#not the man behind the slaughter but the man who watched the slaughter

[aajjks]

The conqueror (XXIII.)

Synopsis: He had conquered everything, anything but your heart.

Pairings: Yandere!King Jungkook x Commoner!servant Reader

warnings: yándèrè, DÁRK TRÍGGÈRÍNG THÈMÈS, dárk óbsèssíòn, cràzy júngkòòk, dèprèssíón, 18+ thèmès, íntènsè thèmès, kórèàn tràdítíòns, àttèmpt át súícídè, NÓNCÔN KÍSSÍNG, TÓUCHÏNG, lüst, sèxúàl thèmès,

note. YALLLL This chapter is my best one yet I am so proud. Also, just a warning I have copy pasted some of the Korean traditional stuff from Google so I’m just telling you guys in advance and if you have any questions ask or anything to tell me just come into my inbox because this chapter is a terrifying. And sooooo sexy 🥵🥵🥵 undeniably, sexy… I have no words, but please please please share your feedback. OK I love you guys. Enjoy.

series masterlist

taglist: @mageprincess7 @starsggukk @sprinkleoftee @koremis @minshookie29 @sana-b @bangtannoonalvg @oonaaurora @jeonsweetpea @sugaslittlekookies @outro-kook @kthyg @lunaashes @debicaptain-saturn @laurynne5 @captainsjoongs @myblackconfessions @lanalanexpjm @namjooncrabs @shadowmoon21 @kookunot @natalie-rdr @angelicasdre @iwasfuckinginnocentonce @mermaidtea @foulnightharmony @ungodlyjoon @quechulitaaa @telepathytae @silversparkles11 @j3alous-ang3l @bunzom @1-in-abillion @breadgeniedope @jiminie-08 @artgukk @lovesthetword @bunijmin @pinkcherrybombs @afangirllikeme-blog @twilight-love-nochu-main @wedarkacademia @hollxe1 @bighitfics @darkuni63 @golden-thv @investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @koocreampie (I can’t tag anymore people, it’s full 😭😭)

The air feels heavy, oppressive, as if the entire palace is holding its breath in anticipation of this day. Your wedding day. The day your life is to be bound forever to the man you hate most in this world. You sit in your chambers, unable to bring yourself to look in the mirror. The room is alive with movement, court ladies bustling around you, adjusting every detail of your appearance as though they’re preparing a lamb for slaughter.

The silk of your hanbok feels suffocating, its intricate embroidery weighing you down. The deep crimson and golden hues, symbols of purity and virtue, mock you with every thread. This is not a union of love. This is a chain, cold and unyielding, tying you to a man who thrives on blood and power.

“Perfect, my lady,” the seamstress finally declares, stepping back to admire her work. Her smile is full of pride, but it feels hollow.

Nothing about today is perfect.

“How fortunate you are to marry the king,” Na-yeon whispers close to your ear, her tone laced with a smugness that makes your stomach turn. “Most women would kill to be in your place.”

You don’t respond. Your throat feels tight, your heart heavy. Most women don’t know the truth about him. Most women haven’t seen the darkness that festers behind his piercing gaze. If they did, they’d run far, far away.

“Leave me alone,” you whisper weakly, your voice cracking. The court ladies exchange glances but obey, bowing before quietly filing out of the room. All except Na-yeon. She lingers, always watching, always ready to report back to him.

“You should feel honored,” she says, her voice soft but sharp, like the blade of a knife. “This is the greatest moment of your life.”

You swallow hard, fists clenched in your lap. “The greatest moment of my life?” you repeat bitterly. “This is the worst moment of my life. I’d rather die.”

For a fleeting second, her expression falters, but it’s gone just as quickly. She straightens, smoothing the front of her hanbok. “You mustn’t say such things, my lady. The king wouldn’t like to hear that.”

You glare at her. “Let him hear it. I don’t care anymore.”

But even as the words leave your mouth, you feel the weight of them settle in your chest. You’ve felt the consequences of his anger before. You know better than to provoke him. And yet, part of you doesn’t care.

You’re desperate, grasping at any semblance of control, even if it means testing his patience. You wish that you had died last night when he had attempted to take your own life, but then….

Na-Yeon had caught you. She has been like a shadow and now you’re here.

The palace courtyard is alive with activity, the sound of drums echoing through the cold morning air. The ceremonial guards stand in perfect formation, their armor gleaming under the pale sunlight.

Nobles and officials gather in clusters, their voices hushed as they exchange whispers about the grand occasion.

You’re led through the courtyard by a procession of attendants, their hands firm on your arms as they guide you toward the altar. You want to run, to scream, but your body betrays you. Your legs move mechanically, your feet dragging across the stone path as though weighed down by chains.

The altar looms ahead, a grand structure draped in silk banners and adorned with offerings of fruit, rice, and incense. At its center stands Jungkook, his figure imposing, cloaked in the rich robes of a king. His dark eyes find yours immediately, piercing through the crowd, and your breath catches.

There’s something about the way he looks at you—intense, unyielding, predatory. It sends a shiver down your spine. He’s been waiting for this moment, and the satisfaction in his expression is unmistakable.

As you approach, the murmurs of the crowd fall silent. All eyes are on you now.

“Bow,” one of the court ladies hisses under her breath.

You hesitate for only a moment before lowering yourself to the ground, your knees pressing against the cold stone. Your head dips forward in a deep bow, a gesture of submission that makes your stomach churn.

Jungkook steps forward, his movements slow, deliberate. You feel his presence before you see him, the weight of it suffocating.

“Rise,” he commands, his voice deep and resonant.

“AND… you, the court lady… never ever talk to my wife like that, or I will have your tongue for breakfast.” Jungkook growls and the lady immediately cowers in fear, he glares daggers into her head.

You watch and you hear everything.

He’s so scary.

You obey, standing on shaky legs as he towers over you. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes tell you everything. You belong to him now.

The ceremony begins with the gabae, the presentation of gifts. Silk, gold, jewels—each item is placed before you with great ceremony, a display of wealth and power that feels more like a taunt than a gesture of goodwill.

Jungkook watches you intently, his gaze never wavering. You can feel the heat of it, burning into your skin, as though he’s daring you to object. But you don’t. You can’t.

Next comes the pyebaek, the bowing ritual. You kneel once again, this time before Jungkook and the royal elders. Your movements are stiff, your body trembling with each bow. The elders nod in approval, their expressions impassive, while Jungkook watches with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs under his breath, so low only you can hear. The word feels like a brand, searing into your skin.

The final ritual is the joongin, the sharing of food. A tray of offerings is placed before you—steamed rice, dried fish, and fruits carefully arranged in intricate patterns. Jungkook picks up a piece of fruit, holding it out to you.

“Eat,” he commands.

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the food. Your hands tremble as you take the fruit from him, the act feeling more symbolic than it should. As you take a bite, the crowd erupts into applause, their cheers echoing across the courtyard.

It’s done. You are now his queen.

The celebrations continue long into the evening, but you barely notice. Your mind is numb, your body moving on autopilot as you’re led through the motions of the day. Smiling when prompted, nodding when addressed—it’s all a blur.

As the sun sets, the palace is bathed in the warm glow of lanterns. The air is thick with the scent of incense and wine, the sounds of laughter and music filling the halls. But you don’t feel joy. You feel hollow.

Later that night, Jungkook finds you in your chambers. He’s shed his ceremonial robes for a simpler, darker outfit, but his presence is just as commanding.

“Come,” he says, extending a hand toward you.

You don’t move. Your feet feel rooted to the ground, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Don’t make me ask again,” he warns, his voice low, dangerous.

Reluctantly, you take his hand. His grip is firm, almost possessive, as he leads you toward the royal chambers.

The night stretches ahead of you, long and uncertain. You don’t know what awaits you behind those doors, but one thing is certain: your life, as you knew it, is over.

•••

Hours later… you are even more terrified.

The air in the bridal chamber is thick with tension. The flickering candlelight casts long, trembling shadows across the walls, the golden dragons embroidered on the silk bedding almost seeming to writhe. You stand frozen in the center of the room, your hands fidgeting with the delicate fabric of your wedding hanbok. Your heart pounds in your chest like a caged animal, the cold sweat on your back soaking through the layers of expensive silk.

The heavy door creaks open behind you, and you flinch. His footsteps are slow, deliberate, each one a deliberate announcement of his presence. King Jungkook—no, your husband now—steps into the room, his dark robes flowing behind him, the faint scent of musk and sandalwood following him.

He stands tall, broad shoulders and a powerful frame outlined by the flickering light. His strong jaw clenches slightly, and his dark, piercing eyes drink you in. His presence is suffocating, his physique commanding. The ceremonial attire does little to hide the strength beneath the fine fabric, his toned chest visible through the parting of his robe. His raven-black hair falls slightly into his eyes, framing his perfect like features. He is devastatingly beautiful, and that terrifies you.

“You look breathtaking,” he says, his voice low and husky, carrying an edge that sends a shiver down your spine.

You take a small step back, the edge of the bed pressing against the back of your legs.

His eyes narrow at the movement, but he doesn’t comment. He shuts the door behind him with a soft click, the sound filling the silence like a judge sealing your fate.

Jungkook moves toward you slowly, his gaze fixed on you like a predator stalking its prey. Your mouth feels dry, your throat tight as you take another step back, only to have your knees buckle slightly when you bump into the bed.

“There’s no need to be afraid, my queen,” he murmurs, his voice deceptively soft. “Tonight is ours. No one will disturb us.”

You open your mouth to respond, to beg or plead, but the words die on your lips when he reaches out. His hand is warm as it brushes against your cheek, his thumb tracing your trembling lower lip. The touch is almost tender, but the hunger in his eyes betrays him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment?” he whispers, his tone dark with an undercurrent of desperation. His thumb presses slightly against your lip, as if testing your resolve. “How many nights I’ve dreamed of you, Y/N?”

“Y-Your Majesty—”

“Jungkook,” he interrupts, his tone firm, almost commanding. “You are mine now, my queen. No more formalities.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans closer, his face mere inches from yours. The warmth of his body radiates against your trembling form, his scent intoxicatingly rich and masculine. You can feel the raw strength in his presence, the way his chest rises and falls, the way his arms flex as he reaches for you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his lips hovering just above yours. “Do you know what it does to me? Seeing you like this? Knowing you’re finally mine?”

Before you can respond, his lips capture yours in a kiss that steals the air from your lungs. It is not gentle. It’s forceful, claiming, a declaration of his dominance. His hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his other hand gripping your waist and pulling you against his chest.

Your hands press against his chest in an attempt to push him away, but it’s futile. His chest is solid, the muscles beneath the silk unyielding. You feel the raw power in his body, a strength that both intimidates and overwhelms you.

“Stop,” you whisper against his lips, your voice trembling, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, your resistance only seems to fuel his desire.

“Stop?” he repeats, his voice low and laced with frustration as he finally pulls back. His dark eyes bore into yours, the hunger in them burning brighter than ever. “Why do you keep running from me, Y/N? I am your husband now. Your king. You belong to me.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you force them back, refusing to let him see you cry. “Please,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I—I can’t—”

“FUCK, YN.”

He screams and you flinch, for a moment as he hears his voice through the walls of this chamber, he almost feels bad as he stares at you

You’re so terrified, a crying mess, but God knows, it’s only turning him on more.

Why are you so fucking frustrating?

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening as he stares down at you. His gaze flickers to your trembling hands, your heaving chest, and then back to your tear-filled eyes. For a moment, something unreadable flashes across his face—hurt, perhaps, or maybe just irritation.

“I’ve given you everything,” he says, his voice cold now, but still laced with that obsessive edge. “I’ve built a kingdom for you. Killed for you. And yet you still flinch when I touch you.”

You don’t respond, unable to find the words.

His hand moves to your waist again, sliding around to the small of your back as he pulls you against him. His other hand trails up your arm, his touch light but possessive. The contrast between his strength and his touch sends a chill down your spine.

“You’re so delicate,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So fragile. But you’re mine. Do you understand that, Y/N?”

You shake your head slightly, tears spilling down your cheeks. “No,” you whisper. “I don’t want this. I never wanted this.”

His grip tightens for a moment, his jaw clenching as he exhales sharply. The air between you grows colder, the tension suffocating.

“You’ll learn,” he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll learn to love me. To need me. Because no one else will ever have you.”

He leans in again, his lips brushing against your neck this time. You feel the heat of his breath, the light scrape of his teeth against your skin, and you shudder.

But then, he stops.

For a long moment, the room is silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. He pulls back, his eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. His expression hardens, and he lets out a low growl of frustration.

“You’re not ready,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Not yet.”

His hands fall away from you, and he steps back, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with barely-contained frustration. “I could take you right now,” he says, his voice cold. “But that wouldn’t satisfy me. Not like this.”

You stare at him, unsure whether to feel relief or dread.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he glares at you. “You insult me with your fear, Y/N,” he says, his voice low and venomous. “But you’ll come to me willingly one day. You’ll beg for my touch.”

He turns abruptly, his dark robes swirling around him as he moves toward the door. Before leaving, he pauses, his hand on the handle.

“Remember this, Y/N,” he says without looking back. “You’re mine. In this life and the next.”

The door shuts behind him with a finality that makes your knees buckle. You collapse onto the bed, trembling, your mind spinning with fear and confusion.

The silence of the room is deafening, but it doesn’t give you no comfort. You know this isn’t the end—merely the beginning of a life trapped in the clutches of a man whose obsession burns hotter than any love ever could.

[bwobgames]

Do the wave ft purble grian

[werecreature-addicted]

Sacrificial Lamb reader/vampire priest.

Just consider— a cute little lamb reader lying on the altar, begging not to be slaughtered, the tears their crying making the vampires heart flutter. All the cult members are confused why the ritual keeps getting pushed back- meanwhile the vampire is spoiling his little lamb rotten.

ohioohooohiohoo

His hands are gentle, stroking your cheek as you wake slowly, your eyes flutter open slowly to the morning light, and there he is, your keeper.

"Morning," you yawn sleepily,

"Good morning, little one,"

"is it a good morning? I thought my execution was scheduled for today." you huff, you should be more scared but the soft look on his face can only mean one thing. you get out of bed and change idly, not minding the priest as he watches you, he's a man of god after all, there's no way he'd be looking at you in lust.

"ah well, we thought so but some knew doctrine has come to light, now is not the time for sacrifices. we'll have to wait for next winter, at the very least," he says. You hum thoughtfully turning back to face him, his hungry red eyes fixed on your body, flicking up to meet your face as you turn around.

"Well, I'll make myself useful until winter then." When you were born, it had been prophecized that you would be sacrificed to the gods and your death would bring about a new golden age for your homeland. Then, on your eighteenth birthday, you'd been handed over to the church, to live out your final days in the temple, under the watchful gaze of the father and his dedicated cult. Your execution has been postponed four times now.

You wondered if the cultists even bothered setting up the altar this time. it was always something, the stars weren't aligned properly, the materials were all wrong, you fell ill and couldn't be slaughtered while sick, and now, Spring was a time for rebirth, you'd have to wait for winter for the ritual. which winter? who's to say? it might be another few years before he tries to start your sacrifice again.

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. he puts his nose to your throat and kisses your skin. "You could be useful to me now," he breathes, his voice strained, tight with hunger. You had been so scared the first time you'd almost been killed, you remembered sobbing and pleading for your life, his knife poised above your throat, He told you that you could live, for now, if you served the cult and him. Of course, you agreed, that was the first time he bit you, spilling your blood on the altar in a different way.

You lean your neck to the side and sigh as you feel his fangs pierce your skin. you have to lean back against him for support as he drinks your blood and you grow weaker.

"so perfect, so delicious," he murmurs to himself as he drinks your blood, licking at your throat, catching any stray drops of blood. His hands slide down your body feeling up your hips and thighs. You can feel his hard cock pressing against your back as he slowly grinds against you. The priest is chaste, a man of god, but he's also a vampire, as he's explained he can't help but get erect when he feeds it's a natural side effect and completely nonsexual.

He pins you down on the bed and pushes your legs apart, grinding against you, fully clothed, as he bites your neck again. you feel dizzy, a mix of feelings as your blood is drained and as you buck and grind against the vampire on top of you. you try to keep quiet, but you can't help but moan as he takes full advantage of you. You feel dirty, the man who's saved your life so many times now is just trying to eat and here you are getting off, practically masturbating right in front of him with his cock.

You can feel how large his dick is as you grind together, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he pulled your underwear aside and fucked you properly while he drained your blood, the thought alone makes you shudder and press up against him as he continues to dry hump you. although with the sticky feeling between your legs and his wet mouth sucking on your neck, "dry" might be the wrong word.

you bite down on your own hand to muffle the sounds of your pleasure as you cum, still trying to hide your own lust, what would the priest think if he found out you were so lustful? if you were lucky he'd bend you over and spank you for being so sinful, at worst he might chain you down to the sacrificial altar and leave you there.

The priest pulls away, breathless, your blood smeared messily around his mouth "What a mess we've made," he huffs, looking down at your neck, and then his eyes drop further to the place where your bodies meet.

"I can clean it-" you offer weakly,

"no, no little thing, rest, you need to let your body heal, close your eyes, I'll take care of all this," he coos reassuringly, you nod obediently and close your eyes.

You look so venerable like this, he could do almost anything he wanted with you in this weakened state. the prophecy said it had to be a virginal sacrifice, maybe he could halt the ritual permanently if he just took what he'd wanted from the beginning.

[cosmosis]

MOVED TO @seratopia

miguel o’hara x reader (fluff) - jealousy

miguel gets jealous possessive after a new intern flirts with you this is part of the same universe as my call oneshot!

Being 2nd in charge of the multiverse is... honestly not that hard for you. It’s mostly just co-leading, and being a secretary. Lyla helps out a bunch, but sometimes, a sassy AI can only do so much. 

Jess informed you of a new intern she recruited. Apparently, he’s having his first day today, which means you’ll probably have to do a quick run-through of things with him later. 

For now, it’s your fated duty to sit with Miguel at his desk so he doesn’t get all pouty later. He starts huffing and puffing when you aren’t near, takes it out on the kids sometimes. 

Thanks to your suggestion, Miguel invested in a nice desk and swivel chair for the office, so now it looks more like an actual workspace instead of a maniac’s plot room. (either way, he his one lmao)

Since Lyla’s gone for the time being, you’re standing up on the office platform, tapping away at a multitude of screens. Miguel lays lazily in the office chair, swiveled up behind you to rub his face into your upper back, as well as run his hands along your tummy. 

“Hun, you gotta let go. I needa tour the intern.” You mutter, closing in on an ID photo of the recruit.

“No.“

“Well, if I don’t do it, then who will?“ You ask. 

“Jess.“

“She’s busy on her break. Pregnant women need breaks, you know.“

“Ugh. I don’t want you to leave.“ He whines. squeezing you tighter. 

You start squirming out of his grip, pulling his pinky off of your stomach. Inching away, you push Miguel away by his head. Reluctantly, he starts letting you go, lazily running his hands onto the skin of your hips and lower thighs before letting go. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, baby.“ You say, scuffing up his hair with your palm. Gracefully, you leap down from the platform, somersaulting onto the floor and skating out the exit. You hop over a few stray cardboard boxes. 

Miguel watches you stroll away, and fixes his hair back into place. 

Lyla magically appears, phasing in and out with a different sly look each time. She snickers, flickering all around Miguel’s head. 

“Whipped.“

“Shut the fuck up.“

. . .

Miguel’s blood starts to boil as soon as you roll in with that stupid, bastard of an intern. He’s too close to you for comfort, so close to his arm nudging yours... Miguel’s teeth start to clench, his fangs close to drawing blood from his mouth. He’s paying too much attention to you, there’s a vibe he gets that he hates to his core. 

Everything about him is aggravating; the blonde hair, the snarky smirk, all of it.  

“...and this is Miguel’s office!“ You say, gesturing your hand to the majority of the area. 

“Sweet, nice to meet the bossman.“

Bossman, his ass. Miguel would only ever let you call him bossman. 

“Miguel! Come down!“ You yell, and his heart warms in his chest. He turns around from his standing form on the office platform, eyeing the intern in order to scare him a bit. 

“Hey, what’s up man! Glad to finally meet the man behind the slaughter!“ The intern exclaims, his hands rested on his hips. 

Miguel fights every urge to both roll his eyes and tackle the recruit, keeping a somewhat straight face on. He chuckles a little, not a single trace of a smile on his face. 

“Heh, yeah? Excited to meet the bossman?“ Miguel taunts, but it looks like the intern can’t tell he is. 

“Heck yeah dude! Where do I start?“

Miguel starts nodding a little, plastering on a face smile, chuckling a bit...

Before he throws the entire office chair at the recruit. Not to hit you, though. He’d never, ever hit you. 

Instantly, the intern turns away, shielding his body with his hands. In the nick of time, though, you latch your webbing onto the chair, slinging it away to side before it could harm anyone. You cross your arms. 

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry about tha- MIGUEL!“ You scream. 

And he throws a literal file cabinet at the man. Again, you latch it out of way without problem. 

“What th'heck, man?! What’s your fuckin’ problem?!“ The intern yells, spreading his arms out. 

“My fuckin’ problem is you nagging my wife!“ He roars. 

“Wait a sec- she’s your wife?“

Miguel then  leaps down from the platform, chin held up high in a sinister glare. Slowly, he steps over towards the both of you, fixing his eyes on the intern the entire time. 

Miguel’s tall, really tall compared to the newbie. He pokes his finger to the recruit, leaning in real close. 

“Stay at least 5 feet away from my wife at all times.“ Miguel utters, and you kinda feel bad for the new guy. 

You cross your arms. “C’mon, Miguel. He’s literally new, take it easy on him!” You say back, and Miguel pouts, whines. Possessively, he reaches over to you, pulling in you in by the hip to try to soothe you. It doesn’t work, and you present yourself from giving into his needy touches.  

And then, you turn around back to the newbie. “Gosh, I’m so sorry about that! He’s usually not like this-”

“Man, fuck this.“ The intern exclaims, taking a few steps back in agitation. “Take me back home, I ain’t dealin’ with this shit!“

He storms off, kicking a stray cardboard box on the way out. 

“Aw, crap.“

“Finally.“

You swerve back around, hands on your hips. “Miguel, that was uncalled for.”

“Yes it was! He was smothering all over you!“ He yells, throwing his hands up in the air like it was the most obvious thing ever. 

“Well, now thanks to you, we lost a recruit.“

“One of literally thousands!“

“And now, there’s papers everywhere on the floor!“

“Shhh, honey, I’ll clean it up later.“

Ignoring your frown, Miguel finally pulls you into him, pressing your lower back into his own with a nose into your hair.

“I saw the way he put his arm around you. He was flirting with you too. Hated it.“ Miguel utters. 

“When?“ You ask.

“On the surveillance.“ He says, and you sigh. He’s right, the guy was flirting with you for a bit, but you chose to ignore it so you could get over with the tour faster. 

“Eh, he gave me the heebie jeebies from the beginning.“ You say, and Miguel automatically squeezes you tighter into him, a deep grumble bellowing from his inner throat.

“I’m never letting you tour anyone ever again.“ Miguel admits.

“After that? Go ahead.“ You scoff, and finally, he sighs in relief. 

He tries drags you back to the office platform again, but then forgets that he threw the chair, grumbling in regret. Instead, he just hovers behind you for the rest of the day, occasionally pressing a smooch to your head. 

[lovedaruma]

their spot ♥︎

sukuna x princess! reader

ー in which you and sukuna meet when he unintentionally saves you and you continue to meet him everyday in the same spot.

fem! reader, heian era, grumpy x sunshine, reader is innocent and playful, fluff + short smut

"Your Highness! Please don't go too far!" you hear your personal maid shout from the distance as you continue to run, laughing and waving her goodbye.

Any other princess wouldn't be allowed to go into the wilderness on her own, but as for Y/N, her family could not care less if she went missing the next morning.

You have already wandered through so many paths, yet there was still more to explore. You take a new route and stumble on an open area, seeing a hill in the distance and couldn't help but gawk at the beautiful area.

You cheerfully run towards the hill, taking a few breaths once you reached the top. From this height, you could see the beautiful view of the ocean, together with the breathtaking sunset. "Oh my..."

The sun continued to set as you watched from underneath the tree, sitting in a comfortable position. The comforting sounds of nature soon make you drift of to sleep.

A growl from the distance awakes you from your slumber. You jolt awake to see that the moon was already up in the sky. "Gosh, how many hours have passed?"

The sound of your voice summons another growl and you start to get nervous. You turn around and look down at the hill and see a big wolf that was twice your size, bright red eyes trying to scare you. However, you were too distracted at the sight of the furry animal.

"Oh my, It's a wolfy! Come boy, come!" you wave your hand, beckoning the wolf to come closer. It hesitates but slowly starts to approach you. "Here boy... I'm nice, I swear!"

The wolf is now in front of you sniffing your leg, you bring your hand to his neck and started scratching. "Aren't you a cutie~ I'm gonna name you-"

Your words were cut off as you watch the wolf get sliced in half, the blood splattering on your kimono.

"Tch."

A voice was heard from behind the wolf, you see a handsome man with four arms and eyes, marks which seemed like tattoos all over his body.

"Hey~ Why did you kill the wolfy?" you whined.

"Shut up, Human. What are you doing here?"

". . ."

He furrows his brows and growls, "Answer."

"But you said shut up." you smile playfully, clearly teasing him.

"You... Do you know who you're talking to?" He slowly approaches you.

He was trying to intimidate you with this slow steps but was shocked to see you stand up and walk over to him instead.

"Well, No! You haven't introduced yourself yet. I'm Y/N. What's your name?" you reach out your hand as you introduce yourself.

". . ."

". . ."

You watch as his four eyes stare at you, trying to figure you out. You smile up at him and put your hand down.

"Well you don't have to tell me if you don't want to! I still would like to know why you killed the cute wolf though..." you pout as you look over at the furry body in pieces.

"You foolish woman. That wolf was going to make you its dinner." he glares at you, "And this area here is mine. I slaughter everything and everyone that trespasses."

He raises one of his hands to kill you in one swoop, but stops as you perk up and grab one of his hands in joy.

"Oh, so you saved me?! Thank you, kind stranger." you give his hand a small squeeze to show your appreciation.

He stares at both of your hands together for a few seconds before he smacks your hand away, "Tch, How dare you touch me."

You pout as you rub your wrist, "Oh, my apologies . It was bad manners of me to grab you without asking. I'll do that next time!"

"Hah, next time?" He chuckled pure evil, "There will be no next time. Don't think you're coming out of here alive, human."

"That can't be, I have to repay you! You saved me, after all... Even though I don't have much influence, I'm still a princess!"

"Princess? Stop lying woman. The only child I know of royalty here is a prince."

"Yeah~ That's my brother!" you smile, unbothered that people weren't aware that there was a princess in the first place. "And I have a name, you know."

A few seconds of silence pass, him just staring at you. He scoffs and turns to walk away. "Leave."

You were about to retort back but realized how far in the night it is so you stand up and call out to him, "Hey~ I'll be back here tomorrow okay?"

You laugh as you see him turn his head to scowl at you.

The next day soon arrives and you're back at the same spot on the beautiful hill. You sit down under a tree and bask in the view.

The silence was interrupted by a familiar voice. "You have a death wish, huh?"

"Hey there! Come, sit!" you giggle and pat the spot next to him.

"Tch, this is where I usually sit, woman." He scoffs as he sits down, not showing he was curious at the human interacting with him.

"So... I heard a few guards talking about a certain king of the curses...." you side-eye him, smiling playfully. "Hehe, what even is your name?"

"Ryomen Sukuna. Remember the name of the one who's gonna kill you." He smirks.

"Then why haven't you killed me yet?" you tilt your head.

"I'll have my fun with you for now. You're quite the peculiar human."

"Oh, tell me in advance when you're gonna kill me then, Sukuna!"

"You..." he glares, "Do you not value your life?"

"Meh, not really... No one would miss me anyway." I frown, but a smile quickly replaces it, "So I've decided to just live to the fullest. If I die today, at least I had fun yesterday~"

Sukuna stays silent as he watches you cheerfully talk about death with his brows furrowed. You hum a tune while enjoying the comfortable silence for a few minutes and then turn to look at him.

Your lips part when you continue to stare at him, his features complimenting his handsome face. Sukuna, for some reason, found it hard not to look back at your stare. After a while, he turned his head to look back into your eyes.

You flinch as his eyes look into yours. Your cheeks tint at his intimidating state and you give him a shy smile.

"So... um... what's... your favorite color...?"

Silence fills the air at the random question, and your cheeks tint even more. You let out a small laugh at your own embarrassment.

Sukuna takes a peek at the warm flush of your cheeks and lets out a huff, "Red."

You whip your head to him and flash a bright smile, "That really suits you! Mine is white hehe~"

". . ."

"So... what do you like to ea-"

"Shut up."

You zip your lips shut and sit more comfortably next to him. The silence was so oddly comforting that you drifted off to sleep. Your head slowly leaning to to direction Sukuna was sitting.

His shoulder was too high for your small figure, so your head rested on the side of his arm. Sukuna looked down, careful not to move his arm. "Tch, unbelievable."

Although he looked annoyed, he didn't move his arm for the rest of his time there.

You wake up and your eyes slowly open. The sun in the horizon has just set and the moon is starting to peak into the sky. Your head lifts up from an... arm?

"Wha..." you let out a yawn.

You hear a scoff, "Why did you sleep for so long?"

"S-Sukuna?!"

You put the pieces together and realize that Sukuna let you sleep on his arm until you woke up. The thought of that making your cheeks warm.

"Sukuna... that's so sweet of you!" you show a downturned smile to express how grateful you were.

He scowls at you and in a blink, he disappears.

"He didn't even let me say bye..."

You arrive at the same spot under the tree on the hill. Surprisingly, you see Sukuna already there.

"You're here!~"

He opens two eyes to see your figure running towards him. He sighs and shuts his eyes again, slowly getting used to his human's presence.

You stop right in front of him, admiring his face once more, being less embarrassed now that his eyes were shut. Soon, you give into your temptation.

"Sukuna..."

He opens an eye.

"Can I touch you now? I asked first this time!" you clasp your hands and interwine your fingers to say please.

He scoffs and shuts the eye. You frown letting out a small 'Hmp' of sulk.

"I didn't say no."

You gasp in excitement and reach out your hands to his face. Your fingertips gently touch his face. You didn't notice the subtle flinch Sukuna did.

Your fingers trace the marks on his face. He exhales from his nose, the air hitting your skin making you feel warm inside. You slowly lift your thumbs to caress the area next to his bottom eyes, the rest of your fingers at the back of his ear. You couldn't help but hum a small 'woah~' in admiration.

"Your eyes are beautiful." Flustered at your own words, your cheeks tint in embarrassment.

His eyes open, both of you staring into each other. He glares at you and whips his head to the side, your hands still on his face. "How absurd."

"It's true..." You let out a chuckle and kneel down next to him. This time, you trace the marks on his arms.

What you didn't notice earlier was how Sukuna's cheeks warmed up at your compliment, with the same grumpy face. He shook his head and sighed, focusing on the feeling of your skin on his.

