#seal new world marriage

[swordgrace]

𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃, 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃.

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

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

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.7K.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A low rumble vibrated through Cregan’s chest as he drew you as close as he could, tracing his calloused digits along the soft curve of your jaw. “You are very beautiful,” He murmured, timbre edged with a delicious husk that made your knees buckle. You shivered, something that he took note of. “Are you cold, wife?”

You nodded, sucking in a sharp breath when his lips neared yours. “I am.” A squeak escaped you, followed by a steady exhale. You had been kissed before, but the extent of your experience abruptly stopped there. You imagined that you wouldn’t be cold for much longer.

His lips met yours, the kiss tender yet passionate, deepened by your husband. Cregan found your mouth to be most pleasant, pliant and perfectly soft, yet malleable. You reciprocated his kiss, hands moving to press against his chest.

“Will it be painful?” You whispered, likely in an attempt to soothe your gnawing nervousness. Agony was something that didn’t coexist with pleasure, in your mind. You wanted this moment to be special and sacred, binding yourself to your husband.

Cregan hesitated, gently cupping your face with his rough palm, tenderly stroking along your cheek. “I wouldn’t dare harm you, princess. You have my word.” He assured, and it confirmed his suspicions — you hadn’t been with another before. “It might be painful, but I will be gentle. We don’t have to start tonight.”

Admittedly, it was quite the opposite for you — you wanted to start tonight, but you longed for clarification first, and he gave it to you. You shook your head, hands slipping toward the front of his tunic, as if silently pleading with him to stay. “I want to.” You insisted, looking like the picture of innocence.

As much as he liked you sweet and pious, Cregan had a feeling that it would be somewhat different after this. His gray hues swirled with a heavy desire, dropping towards the delicate curve of your mouth. “May I?” It was all that he needed to ask, and as soon as you nodded, he brought you in for a heated kiss.

Despite his appearance, a stone-faced wall of muscle and Northern strength, he was incredibly gentle with you. He held you against him, never tight enough to cause you discomfort, hands softly kneading into your hips. You kissed him back as best as you could, feverishly hot, butterflies erupting within your stomach.

His beautiful wife — Cregan could not imagine another, now that he had you in his arms. The way you kissed him was innocuous and tender, as if you were also terrified of making a mistake. Your purity, a precious thing indeed, would be tarnished and dissolved after this evening.

The thought of you, round and swollen with his child, was both tantalizing and tempting — well within his grasp. Cregan wondered if they would take after you, pale-headed with lilac hues, or perhaps himself. If the Gods were good, they would be a blend of the both of you, a dragon and a wolf.

You shivered again when your burly husband curled his hand into the back of your wedding gown, fingers slipping between the gaps, feeling inklings of your bare skin beneath. “I’ll keep you warm, wife.” He rumbled, pressing a kiss against your jaw. It wasn’t from the cold, he knew this, but his honeyed words made you flustered.

He dropped his cloak, allowing the thick curtain of fur to land against the floor. He was impossibly broad, as thick as stone, tunic loose yet snug enough to accentuate his brawn. You felt your breath hitch within your throat, swallowing another barrage of nerves.

Cregan’s mouth assailed your neck, hand peeling away the collar of pale fur in order to reach you. Every kiss was passionate, wrought with need, yet maintained that air of gentleness. Roughness was in his nature, but he wouldn’t dare fall into that pit on your wedding night.

You tasted ambrosial, sweet velvet beneath his lips, which peppered themselves wherever they could. He listened to your soft gasps and needy whines, your hands having curled into the coarse material of his tunic. He wanted to show you just how perfect you really were.

Suddenly, your gown felt much too tight and constricting, as if you would drown within it. You alleviated such sensations by loosening the bodice, tugging on the ivory strings. The fur became unraveled as Cregan gently draped the garment over the back of a chair.

Left in the thin, humble trappings of your smallclothes, nothing more than a corset hugging a linen slip, he silently appraised you with the hunger of a wolf. You appeared to be shy, somewhat coy in his presence as he looked you over, large palms settling against the swell of your hips.

“Why do you shy away?” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together, tone one of genuine concern. You were the prettiest creature he’d ever seen — most Targaryens were known for their beauty, but you possessed it both ways, inner and outer, and that only made you more incomparable in his eyes.

Swallowing your nerves, you chewed at the inside of your cheek, hands fidgeting together. “I suppose I worry about what you’ll think,” A sore insecurity, to be sure, but something most young maidens possessed. Cregan’s gray hues softened, one hand stroking along the length of your spine. “That I won’t be suitable.”

A huff escaped him, a threadbare chuckle as he shook his head, pressing a kiss against your forehead. “You worry too much, princess.” That deep, thunderous timbre of his, husky with his Northern accent, shook you right to your core. “You are my wife — and you are perfect.” He assured, kissing along your jaw.

You exhaled, hands reaching for his tunic, wanting to see him without his clothing. There was a rush of warmth that crawled across your flesh, surging through your blood as Cregan pressed endless kisses against your skin. He trailed from jaw to collarbone, hands loosening your corset.

With a brusque tug, your gruff husband tore it from you altogether, tossing the bodice aside. “I will show you how perfect you are.” He rumbled, voice a low, heavy caress near the shell of your ear. You shivered, gaze half-lidded as you tugged insistently at his tunic.

The message was unspoken, but conveyed nonetheless as your mountain of a husband let his hands drop from you, only to tug the coarse, dark linen over his head. He was burly, broad-shouldered and thick with muscle, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his face.

Amusingly enough, Cregan possessed more of a cherubic, youthful face than you expected, yet his nose was slightly crooked from having it broken, faint scars upon his face. His eyes seemed wisened, old beyond his years. He reached for your slip, gathering the material within his hands as he looked to you for consent.

With your confidence rejuvenated, you nodded, breathless and wanton as you assisted him in maneuvering out of your thin smallclothes. The brief lick of chilled air dragged across your bare flesh, causing your nipples to harden, pebbling with the chill.

Fire danced across your physique, tantalizing and gorgeous, beautiful beyond compare. Even Cregan seemed speechless for a beat, throat reverberating with a low grunt as he motioned toward your shared bed.

You half-expected him to pounce on you, grab your hips and stake his claim, but he simply resorted to watching you slide onto the bed, covered in furs of all varieties. The frame rustled slightly, and you laid down, a picture of true perfection. Your crown of pale tresses seemed to stick out amidst the darker pallor of the furs.

Anticipation churned violently within your gut, arousal slick and mounting between your thighs as Cregan stalked closer, removing clothing in the process. You watched with bated breath as he loosened the ties of his breeches, removing them altogether.

It was to be expected — a man of his indomitable stature likely had the assets to accompany it. You nearly choked at the sight of him, terrified that it really would hurt, even if he was gentle. You sucked in a sharp breath, bewildered when he had reclined beside you instead.

“I won’t bite, my Lady.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly patting his lap as you crawled closer. He effortlessly picked you up, letting you straddle his hips as he admired you from below. “Hm.” With a hum of approval, he caressed along your form, stroking from your thigh to your breasts.

It was agonizingly deliberate, made to explore and study instead of acting upon salacious impulses. Cregan observed you closely, palm gently cupping your breast, thumb swiping over your nipple. You gasped, careening into his sensual embrace.

A flurry of desire bubbled within him when you planted your smaller hand atop his, as if encouraging him to knead and grope at his leisure. He seemed pleased, and so did you, a low hum escaping you as he caressed your silky flesh.

He made sure to show that same amount of attention to your unattended breast, slowly kneading into you. Those tempestuous gray hues never tore themselves away from you, boring into you with a searing intensity.

Warm slick coalesced between your thighs, only mounting and growing when he continued to touch you, hand lifting to cup your chin. You absentmindedly leaned into his touch, eyes becoming half-lidded as you rocked forward within his lap.

The sensations you felt were new and exhilarating, goosebumps dancing across your spine, heat pooling between your legs. “May I touch you?” You asked, tone delicate and sweet, a display of your piety and innocence. He quite enjoyed your desire to explore alongside him, and he gave a nod of his head.

“You don’t need to ask, princess.” He soothed, jaw tensing as your soft palms settled against his chest. Cregan’s stormy eyes didn’t leave you, carefully tracing each plane of your curves, the downy texture of your skin, the lilac glint of your eyes.

Your fingertips dragged across his musculature, committing each scar to memory, features becoming hot beneath his incendiary stare. He was your husband now — you imagined that scenarios like these would become commonplace. “You are so handsome,” You whispered incredulously, lips curling into a gentle smile. “Perfect.”

Cregan appeared perplexed, a soft huff escaping him as he trailed his calloused palm across the small of your back. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had called him perfect and meant it — and he knew that you did. He neglected to act, allowing you to explore as much as you pleased.

Awestruck, he watched with silent hunger as you leaned down, lips pressing against his own. A soft grunt escaped Cregan as he caged you in, mouth passionate as it tangled with yours. He enjoyed the feeling of your body snug atop his, your skin resplendent, like velvet against the grating bite of stone.

Dragging a hand from the swell of your hips to the nape of your neck, he gripped the base of your skull, gingerly kneading into your pale tresses. He kissed you again, oozing with desire as he stole every wisp of air from your lungs.

He pulled one leg up into a v-shape, supporting your back to keep you upright atop his lap. You could feel the thick girth of his cock nudge against your backside, causing you to shiver at the foreign sensation. “Do you trust me?” Cregan murmured, roughened fingertips dragging over the pliant flesh of your thigh.

There was an indiscernible look within his eyes, chestnut brows drawing together slightly. Your breath hitched as you nodded, and Cregan settled against the furs, strewn on his back. Those strong hands of his continued to nudge you forward, bringing you from his warm lap to his chest, and then a touch closer.

“What are you …” Uncertain yet filled with exhilaration, you had no idea what Cregan was planning. Your slick cunt neared his mouth, and your Northern paramour did little to slow the process, bumping you forward until you hovered above him. “C—Cregan, C —” Your voice tapered off into a whine.

His tongue raked hot embers across your cunt, a sensation that immediately made your knees buckle. You used the headboard to brace yourself, mouth tearing open as a strangled gasp escaped you. Part of you feared sitting down entirely, but Cregan coaxed you down, hands digging into your haunches.

Your reaction was beyond worthwhile, body trembling and coiled, hand scrambling to brace yourself as the other fervently dug into his chestnut tresses. You never imagined that such pleasure was even possible, filling you with an excitable ecstasy that sank into your bones.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Even when he rested beneath you, he still seemed indomitable, perhaps a touch intimidating. You didn’t look down, body involuntarily trembling and rocking forward, back beginning to arch. “Gods, a—ah!” You stammered, thighs twitching and quivering as his tongue gently flicked over your clit.

Visibly flustered, you felt so strange and smitten, riding your husband’s face as you would your dragon. It filled your belly with a rousing fire, one bright enough to consume the rest of your body, licking along the length of your spine.

A low rumble emerged from Cregan’s chest, a vibration that rattled you to your core. He wanted you to have your fill, take as much as you could and drown within pleasure. Your maidenhead was still intact, a virtue that he did not treat lightly. He didn’t feel the need to breathe, lapping at your cunt with a wolfish gluttony.

You were undeniably soaked, like a fine stout upon his tongue as he devoured you. Cregan was passionate, each stroke of his tongue ensuring that you felt it all, bliss erupting throughout your stomach.

Chasing after what you imagined to be your release, you happened to peer down for a moment, finding the contented face of your husband, whose face was lodged between your legs. His brows were creased in concentration, tongue prodding against your entrance before languidly flicking back to your clit.

It was only when he pursed his lips around that sensitive clutch of nerves, that you nearly collapsed around him. Even your draconic blood could melt, tempered by the hardened ice of your Northern paramour. You gasped, hips stuttering as your thighs squeezed at either side of his head — fortunately, he didn’t seem to care.

The only thing you wanted was this, forever — your husband’s tongue between your legs, a sanctuary in the North with a potential family, a life in which you could finally find your solace. You continued to squirm and writhe, moaning his praises into the warmth of your chambers.

As you approached your peak, you grappled with Cregan’s tresses, tugging at the root as you rocked forward, again and again. “Cregan,” You moaned, countenance contorting into a look of sheer pleasure, bones crawling with an insatiable heat. “Cregan, Cregan, please!” It was a siren’s song of desire.

He did not stop, but he didn’t change course, either. Instead, he simply continued on, suckling at your clit as he intermingled it with timed laps of his tongue. Your release slammed into you, white-hot and blistering, gnawing away at your stomach as that coil of heat effectively snapped.

A whine emerged from you, one that was nearly breathless as you rocked forward again, legs shaking from ecstasy as you rode out your peak. Cregan, ever the dutiful husband, lapped at your nectar, savoring the taste, the scent of a pleasurable aftermath.

“What —” You had to catch your breath again, attempting to recuperate as you sat back on his chest instead, thick, burly muscle plentiful enough to cushion you. “Where did you learn how to do that?” It was an innocuous question, one so sweetly-spoken that it nearly caused Cregan to chuckle.

He did, however, smile — a rare, sentimental gesture reserved only for you. It was threadbare, and if it weren’t for the nature of your relationship, one might’ve thought him to be rugged and indifferent. “You need only ask, princess, and I will oblige.” His voice was a deep rumble that warmed your insides.

You thoroughly enjoyed the nickname of princess — a term of endearment given your status, but you were a princess no longer. “I am a lady of the North now, aren’t I? A princess no longer,” You proclaimed, skin shimmering with perspiration. “What will you call me, now?” You asked.

“Hm,” Cregan contemplated, pressing a kiss against your leg before he sat up enough to have a good look at you, chin still glistening with your slick. The sight was lewd, enough to make you unbelievably flustered as he grew closer, nearly chest-to-chest with you. “Lady Stark would suffice.” He murmured.

Something amorous burned within you, a smolder that soon turned to ignited sparks. “It would please me greatly.” You hummed, running your hands over his biceps before Cregan gently changed places with you, moving you beneath his bulk, comfortable upon your back.

Soft was a mere understatement — he could feel himself melt. It was not your dragon’s blood or heat that made him crumble, but your heart. He could imagine you as the mother of his children, belly round with his heirs, the Lady of Winterfell, a Hightower no longer.

He settled between your legs, and you gasped when his cock gently glided against your slick core. Cregan knew to temper himself, to be as gentle as he could with it being your wedding night, but his resolve was steadily diminished in your presence. He steeled himself, pressing a string of kisses along your body.

Without thinking, you unconsciously goaded Cregan into a point of near-frenzy. Your hands found the taut, trunk-like muscle of his biceps, visage filled with a sense of awe and adoration. “A child would please me greatly.” You confessed, having no clue what it would do to your husband.

Cregan stopped, digits curling into the thick furs on either side of your head. It took every fiber of his being not to fuck you then and there — and he wouldn’t, it wasn’t right for him to take your maidenhead with such roughness. His fantasy became reality, a visceral, beautiful vision that made him grunt, jaw unnaturally tense.

His rough palm soothingly stroked along your thigh, lust swelling within him like a blizzard, a violent storm of need that transcended all bonds of propriety. “Does Lady Stark want me to put a pup in her belly?” Cregan rumbled, tempestuous hues ignited with a fire that demanded to be extinguished, sending shockwaves right to your core.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, shuddering at the sound of his voice — an edged husk, like the rumbling of thunder before a deluge or the shaking of a mountain. “Yes,” You exhaled, searching his countenance, only to find desire. “I would.”

The Gods were testing him, aiming to see if he would break beneath the pressure, but he refused. Cregan lowered himself over you, lips molding themselves against yours in a hot kiss. Your hands remained poised atop his biceps, barely able to wrap themselves around the thick, corded muscle.

He wasn’t much of a talker, and it quickly dwindled into deep grunts and heavier sighs as he aligned his cock with your entrance. He made sure to part your legs, keeping them spread as he began to push inside of you. The sudden intrusion made you gasp, startled at the twinge of pain, the discomfort of it all.

Cregan despised the mere thought of causing you harm, and even he was willing to end it all then and there. “We don’t have to continue, beloved.” He rumbled, pressing a soothing string of kisses along your face. The endearing nickname made you preen, nails digging into his arms.

“No, I — I’m well enough,” You breathed, insistent on continuing. Cregan deliberated, but when you let out a low whine, he obeyed your command. “Gods, I need you, Cregan.” Pitched with a wanton resonance, you urged him to keep going.

Your neediness made his blood run hot, and he nodded, sluggishly resuming his pace. He continued to tilt his hips forward, cock feeding into you, inch by agonizing inch. Cregan felt the desperate bite of your nails clutching into muscle, leaving behind angry crescents.

You were never fully warned of the pain, the discomfort that accompanied pleasure. It was always sold as some fantasy, particularly for men — nights of heavenly passion resulting in bliss. For you, it was simply a marital duty to provide your husband with an heir, but this transcended that. Passion and affection sparked between the both of you, and it felt right.

As Cregan finally bottomed out inside of you, he allowed you time to fully adjust, rocking into you at a lackadaisical pace. He continued to shower you in kisses, wherever his lips could reach, giving particular affection to the crook of your neck.

Whatever discontent you felt, you hastily pushed it aside, tossing it into the recesses of your mind. Instead, you focused on him — on how incredible he made you feel, the warmth you experienced in his presence. One of your hands slipped to thread within his chestnut tresses, mouth agape.

