#i just wish i could have more time to understand
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So, I did this not with a villain, but with an NPC from a D&D campaign I’m running on a day where the group didn’t meet. It’s under the cut if you wanna give it a read!
(CW: discussion of death, resurrection, the afterlife, and murder)
Subreddit: r/relationshipadvice
Title: I haven’t seen my husband in 5 years (because I was dead) and I just found out that he left our daughter with his mother for that whole time.
Posted by u/Lovemordian
Apologies in advance if my Common isn’t great; it isn’t my first language.
I (21F) was recently resurrected by a party member of my husband’s (now 26M) after dying in his arms five years ago. Admittedly, the experience was wonderful, since I had always hoped that magic was real and not just the stuff of children’s stories, and I am not upset at living once more. The afterlife is…well, it’s beyond what I need to discuss here.
The issue I am having is this: while I was dead, I was comforted in the knowledge that our daughter (now 8F) was not going to grow up completely parentless even if I could not be with her. However, when I saw her again after returning to life, she mentioned that her grandmother, my husband’s mother, had been caring for her this whole time. She did not grow up with her father, and the one thought that had kept me sane while wandering the fields of the waiting became a lie.
He says that he left her behind with his parents to ensure that no one would use her to pressure him, that the Flesh Collectors wouldn’t use her as bait to get to him. Though I understand the logic of this, I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. It feels like he’s trying to be the man he was 5 years ago, but I know he’s gone through much in my absence and I wish he would just be honest with me about it. Does anyone have any advice for how to talk to him about this? In some ways, it does feel a bit as if I’m approaching him as a stranger once more.
Update: Thank you to all who replied with your advices and your recommendations. I do want to answer a few of the questions I saw most frequently:
1) Apparently, he tried to avenge my murder after the judge had been paid off, stealing a highly advanced prototypical weapon designed by a classmate of ours (27 NB) to do it. This is why the Flesh Collectors were after him and why he apparently joined a guild for thieves and assassins that, if I understood him right, was run by a staff member at the university? I don’t know; he seems more comfortable speaking Common than Lamordian, so I may be misunderstanding things.
2) Flesh Collectors are sort of like a police force, but more than anything they are scavengers who harvest body parts that scientists need for their work. The “ethical” ones wait until a body is dead to harvest. The majority of them are not ethical.
Now, onto the update: I had the open conversation with my husband that so many of you recommended. I just asked him to tell me what kinds of things had happened while I was dead, and he was honest with me, just as I always remember him being.
While he was on the run for his vengeance, he fell in with the guild I mentioned and did “less than honorable things” to put aside money for our daughter’s future. At first, I thought he was implying that he had sold intimate favors, but he clarified that it was killing people. He did put aside quite a bit, over 10,000 gp, so I do think it was well-meant. And our daughter seems to hold no resentment toward him, so I don’t suppose I should either. For anyone out there who has been resurrected after a while, is this distance I’m feeling just a symptom of that, or is it something I should be concerned about? Perhaps I should speak to my mother-in-law, as she has always been a source of wisdom in my life. I don’t think I will need to update further, but if more developments happen, I will be sure to let you all know.
if you're trying to get into the head of your story's antagonist, try writing an "Am I the Asshole" reddit post from their perspective, explaining their problems and their plans for solving them. Let the voice and logic come through.
#d&d#just DM things#these characters are so sweet I love them so much#Odysseus and Penelope in Epic vibes
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Innocent
short drabble
featuring. ambessa x princess!reader
requested by anon
a/n. a short drabble in honor of the new league cinematic video. (not proofread)
Whispers followed you wherever you went, delicate and sweet like the trailing ribbons of your pastel gown. A princess from a distant land, they called you, with eyes like morning dew and a smile so radiant it could disarm even the most hardened souls. You walked beside Ambessa Medarda as you entered Piltover’s council chamber, her imposing presence drawing wary glances and tightened jaws. But you, oh, you were such the opposite compared to her with your delicate hands grazing the edge of the table as you curtsied. The softness of your voice weaving through the room like silk.
They couldn’t understand it. What was someone like you, someone that was the vision of elegance, doing at the side of a woman like Ambessa? A warlord who ruthless and cunning, with a reputation for crushing anything that stood in her way. You looked out of place at her side, like a butterfly perched on the shoulder of a lion. But appearances, as Ambessa had taught you, were the first weapon in your arsenal.
“Your Highness,” one of the councilmen greeted, his tone dripping with condescension as he rose from his chair. “It is truly an honor to have such a distinguished guest among us.” His gaze lingered a moment too long on your soft hair and the glimmering jewels that adorned your wrists. You smiled, tilting your head ever so slightly.
“Thank you, my lord,” you said, your voice so sweet it bordered on saccharine. “I must confess, I find Piltover to be… overwhelming. Such brilliance and innovation, but so complex. I hardly know where to begin.” You laughed softly, the sound drawing smiles from more than one member of the room. Ambessa remained silent beside you, her sharp gaze watching, as you worked your magic on the men.
“You need not worry, Princess,” another councilman intersected, his voice laced with eagerness and a touch of pride. “We are more than happy to guide you through anything you wish to understand. Perhaps… I could offer you a private tour of the academy?” His tone was almost gallant, but the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.
Your cheeks flushed, as you clasped your hands together. “That is so kind of you, my lord,” you said, casting your gaze downward shyly before glancing back up through your lashes. “I wouldn’t want to impose, but I’ve always been so fascinated by Piltover’s Hextech. Perhaps I could ask you a few questions later? I wouldn’t want to take up too much of your time.”
Ambessa fought the smirk tugging at her lips, her arms crossed as she leaned back against the far wall. You were perfect. Every tilt of your head, every soft-spoken word was calculated to pull strings you weren’t even sure the men knew they had.
The council meeting proceeded, but you hardly paid attention to the broader discussions. Instead, you focused on planting seeds into the minds of the men. Compliments so subtle they felt like afterthoughts, questions that seemed harmless but dug at the roots of Piltover’s inner circle. By the time the meeting was over, you had gathered more than enough information to satisfy Ambessa’s expectations.
As the members filtered out, one lingered, his gaze fixed on you. “Princess,” he began, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “I couldn’t help but notice your… curiosity earlier. If you truly wish to learn more about Hextech, I could arrange a demonstration for you. Something private, of course, so you could see its full potential.”
Your lips curved into a soft smile, even as the words you spoke were sharp enough to cut. “You are too kind, my lord,” you murmured, stepping closer until you were just within his space. “I would love that. Perhaps tomorrow evening?”
The man nodded eagerly, his face alight with excitement as he stumbled over his words. Ambessa cleared her throat, her presence suddenly oppressive as she stepped forward. “Her Highness will have a full schedule,” she said, her voice like the edge of a blade. “But I’m sure she’ll find time for your… demonstration.”
As the man hurried off, you turned to Ambessa, your expression dropping the moment he was out of sight. “Amateur,” you muttered under your breath, your sweet demeanor melting into something sharper. Ambessa chuckled, resting a hand on your shoulder.
“You’ve done well,” she said, her voice low and approving. “They’re all wrapped around your little finger.”
You looked up at her, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Of course they are,” you replied, your tone light but edged with pride.
Later, as you sat on the edge of the bed in Ambessa’s quarters, she watched you from her seat by the fire. You were still the picture of sweetness in your pink nightgown, your hair falling in over your shoulders, but she knew better. Beneath that façade was a mind as sharp as any blade she wielded.
“You were perfect today,” she said finally, her voice breaking the silence. You turned to her, your smile genuine this time as you padded over to her chair.
“Only because you taught me,” you said softly, kneeling at her feet. Ambessa reached out, her rough hand brushing against your cheek, her touch surprisingly tender.
“Couldn’t be prouder,” she murmured, her voice softer than you’d ever heard it. You leaned into her touch, your eyes closing as a contented smile spread across your lips.
Innocence was your mask, manipulation your weapon, and loyalty to Ambessa the thread that bound it all together. You were exactly what she had shaped you to be. It was easy to manipulate others when they weren’t expecting it from a person with such a sweet demeanor. Clearly you proved them wrong, well eventually.
taglist. @blckbny @ch-bl0gsss @b-lossm @fortluocha @ekkosh @limereance @wolfessa @themostlesbianever @simonapietra @1-800-fantasy @saikikittykusuo @sevikaishot @sugarplumz100 @chaostudi @wxwrites @m-0-mmy-l-0-ver33 @robzo4 @puppyphia @xreadersarchive @boom58 @d3adbrainer @kylorey25 @slutmeoutfortoge @yaeil @sapphicarribean @randomperson291 @mvistl @hellokittyfeenie @literallyimthenerdemoji @nikaachuuuu @prettysupplicant @iamaboringrattat
#arcane#ambessa x reader#ambessa x you#ambessa#ambessa medarda#arcane ambessa#ambessa arcane#ambessa league of legends#arcane angst#arcane fic#arcane drabbles#arcane imagine#arcane x reader#arcane drabble#arcane writing#arcane x gender neutral reader#arcane x female reader#arcane masterlist
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dating headcanons - zzzero men edition pt. 2 ☆〜(ゝ。∂)
ft. gn! reader x asaba harumasa, billy kid, and seth lowell ; a follow up to my previous dating hcs (which can be found here) and a response to a request ( ^ω^ ) first post of the year(≧∇≦)i hope you enjoy reading!!
asaba harumasa
very clingy. when you're not together, he'd be texting you random little updates or beg for your attention just for the sake of talking to you if calling momentarily isn't an option. sometimes he tries to use you as an excuse to get out of work, but after he's done it a couple of times, you've become immune to always bending to his whims and suddenly he's whining about how you don't love him anymore.
["wait i'll look at your texts later brb love u ^3^" "so you hate me."]
an avid quality time enjoyer, if i've ever seen one. he's content with lazing around with you or doing mundane tasks that don't require much physical effort. likes cuddling against you when you're just sitting engrossed in doing something with your hands and reading or watching something together.
even though he usually appears and acts lighthearted, deep down, he's genuinely happy with you and the relationship you share. he cherishes every moment you can spend together and wishes it could go on for as long as he lives. you're the person he refers to as family when on one of his much-dreaded doctor appointments.
alongside the nightmares he already has regarding his sickness, he'd have times when he'd wake up in a cold sweat from dreams of losing or leaving you and the people he cares for. thankfully, on the days you sleep over, he has you; he's comforted by the sight of your sleeping figure and clings to you for the rest of the night.
on a lighter note, sharing a bed with this man is probably a chaotic experience on a dreamless night; initially, you'd both fall into slumber comfortably cuddled against each other, but the following morning, one of you would be seconds away from suffocating in a vice grip.
billy kid
loves playing games with you. he's usually competitive when playing against you but when you're both on a team together, he's suddenly the biggest cheerleader there is. if both of you lose, that's totally fine! you'll get it next time. what matters to him is that you had fun together.
deeply appreciates it and enjoys when you match him nerd-for-nerd, even if you don't share a lot of similar interests. you take turns randomly info-dumping about any piece of media or activity you're into and both of you pay genuine attention to whatever the other is talking about. he loves listening to you passionately talk or share anything about any topic because you do the same for him.
adding on to the previous point: both of you make jokes about liking your favorite fictional characters or celebrities more, just to be playfully petty.
["if you had to choose between me or monica, who would you pick?" "...well, yes!" "..." "alright, then. between me and /insert favorite character/--" "that's unimportant."]
after spending so much time with him, you already know which maintenance products he likes for himself or his guns. kind of like how other people know what shampoo or body wash their partner prefers. when you see he's running out and you buy them without telling him, he'll notice and be weeping tears of joy.
if you take a while to open up to him about certain things, he's alright with that and will tell you to take your time or give you the space you need. he's been the same when it comes to sharing his past with other people and understands that some things do take courage to tell.
seth lowell
despite having been in a relationship for a while, he most likely still gets easily flustered from any vaguely flirty quip and intimate gesture that comes from you. you could use this knowledge to your advantage but do have mercy on the poor guy.
[there was one instance where you gave him a quick peck on the lips without giving much thought to it before leaving and all he could do was stay where he was with his brain buffering for a whole minute.]
even though he's somewhat shy about expressing his admiration or appreciation for you and sometimes stumbles through his words when doing so, he's sincere in everything he says and does for you.
you're one of the very few people he trusts with touching his tail and ears. it's come to the point where when you're both just laying together, he wouldn't mind the feeling of your fingers gently rubbing on a certain spot on his ears while you run your fingers through his hair.
he appreciates that you see him for who he is and acknowledge his efforts to get where he is now. your affirmations, whether spoken or unspoken, mean much to him and he feels like he can truly be comfortable when he's around you.
sometimes, he unknowingly acts or does very attractive things and it just blows your mind. he'd steer you by the waist from bumping into things or, if you're shorter, accidentally pin you against a wall/surface when trying to reach for something from a high place because he just wants to help! you should be more careful, you know. but you've already mentally imploded while your sweet, sweet boyfriend remains clueless.
#zenless zone zero#zzzero#zzz x reader#zzz x you#zenless zone zero x reader#asaba harumasa#asaba harumasa x reader#harumasa x reader#billy kid#zzz billy x reader#seth lowell#seth zzz#seth lowell x reader
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Supermodel (FC43 x fem!reader)
SUMMARY: Franco can’t understand how you, the love of his life, could ever feel insecure—so he goes above and beyond to show you (and the world) how beautiful he thinks his girlfriend is. This can be read within the RYD universe or as a stand alone one shot!
WORD COUNT: 6.1k
WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI. Teasing, light dom reader/ sub Franco at the beginning dom Franco at the end, body dysmorphia/reader insecurity, worship, mirror sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk/mentions of AFAB anatomy (reader has a vagina), use of the word whore, protected sex. Use of YN. Also the song doesn’t match the vibe of the story but I wanted to stick with the Måneskin theme lol.
A/N: Some more Franco content! I need some more time with the Oscar fic, plus I’ll be returning to regular life since the holidays are over soon, so I figured I’d tide you over with a spicy Franco one shot. Since (in my head at least) this is set in the RYD universe, I’ve included the same tag list, and I hope you all enjoy it!
TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle
Yeah, she’s a master, my compliments
If you wanna love her, just deal with that
She’ll never love you more than money and cigarettes
Every night’s a heartbreak
“You’re fucking beautiful,” Franco panted, his eyes trailing your curves up and down just as his fist squeezed tightly over the growing bulge in his pants.
Your cheeks were flushed red, almost as dark as the wine-colored matching lingerie set you now wore before him, leaving little to the imagination. You couldn’t help it—no matter how long you’d been with the Argentine, you still got bashful when he complimented you.
“I hope you know I mean it,” he began, leaving his spot on the bed to advance toward you. He gently brushed your hair away and kissed the top of your shoulder, looking up at you with his deceptively innocent doe eyes. “You’re the most perfect thing in the world to me.”
You smiled, blissful at the feeling of his touch. “It’s easy to say that when I’m standing in front of you in my new set.”
“I love you,” he said, as if it was as simple as telling the time. “So much. More than words can say. And I want you to remember that when you’re mad at me after I rip this off of you.”
He grabbed the strap of your bra, and you giggled, “You better not!” You playfully pushed him back on the bed. “No touching, not yet. Be good.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, obedient to only you. The grip you had on him was intoxicating.
You climbed up on the bed, straddling him, running your featherlight fingertips up and down his arms and chest.
“Mi amor,” he exhaled, “you are cruel to me.”
“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, sarcastic yet seductive.
“Don’t you dare.”
You laughed. If he thought a bit of teasing was cruel, he would not be having fun for the rest of the night.
But, of course, he loved nothing more than ravishing your body, evident by his labored breath, laying next to you when the deed was finished. He stared at you with awe, your eyes still closed. He listened as you tried to catch your breath, placing gentle kisses on the top of your arm and into your shoulder.
You just let out a little noise in response, feeling safe and comforted by his touch. When you two were alone, he always needed to touch you in some way, much to your dismay during the sweltering hot months of summer.
His kisses traced their way up to your neck, chin, and finally to your cheek, where he gently moved your hair out of your face to gaze on the gorgeous image of your face.
“I wish there were better words in English to explain how I feel about you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “Something stronger than I love you. Something more than just beautiful.”
“You know I love it when you speak to me in Spanish,” you said, letting your eyelids flutter open to meet his gaze, only inches from your own.
“Yes, but I want you to understand what I mean.” He smiled softly.
“My Spanish is getting better.”
“It is, you’re doing great,” he joked, nuzzling his nose into your neck, leaving you in a fit of giggles. “You’ll be talking circles around me in no time.”
“I wish. You’re fluent in yapenese,” you joked. You playfully mocked his voice, “Mi amor, you are so beautiful, the light of my life—”
“Oh hush,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “You love it.”
“I do.”
“And it’s true.” He cupped your face, bringing you into a sweet embrace with a gentle kiss. “Join me in the shower?”
“In a minute,” you answered, as he got up from the bed and started the warm water. After a few more moments of rest, you got up, picking up the discarded items of clothing that now dotted the floor, thrown aside in the heat of the passionate moment.
You crossed the room to open the bureau and grab a fresh set of pajamas, before you caught sight of your reflection in the floor-length mirror.
You had gained a little weight. It was normal, you supposed; a natural result of your many nights out with your lover.
But you felt stuck in front of the mirror, your eyes rolling over the curves at the bottom of your stomach, what once was somewhat flat. Little thunderbolt-shaped lines now decorated the dimpled skin. And as you brought your arm up to grip the loose fat, you saw the extra flesh there too.
“Mi amor, you coming?” Franco called from inside the bathroom. You hummed in response.
You turned, noticing how the light caught every imperfection. The puffiness in your face, the roundness of your jaw, the lines and bumps and discoloration. You sucked in your stomach, seeing the surface flatten, then exhaled, watching with disgust how your body shifted.
“Amor?” Franco said, poking his head outside of the bathroom. Seeing you in front of the mirror, he crossed the room, finding his way behind you. He was covered only with a towel, wrapping his arms around your naked form and kissing your neck. But the sight of his flawless, athletic body behind yours did nothing to dismiss your insecurities.
“What are you doing, pretty girl, hm?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder.
“I’ve gained weight.”
“Did you? I didn’t notice.” His voice was tinged with a genuine confusion.
“I look like I’m pregnant,” you said, gesturing to your bloated stomach.
“No it doesn’t,” he assured. “But if you want to be pregnant, we can arrange that.”
You ignored his attempts at banter. “I look gross.”
“Mi amor,” Franco began, his voice more serious. “Do I need to fuck you again to show you how beautiful you are?”
“Franco—”
“YN.”
You looked away. “You could be with a model.”
“I’m with you. And you’re perfect, and I love you with my entire heart.” You bit the inside of your cheek. He continued, “Look at me.”
You brought your gaze back to his. “Your body has changed a little bit, so what?”
“It’s easy for you to say. You’re an athlete.”
“That doesn’t matter. No more of this talk. You’re beautiful. End of discussion. Now, let’s stop wasting water and get in the shower.”
You weren’t really feeling any better. If anything, you felt worse, now self conscious of your nakedness as Franco ran his hands up and down the soapy surface of your skin. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the shower, put on your clothes, and bury yourself so deep under the covers that you’d forget that you ever even possessed a physical form.
And, much to Franco’s dismay, that’s what you did, turning away from him as you laid your head down to sleep. He pushed himself up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He tapped his foot on your leg, initiating you to throw it over his is like you usually did every night.
“You know,” he whispered, “this is when you’re supposed to pretend like you like me.”
“It’s not you, Franco,” you whispered back. “I love you. But it’s not something you can fix.”
“I know.” He sighed. “But that won't stop me from trying.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, and you fell into a tense sleep.
Although Franco hadn’t initially noticed your physical changes, he now noticed your emotional ones. You wore loose clothing more often, as if to hide your body not only from the outside world, but from yourself. You skipped breakfast occasionally when you were having a really bad day. And now, when you made love, you wanted the lights out, preventing him from seeing the shapes of your body.
He knew that what you had said was true—he couldn’t fix this. No matter the amount of love he showered you in, he couldn’t change the way your mind thought when you looked at yourself in the mirror. And it broke his heart knowing that you couldn’t see the same version of yourself that he saw, the perfect girl who he loved so dearly.
Your pain was beyond his fixing, but not beyond his helping. If he had showered you in love before, it was monsoon season now. Flowers every week. More lingerie to model for him. Touching you nearly every second of the day. More sex than your body could handle.
Of course, you welcomed his affection. But none of it helped that wound deep inside of you.
It was at work, of all places, that he got the idea.
“We’ve got a meeting with the new sponsors today,” his manager explained as they quickly trotted down the long hallway to the conference room. “That luxury brand I was telling you about? I’ve sealed the contract, they’re just here to plan the promo materials.”
Now, sitting in the conference room, the brand representative explained it to him. “The idea for the campaign is risque luxury. We want something… elegant, yet dangerous. Formula 1 fans are the perfect audience. Most of the shots for the initial campaign would just be in-studio, and then, we’d need you to wear some pieces we provide at official Formula 1 events.”
“That all sounds fine,” he said.
“Great! We’re still looking for some more representatives for the women’s line, but when we find them, we can set up a date for the shoot.”
“Wait, like a female model? I’d need to pose with her?”
“For the first shoot, yes. And if we can get some shots of you and whoever we choose at official events, that’d be perfect.”
“Uh, well, I have a girlfriend. I can't just…be taking random women to events.”
The rep laughed. “Oh, it’s not like that. The models are all professionals. I assure you that no one would be trying to take you away from your partner.”
“If you all need a female model, why not just use her? We’ll be seen together a lot more than anyone else, no?”
His manager shot him a death glare. Was it highly unprofessional to be suggesting his own girlfriend for a job like this? Absolutely. Did he care at all? Absolutely not.
The rep asked, “Oh, does she model?”
“Eh… no, not professionally. But this could be her big break, no?” Franco laughed, and the rep did too, for obviously different reasons. But Franco was, unfortunately, serious.
“Does she have social media?” the rep asked, and Franco pulled up your instagram as the rep scrolled through.
“Well, first of all, she’s beautiful,” the rep said, clearly trying to be polite. “But, modeling is not just about being pretty.”
“Then why am I here?” The room erupted in laughter, but Franco hadn’t intended the statement to come out like a joke. “No, I’m serious. I drive Formula 1 cars. What are my modeling qualifications?”
“Well,” the rep began, carefully choosing his words, “you have the Latin American market in a chokehold—”
Franco cut him off. “My fans love her, too.”
The rep pursed his lips. “I’m sure they do.”
“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult—”
“Not at all,” the rep said, cutting Franco off as well. “Let me ask, though… is this a deal breaker for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if we get a real model, are you saying you wont pose or be seen with her?”
Franco looked at his manager across the table, who was nothing short of fuming. He began, “You said the theme was ‘risque luxury.’ I’m not going to pose for risque photos with another woman, no.”
The rep sighed. Franco continued, “And honestly, I still don’t even understand why you all even want me to model for you. Nobody in Argentina can even afford these outrageous prices—”
“Okay Franco, that’s enough!” his manager said, a false happiness in her tone. She turned to walk the rep outside, saying, “This has been a wonderful meeting, we can’t wait to hear from you…”
Once he had exited the building, she returned, looked at Franco, and said, “I hope you know you just lost us that contract.”
“Did you sign me up to do a photoshoot with a random woman?”
His manager paused. “...It’s business, Franco.”
“C’mon,” he said, “you knew about this, and you didn’t say anything?”
“I thought you’d understand. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.”
“You knew that was too much.”
She sighed. “Yeah, okay, I took a gamble hoping you wouldn’t care and I lost. But that sponsorship money is coming out of your bonus.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to promote this overpriced shit anyway.”
“You’re the bane of my existence, kid,” his manager said, patting him on the back as she walked out of the room.
At the end of the day, all Franco could think about was coming home and collapsing in your arms. When his manager was mad at him—which was often, given his refusal to be media trained—it was his favorite way to destress.
So when he arrived home and collapsed on top of you, interrupting whatever mindless show you had been watching, you just smiled to yourself. As he exhaled, you placed one hand through his soft curls, and threaded the other under the collar of his shirt to scratch his back. He melted into your touch.
“Hello,” you said, placing a kiss on his head. “Long day?”
“She’s mad at me again,” he murmured, closing his eyes.
“What’d you do this time?”
“Why do you assume I did something?”
You softly chuckled, “Because I know you.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” he pouted.
“I’m sure it wasn’t.”
He sighed. “I fucked up a sponsor contract. But really, it wasn’t my fault! They wanted me to pose with a bunch of models to sell their overpriced jewelry.”
You hummed. “I thought you liked doing photoshoots?”
“They’re fun, yeah, when they don’t want me to touch random women,” he frowned. You could hear the genuine disgust in his voice.
“I think you’re the only man in the world who would turn down the opportunity to be surrounded by models,” you laughed.
He lifted his head up to look at you. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“Why would I want a bunch of random women touching on me when I have a girlfriend?”
You laughed again. “Because they’re models.”
He gave you a look of confused disgust and said, “Oh, hush, YN. You’re the only woman I want within a hundred feet of me at any given time.”
“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that other women are beautiful.”
He looked at you sternly. “Um, no. This is when you tell me I’m not allowed to look at, let alone touch, anyone other than you.”
“Franco, you know I’m not like that.”
“You are, though! What has gotten into you, lately?”
“I don’t know what you mean, I’m fine.”
Franco sighed. “No, you’re clearly not. What do I have to do for you to understand that you are the only woman in this world that matters to me? I don’t care what you say, you are the only one I want, the most beautiful girl in the world—”
He leaned up to kiss you, but you dodged his affection.
“Hey!” he protested. You got up from the couch, feeling overwhelmed by the whole interaction.
“YN, come back—” you just ignored him as you went back to your shared bedroom, barricading yourself in the attached bathroom and exhaling.
Franco was right. The insecurity had been eating at you for weeks, and somehow, Franco’s commitment to trying to make you feel better had made it worse. Most girls would be happy that their boyfriend (especially their young, famous, athlete boyfriend) wanted nothing to do with other women. But somehow, it just made you fear the worst—when Franco finally saw you as you saw yourself, and you became nothing more than just another one of the many women he ignored.
“YN, come out and talk to me,” you heard him softly plead from outside the door.
“I’m sorry, I just need a minute,” you said through the tears that welled up in your eyes.
“No need to apologize, take all the time you need,” he said. “But when you’re done, promise you’ll come talk to me about it?”
You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you answered weakly.
“Okay,” he said. You could hear how he pressed his forehead to the door. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Your voice was shaking.
You just needed 5 minutes to breathe and calm down alone. That’s what you told yourself as you took another deep breath and wiped away the tears that now spilled over the corners of your eyes.
“I’m okay,” you whispered to yourself. “I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You’d say it until it was true.
When you'd finally calmed down somewhat, you still waited in the bathroom, not wanting Franco to see your puffy, bloodshot eyes, the evidence of your tears. But he knew you were crying. And he knew you’d keep your word and talk to him when you were ready.
He knew you inside and out. So when you silently emerged from the bathroom and found him in the kitchen washing dishes, he knew no words were needed. You slipped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back as he turned the water off and dried his hands.
He turned around and met your embrace, holding your head beneath his chin and enveloping you in his strong arms. His tender touch brought the tears back.
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t apologize.”
“No,” you corrected. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know why I’m like this.”
“It breaks my heart to see you hurting like this. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”
“Just hold me,” you said, burying your head deeper into his chest, smelling the familiar scent of his cologne and the warm comfort of his breath rising and falling.
The next day, Franco woke before you, spending a moment staring at your sleeping form before he had to get up and leave for the day.
He knew you had been struggling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how your mind saw something so much more different than his saw. It broke him to know you thought of yourself so negatively.
But he’d hold you all day everyday if it meant it helped even a little bit. He would do anything.
So, when your alarm began screeching and you lazily turned it off, he let you sleep in, simply pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he went into yet another one of endless meetings with his manager before the season started.
She walked in and slammed a stack of papers on the desk. “I don’t know how you keep getting away with this shit every fucking time,” she said.
Franco raised a brow. Her tone wasn’t angry, as he expected, but rather…frustrated?
“The contract,” she continued. “The rep called me last night. They want you to do the campaign no matter what. They’ll let you do it with YN.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. We’ll have to get her in here to sign the contract, then we’ve got fittings and we still need to set the date for the actual shoot…”
His manager’s voice faded into the background as Franco remembered the previous night. The idea of you, dolled up in designer clothes posing next to him, had excited him at first. Now, he was unsure if that would just make things worse.
He had to be…deliberate in bringing it up. At home that night, as you two ate dinner, he decided to choose his words very, very carefully.
“So, you remember that contract I said I lost?”
“The designer stuff?” you asked. He nodded.
“Yeah. Well, I…actually didn’t fuck it up as bad as I thought I did. They still want us to do the campaign.”
“That’s good. It’ll get your manager off your case.” Your gaze drifted to the plate of food in front of you. The unspoken question lingered in the air.
“Please don’t be mad at me—” he began, but you cut him off.
“Franco, you’re a professional. I trust you.”
“Well, um… they want you to model.”
You looked up at him, perplexed. “Me?”
“I showed them your social media.”
“And they want…me. To model for them.”
“Well, they want you to do the campaign with me, yes. And wear a dress of theirs to a fancy event or two.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not a model. And all my followers are just your fans, anyway.”
“Other driver’s girlfriends have done it, why can’t you?” He put down his fork and looked you in the eye. “YN, I think this would be a great thing. I can show you off to the world, and they’ll dress you up and make you feel beautiful. You’re beautiful without it, of course, but you know what I mean. I can’t make you say yes, but I’d love to do this with you.”
You took a beat to think. You couldn’t deny that you wanted the experience of going to lavish galas in designer gowns and seeing Franco grace the covers of magazine and social media home pages. Besides, you thought, if you truly looked bad they could just photoshop you to hell and back.
“Okay,” you answered, “let’s do it.”
So, a few weeks later, you found yourself in one of those cloth chairs that you had only seen in movies, having powder liberally applied to your face by a makeup artist.
“The heavy makeup is just for the lights. They’re warm and harsh, so it’ll drown you out and make you look greasy if we don’t apply this much.”
You hummed in response, afraid to move your face. “I can tell this is your first time,” the artist said. “Just relax and let us work our magic, yeah? When they all say celebrities are fake, this is what they mean.”
You would have chuckled if you weren’t already sweating with nervousness. “Close your eyes,” she said, and you obeyed, only flinching as she generously sprayed setting spray over your makeup.
“Alrighty, off to hair for you.”
Hair was the same—a nervousness that clearly identified you as an outsider to this world of glitz and glamor. You coughed when she nearly drowned you in hairspray.
Then it was time for the final touches, the dress and jewelry.
You gasped as they brought it out. A long silver satin gown, custom measured to hug your curves perfectly. Your neck was adorned with diamonds, your lips blood red, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulders.
When you finally made it into the studio, Franco was already there, clad in a simple yet elegant black suit to contrast against the shiny fabric of your dress. He wasn’t facing you when you first entered, but hearing the click of your heels against the wooden floors, he turned and stopped in his tracks.
“Oh my God,” he exhaled. “You look…” He was, quite literally, speechless.
You let out an awkward laugh, unused to having so much attention on you.
“Amazing!” the brand rep said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
And that, you did. The first shots were simple: you resting your arms on a chair while Franco sat, looking off into the distance, his perfect side profile on display. Both of you staring down the camera, arms placed in dynamic positions.
Then you switched to the more sensual shots. Franco kneeled before you, kissing your hand, allowing you to show off the ring they had placed to contrast your black gloves. Another one, a shot of you holding his cheek as he gazed up at you in admiration.
Then you switched, with him taking the more dominant role in the poses. His hand around your neck, showing off his own ridiculously expensive rings, as you tilted your head upwards towards him and he glared at the camera. A shot of Franco holding you up against a wall; his arm was draped above you to show off a watch, but his other hand found your waist and his head was turned as if to kiss you while you stared at the camera.
“Okay, play with the pose a bit,” the photographer instructed. “Let’s get some candids.”
You turned away from the camera, trying to ignore the incessant clicking and flashing in the background.
He smiled. “Hi, pretty girl.”
“Hi,” you replied, smiling as well. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”
Franco leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “I really want to rip this dress off you.”
“Franco!”
“Oh, that was good!” the photographer yelled. “Whatever you said, do it again, her expression was golden.”
You laughed as you both repositioned, standing in front of the dark backdrop.
“How much will it cost if I damage this dress?” Franco asked, looking at the photographer.
“Probably more than quadruple my salary,” the photographer laughed. “So please don’t.”
“But I have an idea. Just hear me out.”
Franco leaned down and gripped the strap of your dress in his mouth, eliciting a gasp from you and a thousand clicks of the camera.
His most bold suggestion, though, was the shot from the floor; he laid down and had you crawl on his chest and kneel above his head, draping his shoulders in the luxurious fabric and showing off your bedazzled garter beneath a silt in the dress. Though the photo would only expose a little bit of thigh, you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that the position gave you.
When the shoot was over, it hurt your heart a bit to have to take off the dress and jewelry. Franco could tell. A sad smile painted your face as they carefully removed the diamonds from your neck and ears. But the one that hurt most was the gorgeous diamond ring, which you gently slipped off your gloved finger with a pang of sadness.
Franco was right; it had been fun to dress up and show off, but it was over now. So you said a silent goodbye to this false world of luxury as you walked off to the dressing room, and Franco went over to the brand rep who was packing up your jewelry.
“A lovely job, both of you!” he said. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first, but you all definitely proved me wrong. These photos will come out amazingly.”
“How much is the ring?” Franco asked, gesturing to the lockbox that it was now hidden away in.
“Ah, I could tell she liked it. Are you thinking of popping the question soon?”
“Ah, well…” Franco said, nervous now. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was an engagement ring.
The rep laughed. “Well, this one’s from the new collection, expertly crafted. Usually goes for around $130,000, but that’s just with the base without any modifications.”
Franco choked on his own saliva. He certainly wasn’t making that much money yet, and besides, he didn’t know if his little working-class heart could ever justify spending that much money on a shiny rock.
But for you? Anything.
The rep could sense his hesitation. “Well, if you decide to go for it, here’s my card. Maybe we can work something out.” Franco nodded and accepted the card, stowing it away in his wallet after he changed out of his suit.
Once you arrived home, the mountain of makeup and hairspray that you were both still covered in acted as the perfect excuse for a shower together.
As Franco lathered shampoo into your hair, he whispered, “You looked beautiful today.”
You smiled. “I felt beautiful.”
The photos were released a few weeks later, sending the internet into chaos.
YN!?!?!?! CAN FRANCO FIGHT?
Does YN know that we’d all kill to be her right now
The hand placement!! The look in his eyes!!! That man is IN LOVE!!!!!
You chuckled to yourself as you read through the comments on your Instagram post.
You saw the most important comment: the one from Franco.
Eres el amor de mi vida <3
You felt butterflies rise up in your stomach as you tapped the little heart to like the comment, as if that same man wasn’t taking you to the F1 Grand Prix Gala in Monaco tonight.
You wanted nothing more than to walk in on his arm, basking in the glow of the photoshoot. It wasn’t just the glamor of the shots or the makeup that made you feel better; it was Franco. The way he looked at you like you were a goddess—you finally understood what he meant when he said he wanted you to see yourself as he saw you.
As you donned the loaned dress from the same brand—less extravagant than the gown from the shoot, but still gorgeous—you were so thankful you had let Franco talk you into this.
Everyone was abuzz at the event, and you were getting kudos left and right from strangers, which was slightly embarrassing, but you soaked in the attention anyway. But the best feeling was your lover’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowded ballroom.
You stepped out onto an empty balcony, drinking in the clear night air, now alone from the crowd. Of course, he followed like a lost puppy.
“Mi amor,” he said as you leaned against the ledge, “I don’t know what’s more beautiful, you or the night sky.”
You smiled and rolled your eyes. “That’s too much, even for you.”
“Maybe,” he joked. “And, maybe, we should get out of here. I’m tired of pretending to like all these old rich people.”
“That sounds lovely.”
You two sped home, where Franco wasted no time taking off your dress and decorating the floor with it.
“Let me worship you,” he said, grazing his lips over the soft flesh of your thighs.
“Don’t you already?” you joked, evidence of your returned confidence.
“I do,” he said, “because you’re divine. I want to taste you.” He grabbed your panties with his teeth, pulling them down slowly, enjoying the burning desire you both felt as his skin grazed against yours.
But even now that he had you fully undressed, he still teased you, gently kissing your thighs, looking up into your eyes with every kiss. You pushed his hair back, softly inhaling with every inch of skin that his mouth touched.
“Franco…”
“Mi ángel,” he exhaled. “Mi reina, mi cielo, mi vida.”
With a featherlight touch, he brought his mouth to your wetness, kissing your clit before rolling his tongue around the soaked bundle of nerves. Your breath hitched.
He brought two fingers to your entrance, teasing you until you were dripping with want for him. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”
His praise felt like your native tongue, the way your bodies and words naturally curved to each other, fitting together like you were made for this.
He echoed your thoughts, continuing, “You take me so well.” He curled his fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars, eliciting a moan.
“I live to pleasure you, mi amor.” He brought his mouth back to your clit, pointing his tongue and swirling circles around it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.
You squirmed under him, overcome by the pleasure of both his hands and his words. As he continued his movements, he never shifted his gaze from you.
But you looked away, to the mirror in the corner that had been moved as you got ready. You had a perfect view of Franco pleasuring you, and God, was the sight beautiful.
Franco saw you looking and stopped, eliciting a frustrated whine from you.
“Come here,” he said, climbing on the bed. “Keep facing the mirror.” He positioned himself behind you, grabbing your chin to keep your face straight as you both gazed at your reflections. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see how perfect you look when I take you.”
You wordlessly nodded, loving the vulnerability of being at the mercy of the man who worshipped you.
As Franco unwrapped and put on a condom behind you, you studied the patches of red that colored your cheeks, flushed from your lover having nearly brought you to the brink of orgasm only moments before.
He spanked you and you playfully yelped. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off this mirror.”
“What if I do?” you asked. “Will you punish me?”
He spanked you again, the other side this time. “Don’t even think about it.”
Then, slowly, he placed his hands on your hips and found his way to your entrance, filling you with a swift but gentle motion. You both let out a low moan.
“Even your pussy is perfect,” he said as he began to move. “Taking every inch of me.”
“Yes,” you moaned.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, increasing his pace and intensity, making you scream. “I want to fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life.”
His words went through one ear and out the other; you couldn’t focus with his fucking you into the mattress with every thrust.
You cried and closed your eyes, hanging your head as you tried to hold back the waves of pleasure that were building in your core. But Franco roughly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back up.
“What did I tell you? Look at yourself, getting fucked like the perfect little whore you are.” You loved it when Franco was a little rough with you, but combined with the praise, it nearly sent you over the edge.
“Now,” he said, slowing down his pace, “since you didn’t do what I told you, you don’t get to cum.”
You whined in protest as Franco pulled out, leaving you feeling cold and empty. “Please,” you begged.
He laid down on the bed. “If you want it, do it yourself,” he teased. “Ride me. If you want to cum, you have to watch as you make yourself cum on my cock.”
You didn't argue, instead just obeying and sinking yourself down on him. You watched in the mirror as he disappeared in you, mesmerized by the way your bodies connected.
His hands found your waist again as you began to bounce on him, chasing your release with an relentless pace.
“Fuck, Franco, I’m close—” you moaned, and you felt his hand come down hard on your ass again.
“Are you watching?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Tell me how beautiful you look.” If he had said this at any time other than in the heat of your passion, you would have cringed. But now, moments away from an orgasm, you obeyed.
“I fit perfectly on top of you,” you began with a shaky voice. “And I look…I look perfect riding your cock.”
“What else?”
“I look beautiful covered in your love bites.”
“Good girl,” he growled, matching your pace, fucking up into you. “My perfect, beautiful girl.”
With his final statement of praise, you shook, letting yourself drown in waves of pleasure as he continued fucking you through it.
He had switched back to Spanish now, babbling away what you assumed to be your praises as he chased his own orgasm, quickly finishing from the heavenly feeling of your walls gripping around him.
When you all collapsed in a pile next to each other, he threw an arm around you, wordlessly holding you in his embrace. His words could never truly make it better, he knew that.