The rest of the day you just held onto his hand tracing lines and giving light massages while bringing up small conversation topics. He gave small answers, but you were overjoyed at your interactions.

Two weeks have gone by since then. As the days continued, Sukuna began to warm up more to you, talking to you in longer sentences and not telling you to shut up anymore. You were currently on your way to meet him again. Meanwhile, Sukuna was starting to realize his feelings for you.

"Princess Y/N, Please! Finish your food before you go!" The maid sighs as she watches you run away. She looks over at the unfinished plate, wondering what in the wilderness is so interesting to her highness.

As she takes a closer look in the plate, she gasps. "Oh my heavens! T-This is... The Princess is allergic to this!"

Without a care in the world, you skip towards Sukuna's spot, excited to meet your king of the curses.

"I'm here!"

Insted of sitting in his usual spot, he was standing near the cliff, looking at the horizon.

"Sukuna! you admiring the view?"

He doesn't reply and you look at his back, confused. The dark clouds in the sky let out a thunder.

"How dare you."

"W-What?"

He turns around and scowls, "How dare you make me feel- Ugh."

"Huh?" you say confused, raindrops start dropping on both of you.

In a flash, he disappears from where he was standing and was now in front of you. His hand swiftly attacks for your neck but he quickly stops and is an inch away from your skin.

You flinch, but don't move. you give him a chuckle.

"Sukuna... I told you in advance to tell me first before you kill me." you laugh.

He growls in frustration and puts his hands down. "Ugh..."

"But... As strange as it may seem, the time I spent with you was the happiest I've ever been. Thank you for showing me kindness, even in your own way. Farewell, Sukuna. I will never forget you!"

You stand on your tip toes and met your lips with his. It was just a gentle peck, but it sent shivers down her spine.

"Idiot."

As you pull away, content, you couldn't bring yourself to look him in the eyes. 'I wonder what face he's making right now', the thought making you smile. You grab the same hands that tried to attack you earlier and wrapped them around your neck.

"Huh?" you look up at him confused, only to be more confused as you analyzed his face.

'He looks... troubled? I'm not so sure'

He pulls his hands away from your neck and sighs. He grabs you arms and rests his head on the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "What kind of sick curse is this..."

". . . Sukuna?"

Although he wasn't exactly hugging you, you wrap your arms around him and hug back. The rain hitting the both of you as you warm up in each other's arms.

". . . I'm confused, are you still killing me or not?"

". . . Pft."

You gawk as you hear Sukuna let out a chuckle. Seeing his lips turn up was a better view than the horizon behind them.

You look up at him and smile, "Hehe, you still haven't answered m-"

The moment was interrupted when you cough out blood. A sudden burning sensation you feel in your chest. You let go of him to hold your chest in pain, your body slouching as you groan.

"D-Damn...I-I shouldn't have-ugh... ate those."

"Y/N?!"

The sound of his name flow out of his voice made your heart flutter but the pain overpowers that.

"Agh-" You drop to the floor, "Don't w-worry, these are just allergies."

He gets on his knees and uses his reverse cursed technique to heal you from your suffering. The pain was too much for you to handle though, and you pass out in his arms.

You jolt awake in your room, looking around confused.

"Sukuna?"

You call out for him but nothing happens. His scent still lingering in the room so you're sure he tucked you back into bed.

You smile as your heart flutters, going back to sleep.

"Y-Your Highness! Are you sure you're okay?" your maid stutters as she hands you your breakfast the next morning.

"Yes yes~ Don't worry about lil' old me!"

You quickly finish your breakfast, wanting to see him as soon as possible. You quickly run and you arrive at the spot in no time and you see him there.

You don't even call out to him, you just run towards his sitting figure, bend over, and wrap your arms around his neck.

He jolts in surprise but immediately calms down as he takes a whiff of your hair.

"Sukuna, you saved me twice already. Thank you for yesterday." you smile, embarrassed to make eye contact with him.

He places a hand on your back to push your body into his. Now, you're straddling his lap and you stay in position.

You fidget your hands, "Ugh~ It's kinda awkward now after I did a whole farewell speech yesterday..." you whine as you recall the events yesterday.

"Yeah, you're farewell kiss too."

You blush and groan into his shoulder, clenching your fists in his robe in embarrassment.

"Hah, is the princess embarrassed? Look at me."

As if it was a spell, you comply immediately and shyly pull away to look at him.

He grabs your chin and pulls your face closer.

"You have to take responsibility for what you did yesterday." He smirks.

"R-Responsibility?!" you squeak.

"Don't think I'll be satisfied with a mere kiss, Princess."

He smashes his lips onto yours. Unlike the sweet and short peck, this was hot and passionate. His upper arms land on your waist and slides the up and down the side of your body.

You feel his tongue enter your mouth and you shift your hips to adjust your position, making you grind on his crotch. The friction making you both groan in pleasure, all of his blood rushing to the length under his robe.

"S-Sukuna." you couldn't help but whine his name in the middle of your tongues dancing. Hearing his name turns him on even more, and his hands go from your hips to sliding inside your kimono to grab hold of your breasts.

You let out a moan at his touch on your bare chest. His bottom arms sliding up your kimono underneath you, his hands traveling up to grope both cheeks of your ass. Wanting to touch him, your hands go down to his chest, sliding inside his robe to touch explore your hands around his bare chest and abs. Your touch making Sukuna groan and start grinding his hips underneath yours, you moan in his lips and grind on him as well.

His hands slide off your kimono, leaving you in your undergarments. The cool air hitting your skin, but you couldn't feel it from the heat of the intimate moment. His bottom hands start to tug on your panties and he whispers into your lips.

"You think you can handle me, Princess?"

You moan in confirmation, sliding off the top part of his robe and continuing to grind on him. He hisses in pleasure and rips off your panties and throw them to the side.

"Ah!" you squeak in embarrassment, pulling away and looking down at yourself, but what caught your eye is the visible bulge twitching underneath the fabric of his robe. You curiously grope it, causing a moan to slip off his mouth, and snatches your hand away.

"Later."

He grabs both of your wrists and pushes you to the clean grass. He looks up and down your naked body and smirks, feeling another twitch from his cock. His eyes landed on your pussy, already soaking wet.

His eyes darkens and he grins, ready to devour you. He brings a hand to your folds and run his fingers along the wetness dripping down your thighs. "How can you be this wet already?" he chuckles and inserts a finger inside, his other hands playing with your breasts.

The sensation making you moan in pleasure, the back of your hand covering your mouth in embarrassment. The moans continue when he starts thrusting the finger in a moderate motion. After a few seconds of adjusting, he shoves another finger in.

The sounds of his fingers fucking your wet pussy fill the air. He feels your walls clench and sees your body start to arch. He sees the way you were making a mess already just with his fingers. Your moans get whinier and he loses it.

He grunts and shoves the robe of his body and your eyes widen. You stare at his two cocks twitching in the air, gulping at its huge size. "S-Sukuna..."

"You want to stop?" you whine and shook your head immediately, "That's what I thought. Now come here, princess."

Not giving you enough time to process, he picks you up and puts him in the stradling position you were earlier in, the tip of his cock goes in and he thrusts inside.

"Ngh- Ah~ S-Sukuna." He grunts in reply, feeling your pussy clench in his hard cock.

"Fuck, princess."

The pleasure was nothing you ever felt before. You look down and see his other cock twitching against your stomach. You reach your hand to grab his length which causes his head to roll back in pleasure and let out a deep moan.

You pump his cock, while adjusting to the other cock that was already inside you. "Prince- Agh, Shit." Your hand going faster and faster, the sounds of his groans making your walls clench, making him groan even louder.

He grabs your hand to stop you. "I can't hold it anymore. I'm gonna destroy this tight little pussy, yeah?"

He grabs your hips and starts bouncing you up and down, his cock thrusting inside of you without mercy.

"Ah... Suku- Agh~" You were drowning in pleasure, eyes rolling back as you listen to the sounds of your wetness and both of your skins slapping against each other.

He was thrusting into you mercilessly, your mewls just making his climax come closer. He feels your walls clench uncontrollably and he moans your name.

"Y/N. Fuck- I'm going crazy" he huffs, acting like an animal in heat.

He pushes you back into the soft grass into a new position, bringing your knees to your chest, his cock thrusting into you sloppily. A visible bump in your belly when he thrusts inside. Two hands behind your knees. One hand rubbing your clit. One hand pumping his other cock.

"Agh~ T-There... Sukuna-"

He hits a certain spot causing your body to twitch and making your eyes water up from the pleasure.

Sukuna pounds faster into your pussy, his precum smeared along your soaked walls. You were letting him use your body and it felt so good.

You feel something building up inside of you, and you whine. "Ah- wait! Sukuna~ I- I-" you whine in pleasure as your body arches, your juices spilling into his cock.

"That's right, princess. Let it out." he coos into your ear. "My turn."

You gasp for air as he thrusts again into your sensitive pussy, making your mewl echo into the air. Your juices increase the sound of the wetness as he slaps his skin into yours, the mix of your arousals filling the air.

"Fuck- I should fill you up, huh? Breed my precious princess?"

"Agh- P-Please!~ I-"

He moans as he shoots his load into you and fill up your pussy, having both of your juices mixed up. His other cock also shooting cum onto your stomach. Your body twitches at the feeling of his seed inside you, grabbing both of his arms for support. He sighs in pleasure and pulls out, watching as the juices ooze out of your aching pussy.

"You did so good, Princess." is the last thing you hear before you pass out.

You flutter your eyes open to see a room that wasn't yours. Sukuna lying down next to you in bed. You look down on your clothed body to see you were cleaned up and well taken care of after.

"Sukuna..." you mutter, eyes still droopy "I can't move my legs~"

"Heh, you're gonna get used to it."

"Hm?" You tilt your head.

"You're mine now. This is the consequence of your actions, right? You can't escape now." He smirks as he picks you up and puts you on top of him.

You stare at him in shock then laugh, "Now why would I dare leave my king, he'll get lonely without me~"

You plant a sweet kiss on his lips and pull away to see a smile on his face. His smile making you feel warm inside as your cheeks tint. You giggle and snuggle into his arms and you enjoy each other's warm, and will continue to enjoy each other's presence in the future.

[swordgrace]

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ jon snow x female northern reader.

SYNOPSIS: you reunite with your beloved childhood friend, jon snow, at the edge of the world. the both of you have changed, but your feelings certainly haven’t.

note: season six jon, follows s6 ep4.

format: one-shot — not requested.

word count: 10.5K (not sorry).

warnings: SMUT (mdni), ramsay bolton warning, friends to lovers, confession of feelings, reunion sex, description of scars, jon is definitely more of a switch, horny reader (valid), lots of groping, making out, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, jon loves to munch, body worship, hair-pulling kink, unprotected sex, p in v sex, lotus position & missionary position, reader is on top and on bottom, light biting & tit sucking, soft ending + aftercare

author’s note: I don’t know where this came from, but I’m glad because I had so much fun with his one! I’m a Jon girlie until the very end <3 I would honestly love to write more of him if you guys enjoy this! thank you so much for the love and support!

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐲.

Direwolf sigils were replaced with that of flayed men, befitting for the screams that often emerged from the bowels of the Keep or the kennels, where enemies were fed to Ramsay Bolton’s pack of slavering hounds. Old faces that you had grown up with as a girl were gone — removed or slaughtered.

Your father, once loyal to House Stark and to Eddard himself, was strung-up and butchered for all to see, flayed alive by the Bolton men who now controlled Winterfell. You grew numb to the pain, numb to the shifting environment around you. It wasn’t the home that you had grown up in.

When you had caught sight of Sansa Stark in the courtyard, auburn tresses like searing embers against the backdrop of endless gray and snow, tears on her face, you knew that you needed to act.

You hadn’t known Sansa very well, but you did know her brother, Jon Snow. A beloved friend in your youth and teenage years, you had watched him go to the Night’s Watch. Any letters you’d written were likely thrown to the wayside, given the oaths that Men of the Watch swore, but you had longed to see him again.

Sansa recognized your face, no longer that of a young maiden with her head in the clouds. The both of you were women grown, trapped within Winterfell, and you wholly intended on escaping.

Fleeing Winterfell was perilous — dangerous, especially with the winter so biting and icy that it threatened to freeze away your extremities. Aided by Theon Greyjoy, once a captive of Ramsay, the three of you escaped into the harshness of the Northern woodlands.

Much of your time spent was in constant peril, with the looming threat of Bolton hounds nipping at your heels, search parties sent sprawling across the Wolfswood and beyond. Every rustle in the trees, every snap of a twig, distant scream of the wind made your steps quicken.

It was only when your lives were spared by Brienne of Tarth and her squire that you knew you were truly safe.

Castle Black had stood the testament of time, the last line of defense against whatever monsters lurked outside of The Wall. When its massive gates had opened, making way for your caravan, you felt shrewd in the presence of strangers. You hadn’t left Winterfell for much of your life, and only now, the world seemed so much larger.

When you saw Jon Snow again, more a man now than a boy you’d left behind in Winterfell, your heart nearly shriveled up within your chest. Youthfulness had left him, replaced with a permanent twinge of melancholy. A scar circled around his right eye, seemingly newer, and his mound of curled tresses remained tugged into a half-bun.

You stood in Brienne’s shadow, shuddering from the gnawing bite of the cold, feeling it slowly eat away at your bones. Sansa sobbed into her brother’s shoulder — and you couldn’t fault her for it. The viciousness she suffered at the hands of the Boltons was some of the worst cruelties one could imagine.

It was only when you caught Jon’s eye that he felt his breath hitch within his throat, and he felt like a young man again — freshly eight-and-ten, watching as he introduced you to Ghost for the first time. The sound of your curious laughter had filled the courtyard of Winterfell, and he remembered it as if it were yesterday.

You were from a distant dream, somewhere close yet far away, slipping in and out of his thoughts.

The last thing that you wanted was to detract from Sansa’s reunion with her brother, and so you kept quiet, bringing yourself into the shoddy shelter of your cloak. Your visage was icy, stung by the bitter wind of the far North, and your hands ached.

“You are safe here,” Jon murmured, brown hues glistening with appreciation as he looked upon Brienne of Tarth. “I owe you my gratitude for saving my sister. Whatever you need from Castle Black, you’ll have it.” He nodded, finding his gaze drifting towards you, begging for you to look his way.

Perhaps you didn’t recognize him, but that seemed far-fetched. Edd beckoned for Sansa to follow him at Jon’s command, hoping to find warmth in the guest chambers in the Lord Commander’s suite. The burden and duty no longer belonged to him.

Brienne bowed, hand atop the pommel of Oathkeeper, the Valyrian steel sheathed within its scabbard. “I swore an oath to Catelyn Stark that I would keep her daughters safe — and I shall keep it.” She replied, cerulean hues flickering towards you. “Lady Sansa’s escape wouldn’t have been possible without her.”

Jon gazed at you as if you had brought down the sun and stars themselves, moved mountains with will alone. Gods, he missed you terribly. His departure for the Night’s Watch had left a gaping hole in your heart, never to be filled, but seeing him again only seemed to make it ache with something painful.

Wordlessly, your feet carried you before logic could stop you in your tracks, and you flung yourself into Jon’s embrace, feeling his arms wrap around you. Brienne’s countenance glistened with the realization that you knew Jon, and she seemed to steer Podrick away, allowing the both of you some privacy.

“You’re alive,” You whispered into his shoulder, feeling hot tears trickle down your cheeks. Part of you worried that he might’ve perished, but here he stood, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a man. “It has been so long, Jon Snow.”

He hadn’t been alive days ago — death had claimed him once before.

The scars that littered his body seemed to ache and throb with the mere thought of his own demise, and the anguish of betrayal that came with it. His dark brows furrowed together, visage one of gentle joy as he released you from his grasp. “You look older.” Older in the eyes — not in the face.

You were still just as beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen — your appearance hadn’t changed, and he hoped that your heart hadn’t, either. Your friendship kept him afloat for many years during his time in Winterfell, living as a Stark. You never cast your judgment upon him for being a bastard — and you never would.

“So do you,” Concern crept into your voice as you looked over his rugged beard and the scar upon his brow. “What happened to you, Jon?” There was so much he wished to tell you — from the Wildlings to the White Walkers, and his death. You could see it in his face — the maturity, the weight of duty, an abundance of stoicism.

“It’s a long story.” Jon huffed, Northern timbre crackled with a bout of faint amusement, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. He gestured for you to follow him, striding across the courtyard of Castle Black in-search of his own quarters. He no longer held the Lord Commander’s chambers, and for good reason.

The men of Castle Black weren’t accustomed to seeing a woman — it evoked his streak of protectiveness when it came to you. He ensured that he kept close to your side during the lengthy trek to his chambers. Brienne was sworn to Sansa, and Jon knew that she would be well looked-after in the Lady’s stead.

Ascending a flight of rickety wooden steps, Jon led you to his quarters. Smaller, but he preferred his solitude. His brothers had stabbed him, tore away his mantle of Lord-Commander, killed him — as soon as he could, he intended on leaving.

Pushing the door open, you were met with the gust of a raging hearth, warming your brittle bones as you rubbed your hands together, “Gods,” You whispered, immediately moving toward the crackling fire, extending your hands to the flames, eyes closing in satisfaction. “I nearly thought we wouldn’t make it.”

Jon’s brows furrowed together, and he pulled up a wooden stool for you to sit, and so did he, firmly planted at your side like a dutiful guardian. “You’re safe here. I’ll have a bath drawn for you.” Dirt stained your visage, clothes tattered and worn from travel, hem shredded and covered in snow and mud.

Something forlorn reached his eyes, a distant glimmer of melancholy that you immediately recognized. He was still Jon, but something else seemed amiss. You lowered your hands into your lap, basking in the lick of the firelight. “All my life, I longed to see beyond Winterfell. Here I am — and here you are.” Your smile was threadbare.

The both of you had endured unimaginable hardships during your time apart, yet the warmth and fondness of your friendship remained, strong as ever. If Jon told you what all had happened, what he saw, what he went through — he wondered how much of it you would believe.

“Do you remember the night of the feast, when King Robert came to Winterfell?” Jon remembered — he remembered you, most of all. Gods, you looked so beautiful that night, bringing him a heaping plate of foodstuffs from the banquet, keeping him company throughout the night’s festivities.

“Of course,” It was one of the last days you had spent with Jon before he departed for the Night’s Watch. You had a plethora of regrets, and not kissing him that evening was one of them. The opportunity had dangled itself before you, and you never acted on it. “They sheared your face clean. A disservice to you, truly.”

A brief huff of laughter escaped him, lips twitching into a faint smile. “That’s what you chose to remember?” He remarked, planting his forearms against his knees. Admittedly, he chose to remember you — the way your dress clung to you, the vibrancy of your smile, tenderness in your eyes.

Your nose wrinkled in amusement before you waved him aside, a smile stretched across your features — happier this time, full of warmth. “I remember more than just that, but yes. You weren’t so dour, then.”

Jon chuckled, effectively shattering his stoic mask as he looked at you, head canting to one side. “I still was, always sulking about in some corner,” He mused, peering toward the hearth. “The things I’ve seen — the things I’ve been through …” His jaw tightened, and the wound to his heart seemed to ache.

Empathy tugged at your countenance, one that dissipated from something lighthearted to seriousness. You reached out, resting a palm against his bicep. “What happened to you, Jon? You don’t seem the same.” You asked, glancing toward the scar on his face.

He didn’t have the heart to tell you about his death and resurrection — not yet, anyway. It was still too fresh a wound to speak of, left gaping and open, one that would take time to fully heal. “I went beyond The Wall.” Jon stated, as if that would answer all of your questions.

Silence drifted between you both, and you exhaled, brows creasing in contemplation as you looked toward the fire. You let your hands drift closer again, hoping to absorb any lick of heat that you could find. Jon stared at you, unbeknownst to you, studying the intricacies of your visage, the way your tresses framed your face.

Abandoning the rank of Lord-Commander had been a liberating thing. He was done fighting for men who had countered him at every turn, men who slaughtered him. He was unsure of his next course of action, but he wanted you there with him, regardless.

Hunger and famine gnawed at your stomach, chewing you up and spitting you out. Even Jon could hear the violent lurch of your stomach, see the exhaustion etched into your features. He didn’t want to keep you, but he didn’t want to leave you, either.

“You should clean up, join us for supper,” Jon prompted, melting away the tenuous silence. “I’ll see about finding you something proper to wear.” He wanted to continue to reminisce with you, but you deserved a moment of solace, a chance to bathe and warm yourself without his intrusion.

You nodded, offering Jon an amiable smile. “I want us to continue our conversation,” You insisted, your voice soft and tender, a silky resonance. Instead, you reached for his hand, finding the calloused, roughened plane of his palm. “I’ve missed you, Jon.” If he hadn’t realized it by now, then he might’ve been blind.

Jon’s breath hitched within his throat, reduced to a mere boy in your presence. Whatever he thought of at that moment, it was inappropriate — it transcended all bonds of propriety and proper friendship, yet he couldn’t help it. How long had he thought of you? Yearned for you, dreamed of you whenever he was laying on the cold earth somewhere beyond the Wall?

If it weren’t for his uncertainty, he would’ve kissed you then and there.

He never stopped to consider what your life was like now — perhaps you had a husband and a family, a life that had moved on from him, no longer frozen in the time of your youth. Jon always feared that being a bastard would’ve stopped you from courtship, but he knew now that you didn’t care. You never did.

Years of letting yourself toil over Jon Snow had amounted to this — to this unspoken affection that permeated the fringes of your friendship. In his absence, you hadn’t taken a husband, you hadn’t wed. Part of you thought you would become a spinster and live out your days caring for your ailing father.

Tension simmered, sparking to life in the wake of your intertwined hands. “I missed you, too.” His accent seemed deliciously thick, noticeably huskier with the rougher pitch of his tone. Those earthly-brown hues of his bored right into you.

Your stare became doe-like, able to feel his calloused digits, how strong his hands had become, careworn from holding a sword. Swallowing the growing lump within your throat, you let your hand recoil, placing it back into your lap. Your fingers curled tightly into your dress.

With a brief clearing of his throat, Jon decided to give you privacy. “I must speak with Sansa,” He murmured, standing up from his stool with an abruptness. His heart thumped madly within his chest, throat becoming thick as he gathered his bearings. “Come to supper when you’re finished.”

“Of course. Thank you, Jon.” You smiled, and he stepped out to give you your solace. His quarters were noticeably smaller yet homely, and you immediately decided to go to the washroom to clean yourself. Endless dirt and grime stained your flesh, making you feel worse than you already did.

As soon as you disrobed, sinking into the steaming-hot waters of the metal tub, you submerged your head beneath, coming up for a gasp of air. You glanced toward the hearth, scrubbing yourself down with a bristle brush and sponge, using the scarce amount of herbs and soap given to you.

You thought of Jon — thought of his hand, the firmness of it, the rough-hewn texture of his skin, the hardened muscle of his bicep beneath your grasp. You thought of the dismal, tempestuous storm of emotions raging war within his gaze when he spoke of being beyond The Wall.

It gave you much to dwell on as you scrubbed away the dirt from your skin, smoothing handfuls of hot water across your face. A simple Northerner’s dress and a furred cloak lay on the chair beside you, something suitable to wear that weren’t your tattered rags.

Sloshing around within the steaming water for a moment longer, you finished cleaning up, feeling the continuous gnaw of hunger strike at your stomach. The air was brusque and still bitter with a noticeable chill, the hearth continuing to roar in spite of being left with little attendance.

Tugging on the coarse, linen dress, you retrieved your boots, having thoroughly cleaned them off of hardened dirt. You let your hair dry by the fireside, swaddled in the cloak given to you by Jon. It swallowed you whole, yet it smelled like him — woodlands and scented smoke, the musk of a battle-hardened man.

By the time you joined the others for dinner, you felt cleaner than you had in some time, liberated from the weight of grime and hard travel. Exhaustion still clung to you like a shroud, but you assumed that a proper meal would make it easier to deal with.

Sansa greeted you with a thin smile, moving aside for you to sit next to her. There was never a fondness you shared between one another in your youth — you were always Jon’s friend, a girl who preferred mucking about in the outdoors and watching him fight with steel instead of any ladylike endeavors.

You had become quite proficient with an embroidery needle, and a dagger. They were one and the same for you at-times.

Jon’s silent admiration of you continued, hues fluttering over your form, now rid of soot and dirt. A warm plate of heaping food sat before you, helpings of potatoes, stewed vegetables, and roasted venison. You ate as if you hadn’t consumed a bite in years, the richness of it filling your belly.

“We are to take Winterfell back from the Boltons,” Sansa stated, her tone resolute and assured. “Do you think that there are still allies in Winterfell who might help our cause?” She inquired, her question directed towards you. You knew Winterfell — you’d been there this whole time.

“If Ramsay hasn’t flayed them all alive, then yes,” You murmured, thinking of your father’s corpse, strung-up on some wooden cross, muscle and flesh peeled away to reveal his bones. You shivered, masking your discomfort through a bite of vegetables. “There are still denizens inside who remember the Starks.”

Tormund Giantsbane, Jon’s ally and the leader of the Wildling forces, noisily bit into a haunch of meat, juices spraying across his ginger beard. Brienne’s discomfort and bewilderment was palpable as she turned away, blonde brows furrowing together.

“Could you find your way back in?” Tormund grunted, and you understood the insinuation of his proposal. If you were to rally those who still supported House Stark to Jon’s cause, staging a coup from the inside, it might assist his chances of taking the Keep.

“I suppose I could, but the Boltons rarely let anyone in or out, save for those bearing the Flayed Man sigil,” Jon seemed visibly apprehensive at Tormund’s suggestion, jaw tightening as he stuck his fork into a piece of meat. “It is dangerous now — one wrong move, and they string you up on the banisters, flay you for all to see.”

Tears glistened within your eyes at the harrowing memory of your father — you watched him be pinned to that post, screaming for mercy, men with knives cutting him apart as if he were a pig for slaughter. You hastily wiped them aside, chewing at the inside of your cheek.

Jon’s gaze never wavered from you whenever you spoke — Sansa could see it, Edd could see it.

“That is the fate that befell my father.” With a sharp exhale, you continued to eat, momentarily meeting Jon’s sullen-eyed stare, full of sympathy for your loss. His condolences were unspoken, but he didn’t have to say the words to convey meaning.

“We will find another way,” Jon murmured, brows knitting together. “You’ve risked enough to save Sansa’s life. I won’t let you risk it again. Out of the question.” There was a finality to his words, wrought with a glaring overprotective nature.

Sansa remembered the day they left your father out to bleed in the courtyard — Ramsay’s sickening smile remained emblazoned in the back of her mind. She reached to squeeze your hand, and you nodded, the both of you returning to the food.

She plucked at hers, turning a piece of meat over along her fork. Edd stifled a brief chuckle through a mouthful of hard rations. “Sorry about the food, m’ladies. It’s not what we’re known for.” He stated.

“That’s alright. There are more important things.” Sansa smiled, but you were in the throes of consuming everything that you could. Foodstuffs had become scarce in Winterfell, especially to those who weren’t Boltons — just residents. You had to scrounge and work for every scrap — this meal was the best you had in ages.

A brother of the Watch entered the Great Hall, carrying a scroll of parchment for Jon, one that was marked by the wax seal of Ramsay Bolton. “For you, Lord Commander.”

“I’m not the Lord Commander anymore.” Jon uttered, yet he took the scroll, anger seething within his eyes when he realized whose sigil held the parchment together. He unraveled it, jaw tightening as he began to read it aloud.

“To the traitorous bastard, Jon Snow, you allowed thousands of Wildlings past the Wall. You have betrayed your own kind and you have betrayed the North. Winterfell is mine, bastard — come and see. Your brother Rickon is in my dungeon …” Jon trailed off, breath quickening as he looked at Sansa.

Her countenance was one of shock and horror, tears welling within her eyes as she nodded for him to continue reading. The Hall was eerily silent, and you listened, brows furrowing together.

“His direwolf’s skin is on my floor — come and see. I want my bride back. Send her to me bastard, and I will not trouble you and your Wildling lovers. Keep her from me and I will ride North and slaughter every Wildling man, woman, and babe living under your protection. You will watch as I skin them living, you will …” He stopped.

“Go on.” Sansa murmured, but Jon refused, rolling up the parchment with a despondent, rageful expression. He felt it blossom throughout his chest, the very same anger that consumed him when he sentenced his brothers to die.

“It’s just more of the same.” Jon quipped, preparing to tear it asunder, but Sansa reached over to take it from his hands, unraveling the parchment.

“You will watch as my soldiers take turns raping your sister and your Northern bitch. You will watch as my dogs devour your wild little brother — then I will spoon your eyes from your sockets and let my dogs do the rest. Come and see. Ramsay Bolton, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” She read, a shudder within her voice.

You shivered, feeling a pang of disgust and fear rattle through you, goosebumps cascading along your spine. Ramsay knew of you — knew that you helped Sansa to escape, and knew of your affiliation with Jon Snow.

“Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” Jon grit out through clenched teeth, fists tightening around Ramsay’s missive. He would kill him for what he did — to Sansa, to you, to his brother. He swore it by whatever Gods were willing to listen.

“Roose Bolton is dead — Ramsay killed him. Now, he has our brother — he has Rickon.” Sansa’s voice trembled, but she remained stalwart, even if she knew what a monster Ramsay was. She used to think that Joffrey was the root of all evil — she was wrong.

“We don’t know that.” Jon protested, but Sansa stopped him.

“We do. He has five-thousand men, at least — I overheard him talking about it when he prepared for Stannis’s attack.” She replied, folding her arms together. You felt nothing but admiration for her — sorrow, perhaps, but you admired her strength in the midst of this.

“How many men do we have?” Jon looked to Tormund, desperate for answers, for a shred of something positive. They were lesser in numbers than the Boltons — they would need allies, and they would need them swiftly.

“Ones that can march and fight? Two-thousand.” Tormund replied. They had a Giant — that had to count for at least fifty men, if they were lucky.

“Jon,” You spoke up at long last, finding your voice as you sat soundly at Sansa’s side. “You are the last true son of the Warden of the North. Northern families are loyal, and they will fight for you if you ask it of them.” The gentle encouragement you offered gave him much to think about.

Sansa reached across the table, seizing Jon’s arm. “A monster has taken our home and our brother. We have to go back to Winterfell, to save them both.” She pleaded, auburn brows furrowing together. It was the right course of action — it had been years since a Stark had truly sat in Winterfell.

Jon nodded, determination tempering his anger, and the desire for justice. He remembered wanting to ride North to help Robb’s cause, and he didn’t. Sometimes he wondered what would’ve happened if he did — if his brother might’ve survived. There was no time for inaction, not anymore.

“We will reconvene at first light, to discuss our next move.” He briefly squeezed Sansa’s hand before glancing at you. “You need to rest — both of you.” It wasn’t a request — more of a command, really. You and Sansa had been running from Winterfell for days before Brienne happened across you.

You took your leave, hoping to pray about your father alone before dusk settled in.

𝐀𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

Brienne had taken Sansa back to her chambers for the evening, and you had gone to the ramparts after finishing your supper.