You took him so well — better than expected, and it filled him with a sense of pride and ardor. Cregan pressed hungry kisses along your throat, nose buried into the hollow of it, right beneath your jugular. He continued to go slow, afraid of causing you further pain.

Cregan repositioned his hand, leaving one lodged beside your head, the other sinking into your haunch, digits tenderly kneading into your thigh. It was an offer of reassurance, and he watched your countenance shift from discontented to relaxed.

“Move,” The sharpness of your command brought him to heel, and he very nearly smiled — it was there, the ghost of it toying at his lips. Bringing his hips back and then forward, you moaned, knowing that the sting of pain would soon blossom into pleasure. “Please.”

Molten heat swirled within the pit of your stomach, arousal thick between your legs as Cregan began to find his pace, a rhythm that shook you to your core. He was so very gentle, even for a man of his herculean mass and muscle. He took care of you, soothingly caressing your thigh as he thrusted into you.

His cock filled you completely, a stretch that would take you more than just one night to adjust to. Your maidenhead was gone, your cunt tight around his length, pulling him in again and again.

Cregan’s breathing became heavier, somewhat labored as he consummated your union. Each snap of his hips held meaning, beyond the creation of an heir. It was tenuous with feelings, a burning sentiment he felt for you, ardor that had grown into a fire.

Admittedly, his mind was hazy, fueled by desire and the mere thought of you wanting a child — you had asked it of him, demanded, and he was at your mercy. Cregan couldn’t have gotten any luckier with you, the most resplendent woman he’d ever seen.

Imagining you full and round, still as lovely as the day he set his eyes upon you, a mother and a dragon — it was nothing short of true perfection. He chased after it, evident by the growing vigor and passion in each thrust of his hips, cock nearly tearing you into two.

No matter how gentle and careful Cregan was with you, it was to no avail, but you no longer cared. “Cregan,” You moaned, lifting one leg to hitch it around his waist, and that only seemed to further spur him on, allowing him to hit new depths. His throbbing length nearly kissed your womb, filling you to the brim. “Cregan!” You cried.

For a moment, you feared being split in-half by your mountain of a husband, but he slowed enough to let you recuperate, throat reverberating with carnal grunts. The rumbling of his chest, the heat that radiated from him in waves — it was all perfect.

It was driving him mad, the way your cunt constricted around his cock, the way in which your back arched from the furs, chest brushing against his. Cregan grunted, jaw set and brows furrowed in concentration as he kneaded into your thigh, something to alleviate his tension.

His thrusts deepened, became passionate and invigorated with love, and each snap of his hips made your head spin with delirium. You were drunk on desire, clinging to him as if you were a drowning maiden, hand splayed against his shoulder.

Whenever he happened to become a touch too vigorous, he felt your nails dig deep into his flesh, leaving behind the reddened marks of your consummation. Cregan was getting close, chest erupting with labored pants as he pressed his forehead against yours.

You moaned, body bending beneath his passion, malleable within his hands. His cock throbbed within you as he sought to spill his seed, face against yours, lips occasionally connecting in a series of sloppy, warm kisses. Everything felt incredible, in ways that you couldn’t comprehend.

He was so burly, a thick wall of impenetrable muscle that seemed to envelop you entirely, shield you from everything else, from all harm. Strands of chestnut stuck to his temples, flesh glittering with perspiration from the exertion of lovemaking, coupled with the heat in your chambers.

With another brusque thrust of his hips, he settled inside of you, reaching his peak with a subtle groan. His seed filled your cunt in hot ropes, more than enough to take, if the Gods were good. Cregan exhaled, feverishly hot as he began to recuperate, neglecting to remove himself from you for a few moments.

“Are you alright?” Cregan murmured, ensuring your wellbeing first, above all else. A stinging soreness settled into your thighs and your core, but you would survive. He didn’t completely obliterate you, thankfully — you wondered what he would be like, unrestrained.

“Yes,” You smiled, visibly flustered beneath the intensity of his stare. “That was incredible.” Your confession made him huff, likely one of amusement as he pressed a kiss against your forehead. Even you glittered with sweat, but that was to be expected.

You already wanted more — and you nearly asked it of him.

Lascivious fantasies took root within your mind, and the mere idea of him being rough and completely domineering made your cunt throb. You could not do it now, given how exhausted you were, but he had certainly unlocked a new side to you, a side that you were unfamiliar with.

Cregan pulled himself from you, propping your hips up beneath a feathered pillow to ensure that his seed would take. He rested beside you, drawing you into the bulk of his muscled arms, allowing you to rest your head against the expanse of his chest. “You were perfect.” He rumbled, roughened digits stroking along your spine.

It pleased you to know that your husband was satisfied with you, much to your delight. “I am glad,” Relief rippled through you as you inched closer, perfectly slotted against his frame. “So were you.” Your pleasant accolades made him smile, fracturing his stony exterior.

“There will be plenty of time for this, that I can promise you,” Cregan was more concerned with getting to know you, his beautiful lady-wife, Lady Stark. “I would like to start with you.” He murmured, savoring the sensation of your fingers tracing across his abdomen.

You blinked, seemingly surprised by Cregan’s genuine interest in you. It made you happy — perhaps you could have both. Moments of learning and moments like these, where you could indulge in pleasure.

“Would it offend you if I asked you to do both?” You questioned, warmth crawling along your body as Cregan squeezed the swell of your hip, gray hues sparkling with a semblance of mirth.

“It wouldn’t,” Cregan mused, timbre dropping to a lull, a husky octave that seemed to envelop you in its stoicism and warmth. “It pleases me to know that Lady Stark possesses the appetite of a dragon.” His teasing made you squirm, but he simply caressed you and held you closer.

With a coy smile, you lifted your head, pressing your lips against his, asserting your still-lingering desire for your husband. “Not a dragon,” Your tone softened with a sweeter resonance. “A wolf.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not steal my work and claim it as your own or translate it onto other platforms.

[sinner-as-saint]

the alchemy

Mob!Bucky x Reader 

Run-through: About a decade ago you left your home and ran away, looking for a fresh start after having had your heart broken by the boy you loved. Now you’re back and turns out Bucky Barnes – the same man who once broke your heart – is adamant on tormenting you some more. But why? Why does he want you back at all cost when he was the one who once pushed you away and crushed your heart like it meant nothing to him? What secrets has he been keeping for almost a decade? Most importantly, what truly happened that night he broke your heart? 

Themes: forced marriage/marriage of convenience, angst, mob!bucky, metal arm, fluff, smut, possessive!bucky, childhood friends-to-enemies-to-lovers trope, bratty!reader, mentions of violence, explicit language, slow burn-ish, HEA 

a/n: new mob!bucky pics dropped–

“I do.” You said in a sombre voice, with blood dripping from the cut on your lip as you sealed your fate and married your worst enemy. 

Bucky’s face was bleeding too, your nails had done some damage earlier when you both got into a physical altercation like wild animals. You nearly smirked when you realised he looked worse than you did. 

Then again you both looked like you went through hell as you stood here, at this makeshift altar, in the middle of what used to be the foyer of your father’s mansion before Bucky and his men shot at it until it was nothing but rubble, broken glass, and cracked marble. 

Messy hair. Cuts and bruises all over your bodies. Dishevelled clothes. Your white jumpsuit had your own bloodstains on it, and his all black suit was torn in certain places. But he looked every bit the man they say he is. Dangerous. Cold, dark presence. The large bruise on his jaw was beginning to get darker now, thanks to the many punches from you. His near shoulder length hair was surprisingly looking neat. It pissed you off. 

You looked like a mess too. And for a brief second, as his blue eyes looked down at your throat, you knew he could see a matching bruise forming around your neck from when he’d pinned you down to the floor earlier with that damned metal arm. 

No one was dead, none of your people and none of his. Thankfully. But right now, as you married the man standing in front of you, you felt dead inside. 

“You may now kiss the bride.” Was all you heard and you remained still as Bucky grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into him. 

You resisted for a moment, but then he pulled you harder until your chests collided and you had no choice but to remain pressed against him. “I’m tired of these games, princess.” He hissed in a lowered voice, looking down at you with his merciless blue eyes. 

You stared back at him with equal contempt. “You’re gonna regret this, Barnes.” You sneered, in a hushed voice. Not that the injured family members and men surrounding you – both his men and your father’s guards who stood and watched the show in disbelief and shock would mind the disrespect for each other in both your tones – but you didn’t want to add to the ridiculousness of this situation. 

“Oh?” He taunted with a faint smirk. Only then did you notice the small cut on his upper lip. It brought you a little solace. “You’re my wife now, you will do as I say.” 

The bitterness in your tone matched his as you said, “We’ll see about that, husband.” 

You could tell he’d accepted the unspoken challenge, and he would do anything to win. After all, everything was a game to Bucky Barnes. He didn’t care who he used, who he manipulated, or who he tossed aside. He paraded around like he owned this world and everything and everyone in it. 

Bucky scoffed then leaned in to kiss you, hard. It wasn’t a loving kiss in any way. It was possessive though. Like he was putting on a show for whoever was watching, making sure everyone in this dilapidated room understood that you were his now. 

You kissed him back, angrily. You despised him. Your entire family did. But they couldn’t save you this time. Bucky’s attack was unexpected. Your guards were unprepared. You were the last line of defence and this… union was necessary. You had to offer something, anything. Otherwise Bucky and his guys threatened to burn down your half of the city and turned it to ash immediately. 

But it wasn’t always like this. Your families used to be allies. You actually grew up with Bucky, he tolerated you enough back then and you had always had a crush on him. 

Then that night happened almost a decade ago… 

It was your twentieth birthday party, and your father made an announcement which you were not ready for. 

He announced to the ballroom filled with important people that you were to marry Bucky, and that both families were beyond happy to transform their friendship into something more solid through this alliance. 

You remained frozen in place for long minutes after that announcement was made, even though your heart raced like never before. No one had told you about this, but judging by the way your family hugged and congratulated Bucky’s family you understood that this was all planned. 

You kept that smile on your face though, as people walked over to congratulate you. You looked around and tried to find Bucky in the crowd to see if he knew about this but he was nowhere to be found. 

You were certain he was here just a moment ago, leaning against one of the pillars and brooding as always. And he’d just disappeared. 

The announcement made your heart flutter incessantly. After all, you’d always had a huge crush on Bucky. How could you not? He was the boy you grew up around, he had pretty eyes and nice hair. Sure he was broody and rarely ever smiled but you liked how it suited his bad boy personality. And your young heart was weak for the handsome boy with tattoos and blue eyes. 

After people were done congratulating you, you discretely walked out of the party and decided to look around and try to find Bucky. You hated how giddy you were. Sure, Bucky was broody and rarely ever laughed. He spent his entire time glaring at you then getting jealous when you talked to other guys. But you had liked him since forever. 

You looked all over your father’s mansion. Bucky was nowhere to be found indoors. So… maybe the pool area outside? You started walking in that direction, feeling like a princess in your white ball gown as you walked down an empty hallway, a faint smile on your face as you looked for the man you were meant to marry soon. 

Maybe Bucky knew about this announcement. Maybe he was okay with it. Maybe this would be your fairytale in real life, you thought. Maybe you’d melt his frozen heart and everything would be perfect. Maybe he liked you back all along and you just never knew! 

“...marry her?” 

Your smile vanished as you stopped right before you stepped outside onto the patio. Was that Bucky’s voice? Was he talking to someone? You quietly stepped closer, hiding behind the plants as you tried your hardest to listen to what he was saying. 

You could see him, standing on the black tiles by the pool. He had his back to you, and he held a phone to his ear. His broad shoulders and lean waist accentuated by how well that black suit moulded to his muscular body. You watched as he ran his fingers through his short black hair in frustration. 

Who was he talking to? 

“No!” He barked at the phone. “Did you not listen to what I just said? I don’t want to do this!” He yelled, not bothering that anyone around might hear him. “I tried to talk them out of it! This is so fucking stupid!” 

You blinked in surprise, unable to process what you were hearing. 

“I don’t care what I have to do, but I will not marry her.” He said with enough venomous certitude that a silent tear fell down your face. 

All your previous delusions turned to nothing but heavy disappointment. It made you feel stupid. This gown felt stupid. The diamonds around your neck, around your wrists and in your hair felt stupid. How stupid of you to think this was all going to end well? How stupid of you to think your childhood crush actually meant something? How stupid of you to think that there was a chance he liked you back? Of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t have ignored you for years if he did. 

You couldn’t stop the sudden sob that escaped your mouth. Afraid that he might have heard, you took a few steps back and hid behind a nearby, tall potted shrub. 

Things were quiet for a moment or two. You heard him whispering so quietly you couldn’t make out what he said. Your face burned in embarrassment at the thought of him finding you here. You already felt stupid and childish, you didn’t want to get caught eavesdropping in this situation. 

But then he resumed talking on the phone. You couldn’t risk moving to look at him so you remained hiding, and listened. Your heart broke with each word that left his mouth. 

“And she’s so blind she doesn’t even see it.” He hissed, louder this time. “I barely tolerate her. Her whiny, and bratty attitude. I mean she’s a grown woman and still acts like she’s daddy’s little princess.” He scoffed. “You should’ve seen her today, she looks like a kid’s toy with that ridiculous dress on.” 

More tears streamed down your face as you heard nothing but distaste and irritation in his voice. This was the boy you had a hopeless crush on? This is what he thought of you? 

You didn’t need to hear more. This was more than enough to completely break you so you turned around and quietly walked back down the same hallway. You wiped your tears, and put a fake smile on as you went back to your party. This time with a plan in your head. 

You endured the party with a heavy heart. Faked some more smiles until it ended. You didn’t see Bucky again for the rest of the night, which was good. By the early hours of the morning, everyone had left. You wandered around that empty ballroom like a ghost that night. For hours. Thinking, plotting. It was clear Bucky didn’t want this. And now neither did you. But your families had announced it. So what exactly could you do? 

By the time the sun rose, you had already written a note to your father and left it on his desk. By the time the sky brightened, your bags were packed and you were already driving out of the mansion grounds. And you knew that by the time your father would go into his office and find that note, you would already be on a plane, on your way out of here. 

You didn’t give too many details in the note. You simply said that you were leaving, not knowing when or if you’d be back. 

Truth was, you had no solid plans. All you knew was that you needed to get away from home. 

You didn’t know that when you’d return home – almost a decade later, so much would have changed. 

Your father was angry. Livid actually, that you’d been away for years without contact. You briefly explained why you needed to leave. And how you’d been able to make a name for yourself elsewhere. But after he was done berating you for what you did when you were twenty and stupid, he filled you in on all that you’d missed in the past decade almost. 

Some important points were: your family and Bucky were no longer allies, but were now each others’ worst rivals but no one knew that. The city was now secretly divided – your family ruled and controlled one side, and Bucky ruled the other. 

“It’s just him now?” You had asked, and your father nodded. 

“A lot happened after you left, actually–”

A loud noise cut him off. Rounds of bullets shot at the windows of the house, from all sides it seemed. And it was pure chaos. You could hear your guards fighting back, but even by just hearing the commotion you could tell you were severely outnumbered. 

But whoever it was, they weren’t shooting at anyone, just at windows – making enough noise to get your attention and to get you to come outside. 

You marched out of the room despite your father ordering you not to. And you were halfway down the grand stairs when he walked in and spotted you immediately with a smug look on his face. 

Bucky. Walked in like he owned the place. He stopped in the middle of the foyer, which was now ruined. Bits and pieces of concrete and glass all over the marble floor. Flower pots destroyed, the gilded mirror in pieces as well. He made a mess of the home you grew up in and you almost shot him right in the heart there and then. 

Here was the man who once broke your heart after making you think for years that maybe you had a chance. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You hissed. You could hear your father coming to a stop on the landing several steps behind you. He was unprepared. You were armed with only one handgun tucked into your pocket. Your guards were outnumbered. This was a shitshow. 

The guards – his and yours – stopped firing and now just stood all over the place on high alert. And you knew, deep down in your gut you just knew something which you weren’t ready for was about to happen. 

“I see you’re finally home, princess.” Bucky just gave you a cold smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. The action drew your attention to one specific thing. The metal arm. You frowned at it in confusion, but didn’t react. 

But that word… ‘princess’ brought back memories which chased you out of this place. And it only fueled your anger. 

“What the fuck do you want?” 

He lifted his nose slightly in the air, like the arrogant prick he had always been. “I’m here to collect what I was promised.” His voice was strong and confident. “A bride. Now you have a choice, princess. Either we do this in peace and no one gets hurt, or…” 

He didn’t even have to finish his sentence because on cue, one of his guards sneakily appeared on the landing behind you, holding a gun to your father’s head. You froze for a moment. The look on your father’s face made everything so serious all of a sudden. You had to be extra careful here. 

“You wouldn’t.” 

He scoffed, “Wouldn’t I?” 

You argued, “It’s been almost a decade.” 

“I don’t care. We were supposed to marry each other–,” 

You cut him off, “Yes, and you didn’t want that, did you? I heard you on the phone that night.” You finally confessed. “By the pool. I remember every single word that came out of your fucking mouth. So don’t come here acting like you’re entitled to–,” 

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” He smirked, shaking his head. “Is that why you ran away? And didn’t come home for a decade? Because you spied on me that night and didn’t like what you heard?” 

