as human as anyone, his guard lowered, his needs simple, yet profound.

Your heart gave a quiet thud in your chest, and without hesitation, you nodded. "Of course," you said softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

His eyes softened, the slightest flicker of relief crossing his features. He led you over to the bed, the weight of the day seeming to leave him as he settled beside you. The soft rustle of the sheets was the only sound as he adjusted, his body tense but slowly relaxing as you lay beside him.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, simply sharing the same quiet space, your presence the only comfort either of you needed. But the closeness was enough. It was as though the war, the orders, the empire itself could not reach you here, in this space that was just yours and his.

"Stay with me," he whispered after a while, his voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. His hand found yours in the dark, his fingers threading through yours, a simple but grounding gesture.

You squeezed his hand gently, resting your head on the pillow beside him. "I’m not going anywhere, Acacius. I’m here. And I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, no matter what happens."

The words hung in the air, simple but true, and in that moment, you both found something precious, peace in the storm, a promise without words. Acacius’s breath slowed, his body finally releasing the tension that had held him captive for so long.

Acacius woke slowly, the gray light of early morning spilling softly into the room. For a moment, the heaviness of his reality came crashing down on him—the orders from Geta and Caracalla, the battle that awaited him, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The weight was still there, pressing on his chest like an unrelenting force, refusing to let him breathe freely.

But then, he became aware of something else.

You.

Your warmth was pressed against him, your head resting on his chest, your hand lightly curled over his heart. The soft rise and fall of your breathing matched the quiet rhythm of the room, and for the first time in days, maybe even months, Acacius felt the smallest flicker of peace.

He glanced down at you, his eyes tracing the curve of your face in the gentle morning light. You looked so calm, so trusting, nestled beside him, as though you belonged there. A part of him still couldn’t believe you had stayed, that you had given him this small gift of solace before he left for what could be his last battle.

Carefully, as though afraid to wake you, he lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered for a moment, his fingers barely grazing your skin, and he let out a quiet sigh. How had it come to this? How had you, someone he had been ordered to protect, become the person who made him feel safe?

The thought brought a bittersweet smile to his lips. He knew he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. And yet, here you were, giving him the strength he hadn’t even known he needed.

You stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him in your sleep, and he froze for a moment, unsure if you were waking. But you only let out a soft sigh and settled against him once more. He couldn’t help the way his arm tightened around you, holding you closer, as though he could shield you from the world for just a little while longer.

His voice was barely a whisper, more to himself than to you. "What have you done to me?"

As the minutes passed, Acacius let himself stay in that moment, letting go of the weight of his duty, if only for a little while. With you there, the storm within him seemed to quiet, and for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to hope.

When you finally began to stir, blinking sleepily up at him, he felt his chest tighten. Your eyes met his, and though your expression was soft, he could see the worry lingering there.

"Good morning," you murmured, your voice warm and still tinged with sleep.

"Good morning," he replied, his voice lower than usual, as though the morning had stolen some of his strength.

You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek. "You didn’t sleep much, did you?"

He shook his head, his lips quirking into a faint smile. "No. But this... this helped."

You smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "Then let me help you more. Whatever you need, Acacius, I’m here."

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch as though it was the only thing keeping him steady. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, filled with something deeper than gratitude.

"I’ll remember this," he said softly, his voice carrying a promise you didn’t fully understand but felt all the same. "No matter what happens, I’ll remember."

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: as the youngest daughter of alicent hightower, you are wed to the young wolf, cregan stark. what many believe to be a union of strife, such a notion is proven wrong very quickly.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.7K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), arranged marriage, reader is a targtower with pale hair & lilac eyes, skin color unspecified, first time sex (for reader), loss of virginity, p in v sex (unprotected), massive breeding kink, all stark men have a breeding gene, oral sex / cunnilingus (fem!rec), face-sitting, biting/marking, making out, lots of touching, missionary position, talk of having a child, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: There’s been a ton of Cregan requests, so I hope that this satisfies a lot of people until I post another! ❤️ Thank you all so much for the incredible requests and support of my work, it means the world to me and I am extremely grateful for all of it. See you guys soon!

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 — 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐜𝐞.

The North was often regarded as a harsh and unyielding environment, with bitter, stinging winds and snowfalls that could bury men alive beneath their might. Such tales were often told to scare children or dissuade them from leaving the roost.

It was untamed and savage, according to your mother — she who vehemently fought against your betrothal to Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell. A marriage steeped in wariness and discord, you had been pleasantly surprised by your husband’s kindness and warm stoicism.

Piety was a rarity in the bleak, bloodsoaked world you lived within — innocence was a quality as uncommon as a diamond in the rough. When Cregan had been offered such a sacred proposal during the last days of King Viserys I, he nearly scoffed at it.

A Targaryen, a Hightower — he almost imagined that the both of you would not do well together, and that it would become a sour union, made only to please families and uphold duty. His advisors, old men with embittered grudges against the South, cautioned him away from it, imploring him to wed a girl from the Vale or the Reach.

When Cregan Stark met you, clad in pale shades of sage and ivory, with lilac hues and a smile that could melt even the toughest of ice, perhaps it would not be a dreadful marriage after all.

Even with a dragon at your heel, there was something positively resplendent about you — Cregan could feel it within his marrow, a feeling seldom felt by any man locked in an arranged betrothal.

It was your innocuous, tenderhearted nature that beguiled him, as if you unconsciously drew him in with your honey. Your very first meeting happened to be to seal the marriage pact itself before you would be shipped away to the North, to be his wife and the new Lady Stark.

Cregan rarely found himself charmed by anyone, yet you possessed an inner beauty that flourished in his presence. You were your own flame, burning through his hardened exterior. He did not mistake your docile nature for weakness — you possessed a dragon, where he did not.

You were rather taken with him, perplexed by his outward ruggedness and gruff accent, the way in which he carried himself, massive physique clad in the thick trappings of a wolf. He was a mountain of a man, yet he handled you as if you were some precious jewel, sacred and worthy of admiration.

Alicent begrudgingly watched as you, her youngest daughter, untainted by her own fractured morality, was sent away to the North in the hands of some brute. For the good of the Realm, Viserys had told her, but it cut deeper knowing that it was you, her beloved flesh and blood.

Yet, as you found yourself beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree in the Godswood, hands bound with Cregan’s own, you forgot about your mother’s bitterness entirely — and you were happy.

The first kiss was one that would make a permanent residence within your memory for lifetimes to come. He had cradled your face, towering over you as if he were a solemn statue, but even you could see the softening within his visage.

King’s Landing was suffocating, more often than not. The animosity that festered between your family smothered you, crushing you beneath its sharp heel. You were no longer surrounded by bitterness and resentment, and instead, cloaked by the protection and warmth of your new husband.

The feast held in honor of your blossoming union was one of merriment, the mood lighthearted and blissful. You sat beside your husband, stomach tumbling with a coil of nerves. Everyone seemed foreign to you, unfamiliar faces with their northern attitudes and odd indifference.

You could not fault anyone for having their suspicions, given your heritage. Being a Targaryen, pale-headed and violet-eyed, bringing your dragon from the South — it must’ve been jarring. Growing into your station as the Lady of Winterfell would be a long and arduous process, but you hoped that Cregan would show you the way.

Oblivious to your Lord-Husband’s smoldering stare, you politely consumed bites of the sugar-dusted fruit cobbler, admiring the vibrant aura within the room. Your wedding gowns were as pure as the driven snow, accented with silver embroidery and lined with pale fleece to keep you warm, given the cold gnaw of winter.

If it weren’t for Cregan’s steadfastness in providing you with a new wardrobe fit for winter, the icy chill would’ve consumed your extremities from the inside-out.

Leaning over within his seat, Cregan reached for your hand, stormy-gray hues churning with a kindness reserved for you. “How are you faring, wife?” He inquired, voice a low rumble; a soothing timbre that sent shivers down your spine.

“Very well,” Warmth crawled along your flesh when he referred to you as wife so openly and affectionately. You weren’t accustomed to having someone be so attentive to you, hang upon your every word, treat you with such courteousness. “This is so wonderful. I must thank you and your Keep, for your kindness.”

If you were anyone else, Cregan might’ve treated you with a stalwart cordiality found in most formalities, but you were not anyone else. You were good, sweet, and kindhearted — above all, you were quite innocent. He would’ve been telling himself a bold lie if he hadn’t thought about taking you to bed several times already.

The colors of the North suited you — his home suited you. Not many men of his position were so lucky when it came to betrothals, but he felt as if he was beyond fortunate to have married you. Cregan only hoped to be a good husband to you and to your future children, heirs to Winterfell, with the blood of the dragon and the wolf in their veins.

He had forbidden a bedding ceremony, content to guide you to your chambers once the festivities ceased, instead. Cregan enjoyed observing you and your demure mannerisms, from the way you made small talk with those around you, complimenting the choice of food and drink. It warmed his heart to know that his wife was an amiable soul.

“You needn’t worry, Princess. It is my duty as your husband to show you a bit of Northern hospitality.” Cregan mused, a ghost of a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth. He rarely showed any emotion, let alone treating his subjects with a smile given his hardiness, but he did show a sliver of it for you. He didn’t want to scare you away.

With a delighted smile, your hand shyly curled around his, your skin unblemished and soft. Cregan hadn’t touched a woman as silky as you, and it made his blood run hot — an inopportune time, given that it was in the midst of his wedding feast. “Thank you, my Lord.” You weren’t sure if you were permitted to abandon formalities just yet.

Cregan huffed, gaze twinkling with amusement as he let your smaller hand hold his own, digits tenderly caressing over your knuckles. “I would hope that you only call me ‘my Lord’ if you’re angry with me,” His chest rumbled with an affectionate sound. “You aren’t in King’s Landing anymore.”