The death of your father was still an unsightly wound, something that had cut you right to the bone. He was your only family left — the last tether that you had, the last one to truly care for you. It left you with a gaping void of loneliness, one that had only felt healed in Jon’s presence.

Flickering torchlight danced along the wooden bridge that connected two sides of Castle Black, and despite the chill of the air, you remained outside. Rest eluded you, and you knew that you would be up all evening, tarrying around to try and occupy your mind.

Darkening skies twinkled with stars, partially obscured by large wisps of gray clouds, and with it, a light snowfall. The fur-lined cloak you wore kept you warm, shrouded from the gnawing chill as you listened to footsteps resonate from your left side.

The pale shadow of Ghost trotted alongside him, those crimson eyes glowering through the encroaching dusk. The last time you had seen Jon’s direwolf, he was the size of a small dog — now, he was massive, nearly coming up to your shoulder with the tips of his ears.

“What did you feed him?” You mused, kneeling down to greet Ghost as if he were an old friend. You recalled the day that Jon had brought the albino pup home, nothing more than a scraggly runt hidden in his cloak. Ghost nudged your hand, silently asking for a scratch along his ears.

Jon smiled, coming to stand near your side as he peered down into the silent courtyard of Castle Black. It was quiet, save for the occasional soldier scurrying across the dirt or the distant howl of the wind. “He’s much larger than I expected him to be,” He confessed. “Seems he remembers you.”

Ghost whined, ruby eyes studying you intensely, as if he recalled your last meeting. The pale direwolf allowed you to dote on him for a moment longer, padding off to lay outside of Jon’s chambers. You watched him go, a smile spreading across your face.

Your countenance softened at the sight of Jon, tousled curls still tugged into a loose half-bun, a smile toying at either corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you cold?” He questioned, noticing the way your form quivered beneath the cloak he’d given you.

“Quite,” A brief chuckle left you as you wring your hands together, letting them sink into the thick fur that you tugged tighter around you. “I don’t believe that I will be able to sleep tonight, given the circumstances.” You confessed, and he seemed empathetic.

“I don’t sleep much — not anymore.” The night that he had found himself resurrected from the black shroud of death, he did not sleep. Instead, he lay waiting for his brothers to burst through the door, knives drawn, waiting to send him to the cold, hard earth.

Jon slept with Longclaw at his side — he imagined that he’d never feel safe again without it by his hip.

A comfortable silence of understanding drifted between the both of you, and you felt him lean closer, brows furrowing together. “I am sorry about your father,” Jon murmured, knowing what it was like to lose his own. “I am sorry for what they did to him.”

Tears pricked your eyes again, yet you refused to let them fall, jaw tensing before you shook your head. “He is with the Gods now,” You whispered, mustering a threadbare smile despite the melancholy of your talks. “I hope that Ramsay Bolton is not shown any mercy.”

Jon hadn’t heard you speak like that before — so full of pain, an agony in your soft tone that he wished he could rip away from you, place the burden on his shoulders. “We will take back Winterfell — for my family, for yours, for the North. I promise.”

“You’re a good man, Jon.” The two of you remained huddled close together, and you very nearly reached for his hands again, but decided against it. “You always have been, despite what insults you’ve been hurled. They are half the man that you are.”

He was a good man, despite what he thought of himself — an honorable man, the very best of them. His shining qualities were often diminished in the face of being a bastard, and you wished it weren’t so. Jon had long been ostracized for it, even if it was no fault of his own.

Jon hadn’t believed it, that he was truly good. He had done plenty of wrong — broke his vows to the Night’s Watch, killed many men, killed a boy, and for what? What good had come out of it all, other than being sent to an early grave for his actions?

You had always believed in him steadfastly, and he often felt undeserving of your praise. Nonetheless, Jon offered you a forlorn look, smile not reaching his eyes as he bowed his head. “I wish I could believe you.” Through a softly-spoken confession, he turned to face the cutting bite of the Northern winds.

As darkness hovered, the cold beginning to bite at his flesh, Jon gestured toward the doors to his chambers. “It’s getting cold,” Even he had his limits, hardiness tested by the harshness of winter. “Come on.” His hand hovered near the small of your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

The warm sanctuary of his chambers offered you a much-needed relief, hearth roaring beside his bed, lined in countless furs. The furnishings were scarce, and he placed Longclaw at his bedside, never very far from his grasp. An orange glow permeated all it touched, encompassing you in its gentle heat.

Ghost stayed outside, furs able to outlast the encroaching winter. He was the watcher tonight, ensuring that no strangers or brothers disturbed his friend.

You moved to sit against the large, rustic footlocker that sat at the end of his bed, closest to the hearth. The cloak you wore swallowed you whole, allowing you to descend right into the pile of furs, warming your icy flesh. Jon sat beside you, keeping a comfortable distance, one that many might’ve labeled as prudish.

Jon’s lack of subtlety became brazenly clear, dark hues shamelessly fluttering across your face, absorbing the finer details of your form. You had grown into your beauty, and even then, he was at your mercy — you were incomparable in his eyes.

The sting of embarrassment rippled through him, his behavior akin to a young man with an unrequited affection. His one experience with a Wildling woman had been in an effort to feel something, anything — a retaliation against the Night’s Watch.

You were different — you were his friend, a girl he’d known since childhood, now grown into the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. It was as if you reduced him to a mere pup without even trying, unbeknownst to you.

Jon carried a flagon of honeyed mead, the warm liquid churning about within its leather confines. It tasted stale, but it was better than he expected it to be, taking a brief swig. He hoped that it would quell his nerves, but perhaps it was wishful thinking.

“I’ve never been so far away from home before,” You sighed, breaking the comfortable silence with an amiable smile. “I used to always dream of going elsewhere, an adventure away from Winterfell. Now that I’ve gone, I want nothing more than to go back.”

“Has it changed much?” Jon inquired, voice dropping into a husky lull that made you shiver. His tone had become rugged, gruff — that familiar Northern timbre always filled you with a sense of comfort and ease. He hadn’t been to Winterfell in years.

“No,” Your visage grew forlorn, tinged with a peculiar sadness as your lips wavered into a half-frown. “Just those who command it.” The homely stone and Stark banners were all you knew for the longest time — and you hoped that it would be so again.

You wanted to cease dwelling on all things bleak and dreary, and instead, you smiled at Jon, countenance melding into one of genuineness. He caught your eye, features growing unbearably hot beneath the ardor of your gaze. Something passed between the both of you, something that caused you to look away; smitten.

Jon exhaled, taking a swig of the mead before offering it up to you. Liquor wasn’t something he necessarily enjoyed, but it did take some little edge off — for now, anyway. He watched with a faint smile as you took it, giving the cork a brief sniff, nose wrinkling.

Nevertheless, you took a drink, stinging liquid burning your throat on the way down. You sputtered, your expression one of clear distaste as you handed it back to him. “Gods, what is that supposed to be? The Night’s Watch isn’t known for their ale, either.” You huffed.

A huff of laughter tore past his lips, and at last, you could see the glint of his pearlescent teeth, a smile that could melt The Wall itself. “Still can’t handle your drink after all this time?” Jon remarked, corking the flagon of mead as he placed it aside. He didn’t want to drink himself into a stupor with you present.

“There were never any occasions that called for it,” You retorted, a warm playfulness permeating your tone. You leaned forward atop the footlocker, gazing into the flickering flames, its heat basking your visage. “Winterfell wasn’t the same after your family left. Everything seemed so dour, so hopeless.”

Jon hung his head, hands folded together as he contemplated your statement. “Sometimes, I wish I’d never left.” He confessed, tone slipping into something silent, as if he were sharing his greatest sin with the septa. There were times where he missed home — missed what might’ve been.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, you didn’t hesitate to look at him, hues swimming with a wet sheen. Reminiscing often brought about plenty of sentiments for you, sentiments that you thought you’d buried. “Sometimes I wish that you hadn’t left, either.” You whispered.

None of this felt real.

There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere, a tension that had risen from the lingering flames of a longstanding friendship. Jon felt an unusual swell within his stomach, the onslaught of boyish nerves, yet he pushed them aside for the sake of the moment. It all seemed to feel so right, as if this had been long in the making.

Jon stared at you, absentmindedly tilting closer, enough to where you could feel the heat of his honey-tinged breath fan across your face. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t?” He murmured, hoping that you would confirm whatever it was that he felt, too.

“I am not sure,” Butterflies erupted within the pit of your stomach, hands beginning to reach for one another, even if you hadn’t fully realized it yourself. “I would like to think that I would’ve gained the courage to tell you how I truly felt about you.” There wasn’t an ounce of subtlety present — you knew what you meant, he knew what you meant.

I love you — it was on the tip of his tongue, begging to be released, to let his confession take wing into the open air. He should’ve told you that night of the feast, when you took his hand and told him that you would always defend his honor and his name.

“Jon.” Your voice was nothing more than a saccharine whisper, eyes wide and doe-like, a wordless plea to act on whatever it was he felt. Before you could say another word, Jon’s mouth was on yours, hot and rugged, everything that you imagined it would be.

His calloused hand rose to cup your face, rough pads of his digits tracing across your cheek, your jaw — you felt like velvet, an unblemished plane that had eagerly awaited his touch. Jon had always fantasized about kissing you, and the reality of it far exceeded any expectations he might’ve had.

The sudden intensity of the kiss had grown, as if throwing kindling onto an open flame. You weren’t prepared for it, but you needed more. A moan stirred within your throat as you pressed forward, hands reaching for the front of his leather-studded tunic.

Jon kissed you as if you were the air itself, every breath he drew consuming you, dragging you in until you were intertwined. He seized your waist, rough palm sinking into the coarse material of your dress, nearly shuddering at the feeling of your body beneath his palm.

“I love you,” He uttered against your mouth, forehead briefly bumping into yours as he held you close, the weight of his confession beginning to sink in. “I never wish to be parted from you — from this day, until my last day.” Jon promised, voice rumbling and solemn, knowing that he would keep his vow.

Incredulously, you gazed at him with wide eyes, unable to escape the feeling of complete and utter joy you experienced at his confession. Breathless, you took a moment to compose yourself, gather your bearings before you smiled. “Don’t leave me again, Jon Snow.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Jon murmured, eagerly seeking your mouth again, tugging you in for a heated kiss. Gods, your mouth was so disarmingly soft, pliant and plush against his lips, giving him everything that he ever imagined and so much more.

A gentle, uttered string of breathy ‘I love you’s’ left you over and over again, each kiss ripping the air from your lungs, leaving your heart hammering beneath your breast. You shrugged the cloak aside, letting it pool around you, partially strewn across the footlocker.

Desperation laced your kisses, as if something might threaten to rip you away from the excitement of the moment, or that you might wake up from a distant dream. Jon was lost in your mouth, a grunt blossoming from his chest when he hauled you closer, until no sliver of space remained.

He stood up, bringing you with him, standing atop the sprawling furs of slain stags, closer to the lick of the hearth. It allowed him to better hold you, hands respectfully roaming your body, never allowing himself to slip below your hips. “Wait.” He rasped, removing his mouth from yours.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, fearing that you had vastly overstepped. This was all somewhat unfamiliar, the territory new and unexpected. You had been with a man before, but it never crossed a certain threshold — you wouldn’t allow it.

“Is this what you want?” Jon questioned, dark brows knitting together as he regarded you with caution, a devotion reserved only for you. He couldn’t continue without hearing the certainty escape your mouth — he hadn’t done this in some time, himself.

Gods, you loved him. There was a lack of hesitation in his movements, but instead, a desire for clarity. He didn’t want you to feel obligated or trapped in some corner — he wanted you to want him. A twinkle of ardor glistened within your warm gaze as you brought your hands together at the nape of his neck.

It’s what you’ve wanted for such a long time — a terribly long time, at that. Everything felt as if you were wading through a dream, one that would shatter at any moment. “Yes,” You whispered, longing to unfasten the leather buckles and straps that held his tunic together. “More than anything.”

Jon’s breath hitched, a subtle noise, desire beginning to blossom throughout his chest. His grasp on you became innately protective and needy, hands gingerly kneading into your curves. He bent down for another kiss, arms caging themselves around you, bringing you into the warm expanse of his chest.

Soft fingertips raked through his dark curls, bringing him to heel as he kissed you, unashamed of his clear desperation. It no longer felt like the ghost of a distant thought — this was a blissful reality. He helped you to remove the bulky leather of his jerkin, but part of him feared fully removing his clothes.

His scars would reveal the abhorrent truth — that he died, brought back to life from the twisted magic of a Fire Priestess. Jon’s hesitation was palpable, especially when your digits sank into the coarse material of his tunic. The leather fell to the wayside, and you were closer to seeing him disrobed.

Jon sluggishly reached for the linen ties that held your dress together, and you gave him a nod, subtly encouraging him to unravel you. As he gently tugged upon the tie, the fabric sagged upon your shoulders, allowing you to push it aside, stepping out of it altogether.

A strangled gasp caught within the depths of his throat, manifesting as a sharp exhale that consumed his ribcage. You were every bit as wonderful as he’d imagined you to be — such fantasies had clung to the fringes of his mind out in the frozen wastelands beyond The Wall.

The plane of your flesh was velvetlike, bathed in the flickering firelight of the hearth, dancing across your body with its incandescent glow. Jon’s jaw visibly tightened, restraining himself from touching you as he pleased. The longer he stood, gawking at your body like some clueless boy, the more emboldened you became.

Careworn digits gingerly wrapped around his vambrace, unfastening the buckles there before you guided his hand to your chest. “There isn’t a need to be bashful,” You whispered, noticing the way his pupils dilated when his calloused palm embraced your pliant breast. “I want you to touch me.” You gently encouraged him.

Jon appeared a touch forlorn, attempting to mask his gnawing fear at the idea of you seeing him. “It’s not you,” His smile was humorless — pensive, even. “Gods, you’re beautiful.” He huffed, hand drifting toward your hip, shuddering at the satiny texture of your skin.

Warmth crept across your spine in the wake of his breathless compliment, prompting you to unfasten his other vambrace. He aimed to distract you, mouth moving toward the spot where your jaw met your neck, beard scratching ragged against your flesh.

He palmed your breast, reveling in the softness of you beneath his rough-hewn hand, tracing along your hip until he squeezed your derrière. Everything about you was plush and inviting, as if you were a goddess incarnate.

Jon’s kiss became hungry, wanton and passionate as his mouth peppered itself along your throat, from your jaw to jugular. He treated you kindly; gracious hands that melded themselves to your form, like a sculptor to his masterpiece.

Saccharine soaps and hints of underlying flora clung to your flesh like a springtime haze, powerful enough to melt this ice he felt. You brought with you such warmth that it threatened to swallow him whole; he delighted in it, letting you shake the frost from his bones.

Lips danced together with a long-repressed passion, now exploding like crackles of fire within a hearth, spontaneous yet heated. You kissed Jon as if he might slip away from you, turning into dust between your fingertips.

A low moan stirred within the depths of your throat when his fingers toyed with your pebbling nipple, prompting you to grip his tresses with an unexpected harshness. You mumbled a sheepish apology, yet he paid little mind to it, dusky hues swirling with an ardent adoration that made your stomach churn.

As your hand drifted to the hem of his worn, linen tunic, he very nearly stopped you — yet, part of him wished for you to see him without a spoken word. Jon’s chest tightened with quickened breaths as you kindly maneuvered the clothing away, and he watched, hues fixated upon your bewildered countenance.

A battlefield — innumerable scars, so fresh that you nearly held your hand over them to stop the bleeding, gouged across his pallid flesh. One that seemed to sting the most rest over his heart, curved and garish, the stroke of a vengeful knife that ended his life.

Wordlessly, you lifted your hand, fingertips tracing across his chest, feather-light and disarmingly gentle; the opposite of the knives that had left their mark. Your brows furrowed together, and you wondered how he could’ve survived something like this — if he survived something like this.

Jon shivered at your embrace, as sweet as the maiden’s grace, caressing him with your resplendent touch. He held you close, arm caging you in, his other hand stroking beneath your breast, above your ribcage. “I didn’t make it,” He rasped, noticing the glimmer of understanding in your eyes. “I’d like to think that the Gods wanted me to see you again.”

His smile warmed you, more than any blazing hearth could, more than that of summertime. A fluttering sensation spread throughout your chest, followed by a hitch in your throat that you stumbled over. “Jon,” You whispered, stroking across his chest with a peculiar tenderness. “I am so sorry.”

It wasn’t the time for condolences — such sentiments could wait. Jon didn’t want your coupling to be soured by what had happened, and instead, he shook his head. His yearning for you trumped that of any sorrow and mulling over death, prompting him to press his mouth against yours once more.

The kiss seemed to convey the unspoken message, his desire to tend to you before discussing the intricacies of his scars. Jon dutifully dipped down to kiss your throat again, and then your collarbone, guiding you towards the fur-laden expanse of his bed.

As you lowered yourself onto your back, Jon kicked his boots aside, crawling across the thick mound of pelts to cover your body with his. You sluggishly spread your legs, allowing him to reside in the space between, palms planted on either side of your head.

Each heated kiss blossomed across your flesh, as he peppered his lips along your shoulder and collarbone, descending toward the valley between your breasts. It was flesh he’d longed to grace, savoring every second spent; his mouth smoothed across the silken flesh beneath your breast.

“Jon,” A sigh of passion tore past your lips, gooseflesh coalescing along your spine as he continued his descent, knowing exactly what he sought. The heat between your thighs sang to him like a siren’s song, and you weren’t about to intercede. “Please, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

The ragged scruff of his beard scratched pleasantly against your skin, the sort of burn that left you aching for more. He kissed across your stomach, inch by agonizing inch, hand reaching back to caress along your calf. It was slow, exploratory — he wanted to learn every curve, every dip and expanse of flesh.

A hazy heat gripped your surroundings, as if everything had become feverish, touched by a fog of warmth that permeated you, sank into him. Doe-eyed hues flickered toward the taut muscle of his back, the blackness of his curly tresses, the scar around his eye.

Planting a kiss against your hip bone, Jon sighed into your thigh, hot breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. His belly churned with an excitable heat, having waited for such a terribly long time to finally have you. He smoothed his calloused palm along your leg, ascending until he held your haunch.

Gods, you were in ruins — Jon hadn’t even placed his mouth upon you, and you writhed in anticipation. No man had been courageous enough to treat you this way, yet Jon lacked hesitation, settling onto his stomach as he bullied his way between your thighs.

Raking hot embers across your cunt, Jon lapped along your slit, eyelashes fluttering at the sound of your euphoric whimpering. He hadn’t heard a sound quite like that before, and from your lips, it was abhorrently sinful.

He sighed your name; reverent, a prayer only spoken between Gods and men — and you are no man. It made you shiver, belly filling with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, soothed only by the sweet laps of your lover’s tongue.

Jon’s mind reeled with the sight of you — flushed with pleasure, visage contorted into a look of complete and utter bliss. He continued without pause, nose brushing across your mound as he buried his tongue into you, greedily lapping at your cunt as if he were a man starved.

Your heart hammered beneath your breast, that of sheer excitement, consuming you like a tidal wave as you brazenly reached for his tresses. Sinking your digits into the crown of his tousled curls, you tugged, showing your appreciation in an unorthodox manner.

“J—Jon!” A strangled moan tore past your mouth, wisps of air being ripped from your lungs. Jon was inherently greedy, consuming you in the way that you deserved, finding his solace between your thighs. His dutiful lapping continued, from the pearl of your cunt to your aching entrance.

Akin to ice against your skin, Jon’s palms glided along your thighs, moving to trace your hips. His mouth was like a wave of fire, beard searing the silky flesh of your legs as you involuntarily squeezed his head. You hadn’t intended to suffocate him, but it was a worthwhile demise, in his perspective.

One hand fisted the furs, digging in until you threatened to rip it apart, hips occasionally jerking and jolting forward into his mouth. He hadn’t tasted something as sweet as you, like a fine stout coating his tongue, leaving him intoxicating; craving more.

His eyes had nearly fluttered shut, half-lidded slits that occasionally flickered to catch a glimpse of your blissful countenance. Your back arched from the furs, seeking his mouth with reckless abandon as he lapped along your cunt, tongue briefly flicking over your clit.

It was as if you’d been struck by lightning, body bristling with a long-repressed pleasure, something that only he could cure. The sensation of his calloused skin against your plane of silk was a satisfying juxtaposition — he never wanted another’s touch again.

Jon burned for you in every way imaginable, a sonorous groan ripping through the depths of his throat as he moved to lap at your cunt again. His ministrations were slow, made to explore and to savor you instead of letting it all become rushed.

Your fingertips brushed across his scalp, untangling his curls from the half-bun he’d placed them into. They fell across his head, dark and somewhat cropped. He groaned at the sensation, feeling you pull and grip his tresses, guiding your hips closer.

Rough-hewn hands gingerly kneaded into the pliant flesh of your thighs, caressing their way up and down in a soothing manner. Jon savored your taste, letting your nectar find its purchase against his chin, glistening along his lips. He kissed your clit, evoking a breathy sigh from you.

It had been such a long time for the both of you, intensified by feelings of a long-seated desire and carnality, friendship transcending all bonds of propriety. Jon felt his cock twitch within his trousers, incessantly throbbing and straining against the thicker material, longing to be inside of you.

A cry of delight tore past your mouth as you involuntarily jolted forward, grinding yourself into his mouth. Jon treated you to a barrage of eager laps of his tongue, from your entrance to the sensitive pearl of your cunt.

Dragging his tongue in languid circles around your clit, he watched as you quivered and moaned, mouth agape, back arched off of the furs. Knowing what path to follow, he showed attention to your neglected pearl, nose buried into the softness of your mound.

“Jon,” You sputtered, thighs molding themselves to either side of his face, feeling the scratch of his beard rake itself against your silky skin. He listened, dutiful and with a burning desire to please you, continuing to lap at your clit. “Gods, don’t stop.” A trembling exhale left you.

It was then that he melded his lips around the aching bud, beginning to suck on your pearl with a pang of vigor. You shuddered, rattling like a leaf as you haplessly tugged on his mane of curls, hips tilting upwards into his mouth. You whined, fisting the furs at your side.

Jon did not relent, feeling the ironclad grip you assumed, knowing that he was bringing you close to your release. White-hot sparks fluttered across your vision, body singing his praises, collarbone glittering with the first inklings of perspiration.

A strangled gasp tore through your throat, followed by a myriad of moans and pleading whimpers, seeking friction against his mouth. Your release was fast approaching, like a tidal wave of heat, flooding across your body with its intensity. Jon’s name emerged from your lips as if it were the only word you knew.

The pinnacle of your release made you feel as if you were floating, legs shaking in the blissful aftermath, feeling Jon lap at your core a few times over. You exhaled, chest heaving from exertion as you loosened your hold upon his tresses.

“You’ll have to let me do that again.” Jon murmured, and that seemed to ensnare your attention. Seven Hells — you would let him do that for as long as he pleased, whenever he liked. He pressed a few soft kisses against the inside of your thigh, crawling up to be near you.

“Whenever you would like, I will never protest.” You mused, gaze sparkling with mirth and adoration, inviting him back to being on top of you. Though, your impulses had other plans, as your palm pressed against his shoulder. “There is something I wanted to try.”

The softness of your suggestion seemed to placate Jon, who felt you push his shoulder until you guided him onto his back, hooking a leg over his lap. Gods, he would’ve stayed like that for an eternity if you asked it of him. As you situated yourself on top of him, Jon sat up enough to reach you, kiss you if he wanted to.

He felt your fingers move towards the laces of his breeches, and he didn’t stop you, observing you in rapturous hunger instead. His breath hitched, mouth moving inward to press a string of hot kisses against the column of your throat.

“Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about this?” Jon’s confession emerged as a husky sigh, murmured against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. It came as a surprise, a wonderful one, and it only made your hands move in a borderline frenzy.

Freeing his cock from its confines, you moved yourself up upon your knees, aided by his strong, firm hands, coming to rest just below your derrière. The flushed tip of his length nudged against your cunt, prompting you to sigh with passion.

“Jon,” A pleading moan tore past your mouth, mind becoming fuzzy as you attempted to absorb the genuineness of his words. The Northern timbre of his hoarse baritone made you tremble, hands steadying themselves upon his shoulders. “Please.”

In a sluggish descent, he gently lowered you onto his cock, the both of you shivering in-tandem. The low, throaty groan that escaped him made your stomach churn with molten heat, letting you find your own pace. He was bigger than you imagined, filling you perfectly.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

Your cunt was tight around him, slick with arousal as you continued to lower yourself, inch by blissful inch until he was fully sheathed inside of you. Jon’s heavy pants fluttered across your throat, mouth pressing near the curve of your jaw.

Jon was captivated by you, inhaling a gust of your soap-laden scent, beard ragged against your soft skin as he continued to kiss along your neck. His hands were resolute in guiding you, rocking you up and down along his cock, chest to chest with you.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled his chambers with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your skin.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders.

A burning sting began to dance along your thighs, the exertion of muscle as you rode him, moving up and down in somewhat rhythmic motions. His cock speared you over and over again, filling you completely before you nearly drew yourself out, and back down again.

“Gods,” You sighed, nails sinking into the muscle of his shoulders, your countenance one of complete and utter pleasure. Leaving behind angry-red crescents against his pale skin, you didn’t want the feeling to end. “Jon, please — don’t stop!” With a simpering moan, your head began to roll back slightly.

Spurred by your softly-spoken praise and breathy sighs, Jon did not relent, hands sinking into your thighs as he guided you against his cock. The angle allowed for friction to blossom, chests bumping together, bodies tangled up within one another.

He kissed his way along your collarbone, bringing you up enough to trap one of your nipples within his mouth. The head of his cock remained pleasantly buried within your cunt, the warming of it making you writhe. He held you steady, greedily kissing at your pert breasts.

One of your hands fisted into his dark curls, tugging on them as if you were attempting to wrangle him into submission. His mouth peppered warm, needy kisses around the valley between your breasts before he let you sink yourself back down, cunt clenching around his cock.

Shameless strings of sinful noises left you in droves, eyes closed in a state of ecstasy. Jon groaned with you, vocalizing his own pleasure as he coaxed you down towards the furs, not wanting to place you there unless you consented.

With a brief bob of your head, you found yourself beneath Jon, his musculature covering you, content between your legs as he hitched one around his hips. The calloused plane of his palm wrapped around your calf, causing you to shiver at the foreign contact.

He could look upon your face, see the way your visage contorted into pure pleasure when he rocked forward, cock burying itself deep into your cunt. His skin was flushed, expression somewhat doe-eyed and awestruck, even if you were too lost to notice.

Your hands moved, one finding its purchase against his bicep, the other on his shoulder as his pace began to intensify. It was a chase, galloping after his release as he bent to kiss you, releasing a grunt into your mouth when you rolled your hips forward.

The wooden frame of his bed began to creak, groaning in protest from the vigor of his ministrations. You didn’t care if he was a touch rougher with you — Gods, you needed him. Heat swirled within your stomach, gnawing at your bones, making your toes curl in delight.

“Jon!” You cried, and that nearly sent him soaring over the edge, cock throbbing inside of you. The friction of your pelvis grinding against him almost made his resolve shatter into two. He lost count of how many times his cock sank into you — it was all blurring together.

The inevitable rush of euphoria reached him when his release came, hot and blistering, making him see stars as he groaned your name. Your nails were digging into his bicep, a gasp emerging from your throat when he thrust into you again.

Ropes of warm spend painted your insides, and he very nearly collapsed on top of you. He had the decency to hold himself afloat, hand tracing along your calf and to the crook of your knee, letting you unhook your leg.

Jon removed himself from you, attempting to gather his breath as he laid at your side, gazing at the dark ceiling above. Your breathing was just as unsteady and erratic as you drifted down from your buzzing high, wiping beads of perspiration from your brow.

Once he recuperated, Jon looked at you, noticing the smile on your face, the unrestrained delight you were experiencing as you rolled over. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured, watching as you began to shamelessly crawl into his arms.

“Quite the opposite,” You hummed, feeling him adjust the furs, drawing them both around you. Despite the feverish pitch of the room, the frost would settle in again soon, especially at the hour of the bat. “Were you jesting when you said you dreamed about this?”

Bewildered, Jon cast his eyes toward you, canting his head to one side. “Of course I was serious,” He huffed, surprised that you would think otherwise. “You were all I could think about, north of The Wall.” His confession was genuine, sweetly-spoken.

“You don’t have to dream about it anymore,” Your voice soothed him, a sound that he had yearned for with a blistering ache. He felt as if you would slip away from him if he let you go. “I won’t leave you.” Your smile was warm enough to melt even the hardiest of frost.

Jon’s lips tugged into a smile, one that you rarely saw beneath the brooding curtain of his visage. He pressed a kiss against your forehead, allowing you to get comfortable against him. The silence that followed allowed for some contemplation, absorbing all of what had transpired.

His scars seemed so fresh when they caught your eye. With a forlornly look, you dragged your fingers over the scar above his heart, feeling him shiver beneath your touch. Your body still felt as if it were caught in some haze, coming down from the blissful aftermath of your coupling.

“If you hadn’t come back …” You trailed off, attempting to refuse to think of some painful reality where Jon perished, but the thought briefly crossed your mind. If he had, none of this would be happening — he wouldn’t be holding you in his arms.

“But I am here,” Jon’s husky timbre shook you to your core as he planted his palm against your cheek, guiding you to look at him. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not leaving you.” It was a promise — insistent, spoken from a man who now fully understood the weight of love, the weight of sacrifice.

You nodded, wordlessly reaching to hold his hand, feeling the arm he had caged around you plant itself against the small of your back. He drew circles there, brows knitting together as he leaned in to kiss you. It was hard and warm, so real — he made sure that you understood exactly what he meant.

Within the warm embrace of his arms, you let your head recline against his chest, feeling him draw you closer, until there was no space left between the both of you. He listened to the steady, shallow sound of your breathing afterwards.

At the edge of the world, he had you — and that was all he would ever need.

[fhrlclln]

underneath | qimir

SUMMARY -> ever since you found him and he trained you, he had always concealed his identity to you for his unknown reasons. you were always curious what he looks like underneath the cortosis helm he wears. though, this time the curiosity in you would be sated at last when a particular sparring session turns into an unexpected lesson in trust.

qimir x acolyte!fem! reader

masterlist

GENRE -> mild nsfw/smut

WARNINGS -> unprotected p in v, sexual tension, mild violence, master/pupil dynamic & smut is at the end : P

WC -> 2.82k

a/n: surprise! another qimir fic cuz i can’t get him out of my head.

likes, comments and reposts are greatly appreciated !! <3

enjoy !!

"have you ever wondered what he looks like underneath that mask?"

you asked your fellow pupil, mae, one day out of the blue. the particular reason for asking that question had always been because of your undying curiosity for the years you started to train under him.

your masked master.