That did it. One moment you were standing on the stairs, afraid that your father might get hurt and the next you had your gun out and shot right at his metal arm, knowing it wouldn’t hurt him but it would make him lower his guard for just a second. 

And that one second was enough to jump him and punch him right in the jaw. Fuck, it hurt but it also felt so damn good. All those years you’d been away, you were also training in your free time. And you knew you were good at combat. 

But so was he. A few punches in and he managed to throw you down on the floor and pin you to the ground with that same metal hand around your throat, keeping you in place. You didn’t know why his guards just stood and did nothing, as though they had been ordered not to shoot at anyone here. 

But you weren’t under any such orders, so you managed to land another punch to his jaw before he yelled, “Enough!” Right in your face. “Stop this shit, or I swear to–,” 

You cut him off by punching him again, trying to get free the moment you felt his metal hand get loose around your throat. He growled in annoyance and tightened his grip. 

“You’re like a wild fucking animal. Stop!” 

You gritted your teeth at the insult and scratched his face exactly like how a wild animal would. You tried everything, tried to punch him again, tried to scratch down his neck and arms which only tore his shirt instead of his skin. You went for yet another punch and only then did you feel another pair of arms – one of his guards – pulling your hands away from his face. You thrashed and tried your hardest to break free but you couldn’t and ended up biting your own lip rather badly in the process. 

“I fucking hate you, Bucky Barnes!” You hissed, defeated, and now with a bleeding, throbbing cut on your lip which matched his. 

Bucky kept his hand around your neck as he leaned in menacingly and whispered, “Hate me all you want, princess. But you will marry me. Right here. Right now.” 

And that’s how you found yourself kissing your husband, in the foyer of your father’s ruined mansion. With your helpless father, and the many guards as witnesses. 

You pulled away from the kiss, breathless and angrier than earlier. Jaws clenched, you were ready to tackle him to the ground again, maybe actually shoot him with your gun this time, but he spoke before you could say anything. 

“Let’s go.” He spoke, and like the loyal followers that they were, all of his guards silently walked out of your house. And Bucky grabbed your hand firmly in his and began pulling you out of the house as well. 

You resisted again. “Wait! You brute!” You pulled your hand away from his and ran back up the stairs to your father. “I ruined everything, I’m sorry.” 

He just hugged you and told you to be careful and be smart. And that he forgives you. You promised you’d come to see him soon. And then you left, refusing to take Bucky’s hand again as you walked out of your father’s house. 

You needed to think. You couldn’t fight him right now. Besides, it’s not like you married him legally. All Bucky wanted was to make a scene and you let him. For now. You’d need some time to come up with a plan and decide what needed to be done. But for now… 

“If you’re thinking about running away and disappearing for a decade again, you better stop. You’re not getting away this time. You hear me?” Bucky spoke, sitting next to you in the backseat of his car as the driver drove to his side of the city, to his house surely. That authoritative tone of his made you want to scratch his face again. 

“You seem to be under the impression that you’re in control here, Barnes. Just know, I could still shoot you right now if I wanted to.” You didn’t look at him, you looked out the window. At the city that had changed in your absence. 

“Ouch.” He faked his surprise. Then proceeded to put his arm around your shoulders to pull you into his chest, leaning down he whispered into your ear, “That’s not a nice way of treating your new husband, now is it?” 

You gave him a fake smile, ignoring the way your brain thought he smelled delicious, and reached into your pocket to pull out your handgun. Placing the cold barrel right under his chin you said, “Try me, husband.” 

The driver cleared his throat in nervousness and you didn’t want to traumatise the man so you pulled your gun away but left it in Bucky’s line of sight. He pulled away then, pulling his hand away from your shoulders but placed his metal hand on your thigh. A possessive move. 

Yet that didn’t bother as much. But the metal hand? Where did that come from? What happened while you were gone? 

He answered your questions voluntarily. “Got caught in a crossfire. I got shot too many times, the arm was beyond saving. So I had the metal arm made. It’s a very intricate technology, but it works just fine.” He said, flexing the hand on your skin. 

You didn’t miss the hidden sexual connotation in that last part of his sentence. And you certainly couldn’t ignore the way your body responded to the cold, metal touch. It looked… badass. Not that you would ever tell him. 

You tried to look out the window again, but his touch on your thigh was more distracting than you wanted it to be. It was all you could focus on. Just to stop thinking about it you said, “I don’t have any of my things.” 

“It’s all been taken care of. Don’t worry.” He answered, looking down at his phone. Acting like he didn’t know his hand on your thigh was messing you up. 

Still you frowned at his answer, “What do you mean it’s been taken care of?” Then you paused and thought about it for a moment, “Did you–” You sighed, “You knew I was coming, didn’t you? Did you have people spying on me?” 

He shrugged, “You thought I would let my betrothed be out there in the world without keeping an eye on her?” He scoffed, looking up from his phone for a brief moment, “Of course I did. I know everything about you. I even know all about that secret, women-only army you created.” He added, “I was half expecting them to pop out of nowhere earlier at your father’s house.” 

You were in disbelief. This whole time you thought you’d hid well. But no. 

“Where are they anyway? Your girls?” He asked, and for once it didn’t sound like a taunt. It sounded like he was genuinely curious. 

“Probably out hunting and beheading men who think they can get away with forcing women into marrying them by threatening to kill their fathers.” You gave him another one of your fake smiles, “I’ve trained them well.” 

Bucky smiled back. “Well good. When they get here to try and free you, we could unite our forces. We’ll be untouchable then, you and I. I have the money and you have an army.” He winked. “Ultimate power couple.” 

“You won’t get away with this, Barnes.” 

He looked out of the window and said, “I just came to collect what was promised to be mine that night.” 

You argued, bitterly, “Oh we both know what happened that night.” 

“I do.” He said, “But do you? Do you really?” 

You remained quiet for a moment. This was the second time he questioned your knowledge of what truly happened that night. As if you hadn’t heard him loud and clear on that phone call. 

“You–,” 

He cut you off and looked out the window as he said, “We’re home.” 

It had been a long day. And you were running out of energy so instead of arguing some more, you just followed him out of the car and remained stunned for a moment as you looked at his house. It wasn’t his family home. This one seemed new. 

It was just as large as your father’s mansion, just a lot more contemporary compared to the more Georgian architecture-inspired one you grew up in. 

Bucky’s house sat on a sprawling green and pristine property. It was a perfect blend of sleek architecture and a glass house, which allowed the right amount of privacy but also allowed glimpses of the warm, farmhouse inspired interior. Even from outside you could tell it was homey and bright inside. 

Before you could get a word out, you felt his hands on you again. You tensed up and almost hit him again in defence but before you could, Bucky was carrying you bridal style – literally – and marching towards the large doors of his ridiculously pretty home. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You questioned, squirming just a little in the intimate embrace. 

“Traditions,” He said, looking down at you, “Can’t have you trip at the doorstep and risk bringing bad luck into our marriage.” 

You frowned at him, reluctantly wrapping your arms around his neck for support. “You say ‘our marriage’ like it’s gonna be a real thing. It won’t, Barnes. I’ll be out of here before you–,” 

He used you to push open the door and the warm interior of the home shut you up. For some reason you never imagined someone like Bucky would live in a house that actually looked like a home. You pictured him living in some villain’s lair. 

But this was… beautiful. 

You squirmed into his arms until he finally set you down carefully. You stood there for a minute, in the foyer, just looking around. Then you couldn’t help but say, “It would be a real pain if someone just started shooting at the windows of your house like a madman, wouldn’t it?” You waved your gun in front of his face. 

“I’ll send people over tomorrow morning to fix your father’s house.” 

“You don’t even sound apologetic.” You scoffed. 

“I’m not.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Was it necessary? To shoot at my house like that? You couldn’t just, I don’t know, ring the doorbell to get me to come outside? You absolutely had to be a child?” 

He smirked then said, “First of all, that isn’t your house anymore. This is where you live now, and you will call this your home. Second of all, why blame me when you acted just as childish when you decided to run away all those years ago? Third of all, I did it because, well, I do like some drama.” 

You couldn’t not believe him. “You amaze me with your stupidity, Barnes.” 

“You amaze me with your bratty attitude, Mrs. Barnes.” 

You stepped closer to him, slow and in a threatening manner. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

You sighed, “You know you’re still that little boy who used to bully everyone when we played as kids.” 

He clarified, “No, I bullied you because you were annoying. Everyone else was fine.” 

“I hate you.” You said with enough hostility you hoped it would shut him up. 

It didn’t. “Well, see.” He took your hand in his and said slowly as if talking you down, “That’s something we’ll work on together as a couple.” 

You pulled your hand away and were so tempted to just– 

“Come,” he said, “I’ll show you where our room is.” You began protesting immediately but he cut you off by saying, “Stop being fucking difficult. We’re married now, act like it.” 

“I want a separate room!” 

“No.” 

“I’m not sleeping with you!” 

“Then don’t. But you will sleep in my bed. Like my wife should.” 

“You’re a fucking animal!” You tried tugging your hand free from his grasp. 

Bucky had had enough. So he pinned you to the nearest surface, which happened to be the closed door of his bedroom. He grabbed both your wrists in his metal hand and pinned them above your head. His face was just inches away from yours, and he stared deep into your eyes. 

Your mind immediately went to that harsh kiss you’d shared earlier. And you hated how your body squirmed just as the thought of it. You refused to think about it any more, but his mouth was just so, so close. The cut on his lip, the slight stubble on his cheek and around his mouth, the texture of his skin, you were picking up on details you’d missed. 

Bucky spoke in a calm, deep voice which sent shivers down your spine. “Let’s be adults here, okay? You stop acting like a brat, and I’ll stop treating you like one.” He said, pressing his chest into yours. “It’s been a long day, and I know you’re running out of energy as well so stop resisting me. If I was an animal, I would’ve dragged you to bed right now and would’ve made you mine in every sense of the word.” He whispered, his voice cold and dangerous. “But I’m not. So you will walk into this room, and head straight for a warm shower and after you’re done we’re gonna clean these wounds. Am I clear?” 

You nodded quickly, like an idiot entranced by his gorgeous voice. 

“Use your words, princess. Am I clear?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Let’s go.” 

— 

You leaned against the counter, wrapped in a fluffy robe and another towel wrapped around your wet hair, and Bucky was cleaning the cut on your lip. 

His wounds were all cleaned. It looked like he had used a different shower while you were in here. His long hair was damp and tied into a small bun, with strands of his dark hair falling on either side of his face. He had changed into a tight black t-shirt and PJ trousers. It was frustrating to look at him. Because he looked so damn good. 

Last time you’d seen him was when he was a twenty year old boy. He’d changed since. He seemed taller somehow. Or maybe it was just the muscles making him look bigger. 

You couldn’t look away from the metal arm. And the intricate details on it. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asked, throwing the used cotton balls and napkins in the trash can. 

You didn’t miss the way he was being gentle all of a sudden. Calm voice, calm movement. Very different from the man who’d forced you to marry him just hours ago. 

“No.” You answered, turning around to look in the mirror. The bruise on your neck was very much visible now. You didn’t notice Bucky approaching you again, you didn’t notice how close he got, not until he reached out and touched your neck with his warm fingers. 

And for the first time, he sounded genuine when he said, “I’m sorry. About that.” 

You met his eyes through the mirror and remained quiet for a moment. For a brief moment you thought back to that night. What if you hadn’t heard him on the phone? What if you had married him back then? Would this be a normal, daily thing? Sharing a bathroom, a bed? 

“I punched you. Multiple times. This makes us equal.” 

Bucky scoffed, then nodded. Then said, “Come to bed when you’re done.” And left you alone in the bathroom. 

Shit. You stared at yourself in the mirror. What a day. All you wanted was to pay your father a visit and maybe spend some days at home and then fly back to where you came from. Having your father’s house be attacked, getting married, and having to share a bedroom with the man who once broke your heart… yeah, all that wasn’t in the plan. 

You changed into some comfy PJs Bucky had brought you earlier and walked out into the bedroom. You found Bucky on his phone again, standing by the foot of the bed. 

“Which side do you sleep on?” He asked, not looking up from his phone. 

“Uh, right.” You answered, because for some reason now he felt the need to ask for your opinion. 

Bucky didn’t say a word as he moved to the left side of the bed and peeled back the covers before getting in. Like this was just another day. Like this was normal. You awkwardly walked to your side of the bed and just stood there for a moment. 

“Just get in bed. I won’t touch you.” 

He didn’t even look at you as he spoke and, well, the lack of attention from him bothered you. Oh what the hell. You pulled the covers and got under them. You curled onto your side, with your back facing him. 

Soon, you heard him click something and all the lights turned off. You sensed movement behind you but that was it. He didn’t touch you. In fact, there was so much distance between you two that your back felt cold. And now that annoyed you as well. 

You couldn’t sleep. 

An hour went by, you still couldn’t sleep. 

Another hour went by, and now you’d begun tossing and turning so much that you heard Bucky groaning. 

“Will you stop that?” 

“I can’t sleep.” You mumbled.

“Don’t make it my problem. Stop moving.” 

“Wow. Some husband you are.” 

Silence. Then you felt your body sliding across the bed as Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you into his warm chest. 

“What the–,” 

“Shh.” He cut you off, his warm breath tickling your cheek as he spooned you from behind. “It’s cold. We could both use the warmth. Now go to sleep.” 

You scoffed, but didn’t move. “Your fancy house doesn’t have a thermostat? Fix the temperature.” 

“I like this better.” 

“I better not find your hands wandering.” 

You moved around for a bit, finding a comfortable spot. Then you moved some more and Bucky tightened his arm around you and whispered into your ear, “Stop wiggling against my cock. I understand it’s our wedding night and all but I’m too tired to do anything.” 

Your face burned in embarrassment. You tried to put some distance between your bodies, even though you liked his body heat, but thankfully Bucky pulled you right back. 

“Did I say you can move?” He chided. 

“What now, I need your permission to get comfortable in bed?” 

“Brat.” 

“Asshole.” 

— 

You didn’t know when you fell asleep at night. But the heat from Bucky’s chest definitely helped. It must’ve been that. And in the middle of the night, you must’ve searched for more heat. That was probably the only reason why you woke up and found yourself sprawled all over him, face into the crook of his neck and both your hands under his shirt, legs tangled with his. 

“You call me an animal. But look at you. Touching me while I was sleeping.” He mumbled. “Shameless.” 

You pulled away so fast, but then regretted it. Because now you missed his warmth. You shivered even under the covers. “Would it kill you to keep your damn house a little warmer?” 

He just yawned and got out of bed. “Get ready.” He said, “We might have a guest coming over. And you have to be a good little wife and play host.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Oh you will.” He teased, “Soon.” Then he winked and walked out of the room. 

Well, he at least was giving you some privacy and let you have this bathroom all to yourself. Screw his and his mind games. First he barges into your house, forces you to marry him, then cuddles you to sleep. 

You caught yourself frowning multiple times while you showered, did some skin care, and found the closet on the other side of the room. You weren’t even surprised when you found a whole section filled with all you could need. All the shoes seemed like they would fit you, all the outfits as well. 

Nothing fazed you anymore. Not even the fact that your new husband might be a bit of a stalker. How else would he know your underwear size!? And there were drawers full of them. 

You tried not to worry too much as you got dressed. You were gonna get out of here soon anyway. 

Once dressed and ready for the day, you got downstairs and immediately heard Bucky’s voice, along with another voice. They were laughing over something. You found out where they were and approached the high-ceilinged, charming, farmhouse-inspired kitchen which blended with a spacious, cosy dining area. 

The other man had his back to you, but you knew that voice. Even though you hadn’t heard it in years. 

“Sam?” You couldn’t help but call out, lingering by the large doorway. Bucky remained leaning against the kitchen counter with a coffee mug in his hand, while Sam got up from where he sat at the breakfast counter. 

He turned around and his familiar, warm brown eyes met yours. He gave you a comforting smile. You, Sam, and Bucky all grew up together, along with some other kids from families similar to yours. And Sam had always been a sweetheart. You’d missed him. 

So you didn’t even hesitate to walk right into his arms once he opened them, wanting a hug. You squeezed him tight and said, “I thought I’d never see you again, Sammy!” 

Sam hugged you back just as tight, “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you in almost a decade.” He pulled away to look down at you before giving you a loud kiss on the cheek. Safe to say, he was just as handsome as he was when you left this place. “How have you been?” 

You looked over Sam’s broad shoulder and found a broody Bucky. “I’ve been better.” 

Sam got really serious, and was about to say something but Bucky’s voice rumbled from behind. “That’s enough hugging and smooching. Sam, stop touching my wife.” 

“Ooh, your wife.” Sam teased, before letting go of you and letting you walk out of his arms. “First of all, why didn’t you tell me you two were planning to get married this whole time?” He asked Bucky in an accusatory tone. “My childhood friends got married and I wasn’t even invited.” 

Sam sat back down at the breakfast counter, so he didn’t see the questioning stare you sent Bucky. So Sam wasn’t aware of the circumstances under which you got married? Of course he didn’t. Nobody knew, and Bucky wasn’t about to tell anyone 

“It all happened so quickly, Sam.” You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as you said, “Bucky was… impatient. Even my father didn’t have time to prepare much. It all just, you know, happened.” You spoke as you helped yourself to some breakfast, taking a seat at the table where you could see both men well. 