Embarrassment rippled through you, but before you could correct yourself out of anxiousness, Cregan gingerly squeezed your hand. Instead, it evoked a smile from you, the very same tender expression you’d given him when you were proclaimed as his wife. “I will call you husband when I am pleased with you.” You mused, bright as could be, and so blissfully naive.

Often regarded as a brooding, serious man with little traces of humor, Cregan found himself letting his guard down just enough with you. Of course, to any observer, he still seemed rather stoic, but the brief, fleeting looks he gave you, the threadbare smiles — it suggested otherwise.

As the excitable buzz of the feast began to simmer, Cregan stood from the table, wood scraping across the stone floors of the Great Hall. He stepped away from you, sparing the servants and guardsmen a word before he returned to your side.

“Is there not to be a bedding ceremony?” You whispered, stomach still tight and festering with nervousness. It was something you feared since you last saw Aegon and Helaena be hauled away for such a thing. The concept of it frightened you, twisted and unusual.

With furrowed brows, Cregan shook his head, offering his thick arm out for you to take. “No,” He grunted, noticing the swell of anxiousness etched into your features. “I would never subject you to such a thing, or myself.” He murmured, feeling you take his arm as he led you from the Great Hall.

Relief flooded through you, and you finally relaxed, seemingly appreciative of Cregan’s thoughtfulness in the matter. “Thank you, husband.” You sighed, gripping onto his arm as he led you into a warm corridor and towards a massive spiral of thick, stone steps.

Though, you still had a duty to perform — consummating the marriage, creating an heir. Part of you feared what it all entailed, given that Helaena never seemed pleased with any of it. Would he hurt you? You were uncertain, but you wanted to believe that your new husband would keep you safe.

Cregan welcomed you into your marital chambers, tidied and polished for your stay. Whatever belongings you brought with you, they were situated near a set of fine, wooden chairs circled around a stone table. Everything seemed warm and comely in his quarters, the direwolf aesthetic heavy-handed, the hearth crackling and bursting with ripples of fire.

“If there is something not to your liking, inform me — I will have it rearranged,” Cregan rumbled, following in your footsteps as you neared the open hearth, warming your hands and basking in its glow. He stood close to you, towering over you with his bulk and might. “How are you?” He asked, ensuring your comfort above all else.

There was little need for the hearth when Cregan was near, radiating a natural heat that drew you in. His countenance seemed softer, not nearly as impassive as he’d been before. “I am more than fine, I promise.” You assured him, hands wringing together. “I thought that I would miss home, but I do not. Isn’t that terrible?”

Perplexed, Cregan seemed inclined to listen to your elaboration, chestnut tresses framing his face. “It isn’t a terrible thing, princess. I would imagine that it must be freeing, to be somewhere else. You’ve never left the capital.” He replied, knowing that you were quite sheltered for most of your life.

A soft sigh escaped you, and you tried not to think about it anymore. You didn’t want to sour the mood with talk of home and the past — this was now. “It is liberating,” You confessed, craning to look at him with a semblance of wonder and affection. “I am happy that I’m here with you.” You spoke with genuineness and finality.

It was pleasing to hear you say such a thing, and even better to know that you truly meant it. One thick, burly arm slowly encircled your hips, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest. “Good,” He murmured, expression steely. “That pleases me greatly.”

To know that Cregan valued your happiness was a wonderful feeling — you felt cared for and seen, shrouded within his protectiveness. You imagined that it would be a blissful marriage. “Thank you, Cregan.” His name slipped from your perfect tongue, and he thoroughly enjoyed the sound it made.

A low rumble vibrated through Cregan’s chest as he drew you as close as he could, tracing his calloused digits along the soft curve of your jaw. “You are very beautiful,” He murmured, timbre edged with a delicious husk that made your knees buckle. You shivered, something that he took note of. “Are you cold, wife?”

You nodded, sucking in a sharp breath when his lips neared yours. “I am.” A squeak escaped you, followed by a steady exhale. You had been kissed before, but the extent of your experience abruptly stopped there. You imagined that you wouldn’t be cold for much longer.

His lips met yours, the kiss tender yet passionate, deepened by your husband. Cregan found your mouth to be most pleasant, pliant and perfectly soft, yet malleable. You reciprocated his kiss, hands moving to press against his chest.

“Will it be painful?” You whispered, likely in an attempt to soothe your gnawing nervousness. Agony was something that didn’t coexist with pleasure, in your mind. You wanted this moment to be special and sacred, binding yourself to your husband.

Cregan hesitated, gently cupping your face with his rough palm, tenderly stroking along your cheek. “I wouldn’t dare harm you, princess. You have my word.” He assured, and it confirmed his suspicions — you hadn’t been with another before. “It might be painful, but I will be gentle. We don’t have to start tonight.”

Admittedly, it was quite the opposite for you — you wanted to start tonight, but you longed for clarification first, and he gave it to you. You shook your head, hands slipping toward the front of his tunic, as if silently pleading with him to stay. “I want to.” You insisted, looking like the picture of innocence.

As much as he liked you sweet and pious, Cregan had a feeling that it would be somewhat different after this. His gray hues swirled with a heavy desire, dropping towards the delicate curve of your mouth. “May I?” It was all that he needed to ask, and as soon as you nodded, he brought you in for a heated kiss.

Despite his appearance, a stone-faced wall of muscle and Northern strength, he was incredibly gentle with you. He held you against him, never tight enough to cause you discomfort, hands softly kneading into your hips. You kissed him back as best as you could, feverishly hot, butterflies erupting within your stomach.

His beautiful wife — Cregan could not imagine another, now that he had you in his arms. The way you kissed him was innocuous and tender, as if you were also terrified of making a mistake. Your purity, a precious thing indeed, would be tarnished and dissolved after this evening.

The thought of you, round and swollen with his child, was both tantalizing and tempting — well within his grasp. Cregan wondered if they would take after you, pale-headed with lilac hues, or perhaps himself. If the Gods were good, they would be a blend of the both of you, a dragon and a wolf.

You shivered again when your burly husband curled his hand into the back of your wedding gown, fingers slipping between the gaps, feeling inklings of your bare skin beneath. “I’ll keep you warm, wife.” He rumbled, pressing a kiss against your jaw. It wasn’t from the cold, he knew this, but his honeyed words made you flustered.

He dropped his cloak, allowing the thick curtain of fur to land against the floor. He was impossibly broad, as thick as stone, tunic loose yet snug enough to accentuate his brawn. You felt your breath hitch within your throat, swallowing another barrage of nerves.

Cregan’s mouth assailed your neck, hand peeling away the collar of pale fur in order to reach you. Every kiss was passionate, wrought with need, yet maintained that air of gentleness. Roughness was in his nature, but he wouldn’t dare fall into that pit on your wedding night.

You tasted ambrosial, sweet velvet beneath his lips, which peppered themselves wherever they could. He listened to your soft gasps and needy whines, your hands having curled into the coarse material of his tunic. He wanted to show you just how perfect you really were.

Suddenly, your gown felt much too tight and constricting, as if you would drown within it. You alleviated such sensations by loosening the bodice, tugging on the ivory strings. The fur became unraveled as Cregan gently draped the garment over the back of a chair.

Left in the thin, humble trappings of your smallclothes, nothing more than a corset hugging a linen slip, he silently appraised you with the hunger of a wolf. You appeared to be shy, somewhat coy in his presence as he looked you over, large palms settling against the swell of your hips.

“Why do you shy away?” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together, tone one of genuine concern. You were the prettiest creature he’d ever seen — most Targaryens were known for their beauty, but you possessed it both ways, inner and outer, and that only made you more incomparable in his eyes.

Swallowing your nerves, you chewed at the inside of your cheek, hands fidgeting together. “I suppose I worry about what you’ll think,” A sore insecurity, to be sure, but something most young maidens possessed. Cregan’s gray hues softened, one hand stroking along the length of your spine. “That I won’t be suitable.”

A huff escaped him, a threadbare chuckle as he shook his head, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “You worry too much, princess.” That deep, thunderous timbre of his, husky with his Northern accent, shook you right to your core. “You are my wife — and you are perfect.” He assured, kissing along your jaw.

You exhaled, hands reaching for his tunic, wanting to see him without his clothing. There was a rush of warmth that crawled across your flesh, surging through your blood as Cregan pressed endless kisses against your skin. He trailed from jaw to collarbone, hands loosening your corset.

With a brusque tug, your gruff husband tore it from you altogether, tossing the bodice aside. “I will show you how perfect you are.” He rumbled, voice a low, heavy caress near the shell of your ear. You shivered, gaze half-lidded as you tugged insistently at his tunic.

The message was unspoken, but conveyed nonetheless as your mountain of a husband let his hands drop from you, only to tug the coarse, dark linen over his head. He was burly, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his face.

Amusingly enough, Cregan possessed more of a cherubic, youthful face than you expected, yet his nose was slightly crooked from having it broken, faint scars upon his face. His eyes seemed wisened, old beyond his years. He reached for your slip, gathering the material within his hands as he looked to you for consent.

With your confidence rejuvenated, you nodded, breathless and wanton as you assisted him in maneuvering out of your thin smallclothes. The brief lick of chilled air dragged across your bare flesh, causing your nipples to harden, pebbling with the chill.

Fire danced across your physique, tantalizing and gorgeous, beautiful beyond compare. Even Cregan seemed speechless for a beat, throat reverberating with a low grunt as he motioned toward your shared bed.

You half-expected him to pounce on you, grab your hips and stake his claim, but he simply resorted to watching you slide onto the bed, covered in furs of all varieties. The frame rustled slightly, and you laid down, a picture of true perfection. Your crown of pale tresses seemed to stick out amidst the darker pallor of the furs.