"i don't." mae would answer, saying that she doesn't care what he would look like underneath the mask. saying that as long as he trains her, his identity doesn't matter to her. you understood her with that, she was his acolyte first and it probably dawned upon you that the years of concealing his identity to her she had thrown away the curiosity of what their master looked like.

but on the other hand, you, you somehow couldn't stop wondering.

you had found him or- he had found you when you were escaping your slave captors after your own sister had betrayed you in selling you to them. you were angry, in rage and unaware of the dormant power that had awoken in you with that rage you had felt. and in your fit of rage, you had managed to slaughter two of the captors chasing you, leaving you feeling guilty for your horrendous actions. you decided to escape and flee the planet. that is until by some chance, you had come across the masked stranger in the middle of the night who had told you about the gift you possessed, telling that you shouldn't be ashamed you used it in your self-defense.

and that's when he had took you under his wing, training you as his pupil.

he had taught you what your gift was, what your power is. he trained you, taught you and for the most part, despite him putting this distance between you and mae, he had helped you. and maybe that’s why you’re so curious to know who he is really, you wanted to see the master who had graciously accepted you despite you knowing your connection with the force was not as strong as mae’s.

he was… well, you could not really put a strong opinion on what kind of a man your master was. for the most part, he was always away and in training sessions, he was closed-off and distant. but when he spars with you and mae, that’s when a hint of his personality is peeking through.

rough, aggressive, strict. the way he spared with you had left you with tired sore knees and bruised arms when defending. on the offensive attacks you made he was quick to dodge and maneuver himself with your predictable attacks. he was ruthless in his combat but there was still that fluidity in it. but you knew he still held back with you despite the aggressiveness. you wished he had put more effort in your sparring sessions just like mae’s but you knew he was focusing more on her since she was at the brink of completing her lessons.

“safe travels, mae.” you wish her luck as she nods at you. the master had given her final lesson- to kill a jedi without a weapon. you were proud of your fellow acolyte but it did upset you how much you were falling behind. the waves splash in the background as you watch her walk to her ship. you wave her off as you saw it fly out the cloudy atmosphere then jumped into hyperspace, on the course to euda.

the sea breeze helps you gather your thoughts, and you wonder if the master would train you further today. seeing that mae had to learn this lesson by herself. sensing him, you feel the pull of the force as you turn around to see your master standing a few feet away from you.

the scene makes you remember that night when you found him. for a moment it did frighten you to see him loom over you when you fell to your knees from running. you were injured then and you had momentarily thought he was one of the slave traders that was trying to capture you. it took you a while to get used to him being like this when he appears out of the blue. well, for a random person, it would seem frightening to see a masked stranger dressed in black robes suddenly appear in mid-air. plus the saber tucked in his belt.

“master.” you greet him, anticipation lingering inside you.

“we shall continue your training today, my acolyte.” his modulated voice says. you feel your chest swell with excitement as you nodded. “be prepared.”

“of course, master.” you bowed slightly as he walks off to where the sparring lessons usually are. you smiled to yourself, maybe this time he’d finally put more effort in your training as you walk with a slight spring in your steps.

・゜゜・．

“focus.”

he says as your feet scraped against the rocks at his force push. you huff, your chest heaving, your leather tunic is starting to stick on your glistening sweaty skin, making you feel uncomfortable. you sigh, frustrated how you were not landing a single blow on him. your mind was elsewhere, seeming that you are still focused on wondering what he looks like underneath that mask.

“use that frustration. focus on your emotions.” he commands and you composed yourself, swatting the questions of his unknown face in your head. you ready yourself in a fighting stance, body facing to the side while you wave your arm in front of you. you clenched your fist for a moment as you heed into his words and attack. you use the force to heighten your leap towards him as you land a blow but he dodges again. an uppercut, he doges, a kick you do he dodges again. you feel yourself get even more irritated but in ease that he was finally not holding back when he blocks one of your blows with his arm.

but still, you were still not fighting the way he has to expect you to fight.

“you are too trustful in me, acolyte.” he scolds you, the modulated tone ringing. he backs away from you as you stopped, confused. yes, you indeed trust him, why was it a bad thing?

“i beg your pardon, master?” your breaths are labored and somehow from the close distance, you could hear him sigh underneath the mask.

“you are too trustful.” he says again. “do not trust me that i will not kill you even if i am training you. trust in yourself. we cannot continue this lesson if you do not learn to do that.” a chill runs through your spine at his words. there’s a slight pang of hurt in those words of his that were true. yes, he could kill you. why wouldn’t he if you failed him? you seem to stiffen at his words as he reminds you again, this time he will take the offensive attack.

“trust is a fragile thing. you cannot trust anyone but yourself, my acolyte. even if the person has sworn to trust you, they would eventually betray you. but yourself? you cannot betray yourself.” he explains as you nodded at his words. “when since you had put your whole trust in someone and they betrayed you in the end?”

you look at him, rage starting to boil in you when you remembered your own sister’s betrayal. your chest tightens and your mind is enraged with it. the pain she had put you in, the survival you had to do, the running you had to tire and the people you had to kill just to be free-

“there it is.” he says, proud. feeling your ever glowing rage.

“now, focus.” he suddenly attacks you as you dodged swiftly. both of you move in a tandem, as if it were a dance. the painful realization that even your master, the one who saved you and took you in, would eventually might betray you as well. the rage in you is at its boiling point as you let out a guttural scream when he almost aims for your neck. you push him back with your force then surging to him with heat in your steps as you attacked. he blocks your powerful blow with two of his arms forming an x. you kick him immediately on the stomach and he lurches, caught off guard.

you were too in to your emotions as you attacked and attacked. he tries to doge and block your every hit but he eventually succumbs to your rage when you finally kicked him to the ground. before he could stand, you immediately come on top of him, preventing that. you fist the collar of his robe, clenched hand in the air ready to land a final punch-

“excellent, my acolyte.” he cuts you off as you suddenly blink back into your rational self. you let go of his collar and you let yourself relax but ultimately surprised how close you are to him. you’re on top of him, your legs caging his waist and he seems not to dismiss you to get off. you can see clearly his helmet now, it was full of marks of previous battles. you take your time to admire him beneath you, how his adam’s apple bob and the sheen of sweat covering his bare muscular arms that were bulging with veins.

you blush, realizing you were staring at your master with ill thoughts.

but… the curiosity of what he looks like underneath it makes you wonder. your hand slowly comes up to his helmet and you feel him watch you with every move you make. he observes silently and you hovered your hand above his masked face. but you snap out of it again, realizing you could have offended him. and he could kill you for this. you know he takes great lengths to conceal his identity.

“a-apologies, master, i-“ before you could retract your hand and get off him. his hand suddenly grips your wrist. your eyes widened as he sits up and you adjust, hovering above his lap. he tilts his head to the side inquisitively, as if he was amused to see your curiosity be revealed. you stay quiet, staring at his masked face, waiting for his words. your cheeks are hot and you feel the anticipation grow in you. he places your hand on the side of his mask, the way he brushes your fingers softly makes you feel wobbly now.

“go on.” he merely says. you stutter, not knowing what to say. did he just agreed for you to remove his mask? your thoughts are jumbled but you succumb to your curiosity. you put both of your hands to both sides of his masked face. you slowly remove it inch by inch whilst you stared at the peaking facial features you have longed imagined what he looked like. you remove the helm completely and your heart skips a beat.

your eyes meet with a strangely beautiful dark ones.

his black hair is disheveled, his skin is smooth and his jawline is handsomely well chiseled. your eyes roam his face and it settles to his pink lips. you feel a hum of arousal between your legs when you look into his eyes again. his face is so close to yours that you can feel his hot breath tingle your lips. you put his helmet down to your side as the other brushes the black locks of his concealing his face. his pupils grow dark, your lips are inches to his and you somehow feel in-trance to lock it with yours.

this, this is the face of your master.

he’s beautiful. you think as you let out a noise when his other hand brush against your thigh. the other gently grips your hand that brushed his hair. you wondered why he had hidden his beautiful face from you and mae.

“master…” you plead as he smirks and it makes you blush.

“you did good today.” his low voice with a rasp of approval instead of the modulated one made your stomach churn and your thighs clench. the way his lips are still hovering above yours makes your head dizzy with the anticipation of what he’s doing. his top lip brushes against yours and he leans forward but before you could feel his soft lips lock with yours, you pull back. this is wrong.

“apologies, master.” you place your hands on his chest as you pulled yourself up to your feet. he seems taken aback for a moment with your rejection but composes himself as he eyes you up with a dark glint in his eyes.

“curiosity is normal. don’t be embarrassed.” he chuckles and that rings through your ears. the way he acts now is dissimilar to when he has his mask on and it baffles you how human he now is. you don’t know what to say, fearing that you have failed him in almost every way. you watch him stand up then grabbed his helmet and he looks at you. something in his gaze shines with hunger.

“we’ll continue our lesson another time.” he walks pass you and the brush of his arm against yours makes your heart jump.

“yes, master.” the initial shock of the situation still hasn’t faded when he’s out of your sight. you gulp, sweat dripping down your forehead. was he not upset that you know his face now? would he kill you for it later perhaps? those questions hang in the air. your heart still beats remembering his lips close to yours. you turn back, walking back to the shore, there’s a feeling you can’t seem to place as you let your thoughts linger on your master’s revealed face.

・゜゜・．

you dry your face with a rag then pulled a fresh tunic and bottoms from your pile of fresh clean robes. the dimness of the light inside your room in the cave made it comforting for your wild thoughts. you put on the brown tight bottoms then the grey tunic. but those thoughts soon come alive when you felt a presence near the entrance of your room.

you turn around swiftly, seeing your master standing right by the concave opening of your room. no mask on but just wearing… perfectly normal clothing. he dawned a white tunic and usual black bottoms, his hair is slicked back, damp from his bath you presumed. you stand awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. you were used to his mysterious persona.

“you did exceptionally well today.” he begins with a praise. “but, i am surprised how focused you are on knowing what i look like.”

“thank you.” you merely say, eyes shying away when he points out your curiosity. “i apologize for that, master.”

“don’t be.” he steps forward and each step he takes has an anticipation behind them. you stay in your place, taking in how comforting he looks. “i’m glad for your curiosity.” he confesses.

“you are?” you are surprised with that.

qimir nods, adoring the way you seemed so surprised. he had his reasons for concealing his identity to you and mae. it was for to create a distance between the master and pupil. he feared attachment might overcome why he took you under his wing. he knows you already saw him as a person who finally cared for you and in truth, he does. you are a gifted woman with the force and over the years despite the distance he placed, you managed to crawl into his cold heart.

“but i fear your curiosity isn’t sated enough.” he points out and the atmosphere in the room changes. you know what he means. when you had almost kissed him but you hesitated, fearing that things might change drastically after that. he was your master after all. he steps closer to you, the distance is just like the one moments ago.

“am i right?” he asks when you stare at his lips. you wondered if mae would be enraged for what you are about to do as your body moved at its own accord.

you surge forward and lock your lips with his.

and that ends up with you sprawled underneath him. your curiosity is sated and he rewards you more with a thrust of his hips with his cock inside you. you clench around him, your hands caressing the width of his broad back. here you are, your naked body pressed against his as you moan in his ear. he groans, suckling the soft flesh of your neck.

“master…” you sigh, legs wrapped around tight on his waist. his hands are holding your thighs in place as he thrusts his cock into your warm heat. he locks eyes with your heavy one and it makes him soar at the feeling of you wrapped around him. he smirks as he kisses you hotly as he grinds his hips down.

your curiosity indeed was successfully sated by him.

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead. 

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants. 

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse. 

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit. 

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits. 

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault. 

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim. 

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight. 

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that’s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine. 

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look. 

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes. 

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror. 

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it. 

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face. 

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him. 

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you. 

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said. 

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same. 

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after. 

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle. 

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to. 

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead. 

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills. 

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself. 

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again. 

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands. 

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones. 

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore. 

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it. 

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her. 

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her. 

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved. 

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved. 

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you. 

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them. 

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?” 

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage. 

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe. 

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again. 

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better. 

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years. 

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan. 

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house. 

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves. 

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home. 

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real. 

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up. 

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this. 

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them. 

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better. 

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad. 

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can. 

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real. 

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand. 

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do. 

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying. 

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch. 

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture. 

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself. 

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob. 

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything. 

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway. 

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since. 

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt. 

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse. 

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better. 

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh. 

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive. 

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped. 

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you. 

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy. 

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns. 

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight. 

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you. 

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room. 

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something. 

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him. 

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said. 

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now. 

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face. 

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings. 

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in. 

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.” 

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[detectivestucks2]

Becoming His Queen

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: True Form Sukuna x F!Reader

Summery: Sukuna's harem consists of two kinds of women. His 'toys' and his 'wives'. Being his most tenured concubine you prepare his new toys when one clawed their way under your skin. Sukuna saw his favorite well-mannered wife behave like one of his toys resulting in you spending the night in his chambers instead of her.

Warnings: NSFW, violence, harsh spanking, Choking, Oral female receiving, rough nipple play, anal play, DP, Unprotected Penetration, Cream pie.

Word Count: 5.9k

Sukuna is a twisted master. Over your five years in his harem you’ve watched girl after girl come and go as he played his games with them. Sukuna has an interesting taste. He loves fiery and defiant women who refuse to bend the knee. He loves dragging them into his bedchamber and breaking them. He loves when they spit on him in defiance, when they hit him or try to run away. He loves chaining them to his bed and playing with their bodies, watching as they become hopelessly hooked on the pleasure only he can provide. He loves watching their faces of disgust beg for the tongue of his belly to lap at their clit while he stuffs both their holes with his two cocks. He loves turning the most stubborn women into submissive sex dolls.

It is a game to him. The world’s most fun game that he can play over and over again. The only problem is that once he has worn the woman down, she loses her use. She is a broken toy and is soon discarded. 

So how did you retain your tenure in his harem? On nights where Sukuna doesn’t feel like playing games, nights where he just wants a doting woman to do as she’s told and be happy about it, he turns to whom he affectionately dubs as ‘his wives.’ There are three of you in this group. Beautiful, kind, submissive, and willing to do anything Lord Sukuna asks. 

It takes a brave woman to be both kind and willing to do anything the King requests. Some of his kinks can be rather distasteful and sometimes the thing he wants most is for his wife to ride him till he falls asleep which can take hours. If you stop too soon or become too tired, he will beat you and likely dismiss you. No, you’re not a toy, but the position is just as hard. No, he doesn’t work you as often, but when he does, it’s usually after a bad day. No, he won’t dispose of you as fast, but you have to navigate his darker side and do so with a smile on your face.

Of his three wives you are the one he calls on the most. Your chest might not be as perky, you may have stretch marks (some of which Sukuna left on your skin), and you might not be as young, but you are the most obedient, you try the hardest to please him, and you are the most successful at calming him after a rough day. 

When he came back from battle, sometimes he wants to play some more, and gods bless the toy he has in the harem if that is the case. You do your best not to think of the things he does to them when he’s in that kind of mood. But other times he wants a pretty face to wipe away the blood, bathe him, and clean his clothes while he details exactly how he slaughtered masses with ease. 

You believe he prefers you in this role because you are genuinely interested in his battles. You scrub his painted nails as he tells you how he used them to slice open a man’s neck.

 “The filthy monkey thought it was okay to beat his foster children” 

You coo and tell your Lord how proud you are of him. That he is a great and just man. And he will take the same finger that stole life hours prior and trace your jaw bone with it. That same hand that crushed another’s skull as he entered his estate, will tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and you can’t help but feel pride at knowing a man capable of such destruction would never harm you. Not like that at least. 

Sukuna isn’t as nice to the other two wives of his harem. One of them he keeps solely because she is a pretty crier. She is too scared to say no to anything (not that she’s allowed) and will do whatever your Lord asks. As you know, sometimes Sukuna’s kinks are distasteful and he loves forcing his youngest wife to do them because of her obvious revulsion. He loves to hear her whine and cry, licking up her tears as they fall from her cheeks. 

The other wife is newer to your elite tier in the harem. She is certainly the most beautiful. Though not having a particular personality trait that he prefers means she will not survive long. She will be replaced as soon as a prettier face comes along.

You, however, are the longest standing concubine to ever stay in his harem. Uraume tells you he has never kept a concubine, even one he deems a wife, for longer than two years. Around your third year at the estate you were filled with anxiety when it had been too long between calls. You would constantly fret about getting dismissed until one day Uraume had to calm you down in the gardens. They assured you that Sukuna had no plans of dismissing you. That was the day you learned you were his favorite. Thanks to Uraume’s words, you felt better and allowed yourself to resume your role as leader of the harem with more confidence. 

*******************************************

This particular afternoon Uraume drags in a new woman who is to be part of Sukuna's collection of toys. She is exceedingly beautiful with long dark hair. She has quite a mouth on her and clearly has had combat training. Just his type. You give an approving nod and tell the girl you’ll be back once she’s adjusted to her situation. 

Later that night you go to visit her room with the usual oils and perfumes along with two chambermaids. You sit her at the vanity and comb her hair. You tell her the kinds of things Sukuna likes and the things he hates. What to avoid saying and doing so that she doesn’t get herself killed, and what the general order of things is. Naturally she cusses you out and tries to degrade you with her words, and like all the other girls, the things she says roll off your shoulders. 

Sukuna, like any other man, has his flaws. He is not a perfect being. He has his temper and he does bad things, but he is also a man in need of love and affection. And when he returns that affection it is the most addicting drug on the face of this cursed planet. A drug so powerful that you have devoted your life and your freedom to it. The toys never see it at first, but in the end they do. They always do.

When the girl attempts to lay a hand on you, you simply duck and warn her that if she wishes to get physical then she will be locked in her room and denied free reign of the estate. She aims to strike you again so you gather your things and leave. The chambermaids lock her bedroom door from the outside after you exit and tuck the key away. 

“The two of you should come together in the morning with Uraume in case she tries to attack you”

“Thank you for your concern my Lady.”

“Please, you know you don’t have to be so formal with me.”

“On the contrary. You are the third highest member of the estate.”

A soft smile dusts over your face as you reach out and hold a finger under each of their chins. “Nonsense. We all serve Lord Sukuna. We just do so in different ways.”

“Thank you my Lady, but if it is all the same, we would feel more comfortable addressing you as such.”

You giggle and roll your eyes. “If you insist. But just know you might give me a bit of an ego.”

The two girls giggle and the three of you part ways. 

**********************************************

The next day Uraume lets the new toy out of her chambers while Sukuna’s tending to business beyond his estate. You dally in the gardens and ask for a pair of shears to prune one of the bushes. The servants know better than to protest and let you do the pruning yourself as it frustrates you to instruct the groundskeepers exactly where to trim when they know you find the process therapeutic. 

After five years of residence at the estate, everyone knows you. Your likes, your dislikes, your preferred activities, how to tell you’re in a good mood, how to tell you’re in a bad one, and every detail in between. Most of the staff has even seen you naked.  So when you ask for garden shears, there is no debate. They simply hand you the blades.

You are happily trimming away with your lady in waiting when the new toy spots you. 

“You bitch!”

“Good Afternoon!” you hum

“You locked me in my room!”

“I did not lock you in your room. I warned you what is the consequence when you become violent. It is not my fault you chose not to heed my warning.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t turn the key!”

“I didn’t”

“Lying whore!”

“If you’re going to insult me, you can surely think of something better. I am not a liar and I do not get paid to sleep with Lord Sukuna. I do it because it is my duty…and it’s rather fun.”

Your lady in waiting smirks at your calm retort as your eyes meet for just a second. 

In his office, Sukuna recently arrived back from a visit with some upper level curses. He opens the window that overlooks the gardens only to hear the sound of your voice talking to an unknown woman. She must be his latest toy. He’s satisfied with Uraume’s choice in girl but can’t help the smile he wears at your words. Instead of sitting down at his desk, Sukuna continues to stand by the window and eavesdrop on your conversation.

“Fucking brainwashed slut. You’re such a stupid woman. I’ll never become like you-”

“That’s what they all say.” you interject before she’s done.

“What would some phony King want with someone like you anyways? You’re easily the ugliest woman here.” 

“And yet I’ve been here five years.” you say with a shrug.

“He probably keeps you around because only an ugly woman would be happy fucking a hideous monster.”

“Careful now. You don’t want to get caught talking about our King that way.”

“Or what, he gonna kill me?”

“He could do far worse than that, my dear.”

The woman strikes you across the face “Don’t call me that.”

You cup your cheek as your maiden gasps. You take a deep breath and continue pruning.

“I relish the days when girls like you come crawling out of their rooms, knees weak, and eyes blown wide at the truth.”

She goes to hit you again but this time you dodge it. You take another deep breath and continue to scrutinize the bush before you. 

“What? Too weak to fight back?”

“No” you say with a sigh

“Don’t act like you’re better than me! You’re a pathetic excuse for a human and an even worse excuse for a whore.”

You purse your lips and continue pruning

“I bet this King you care for so much isn’t even that special.”

“Watch it. Even if he doesn’t hear you, I won’t have you disrespect him in front of me any more.”

She snatches the shears from your hands and begins to hurl insults at you as she tries to hit you with them. “Stupid fucking cunt! Fuck you and your King!”

You grab her wrist before the blades can cut your face and give her a swift slap across the cheek. You lean into her ear as your fingers close harshly around her wrist, sure to leave a bruise under your angry grip. With a sharp tongue you whisper threateningly,

“I can’t wait to visit your chamber after your first night with him.”

You proceed to knee her in the stomach to make way for you to storm off the grounds and head back inside, seething with rage. You didn’t mean to let her get the better of you. You never would have before. The toys always come in feisty like that but something about this one got under your skin. 

Meanwhile, up in Sukuna’s office, he was left feeling very different about you. He had never seen your moxy but watching you just now made his cock twitch. You were always so tender and submissive for him. He never knew you to have a temper. But now that he had a taste, he needed more.

****************************************

That night you unexpectedly get a knock on your door. You open it to find Uraume standing on your threshold. 

“I know, I shouldn’t have hit the new girl.” you say with downcast eyes

“Actually I didn’t come here to reprimand you for your actions.”

You lift your head. Curiosity plain across your features.

“His lordship would like to lay with you tonight.”

“Oh..I, uh, I wasn’t expecting him to call for a few days. We have a new girl.”

“I am aware, however, he insisted on seeing you tonight.”

“I will get ready then.”

“Please act with haste. He seemed rather anxious.”

You nod and quickly turn to prep yourself for your duties. You comb your hair and pin it up loosely. Sukuna loves a hairstyle that he can easily grab and ruin. You lightly paint your face so that any pleasured tears you cry will be visible, and you freshly shave all the usual places before rubbing vanilla oil on your various pulse points. You don a silky kimono that is easy to discard and follow Uraume to Sukuna’s bedchambers.

You enter the impressive room and immediately fall to the floor in a bow before your eyes can rest on the face of his highness.

“Good evening My King.”

“Good evening Wife” 

It’s been five years but the title still makes you blush, especially when he says it so tenderly. Tonight he was certainly in a different kind of mood. His black silk robe was already untied, his full manhood on mouthwatering display. You lift your head, sit on your knees and address him.

“My lord, why did you call on me? We have a new mistress in the harem.”

“Why? Did you not want to see me?”

A look of panic washes over your features, “No! I always wish to see you, I just…”

“Were too busy being the ugliest woman here.”

Your face reddens as you realize he witnessed your earlier outburst. “I’m sorry my Lord. I should’ve never carried myself in such a manner.”

“Now you’re talking like a brainwashed slut.”

You feel flustered as you wonder how much of the earlier conversation he heard. You feel a bit indignant at him using the same insults on you that the new girl did but your role is to be his submissive.

“Yes, my Lord” you bow your head, “I am your brainwashed slut.”

“What? Too weak to fight back my dear?”

You begin to chew the inside of your cheek. “A lady doesn’t fight my Lord.”

Sukuna is wearing a huge smirk across his face and you can tell he’s enjoying your discomfort. “Are you a lady or are you a lying whore?!”

“I don’t lie!” you shout before you can catch yourself.

“There she is!”

You slap your hand over your mouth. Sukuna lunges at you using one of his four arms to grab you by the bicep and fling you onto the bed. 

“Wanna say that again whore?”

“My Lord, I-”

“You what?” 

Sukuna’s upper two hands pin your arms above your head while his lower two hands hold up his body weight as he hovers over you.

“You’re just a dumb cunt who wants to fuck her King, right?”

You gulp as you gaze up into his crimson eyes. His lower arms already opening your robe and taking hold of your hips. 

“What, lost your tongue?”

You chew on your bottom lip realizing he’s looking to play with you like one of his defiant toys. If that’s the case, you’ll fulfill your duty. Admittedly, you’re excited to find out what happens when you dare to defy the great and powerful Sukuna. 

“I am no cunt. I have a cunt and I allow my King to have access to it. Have you seen him?”

“Don’t talk to me like you don’t know me woman.” he says with a harsh slap to your breast. You let out a moan on impact.

“You like that? Do whores like having their tits slapped?”

He slaps you again to which you moan. “Answer me.”

“Yes” you breathe

He beats you with his lower set of arms while you strain in the hold of his upper ones. You yelp and moan cause it feels so good for all the wrong reasons.

“Quiet! I’ve heard enough of your screams.”

He lunges in and kisses you feverishly. It was unusual for Sukuna to kiss a woman’s lips. It is an act he views as intimate and one he saved for certain moods. There have been several times where Sukuna has kissed you over your tenure, usually being the concubine involved in his more vulnerable moments, but you certainly never expected him to kiss you like this. Your mind spiraled as the sting of his beating sill seared your skin. You couldn’t help but arch your back, attempting to press your chest up against his, as you made humming noises in contentment.

His lower arms curled under your waist, pulling you close, though your wrists still remained captive in his clutches. Your heart leaps into your throat as you feel his muscular chest close around yours. Your mouth needy for his when he breaks the kiss and whispers in your ear,

“Tonight, I fuck you like a brat. Tomorrow, I make you my Queen.”

Your breath catches in your neck. Mind dizzy at his words and what they could mean but you don’t have time to contemplate them. Sukuna brings his heavy hand down on your sex, slapping between your legs and making you jump. 

“I bet you like being beaten down here too, don’t you?”

He slaps between your legs again. You thrash following each blow from him. Arousal starts to stick to his skin prompting him to bring his hand to his nose. He takes a long drag as he wafts your scent into his nostrils before he shoves his fingers in your face. 

“You smell that? That’s the smell of your cunt begging for attention. Does that pretty pussy need attention?”

“Yes my King”

“Too bad. I’m not done playing with you yet.”

He punctuates with another slap to your sex, groans sputtering out of you like the wench he craves. Sukuna’s hands run all over your body while you’re trapped beneath him. You were his to touch and grope however he chose. His mouth trailed hickies all over your skin with painstaking intensity. His fangs punctured your skin at times as he sucked the markings in both visible and tender places. A tapestry of bruises ran along your supple flesh and over to your mounds. Sukuna biting and teething on the perky nubs that lay at their center. 

You throw your head back from the stimulation, rubbing your legs together, dying to have friction.

“Did I say you could close your legs?”

He breathes menacingly into your chest.

“I needed to-”

“There you go with that smart mouth of yours.”

He bites down on your chest as he uses his knees to open your legs. He unleashes the tongue on his stomach, allowing it to enjoy snacking on your folds as his mouth continues to play with your nipples. Alternating which one he flicks his tongue over and which one feels the cruel sting of his fingertips pinching it. 

You whine and cry and he just loves feeling you squirming under him instead of taking it like a good little wife. His large lower tongue points its tip and bullies its way between your lips, slipping inside your hole. Your back snaps into an arch, your pupils blow wide, choked moans emanating from you. Sukuna happily hums at your possessed state, pride coursing through his veins everytime he whips his whores into this kind of frenzy. He especially loves it when he does it to you. 

“You like that, my little whore?”

You’re unable to answer. His tongue shoves itself deeper and all you can do is whine and thrash.

“Use your words.”

“ngh! Yes! Yes! I love it! Yes!” 

You’re shouting, panting, and whining, already consumed by overstimulation as his abdominal tongue toys with your folds. Your eyes scrunch shut, barely able to receive such treatment.

“No more my King! No more! It’s too much! gaaahhh!”

“I tell you when you’ve had enough!”

You scream and he loves every second of it. His calm, collected wife, reduced to thrashing and screaming. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get bored of the many sides of you.

You’re kicking and screaming till suddenly you go stiff as a board. Legs and arms shoot out straight, head snapped back, spine thrown into an arch. Your screams cease as you spray into the open mouth of your King’s stomach. His mouth grumbles happily as he laps up your juice straight from the source. 

You fall limp. Sweat beading on your brow as you catch your breath. “S-sukena…more p-please.”

“What did you just call me? You dare call me by name?!”

Your brain feels fried and you can barely comprehend what you said. It takes a moment of buffering before blood flow returns to your mind for you to realize your error.

“M-m’sorry my King. I didn’t mean to!”

He grabs you at your waist as he sits up, throwing you over his lap. He folds your arms together behind your back, restraining you with his left set of arms while his right set moves your kimono aside to strike your bottom. He hits you with more force than he’s ever used and it immediately leaves behind a red mark. 

“Filthy brat. You dare speak my name?!”

“M’sorry!” you cry as he continues his blows.

“I graciously tongue fuck you and this is the respect you show me?!”

“M’so sorry my Lord!”

You weep over his knee as he continues to bruise the flesh of your behind, berating you for being a disrespectful brat. You cry and beg, apologizing over and over again. 

“Please my Lord! Show mercy!”

“You want mercy? Show me how sorry you are.”

“Yes my Lord”

He releases your hands as he lays down, waiting for you to mount him. You straddle his lap and move your hand to wipe away your tears when he stops you. His hand grabs your wrist and he lifts his head to lick your tears away. As his warm muscle wipes against your cheek, you lift his hands to your lips. You kiss his knuckles on every hand then stroke his left cheek with your thumb. Your hand dwarfs in comparison to his larger stature but you see his harsh facade break momentarily as you lift your teary face to kiss his jaw.

“I’m sorry my King. I will never misstep again.”

You know he forgives you but you can tell he’s not done having his fun. A mischievous smile splits his face as he lays back with his upper set of arms folded behind his head. 

“Prove it.”

You nod and shift your body to hover over his manhood. You align yourself with his lower length when he tuts. 

“Y/N” he warns, “You know better.”

“Yes, my Lord”

You shift again but this time you stick your finger in your mouth to lubricate it before you reach behind to prep your rear to take Sukuna’s massive girth. Sukuna’s hand yanks your wrist away.

“Brats don’t get to prep themselves. Brats take dick without complaint.”

Your bottom lip quivers. You know how injured you could get, especially with how Sukuna liked to fuck. Sukuna throws his head back in laughter at your response. 

“Get to riding Brat.”

Your throat bobs as you swallow and nod. “Yes, my Lord”

You lift your hips and slip his front member into your heat before easing his back member against your puckered rear. You close your eyes to relax the muscle so that he will fit when he bucks up his hips and forces it in. 

“My King!” you protest

“Quiet!”

You whine and begin to ride him. Soon you loosen and he glides into you in the most satisfying way. Normally you love how he can fill both holes at once and stuff you full all in the same stroke. Your face falls into one of pleasured bliss as you bounce up and down on him. 

“Yes, my Lord, yes. Feels s’good.”

“Faster slut.”