But thankfully, his words weren't needed anymore. Now, you believed him.
#formula 1#f1#formula one#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#f1 fanfic#formula 1 fic#f1 fanfiction#franco colapinto#franco colapinto x reader#fc43 x reader#anix fics#fc43#franco colapinto fanfic#franco colapinto fic#franco colapinto x you#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#franco colapinto fanfiction#franco colapinto one shot#formula 1 one shot#f1 one shot
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This was the first queer movie I watched in high school. I remember finally having good, strong WiFi and exploring YouTube one night. Was using my refurbished MacBook that I begged my dad to get me so I can have something to use for school.
I don’t remember how exactly I came across this movie (honestly was probably going through some YouTube rabbit hole of “movies where guys make out” or the classic “two men kissing” search), but it was the full length movie. And it was free.
I was so excited to watch it and see what kind of guy on guy action I would get to see. But being forced to stay in the closet growing up, I couldn’t just outright watch this movie while my parents were home.
So I bookmarked it. Made sure I even saved the link somewhere. And had to wait until my parents weren’t home.
Thankfully, I ended up realizing that I was a teen that was allowed to stay up late on the weekends. So I stayed up, waited until both my parents were in their rooms, fast asleep, and then I went into my room, closed the door (couldn’t lock it though. Locking bedroom doors was an offense that would cause a scene every time for absolutely no reason), plugged my headphones in, and snuggled up and watched it.
I remember sitting upright to start it then getting tired and deciding to lay down. Ended up laying the laptop on its side just so I could keep watching haha
And I remember going through the rollercoaster of emotions seeing these two characters having a connection but being so twisted up about it. Regardless of everything they went through, I still wanted that. I still wanted someone I could kiss passionately. Someone I could go to bed with and wake up next to in our own little world. Someone I could go to the beach with and spend all day with. Someone who wanted to push me for my abilities (don’t have any but it played into my fantasies lol) and strive to be the best I could be at them.
And then reaching the end of the movie and being so happy with it. I remember crying. Crying so much that I thought I wasn’t going to be able to stop. I remember shoving my face in my pillows to try and muffle my crying.
Oh, I learned to cry silently so very quick in my home. How I learned what it meant to be even more suppressed than I already was. How I had to learn to hold back all the choking sounds my throat would utter and just let the tears flow. Silently blowing my nose into tissues so I wouldn’t wake my parents and cause a scene.
“Why are you crying? What’s happening? What did you watch? What’s going on? Etc. etc. etc.” - yeah, like I was going to come clean about my emotions and be able to talk these things out. Pht. How I wished and how I dreamed that I could. Would’ve made growing up easier. But I didn’t have those kinds of parents.
So the first night I watched this movie, it meant a lot in such little time. Movies like this really saved me as a teen.
I started doing a deep dive into any and all other queer movies I could find online for free (but that’s a story for a different time).
Tbh, I had forgotten about this gem of a movie. Made me feel a little guilty for forgetting, mostly because it really helped me continue pretending, and knowing that one day I would find someone to experience beautiful moments with. It allowed me to realize that queer media (that wasn’t porn) was out there, that I didn’t have to feel alone, and that it was only a few key strokes and google searches away.
For anyone who read through this whole thing (I know I blabbed, but I really needed to get this off my chest and my mind), thank you.
And I also hope that even though the world can feel so against you, even in spaces that are supposed to be safe, that there are people out there that know and understand you and can relate to how you feel.
I know it’s always easier said than done, but hang in there. And if it all gets to be too suffocating, please remember there are resources out there to help. But please, please, please, don’t get snuffed out. Let yourself burn as bright as you can. Because at the end of the day, you will always find Shelter- whether it’s with family members, friends, teachers, chosen/adoptive families, online communities, etc. you will find it. And you will be safe. And you will be loved.
I wish you all the very best. May this movie and many others bring you as much joy as it did to me. <3
Shelter (2007) dir. Jonah Markowitz
#shelter 2007#personal#high school nights#self discovery#how I would ache#how I would weep#I need to rewatch this soon
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The Chains Stay ON
Word count: 3.1k
Content: smut
Pairing: Pazzi
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing smut and tbh I think it turned out really good but like. It's also pure filth that I wrote at 2am and edited this morning so consider this your warning. As always, let me know what you think!
________
Azzi couldn’t stop staring at Paige. She knew she was being obvious, she knew people online would clip this entire event and dissect every interaction, but she couldn’t help herself. Paige looked fucking incredible.
The team had gone to a Connecticut Sun game tonight, and Azzi truly felt bad about her lack of attention to the actual game thus far. Somehow, she had gotten through the whole bus ride to the arena without interacting with Paige, but that ended quickly as the team took their seats, with Paige plopping down in the seat right next to Azzi.
Azzi’s eyes had a mind of their own, roaming over Paige’s face, down to her arms, her chest, and always dragging back to her neck where two silver chains rested. Azzi swallowed thickly.
“Hello? Az, are you even listening to me?” Paige snapped her fingers in front of Azzi’s face. She blinked, startled out of her visual perusal of Paige’s body.
“Uh, yeah? No. What?” Paige snorted.
“You’re so not locked in right now. If you were looking at me I would be like, fine, whatever, but you’re not! Pay attention to me!” Paige complained. Azzi swatted her arm.
“Oh, hush. I pay you plenty of attention. If you really loved me, you’d give me a break and go whine to somebody else for once.” Lies. Azzi was lying through her teeth. She didn’t want Paige to go anywhere. She wanted the blonde to stay in the seat right next to her so Azzi could continue to stare at how those silver chains rested against her throat, draping down to sit between her collarbones. She blinked again, trying to pull herself out of the Paige-induced haze so she could actually listen to her girlfriend.
“Hey, what’s up with you? You’re not listening to me,” Paige whined again. Correct. Azzi hadn’t even realized Paige was still talking. She was too busy looking at her to practice active listening. Azzi blushed. Paige’s eyebrows raised.
“You gonna tell me, or do I have to pry it out of you?” Azzi sighed dramatically, slumping back into her seat. Against her will, her eyes wandered right back to Paige’s neck. She wanted to kiss her way down the skin there hard enough to leave bruises where the chains rested. The brunette crossed her legs, too aware of the warmth between them.
Paige looked down at herself, trying to follow Azzi’s line of sight. Azzi sighed loudly again, blushing a deep, embarrassing shade of pink. Paige was so adorable when she was confused, but she needed her to understand faster so she didn’t have to explain what had her so hot and bothered.
“Paige,” Azzi said firmly.
“What? Baby, I don’t know what you’re looking at. I just know you’re blushing real pretty right now and I want to know why.” Azzi couldn’t stand it anymore. She looked Paige right in the eyes, fisting her hands in her lap so they wouldn’t get any ideas and reach up to touch the chains that were taunting her so badly. She took a deep breath, taking a little glance around to make sure none of their teammates were listening too closely to what they were talking about.
“You look… really hot with those chains on,” Azzi mumbled, face flushing an even darker shade of red.
“Baby, what? It’s loud as hell in here, I didn’t get any of that.” Azzi wanted a sinkhole to open up under Mohegan Sun and swallow them all so she didn’t have to repeat that sentence. Lord knows Paige’s ego didn’t need to hear it twice. She wished she could just whisper it into Paige’s ear, but the chance of somebody in the crowd recording it was too high. She groaned and leaned only slightly closer to Paige.
“You look hot with those chains on,” she said, with more volume in her voice this time. She wasn’t letting there be any chance of Paige making her say it a third time.
A hint of surprise fluttered over Paige’s face, but it was quickly replaced with that all-too-familiar smirk. Azzi would never tell Paige, but it made her squeeze her legs together just a little bit tighter.
“You like them, baby?” Paige murmured, voice somehow loud enough for Azzi to hear her over the noise of the arena. It made her think that Paige definitely heard her the first time and just wanted to make her suffer. Azzi gave up and let her head fall into her hands dramatically. Paige poked her shoulder, waiting for confirmation. Azzi knew that being in public was saving her from having to reply for real. She nodded into her hands.
“Hey, come back up here. I love it when you blush like that for me. So pretty, baby.” Azzi was going to die in Mohegan Sun at the ripe age of 21. She took a deep breath, praying that she had composed herself enough for the whole world not to know just how turned on she was right now. She straightened back up, trying to pretend like she was paying any kind of attention to the basketball game.
“There you go, good girl.” Azzi whacked Paige on the knee.
“Stop it. Stop or I’m gonna do something inappropriate in a very public place with lots of cameras, and then we won’t be private or a secret,” Azzi hissed. Paige just laughed. The audacity of this girl to look the way she did, get Azzi all turned on, tease her in public, and then laugh? She scowled at Paige. Paige shut up.
“Az, wait, I’m sorry for laughing. You’re sitting here all turned on, staring at me, and I’m being an ass.” This is genuinely one of the worst apologies Azzi has ever heard. The lack of amusement on her face must be as obvious as it feels because Paige starts backtracking.
“Azzi, baby, look at me. Please.” Azzi doesn’t have it in herself to disobey. And who is she to pass up a chance to look at Paige right now? God, she looks sinfully good.
“I shouldn’t have laughed at you. That’s my bad. I’m gonna make it up to you, I swear,” Paige promises, looking very sincere. Azzi raises her eyebrows skeptically.
“How are you gonna do that?” She questions. A grin spreads across Paige’s face.
“You said you like the chains, right? Got you all wet and needy?” Azzi wants to protest, but Paige isn’t wrong. “I see you with your legs crossed, ma, you’re not subtle.”
“I’m not seeing how this is you making anything up to me-” Azzi starts, but Paige interrupts her.
“You want me to fuck you with the chains on, baby?” Fuck. Just the words have Azzi absolutely dripping. She almost lets a whimper slip out, but clamps her mouth shut at the last minute.
“Yes,” she whispers. Paige looks entirely too satisfied with the way this conversation has turned out. Infuriatingly, it just turns Azzi on more. Damn this woman.
“Didn’t know the NIL money would come with this benefit,” Paige muses. Azzi is in her own personal hell.
“I need you to shut up. Immediately. Yesterday,” Azzi demands. Paige snorts.
“Yes, ma’am.”
________
Azzi doesn’t know what Paige told Jana and Allie or where the two girls went upon the team’s return to campus. Frankly, she doesn’t care. All she cares about is that Paige’s bedroom door is locked swiftly and the apartment beyond it is empty.
Paige is on Azzi as soon as the door is closed, shoving her up against the wood and trailing kisses from her mouth to her jaw to her neck. Actually, it’s more like Paige licking her way down Azzi’s skin. Either way, it feels incredible.
“Please, please,” she mumbles. She’s already begging, although she’s not entirely sure what for.
“Shh ma, just hold on. I’m gonna get you right, don’t you even worry,” Paige reassures Azzi against her skin. Something about it reminds Azzi of her thoughts from earlier. She lifts her head away from the door, trailing her eyes down to where Paige is mouthing at her collarbones, just above the neckline of her tank top. In a feat of pure willpower, Azzi flips their positions so Paige is the one pressed against the door. Paige gasps and immediately starts to protest. “Just shut the hell up,” Azzi demands as she begins to place wet kisses across Paige’s jaw. Her skin is warm and Paige smells so good, as she always does. Azzi’s mouth reaches the hinge of Paige’s jaw and she nips at the skin softly, not hard enough to bruise. Paige groans.
“God, baby, feels so good. Mark me the fuck up.” Azzi pushes her surprise away in favor of getting back to work. Who would she be to pass up a rare opportunity to claim her girlfriend? She bites a little harder at the spot from before, then licks over it with her tongue when Paige moans. Encouraged, Azzi makes her way down Paige’s neck, sucking in some places and biting in others, until Paige’s neck is riddled with red and purple splotches and covered in Azzi’s saliva.
Azzi finally pulls back to look at her handiwork, incredibly satisfied with herself. Paige looks desperate. Her neck glistened from Azzi’s mouth, her pupils were blown so wide her blue irises were barely visible, and she had tugged her hair free from the bun it had been in. She’s panting, staring at Azzi with unrestrained want. Azzi lets her focus go back to Paige’s neck. The silver chains glistening there really do look pretty against the newly mottled skin. She swallows, letting her hand drift up to play with the metal, warmed by Paige’s body.
Paige seems to have finally had enough teasing, because the next thing Azzi knows, she’s on her back in the middle of Paige’s bed.
“Off, off, I want these off,” Paige is saying, hands pulling at Azzi’s clothes. It’s not like she was wearing much of anything to begin with, just a tank top and a pair of too-short denim shorts, but within seconds the fabric is gone from her body, leaving her only in a pair of lace panties. The cool air makes Azzi shiver, nipples perking up from the chill.
Paige’s focus zeroes in on her tits, tongue immediately coming to lick over one nipple, hand squeezing the other gently, then pinching the nipple. Azzi gasps. It feels incredible, but this is not what she’s been thinking about all day. She tugs Paige back up to eye level, bringing their lips back together. Paige’s tongue is immediately against Azzi’s, but Azzi is mumbling demands.
“You gotta get naked too,” she whines, voice far more breathy than she wants it to be, but if Paige didn’t already know how needy she was, Azzi had bigger issues than what she sounded like. Paige’s clothes were off in seconds, leaving her in boxers and her sports bra. And those irresistible chains, of course. Still more clothes than Azzi in just her panties, but definitely an improvement.
Paige’s hand came down to Azzi’s stomach, fingers brushing over her abs teasingly on their way down to where Azzi was aching for her.
“Paige, please,” she pleaded.
“Please, what, baby? Gotta tell me what you want.” Azzi was going to cry if Paige didn’t touch her in the next five seconds. It’s that desperation that makes her give in immediately. She doesn’t have the willpower to resist Paige today.
“Touch me, please baby. Need your fingers on me, please, please, need it so bad-” Azzi cuts herself off with a moan when Paige presses her fingers over Azzi’s clothed clit. Her eyes roll back, but fly back open when she feels cold metal bump against her chin. “Fuck. Oh, fuck.” It seems to be the only word she can remember as Paige’s chains dangle in her face.
“There you go, baby. Is that better?” It’s not, really. Paige isn’t moving her fingers, and she’s still not really touching Azzi. Just that teasing presence over the fabric of her panties. Azzi bucks her hips against Paige’s hand in an effort to get what she wants.
“Is this not enough, baby? I’m touching you. What do you want?” Azzi is going to scream if Paige keeps this cocky attitude up and doesn’t fuck her like she needs. She almost gets sassy with her response until Paige moves her fingers against her clit, rubbing slow little circles over the fabric. Azzi groans, so hopelessly soaked through her underwear that the lace is practically see-through.
“Fuck. Please, Paige, please just fuck me. I need your fingers inside, please. Gotta feel it, need it, please.” She sounds pathetic, she knows. Paige doesn’t usually make her beg like this, but god, being forced to say exactly what she wants is doing sinful things to Azzi.
“I got you, good girl, so good begging for me,” Paige praises. Azzi’s head flops back onto the pillow and she immediately misses the light presence of the chains in her face. It’s quickly forgotten as Paige pulls Azzi’s panties off, throwing them somewhere to the side of the bed in favor of quickly slipping one finger into Azzi’s pussy.
“Fuck, baby, so wet for me. You feel that?” Paige already sounds like she’s going crazy, her voice hoarse and low. Azzi can barely focus on the words the blonde is saying. She’s too busy squirming closer to Paige’s hand, trying to get that singular finger deeper inside of her. She needs more and Paige is too busy talking to give it to her.
“Shh, honey, just relax. I gotchu, you know that,” Paige soothes, leaning down to press soft kisses to Azzi’s lips. The action drags the chains against Azzi’s face in the most delightful way. It almost makes Azzi miss the way Paige’s finger starts to move inside her, dragging out and then pushing right back in slowly. She moans desperately, still wiggling against Paige. She needs her deeper, faster, more fingers, anything.
“More, please, Paige, I can take another,” she begs. Paige finally obliges her, sliding another finger in alongside the first and continuing to fuck in and out of Azzi’s pussy. Azzi moans. One of her hands drifts up, tangling in the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck. Then it drifts down, sliding over the fresh hickeys on her throat that are getting darker by the minute. Her hand finally comes to rest on the silver chains, fingers wrapping around the strands of metal just for something to hold onto. Her eyes won’t leave the way they gleam against Paige’s skin, swinging back and forth as Paige’s arm moves.
Between her legs, Azzi can feel her wetness dripping onto the bed. She knows Paige’s hand is probably drenched, and that mental image only makes her wetter.
“There you go, baby. Doin’ so good for me, taking me so well. Fuck, look at you. Fucking soaked, Az. Can you hear that?” Paige takes a break from her fuck-drunk rambling so Azzi can hear the sound her body makes when Paige’s fingers slide in and out. It even sounds like she’s drenched. Azzi throws her head back on the pillow again, pulling Paige’s chains right along with her. Paige follows her down, licking a stripe up Azzi’s neck while she’s there.
“Gettin’ close, ma?” Azzi nods desperately, feeling her stomach get tighter with every stroke of Paige’s fingers into her sopping wet center. “Fuck, yeah, I know you are. Squeezing me so tight, baby. Just sucking me up. Need me that bad, right baby?” Paige’s thumb drags circles around Azzi’s clit. She lets out a high whine. Paige has yapped for every minute of her life, she’s sure, but the absolute filth she’s saying right now has Azzi teetering right on the edge of her climax, biting her lip, and her stomach tenses.
“Let go, Az. Just relax and let yourself cum. All over me, baby, come on. Want it dripping down my hand. Please, I know you’re almost there.” Paige’s words, begging her to come, combined with the feeling of her damned silver chains dragging against Azzi’s throat now that she’s released her grip on them, send her over the edge.
Azzi cums with a cry, high-pitched moans and Paige’s name falling from her lips. Paige fucks her through it, fingers still moving inside her, thumb still circling her clit until Azzi is trembling from overstimulation, begging Paige to stop.
“Please, please, too much, Paige-” Azzi pushes Paige’s hand away from her, collapsing against the mattress, panting as she tries to recover. When she forces her eyes open to look at her girlfriend, Azzi finds Paige already staring at her. Her pupils are still blown wide, her body glistening with sweat, her hair messy (probably Azzi’s fault), and she thinks Paige has never looked hotter.
“What?” Azzi demands softly. “I’ll get you in a minute, don’t worry,” she promises. Paige shakes her head and melts into Azzi, wrapping her in her pale arms.
“Did so good for me, baby. So good,” she mumbles into Azzi’s collarbones. Azzi’s hand comes up to brush through Paige’s hair gently, a smile falling onto her lips, blushing lightly at the praise. Paige was starting to crush her under her weight, but it felt so good that she kept quiet, one hand moving down from Paige’s hair to stroke up and down her back.
“Hey, let me take care of you now,” Azzi said, starting to roll herself out from under Paige. Paige just tightened her arms.
“In a minute. That was so hot. You’re so hot. Everything about that was just… really insanely hot. I think I’m buffering. Give me a minute,” Paige mumbled into Azzi’s skin. Azzi laughed, bringing a hand to Paige’s chin and tilting her face up to meet her eyes.
“That was really hot,” she agreed. Paige grinned.
“I should wear chains more often,” she mused. Azzi groaned, letting Paige’s face drop back into the crook of her neck.
“I swear, I can’t tell you anything.” She complained. Paige just laughed, and Azzi couldn’t do anything but laugh with her. Of course Paige would give her the best orgasm of her life and her takeaway from the experience would be fashion advice. Azzi couldn’t argue with the idea, though. She sighed.
“As long as the chains stay on during sex,” she agreed.
“Hell yeah. High five, dude.” Azzi groaned and pushed Paige away.
“Shut up or I’m not helping you get off.” Paige shut up.
#paige bueckers#azzi fudd#uconn wbb#uconn women’s basketball#women's basketball#uconn#pazzi#pazzi smut#paige bueckers smut#azzi fudd smut
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Ex-boyfriend Gojo who shows up at your house 5 years later. He looks a bit different now.
|Souls are laid to rest after the death of the body. As for Gojo Satoru, his soul rests with you. In other words, your terrible ex-boyfriend is having way too much fun haunting you|
|satoru gojo x reader, fluff, lil bitty angst, gojo being gojo, 700 words, desi-coded reader|
previous series masterlist
Satoru flashes his 24-carat grin ear to ear when you come to. “All this 'cause you don’t take iron supplements. How many times have I told you again?” He shakes his head. “Your voodoo spicy diarrhoea jar won’t fix everything, you know.”
The human body has two directors of the nervous system. While mostly the wondrous brain lords over man, there come times that the castle of the body comes under attack by such impossibility (like a rampage by demonic forces or worse, the ghost of your terrible ex come alive) that the coward brain hides and the spinal cord, which does not have the complexity to understand emotional duress, takes control.
“Don’t insult Chawanprash.” Satoru might be a translucent mist after his untimely death floating in front of you and breaking all existing laws of physics. But your spinal cord does not care for such trivialities. “I’m not even anaemic anymore.”
“Is that why a silly surprise sent you lying on the floor?”
Ghost boy correct, says your spinal cord. Get up body, cook dinner.
“I have to get up and cook dinner.” Your voice is too hollow for Satoru. It’s the shock sending you to robotic autopilot, he hopes, you’ve been out for a couple hours after all. It’s 2 am now. “Merry Christmas, Satoru.”
“Merry Christmas, my love.”
My love. Satoru called you that. He used to call you that. It’s been 5 years. The floor is cold. It’s Christmas. The sofa you grab to pull yourself up is soft, the walls you lean on your path to the kitchen hard. Satoru is here. Satoru called you his love. The stove is hot. My love. Satoru’s love. 5 years ago he called the wedding off. Oven is steamy inside, a fully baked cinnamon cake sweet. Your mouth is full of cake. Warm and sweet. You created the recipe for Satoru. Satoru is a ghost now. He called you- My love. Satoru is dead.
“Satoru is dead.” Disbelieving words slip through your mouth. You stare straight ahead at the kitchen wall, refusing to look at the ghost floating behind your shoulder.
He doesn’t reply.
“How are you dead? Satoru?”
Nothing.
“Is it that terrorist in Shibuya? I guessed it was something curse related. But I still don’t understand. How could you die?”
Nothing but a slight swish as the ghost moves.
“How could you die?”
Another swish– “I wish I could taste the cake, it looks incredible. Say, we could sprinkle powdered sugar on it too. And honey. Cookie crumbs, red bean paste, chocolate syrup.”
Ah. Infinity is nothing compared to the emotional barrier Satoru surrounds himself with. Even to you. Even after death.
Not a big deal. It’s just that you’ve known him since you were in kindergarten together as babies, grew up playing together, still kept in touch even after he went away to study jujutsu and you to art college, supported him through the pit he fell into after Geto’s defection, officially dated for four years and engaged for one until he called it quits.
But hey, it’s not like your story ended there. It wasn't all so tragic. Break ups happen everyday.
Life goes on. He had his life and you had yours. The work report was due on Saturday. Your elderly neighbour needed help moving their fridge. Satoru blocked you on everything a week later. Your cousin had a baby shower. Taxes have to be filed soon. Your mom broke her hip, needed to be driven to the hospital. Whispers said that he’s found a woman to marry, that she’s the one, some said it’s all idle gossip, they’re just close friends and nothing more. You got a promotion at work. The washing machine had to be fixed. Mom needed help getting around so you moved in with her temporarily. Taxes again. Your cousin had another baby shower, a little girl this time. Life goes on.
It’s fine.
You sit with your mug of mulled wine and cinnamon cake at the dinner table. You’ve kept the same apartment all these years, it’s a familiar memory as Satoru pulls a chair to sit beside you. His hand goes right through the cake to his despair. You laugh. He giggles.
It’s fine.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#gojo satoru#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#satoru gojo#gojou satoru x reader#satoru x reader#satoru x you#gojo#jjk satoru#geto#suguru geto#jjk au#jjk gojo#jjk angst#angst fic#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo fluff#satoru#jjk fanart#desi reader
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𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬:
𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗: This was inspired by a chat between me & a fellow requester @originalgothhoagiefish-blog. My tumbler master list looks like a mess, but I'm trying to get placement right.
𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: What happens when you bite your god-like mosquito back during heated times?
𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖉: @kit-williams, @egrets-not-regrets, @bispecsual, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @sleepyfan-blog.
+@c-u-c-koo-4-40k.
TW // Smut, Clothed, Bulge, Biting.
|°ᴛᴀɢ ʟɪꜱᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ°| |°ɪᴄʜᴏʀ’ꜱ ᴀᴏ3°| |°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|
Your angel was hungry, you can see it in his eyes; the way his angelic wings give a minuscule twitch. How his eyes keep glancing at you, wishing for a bite, and if he was lucky enough… something more. He cannot act on his needs at the moment: he’s caught up in some planetary business that he (and the whole legion) has chosen to leave you out of, but you could. You could sedate him for a bit. Give him something to drink.
“We need—” You move just a bit, gaining the attention of some of the blood angels that guard you, and well… the attention of your spouse. You know you’re causing some type of interruption with your presence just standing there, wanting to at least get to wander about. You get some looks for it: from the opposing planet, but you are undeterred. You trust your lovely legion of mosquitoes to bleed them dry if needed.
You move again and gain a bit more than just looks. You can feel the heat of jealousy burn into your skin, trying to get to your singular heart while you make your way out of the room without being dismissed. You’re sure you would get some snarky remarks about it, but they were in your lovers' domain, not their own. They should know how to act considering they were all mostly nobles.
“My Lady,” One of your sons interrupt you, following you out of the room. Leaving his other brother to observe. His steps heavy but light at the same time with his armor on. “Where are you going?”
“Your father is hungry.” You simply point out what you have seen; singled out and have a very good feeling having understanding on. “So are you.”
“I am not.” The son denies, shaking his helmet. You don’t have to look behind you to know that he was. You, however, were no commoner to your lovers’ needs, nor to his legion. You were here long enough to understand their... cues of peculiar hunger.
“Do not deny the truth Son of The Angel.” You muse, giving him a glance behind you. It was amusing how some of them still act a bit childish and refuse things. One would think the children of the stars would be much more… stoic; formal perhaps. Yet they have their moments when they reminded you of complete children.
“I do not deny, my lady.” He huffs, and it’s just amuses you even more. He was— is food angry. “I’m simply… irritated.”
“Irritated.” You repeat his word with a hum. He didn’t want to act nor admit he was hungry, just like his father. They always get a bit grumpy without something to feed them. “Then perhaps you wouldn’t be swayed with my offered blood?”
You’re quick with it, taking your defense dagger from your waist and slicing the palm of your hand of it before turning around on your heel and presenting your now bleeding palm to the son. Your hand in a slight cupped formation to keep your own blood from wasting to the ground.
“My lady…”
“Do not refuse what is generously offered, it is rude.” You are also quick on your tongue, interrupting the loyal son. Your bloody hand moving a bit as if to urge them to drink from your lifeline that slowly pours from your hand and down your arm.
“I… your blood should only be offered to our father…” He tries to deny you again, but he’s lured in. He’s leaning in closer to your offered hand. He can’t resist his hunger to feed like most others could. He is a younger Astartes, but you don't blame him for it.
“Hmm, perhaps.” You hum, feeling how your own blood pools in your hand, slowly slipping through your fingers. “But I’m offering you. Do not deny it.”
He sighs at you: a heavy one. His gauntlet coming up to his helmet and taking it off himself. A beautiful shade of dark green appearing as his eyes then the bright blonde as his wavy hair: the length of it is to his shoulder blades or rather pauldron. A few scars littering his face, but he still had those young, youthful features. (Not like the whole legion didn’t.)
“You, are as handsome as your father.” You complement the hesitant Blood Angel. He probably doesn’t want to drink from you because of your status. Doesn’t want to drink what is his Primarchs, and you can't really blame him on that either. You wouldn't want to eat the alphas food either.
However, your husband can make an exception.
"Are you sure my lady?" He asks for your word, your permission. His gauntlet coming forward to grasp at your hand. Stabilizing it for him to drink. It's a cute, small step forward for the young one to resist temptations. "I don't want to be... punished for it."
Oh, how adorable the sons were. Allways asking for permission. Well, almost always. You've heard how they weren't merciful sometimes, and you suppose it's a hard truth to learn of them, or easy. Depending on the person.
"Would you be punished if I was simply offering?" You ask him, moving your fingers a bit as the blood goes down onto his gauntlet. His eyes never leaving your crimson stained hand. "I am giving it to you freely."
"I... suppose not." He sighs, finally leaning a bit down to give your hand and inhale. His tongue liking at his lips before he gives in. The heat of his appendage giving a long lick to your palm. His tongue curling, acting like some sort of spoon to get more blood piled up in his mouth. His fangs barely brushing over the skin of your palm.
It was almost strange. To feel the differences between son and father. At least tongue wise as this sons' tongue was like a cats', yet it's a bit smoother. Sanguinius? His was smooth but had more heat to it. You guess it's because he most drank from you when he was really needy...
After a moment, he releases your wrist as gently as possible. His tongue swirling in his mouth as he moves his hand to cover his lips as if this would require some form of adequate. His eyes looking away from you with a slight blush to his cheeks. "I can see why father chosen you as the legion mother..."
You smile at him, amused and knowing. You know your blood attracts some mosquitoes more than most. Your hand returning back to your side. He has cleaned your hand quite well...
"Hmm, then I suppose you would not mind deliver something to your father; offer for an offer?" You ask the son, pressing on your wounded palm slightly. Watching a bit more blood leaving the slit.
"Of course, it's only reasonable my lady."
You're back in Sanguinius quarters but the time your... package has been sent to him. Your hands are busy wrapping up your own hand that you injured for the sake of feeding the Sons of The Angel. A small, humming tune leaving you as you tend to the wound.
You wonder if Sanguinius would like your small, editable gift? It was in small quantities, but you wanted your husband to be enriched and not be bored of the nobles that are no doubt talking nonsense, because you know in experience, they like to talk in laughing wealth... or at least those ones do. They never like to do dealings with you... which may lead to their downfall.
You jump a bit when the doors of Sanguinius quarters open. Your eyes giving a brief glance outside. You would have thought he wouldn't have arrived back until dusk, but you suppose not all comes to plan.
"My love, you didn't have to enlighten me with your own blood." Is the first thing that leaves Sanguinius mouth. His clothed form briskly walking to your side, as if he was impatient. His wings fluttering behind him. His eyes staying on you once they land on you: sitting down and wrapping up your hand.
Oh, yeah, he is definitely impatient.
"Oh? So, you knew it was my blood?" You muse, returning to wrapping up your palm. A little embarrassed to look at him now. How could you? You might have just done something brave, but incredibly stupid. Might of. You're not too sure. Would he scold you for it?
"How could I not?" He inhales. His lips suddenly close to your neck and it makes your heart pulse. His hands moving anything from shoulder from obstructing what he wants. "Your blood is my addiction; my own life as it is the legions..."
His chest is pressed up behind you as he leans down to cover you in his shadow. His own hand slowly coming do to grasp at your wrist with the bandages around it. The huge, obvious size difference was always remarkable to you.
"You fed the sons as you fed me." He hums, his lips pressing into your neck and you can't help but give him more access. Your body leaning back into him. "Generous of you, even if we didn't need it."
"Oh, please." You scoff, amused. Flipping your wrapped hand in his, tracing your fingers in his palm. "You were hungry."
"And I," He pauses, musing with you. Kissing you on the cheek as his arms wrap around you. His nose nuzzling into your neck, inhaling again before he suddenly lifts you up from the chair. A surprised yelp of his name falling through your lips as you squirm in his hold. "Still am."
"Sanguinus!" You gasp his name again, your body plopping down into the soft sheets of his bed with him directly on top of you. His hands wrapping around your waist with unnatural ease. Silently telling you just how much he could just take you; ragdoll you as his lips attack your neck. No doubt enjoying how your veins pluses a bit quicker when he excites you; teases you.
"You had no need to feed me when I can have you here; fully." He chuckles into your neck, sending a bit of a vibrations through you at the closeness. His wings behind him spreading out, covering you in his shadow, his scent, him. His hands on your waist keeping you in place for him to enjoy what is beneath him.
"Did... did you like what I have given you?" You ask a bit hesitantly, moving your own hands to his body. Your fingers tracing every outline you can find on the top half of his torso. You were afraid you might get some form of judgment from him.
"I wanted to leave the room once my tongue touched the thickness of your blood in that glass." He groans quietly, inhaling deeply again. His body shifting a bit above you while one of his hands wander just a bit lower... "I truly wonder if you were teasing me."
"Me? Never." You purr slightly out to him, enjoying his wandering his hands. You didn't want to make it sound like you were teasing him, and you weren't, it wasn't intended, but you wouldn't be opposed to be testing a Primarchs' limits in different ways besides the intensity of chaos.
"Oh, really?" He rumbles amusingly, his eyes trailing over your face. His mouth hanging open to slide his fangs over your neck, teasing you. Your body giving a shiver at the feeling as you really didn't know when he would bite you. He liked to be a bit mysterious on it.
"Really." You simply confirm, sliding one of your fingers under the waist band of his clothing, touching the bare skin of him at his v-line. His fangs, and a huff of his hot breath warning you by your neck, confining with you.
He was losing his patience ever slowly with you.
"Then I don't believe you are teasing me now, are you?" He hums, switching to give your neck a kiss again. His eyes hooded in a tired lure while his waist thrusts forward a little, urging your hands to go further down his waist. Teasing the both of you as your fingernails gently claw above where the both of you want.
"Certainly n-not- Sanguinus!"
He laughs lowly at your yelp as he gave a nip to your collar bone, drawing a very small amount of blood to taste you once more. He wants to savor the source of his food, his drink. He want's your fulfilling warmth of your blood, of you. He wants you.
His fangs trace your neck, slowly feeling how your skin twitches and pluses underneath his lips as he occasionally giving you kisses, prepping you for him to feast. One of his hands shifting to move yours a bit lower on him. Where you can feel the thickness of him and his heat. A low grunt leaving him while he has to restrain himself from about wreaking you for the next weeks to come. That is, if he doesn't drink you to exhaustion first.
Your hands grasp at him, slowly teasing him, pumping him up and down. It should have been impossible for you to do so because of his height but with the way he practically curls around you for your touch, it was not, and sometimes? You curse at yourself for your smaller height, feeling bad for your lover having to curl around you for the simplicity of intimacy, but oh... It makes things feel deliciously bigger; thicker.
You shutter a gasp when his fangs slowly pierce your skin. Hands grasping his length a bit harder while you try accommodate to the slight pain that stings you. Your nose slightly nuzzling into his jawline as you feel him drink from you. A little, satisfied hum leaving him as he swallows, even gracefully in these heated times. His waist thrusting slightly as his length in your hands moves for you.
"Sanguinus..." You sigh into him, your mind filled with unholy thoughts of him. How he would- will take you. How he would leave you weak and submissive for him to use to his pleasure. How his cock would fill you with overwhelming efficiency, touching all the sweet spots only he knows about.
He hums at you, louder to acknowledge your wants. His body shifting above you while he still drinks from you. Position himself to where you wanted him. Your hands helping him find his mark, just above your core. You're still clothed, but that's what the zippers and openings on the bottom's of the dresses are for. For your lover to fuck you good all while trying to keep up a professional and neat image.
Your body shutters while you lead him inside of you. Bursts of shorts breaths leaving you as you can feel his length slowly fill you. A slight bulge appearing on your skin where he sits himself inside your walls. Moans leaving the both of you when your walls tighten around him, and you can't but help to think of biting your lover back. It sounds appealing to you in your mind. Your body curling more into him, getting closer to him as he moves with you to continually feed on you.
His gives a small, testing thrust inside of you. Exciting another gasp from you while you move closer to his shoulder, your breath painting his own clothing. Your hands moving to grasp at his shoulders as he always felt a bit overwhelming when he was inside of you at first. You were still trying to accommodate him, but each growing second grew more pleasurable.
A whiny-like moan leaves you when he thrusts again. Hands desperately grasping at him now as the combined efforts of giving you pleasure and drinking from you was a pleasurable overkill for your sensitive nerves. Your own teeth brushing over his neck, and you can tell he froze for a second; pausing his drinking but keeping his fangs fit into your neck.
That, is when you gently bite into him yourself. Your teeth latching onto him gently on his collar bone: voided of his clothing. You bit him gently enough that wouldn't cause a mark, even if you knew how hard you had to bite him for anything to be done to him, it wouldn't cause anything to him, but in heated times? It was like activating his carnality card.
He is quick to move, unlatching from your neck and giving it a reassuring lick before he's hovering above you again. His hands settling on your thighs, giving you slow, rolling thrusts that were repetitive. It has you arching your back into the sheets with your hands grasping at his on your thighs. Mewls leaving you as he ever slowly goes faster and faster. Loosing himself: losing his resolve with you. Quiet grunts and growls leaving him while he keeps readjusting his hands on your thighs to your waist to keep you in place on his cock. His wings behind him moving and fluttering with his rabid thrusts.
Perhaps, you should bite him a bit more often? Maybe offer some surprising drinks of your blood too? It was certainly an experience, and a chance for you to be bedridden for a couple of weeks.
#oneshot#warhammer 40k#warhammer 30k#fanfic#fanfiction#second person pov#third person pov#primarch x reader#primarch#sanguinus#sanguinus x reader#tw: smut#tw: biting#tw: belly bulge
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Say You Won't Let Go
Greedy Little Thing
Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 4.3k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, PiV, Oral (F!Receiving), pregnancy sex, wee bit of lactation kink
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If you thought your solo play time in the shower would calm you down, you thought wrong.
You’re truly spinning out and losing your mind. That is the only reasonable explanation for the level of arousal flooding your system at the moment.
All of a sudden you can’t help but be keyed into John’s every move. And surely you are projecting every depraved thought squirming around in your little brain- you’re imagining that he’s encroaching that much more into your personal space. His hands- broad and warm- gentle as always feel a bit firmer with his hold as he either brushes past you or herds you where he wants you.
You’re distracted, eyes fixated at the boarded up windows like they’re a big screen showing your favorite sitcom. The book you found lies open on the table, failing to capture your interest in favor of your imagination. Of another universe where John’s interest isn’t a figment of your imagination and he’s willing to do something about it.
“Something on your mind, Love?” John’s voice startles you out of your thoughts and has you jumping on reflex. “Easy- ‘s just me,” he soothes as he crosses the distance from the doorway to the table you’re sitting at.
“Nothing important,” you answer breezily, trying desperately to hide that you were just thinking about the various ways he could fold you like a piece of paper. Can always lie and claim to be reminiscing on the past.
He has no reason to doubt you, the rumbling hum of acknowledgment from him showing that you’ve not gained any unwanted attention.
You don’t know what’s wrong with you, what all of a sudden has you acting like a cat in heat. The only thing you haven’t done at this point is lift your skirts and bend over the table in invitation.
Any hope you may have of getting back into your book is dashed as he comes closer.
You’ve never been one to fixate on how a man smells- and not even cologne, since that’s not an option these days really. But how he actually smells- you have no idea if you’re pulling off subtle well, but he smells divine and you know nothing will get done if you don’t get a hold of yourself.
Hopefully your sinful thoughts are not evident on your face, but if they are then he doesn’t call you on it.
It’s not uncommon for John to leave you alone for stretches and sporadically swing by to check on you. You know he’s in the neighborhood lurking for supplies and hoping to scrap up radio parts.
The drop ins soothe your anxiety- that he is just across the street, or a few houses down.
Although it’s still the end of the world and anything can happen. You begrudgingly accept that he has to leave on occasion so you don’t starve to death in the middle of winter in this frozen tundra.
“Gonna need to go further out today, Love. Not sure when I’ll be back.”
Your displeasure is blatant across your face.
“None of that, now,” he reproaches firmly. “I’ll come back when I can. I want you back upstairs before the sun goes down.”
You’re pouting like a child, your earlier fantasies completely derailed as your thoughts swirl around the anxiety of being abandoned. Of course there’s a part of you that knows this is an inevitability. There’s only so many supplies in the area. John is reluctant to move you, knowing that the pair of you are relatively safe and hidden which means he’ll have to move further out to scavenge to care for you.