You didn’t miss the way Bucky’s jaws kept clenching and unclenching as you tiptoed the line between telling the truth and lying to Sam. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “I know how impatient he can be.” He glared at Bucky, who shook his head in disbelief. 

“I take it you two work together now?” You only asked because you remember how the parents would always talk about how wonderful it would be if these two boys worked together. Apparently they made a great team back then. 

“We do.” Bucky answered, placing his mug down before turning around and began chopping some things. 

“You see,” Sam began explaining in a playful tone. “After everything happened, Bucky was all along. Poor little princeling with no guidance and a kingdom to run.” You saw Bucky shaking his head at Sam’s words. Sam continued, “So I knew I had to step in and become his mentor. He wouldn’t have survived without me.” 

You made a mental note to ask about what ‘everything’ he was referring to, but couldn’t help but smile at the camaraderie between them, despite it all. Sam had always been a good company. He was the sun rays filtering through dark clouds, and Bucky was the dark, gloomy day who needed the sun’s brightness. 

“Wouldn’t have survived.” Bucky muttered, mocking his friend. “You helped me train sometimes. You introduced me to people. That’s about it.” He clarified, bringing over a bowl of chopped fruit over to you and pushed it towards you without a word said. 

You liked fruits for breakfast. And you assumed he remembered. But he did it all too casually. As if he did it every day. You didn’t want to cause a scene so you accepted the bowl quietly. 

“That’s about it?” Sam shook his head, then turned to you. “I took care of him like a parent–,”

“No you didn’t. You–” 

“–and this is how he treats me. I should’ve let you bleed out from that bullet wound that one time. Maybe you wouldn’t be here disrespecting me then.” 

You chuckled, clearly on Sam’s team. Bucky didn’t like that. “What about my wife then? Who would be taking care of her?” 

“I would.” Sam answered without missing a beat. “We all know if not you then I was gonna marry her.” He turned to you, knowing damn well he was gonna get a reaction out of Bucky any time now. Sam lived to mess with Bucky after all. He always did, ever since you were all kids. “Wouldn’t you have married me if Bucky had died?” He asked you with that mischievous smile on his face. 

“I–,” 

“You answer that and you’ll never see Sam again.” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes at you, before you couldn’t get a word out of your mouth. 

Sam smirked triumphantly. 

You rolled your eyes at Bucky and looked right at Sam and said, “I would’ve married you in a heartbeat, Sammy.” 

Sam went to grab your hand, surely to bring it up to his lips for a kiss, but Bucky threw a napkin right at him before he could. 

“You touch my wife again and I swear–,” 

“Must you always threaten people?” You asked, glaring at Bucky. 

He glared back. And opened his mouth to say something but Sam cut him off. “Hey, hey, kids. No fighting.” He quickly changed the topic, “Now, since you have gotten married and no one was there, how about a party? To announce it to everyone? We could invite the whole city.” 

Party. Yeah right. The last time you attended an extravagant party you had your heart broken. Not just broken, but stepped onto and crushed to a pulp. 

You went to say no, “Maybe we shouldn’t–,” 

But Bucky declared, “Absolutely we should. After all, we waited almost a decade to marry each other.” He looked right at you as he said that. “It’s time everyone knows you’re finally mine.” 

“Perfect!” Sam began planning immediately. He had always been the life of all parties, and he loved them. 

While you occasionally answered his questions, you didn’t stop glaring at your husband while you finished your breakfast. There was something he was hiding. You were certain of it. But what? 

— 

A couple days later, it was finally the night of the party. 

The past few days had been more or less similar. You’d always wake up sprawled all over Bucky’s chest, and he always made a teasing comment about it. You’d have breakfast in silence, after which he’d disappear and then he’d come home in the evenings. You never talked while having dinner. 

The one time you did talk, it didn’t end well. 

You brought it up at dinner. “I tried to go out today. Your people followed me into the city.” 

“Our people.” He corrected. Bucky didn’t find anything wrong with that apparently because he simply said, “And they’re your security detail. They’ve been ordered to follow you.” 

“So I don’t escape?” 

“So you’re always safe.” 

“Oh come on. You can’t keep me here forever.” 

He shrugged, “You’re not being kept. This is your home, we’re married. This is where you live now.” 

You stood up from the table.You didn’t care that the housekeepers you’d been recently introduced to could hear. “And who are you to make that decision for me?” You asked, in a surprisingly calm tone. 

He replied in a similar tone. “Your husband.” 

You sighed, trying your hardest to keep it all contained. “I have a life, you know? A totally separate life I’ve been living since I left this place. I have to get back to it at some point. You proved your point. Now let me go.” 

He ignored all of that. “I’m working on transferring all your businesses and staff here.” He announced. “I’m buying a brand new building in the city, you can have it and set it up however you want. The only thing I can’t find is your secret army of highly trained soldiers.” 

“You’ll never find my girls.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“They’re trained to outrun men like you. All men, in fact.” You added, “I made sure of that. I made sure they’d never be used and moved around like pieces on a chessboard then discarded by people like you.” 

“Sounds like you speak from experience.” 

“Fuck you, Barnes.” You spat before walking away. 

You made sure to sleep on the very edge of the gigantic bed that night, as far away from him as possible. But in the morning, you still woke up snuggled into his chest, on his side of the bed, like you’d been trying to burrow under his skin seeking warmth at night. 

You didn’t speak after that. You made sure to ignore him. Each time you left the house, to go see your father or to just roam around the city you’d missed so much, you’d look in the rear view mirror and find big, bulky SUVs following you around. 

And here you were now, after days of silent treatment, you stood in front of the large mirror in the closet of your bedroom and watched your reflection. Of course the bastard had chosen an extravagant evening gown for you to wear which looked eerily similar to the one you wore that night for your birthday almost ten years ago. 

Except this one was much more elegant. And looked a lot like a wedding dress. With its simple square neckline, thin straps, fitted bodice and a majestic skirt. All white and sparkly. The last time you felt like a princess, the night ended terribly. So this time you were afraid to even let yourself appreciate the beautiful woman in the mirror who stared back at you. 

You kept fidgeting, with the skirt of the dress, watching it swish around. You didn’t notice Bucky approaching you from behind. Not until he stood right behind you, his chest brushing against your slight exposed back. 

He looked… unreal in his all black suit. Shiny black tie and a small shiny pin. His hair was perfect as always, and his all black outfit really made his eyes seem bluer than ever. Or maybe it was the lights in this closet that did it. But it made you notice the lines by his eyes, which gave away just how much time had gone by. 

He was still that bad boy with tattoos whom you had a crush on, who made your race whenever he looked at you. Except now he was older, meaner. And your husband. Whom you hated. 

Did you? 

You tensed up when he placed a hand on your waist, right where the bodice and skirt were sewn together. You met his eyes through the mirror, but said nothing. You had no mean words to throw at him this time and neither did he. 

“You look beautiful.” He said, leaning in just a little to rest his cheek against your temple. 

You froze at the soft touch which drove you insane. You must be ovulating, you thought, because there was no way that mere touch was making your heart race like this for no other reason. You began breathing faster, that’s how fast your heart was racing. 

You almost leaned into his touch, ready to forget it all just for one moment of warmth. Of peace and quiet. Just one moment to appreciate that you looked beautiful and you had your husband’s attention and all was well. To appreciate that you two look great together. To stop fighting this weird alchemy between you two which kept drawing you to one another no matter what. But then you remembered. 

“Do I?” You asked, keeping your voice steady. “You sure I don’t look like a kid’s toy with this ridiculous dress on?” 

He remembered too, judging by the look on his face. He looked surprised, then briefly apologetic before settling on a familiar, broody frown. “What did I say about being a brat?” 

“I’ll stop being a brat when you stop being an asshole.” You scoffed. “You always were so… careless. With people. With everything. Always thinking you were above everyone else, ever since we were just kids.” You added, “I hate you.” 

He smirked, then grabbed your elbow and turned you around so he could look at you, or glare at you with his ocean blue eyes. “You didn’t hate me back then, did you?” He pushed you against the closest surface, which happened to be a wooden dresser. “You craved my attention back then. You used to find excuses to hold my hand when we were little. When we got older you used to hate it when I looked at other girls at school. Now look at you. You’re in my house, you sleep in my bed.” He leaned in, whispering in your ear, “You’re my wife. Then why do you keep resisting me, hmm?” 

“I was stupid back then. Wasted so much time trying to get your attention, and all I ever was to you was a whiny, bratty–,” You cut yourself off with a surprised gasp as you watched Bucky lower to his knees in front of you, his hands lifting the skirt of your dress. He was rough with it, crumpling it in his strong fists. “What are you doing?” You asked, shocked and surprised but not making a move to get away. “You– you’re ruining my dress.” 

He looked up at you, bunching some of the fabric near your waist and holding the front part of your dress up, pinning the bunched up skirt at your abdomen. As if he wanted to– 

Your entire face burned when you realised just how close and intimate this was. 

“I bought this dress. I’ll ruin it if I want to.” He spoke in that arrogant tone you weren’t sure you entirely hated at this moment. “You’re lucky I’m not tearing it off of you.” 

“And you’re lucky I’m not–,” 

He cut you off by leaning in and kissing your inner thigh. Just like that. As if you weren’t on the verge of arguing just now. You were still processing that soft kiss he left on your thigh, and he was already moving to spread your legs apart as he slowly looked up, waiting to see if you’d tell him to stop or push him away. 

You didn’t. 

His eyes remained focused on your face as his hand reached out and he ran his metal knuckles between your legs, along your wet folds through your thin underwear, making you shudder at his mere touch. You flinched at the cold, but didn’t pull away. 

“You’re dripping.” He commented, slowly sliding down your underwear. “Does arguing with me turn you on, baby? Is that why you do it all the time?” He smirked, finally throwing your underwear to the side. 

You glared at him, opening your mouth to argue yet again but you ended up just letting out a soft moan as you felt his metal fingertips gently trail up and down your legs. He chuckled at how sensitive and responsive you were. Bucky placed a kiss on your inner thigh again and you gasped.

“Looks like you haven’t been taken care of in a while.” He said, moving his fingers over your clit, circling it slowly. “Have you?” He sounded like he was accusing you.

“No.” You hissed, angry at how much you didn’t mind his touch. “You barged in and married me before I could go out and find someone who might–,” 

“I tolerate you talking to and about Sam because he’s our friend.” He cut you off. “But if I hear you talking about any other man, I promise I will be committing unnecessary crimes and it’ll all be on you.” He paused, glaring at you. “You hear me?” 

You nodded. Fuck he looked good from up here. 

He held your stare as he leaned in and placed his mouth to your core, giving your clit a firm such before his warm tongue slipped past your folds and teased your dripping hole. One hand holding part of your dress up while the metal one worked in tandem with his tongue, circling your throbbing clit and parting your wet folds with ease. 

“Should’ve known you’d taste like fucking heaven,” He whispered, almost to himself. 

You couldn’t hold the moans and whimpers in, feeling his stubble rubbing against your soft skin, craving more of it. You couldn’t help but slide hesitant fingers into his hair, pulling him closer. “Please, more…” You whined. 

That made him wild. And he ate you out relentlessly, taking his time and learning what worked for you and what didn’t, until your legs were shaking and your moans were louder. 

He slid his fingers, just a knuckle deep inside you and watched how much you loved that. “That feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” 

You only whimpered in response. 

When he was certain you were right on the edge, hips moving in a frantic way which made you grind against his fingers and tongue, only then did he pull away and let go of your dress before standing back up to face you with a condescending smirk. 

“You think it’s that easy?” He spoke, but you focused more on the wetness coating his lips rather than his words. 

You blinked a couple of times to break out of whatever spell he’d just put you under using that damned mouth and fingers of his. He’d… he’d dared bring you right to the edge. But hadn’t let you come. 

You were breathing heavily, feeling hot and tingly all over. 

He chuckled, enjoying the speechlessness which was rare when it came to you. “If you want more, then behave tonight. Be good and tell everyone how in love we are and all the nice things, and I promise I’ll take care of you later tonight. Okay?“

You knew what he was doing. He wanted you to tell as many people as possible because the more people knew, the harder it would be for you to sneak out of this place again. 

He didn’t even wait for a response. He just licked his lips clean, shamelessly holding your stare while he did. Then turned to the mirror and fixed his suit before bending down to pick up your discarded underwear. You looked away, embarrassed but waiting for him to hand it to you. 

Except he didn’t. He pocketed it like it was nothing and said, “Come on, our guests are waiting.” Then he walked out of the room like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t made you almost lose your mind just minutes ago. Like he didn’t have his tongue and fingers inside you. Like he hadn’t gotten so close to making you come. 

Like your heart wasn’t still racing even after he’d left the room. 

Eventually, you calmed down. Fixed your makeup, hair and dress again before heading towards the temporary, clear outdoor party tent Sam had people install in Bucky’s huge backyard. The closer you got, the more it looked straight out of a fairytale. Given the clear walls, you could see the golden lights and decor inside. 

The chandeliers, the floral arrangements, the tables and the dance floor where people danced with their partners. 

Speaking of partners, there by the entrance stood a tall, dark figure. Your husband. 

“Took you a while.” He muttered once you got close enough to him. 

You stopped by his side and sighed. Then answered in a monotone voice, trying to hide how bothered you were. “Well, some conceited asshole left me to deal with a mess he made so there’s that.” 

Bucky snickered. “Don’t act so indifferent. You were dripping all over my tongue and hand just minutes ago.” 

“Keep your voice down.” You hissed. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not taboo for a husband to take care of his wife, you know?” He sounded just as annoying as you expected he would. 

You looked down and noticed he had his elbow extended out for you to take. You took it and spoke once you two began walking into the venue. “If you think you are getting anywhere near me to take care of me again, husband, you are dead fucking wrong.” You put a fake smile on as people began noticing your arrival and flocked to you. 

Bucky whispered one last thing into your ear before he left you in the care of the excited, curious, and loud group of ladies coming your way, “Oh you’ll beg me to touch you soon enough, wife.” 

Then he was gone again. Leaving you right on that edge again. 

Damn him! 

—

You had to give it to Sam, he knew how to organise a party. The decor, the food, the music, the performances, all of it was perfect. 

He even re-introduced to all the people you might have forgotten while you were gone. And naturally everyone had questions. You repeated the same answers to them all. The same lies. 

Where were you this whole time? You wanted to do your own thing, and make your own name so you decided to get away from home. 

Why did you leave right after it was announced that you were to marry Bucky Barnes? Oh your father never said when you were to marry him. He just said you would. Besides, both you and Bucky were too young to marry back then. 

Did Bucky know you were going to be gone? Of course he did! You two were childhood sweethearts after all. Yes, you did keep in touch this whole time and only fell more and more in love. Yes, distance does make the heart grow fonder and all. 

Why did the wedding happen so suddenly and in secret? After almost a decade of being far apart from each other, you two could no longer wait anymore. So you eloped the day you came back. 

There are rumours that your father and Bucky have some kind of tension going on between them, is any of it true? That was the one question you didn’t feel too confident about. Because your father never ended up telling you why that was. How did the rivalry start? You lied and said, it’s just because you eloped. Your father wanted to be involved but you were too in love to think straight. So now your father was giving your poor husband a hard time for stealing his little girl. 

As you paraded around and met everyone, you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you at all times. You didn’t have to look to know. You could feel the burning sensation along your back and you just knew he was watching you. 

And he watched all night. Up until the moment people began leaving and you had no choice but to find him again, not knowing what else to do. 

“You lie very well.” He commented, holding his elbow out for you to take again. 

You did. And also leaned into him a little because you had been standing for too many hours. You decided to ignore the hostility for just a minute. “Yes, I’m a natural.” 

“Everyone bought your bullshit about how we are childhood sweethearts turned lovers.” He whispered, turning his head to face you. 

“Well, you did say to make it believable.” 

“Oh it is.” He boasted, “Especially since you’ve been looking at me like that the whole night.” 

You rolled your eyes, “How?” 

“With longing, and desire. You’re all hot and bothered. You crave my tongue back on that throbbing little clit, don’t you?” 

“You’re delusional, Barnes.” 

“And you’re dripping wet for me, Mrs. Barnes.” 

— 

The party ended, and after Sam left you and Bucky made your way back inside the house. Sam, being the angel that he was, had made sure a clean up crew would be here early the next morning so you had nothing to worry about. 

Not that it should bother you whether or not Bucky’s house is tidy. 

You had a faint smile on your face as you went about your nighttime routine. Shower, skin care, a quick snack in the kitchen. And while you were downstairs, searching the pantry for something sweet, you saw Bucky near the thermostat. 

The pantry hid you well, so Bucky didn’t see you. But you watched him mess with the temperature. You squinted and realised he was lowering it. The damned bastard was making it colder! No wonder you were freezing each night and woke up each morning snuggled up to him, basking in his warmth. 

This asshole. 

You remained in hiding until Bucky left, and this time as you made your way upstairs you vowed you wouldn’t reach for his warmth. No matter how cold it got. And he wouldn’t get to use you as a personal heated blanket either. Let him freeze. 

You barely lasted thirty minutes under the covers. 

And he was quiet and didn’t move so you thought he was asleep already as you carefully scooted a little bit closer, trying to feel where he was in the dark. If only this bed wasn’t so damn big. You patted around, trying not to move to much as you– 

“I can hear you, you know? If you want to cuddle, just say it.” 