You rest your hands on his stomach, using them to balance yourself as you pick up speed. 

This is Sukuna’s favorite position so you are well versed in how he likes it and your muscles are well trained to withstand this position for hours. Sukuna can't help the look of affection that graces his features as he watches you work for him. He loves how you always serve him so well. Once he edged himself intentionally to see how long you would keep riding him before you gave up. After just over three hours he showed mercy to your exhausted body and allowed himself to release. He nearly dismissed his entire harem the next day. No one works harder to please him than you do. Your undying loyalty is on par with Uraume’s. How they found you, he will never know, but he is grateful to them for recruiting you to his staff. 

As you slide up and down his lengths, he raises a hand to smack your backside. You grunt, still bruised from your earlier spanking. A playful smile tugs at his corner lip. You catch it and know he’s satisfied but keeping up his act. He reaches up to pinch at your buds to which your face twists in pain but the pain only makes you clench around his shafts tighter as your arousal builds.

Sukuna, being the greedy man that he is, can’t help and only tug at your chest. He needs to taste it again. He sits up, causing you to drop to your knees as you keep bouncing up and down. He lowers his head to suckle and bite at your breasts, the tissue already marked from moments prior. Your arms rest on his shoulders as your hands play in his hair. The pink strands soft between your fingers. 

Between pleasured cries and choked moans you whisper in his ear, “I love you, my King.”

Though he isn't about to admit it, the feelings he has towards you, though maybe not the love you feel for him, could certainly be akin to what one might perceive as love. You are his prize jewel, the most valued of his treasures, and despite what that toy said, you are definitely the most beautiful in his collection. 

Starting tomorrow he will wear you on his knee in the throne room, you will be present for all his business meetings, and you will share his bed unless told otherwise. You will be given the title of his queen. That much, you have earned. 

Without thinking, Sukuna wraps his lower arms around you and rolls you onto your back. The transition so smooth that his cocks never slip from your holes. The warm emotions he’s feeling towards you kindle a desire to pleasure you. He begins to thrust as one set of arms tucks your knees into your chest. He went impossibly deep and both his dicks rubbed you just right, hitting all the sweet spots that make you mewl for him. Never would you wish to be a concubine for anyone else when there is a world with Sukuna in it. Your small hands grasp at his shoulders where his tattoos darken his skin. You cling to him as he prods against your cervix, pushing it aside to reach deeper in your cavern. Your eyes squeeze shut as his thrusts harshen and he continues to wind the coil in your belly. The need building till it cannot build any higher. With a snap, your nails dig into Sukuna’s skin as your legs shake, trapped under his belly.

In a cruel twist, his lower tongue slurps on your clit as you ride through your orgasm. Your eyes crossing, body convulsing, and nails digging, leaving behind  scratch marks that Sukuna is proud of not too happy about. 

“You dare leave your mark on a King?!”

“I c-couldn’t help it.” you plea, your fucked out mind trying to catch up to current events.

“Stop behaving like a brat and take ownership of your actions!”

Sukuna flips you over to your stomach and pulls your hips back so that you’re propped up on your knees. He rams both cocks inside your holes but luckily for you, they glide in with ease. 

Immediately Sukuna reaches for your hair, grasping a large fist full and yanking your head back.

“Arch that back, whore. Make sure I reach all the way in.”

“Y-yes my Lord”

He yanks again and you let out a whine of discomfort as you sink your spine towards the mattress.

“That’s better”

Sukuna spanks your sore behind as he begins to thrust into you. Guttural groans expel from your lips as he reaches the depths of your core. Each stroke rearranging your insides, shoved out of the way to make room for his girthy manhood.

“Fu-u-u-uck!”

Your entire body is overwhelmed by him. One set of arms controlling your hips, the other lets go of your hair and plays with your breasts. You gasp for air but he rails into your diaphragm and displaces it, knocking the wind out of you with each snap of his hips.

It is the most blissful torture one could receive from your beloved King. You could never get your fill of him. Not even when your body passes out from exhaustion. If he allowed you to, you’d crawl back into his bed the moment you wake up to receive more. 

His arms readjust so that he is more rough with you. He pulls your arms behind your back, using them as leverage to hold you against his hips as he pounds into you. His other set still plays with your chest, finding purchase on your nipples, tugging at them meanly, causing pain. But the pain feels so good. Cream collects around Sukuna’s base and he knows he has you. You fall apart around him, your walls and sphincter impossibly tight. You feel like a virgin every time but you handle him like a pro. 

You gasp and moan; the bedroom walls echo with your sounds. The waves tickling Sukuna’s ears in a way that spurs him on. One of his massive hands reaches up and closes around your throat, cutting off your air supply. The other clamps down over your mouth. Your sounds die in your chest. Desperately, your hands grip at his wrists, trying to pry his hands off of you. 

Your feeble attempts bring a chuckle to his tongue and he twists your sensitive and abused nubs just to check if you can scream. When he feels the vibrations of you trying he all out booms with laughter. 

He withdraws one hand from your tit and plays with your clit. You gush around him as your walls suck him in more forcefully. 

“Little slut likes being stuffed with her clit touched, doesn’t she?”

You try your best to nod but between the oxygen deprivation and the paralyzing pleasure, it is nearly impossible to control even a single muscle fiber. All of it was too much. Building uncontrollable tension in your lower abdomen, ready to snap any moment.

“Bet she likes it when I do this too.”

He takes the calloused fingers that were rubbing circles over your clit and pinched down on the swollen nerve bundle. Immediately you shower the bed in your squirt. Your body seizing under his grip. Drool spilling out of the corner of your mouth. He fucked you dumb and you fell lifeless before him as he picks up his pace. There was no time to recover as he strokes in and out of you. Watching you crumble before him, melt into a puddle of flesh at his touch, strain against his cocks, it all fed his ego and his pride. It validated him as King. He continued to take you from behind and pistoned into you, chasing his high. 

With your hips held high and your chest shoved into the mattress, Sukuna pounds his cum into you. His hot white ropes fill your belly as your walls suck him dry. When he finally withdrew he yanks you by your hair to turn around and wipe off his cocks and hands with your tongue. You suck all twenty fingers and lick both cock till they are clean. 

Sukuna then has you lay on your back so as not to waste his cum. He doesn't normally finish inside his concubines. The wives may be different, but even then, it was rare. Tonight however, marks a new chapter for you. You don't quiet understand it yet as your brain is still recovering from being fucked stupid, but you are to become his Queen. He had never had one before but he knows he wants you to be held above the rest. You lay on his bed, happily gazing up at him, fingers tracing the tattoo on his wrist.

“My King, shall I take my leave?”

“No, you are to stay here tonight.”

“Oh? You desire company while you sleep?”

“Yes. I desire you to sleep here every night.”

“Oh…I see.”

“I also desire you to call me by my name sometimes.”

“My Lord, I am only your concubine, not your peer. I-”

“You will call me Sukuna. Maybe one day even Ryomen.”

“My King, what did I do to deserve this?”

Your eyes are watery with wonder as you gaze up at him. You hold one of Sukuna’s large palms to your cheek, resting your soft flesh against it, nuzzling into his hand.

“You are everything I need. You showed me that today. You can fulfill all my desires. I have no need for other women.”

“May I make a request or two?”

Sukuna thinks hard before he obliged. 

“Please keep your harem. If not for use then to keep me company…when you are away.”

“I see. Then the girls will stay.”

Sukuna sinks his large body down beside you, not caring about the wet spot you created with your earlier spray. His sole focus is on your delicate frame as you contemplate his words and your new role. You settle into his strong arms, feeling safe in his embrace as you continue to draw your fingers over the black ink of his skin. 

“One last request my Lord?”

“Sukuna.”

You make a point to start over. “Sukuna... may I make one last request?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the heat in your cheeks as he addresses you with such a high honor. 

“Please my Lord, may I watch you tame your new toy before you dismiss her?”

The dangerous look in your eyes is one Sukuna has never seen before but he quickly comes to realize it is his favorite of your facial expressions. 

“Yes my Queen. If you’d like…you can even help me break her in.”

Kakashi/Obito Fics

Payment

Escape with the Cursed King

[seresinhangmanjake]

Hey! I saw you were accepting Feyd requests and I got so excited! Could you do something where Feyd and reader have been married for a little while, have been pretty stand-offish and just keeping up appearances. They get into a fight over something stupid, saying hurtful things because reader still believes Feyd is incapable of feelings. Turns out he’s really protective though and gets seriously injured saving her during an attack? Reader panics trying to help him and the feels super guilty, meanwhile Feyd is enjoying the attention.

Staining

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Notes/Warnings: It's slightly different, but I hope you like it anyway. Mentions of blood and death. Smut so 18+. I'm sure there's typos. I think that's it.

Words: 4100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“You’re heartless”—that’s what you spit at him after watching him rip apart another family right before your eyes. 

He slaughtered a man for a petty crime, and then you had to watch what would become of the wife and children. 

He gave them options, of course. He presents all of them with a choice: to be servants for his House or to fight for survival in the slums of Giedi Prime. For the mother, it likely means you’ll have a new handmaid. For the boys, they will be trained so they can one day face off in the arena. Either way, it's no life.

As he announced the options for their future, you couldn’t look away from her: the woman whose husband lay at her feet, the blood drained from his body as she attempted to shield her two young sons behind her small frame. You watched her kind eyes go permanently wide out of shock. She needed to answer your husband’s question, give a response to his merciful offer, but she couldn’t. Nothing on her moved save for the grip she had on her boys, which only tightened the longer she stared at her dead lover. 

You knew what would happen to them. Your husband found her silence and inability to snap out of her trace irritating. She would make a poor handmaid if she could not listen. The boys, however, could still make fine warriors—guaranteed entertainment a few years down the line. 

So he separated them. Allowed the guards to pry them away from their mother’s fingers—who left her state of shock behind only when she felt them being ripped from her hands—before dragging them to cells with tears streaming down their round cheeks. 

Their mother collapsed to the floor by her dead husband. His blood soaked her skirts. You didn’t know how a man could do this to his own people for something as simple as the theft of some food, but he does, and often. Then he had her thrown out, back to the slums where she came from. 

She’ll never see her boys again. If you know your husband, he will likely one day force the two to face off with each other in the arena. After all, that’s where his uncle finds entertainment, and your husband will do anything to please the old man. 

Long after his guards have departed with the woman, you’re still staring at the body on the floor. The red around him is congealing. If you run your finger through it, the digit will return sticky and thickly coated. He’ll stain your skin. He’ll stain through your skin onto your insides. He’ll never come off. 

He’s like your husband, you think. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stained you, and impressively, he didn’t even have to touch you to achieve that. Simply being in his presence was enough to leave his mark, and you’re in his presence plenty, just not how you imagined you would be when you married him. You imagined being in his bed. You imagined kisses and loving caresses and sweet words—that kind of staining. But you were a naive girl when your parents dropped you off on this planet, and you quickly learned how to be a woman; a woman whose husband only uses her for formality’s sake. 

You don’t know why you have to be by his side for this, though, but he always ensures that you are. The two of you…a solidified front to the world, as if you agree with the choices he makes and the punishment he doles out to those who don’t deserve it.

So that’s why you say it. Because you’re tired of this, tired of being silent, hating the idea that your silence might lead him to think the two of you are on the same page; that you’re a team. 

“You’re heartless.”

His head whips to you. “Heartless…” His voice around the word is vile; thick and rich like the blood on the floor. With a few steps in your direction he is in your space and you clasp your hands in front of you, fingers squeezing tightly to keep yourself from running off. He stares down at you, a luminous blue that you found so stunningly gorgeous when you first met him now a pair of frozen icicles stabbing into your skull. “I’m heartless?”

Your swallow is rough. Dry and scratchy. 

“I’m not the one who steals from his neighbors. I’m not the one who risks leaving his wife alone for the rest of her life,” he says. “They know the laws. They know the consequences.”

“And the woman? She deserves to be alone, rotting away in poor living conditions because of his choice? Her children deserve to die for your entertainment?”

“You take issue with how I handle things?”

“Yes.”

Feyd’s back teeth clench. His jaw sets in a sharp line. “Another reason for you to hate me then,” he grits out.

You blink. Your lips part. Another reason? You don’t have multiple reasons, and there’s certainly nothing you’ve done to indicate that you do. You used to hate that he didn’t, and doesn’t, care about you, but you’ve never said a word about it. You’ve never bothered him about sleeping in separate rooms or asked him to give you anything of himself. This—his treatment of his people in situations like this one—isn’t another reason. It’s the reason. 

“You could deal with these matters differently,” you say.

His fingers form balls at his sides. His mouth opens. It closes. He shakes his head and walks past you but pauses before he is completely out of your peripherals. “This is how things are done here,” he says. “You’ve been my wife for five months now. You need to get used to it.”

—

You don’t get used to it. You don’t get used to it because he doesn’t demand you be by his side at his executions anymore. Not after that day. 

You’d never spoken up before that moment, and it cost you what little interaction you had with your husband, which you despise to say was precious. You may not love him, and at times hate him, but he is the only thing you have on this planet. Little as you spoke to one another before, you held onto it because no one else gives a damn about you. Not that he does either, but at least he would give you a word or two. His brother and the Baron don’t bother, leaving you to Feyd to decide what to do with and when to do it. 

However, you imagine they didn’t expect that he would never touch you, and based on the way they watch you and Feyd when you’re forced to join the Harkonnen’s for dinner, you imagine they’re now aware that whatever was between you—minute as it was—is gone. He doesn’t even call on you for formal events. He no longer cares about showing a unified front to the other Great Houses. But you do.

You know what reputation means to the Harkonnens, and regardless of how you feel about the history of Feyd’s choices, you’re not willing to present your life on Giedi Prime as a failure. The two of you are too young for whispers to spread among influential families of a tainted marriage, a crack in the system. You don’t need questions floating about in regards to a unification that will not result in an heir. The end of the Harkonnen line, they’ll say, as Rabban, much older than your husband, has yet to choose a wife. How unfortunate, they’ll slyly mutter around the rims of their champagne glasses. And you’re not ready for that. 

So, with the exception of executions, you attend the events your husband does not invite you to anymore. You make sure your face is seen, especially when most vital. At his meetings, at his fights in the arena, and at Harkonnen parties such as this one. 

People enjoy themselves here. Shockingly, a few strong drinks eases the tension between Houses, and Giedi Prime has the strongest drinks of them all. It’s a tactic. A genius one, if you’re honest. The Baron invites his guests and gets them in a good mood and strikes deals one cannot go back on. Brilliant. Something you might have thought of yourself if your husband let you share your thoughts; thoughts you have plenty of. But no one cares how you would rule this planet if you had a say in its future.

You watch the Houses mingle about. You watch them laugh and dance. You watch them watch your husband. You watch them watch you. You watch the wheels turn in their alcohol-addled brains. You roll your eyes at what he doesn’t see. 

Ungluing yourself from your designated spot, you step up the staircase that leads to the Harkonnen men, your husband and his brother flanking the throne the Baron sits upon. You don’t think to speak to any of them; you didn’t break away from your assigned location for words. Instead, for all to see, you reach up to cup Feyd’s cheek and turn his head toward you for the first kiss since the day of your wedding. A gentle brush of lips. A buzz more engulfing than any drink could offer.

He freezes, and when you pull back his lips are still parted. His eyes open slowly and he stares down at you in awed confusion. How he doesn’t understand why you’ve done what you’ve done is just short of bewildering, but it doesn’t seem to click. 

“You–”

“I’m going to retire for the night,” you tell him. You’ve been at this party long enough, and the guests have now seen what they needed to see. Not to mention, their tipsy state means they’ll soon forget any thoughts they have about you until morning. They’ll stop searching for your presence. 

You don’t wait for your husband’s nod of approval. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t care where you are at any given time anyway, so you descend the staircase and exit the grand room into the hall that leads to your bedroom.

The echo of footsteps follows and you’re bold enough to believe it could be Feyd before a blade is pressed against your throat from behind. For a moment, you think it still might be your husband—retaliation for the kiss that re-sparked a feeling you’ve been trying to ignore since you married him—but the voice in your ear is feminine. 

“He killed my husband, my Lady,” the voice says, and you instantly remember her. It’s been two months but nothing could make you forget the look in her eyes. “I want my sons.”

You swallow hard. The blade nicks your throat from the additional force. A droplet trickles down your neck. “I can’t return your sons to you,” you tell her, at the same time questioning how she infiltrated such a secure place. But you suppose with the number of guests, slipping in would not have been the most difficult of challenges. 

You wince at the deepening cut. Your heartbeat quickens, doing little to aid in stopping the blood seeping from your wound. “You’re the na-Baronness.”

“I have little power here.”

“I don’t care!” she shouts, her words bouncing off the walls. “I want my boys,” and you think now she’s crying. Her tone alters. Something catches in her throat. “What’s happened to them?”

You don't wish to tell her, but you’re in no position to deny her requests. “They’re alive and well,” you say, which isn’t a complete lie. The Baron prefers strong, well-fed fighters—the duels last longer that way. 

“I want them back!”

“As much as I would like to, I cannot give them back to you. It’s not my decision.”

“Then I’ll take you from him,” she spits. “The way he took mine.”

You must’ve put on a grander show than you expected with that kiss because she seems to fully believe that your death would matter to him. But you know he won’t blink an eye. He might even thank her. Reward her by reuniting her with her sons, though unlikely. 

“He won’t care,” you tell her. 

“I have seen him, my Lady. He will care,” she says, and you don’t know how she could possibly come to that conclusion or why. It’s not as if the people of Giedi Prime sense a kind capability from the Harkonnens. “He will–”

She chokes. The blade trembles then drops from your neck. You quickly glance down to find Feyd’s knife deep in her side. 

Many things are a mystery to you in that moment. Why he bothered to leave the party; why he came down this hall of all halls, especially when his room resides in another; and why he pierced her side rather than go for the neck, which would have instantly ended her. His mistake. An uncharacteristic mistake.

The woman whips around, freeing you, and you stumble out of reach. They’re a blur of battling bodies as you get your footing, but then it catches up with you—the pain. Your hand goes to your neck and you make a little noise at the sting of your fresh wound. Your mistake. 

Feyd looks away from her in search of you for a single second. Not even. A half-second. But the woman is smaller, quicker, and the distraction is enough. Her blade slides into his abdomen. He grunts. You gasp.

He regains his focus and, by her hair, he rips her head back to expose her throat and shoves the blade through her neck. Blood spurts across his chest as he removes the weapon, and she collapses to her knees before the rest of her body flops to the floor. 

Feyd takes a shaky step back, staring down at the blade in his torso. He drops his knife and his hand goes to the hilt of the other. 

“No, don’t!” you yell, but you’re too late. He jerks the blade out and it clatters on the ground. His palm does nothing to stop the flow of crimson. 

Rushing to him, you fall to the floor as he does. You press your hands on top of his to keep the pressure but it’s useless. “Don’t you know anything?” you mutter. “You should’ve kept the damn thing in.”

He chuckles. The bastard actually chuckles. Then his other hand raises and lands on top of yours. You think he’s trying to add more pressure, but his touch is gentle. His thumb runs over your knuckles. 

“It’s alright,” he says, and you’ve never heard his voice so devoid of depth and strength.

“No, it’s not,” you retort, irritated. 

“You still hate me?”

“Shut up!” you snap. “Help!” Yanking the black chiffon sleeve off your gown, it tears free and you ball the material to shove it against his wound. “Help!” 

Guards burst through the doors and run to you. You sigh with relief, but when you look down, your husband is paler than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Feyd…” 

You’re shoved out of the way in a second, flung to the side like a flicked-away ant, and then he’s taken from you. You watch them until he’s out of view. When you glance down at your hands, they’re stained with him. 

—

They bandaged your neck in mere minutes and you find it aggrivating that they couldn’t work as efficiently on him. You’ve been dead silent for hours now, expecting to hear screams of pain as they stitch him back together, but then you remember he’s a glutton for pain. He’s probably enjoying it, the sick bastard. But you’re not enjoying it—the waiting, the limbo. It’s torturous. 

You’ve never seen him hurt before. You’ve witnessed his skills in the arena, and not once in your seven months of marriage has someone gotten a decent slash on him. 

Guilt hits you hard as you recall that it’s your fault. That woman was skilled as well—you suppose she would be if she was raised to live where she did—but if you hadn’t made that noise, if you hadn’t distracted him, she would’ve been dead before she could do her damage. This wouldn’t have happened. 

Just then, a knock comes at your door. You speak for them to enter and a guard peeks into your room. “My Lady…” he says, and you pray you’re not about to be told your husband didn’t survive a single stab wound. “You can come with me.”

You don’t wait around for more. You hop to your feet and quickly follow through hall after hall until you’re at his room. 

“What will I see when I walk in there?” you ask. 

“He’s fine, my Lady,” he says, bowing his head to dismiss himself before returning to his post. 

Turning the knob, you edge the door open and step inside. The bed is in immediate view, but he’s not in it. He’s not in it and he should be. Not even the covers are pulled back. Maybe the guard misled you. If he were fine, surely he would be resting. 

You make your way in further. 

“You’re here.” 

Your head snaps to your right where he’s leaning against the lone table in his room, a lit orb on the wooden surface illuminating him from behind in a white glow. He’s less pale than he was; what little rosiness he once had returned to his skin. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “I was told to come.”

“Because I told them to bring you,” he says. 

Your heart pounds at the bareness of his torso, the thickness of his arms as they cross in front of his chest. It pounds in a different way, an off-kilter way, when you notice the dressings wrapped around his waist and the patch of blood that is seeping through three layers of it. 

He must see your distraction because he says, “It’s fine.” Your eyes flick back to his. A beat of silence passes between you. You’re unsure how to continue now that he’s seen the concern you have for him. “I suppose you’re disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” you repeat. “What for?”

“I’m alive.”

Your jaw drops ever so slightly. You recover as best you can before you say, “Feyd, I don’t want you to—I’ve never wanted you to–”

He holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I’m going to listen to you.”

Your brow pinches. Why did he silence you, then? “Listen to me about what?”

He takes a deep breath, an action that lifts his shoulders and has them falling heavily back down. His eyes penetrate you as they’ve always done, but the iciness is gone. “I don’t care if the people I hurt want to kill me,” he starts. “But she didn’t come to kill me; she came to hurt me by killing you. So I will listen to your thoughts when it comes to dealing with matters like that one.” He pauses, expecting a response, but you don’t quite know what to give him, so he continues. “Your voice will make fewer enemies.”

“You care about making enemies?” Since when would a Harkonnen ever care about such a thing? Especially when they are known for doing that thing so well.

“I care when they come after my wife,” he says. Pushing off the table, he leisurely steps toward you. You’re stuck to your spot. “The men of my House do not have a history of caring about their wives. They’ve never cared if their actions bring them harm, and yet, people have used our wives as pawns for revenge for centuries. Many have died to prove a point. I’m not going to let you be one of them.”

He stops only to not collide with your body. You have to look up to maintain eye contact, and when you do, his breath brushes over your lips. “Why didn’t you kill her when you could have? You stabbed her in the side. You avoided vital organs.”

“Because you wouldn’t have wanted me to kill her if I didn’t have to,” he says. “So I didn’t kill her…until I had to.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t know he was capable of such restraint. You didn’t know he had enough fragments of a heart to glue together to keep him from doing exactly as he pleases. 

His hand lands on your hip and his thumb begins to rub up and down over the curve of it. He hasn’t touched you…ever. In fact, he’s seemed over the months to deliberately avoid it. Like your skin would burn him even through the fabric of your gowns. Anytime it looked like he would try, he’d pull back before flesh grazed flesh. 

“You hadn’t kissed me since we married,” he says, so gentle in that low voice that it’s practically a whisper. It doesn’t make the heat of his breath any less intense against your skin. 

“People were watching too intensely,” you inform him. “They were thinking something was wrong between us, I could tell, and I didn’t want to give them that power over you.”

“So that was it, then?” he asks. “That’s the only reason you did it?”

“That’s–” you swallow, debating whether or not to say it, to give him more. 

“What?”

“That’s the reason I did it,” you decide to tell him, and his face shifts; his features alter in a manner you’ve never seen. He looks down to his feet. He nods and his touch disappears, and now you feel cold and you hate it. “But that’s not the only reason I wanted to do it.”

He freezes as he did before. For a moment, his chest stops rising and falling with expected breaths. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, he raises his head. 

You can’t stop staring, even though your brain is telling you to get ahold of yourself. His mouth is so plush. You’ve always known it. It’s always done something to you. And whatever that something is, it’s more potent now that he’s so close and you can see his lips glistening in the low light. 

“Will you do it again?” he asks.

Again? You didn’t imagine he wanted you to do it the first time, or the second. The first was an obligation. The second was not exactly mutually agreed upon. But as he stands in front of you, asking, you can’t bring yourself to say no. You don’t want to say no. So you say yes, and you inch up on your toes until your lips meet his. 

Immediately, he’s yanking your body flush against his. His hand goes into your hair, and he parts his lips so they can better lock with yours. He’s good at this, and you don’t want to think about why, can’t think about why without a knot of jealousy settling in your gut that only dissipates when those hands travel down your body to the back of your thighs. You’re in the air, your legs wrapped around his waist, your lips still sealed for one second more before your back hits the mattress and he’s on top of you with his leg shoving between yours, nudging your thighs open for him. 

You don’t know the exact moment it happens, but your skirts are up to your waist and he’s inside of you, moving in and out, kissing your neck and pulling gasps from your throat, and it feels right, good, like pieces falling together. A bit of you feels guilty for that. That you can know what he’s done to people and still want to feel the pleasure of every inch that he’s giving you. You’re selfish, maybe that’s it. Maybe you’ve always been and you didn’t know it. You can’t bring yourself to care as he makes those deep noises in your ear and stains your insides.

After you’re sated, you lay there for a while with him in your arms and his arms wrapped around your waist. His head rests on your chest. You think about the things you’ve done to each other in the course of an hour and it brings a blush to your cheeks. You think about how you can’t go back and that you don’t want to. You’ve wanted this from the beginning, despite what he’s done. You expected it when you married him only to be sorely disappointed at his lack, or what appeared as a lack, of interest. You’re definitely selfish, at least when it comes to him. But you refuse to be when it comes to other matters.

“I want something from you,” you say. He hums, content. “I want us to take in that woman's boys.”

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Princess Reader)

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VIII. The Lust, Threat, Tension (+18, Smut, MDNI)

De omnibus dubitandum.

Everything must be doubted…

C.S.

The warmth of the morning sun hits your skin and wakes you up, freeing you from the torturing effects of the strange dream and bringing you back to reality. You hadn't opened your eyes yet, trying to start the new day happily by reliving last night's memories. You heard the first chirping of birds, then a cheerful rooster, then the murmur that you thought came from the small courtyard. Then you felt a gentle but insistent pressure between your eyebrows so you decided to open your eyes.

You were surprised to notice that Marcus had his index finger just above your face. Your head was resting on his arm so you lifted your head to look at his face, he was smiling.

"What were you dreaming about?" You felt his fingers tracing the contours of your spine.

"How did you know I was dreaming?"

"I was watching you sleep and your peaceful face suddenly changed. Was it a bad dream?”

It was not the kind of dream you'd want to talk about, especially on such a romantic morning. Despite all the unpleasant feelings, you smiled at him. "No, it was just a silly dream, I don't even remember it," you lied. 

“Hmm,” He seemed convinced. “How do you feel?”

You made yourself put the dream completely out of your mind to answer sincerely. "Reborn and grateful,” your cheeks burned as you remembered every single moment about last night.

“Reborn?”

“As if my life has just started now,” you explained." It may sound silly, but it feels like everything is better and new. The sky seems brighter, and the sun's light seems to give off a different glow. It's like my life has meaning now.”

A boyish grin appeared on his face. Every time he smiles like that, it blows your mind as if he wasn't the same man who days ago fought fearlessly in the arena, slaughtering gladiators. “Then I must be silly too, because I feel just like you.”

He leaned over and kissed you gently. Your hand went to his hair as you enjoyed this moment, running your fingers through it. You felt that the effect of your dream was completely gone now, Marcus' presence was like an invisible shield, keeping your worries and fears away.

Then, he began to kiss you more passionately, his mouth greedy and hungry for more. His hands move to grab you behind the waist and pull you closer to him. Your heart raced as you realised what he was doing. He pinned you to the bed with his muscular body, leaving no gap. His hands roamed from your hips to your legs, not hurried but eager. This time you opened your legs instinctively, without any concern but with a lot of desire. You could feel him smiling beneath your lips, his light breath through his nose caressing your cheek. You let out a moan of pleasure as he teased you with his touch, brushing against your walls. You clenched the sheets as Marcus' full length entered you roughly, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. He grasped your hand and guided it to his own neck, his eyes sparkling with desire. As his thrusts quickened, you instinctively found yourself digging your fingertips into the back of his neck and back, unable to resist the incredible sensation. Then, he swiftly changed positions, leaning against the head of the bed before pulling you in front of him, your breasts brushing his chest, and causing your back to turn towards the room so you were facing him. You gasped with delight at the sudden shift. He eagerly prodded himself at your entrance once again. This was completely new to you, and you opened your eyes in surprise and looked at him. He smiled mischievously.

"Each other's likes, remember?" he purred into your ear, his hot breath showering your cheeks.

His free hand moved to your hip, pushing you down as he led you on the awaiting shaft underneath.

"A new thing for you to learn, my love," he whispered again, his eyes alight with excitement.

You giggled naughtily. You wrapped your arms around his thick neck and gave yourself to him, feeling safe and excited. This time, it went smoothly. Your wet walls accommodated him with a slick sound while a deep groan was forced out from your lungs. Your back arched at the sight of his full length getting inside you once more, almost as if trying to ease the penetration. Exhaling pleasurably, he didn't waste time as he resumed moving, playing, licking, and sucking your breasts in the process. From this angle, he could push himself deeper with less effort, reaching your sweet spot with more precision and force. Your body bounced up and down at each thrust, eager for Marcus to have you even harder. But as this new position puts more pressure on your walls, on your sweet spot, you are overwhelmed by the sudden wave of pleasure and quickly reach your climax. As you moaned loudly, Marcus couldn't help but snicker and kiss you passionately. "So impatient?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you were pleasantly surprised that your body wanted more. You never thought you'd enjoy it so much that you'd want more every time. Was this lust? It was certainly amazing.

“Get ready for more, princess,” he cooed.

As if in approval, you felt your walls stretching with a pleasurable warmth. He gripped your hips tightly lifted and thrusted hard. He repeated, and then repeated again. He was almost at his limit, and he knew from experience it wouldn't have been long by now. But was determined to make you reach your climax once more. This time his strong fingers dug into your back down to your hips, his hot tongue running between your breasts as you took in short, sharp breaths, gasping when you felt his teeth on them. Soon he was combining his force with a faster pace. His loud moans became mixed with yours, like music in your ears.

A few more strong shoves, and he realized he couldn't hold back any longer, not matter how hard he tried. So he came hard with a wild groan which turns you on hard and thus brings you more pleasure. You threw your head back as he filled you with his warm liquid, sending you over the edge for the second time. As your breathing became regular, he kissed you again, this time adoringly. He broke the kiss, and pressed his forehead to yours, both of you still breathing heavily. "Now that you've completed your duty of pleasing your husband," his fingers slid down the curve of your spine, "Perhaps a hot bath would be a welcome treat, my lady?"