Your lack of an immediate response prompts him to reach out and cup your face, prying your mind from your surly thoughts. By now you know him well enough to understand the cue for what it is- a silent ask for you to soften back up to him and quit being a brat about him leaving.
The logical part of your brain understands that there’s no choice considering you don’t wish to starve to death. Unfortunately until further notice your hormones are what call the shots so you can’t help yourself other than to be in duress over the thought of John leaving you for more than a few hours.
“Why are you being difficult, hm?” He ponders, tone substantially softer than one might expect.
“I’m not trying to be,” you protest gently, settling into his hold.
“And yet here we are,” his tone is more amused than anything else.
His free hand drops to your belly, something that immediately garners the attention of your baby who gives a volley of kicks.
“You can’t wind him up and then leave me here alone to deal with him,” now it’s your turn to reproach John good naturedly.
Again, you blame your hormones. You like John’s hands on you- like John touching you.
“He’ll be a good lad for his mummy, won’t he?” He prompts the baby, and you don’t protest as his hand smooths down your belly.
This time your child is not called to action, deciding to spare your poor ribs from another litany of kicks. You decide to not question the way he immediately quiets down at John’s prompting.
Despite the conversation you just had, you can’t help but pout and mope as John leaves. You keep it to yourself, even though you know your anxiety is bleeding through and he knows exactly what your thoughts on the matter are.
There’s nothing to be done for it though, so you’re left alone with nothing but Fred’s shadow and your child for company.
You listen to John’s request and begin your trek up the stairs just before it starts to get dark. The natural lighting in the house is weird and casts odd shadows. It's overcast and a new moon, which will leave little to guide you with when the sun goes down.
With only your thoughts to occupy you, you think about silly little things because if you don’t then you’ll be cognizant of the crushing realization of your solitude. That John is out there somewhere in the murky darkness and there is no guarantee that he will come back to you.
You’d have made a piss poor military wife.
It’s easier to think about how things could be in another life- if you would have met the handsome captain in some bar and flirted shamelessly in the hopes that he liked you enough to take you home and show you a good time.
That you were at his home, in his bed, with his baby nestled under your ribcage.
But you’re not, although in a way you are as close to that fantasy as you can get.
You’re tucked into the little hidey hole that John has chosen to squirrel you away, waiting for his return upstairs just as he asked while your child does somersaults and uses a kidney for soccer practice.
Somewhere between bouts of fretting, you manage to fall asleep. It’s certainly not the best sleep of your life by any stretch but you’ve also had worse without question.
It’s also easily disrupted. There’s a part of you that is still keen to your surroundings- that’s still aware that you’re alone in the dark and the cold, and that to truly slip under the haze of sleep could sign your death warrant.
You don’t quite wake at the sound of the door creaking, but you drift that much closer to the land of the living.
It’s when the bed dips under his weight that you stir, partly in offense at the cold air that creeps under the covers with him.
The greeting that escapes you is more of a whine than anything else, hands grabbing at him and trying to burrow under the weight of him.
“I’m right here, lovely- told you I’d be back.” He soothes you like an over reactive pet that’s absolutely enthralled with his return and showcasing it by trying to crawl into his skin.
He’s warm, a welcome reprieve from the biting cold waiting for you just outside your blankets. You want to melt at the sensation of his hands on your back. You’re a puddle of a human being in his hold.
And somewhere between your squirming and his soothing, you’re not completely sure who ends up kissing who first but you have zero complaints.
Quickly your searching hands find purchase on him, just as his anchor you to him.
You’re drowning, you think- head dizzy, completely disoriented as lust burns through you. This is everything you’ve been pining for and now that it’s in your hold you don’t quite know what to do with it.
John rolls you gently onto your back as the pair of you break for air- hovers above you, mindful of your belly while still not being too far away.
“Tell me to stop,” he looks as flustered as you feel, and a part of you preens in the knowledge that you’ve impacted him the way he’s impacted you. That you haven’t been the only one yearning for more.
“Please don’t s-“ you don’t even finish the sentence before he’s on you again, the covers rustling as he shuffles to position himself closer to you.
“Good girl” he praises against your lips, the words itching something seated deep inside you.
John’s hands roam your body, searching for the hemline of your dress only to hike the skirt up to your hips once he finds it.
“Please,” you whimper and try to arch under his touch.
Rather than immediately diving under the skirt of your dress, he continues to feel up your chest, back, hips and thighs. You could practically melt at the attention, gladly feeling him up in turn before your hands grope down his chest to pry at his shirt. Your make out is briefly interrupted as he shucks his shirt, although in the dim lighting of the dark it’s hard to fully appreciate everything he’s displaying at the moment.
“God, you are soft,” he marvels, lips leaving yours to kiss down your neck.
You realize that he’s trying to keep the covers over you as he works your dress up your body, pooling the fabric around your collar bones as his attention drifts from your neck to your sternum.
One hand gropes at a breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue, immediately making you gasp and grab his hair.
“Gentle!” You correct him- while under normal circumstances his grip on you would have been perfectly acceptable, you’re currently very pregnant and part of that means your chest has been sore the last few weeks. You’re so sensitive now.
“I’m sorry, lovely. I’ll be gentle,” he apologizes, and you relax back into the mattress.True to his promise, John is far more careful of where he gropes and kisses, delighting in all the noises you make.
The sensitivity in your breasts has you squirming underneath him, whining in pleasure.
You feel strung out and desperate, some nebulous part of you aware that you're in trouble if you're already this amped up and he's barely begun to touch you yet.
Arching into his hold, you both freeze at the same moment you feel something akin to a release in the pressure of your chest. You haven't quite been sure when you would start actually lactating- knowing that the real stuff wouldn't come in until after birth, but knowing that there was the colostrum prior.
You're not quite sure what you feel. Flustered? Relieved? Embarrassed? But John remains unflappable, a mere "Tastes sweet" before returning to the task at hand.
The hand not anchoring your breast for his mouth drifts down your side, ghosting over the fabric of your underwear. You're wet- keenly aware of how his fingers trace across your skin. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his touch, something to do less with the all encompassing chill that you two are trying to avoid and more to do with the lust that is firmly growing in your belly. The gusset of your panties doesn't take long to soak as he teases you over the fabric.
Your hips twitch, trying desperately to follow his fingers.
You want more. It's been so long since you've had anyone touch you, and the weight of John over you feels phenomenal. "Please, John- I need you to touch me." Never in all your days have you actually begged a man to touch you, but your life has just been full of unexpected surprises lately.
"I'll take care of you, lovely- gotta be patient," he consoles you, paired with a teasing suck of one nipple before moving across your chest to get to the other one.
You don't want to be patient. You want him- now- and even though you actively have him right in this moment it's somehow still not enough. You'd say you're like an animal in heat, but animals in heat aren't usually ready to calve at any moment. It's almost alarming how little control you have over your own body right now. You're little more than your most base urges with spread thighs and heaving breaths as you keenly watch him.
"Gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart," he soothes with his words as his hand slips under the waistband of your panties. "'m not a small man- don't want to hurt you."
You feel dizzy just at the thought. You're well acquainted with what he's packing at this point, and the knowledge he's going to try to make sure it's good for you too is enough for you to find what minimal patience you possess.
The feel of his fingertips lightly searching for your clit has your legs spreading and thighs twitching in anticipation. He's an insufferable tease, tracing the pad of one calloused fingertip around your vulva and teasing the seam of your lower lips. Just enough to keep you keyed in on him, hook line and sinker, whining for more like an anxious dog.
When he finally parts your pussy with his fingers, you arch up into his hold as he spreads your wetness around. "Bein’ such a good girl f'r me" his praise is low and gravely and shoots straight between your thighs.
God the things that this man could make you do if he asked you nicely.
"John, please!"
"So impatient" he chuckles against your soft skin, nipping at you ever so carefully. Just enough to get your skin between his teeth, the squeal that escapes you more in anticipation than from any actual discomfort.
He shushes you, lapping at the patch of skin that he nipped in a mock apology as the hand slipping between your lower lips slides one finger inside of you.
There's certainly more to his one finger than to your own, and you must be such a greedy little thing tonight because you're still wanting another finger. John is in no hurry it seems, content to rock his one finger in and out of you as your body gets wetter in preparation of future events.
His hand doesn't leave from between your thighs, but he moves further under the covers where they've obscured him completely, falling around your collar bones. Certainly warmer for the pair of you for him to do this like this, although your hips are already rocking.
You've got a reasonable guess on what he's about to do, but not being able to physically see him does, you admit, add a certain level of excitement. There's nothing you can do other than lay on your back patiently like a good girl and wait for him to make his next move. His warm breath on your pussy makes you jolt, a thrill shooting up your spine.
You haven't gotten head in ages- certainly not with your last beau.
"Try to be quiet for me, lovely. Don't need anything outside hearing your pretty noises," is all the warning you get before he's lowering his mouth to you.
It is certainly easier said than done- partly you manage to keep your whines and whimpers down, but it just makes your eyes want to roll back the way John doesn't hesitate to put his tongue to work.With a cursory lap of your vulva, he's quick to hone his attention on your clit while his finger continues to slip in and out of you.
After a few thrusts of his wrists you have to turn your head and muffle yourself with a pillow as he gives you the second finger you've been so keen for. His fingers stroking you from the inside paired with his tongue on your clit is certainly enough to work you steadily towards your orgasm.
You're not sure that you're going to last much longer when he starts to crook his fingers against the anterior wall of you- seems he knows exactly how to try to wring out every last drop of pleasure from you, and you're more than game to let him.
"John," your whine is a small, pleading thing this time- not the same feverish anxious plea from earlier, attempting to get him to give exactly what you want. This is a softer cry, a plea and an acknowledgement all wrapped together that he will take you where you're trying to go if you'll just let him do it.
Cold be damned, your activities under the sheets have a sheen of sweat breaking out over your skin. You pull the blanket off of you, partially because you're starting to get hot and partially on the reflex that you want to watch him- although that isn't really going to be an option with your belly in the way. "Oh my God, please don't stop,” you beg, perfectly able to picture the smug grin on his face as you feel the vibration of him chuckling in amusement at you.
Your squirming is dealt with swiftly as he grips one of your hips with his free hand, holding you in place as you rock against his mouth. The pleasure coiling in your belly twists down tighter and tighter, your staccato breaths hitching as he pushes you closer to your climax.
Right when the dam breaks, it seems both of you were on the same page- one of your hands clamping over your mouth to muffle yourself right at the moment John straightens a bit and abandons your hip in favor of trying to cover your mouth as well.
Which suddenly puts you in the position of being completely at his mercy- that he's using the hand buried between your legs to see how much he can get you to squeal now that your noises are muffled to his standard.
When he lets up, you're dizzy and gasping for air. This is so much more intense than the orgasm you'd brought yourself to in the shower and that one had literally brought you to your knees. There's a part of your brain still cognizant enough that you want to return the favor- That he's made you feel absolutely divine and it's only fair to reciprocate that.
However, rather than functional words, all you can come up with is to just paw at the top of his pants, mumbling more so than speaking "I want- I-"
Despite your complete lack of clarity, he seems to understand what your mission is regardless.
"We can worry about that later, Love," he assures you, coaxing you onto your side and getting in close behind you. Despite having just gotten yours, for a moment you are incredulous at the idea that he's about to just tuck you back into bed and go to sleep.Then you realize the covers are still down around your ankles, and your night dress up across your breasts- and, blessedly, that he's pulling down his pants.
God you wish you could see it, but between the darkness and the angle with him behind you it's not really an option. You can see enough shadows to have a vague idea of where he is behind you, but also the lack of vision is adding to the experience.
Just groping and touching in the dark like a pair of frisky teenagers trying to not get caught.
"I've got what you need right here, pretty girl- lift your leg up for me," he instructs and you comply immediately.
Oh God he's big. You knew that, sorta- have been well acquainted with what he feels like pressing up against you with morning wood. And he just told you that you needed to be prepped in order to take him.
But somehow this feels completely different, and here you are lying soft and compliant on your side with your legs spread wondering how the fuck he's going to make it fit.You're completely gagging for it either way.
"Please, please, plea-" you beg, head turning his direction in the dark even if you can't see well. Your begging is cut off as he drags his cock across your swollen folds, sensitive from the earlier attention he paid to you.
"Easy, lovely. Told you I'd take care of you," he instructs, and it takes everything in you to lie still in his hold while he lines himself up with you.
Your mind is spinning a hundred miles an hour, excited by the prospect as he finally pushes the head in and gives a shallow thrust.
His chest is lined up to your back, one hand helping prop up your thigh to give better access. It's the most intimate position the two of you can manage, and it gives you a front row seat as he groans low in the back of his throat.
Oh, you like that noise.
You want to hear him make it again.
"Christ you're warm," he chokes, and a deep satisfaction rolls through you. Just knowing that he's as affected by you, as you are by him is enough to stroke your ego.
"John, I can't wait anymore," you whine, pushing back against him in encouragement for him to move. Since when did you become such a needy little mess? It would be embarrassing if you could bring yourself to care.
You've been long overdue for a good romp between the sheets, and you are just thrilled to pieces that the captain has decided to be the one up for the task.
"You are an impatient creature, aren't you pet?" His admonishment is a gentle thing, as are his first few thrusts as your bodies acclimate to each other.
"It feels so good. Want you to feel good too," you plead your case, and really who was he to disagree with that?
"Feels fuckin' incredible, lovely, don't you worry about that. Sweet pussy of yours has me like a vice," You push back against his thrusts, eyes rolling as the angle lets him hit that one spot in you. Pragmatically, this position was the best to allow the pair of you to be close to each other while not overcrowding around your belly- allow some level of intimacy, as John is able to get up close behind you, and you can reasonably turn to touch and paw at him. But God is it also working for you as far as bringing you pleasure. Each time his hips bury against the plush of your ass he hits that spot that makes your leg shake in his hold.
"Gonna get you there, lovely, just-" it strokes your ego that he's babbling slightly as he speaks. That he's just as excited to have access to your body, to let you have him like this.
"John, right there- I, ah!- Oh God, right there," your pleading seems to just ramp him up. He's not rough with you by any stretch, just clearly comfortable that he's not going to hurt you and confident that your body's acclimated to take all of him. It's your turn to babble, whimpering and whining in his hold. The hand holding your thigh spread coaxes your leg over his hip, hand drifting back to your clit to stroke the little bundle of nerves.
"Just like that, hm?" he asks you like your eyes aren't almost crossing from how good he's giving it to you.
"Oh my God, please!" your brain's possibly broken. Your entire universe has condensed down to you, and him, and this bed and how damn good he's making you feel.
A quick study, he's already learned your tells that you're inching closer to your climax.
"You can do it, pet- cum for me. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum all over my cock.”
You’re past words, clinging to him with one hand and the sheets with the other as you breathe and try to relax your tensing body.
“That’s it, good girl- deep breaths,” he coaxes you, and that’s the magic combination to get you seeing fireworks.
He must still doubt your ability to stifle your orgasm yourself, muffling your noises by grabbing your face and turning it so he can kiss you. You certainly have no complaints, aware by the way his pace changes for a few thrusts that he’s not very far behind you before reaching his own end.
For a moment, the pair of you recline in silence as you come down from your respective highs. The heat the two of you made quickly starts to dissipate in the night with the covers still bunched at the foot of the bed, making you shiver as the cold finally settles back over you.
That movement is enough to bring John out of whatever post coital bliss he was in, shifting behind you to pull out.
“Hang on, love,” he instructs while pulling his pants back over his hips before pulling your dress back down your legs and grabbing the covers.
You feel calm for the first time in days, content to laze on your side with John behind you as he snuggles in next to you.
You remember turning your head back towards him for one last kiss- something slow and soft and gentle- and don’t even realize it when you fall asleep.
Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡
#john price x reader#John x love#price x you#zombie au#pregnant reader#single mom reader#lactation kink#pregnancy sex#my writing
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Amantes Unitum {Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Lucilla}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 22.4k
Warnings: Vaginal sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), promise of marriage, Roman politics, heart ache, infidelity (technically), public baths, mentions of orgies, flirting, wlw, threesome activities, fingering, breast play, face sitting, cock riding, development of feelings, treachery, imprisonment, death, grieving, arranged marriage
Comments: You have anticipated marrying Marcus Acacius since he was a young officer. The needs of Rome come before your own and you find yourself in a unique situation where your lover is married to the Empress of Rome to keep her safe from the madness of the Twin Emperors, Geta and Caracalla.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || Marcus Acacius MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
“Marcus.” You moan, tilting your head as your lover moves above you. He’s pushing deep enough to shift you up the bed and you caress his back. “Amor.” He groans, kissing your exposed neck and he wants to spend every night in your bed. He plans to now that he has returned from war. He plans to ask your father for your hand. His amor. “You are so beautiful.” He murmurs against your skin, breathing you in.
“I missed you.” You whimper softly. “The months apart are too much. Take me with you.” It is a ridiculous request, but you would follow Marcus to the front line, into battle, if you could be with him every day. Your love for the quickly advancing in the ranks soldier, Marcus Acacius, might be considered foolish to some. As the daughter of a senator, you could have anyone, but you wanted him. You know he will be a general, but his status doesn’t matter to you. Just how wonderful he is.
"It's too dangerous, amor." Marcus shakes his head, not wanting you to be in that environment. He would love to have you with him every night in his tent but the mere thought of you being hurt is enough to make him shudder as he moves above you. "Your father would never forgive me if anything happened to you." He murmurs, kissing up to your jaw.
“Then when I am your wife.” You clench down around him as he rocks into you again. “We will spend every day you are home in bed. All day.” You promise. “I love you.”
Marcus groans at the confession, his heart pounding, and he knows he has to return to Rome in glory. That is the only way he can be with you, the only way you can be his. He shifts onto his elbow, his free hand sliding down your body to rub your clit. He wants you to fall apart for him. He wants to hear you cry out his name.
Being lovers for so long has given Marcus a very intimate knowledge of your body. Knowing exactly how to make you cry out in pleasure as he touches you. “Acacius!” You cry out as pleasure washes over you a few moments later.
Marcus loves the way you fall apart beneath him, his hand pulling away from your clit to cup your cheek. He presses his lips to yours with a low groan and rocks into you a little harder, faster as he seeks his own pleasure. "Fuck." He curses against your lips, his forehead pressing into yours as he thrusts one, two, three more times before he rips himself free from your cunt, his cock twitching as his hot seed spurts over your belly and the thatch of curls between your thighs.
You bite your lip, wishing that he could stay inside you, but you can’t risk a child. You already have to make sure that you drink your tea tonight, given to you by one of your servants to make sure you do not have a child before you are ready. “The great Marcus Acacius looks so wrecked when he cums.” You tease, caressing his cheek. “Amor.”
He tries to catch his breath, chuckling breathlessly as his orgasm rattles through his system. “One day you’ll be my wife. We will be together. I just need time to be worthy of you.” He murmurs, shifting to lay down beside you and he pulls you into his chest.
“You’re worthy now.” You insist, curling against his chest. “You will be promoted any day now and most of the men under your command already have families.”
Marcus sighs, "you know your father won't let me marry you. He wants you to be with a senator or someone with status. I am nobody. A boy who was brought to Rome to fight. To earn my freedom and climb the ranks in the army. I am doing that but I have no family coin. I have no property other than my home. I am nothing and I need to be something to have you." He murmurs and you shake your head, "you already have me." You promise but Marcus shifts to kiss your forehead, "I want all of you. I want you to be my wife. To have our children. To die knowing I spent my life loving you."
You hum softly, smiling as soon as you think about having his babies. Carrying them under your heart as you wait for him to return from another successful campaign. “That is what will happen.” You tell him, completely sure of your future together. “The gods will see it so.”
Marcus sighs, hoping you are right but the gods can be cruel. He closes his eyes and prays he doesn’t have to die without you being his wife.
****
“Acacius.” You gasp when Marcus pushes into your home, your father is in the Senate but the servants will report your lover’s presence to him. Your brow furrows when you see how tense your lover is, his shoulders bunched. “I am to go to war again, my love. I- they have made me a General. The Emperors are young but they have been advised to give me this status. We can marry. As soon as I return.” He announces but he is worried he is being played a fool by the powers that be.
“Oh Marcus.” You reach up and caress his cheek. The unrest since the death of Commodus and Marcus’s former General, Maximus Meridius in the colosseum has set everyone one edge. Rumors were swirling that Lucilla had sent her son, Lucius away after power had been seized by the twins. No one had seen the boy in months. “I will wait for you and make plans.” You promise, leaning in to press your lips to his firmly despite the disapproving audience of your father’s servants.
He pulls you close, needing to feel you before he leaves. His men are packing their things and they are preparing to leave to conquer more land for Rome. “I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, “and I need you. Please, amor. One more time before I leave.” He pleads, his hand sliding down to squeeze your ass through your robes.
You turn your head towards the servants. “Leave us.” You command, knowing that they will have no choice but to obey you. Bowing their heads, they disappear and you grab Marcus’s hand to drag him towards the courtyard. It is cooler there and you want to make sure that you send your General off right.
Marcus lets you escort him through the villa until you are in the courtyard and he groans when you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close to press your lips to his. He responds immediately, sliding his tongue into your mouth, wanting to dominate you before he leaves you for gods know how long.
Moaning softly, you feel the determination in Marcus, knowing what he wants. Reaching up, you unpin the laurels that hold up your dress. Pushing back slightly to let the garment fall to the floor to leave you in your slippers.
His eyes trail along your form, darkening as he tries to memorize every detail to carry him through the long lonely nights of war. He is tenting his tunic but he steps closer to you and sinks down onto his knees, grabbing your thighs to drag you towards him. He wastes no time surging forward to press his nose between your thighs, breathing in your scent until his tongue slides through your folds.
“Acacius,” your gasp is quickly turned into a moan from the flick of his tongue across your clit. Marcus has never been shy about providing you pleasure and this is the last time you can be together before he leaves. Your fingers card through his hair, grinding your hips forward to give him more access to your cunt. “You are better than the women at the baths.” You praise breathlessly.
He doesn’t deny you pleasure in the baths. He loves that you are satisfied during his absence and he trusts that he has your heart. However, he is competitive and he wants to outshine those women. His tongue flicks until he sucks your clit into his mouth, loving how you moan loud enough for the servants to hear. Possessing you in the only way he can at this time.
You whimper his name, looking down and watching as a Roman general kneels down in front of you and feasts on your cunt. “Gods.” You moan loudly. “I wish to see this for the rest of my life.”
He groans in agreement against your cunt, sliding his tongue through your folds and his hand trails up your leg, lifting it up onto his shoulder so he can lap at more of your flesh.
Marcus devours your cunt, his tongue flicking over your clit and through your folds, Moving down to push inside your cunt while he holds onto your hips like he is afraid you would push away. You never would. "Maritus." you whimper, knowing that he will be your husband as soon as he comes back a victor in war.
His body shudders beneath you at the title, desperately wanting it and for you to be his uxor. He wants you to be his forever. His fingers dig into your flesh as he laps at you, his jaw aching as he widens it but he wants you to fall apart above him.
Your leg shakes and your knee threatens to buckle. Only kept upright by the broadness of Marcus's body and his strong frame keeping you fixed in place. "I- It's so good." you whine, rocking your hips forward again and your stomach lurches before you cry out in pleasure.
He loves how you shake above him when you cum, falling apart for him. He’s desperate as he works you through your high. His fingers squeeze your ass and he kisses your clit when it becomes too much for you. He watches you, resting his glistening chin on your belly and his hand slides down to your thigh.
“Take me.” You beg breathlessly, sinking down to your knees and reaching under his tunic to wrap your fingers around his cock. “Show me that I’m yours. Give me the strength to carry on in your absence.”
Marcus grabs your ass, lifting you to hover you over his cock. “Put me inside your cunt, amor.” He orders, your thighs on either side of his hips. “Take what you want. It’s yours. I’m yours.”
You shift slightly, reaching down and grasping his cock again to press against your entrance. “I love you.” You promise, pressing your lips to his as you feel him pull you down on his length.
He moans into your mouth, his tongue sliding against yours as you sink down onto his cock. You feel incredible and he wishes he could legally call you his. His hands squeeze your ass and he helps to rock you on top of his cock.
You are riding his cock on the ground of your courtyard and you don't care. The water from the fountain trickles nearby but it is not nearly loud enough to cover your moans. "Marcus." Your fingers push into his hair. "May the Gods keep you safe and return you to me."
He’s desperate as he ruts up into you, his fingers digging into your flesh as he takes you. He prays that it won’t be the last time but he doesn’t know when it comes to war. He could easily be struck down and left to rot on the battlefield. For now, he’s going to be greedy and have as much of you as possible. “I’ll fight with every breath I have to return to you.” He vows, kissing your neck.
“Yes.” You moan softly, holding him as close as you can get. “My general. My warrior, fighting for me.” You know that he could be lost and you would spend your entire life waiting for him to return. “Just you, never will I marry anyone but you.” You vow.
Marcus groans, knowing that might be an impossible promise but his heart pounds at hearing it. “Mine.” He growls, his cock twitching inside you as he scrapes his knees while thrusting up into you, his grip on your ass helping you rock on top of him.
Your coupling is fierce and passionate, both of you taking and giving all of yourselves to the other. Your gasps breathed into his mouth and you don’t care if the servants tell your father. You are Marcus’s and you will remain that way. “I love you.” Your strangled cry comes as your world shatters, body drowning in waves of pleasure as your cunt clamps down around him. “Stay inside.” You manage.
“Fuck. Are you sure?” Marcus grunts, not wanting to leave you with child while he is gone fighting. “Yes. Yes. It’s safe. I just bled.” You promise and he groans, his hips aching as he thrusts into you, his knees scratched up but he doesn’t care as he thrusts until he stills, his cock twitching as he paints your walls for the first time.
It feels perfect. The heat of his seed flooding your womb has you whimpering and for a moment; you wish that the gods will let you have his child even though you know it’s not possible. Not before you are married to him. Your father would be furious.
Marcus kisses you, wanting to possess all of you, but it’s not possible. He has to earn you. He has to become good enough for you. Even if it’s not you putting those perimeters in. “Amor.” He murmurs, caressing your back, “you must take the tea.”
“I will.” You promise, cupping both of his cheeks and kissing him softly on the lips. “Our children will never question their parentage.” You murmur. “I will carry your children as your uxor.” You kiss him again. “May the gods keep you safe.” You pull away and you take the ring on your index finger off and reach for his hand. “My love travels with you. This ring was given to me by Maximus when he was general of the Southern Legions, now it will be yours as you command your men.” You promise and put the ring on his pinkie.
He looks down at the ring and his heart pounds. He wishes he could stay with you. Be your Maritus and spend his life with you but he can’t. He has duties, he has to earn you. He kisses you again, desperate and knowing this. Hold on the last time. He murmurs your name and holds you close until you hear footsteps and you scramble off of him, his cum dripping down your thigh but concealed by your robes.
Quickly flipping your top back up, you clip it into place with the pin and stand next to Marcus as your father comes out into the courtyard. “Acacius.” He hums. “It seems you are always in my home.”
Marcus stands straight, praying nothing is out of place and he nods to your father. “Senator.” He greets him and he hums, glancing between you and Acacius. “Shouldn’t you be preparing to leave for war.” He tilts his head and he nods, “yes, I came here to say goodbye to your daughter.” Your father nods, “very well. Say goodbye and be on your way. We are due to the palace to see the Emperors for a feast.” He raises his eyebrows at you and steps out the room, allowing you to say goodbye to Marcus.
“I would rather be going with you than feast with the emperors.” You promise him, reaching up to caress his cheek once more before you kiss him. “Fight hard and come home to me, General.”
Marcus nudges his nose against yours, “be good, amor, and I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll be yours. And you’ll be mine and nothing…no one will part us.” He vows, turning his head to kiss your palm before he lowers it from his face. He stares at you, wanting to commit your features to memory, knowing that’s what will carry him through the tough journey ahead. He nods and steps back, knowing that he has to leave or he never will. He bows his head, “I’ll be seeing you, uxor.” He promises and leaves your home, his stomach twisting with the desire to earn your hand.
****
Marcus is home. Your father had announced that the General would be honored in a series of games and feasts, making your heart pound in anticipation. He was coming home a hero. Finally worthy of your hand by his own imagined standards. It has been years since he was home for more than a week. Never enough time to marry or do more than spend a few hours wrapped up in one another. The twin emperors constantly sent him off to war in the name of Rome. Time has passed and still you have refused your father’s suggestions of finding a husband. There is only one man you want. You dress carefully and make sure that your father brings you to the parade to watch your future uxor receive his honors from the emperors.
Marcus waves to the crowd who scream and cheer, throwing tokens and flowers towards him, but he feels numb. War is brutal. War is vicious and he feels like a fraud for returning home in glory when so many men's beds are empty. The chariot stops and he waves to the crowd before he makes his way up the steps. The crowd cheers and he sees the emperors standing there waiting for him. He bows his head once he's there and he clasps his hands together while the golden laurel is placed on his head.
You watch, standing beside your father from the group of senators that have gathered. Pride bursting in your chest as the men whisper about Marcus’s accomplishments and his victories in the name of Rome.
The Emperors grin, clapping their hands, "now we feast!" They declare and Geta spins to face the group of senators. Marcus follows his gaze, his eyes widening at the sight of you standing there. You look as gorgeous as the day he left you standing in your courtyard. He murmurs your name, his eyes drifting to your father who bows his head to the accomplished general.
You smile, beaming as your father shows Marcus respect. “Father-“ you start and he sighs softly. “We will discuss your future later.” He reminds you. “Now is not the time. There is a feast planned and the emperors will be sorely upset if attention is not paid properly.”
Marcus is escorted to the feast without being able to approach you but he knows he will have an opportunity when the feast is in full swing. He will leave before the emperors begin their favored orgy. “To General Acacius!” Geta toasts and everyone raises their cups. You are a few seats down from Marcus who has been seated next to Lucilla. “To your safe return.” She adds and clinks her cup with Marcus’s.
You raise your cup in toast to honor Marcus, watching him with a yearning that makes your entire body ache. As soon as you can, you will whisk him away for a proper reunion. Lucilla leans in and murmurs to Marcus, but his eyes flicker towards you, making you nod slightly at him and smile.
Lucilla leans closer to Marcus and he stiffens a little at her proximity. “I need to speak with you, General.” She murmurs and Marcus frowns, his gaze trailing over to you as you sit beside your father looking even more beautiful than the day he left you to go to war. “Very well. We can speak.” He murmurs, “what do you wish to discuss, my lady?”
Lucilla takes a deep breath, her eyes darting towards the emperors before looking back at the brave and daring General. She had heard of his conquests for Rome and how fiercely loyal the men were becoming to him. It was good now that Maximus was gone and her life was in turmoil. “I fear that I am in grave danger, General.” She murmurs quietly, leaning in and laying her hand on his arm. “I need your help. I need you to marry me.”
Marcus frowns, glancing down at her hand before his eyes flick back up to hers. He is shocked at her request and he glances across the table to where you are seated next to your father. “I cannot. I am to marry another woman.” He murmurs, his dark eyes on her as her hand trembles. “The emperors wish to have me killed.” She whispers, “I need to take a husband. One who has power.” She confesses and Marcus nods, “let us speak in private. Later.”
You are curious to know what Lucilla is talking about with Marcus to put that frown on his face. His brows pinched together in concern. You take a sip of your wine and your attention is captured by the senator sitting next to you. “Your general must be eager to marry you.” Senator Graccus hums with a smirk on his face.
The feast is in full swing and soon the whores are being brought in for the emperors and their guests. “Escort me home, General.” Lucilla orders and Marcus glances at you before he nods, standing up and offering his arm. He can feel eyes on him as he escorts her through the crowd and soon he’s standing outside her courtyard. “What is this about, my lady?” He demands, his stomach twisting.
“Caracalla and Geta are suspicious of my influence over the senate.” She explains. “They are not satisfied by Lucius’ disappearance and have decided that I should be dealt with.” She shudders delicately. “The fact that they are my younger brothers does not mean much, and I need the protection of your rank.”
Marcus knows that Lucilla is the reason why the emperors haven’t taken out the senate to be dictators. They know she would tell the people of Rome about their crimes if the senate was removed. “I understand your dilemma, my lady, but I am to marry the woman I have promised my life to. She has waited years for my return. We were lovers before I left for war. I am hers, body and soul, and I cannot betray her.”
Lucilla sighs and walks towards the gate of her villa. The large, palatial home that seems more of a prison than a respite. “Then I am doomed.” She murmurs softly. “There is nothing I can offer you? Everything I have will be yours. My influence yours, my lands and coins, servants. I would willingly give them to you for the protection of your name.”
Marcus sighs, his heart torn and he thinks of you. “My mother was your tutor. I knew your father, I knew Maximus. You have been a constant in my life and I prayed to the gods for your son to be our next emperor. A fair and honest leader. That is not our fate. We must save Rome from the emperors. I fear their lust for power and hunger for land will never be satiated. I do not wish to see you dead.” He says, his shoulders slumping slightly as he knows what he must do, even if it’s against his heart.
There is a glimmer of hope as Lucilla turns towards you. “Yes?” She asks softly. “I know that I am asking much of you.” She murmurs your name, “has been awaiting your return to Rome with the eagerness of a new bride. I would not ask if it did not possibly mean the future of our people.” She turns towards the city, swallowing slightly. “Tell me what you are thinking, Acacius.” She begs. “Once my father and Maximus trusted you, and I trust you now. If there is something else that would save me, let me know.”
Marcus frowns, torn on what to do. He promised you that he’d marry you as soon as he returned from war. Yet he must protect Lucilla if he has to prevent Rome from suffering at the hands of the twins. “I- I will marry you, but I need her. I cannot live without her.”
Lucilla nods. “I understand, I would not wish to keep you apart.” She is somewhat resigned to the fact that she will never have a husband who loves her, but to have a man admit that he needs someone else stings her vanity slightly. “I will ask that she join my household, perhaps a companion?”
Marcus knows that you will not be satisfied with the arrangement and if you do not wish to follow him to her household, he will understand. It will kill him to let you go but he is being selfish by marrying Lucilla to save the Roman Empire. It’s a noble calling but one that breaks his heart because he cannot marry the woman he loves.
“Then you will do it?” Lucilla asks softly, wanting to make sure that they both understand. “I will.” Marcus agrees and she steps towards him and leans in, turning her head when he pulls back slightly to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.” She murmurs softly. “I would not ask if the situation was not dire and I will make sure that your lover knows that she is welcomed in your bed more than I.”
Marcus takes her hands in his hand, shakes his head. “I am doing this for Rome. Please accept my apologies, my lady, you are a beautiful woman but I will not be sharing your bed. I will only share my bed with the woman I love. She has waited many moons for my return and I owe her my body and my soul. You can have my name and my title, but the rest of me belongs to her.”
“You are an honorable man.” Her smile is slightly bittersweet and she squeezes his hands before she pulls away. “My wish is that the emperors will curb their excess and gluttony to become the leaders that Rome needs, but I do not see that happening. I hope that you know that I serve the people of Rome and sacrifice much for her.”
Marcus nods, “the Emperor’s are sick with both disease and greed for power. We must serve Rome for strength and honour“ Lucilla agrees and Marcus kisses the back of her hand before he bowels his head and leaves her villa. You must have returned from the feast by now so he makes his way through the city until he approaches your villa. Your father is likely still deep in his cups, but he slips to your room and knocks on your window, hoping you are still awake.
It had disturbed you when Marcus left the feast without a word to you, but you had been sent home by your father before the orgy began. Knowing that despite the knowledge you are not pure, you still have a reputation to maintain. You had been reading some scrolls to distract yourself, drinking a cup of wine when you hear someone outside your window. Making you smile as you stand and move to the curtains. “The conquering hero returns.” You murmur softly, smiling as he smirks. “Have you come to finally claim your prize?”
Marcus smiles up at you through your window and gestures for you to open it so he can climb into your room. Reminded of the times he would do that before he left to go to war. “What is my prize?” He teases, knowing he has to tell you the news but for a moment, he wants to pretend he’s returning to you.
You reach out and caress the decorative armor that covers his chest. “Me.” You hum. “However you want me.” You bite your lip and flutter your lashes up at him. “My father will have no problem accepting the lauded general as the man who marries his daughter.”
Marcus sighs, reaching for you to drag you into his armored chest. “Amor. I would marry you this second if we had a priest but I- I have a duty to Rome. You own me. Body and soul. Yet I find myself unable to give you my name.” You frown and he presses his forehead against yours so he doesn’t have to see your face when he says “Lucilla has asked me to be her husband.”
“What?” You frown and try to pull away but Marcus tightens his hold on you. “Why you? Why now?” You demand, starting to choke up as tears fill your eyes. Your love, your soulmate is going to marry Lucilla? After all the plans and working towards the future that you had both done? “Do you- you don’t want me to be your wife?”
Marcus shakes his head and your eyes widen, "no. No. I want you to be my wife more than anything. You know it's been my cause. What I have fought so hard for. But Amor, there is more than us. The Empire...she cannot be led into destruction by the emperors. Lucilla...we must find her son. The rightful heir. We must restore fairness and strength and honor to Rome. To do that, Lucilla must live and she is threatened by the emperors. She has no protector. She needs a husband and my status will protect her. If we are to be wed, if we want children...there has to be a Rome for them to grow up in. Otherwise, we are signing their death before they are even born."
“Children?” You choke out and pull away from him to rush back to your cup of wine. “You would have children with Lucilla, not me. She will be your wife, not me.” You chuckle unhappily and take a large gulp of your drink, wishing you had stayed at the feast.
Marcus shakes his head, cupping your cheeks, “I want to have children with you. I want you to be my wife but I can’t do that without protecting Rome from the emperors. We have no future if they are unrestrained.”
His words chill you, making you sigh as you pull away. “I understand.” You murmur, hating that your dreams are being crushed under the sandals of fate.
“I spoke to Lucilla about you. She said you can come live with us. As her companion but you’ll spend every night in my bed. I know I am asking you to love me from the shadows, to essentially be my whore, but I’ll make sure you are cared for. That you never want for anything.”
“Your whore.” You close your eyes and bite your lip. You had dreamed of being his wife, carrying his children and his name proudly. Now, you would be his whore. You had once told him that you would take him however you could have him. “My father would not be happy. He knows that we have been together, that I am not pure.”
“I will let you go. If you do not wish to accompany me in this journey but we have come so far. I love you. My heart is yours. Will always be yours. I need to do this. For Rome. For our future. It won’t be forever. Lucilla has promised a divorce once Lucius is found and the twins are defeated.”
You frown, hating the idea of being apart from him after so long. You step closer to him and reach up. His dark eyes are focused on you and you can tell that if you were to strike him, he would let you. Instead, you caress his cheek. “I have always been yours.” You remind him. “I played your whore since the first time I let you between my thighs and if that is how I have to keep you? Then I will be her companion.”
“You’ve never been my whore. You’re been my lover. My goddess. The one who owns every ounce of my form. I am yours, amor. In every way but name. And one day, my name will be yours too. I love you.” He vows, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I shall speak with your father. If he doesn’t allow it then I will understand. He wants what is best for you and you deserve a life where you are the lady of the house. Not a life spent in the shadows with me. I wish I could proclaim to Rome that you are mine and I am yours but I must serve the empire. I will marry Lucilla and, pray to gods, you will be by our side until we can be one.”
“I will do whatever I must to stay beside you.” You murmur softly, pressing into him and leaning closer to kiss his lips. “Now, take your spoils, General.”
Marcus feels wrong taking you without giving you his ring but he desperately needs you. Imagined this exact moment so many times when he was fighting to survive, aching after taking the lives of too many men to count. He surges forward to kiss you, groaning into your mouth as he slides his hands down to squeeze your ass.
This is the Marcus you have been eager to have back. The passionate one, the one that is desperate for you. Your own fingers start to tear at the ties to his armor, wanting it off of his frame so you can touch the man underneath the solid image. There has been a statue of Marcus placed close to your bathhouse and you often think of how much it looks like him but does not feel like him. He is soft and strong, not unyielding like the marble image of him.
He lets his armor drop and grabs it to set it on the floor, letting you work on removing his sandals, untying them and his wrappings until you are reaching for the hem of his tunic. “I am scarred. More than before.” He warns you, not wanting you to be upset by the injuries that are haunting his body.