You stopped moving immediately. “Shut up.” You muttered, frowning at him even though he couldn’t see it. You could see his faint silhouette in the dark, so you knew when he turned on his side to face you. 

“What is it, wife? You need some warmth on this cold, cold night?” He asked in that mocking tone of his. 

“No.” You answered, lying. Because yes you did. 

He muttered ‘stubborn brat’ under his breath and then grabbed you and pulled you close until your back was completely pressed against his chest. His warm, comfy chest. You bit back a sigh of relief once you felt his body heating wrapping you in a cocoon. 

“I saw you messing with the thermostat.” You admitted. 

“Oh?”

“Yes. You make it cold on purpose.” 

“Oh no.” He mocked. “ Why didn’t you fix it then?” He asked, and it hit you how childish this was. He leaned in just enough so that his lips brushed against your cheek when he spoke. “Could it be that you like cuddling with me?” 

“Shut up.” 

He scoffed, finally wrapping his arms around you, but you hissed upon feeling his metal arm on your body.  

“It’s cold.” 

“Warm it up for me then.” 

“What–” 

You stopped talking the moment Bucky grabbed one of your legs and hooked it on top of his, spreading your legs to make room for his hand as you both remained on your sides, with him spooning you from behind. 

His metal hand found itself sliding into your shorts, past your underwear and he cupped you with such confidence and authority that you couldn’t help leaning into and grinding into his touch. His other hand slid under your pillow and down so he could grab and give your breast a firm squeeze. 

Fuck. His hands felt like they were touching you everywhere. 

“I told you I’d take care of you if you behaved.” He whispered into your ear. “Time for a little reward, wife.” 

He slid two fingers inside you, you gasped at the feeling of him being knuckles deep inside you. You whined as he stretched you a little, moving his fingers around until your hips were moving on their own, trying to get him to move some more. 

He chuckled. “That feels good?” He murmured into your ear. 

His voice, his warmth, the softness of his embrace, the unhurried way his fingers were moving in and out of you, sliding over your clit and stroking your walls like he had all the time in the world. 

Your hands wrapped around his metal wrist, keeping his hand in place as you rode his fingers the way you wanted. Hips moving forward and causing his fingers to slide in and out, while you moaned and whimpered. 

His lips brushed against your cheek over and over again as he whispered against your skin, “See how nice it is when you behave? Hmm? You can have me whenever you want, baby. Just be good for me, and I’ll do anything for you.” 

The animosity between you was forgotten at this moment. Here, in this dark room the past didn’t matter for a few minutes. Nothing mattered, just that you wanted something and he was giving it to you. 

His thumb caressed your clit, teasing it a little more until you cried out, “Bucky, please…” 

He froze. You did too. Then he chuckled and said, “So all is takes is a little finger fucking and now you have manners and you call me by my name?” He sounded just as annoyingly playful as you knew he would. 

“Oh fuck you!” You spat, then immediately let out a loud moan as he sped up and really fucked you with his fingers until you were a whimpering mess. “Please, please, please…” 

“What did I say, huh?” He hissed. “Keep acting like a fucking brat and you’ll be treated like one.” He kept his fingers moving in and out of you. “I planned on really taking care of you tonight, but you know what? This is all you’re gonna get.” 

Your moans and whimpers got louder and louder until you began clenching around his fingers, coming undone with a loud cry of his name. Body shaking and your hips grinding down on his hand as you savoured the last moments of your orgasm before he pulled out and pulled away from you. 

You thought he’d go right back to sleep but then you felt him get out of bed. “Where are you–,” 

“I’ll fix the temperature.” He mumbled, sounding annoyed. Rightfully so. “Go to sleep.” 

And that was the last you heard or saw of him until the morning because you passed out right after. You didn’t even know if he returned to bed or not. Not that you cared much. 

Right? 

— 

Things changed after that night. 

A lot changed actually. Bucky had, miraculously, managed to uproot ten years of your life from elsewhere and planted it right here in the city. He took you to the building he’d been getting ready for you and it sure was something. You didn’t know what you expected but a brand new skyscraper was not what you had in mind. 

The day he handed over papers and keys and gave you a tour of the huge building was the first time you felt a shift in this… bond you shared with him. 

“Thank you.” You simply said as you both stepped into the shiny elevator so he could take you all the up to the top floor, to show you to your new office. 

Bucky slid his hands in his pockets and turned to face you. “You think being nice equals sexual favours from me, wife?” 

You could’ve told him to shut it. Or told him to go get fucked. But he was trying to be good to you, wasn’t he? Even after all he did, he wanted you next to him for some unknown reason and frankly you were tired of resisting. Your entire life was here now anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to… try. Would it? 

So instead you answered with, “Doesn’t it?” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes at you, searching for the catch. He didn’t find any so he said, “We’ll see about that.” 

And that night he followed you into the shower and kissed you hard under the falling water. “I see you behaved yourself today.” He whispered against your mouth. 

You pulled him closer by grabbing his neck and said, “Do I get a reward then?” 

He didn’t say anything, just kissed you hard again and walked the two of you backwards until your back collided with the cold clear glass of the shower cubicle. Then he pulled away, looked down into your eyes. His own filled with lust and hunger as he asked, “You’re gonna let me fuck you?” 

You nodded quickly before saying, “Yes. Please.” 

He didn’t waste a single moment. He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it to his hip, spreading you open. He kissed you senseless again while he pushed inside of you. You moaned into the kiss as he filled you up, his cock stretching you out, making you whine and whimper as he slow fucked you. 

“Fuck…” He breathily moaned against your open mouth while he moved against you. Pushing deeper, in and out of you until your moans and whimpers got louder and louder. The sound of the water falling from the shower drowned out most of it, so he fucked you until you moaned loud enough that he could hear you over the falling water. 

“Please,” You cried out. Weeks of frustration wanting to be let out. “Please, Buck…” Your hands wrapped around his shoulders, and you held on while he fucked you. 

Bucky almost froze again at the sound of his nickname falling from your lips. But he maintained his composure and sped up into you, feeling your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock. 

“You’ve been good today,” He said, noticing the way you clenched around him hard at the sound of praise. “You didn’t talk back, not once. Is it because you wanted this cock, baby?” 

You whined in response. Feeling his damp skin rubbing against yours, and for a brief moment you wanted to live in this moment forever. 

“Oh, poor baby.” He gave you a messy, heated kiss then said, “It’s all yours, you know? You just have to ask nicely. And you can have it whenever you want.” 

“Please…” You begged again, your pride nowhere in sight. “Please, Bucky.” 

“Come for me, baby…” He breathed against your skin. His hands held you in place as he pounded into you. “Come for me.” 

You did, moaning so loud it was all he heard as he came right after you. 

— 

It became a daily thing over the next few weeks. You’d seek Bucky out at random times during the day or more often right when he’d get into bed at night. 

“Were you good today, wife?” He asked, his hands already moving all over you trying to undress you as fast as he could. 

“Yes,” You breathed into his ear, your hands touching him all over his tattooed chest. “I even made you breakfast, remember?” 

“Those burnt pancakes count?” 

You shut him up by kissing him, pulling him down onto the bed and straddling him, then proceeded to ride him until you were both moaning and spent, too tired to move. 

—

Things got… playful. 

Oftentimes you’d catch yourself wondering why you weren’t actively working to get out of here. But your whole life was here now. Work, your family, and your husband. You didn’t hate Bucky as much as you thought you would. Just a few months ago you wanted to kill him on sight but now… 

“I saw the new building you work at. He bought you that?” Your father asked one morning when you went over to join him for breakfast. 

You cleared your throat and answered, “He did. He moved everything here. My businesses, my staff, all of it.” 

“And the girls?” He asked, referring to the infamous, feared, and fierce army you had raised and trained over the last ten years. 

“My girls are free to go wherever they want to.” You let pride fill you as you thought of them. “Besides, they don’t have to be here for me to know I can always count on them. They’re just a phone call away.” You explained. “Plus they have work to do. People to save, women to recruit. You know, the usual.” 

“I’m proud of you, you know?” 

You smiled at your father. Then a few moments passed and you couldn’t help but ask, “What happened after I left? Where is the rest of Bucky’s family?” 

Your father looked surprised. “He didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” 

Your father shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. They’re all gone anyway. Plus the boy, he… he treats you right, doesn’t he?” 

You nodded. Then left it at that. You wanted a peaceful morning with your father, you didn’t want to ruin it by insisting he tell you about whatever it was that he wanted to keep in the past. 

—

But it bothered you, knowing that something happened while you were gone that you knew nothing about and everyone refused to tell you about it. 

All except one man. Your beloved friend, Sam. 

He showed up one morning, demanding to see Bucky. 

“He said he has an important phone call to attend to. With someone named Steve. He’s been outside for over an hour now,” You explained to Sam, who stood at the foyer looking disappointed, “It looks like he’ll be out for quite some time.” 

Sam frowned, and sighed. “He said to come over for a round of golf.” He sounded like he’d been betrayed. “Ever since he started doing business and being friendly with that Steve guy,” Sam complained, “That bitch has been trying to steal my best friend.” 

You chuckled and grabbed his hand to lead him further into the house. “I’m sorry my husband ruined your playdate, Sammy. But you can hang out with me.” 

Sam reluctantly agreed only after you promised to make him blueberry muffins. He liked those ever since you were kids. 

He agreed to help, and you both had a nice, comfortable conversation going while you worked. You caught yourself shaking your head a few times thinking about how just a few months ago if someone had told you you’d be in Bucky’s kitchen making muffins you wouldn’t believe it. 

But here you were now. 

Then Sam casually said, “I’m glad you two worked it out, you know? You’re so perfect for each other. Even back when we were kids, remember how everyone used to tease you two and say you would surely marry one another?” He laughed. “I mean after he told me all about how you heard him on the phone with me by the pool, I was worried you might never clear up the misunderstanding.” He chuckled, keeping his eyes down as he lined the muffin tin so didn’t see the way you froze. Sam continued, “I thought that’s why you left when I heard about your sudden disappearance. But–”

You cut him off, heart racing as memories of that night came flooding back in. “Sam… what do you mean on the phone with you?” 

Sam looked up, frowning. “That night of your twentieth birthday. Remember how you found Bucky by the pool? He was on the phone with me that night. He was so angry when he told me what his family was planning to do to yours, how they were going to–,” Sam cut himself off as the realisation set in. “Did he not tell you the truth?” 

Your heart pounded. Something was wrong. 

“Tell me what truth?” 

Sam’s eyes softened. “Oh, I shouldn’t be the one to–,”

“Sammy, please.” You begged in a whisper. “Even my father refuses to tell me anything. I have the right to know. What happened?” 

Sam tried his hardest to make sense as he told you everything in a rush. “Look, something went wrong back then. Bucky’s family began siding with the rivals and they were trying to take your father down. They tricked your dad into thinking that getting you and Bucky married would be a good idea and well, your father chose to believe his friends so he made that announcement at the party.” Sam sighed, “But Bucky’s family were planning something really bad. They were going to use the wedding as an excuse to gather all your family in one place and… end all of you. Just so they’d be able to expand their territory. Bucky found out about this plan and he was pissed. So that night, he called me. To vent.” 

You felt your eyes begin to water. 

Sam continued. “But then you found him. I remember him whispering to me that you were doing a terrible job at hiding behind a plant or some shit. Then your huge gown gave away your hiding spot. But given you were listening, Bucky decided he’d get you annoyed enough to have you at least try to call off the wedding which would buy us some time to figure out what to do. That’s when he began saying those things about you. Trying his hardest to sound like he truly did not want to marry you.” Sam sighed, “I mean there might have been a better way of doing it rather than fake dialogues on a phone call, but we were twenty year old boys. We didn’t know better. We didn’t know you’d write that note and just disappear.” 

What the actual fuck. 

“Sam…” You whispered in disbelief. 

He shook his head. “Please tell me you didn’t truly believe all that. He lied when he said those things that night, you know? Bucky liked you ever since we were kids. You don't remember how he used to get mad at me whenever I was around you for too long? How he always ignored your hiding spots when we played just so you’d win at hide-and-seek? You don’t remember how he used to bully your stupid boyfriends as we got a older?” 

You couldn’t believe any of this. But Sam would never lie to you. 

“Wait,” Sam put the pieces together. “So you didn’t know about any of this?” 

You closed your eyes and sighed, “I didn’t. I heard all the things he said that night and… I had spent my entire life loving him and I thought…” You sighed. “I was young and stupid and heartbroken so I just left.” Then you explained. “I got back recently, Bucky made this whole show of raining down bullets at my father’s house and, well, we kinda got married that same day, in my father’s destroyed foyer.” 

“You didn’t talk to each other this whole time?” Sam was in disbelief. “Oh for fuck’s sake. And I thought Bucky just never mentioned you while you’ve been gone because… well, he’s not exactly good at the whole heart to heart thing. He’s Bucky.” 

Your surprise morphed into anger really quickly. “I need to find my husband.” You said, quickly walking out of the kitchen. 

Sam yelled behind you, “I'm gonna take this muffin batter and go before he shoots me after he finds out I told you all this!” 

You just yelled back, “Bye Sammy, I love you”

Sam’s voice sounded distant as he yelled back, “Don’t let him hear you!” 

You ran out to the back, where Bucky said he would be. And you found him by the pool. Again. The sight of him standing there gave you déjà-vu. Except he wasn’t your twenty-year old crush, in a black suit, arguing with who turned out to be Sam, on the night of your birthday anymore. 

He was older now, your husband, wearing dark trousers and a loose white-button up shirt, standing by the pool with the sun setting behind him. You stood on the patio, for a second more, admiring him. The metal hand casually shoved in his pocket and his heavily tattooed arm held a phone to his ear. 

You called out, no longer containing your anger. “You absolute piece of shit!” 

Bucky looked towards you and just frowned, before rolling his eyes. Then said on the phone, “Hang on a minute, Steve. My wife’s angry at me again.” He lowered the phone to his chest and whispered to you, “What is it this time?” 

“How long were you going to keep the truth from me?” You accused him. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” 

He raised the phone to his ear again and said, “I’ll call you later Steve, something came up.” Then he hung up, tossed his phone onto one of the lounge chairs before turning to face you again. “Don’t get mad–”

“Stop telling me what to do!” 

He sighed. “Did Sam tell you anything? I saw his car coming in earlier.” 

You hissed, “Oh leave him alone! He’s a good man who doesn’t lie to me!” 

Bucky shook his head, understanding that you knew all about what he’d been hiding, and too calmly said, “They were gonna kill you. All of you. Not just your family members, but the guards, the family friends, the members of your family who aren’t even in this life – all of you. I had to do something. My folks were wrong, I couldn’t let innocent people die just because my family got too power hungry.” 

You took a step forward, “Why didn’t you tell me before I left? I would’ve talked to someone.” 

“We barely even talked to each other as we got older. I thought you wouldn’t believe me.” 

“But you could’ve at least tried to say something!” 

He was quiet for a moment. Then said, “I came to see you the next day.” He confessed. “The morning after the party. But your father had found your note and you’d already left. You never mentioned exactly why you left in the note, so I let him think it was because of me.” He explained, “Since there would be no wedding I didn’t have to worry anymore. But the threat remained. So I goaded your father into a fight. He took the bait and tried to shoot at me. He missed, of course. But enough people heard about it so he ended up declaring war against my family.” 

He paused. You listened quietly. 

“No one knew it was all because of me. But at least from then on, your father was more cautious. And he began hating my folks. And they couldn’t keep pretending to be his friend for much longer either. All the truth began spilling out. Soon the city was divided and the attacks began. Allies became enemies, just like that.” 

You were quiet. Processing everything. All of that shit happened and you were not aware. 

For some reason, you asked, “During those attacks… Is that when you lost your arm?”

You only realised you’d been stepping closer and closer to him when he raised said metal arm and touched your cheek gently. He smiled and said, “No, baby. That was a different time.” 

You had a tear sliding down your face. He wiped it away. “What happened then?” You asked. 

“My folks didn’t stand a chance. Your father was not only angry and betrayed, but he was also sad that he lost you because of them, or me.” Bucky explained. “It got… really bad. Your father lost a lot of his guys. Then he got angrier. So he stopped responding to the petty attacks and came after my folks directly.” 

“He killed them?” They were his friends once. 

Bucky said, “He still doesn’t know I helped him all the way until the end.” 

“But he spared you.” 

Bucky smirked. “He just could never catch me.” 

“But your family…” Bucky went against his own you realised. 

“They were bad people. Not just because of what they planned to do to you but…” He sighed. “They were doing bad things in the background. Dealing in substances, and people.” He spared you the gory details. 

But you understood.  

“Why didn’t you tell me all this that day we got married?” 

“You wouldn’t have believed me. You had just spent ten years hating me.” He shrugged. “But hey, it kept you safe.” 

You stepped closer to him, feeling tired with all that you felt inside you. “So you never meant the things you said that night?” 

Bucky pulled you close, cupping your face in his hands. “I have loved you my entire life. I never stopped.” 

You sniffled, looking up into his pretty eyes. “We lost so much time. I spent years hating you for nothing.” It hurt thinking about it. 