You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, General."

He kissed you one last time before getting out of bed.

Tullia and Norell had already prepared your bath, as it was the morning of the wedding night of their Dominus and Domina. The Balneum was filled with a warm, steamy atmosphere, gently blended with the subtle aromas of various flowers floating on the surface of the hot water in the tub. Marcus helped you in and then sat you on his lap. You were amused by the way he treated you as if you were going to run away at any moment. You wouldn't have changed the feeling of being in his arms for anything; it was so wonderful and simple, as easy and natural as breathing. It was as if your bodies had been created for each other by the God Prometheus.

The soft movements of yours caused the lavender flowers on the surface of the water to dance in unison. You picked one and placed it in your palm, leaning your head back against Marcus' chest and inhaling its refreshing and comforting scent. He gently lifted your hair and massaged oil into your neck with his strong fingers. As you relaxed in the tub, enjoying a blissful moment of tranquility, the only sound that could be heard was the soothing burbling of the hot water.

You suddenly felt you missed his voice and his face. It was a pretty unusual feeling, missing him even when you were with him. You turned towards him and offered to give him a massage, just as he had given you one. Your hands traveled over his broad shoulders, neck, and arms, stopping at the wound on his shoulder. It was not fully healed. You swallowed hard as you remembered how sharp the sword was that the gladiator was holding. He noticed your frown and smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I've been hurt worse, so don't worry. Besides, you healed all my wounds completely last night and this morning.” He smirked.

His implication made your cheeks flush, and you smiled shyly. Marcus caressed your cheeks with his wet hand, which smelled like lavender. "You're so beautiful when you blush," he murmured.

You were sure your cheeks turned completely red when you felt him hard between your thighs, right under your hips.

He laughed. “I suppose that this is my way of blushing to you my lady.”

In one quick move, he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up, pulling closer, causing some of the water to flow out of the tube along with the lavenders, splashing the floor.

Marcus seemed to be quite passionate, having you there, in the water. He didn't seem to tire at all; he was still as thrilled as ever. As strong and determined as he was in battle, he was just the same when making love to you. You wondered if there was a limit to his lust and how much you could keep up with it. This unfamiliar physical pace was so beautiful that you never wanted it to end, no matter how exhausted you felt afterward.

You didn't do anything different on the rest of your first day as newlyweds. Marcus had asked them to bring the food to the room, and you didn't really want to get out of bed with the sheets freshly changed. When he called you to the table for something to eat, you saw Mau at the entrance to the balcony. You realised how much you missed her and ran to take her in your arms. She was purring as she played with your damp hair with her paw.

“It seems like she's pleased to see you again,” Marcus said.

You turned towards him, curious to know what he thought about cats.

“You look like you've met Mau.”

“Mau?' Did you name it? You never cease to amaze me, my lady.” He laughed.

“I had a cat like her in Egypt, she reminds me of it,” you ran your fingers through her black fur.

“We became good friends in your absence,” he said, pouring wine into his glass.

You raised your eyebrows. “I didn't know you liked cats, General.”

Marcus took a sip of his wine. "It.. Mau, keeps our kitchen pantry rat-free. She's a hunter. I'm grateful to her."

You smiled at him, appreciating the softer side of him that he lets you see.

“Come now, sit, you need to eat some food.”

You nodded and put Mau down, she was meowing, she must have smelt the food on the tray. You took a piece of food from the tray, went to the balcony, and put it on the ground. She meowed impatiently and quickly ran towards the food and started eating.

“I'm getting jealous of her,” Marcus complained.

You let out a little giggle and moved towards him. Just as you were about to sit down in the chair opposite him, he stopped you with a flourish of his hand. “Here,” he said, opening his arms wide and pointing to himself.

As you stared at him with confusion, he reached out grabbed your wrist, and pulled you to him, and you found yourself sitting on his lap. You looked at him, batting your eyelashes. His dark brown eyes stared intently into yours, and you felt your heart flutter. “When you look at me like that with your long eyelashes, it feels like an arrow through my heart,” he said with his velvety tone. You blinked again, “Like Cupid's arrow?”

He laughed gleefully. “Like Cupid's arrow,” he repeated. He pressed his forehead to yours and kissed the tip of your nose. “Now, my lady, allow me to feed you.” He took a spoonful of food from the plate on the tray and fed it to you. As you swallowed, you realised how hungry you were. Meanwhile, he was watching you intently. Then you took a piece of bread and brought it closer to Marcus. “I should too, feed my husband, shouldn't I? Open up, General.”

He smiled and opened his mouth. You watched as he chewed, your eyes wandering over his mouth and lips. It was a delight to watch.

While you two were enjoying your romantic lentaculum (breakfast), you decided to ask him about something that had been on your mind for a while. “If I may ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“When I first came here, I heard you'd been married and divorced before.”

Marcus slowed his mouth movements as he chewed his food and locked his eyes on the food on the tray. You regretted asking that question when the joy on his face gave way to seriousness. He nodded with a half smile. “That's correct. It was an arranged marriage. I was young and dumb.” There was disappointment and sadness in his voice.

“What happened?” you asked softly.

He swallowed slowly, then took a fig from the tray and split it in half. “My father didn't want me to join the army. He thought he could prevent it by marrying me off. He wanted me in the senate like him.” He peeled the fig and fed it to you.

“But you joined anyway?” You asked as you chewed the fig.

“I had to. It was the only way I could stay away from this villa.”

You looked at him with a hint of surprise in your eyes. Marcus responded to your expression with a smile, gently touching your cheek with his hand. “I never loved her. I tried so hard to, but it just wasn't meant to be. As it turned out, she was already in love with someone else.” He slid his hand into your hair, his fingers stroking it slowly from top to bottom as if combing it. “I tried to satisfy my unhappiness on the battlefield, and my physical needs as a man. You can imagine where.”

Your stomach hurt, but not because you swallowed your food without chewing. Suddenly you felt a wave of jealousy sweep through your body. As if the fact that he used to be married didn't torture you enough, now you were sure you will be tormented by the thought of him sleeping with who knows how many women in the whore house. Yes, you definitely regretted asking him that question.

“Did I upset you?” He put his hand on your knee and rubbed it softly.

You quickly recovered your expression, forcing a smile.

“No,” you shook your head. “Please continue, I wish to know everything about you.”

He narrowed his eyes and read your expression, then sighed and continued.

“Well, when I found out she was busy with her lover while I was on the battlefield.” His eyes darkened to black. “I killed him.” His voice was sharp, making you tense. However, you kept your expression still, locked in his eyes. “I divorced after my father died, and I had no one left in the villa. I was alone, a soldier widowed at a young age.” He forced a smile.

“It must be so hard for you. I'm so sorry.” Your voice cracked.

He placed his arm around you and kissed you on the shoulder. "There is no need for you to be sorry, my love. Everything is in the past now." He smiled gently as he stroked your upper arm. “I consider myself extremely fortunate that the gods brought me you. You have not only healed me physically but also emotionally.”

Your heart began to race with excitement as his lips traced a path over your shoulder once more. 'My beautiful Aurelia,' he whispered in your ear, his voice full of love and desire. You inhaled the delicious scent of lavender from his masculine skin, and you felt your eyes closing of their own accord. You felt his lips on yours, right where they belonged. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and you didn't care that the fork in your hand dropped to the floor as he kissed you passionately.  Marcus put one arm under your legs and took you in his arms. Without breaking the kiss, he stood up and rushed to the bed, your giggles echoing through the room.

The soft glow of sunlight that filtered through the window gently roused you from your slumber. As you listened to the birds outside, you became aware that you had perhaps lost track of time. You hadn't left the room for a day except to take a bath. You were having some pretty intense, passionate moments, and you spent the rest of the time discovering your bodies and their needs. As you yawned, you realised you were still tired. All the sexual activity between you and Marcus had made you feel more tired than ever. Your muscles were a little sore as if you had run a long distance without stopping. But it was still so good, being in this room with him, cut off from the outside world, was the best feeling you had ever had or could ever have.

When you opened your eyes and saw Marcus's stunning face right next to yours, you felt your sense of fatigue dissipate. He looked so peaceful asleep, almost as if he were a little boy. As you listened to his breathing, you found yourself wishing for a way to make this moment stop. If only you could stay in this room forever, just the two of you.

You were surprised to feel a warmth and a purring near your feet and looked up. Mau was peacefully sleeping on the sheets, curled up next to your feet. You were about to turn away so as not to disturb her when Marcus's arm reached out to pull you back. You felt his chest against your back and he buried his face in your hair.

“Are you trying to run away, beautiful?” he mumbles, still sleepy.

“Of course not, I-” He tightened his arm.

"I'll find you, no matter where you go, my love." He smells your hair, tickles your neck.

“I'm sure you will, General, I have no such intention.” You turned to him. Mau was awake by your movements, she yawned and stretched then jumped down from the bed.

“So, we’re going to stay in this room like, forever?” You ran your index finger along his collarbone.

“My lady, are you already bored with your husband?" He enquired cheerfully.

"Of course not," you said, looking at him. "How about you?"

"That's not even a possibility. You make the most delicious love noises, whimpers, giggles, and at times, little mewls. Your sweet scent compels me. You drive me crazy. I'll never get enough of you."

You snuggled against his chest contently and inhaled deeply.

He kissed your head, right at the top. "I would love to. Believe me." He said, his warm breath caressing your forehead. "To stay like this forever. I wish that it could be possible."

"Me too," you murmured.

With your head on his chest, eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat, he plays with your hair, letting a few strands brush his face and lips. You're both savoring the moment in your own ways.

Then he sighs. “Another hot bath?”

You nod without lifting your head from his chest. He smiles and sits up in bed, his hands on your shoulders.

“I'll leave afterward, I have to go to the barracks.” He leans down and kisses you on the lips. “But not without having breakfast with my beautiful wife, of course."

“Sounds great.” You smiled.

After a very hot bath with Marcus, he told the slaves to bring breakfast to the room again. Just like yesterday, you had another romantic breakfast together. Then he had to get ready, so you helped him put on the burgundy tunic he usually wore under his leather armour.

"Are you sure about this?" Marcus asked.

"As your wife, I want to dress you, including your armor. Can you teach me how?"

He pouted and smiled. “Hmm, alright then.”

He took the leather armour and came to you. "Hold it carefully, it might be heavy for your delicate arms." You stretched your arms forward with a determined look on your face. Marcus suppressed a smile by pursing his lips and handed you the armour. You were surprised by the weight of it and almost stumbled. Why was it so heavy? Marcus laughed. "Are you alright, my lady? If you want me to help you-"

“I'll manage, thank you.” You didn't want to give up, you tried to hold it with all your strength.

"If you wouldn't mind, could you keep holding it while I put on the focalia (scarf) first?"As he wrapped the focalia around his neck, you realized that he was taking too long. Was he stalling?

"Marcus," you said with a little whine in your voice. He let out a little laugh and then came over to you.

"You know, you could really benefit from building up your arm muscles a bit. They're a little on the skinny side, don't you think?"

"Are you really comparing your muscles to mine? That's not fair, General."

He leaned forward to put the armour over his head. "You just need to be strong enough to protect yourself." He took your hands and led them to the side of his armour where the leather straps were. "Make sure to tie it tight," he demanded.

“Enough to protect myself?” You asked as you tied the straps with great care. You got this part just fine. Marcus took hold of the armour as you tied it and made sure it was fitted snugly against his chest.

"Yes, I've been thinking about it for a while."

You looked at him with one eyebrow arched.

"You need to learn to protect yourself."

“Protect from what?” You asked him as you tied the other side.

He turned his head towards you. "From any danger, my lady."

"I am reassured to know you will protect me, as my husband." You said, smiling at him.

He smiled back, but it seemed as though he was pondering something. You looked at him when you finished tying. "The leather strips are next, aren't they? I'll get-“

He suddenly took hold of your wrist and pulled you towards him. "I will protect you from all harm, Aurelia. I would never let anything happen to you. But, if anything were to occur to me, or if..." It seemed as though he was seeking for the right words. "I would never want you to be left without defense when I am not there to help." His voice trembled slightly.

It was torture for him to imagine you like that.

“Nothing will happen to you, Marcus, I won't let it.” You felt a pang of sadness at his words.

He smiled and embraced you, you rested your head on his chest, feeling the surface of leather underneath your cheek. You placed your hand on the medusa, your fingers tracing her eyes.

"It would be wise for us to be prepared for anything, though. I'll teach you.”

“Learning to fight? I’m sure I'll be a terrible student.”

He laughed at your expression and kissed you gently on the lips, lovingly.

“Well, as a General, I am a good teacher.” He said, breaking the kiss.

You pouted your lips. He caressed your cheeks with the back of his hand. Then, as he was showing you how to put leather strips on the shoulder, there was a knock at the door. Cato came in and looked at him in surprise.

“Sir?”

"Cato, my dear wife dressed me in your absence.”

Marcus leaned on the edge of the desk and stretched his arm forward as you tied one of the armbands.

"I'm apologizing for that, sir." He bowed his head.

"Have you completed the task I instructed you to do earlier?”

As you tied the other armband, you wondered what it was but didn't think much about it. It was obviously something to do with his work.

"Yes sir.”

“Good.”

"Here." You said, your voice brimming with joy as you finished tying it.

"Thank you, my lady. I feel safer now that you've dressed me with your blissful hands." He kissed your hand and then your cheek, making you giggle.

Cato seemed embarrassed and looked away.

Marcus cleared his throat and stood up. "Let's get going, Cato," he said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

You also accompanied them as they exited the room. On your way down the stairs, you observed Norell sweeping the floor in the courtyard. When she saw you, she paused and bowed her head. Cato looked at Marcus as he descended the stairs. “Sir, if you'll excuse me, I have something to say.”

“Say it,” he said without looking at him, gesturing with his hand.

“I was wondering if I could start training with the troops as a real soldier now. Since my lady can help you with the armor.”

Marcus stopped and looked at him, a frown forming on his face. "A real soldier?" You think you're ready to join the army already?

Cato gave a little nod, looking a bit unsure.

Marcus gave a stern look and commanded, "Draw your sword!"

Cato was a bit confused at first, unsure of what to do, but he reached for his holster to draw his sword. But he was too wound up, his hand was shaking, and he had just reached for his sword when Marcus, with great skill, quickly drew his own sword and pointed it at his throat. "And you're dead."

“Gods!” Cato opened his eyes wide and took a deep breath.

You and Norell laughed at Cato's expression.

Marcus quickly sheathed his sword and punched him on the shoulder with his fist as if in a warning. "You can't even draw your sword properly. How can you join the troops and fight the enemy on the front line?"

He rubbed his shoulder. "I was caught off guard, sir. I apologise."

"We'll practice sword drawing today. Now, go and wait for me by your horse. Move!"

“Yes sir!”

You stepped towards Marcus as Cato left the courtyard. "That little rascal." He muttered.

"Aren't you being a little hard on him, General?"

"It's for his own good. He sometimes has a hard time keeping up, but he's a determined boy. I should pay a little more attention to his training now. I have been very busy with the other commanders lately."

You suddenly remembered what Julia told you earlier.

"Are you talking about your legates?"

"That's right."

"Do you have confidence in them?"

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "I'd be lying if I said yes, but why do you ask? May I know?"

"When I was staying at the Domus Severiana, Julia said something to me the night before the game." You swallowed as you remembered that moment. Marcus was listening intently. "She said there were soldiers in the Legates who could take your place if you lost the fight."

Marcus crossed his arms. "I think I have a guess." Then he put his hand on your shoulder. "I appreciate you letting me know," he kissed your forehead. "I need to take my leave now," his fingers ran through your hair. "Wait for my return." He leaned close to your ear. "I'll be looking forward to the night, my beautiful wife.” He gave you a wink and a smile, then turned and left the courtyard at a brisk pace.

You inhaled deeply feeling like you missed him already, but this was the only place you felt completely relieved. His home, your home. You turned towards Norell who was still sweeping the floor and seemed a little shy, so you went over and gave her a hug.

"I've missed you a lot," you said, stroking her ginger-coloured hair.

She was a little hesitant at first, but then she hugged you back. "I missed you too, Domina, I mean my lady, um, princess Aurelia.”

You chuckled. “Please, just call me Aurelia when it's just us.”

She nodded happily.

"Where is Decima?”

"She was feeding the chickens. Um, she told me everything, I'm glad you got her out of there.”

"It's good to see you've got on so well with her.”

A little later, Decima showed up in the courtyard. You called her over, held out your hands, and she held them. "How are you doing, my lady? Is the marriage going well?" She winked at you and gave you a quick look over. "You look a little tired."

You felt your cheeks burning, and Norell let out a little chuckle.

“Because you're keeping your Domina up, let me some rest.” You joked and sat down on the triclinium (couch) in the courtyard. Tullia came running over and looked at the girls angrily. You yawned involuntarily as you leaned on the couch.

"Don't you girls have any manners? Get your Domina something to drink now!”

Norell gave a gentle nod and poured you a glass of wine, which she then handed to you. "Here, my lady," she said, offering you.

"Is there anything else we can get you, Domina?" Tullia was quite a bit older than you, and you felt it would be inappropriate to order her around.

"No, thank you, Tullia."

"Once you've finished your rest, I would like to show you something, my lady," Tullia said. "The General instructed me to do so.”

You took a sip of wine and looked at her, your curiosity piqued. “Now that my husband has instructed you, first, I would like to see what it is.”

Norell and Decima exchanged glances, they must have known already. You took their arm as Tullia led the way.

“Now, tell me, what's going on?”

“You'll see in a minute.” Norell smiled.

"I'm sure you'll like it," Decima assured you.

Tullia stood in front of a door on the other side of the small courtyard where the kitchen was. She opened it and invited you with her hand.

“Please, come in, my lady.”

You released their arms and stepped inside. The room was modest in size, with an array of shelves, a desk, and a mattress. As you perused the shelves, you were amazed to find herbs, vials, tools, and other essential items for a medicus. On the table was a leather bag that seemed similar to one you had previously owned. Your face lit up with a beaming smile. "Did the General have all these items prepared for me?”

“Yes, they are all fresh and new, and will be replenished as you need them, my lady,” Tullia replied.

How much more can I possibly fall in love with this man? You thought to yourself, your heart brimming with love and admiration.

As you were looking at the shelves, observing the herbs, you noticed a smell that immediately caught your attention. It was the same smell you had heard before, the smell of that deadly dangerous plant. Decima reached for the shelf, but you quickly pushed her hand away. “Don’t!"

“It's hemlock, don't touch it.” You looked at Tullia. “Has anyone touched this plant?”

She opened her eyes wide. “Y-yes, one of the slaves-“

“Is that why he's sick?” Norell interrupted.

“Sick?”

"He hasn't been feeling well since yesterday," Decima explained.

"Take me to him," you ordered. "And put this plant in a jar, but hold it with a cloth, don't touch it with your bare hands.”

They nodded in agreement. Norell and Decima took you to the slave boy. He was in the east courtyard with the other male slaves. Fortunately, he was in better condition than you thought. You went back to your little clinic and prepared a mixture of herbs for him. Decima helped you and Norell took it to the slave boy to drink. As you went through the shelves again, organizing the herbs that needed to be stored and dried, footsteps echoed in the courtyard and one of the slaves hurried over to you. You could tell from the look on his face that he was about to say something you wouldn't like.

"Domina, a guard has arrived from the palace. He says you are summoned from Palatine Hill.”

Decima looked at you, but you were looking at the slave. It's only been two days since the wedding. What the hell was this?

"Please tell him that I am unable to leave until my husband returns." You placed the plant you had in the jar and closed the lid. The slave nodded and promptly exited the room and returned to the courtyard.

"Could it possibly be Emperor Geta?" Decima asked.

"I am uncertain, but it does not seem to be an urgent matter. I will speak with Marcus when he returns. I might visit tomorrow.”

At that moment, the footsteps from the courtyard were louder, and it was evident that the individual approaching was clad in armor.

"Princess, Emperor Caracalla requests your presence. I urge you to accompany me," he stated in a tone that was both authoritative and ominous.

You knew Caracalla well, so it seems likely that he would have given this guard clear instructions. You felt sure that he wouldn't leave without you. You took a moment to find your composure and then stood up.

“I'll be ready shortly. Could you wait outside?”

The soldier nodded and walked out of the courtyard.

“Are you sure you'll be back by the time the General arrives?” Decima asked. She followed you out of the room.

“I hope so. Can you give me a hand with my attire?”

She nodded, “I'll come with you, my lady. I can't leave you alone.”

Norell rushed to your side. “Let me help too, my lady.”

You remembered how she dressed you back then. “Yes, please.”

Now that you were a married woman (matrona) you had to wear the stola, which only married women and Vestal priestesses could wear. Your clothes and jewellery had already been brought and placed in Marcus' room.  As you got dressed with the girls' help, you thought about what Caracalla wanted. It was tricky to know what he wanted, and there were lots of possibilities. Norell put a light pink stole over your long tunic, with gold and pearl embroidery from the shoulder to the end of the sleeve which came up to the elbow.

She proceeded to wrap a palla (shawl) of a similar hue and design around your waist and over your head. You then held the ends in your hand and adjusted it by tugging a little. She proceeded to gather your hair to one side, braid it and pin it with gold-embroidered hairpins. She then placed a jewel on top of your head, which resembled a crown. You then became aware that you had missed her dressing you; she did it with enthusiasm and seriousness. Even more so than Geta's slave girl.

“Thank you, Norell."

She smiled at you, but her expression also conveyed a hint of concern.

“We should leave now, Decima. I want to be back before dusk.”

She nodded and followed you. As you exited the courtyard, you felt somewhat unusual being wrapped in this new dress, but you liked it. The guard was waiting for you by the carriage and helped you into it, after all the stola was long enough to cover your feet. Decima sat next to you, and you held her hand the whole way, as you felt more secure having her with you.

Upon your arrival at the Domus Severiana, the sun was nearing the horizon. As you entered the great courtyard, you first paid respects to the statue of your father. You were informed that Caracalla was awaiting your presence in the great hall. You said Decima to wait there, and headed with the guard to the long hall to meet your half-brother. It was not often that they were in the private hall, which was reserved for political and policy meetings. These meetings were only convened when something of importance occurred or when documents required stamping.

However, it is clear that Caracalla was more interested in that sort of thing, whereas Geta did not take it seriously at all. As you approached the imposing door of the hall, you looked around. Geta was nowhere to be seen. You had only wanted to see him, not the other one, but still. Two guards greeted you and opened the door for you to enter. Caracalla was standing in the center of the hall with a sword in his hand. He was looking at someone on their knees with their hands tied behind their back. When he recognized you, he opened his hands wide.

"Ah, my dear sister, you have made it. Come dear, come closer." Said with a gesture that includes all ten fingers.

"I'd like to know why you've summoned a married woman when my husband is not at home.”

Your eyes met those of the man on the floor, and you realized with a start that it was Gaius. His face was rather disfigured, with a noticeable amount of blood and bruises. That was rather unexpected. "It is an urgent family matter, something your husband doesn't need to be involved in," he said, in a somewhat abrupt manner.

"Why is Sir Gaius tied up like that? What's going on?"

"We will decide his fate. I have ideas that will be fun to execute, but I wonder what you think."

You swallowed, you didn't like Gaius, but Caracalla's 'ideas' were usually the most bloody and violent ones.

“You can't do this!” Gaius barked. “My reputation-”

Caracalla hit him with his other hand. “Shut up, you cunt! If you cared about your reputation much you should never have returned to Rome!”

Gaius grunted as he spat on the floor.

You were getting tense. “Why exactly are you doing this?” You asked him.

“Why do you think he wanted to marry you? Was it because he was in love with you? Why did he retain that letter? To usurp the throne, of course." He brandished the sword at his throat. "That is what he had always intended.”

He was right, Gaius already admitted it to you before.

"Whoever threatens me will face the consequences." He then pointed the sword at you. "That includes you.”

You gasped, and stumbled back. Then you heard the sound of the door opening.

"Are you insane? What the hell are you doing?" Geta rushed through the door and stood in front of you. "Brother, we're here for this cunt, Gaius. What does Aurelia have to do with this?”

"Cease your dramatics. We're just talking.” Caracalla growled.

“Point your sword at the traitor then, not our sister.” Geta barked.

Caracalla rolled his eyes and passed the sword to the guard next to him. Geta turned to you and gave you a hug, which startled you. He pulled back and smiled. “I missed you, sorry to call you over for a filthy rat.” He turned his gaze to Caracalla. “Our brother was eager to butcher his cousin.”

"You could have managed it yourselves, then. Why did you feel the need to summon me?" You crossed your arms, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.

"So what do you say? The game?" Geta asked Caracalla, his eyes alight with excitement.

"Yes, I want that! It makes total sense."

Geta turned to you, his grin widening. "What do you think, should our cousin set foot in the arena? Oh, it's just so much fun even thinking about it."

You observed Gaius's concerned expression. “ I wouldn't say it's fun since he can't even fight.” You said quietly, surprised at yourself for feeling a little sorry for him.

“It'll be when he finds himself before the tigers.” Caracalla laughed.

Gaius swallowed hard. You tensed up, too, remembering how big and fierce the tiger was.

"Can't you just kill him?" you asked, voice cracking a little.

But your brothers had already made up their minds.

"It's two to one, the decision's been made," Geta said.

Caracalla looked at the guards. "Take this one to the dungeon. He'll be lunch for the tigers in the arena tomorrow.” He laughed so loudly, his voice reverberating off the marble walls of the hall.

"NO! YOU CAN'T! NO!" Gaius wailed.

Geta watched him dragged roughly outside by guards. Then turned towards Caracalla.

“It's so hard to wait until tomorrow.”

Their laughter hummed in your ears as you focused on Gaius' protests and shouts, it was horrible to see a man punished like this, no matter what his crime was.

As the guards forcibly led him away, you turned your eyes Caracalla. "He is, after all, one of our blood, a member of the Severan dynasty. It is unlikely that news of his execution will be well received in Leptis Magna."

A self-confident expression spread across Caracalla's face. "I am the emperor, and as such I am entitled to act as I see fit. It is unlikely that they will dare to interfere with me."

"With us, brother," Geta looked at him sharply.

Caracalla forced a smile. "Yes, of course.” Then he turned towards you. “I told you you'd be a widow if you chose him,” he said with a smirk.

“But I didn't,” you said, unsure of the implication on his face.

"Oh yes, you chose the General, although he is not entirely without fault."

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you truly believe that the reason he married you was entirely innocent?"

You turned your gaze to Geta, who was crossing his arms, his expression matching his brother's.

"What do you mean?" Your voice was trembling.

"Oh, our sister is unaware of her own significance," Caracalla muttered.

“I agree.” Geta snapped.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. "The General didn't know who I was when he met me. He married me because he fell in love with me."

Caracalla's laughter startled you. "Of course, I'm sure he did. We know of his plans with some of the legates. He hides himself well, but we can't be entirely sure. Has he told you about his plans? Perhaps you can find out for us?"

You crossed your arms, angry. "Oh so that's it, that's why you called me here. You want me to sell my husband out to you?"

Caracalla was looking you in the eye. 'Are you putting your husband before your family?' His voice was threatening.

Geta stepped between you and extended his hand.

'She didn't mean that, brother.'

You remained still. "General Acacius is my family, just like you. If he hasn't betrayed you all this time, he never will."

"He better not." Caracalla stepped back and sat back in his chair.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return home." You said and turned round.

"I shall accompany you," Geta said. You left the hall together. While you two walked by the fountain, he turned his head towards you. “Do not praise General Acacius in Caracalla’s presence,” he said in a stern voice.

“What?"

“Don't make him become a threat, that's all he wants.” He warned you.

You looked at him, his expression was so weird that you couldn't make sense of it.

“What about you? Don't you see him as a threat?”

“I may not like him, but I have no intention of killing him. However, I don't trust him either.” He smirked.

You were surprised that Marcus had the same opinion about him. Geta was many things, but he wasn't the dangerous one.

“One more thing. Don't take what he says about your husband seriously, I know he loves you, otherwise I wouldn't have let him marry you.” His eyes were on you, watching you intently.

You cleared your throat and averted your eyes. Geta inhaled deeply.

“I've missed you, it's so boring here in your absence and mother too.”

“Where is Lady Domna?” You asked, not out of curiosity, but because you sensed the sadness in Geta's voice and to change the subject.

“In Syria, I think. With the other members of the Severan dynasty.”

“Why did Caracalla send her away, anyway?”

“Mother, she wanted to marry him off. You know, the emperor must have a son eventually. I'm fortunate he's the older one.” He grinned.

“But he didn't want to marry?”

“No, not yet, I suppose. It's pretty annoying that he trusts Macrinus more than our mother.”

Just then Macrinus as if he heard his name being mentioned, stepped into the courtyard. He recognised you from a distance, greeted you, and hurried over to the big hall to meet Caracalla.

“I thought this was supposed to be a family meeting?” You said sarcastically.

Geta was watching him from a distance. “As I said, sister, Caracalla trusts him more than anyone.”

At that moment, you had a sudden insight. Gaius... Macrinus was the one who brought Gaius to Rome. He put him before the council, before Caracalla, even though he knew his purpose. Then when Gaius wanted to marry you, he became an open target. But why? What did he get out of all this? Suddenly, what he said to you earlier echoed in your mind.

‘You're not seeing the whole picture.’ You felt your body froze, or was he trying to clear his path to the throne? Could it be? Gaius was the likely choice if something happened to Caracalla and Geta. Now that that option is gone, who is his next target? You looked at Geta. Was it him?

“Why are you looking at me like that?" Geta asked in surprise.

Could it be that the reason he sent Julia was to get rid of Geta? You suddenly felt a loss of balance and could no longer feel your feet. Geta quickly wrapped his arm around you.

“Sister, are you alright?”

“My lady!” Decima ran to you.

“I'm alright,” you said, gently pushing Geta's arm away. He frowned. “I'm just a bit tired, I need to go home, please.”

Decima put her arm around your waist as you walked out of the courtyard.

‘You are going to attend the game tomorrow with your husband. Make sure you inform him.’ Geta reminded you.

You looked at him with a hint of apprehension as he smiled warmly. “Have a good night, sister.”

You felt somewhat uneasy about leaving him alone under the same roof as Caracalla, but you knew there was little you could do about it.

You took a deep breath as the carriage moved off. You knew that coming here would put a damper on your mood. You hated to be right. Decima held your hand tightly.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

You smiled at her. “Yes, I am.”

The coachman let out a loud swear word and the carriage shook violently. You nearly fell out of your seat.

“My lady, forgive me, but this silly boy jumped in the middle of the road.”

“Get back here!”

Another man's voice rang out down the street, followed by the cries of a child. When you popped your head out of the car, you were pretty mad at what you saw. The man was beating the boy viciously.

You got out of the carriage, and Decima was a little unsteady in her steps as she tried to keep up with you.

‘Stop! Stop it! Now!’ You shouted the man.