“More of you to kiss.” You promise, believing that every scar on his body was proof that he fought to come home to you. “My general.” You slowly lift his tunic off his body and groan in arousal at the sight of him. Strong and soft, his cock is jutting out from his body, already hard and you tenderly caress the scar in his side. “Be more careful, amor.” You whisper, leaning down to kiss it gently. “You need to come home to me.”
Marcus wishes more than anything that he could claim you as his wife in this very second, but he has always struggled with his desire to do the right thing over his own desires. He must marry Lucilla to protect Rome otherwise his own selfishness or ultimately lead to the demise of everyone within the empire.“I have come home to you, my love. No matter what happens, remember that every part of me is yours. I carried your ring with me into battle and that is why I am still here today.”
You know that Marcus had visited the baths before the feast so you don’t hesitate to sink to your knees in front of him. The ring is still on his finger and you smirk as you reach out to grasp his cock and roll the foreskin back to reveal the leaking and neglected tip. “Then let me give you your reward for coming home to me.” You coo before you lean forward and wrap your lips around him.
His chest heaves when you take him into your mouth. Marcus has not been with a woman since he was in your bed. He has taken himself in hand and ensured his celibacy and dedication to you, imagining how sweet the feel of you will be after so long and he was right. “Fuck.” He pants, his chin resting on his chest as he watches you take what you want from him.
You hum in agreement, enjoying the salty, musky taste of him, the oils that had perfumed his bath mixing with his natural scent and you hollow your cheeks to take him deeper. Wanting him to unravel for you, to release all the tension and frustrations from your time apart on you. Reaching up, you grasp his ass and rock him forward into your mouth as you look up at him.
“Fuck. Your mouth. I’ve missed it more than anything. I’ve missed you, amor. Gods, you are my deity. I worship you.” He promises and moans your name, caressing your cheek.
You giggle slightly but you don’t pull away. Pressing deeper until your nose is buried in the wiry hair at the base of his cock. Swallowing around him again just to hear him groan your name before you slowly start to bob your head.
You’ve always been so damn good at this. Especially since you’ve only ever touched him. You know exactly what he wants because he was the one to show you. He watches you with dark eyes, groaning your name as you let him push down your throat with every thrust.
It’s sloppy, tears leaking out of your eyes and saliva running down your chin, but you don’t pull away. You want him to fuck your throat, to use you like he needs. He will make sure that you are pleasured, you have no doubt about that. He never leaves you unsatisfied.
He grunts, his cock twitching in your mouth as you sloppily take him into your mouth. It’s messy and he fucking loves it. Grabbing the back of your head, he keeps you still so he can rock into your mouth, your eyes on him and he groans your name. It doesn’t take long until he starts to spill down your throat.
The first time Marcus cums after returning from war, it seems like he never will stop. Rope after salty rope spills down your throat and pushes out of your mouth when you can’t swallow fast enough, making your cunt ache with anticipation as you drink him down.
He feels wrecked as you take all he can give. His eyes squeezed shut while your name tumbles from his lips. “Fuck. Amor, I need - come here.” He growls, grabbing your arms to pull you up from the floor after you release his cock and he presses his lips to yours, fingers searching for the pin that keeps your dress on your body.
You groan into the kiss, hands stroking his body as he unclips your dress and lets it fall to the floor. “Marcus.” You moan softly. “Take me to bed.”
He nods, his hands grabbing you to pull you close as he walks you backwards towards your bed. “I’ve missed you so much.” He murmurs, kissing your shoulder as he lowers you down onto the bed. Kneeling between your thighs, he presses kisses everywhere he can reach until he kisses down your chest to take your nipple into his mouth.
Your gasp is loud, fingers tangling into his hair and you arch up into his mouth. Offering yourself to him like you have every time you have been with him. “Acacius.” You whine, loving how he bites down and then soothes the pain with his tongue.
Marcus groans, kissing along your skin until he’s taking your other nipple into his mouth, biting down. He kisses down your stomach, pushing your thighs apart with his shoulders until he is settled between your thighs. “Gods I’ve missed this.” He confesses, inhaling your scent.
You moan softly. “I’ve missed your tongue between my thighs as well.” You tease, looking down at his eyes as his lashes flutter slightly. “Your cock, inside me.”
Marcus groans, loving how you press his cheeks between your thighs. He wastes no time sliding his tongue through your folds. He loves your taste, your tang as he samples the arousal he’s missed for so long. “Fuck, taste so good, amor.” He murmurs, diving back in to slide his tongue through your cunt.
Your own moan is loud and lusty, approving of the way the dives into you. Your lashes flutter but you want to watch him as he pleasures you. The women in the baths can’t compare to the eagerness of your lover as he devours your cunt. You had not been going for the past months, wanting to wait until your Marcus was home to cum again, so every swipe of his tongue quickly works you up.
Marcus’s fingers dig into your flesh as he laps at you. He groans as he pushes his tongue into your cunt. He loves how you moan his name and he’s dreamed of this so many times. He loves it. He loves you. He wants to do this for the rest of his life.
He laps at you and you feel the familiar knot starting to curl in your stomach. “Marcus.” You pant softly, reaching down and tugging his hair slightly to pull him back up to your clit. “I’m so close, amor.”
He needs you to fall apart for him. He wants to spend hours between your thighs, ruining you and claiming you after he’s been gone for so long. He moans into your flesh, his lips wrapping around your clit to push you over the edge.
The strong sucks to your sensitive flesh tips you over the edge and you feel your body lurch up as you cry out. Your cunt clenches around the two fingers he quickly pushed inside you and you soak them while you shatter.
When you cry out, he groans, his cock hardening against your bed as you soak his face. He works you through it, his hands caressing your hips, and he loves your sounds, your taste. So many memories brought back after so long away from you.
Marcus doesn’t pull away until you are shuddering and sobbing as you squeeze your thighs closed. “So good.” You urge him up to press your lips to his. “I love you, amor.”
He slides up your body, wasting no time in pressing his lips to yours. You don't care about the tang of your cum on his tongue as it slides into your mouth and his cock is hard, pressing against your thigh.
“Insatiable.” You grin against his mouth and reach between you to cup his cock. “I want you inside me.” You moan. “I just finished my bleed so I want you to fill me up. I’ll drink the tea, but I need you to claim me.”
Marcus knows he should say no. He shouldn’t risk you especially when he cannot take your hand like he desires but he also can’t deny you. He groans and takes himself in hand, shifting up until he notches himself at your entrance.
The first push of him inside you is always the best feeling in the world. “Oh Marcus.” You lift your legs onto his hips and wrap them around his waist. “Amor, I have missed this. Missed you everyday.”
He breathes you in, “I love you. I will always love you. I’m yours.” He vows, “thought of you every moment I was away. When I went on the battlefield, I fought to come back to you.”
You wrap your arms around him and pull him close, wanting his whole weight on you. “I will always be here for you. I want to be here for you. Your sanctuary.”
He loves how you feel under him as he rocks into you. “You will always be by my side.” He promises, “I love you.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck and he sighs, feeling like he’s returned home.
Every thrust is a proclamation of his love for you. You know Marcus is torn between his duty to Rome and his love for you. You cannot make him choose. “Amor.” You whisper, stroking his back as he moves over you. “My love. I am always yours. This life and the next.”
“I’ll give you all of me when Rome is free.” He vows, “and I’ll love you until the day I die.” He promises, his cock twitching inside you as he makes love to you. “I’d die for you.” He breathes into your mouth as he kisses you.
“Never have to die for me.” You know he would, though. He would do anything for you, just like you would do anything for him. You are, you are giving up your vision of the future because you know he needs to do this. Rocking your hips up to meet his thrusts, you kiss him back fiercely, moaning into his mouth.
He wants to feel you cum around his cock again and his hand slides down your side until he’s gripping your thigh. He loves how you moan when he adjusts your leg so he sinks deeper into you.
“Acacius.” You gasp when he presses against something inside you. “There, just like that.” You beg, your nails starting to dig into his shoulders. If you leave half moons embedded into his skin, you will be proud to see the marks on him.
He would wear your mark everywhere, show all of Rome that he is yours, but he has a duty to fulfil. He groans and thrusts into you a little faster, wanting to hear you cry out his name. He focuses on that spot, rocking into you. “Cum for me, amor. I want to feel it.”
You whine his name, your body reacting to his demand. Eyes closing as he rocks you closer until you are sobbing out his name and your cunt clenches around his cock.
“Fuck.” He curses at the way you soak him, squeezing his cock like a goddamn vice. He shifts his knees, grabbing your other thigh to push it back and he lifts your calves over his shoulders. Sinking deeper into you, his jaw is clenched and he wants you to fall apart one more time before he cums.
All you can do is take him. He has you pinned down as his hips start to drive harshly forward. Hammering into you at the perfect angle to have your toes curl as you squeal.
His eyes are focused on you, the way you throw your head back, and he growls, wanting to possess you. He thrusts into you over and over, your cunt squelching as you take what he gives you. “That’s it, amor. Fuck, you feel so good.”
You can’t even talk, just moan as he drives into your body. Rocketing you higher as you cling to him. He’s determine to see you cum again, not stopping until you are seizing up underneath him again and screaming. “Marcus!”
You cum for him again, your juices hitting his stomach as you convulse beneath him. He grunts, nostrils flaring as he rocks into you, and it only takes a few thrusts for him to bury himself deep. Your cunt is squelching as he paints your walls with his seed, uncaring if it takes. You belong to him.
****
“You want me to be present?” You frown slightly and look past Marcus to see Lucilla watching, her hands twisted together and her eyes showing how worried she is. Marcus had insisted you come with him to the estate but you had imagined they would speak their vows in private with other witnesses beside his lover.
“I need you to be there.” He pleads, his hands finding yours to squeeze them. Lucilla understands that you are the woman he loves and she doesn’t need Marcus’s love, she just needs his status and protection. You bite your lip, knowing it will not be easy to stand by and watch your lover marry another woman after you’ve dreamed of being his uxor. You nod, “okay” you murmur reluctantly and Marcus brings your hand up to kiss it. “Thank you, amor.”
You can tell that Lucilla is uncomfortable, several senators gathered to watch Marcus and the former emperor’s daughter marry. You nod respectfully to the general and move over to where your father is standing, looking less than pleased but resolute. He had initially disagreed with the idea of you becoming Lucilla’s companion, but you had reminded your father that you would simply do as you wished without his permission if needed. In the end, he had begrudgingly given his approval, though you know he is unhappy.
Marcus takes Lucilla's hands in his, his palms a little sweaty but she doesn't seem to care. She offers him a soft smile and he relaxes a little. The priest begins to speak but Marcus keeps his gaze fixed on his new wife, knowing that he wants to look at you. He manages to speak his vows while Lucilla squeezes his hands and soon, the priest declares them maritus and uxor. Marcus leans in to press a soft kiss to Lucilla's lips for the crowd and he lowers his hands from hers, his stomach twisting with the uncertainty of the future.
You manage to not cry during the ceremony, keeping your head held high and an almost pleased expression on your face even as your heart breaks. You know why he is doing this, but it is still hard to watch your lover marry another woman.
The feast begins soon after the marriage contract is signed and Marcus wants to find you, pull you close and reassure you that this is just the beginning. He can't though, he has to put up with the pretense and he is seated beside Lucilla, sipping his cup when the music stops. "Ah, General. Lucilla. Congratulations are in order." Geta grins and claps as he strides into the room unannounced, followed by Caracalla who has his monkey on his shoulder.
You frown at the appearance of the emperors, hiding your disgruntled expression behind your cup. They are the reason that you are unable to be married to Marcus now. Why this feast is for him and Lucilla.
Caracalla grins, gesturing for a cup of wine which is promptly placed in his hand. He steps towards Marcus and Lucilla. "Congratulations to the happy couple. Such a sudden wedding but my brother and I love romance and you two...well, two of the powerful figures in the empire. Apart from me and my brother of course." Geta grins, raising his glass, "to the happy couple. May their marriage be without complications." The emperor's eyes flick over to you.
You look away from the emperor, aware that the rumors of your relationship with Marcus have been often whispered about since the announcement that he would marry. You lift your cup. “To the happy couple.” You parrot softly, turning back to meet his gaze steadily.
“Senator Brutus,” Geta smirks at you before cutting his eyes over to your father. “Does this mean that your daughter is finally willing to consider a marriage match?” He asks before tilting his head towards Marcus. “The senator’s daughter was most stubborn about not marrying yet.” He explains, like everyone in the room isn’t aware of the reasons why you had waited.
Your father clears his throat, “perhaps but she has been asked to be a companion for the lovely bride.” Your father gestures to Lucilla. “She will remain in this home until she finds her match. She is my only daughter and I want her to marry for love.” He says and Caracalla scoffs, aware that the General is getting to have his cake and eat it.
You act like you are not being discussed and take a sip of your wine, leaning over to whisper to Graccus. “The senate is convening soon, I hope?” You murmur.
Your father nods, “yes. We have spoken to everyone we trust.” He whispers as the emperors walk over to Marcus and Lucilla to offer their congratulations. Marcus offers them a stiff smile and bows his head, “emperors. Thank you for gracing our marriage with your divine presence.” He says stiffly and Lucilla places her hand on his arm, “it is an honor. We thank you and you are welcome to whatever you want from our table.”
Geta hums, arching a brow and smirks at Marcus. “I seriously doubt that the General would appreciate what I would wish to have from this table.” He jokes.
Marcus clenches his jaw but offers a stiff smile while Lucilla squeezes his bicep. “And what do you wish to have from this table, Caesar?” Marcus inquires despite knowing he won’t like the answer.
Turning towards you, he points dramatically. “Her.” The room goes completely silent until the emperor starts to giggle like he’s said something hilarious. Others around the room start to chuckle quietly so they don’t offend the temperamental ruler.
Marcus inhales deeply, trying to refrain from standing up and wrapping his hands around the throat of the impertinent ruler. Instead, he chuckles, and tilts his head, “she is her own person. She can decide who she wants but I think you’ll find that she is unsuited to someone of your stature. You should have a princess or an empress.”
You hum in agreement. “You would find that I am boring, Caesar.” You admit. “I often sleep early in the evening and rise before the sun breaks over the horizon.” You know that the emperors prefer to keep late hours and are never awake before noon.
Caracalla smirks, “my brother needs someone who will force him to keep a more reasonable schedule. Perhaps having an early bird as his partner would make him a better Caesar.” Marcus’s eyes flick between you and the emperors, his heart beating and Lucilla squeezes his bicep again to keep him quiet.
You say nothing, just smile blandly at the emperors until Geta begins to laugh again. “I am teasing!” He cackles, clapping his hands together once before he snatches a cup of wine off the table, not caring whose it is. “You are far too mature to be my partner.” He snorts. “Or perhaps I am too merry?”
Marcus exhales shakily while Lucilla giggles, squeezing him to remind him to laugh, and he offers the emperors a stiff smile. Your father chuckles awkwardly and you giggle, pretending to be amused. “You are far too good for a woman like me.” You promise and Marcus wants to scoff but the stiff smile remains on his face.
“That I am.” Geta agrees haughtily and then decides that he is done amusing himself with your situation and drifts off. You breathe a sigh of relief and glance over at Marcus for a moment and look away guiltily when you find Lucilla watching you.
Marcus wants to go to you but he knows he can't. He looks at Lucilla whose eyes flick to him and she reaches for her cup of wine to take a sip. Marcus sighs, knowing that he has to fulfill his duty but he truly wishes you were sat beside him as his wife. "Let us celebrate the happy couple!" Geta cries, slapping his hand on the table and the gathering becomes rowdier.
You watch the scene, heart aching and yet you do not leave. You do not wish to give anyone a reason to gossip. You sip your wine and watch as the emperors get drunk and start to plot when you can politely leave.
Marcus is unsure about the wedding night, hoping Lucilla doesn’t want him to bed her. He sips his wine, trying to not get drunk and feel sorry for himself even though he put himself in this position. He sees you stand, making your way out into the courtyard and he can’t stop himself from standing up and following you.
Walking out into the gardens calms you, taking in the lush scenery and fresh air. The emperors have demanded that excess wine be brought in and essentially an orgy has begun.
Marcus approaches you once you are outside and he fiddles with the ring on his pinky. Your ring that you gave him before he left for war. “Amor.” He murmurs, “are you okay?”
You turn to see Marcus coming towards you, his expression cautious and you give him a small smile. “I will be.” You don’t brush aside his concern. “It has been an interesting day.”
Marcus sighs, “you’re not wrong there.” He steps closer to you, reaching out to caress the back of your arm. “I’m sorry you’ve had to watch this. Be present for this.” He murmurs, knowing he would have a hard time watching you marry another man.
“I know you are doing this for Rome.” You murmur, looking into his eyes. “I am jealous that she has your name.” You admit quietly. “The honor of being General Marcus Acacius’s wife, but I know that she doesn’t have your heart, your love.”
Marcus shakes his head, uncaring as he steps closer to cup your cheek. “She will only have my name. She will never have my soul, my heart, my body. That belongs to you. Always.” He vows, wishing he could give you more than that. “I wish it was you.”
“Are you sleeping with her tonight?” You ask softly, unsure if you want to hear the answer. “No.” You twist your head to find Lucilla standing on the edge of the courtyard. “He will be in your bed, your rooms have been set up. There is a secret passage that connects them so even the servants will not know.”
Marcus feels guilty for not being a true husband to Lucilla but he is doing this for her, to save her life. Not because he loves her. He nods, “I wish to have her in my bed tonight.” He says, gesturing to you.
You doubt Marcus sees it, but there is a flash of disappointment on Lucilla’s face before she smiles and nods. “Of course, maritus.” She hums softly. “Perhaps you are ready to leave the celebration? It is starting to become an orgy.”
Marcus nods, knowing you will not want to be present for that. “Yes, shall we retire?” He asks Lucilla, “we can tell people we wish to consummate our marriage in private.” He says, holding his arm out for her, “and my amor can retreat to her room.”
You fall back behind the couple, admiring your lover’s strong back and you understand completely why Lucilla Euler chose Marcus as her protector. You follow them back into the hall and yawn discreetly to give the impression that you are tired.
Marcus winces at the sight of the whores being brought in, your father and the other senators missing from the crowd now that the debauchery is beginning. Marcus strides over to the emperors with Lucilla on his arm, a forced smile on his face, “we are retiring. I have waited all day for my uxor.” The emperors turn their faces from the men and women kissing them to look at the general. “Of course. Of course. I hope you know you will struggle to fill her womb. She is old.” Geta says cruelly and Caracalla laughs, “yes. Good luck, Acacius.” Marcus clenches his jaw, hating how cruel the brothers are, but he doesn’t react, knowing that nothing good can come of it. “Come on, uxor. Let us retire.” He says, guiding her through the hall.
“You could still bear a child if you wish.” You murmur to your lover’s wife as he guides her away from the revelry behind you. “Perhaps you should find yourself a lover?”
Lucilla shakes her head, “I do not wish to be with child. They would only be a target for the emperors. I simply wish to find my son. Marcus can help me with that.” She says and you look at your lover who nods, “we will find him. He is the true emperor.” He whispers, knowing even breathing those words means treason.
Lucilla’s villa is larger than your father’s, her position and wealth unable to be undermined by the emperors - for now. You know that one of the reasons she has sought a marriage with Marcus was to be able to keep the things her father had given her. You seem to walk across the ends of the earth before you come to a set of doors. Lucilla pauses and turns back towards you. “This is to be your room.” She opens the door to reveal a luxuriously appointed room. “Come I will show you the passage.”
Marcus watches you as you enter the room, eyes wide at the luxury of the gold and garnet. He wanted you to be comfortable here, requesting Lucilla give you a beautiful space since you are sacrificing your security and your love for her protection. "It is gorgeous." You exhale and Marcus hums in agreement but he's not thinking about the room. Lucilla sees his gaze and smiles sadly, knowing she is the reason why tonight is not a celebration for you and Marcus. "I shall leave you." She says, making her way to the secret passage to go into the room next door.
You watch as the door slides shut with fascination but then you are distracted by Marcus coming behind you and wrapping his hands around your waist. “Amor.” He hums against your neck, making you shiver. “I love you, Acacius.”
He presses a soft kiss to your pulse, wishing tonight he could claim you as his wife, put his seed in you and watch you grow his child. He cannot. He will not make you his whore. "I love you." He whispers, breathing you in. "I will never be able to repay your selflessness. I would have never been able to watch you marry another."
You tilt your head and lean back against his broad chest. “It was difficult, but I am in your arms right now.” You point out, turning and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Now, I want you to make love to me. Show me how you feel.”
He leans in to nudge his nose against yours, his lips soon meeting yours as he walks you backwards to the bed. Lucilla lays in bed as she listens to your moan echoing down the passageway between the rooms and she wipes away the tear from her eye. She wants to be loved, to be protected, but she has married a man who wants another and she has to live with that. At least she will live.
****
Steam rises from the perfumed water as you sit and relax. Last night Marcus was vigorous and had pushed you beyond the normal bouts of sex. You ache deliciously and hum as you lean back and close your eyes. “More wine?” The question makes you open your eyes again, finding Lucilla standing on the edge of the baths, her dress out of place, but her hair is unadorned, like she had been coming to bathe herself. She nods to the cup on the ledge. “You seem to have drunk all yours.” She had been polite, kind even, but you have noticed that she seems sad and lonely. “Only if you pour yourself a cup and join me.” You offer, sitting up to make room for her in the deep water.
She smiles, appreciating you inviting her when you have been keeping to your room with Marcus every night for the past few months. She cannot lie. She has been lonely despite gaining a husband on paper. She reaches for the jug of wine, pouring you another cup and taking one for herself. She looks to her handmaid who comes forward to unclip her dress, helping it fall from her body so she can step into the bath.
Lucilla is gorgeous. You don’t look away, appreciating her form as she steps into the bath and groans at the heat. She is holding the cups and you reach out to steady her waist so she doesn’t slip as she joins you. “This is such a luxury.” You hum. “Normally I have to go to the public baths for conversation, but you and I can get better acquainted.”
Lucilla smiles, “I know. I am pleased that we can get to know each other more in private. I would like to know why my husband is so in love with you.” She offers you a wink, wanting you to know she’s being playful and not resentful. She hands you the cup and you take it while her handmaid leaves the baths to prepare the linens for Lucilla.
“We have been in love since he first became an officer.” You admit, smiling softly at the memory. “There was a feast and he found me in the courtyard because I was bored. I was reading instead of feasting.”
Lucilla chuckles, “you sound like me. I would sit in the gardens and read instead of attending the feasts my father held in honor of many people who have since died.” She sighs, her eyes full of memories and she takes a sip of wine. “I know you planned to marry Marcus. It was never my plan to take him from you but the emperors…they are wanting my blood.”
“I understand.” You bite your lip, watching as she looks down at her wine. “Are you disappointed he has not visited your bed? Even if you married him for safety?” You would understand if she was. Marcus is handsome, kind, loyal and has honor, rare traits in a Roman man these days.
“I’d be a fool to not see how handsome he is. He’s capable. He’s strong, and he’s loyal. I wouldn’t be a woman if I didn’t imagine him in my bed but he belongs to you in all ways but name. I am not the woman he desires and I would never demand it when I am taking away your Maritus for my own gain.” She confesses, glancing across the bath to avoid looking at you as she admits her deepest thoughts.
You hum, watching her for a moment and take a sip of your wine. “Have you ever had a woman as a lover?” You ask boldly, unsure because you have never seen her at an orgy or at the baths. Not that you attended many orgies.
She flusters, shaking her head, “no. Never. My brother - Commodus - he would’ve never allowed it. He was very…possessive over me.” She murmurs, knowing her brother would’ve killed anyone who touched her. “And Maximus was the love of my life. I wanted him to be my Maritus but we were not destined for each other.” She feels her chest tighten but there’s nothing else she can say.
“Amor, your maid told me you were-“ you twist your head to see Marcus stopped dead, slightly frozen as he stands completely nude. He had obviously sought to join you in the baths and is surprised by the presence of his uxor. You smile, glancing at Lucilla to find her staring at her wine intently and you bite your lip. “Amor, pour yourself a cup of wine and join us.” You beckon, sitting up so he can see your bare breasts. “We were just having the most interesting discussion.” You hum, smirking slightly.
Marcus isn't ashamed of his form but he does feel a little awkward standing naked before his uxor while his eyes take in the sight of your bare tits. He nods, reaching for a cup and filling it from the jug of wine. After taking a gulp, he steps into the water, noticing how Lucilla still doesn't look at him, and takes a seat next to you. He groans at the heat of the water on his constantly sore body.
You hum, reaching under the water to squeeze his thigh, signaling for him to listen before he reacts. “Your uxor and I were just getting better acquainted.” You inform Marcus. “Poor Lucilla, she has been twisting at the whims of the men in her life.” You shoot her a soft smile. “She hasn’t even had the pleasure of having a woman as a lover.” You take a sip of your wine and look at Marcus. “And now, we deny her the very man she is married to.”
Marcus frowns, looking over at Lucilla who averts her gaze from his chest. “She knows the arrangement. My body belongs to you, amor.” He says a little incredulously. “I know, Marcus, but Lucilla needs pleasure like everyone else. I wish to give it to her.” You explain and Marcus frowns, “do you want me to-?” He asks and you shake your head, “no. No. Not you. Me.” You declare and Lucilla’s head jerks up while Marcus’s eyes widen, “are you- are you certain?”
“I am.” You look over at Lucilla and lift a brow. “As long as your uxor doesn’t mind my touch.” You add softly, wanting her to have the power to reject your offer if she wishes. “Do you, Lucilla? Do you want to have me touch you, show you what it is like to have a woman between your thighs?”
Lucilla looks over at Marcus who stares back for a moment until he nods, giving her and you permission to do this if that is her wish. She bites her lip as her eyes flick back to you, “I want - yes. Show me.” She whispers, almost afraid to say the words out loud but she desperately wants it.
You smile, setting your cup down and leaning closer. Marcus shifts slowly, putting himself between the two of you so he can watch. “I have visited the baths many times while Marcus is away on campaign.” You explain, feeling his hand slide up your back and his large hand cup the back of your neck. Applying a little pressure to guide you forward. “He did not deny me pleasure and I know that wishes he had been able to watch.”
He has definitely imagined you while you're seeking pleasure in the baths, especially when he had his cock in his fist while he was away fighting. Lucilla licks her lips, gasping when Marcus's hand finds her neck, leaning her towards you, and his eyes darken as he watches the two women in his life come closer until their lips meet.
You reach out to hold onto Lucilla’s shoulder. “You really are beautiful.” You murmur, moving to start the kiss softly. Wanting her to relax against your lips and open up.
She inhales sharply, her stomach twisting with lust, and she surges forward to press her lips to yours. "You are both beautiful." Marcus murmurs, his cock twitching as he watches you react to her eager kiss. Your tongue playfully slides along her lower lip and she opens her mouth without hesitation.
Your cunt clenches in pleasure and your hand slides down from her shoulder to cup one breast. Enjoying the way she gasps at the feel of another’s touch, her nipple hardening against your palm while you kiss each other.
Marcus lowers his hands from the back of the women's necks to slide down, one hand on Lucilla's back, the other squeezing your ass as you lean forward. Her hands come up to grip your shoulders, enjoying your soft skin and moaning when you pinch her nipple.
You pull away from her kiss, smirking slightly as she chases your lips, but you turn your head and kiss along her jaw. “Watch your maritus.” You order her softly. “His eyes are dark, aren’t they?”
Lucilla nods as she looks at Marcus, his eyes hungry and eager. Something she only ever saw in Maximus's eyes. "My amor will take care of you. Let her show you how good she can be." He orders and Lucilla's eyes close when you kiss her neck, tilting her head to give you more access.
Your lips and teeth map her skin, loving how she gasps when you nip lightly. Moving down her chest until you are kissing the tip of her breast before pulling her nipple into your mouth while continuing to pinch the other one in your hand.
"Gods above." She moans, her hand caressing your cheek and Marcus smirks, sliding his hand up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple. You moan around her flesh and Marcus continues to harden at the beauty before him.
You know Marcus is enjoying watching. He has talked many times of visiting the baths with you, but it has never happened. Now you get to explore his uxor’s body and give her pleasure while he watches. You bite down gently and then pull sharply on it, making her whimper and her nails dig into your shoulders while you suckle.
She is lost in the touch since it's been so long since anyone touched her with this much care. You make her gasp and moan until her cunt is aching, needing more from you. Marcus caresses your back until he's cupping your neck to pull you back, still in charge. "She wants more, amor. Show her your mouth, show her how talented your tongue is." He orders, wanting to watch it.
Humming, you lick your lips in anticipation. “Sit on the edge of the bath.” You let go of her breast and guide her back to the edge. “Spread your legs wide and watch me.”
Marcus copies you, licking his lips as Lucilla nods, shifting out of the water to sit on the edge. Her cheeks flush as she spreads her thighs, exposing the thatch of curls between them while her heart thumps in anticipation.
“Very pretty.” You coo as you wade through the water to settle between her thighs. You urge her to slide to the edge and lean in to kiss her thigh.
Lucilla inhales sharply as you kiss her skin. She hasn't been touched like this in so long. Her chest heaves when you kiss higher and Marcus shifts closer, his hand caressing your back as he watches with rapture.
You hum, eyes flickering up to watch her face as you slowly lick into her folds. You have enjoyed the pleasures of other women, both giving and receiving in the baths and you want to share this with her. Marcus groans so loudly that it almost covers up Lucilla’s gasp of pleasure and you smirk slightly as you carve a path with your tongue through her sex.
Marcus watches in fascination, his dark eyes flicking between you and Lucilla as you sample her sex. His uxor tilts her head back, her eyes fluttering closed and he grunts, "keep your eyes on her. Watch her pleasure you."
His tone is commanding, Lucilla’s eyes popping open and she moans softly. You can tell she likes that Marcus had ordered her around and you know that you always enjoy it as well. Flicking your tongue over her clit makes her grab your shoulder and her hips rock forward, eager for more. You hum into her folds, obsessed with the taste of your lover’s wife.
Marcus groans, reaching down to squeeze his hard cock. You reach for his hand, dragging it away from his length and he grunts but you bring his hand to Lucilla's breast. He follows your silent order, squeezing her flesh and she moans, her back arching into his palm.
Your hands squeeze her hips, reaching back and holding her ass as you continue to devour her. Your own cunt aches with need but you ignore that. Wanting Lucilla to cry out and cum for you. Sucking her clit into your mouth, you watch your lover touch his wife for the first time.
Marcus is aching and he slides his free hand down your back, "let me fuck you, amor." He murmurs his request, needing you to experience pleasure too.
You pull away from Lucille’s clit, making her whine softly in protest. “Do you want to watch your maritus fuck me?” You ask her, not wanting her to be hurt if it is too much.
Lucilla nods, knowing she’s imagined how Marcus looks when he falls apart more times than she cares to admit. He is a handsome man and she has gotten lost in thoughts of him taking her as his wife physically. “Fuck her.” She orders Marcus who nods, groaning as he grips his cock and caresses your ass with his other hand. It doesn’t take long for him to notch himself at your entrance, pushing into you so you cry out into Lucilla’s cunt.
Marcus pushes deep inside you, throbbing already from how excited he is. He kisses along your shoulder as he grinds deep and you know he is watching you closely. “Gorgeous.” He groans, unable to believe that you are feasting on his uxor’s cunt while he fucks you. You groan in agreement, sliding your hand around to push two fingers deep into Lucilla’s cunt and are rewarded by her immediately clamping down on them.
Her cry echoes through the marbled walls, making Marcus twitch inside you. His hands reach around to squeeze your tits as you moan into Lucilla’s folds, working her through it with soft pumps of your digits. “Beautiful.” Marcus murmurs, “both of you. So fucking beautiful.”
She’s beautiful, head tilted back as she rides out her pleasure, she looks like a goddess. Lucilla has always been beautiful to you, but she’s breathtaking right now. You clench down around Marcus and make him hiss because of how tight you get. Slowly pulling away from her engorged folds and licking your lips when she gasps as the pleasure becomes too much.
Marcus watches Lucilla try to catch her breath and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “You have wrecked her, amor.” He smirks and starts to rock into you again. Lucilla watches as her legs dangle in the water.
“She is lovely to wreck.” You pant, twisting your head and looking back into your lover’s eyes. “Taste her from my lips.” You demand, reaching up to drag his mouth to yours for a passionate kiss.
Marcus groans, his tongue sliding against yours as he pauses his rocking into your cunt. You moan, cupping his cheek, and Lucilla watches in fascination. “Make her cum.” She orders Marcus with eyes wide.
You know Marcus has no issue following that particular order. His hands pull you back against his chest and he cups your tits, squeezing them as he starts to thrust into you with sharp snaps of his hips.
He grunts, jaw clenched in concentration as he rocks into you. He loves how you cry out, your cheek resting on Lucilla’s thigh and she strokes your cheek, “tell me how he feels.”
You moan softly, nuzzling into her touch. “His cock is thick. From the first time that he took my purity, he feels like he’s going to split me open.” You pant out breathlessly. “The ridges of his cock scrap my cunt perfectly, making it feel like the best and most maddening sensation in the world. It’s addictive.”
Lucilla moans, imagining how that feels. She knows she is unable to conceive a child for her Maritus. She has not bled in many years. “I want him to pleasure you. Make you feel as good as you made me feel.”
Marcus grunts. “I will.” He vows, pinching your nipples and tugging on them to make you whine his name. Lucilla strokes your cheek. “Cum for your lover.” She encourages softly.
You can’t deny her and Marcus groans your name when you clamp down on his cock. Your cry echoing like Lucilla’s in the marbled room and Marcus hisses at the way you grip his cock in your walls.
Pleasure floods your body, nearly blacking everything out but the way your cunt feels pulsing around his cock. Your fingers dig into Lucilla’s thighs and you moan. “Marcus, fuck her.” You beg softly. “Fill her up. You can’t - you can’t fill me up now but you can let her drip your seed.”
Marcus's eyes widen and he caresses your back, "are you sure?" He asks, knowing that he promised you his body would be yours. His heart is yours. You nod, "yes. Fuck her. She wants it. I want to see it." You plead and he pulls out of you, looking at Lucilla. "Are you certain, uxor?" He asks, reaching down to squeeze his cock.
She looks stunned as she bites her lip. “I- I would- I have imagined you in my bed but I do not wish to cause any more harm.” She confesses and you smile, reaching up to cup her cheek. “We will explore this new part of our lives together.” You promise before turning back to Marcus. “You know how I love you. It will not change that.”
Marcus nods, shuffling closer, and he wishes to please both you and Lucilla. He slides the head of his cock through her folds and she moans. It's been so long since a man touched her like this. He hisses as he starts to push into her, your hand caressing his back.
You watch, fascinated by the way Lucilla’s jaw drops and her head rolls back in complete bliss as Marcus fills her. Glancing down to watch his cock inch into her cunt, not feeling betrayed or jealous. You know that Marcus loves you, and it’s intoxicating to see him from this perspective. “How does he feel?” You caress her side as he bottoms out.
Lucilla's chest heaves until she lifts her head to look at you, "thick. He's stretching me out. It's been so long." She confesses and Marcus groans, reaching for you to drag your lips to his when he starts to rock into his uxor.
You groan against his lips, opening up for him to slide his tongue into your mouth. Participating in the act between husband and wife and you reach up to cup Lucilla’s breast again. You break away from Marcus’s mouth and turn to his uxor, wanting a kiss from her as well.
Lucilla presses her lips to yours, tongue sliding against yours as she moans, loving how Marcus stretches her out. “Amor.” Marcus groans, his hand sliding down to cup your cunt, his fingers finding your clit as he rocks into his uxor.
“Marcus.” You moan into Lucilla’s mouth. He can pleasure two women at the same time. You roll your hips down into his hand and cling to his uxor.
He wants to hear you moan too, his fingers working your clit like he knows how and Lucilla slides her hand to cup your breast, pinching your nipple while Marcus rubs your clit while rocking into Lucilla with precise thrusts.
“Perfect.” You gasp out, eyes slipping closed as you continue to kiss Marcus’s wife as he fucks her. “Touch her like you are touching me.” You order your lover, wanting her to cum on his cock so he can feel it.
Marcus groans, nodding as he rubs your clit while he pushes into Lucilla. He wants to see her cum. She’s sacrificed so much for the empire. She deserves some pleasure. “Fuck. I need you to cum for me.” He groans, his other hand finding her clit to rub with his thumb.
He’s talking to both of you. Marcus rocketing you both towards orgasm as he works you up on his fingers. You kiss Lucilla again, smirking against her lips. “Cum, lover.” You order softly. “Your maritus wishes to feel it.” Your stomach pulls tight and you gasp when he strokes your clit again. “Cum with me.”
Lucilla can't hold back and she cries into your mouth when she falls apart, clamping down around his cock and Marcus hisses, his fingers working your clit while his other hand keeps her shaking through her orgasm. "Cum for me, amor." He growls, needing to see you cum before he fills Lucilla up.
His gruff order is issued through clenched teeth, telling you that he is barely holding back. Both of them are so gorgeous and you cry out in pleasure as you come apart.
He watches you fall apart, leaning into Lucilla and he groans, pulling his hand away from you to grab Lucilla’s thigh, keeping her still as he pushes deep. It takes one thrust for him to fall apart, spilling inside his uxor for the first time and painting her walls with a deep groan.
You watch both of their eyes flutter shut, Lucille moaning as the heat of Marcus’s seed floods her womb. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” You hum, reaching out to caress them both as they come down from their pleasure.
Lucilla nods, feeling breathless as she watches Marcus as he pulls out of her to watch his cum drip from her cunt. He leans in to kiss you, “I love you.” He murmurs and leans in to kiss Lucilla. The two women in his life have just come together. Literally.
****
“Fuck, you look so pretty like this.” You hum around his cock, preening at his praises as he strokes your cheek. Lashes fluttering and you moan again when Lucilla commands your attention with the flick of her tongue against your clit.
It’s been months since that day in the baths. The affection and physical attachment between the three of you growing beyond what you could ever imagine. Lucilla often joins you, the three of you sleeping together in the large bed that you had previously shared with Marcus.
Lucilla laps at you, her hands squeezing your hips, and you moan around Marcus's cock as he watches you with dark eyes. The pleasure has been more than any of you could imagine. Lucilla married Marcus for protection but she has gained more than security, she has gained lovers. "Gods, you are both so beautiful to watch." Marcus murmurs, twitching in your mouth.
Looking up at Marcus, you love the intense, lustful expression on his face as he watches the two of you. His love for you has not diminished, but his love for Lucilla has grown, as has your own. The couple have been to many events in Rome where comments have been made about their bond and you just smile and agree, the secret touches of affection between you and the other woman seen as just the relationship of companions. Your cheeks hollow and you pull back to roll your tongue over the sensitive head of his cock.
He groans, caressing your cheek again, and Lucilla feasts on you. The pleasure ping ponging from each participant as you devour and be devoured. Marcus watches in rapture, brow furrowed as his cock twitches in your mouth. “Amor. I- close.” He chokes, wanting to warn you and Lucilla pulls back from you to look up at Marcus. “Cum for her, Maritus. Cum for us.”
You pull him deeper into your mouth as he rocks his hips with a broken groan. His fingers hook around your chin and he looks down. His dark eyes flickering back and forth from your face and the sight of Lucilla settled between your thighs. “I love you both.” He grunts, right as he starts to spill down your throat.
Lucilla loves watching him fall apart and she wants to hear and feel you. Her tongue pushing into your cunt as her fingers dig into your ass, pushing it apart so she can get deeper while you swallow everything Marcus gives you.
Swallowing while you are moaning is hard but you manage. “Fuck.” Marcus pulls his softening cock out of your mouth and you moan Lucilla’s name, reaching down and tangling your fingers into her now messy hair.
Marcus shifts, coming to kneel next to where Lucilla is sliding her tongue and he slides his hand down her back to push two fingers into her dripping cunt while his other hand cups the breast until he pinches your nipple. “My beautiful girls.” He coos, loving how you moan Lucilla’s name.
“I’m so close.” You gasp out, close to shaking apart for them. “So good, you are so good, Lucilla!” You end her name with a squeal of pleasure as you start to cum.