Anticipation churned violently within your gut, arousal slick and mounting between your thighs as Cregan stalked closer, removing clothing in the process. You watched with bated breath as he loosened the ties of his breeches, removing them altogether.

It was to be expected — a man of his indomitable stature likely had the assets to accompany it. You nearly choked at the sight of him, terrified that it really would hurt, even if he was gentle. You sucked in a sharp breath, bewildered when he had reclined beside you instead.

“I won’t bite, my Lady.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly patting his lap as you crawled closer. He effortlessly picked you up, letting you straddle his hips as he admired you from below. “Hm.” With a hum of approval, he caressed along your form, stroking from your thigh to your breasts.

It was agonizingly deliberate, made to explore and study instead of acting upon salacious impulses. Cregan observed you closely, palm gently cupping your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple. You gasped, careening into his sensual embrace.

A flurry of desire bubbled within him when you planted your smaller hand atop his, as if encouraging him to knead and grope at his leisure. He seemed pleased, and so did you, a low hum escaping you as he caressed your silky flesh.

He made sure to show that same amount of attention to your unattended breast, slowly kneading into you. Those tempestuous gray hues never tore themselves away from you, boring into you with a searing intensity.

Warm slick coalesced between your thighs, only mounting and growing when he continued to touch you, hand lifting to cup your chin. You absentmindedly leaned into his touch, eyes becoming half-lidded as you rocked forward within his lap.

The sensations you felt were new and exhilarating, goosebumps dancing across your spine, heat pooling between your legs. “May I touch you?” You asked, tone delicate and sweet, a display of your piety and innocence. He quite enjoyed your desire to explore alongside him, and he gave a nod of his head.

“You don’t need to ask, princess.” He soothed, jaw tensing as your soft palms settled against his chest. Cregan’s stormy eyes didn’t leave you, carefully tracing each plane of your curves, the downy texture of your skin, the lilac glint of your eyes.

Your fingertips dragged across his musculature, committing each scar to memory, features becoming hot beneath his incendiary stare. He was your husband now — you imagined that scenarios like these would become commonplace. “You are so handsome,” You whispered incredulously, lips curling into a gentle smile. “Perfect.”

Cregan appeared perplexed, a soft huff escaping him as he trailed his calloused palm across the small of your back. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had called him perfect and meant it — and he knew that you did. He neglected to act, allowing you to explore as much as you pleased.

Awestruck, he watched with silent hunger as you leaned down, lips pressing against his own. A soft grunt escaped Cregan as he caged you in, mouth passionate as it tangled with yours. He enjoyed the feeling of your body snug atop his, your skin resplendent, like velvet against the grating bite of stone.

Dragging a hand from the swell of your hips to the nape of your neck, he gripped the base of your skull, gingerly kneading into your pale tresses. He kissed you again, oozing with desire as he stole every wisp of air from your lungs.

He pulled one leg up into a v-shape, supporting your back to keep you upright atop his lap. You could feel the thick girth of his cock nudge against your backside, causing you to shiver at the foreign sensation. “Do you trust me?” Cregan murmured, roughened fingertips dragging over the pliant flesh of your thigh.

There was an indiscernible look within his eyes, chestnut brows drawing together slightly. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and Cregan settled against the furs, strewn on his back. Those strong hands of his continued to nudge you forward, bringing you from his warm lap to his chest, and then a touch closer.

“What are you …” Uncertain yet filled with exhilaration, you had no idea what Cregan was planning. Your slick cunt neared his mouth, and your Northern paramour did little to slow the process, bumping you forward until you hovered above him. “C—Cregan, C —” Your voice tapered off into a whine.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that immediately made your knees buckle. You used the headboard to brace yourself, mouth tearing open as a strangled gasp escaped you. Part of you feared sitting down entirely, but Cregan coaxed you down, hands digging into your haunches.

Your reaction was beyond worthwhile, body trembling and coiled, hand scrambling to brace yourself as the other fervently dug into his chestnut tresses. You never imagined that such pleasure was even possible, filling you with an excitable ecstasy that sank into your bones.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Even when he rested beneath you, he still seemed indomitable, perhaps a touch intimidating. You didn’t look down, body involuntarily trembling and rocking forward, back beginning to arch. “Gods, a—ah!” You stammered, thighs twitching and quivering as his tongue gently flicked over your clit.

Visibly flustered, you felt so strange and smitten, riding your husband’s face as you would your dragon. It filled your belly with a rousing fire, one bright enough to consume the rest of your body, licking along the length of your spine.

A low rumble emerged from Cregan’s chest, a vibration that rattled you to your core. He wanted you to have your fill, take as much as you could and drown within pleasure. Your maidenhead was still intact, a virtue that he did not treat lightly. He didn’t feel the need to breathe, lapping at your cunt with a wolfish gluttony.

You were undeniably soaked, like a fine stout upon his tongue as he devoured you. Cregan was passionate, each stroke of his tongue ensuring that you felt it all, bliss erupting throughout your stomach.

Chasing after what you imagined to be your release, you happened to peer down for a moment, finding the contented face of your husband, whose face was lodged between your legs. His brows were creased in concentration, tongue prodding against your entrance before languidly flicking back to your clit.

It was only when he pursed his lips around that sensitive clutch of nerves, that you nearly collapsed around him. Even your draconic blood could melt, tempered by the hardened ice of your Northern paramour. You gasped, hips stuttering as your thighs squeezed at either side of his head — fortunately, he didn’t seem to care.

The only thing you wanted was this, forever — your husband’s tongue between your legs, a sanctuary in the North with a potential family, a life in which you could finally find your solace. You continued to squirm and writhe, moaning his praises into the warmth of your chambers.

As you approached your peak, you grappled with Cregan’s tresses, tugging at the root as you rocked forward, again and again. “Cregan,” You moaned, countenance contorting into a look of sheer pleasure, bones crawling with an insatiable heat. “Cregan, Cregan, please!” It was a siren’s song of desire.

He did not stop, but he didn’t change course, either. Instead, he simply continued on, suckling at your clit as he intermingled it with timed laps of his tongue. Your release slammed into you, white-hot and blistering, gnawing away at your stomach as that coil of heat effectively snapped.

A whine emerged from you, one that was nearly breathless as you rocked forward again, legs shaking from ecstasy as you rode out your peak. Cregan, ever the dutiful husband, lapped at your nectar, savoring the taste, the scent of a pleasurable aftermath.

“What —” You had to catch your breath again, attempting to recuperate as you sat back on his chest instead, thick, burly muscle plentiful enough to cushion you. “Where did you learn how to do that?” It was an innocuous question, one so sweetly-spoken that it nearly caused Cregan to chuckle.

He did, however, smile — a rare, sentimental gesture reserved only for you. It was threadbare, and if it weren’t for the nature of your relationship, one might’ve thought him to be rugged and indifferent. “You need only ask, princess, and I will oblige.” His voice was a deep rumble that warmed your insides.

You thoroughly enjoyed the nickname of princess — a term of endearment given your status, but you were a princess no longer. “I am a lady of the North now, aren’t I? A princess no longer,” You proclaimed, skin shimmering with perspiration. “What will you call me, now?” You asked.

“Hm,” Cregan contemplated, pressing a kiss against your leg before he sat up enough to have a good look at you, chin still glistening with your slick. The sight was lewd, enough to make you unbelievably flustered as he grew closer, nearly chest-to-chest with you. “Lady Stark would suffice.” He murmured.

Something amorous burned within you, a smolder that soon turned to ignited sparks. “It would please me greatly.” You hummed, running your hands over his biceps before Cregan gently changed places with you, moving you beneath his bulk, comfortable upon your back.

Soft was a mere understatement — he could feel himself melt. It was not your dragon’s blood or heat that made him crumble, but your heart. He could imagine you as the mother of his children, belly round with his heirs, the Lady of Winterfell, a Hightower no longer.

He settled between your legs, and you gasped when his cock gently glided against your slick core. Cregan knew to temper himself, to be as gentle as he could with it being your wedding night, but his resolve was steadily diminished in your presence. He steeled himself, pressing a string of kisses along your body.

Without thinking, you unconsciously goaded Cregan into a point of near-frenzy. Your hands found the taut, trunk-like muscle of his biceps, visage filled with a sense of awe and adoration. “A child would please me greatly.” You confessed, having no clue what it would do to your husband.

Cregan stopped, digits curling into the thick furs on either side of your head. It took every fiber of his being not to fuck you then and there — and he wouldn’t, it wasn’t right for him to take your maidenhead with such roughness. His fantasy became reality, a visceral, beautiful vision that made him grunt, jaw unnaturally tense.

His rough palm soothingly stroked along your thigh, lust swelling within him like a blizzard, a violent storm of need that transcended all bonds of propriety. “Does Lady Stark want me to put a pup in her belly?” Cregan rumbled, tempestuous hues ignited with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, sending shockwaves right to your core.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, shuddering at the sound of his voice — an edged husk, like the rumbling of thunder before a deluge or the shaking of a mountain. “Yes,” You exhaled, searching his countenance, only to find desire. “I would.”

The Gods were testing him, aiming to see if he would break beneath the pressure, but he refused. Cregan lowered himself over you, lips molding themselves against yours in a hot kiss. Your hands remained poised atop his biceps, barely able to wrap themselves around the thick, corded muscle.

He wasn’t much of a talker, and it quickly dwindled into deep grunts and heavier sighs as he aligned his cock with your entrance. He made sure to part your legs, keeping them spread as he began to push inside of you. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, startled at the twinge of pain, the discomfort of it all.

Cregan despised the mere thought of causing you harm, and even he was willing to end it all then and there. “We don’t have to continue, beloved.” He rumbled, pressing a soothing string of kisses along your face. The endearing nickname made you preen, nails digging into his arms.