The man's eyes widened as he eyed you up and down. You lifted the boy up and put your arm around him, he grasped the fabric of your dress hiding behind you.

'Why are you hitting a little boy?'

'But my lady, he stole apples from my stall.'

You looked at the boy, who was ashamed.

'Decima, could I have my pouch, please?' you asked, holding out your hand.

She nodded and got it for you, handing it over. You took some coins from it and gave them to him, which was enough to buy a sack of apples.

'Thank you, Gods bless you, my lady,' he bowed his head, squinting at the boy, then turned and walked away.

'Are you Princess Aurelia?' the boy looked at you curiously.

You smiled at him and crouched down.

'Yes, I'm Aurelia. May I ask your name, young man?' You looked at his face. He was dirty and his clothes were torn.

'I don't have a name, nobody in the poorhouse has a name.'

'Poorhouse? Oh, you stole an apple because you were hungry then?' It was heartbreaking. A little boy doesn't deserve to live like this.

'No, my mother just had a baby, but she couldn't eat anything, so I was taking it to her because the baby was crying all the time, and mother's breast milk didn't come in.’

This upset you even more. You felt your stomach tighten and your eyes well up with tears. You took the child's hand. 'Let's get some food for your mother, then.'

The child's eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘Really? Are you going to pay?'

You gave him a smile. 'Yes, my little dove.'

Decima approached you hesitantly. 'My lady, maybe you should ask the guards to do it? It could be dangerous.'

'Why? They're just poor people.'

'It's dark now, the General might be upset if he-’

'Don't worry about that, Decima, we'll be back when we're done. He'll understand.'

Decima gave a little smile. 'How can you be so kind-hearted like this?'

'They're my people, so it's my duty to look after them.'

'It seems your brothers have a different view on this.'

You gave her a look, and she swallowed. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-

“No, no. You’re right, they don't care about these people at all.’

When you got to the Poorhouse, you almost wished you'd done what Decima said. Life here was a different story to what you'd find elsewhere in the city. It was pretty brutal, grueling and painful.  There were a lot of people here. The situation was pretty dire. This was actually an old ruined insula, but these people had taken refuge here, living on the street and on the cobblestones. When they recognised you, they all looked a bit surprised. The kids ran over to you, looking you up and down, tugging your dress curiously, and taking a good look at the food in your hand. The boys’ mother was lying on an old mattress with the baby, and, she was really surprised to see you. The boy told his mother what had happened, she started crying with happiness. You were able to feed these people today, but you didn't know what would happen tomorrow.

The guard who picked you up from the villa came running to you a little later.

“My lady, the coachman said you were here. Did these rats hurt you?”

He looked at them angrily and pushed a boy away with his hand in disgust.

“That's nonsense! Why would they hurt me?”

You looked at the children and smiled. Decima was handing them the apples you'd brought, and they were singing as they ate. You turned to the guard.

"Come with me," you commanded, beckoning him outside. “You are to bring food supplies here every week.”

“But, my lady, they’re just homeless and poor people.”

“So? Are you suggesting that they are undeserving of life?”

“No, I'm saying-“

“Do as I say and assign two men here. One to distribute food and the other to bring supplies. I will come and check on this place every week, do you understand me?” You spoke firmly and with conviction, and it seemed to work.

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed his head.

“Good, now take me back to the villa.”

The imperial carriage arrived at the villa in the late evening. Decima helped you out and, since it had been a long day, you were feeling pretty tired. As the carriage drove away, you stepped towards Tullia, who was waiting for you at the courtyard gate of the villa. She smiled in relief.

“My lady, thank Gods you arrived before the General returns.”

“He hasn't arrived yet?” You were surprised but relieved as well.

However, just as you were about to step inside, the sound of two horses galloping was heard from down the road. All three of you suddenly became tense and looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Aurelia!”

The General's voice was loud and it came to you like ‘now you're in trouble’. You turned to look at him, he jumped off his horse and came towards you, his face stern and curious. Cato dismounted from his horse and grabbed the harnesses of both horses.

Marcus looked you up and down. “Are you going somewhere at this hour?”

You swallowed, Tullia and Decima bowed to the General and went inside. Cato and the others headed to the corral to tie up the horses.

‘I, uh-’

Marcus wrapped his arms around your waist. “Or are you dressed so elaborately for me?” He smirked. ”No need, my love, you're so beautiful already." He leaned down and kissed you. “I missed you so much, today has felt endless.” He took your hand and pulled you inside with him.

“I went to Palatine Hill.” you suddenly said. "Caracalla summoned me."

Marcus paused in the middle of the courtyard, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His expression became somewhat stern. “What does he want at this hour?”

“Can I tell you while we eat? You just came, I assume you must be hungry.”

"That is correct,” he said and turned towards Tullia. “Bring our supper to the room.” He then proceeded to lead you by the hand towards the stairs. His grip on your hand was firm and somewhat painful, indicating his tension.

When you got to the room, he released your hand and removed the holster from his waistband.

‘Allow me,’ you demanded and approached him. Marcus stood still, his dark brown eyes on you.

'He actually called me over, earlier,' you said as you removed the leather strips from his shoulders.

Marcus frowned. He averted his gaze as you undid the strings of his armour.

'What did he exactly want?'

'He's going to throw Gaius to the tigers tomorrow.'

He raised his eyebrows, clearly thinking but not seeming surprised. 'It's not the first time for him to throw someone before animals, but I wonder why his cousin?'

'They're expecting to see us at the Colosseum tomorrow to watch the game.' You extended your arms to the other side but he stopped you by grabbing your shoulders.

'Aurelia, I asked you why.' His brown eyes piercing yours. You blinked your eyes a few times.

“He stated emphatically that Gaius had betrayed him and coveted the throne.” He narrowed his eyes, dissatisfied with your answer. He knew you well and needed to hear more. “Also he said that's why he wanted to marry me – that he'd always planned it so."

He released your shoulders and his expression softened as you began to untie the strings of the other side of his armour.

‘He didn't say anything about me?’

You paused for a moment but kept untying. ‘He suspects you're up to something. But he can't be sure, so he asked me to rat you out to him.’

Marcus took off his armour with your help.

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I said that I can't do that, of course.’ You reached for his arm to take off the armband, but he grabbed your arm first and pulled it to himself.

‘You should have done what he said,’ he murmured.

You looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Marcus, how could-’

‘To trick him, my love. You must lie.’ He wrapped his arm around your waist.

‘I see your point. You’re right. I should've. I will next time.”

He smirked and squeezed your cheek softly. “You’re just so innocent.” He kissed your cheek then.

You smiled, but you couldn't help but feel a hint of concern deep inside you. "Marcus, you know how ruthless he is. Please be careful.”

"There is no need for concern. I believe everything is going as I predicted. I found the rat among the Legates who was spying for him and Macrinus. I will take my steps accordingly.”

"Is his intention to seize the throne?”

"Macrinus? I think so, but I'm not sure how to prevent him from making his move.”

You were feeling a bit nervous that Marcus might be putting himself in danger. Macrinus was a dangerous and clever enemy. You were suddenly reminded of that dream you'd had. Your mother's voice echoed in your ears again. 'Think.' Could he be the real threat? To you? To Marcus?

Marcus was observing your face, “It bothered you, didn't it? Let's put that aside for now.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Norell brought your supper. 'Just the right moment,' Marcus said with a smile.

Once she left, Marcus turned towards you. "Let me help you out of that dress so you can eat more comfortably."

He helped you remove the palla and the stola, leaving you both in your tunics. You felt really relaxed.

"I'm going to have to get used to this dress; it covers me quite a bit," you said with a laugh.

Marcus smiled. "It looked good on you. I must say, though, that I prefer you undressed.”

He smiled when your cheeks flushed and pulled you closer, offering a kiss. Then he sat down next to the table and sat you on his lap again, which you got used to immediately because you liked it. You had eaten a little when Mau came running from the balcony and jumped on your lap. This caused you to reflexively pull your hand back, but you forgot that you were holding a glass, so the wine spilled on you and a little on Marcus. You looked at him with wide eyes.

“Apologies. Mau, look what you did!”

You took her off your lap, your white tunic was soaked with red color of wine.

“Too bad,” you mumbled, attempting to clean it with a cloth, but it seemed to be ineffective.

“I wouldn't say that.”  Marcus' eyes were locked on your breasts and nipples, which were on full reveal thanks to the wine. Like an open invitation for him. His breathing became heavy, and he supported you around the waist with one hand, lowering his head to your breasts. He was like a hunter approaching his prey. Your heart began to beat rapidly with a thrilling anticipation. As his prey, you stood still and waited impatiently for what he was about to do, closing your eyes. You gasped when his hot breath hit your wet skin, and you felt his tongue on your sternum, biting your lower lip hard. "Mmm, delicious. It is, without a doubt, the finest wine I have ever tasted." He smirked mischiveously.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I believe I have accidentally included myself on the menu."

His eyes met yours, and a spark of desire ignited in your soul. "I'm going to enjoy eating you.”

Then he kissed you passionately, hungrily. Meanwhile, Mau was enjoying the food on the tray, but you were preoccupied to pay her much attention. Marcus was holding you in his lap with one hand and undressing you with the other. His fingers were eager than ever, and in the process of undressing you, they ripped the fabric of your tunic. Which was a massive turn-on for you. Once you were completely naked on his lap, he stood up and hurried you to the bed, accompanied by your giggles.

please reblog, comment or like if you enjoyed thank you all <3

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if anyone wants me to tag them please comment or msg me :)

[novaursa]

The Cycle (justice)

- Summary: Cregan delivers justice for your son and Grey Ghost.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: one for the price of two

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess

The Hour of the Wolf had come, and with it, the chill of northern justice.

Cregan Stark rode through the gates of King’s Landing, his direwolf sigil fluttering high above his head, flanked by his men—all grim-faced and hardened by the long ride south. The city was in chaos, the streets teeming with whispers of betrayal, murder, and treachery, the aftermath of the Dance of the Dragons still felt in the very air.

But Cregan’s purpose was clear. He had come for justice—justice for his son, for his wife’s dragon, for the innocent blood spilled by those who had thought themselves untouchable.

The courtyard of the Red Keep echoed with the sound of hooves and the clatter of armor as his men dismounted. The nobles of the court, gathered under Aegon III’s uneasy new rule, watched from the shadows, their eyes filled with both fear and curiosity. They knew why Cregan Stark had come.

For the moment, the North had claimed the South.

Cregan strode through the halls with the measured pace of a man who had waited long enough for his vengeance. The cold steel of his greatsword, Ice, was strapped across his back, the weight of it comforting in his hands. His face, grim and unyielding, was a mask of fury barely contained behind his calm demeanor.

As he entered the throne room, the smallfolk and nobles alike parted for him, their gazes heavy with anticipation. And there, at the foot of the Iron Throne, stood the object of his rage: Larys Strong.

The man who had murdered his son.

Larys, the Master of Whisperers, the weaver of dark secrets, was shackled in chains, his normally composed face now twisted in a grotesque mockery of calm. His body was hunched, his hands bound in irons, but his eyes—those cold, calculating eyes—remained defiant.

Cregan’s jaw clenched as he looked at him, the memories of that night in Winterfell flooding back in an instant. The image of you cradling Eddard’s lifeless body, the broken, twisted form of Grey Ghost lying in the snow, both slaughtered by this man’s orders.

Larys Strong had made you choose, and then he had taken everything anyway.

The room was deathly silent as Cregan approached, each step echoing in the cavernous space. Aegon III sat on the Iron Throne, his face pale and expression unreadable, a boy-king who had seen too much bloodshed for his years. His hands gripped the arms of the throne tightly, his knuckles white. This was a day of reckoning, and everyone knew it.

Cregan stopped before the throne, his gaze never leaving Larys. “Is this the man?” His voice was low, cold, carrying the weight of the North’s judgment.

Aegon III’s voice was soft but steady, carrying across the room. “He is.”

Larys tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Lord Stark,” he rasped, his voice slick with that same insidious calm. “I’ve been expecting you.”

The rage that had simmered beneath Cregan’s surface for so long now threatened to boil over. He drew Ice from its scabbard with a smooth, practiced motion, the blade gleaming in the dim light of the throne room.

“Do you think I care about your expectations, Strong?” Cregan’s voice was a snarl, the cold fury of a man who had been forced to bury his son. “I care about one thing—justice for the blood you spilled.”

Larys’s eyes glinted, but he said nothing, his smile never faltering. The man had no remorse, no shame. It only stoked the fire burning in Cregan’s chest.

Aegon III shifted uncomfortably on the Iron Throne, but he made no move to intervene. He had given Cregan free rein to restore order, to bring justice to the blood-soaked realm that had been ravaged by the Dance. And justice had come in the form of the Wolf of Winterfell.

“Do you remember what you said to my wife?” Cregan growled, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step closer to Larys. “You made her choose between our son and her dragon. You took them both.”

Larys met his gaze, his smile fading slightly, but he remained silent.

“You broke her,” Cregan continued, his grip tightening on Ice. “You took her heart, you took my son—an innocent babe. And now, I will take your life.”

For the first time, a flicker of something crossed Larys’s face. Not fear—never fear—but something close to it. Perhaps it was the realization that the wolf had come for him, and there would be no escape from the jaws of vengeance this time.

Cregan’s voice grew louder, echoing through the throne room. “You will die quickly, Strong. Unlike my wife, you will not feel the pain you caused, the agony of watching something you love ripped from your grasp. But you will die.”

He raised Ice, its edge gleaming in the dim light. The room was utterly still, the assembled lords and ladies holding their breath.

“I sentence you to death,” Cregan declared, his voice steady now, filled with the finality of judgment. “Not as a lord, not as a commander of men, but as a father who has lost his son.”

And then, with one swift, brutal motion, Ice fell.

The blade cleaved through Larys Strong’s neck, the sharp ring of steel followed by the dull thud of his head hitting the stone floor. The room remained silent, the weight of the moment settling over the crowd like a blanket of snow. There was no cheer, no applause—only the grim satisfaction of justice served.

Cregan stood over the body, his chest heaving, his grip on Ice still firm. The blood of the man who had taken everything from him dripped from the sword’s edge, pooling at his feet. But for the first time since that terrible night, something inside him felt… quieter. Not whole, not healed—but quieter.

He turned and faced Aegon, his gaze unyielding, his voice cold and final. “Justice has been done.”

Aegon III, still pale, nodded slowly. “It has.”

The lords and ladies of the court remained silent as Cregan sheathed Ice, his expression unreadable. He had come for vengeance, and now that vengeance had been claimed.

But as he walked from the throne room, leaving behind the corpse of Larys Strong, Cregan Stark knew one thing: No matter how many enemies he felled, no matter how much blood was spilled, the hole left by his son’s death would never truly heal. The North would be strong, as it always was, but the scars of the Dance and the treachery of the Greens would remain with him for the rest of his life.

And as he returned to Winterfell, to his wife and what remained of his family, he vowed that his son’s name would never be forgotten, that the legacy of the wolves would live on.

For Winterfell. For the North. For Eddard.

[random-posts680]

“•Don’t come looking for me •” part 1

Part two: https://www.tumblr.com/random-posts680/750380195361538048/i-knew-youd-be-back

Feyd-Rautha x reader

A/n: this is a Drabble I’ve been working on for the past week and I will most likely make a part two!!

Synopsis: You use your job to hide on different planets from a family feud. While living on Giedi prime you catch the attention of the Na-Barron himself and create very close ties with him. The time you have on the planet though is unfortunately short lived, you flee, leaving behind the man you’d, unknowingly made fall in love with you, Feyd-rautha

Other mentions: soft!Feyd, Feyd is obsessed with reader, reader is oblivious, this turned out a bit angsty but part two will tie it up.

Warning: mentions of blood, mentions of death, blade to readers throat, blade mentioned, Feyd is a whole warning in himself.

Everyone knew how cruel and sadistic the Baron harkonnens nephew was.

Everyone knew just what he was capable of.

Anyone who’d ever talked to him without being murdered by his own hands would tell you he was truly terrifying and psychotic, a being who is completely incapable of any feelings such as love, vulnerability, gentleness….

Everyone knew that.

Everyone, but you.

You and feyd-Ruathas entire friendship was rooted from a mishap. You were someone from a far away planet who had come to study the ways of the harkonnens on Giedi Prime, at least that’s the job profile you displayed to them.

The day you arrived there, not a single harkonnen payed you much attention and you weren’t bothered by that, going about your business daily, studying the planet, and occasionally watching the brutal battles in the arena.

Not a soul on Giedi Prime had any idea who you were and what your actual reason was for exploring their planet, and you intended to keep it that way. Keeping your existence to a low and never acting out. Your appearance alone already stood out enough among the harkonnens. The last thing you needed was word getting out of your inhabitants on Giedi prime.

Life on the black and white planet wasn’t as bad as many people picked it out to be. You stuck to your “job” and lived peacefully in your guest coordinates. You ate well, slept well, and trained just fine on your own. Until the day your tranquility was disturbed.

That day you and him crossed paths was by far the most chaotic day you’d had on the planet. You had your things huddled in your arms, your com was ringing with a call from your research centre, your mind was thinking of the quickest way back to the guest chambers, yet your feet were taking you elsewhere.

After realizing you were completely lost, you took a bit to calm down and found the nearest bench along the walls of the stronghold and answered the com to update your work place of your progress on Giedi Prime.

Once the call was over, you grabbed your things, and once again realized you had no idea where the hell you were. You let out a sigh as you turned on your heels only to be met with a blade thrust up against your jugular.

Your feet instantly halted.

“Where are you wondering to?” The person holding the blade rasped out. ‘Shit’ Despite your initial panic, you just simply wanted to get back to your guest room, the day had already been stressful enough and you weren’t the type to be afraid of some sick harkonnen who wanted a rise out of a foreigner. ‘First few weeks on this damn planet and I’m about to get slaughtered for walking in the wrong area.’

You knew the harokenns were a driven race but this was just pretentious.

“I’m trying to find the guest chambers, this place is like a maze, I got lost along the way.” You drawled out, keeping the annoyed tone down a notch, doing your best to not anger the male with the blade.

Seconds went by before he withdrew the knife. As soon as he did you whipped around to face the offender and your heart hammered when you came face to face with the Na-Baron himself.

What you didn’t know is that when your eyes met, Feyd-rauthas heart started to hammer too.

The harkonnen paced around you a few times looking you up and down as you stood still, a skeptical look displayed on your face, yet an intrigued expression on his. ‘What the hell is he doing?’ Your train of thought was stopped when he came closer to you, his face neared yours, his breath tickled your nose and his lips twitched ever so slightly when he was just inches away.

Moments passed but with each one you felt your facade slipping away. You nervously drew your lips into a line as he made eye contact with you once again. His deep blue eyes held something that you couldn’t read. Your act was about to crumble before him.

A few more seconds passed and it was as if your unspoken prayers had been answered when he backed up and simply walked the other way down the hall. You watched with a perplexed look during his exit.

Once he was out of your line of sight you blinked away the look and shook off the interaction. ‘What the actual fuck just happened’ you were completely baffled. He just let you go, no further questions, didn’t give you any directions, and he had gotten so close?!?

You stood for a bit, conflicted. As for the Harkonnen himself, he was feeling waves of ambivalence.

He didn’t know if it was the beauty you possessed or the way your eyes seemed to sparkle with curiosity once you realized who he was, but from that moment on Feyd-Ruatha was infatuated with you.

The very next day he had come to find you. He’d looked into your cause and he was determined to be the one to show you the culture of the harkonnens.

At first, you weren’t amused with his persistence and it was a wonder to many how he didn’t just force you into letting him be around you. He was always finding ways to bother you after his duties and training. Being with you exhilarated him, the surge of emotions added a new type of pleasure to his days. He wasn’t going to give up an opportunity like this. And he definitely wasn’t going to let any other harkonnen be the one in his future spot next to you.

When you finally realized you weren’t getting rid of him you decided to accept it. You let him tag along on your explorations, let him teach you things about the planet, even going as far as him introducing you to his uncle and brother. (Which ended in Chaos and you two swore never again). Feyd had started to grow on you and you got used to his presence, you even started to enjoy it. It was nice having a friend on the planet, even one who was a blood thirsty murderer, but nonetheless, Feyd was never anything other than respectful and his interesting version of kind to you.

Each day was something new with you, while he was teaching you, you were also teaching him. You and him trained together, ate togther, and talked about almost anything and everything. The topics went from simple things to things that were more intimate and personal. You considered telling him the true reasons why you sprung from planet to planet “exploring,” but you decided it wasn’t wise considering that he may not understand or even believe you. Now, while you recall these memories you regret never telling him that you were in fact running from something.

Surprisingly, Feyd had actually opened up a few times and shared some of his twisted beliefs with you. Even if they were insane you did your best to understand him and point him in directions that would cause a lot less blood shed. To your surprise, he took some of your advice.

He hated how weak you could make him but at the same time he couldn’t get enough of you. He craved you deeply. Everyday he spent with you only made his need for you stronger. The smiles you’d give him, the gentleness of your hands when you would dress his wounds after an arena fight (If he ever had any injuries from the arena that is), the softness of your voice when you would teach him things from your home planet.

It was truly intoxicating to him.

Feyd was incredibly protective of you too. Not letting many get too close to you and always making sure you were unharmed by other harkonenns. Feyd himself had no desire to ever hurt you either, he actually despised the thought of hurting you altogether. It was one of the reasons he didn’t want to force your hand, no matter how badly he wanted his fantasies of you to come true, he knew he wouldn’t take joy in forcing them upon you.

It was safe to say you had worked miracles on him. You were the only being in the entire universe who could bring this side out of him.

Feyd-rautha loved you.

So the day you just disappeared out of no where was a day nobody enjoyed. When he’d realized your absence and was informed that no harkonnen on the face of Giedie prime had any idea where you had gone, he completely lost it. He killed everyone in the room with him in that moment.

He dropped as many bodies as he possibly could that day. Acting as though they were to blame for you disappearance.

He tried to track you, find a trail of where you may have gone, anything to bring you back to him. He looked for hours, not wanting to believe that the trail to your current location was completely cold. It was as if you’d vanished into thin air.

All of your belongings were left in your guest room. Nothing of yours was missing. The only thing that had gone missing the same day you did was…his blade.

The harkonnen thought the worst when he uncovered this detail. He thought of you fighting against some kind of enemy with his blade in hand, defending yourself all alone, while he had no way of protecting you. Feyd had never felt heartache but when he thought of you alone and scared, fighting for your life, it surged through his chest and even put warm, piercing lumps in his throat at times.

There was only one other piece of evidence, but it proved you were alive. A week after finding that his blade was missing he went to your room to search it once again. This time he found a note taped in one of your analysis journals. ‘I’m sorry, don’t come looking for me’ it’s writing was rushed and sloppy.

The harkonnen stared at it before the weight of the situation settled onto him. You had left, you had run away from him. But this also meant you were alive.

Feyds murderous tendencies only grew from then on. He killed for no reason now. Slaughtering anyone if they did something out of his comfort. His anger being taken out on servants, and the drugged slaves in the arena.

Feyd seemed to hate everything other than killing. But the one thing that drove him mad was the fact he couldn’t bring himself to hate you.

Each night he’d have dreams of you. Dreams of your hair flowing in the geidi prime wind. Your smile glowing as he shows you yet another trick of his. Your soft voice pulling him into a deep sleep. At the end of the day, this was the closest he could be to you. Sleep was his escape and Feyd-ruatha was desperate. He wasn’t ashamed to be lulled to sleep by the thought of you every night. His finger tips wrapping around the sheets when his dreams consisted of times with you.

Feyd and you and never been closer than mere friends but you also had no idea that you were everything to him.

Now, as you float through space months after you had made your escape, you replay those memories in your head. And you make a promise to yourself. You won’t get close with anybody again until you are done running.

————————————————————————-

A/n: Guys part two is coming

,I promise, I know this is ended sadly 😭

[macbethsymphony]

Negotiations

Dracule Mihawk x Reader

wc: 5.2 k

tw: NSFW, 18+, this is just pure filth guys, it's 5k of smut, there's no plot. Edging, overstimulation, slightly dubcon, fingering, Mihawk has the hyperfocus of a god? this is highly toxic and slightly unethical ngl

Summary: The tale of how a negotiator convinced the marine hunter to consider becoming a warlord.

AO3

Eat, drink, nap, kill marines, drink some more, sleep, and repeat. That was the unvarying routine of Dracule Mihawk, marine hunter. At least, that’s what he’d been up to, these past two months.

Marine hunter. What a fucking joke. Marine killer was more accurate. The man was deranged, his actions driven by an insidious boredom that turned slaughter into a twisted game. It was painfully obvious that he was merely toying with the Marines, savoring the macabre sport, desperately looking for someone who would match his skills. If you had your way, you’d be plotting his demise instead. Though you supposed if you were here, it meant they’d all failed.

Tsuru’s words echoed in your mind, firm and unyielding: “I trust you are able to bring him to the table,” she had said. “You are our best negotiator, after all.”

So, you grit your teeth and set the scene. For in no world was disappointment an option; failing your superiors, especially Tsuru, was unthinkable.

Your officers were meticulously positioned, the bar’s usual faces replaced by those of disguised operatives. Only a few of the establishment's staff remained. A strategic decision to ensure the venue’s operations ran smoothly without drawing suspicion. The air was thick with tension, and you were acutely aware that the slightest misstep could unravel the entire thing. The possibility of disaster loomed large; a single error could transform this carefully orchestrated meeting into a chaotic bloodbath, with no chance of containing Mihawk’s whims.

Your heart pounded with an almost unbearable intensity, a drumbeat of anxiety and anticipation. You reminded yourself that your team were experts, each one adept at their role, and that every detail had been rehearsed to perfection. You could do this. You would succeed where all others had failed.

The door to the bar creaked open, drawing your attention as you smoothly transitioned into your assigned role. “Whiskey, neat, please,” you requested from the bartender, your eyes never leaving the imposing figure in the corner. “Actually, I’ll take the whole bottle.”

You watched with a tight-lipped smile as Mihawk, with deliberate nonchalance, made his way behind the bar. He selected two bottles of fine wine, his movements leisurely, and then settled into his usual spot, a booth in the corner, away from everyone. A fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips as he uncorked one of the bottles and poured himself a glass. Your breath caught, a shiver of doubt sliding through you, but you forced yourself to look again. 

Good. 

It was nothing more than a trick of the light.

You downed your glass, slamming it with a bit too much force on the bar counter. 

Everything was falling into place. You had him where you wanted him; all you needed to do was stick to the script. You adjusted your dress, the provocative cut emphasizing every curve. Confidence surged through you. You knew how to handle men like him. This would be no different. 

You approached him, whiskey bottle in hand, your movements practiced and deliberate. “Hello, handsome,” you purred, your voice a silky caress. He would be putty in your hands before long.

But as his gaze locked with yours, the air between you seemed to thicken. The intensity of his stare left you breathless, feeling strangely vulnerable. The mastery you usually wielded over people faltered. You couldn’t decipher him, couldn’t read him. At all.

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You were always in control, always able to manipulate the situation with ease. You were the master and they the puppets. The fact that Mihawk’s inscrutable expression was completely impenetrable threw you off balance.

You were already committed, though. Backing out now was not an option.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, voice dropping to a husky whisper. You allowed your fingers to trail delicately along his shoulder and then drift over the exposed skin of his chest. Your gaze flickered to the other banquette, the seat occupied by the bulk of his massive sword, back to him. The invitation in your eyes was unmistakable.

For a moment, you thought you glimpsed a spark of amusement in his gaze, but it was so fleeting that you couldn’t be sure. Mihawk tilted his head slightly, the feather on his hat accentuating the movement with a languid grace.

“Be my guest,” he said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion.

He made no move to shift from his position, no move to shift the position of his sword. You bit the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to maintain composure. The arrangement was deliberate—there was no easy way for you to sit without essentially stepping over him and trapping yourself between him and the wall.

He was toying with you, you realized with a flicker of frustration. But if he wanted a game, you were more than capable of playing along. You were a master of your craft after all. With a deliberate motion, you took the third, more unexpected option. You straddled him, the hem of your already short dress rising even higher as your legs settled to his side. 

You held his gaze steadily as you sipped from the whiskey bottle, slamming it behind you with a practiced flourish once you were done.

His gaze didn’t shift as he drank in your form, lingering on your curves, then back to your features. You did the same, taking him in, the sharpness of his jaw, the solidity of his muscles. You’d already known he was handsome, hours of looking at pictures had told you that, but by the gods above he was almost ethereal. You prayed for a moment that the heat you felt was from the alcohol you just downed. But you knew it wasn’t.

“Bold.” The word snapped you out of your thoughts. “For a marine that is.”

Your spine went cold at the statement. 

He knew. 

Of course, he knew. 

But you were still alive, which meant he was still willing to entertain this scene. 

It’d been a power play you realized a touch too late. He’d just flipped the script you had so carefully prepared. 

Interesting. 

Absolutely thrilling.

You hadn’t expected that he’d be a worthy opponent and you’d let him earn the first point in your carelessness. It didn’t matter, however, you could easily recover from such a small blunder.

You leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “Boldness is often rewarded, don’t you think, marine hunter?” Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the marble-like skin, the uneven rhythm hoping to distract in its randomness.

Mihawk’s gaze darkened, his eyes flicking down to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Rewards come in many forms,” his voice was a seductive drawl. “Some more satisfying than others.”

You stopped the patterns, nails digging tenderly into hard muscles as you traveled down.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound low and inviting. “Well, I do aim to satisfy.” You pursed your lips, emphasizing the word. Your fingers continued their path, slipping to rest on his belt buckle, playing with the metal. “But satisfaction is a two-way street. What would it take to make you happy, Mihawk?”

His hand moved, a distracting caress tracing up your thigh, stopping right under the hem of your dress. The touch was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine. “Happiness is a fleeting emotion,” he said, his eyes boring into yours. His fingers roamed back down, nails digging softly in the plush skin, mirroring your previous actions. “I prefer something more... enduring.”

Fuck.

He was good.

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly dry. “And what might that be?”

He smirked, a predatory gleam taking over the amber hues of his eyes. “Isn’t that your job to figure out, little marine?”

You bit your lip trying to come back. He wasn’t just good, he was almost your match. You could feel the unbridled heat of desire starting to swirl through your veins at the challenge. “I’m very good at my job,” you whispered, your voice dripping with insinuations as you leaned closer, your lips a hair’s breadth away. “I’m sure I can find a way to please you.”

Mihawk’s fingers traveled back up your thigh, right past the hem of your dress, dug in before the curve of your rear, the pressure a mix of pleasure and pain. “I wasn’t aware, the marines sent whores to negotiate their deals.” He looked down at you, a sneer nearly breaking his lips. 

You felt a sliver of satisfaction. He’d almost cracked. Soooo, he had standards. He didn’t like things too easy, did he? You could play with that. 

You laughed, your hands roaming up, palms flat against his chest. You traced the sharpness of his jaw. “Oh no.” You brought the tips of your fingers to his lips. “I’m not here to whore myself out. But if it brings you to the table, I’m sure I can find the sweetest cunt on the grand line for you.”