He smiled at you, “I should’ve thought it through better. But I was young and rash, and my family threatened to kill the girl I loved. I thought I was doing the right thing by pushing you away.” He sighed. “I just didn’t think I was going to lose you for almost a decade. I was always aware of where you were and what you did in life in those years. I was so proud of everything you did, the name you made for yourself. But I couldn’t reach you. You were angry and you hated me. So I waited. And then you came back and… I needed you with me. I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait any longer.” 

You wrapped your arms around him, shoving your face into the crook of his neck as you let the tears fall quietly. 

“Shh,” He whispered, running a comforting hand down your back. “It’s okay now, I’m here. We’re okay.” 

“I’ve been mean to you.” You whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

He chuckled quietly, “And I shot at your father’s house. We’re equal.” 

“I… I love you too, you know?” You sniffled. 

Bucky pulled away so he could look down at your teary face. “Sorry to say this, wife, but this isn’t half as romantic as the first time you told me you loved me.” 

You frowned. “What?” Did you talk in your sleep? Oh no. Did you? “When did I say it?” 

“We were seven, playing in the hedge maze in your father’s backyard.” He smiled, thinking about that day. “He had just had a new water fountain placed in there, and you wanted to show it to me. You must have thought it was pretty and that I needed to see it too. Then you dragged me all the way there and told me you loved me.” He smirked, “Seven-year old you would be disappointed in you right now.” 

A chuckle escaped your lips at the faded memory. “I wish we could go back in time.” 

“Well, we can’t. But we can have the rest of our lives together.” 

You sniffled again, wiped your tears. Then nodded, and leaned in for a kiss. Deepening it the moment he kissed you back. Your fingers found their way into his longish hair and you gently tugged at his roots. 

He smiled into the kiss when you whispered against his lips, “I like you with long hair.” 

“I see you’re being nice again,” He murmured in between kisses, “Does my wife need something?” 

You giggled this time. “I want you, Buck. Just you.” 

“You have me.” He said. “Always.”

[ladybyakuya]

| ALL I WANTED + GOJO SATORU .

+cw. — female!wife!reader x clan-head!husband!(sub)!gojo satoru, arrange marriage, hurt, angst, canon typical elements, smut, f!masturbation + m!masturbation & orgasm interruption.

+wc. — 2.3k

+syn.— satoru comes home from a bunch of missions only to find his wife in their shared bedroom not wanting him, or waiting for him but busy seeking pleasure that was his share to pour into you.

+notes. — special thanks to @gojoest for hyping me up with this idea. & thanks to @sugurouge for beta reading otherwise this never get posted lol | redirect to blog navigation.

The current head of the clan you belong to, your father stands facing his back to you. He is now the housemaster, not your father. “You’re going to be married,” said he, as his palms remained tightly clasped at his back while he looked out through the window. What you once called home became a distant memory in an instant. “You’re going to be married—” as his face turned towards you, “to Gojo Satoru.” you could figure out why he was looking away. “That monster!” he screams tears streaming down his face as his lips tremble in rage and disbelief; how of all people did the marriage broker who has been his friend for a long time have even agreed with such a decision? The thought of him suggesting the idea to the council does not even cross your father’s mind. How utterly naive! a low grunt followed as your father swatted away his chair knocking it down to the ground before killing every bit of hope you had despite the rumors. “This marriage. . . it is nothing but a hopeless dream. ”

Yes! You knew that already. The housemaids and staff just love to gossip about the doom of their sole source of bread and butter. The moment your father summoned you into his study room and told you the news while staring at the greenery of the garden of this mansion you knew your life was going to turn upside down and it did, just like you expected yet you were still disappointed, frustrated even when you came back to your room. 

Satoru Gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in history ever known since Sukuna Ryomen was sealed. No other name has ever made it to the pages of jujutsu history. He is at the top of the jujutsu society regarding status, power, fame, and money. So, what do you do with the strongest of all? worship them out of devotion? subdue them with offerings lest it might lash out? swearing loyalty out of fear? Those were the thoughts that stemmed at the back of your mind when you first came to know about the fact that you were going to be the wife of the Gojo Satoru from a maid whose life never even crossed the threshold of your home. Her world was limited to the mossy parts of the mansion you resided in. Still, she could tell what kind of marriage you would be walking into.

Nothing shocking happened even on the night of your wedding. It was just as you anticipated. Two different futons were kept side by side. There was no sharing of words, glances, or kakebuton . Just both of your backs faced each other. At dawn, you woke up with your wedding kimono intact, a stainless white futon, and an empty room without Gojo. 

The maids here knew better than to talk about it, even behind your back. They were aware of the power and status you held and that made everything a lot worse than you expected it to be. You had access to a lot of things, the family history archives, the financial sources, his previous missions— everything tied to him. Your husband, Gojo Satoru, was the clan head as well as the master of this mansion so there were no elderly people pushing responsibilities onto your shoulders like back at home. There was a sense of serenity in the air but how could you breathe it in for the rest of your life? 

Satoru Gojo was the kind of man whom one could easily desire. Despite being his wife and the future mother of his children, trying to love him felt like a cyanide for you. You wanted your husband, not some Satoru Gojo oozing with knowledge and power. You wanted to look him in the eye, not just his back which you barely get a glimpse of at the crack of dawn as he occupies the sad side of the bed under a separate duvet. In earlier stages of this marriage, there was no curtain separating you and your husband’s side of the bed but after a month of utter silence and stealing glances, the first thing he installed was a curtain in the shared canopy bed. If he needed some privacy he could easily ask you to shift into another room but he bothered to talk one of those clan servants to install a fucking curtain as if the silence was not enough of a gulf in between you two. 

Sometimes you thought that he was cheating on you but you always pushed it under the rug telling yourself, “You’re the wife of Satoru Gojo. No one can take that from you unless you walk out of this marriage. Not your father. Not that marriage broker —”

— Not even Gojo Satoru himself because he only married you to silence those nosy elders of his clan who pretend to be oh-so-worried for him. You were not foreign to that concept, after all, you are wrapped in the same shroud for all your life.

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .No one . . .” 

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .” 

“You’re the wife . . .”

“You’re . . .”

But the thought of getting his dick sucked by some other woman or man, or him putting his dick into someone — it filled you with too much anger to sleep in bed that night. For the first time, you miss home because there you are free to go anywhere even at night. 

Satoru came home early that night, which was odd for his schedule, and was greeted with an empty bed after a long while. The sky is yet to be cracked open by sunlight. It is still too dark to be wandering around. Where could his wife have been gone to at this hour? He takes a spoonful of strawberry ice cream from the giant tub he held in his other hand before starting to look for you. But where should he look first? He does not know anything except the fact that he had put veils in different places of his house just to keep this house free of low-energy cursed spirits. Those veils sure did their job well but sometimes they would keep out non-sorcerers, people like you. His heart rejoices at the thought that he has to look for you in places only he is aware of, which means this is going to take a little less time, and he will find you much faster. Come to think of it, he has not been in the library section for a while but it is still as spotless as the first day he came here. Have you been visiting? Man! That sure worries him.

The pink layer of the tub has come down to half along with its skin being wet while the spoon is still experiencing the fierce appetite that Satoru had for anything sweet. He stands at the entrance of a long hallway before checking, thinking that this is the last place he has to look for but could it be possible that you were embarrassed enough to go back to your home?

Ahh…ahhh!

The spoon hits the wooden floor with a dull clatter as a wretched realization comes crashing down through his veins. Have you been cheating on him all this time? In his house? With some lowly servant ? Well, that sure makes it easier to end this sham of a marriage. He opens the door of a certain archive room as swiftly as possible trying to minimize the sound of his presence, making sure he does not shock you awake from your rendezvous. He is determined to catch you red-handed but when he opens the door he witnesses something that could have knocked the lights off his brain if he were not one of the greatest sorcerers of his time. The sight was not something of a fair appetite for ordinary people yet you sat by the marble slab of the giant window, with one of your arms nuked under your sapphire jinbei in between your legs as your skin glowed under that pale moonlight as if diamonds and pearls were embedded on your skin. 

You were sweating, arching your body, moaning and all your husband could do was watch in awe. Your free hand travels from the bottom of your cleavage and up to the apex of your nape as you turn your head opening your eyes for a brief moment. You see the world so blurred that it spikes your approaching high, but as you open your eyes for the second time your high is gone like it never existed. Your husband, Gojo Satoru stood before you like an ivory statue of certain abandoned ruined cathedrals. The dress covers most of your body so a wave of relief washes over him despite realizing how dangerous the spot you chose . . .to . . .umh. . . pleasure yourself . 

How long? How long was he watching you ? You shift your body to face him, and your hand slowly emerges from the warmth between your thighs. Satoru tries to ignore but traces of your arousal and his yearning are flourishing like fluorescence on your fingers as it rests on your thigh. You watch him gulp. Suddenly, Gojo Satoru is out of words. Teacher to his students of Jujutsu High, the strongest sorcerer, Nanami’s certified yapper is suddenly out of words. The slight slice of your boobs visible through your robe does not help either in the coherency of his thoughts. He had plans. He had plans to walk out of this marriage without being tainted as a “cheater” because the jujutsu society is so fucked up that they will not stop until they found this particular person that had made this marriage impossible to work on so that you, the wife, had to walk out it and dear God, they certainly are not fond of obstructions.

“What a nice place you chose to—” he finally looks away to keep the tub of semi-molten room-temperature strawberry ice cream on some bookshelf but before he could shift back his gaze on you again you were gone like a storm. The sound of your footsteps echoed in his ear till it stopped before he heard the click of a door. He does not understand if you are just too dumb or too brave to act the way you are acting right now. He follows you as a grunt of dismissal escapes from his chest. As he stands in front of the bathroom door he drowns yet again in utmost disbelief. He can still hear your shrill gasp of pleasure and he is not liking how his cock is responsive to it. At first, he hesitates to touch himself but the faint sound of your moans, the wet squelching sounds of your fingers moving in and out of your damp folds despite the door of the bathroom being locked buzzes in his ears like bees out in the hunt of honey. 

Satoru gave up . You hear a thud as you continue to finger yourself knowing full well that your husband must have followed you all the way here after witnessing you in such a state. Indeed, you could have been accused of cheating on him without him checking the door and it would have been much worse. He sits against the bathroom door unfurling the black ribbon with a swish to take his cock out of his baggy white pants. The tip is already leaking. His cock is throbbing in his palm as he encapsulates his fingers around it, moving his fingers up and down slowly. On the other side of the door, as you could finally feel the pinnacle of your high you heard a soft groan; a pain, that seemed familiar, was palpable underneath that shrill cry of pleasure. Still when your fingers touched the part inside you that almost felt like unknotting something from inside you, at the basal of your navel Satoru’s hand moved faster to chase the similar high that had started to bubble in his body under the influence of your ripples of pleasure. You heard your husband moan as tears rolled down your cheeks when you closed your eyes feeling the knot finally unwinding.

Perhaps, both of you came simultaneously. Perhaps not, because you immediately opened the door after you had calmed from your high, only to be greeted with Satoru sitting right at the opposite wall of the bathroom door, legs folded in L-manner so that he could keep his hand over his knee. His cock is still visible through his white pants and it is still so hard. One of your eyebrows raises in silent reply . Satoru notices that. He looks at you and then looks away. You extend your hand towards his face, gaining his stern azure pair of eyes shining against whatever dim light the crack of the bathroom door could allow. There was no sign of resistance in him so as your palm touched his cheeks, you waited and gave him time to protest. yet none ever followed,  instead, he surrendered to your touch, and your fingers curled under his chin as you ran your thumb over his lips. Satoru coiled against your touch imbibing as much as he could like a tide being high enough to touch the moon . . .a familiar voice shocked both of you awake.

“Lady Gojo. . .” 

[mobbu-min]

☆ marry you ☆

(ft. the housewardens)

It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do. Who cares, baby, I think I wanna marry you.

In which, he overhears how much you want to marry him.

a/n: despite all the requests i have, i find myself writing more indulgent fics -sigh-

tw: cursing

Riddle Rosehearts <3

⋆ Oh dear, poor Riddle is beyond flustered. Hearing you so openly say how much you want to marry him and spend the rest of your waking moments with him makes his heart flutter and pound. Cheeks dusted a bright red and eyes dazed with a lovesick glimmer.

⋆ Riddle is beyond happy, yet incredibly nervous.

⋆ Marriage had been a thought that came to him occasionally. Seeing you in such a beautiful attire staring at him lovingly and saying you do. Wearing a ring he worked so so hard for. Kissing you lips to seal the deal, is something he would love to see.

⋆ Perhaps after he successfully gets his degree and starts his profession, he’ll indulge you. Get you the ring of your dreams and kneel in front of you in a garden of roses. Staring lovingly into your shocked gaze. A wonderful thought, no?

“My rose, although we are still young and still have much to do, I want you to know, in my heart and if life will allow it, my plan has involved you since the beginning. Ahem, in other words, please be patient, my dear.”

Leona Kingscholar <3

⋆ I feel like I say this all the time, but he’s a smug bastard!

⋆ Look, Leona has never thought about marriage, not that he’s like ‘ew, barf, marriage’ more like it's just not something that is incredibly pressing in his life. He remembers Farena and his wife’s proposal and wedding, and of course the countless of royal/nobel weddings he was forced to attend, but other than that, marriage was never a thought that crossed his mind.

⋆ However, when he began to go out with you, it had come across his mind once or twice. Especially on those days where the world seemed particularly against him and you wordlessly handed him food you lovingly prepared and fed him with his head on your lap. Or that one time, you asked him to teach you chess only for you to continuously fail and claim you’ll get better soon and the next week you came back with a smug look on your face and claim you’ve had help from the Chess Gods (riddle and youtube), only to get your ass beat again. Did that dissuade you? No, because you're persistent. Or the one time Leona had actually attended class and was bored as hell, only for you to tap on the window(successfully startling him) and telling him to meet you in five minutes at the botanical gardens. And the moment he arrived, you surprised him again with a cute little picnic and chess.

⋆ There, of course, were millions and millions of other reasons, but regardless, Leona wouldn’t mind marrying you.

⋆ And with enough persistence, he might just pop up the question sooner or later.

⋆ Too many things have slipped between his grasp, and he isn’t going to let you do the same.

“If you wanted me so badly, you could’ve just said so, herbivore. Ha, why so flustered? Cat’s got your tongue? Hm, c’mere…-yawn-…here, let’s get married.”

Azul Ashengrotto <3

⋆ Runs to his office to bring up his 10 year plan to change marriage from year 6 all the way down to year 2.

⋆ Like this man has already booked everything you could possibly want for your wedding. Clothing, flowers, venue and food, music and guests. Hell even, the cleaners are all booked and ready. He’s been planning it since your third date.

⋆ Call him hopeful, or delusional, or just plain stubborn, but Azul is dead set on having you as his spouse.

⋆ Azul is over the moon, everyone can see his change in demeanor. So much softer, a lot more lenient and a little more eager to spend his time with you. This change is welcomed by everyone, especially the twins since they see Azul’s change as a new tool to get what they want and tease him even more.

⋆ Azul loves you, so much that it hurts. So knowing that you want him just as badly as he wants you, makes him swoon.

⋆ Lowkey immediately called his mom that he got engaged (even though he hasn’t yet). Literally kicking his feet back and forth as he talks about you. Pure adoration slipping off his tongue, sweet like honey.

⋆ And you better get ready, Azul is making his proposal as romantic and mind blowing as he can. An event neither of you can ever forget.

“Love seeing you today, my sea angel. My, did you do your hair? New clothes? Oh, I see you’re wearing the earrings I got you, how lovely. -ahem- Forgive for getting off track- hm? W-why am I so red? Ha…no-no, I’m not sick, sea angel. I simply have big news to tell you.”

Kalim Al Asim <3

⋆ The only thing stopping him from proposing outright is that he doesn’t have the ring he has under his pillow for you!

⋆ Oh and ofc, jamil’s there. (silently cursing you out and congratulating you simultaneously)

⋆ He wastes no time proposing outright. With the help of Jamil, he manages to plan an ideal and romantic time and place to declare his undying love for you. A lovely, fulfilling meal made by Jamil in the candlelit dining room of Scarabia followed by a stunning flight through the night clouds with the moon’s soft gazing gliding over you. And at the oasis, next to the bushes of blooming desert flowers and the warm caresses of the heat, does he pop the question!

⋆ Kalim literally cannot thank the world enough for bringing you into his life. You’re his everything! He swears his heart beats for you and only you. That his life never truly began until you smiled so brightly in his direction. His ruby eyes struck with a shameless lovestruck gaze.

⋆ Kalim truly has never been happier than with you. And knowing, he’s able to keep his happiness and ensure yours is everything he could ever dream of.

“Marry me! … Huh? Why are you hiding? ..oh! Haha, I can’t help it! I’ve wanted to marry you since the day we met! I know you're the one for me! …hehe, I hope I’m the one for you!”

Vil Schoenhiet <3

⋆ How bold of you. Already demanding a proposal from the Vil Schoenheit. Goodness, have you never been taught any patience? Very well, let's see what he can do.

⋆ Vil already has a pinterest board of your future ready to go. Everything ready from the smallest detail. Similar to Azul, nothing will ruin his perfect day.

⋆ Of course, Vil has thought about marrying you. Though not until much later in life, he wants to pursue his career more and the thought of leaving you alone for many nights, leaves him with an ill feeling in his stomach. Surely, you’d understand the pressure of being a high demand actor/model these days, right?