Marcus watches you cum, his hand caressing your skin and he groans when Lucilla clenches around his fingers. “That’s it, uxor. Take your pleasure.” He orders when she pulls away from your cunt and moans his name.
You sit up, twisting your body so you can kiss Lucilla. Wanting to taste yourself from her lips and you flick your tongue against hers before moving down to wrap your lips around her nipple.
Lucilla feels surrounded by you and Marcus as you both touch her. Her capacity to experience pleasure has been brought to new heights since she started sharing your bed. “Gods.” She moans, rocking her hips back onto Marcus’s fingers.
You bite down gently on her nipple and then switch over to her other breast. Knowing how much she loves attention being paid to her breasts. “Cum for your maritus.” You order, winking at her before latching on again.
Lucilla moans, worked up from making you cum on her tongue and Marcus knows exactly how to curl his fingers to push her over the edge. It doesn’t take long when combined with your hot mouth on her nipple and she cries out. Her back arching as she clamps down on Marcus’s thick digits.
She’s gorgeous, you love seeing Lucilla cum. You love the blissed out look on her face. “Beautiful.” Marcus groans, leaning down and kissing her as she continues to shake on his fingers.
You kiss up her chest until you approach her mouth and Marcus turns his head to kiss you again, his heart pounding at how his life has changed since agreeing to marry Lucilla. He doesn’t realize how much until his servant informs him the next morning that he’s been summoned to the palace. “I must go, amor.” You cling to his tunic, “what do they have planned for you?” You whisper and Lucilla stands off to the side, her hands wrung together. “If I don’t go…well, there’s no choice.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss your forehead as he gently pushes you away. He nods at Lucilla and follows the guards to the chariot to discover his latest fate.
Watching as Marcus is escorted away, you grip Lucilla’s hand tightly. “Why do they want him?” You ask, nervous. “They have decided to use him to expand their holdings.” She knows that the twin emperors will send Marcus away, using her to weld the might of his army for Rome.
****
“General, ah you are alive. We thought you had drowned in cunt juices.” Geta chuckles, “between your amor and your uxor, we are certain you’ve been a busy man.” Marcus clenches his jaw at their crassness but there’s nothing he can say so he chuckles and nods, bowing his head, “emperors.” He murmurs and the twins grin, clapping their hands. “We wish for you to take Numidia.” Caracalla declares and Marcus internally sighs, knowing that their quest will result in more Roman ruin and deaths. “Of course, Caesar.” He bows his head and Geta grins, “you will leave at once.” Marcus nods again, bowing before he leaves the hall, his jaw clenched in fury but he must fight for Rome. For Lucilla. For you.
You both wait uneasily for Marcus to come home. Sitting together and having some wine as you chat about milder topics. Trying to distract yourselves from the worry. “Did you ever wish to have more children?” You ask, curious about her wants as a mother.
Lucilla smiles softly, “when I was with Maximus…I wanted to marry him, have his children, and my father would’ve given us permission to marry but my brother…he was power hungry. He wanted to be emperor at any cost and he had killed my first husband…any dreams of children and a happy marriage died with him. I prayed for Lucius and I had to let him go to keep him alive. I pray to the gods that he is safe and happy. Do you wish to have children with Marcus?” She asks softly, squeezing your hand.
“I would love to have children with Marcus.” You admit softly. “But I do not think that will happen, if I am honest.” You squeeze her hand back. “Eventually my father will want me to marry another senator or someone he wants to influence using my cunt.”
Lucilla sighs, "I took the man you love from you. You have shown me pleasure like I've never known. I do not wish to keep you and Marcus hostage forever. As soon as Rome is free, so will he be. I will request a divorce. You will be able to marry and have children. I pray that time comes sooner rather than later."
Shaking your head, you smile at the woman. “Marcus has fallen in love with you.” You have never shied away from being honest. “As have I. The words we say in bed and now have meaning to us.” You bite your lip. “Should you divorce Marcus, so that I may marry him, I hope that you will still stay with us in our current situation.”
Lucilla feels her heart pound, her free hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I would be honored to remain in your household. I’d be honored to help you raise your children.” She smiles softly, “and I love you. Both of you.”
You’re relieved that she feels the same way, leaning in and pressing your lips to his. “Then when we can, we will help you restore Rome to the dream your father and your Maximus had.” Your promise. “Together.”
“Together.” She murmurs, caressing your cheek and soon you hear the servants announce that Marcus has returned. He strides through the halls until he finds you and Lucilla. “What happened?” The older woman asks and Marcus sighs, “they wish to send me to war once again.”
You bite your lip, standing and rushing over to him. “Where?” You demand. “Numidia.” You gasp, knowing that the free city will be difficult to battle. “You must not.” Marcus shakes his head. “I have to, to protect you and Lucilla.” He murmurs, caressing your cheek. “I will return to you both.”
Lucilla closes her eyes, knowing she must be strong for you as Marcus prepares to leave once more. Her hand finds your waist, “he will return to you. To us.” She promises and nods at Marcus.
“Take us,” you beg softly, reaching up and unclipping your dress. “One last time before you go.”
Marcus nods, grabbing your waist to pull you closer, his lips immediately finding yours as Lucilla reaches for his tunic, wanting to expose his body to her hungry eyes.
You don’t care that you are in the courtyard. Perhaps it is fitting since the last time he had taken you before he went to war he had taken you in the courtyard of your father’s villa. Your hands reach for Lucilla’s dress, wanting her to be just as naked as you are. This is for all of you.
Lucilla groans, caressing your side as her robes fall to the marbled floor. Marcus kisses her after pulling his face away from yours. “I’ll miss you both.” He murmurs, grabbing Lucilla so he’s holding you both.
“We will miss you.” You promise, kissing down the side of his neck and reaching down to wrap your hand around his cock to start pumping him.
Marcus groans at the feel of you gripping his cock and Lucilla leans in to kiss his jaw, her hand caressing his chest. Any of the servants could walk in and catch you but none of you care. You want to enjoy the General before he leaves to fight another useless war.
Lucilla kisses behind his ear and he turns towards her mouth and captures it in a passionate kiss, his free hand pulling her close to him as well. “My uxor.” He breathes quietly. “You will keep my other love safe, as well as yourself.” He orders quietly. “Do not risk yourself while I am gone.”
“I promise. We will be safe. I will not speak to Graccus until you return. We will put our plan into action then. Spread word to your men and we will make the emperors pay.” Lucilla murmurs and Marcus groans, his hands sliding up to squeeze a breast on each woman.
You hum, knowing that they have been plotting but they have not included you for now because of your father. Not sure how he would vote, you understand their reasoning. Now you squeeze his cock and smirk. “Fuck your uxor and then me.” You order. “It is safe and I want you to finish inside me again.”
“Bed. I want you both in the bed.” He grabs your hand from his cock and wraps his arm around Lucilla’s waist, dragging you both naked down the hall to the bedchamber you share. No servants cross your path but they will see the clothes left behind and hear your giggles. They are aware of the arrangement but they are all too well paid to discuss it. When you’re inside the room, Marcus lets go of the women, “on the bed. Both of you. I want to fuck both of you.”
Both you and Lucilla smirk, sitting down on the edge of the bed side by side and Marcus shakes his head. “Not like that.” He grunts, licking his lips. “I want you both closer so I can switch between your cunts.”
Lucilla frowns, “how do you want us?” She asks and you smirk, knowing what he wants. You’ve seen the drawings on the brothel walls. You shift to kneel, “get on top of me. I can take it.” You say and Lucilla bites her lip but nods, shifting to straddle you, her weight on top of yours and your legs spread to display your dripping cunt to Marcus.
Marcus groans. “Fuck, both of you are so pretty. Beautiful cunts that feel so good.” He wraps his hand around his cock. “If I had time, I would have each of you sit on my face while the other is on my cock.”
“When you return.” Lucilla promises breathlessly and leans down to kiss your neck. Marcus grips his hard cock, pumping himself as he shuffles closer until he’s pushing into Lucilla. He groans her name and slides his hand along your thigh, admiring how you are below her and your bodies almost become one.
You can feel his thrusts into Lucilla, The motion rocking you forward beneath him and your ass pushes up to press against her clit. “Grind down on me.” You order breathlessly, wanting to feel how wet she is.
Lucilla moans, grinding down onto you, and Marcus slides his hand higher until he’s pushing two thick digits into you while he fucks Lucilla. She moans and he grunts, watching both women below him until he pulls out of Lucilla and withdraws his fingers so he can push into you.
“Marcus.” You gasp out his name and squirm under Lucilla. “Too bad you do not have two cock to fuck us both at the same time.” You have seen women take more than one cock at a time so it is unfair that men cannot pleasure multiple women with a cock at the same time.
Marcus groans, wishing he could fuck both of you at the same time. He hisses when you squeeze his cock inside you and he caresses Lucilla's ass. He squeezes her flesh and she leans down to kiss your shoulder.
“He is still so thick inside me.” You pant. “No matter how many times he fucks me. Is it the same for you, Luc?” You hear your lover giggle. “It is.” She praises, looking back at Marcus over her shoulder. “It is good our General has a hearty appetite to satisfy us both.”
Marcus chuckles, "it is because I am granted the gift of two incredible cunts to fuck." He slaps Lucilla's ass and she giggles, grinding her clit onto your ass and Marcus thrusts a little harder into you until he pulls out and pushes back into Lucilla.
You miss the feeling of him inside you, but Lucilla’s moan makes up for it. You groan softly, your cunt clenching around nothing as he rocks into her above you.
Marcus groans, watching Lucilla's hole flutter and he pulls out of you, pushing into her for a moment before he pushes back into you. He continues that, thrusting into each woman one thrust then switching.
You whimper, loving how he is just spearing into both of you over and over again. “You will miss this.” You tell him breathlessly. “Cunts to fuck whenever you want.” You know Marcus will not fuck one of the whores while he is gone. He did not before his marriage to Lucilla and he would not now.
He groans, “my hand will have to suffice during my absence but I want you both to enjoy yourselves.” He demands, thrusting hard into Lucilla who cries out until he repeats the motion as he pushes into you. “Will miss you both so fucking much.”
“Love you.” You gasp and Lucilla moans in agreement. “I love you Acacius.” She hums and kisses your shoulder. “And I love you. I have been blessed by the gods with both of you.”
Marcus wants to hear both women cum. He wants to feel it before he's sent away for gods know how long. He pushes into Lucilla, making her cry out in bliss and Marcus pants, sweat beading on his brow.
“Cum for Marcus.” You beg Lucilla. “You know you want to remind him of what he fights for. He will fight to come home to your cunt. To your lips, your heart.”
Marcus pushes into his uxor, wanting to hear and feel her cum around him. Wanting to carry that memory with him into battle. His cock twitches as her walls start to flutter and his jaw is clenched as he fucks her harder, her body bouncing above yours.
You wish you were on your back, embracing Lucilla. Kissing and coaxing her to cum because you know she is on the cusp. You grind your ass up, feeling her clit rub against your skin. “Cum for your maritus.”
Lucilla takes orders well and she falls apart, her jaw dropping as she cums, shaking above you and Marcus groans at the way she clamps down on his cock. He hisses and pushes deep, his cock twitching as he fills her up with his hot seed.
You hear the groan Marcus gives and you know that he’s cum, a little disappointed that he had fallen apart so quickly but you can’t deny him his pleasure. You turn your head and watch both of them. “Beautiful.” You coo.
Marcus works Lucilla through it, his cum pushed out and a little drops onto your ass but he’s still hard. His eyebrows raise and he chuckles, “don’t worry, amor. You’ll cum on my cock too.” He promises as he pulls out of Lucilla to push his still throbbing length into your cunt.
“Oh gods.” Your head drops down between your shoulders. It’s not often that Marcus stays hard after cumming, but right now it’s perfect. A last time for each of you before he leaves to fight another war. “You want to fill up your wife and your lover, don’t you? Have us drip your cum when we go to lick each other’s cunts?”
“Fuck.” Marcus hisses, his chest heaving as he imagines you and Lucilla lapping his seed from your cunts. “Yes. Yes. Fuck. That sounds like a gorgeous sight. Something the gods would be envious of.” He confesses and twitches inside you.
You shiver. “Then you must come home so we can do this again and again.” You hum. “Perhaps when Lucilla rules, she can make us all married to each other.” You pose breathlessly.
Marcus nods, “my uxors.” He murmurs in awe at the very thought of getting to keep both of you. To belong to both of you. “Yes. Yes. I would.” Lucilla promises and caresses your cheek as she hovers above you. Marcus pushes into you, needing you to cum and you gasp when Lucilla shifts her weight onto one hand so she can slide her hand down your stomach until she’s rubbing your clit.
“Gods.” You whimper, closing your eyes and praying that Marcus is returned to you safely. You know that Lucilla will keep you company and you know that you have come to love her, but your heart will not be complete without him beside you. “Marcus, Lucilla!” You choke out a cry as your cunt clamps down around his throbbing cock.
Marcus loves how you clamp down on his cock. The woman he’s loved for so many years is below the woman he’s come to love recently. It’s more than he can handle and it only takes a few thrusts for him to cum again, pushing deep with your permission to start to paint your walls with his hot seed.
You whine in pleasure, loving how he fills you. Knowing that your cunt will be creamy with his seed and you will drip him for hours. “I love you.” You promise. “Until the gods take me.”
“I love you. Both of you.” Marcus vows, leaning down to kiss Lucilla’s shoulder. “I’ll fight to come home to you. That’s my quest. Not to get some fucking land for them. But to come home to my girls.” He smiles and grunts as he starts to soften inside you. “I need to prepare for my departure.” He sighs as he pulls out of you and shifts to lay down on the bed beside Lucilla.
Lucilla rolls off of you and over Marcus to snuggle into his side and you turn to press against him. “In a moment.” You lean in and kiss him softly. “The army will wait for their general.”
Marcus wraps his arms around you both, breathing you in, and he knows it will be painful to leave you both here with the emperors at large but there’s nothing he can do. He must fight. ****
“We will pray for you every day.” Lucilla vows and Marcus nods, cupping her cheek while he has his arm around your waist. “Come home to us, Maritus.” You plead and he leans in to softly kiss Lucilla before he turns to kiss you. “I’ll come home to you.” He promises even though his fate is up to the gods. You and Lucilla have tears in your eyes as you hold each other close while watching Marcus prepare his horse for his departure. When he swings his leg over, he settles in and blows a kiss to you both. You watch as he rides off down the cobbled street to the gates, leaving once again for a useless war.
Marcus is gone for two months. You feel an unease like you never have before, worry manifesting in a souring of your stomach. Even Lucilla tries to keep herself busy but is often sitting in the courtyard where the three of you spent so much time.
Marcus is exhausted when he returns from war. He wants to return to the villa and collapse in bed with you and Lucilla. Yet he can’t. He must clean up and meet with the emperors. Have a feast and celebrate his victory. The word sits heavy on his tongue knowing how many were killed because of his orders. He waves to the crowd, dressing in his finery to meet the emperors and accept their false praises. He looks at the adoring crowd, hating the cheers as he makes his way up the steps to meet with Geta and Caracalla.
You stand in the crowd, wanting to see Marcus. To put eyes on him. The messenger he had sent to let you know of his return had eased your worry, but still you needed to see for yourself. Lucilla had stayed home, so you had traveled to the city to see him alone, although you could not welcome him as your husband.
Marcus bows his head as the golden laurel is placed on his head. He thanks the emperors who grin and wave at the crowds. "Now, we feast!" Caracalla cheers, stroking the monkey sitting on his shoulder and Marcus nods, "of course, Caesar." He follows them from the steps of their palace but he is eager to return home.
When Marcus disappears into the palace, you depart for home. Unable to travel fast right now due to your nerves and how racing on the back of your horse makes you feel. Taking an hour to reach the villa that you have come to think of as home instead of your father’s estate in the city.
Marcus eats and drinks a little to keep up appearances and when the orgy is getting started, he bows to the emperors and takes his leave. “Enjoy fucking your uxor and lover, General. I’m sure they have missed having a cock instead of each other’s tongues.” Geta chuckles and Marcus rocks his jaw but nods, bowing once again as he leaves the palace. His cloak flares behind him as he makes his way through the streets to ride to the villa he has come to call home. The guards let him in and he’s swinging his leg over the stallion, handing the reins to his hand and he strides into the villa. He walks through the halls until he finds Lucilla and you sitting in candlelight. “My ladies.” He greets you with a cheeky smile after he lowers the hood of his cloak.
“Acacius.” Lucilla smiles, a soft, dreamy smile as she looks towards her husband. You hum as you stand and both of you walk towards him. You recognize the look in his eye, so does Lucilla. She takes his hand. “Come.” She urges. “Let me feed you.”
Marcus sighs as he takes her hand, followed by as you make your way to the room you share with his uxor. You all enter the room and you reach up to unclip his cloak, the heavy fabric falling to the floor and Marcus sighs in relief as the weight of the war is lifted off his shoulders. He reaches for you and Lucilla, pulling you both close to breathe you in.
He has new scars. You caress his cheek gently and lean in to kiss them. Wanting him to know that it’s alright. He’s home with the two of you. Home where he belongs. “Let us take care of you.” You coo. “Be a respite from war.”
Marcus nods, unable to physically do much when he’s been so tense, using every ounce of determination and strength to ensure his return home to you both. It doesn’t take long for you to strip him down and he is already hard. It’s been too long with his own touch to satisfy when the nights became lonely. He sighs and lays down on the bed, watching as Lucilla unpins her robes.
“Your uxor has missed you.” You hum, watching his eyes light up when her tits are revealed. “Just as much as I have. And I have missed you every moment of every day.” You kneel down to help her with her sandals so she is completely nude.
Marcus watches in rapture, fascinated still by the way you have fully accepted and fallen in love with Lucilla. He smiles as his uxor comes to kneel on the bed beside him while you work on removing your clothes. He is hard and he beckons her forward, reaching up to squeeze her breast. "I want you to sit on my face or my cock, uxor. You choose between you."
“Let your lover have your cock.” She leans down and smirks as she kisses his lips. “I have missed the talent of your tongue and your nose pressed against my clit.” She hums. “The rasp of your beard on the inside of my thighs.”
He groans, watching as she kneels, straddling his chest, and his hands find her hips, dragging her closer so she is hovering over his mouth. He groans at the heady scent of her arousal, somehow already wet for him, and he slides his tongue through her folds, groaning and his fingers gripping her flesh
You have to just watch for a moment, his cock is hard against his stomach and it twitches at the first lick. His groan is muffled by her folds, but her sounds are loud enough for both of them. “So beautiful.” You praise. “I have missed this sight.” You finish peeling off your clothes and kneel on the bed, wrapping your hand around his cock and lowering your head to take him into your mouth.
Marcus groans into Lucilla’s flesh, his fingers dig into her hips and he hisses when you take him deeper into your mouth. He loves it. How you eagerly take him and he sucks on Lucilla’s clit as her hands cover his.
He has obviously visited the baths before riding into Rome in victory. The musky, earthy taste of him is clean and addictive, making you hollow your cheeks as you suck his cock. “Your mouth is amazing, but I am sure he would prefer your cunt.” Lucilla moans.
Marcus grunts into her flesh in agreement and you giggle, shifting to straddle him. You grip his cock and it’s mere seconds until you are sinking down onto his cock with a loud moan of his name. He twitches inside you, his groan smothered by Lucilla’s cunt and she moans at the vibrations.
You brace your hands on his chest. Taking a moment to grind down on him and adjust to having that thick cock inside you again. Lucilla’s fingers aren’t nearly as thick and they don’t reach where his cock manages to touch. He feels like he’s in your womb.
Marcus groans when you start to move on top of him. It’s intoxicating and Lucilla loves seeing the pleasure on your face. She leans forward to press her lips to yours, her hands squeezing your tits as she grinds down onto Marcus’s tongue.
This room has seen so much pleasure. The walls absorb it along with your latest moan into her mouth. You bounce on Marcus’s cock, determined to cum all over it as you ride.
Marcus loves how you and Lucilla shamelessly use his body for your pleasure, rocking back and forth on his tongue and his cock. He twitches inside you as he pushes his tongue deep into Lucilla, desperate to get as much of you both as possible.
You moan as you bounce on his cock, rolling your hips and leaning into the kiss. Absorbing her sounds as she rocks her hips over his tongue.
Marcus can do nothing but lay beneath you. His lover and his uxor. His hands caressing Lucilla as he tongue fucks her and she slides her tongue against yours.
You love this. You love how the three of you have come together. The thought of giving either one of them up tears you to pieces and you know that you will fight to keep them. You break away from Lucilla’s kiss on a moan. “Gonna cum.” You pant out, rocking furiously on his cock as you gallop towards pleasure.
He feels your walls flutter around his cock and Lucilla cries out when he slides his tongue up and sucks her clit between his lips. “Fuck!” She curses, her forehead pressing against your sternum as you grind down and clamp down on Marcus’s cock. “Shit, amor.” You moan, soaking his cock at the same time Lucilla falls apart, soaking his face.
He groans beneath you. His cock pulsing and he’s been so long without the feel of your cunt around his cock that he cannot hold back. Thrusting up, he prays to the gods that your fertile time is not now as he paints your womb with his seed.
Your lover pants against Lucilla’s flesh and his uxor kisses up your chest until her lips press against yours. Her tongue slides into your mouth as you both ride your orgasms and Marcus enjoys the weight of you both as he softens inside you.
Eventually, Lucilla swings her leg over Marcus’s body and you lean forward to taste her from his lips. “I love you.” You coo softly, Moving to the side so that his uxor could kiss him as well.
Marcus sighs as he relaxes into the sheets, enjoying the relaxation and the lack of awareness. When he’s away, he’s constantly on guard, even with his own men, in case they have been influenced by the emperors.
“I’ll get some wine.” You want to give Marcus and Lucilla a moment, you know they have things to discuss, so you pull off your lover’s cock and reach for a wrapper to go get some wine and snacks.
Marcus sits up, uncaring of his nudity and Lucilla settles beside him, curling into his side. “I have spoken to several senators in private. They agree with us that the emperors are ruining Rome.” She reveals and Marcus nods, caressing her side, “I have an army loyal to me. They are sailing for Rome. They will be here in ten days. We have ten days to put this plan into action.” Marcus declares and Lucilla nods, “the games begin tomorrow. We will attend and plan in the shadows.”
Bringing back a jug of wine, you are followed by a servant bringing a tray of food. “We return.” You call out loudly so they can pause any sensitive conversations so the servants do not hear. “I bring wine and sustenance for the general and his lady.” Everyone in the house knows of your dealings, but you always defer to them around the help.
Marcus shifts to sit up, a robe draped over him as Lucilla wraps her own around her waist. They both watch you enter the room with the servant trailing behind you and Marcus watches you with dark eyes. He has to save Rome. For you and for everyone in it.
After depositing the tray on the table, you dismiss the woman with a smile and nod before you pour up the cups of wine yourself. “Did you have a good chat?” You ask as you bring the wine over to your lovers. Looking over your shoulder, you make sure that there are no servants lurking. “My father will not commit until the odds are in your favor.” You admit quietly, having felt the Senator out cautiously. “But he will commit.” You hate that he plays sides, but it’s how most of the senate keeps what little power they have against the emperors.
Marcus nods in understanding, “my army rides for Rome. Men loyal to me. They will fight in my name against the emperors. They arrive in ten days.” Marcus assures you and Lucilla who takes the cup of wine, taking a nervous sip.
****
“Marcus.” Lucilla gasps, reaching for his hand, “it’s Lucius. He’s - he’s fighting in the games.” Lucilla chokes after you have returned to the villa after watching the opening games.
“Your son?” Dread curdles in your stomach. You know how much Lucilla has missed Lucius, how she yearns to have him back. “Are you sure?” Marcus asks in astonishment. The man she is talking about is a slave that he had brought back from his conquest, a man who had stared at him in defiance. He hadn’t recognized the boy from so many years ago.
She nods, “I know my son.” She reaches for Marcus’s hand. “He’s in the games. I need to protect him. Acacius. Help him.” She pleads, her hands trembling and you rub her back in comfort. He brings up the fact that the army is on their way, but she is afraid he will not survive until then. Marcus swallows, knowing what he must do. He nods, bringing her hand to his to kiss the back of it.
Your heart aches because you know the danger that he will face. “I will get him out of the city.” He promises her softly, turning and pulling you into his arms. “I have to, amor.” He murmurs, wanting you to understand. “You must be careful, Acacius.” you murmur softly, knowing it will be dangerous.
Marcus kisses your forehead, “I’ll be safe. I will make sure he lives and we will all be free.” He vows, knowing that his life is in danger now. Both because of Lucius and the emperors. Lucilla feels beside herself, knowing her son lives and he can be emperor. Fulfil the role he was destined for. Marcus and Lucilla get to work the next day, meeting with senators to prepare for the coup under the nose of the emperors
Spending the night alone for the first time in forever, you worry about your lover and his uxor, not sleeping a wink. Exhausted, you rise from the lonely bed when the sun rises and once again pray to the gods. There has been no word, but you know that can be a good thing. You try to keep up appearances, but you are nervous. You will attend the games as normal. Dressing carefully for the games and making your presence known. Wanting to assist however you can.
Lucilla looks up as you walk onto the balcony, Marcus not beside her. Her hands chained to the chair she’s sitting in. Her expression, her eyes are devastated and you inhale sharply, knowing this meant the coup failed. They were discovered. The emperors beckon you to sit next to Lucilla, and the guards come forward. Your eyes widen as they grab your wrists, chains clanking around them despite your initial struggle and tears start to sting in your eyes knowing your fate has been sealed. The announcer introduces the gladiators and then your breath leaves your body when they say his name. “General Marcus Acacius!” The crowd cheers and you whisper “no” as Marcus swings his sword, entering the arena.
“My my, your lovers have really disappointed us.” Geta tuts as he smirks at you. “How they have betrayed Rome, and more importantly - us.” You shake your head. “He wouldn’t. They wouldn’t.” You protest. “They love Rome more than anything.”
“They love Rome more than they love us and we can’t have that.” Caracalla answers with a smirk, “and we can’t have traitors in our midst.” Marcus bows his head after placing his sword on his chest, signaling his felty to Rome and he nods to the men fighting him, knowing he will have to kill them. It doesn’t take long for him to cut them down in brutal battle, blood soaking the sand as his chest heaves, knowing he won’t survive this fight but he sent word to his men, praying they arrive and fulfil his order to retake Rome from the emperors and their army.
You have watched in horror, fingers curled around the arm rest of the chair and you are near tears. Another name is announced and Lucilla gasps, making your heart sink. Lucius comes through the gates at the end of the arena, his face hard and determined. “Please don’t.” You beg the emperors. “The general is no use to you dead.”
“We can promote a general. We cannot promote a coup.” Geta replies, cup of wine in hand as Caracalla gleefully claps, watching Lucius be feral and vicious as he battles with a reluctant Marcus.
“Marcus.” You whimper, clenching your fists together and praying to the gods that some miracle prevents one of them from killing the other. “Please, do not do this.” You beg. “That is- you do not know who that is.”
Geta scoffs and ignores you as the crowd begins to cheer when Lucius steps closer to Marcus. The General reluctantly swings his sword to block the blows, trying to talk sense into his uxor’s son, but he has a fury in his eyes like he’s never seen. He wants blood. You can see Marcus talking to him but you can’t hear what’s being said over the roar of the crowd and your own pounding heart. Marcus grunts as he shoves Lucius back, continuing to talk to him, and finally, it appears his message gets through when Marcus is kneeling on the ground, his hand up and sword laying in the sand. Lucius stares at the older man, realizing who the enemy is, and he doesn’t raise his sword to kill the man who took his love, his wife. He swallows harshly and watches while the emperors scream to kill the General.
“No!” Your scream cracks your voice as you shout out, unable to stop the multiple arrows piercing Marcus’s body and you hear a howling sound as you watch his body fall to the ground, his eyes open. The sound is coming from you. Pain and anguish ripping through your body like you’ve never experienced before.
Lucilla has tears running down her cheeks as she stares at Marcus laying on the ground. Your screams echoing around the colosseum and the guards grab you, dragging you chained from the balcony but the citizens of Rome hear your anguish cries echoing through the stands.
“Murders! You murdered him! You murdered him!” You are screaming as you are being dragged out of sight, fighting to stay, needing to stay to see Marcus’s body. No one in the stands cheers the death of the general.
****
Lucilla kneels beside Marcus, his body laid out for his funeral, and she cries silently as she says her goodbyes to the man she’s come to love deeply. When you enter the room, she looks up and beckons you over. You’ve been inconsolable. Barely able to make it out of bed and she understands but she has to continue fighting for Lucius. She shifts as you kneel next to Marcus, tears already gathering in your eyes, “he loved you with every bone in his body.” She says softly, reaching for your hand to bring in on top of Marcus’s, sandwiching your hands together with hers.
“He loved you as well.” Your voice is hoarse, barely a whisper and your eyes feel heavy and gritty from your grief. “Lucilla-“ you choke up, hating how cold your lover feels. His life is gone, his warmth bled dry by the emperors. “They must die.” You hiss.
Lucilla nods, letting go of your hand and she looks down at the ring on Marcus’s hand. “Take it. It’s yours.” She says. You shake your head, “no it’s not. Take it and give it to Lucius. He is the only one that can save us now. Go to him.” Lucilla nods, sliding the ring onto her ring and she kisses Marcus’s hand once more, “we will avenge you.” She vows to him and looks at you, “we will have the Rome he wanted.”
You nod, unsure of what to tell her right now, but you know you need that future for Rome, for yourself. Lucilla rushes away and you are left with the body of your lover. “I have news.” You whisper softly, leaning down and caressing his cheeks. His eyes are now closed and he looks peaceful, although you know he is not merely sleeping. “I will tell you when everything is settled.” Leaning in, you give Marcus one last kiss. “Forever my love, that is how long I will love you.”
Lucilla watches her son as he looks down at the ring on his finger. His father’s ring. She nods and offers him a soft smile as he looks at her with determination. He will ensure that Marcus and Maximus did not die in vain. He will avenge them and secure Rome once again for everyone. For all. Forever.
You don’t know how long you sit with Marcus’s body. You lose track of time until the door opens. “Leave me.” You order without even looking to see who it is. Hands grab your arms and you cry out as you are one again dragged away from your lover. “What is the meaning of this?” You demand as the praetorian guards cart you off.
Lucilla is silently praying to the gods as she is tied to the platform, the senators surrounding her. Your father is not among them. She’s grateful you aren’t here but she hears your cry as you’re dragged into the emperor’s balcony. Caracalla giggling with his monkey on his shoulder as he watches Lucius enter the colosseum with his jaw clenched in determination.
“Lucilla!” You shout out her name as the crowd goes to thundering from the stands, but you know she hears you. “I love you!”
Lucilla has tears on her cheeks but she refuses to show she’s scared. She is tied to the platform and the senators cry and scream but she hears you. She looks up at you and mouths ‘I love you’ just as Lucius enters the arena to see his mother tied up. He fights to get to her but it’s too late and Macrinus grabs the bow, firing the arrow that pierces her heart. You sob, knowing you’ve lost the ones to love to his brutality and thirst for power. You sob and he kills Caracalla without a moment's thought while Lucius fights.
You shiver, knowing that you are next in this brutal conquest of Rome. This has been a coup that the emperors could never have imagined and you scream as Lucius seems to falter.
Macrinus turns towards you, his eyes narrowed and you tug on the chains that keep you bound but the man has bigger issues when Lucius turns his gaze on the balcony and rushes towards you and Macrinus. “Fuck.” The man curses and looks at the guard, “do not let her go.” He orders before he runs off the balcony just as Lucius climbs up. He growls at the guard who holds the key for you and he pulls the knife out to rush the guard. The man is no match and Lucius puts his blade into his chest, grabbing the key to free you. His hands are steady as he unlocks you from the shackles, “go. Go save Rome.” You order and he nods, running off to follow Macrinus.
You make your way to the sands, needing to touch Lucilla again. Sobbing as you make your way through the crowds to the display she had been tied to. You work the ropes to lay her body down and you caress her cheek. “I am so sorry, amor.”
****
Lucius pants as he defeats Macrinus, the army ready to fight alongside him to destroy those who dare to take Rome for their own. It's days later that Lucius is named Emperor. His rightful place but he places power back in the hands of the senate. "You must take a wife, Caesar. You must continue your line." Your father says to the young man, "my daughter can be your wife. She has lost so much, as have you. She will understand your pain and she will not ask for more than you are willing to give."
Lucius frowns slightly, but he doesn’t say no. “Have your daughter brought to me to talk.” He decides, unsure of who this daughter is, but the Senator in question is a powerful man.
Lucius looks up when you are brought into his chambers, your hands wringing together, and he frowns, “your father sent you. Tell me why.” He orders, twisting the ring his mother gave him as he stands.
You snort, your eyes falling to the ring that you had given Marcus. Now on this emperor’s hand. “Because my father wishes to have me married off before it is discovered that I am carrying Marcus Acacius’s child.” You admit honestly, reaching down and holding your stomach protectively.
Lucius nods in understanding, having heard you were Acacius’s lover. And his mother’s. “Then we will marry.” He declares, “I do not wish to find an uxor who simpers and wants a love story. I need a practical woman who wants protection and companionship. I need an advisor, a confidant. Can you be that for me? Your child will be protected.” He vows, “they will be our child.”
You frown slightly, surprised that he would want that kind of life. It’s a good deal for you and you’d be a fool not to take it. “I could.” You agree after a moment. “If that is what you want. I loved your mother and her maritus.” You admit that freely. “I would never be disloyal to her son, in any way.”
Lucius is aware of the relationship you shared with his mother and her Maritus. He had discovered how Marcus has protected his mother from a few senators he trusted and he wants to honor the man who kept his mother safe until his last breath. If he can do that by protecting his child, he will do so. “That’s what I want. I want to honor my mother and Acacius. I can do that by honoring you and the child in your belly.” Lucius declares and you nod, “I accept. If you wish to take me as your uxor.” Lucius slides the ring from his pinky, walking towards you to slide the ring onto your finger. “This is yours now. My empress.” Lucius offers you a sad smile that you return, nodding in understanding.
****
“Marcus! Slow down!” You call out to your son. He’s seven and the image of his father but no one in Rome says a word about the truth that the emperor is not his father. Lucius has declared the boy as his heir and you are the empress. You glance down at the ring on your hand before looking towards the sky and you think of Marcus and Lucilla. You pray they are in the Elysian Fields together. “He is so much like you.” You whisper, closing your eyes as the breeze curls around you and you feel Marcus is with you. You swear you hear him say your name but the wind carries it away. “Mama!” Your son calls and you smile, walking towards him and Lucius who is holding his hand out for you. You never got your happy ending with Marcus but this will do until you see him again.
#pedro pascal#marcus acacius#marcus acacius x reader#marcus acacius x you#marcus acacius x f!reader#reader x lucilla#marcus acacius x lucilla#marcus acacius x reader x lucilla#marcus acacius smut#marcus acacius imagine#marcus acacius fanfiction
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older (and wiser): i
synopsis: in which time could have never undone what she left.
A/N: FIRST WANDA FIC!!! had this idea long ago when i was crushing hard on this girl from the theatre program at my uni; around that time i had also seen ‘past lives’ and i wanted to do something similar with that film. also at my core i know wanda maximoff would’ve totally been a theatre kid, this is me paying ode to that. while this specific part doesn’t go into that, i am gonna work on a sort of prequel to this Short Series…anyways enjoy!!!
pairings: wanda maximoff x reader
genre: angst?
warnings: it’s sad. but it gets hopeful…
MASTERLIST
please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.
it had been years.
wanda had finally decided to take a breather. she’d been working non-stop ever since she left for work all those years ago after college.
she didn’t think she’d get so lucky off that one job, that it’d immediately get her into another, or another, and so on and so forth.
she loved her work, sure, but now it was catching up to her. everyone in her life, her manager, her agent, her family had all begged her to slow down.
“take some time off, wanda.” her agent, daniel had said to her during a meeting. wanda’s eyes traveled between daniel and her manager, samara.
the meeting had all been a set up. what wanda thought was supposed to be a discussion on a new project, was actually a ploy. she had no idea the meeting was meant to convince her to take a break.
“yeah right.” she scoffed. not believing in what they were saying.
“we’re serious, wanda.” samara stated, her eyes stern but with genuine care. “when was the last time you had time for yourself?”
wanda remained silent at the words. all of a sudden she felt like a kid being scolded by their parents. and she wished to be anywhere else but in the room with them.
“really.” daniel starts. “go be a real person. smell the flowers, meet people, fall in love, take in the view—”
“i meet people all the time, daniel.” wanda quickly cut in.
all daniel could do was shake his head, a sigh escaping his lips as he tried his hardest to make the woman in front of him understand.
“you know that’s not what i meant, wanda.” he gives her a pointed look.
with a jaw clenched, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked off to the side. the windows overlooking los angeles now seeming more interesting than this conversation.
“we know how much it means for you to work, we know how much you enjoy it, but you’ve been doing it for so long. we just want you at your best.” she hears samara say. and as much as she hated to admit it, daniel and samara were right.
wanda hadn’t stopped working since she started. in fact, it’s all she can think to do. she didn’t have anyone outside of work—no partner, no obligations except to her family. why stop when there was nothing waiting for her?
wanda knew the answer but wouldn’t admit it. she might as well never have fully faced it.
the truth was, she’d loved someone once. she’d loved you. and no matter how much time had passed, the thought of you still gnawed at her.
though everything was perfect for a while, her career was well off, she was successful, and her family was proud.
but wanda couldn’t help asking, is this really it?
of course, she tried meeting people. she really tried. she didn't like being miserable over someone she hadn't been in contact with for years. but even that wasn't enough. it was honestly a bit pathetic. it had happened years ago. four years, to be exact. wanda should’ve been well moved on by now, but she isn’t. at least not entirely.
so, she poured everything into her work to distract her from that gnawing feeling inside her. the one that had been lit up all those years ago. the one that was tamable with you around.
but you’re not around, and wanda couldn’t help but throw herself into more work hoping she could get rid of it, get rid of you. but she hasn’t.
“listen, wanda,” daniel cuts her train of thought. “your work is important and people need it, but to keep it up to that degree, you need to go out and just be a human.” he finishes.
wanda sighs. she leans forward on her knees and drops her head into her hands. daniel was right. they were both so right.
wanda never properly dealt with things. maybe it's time she finally did.
she looks up from her hands, a look of defeat yet understanding, with pursed lips she finally says,
"fine."
and now, two months later, wanda finds herself back in los angeles, in an empty home, eating expensive sushi.
she had gotten off the phone with her brother, pietro, who had just joined her on the recent trip she’d been on.
a trip that he insisted he’d join her on to make sure wanda would do all the resting and touristy things she should.
she had done all the traveling she could do in the last two months, jumping from plane to plane. talking to strangers, being a tourist in european cities, and befriending random people in planes.
now, wanda actually had time for herself, time with her brain. a thing she honestly didn't want to face. because even thinking about anything made it even more real.
but now wanda was bored, and the movie playing on her eighty-inch television wasn't doing much to entertain her. and it also didn't help that it was eleven pm on a thursday night and all wanda could do was feel bad for herself.
so she does the next thing she had been really trying to avoid,
stalking your social media.
wanda herself wasn’t much active online these days. she had much to do day-to-day and week-to-week, rarely would she ever have the patience to sit down and scroll through her phone much. that and she honestly tried to stay off of it.
but now she has the time. and the patience. and honestly, she’s a little scared at what she could find.
she tells herself it doesn't have to mean anything. just a little check-in to see how you were, after that she'd really work on trying to forget about you altogether.
and with the simple type in of your name, wanda finds your instagram. your profile picture, a professional headshot of you, and a bio that reads,
editor in chief.