“No, I — I’m well enough,” You breathed, insistent on continuing. Cregan deliberated, but when you let out a low whine, he obeyed your command. “Gods, I need you, Cregan.” Pitched with a wanton resonance, you urged him to keep going.

Your neediness made his blood run hot, and he nodded, sluggishly resuming his pace. He continued to tilt his hips forward, cock feeding into you, inch by agonizing inch. Cregan felt the desperate bite of your nails clutching into muscle, leaving behind angry crescents.

You were never fully warned of the pain, the discomfort that accompanied pleasure. It was always sold as some fantasy, particularly for men — nights of heavenly passion resulting in bliss. For you, it was simply a marital duty to provide your husband with an heir, but this transcended that. Passion and affection sparked between the both of you, and it felt right.

As Cregan finally bottomed out inside of you, he allowed you time to fully adjust, rocking into you at a lackadaisical pace. He continued to shower you in kisses, wherever his lips could reach, giving particular affection to the crook of your neck.

Whatever discontent you felt, you hastily pushed it aside, tossing it into the recesses of your mind. Instead, you focused on him — on how incredible he made you feel, the warmth you experienced in his presence. One of your hands slipped to thread within his chestnut tresses, mouth agape.

You took him so well — better than expected, and it filled him with a sense of pride and ardor. Cregan pressed hungry kisses along your throat, nose buried into the hollow of it, right beneath your jugular. He continued to go slow, afraid of causing you further pain.

Cregan repositioned his hand, leaving one lodged beside your head, the other sinking into your haunch, digits tenderly kneading into your thigh. It was an offer of reassurance, and he watched your countenance shift from discontented to relaxed.

“Move,” The sharpness of your command brought him to heel, and he very nearly smiled — it was there, the ghost of it toying at his lips. Bringing his hips back and then forward, you moaned, knowing that the sting of pain would soon blossom into pleasure. “Please.”

Molten heat swirled within the pit of your stomach, arousal thick between your legs as Cregan began to find his pace, a rhythm that shook you to your core. He was so very gentle, even for a man of his herculean mass and muscle. He took care of you, soothingly caressing your thigh as he thrusted into you.

His cock filled you completely, a stretch that would take you more than just one night to adjust to. Your maidenhead was gone, your cunt tight around his length, pulling him in again and again.

Cregan’s breathing became heavier, somewhat labored as he consummated your union. Each snap of his hips held meaning, beyond the creation of an heir. It was tenuous with feelings, a burning sentiment he felt for you, ardor that had grown into a fire.

Admittedly, his mind was hazy, fueled by desire and the mere thought of you wanting a child — you had asked it of him, demanded, and he was at your mercy. Cregan couldn’t have gotten any luckier with you, the most resplendent woman he’d ever seen.

Imagining you full and round, still as lovely as the day he set his eyes upon you, a mother and a dragon — it was nothing short of true perfection. He chased after it, evident by the growing vigor and passion in each thrust of his hips, cock nearly tearing you into two.

No matter how gentle and careful Cregan was with you, it was to no avail, but you no longer cared. “Cregan,” You moaned, lifting one leg to hitch it around his waist, and that only seemed to further spur him on, allowing him to hit new depths. His throbbing length nearly kissed your womb, filling you to the brim. “Cregan!” You cried.

For a moment, you feared being split in-half by your mountain of a husband, but he slowed enough to let you recuperate, throat reverberating with carnal grunts. The rumbling of his chest, the heat that radiated from him in waves — it was all perfect.

It was driving him mad, the way your cunt constricted around his cock, the way in which your back arched from the furs, chest brushing against his. Cregan grunted, jaw set and brows furrowed in concentration as he kneaded into your thigh, something to alleviate his tension.

His thrusts deepened, became passionate and invigorated with love, and each snap of his hips made your head spin with delirium. You were drunk on desire, clinging to him as if you were a drowning maiden, hand splayed against his shoulder.

Whenever he happened to become a touch too vigorous, he felt your nails dig deep into his flesh, leaving behind the reddened marks of your consummation. Cregan was getting close, chest erupting with labored pants as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You moaned, body bending beneath his passion, malleable within his hands. His cock throbbed within you as he sought to spill his seed, face against yours, lips occasionally connecting in a series of sloppy, warm kisses. Everything felt incredible, in ways that you couldn’t comprehend.

He was so burly, a thick wall of impenetrable muscle that seemed to envelop you entirely, shield you from everything else, from all harm. Strands of chestnut stuck to his temples, flesh glittering with perspiration from the exertion of lovemaking, coupled with the heat in your chambers.

With another brusque thrust of his hips, he settled inside of you, reaching his peak with a subtle groan. His seed filled your cunt in hot ropes, more than enough to take, if the Gods were good. Cregan exhaled, feverishly hot as he began to recuperate, neglecting to remove himself from you for a few moments.

“Are you alright?” Cregan murmured, ensuring your wellbeing first, above all else. A stinging soreness settled into your thighs and your core, but you would survive. He didn’t completely obliterate you, thankfully — you wondered what he would be like, unrestrained.

“Yes,” You smiled, visibly flustered beneath the intensity of his stare. “That was incredible.” Your confession made him huff, likely one of amusement as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. Even you glittered with sweat, but that was to be expected.

You already wanted more — and you nearly asked it of him.

Lascivious fantasies took root within your mind, and the mere idea of him being rough and completely domineering made your cunt throb. You could not do it now, given how exhausted you were, but he had certainly unlocked a new side to you, a side that you were unfamiliar with.

Cregan pulled himself from you, propping your hips up beneath a feathered pillow to ensure that his seed would take. He rested beside you, drawing you into the bulk of his muscled arms, allowing you to rest your head against the expanse of his chest. “You were perfect.” He rumbled, roughened digits stroking along your spine.

It pleased you to know that your husband was satisfied with you, much to your delight. “I am glad,” Relief rippled through you as you inched closer, perfectly slotted against his frame. “So were you.” Your pleasant accolades made him smile, fracturing his stony exterior.

“There will be plenty of time for this, that I can promise you,” Cregan was more concerned with getting to know you, his beautiful lady-wife, Lady Stark. “I would like to start with you.” He murmured, savoring the sensation of your fingers tracing across his abdomen.

You blinked, seemingly surprised by Cregan’s genuine interest in you. It made you happy — perhaps you could have both. Moments of learning and moments like these, where you could indulge in pleasure.

“Would it offend you if I asked you to do both?” You questioned, warmth crawling along your body as Cregan squeezed the swell of your hip, gray hues sparkling with a semblance of mirth.

“It wouldn’t,” Cregan mused, timbre dropping to a lull, a husky octave that seemed to envelop you in its stoicism and warmth. “It pleases me to know that Lady Stark possesses the appetite of a dragon.” His teasing made you squirm, but he simply caressed you and held you closer.

With a coy smile, you lifted your head, pressing your lips against his, asserting your still-lingering desire for your husband. “Not a dragon,” Your tone softened with a sweeter resonance. “A wolf.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal my work and claim it as your own or translate it onto other platforms.

[xmoriartea]

SVSSS!Sibling Transmigration AU

Based so very loosely on this glorious art by @nibbelraz

Airplane transmigrates into the youngest infant son of the Shang family (and God damn he deserves better than this System he is their god!! Daddy Airplane?? Heard of him?? These people should not be changing his damn diaper hello??)

Shang Qinghua is already a young disciple when he visits home and meets his little brother for the first time and does no one else see there is something... off about this kid?

He makes regular trips home afterwards, eventually using An Ding logistics to find reasons to be near his hometown more frequently (and really does no one else see this kid is weird?)

Bby!Airplane is just too smart. SQH is convinced he saw the kid make eye contact with him once when he caught him stealing a dumpling behind their mother's back and it was like looking into the eyes of a demon who'd gut him if he snitched and not a human toddler

It doesn't get better as Airplane gets older and SQH hears him muttering about 1. things he shouldn't know at all regarding the sect when he thinks SQH isn't listening and 2. absolute nonsense (what System has done you so wrong didi?? you are four??)

Before Airplane is old enough to reasonably join the sect, SQH brings him back to the mountain anyway. He is fairly certain his brother is a seer and if that's the case, he's keeping the little welp close at hand

Airplane infinitely regrets how much bullshit he made An Ding deal with to ""hand wave lazy writing"" (shut up peerless cucumber!! he was writing porn not project management!!) but even just watching SQH run himself ragged over the peak has bby him exhausted (no wonder he ratted y'all out to the king yeesh)

He spends his early years as a disciple just following SQH and sometimes nudging his gege into record shattering discoveries because SQH will pat his head when he realizes and take him down the mountain for noodles afterwards (gg easy)

Airplane is a proper disciple in his own right in his teens when his notes and his story get jumbled in a way that has him tripping into one of his shixiongs when he hears the rumors - Head Disciple SJ returned to the mountain with a little brother (record screech glass shattering huh???)