⋆ Either way, Vil’s stuck with the idea for days. Often dozing off to the thought of you holding a bouquet of carefully put together flowers standing near an open window basking in the sunlight. Your hair is put up with a simple flower decorating your ear. A smile stretched ear to ear as you beckoned him near. Fixing his suit and kissing his cheeks, giggling sweetly and whispering as if you were both a lovestruck teen couple sneaking out at night.

⋆ Then he thinks of coming home after a day of interviews, coming through the door of his shared penthouse. Seeing you setting dinner up, a domestic sight to behold. The beautiful amethyst ring that adorns your ring finger glinting in the warm lighting. Kissing his lips and helping him sit down in his seat, carefully undoing his hair and massaging his scalp. He’ll hear you talk about your day, about the cat you saw, about the traffic you encountered on the way back from work and the cute kid you helped at the park.

⋆ That thought sounds so appealing, like an apple, red and ripe, beckoning for him to bite.

⋆ Eventually, it gets too much. His heart pounds and yearns to see you wearing the ring from his dreams, the ring he’s already contacted the most experienced jewelry maker in the world to make.

⋆ He’s like a ticking time bomb, simply waiting for a chance to prove his love to his dearest star.

“I’ve never believed in fairy tales, I’ll have you know. After constantly staring in productions of famous tales, the amazement and wonder of them has faded away. That’s not to say that I no longer love them, I just realized that I’ve been living that fairytale life I’ve read so much about with you… Don’t laugh! …heh, I suppose it is quite amusing, huh? My star, will you make my fairytale come true?”

Idia Shroud <3

⋆ Literally crashes!!! Stops working and Ortho, my sweet baby, has to haul his lanky ass to the infirmary. Like, he acts like he got shot at, then electrocuted then told to go take out the trash.

⋆ On a more personal level though, Idia is actually really apprehensive to marriage. He’s seen how cold his parents are to each other. The silent dinners, the cold stares, the heartlessness of their touch. Nothing about his parents screamed a loving and healthy relationship. Perhaps when he was younger, more hopeful, did he dream of a day where he would whisk his one true love away and live happily ever after with them and his brother.

⋆ To him, marriage is scary. Like scarier than public speaking, or an ultra mega level boss that he’s severely under prepared for! (ahem-malleus-ahem)

⋆ But that was ages ago, and that dream had long since died. Accepting that he’s destined for a life of solitude. Rejecting all human feelings for a way to protect himself, his heart, from both harm and harming.

⋆ However, Idia finds out that he can’t. Despite him feeling less than human most days, he feels the most human when he’s with you. And as much as he hated it at first, he can’t deny that he loves the way his cheeks flare and heart dances at the sight of you.

⋆ And all of his favorite shoujo anime always guaranteed a happy ending for the main couple. And let's be honest, you’re obviously the main character and Idia's more than happy being your love interest.

⋆ Marriage, although scary and frightening, doesn’t sound that bad if you’re the one he’s giving his life too. Sharing a life with you is more than what Idia thinks he deserves.

⋆ But a life with you is a life worth living.

“Huh? What is it? It’s a w-wedding v-venue, ofc! I t-thought w-we could p-practice, y’know?….You like it! How long did it take? …oh, well Ortho helped me a bunch getting it ready…Oh! Before we start, we need to wait for Ortho to log into Minecraft. He wanted to be the flower girl.”

Malleus Draconia <3

⋆ Babe, he’s been waiting for this!

⋆ Malleus has loved you since the moment you locked eyes. His heart was forever bound to you the moment you told him your name. Souls intertwined when you held him to your warmth. Fingers threading against his hair, and voice turned into a mere whisper as you proclaimed your love for him.

⋆ Malleus has loved you since the beginning and never once doubted it. Never once shied away from the thought of giving you his life. Malleus adores you and wishes for nothing more than to wake up every morning knowing you are his and he is yours.

⋆ A hopeless romantic, Malleus jumbles from proposing right then and there or giving you a night to remember. Ultimately going for the latter.

⋆ Similar to Kalim, he treats you to dinner then a stroll through a moonlit garden. Fireflies dancing around you both, humming and singing as they recognize the adoration and love swirling through the night air. Leading you to a clearing, he’ll dance with you. Twirling you around to the melody of his deep, soothing humming. Hauntingly enchanting. Bringing you into a sense of security.

⋆ His large hands caressing every part of your body. Pools of bright emerald gazing oh so lovingly at you. How he wishes he could immortalize this moment. In his mind, he works fast to paint down your sweet, endearing, expression to his memory. Each stroke of his mind crafting you so lovingly, never wanting this precious moment to end.

⋆ And of course, everything comes to an end. A sweet end for the night. One filled with joyous tears and hopeful laughter. A bright future ahead of you both.

⋆ A future Malleus is willing to fight for to ensure.

“This color will suit you perfectly, darling. Such a beautiful design for such a beautiful soul, no? Don’t shy away from me…See, such a pretty expression. Please, allow me to bask in every expression you’ll ever make, my treasure.”

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

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

[4k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 1 "The Savior"

Since the day you were born, there was something horribly wrong with you.

You had no immune system, your skin was paper-thin, you couldn’t exercise without collapsing, and every nerve in your body was in constant pain. There was no use for you aside from being a measly archive keeper and book transcriber. Your father was a weak man, despite your disabilities and how costly it was for the rest of your Vault, he kept you alive, consumed by the idea of finally finding a cure for his little girl.

Every single moment since your birth, you had spent in this squeaky clean, insanity-inducing, paper-ridden medical room. Everything was plagued by the stench of medicine and spirit, disinfected down to the core. The floor and walls and even the ceiling were covered in a leather cushioned layer to prevent any injuries, sparkling white, of course. Who needed color when the stench of new paint might cause you a migraine?

In honesty, you’d give away half of your miserable life just to see color outside of the packaged book covers stacked neatly on the floor. You built a makeshift city out of them, following the pictures drawn in an old magazine you’d read ages ago and kept hidden under your pillow. With time, you learned how to make paper flowers out of some stray files that nobody would miss. You had to find some solace, something to keep you from crying your delicate heart out every night because this was no way for anyone to live.

You weren’t just isolated from the world above, but from everything, only getting glimpses of the bright metal vault corridor and bustling dwellers whenever your father would open that wretched vacuum-sealed door to give you medicine. You knew people’s names and faces, everyone in your vault was memorized to the letter, but you’d never met them and probably never would.

You were never given your own Pip-boy, never assigned as a potential marriage candidate, and you’d never have children or any family once your parents passed away. A small part of you knew that you wouldn’t even outlive them, frail and genetically inferior as you were. You’d die within the next few years and you’d take the burden of your existence off the shoulders of everyone who worked tirelessly to find a solution to your illness.

You waited for that day with hope, dreaming of the end of the torture and solitude.

You had pleaded with your father that night with angry tears in your eyes to at least bring you coloring pencils or crayons or a radio to chat with the rest of the residents and make friends. But, as usual, he had refused gently while rocking you in his arms, cooing at you with a regretful tone and pain carving deep wrinkles in his features. Then he’d smiled at you, melting away your worry and frustration and misery, and he’d kissed your forehead tenderly. He still treated you like a little girl and to him, you’d always be one. He wiped your tears away and hope shone in his eyes, they looked exactly like yours, that was the only thing you’d taken from him. Everything else was a gift from your mother and you often looked in the mirror just to remember what she resembled.

She’d stopped visiting a long time ago, months, maybe even years, you weren’t sure. The passing of time was a fickle matter when you were caged in a cushioned prison every single day.

Your father hummed softly, lulling you while he gently tucked you into the nursing bed and secured the oxygen mask over your mouth. He was your angel, your only salvation, your only source of conversation and comfort and interaction and love. He adjusted the catheter back into your vein before fluffing up your pillow.

“This might be it, Sweetheart.” he whispered while watching you doze off slowly, his gaze held such affection for you. He placed a new IV bag to drain into your arm, one you’d not seen before, but you trusted him. This was nothing new. He came up with a new medicine recipe every month, without fail. “This might just be the cure. You’ll tell me how you feel tomorrow.”

You can only sigh and give your best smile, unable to share his enthusiasm after so many failed attempts. He rubbed a thumb over your sickly-colored cheek, his skin like sandpaper against yours, worn and calloused from spending a lifetime in the vault’s field.

“Have some faith in your old man.”

“I do, dad…I’m just so tired of this…”you bite into your tongue to keep more tears from spilling, and your bottom lip trembles despite your best efforts to tame it. Watching his face falter breaks your heart and you suck it up, push your tantrum down and pout instead. “And you’re not old.”

He laughs at your whiney remark, the first laugh he’d had in a long time, and he slicks back your hair, taking note that he needed to trim it soon before it got too long. Maybe when he had the energy, he’d sit down for more than a few minutes and braid it like he used to when you were just a child.

“I know you are, Baby girl, I know.” he shushes you with the utmost care and stands. “Just a little longer and you’ll be strong enough to help your pop pick out the tatoes. Get your pretty hands all dirty and then have a big plate of spam for a job well done.” he gazed at you, masking his sorrow and bitterness at the cruelty life had forced upon you. His hand hovered over the lamp switch and he glanced one last time at the brand-new IV bag slowly emptying in your bloodstream. “Night, Sweetheart. Love you.”

Too stricken with grief over your miserable lifestyle, you didn’t return his tender words, hoping he understood and knew that you loved him just as much if not more. When the lights went out, your eyelids closed, squeezing out a few lonely tears in the darkness before you begrudgingly drifted off to sleep. A dreamless slumber when you were gently rocked through the foggy confines of your subconsciousness.

Your one wish was to see the world outside, uncaring if it were a wasteland or a paradise, ignorant of the dangers and naïve towards the people who potentially lived up there. You just wanted to be free, even if it would cost you your life, you wanted to see the sky just once, wanted to prove to yourself that no, it looked better than any picture your father had shown you. You wanted to swim in the ocean and see fishes and see a whale, a creature so big it was unfathomable to imagine, you wanted to taste the salty sea water and become sick and just be happy to be alive for once. You wanted to feel the grass beneath your feet, to touch snow and dance in the rain until you slipped and fell in a puddle only to splash in it because you’d never seen or felt any nature.

You just wanted to live…

The hours ticked by in a hazy blur as you lay lifelessly on your bed. Your room was partly sound-proof, you heard nothing of the ruckus slowly brewing beyond your medicinal prison. Sleepy soundly, you didn’t hear the slaughter, the begging and pleading voice on the brink of crying before the sickening cracks of broken bones. You didn’t hear the crazed ramblings of the raiders stalking your fellow vault dwellers like it was a game of cat and mouse. Your vault was slowly succumbing to chaos and rampage and it was only when the electricity went out and your door unlatched that you were startled awake.

You bolt up with wide eyes and in a panic, gaze averting to the door and heart skipping a beat when you realize it’s open. With a small grunt and a relieved inhale once the oxygen mask is ripped from your face and tossed on your pillow, you scramble to stand. The IV is disconnected from your arm with an expert touch, replaced by a cotton ball to obscure any heavy bleeding from the open puncture wound. Your bare feet shuffle over the soft floor, slippery against the white leather because you’d unknowingly started to sweat from anticipation.

Was this just another cruel dream?

You walked to the exit with timid footsteps before opening the door wide enough to stick your head out. An incessant voice kept repeating how disappointed your father would be if he saw you sticking your nose out and potentially catching an infection from the unsterile air. That voice was dismissed promptly, this was your first chance at seeing anything beyond the medical room and you’d rather die than miss it.

Had the power gone out? But that was impossible. The power never went out, there had always been a steady flow of electricity for as long as you could remember.

The lights flickered, most were broken, letting the eerie darkness overwhelm all corridors except for one.

“Hello?” you call out hesitantly, shaky voice hoarse with sleep and anxiety both. Looking around, you couldn’t see much, there wasn’t a soul in sight and the silence was deafening. “Dad?”

Nothing. Nothing and no one.

A hand clutched at the door to support your buckling knees and you breathed deeply, encouraging yourself to be brave, that this was your chance. After dutifully gnawing on the inside of your cheek you stepped forth into the crossroads of corridors, letting go of the door and leaving everything familiar and safe behind. Your head whirled so much your neck popped multiple times as you frantically looked around in the scarce light and as terrifying as all of this was, it was also heaven unknown. You had never seen so many things – plant pots, plants, all bright green and juicy, you’d stuck your nail in a particular one only to feel a strange gooey discharge on your finger. It was a succulent, you’d read about those somewhere, very sturdy indeed, very pretty, but had no smell. You liked them already.

The further you went, the more a nagging thought kept creeping up your spine like a chill.

Where was everybody?

You kept looking, following the corridor and under the guidance of blinking lamps. You knew the Vault like the back of your hand after spending countless hours studying its diagrams, having nothing better to do. Now you were experiencing it in person. No longer needing to strain your imagination to picture every nook and cranny, you could see it with your own eyes. The floor was so cold under your feet, but you didn’t care, too high on adrenaline and pure joy to notice such a small inconvenience. A hand glided absentmindedly against the wall, tracing over pipes and posters and glass windows until you prickled your finger on a jagged edge and winced away.

You stuck the winger in your mouth with a pained scowl and glared up, searching for the source of your misfortune.

You froze.

Blood, everywhere, oozing down the wide hole in the window and silently gushing out of the disemboweled corpse of a human being, still warm. And even through the liters of blood and the sickening feeling of nausea that had your eyes dart to the floor, you immediately noticed the dark blue suit they were wearing. A dead vault dweller tossed through the window so hard they’d broken through and gotten impaled on the glass.

A vault dweller.

Dead…

DEAD!!!

You stumbled back and wretched, stuffing your mouth in the crook of your elbow and sputtering saliva as your stomach churned with bile. You bumped into a metal cabinet in your stupor, scraping for purchase as your legs lost all function, knocking over a clock and a radio that came to life as soon as it hit the floor. The sound echoed through the Vault, like a haunting melody to the arrival of a new victim, lured out and ready for slaughter. You.

Horror. A massacre, as the light flickered your eyes feasted on more marred flesh and ripped skin and so much blood. Crimson splatter and trails of handprints were strewn over the walls, the echoes of an dire struggle which ended in vein, trails of violence were etched into the hallway. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, you threw up, clutching at your stomach as you let out the traumatizing sight the only way your body knew how. Doubled over and twitching as the shock was replaced by such a raw feeling that you nearly lost your mind.

Corpses littered the floor beyond, caked in their own entrails, skulls bashed in, unrecognizable and still and…

“Hi there, Princess.”

A chill went up your spine as you realized that the frilly white dress you wore wasn’t enough to keep you warm beyond your room. Your skin littered with goosebumps, thin hairs standing up in fear as you stiffly craned your neck and looked back to the other end of the corridor. What little color was left in your face dissipated at the sight.

A man, disfigured and disgusting, with wild hair and wilder eyes and a grin that shook you to the bone stood there. He was shirtless, showing off a large hairy belly and covered in stick-poke tattoos, one of his legs was replaced by what you made out was a metal stick of sorts. He was three times your size…and he looked at you with such perverse intent that you nearly screamed. A vile creature, not even human anymore.

“Don’t be scared, Pretty.” he leered, chapped lips and rotting teeth and a foul blackened tongue, and raised a large palm in front of him to halt you from moving. “It’s okay…Come here. Come to me.”

Instinct took over and you automatically stepped back, not daring to take your eyes off him.

“Ah, don’t do that now.” he warned sweetly and slowly began walking towards you, creeping closer every time the lights flickered off. “You’ll just make this harder for you, yeah? Come to Eddie, Sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

Everything about him screamed evil. He looked deranged and capable of things you’d never even begin to imagine.

A surface dweller. A survivor. A killer. A monster.

The moment his boot sunk in a pool of blood and squeaked against the floor realization hit you like a speeding truck. The grim expression should have been his sign to catch you, but you were already leaping over corpses with a blood-curdling screech. Your mind raced as you tried to orientate yourself through the corridors, bolting over shattered glass and spoiled food and so many dead bodies.

You needed to get out. Leave. Escape.

OUT!

His hollars bellowed behind you, alerting the rest of his friends because of course there were more and now they were aware of you and hunting you down like a deer in the forest. You let the tears run down your cheeks, forced the questions of your parents’ whereabouts and health because you already knew the answers, but you let them sink you’d end up like them or worse.

A horde of footsteps nipped at your bare heels and you sprinted and begged your weak little legs to go faster. Sucking in air as adrenaline pumped through your veins like poison, you jumped and ducked and whirled and assured yourself that you had the upper hand here, you knew the vault better than them. You stood a chance, you’d survive.

When the elevator came into view after you rounded a corner you nearly cried out in delirium. A roar nearly deafened you and you flinched, but your pace only increased as you pleaded and struggled not to trip over your feet. They were desperate, clawing at the air to try and reach you before it was too late. Your lungs burned with strain, your muscles felt like they’d tear any moment, but you kept pushing, high on horror and anger and a newfound zest for self-preservation

Salvation. Your only chance to live.

Your shoulder screamed in pain when you slammed against the metal walls of the elevator and thrusted your fist against the button vigorously.

“Come on. Come on. COME ON!”

“Get back here you little whore!”

“Please!” you wailed, screaming and stumbling back when a rusty axe collided with the shutting doors and made sparks fly with an ear-piercing screech. A hand flew up to cover your squinted eyes, sneering and sobbing as the raiders banged on the outside of the elevator and shot conniving curses at your crumbling form. You were slammed down on your arse by gravity as the elevator finally moved, taking you away from certain death as a slew of grim promises were expelled at you from below.