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing through them as he considered your words. You were suddenly reminded of how he held every card, how you were at the mercy of his every caprice. You only happened to hold his attention for now, only happened to entertain him enough for him to let you and your squadron live. He was THE marine hunter. It didn’t matter if every officer in the establishment were to pull their weapons out and point at him. He’d be fine and you’d all be dead. The tension between you crackled like a storm about to break, every touch and every word a loaded gun.

“What a tempting offer,” he finally said, his voice a low purr that sent your heart racing in more ways than one. “But I find that I prefer a more... personal touch.”

To punctuate his point his hand reached further, against the curve of your ass, before coming back and digging in your hip, pressing you down to him. You almost moaned, every fiber of your being fighting the primal urges that strained to be free. You let out a silent gasp instead. This was going too far, getting out of your grasp. A mistake. An admission of your desires. You were slipping more by the moment. You moved your hand up, giving the signal for everyone to vacate. You’d have to do this alone, you wouldn’t risk so many lives on your inability to handle one man.

Mihawk noticed the subtle movement of your hand, his eyebrow arching with curiosity and a hint of amusement. “Calling off your dogs, are you? Either you’re very confident or very foolish,” he commented, his tone teasing yet edged with something sharper.

You felt a touch of annoyance prick at the edge of your mind. He was rubbing it in. Toying with you, trying to tease out reactions. Even though you felt anything but confident, you flashed a daring smile, the tension between you sparking with the undercurrent of unsaid words. 

You resumed your mindless patterns on his chest, slowly getting lower and lower. "Let's just say I would rather handle the finer details of these negotiations with more privacy. Make room for more... satisfying outcomes."

His fingers continued their dance along your side, dipping dangerously close to forbidden territory. Mihawk's smirk deepened as he seemed to see right through you, fixed right on your uncertainty. You felt yourself flailing, felt yourself losing your composure. 

“Privacy can certainly be... conducive to more fruitful negotiations,” he murmured, a dark caress relishing on the hold he held on you. He leaned in, reaching for his glass of wine. He took a slow sip, watching the gears turn in your head before putting it back behind you. “So what is it you want?” He asked, his hand grabbing to your chin, moving your head side to side with an appraising look, making you look at him.

You took a steadying breath, leaning into his touch, playing along with his game. “Oh not much,” You cooed, hand reaching his at your face, splaying it along your cheek, brushing your lips on his palm. ”I’ve only been instructed to get you to the negotiation table, nothing more, nothing less.” You dragged his hand down, spreading it along your throat bringing it over your heart. “I’m sure I could at the very least get you to consider it?”

It all happened too fast. You heard the sound of glass shattering on the floor before you registered the change in perspective. The hold he had over your throat was harsh as he pinned you down to the table, the remnants of the wine pooling in the tile like spilled blood.

“You think you can just waltz in and sway me with a few promises, like a common man?” There was something nearing disappointment in his tone and you realized you’d messed up. You’d been too hasty, too forward, he had been hoping to play longer. “How about this little marine, show me how badly you need me to do what you need and if you’re entertaining enough, I might consider it.”

The shift in Mihawk’s demeanor was almost terrifying in its intensity, and you struggled to keep your composure as his grip tightened on your throat. Your mind raced, trying to find a way to turn the situation back in your favor. The room was deathly silent in its emptiness, the tension palpable and if it wasn’t for the stiffness of his crotch against yours you’d think you’d lost all of your cards.

It might just get you killed but you arched your back beneath him, pressing into him. Your thighs trembled at his side as you struggled for breath but still, your hands grasped at his over your throat, pushing him further against you, cutting your airflow almost completely. If he wanted a show, then you’d give him one he’d remember until his last moments on earth.

Mihawk’s grip on your throat tightened for a second and you thought for an instant that this was it, that the underworld awaited you. But before darkness could cloud your eyes he loosened it, his gaze glinting with a mixture of curiosity and dark amusement. You could feel the rapid beat of your heart echoing in your ears as you gasped for breath, your whole body shaking beneath his. The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment, every sense heightened.

“You’re quite the performer,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that only served to enhance the heat building between your legs. “But I’m not easily swayed by theatrics. Show me something real.”

You swallowed hard, your throat still aching from his grip, but you forced a smile. “Real, you say?” You let your hands glide away from his wrist, trailed your curves, and slipped the straps of your dress off from your shoulders, revealing more skin and black lace. “I can do real.”

Mihawk’s eyes darkened with interest, his gaze tracing the path of your hands as they moved. He released his grip on your throat, his fingers now trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a searing embers in their wake. The intensity in his stare was almost overwhelming, and you knew you had to find a way to keep control of the situation, even if it felt like you were barely holding on.

You grasped his hand, guiding it along your bare skin, to the plushness of your breast. “What is it you truly desire, Mihawk? Power? Control? Or perhaps something more... visceral?” You practically moaned out the words. 

His hand lingered on the lace, pushing it aside, fingers tracing lazy circles. The air between you was electric, charged with unspoken promises and the underlying tension of a predator toying with its prey.  This was a delicate game. You let out a soft moan, arching your back further, pressing yourself against him, rolling your hips.

A smirk broke on his lips as he saw right through your little performance. He knew exactly what game you were playing, and it was clear he was enjoying every moment of it. His hand moved with deliberate slowness, tracing the curve of your breast, his touch a maddening mix of gentle and firm. The control you sought seemed to slip further from your grasp with each passing second.

“And what do you propose, little marine?”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I propose we make this interesting. A game, if you will. You test my… resolve, and I test yours. We both get what we want.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “A game, you say? And what are the stakes?”

You bit your lip, your hand guiding his lower, your fingers ushering his along the dripping lace of your underwear. “If I can prove my worth to you, you agree to come to the negotiation table. If I fail...” You paused, letting the weight of the words hang between you. “If I fail, you can do with me as you please.”

He pushed aside the ruined fabric, the pads of his fingers meeting your slick before dipping inside. “You’re playing a dangerous game, little marine.” His smirk widened as a moan escaped you. “What makes you think I can’t just take what I want?”

The words hung in the air, thick with implication. You felt the intensity of his gaze boring into you, the heat from his touch searing into your skin. As though to emphasize his point, his thumb found your clit, tracing slow, deliberate circles, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your body, mewls you tried to muffle out of your lips.

You swallowed hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “You could,” you admitted, your hand wrapping around his wrist as he moved his fingers in a come-hither motion, pressing all those delightfully right spots. Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, fingers trembling, nails digging into him as a wave of ecstasy washed over you. You struggled to come back, half-lidded eyes meeting his. “But I’m sure I can make it much, much more entertaining for you if you decide to play along.”

His eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and dark curiosity. “You certainly know how to make an offer enticing.” He leaned in close, his breath touching your lips. “But from where I’m standing you’re already breaking.”

He was right, you were so close to falling apart under him. "Am I not to your pleasing?" You asked, voice trembling against his. You reached up and discarded his hat, your fingers seeking to tangle in his hair. “Am I not entertaining enough for you, marine hunter?”

He chuckled, his lips brushing over yours. His fingers continued their tantalizing exploration, pushing you closer to the edge with each deliberate movement. He was testing you, pushing your limits to see how far you could go. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity, you were determined to hold your ground.

“You are quite pleasing,” he admitted, his voice was thick with lust and its intensity almost sent you over. “But I wonder, how much more can you take before you beg for mercy?”

You bit your lip, a mixture of defiance and desire burning in your eyes. “I don’t beg, Mihawk. That’s what makes it interesting.”

His smirk widened, his fingers pressing deeper, eliciting another soft moan from you. “Bold words, little marine. Very bold indeed. Let’s see if that’s true.”

His lips met yours, slow and teasing, a dance of dominance and submission, a battle for control, a negotiation of its own. He moved against you with a practiced precision, each movement calculated to draw out your reactions. You could feel the intensity of his desire, the raw power behind each touch.

You were close. So fucking close. 

You swore under your breath as he suddenly stopped.

“I wonder what will make you break the fastest.” Satisfaction was evident in his voice as he felt you flutter around his fingers. “Denial or pleasure?”

Your breath hitched at Mihawk's words, the sensation of his fingers lingering just out of reach driving you to the edge of your sanity. This was a dangerous game, one where you had to balance the razor's edge between control and surrender. If… if you managed to hold out long enough… even he couldn’t resist lust forever. 

You couldn't let him see just how close you were to breaking.

Drawing on every ounce of willpower, you forced a sly smile. Your hands left his hair and traced down his chest. "Why not try both and find out?" 

He interrupted their path as you reached his belt. Deftly he brought them over your head, his weight pinning you entirely in place as he started moving his fingers again. His eyes gleamed as he looked down at you, relishing the arch of your body against his, relishing your struggle. 

He leaned close, his breath hot against your ear. "Now, now,” he tutted at you. “You can’t just skip ahead. Let's see how long you can endure."

Before you could respond, his lips descended on yours again, demanding and possessive. The kiss was bruising, filled with the same intensity that characterized every touch and word between you. His fingers made you see stars, their exploration agonizingly slow, teasing you mercilessly, never quite giving you what you needed.

You moaned into his mouth, bucked against his hand, your every instinct overtaken by a desperate need for release. The tension between you was unbearable, every nerve ending screaming for more. 

He stopped and started again and again and again, until you struggled with your breath and your whole body quivered and sang to each of his demands.

Mihawk's lips left yours, trailing down your jawline to your neck, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that almost made you lose your mind. "You're holding up better than I expected," he murmured against your skin, biting softly on your exposed nipple before soothing it with his tongue.

You barely managed a breathless laugh, closer to sobs than anything. "I told you, Mihawk. I don't break easily."

He chuckled, a sound that was both dark and amused. "We'll see about that."

His fingers moved with a different purpose now, driving you closer and closer to the edge, fast and hard. You could feel the tension coiling within you, the impending release just out of reach. And still, he held you there, teetering on the brink, refusing to let you fall.

It was maddening, the way he controlled you so effortlessly, drawing out every ounce of pleasure and frustration until you thought you might lose your mind. And yet, you couldn't help but crave more and he couldn’t help but to push you further, to see just how far you could go before you finally shattered.

"Please," you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

You felt his smile against your skin. “There we go,” he drawled out the words. “The little marine knows how to beg after all.”

With a sudden, devastating precision, he drove you over the edge, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm to bring you to the peak of ecstasy. You cried out, your body convulsing with the force of your release, your muscles straining against his hold.

As you came back to reality, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you gasping at the sudden loss. He brought his hand to your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. “Taste your resolve, little marine.”

You opened your mouth, taking his fingers in, your tongue swirling around them, tasting the remnants of your desire. The act was a surrender and he watched you with contentment, his gaze victorious.

“Good girl,” his voice was a satisfied purr, one that made your mind feel fuzzy and your body hot. “Now let’s see how well you break under pleasure.” 

His hands moved to your hips, his grip firm as he repositioned you with ease, brought you closer to the edge of the table. You felt some of your slick cooled by time, seep into the fabric of your dress, against your lower back as he pulled you over the puddle of arousal that had been slowly gathering on the wooden top.

His movements were deliberate, calculated, his eyes never leaving yours as he took off his belt, the leather sliding through the loops with a whispering sound. He eyed it for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his lips before his attention came back to you. 

“Will you be a good?” His tone was threatening. “Or do I have to restrain you again?”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. The challenge was unmistakable.  “I can be good,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but it sounded unconvincing, even to your ears. The thought of being powerless under his hold once again was somehow unbearable.

Mihawk’s smile widened, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I don’t think you can, little marine.”

With a swift motion, he looped the belt around your wrists, pulling it tight enough to restrain but not to hurt. The leather bit into your skin, the sensation unnerving.

”You’re just waiting for a chance to turn the tables, aren’t you?”

You quirked your head to the side, a hint of defiance shining through. “Can you blame me?” He let go of your hands and you made no effort to keep them up, letting them drop to your stomach. “It’s not fair if you hold ALL the cards.”

“Fairness is a luxury, little marine.” His hands moved to your thighs, pushing them apart with a firm, insistent pressure. “A luxury one can rarely indulge in when playing to win.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze raking over your form, something you couldn’t decipher spreading on his features, an intensity you’d only ever seen on wild animals.

“I must admit, you’re quite the sight.” His fingers traced the edge of your underwear. With a swift motion, he tore the delicate fabric away, leaving you completely exposed. “But I think you’ll be much more entertaining once broken.”

Your breath caught in your throat in a small hiccup, the threat in his words not escaping you. Your eyes stood at a standstill as he deliberately slowly undid his pants.

His cock met your heat, gathering your slick and the soft pressure on your oversensitive clit made you want to twist and buck beneath him. He brought one of your already trembling legs over his shoulder, his hand roaming up and down in a soothing touch. 

You felt his tip at your entrance, the slow delightful stretch as he entered you in a tortuously unhurried advance. Your entire body reacted to the sensation, you arched beneath him, your eyes fluttering close, your wrists strained against your bindings desperate to hold unto something, anything to ground you. The pleasure was intense, almost overwhelming and as he met your cervix you couldn’t help the sharp cry that escaped your lips, nor the tears gathering in your eyes.

“You’re so tight, little marine,” Mihawk chuckled, taking in every detail of the moment and searing it in his mind. “So responsive. I can feel you clenching around me, trying to hold on.” 

His movements were controlled, each thrust calculated to draw out your reactions, to push you closer to the edge. You wouldn’t beg. You wouldn’t cry for mercy. You were so close. Each drag of his cock against your fluttering walls was heavenly. The room seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the sensation of him inside you. 

You could feel the dam within you beginning to crack and then his hand found your clit once more and your breath stopped. It was too much. You came around him with a desperate gasp.

He didn’t stop, his thrusts still perfectly controlled. You knew the overstimulation was coming but it didn’t prepare you for the moment it washed over you. Your eyes shot open and makeup blurred tears stained your cheeks. You fought as though it was a matter of life or death. It was too much. Too fucking much. But his hands held you firmly in place, unable to escape his relentless assault.

And then a second orgasm rippled through your veins, blinding and even more intense than the first. 

But he still didn’t stop. Your cries stuck at the back of your throat, sobs wreaking your body. 

“Please,” you couldn’t help but beg again and again, your limbs so taut beneath him it was painful.

As his laugh hit your ears, you realized he didn’t care. Realized he was having fun. Your body twisted violently beneath him, too harsh for him to control and he let out an annoyed click of his tongue before flipping you over, the edge of the table digging hard into your hips as he entered you again. 

“Mercy,” you pleaded, wrists straining so intensely against your bindings that you knew you’d be nursing those red marks for days.

“Already?” His hand kneaded your ass roughly, pushing you even more painfully against the wooden top. “How disappointing, little marine.” His touch snaked up along your spine and tangled forcefully in your hair, keeping you pinned down and struggling against his hold. “I’m just getting started.”  He punctuated his statement with an especially sharp movement of his hips.

Your legs kicked in the air as another orgasm rippled through you, and you felt your arousal drip down your thigh and your drool seep out of your redded lips.

The world was careening around you and you couldn’t breathe and waves of pleasure washed over you so fast that your mind couldn’t keep up anymore. You eventually went slack beneath him, your entire body surrendering, and only then did his rhythm start to falter. 

He turned you back around, and you didn’t struggle, fully pliant for him. His fingers found your lips, played with the spit on your tongue, kept your mouth open as he reached closer to his own release. 

“Mercy,” you begged one last time, your words muffled, your lips wrapping against his fingers.

And he smiled, a predatory, victorious smile and you couldn’t help but think he looked ethereal in this moment. His hips stuttered one once more, his seed hot inside you and you clenched around him, white blurring your vision for the umpteenth time. 

He slowly pulled out, his gaze dropping to your entrance, watching his cum dribble out with a lust-blown stare. Your whole body still shook in the aftermath, your breath scattered and you spasmed at the feeling, a last vestige of submission as you whimpered. 

His fingers left your mouth and almost tenderly wiped your tear-stained cheek, brushing strands of hair that had been plastered on your sweat-covered skin behind your ear. His gaze stayed on you, considering.

“You’ve been more interesting than I expected,” He admitted as he pulled back up his pants.  “Very well, I’ll consider your offer on one condition.” He gently unraveled his belt, his hand lingering on your wrists and you gave a sharp hiss of pain he seemed to drink in with delight. 

“And that is?” you asked, your voice sounding far away, not your own.

He lazily passed the leather back in the belt loops, put back on his hat, making you wait.

“You’re the one who handles the negotiations. Just you and I. No one else.”

A slow smile of victory made its way to your lips.

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Masterlist

Might consider making a part 2, but don't hold me to that.

[bachiras-toaster]

our girlfriend : ̗̀➛

RYOMEN SUKUNA x f!reader x YUJI ITADORI

wc: 2.4k

cw: somnophilia, sukuna and itadori fighting over control of itadori’s body, voyeurism? sukuna fucks the reader while itadori watches, sukuna’s dirty, dirty thoughts… yuji is of age

Yuji had been fighting a demon. A literal demon.

Yuji was never afraid to admit how much he loved you. He adored being close to you and never wanted to spend a single second outside of your presence, and this included during times like sleeping. He had completely lucked out when it came to his relationship with you and loved it when you stayed the night in his room to simply watch movies before dozing off in his arms. In the purest of ways, Yuji Itadori loved sleeping with you.

However, tonight seemed to be a little different. The atmosphere was warmer, the room was quieter, and all in all, it just left someone with the perfect opportunity to take advantage of the situation that they were in.

Being the big spoon, Yuji had always slept with your back facing his stomach and his arms wrapped around your waist. It made him feel closer to you and it meant that he could bury his face in the gap between the back of your head and your spine. Although, it seemed that you had gotten a little too close for comfort tonight with your body shifting minor amounts in your sleep, causing your ass to grind gently against his crotch as your snored softly through your pleasant dreams. This had usually never been a problem for Yuji and he never ever minded whenever you moved against him, but tonight, it was someone else who took the initiative to make the move.

He tried to fight back, really fight back, to prevent Sukuna from taking over his form, but it was no use. He felt weaker in his tired state, yet awake enough to want to keep Sukuna from doing anything stupid, especially to his girlfriend. It was like he was battling the worst of his nightmares, all while he was still very wide awake.

He tried his best not to shift against you, praying that you wouldn’t wake up, as he screamed at Sukuna in his own mind for even thinking of doing something so wrong ans perverted. Although, the taboo of it all was what enticed Sukuna in the first place. That, and the fact that you just felt so good when you grinded up against him like that. He couldn’t help but think these awful thoughts, after all, he had never been able to take over Yuji while the two of you… Did anything.

Eventually, Yuji had lost the fight against Sukuna, which allowed him full control over his body. Though tonight, he had no murderous intention on his mind, no thought to kill or slaughter any woman or child. No. This time, his head was caught up with feelings of pure lust, which was arguably even worse to Yuji as it meant that he was surrendering his body to allow some monster to violate his girlfriend without her knowing. It didn’t stop him from yelling at Sukuna from the back of his mind, but king of curses was surprisingly good at ignoring all cries for attention and pleas from the man of the body in which he had stolen.

Sukuna, still laying behind you, slowly ran his hand up your shirt until his palm was able to cup a handful of your breast in his palms. The wicked smile that appeared on his lips as he steadily shifted up from his position to look over your slumber form was one that displayed pure evil. Yuji couldn’t help but watch from his own eyes as Sukuna’s fingernails gently tugged at the hem of your shirt to pull it over your chest to reveal you soft tits to his lustful eyes.

“We have such a pretty girlfriend, don’t we, Itadori?” Sukuna grinned as he settled his hands on your plush thighs, which had barely been covered by your short pyjama bottoms. The sound of Sukuna addressing you as their shared girlfriend was enough to make Yuji’s blood run cold with anger and frustration at the fact that he was still trapped behind the screen of his eyes, not being able to so anything but watch.

“If you don’t stop touching her I’ll drag you back here and kick your ass myself!” Yuji yelled inside his own head, causing Sukuna to chuckle softly.

“I’d like to see you try that.” He simply let out as he began dragging your shorts down, your panties going down with them. “It’d give me some entertainment seeing you try to fight back as I have my turn with our girlfriend.”

“Stop calling her ‘our’ girlfriend! She’s mine, not yours!” Yuji shouted, almost breathlessly as he fought endlessly for control again, to no avail.

“Stop being so selfish. Just give me twenty minutes, at least.” Sukuna’s grin had faded and his eyes darkened at the sight of your pussy on display to him after he had dragged your shorts and panties down to your ankles. “You’ve had her to yourself all this time. It’s time you learn how to share.”

Sukuna promptly ignored Yuji’s helpless and frustrated cries as he pushed down his sweatpants and boxers just slightly to allow his erection to spring forward. Unfortunately, even though Yuji himself felt no lustful thoughts, Sukuna had control over his body, which meant that his dick was now hardened just at the sight of his girlfriend’s sleeping beauty.

As he held your legs slightly further apart, he watched the space between your cunt and his cock with extreme focus as he lined himself up between your thighs before pushing himself in slowly, forcing a short grunt to fall off of his lips. His eyebrows widened as he felt himself push further inside of you and his eyes quickly darted to your face to see that you were still sound asleep- No reaction whatsoever. Seeing that you could still snore through the situation, that dark smirk creeped up onto Sukuna’s lips.

“Fast asleep and she still takes us so well.” He groaned in a humoured tone as he began to shift his hips back and forth, drawing his cock in and out of your pussy. “Never before did I think that it would feel this good to be inside our girlfriend while I’m in control.”

His hips began to buck into you at a steady pace now, the sound of the bed creaking and skin slapping against each other as well as Sukuna’s low grunts filled the room. He was admittedly a little disappointed that he wasn’t able to hear the same loud moans and calls for his name the same way he could hear them when you had sex with Yuji, but it was still just as good to be in this position. There were faint whimpers that danced into his ear as his cock found your g-spot every time- Must’ve been from you subconsciously feeling the sensation in your dream.

Sukuna’s hands greedily gripped at your thighs, your waist- Wherever he could see that he could touch. He was really taking advantage of the moment where he saw fit and pawing at any bit of plush skin that he could find as he drove his cock into you.

The clenching of your gummy walls around his veiny cock was enough to make Sukuna go wild. Although he was technically fucking you with Yuji’s dick inside his body, it was all the same to him. He could still feel that pleasurable sensation, the feeling of his climax building up after about fifteen minutes of pure euphoria as he pounded into your sweet pussy.

“If this is how it feels, it makes me question why you’re so reluctant to touch her this way more often.” Sukuna growled hungrily as his thrusting began to grow even more violent as his palms squeezed both of your thighs on either side of his hips. “Doesn’t she look so helpless? I know you have the strength to pin her down and fuck her whenever you want to, so why don’t you?” His eyes trailed your stomach before going back up to your silent face. “If it were me in control 24/7, then she wouldn’t even get a chance to say no before I have her underneath me.”

That one line caused Yuji to let out another mental scream of anguish as he felt like punching a hole in his own mind. He couldn’t believe that this was really a situation that he was watching right now. It was like watching another man having his way with the person he loved.

“Fuck…” Sukuna laughed out as he lifted his head a little rewards the ceiling, chuckling huskily as the feeling of adrenaline washed over him. “It’s even better when she doesn’t fight back.”

“You’ve had enough time, now let her go!” Yuji pleaded.

“You’re too gentle with her.” Sukuna interrupted, once again ignoring Yuji’s attempts at trying to reason with the disgraced one. “Asking her if ‘this is okay’ and being overall really soft with her like she’s a piece of glass. How does it not drive you wild? How have you never had the urge to just do whatever you liked with her without asking if she’s okay with it first?”

“Because consent is important and I care about how she feels!” Yuji spat out. “Surrender your body back to me now!”

“I haven’t even gotten to the good bit yet though…” Sukuna smirked, obviously referring to the opportunity he’s about to get to cum inside of you. There was a sort of madness that sparked within Yuji after hearing that, now even more than there had been since this whole thing started.

Wanting to reach that high even quicker, Sukuna picked up the pace and pounded himself now even more desperately into you. Watching your breasts bounce up and down as his cock slid easily in and out of your soaking cunt, it made him wish that the moment could last forever. He felt at a pure high in the situation he was in and it made him genuinely consider forcibly switching out with Yuji whenever he liked simply to have his way with you more often without being fought on it.

You probably wouldn’t understand what was going on if it happened, and you would just think that Yuji was a little more hornier and touchier than usual if Sukuna felt like fucking you, but that made the idea sound even better to him. If Sukuna could simply swap out with Yuji and get to fuck you while you simply complied thinking it was your loving boyfriend, then that practically gave Sukuna all of the freedom in the world— And it excited him. He never truly understood how beneficial it was to him that Yuji had a girlfriend until now.

Sukuna could feel the sensation building up in his balls, and he was just seconds away from release. He gripped onto your hips tightly and licked his lips in anticipation, waiting for the graceful moment to arrive.

However, he was eventually met with disappointment as Yuji had finally won his body back from Sukuna.

As soon as the mental marks of Sukuna’s presence over his body had faded away, Yuji immediately pulled out of your body. Unfortunately though, he immediately felt the effects of being denied his own orgasm, which admittedly caused his to whine at the fact that he couldn’t cum. Though, it was more of a loss to Sukuna who had been so close to releasing his cum inside of your pussy and admiring you as you slept soundly with your cunt leaking with his seed.

But Yuji spared no moment to try and go back as if nothing happened, trying desperately to suppress the memory of that moment and the view of Sukuna forcefully fucking you in your sleep.

He swiftly grabbed at your shorts and panties to pull them back up the where they were before and lower your shirt once again in a gentle manner to cover the parts of you that had been exposed to Sukuna just moments prior. As he also tried tried to stuff his erection back into his pants, he felt himself groan with frustration as he saw that he was still hard, despite having his body taken over by the lustful one. He supposed it was because he was feeling the after effects of orgasm denial and the fact that he was still knelt hovering above his girlfriend, but there was no way that he was going to take advantage of you the same way that Sukuna did.

Though, as he shifted slowly to make his way off the bed with the intention to go to the bathroom and get rid of his boner himself, he felt your palm latch onto his wrist and prevent him from leaving. It had seemed that you had just woken up, completely unaware of the fact that Yuji and Sukuna had just previously been fighting for control over your body and just knowing that you had woken up to see your boyfriend with a tent at his crotch.

“Yuji, if you felt that way, why didn’t you wake me up?” You softly smiled at him, your eyelids still half-closed from just waking up as you gestured towards his erection.

He gasped and stared back at you with surprised and widened eyes as he saw that he had woken you up with all the moving. His face flushed with a bit of embarrassment.

“I just… Didn’t want to disturb you.” Yuji gulped.

“So you were just going to leave and take care of it yourself?” You pretended to frown as you pulled him back against the pillows of the bed. “That’s what I’m here for, right?” You hummed softly against his ear as you very steadily went to climb on top of his lap, straddling him.

Although it was completely consensual now and Yuji did at least want his boner to be taken care of, he hated that Sukuna could still watch from behind his eyes, especially after what he had done to you.

As your hands slowly roamed his hips and stomach before grabbing at the waistband of his sweatpants to pull them down once again to free his pulsing cock, Sukuna watched with clear, dirty intent from the back of Yuji’s mind, wondering if there was ever another perfect time to jump in again and take the pleasurable moment all for himself.

[groundzerosgirlfriend]

A/n: Just binge watched all three seasons of Dr. Stone and Senku and Tsukasa can do whatever they want to me! Bark Bakrk woof Awooga!

Soft boyfriend Tsukasa: That revived you in this new stone world with the 'miracle fluid' after gathering a strong enough army, to ensure your safety at all times.

Soft boyfriend Tsukasa: That barely wants his right-hand man Hyoga to be around you unless it's absolutely necessary going out of way to forage, fish, and hunt with you.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That sits beside you for quality time as you sew and talk his ear off about everything that runs his mind and although he could spend his time elsewhere, where else would he want to be.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That is still as sweet as he was 3,700 years ago instead of carrying your books to school, he carries any prey you caught, any basket of mushrooms, and any firewood (He doesn't want his gorgeous girl working hard, what type of boyfriend would he be).

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That ignores all the other attractive women (much to the disappointment of Minami) in his empire throwing themselves at him much preferring to keep his sights set on you. His one and only.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Whose heart breaks as you finally see him firsthand destroy a statue of an older gentleman the crumbled rock around his feet and his gut twisting as your eyes prick the slightest tears.

Soft boyfriend Tsukasa: Who doesn't follow after you when your quick leave his vicinity not wanting to pressure you into talking to him, knowing how empathetic you are about a lot of things (It's one of the things he loves about you, but right now it's biting him in the ass).

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Whose heart beats harder than it ever has when comparing it to any of his grueling wrestling matches after a week of silence on your end you sit next to him at the campfire site just leaning your head on his shoulder.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who's about to apologize for slaughtering those statues in front of you and explain his reasoning behind his uncouth action is surprised when you tell him 'You don't mind.'

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who stays quiet with ears open as you express that although you don't like what he's doing, you condone killing innocent people statues or not, but you won't question it or force him to stop knowing it has to be for good reason.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who places his huge hands-on top of yours just giving a gentle squeeze of acknowledgement and thankfulness, because in this moment no words need to be said as the fire crackles in front of you two.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who is now happier than he thinks he's ever been having both you and his newly revived sister free from her dreaded comatose (with the help of Senku) at his side.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who smiles the slightest bit and chuckles softly as he watches from the sidelines you entertain and play with his younger sister grateful that the two of you get along so well and even wondering if one day you would want a family with him. A blend of both of your genes.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That sacrifices his life with a spear piercing through his lung at the river side when Hyoga attempts to attack you and Miria. The last thing he sees before he falls into the river is you and Senku reaching out for him in a desperate attempt to catch him.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: After his epic battle with Senku at his side he spends his last minutes alive breathing ragged and hoarse with you and the renowned scientist. His head in your lap and holding each other hands as he chuckles at Senku's attempt at small talk.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: That whispers out a barely heard "I love you" but before you can even comprehend it and much less respond his eyes softly close, and his breathing comes to a permanent stop.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who unknowingly has you and his sister by his side the entire time he is in cold sleep. Barely leaving the makeshift refrigerator as you tell him stories and talk his ear off knowing that you won't get a response.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who when he's finally revived and healed from what were once permanent wounds hugs his teary-eyed little sister and looks around the cave space for you inconspicuously knowing you couldn't be far.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who finally spots you in the very back of the group your lip quivering as he cracks the softest of smiles and hold his arms open for you to rush into as you cry and snot all over his bare chest comforting you with the fact that he was alive and well now.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who even though was dead for months on end in that cold refrigerator somehow knew that you were by his side the entire time thanking you for never giving up on him.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who sits with you on the cave floor simply murmuring low sweet nothings in your ear as you cling onto him as if to make sure he's really alive and well, your head pressed against his chest to hear his heart beating once more.

Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who says "Let me say it properly this time, my dear. I love you."

Extra: Soft Boyfriend Tsukasa: Who could most definitely manhandle you like a little ragdoll but refrains from it since you've never expressed interest in such rough treatment. But after he tosses you over his shoulder to carry you out the cave without asking in the heat of the moment and hears your delighted giggle, he'll be sure to bring that up with you.