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan transmigrated into Shen Jiu's unnamed younger half-brother After finding stability at the sect, Shen Jiu looks into his birth mother, knowing she sold him off when he was a child What he finds in Airplane's unwritten notes is a Fantine-Cosette backstory where his mother, a courtesan, gave him away to a good family after he was born. She sent them regular payments to ensure his care, but only found out when she was pregnant with SY that they had sold SJ off and were pocketing her money Unable to find SJ and unwilling to risk SY, she and the other courtesans raised SY within the brothel SY transmigrates into the body of a child at his sick mother's bedside with a twisted sense of deja vu having just vacated his own deathbed He doesn't know where he is, but if the orphan protagonist can make it to the sect, so can he right? (Transmigrator Halo? System? System why are you laughing??) He's barely into his second teens when SJ finds him. It takes no time at all after learning the truth for SJ to demand SY's guardianship and whisk him back to Qing Ding (See System? He DOES have a Transmigrator Halo, even if it is attached to the scum villain) SY is honestly shocked by how concerned(?) SJ is when packing his meager possessions. (No Jiu-ge (ew) no one has ever harmed him or touched him wtf would make you think they had?? He's baby??) It takes some time for glaciers to melt and for SJ to let SY in, but SY was raised around kind jiejies who taught him to be better than their worst clients and SJ feels safe around this little brat in a way he can't explain (SJ has had SY for five minutes but if anything happens to him SJ is taking out the entire mountain and then himself) YQY has NO idea how to react when SJ first returns with his brother, but he doesn't hesitate to smooth the way for SY's discipleship and watches from afar as SJ begins to finally let someone in, even if it's not him

SQH keeps telling Airplane he needs to work on his muttering to himself, that it's going to get him in trouble (bro you don't even know) but for once it's in his favor because SY overhears him just enough while YQY is sorting his shit out on arrival and suddenly they're just two spidermen pointing at each other on the peak

Cue the shenanigans of two hometown boys who have no bearing on the plot at all and are just along for the ride while their siblings handle the peaks. Anytime Qing Ding and An Ding need to work together on missions, these two volunteer and confuse the hell out of their martial siblings every step of the way

SJ does not trust the little logistics rat anywhere near his didi and glowers like an alley cat anytime Airplane is around (SQH is right, ofc. His brother IS weird and SJ does not trust it)

SQH meanwhile takes note of his weird didi's sudden and first friendship with SY and immediately starts keeping tabs on this kid because clearly Airplane's seerhood has steered him to SY for a reason, must keep note

The first time LQG makes any sort of fuss about SJ going to a brothel, SY forgets everything he's learned at the sect as Little Brother Mode™ activates to defend not only SJ but his jiejies too. (Fists are thrown. Hair is pulled. He might have bitten his shixiong, he can't say. He sort of blacked out for a minute there) Needless to say there isn't a second time and LQG has an hour long argument with his shizun about trying to poach SY for Bai Zhan peak while nursing a black eye (Airplane just side eying the GREMLIN that transmigrated here like bro wtf)

Before LBH even steps foot on the mountain, both their Systems ping about the incoming protagonist and it's not that they, you know, forgot about the story but they were distracted. Between finding each other and actually weirdly coming to care for these NPCs they... lost track of time

But the System pings and LBH enters the scene and SY refuses to let Airplane's work repeat itself (we're making your notes canon bro stfu and follow my lead. (what lead??? what plan??) I'm working on it!!)

It's a 50/50 crap shoot if SYs favoritism of bby!Binghe endears him to SJ or spikes up the resentment, but SY refuses to let harm come to LBH or for SJ to become the scum villain (someone is yelling, it might be SJ, it might be SY, it might be Binghe who doesn't want Shizun and Shixiong fighting over him)

On the other side of the plot, SQH is still a little snitch, even with his didi's visions guiding him to unprecedented success - but it's more than betraying the sect, more than wanting power and recognition. Seers are insanely powerful, highly sought after. Bringing Airplane to the sect protected him for awhile but SQH can't let him become a target. So when the OG meets MBJ, all his calculations come to a single unfortunate answer: throw your lot in with the biggest fish to protect Airplane (no one else can understand how weird his brother is because if they do his brother will end up dead)

Flash forward to when Airplane is squinting at his brother wearing fur collars year round, always running a little bit chilly for unknown reasons but refusing to see MQF about it. Airplane insists on SQH letting him check his meridians if he won't see MQF and SQH relents, puts his wrist in Airplane's hand, and squawks like a goddamn chicken when Airplane yanks his arm and tugs down his collar to reveal the mark of MBJ on his collarbone and SQH is once again met with that dead eyed 'bro do not fuck with me' stare

SQH does not question how Airplane knows, he just insists on Airplane staying far far away from MBJ (he might work for the demon, but he certainly does not trust him)

Of course Airplane defies all reason and knows the exact secret rendezvous point SQH uses (he did not suffer puberty twice to be denied seeing his most precious creation in the flesh, gege) and is spotted spying on the spy almost instantly by MBJ who is just holding him by his scruff and looking between a wide eyed Airplane and a barely-restrained-panicked peak lord like 'why oh why are there two of them'

Cue a full stand off between a demon and peak lord, ice knives at SQH's throat, a blade hovering at MBJ's heart, and Airplane just held like a kitten between them like fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck that SOMEHOW ends with MBJ rationalizing 'ah this weird mouse is important to my viper of a spy - if I want to keep the viper loyal, I will protect this mouse'

Which throws the Sheng brothers into a mess that neither of them know how to deal with. SQH thinks he needs to continue to be excessively useful to keep Airplane safe. Airplane can't let MBJ know he's his brother's best source or the demon might cut out the middle man. (Meanwhile somewhere MBJ just out here planning to court this weird little mouse to tie SQH's loyalties to him)

Whatever circumstances causes the Abyss plotline to trigger, SY 500% throws himself in after Binghe leaving SJ partially feral because his didi is in danger, Airplane CONCERNED, and SQH just casually like 'oh that's why my brother was interested in him, interesting' not at all realizing no, SY is likely just about to become his boss(-brother-in-law)'s boss's consort - whoops! whoops! whoops!

[rafey-baby]

stepdad!rafe being gross about his stepdaughter…

c/w: stepcest, kinda angsty, slight somnophilia & some dubcon fingering, use of dad, 18+ mdni!

wc: 880

if u don’t like stuff like this pls scroll & read something else xx 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Her relationship with her stepdad has always been rather strange.  

But she’s never really minded, because it felt nice to have someone fill that hollow pit inside her, the one that’s always been there, haunting her ever since her father left when she was just a little girl. An itch she could never quite scratch.  

It didn’t help that her mother was never exactly present in her life either— always too busy with work or looking for solace from the bottom of a wine bottle or blaming her for everything wrong in her life.

She was sixteen when her mom brought Rafe home for the first time. And she never quite understood why he had married the woman in the first place— why he filed for divorce only after she’d moved out for uni, and not the moment he found out his wife wasn’t spending all those late nights in the office, but instead in the bed of a stranger.

However, she didn’t much care for his reasons because he’d always been more of a parent to her than the people who were supposed to. She always secretly wished he would’ve been her real dad— not just someone she assumed felt obligated to take her under his wing when he found out how horribly she’d been treated all her life.  

That’s why she never really paid too much attention to his lingering touches or the borderline controlling tendencies that always seemed to fizzle to the surface whenever she’d do something he deemed bad. She was just happy that she finally had someone who made her feel safe, protected. What more could she really ask for? 

It felt nice when someone cared. 

And now, even if she’s legally an adult and capable of making her own decisions, she prefers when Rafe makes them for her. After all, is it so wrong to just want to be taken care of?  

Because university was a lot. And the never-ending deadlines, assignments and all the late nights she spent trying to understand something she just couldn’t, had grown into this hurricane inside of her. It swallowed up everything that once made life beautiful and worth living; hiding them away from her, until she was crying to her phone nearly every night with her daddy on the other end, trying to calm her down, but to no avail.  

And she could only take it for so long until one day, she was knocking on the door of Rafe’s brand new house with tear-soaked eyes and a suitcase— his strong arms wrapped tightly around her the only thing able to placate her in months because with him, everything felt secure.  

And she liked spending time with him and living on the island, had even gotten a weekend job at a surf shop (despite his protests) because she wanted to do something useful, something other than loitering around the house that felt more like a spooky mansion whenever he was at work.  

The empty hallways and her spacious bedroom were especially unsettling at night when she’d had a bad dream— more often than not making her tiptoe over to Rafe’s bedroom with a pout, asking if she could sleep there instead. ‘Of course you can, sweetheart’ he’d always murmur; voice gravelly with sleep and already making space for her under the covers…

Then one night, as she’s peacefully snoozing off in his warm embrace, his fingertips slip past the waistband of her fleecy pajama bottoms— merely grazing at the smooth skin of her lower tummy, telling himself he’s just trying to do something with his hands so sleep could find him faster.

That’s until he notices she’s not wearing any panties, getting an insatiable urge to tuck his fingers between her soft thighs— already meeting a sticky mess there. After all, he only has so much self-control around the innocent little angel he swears was sent from heaven just for him to taint; to ruin.  

And it’s not like she seems to mind with the way she snuggles closer to him in her sweet slumber; the round of her ass pressing closer and closer against his crotch with every unconscious shift of her hips.  

Only when he begins mindlessly thumbing at her clit, does she stir— drowsy voice panicky when she mumbles out something inaudible.  

“Shh. S’just me, relax, yeah?” he hushes her, wet fingertips rubbing lazy circles over her weepy cunt when she whines— a complaint already blossoming on her tongue, something about him being gross, no doubt.  

“Is dad not makin’ you feel nice?” he coos, other hand dragging her closer with a grip on her thigh when she tries to pull away.  

“This is— you shouldn’t…” she stumbles over her words, trying to wriggle away from his overwhelming touch.   

“Shh, what do I always tell you, hm?” he clicks his tongue, his hold firm as he coaxes her to tell him what he wants to hear.  

Momentarily, she gets distracted from squirming around as she searches through her fuzzy brain before whispering out the answer. “…dad knows what’s best.” 

“There you go, that’s m’girl,” he breathes out, pressing a gentle kiss to the apple of her cheek as a reward— smiling against the skin when she lets out a muffled whimper, because his hands do feel nice.

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS #2— KISS IT BETTER / theodore nott

december 4th

theodore nott x fem reader

summary: he doesn’t mind using extreme measures to get you to put your lips on his.

warnings: fluff, kissing, mentions of blood

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this was inspired by one of those incorrect quote generators lmao

navigation ficmas masterlist

Theo never quite knew what to do with the attention you gave him.