New York Times contributor.
something that shouldn't have made wanda's chest burst with joy, but it does. and as she scrolls further and further, she finds that you now reside in new york city, that you've moved on well without her and that you have a cat and a boyfriend.
boyfriend.
she shouldn't care so much, but she does.
you were living your best life. the one you had always wanted.
just not with her. not with wanda.
but she doesn't stop there, and she ignores the lump in her throat as she exits your profile and searches for your mother's name.
and maybe she feels her heart break a little when it turns out the boyfriend you had is actually your fiancé. she finds out through a photo your mother posted.
the picture shows you, and a handsome man next to you. you’re both sat outside some restaurant in the city, his arm is thrown over your shoulder while your right hand clutches his left, and there it is. in all its glory—with the diamond on it catching the suns light perfectly. the ring on your finger.
it doesn’t help that he looks so in love with you.
out for lunch with y/n and paul again! i promised them an engagement lunch and we were NOT disappointed. make sure you try Jack’s Wife Freda if you are ever in SoHo!!#motherinlaw #NYC #loveinnewyork
is what the caption reads.
wanda freezes at the fact and immediately throws her phone on the empty seat beside her. she stares at it like it had just offended her.
many things go through her brain. how did you meet him? was it shortly after you broke up? was it really him you wanted to spend forever with? how long did it take for him to ask?
wanda had always loved your mother. a sweet woman who always had your best interests in mind. she had always pushed you to do what you loved. and wanda had always seen that some of her favorite traits of yours had come from her.
after the break up, your mom made sure to check in on wanda. without you ever knowing, wanda and your mom kept in touch, until eventually wanda had cut her line for the sake of fully moving on.
though, she never really fully did.
wanda evaluates what to do next. was this her sign? she doesn’t want it to be sign.
wanda doesn’t want to admit that it seems like you had moved on so completely.
on impulse she looks up your fiancé’s name. “paul” is all she had to type out in your mother’s following before she found his account.
she finds that paul is just as successful as you are. he’s an investigative journalist, born in ireland. he briefly worked at a publication in london but transferred to a firm in new york after a year.
he’s gorgeous, she thinks. he has blue eyes, a kind smile, and he has an accent. it would make perfectly good sense why you would choose him.
wanda’s stomach twists with a mix of happiness and regret.
“fuck!” She whispers to herself.
“of course, you’re happy. of course the man you’re engaged with is actually a decent man! fuck.” wanda says to no one in particular. in frustration, she burries her hands in her hair.
wanda is annoyed at herself.
“i need a drink,” in an instant she’s on her legs making her way to the kitchen. she finds a bottle of wine that has been kept cool in the fridge and she wastes no time in popping it open, she pauses briefly, debating on whether she’d need or glass or not.
to hell with a glass. she thinks, and makes her way back to the couch, she holds the bottle by its neck and takes a long swig from it.
it’s all so perfectly miserable. wanda maximoff stalking her ex-girlfriend on social media while she gets wasted. the self loathing has got the best of her. she finds it all ironic.
wanda maximoff could have anyone she wanted. she knew this. she has everything she could ever want or need. she has credibility, a nice home, the luxury of traveling at any moment she wants.
yet, her mind kept coming back to one thing. the one thing she’d decided she’d leave behind all those years ago. it isn’t fair, she thinks. wanda was young and stupid back then, but she was so so in love. she knew that for sure.
but sometimes…sometimes she really wishes she had fought harder.
briefly, wanda wonders if your number was still the same. if you had ever changed it or at least tried calling her. she wouldn’t know, she had changed it years ago once she started getting more attention for her work.
wanda was really drunk at this point. her better judgment had gone away as soon as she’d picked that bottle out the fridge. there was no better time than now.
she taps on her phone until she lands on the number keypad. her fingers hover over it, would she regret it if she didn’t? probably. would she regret it if she did? probably.
but if there was one thing wanda had, it’s that she’s got nerve and audacity.
so she types in the number that she doesn’t think she could ever forget, and lets it ring.
your fiancé answers the call.
“hello?” an irish accent sounds through the speaker. paul. wanda’s blood runs cold and she stays silent for a moment. all of sudden she feels incredibly sober and regretting making the call.
“hi.” she pauses. “uhm, i’m looking for y/n?” wanda manages to squeak out.
“right! who is this? your number isn’t saved.” paul says,
“an old friend. i changed my number a while back.” wanda replies smoothly.
“oh! let me pass her to you, she’s just in the kitchen.” the line goes quiet for a few moments, and she’s able to hear a few words exchanged between you and paul.
“hello?”
wanda freezes again, a hand covers her mouth as she tries not to shake at the sound of your voice. it’d been so long. she grips her phone tighter.
“hey…” her voice shaky and unmistakable. you know it’s wanda.
“wanda?” your voice betrayed the surprise you felt. from the couch paul caught your eye, a raised eyebrow on his face. everything okay? he mouthed.
you shook your head.
“i wondered if your number was still the same.” wanda says after a moment. her tone light, but with an undercurrent of something else.
your mind raced. why was she calling you? why now? your fiance was in the other room, you were getting married soon. you’d built a life perfectly fine without her in it. so why was she calling you now?
“how have you been?” her voice cuts through the line again. wanda holds the phone close to her ear, wanting to make sure she could hear every word you say.
and all you can think of is how confused you were.
“i- i’m fine. i’m good. yeah.”
“that’s good—”
“i’m sorry, uh…why are you calling?” you find yourself cutting her off. your fingers press against your forehead in act of trying to understand what was happening.
wanda pauses. she realizes just how impulsive this whole thing was. she’s on the phone with her ex of four years, while your fiancé was probably in the other room. she goes silent again. her words have to be carefully measured.
she gulps,
“uhm…i just—i just wanted to know how you were. heard you’re based in new york now...so…” wanda trails off. you don’t miss the tone in her voice as she says those words. the familiar rasp, the lowness of her voice, she’d used it many times on you when she wanted something.
you close your eyes with a sigh, “yeah. yeah, i live in new york now, engaged and everything.”
wanda smiles through the phone, her eyes almost prick with tears at the corners.
“i saw," she says just above a whisper. "congratulations, you…you’ve always wanted that.” and she means it. she knows better than anyone how much you’ve wanted this.
suddenly a wave of nostalgia hits you, and you’re brought back to when you were both in college. so young, so dumb, but god, it was one of the best times of your life. you try not to let it affect you, how much this call seems to be doing for you. you haven’t yet figured out if it’s a good or bad thing.
“thank you." your voice softens. "how have you been?” you find yourself asking her next.
wanda smiles at your question, “life has been…insane, you know?” she pauses on the line. “still missing some pieces, but overall i’m doing well,” you pretend not to hear the sudden shift in her voice when she said that.
you exhaled quietly, unsure of what to say. the air between you felt charged with unspoken words, old memories stirring to the surface.
“can i see you?” she asks, her tone hesitant. “catch up in person? i’d really like to see you.”
with your bottom lip between your teeth, you contemplate your next words. paul notices your tick from the other his seat on the couch, despite you telling him it was okay he couldn’t help but worry. he’d heard enough of the call to know something was wrong. still he knows you had it down, so he waits until you need him.
you struggle to find your words for a moment, the question being so…why?
“oh, wanda, i don’t know if—”
but wanda ever the stubborn woman she is, doesn’t relent.
“please. Just for some coffee and conversation.”
your mind is torn between keeping your peace or taking wanda up on her offer. but you were curious.
with a sigh you finally decide.
“where and when?”
you can hear wanda’s smile through the phone,
“i can fly to new york anytime you’re free. you can pick a spot and i’ll be there.”
you think for a few moments.
“okay, meet at caffe reggio in greenwich.”
wanda’s heart stutters, something she hadn’t felt in a while. her eyes flutter closed, she breathes in— out. her eyes open again. and though you can’t see it, there’s a new look in her eyes.
“i’ll be there.”
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Omg really? Wow, thank you so much. That's honestly amazing to me, considering this was one of the hardest for me to write in Smoke Eater. 💞
(But after reading your wonderful review, thank you for making me cry. 🥹💗💗)
First of all, please don't apologize for the heartfelt thoughts you want to share with me. No matter how long or short, I love hearing what you think about my writing, and this is genuinely one of the best reviews I've ever received, because I can tell it came from the heart.
What's crazy is my mom and I also used to watch Chicago Fire together when she was trying to recover from surgery (where she had terrible complications and wasn't well for a long time). It became her comfort show, and I was happy to introduce it to her/have that bonding time where it kept her from thinking about her pain. But I'm so glad you thought to come here to perk yourself up after a rewatch.
honestly I have so many thoughts for each wonderful chapter but I would feel super guilty for spamming :’) this chapter in particular though, hits me harder than anything i’ve ever read before — not in a bad way!🤍
lol girl that's the best kind of spamming. I'd never be upset with that! 😂 Oh good, I'm glad it doesn't hit in a bad way. I was concerned about that for readers when I was first posting this part of the story. 💙
my mom had epilepsy, and I was her caretaker pretty much my entire life. I connect so much with this story because it, feels like i’m reading a mirror, if that makes any sense at all. with all the doctors and the worrying, it’s written so authentically, which is understandable after reading your author’s note. i’m so sorry you’ve experienced such difficult hardships and losses yourself honey, I offer my sincere condolences. and i’m sending you the biggest hugs 🫂🤍🤍
I'm sending you the biggest hugs right back, friend. I'm so sorry about what your mom went through, and what you went through too. Being a caretaker is not easy. I've seen it enough in my family that that's what I drew from in order to write this, so I'm glad it felt authentic to your experience. 🫂💞
now these lines/parts specifically had me crying like a baby lol. december of 2021, my mom had to have surgery at the start of the month. her recovery was going a little slow, but well. however she passed away overnight, 2 days after christmas, completely unexpected. the day before she had been doing so well too— she had more energy and was more mobile without needing as much assistance. came to find out later that’s something nurses call a surge? :/ either way, those moments in particular really tugged at my heartstrings ❤️🩹
I'm so sorry for your loss, my friend. It is blind sighting when it comes so unexpected like that. I haven't shared this publicly, but something similar happened with my grandfather this past December. His health declined suddenly, to the point we had to take him to the hospital. After seeming to get better after a few days, he went downhill even harder, and he passed away in mid-December. It's not the same thing as your situation, but I understand the feeling of "why did this happen like this?" But now he's at peace with my grandma. And your mom is free from her pain and discomfort too. ❤️🩹❤️🩹
this line too. I felt this way for so long after my mom died. I didn’t get the final cause for a while since she passed at home and not at a hospital, and to this day I wish I could go back. wish I could’ve done something different. but SUDEP (or, sudden unexpected death in epilepsy) is completely unpreventable so far. I just find it so cruel that this illness I spent my whole life helping her with, ended up taking her anyway and nothing I did mattered in the end. so reading that line, how she broke down, and everything she had been holding in, it really made my heart ache but I also felt less alone in a way.
And I'm sure you did everything you possibly could, just like the reader in this story. 💞 I didn't know about SUDEP, but I have a family member who takes medication for his epilepsy, so I'm going to be reading up on that. I'm so glad that this simple line made you feel less alone in any small way -- I also thought when I was writing that it not only fit what the character was going through, but that other people who've been caretakers for a family member like this would be able to identify with this feeling as well.
everything that followed, it’s like reading a reflection. I shutdown and just went through the motions afterwards too, but ohhh how nice it would’ve been to have a dean ❤️ his support, how he takes care of her, it’s so heartwarming. and it’s really comforting to read. <3
It's that awful "autopilot" thing that somehow allows us to get through the aftermath, in a way, right? If only we could all have a Dean to support us in those moments. Somehow, reading hurt/comfort fics help me feel better too though. 💓💓
a lot of my family distanced themselves afterwards which, it is what it is. that being said, the sentiment in this story of family isn’t always blood resonates with me a lot. my support system is really small, but they chose to be there for me unlike my blood relatives so, that theme in this story means so much — the way dean’s chosen family shows up for her as well, it’s so sweet. 💖
Ugh really? I'm sorry to hear that. 💙💙 But thank you for pointing that out -- that is the overarching theme of this story, a la SPN style. 🥹 Your chosen family can be just as powerful, if not more, than your blood family. And in this story, Dean's family is basically "adopting" the reader/you into it. 💕
I guess the gist of what i’m trying to say, is I wholeheartedly adore this series and it truly means so much to me 🤍 I appreciate your work so much, and I love the unique feeling each piece of your writing brings 💗💗 I know I may sound like a broken record but truly I don’t think I can ever put into words how much I love your blog. you are an absolute sweetheart, truly a light peeking out between cloudy skies 💞
Wow, I really did tear up of happiness. Thank you. 🥹🥹 I appreciate you right back for reading this story and connecting with it like you did. And I'm so glad that you enjoy my blog!! I've only been here on Tumblr for about 2 years actively, but connecting with people like you is what's keeping me here, and honestly gives me energy to write and express myself when I'm going through hard times.
This chapter specifically was very difficult for me to write for multiple reasons, as you saw in my AN, but again it makes me all the more grateful that this is the chapter you connect with the most. I'm very sorry for your loss though. I'm really touched that this story can give you some small comfort. 💞
(And no it's not too much. Thank YOU for taking the time to share this with me.)
Smoke Eater - Part 11
Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
🔥 Series Masterlist
Word Count: 5,400 Tags/Warnings: Major angst warning. But also major hurt/comfort.
Part 11: “Heart of the Home”
You sat very still.
Your hands were gripped together in your lap when the doctor entered. He was tall and lean and blonde, and he would’ve reminded you of your boss, except this man had a kinder face.
You were sitting on the edge of your grandfather’s bed, hoping the doctor would say the bloodwork and scans came back fine. That they wouldn’t need to admit George into the hospital for further testing. That he could go home in the morning.
But your life had never been quite that easy.
“Okay, George. I’m sorry, but we need to admit you,” said the doctor.
He explained that while the malignant tumor of his cancer had been removed last year, the scans that had been done last month hadn’t been able to detect the bright spots now formed on George’s lungs and lymph nodes.
The oncologist would have to confirm, but you all knew where this was headed. Likely those “bright spots” were tumors.
George nodded slowly at first, taking it all in. He asked what his options were, as far as treatment.
“Your oncologist will go over those options with you,” the doctor replied. “We’re going to move you up to Oncology shortly.”
George thanked him.
And you sat very still.
A hand fell on your arm, finally earning your gaze. George’s face was oddly calm, though the worry in his eyes was for you. You realized that he’d gently called your name, though you hadn’t heard him. Your ears were ringing.
His mouth parted to tell you something, but nothing came out. So instead, he tugged you into his arms, and he heaved a long sigh.
“I guess we’re here again,” he admitted. He let out a chuckle. “The Lord does like his tests…but maybe that car accident was a blessing in disguise, huh?”
You heard his voice, but your mind was buzzing—mainly with the doctor’s words, and with a bone-deep feeling that threatened to consume you.
Your car, your fault. Options, again. Here again.
Your fault.
When you didn’t answer, George pulled away a bit to give you a questioning look.
“Sweetheart?” he tried. You laid a hand on his arm.
“You still haven’t eaten dinner, have you?” you asked. Neither had you, for that matter. “I’ll get us something that isn’t rubbery turkey.”
George blinked at you, confused, with a growing edge of worry.
“Isn’t Dean getting your meds? Why don’t you wait for him to—”
“I’m fine,” you said, already getting up to grab your purse. “I’ll be back.”
George called your name again, but the ringing in your ears was now pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
You made your way down the hall to the lobby at a brusque clip, even with your neck brace on. You didn’t see Dean, but he certainly saw you as he was walking back into the hospital. Frowning, he followed and called out to you.
You slowed when you saw him, and he soon caught up with you. He rested a hand on your back.
“Hey, where you goin’?" he asked.
“We haven’t eaten in a while. I’m going to the cafeteria,” you said. Though you seemed distracted, your eyes meeting his only briefly. It triggered a small spidey sense running up Dean’s spine.
He gave you your prescription pain medication, which you took with a small “thank you.”
“Everything okay?” he asked. “How’s George doing?”
“Fine. He’s resting,” you said. And by the look of you, that seemed to be true. But he spotted the tremble in your hands when you took the pill bottle package from him. It made him stop you when you tried to keep walking down to the cafeteria.
“Okay, you wanna run that by me again?” Dean asked.
You frowned, and your brows knit together. “What?”
“Is there something going on?” he pressed.
You sighed, but you didn’t answer him. You looked exhausted, and like you’d rather swallow your own tongue than speak. You shook your head and laid a hand on his wrist.
“I’m fine. Dean, thank you for everything you did tonight, but you still have to work tomorrow. Go home, get some rest,” you said.
You turned from him again. That was your first mistake. He reached out and grasped your hand to stop you.
“Hey, wait a minute,” he said.
“What?” you said in irritation. Your second mistake was not being able to look at him.
Dean was frowning in earnest now. Worry clawed in his gut, which was also telling him not to let you walk away from him. His grip shifted to hold both of your arms and move directly in front of you. He dipped his chin, trying to get you to meet his eyes.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I need you to talk to me.”
You inhaled a shuddering breath. A wave was rising inside you, threatening to pull you into its undertow. Your eyes burned, red and shining. Dean finally saw it when you raised your head, what little you could. Your mouth began to quiver, looking into his eyes. And it was done.
You could no longer be still.
Dean held you when you fell apart in the hallway.
Dean called out of work the next day to stay with you and George. Gordon would be acting Lieutenant until his next shift, and Dean was sure the man would take full enjoyment out of it.
He couldn’t care about that right now though. He felt that his place was here, being your quiet wall of support while you and George and the oncologist talked about treatment options.
“Normally, at the stage we’re in, I would be recommending chemotherapy,” said Dr. Benton.
“Normally?” you echoed.
“At the rate this is progressing, the treatment would have to be aggressive,” he said. His gaze focused on George. “However, at your age, and the current state of your overall health…at this point, I don’t think the rigors of treatment would be worth diminishing your quality of life.”
“What are you saying?” you asked. Your voice cut like a whip, earning the other men’s gazes.
George was the first one to lay a hand on your arm. “You know what it means, honey…he’s saying it ain’t worth it.”
“Of course, it’s worth it,” you retorted. With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, your eyes went from him to the doctor. “Just because he’s older, we shouldn’t even try? Is that what you’re saying, doctor?”
At that, even Dean drew closer to lay a hand on your back. Meanwhile, George squeezed your arm.
Benton shook his head gravely. “That’s certainly not what I’m saying.”
“How much time would I get, if I started treatment,” George asked, before you could volley further with the doctor.
Benton met the other man’s gaze.
“I’m going to be honest with you, George. You may get a few more weeks, or even a few months. But that is a best-case scenario.”
Dean drove you all home that day, after George decided to formally waive treatment. Both men knew you were angry in your silence, but neither one wanted to press you. Dean was too wary, and George was too tired.
Once he was settled in bed, you hadn’t even left his room yet before you grabbed a notepad off his desk and wandered into the hall. You started to make a list of things you still needed from the grocery store, among other things. Dean took that piece of paper out of your hands.
“Good. I’ll handle this,” he said. “Meanwhile, you can get upstairs, take a shower, take your meds, and get some sleep.”
You frowned at him. “You haven’t slept either, Dean.”
“I’m used to it,” he said, giving you a wink and a slight smile. Overnight shifts could be a bitch at a firehouse, but Dean was no stranger to having his sleep interrupted.
“Listen to him, honey. He’s speaking sense,” George called from inside his room. The bedroom door was still open. He was settling into his bed while trying to stifle a cough. He sipped at a cup of water you’d brought for him.
Still, you looked reluctant. Dean held your arms and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Come on,” he said. “You were in an accident yesterday. You’ve had one hell of a night. You need your rest, or you’ll be no good to anyone.”
And if you pushed yourself much more, he worried that he’d have to take you right back to the hospital. Dean would rather not have that scare so close to the last one.
He brushed your cheek with gentle fingers. With the limited mobility your neck brace provided, you did your best to look up at him. Your eyes were softer.
“Okay,” you breathed.
“Okay? All right, good,” Dean said. You held onto his jacket for a moment, leaning against him.
“Thank you,” you whispered. You felt the burn of tears behind your closed eyelids. A few of them squeezed past and slipped down your cheeks. Dean held your face, brushing the tears away with his thumbs.
“Hey, I’m here, all right? Just let me help you,” he said. “You can lean on me when you need to.”
“I haven’t had that in a long time,” you admitted. “Part of me doesn’t know how to lean.”
“I get that,” Dean said. But you both knew that there was a long and difficult road ahead. He knew he didn’t have to remind you of it. “Whatever you need, you just tell me, okay? If nothing else, I’ve got a strong pair of shoulders.”
Somehow, you smiled. You pressed your forehead against his chest and inhaled deeply, to steady yourself.
“That you do, Lieutenant.”
You left for your room soon after, but not before you brought him down to you for one more tearful kiss.
Dean then watched you climb up the stairs to your room and nearly went up to help you, but he heard George call his name. Dean ventured back into George’s room and heeded his beckoning hand.
“You hungry? I can scramble some eggs or something before I hit the store. I think I saw two more left in the carton,” Dean said. George shook his head.
“Come ‘ere a sec.”
Dean took the hint and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I just wanna thank you for everything you did yesterday. Everything you’re still doing for us,” George said. He looked exhausted, but whatever he wanted to say was important enough to fight off sleep. He clasped a hand on Dean’s arm.
“You don’t have to,” Dean replied.
George huffed. A smile made his eyes gleam brighter.
“I knew you were a special one, Dean Winchester. Knew it the night I met ya, on your very first date with her.”
Dean blinked, but his pause drifted into a reserved smile.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Well, I’ll be honest. When I heard that black Chevy rumble like hell’s wheels onto the driveway, I thought I might have to worry about you,” George chuckled.
Dean’s lips quirked.
“But no, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the pretty flowers, or our mutual love of killer sharks,” George quipped, making Dean’s smile more genuine. “It isn’t your job either, or the fact that you saved her. I just believe that you can see a man’s mettle in his eyes…and I saw it in you when I shook your hand that night.”
Dean took that in for a moment. His hand flexed over his knee. Then he met George’s gaze, though he didn’t know what to say. Sometimes though, honestly was the best bet.
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” he said at last. “I can’t imagine…”
George let out a breath through his nose. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
He pointed to a picture frame on his bedside. It was of him and his wife, Sophie, when they were around your age and Dean’s. The couple were sitting on a pier that hung over the edge of the lake in their hometown.
She held him from behind, with her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair was being carried by the wind, getting swept into George’s eyes. He was smiling too hard to care.
“I’m ready to smile like that again,” he said. He had tears in his eyes, but he was already lighter at the thought. “I know it’s selfish…but I think I’ve missed her long enough.”
Dean paused. Then he cleared his throat past a small well of something he couldn’t name. He wondered if his dad ever had thoughts like that.
“Well, I’ll let you get your rest,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
George nodded and gave Dean’s arm a squeeze. “All right. Drive safe. Don’t hit any goddamn trees.”
He shot Dean a knowing wink, and it almost had the younger man laughing. George’s sense of humor was something else.
Dean then left George to rest. He made sure he had his wallet, keys, and your grocery list before he left your house and went back to the car. He checked his phone and saw a missed call…from Cas.
Dean was reminded again about Azazel, the kingpin who might’ve ordered a hit on his family. Along with the recent murders and arsons, and the connection from one of the victims to your company, Savage & Co.
Dean returned the call as he climbed into the Impala.
“Dean. Everything all right?” Cas asked. “Sam filled me in about the accident.”
“Yeah, everyone’s okay…well, not really. I’ll explain later,” Dean replied. “Listen, about what we talked about at the bar.”
“Yes.” Cas said gravely. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go to your father about this yet.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing.” Dean sighed. “My girl just got some real bad news. I know you gotta keep digging into Savage & Co., but can you keep her out of it?”
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah, more or less…it’s her grandfather.”
“Ah, I see,” Cas said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks, man. I’d rather her just focus on what she needs to do right now, you know?”
“I get it. And believe me, we’re keeping the investigation of Nick Savage quiet for now,” Cas said. “But if we find something, or worse, if I can’t…I’ll likely need to question her. She works directly with Savage, and from what I can tell, she’s instrumental in bringing in and maintaining several of his major accounts.”
Dean stopped at a red light and took a moment to rub a hand over his tired face, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t really think she’s got any idea of what that asshole’s into.”
“I’m not saying she does. But in working so closely with him, perhaps she’s noticed things about her boss, and the company. Things she’s kept to herself, out of self-preservation.”
Dean frowned. He didn’t want to think about shit like that. It made his stomach churn at the thought of you working for someone who might be doing business with a crime lord, let alone Azazel.
“Well, when that day comes, give me a heads up, okay?”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Cas.”
Dean offered to take another day off to help you, but you wouldn’t let him. He needed to go back to work, and you were able to arrange working from home for the next few weeks.
Even Nick couldn’t refuse to accommodate you in a situation like this. He knew very well that if he pushed you too hard, you’d go directly to HR.
So he backed off, and told you to take as much time at home as you needed. It allowed you to put him, and that afternoon in his office, away from your mind to focus on taking care of your grandfather.
Though you called your best friend the day you got home from the hospital, Andréa didn’t come by your house to see you and George until the end of the week. She cited mounting projects at work and some kind of tiff with her cousin Meg, but it all sounded like excuses to you.
However, she was gracious enough to bring dinner for the three of you on a Friday night. She cut up with George like normal, and even got him laughing, until a coughing fit forced him to stop. It also took most of the joy out of the rest of the evening.
While George went up to his room to rest, Andréa later joined you in the kitchen. You were washing the dishes, trying to focus on what you were doing. But your mind was buzzing continuously with future tasks and worries. Always, tasks and worries.
“How are you holding up?” Andréa asked. She rubbed your back, and you gave her a slight smile.
“All I can do is make him comfortable, for as long as possible,” you replied. There were tears in your friend’s eyes, but she dabbed them away with the back of her hand.
“What do you need? Anything, you just tell me,” she said.
It was a little easier for you to contemplate leaning on Andréa. You had been friends with her for years, and she was like another daughter to George.
On the other hand, asking Dean for help always made you hesitate. What you two had was still so new. You worried that this was too much for your relationship, too fast.
“Well,” you sighed as you wiped your hands dry on a kitchen towel. You didn’t exactly want to talk about it, but there were things you had to start planning, even if you didn’t know the exact timeframe.
However, as soon as you opened your mouth to reply, Andréa’s cell phone rang. She held up a finger to you and checked it. To your surprise, she actually answered it.
“Hey, babe,” she replied with a smile. You heard Benny’s deep voice on the line, asking a question. “Yeah, I’m still here. I’m probably leaving soon though.”
She continued her conversation for a few more minutes, but you didn’t hear anything after that. A tension headache was sharp behind your eyes, while anger (yes, anger) rolled hot under your skin. Your lips pursed. You busied yourself with straightening up the kitchen until she continued her call for another few minutes.
“Sorry about that,” she said, finally turning her attention back to you. “So what do you need?”
You put away the last dry dish and turned to her coolly.
“Nothing.”
Andréa frowned. She knew there was something off with you, but her furrowed brows betrayed her confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” you repeated. “Don’t you need to head out, anyway?”
“No, I was just…what’s up with you?” she asked.
“What’s up with me is my grandfather’s dying!” you snapped. You left her in the kitchen, precisely so that she’d follow you out. You grabbed her purse for her and went to the front door, where you stepped out.
Andréa was dismayed and confused as she followed you out onto the porch. She raised her brows at you when you shut the door and crossed your arms at her.
“I know you, and this isn’t just about that. What’s the problem?” she asked.
“You can’t seem to detach from your boyfriend for more than five minutes to just be my friend. That’s the problem,” you replied. “But why should I be surprised? Like always, you’re too wrapped up in yourself to consider anyone else.”
Her brows knitted together; she looked hurt by your words, but also defensive.
“How can you say that when you’ve been exactly the same way?” she accused. “Since you met Dean, I’d be lucky to see you once a week—”
“I call you every week,” you began, counting the list with your fingers. “You’re always busy, but you never give me a day that works for you. And when we do make plans, you usually cancel. Why? Because you’re going sailing with Benny. You’re going to a restaurant, hours away, just to try the new sushi bar beer garden, or whatever the hell. Or you’re going on an impromptu road trip, or you’re planning a summer trip to Greece. Give me fucking break, Dre.”
By now she was frowning angrily, her arms crossed. “You’re mad at me because I have a life?”
“No. I’m happy for you that you found someone. I really am,” you said. “But we clearly live in two different versions of reality. I just don’t have the time or the energy to entertain yours.”
You knew you were being too harsh. You felt incredible guilt as soon as it all left your mouth…but part of you also felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest. The problem was, you still felt heavy. Just in a different way.
Both of you were crying when Andréa left your house.
All too soon, a week became a month. In that time, Dean called you every day to check on you. He spent most of his evenings with you and George when he wasn’t on shift. And when he was, sometimes Meg would drop in.
She understood your argument with Andréa, and she respected you for taking a stand when you needed to. She even confided you that she’d had similar frustrations with her cousin lately.
But Meg wasn’t your only visitor. Ellen had come a few times to bring you lunch and dinner, even breakfast, though you hadn’t asked her to. You realized then how close Dean must be to his friends at the firehouse, along with the Harvelles; Ellen also refused to take any money from you for the food.
By the end of the month, George mainly spent his days sleeping. Pain medication made his days nearly painless, but not without struggle. You were doing your best to care for him while continuing to work full-time from home. You were also exhausted, though you refused to admit it.
Today was a better day, however, because George was awake. He was also more aware of his surroundings than usual.
He stopped you from adjusting his pillow so you would sit down on the edge of his bed. He took your hand in his, brushing a thumb over the back of it.
“I’m okay with this, you know,” he said. You pursed your lips, but he stopped you from whatever you were going to say. “I don’t want to leave you. You know that…but I’m so damn proud of you. Your Gram was, and still is…”
Your lower lip wobbled as you tried and failed to keep your tears at bay. They stung in your eyes and slipped past your defenses, down your face.
“The house is yours. But if that’s too hard for you, just sell it,” he said, heaving a deep breath. “It’s just the bones. You’re the heart. And you always have been.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but not a sound would come out. You held his hand with both of yours and stared down at them. Until his voice once again commanded your attention.
“I always thought…moving to the city ruined my daughter. That we should’ve stayed in Lebanon. That maybe I gave her too much freedom, and I failed her somehow along the way,” George said. His eyes were heavy with old heartache. And yet, they soon began to lighten.
“But the day we lost a daughter, we gained one too,” he said. Then, he chuckled a little. “And I know I never failed with you, sweetheart.”
That proved to be too much for you. He pulled you into his arms like you were still a child, and he held you for a long time while you cried yourself out.
Though he eventually spotted Dean hesitating in the doorway. He’d probably let himself in with the spare key you’d given him.
George raised a hand from your back and silently beckoned Dean inside his room. He was getting tired, drifting off thanks to the morphine.
“Hey, lookie there. The boyfriend’s here,” George whispered with a bit of cheek. You sucked in a breath and raised your head, wiping at your eyes before you turned around. Dean met you with an attempt at a smile and a gentle hand on your back.
“Just got out of work?” you asked. He’d been on a 24-hour shift, and you’d missed him. You stood and stepped into his welcoming embrace. He dropped a kiss on your forehead.
“Yeah. I’ve got the next couple of days off,” Dean said. He greeted George next and asked him if he needed anything.
“Just some water,” the older man replied.
“I’ll get it,” you said with a sniff. “Need to start dinner too.”
“I already brought some food. You like Italian, right?” Dean said, with a subtle smile. It earned your sigh and a grateful smile. He knew very well that it was now one of your favorites. Italian meatballs always reminded you both of your first date.
“Thank you,” you said, grasping his hand. He squeezed yours with a nod, before he let you go.
When you were out of earshot, George cleared his throat past a wet cough. Dean reached over and grabbed him a tissue. George took it with a nod. Again, he encouraged Dean to come closer.
“I’m not worried,” George said, between deep breaths. “You know why?”
Dean just stared back for a moment. He genuinely had no idea what the man might say next.
“Tell me,” he said.
“My granddaughter’s strong. Always has been, because she had to be,” said George. “But you’re gonna be there when she’s not.”
Dean considered the weight of that charge. The anxiety in his chest felt familiar; like the day he got his badge at the Fire Academy, knowing then the responsibility he held in his hands.
That’s a lot to put on just three months of knowing this girl, came a more selfish thought. It sounded a lot like the guy he used to be, not too long before he met you.
But when Dean thought about you, and what you’d begun to mean to him…
He realized that he only had one answer.
“Yes, sir. I am,” said Dean.
George gave a tired smile. “Good man.”
And that night, an agreement was made.
In the morning, your grandfather was gone.
Dean held you through what he thought was the worst of your heartbreak. But after that dour morning, it was like a switch flipped inside you.
In the days after George’s death, your shutters came up. You threw yourself into checklists and task after task—in funeral arrangements and planning and contacting distant relatives and friends.
This was your failsafe. Your version of “autopilot.” And these things needed to get done, after all.
But Dean worried when he no longer saw the softer side of you. Like your heart had been wrung dry.
He inevitably had to go back to work, but in between the demanding hours of his schedule, he tried to get you to slow down. He saw the warning signs of you running yourself into the ground. He just didn’t know how to help you land.
So Dean picked up slack where he saw it, often without you asking him to. He began fixing the house, one section at a time. He enlisted Benny’s help, since he actually had a small construction business. Dean even paid for the materials himself without you knowing.
And one sunny afternoon, he took a break from repaving part of the cracked and uneven driveway to grab a beer inside. You were sitting at the kitchen table with stacks of papers all around you, your cellphone on speaker as some kind of elevator music continued to ring on a loop.
“Can you believe I’ve been on hold with the funeral director for 20 minutes?” you told him in irritation. But you didn’t truly take sight of him until he came back from the kitchen.
He wore a familiar ensemble of jeans and black undershirt with a plaid shirt, rolled up to his elbows. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and his hands were dusty and stained from his work on the driveway. Dean looked tired, and that made you feel guilty.
Meanwhile, he frowned and popped open a beer. “You want one of these? Looks like you could use one.”
You shook your head. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You’d try calling again later. Instead, you focused on the next item of your checklist for today.
“Food. Because we’re gonna need to eat after the service,” you inclined your head. “Okay, still need to come up with a list of caterers, because I don’t think I can cook for that many people.”
Dean nodded at that. “Let me talk to Ellen. She’ll give you a good price, and her food is good.”
You looked up from your notepad and considered him thoughtfully. You wouldn’t have thought to cater from a bar, but he was right. Ellen had great food at the Roadhouse.
“Okay, I’ll call her,” you said.
“No, I’ll call her,” Dean insisted. He set down the beer on the table and leaned his palms flat on its surface. “Sweetheart, I told you I’d help you with all this. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”
“Dean, you’ve done enough,” you replied. Your brows drew together stubbornly. “You’re paving my driveway right now, for God’s sake! This is my responsibility, not yours.”
Dean frowned, making you sigh. You leaned back in your seat and crossed your arms.
“Look, we’ve only been dating for three months,” you said. And in your mind, a good chunk of that time had been spent in the worst hell of your life. “This right here? It’s a lot. I’m not expecting you to deal with all this…”
You bit your lip, and your gaze fell away from his as your insecurities took hold. The thoughts that had been plaguing you every night since this all began, on the night of the car accident.
“And…if you’d rather take a break from us for a while, I’d understand,” you said.
Your voice was more collected than you felt. But that didn’t make it any easier when Dean stared back at you, mostly incredulous. You even thought you saw a thread of hurt there, and it made your heartache worsen.
Dean came around to your side of the table. He dragged a chair back and sunk into it, facing you directly.
“You think that’s the kind of guy I am?” he asked.
You immediately shook your head. You weren’t trying to upset him, or imply that he wasn’t reliable, or trustworthy, or whatever was running through his head. You were just trying to be realistic.
You’re so pragmatic it hurts, as Andréa had often told you.
“Dean, it’s not that…” you began, a bit helplessly. “I just—”
“Just, nothin’.” His chair scraped toward you as he reached out for your hand. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said this next part.
“I’m not leaving you with this.”
Your gaze met his, though you desperately tried to keep your heart from rising into your throat.
“I’m not leaving you,” Dean said. His tone, his eyes, his hold on your hand was firm.
For a moment, you stared at him, unblinking, even as tears swam in your eyes.
He’s not leaving you.
Not like everyone else in your life.
You were grateful. Too grateful, even, for words.
When you finally broke down into tears, Dean realized what an idiot he’d been. Your wall of stoicism had been just that—a flimsy wall. Now it was shattered, and so were you.
It scared him just how much, as he gathered you onto his lap and into his arms. You didn’t seem to care that he was dirty and covered with sweat. You clung to him strong, and he held you back just as tightly.
“No matter what I did, it wasn’t enough,” you confessed. “You save people all the time. I couldn’t save anyone in my life.”
Dean frowned. He cupped the back of your head, and he felt your tears sliding down his neck. His voice was thick with emotion when he was able to reply.
“Oh, baby. It’s not your fault.”
“I can’t…I can’t do anything. Anything that matters.” Your voice was a broken whisper. It damn near broke his heart.
“Now you know that’s not true,” he said. “I’m not gonna let you lie to yourself like that.”
You trembled and heaved with sobs, and he continued to hold you.
Just be there, Sam had told him, when Dean had called him from the hospital. Sam reminded him again last week, when George finally passed.
Is that all I’m supposed to do? Dean thought. His brows furrowed, but he tried to hide his frustration.
He was used to people depending on him. He led a team. Before then, he’d looked out for Sam all his life. Dean had never had to help someone get through this kind of grief though. He just wanted to help you, in whatever way he could.
Because he was worrying, just like you. That whatever he did, it wouldn’t be enough.
But he couldn’t leave you.
I can’t, and I won’t, he thought. So he took a breath, and he said the first true thing that came to mind.
“You’re the strongest woman I know, you know that?” Dean said. He spoke low and steady, but with the conviction he felt. “And that’s a tall order, considering some of the badass ladies I’ve got in my life.”
A smile tugged at his lips when he considered people like Ellen and Jo, Jody and Donna. He might’ve lost his mom, but he and Sam hadn’t lacked when it came to influential women in their lives.
“But I saw it the day we met. I see it every time we’re together,” he continued. “You work hard as hell. You take care of everyone around you…”
You were still quiet, trying to stifle your crying.
Dean let out a breath. “Man, if you only knew how much you’ve been helping me. Keeping my damn feet on the ground with this whole…arsonist mess my dad’s been investigating. Digging up the past, my mom, the whole damn thing.”
With a sniffle, you uncurled from him, just enough to reveal your face. Your grip on his shirt loosened, your palm flattening on his chest. He held your hand there and turned his lips to your forehead. He sensed that you were calming down. That you were listening.
“That matters to me,” he told you.
You nodded and tightened your hand on his. “Me too.”
Your voice was still shaky, but it sounded a little stronger.
“See? You might as well face it.” Dean grinned. “You’re a badass chick with a big heart.”
You snorted in response. Your lips even twitched at a smile. He spied it when he looked down at you. And you rested easier against him as your tears subsided.
“Thank you,” you whispered. He dried your cheek with a brush of his hand.
“For what?” he asked.
“For staying.”
AN: So first off, I'm sorry for the gritty "reality" of this one. It's just where the story took me, though it serves a purpose narratively and for both the reader and Dean's character development.
But also, I think this has just been on my mind, since both my grandmother and great uncle (brother and sister) died within a year of one another due to different forms of cancer. My great uncle passed in May of this year, and my grandmother two years this past October.
Again, I'm sorry if this one was too heavy, but art does imitate life and this was probably my brain trying to express those emotions I couldn't fully make sense of at the time. George will be missed, but will still be felt in the rest of this story, as I'm sure any of you who've lost close family members will understand. 💙
Next Time:
The identity of Azazel will finally be revealed in Part 12. But first...
You nodded. “By the way, it was nice of Sam and Eileen to come. And Meg and Cas.”
Dean smiled.
“They can be your people too,” he said. “If you want ‘em to be.”
You couldn’t help it. Your tears brewed and bubbled over. And you moved slowly across the couch to twine your arms around his neck. Dean’s lips tugged at a smile, and he welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.
Both of you were still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing all day; you in your black dress and Dean in his slacks and white buttoned-down shirt, though by now without the jacket, and the shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
You were infinitely exhausted. But one thing had become clear to you over the past few weeks.
“Thank you. Thank you for today, and for every day since we met,” you said shakily.