There you were, sitting across from him in the library, your hair falling forward as you scribbled down notes, lost in thought. He should’ve been focused on his own work, on the potions essay that was due tomorrow, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept drifting back to you. Every time your quill scratched the parchment or your lips pressed together in concentration, his chest tightened. You had a way of drawing him in, pulling him closer with every small, unconscious movement.

It wasn’t like he’d never noticed you before. You had always been part of the group, hovering on the edges of conversations, offering sharp comments when the boys got too ridiculous, but you never quite entered Theo’s orbit like this. Now, though? Now, he was starting to realize that he’d been wrong to overlook you. You were too… soft. Too gentle in a world that had taught him to be hard, distant. It made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling.

Then it happened—something so small, so insignificant that it shouldn’t have left a mark on him, but it did.

A paper cut.

He didn’t even flinch as the thin slice formed on his finger while rifling through his notes. Theo muttered a low curse under his breath, instinctively moving to press his thumb against it, but before he could do anything, you noticed.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice warm, as though you had known him for ages. 

Theo blinked, unsure why you were even asking. “Just a paper cut.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you set your quill down and leaned forward. “Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?”

For a split second, he thought you were joking. He stared at you, unsure how to respond. That wasn’t the kind of offer people made to him. Kisses didn’t fix anything—not the way his childhood had been, not the way life worked now. But the way you looked at him, playful yet sincere, made something stir in his chest.

“That works?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

 You laughed lightly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sure it does. My mom used to do it for me when I was little. Worked like a charm.”

The mention of your mom caught him off guard. His own memories of his mother were hazy, distant, like an old photograph left out in the sun for too long. He couldn’t remember if she had ever kissed his cuts, couldn’t remember if anyone had ever cared for him like that. Affection had always been scarce in the Nott household. His mother had been gone for a long time, and the little acts of tenderness you described had died with her.

You stood and walked around the table. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop you, didn’t say something sarcastic or brush it off. 

“It’s no big deal,” he muttered, trying to pull his hand away, but you held it gently, your fingers warm against his.

“Let me see,” you said softly, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He held his breath as you leaned down, your lips brushing over his finger in the softest kiss. The contact was fleeting, a whisper of warmth, but it sent his mind reeling. He didn’t understand why something so simple, so childlike, could make him feel… different.

“There,” you said, your voice light as you pulled back. “All better.”

He could only stare at you, his throat suddenly tight. “Yeah… thanks.”

You smiled, returning to your seat like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just unknowingly changed something in him. Theo’s gaze lingered on you, the phantom of your lips still tingling on his skin. He didn’t know how to process it. No one had ever looked at him that way, treated him that way. 

But he knew one thing for sure—he wanted to feel that again.

The next day, Theo’s mind was still replaying that moment, over and over. It had awakened something inside him, something that ached for more, and before he knew it, he found himself searching for a way to feel it again. This time, though, he didn’t want a kiss on the hand. He wanted more.

Theo found Draco leaning against one of the stone walls outside. He approached him with a strange sort of determination, one that was equal parts reckless and desperate. Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Theo approaching.

“Need something, Nott?” Draco drawled, clearly amused by the look on Theo’s face.

Theo didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Punch me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Draco blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“I need you to punch me,” Theo repeated, his voice steady despite the absurdity of the request.

“Alright, gladly, but why?”

Theo swallowed, his throat dry. He knew it was ridiculous, that this whole plan was absurd, but he needed this to happen. He needed you to kiss him again, to care again. "Just... trust me. I need a bruise, a cut, something that’ll make her—” He cut himself off, his face heating up.

Draco’s smirk only widened, a glint of realization flashing in his eyes. “Ah. Her.” He stood up straighter, clearly intrigued. “So, you’re finally doing something about it. You want me to punch you so she’ll fuss over you. Clever.”

“Just do it, will you?” Theo muttered, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

Draco shrugged, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “If you insist.” Without further warning, Draco’s fist came flying toward Theo’s face. He didn’t hold back either—Theo barely had time to register the motion before pain exploded in his mouth. 

He stumbled backward, his hand flying to his lip. Blood welled up immediately, the sharp sting spreading across his jaw.

“Merlin’s beard,” Theo muttered, his vision momentarily swimming. “I said punch me, not break my damn face.”

Draco stepped back, grinning like he had just done Theo the biggest favor in the world. “There. You’re welcome.”

Theo wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, already thinking about what would come next. He didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t care about anything except the idea of you seeing him like this—hurt, vulnerable—and caring for him again.

He found you in the common room later that day, sitting in your usual spot near the fireplace. You didn’t see him at first—too absorbed in the book you were reading, a small frown of concentration on your face. 

Theo hesitated for a second, suddenly feeling nervous. What if this was a mistake? What if you didn’t react the way he hoped?

But then you looked up, and your eyes immediately widened in shock as you took in the sight of him—blood smeared on his lip, a fresh bruise forming on his jaw.

“Theo!” you gasped, your book forgotten as you rushed over to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He tried to shrug it off, leaning casually against the arm of the couch, though the pain in his mouth made it hard to play it cool. “Got into a fight. No big deal.”

You didn’t look convinced. Your fingers hovered near his face, concern etched into your features. “Does it hurt?”

Theo could feel his heart pounding, his mouth dry as the moment he’d been waiting for arrived. His voice was lower than he intended as he muttered, “A little… are you… are you not gonna kiss it better?”

Your expression softened, that same playful smile from the day before returning. “Again, huh?” 

You leaned in, your eyes flicking to his lips, and Theo’s pulse quickened. When your lips brushed his, it was soft, cautious, but this time there was something more to it—something that made the ache in his lip completely disappear.

And just like that, Theo knew he was done for.

Your lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and it was enough to set Theo’s blood humming. The softness of your touch felt like a balm, not just for the bruise but for something deeper—something buried in the recesses of his mind that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

When you pulled back, your gaze met his, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face. Concern? Amusement? Theo couldn’t tell. But what he did know was that he didn’t want that moment to end. Not yet.

"You really need to stop getting into fights," you murmured, shaking your head with a small, exasperated smile. "What were you even thinking?"

Theo almost laughed at the irony. He couldn’t very well tell you the truth—that the whole thing had been orchestrated just for this. Just for the briefest chance to feel your lips on his. 

Instead, he shrugged, playing it off. "You know how it is. Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t mix well."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness behind it, something that made Theo’s chest tighten in that unfamiliar way again. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself hurt for real, and then I won’t be able to kiss it better.”

That sent a jolt of warmth through him, stronger than the pain in his lip. He let the silence stretch between you for a moment, watching as you shifted nervously under his gaze.

"Maybe," he said slowly, his voice low, "I just like the way you kiss me."

Your eyes widened slightly at that, a faint blush creeping across your cheeks. Theo smirked inwardly, relishing the way his words seemed to fluster you. You always had a quick response for everything, but now you were quiet, your lips parting as though you weren’t sure what to say.

“I—” you started, your voice trailing off as you looked down at your hands.

Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to grab your wrist and pull you back in, to kiss you again but for real this time—not as some excuse to soothe a bruise or a cut.

Before you could speak, a voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Well, look at you two,” Draco drawled as he strolled into the common room, clearly interrupting something he knew full well was important. “What did I say, Nott? You’re welcome, by the way.”

Theo shot Draco a glare, a deep scowl crossing his face. Of course he had to show up now, just when things were starting to move in the direction he wanted.

You, however, looked between them, confusion evident on your face. “What’s he talking about?”

Before Theo could respond, Draco answered for him, leaning casually against the wall with that insufferable grin. “Oh, nothing. Just that Nott here got himself punched on purpose. Quite the romantic, isn’t he?”

Theo’s heart dropped. He glared at Draco, fury bubbling up in his chest. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

But it was too late. You were already staring at Theo, your eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait… what?”

Theo tried to backtrack, scrambling for some sort of excuse, but he wasn’t fast enough. You took a step back, your brows furrowed in confusion as realization slowly dawned on you.

"You… you let someone punch you just so I’d…?"

The color drained from Theo’s face as he saw the pieces falling into place in your mind.

“I—” he began, his voice unsteady, “It’s not like that.”

You crossed your arms, staring at him like you were trying to decide whether to be angry, amused, or something in between. “Theo, what the hell were you thinking?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted—” He cut himself off again, feeling ridiculous. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But you were still looking at him, waiting for an answer, and the weight of your gaze was too much to bear.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” Theo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, the confusion giving way to something else—something gentler. You uncrossed your arms and took a step closer, your eyes searching his face.

"You could’ve just asked," you said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Theo blinked, thrown off by your reaction. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even laugh and walk away. But there you were, looking at him with something that felt dangerously close to fondness.

“You… wouldn’t have laughed at me?” he asked, his voice rough with uncertainty.

You shook your head, your smile growing. “No, Theo. I wouldn’t have laughed.”

Theo didn’t know what to say to that. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at you, the words dying in his throat. He felt foolish, standing in front of you like this, bruised and vulnerable, all because he didn’t know how to ask for something he wanted so badly.

But then you reached out, your hand gently brushing against his bruised lip again, and all the embarrassment, all the uncertainty melted away.

“If you wanted me to kiss you,” you murmured, stepping even closer, “all you had to do was say so.”

When your lips finally met his, it wasn’t like before. This wasn’t a kiss to make anything better. This was a kiss because you both wanted it.

Theo’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You responded instantly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, and Theo felt like he was drowning, lost in the feel of you, in the way you kissed him like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. “Yeah, I still don’t regret anything,” he muttered.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips again. “Next time, just ask, Theo. No more getting hurt.”