Keep Reading: PART 12
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SHADOW
Daemon x Hightower!reader
Description - You’re alicent’s sister, back in kingslanding after years away, fed up of being overshadowed by your sister. But Daemon sees you potential, what you can be… with his help of course
SMUT!! 18+
Porn with loads of plot, dark!Daemon, manipulation, preying, sex, oral f!recieving, mentions of kidnapping. Daemon Is just devious. I did not proof read lol
a/n - huge thanks to @calmingmelody96 for helping inspire me to write this request, its so long but I had so much fun making this charcater!!!
Your dress was tight, too tight. As if the green fabric adorning your waist was trying to kill you. For that, you thought, a small part of you might be thankful. You didn’t feel natural being in Kings Landing again after so long, after all these years. Childhood memories which carried much joy now feeling tainted as you glance to the looming towers of Kings landing. The air was thick with the mingled scents of the city, Salts from black water bay, the tang of smoke from coutless chimneys, and the unmistakable stench of the teeming masses that calle the capital home. For her, it was both familiar and alien, like an echo of a song half forgotten.
It all looked the same, yet so strikingly different. Your dresses green was mirrored by the banners that fluttered proudly on the walls, mixing with the stark red dragon of the targaryen’s.
The sight of it all set your heart twisting - a pang of longing that was tainted with the bitterness you have harboured all these years. This was Alicent’s domain now, Alicent’s world.
The air here was thicker than the skies of Oldtown. The sound of your boots tapping along the cobble stone as you made you way to the red keep, it felt strange that you knew the way all by yourself. Granted you did live here for years, but it still all felt very unnatural to you coming back again
You had left kinglanding not long Alicent’s marriage to the King. Despite being a few years younger than them both, you would join Alicent and Rhanerya as they caused troubled around the castle, listening intently as rhanerya would tell you of what a warrior she would be one day as she rode on dragon back, and giggling as alicent taught her how to become a proper lady of the court. That was the time when your father loved you equally.
But soon, things changed, the girls grew up and so did you. Rhanerya and Alicent got into a fierce fight - Alicent telling you about it later in her frustrations. Rhanerya had laid with Ser Criston Cole, putting her honour on the line. And then Alicent was to marry the king. You were made aware far later than you should have been, you father always dragging Alicent away, secretly talking with her about things he deemed you not worthy of understanding. That was when your relationship truly faultered, Alicent no longer had time to be your sister, only your Queen. Your father had no time for you, Only his other daughter
At first you had tried to stay, trying to find a role in court. You just wanted to be close to Alicent. But the bing you once shared withered, turning you into a shadow of a family obsessed with power and position.
The descion to leave was your own, no one even thought about trying to stop you. Alicent had kept you away from rhanerya, you only other friend. How you wished you could listen to her stories once more. But as you bind with your sister died, so did the one with you friend. when you passed her in the halls, you were once again a shadow, nothing there to acknowledge.
Deep down that childish part of you had hoped for a latter or a visit, anything on your night of leave. None came. And so you buried the hurt, and buried the little girl who had grown up here, convincing yourself you were far better on you own, out of the vile web of lies and twisted politics
Each step up the stairs you took bringing a tight feeling on your chest.
The doors of the red keeps grand hall swung open - and there she was. Alicent. Your sister stood on the far side of the room, bathed in the white light shining from the tall windows. Time had refined her beauty, her soft childish features now sharpened and regal. Clad in a deep green gown, her every movement measured, elegant and deliberate. She truly was the Queen your father had modded her into.
Seeing your sister again only brought back the flood of memories you share, for a moment you were certain you could hear her giggle, echoing in your mind. The faint scent of the lavender perfume you would brain into each others hair.
But those memories were gone almost as quick as they came, replaced by the sharp sting of reality.
Alicent’s Gaze met yours, and for the briefest moment something flickered there - recognition or perhaps even guilt. But then it was gone, replaced by her polished mask of queen.
“Sister,” Alicent begins, stepping towards you with open arms “It gladdens my heart to see you, it had been far too long.”
Your heart twisted at the sound of her voice. It wasnt fair - how could she act as if nothing had happened all these years., You wanted to shout, to demand answers. But all you could do was stand there, frozen.
“Indeed, it has been.. long” You manage a stiff nod.
“Far too long dear sister, I have missed you.” Alicent replied, her smile unwavering
‘dear sister” the words felt hollow, like a polished piece of fruit, rotting inside. Missed you? why had she never written never sent word. You only heard of her children due to word of mouth.
“How have you been?” Alicent asked, her tone so light, so casual, as though they had parted only yesterday. Her hands grasping your unwilling ones.
You pulled her hands back slowly, your jaw tightening. “I’ve been as well as one can be,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “It seems you’ve been… busy.”
If Alicent noticed the edge in your tone, she didn’t show it. “There is so much to catch up on,” she said, linking their arms as though nothing had changed. “Come, walk with me. You must tell me everything.”
As Alicent led you deeper into the keep, talking as though the years of silence had never existed, you felt your bitterness churn like a storm. you wanted to shake Alicent, to force her to acknowledge the hurt she had caused. But instead, you let herself be pulled along, your mind spinning.
It was clear Alicent wanted to erase the past, to pretend the years of abandonment didn’t matter. And maybe, for the sake of the queen’s peace, she expected you to do the same. But as they walked, one thing became certain—you wouldn’t make it so easy for your sister to forget.
The chamber was quieter than you had expected. Outside, the sounds of the bustling castle filtered through the walls—servants hurrying down corridors, the clang of preparations echoing from the kitchens, and the faint hum of voices carrying snippets of conversation. Yet here, within these four walls, it felt as though the air had stilled, wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud.
you sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting in your lap, fingers twisting the edge of your sleeve. Alicent’s words still echoed in your mind—a feast. A grand gathering to celebrate your return, Alicent had said, her voice warm and full of purpose. But beneath the surface, you knew there was more. There was always more with her sister now.
Your gaze flicked to the small mirror on the table, catching your own reflection. You barely recognized the woman staring back at you. The years had changed you—softened some features, hardened others—but it wasn’t just time. It was everything you had lost. Everything you had left behind
Your mind was now flowing with thoughts and worries. How would Rhanerya greet you? Would she be indifferent? Hostile - you knew her an Alicent’s relationship was over now. Or would she wear the same mask as alicent, pretending the past had never happened? you weren’t sure which would hurt more.
And then there were the others—the courtiers, the lords, the ladies, all of whom had watched you fade from the capital without a word, without a care. What would they think, seeing you now? A woman called back by her sister, thrust into the court she had abandoned, a pawn in games she no longer wished to play.
Perhaps tonight would be a reckoning. A chance to remind them all that you were not a woman to be forgotten or dismissed.The thought sent a flicker of fire through your veins, though it was quickly doused by the nerves coiling in your stomach. You stood and approached the window, looking out at the Red Keep bathed in the light of the setting sun. The feast would begin soon, and with it, the weight of a past you could no longer avoid.
With a deep breath, you turned back to the gown on the bed. If they wanted you to play the part tonight, you would. But it would be on her terms.
The dress you adorned that evening was not of your typical house style, your gown was crafted from a get black silk, small peaks of green lace poking through around the hem and bodice. You gave up all symbols of your house, not picking any of the gold jewellery you had. Instead a necklace. A silver one your mother had left you - you expressed your dislike for the family colours, this was something she left you an only you. Beautifully cast, shinning sharply in the light a small emerald in the middle, dangling on your chest. The necklace was tight, framing your neck and features. It fitted the low cut of the gown, you were no longer a child. Your gown sat delicately off your shoulders, the sleeves are embroider with the same green lace, yet a see through material. Silver chains frame the front of the bodice, you felt like a warrior, a knight maybe as they fit your snug and securely. No symbols of your house - other than the mild green adorned you that evening. You were a shadow, the black of your dress embracing that fact.
You step into the feast hall, deliberately late, and the moment the doors creak open, everything comes to a sudden, charged halt. The room falls into a heavy silence, like a breath held too long. You feel it—the weight of every single eye on you, the way their gazes burn into your skin. It isn’t unfamiliar, this attention. But tonight, it’s different. It’s not curiosity this time. It’s judgment, suspicion, and something colder, sharper. You feel the moment you’ve become the center of it all, and you savor it.
Your gown, the deep jet black of midnight, flows around you like a shadow, its silken fabric whispering against the floor as you move. It’s simple yet striking—elegant, with just a hint of rebellion woven into its very design. The silver chains draped across your bodice glint softly in the candlelight, the thin, intricate lines sharp and strong, like armor beneath the dark silk. The lace sleeves, almost ethereal, brush your arms like whispers of something long forgotten. The gown feels heavy in its defiance, the stark contrast to the rest of the court, and as you move through the room, you know it’s all they can see.
You catch his gaze—Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince. He sits there, as still as a shadow, his eyes never leaving you. There’s something in his stare, something unreadable and intense, that lingers a moment longer than it should. You feel it pull at you, as if his gaze could reach deep inside and expose what you refuse to show. You look away quickly, trying to push aside the strange fluttering in your chest. You’ve come here for yourself, for your own reasons, and not to be drawn in by anyone’s attention, not even his.
You remember the small moments, the ones that made your heart race, even though you knew they meant nothing. Daemon wasn’t cruel, not exactly. He would glance at you sometimes, when you were playing with Rhaenyra in the garden or lounging in the courtyard, his eyes flicking over you with a brief, almost imperceptible glance. It was nothing—a momentary flicker of attention that was gone before you could even process it. But it was enough to make your heart race, enough to send a jolt of excitement through you every time he acknowledged you, even if only for a split second.
He would never say anything to you directly, never linger long enough to make you believe there was any real interest. Instead, it was those little gestures—how he would ruffle your hair playfully, as though you were still just a child, but the touch lingered a moment longer than necessary. Or the way he would give you a smirk when you said something, as if amused by your words, as if you had somehow caught his attention, even for just a fleeting second. He never made it obvious, never let on that he cared about you more than anyone else, but that was what made it so intoxicating. It was always just enough to keep you wondering, enough to keep your heart tied up in knots.
When Rhaenyra would run off, lost in her own world, you would find yourself alone with him in the garden, and the silence between you would stretch out, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Sometimes, when he caught your eye, his expression would soften ever so slightly, and your breath would catch in your throat. You’d feel the heat in your cheeks, but you’d never look away. Not then. Not when he was looking at you like that, even if it was just for a moment.
He would lean in just a fraction closer as he spoke, his voice low and teasing, making you feel as though the conversation was just between the two of you. The others were never around, not when he let himself be just a little more relaxed, a little less of the untouchable prince. You lived for those brief moments, those stolen seconds when Daemon’s attention was on you, however fleeting it might be.
It was never more than that—a flicker, a smile, a brush of his hand against your arm—but it kept your heart bound to him, kept that crush alive even as the years passed. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t real, that he wasn’t interested in you the way you dreamed. But still, when he glanced your way, when his eyes lingered just a second longer, it made your world spin just a little faster.
You force yourself to keep walking, straight-backed and steady, as you approach your sister. The silence follows you, the gazes still locked onto your every movement. When you reach the high table, you see her—Alicent. She looks so much the same, yet so very different, and when you sit beside her, the space between you feels like an abyss. You can sense the tightness in her posture, the way her fingers clutch the edge of her goblet just a bit too tightly. The anger that simmers beneath her calm exterior isn’t something she’s even trying to hide now. It’s there, thick in the air, the silent wrath that she’s been holding back ever since you returned.
But you don’t flinch. You don’t look at her directly. Instead, you sit down with your back straight, your hands resting calmly on your lap as though nothing in this room could touch you. You can feel her tension, feel her eyes burning into you from the side, but you refuse to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. The game has changed. You are no longer the girl she could command with a glance.
The air between you two thickens, like a storm that’s already begun to break. You feel it, the undeniable shift, as Alicent’s anger seethes just beneath the surface. But you hold your ground, your mind focused on the present moment, on the power you now hold in the space you’ve carved for yourself.
The moment you sit down, your eyes inevitably find him—your father, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. He’s seated just a few places away, his posture as straight and composed as you remember, the weight of duty etched into every line of his face. He looks older, though. Perhaps it’s the years of maneuvering the chessboard that is court life, or perhaps it’s simply time catching up with him. But his eyes... they haven’t changed. They are still sharp, calculating, always looking for the next move.
For a moment, you’re struck by the sheer oddity of it—how he can seem so familiar and yet so distant all at once. You’d spent so many years trying to earn those eyes' approval, only for them to shift away from you and settle on Alicent the moment she married the King. You can still hear his voice echoing in your mind, dismissing you as if you were an afterthought: “You are no longer needed here.” The sting of those words hasn’t faded, even after all this time.
Now, though, his gaze has found you again, drawn there almost magnetically. But it isn’t approval you see. No, it’s something else entirely. His brow furrows ever so slightly, and you notice his eyes catch on the necklace resting just above the neckline of your gown. Your mother’s necklace—silver, not the greens or golds of your house. You haven’t worn it in years, not since the day he told you it didn’t “suit your station.” It had been easier, back then, to simply put it away, to avoid the argument, to not feel the heavy weight of his disapproval every time he looked at you. But tonight, it sits proudly against your skin, a subtle but deliberate act of rebellion. And you know he sees it. You see the flicker of recognition, the way his lips press into a thin line, the tightness in his jaw that betrays his otherwise stoic demeanor. He’s never been one for outbursts, not in public, but you know the signs of his displeasure as well as you know your own reflection.
Alicent notices too. Her eyes flick briefly to your necklace, her expression unreadable. She’s perfected that, hasn’t she? The calm mask that reveals nothing of the thoughts swirling beneath. But you see the slight shift in her posture, the way her hand stills on her goblet for just a moment too long. She recognizes it as well—your mother’s necklace, the one that had been left to you and only you. And though her face remains impassive, you can sense something stirring beneath the surface. Guilt, perhaps? Or simply discomfort? You can’t be sure, and you don’t particularly care.Your father, however, is a different story. You meet his gaze, refusing to look away, refusing to shrink under the weight of his disapproval. There’s a part of you that wonders if he’ll say something, if he’ll try to admonish you here, in front of the entire court. But he doesn’t. Instead, he simply looks at you, his expression unreadable save for the faint flicker of annoyance in his eyes.
And for the first time in years, you feel a strange sense of power. It’s not much, just a small spark, but it’s there—a quiet defiance that burns brighter with each passing second. Let him stew in his disapproval. Let him wonder if you wore the necklace for this very reason, to remind him of what he cast aside. Because in truth, maybe you did.
The feast continues, but for you, it’s like you’re in a different world—your heart beats steadily, and a quiet sense of satisfaction hums through you. You’ve made your choice. Tonight, you are no longer just a pawn. Tonight, you are the one who will shape the story.
And as Daemon’s gaze lingers on you once more, you smile to yourself, knowing that he—like everyone else in this room—will soon see that you are a force to be reckoned with.
The feast hall hums with life, the air thick with the clink of silverware, the rustle of rich fabrics, and the soft murmur of conversation. You sit in silence, the noise of the room all but fading into the background as you watch the scenes unfold before you. Lords and ladies cluster in small groups, their voices low but eager, whispers floating like smoke in the air. They glance at you now and then, no doubt wondering what’s behind the change in your appearance, the subtle defiance in your gown, in your presence. They can’t decide whether you are the same, or something new. You don’t mind. Let them wonder.The soft strains of music begin to fill the hall as the dancers step onto the floor, swirling in delicate steps as the violins and lutes carry the rhythm of the night. The bright, flowing colors of the dancers’ gowns blur in the air as they move, their laughter light and carefree. The court seems to forget its formalities for a brief moment, caught in the frivolity of the dance, the sound of soft feet tapping against the stone floors. You feel like an observer, watching them from your seat, your own heart at a steady, deliberate beat, disconnected from the joy that surrounds you. You don’t dance tonight. Tonight, you are simply here, marking your place.
The King, kind-hearted as he always was, leans toward you with a smile, his voice gentle as he speaks. “It’s good to see you back at the capital,” he says, his tone warm, almost fatherly. He’s never been anything but kind to you, his eyes always carrying that same genuine kindness that made it impossible to feel anything but at ease in his presence. You nod politely, your lips curling into a small smile, but you can’t help but feel the weight of the room shift around you. It’s not uncomfortable, not exactly. But it’s different now. There’s something in the air tonight that you can’t quite shake. You sense the tension in the corners of the hall, in the soft glances exchanged when they think no one is watching.
You see Alicent’s head snap to the king, you could tell she did not approve of his kindness, but she didn’t care say anything. After all, she needed this night to go incredibly well.
Before you can respond fully, Rhaenyra leans toward you, past her father, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “I’m glad you’re back,” she says, her words a comfort, a reminder of the past. “I know I haven’t written... I should have. I’m sorry for that. Things have been... complicated.” Her smile is genuine, but her eyes—those familiar, warm eyes—hold something more, something unspoken, a shared understanding of how much has changed since the days when you were just children.
“Thank you rhanerya, its so lovely to see you again” a soft smile graces your features and youre glad that something positive has managed to from from this night. Alicent one more looking frustrated by the kindness of rhanerya’ a words, yet the princess paid her no mind.l
Rhanerya opens her mouth to carry on, when a new voice breaks in, cutting through the conversation like a blade. “A dance, my lady?”
Daemon Targaryen.
He stands at the edge of the table, a playful smirk on his lips, his eyes glinting with mischief as he surveys you. He’s always had that look about him—the kind that makes your stomach tighten, the kind that draws you in despite yourself. You feel the room’s attention shift again, as if everyone is waiting for you to respond, waiting to see what you’ll do. You know what they expect, what they want to see: a game, a flirtation, perhaps even a refusal that will keep the air buzzing with gossip for the rest of the night.
But you’re no fool. You know the rules here, and you know Daemon well enough to know that he’s never one to simply walk away. He stands there, waiting, his smirk deepening as he looks from you to the others at the table, all too aware of the eyes on him.
Rhaenyra’s expression falters just for a moment, but only for a brief second—something in her eyes, a flicker of recognition. You can’t tell if it’s jealousy or something else, but it’s gone before you can truly understand it. She shifts, her gaze quickly returning to Daemon, then back to you. You can almost hear her soft, unspoken question: What will you do now?
You know what the court expects. You know the rumors that swirl around Daemon Targaryen, the rogue prince, the dashing yet dangerous man who can make any woman’s heart race. But tonight, you are not the girl you once were. You are no longer the one who swooned at his glances, who dreamt of him in secret. Tonight, you are your own woman, unafraid to carve your own path, even if that path leads into the whirlwind of trouble Daemon inevitably brings.
But still, when his eyes meet yours, you feel that familiar flutter, that rush of something old and dangerous stirring within you.
“A dance?” you repeat, a slight smile tugging at your lips. You hesitate, just a fraction of a second longer than necessary, before you rise, the tension in the air palpable. The music swells around you as you step forward, your gown trailing behind you like a shadow, as the hall watches you, the game already set in motion.
And for just a moment, you wonder if this night will change everything.
Daemon extends his hand, his grin sharp as a blade, his silver hair catching the glow of the hall’s countless candles. His confidence is infuriating and intoxicating all at once, and you can feel the room’s collective breath catch as you place your hand in his. The warmth of his palm against yours sends a ripple of something electric up your spine. He leads you to the center of the dance floor with the grace of a man who knows exactly what kind of chaos he inspires.
The music shifts as the two of you step into place, the tempo slow and seductive, perfectly suited to the swirl of your gown as he begins to guide you. His movements are precise yet effortless, and you find yourself matching his steps with an ease that surprises you. His smirk deepens as his eyes meet yours. “The Queen of Shadows,” he says, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “How fitting. A shadow is all they’ve ever let you be... but tonight, you’ve turned it into a crown.”
Your breath catches at the words, a mixture of disbelief and... something else. The way he says it, it’s not mockery. It’s a compliment—a rare, genuine acknowledgment of your defiance, your power. For years, you’ve been invisible, cast aside, an afterthought. And yet here you are, the center of attention, with the Rogue Prince himself spinning you around the room as though you are the only one who matters.
The corners of your lips twitch upward, and you meet his gaze head-on. “Careful, Prince Daemon,” you reply, your voice laced with a confidence you haven’t felt in years. “Someone might think you mean that.”
“Oh, I do,” he murmurs, twirling you effortlessly before pulling you back against him. His hand rests at the small of your back, firm yet not restricting. “You’ve always been wasted in the shadows. Tonight, you remind them all what a mistake that was.”
You can feel the heat of countless eyes on you, but none more so than Alicent’s. She sits rigid at the high table, her expression betraying a flicker of worry as she watches the two of you glide across the floor. You know exactly what she’s thinking. This isn’t part of the plan. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. She’s fretting over the arrangement she’s carefully orchestrated, the marriage she’s likely secured for you without your consent. But you don’t care. Not tonight.
Otto’s face is a mask of controlled tension, his fingers gripping the armrest of his chair just a fraction too tightly. He, too, is calculating, trying to figure out how to intervene without causing a scene. But Daemon doesn’t give them the chance. He spins you again, drawing you further into the crowd of dancers, further away from their reach.
“They’re furious, you know,” Daemon teases, his voice laced with amusement. “Your father, your sister... I’d wager half the room is scandalized.”
Good,” you reply, your voice firm. “Let them be.”
He chuckles at that, a low, rich sound that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t fully understand. “That’s the spirit. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than they realize.”
The music swells, and Daemon guides you through the intricate steps with a practiced ease, his hand never faltering as he keeps you close. He leans in slightly, his lips near your ear. “But tell me,” he says, his tone quieter now, more intimate, “did you wear this gown for yourself... or for me?”
Your heart stutters for a moment, but you catch yourself before you falter. You tilt your head slightly, your own smirk forming. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
His laughter is soft and wicked, and as the dance carries you both across the floor, you realize that, for the first time in years, you feel truly alive. Let them watch. Let them whisper. Tonight, you are no longer a shadow. Tonight, you are something more. And the Rogue Prince, with all his dangerous charm, seems to see it too
You were far to busy to notice you father and sister slipping away from the feast
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
The murmur of the feast hall echoes faintly down the corridor, but here, in the shadowed alcove behind a tapestry, Alicent stands with her father, their voices low. Her fingers nervously trace the edges of her green gown, her expression carefully measured.
“She’s drawing far too much attention,” Alicent murmurs, glancing toward the faint glow of the hall. “Daemon, of all people. If she continues like this, the lords will start talking, and that cannot happen.”
Otto, ever composed, clasps his hands behind his back. “She won’t have the chance. The arrangement has already been made. The match is strong, politically advantageous. Once it’s announced, her theatrics will be irrelevant.”
Alicent nods, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes—hesitation, perhaps? “Does she truly need to be told tonight? This was meant to bring her back into the fold, not alienate her further.”
“She has no choice,” Otto says firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “The King has agreed. It is done.”
Alicent swallows, her throat tight as she lowers her gaze. “She’ll hate me for this,” she whispers.
Otto’s voice softens slightly, but it remains resolute. “Better that she hates us now than jeopardizes the stability of the realm. She’ll come to see the wisdom of it in time.”
The sound of laughter swells from the feast hall, and Alicent straightens, smoothing the fabric of her gown as she forces a calm expression onto her face. “Very well,” she says quietly, before stepping back toward the festivities
——————————————————————————————————————————————————
The feast blurs around you, the laughter and music fading into the background. The weight of Daemon’s gaze pulls at you, as if tethering you to him despite the chaos swirling in the hall. You’ve tried to ignore him, to keep your composure, but when he suddenly appears at your side, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, it’s impossible to pretend he’s not there.
“Are you bored yet, little shadow?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
You glance at him, trying to mask your curiosity. “And why would that concern you?”
His smirk is wicked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Because I know how much you hate being their obedient little puppet. And because I have a much better idea for how to spend the evening.”
Your brow furrows, suspicion flickering in your chest. “What are you suggesting?”
He leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks. “Come with me. Let’s give them something to really talk about.”
Part of you worries the man is toying with you, you were no fool, you knew what he was like. But you cant help be drawn into his trap.
The air between you feels charged, dangerous. You know you shouldn’t. You know whatever he has planned will only make things worse. But the allure of defiance, of stepping out of the role they’ve forced you into, is too tempting to resist.
He was the wolf, guiding you to slaughter. Daemon knew what he wanted, and if toying with you was what he had to do, then so be it.
A dark streak in him loved to watch as you fell into his plan, just as he thought you might.
Before you can overthink it, you find yourself nodding.
The cool night air greets you as Daemon leads you through the darkened corridors of the castle. Your gown whispers against the stone floors, and the sound of the feast grows faint behind you. You should feel nervous, but instead, there’s a strange exhilaration coursing through your veins.
“Where are we going?” you whisper, your voice tinged with both curiosity and unease.
Daemon glances back at you, his smirk still firmly in place. “You’ll see.”
He leads you out onto a narrow balcony overlooking the courtyard below. The city of King’s Landing sprawls beyond, its lights twinkling like a sea of stars. Daemon leans against the railing, his posture relaxed, but his eyes are sharp as they study you.
“Do you know what they see when they look at you?” he asks suddenly, his tone softer now, almost contemplative.
You blink at him, caught off guard. “What?”
“They see a girl too afraid to claim what’s hers,” he continues, his gaze locking onto yours. “Too afraid to break the rules they’ve chained her with. You let them shape you, define you, when you could be so much more.”
His words sting because they’re true, and he knows it. But there’s something in his tone, something almost cruel in the way he peels back your defenses. The way he’s sculpting you into what he needs you to be.
“And what do you see?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost a challenge. You desperately wanted to know.
A flicker of something unreadable passes over his face before he steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against the silver chain of your mother’s necklace. “I see someone who doesn’t belong in their world. Someone who could burn it all down if she dared.”
The words are intoxicating, and you hate how much they resonate. He steps even closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.
“They think they can control you,” he says, his fingers lightly tracing the necklace. “Prove them wrong. Let them see what happens when you step out of their grasp.”
Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at him, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. “How?”
Daemon’s smirk returns, sharper now. “By doing what they’d never expect. By doing exactly what they forbid.”
He gestures out toward the city, the suggestion hanging in the air between you. Sneaking out of the castle with him would be reckless, dangerous���everything they would hate. And he knows that.
“You want to unsettle them?” he says, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”
There’s a challenge in his eyes, and you can feel the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You know he’s playing on your desire for freedom, on the resentment simmering in your chest. But the temptation to follow him, to throw caution to the wind, is impossible to ignore.
Temptation was all Daemon was, he thrived off it. Relishing in how you gave into it so easily.
As you stare back at him, you realize that Daemon isn’t just dangerous—he’s intoxicatingly so. And tonight, he’s offering you a taste of that danger, knowing full well it’s something you can’t resist
The air outside the castle walls is thick with the scent of the city—smoke, spice, and the faint tang of the sea. It’s noisy here, alive in a way the stifling halls of the Red Keep never are. Daemon moves through the labyrinth of streets as if he owns them, his steps confident, his silver hair catching the glow of lanterns as he glances back at you.
“Try to keep up, little shadow,” he calls over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You quicken your pace, trying not to let the unfamiliar surroundings overwhelm you. The streets are crowded, lined with vendors, performers, and people shouting over one another. It’s unlike anything you’ve experienced, and you feel the weight of every curious glance thrown your way.
“Daemon,” you hiss, catching up to him. “Where are we going?
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slides an arm around your waist, pulling you closer as a group of rowdy men stumble past. The touch is possessive, almost territorial, and it sends a shiver down your spine.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re with me. No one will dare lay a hand on you.”
His words are meant to be reassuring, but there’s an edge to them, a reminder of his reputation. You don’t pull away, though, and he notices, his smirk deepening.
The tavern is dimly lit, filled with the smell of ale and sweat. The din of laughter and shouting washes over you as Daemon leads you inside. It’s a far cry from the elegant halls of the castle—crude and chaotic—but Daemon seems entirely at ease.
He tosses a coin to the barkeep without breaking stride, securing two goblets of wine before steering you toward a corner table. The wooden bench creaks as you sit, and you feel the weight of curious eyes on you.
“You’ve done this before,” you say, watching him over the rim of your goblet as you take a cautious sip.
“More times than I can count,” he replies easily, leaning back in his seat. “The city is far more entertaining than that gilded cage we left behind.”
You glance around, the noise and unfamiliarity pressing in on you. “I’m not sure I belong here.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he leans forward, his voice dropping. “That’s where you’re wrong. You belong wherever you choose to be. The problem is, you’ve spent your entire life letting others decide for you.”
His words sting, but there’s a truth to them that you can’t ignore. You look away, swirling the wine in your goblet, and he chuckles softly.
“You’re too used to being told who you are,” he says, his tone softening just enough to draw you back in. “But tonight, you get to decide. No one here knows your name, your bloodline. You could be anyone.”
You glance at him, searching for any sign of mockery, but his expression is unreadable. “And who are you when you’re not the rogue prince?”
His smirk returns, but there’s something darker beneath it. “Exactly who I choose to be.”
The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something dangerous.
As the night wears on, Daemon’s attention never wavers from you. He teases, flirts, and challenges you at every turn, his words laced with a mix of charm and provocation.
When a musician begins to play, he stands and extends a hand to you. “Dance with me.”
“Here?” you ask, glancing around nervously.
“Why not?” he counters, his smirk daring you to refuse.
You hesitate, but the weight of his gaze and the pull of his confidence draw you to your feet. The floor is uneven, the space too crowded, but Daemon moves as if none of it matters. His hand finds your waist, his other clasping yours, and he guides you into a slow, deliberate rhythm.
“You’re nervous,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.
“I’m not used to this,” you admit.
His smirk softens into something almost resembling patience. “That’s the point, little shadow. You’ve spent too long hiding. Let them see you.”
His words sink deep, stirring something inside you. But even as you let him lead, you can’t ignore the way he looks at you—as if he knows exactly what he’s doing, as if every word and gesture is calculated.
“Why are you doing this?” you ask suddenly, searching his face for an answer.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. “Because you deserve to know what it feels like to live.”
But there’s something else in his eyes, something he doesn’t say. And as he spins you across the uneven floor, you realize that with Daemon, the line between freedom and manipulation is razor-thin. He’s offering you a taste of something intoxicating, but at what cost?
The tavern hums with the chaotic noise of its patrons, but in this small corner, everything feels unbearably still. Daemon’s eyes are fixed on yours, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in like a magnet. The warmth of his hand rests lightly on your waist, the touch sending a strange shiver through your body. You can feel your heart racing, uncertainty curling in your stomach.
“Daemon...” you murmur, your voice quieter than you intend.
He leans in closer, the proximity making it impossible to breathe normally. The scent of wine and something darker—more dangerous—lingers around him, but it’s intoxicating, and you can’t seem to pull away.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” Daemon whispers, his lips barely grazing your ear. “I won’t hurt you, little shadow. Not unless you want me to.”
Your breath hitches at the weight of his words. You know better than to be so close, to let him get under your skin like this, but something inside you trembles with curiosity, with an aching desire to know what he’s offering.
But there’s still hesitation, a voice in your mind warning you to be careful, to stop before things go too far. You glance around, but the world outside this little bubble of silence feels distant. There’s no escape.
“I... I’m not sure,” you whisper, your heart pounding.
Daemon’s fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, the touch soft but purposeful, sending a wave of heat rushing through you. He smiles, a slow, knowing thing that sends an uneasy thrill through your veins.
“I think you are,” he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours, the words laced with something darker, something you don’t fully understand yet. “You’ve always known, haven’t you? You just needed a little push.”
Before you can respond, he’s pulling you closer, the kiss coming so swiftly you don’t have time to think, to pull away. His lips are firm against yours, and the world fades. You can taste the wine on his breath, the heat of his body pressing into yours, and for a moment, you forget everything else.
But then, a flicker of awareness creeps back into your mind—his hands, too deliberate in their hold, the force behind the kiss, the way his tongue brushes against yours with an almost possessive edge. You want to pull away, but the pull of his touch keeps you rooted, his lips deepening the kiss, coaxing you further into the storm he’s created.
For a moment, you let it happen—because you want it, don’t you? There’s no mistaking the way your pulse quickens, the way your body reacts to him, to the dangerous thrill of what’s happening between you.
But then, a small voice inside you whispers that this isn’t what it seems. Daemon isn’t just taking what he wants; he’s testing you. He’s pushing you, knowing you won’t resist, and that thought should terrify you, but instead, it only deepens the knot in your stomach.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes watching you with a glimmer of something—triumph, perhaps, or perhaps it’s something more complex.
“You’re so innocent,” Daemon breathes, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine. “So naive. But you’ll learn.
The words hang between you, heavy and loaded. And for the first time, you realize that the weight of his care is just as suffocating as his manipulation. He sees you as a puzzle, something to unravel, and in doing so, he’s slowly drawing you into his world—one where rules are bent, and where the only thing that matters is getting what you want.
You blink, your breath shaky, trying to regain your composure, but it’s hard with Daemon so close. You can’t tell if the heat in your chest is desire or something darker.
“What... what do you want from me?”
Daemon chuckles softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Everything, little shadow. Everything.”
The moon is a silver crescent, casting shadows across the streets of King’s Landing as you and Daemon slip through the dark alleys, hearts still racing from the night’s escapade. The thrill of defiance still buzzes in your veins, but something else gnaws at you—a feeling you can’t shake, a creeping sense that this is all too dangerous, that you’ve stepped too far into a world you can’t control.
Daemon walks beside you, his hand briefly brushing against yours. You can’t tell whether it’s for your comfort or his, but you don’t pull away. His grin is still mischievous, his eyes sparkling with the kind of dangerous energy that makes your heart skip a beat.
“I do enjoy watching them squirm,” Daemon murmurs, more to himself than to you, but you hear it clearly. “You, little shadow... you do have a knack for it.”
Your chest tightens with a mixture of exhilaration and guilt. This was reckless—this was too much. But just as quickly, your rebellious streak rises again, and you refuse to be the one to regret. Not yet.
However, as you near the castle gates, you realize too late that you’ve already lost the luxury of freedom. The looming figures of your family stand before you, gathered like statues carved from ice. Alicent’s face is pale with fury, her lips tight in an unforgiving line. Otto stands at her side, his expression unreadable but sharp as a blade. The King, normally so composed, stands with furrowed brows and clenched fists.
Rhaenyra’s presence only makes it worse—her eyes flick between you and Daemon, her gaze mixed with concern and a subtle understanding of the storm that’s about to break.
Before you can even take another step, Alicent’s voice slices through the air like a whip.
“There you are. Thought you could slip away unnoticed, did you?” She doesn’t wait for a response, her voice tightening. “You’ve ruined everything. Do you understand that? You’ve ruined your future. Your marriage to Lord Harroway... gone. All because of this.” She points an accusing finger at Daemon, her eyes filled with disdain.
Daemon, ever the provocateur, gives a lazy smile. “Ruined? Hardly. She’s free for once. Shouldn’t that be celebrated, dear sister?” His voice oozes mockery, and you can’t help but feel a spark of anger at his casual disregard for the consequences.
Your heart lurches as Alicent’s words sink in, the anger bubbling up inside you. “I didn’t know! You—you never told me! I didn’t even know about this... this arranged marriage!”
“You don’t have the luxury of ignorance,” Otto’s voice cuts in, cold as ice. “The plans were made. Your future was decided long ago. And now, thanks to your impulsive behavior, we have to start from scratch.”
“I have to start from scratch? What about you?” you snap, your temper flaring. “You’ve decided my life for me without even asking what I want, without ever giving me a choice!”
Alicent steps closer, her voice hissing through gritted teeth. “You have no choice now. You’ve made your bed, and you’ll lie in it. There’s no room for him in it. Not anymore.” She points at Daemon again, and you feel a pang in your chest. The venom in her words cuts deeper than you expected.
Daemon, undeterred, steps forward with that same cocky smile, his eyes glinting with something darker. “What’s the problem, sister? Afraid my presence will overshadow your perfect little plans? Your little puppet of a daughter?” His words are sharp and deliberately cruel.
Daemon’s voice becomes dangerously soft. "You think you can just control her, that you can marry her off like some prize? You should be grateful, Otto, that I didn’t choose to go even further."
Daemon leans in just a bit closer to Otto, eyes gleaming with twisted satisfaction. "After all, I kissed her. Right under your nose. I took what you thought you could control." He lets the words hang in the air like a heavy, biting taunt, the cruelty of the statement drawing a sharp intake of breath from Otto and the others.
You see Alicent’s hands tighten at her sides, her jaw locking in fury, but it’s Otto who steps forward next, his voice low and dangerous.
“Enough. This ends now. I don’t care if you’re the King’s brother. You’ve risked her honor—my daughter’s honor—and I will not tolerate it.”
Daemon doesn’t back down, though. He looks at you with a mixture of annoyance and something deeper, more calculating. “You know you can’t cage me, Otto. She wanted this. She wanted the freedom.”
For a moment, Daemon leans into otto, right next to his ear muttering something only otto can hear “How about I fuck her next, then you’ll truly be ruined.”
You have no idea what Daemon said, but Otto pushed him away with such hatred in his eyes, you knew it was bad. “You bastard!” otto bellowed
Daemon chuckles darkly. "I’m not done yet. If you try to stop me again, Otto... you’ll regret it. I’ll take her whenever I want—no one, not even you, can stop me. I’ll just steal her away from you. And if you so much as look at me wrong, I’ll make sure your precious plans fall apart for good."
He grins, his expression both teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix of arrogance and cruelty. "The marriage is ruined, Otto. She’ll never be yours to control, not after this. You’ve lost."
Daemon then turns to look at you, eyes cold, calculating. "And don’t think I’m done with you either," he sneers, amusement flickering in his voice. "You were so willing to follow my lead tonight, to sneak away with me. And yet you stand there like you’re innocent. Do you really think I’ll let you just go back to your life?"
His words hit you harder than expected, and you can’t help but feel that the power Daemon wields over you is suffocating. You want to speak, to argue, but his presence is overpowering, his smirk twisting your insides into a knot.
Before you can react, the King steps forward, cutting off Daemon’s threat with a sharp command. "Daemon!" The King’s voice rings through the night like a hammer. "Enough of this insolence!"
Daemon’s gaze flickers briefly toward the King, his smirk returning. "Ah, the old man finally speaks. Are you afraid of losing control of everything, Your Grace?"
The King’s face hardens. "No one is taking her anywhere. You will not leave this castle with her. And if you try anything... there will be consequences."
Daemon’s smirk falters for just a moment, but then, in the blink of an eye, he gives a slight, mocking bow. "Of course, Your Grace. I understand." His voice is laced with sarcasm, and though he’s feigning submission, the air of threat still lingers in his every word.
Daemon turns back to you, his eyes still dark, but with a hint of something more—something that could be regret, or perhaps satisfaction at having rattled the cages. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he steps away, his presence still hanging heavily in the air.
Later, you find yourself in the cold, sterile confines of your chamber, the door slamming shut behind you with an echoing finality. The guards stand at attention outside, their presence a silent reminder that you’re not free to leave.
The anger inside you refuses to fade. How could they do this to you? How could they keep this marriage a secret, control every part of your life like this? Your hands tremble as you sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the floor. This was your life. Your choice. But now...
“You will marry Lord Harroway.” Otto’s voice, gravelly and severe, breaks through your spiraling thoughts. You look up to find him standing in the doorway, his face set like stone.
“I will not,” you say, your voice low, but steady. “You can’t force me into this. I won’t be some prize to be handed over for a political alliance.”
Otto takes a step closer, his eyes cold with an authority that’s suffocating. “You have no choice in this. You’ve ruined everything. Daemon has ruined everything. You will do what’s expected of you.”
Your chest tightens, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill. “I don’t want him,” you whisper, the truth cutting through your anger like a knife. “I want me. I want my freedom. Why can’t you see that?”
Otto’s expression hardens further, his jaw clenched as if the mere thought of your independence disgusts him. “You don’t get to decide that. It was decided long before you were born. You will marry Lord Harroway. If you want to see Daemon again—if you want any part of your life back—you’ll accept the life we’ve planned for you. There are no more choices.”
The finality in his words hangs in the air like a death sentence. You stand abruptly, your legs shaky beneath you.
“I won’t... I won’t do it.”
“Then you’ll live with the consequences,” Otto replies, his voice colder than ever. He turns to leave, but then pauses. “You’ll stay here until your head is clear. And if I hear of Daemon again, if I even hear his name from your lips...”