Theo nodded, his heart still racing as he held you close, a grin tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind

[thesummerpetrichor]

𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓫𝓮 𝓶𝔂 𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓭𝔂

Father in law!Javier Peña x afab!fem!reader

Summary: Your soon to be husband leaves you at the alter, but you should have guessed since the practice seemed to run in the family. It’s hard to be upset however, when his father comes to repent for not only his own but his son’s wrong doings. Aka fiancé’s dad Javi fucking you in your wedding dress after his son ditches you at the altar.

Warnings: 18+ only minors DNI you will be blocked. Minimal editing, unspecified but thicc and legal age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, heavy breeding kink, insane dirty talk, toxic father son relationship, reader is delulu, praise kink, petnames, sex in front of a mirror, veil pulling??, a few spanks, creampie, Javi fucks you into the mattress, unprotected P in V [don’t do it!!]. Let me know if I missed anything 🫶.

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: Literally just porn without plot, lotsa fucking, I want father in law Javi. Minimally edited lmao I just banged this out Can’t wait for you to read it!! Hope you enjoy, nasties! Mwah!

Masterlist

You rich and I'm wishin', um

You could be my mister, yum

Delicious to the maximum

Chew you up like bubble gum

You love me, he wants me

I think I want you too

Best day of your life- yeah, what a fucking joke. But what were you expecting? Ditching people at the altar seemed to run in the family. Okay, maybe that was a bit of a harsh assessment of the Peñas, especially Peña senior, who, despite all you had heard of him from your ex fiance, had always shown you kindness. 

The thing is, it becomes really fucking hard to be charitable to a family when their son humiliates you infront of the entirety of Texas. Leaves you high and dry on the steps of the biggest church in town in your great grandmother’s silk dress. It becomes even harder when you learn his mother had been in on it all along, sparing you not even a little apology, or a comforting embrace after her son's little getaway plan had been revealed. 

Instead of extending you a supporting hand, she ran away to make sure her baby boy was okay, and that this entire ordeal hadn’t taken a toll on his emotional and psychological well being. 

How thoughtful. 

Of course, you were the pathetic one– unable to look anyone in the eye, sobbing on your fathers shoulder till you couldn’t breathe any longer. So distraught and unwell even getting out of your wedding attire seemed impossible. It only made you feel even more pathetic. At some point you ended up curling up in your hotel bed, still in the “happiest day of your life” outfit, and pleading for some time alone from your friends and family to wallow in your own suffering. 

You would eat your feelings in the from of the apology chocolates the hotel had complimented for you, but you couldn’t manage to even do that without feeling like a total fucking looser. 

After all that had transpired, and after years of hearing nothing but sour things about your soon to be father in law, safe to say you were surprised to see him at your hotel room door at midnight as the ambassador the family seemingly sent to smooth things over. 

For it being only your second time meeting the man, this was far from the most opportune scenario. In fact, him showing up all sorrowful and apologetic for his shitty excuse of a son, in his navy blue suit and loose tie, made your already pathetic day all the more difficult to get through. 

Your whole relationship you had blamed every fault of your boyfriend on his absent, detached father. You’d heard plenty about the lack of childhood visits, quality time, and playing soccer that had plagued your partner’s life, and had found it quite easy and comforting to pile on every relationship problem you ever came across as the consequence of Javier Peña’s lack of responsibility and good parenting. 

What you didn’t expect, was to find that Javi Peña was a whole lot more normal and level headed than you anticipated. He was just a guy trying to make a good living and provide for his family. Sure, he was a little bit reserved, but he was only ever warm and sweet and even quite chatty with you. To be frank, you should have seen your boyfriend’s shitty behavior as a consequence of his insufferable mother from a mile away. God knew you weren’t expecting Peña Sr. to be the better of your two soon to be in laws. 

That being said, you would have never expected to be on your hands and knees, on what was supposed to be your marital bed, being pounded from behind by your ex soon to be father in-law. 

Because that's where you are now, eyes rolling to the back of your head thanks to the most intense pleasure you've ever felt. The drag of Javis cock against your walls has been building a steady heat in your belly, the stretch of him so perfect and delicious it has you pushing your hips back to meet his every thrust. 

Any other day a man like him wouldn’t have needed much to woo you– with his cut jaw, handsome features and those chocolate brown eyes you wished his son had inherited. Safe to say on a day like this one it took even less, just a few rubs on your back, a hand smoothing over your head and trailing down your waist, a few “pretty girls” and “poor things” and some fucking sympathy from someone from your boyfriends sorry family. 

Fucking pathetic. 

But Javier knows his son is pathetic, knows he is a good for nothing moron who doesn't even know what he was losing out on when he walked out on you.

“He’s a fuckin fool- look at this tight little pussy, squeezin’ me so fuckin good. Bet he didn’t fuck ya like this, huh baby? Didn’t make ya cum over and over, make ya scream… stupid fuckin boy..” Javier’s grip on your hips tightens on hearing your moan, and he curses under his breath when your pussy flutters around his cock. 

Your legs are threatening to give out under you, your knees tender from how long you've been leaning on them. Javier’s hand moves to grip the fabric of your veil, using it to pull your head back and make you face the mirror that's been teasing you all evening. “Look- Look at ya- fuckin cryin’ on my cock. ‘S the only reason ya’ shoulda’ be cryin’ in this pretty dress..” With drooping eyes you're faced with your own reflection– stains from your mascara running down your face now less thanks to the sorry of the afternoon and more thanks to the way Javi’s cock has been nudging your sweetspot. 

You watch your tits spill out of your beautiful silk dress, the fabric now disheveled and a far cry from the sophisticated, simplistic garment it once was. You can barely recognise it, but then again you can barely recognise your own reflection. “Look at that pretty little body- fuckin made for me.” 

“Yours-” you cut yourself off with a gasp, Javi’s hands squeeze your hips and your cheeks set ablaze at the way he looks at you when you catch it in the mirror. The whole sight is so debauched and depraved– you on your hands and knees for a man who could easily be mistaken for your father. But somehow it's even dirtier- the possibility of your ex finding out sends you into overdrive. 

The silk of your dress brushes against your hot skin, flipped lewdly up to reveal your bare ass, bunched at the waist, the straps drooping and threatening to fall. Javi pulls the zip down even further, watching as it hangs off your body, draped like fabric from a 15th century painting. 

Javi’s voice calls your attention back to the present moment, lewd words showing you he doesn't hold back the way his son does. “Gonna fill this tight little cunt up..” The stretch is so delicious between your legs, you feel the steady throb continue to tighten the coil inside you and you can’t help but moan. “Yeah, you want that? Want daddy to put a baby in you?” the thought makes you shiver, that name makes you shiver, has your cunt clenching around his cock. What an image- you, belly round with your father in laws child, well, your ex father in law. Unlike his son you were sure he would be the perfect husband, would bend you over ever surface in your picket fence house and fuck you just like he’s doing now. 

Deep, and hard and fast, just like you need it. Just like you've always needed it.. 

“Please daddy, want your babies, wanna be yours…” Your voice is so broken and wrecked you're afraid he can’t understand what you're even saying. To be honest you can’t be bothered much, it feels so good, his thick, hard cock feels so good pounding between your thighs there's little else you can keep your mind on. 

“Yeah? you like that sweetheart? we can play house..” you nod your head and his hand tightens its grip around your veil, exaggerating your movements, bending you to his will. “Wanna play house with daddy? can be my pretty little wife” you fist the sheets, pushing back against him with his every thrust. You do want that, you’ve always wanted that. And what better person to do it with. Sure, his wife always complained about how he was never around, but that's looking a lot more like a her problem– especially with the way Javi’s tip continues to kiss your sweet spot. 

“Yes daddy, please..”  

Javier lets go of your veil, and pushes his palm between your shoulder blades, forcing you down into the mattress till your cheek is pressed against the warm, fluffy duvet. One hand keeps you there, the other lands a quick spank to your ass and kneads at the flesh with a newfound desperation. “Won't be able to even say his goddamn name after I'm done with ya. Stupid boy doesnt know how to treat a pretty thing like you– so sweet, so gorgeous, so fucking smart. Too fucking good for him.” 

With your lips parted and breathing heavy you drool onto the covers, letting Javi pound you into the mattress and overshadow every other thought that dared cross your head earlier in the day. If his plan is to make you forget about anything that isn't him, it sure is working. You don't think you’d even want to sound out his incompetent son’s name after he’s done with you. 

As if he can read your mind his voice calls from behind you. “Want ya to be drippin with me.” the wet schick of his cock fucking into your tight, wet, hole reminds you of just how needy you are for him, and the prospect of having him dripping out of you– down your thighs, between your legs, leaving you all messy for him to come back and do it all over again, drives you absolutely insane. 

“He’s fuckin useless, just like his ma. But look at you, so fucking tight ‘round me, making all those pretty sounds, she fuckin’ wishes she was you.” His words have your cunt squeezing around his cock, and a lewd, pornographic moan slipping past your lips. “My girl’s gonna be the perfect lil’ mamma, aren’t ya, so fuckin’ pretty.” You would certainly like that- in fact you’re almost surprised with how appealing it sounds to you. 

“Gonna be perfect for you daddy, only for you.” your dress rides up even further, the front slipping further down. 

“Thats my fucking girl.” That growl of his sends shivers down your spine– possessive, and confident and dripping like honey from his lips. It was almost like it could send you over the edge by itself. The lewd creaking of the bedframe fills the room, the sound of skin on skin driving you wild. The way he handles you– firm and deft but gentle and passionate, it's nothing like his son. 

He’s nothing like his son. 

“Yeah, bet it feels good don’t it, bein’ fucked by a real man? Feel daddy so deep in ya? Nothin ever been that deep before, huh..” You shake your head ‘no’ and he coos at how pathetic you must sound, barely able to make a coherent sound, forget string together a whole sentence. 