The threat is left hanging, and you can’t help but shudder at the coldness in his tone. The door slams behind him, leaving you alone in the silence of your prison.
Anger burns hot in your chest, a tangled mess of fury at your family, at the life they’ve forced upon you, and yet, there's something darker festering within. You’re furious with Daemon too—furious that he pushed you into this, egging them on with his recklessness, his devil-may-care attitude. Did he ever stop to think about the consequences? About how you would bear the weight of his actions? Of course not. He took what he wanted, without a second thought, and now, you’re left to pick up the pieces. And the worst part? You still want him
The days drag on, suffocating you in your solitude. Your chamber has become a prison, and every second spent there is a constant reminder of how tightly your family has bound you—your father, your mother, Alicent, all of them shaping your life without a care for what you want. They’ve planned your marriage, decided your future, and left you with no choice but to accept it.
The anger you feel burns hot inside you, but it’s a quiet rage, simmering beneath the surface. And then, just when you think you might explode, you hear it—the sound of your door creaking open.
Daemon.
He steps inside without hesitation, as if he’s done this a thousand times before, and his eyes sweep over you with an unsettling familiarity. The way he looks at you—it’s like he knows something you don’t.
For a second, your heart skips in your chest, and a twinge of excitement rushes through you. But then, the anger floods back, sharp and bitter. You feel it, and you want to lash out at him. He’s the reason everything has gone to hell. He’s the one who pushed your family to this point, his reckless actions leaving you to clean up the mess.
“just in your night gown my lady? How scandalous” he jokes, a sultry look in his eyes
“Daemon…” you hiss, not bothering to hide the fury in your voice. “What are you doing here? You’ve ruined everything! My life is no longer my own, and now you show up like it’s some kind of joke?”
He smiles, the kind of smile that promises trouble. “You think I don’t know that?” His voice is laced with amusement, as if the destruction of your life is just another game to him. “But let’s not pretend you didn’t enjoy it a little. You did, didn’t you?” His eyes gleam, dark and knowing. “I didn’t make you do anything. You chose to play, and now we both have to face the consequences.”
You flinch at his words. It’s true—you did enjoy the attention, the excitement, the flirtation. But you didn’t sign up for this. You didn’t expect him to abandon you, to let you suffer the consequences of his actions.
You cross your arms, trying to steady your breath. “How dare you speak to me like that the other night?” Your voice comes out harsher than you intended, but it doesn’t matter. You want him to know how deeply he’s hurt you, how careless he was with his words.
Daemon chuckles lowly, a sound that sends a shiver of unease down your spine. He stops just in front of you, his eyes glinting with something darker, something that makes your stomach tighten. “Oh, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Did you think I didn’t mean it?”
You recoil slightly, the words stinging. “What’s wrong with you?” you snap, your voice wavering despite your efforts to remain composed.
He’s too close now, too overwhelming. His presence fills the room, making it feel smaller, suffocating. Daemon’s fingers brush against your arm as he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. “I know you’re angry,” he whispers. “I know you want to hate me. But you can’t. Not really. Not when you know how much I’ve ruined you...”
You swallow, the accusation hanging in the air. His words have a way of finding their mark, cutting deep into the places you thought were safe.
“I’ve ruined your little plans,” he continues, his voice mocking. “But you followed me, didn’t you? You followed me just as easily as you’ve followed everything else. And I know you can’t stop thinking about it. About me.” He pauses for a moment, eyes trailing over your face, reading every flicker of emotion. “You can’t stay angry at me, not when you know you want to be with me.”
His hand slowly reaches for your chin, tilting your face up toward him, forcing you to look him in the eye. His grip is tight, possessive, and for all your anger, you don’t push him away.
Daemon’s smirk widens, cruel and knowing. “You’ve always wanted to be a part of my world. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You couldn’t resist me then, and you won’t resist me now.”
His words are like a gentle caress to the skin, but they’re coated with venom, sharp and cruel beneath the surface. The accusation burns, and you want to deny it, want to push him away with everything in you. But something in the pit of your stomach churns—doubt, confusion, and a pull that you can’t seem to escape.
Daemon leans closer, his lips hovering just above your ear, his breath tickling your skin. “I can see it in your eyes. You hate that I’ve made you feel this way. But you know, deep down, that you’ll forgive me. Because, whether you like it or not, you belong to me now.”
Your breath catches in your throat, and Daemon watches you carefully, his gaze a mix of amusement and satisfaction, as if he knows exactly how deeply his words are cutting into you. He’s playing you like a stringed instrument, and you’re helpless to resist.
His lips brush against your ear, whispering softly, “You’ll forgive me, because you have no choice. You’ll forgive me because, no matter how much you deny it, you want me. And you know, darling, that’s the hardest truth you’ll ever have to face.”
You close your eyes, anger mixing with confusion, as Daemon straightens up, his fingers lingering on your chin a moment longer before he releases you. He steps back, seemingly content with himself, watching you, waiting for you to break, to give in.
“And don’t pretend you’re above it,” he adds, his voice low and cutting. “You’re not. You’ll forgive me. You always do.”
Daemon steps closer, the air between you thick with something charged. His presence is overpowering, and every part of you wants to pull away. But you can’t. You’re drawn to him in ways you don’t want to admit.
His voice softens, and he places a hand on your arm, his touch far too intimate, far too familiar. “Don’t be angry with me,” he murmurs, leaning in just a little closer. “I know you’re upset. But we both know you’re not some delicate flower. You’ll weather this storm better than anyone else.”
You can’t help but feel a flicker of doubt. The way he speaks, like he understands you, like he’s the only one who truly gets you—it makes your resolve start to crack. Your anger still lingers, but it’s harder to hold onto with him standing there, looking at you like he’s the only one who sees the real you.
“I’m not some pawn in your game,” you snap, even though part of you wonders if you already are. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you to come here and tell me everything will be fine, Daemon. Because it won’t be.”
He smiles again, but this time, there’s no humor in it. It’s predatory, like he’s toying with you, pushing you into a corner you didn’t even know existed. “You’re angry,” he says, his voice low, almost a purr. “I understand that. But don’t mistake my actions for cruelty. I did this because I knew you were strong enough to handle it. You’re not like the rest of them. You’re... different.”
You swallow hard, the words stirring something inside you. He’s right, in a way. You are different. You’ve always felt out of place, like the world around you was something you had to adapt to instead of shaping it for yourself. Daemon makes it sound so... tempting, as if he’s offering you a chance to be something more than just the dutiful daughter.
But then he steps closer, and the moment your skin touches his, something shifts. His presence is overwhelming, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s dangerous. You know this. He’s the reason your life is in chaos. But the way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel seen, it draws you in like a moth to the flame.
“You’re stronger than you know,” he says softly, his fingers tracing the line of your arm. “But you don’t have to face this alone. Not if you don’t want to.”
His words are so smooth, so convincing, and in that moment, you want to believe him. You want to believe that he’s telling the truth, that maybe, just maybe, he’s the one who will help you find a way out of this mess
“You can’t fix this, Daemon,” you say, though your voice cracks, betraying the doubt in your chest. “You’ve already made everything worse.”
“I’m not here to fix it,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper now, as if the words are meant for only the two of you. “I’m here to offer you an escape. An escape from them. An escape from the life they’ve planned for you.”
The weight of his words hits you hard. You’ve been trapped for so long, your fate sealed by others, and the thought of escaping it, of finally having control over your life, is a temptation you can’t ignore.
Daemon watches you closely, reading the turmoil in your eyes. “You don’t have to be their puppet anymore,” he says softly, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your skin. “Come with me. Leave this place behind. I’ll make sure you’re free.”
Your heart races. Every part of you wants to run, to escape this suffocating existence. But you hesitate, because you know that following him means crossing a line you can never uncross. Yet, his gaze pulls you in, and for just a moment, the desire to be free, to be anything but the person they’ve molded you into, is stronger than anything else.
You look up at him, your breath shallow, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. “What do I do now?”
Daemon’s smile is slow, almost too pleased with himself. “Come with me,” he says, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll show you.”
Before you can say another word, his hand is on yours again, and he pulls you toward the door. Every step you take feels like a leap into the unknown, but you follow him anyway, trusting him more than you should, believing in the words he’s whispered into your ear
Daemon’s chambers are dimly lit, the flickering flame of the candles casting shadows that stretch across the stone walls like ghosts. The air is thick with the quiet of the night, but the tension is palpable. You stand near the door, heart racing in your chest as your nightgown clings too tightly to your skin, an innocent, exposed fabric that makes you feel both vulnerable and strange in Daemon’s presence. It’s just the two of you in this room now, and every breath feels heavy, weighted with the electricity that hums between you.
Daemon leans casually against the stone wall, one arm draped lazily over his waist, his gaze fixated on you with a curiosity that’s both unsettling and magnetic. His eyes—those stormy, knowing eyes—never leave you, studying you like a puzzle he can’t quite figure out, yet is intent on solving.
“You’ve made quite a habit of defying your family,” he says, his voice low and smooth, with that mischievous edge you’ve come to know all too well. “It’s... interesting. They thought they could control you, tie you down with a simple marriage, a pretty little contract. But here you are, free as ever. It suits you.”
You shift uncomfortably, his gaze like a weight pressing against you. The room suddenly feels too small.
“I’m not free,” you murmur, trying to push back against the pull of his words. “I’m just... running from one cage into another.”
Daemon’s lips curl into a smile, but it’s not comforting. It’s dangerous, calculated. He pushes himself off the wall slowly, almost lazily, as if he’s savoring the moment, the game. He steps closer, and the space between you grows smaller, until he’s only a few feet away.
“No,” he says, his voice dropping, lowering the temperature of the room even further. “You’re not running. You’re... escaping. There’s a difference.” His eyes flash as he takes another step, and you can’t help but notice how his movements are predatory, yet effortless. He makes it look so natural. “You’ve never really had a choice, have you? Always being told what to do, who to marry, where to go. You’re always playing by someone else’s rules.”
Your throat tightens as his words sink in, and the breath you didn’t realize you were holding escapes shakily. You swallow, trying to ground yourself. But then he’s there—right in front of you—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body.
Daemon’s hand brushes against yours, just barely, like a spark flickering in the dark. It’s light, teasing, but it sends a jolt through you. His touch is a reminder that he’s not just another man in the room. He’s Daemon Targaryen, and you’ve never been able to ignore the effect he has on you.
“You know,” he says softly, his voice like a velvet whisper against your ear, “they’re never going to give you the freedom you crave. They’ll always keep you in your place, a pawn for their schemes.”
Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat, but you refuse to let him see the way his words are hitting you. You look away, trying to gain some semblance of control, but Daemon won’t let you. He steps closer again, his body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse quicken. His fingers graze your wrist—just a light, fleeting touch—but it burns like fire.
His lips twitch upwards at the reaction he knows he’s getting from you. “You’re so... tense,” he murmurs, his voice dropping lower, thick with promise. “You can let go, you know. No one is here to judge you. Not tonight.”
The words dance around your head, teasing, tempting. You try to step back, but Daemon is there again, his hand on your arm, pulling you gently but insistently toward him.
His touch is light, his thumb brushing over the soft fabric of your nightgown, but it feels like more. He’s too close now, his breath mingling with yours, and the space between your bodies has evaporated entirely. The tension thickens, coiling tighter with every second that passes.
“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he says, his voice hushed, but with an edge of challenge. His fingers trace the edge of your collarbone, a soft caress that has your heart racing. “I’m not like the others. I won’t trap you. I’ll give you what you want... freedom.”
You open your mouth to respond, but the words fail you. You feel like you’re drowning, suffocated by his presence and the way he’s watching you. You can’t escape from the intensity of it, the way he’s pulling you in without saying a word, drawing you closer, making you forget the consequences.
Daemon’s gaze darkens, and for the first time, you see something sharper, more dangerous. He leans in, so close now you can feel his breath on your skin. “You’re not a little girl anymore,” he says, his voice soft but full of intent. “You don’t need to play by anyone’s rules. Not mine, not your father’s... no one’s.”
His hand moves up to cup your cheek, and you close your eyes, caught in the heady warmth of the moment, the world narrowing down to just him, just the two of you.
“You can take control. You can have power, be free, just by making one choice.” His eyes flicker to your lips, and you feel the magnetic pull again, impossibly strong. “Let me take what no one else can have. Let me take your honour.”
The words hang in the air between you like a tangible thing. A weight that presses on your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. You should step away. You should say no, because you know this would ruin everything. You know the consequences. But as Daemon watches you, waiting for your answer, a part of you—something deep, something far more primal than logic—feels the lure of his offer.
He’s not offering you love, not truly. He’s offering you freedom. A chance to slip from the chains that have held you your whole life.
“Daemon,” you whisper, your voice trembling, though you’re not sure whether it’s from fear or desire.
“Think about it,” he breathes, his lips brushing the edge of your ear. “I can make you untouchable. No one can force you into that marriage. You’ll be free, and no one will stand in our way.”
The temptation lingers, heavy and oppressive. You know it’s dangerous. You know you should walk away. But the thought of being free... of being his... tugs at something deep inside you.
Daemon’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as you hesitate, and you wonder—just for a moment—if you’ve already fallen too far to turn back.
The room is suffocating with heat, the flickering candlelight casting shadows that seem to grow and stretch as Daemon’s gaze never leaves you. The space between you feels charged, like the air itself is thick with something unsaid, something dangerous.
Daemon’s breath is steady, controlled, but you can see the flicker of something dark in his eyes—something that mirrors your own longing. His body is impossibly close, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small, vulnerable, but also alive, in a way you’ve never felt before.
You want him. That much is clear. His presence, his touch, everything about him makes your heart race, your pulse quicken, and your breath catch in your throat. But with that desire comes something darker, something you can’t quite put into words—fear, maybe. Or uncertainty. The price of giving in to this feels high, and you know it.
Daemon, however, knows this too. And that only makes him more determined, more insistent. He’s watching you intently, as if waiting for the very moment when he’ll break down the walls you’ve spent your life building. His hand is still lightly resting against your cheek, and his thumb brushes over your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine.
He can sense the hesitation, the inner battle. You can see the smile tugging at his lips, but it’s not kind. It’s triumphant, as if he knows something you don’t. That, in this moment, you are his.
“You know what you want,” he says, his voice low, smooth, almost like velvet, but it carries an edge—a hunger you can almost taste. “You’ve been running, hiding behind your family’s expectations, but the truth is... you’re not like them. You’ve always been different. You want to be free, and I can give you that.”
His words hang in the air, thick and heavy, like a spell being woven around you. You know the consequences. You’ve heard them, felt them. And yet...
Daemon leans in just a fraction more, his lips brushing against your ear, and you can hear the quiet, dangerous satisfaction in his voice when he speaks again.
“You want to feel something different, don’t you? Something real, something you can’t get from your family or their precious plans. Let me show you what it feels like to have control, to finally feel alive.”
The moment stretches out, and all you can hear is the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. Your thoughts are swirling, spinning, but at the center of it all is him. Daemon Targaryen. The man who holds your future in his hands, a future that could break you, or free you.
You’ve never been so conflicted in your life, yet his words have found a way into your soul, pressing on every vulnerable part of you. You can feel the walls you’ve built around yourself beginning to crumble, and there’s a part of you—a deep, secret part—that wants to surrender to him, to let him take you and leave you with nothing but the promise of freedom.
And yet, you can’t quite breathe without wondering if you’re making a mistake. If you’re giving up something too precious. But when Daemon’s lips move closer to yours again, his breath hot against your skin, you know that it’s too late to turn back. The decision has already been made. The temptation is too strong.
You nod, just barely, but it’s enough.
Daemon doesn’t need more words. He sees the shift in you, the acceptance in your eyes, and a glimmer of satisfaction flickers across his face. It’s not just triumph. It’s something else—something darker. He’s won, but the game is far from over.
He moves, quick and decisive, pulling you into him as his lips crash against yours. The kiss is everything you’ve been afraid of and everything you’ve wanted, all at once. His hands move to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might slip away. And for the first time, you stop thinking, stop questioning, and simply feel.
This is it. This is the point of no return.
This is unlike any other, this kiss was so different to the one that you shared in the tavern, it was hungrier. Filled with something more than just innocence and tension. It was full of passion, a feeling that had you mind going foggy despite Daemon having hardly touched you.
The feeling of his possesive grip on your neck had you whimpering lightly into the kiss, a sound that he moaned at. Relishing in your innocence, your taste, the smell of your flesh, the way you looked so angelic in you gown, in the candle light of his room.
He had backed you into a wall now, leaving no room for your escape. His lips dominating yours with each kiss.
“Are you sure of this my lady, once I start, I don’t think I can stop” he pulls away to mutter breathily in your ear, the both of you panting lightly. All you can do is will yourself to nod your head, a small smirk gracing his features at your wordlessness.
You weren’t sure what he was going to do, but the burning pit in your stomach told you to accept it greedily. You watched as the silver haired prince lowered himself between you legs. Lifting one onto his shoulder as his head dissapred beneath your night gown. You stood in silence for a moment as you back leant against the cold wall, until a sharp gasp but through the silent air.
You weren’t expecting anything like this, for him to kiss you down there. You had never even heard of such a thing. You didn’t have it in you to comparing however, moans ripping from your throat as Daemon slopping kissed your pussy, tongue gliding through your slick folds.
He sucked and licked to his hearts content, he could feel his pants tightening at your taste, it drove him wild, so sweet and innocent, he was so lucky to be the first to touch you he thought. He sucked gently on your clit, listening to the shrill moans you let out as he played with your virgin cunt. Your hips bucking involuntarily against his face as he licked fat stripes along you.
You didnt know what to do with yourself, eyes screwing shut with pleasure as you took whatever he gave you, whatever this was it felt amazing, unlike anything before
A feeling in your belly rose, a band tightening, a coil winding. You felt like you were going to snap, your breathing becoming more and more erratic as Daemon did nothing to slow his action. You were positively dripping, your slick smeared over his face.
“Daemon, oh gods- Daemon it feels-“ You didnt get a chance to finish that sentence before that band inside you snapped, your nerves on fire as Daemon didnt dare slow is assault
“That’s it little shadows, scream for me.:” he murmured into your cunt as it gushed on his face. You were screaming in pleasure as this point, trying to pull his off of you when it got too much, you had never been so sensitive before.
When he was finished he rose from his knees, wiping his face on the back of his sleeve, something that you shouldnt have enjoyed watching - an action so filthy - but you couldn’t help it.
Your head all dizzy and mushy from the after effects of your orgasm still flowing over you. You scared at each other for a moment, you hooded eyes glancing at the man with nothing but want written all over his features.
Not breaking eye contact for a moment, he rid himself of his shirt. Slowly stepping over to you, like you were some scared animal, hands reaching for your dress, slowly raising the garment over your head.
There you stood, naked in front of the man who’s eyes were running over you like you were fresh cut meat and he was starving.
Your arms instinctively rose to cover your bare chest, your nipple perk as the night air brushed against them, Daemon stops you, ringing your hand down to your sides so he can look at you, mutterly sweetly in you ear about how you mustn’t fear him and there’s no need to hide from him.
His hands meet your hips as he guides you to his bed, laying you down on it. He rids himself of his trousers as well and you cant help but watch, an admirable length stands tall between his thighs and you gulp. You knew that was meant to go inside you, but how would it fit.
He could read the nervousness on your face as he pressed his body on top of yours
“whats wrong my lady?” he asks in betweeen his kisses on your neck and chest, biting and licking the skin, making it harder for you to talk
“..Serving girls my lord, they mentioned how… bedding was painful, not enjoyable.” you can hardly make eyecontact with the man as his kisses stop as he looks at you.
“Trust me my lady, It might hurt at first, but what we are about to do will be very, very enjoyable I can assure you.” he pulls your chin to force you to look at him, you can feel him prodding at your wet entrance as you cant help but squirm at the feeling, all you know is you trust the prince, and you need more of whatever this is
Slowly, watching your face he pushes inside, inch by inch. One of his hands holding yours.
The stretch burns, and when he finally sheaths himself fully inside of you, You gasp out from the pain. It certainly did hurt, but you wanted to believe what Daemon said, that it was going to get better. you whine at the pain.
Daemons breathing heavily now as he is still inside you, what he wouldnt do to take your virgin cunt like a street whore, but he’s trying to be considerate, pausing and allowing you to adjust to his size first.
After a short while he finally began to move, building slow thrusts in and out of your weeping cunt, your wetness was dripping down onto the bedsheets beneath you. Daemon slipping into you with ease. Gods your cunt was so tight it was practically choking him, you virgin pussy sucking him back in with every thrust.
NOw you understood what Daemon meant, now he was moving inside you, it felt increadibly.
His mouth sucking lazily on your nipples as moans reverberated through his chest. His hand still gripping yours, dwarfing your smaller one as he kept it pinned to the bed.
Your chest heaving with every gasp, this feeling was so foreign to you, yet it had your legs turning to jelly, your mind fogging as your eyes glossing over.
“My prince- please” In truth you didnt know what you were begging him for, but you knew that you needed more.
He chuckles to himself, watching you fucked out state “oh whats this, You want more my lady?” His thrusts now picking up in both speed and strength, kicking the air out of your lungs as moan after incoherent moan left you.
“What would dear father think if he saw you like this, hm?” he teased, relishing in the blush along your face, and the innocent pout you gave him at his suggestion. He wouldnt mind if otto walked in right now and saw how he was defiling his daughter.
Daemon was fucking you with such hunger, yout tits bounced with each thrust, entrancing him to the supple skin. The vulgar squelching noises of you cunt could be hurt, you were truly embarrassed, but in that moment you didnt have the capacity to be bothered about it.
“Such a good lady, taking me so well” he muttered, out of breath as his silver hair now dangled handsomely in front of his face. He couldnt help but look down at where he was entering you, moaning at the sight or his cock pushing into your virgin walls.
“You like this don’t you? You like that im ruining you for any other stupid lord” You squealed at his suggestion as he punctuated it with a particularly harsh thrust. His fat tip was bu;;yung that gummy spot inside of you, the one that left you quivering and shivering.
“Yes!- yes my prince, I love it” Daemon chuckled darkly, he knew he would break you. Getting you to be completely his, completely ruined and improper. He had destroyed you an turned you into something else, something darker.
That band was building inside you once more, that feeling that you loved so much. ONly it was stronger now, as if the previous time had only made this one stronger. Daemon could tell you were close by how tightly you were gripping him, and the cute way your eyes screwed shut.
He was close also, your cunt milking him for everything hes got. “Come on my lady, fall apart for you prince. Fall apart on my cock.”
The words he was saying to you were so vulgar and crude, but you couldn’t help that they helped push you were that edge. You released over your prince with a cry of his name. It was the only thing you could think to do, sing his praises.
You were dripping around his cock, your release all over his thighs and abdomen. His hand squeezed yours tighter as he fucked his way to his orgasm.
Hips stuttering as he came, shooting his seed deep inside of you. A moan leaving his chest as he finally stilled, collapsing into of you whilst he was still inside. Giving you a final sloppy kiss of the night. In that moment you couldnt have been happier, falling asleep in freedom, in your princes arms
The first slivers of sunlight spill into the chamber, casting a golden glow over the bedchamber. You stir, caught between the haze of sleep and the memory of what you’ve done—what he has done to you, with you. It was a night unlike any other, one where you let your defenses crumble entirely, and Daemon made sure there was no going back.
He stirs beside you, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as if he can read your thoughts. “Awake already, my Lady? Don’t tell me you’re regretting it,” he teases, his voice low and full of self-satisfaction.
You rise, unable to match his ease, your nerves already fraying. “You know what day it is,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.
Daemon stretches leisurely, as if the weight of the world isn’t about to come crashing down. “Your wedding day,” he replies, unbothered. “How fitting. A celebration, just not the one your father planned.” His smirk is infuriating and maddeningly attractive.
He insists you dress and follow him, his presence a steadying force even as your stomach twists. By the time you reach the hall where Otto, Alicent, and the King await, the adrenaline has numbed your nerves, leaving only a simmering defiance in its wake.
The three of them are gathered in quiet discussion, Otto pacing, Alicent biting her nails, the King seated with furrowed brows. All eyes snap to you and Daemon as you enter, arm in arm, his hand resting on yours with a casual possessiveness that sets the air ablaze.
“Good morning,” Daemon announces with his usual audacity, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We have some rather exciting news to share.”
Otto’s expression darkens instantly, his calculating gaze narrowing on Daemon’s smirk. “What is the meaning of this?” he demands, though his voice trembles slightly.
Daemon’s smirk deepens, and he gives your hand a squeeze, silently daring you to speak. You open your mouth, but he beats you to it.
“Lady Hightower will not be marrying that dull lord you’ve chosen for her,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery. “Not after last night.” He glances at you, his expression full of dark amusement, and then back to Otto. “Consider her... unavailable.”
Alicent gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes dart between you and Daemon, searching for denial that doesn’t come. The King slams his cane on the ground, his face a thundercloud of barely contained rage. “Daemon, explain yourself,” he barks.
Daemon steps forward slightly, still keeping you close. “She’s mine now, brother. Fully and irreversibly,” he says, his voice calm but layered with unyielding dominance. “So unless you wish to see this house embroiled in scandal beyond repair, I suggest you stop meddling in her affairs. Or mine.”
Otto’s face flushes with anger, his composure crumbling. “You’ve disgraced her! Disgraced this family!”
Daemon laughs darkly, as though he’s savoring every second of Otto’s fury. “Disgraced? I think I’ve done the opposite. She’s more than a pawn now, wouldn’t you agree?” His eyes flicker to you, softer but no less intense. “She made her choice.”
You glance at Alicent, who stares at you in shock and something akin to betrayal, and then at your father, whose fury burns hotter than the sun. For the first time, you meet their gazes without fear. Daemon is a menace, yes, but with him by your side, you feel untouchable.
“Daemon is right,” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “I will not marry a man I don’t know, don’t want. You can’t make me.”
Otto’s mouth opens, but no words come out. The King lets out a sigh, his fury abating into tired frustration. “Daemon,” he says, “you have gone too far.”
“Perhaps,” Daemon replies with a shrug, “but far is the only place I’ve ever been comfortable.”
The tension in the room is suffocating, but you stand your ground, knowing there’s no turning back now. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightens, his smirk a silent promise that, come what may, he’s not letting you go
#daemon targeryen smut#daemon x you#hotd daemon#daemon x reader#daemon smut#daemon targaryen smut#daemon targaryen#hotd smut#hotd men#hotd fanfic
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Falling into Sin with the Black Tiger ~ Gilbert's 4th Birthday
▪︎ A Story from his POV
This is a fan translation so please don't expect it to be 100% accurate. Creative liberties have been taken. All content belongs to Cybird. Reblogs are appreciated. Hope you enjoy!
NSFW/MDNI
I thought the beast of destruction was a greedy creature.
Countries and people alike, can go to any lengths to get what they want.
Despite my self-confidence, I didn't realise it until I was asked, "What do you want?"
I hadn't really thought much about what lay ahead after obtaining everything.
Emma: Gil, aren’t you going to sleep?
After returning to my room from the ballroom, I was gazing aimlessly at the sky when Emma, who had been lying down, suddenly sat up.
Gilbert: I thought I’d bask in the afterglow of my birthday a little longer.
Emma: Then I’ll join you.
She embraced me from behind and the cold night air turned into warmth.
(I noticed that you weren’t sleeping and was waiting for you to join my company…..)
(If I say it out loud, I might get into trouble.)
Gilbert: You should go to sleep.
Emma: I can’t sleep.
Gilbert: Even though we did all sorts of things?
Emma: ……
Just by lightly tracing the hand that had been hugging me, Emma began to get flustered.
The corners of my mouth quirked as I felt the quick increase in heartbeat from my back.
(Maybe I went too far.)
--*flashback from the dining room*--
Emma: Mmm….aahh…your fingers…nghh
Gilbert: You want me to take them out? But I’m not moving them.
Emma: Nnn....you’re lying….
Gilbert: You know I hate lies.
Emma: Aaaahh
Gilbert: See, you’re acting on your own again.
Emma: No…Gil….you just bit my breasts.
Gilbert: It’s cruel to blame others.
Emma: A…ahhh...
--*flashback ends*--
(But it couldn’t be helped. She had a face that was saying “please eat me”.)
When we returned to my room from the dining room, or when we took a bath to wash our messy bodies….
I liked Emma’s reactions, how she tried her best to respond despite being embarrassed, and so I ended up being a little too mean.
Emma: Maybe because of all the things that happened to me…I can’t sleep at all.
Gilbert: You’re right. It’s no wonder you can’t sleep if you’re this anxious.
Emma: …So you can hear my heartbeat.
As Emma tried to move away feeling flustered, I grabbed her hand and pushed her down onto the bed.
Pressing my ear against her soft chest, I could hear her heartbeat more clearly.
Gilbert: It’s becoming faster again.
Emma: That’s how much I love you.
Gilbert: Hehe, thanks?
(The date has changed and so my birthday is over now.)
(You give me what I want every day.)
(I know you’re the only one who will never betray me, even without any threats or domination.)
As she caresses my hair in a pampering manner, the drowsiness is overshadowed by a sinful feeling.
When I poked the bulge visible through her negligee, a sweet sigh escaped from Emma’s mouth.
Emma: What are you doing?
Gilbert: It was right in front of me.
Emma: …Not now.
Gilbert: Because it will come back again?
Emma nodded without understanding a thing.
Gilbert: If you really don’t like it, I can stop….
I pulled up the hem of her nightgown and stroked my fingers between her legs.
It was so wet that it couldn’t have been caused by simple teasing, and it immediately swallowed my fingers.
Gilbert: Is this why you can’t sleep?
Emma: Ahh…again..
Gilbert: It’s a problem to be loved this much, isn’t it?
If I expose Emma’s weakness deep inside her belly, her poor, tormented lower abdomen will soon start dripping with her honey.
Gilbert: Does this mean ‘I love you’?
Emma: That’s….right…
Gilbert: Heehee, I see.
(No matter how many times I experience your ‘love’, it always feels good.)
I massaged her breasts over her negligee, also moving my fingers inside her to scoop out her arousal.
The love I sensed in her warm gaze was genuine.
Even though I’m such a terrible man, Emma always loves me.
(You asked me to be selfish on my birthday this year….)
(I thought my last selfish wish in life was to meet you.)
(I made up a reason to go to Rhodolite and get involved with Emma, even if it meant ruining her life.)
(I had never thought of anything more selfish than that, and I could never think of anything else.)
When I kissed a breathless Emma, she put her hands behind my head as if welcoming me.
I was moved by the way she kissed me, as if conveying that she wasn’t opposed to this at all.
(….Now that I think about it, it seemed obvious.)
(It’s only recently that I’ve started thinking about my future.)
When our lips part, a thread hangs in the dim light.
Emma: You too, Gil….
Gilbert: Hmm?
Emma’s hand rested on my cheek, and I was smiling kindly, too kind for a villain.
Emma: You act like you love me.
Gilbert: Hehe, isn’t that obvious?
Gilbert: I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t love you.
I pull out my fingers from inside her and help her sit up.
Emma seemed to understand my intentions immediately, and blushing bright red, she climbed on to my lap.
(I’m spending time now that shouldn’t have existed in the first place.)
(And if you plan on staying here from now on….)
(Maybe it is a good idea to take some time to think of my own future.)
(Most of my memories are already made up of blood and corpses, painted all black…)
(The memories we make give me hope for the future.)
Emma lowered herself on me, and hugged me tightly.
Emma: Haah…Gil…
Gilbert: You’re okay with moving on your own again?
Emma: That’s…not true…
Emma said “that’s not true”, but as she moved her hips she lets out a small shriek.
It seemed she had moved unconsciously, and again, I couldn’t help but laugh.
(When I’m with you, I feel so happy.)
(…I’m sure Emma knows very well what it means for me to be happy.)
I secretly watched Emma bustling about preparing for my birthday, but this year too, I couldn’t keep a smile on my face.
I imagine Emma had her own thoughts about giving her blessings to the great villain.
Even so, I didn’t sense any hesitation.
She had already made up her mind to celebrate this blood-soaked man.
Emma: I think…you’ll be asked…'what you want to do’ next year as well.
Emma: So please, give it…a lot of thought.
Emma: I’ll make all your wishes come true.
Gilbert: Does that mean you won't be listening to me until next year?
Emma: If you have one now…please…ah
I intentionally move my body and Emma’s expression changes again.
I never get tired of her expressions filled with ‘love’.
(For now, all I can say is….)
Gilbert: I’d love to go on a date with you again.
Emma: Like…the other day?
Gilbert: Yeah. I like spending casual times like that.
Emma: Me too.
Gilbert: After that….
Bodies intertwined, lips pressed together, heartbeats synchronized, and then our gazes meet and we smile together.
Gilbert: Will you celebrate my birthday next year too?
(And commit many more sins…)
(Will you fall with me?)
[Chapter 3] [Masterlist]
He loves her sooo much omg, I really LOVED this story. I'm so glad he's happy.
Also when he said he went to Rhodolite for her....god, I just hate to imagine him going there for her, only for her to end up with the other princes (in other routes). Even though Silvio's my favourite, I feel miserable.
#gilbert von obsidian#ikemen prince#ikemen prince gilbert#ikepri gilbert#cybird ikemen#ikemen series#cybird otome#ikepri jp#ikepri translations#ikemen prince translations#d: cafekitsune#d: enchanthings
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Also, as someone who probably has literally over a thousand hours into FATE, it has a few other issues that prevent it from being "universal:"
1) There is very little progression. I have a character in a FATE game who has matured in some very serious ways since its beginning. I cannot mechanically reflect these changes with the refresh and skill points I have without him no longer being good at the things he needs to be good at to both continue filling his role in the game and continue being who he is as a character.
2) Stunts don't cover everything, and even the FATE variants that allow for superpowers/magic/etc can require some serious contortion to be able to do anything in the way a universal RPG would claim to
3) It's very easy for a few gamist issues to derail the narrative. In multiple games I've played in and run, a character putting their Athletics skill at four or five made most combats basically impossible to lose by conventional methods of violence, and it gets really narratively unsatisfying when a character loses multiple combats because someone said mean words to them. This is also true of other skills, depending on your system and setting, though they cause problems in other ways (e.g. Using Dresden FATE, a character with a high discipline becomes nigh on immune to the special mental abilities of the setpiece monster for your campaign, requiring you to either tune it to their discipline and kill the fuck out of the other players, not do so and let the character no sell those abilities and maybe the whole fight, or inflate the monster's refresh to give it other capabilities that can threaten that character [except now Athletics is usually a problem again])
4) I tend to find that specializing in one facet of the gameplay causes you to just not be able to participate in others, which is balanced on the face of everything, but ultimately leads to your combat focused players not engaging in investigation or social encounters, your social players feeling like they can't contribute in combat, and your investigative players wishing they could do anything other than make tags after the Looking Around portion of an encounter is done.
5) This isn't immediately an issue in universality, but GOD do I hate the skill pyramid and FATE dice, and I feel like they feed into the above issue. Having skills be, on average, rated from 0-5 with a possible variance of +/-4 on the dice means that overcoming challenges even a single step higher than your skill becomes a matter of luck rather than stats. I understand that this is the point and purpose of Fate Points, but I think that's a problem rather than the solution. If you have a 1 or a 2 in a skill, you have to cross your fingers and hope to beat anything more than the most basic difficulty to create a tag, largely making these ranks of skills worthless against all but the most basic challenges as, again, your GM has to balance against the people who specialized in this shit. This comes around to damaging the universality of the game because at a certain point, if you want your character to be able to do more than two or three things reliably, FATE cannot be the system for you.
I used to really like FATE. Then I was in FATE games for a very, very long time and really got to learn how the system works. I no longer like FATE.
So what about FATE? How is it not universal as an RPG?
The biggest non-universal dimension of FATE – at least in its modern incarnations – is that it has a very strong set of baked-in assumptions about the relationship between players and player characters.
This is something I've talked about in the past; to somewhat oversimplify, there are roughly four ways for a player in a tabletop RPG to relate to their character:
The Isekai Stance: I am my character, and my character is me. I'll have my character do whatever I myself would do if I happened to be, for example, an elf wizard.
The Actor Stance: I'm an actor, and my character is my role. I'll have my character do what I feel it would be psychologically realistic for them to do under the circumstances.
The Storyteller Stance: I'm a narrator telling a story, and my character is the co-protagonist of that story. I'll have my character do whatever I feel would make for the most interesting story.
The Gamer Stance: I'm a person playing a game, and my character is my playing-piece. I'll do whatever it takes to win.
This generally isn't a useful way to classify either players or games; games typically have weak baked-in assumptions about which stance their players will adopt, and to the extent that these assumptions are present, a game may make different default assumptions for different parts of play. A common set of assumptions is actor mode outside of combat and gamer mode in combat, for example.
FATE is, of course, an exception to the rule, in that it has very strong baked-in assumptions about what stance players will adopt toward their characters, and further assumes that play will occur at least mostly in this mode. The Fate Point economy that forms the core of the gameplay loop 100% assumes that you're going to be playing in storyteller nearly all of the time – the types of decisions it's asking players to make on a moment-by-moment basis are frequently straight up unintelligible from any other perspective.
This is a big part of why suggesting FATE because it can "do anything" can go over like a lead balloon: the folks making this suggestion aren't taking into account the possibility that a given group's players may not vibe with the system's assumptions about how players relate to their characters. Storyteller-mode-all-the-time is actually a fairly uncommon group play style, and it often seems that FATE fans don't realise this!
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PHAINON ࣪ ִֶָ ⋆ . promise in vain
back then, you didn't understand why seers should maintain a neutral position, absolutely avoid from directly contributing to battle planning, are forbiddened to form strong connects with their associates and use their gift for personal gain. how you wished you've taken your master's teaching more seriously as you gazed into the near future of the war's outcome. your heart crumbled like amphoreus destined to fall to ruin, helpless to the sight of the man who you've been war counseled to laying lifeless on the ground, the light in his eyes extinguished.
you broke all the rules a seer should abide to at any circumstances. now, it's time to pay the price.
phainon walked across the strategic meeting room, inspecting the last of the details before the battle begun. you stood silently by his side, watching in longingness your silhouettes that seemed to dance on the wall. no harm could come to them, at least before the light goes out.
"now that we have all the support that we requested for, we can ensure the safety of the people should the enemy decided to break in from the west wall. if this happen, then i trust you to-".
"can you not go?".
the question spilled out of your mouth before you could stop it. the silence that followed was deafening.
"i'm afraid i don't understand what you're trying to say".
when you spoke again, your glassy eyes met his, tear threatened to spill, "can you not go to the war?".
the two of you rarely had any physical contact for as long as you've been associated with each other. perhaps it was just the unspoken rules you set; i help you, you help me, nothing else. but the instant he saw your heartbroken face, a sight he's not used to, his body moved instinctly to hold you in his arm, as he caressed your cheeks, wiping the fallen tears away, "you know i have to. but we've planned for this. i'll be fine".
"but what if you don't survive this?"
a hint of doubt crossed his face, but it's gone as fast as it came, replaced with a determined expression that you know he practised a million times to lie to even himself, "i'll make sure i will and come home to you".
if your thoughts and emotion weren't in such a messy state, you would have been more appreciative towards his confession. instead, you burst with the fear that you could no longer surpress, "but i saw you-".
you didn't get to finish your sentence as phainon pressed his lips on yours, sealing away whatever fate of his that he's aware you're not supposed to reveal. it didn't matter.
it didn't matter that he live or not.
what mattered is he made sure you know he meant it when he said he'll come home to you.
he continued to hold you firmly in his embrace after he pulled away. his expression was one of sincerity and calmness, like a hero ready to sacrifise himself knowing that he know it was a sacrifice that worth making.
"just wait for me, okay?"
⊹₊ author's note ₊⊹
nameless faces left me in SHAMBLE i need to cope, therefore this piece was born yea i think phainon is up for one heck of a nasty fate you know how greek myths love giving their heroes brutal death or whatever. if the story ended up on a completely different route than what i thought it would, please dont at me sob
#honkai star rail#hsr#phainon#honkai star rail x reader#hsr x reader#phainon x reader#divider by strangergraphics
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