“Make me go fuckin’ crazy, babygirl.” 

What he says is fucking filthy, there’s no denying, no justifying it. It makes you squirm, makes you even wetter, makes you want him even more. 

“Think you wanna go back to him? With daddy’s cum drippin between those pretty thighs, show him how a real man treats his girl?” 

“Gonna make ya beg him to stay, gonna talk some sense into him, just so daddy can have ya all to himself, ain't that right? You gonna sneak into daddy’s room in the middle of the night? All wet an’ achy? Beggin’ daddy to fuck ya how ya need?” 

“Wanna run away with me baby, live in a perfect little house, let daddy give ya his babies, fuck ya full’ve my cum every single night?” 

His hands roam your body, smoothing over your hips, reaching forward to squeeze at your breasts, pinching and kneading the flesh. He bends down to trail light kisses along your spine and the feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your head twists side to side against the sheets as you squirm, each sensation like it's heightened to the maximum, the heaviness and the throb between your thighs at an all time high. 

You know you're close, you can’t hold it off much longer. Your cunt squeezes and your toes curl. You also know Javi won't last, you can feel him pulse against your swollen walls, can feel the way he desperately thrusts into you, pushes you further down against the mattress, grips your skin with that renewed fervor, with the desperation of doing anything to hold on to the incredible sensation. 

“Come for me, babygirl, come for daddy, show daddy how much ya needed this, show daddy how bad ya need his cock.” 

Your legs part even further under you, if that's even physically possible, your entire upper body being smashed into the mattress. You call out Javi’s name, followed by a string of desperate, strained, whiny daddy daddy daddy’s. 

With a strangled moan that's partially muffled by the covers you come undone, your head spins and your heart pounds in your chest, you feel yourself gush and clamp down around his cock. You feel Javi’s hips stutter behind you and his cock throb against your wet walls. The feeling only prologues and intensifies your orgasm, your body going slack and eyes rolling back into your head. 

“Please daddy, need your cum, please, give it to me..” 

Javi’s groans catch your attention as you come down from your high, still reeling from the aftershocks when you feel his cock twitch inside you and paint your walls with his hot spend. Your words are strained and slurred, but they clearly get the job done. You shiver and press your ass back against him to meet his stuttery, sloppy thrusts, and bite your lip when you feel him tighten his grip on your hip, feel him land a final spank to your ass for good measure as he slows down. 

You keep your ass in the air, face still pressed against the mattress as Javi pulls out. You hear him mutter a few strained curses under his breath as he does, and catch him looking between your legs to see his spend obscenely leak out of your used hole. He reaches his fingers to rub against your messy folds and you whine, feel him gather up your juices and push them back inside your cunt in a way that has you almost cumming right there again. 

Your dress is still pooled at your waist and he unzips it entirely, sneaking his hands under your thighs and flipping you over and yanking you towards him. 

“You really want daddy’s babies?” Your head falls back against the bed when you feel his hand cup your cunt, rub your messy, swollen folds with the calloused tips of his fingers. You barely manage to nod. 

“Then I ain’t done with ya yet pretty girl.” You tilt your chin to catch his gaze, now in nothing but your stupid little wedding veil. You’re not sure about the best day of your life, but this sure as hell contends for one of the best nights. 

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

I'm neon phosphorescent

Open like a Christmas present, oh

You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

If you're seeking heaven

Then you wanna come and get it alright

Be my daddy tonight

What's up what's up

What's up what's up

Be my daddy be my daddy

Be my daddy be my, be my daddy tonight

AHHHHH feel like I’m going to hell for this one. Thanks so much for reading!! Please please please let me know what you think. I’d love to know your thoughts!!! Thank you to everyone who engages with my work, you keep me writing!! 💗🐝

[cryobabiess]

Pairing: Emperor Caracalla x concubine!reader

Summary: After a public tantrum at a senator's gathering, Geta sends Caracalla's most beloved concubine to comfort his mad brother. Tags: hurt/comfort, slightly NSFW, implied/mentioned sex, Caracalla has serious mommy issues, nipple play, breastfeeding :/ (sorry), short fic, Caracalla is obsessed with your big naturals I guess idk AN: I'm not sure if there's any Otessa Moshfegh enjoyers out there, but this lil mini fic is inspired by Lapvona. Caracalla's man-child vibe reminded me of Merek, so naturally I had to write the most strange and off-putting fic to satisfy my weird-girl impulses. Enjoy, freaks!

Hurt by his brother’s callous words, the divine emperor Caracalla had fled the senator’s banquet in a fit of rage. It only takes a single tense glance from Emperor Geta for you to receive his silent command to follow after his mad brother. It does not take long to find him.

Like always, he hides away under a golden table tucked in the far corner of the throne room. His sniveling echoes off the tall marble walls. You slowly approach his curled up form, as if not to startle a wild hare.

“Caracalla. You must come out now.” You call his name softly.

“I will not.” He croaks through his tears, turning his back towards you. With a sigh, you sink to your knees, extending your open arms towards him.

You wait for Caracalla to find his sense. After a few moments, He finally turns to you to reveal his face—pale, rosy, and wet.

“Has brother sent you to scold me? I am no child!” Spite coats his words. You smile at the absurdity. He could order your head on a pike if he so pleased, but prefers for you to indulge his brooding. A god-king with the whims of a spurned child.

“No, I do not seek to scold, little prince. Come now, so that I may hold you.”

And with that, the emperor crawls to you.

He settles into your arms and you cradle his torso, the luxurious fabric of his ornate robes pooling at your lap. His cheek rests atop your bosom like a newborn babe—he weeps like one too.

“It is unjust! Brother always has the last word, yet I am eldest!” Caracalla laments, his tears wet the bodice of your stola.

You use your free hand to smooth tendrils of copper hair away from his damp face. A tantrum of this magnitude was not uncommon for the young emperor, though you often wondered how a man could display such behaviors at the age of twenty and one. Caracalla was distinctly tender, despite his blood lust. His ego was delicate, easily wounded by Geta’s pragmatism and rigid sensibility.

“He wishes to be rid of me, I know it.” He sniffles, his hand reaching to fiddle with the pendant resting at the base of your neck. You smile softly despite growing weary of this routine.

“Don’t be without reason, mea dulcis. You are invaluable to Rome and all her subjects. Geta speaks without tact when he is cross. You must know this too, hmm?”

Caracalla thinks for a moment, brows knitting together in contemplation.

“He is unkind. It should have been him to suffer in the womb, not I.”

You can’t help but laugh at his juvenile description of his brother's malicious cruelty. Frustration flashes across Caracalla’s face as water threatens to brim his eyes again.

“Peace, my lamb. No more tears.” You coo, using a thumb to swipe away at the wetness—but it is too late. Your laughter invited a new wave of angry tears. He buries his face in your breasts, jeweled fingers dragging down the fabric of your stola. His mouth quickly finds your nipple. You hiss, resisting the urge to pull him away from your flesh.

It brings the emperor great comfort to suckle you. Geta had explained Caracalla’s affliction once before.

“Our own mother denied him her breast; she believed him to be cursed. Perhaps he held on to that trangression. He called for a wet nurse until the age of ten and two. My brother has always suffered from madness, you see.”

You had taken prior notice of this habit. After he fucks you like an animal in heat, he often drifts back to your tit, lazily sucking and nibbling until sleep takes him. You thought nothing of it until emperor Geta revealed it’s cause to you.

And though you had no milk to bear, tranquility came over the man as if he had been fed. Eyes closed and breath even, he plays with a tendril of your hair as he rolls your swollen nipple in his hot mouth—lost in bliss. It is odd, but you pity him. With his lips so flush against you and his expression finally at peace, one could forget the madness, the carnage, the rage.

Sometime later, Caracalla regains his composure, standing straight with his shoulders back, returning to a proud and stately posture. He crudely wipes the spit from his chin with the back of his hand.

“You will attend to me in my chambers tonight.” He commands before returning to the festivities.

[spiders-in-the-primrose]

Give me demon twins with a complicated relationship. no more Damian and Danny who have a semi-healthy relationship.

Give me younger brother Danny who is overshadowed by Damian.

Give me a Danny who doesn't know Bruce Wayne is his father because he could never meet his mother's expectations.

Give me Damian who refuses to tell him because Danny needs to earn it.

Give me a Damian who sees Danny as weak because he's more in tune with his emotions, and who absolutely hates him for it.

Give me a Damian who when tasked by grandfather to prune the weak branches of the bloodline he does so with no hesitation.

Give me a Danny who fucking fears Damian and knows that Damian will kill him on the orders of Ras.

Give me a Danny who doesn't fight back because he knows that he can never beat Damian, who accepts his fate.

Give me a Danny who's happy that it was Damian his older brother who gets to kill him.

Give me a Danny who tells Damian that "it had to be you."

Give me demon twins with a complicated relationship that even after Danny was put in the Lazarus pits and sent to bumbfuck Illinois and Damian was sent to his father. Danny still fears Damian, and Damian while no longer hating Danny for his preserved weakness resents him for not fighting back and just letting him kill him.

Give me a Danny who's relationship with Damian colors, or at least tint the relationship he has with Jazz.

Give me a Danny who does have a personality of his own and just does what is expected from him because he doesn't want the Fentons to throw him away as the Al Ghuls did.

Give me a Damian who realized that Danny was all the goodness in his family, that would have fit in better with father's side of the family better than him because Danny was the better person.

Give me a Damian who ends up idolizing the memory of Danny and who he could have been.

Give me demon twins with a complicated relationship that when they reunite, Danny freaks the fuck out and Damian just freezes.

Give me demon twins with a complicated relationship.