They’d find you, rip you apart, and make you wish you’d just died like the rest of your pathetic vault dwellers. You balled your eyes out, choking on spit and tears and gulping down air as your body shook violently. Clutching at your face, you stared down at your bloody feet with wide, unblinking eyes.

What was this nightmare…

When the elevator came to a halt and the doors reopened you barely managed to stand, the numbness in your limbs proving too much to handle and your upset stomach only contributing. But you had to keep moving, you had to run.

“Daddy…”

With ugly sobs and meek noises of strain and discomfort and utter distaste for your cruel fate, you tumbled towards the ajar vault entrance. Pressing down the button timidly before taking the discarded Pip-boy from the severed hand, you lock your tormentors into their grave and hurriedly tread towards the slowly closing vault exit.

The sun nearly blinds you and the hot desert sun knocks you to your knees as your hands sink to the wrists in sand. You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut before blinking rapidly and shielding your sensitive pupils from the blaring light.

It’s…barren.

A desert, stretching as far as your sight could reach, heated enough for the air to wiggle and dance in the distance, a decrepit city can be seen nestled not too far. A plethora of buildings crumbled to their bases hide away the sealed entrance to your vault, bones are scattered through the coarse sand, human shapes frozen in time, hinting towards a previous era of life on Earth, an era you’d only read about. Again, there wasn’t a soul around no matter how many times you circled your vision.

A wasteland. Painted yellow and orange and contrasting so beautifully with the clear blue sky.

You wanted to marvel and swoon and you would have given any other circumstance, but now, after everything you’d seen, after your mind had been so brutally defiled with images of slaughter, you were incapable. You stood, resisting the harsh breeze and angry sun, clad in nothing but a Pip-boy and a thin summer dress that was everything but white.

You had to walk, seek help, do…something. Anything.

And so you did. Trudging through the sea of sand and stepping hastily as the heat beneath your delicate feet nipped uncomfortably at your skin. Sweat clung to you like a protective layer, washing away any trace of the sensitive lavender shampoo you had used the previous night. Strands of hair clung to your flushed face as you fought a silent and unfair battle against the burning sunrays, one step at a time, with the wind as your only companion. Your nostrils struggled to breathe in enough air, but you didn’t dare open your mouth despite the temptation, fearing dehydration and death as it loomed over you like a shadow.

You walked for what felt like miles, accompanied by your thoughts and nothing else, until the Vault was hidden behind the golden dunes and your feet felt raw. The city was so close now, yet you were so tired, sucked dry by a heat you’d never experienced before, if it hadn’t been for your Pip-boy crackling to life you would have collapsed, too burdened and weak to continue.

You raised your wrist and looked down and were met by a familiar meter.

Radiation.

Something around you was radioactive enough for the device to pick up easily, but there was nothing but waves of yellow hell and you doubted the ground itself was emitting it. Then you heard it. That strange, high-pitched chirping, an alien sound that made your skin crawl and scraped at the back of your head tauntingly.

A scream loud enough to shatter glass ripped through your throat as a sharp sting pierced your ankle. You hit the soft sand with a whimper and rushed to turn on your back before kicking blindly at your assaultant. An ambush from below. Blood trickled from the gash, painting your skin a deep ruby red and spilling over the ground, luring out your predators like moths to a flame.

Insects, roaches too big to be real and too much for your fickle mind to comprehend crawled out of the sand. You’d fallen right into their trap, an unsuspecting victim, a banquet they’d probably not seen since they’d hatched.

Your heart pounded frantically, pulse thumping in the side of your neck as you flailed and screeched, chucking sand at them as they circled you. You wanted to run, every cell in your body fought for you to stand, but you couldn’t, you had no fight left. You’d die here, alone in this decrepit desert and eaten by giant cockroaches and this was going to be the story of your life. You sobbed so pitifully, so angry and bitter and bratty that after everything, this was to be your end. The world spun painfully fast and you wanted to vomit, but your stomach was empty and you only gagged.

With one last scream, you curled in a ball, covering your head with your arms and your legs protecting your belly, as one of the insects lunged forward.

When the gunshot rang in your ears you froze in place and time stopped. The roach flew back, slimy green entrails covering your form like a canvas. The other two hissed and you revolted at the noise, but they were shot a second later, blown to bits, dainty skittish legs twitching as the last few beats of life escaped them. The shadow of your savior dwarfed you completely, giving you respite from the cruel sun.

You roll over and sit up on your knees within a blink only to be met with the barrel of a gun too ratchet and rusted to belong to anyone but a wastelander. You recoil and blink through tear-heavy lashes before roughly adjusting your dress to try and cover your bare thighs from what you presumed was another man. The tip of the gun slid under your chin and guided your eyes up to feast upon your hero. You gulped and whimpered.

He was grotesque, like a man skinned alive and somehow survived, melted skin deformed his features and you’d bet your dinner there wasn’t a strand of hair under that worn cowboy hat. He had no nose, no eyebrows or even lashes, not a spec of hair. He grinned something awful down at you, looking at you like you were a fresh piece of meat, a delicacy among a table covered with rotten food. His stance was wide, torn dark cloth swaying dangerously in the breeze, he seemed almost aetherial in his own twisted and rugged way. You mewled softly as he turned your head from side to side with his gun, gently, mockingly, drinking you in from every angle as if you’d disappear if he so much as blinked.

Your hands clutched at the edge of your dress when he finally spoke and his voice made you inhale sharply and clench your jaw in anticipation.

“Well…Aren’t you a pretty little thing…”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

(Listen, it's 7AM and I need sleep, but this mother trucker didn't want to leave me alone so have a chapter from my hastily strewn-together upcoming story. I'll post it on AO3 and probably here if it even happens. I'll fix mistakes later, don't eat me please.)

Chapter 2 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Royal and Noble Marriages

Marriage is an important part of the life of both royal and nobles in any setting, either historical fiction or fantasy. Marriages are not only life long commitments but they are business and protection deals by families. These are strategies, not relationships. So how can we write them?

Why make a Marriage?

Marriage is at its heart, the seal on an agreement. Two families may come to an agreement to share resources, connections and support one another. For a noble family, it could be about elevation. For example, if the daughter of an Earl marries a Duke, her siblings can now make higher marriages and her family would be more important thanks to this link. It could even be about money. In the late Victorian - Early Edwardian period, many impoverished English peers married wealthy American women for their fortunes. In exchange, the women became titled aristocrats. Royal marriages are made for more universal perks. A royal marriage can change the political layout of the world, it could isolate a kingdom or be the starting gun or a war or end a years long conflict. For example, Kingdom A might be being threatened by Kingdom B. Kingdom C has a powerful military. Kingdom A might offer up a marriage deal to Kingdom C, with the caveat that C protect A from B. C would obligated to act if A gets attacked by B, since A is now an ally. A marriage cements the deal as it creates family ties, which is seen as a sort of permanent stamp on negotiations. After all, would you screw over family?

Marriages of Choice vs Arranged Marriages

Marriages can either be made on behalf of a royal/noble or made by themselves. An heir might be more restricted in this case whilst a younger children have a little more leeway especially if they are part of a large family.

Marriages are not always arranged. But that doesn't mean there aren't restrictions. Any royal or noble will have a list of certain attributes their spouse must have or certain attributes they cannot have. Marriages of choice have to be approved by parents (and the crown if you are a high ranking noble) and if you are royal, sometimes by the government itself.

Arranged marriages are agreements between two families. They might want each other's protection, support or they might simply want to do business together such as opening trade corridors or lifting embargoes on certain items. Arranged marriages are usually made on behalf of both spouses and they are expected to agree to the match for the sake of their family or country.

Screwing over the Deal

Making a marriage doesn't mean that the deal will last forever. Alliances change and circumstances shift. Whilst everyone may be all friendly during negotiations and for some time after, politics is the aim of the game. Treaties can be broken, war can break out and marriages can become unpopular choices. If a country has welcomed a bride/groom one day and then their country becomes the enemy, the bride/groom could become an enemy as well and face isolation and disrespect from the public - even their new family. However they are expected to be loyal to their new family and country, even over their own family and kingdom. These marriages have no promise of happiness. They are a job, a duty to ensure the family is taken care of and securing their futures.

Timeline of a Royal Marriage between Two Royal Families

Offer: The suggestion is made.

Negotiations: The discussion through ambassadors of what a marriage might entails, what each side is willing to provide or what they demand of the marriage. This can take weeks, months even years before a marriage is agreed.

Betrothal: Marriage is approved, treaty signed and the couple is engaged. Betrothals can last from anything from a few weeks to years

Wedding: If one spouse has to travel to their new home, they will travel to their new home and meet their new court, new family and their spouse. Once they arrive, the wedding will take place in a matter of days.

Married Life

These marriages are public, so it is expected for the couple to at least act civil. If they do not like one another or can't stand the sight of another or they just don't love each other, is irrelevant to society and their expectations. They are expected to attend certain events together, sire children and do their duty. There's no rules saying they must live together, so many lived separate lives. The higher ranking spouse is expected to provide their spouse with an allowance and a staff. For international marriages, spouses are not permitted to hire a large party of their own attendants even if they accompany them to their new country. They may keep one or two for company but a newly minted royal should not be waited on by foreign servants, they are a royal of their new kingdom now.

What makes a "good" marriage?

As mentioned above, marriages and relationships are expected to fall into certain perameters. Any spouse - chosen or assigned - should meet certain standards such as be of appropriate rank, follow societal norms and even sometimes be of the same religion. Marriages to anybody who falls out of these standards can be seen as a devasting move - the marriage of Edward IV is still remarked on as a contributing factor to the end of the Plantagenet dynasty. Making the wrong choice of spouse in society's eyes can lead to gossip, being shunned, being disrespected and even barred from succeeding to your birthright. Unequal marriages or morganatic marriages, can even bar children from succession, disallow the couple from attending events together and deny the spouse the style they ought to be entitled to - the marriage of Archduke Franz Ferdinand is a good example to study. A good marriage is seen as one that adheres to all the expectations of society - even if it is an unhappy one.

[simplydnp]

What’s crazy about them mentioning the Japan wedding conspiracy is the fact that yeah they didn’t even shut it down (like they did with the October 19th/MCR concert thing) but also the fact that Dan didn’t react the way he always does, rolling his eyes in fake annoyance. Now, I am sure keeping the mystery is also part of the whole Marketing Strategy for the tour but.. what the fuck is there to address? are they gonna give us their opinions about marriage? In a “no we didn’t get married also marriage is not our thing blah blah” way or maybe they’re gonna be like “no you were wrong, we simply got engaged there 🤭”

it's the fact they didn't deny it. didn't dance around it. no snorfing or awkward backpedaling. they love to make fun of us lately for shit like this--i was ready for it! and instead. phil said we miGHT. followed by the largest pause in the world. before continuing to say they'd ADDRESS IT?? ON TOUR??? what do you mean. this implies there's something to address. like i said in my tags, they're not the mean-spirited type. it's not their MO. they like to tease us, sure, but it's all in good fun. going on stage and saying 'no we didn't why would you think that' would be fun for aBSOLUTELY NO ONE. including themselves! they like when we're a little crazy. they like how much we care and want the best for them. this tour is about celebrating this new run and defining the now and the future. the only reason they're gonna talk about it is if it has some sort of significance or funny tie-in. and the way in which they brought it up... phil's we might... dan's 'wot, the lack of a ring? 🙄'.... now that the wedding-theory seal is broken, i'm more terrified about what they're gonna say about it.

[sunnycanvas]

Masterlist

Fluff

King Baldwin IV reaction to drunk reader

King Baldwin IV reaction to reader being injured by her brother in law

Waking up early morning with Baldwin

Baldwin and Salah ad Din's daughter

Baldwin teaching his son chess and reader admiring them slight angst

Reader being married to Baldwin since childhood sharing kiss after Battle of Montgisard

Reader being blackmailed to leave Baldwin

Baldwin celebrating Christmas with reader and his in-laws in modern world

Jealous Baldwin reaction to reader wearing bikini

Baldwin comforting wife!reader after difficult birth

King Baldwin IV x Reader : Tantalizing Love slight angst

Reader teaches Baldwin to cook whilst she is pregnant

Baldwin taking care of pregnant wife reader

King Baldwin IV proposes female reader

Headcanon

Being queen consort of Jerusalem

King Baldwin IV as lover, husband and father

King Baldwin IV being angry at reader

Angst

King Baldwin IV being unfaithful to reader Alternate ending 1 Alternate ending 2

King Baldwin IV has to annul his marriage with reader

Lost Cause

Baldwin choosing between woman and he loves and woman he has to marry

Baldwin reaction to wife!reader trying to cure him

Smut

King Baldwin IV x Reader: Throne Sex

King Baldwin IV x Reader : Misogyny Sex

King Baldwin IV x Reader : Period Sex

King Baldwin IV x Reader: Erotic Night

King Baldwin IV seducing shy physician reader

King Baldwin IV spending honeymoon night with reader

Reader asking Baldwin help for her lactating breasts

Baldwin and chubby wife!reader trying annal sex

Baldwin and Salahuddin

King Baldwin IV x Reader x Saladin Part 1 Part 2 smut

Widowed reader marries Salahuddin angst

Salahuddin

Reader spoils him and loves being near him

Horror

Spectral Descent

History

A letter from King Baldwin IV and Princess Sibylla of Jerusalem Source: https://epistolae.ctl.columbia.edu/letter/25233.html

King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem appearance-STUDY by MariaExe on DeviantArt.com Artist- MariaExe on DeviantArt

King Baldwin IV appearance based on historical painting Part 1 Part 2

A letter From King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem to King Louis VII of France Source: Bernhard Hamilton -The Leper King and his heirs

LETTER FROM KING BALDWIN IV TO THE ENVOYS WITH NEWS OF SALADIN RAVAGES NABLUS, SEBASTE, AND OTHER TOWNS

Source:https://goodshksk.space/product_details/13546547.html

A Letter of Condolence to King Baldwin IV from Saladin Source: https://advocatetanmoy.com/2023/10/14/saladins-condolence-letter-to-king-baldwin-iv-of-jerusalem/

Seal of King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem Source:https://numismatics.org/collection/1956.152.1

Medieval Heroes: Baldwin IV

Miscellaneous

Would Baldwin be attracted to chubby and short person

Would Baldwin be unfaithful historically

Salahuddin: The conqueror of Jerusalem series King Baldwin IV

Would Baldwin be obsessive or possessive

Would Baldwin be impotent and would he be able to have sexual relationship

Can Baldwin be able to have sexual relationship: Revised Version

Blurbs

NSFW thoughts

As Life Fades Sibylla remembers Baldwin IV

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 4

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky was speechless after you kissed his hand, even though it was through the leather gloves.

You let go of his hand. "Was that too much? Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed by the offer you gave."

“I take that as a yes?” Bucky asked, still processing.

“Well yeah, didn’t I seal it by kissing your hand? I thought it was clear.” You smiled, a hint of playfulness in your eyes.

Bucky chuckled softly. "That's a new way to accept an offer, but joke aside, I’m grateful you accepted."

You lowered your guard, leaning back slightly. "So what happens next? I have to say, I won’t do anything that makes me a homewrecker."

“Oh gosh, nothing like that,” Bucky reassured you, his tone earnest.

“That’s a relief.” You let out a breath, feeling more at ease.

Suddenly, Bucky's phone rang. He picked it up and saw the caller ID: "Victoria." He bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting to talk to her at this moment. However, he didn't want to ignore the call either, as his fiancée would quickly learn that he had no feelings for her.

He excused himself to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hello, my fiancé. I apologize for bothering you, but I heard something that doesn't sit quite right with me. I heard that you are with my older sister?" Victoria asked, her voice calm and cheerful, though her perfectly manicured fingers were crumpling a few papers nervously on the other end.

Bucky felt like he had just been caught cheating. "I am. I have something to discuss with her because of what happened last night."

"Oh, I see. Alright, I won’t bother you. See you soon." Victoria ended the call, smirking as she looked at her phone. She knew Bucky's reputation—quiet and calm but ruthless if disrespected. She remembered how you embarrassed him last night and thought perhaps he was giving you a warning.

Victoria felt a tickle of satisfaction, believing Bucky understood her without her needing to lift a finger. She felt lucky to have him as her fiancé.

Bucky, not entirely sure what had just transpired, felt relieved that Victoria didn't seem suspicious and quickly ended the call.

He returned to you and saw you chatting with the waitress and his secretary. In seconds, you had already become close to new people.

Unlike you, Bucky’s circle of friends all had to undergo background checks before he could trust them.

"Let’s talk in the car. I’ll drop you off," Bucky suggested.

"Sure," you agreed, thinking this would save you transportation money.

Inside the luxurious car, you felt like you were being enveloped by the comfortable seat. Even if you worked for 20 years on your teacher’s salary, you wouldn’t be able to afford this car.

Bucky wore his reading glasses and read a document. He spoke to you without lifting his head. "Tomorrow, after your school is over, I’ll pick you up, and we'll meet my psychiatrist."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

Bucky explained, "He knows my condition, and I hope bringing you to meet him will help us find a solution." His voice sounded serious, a little desperate.

"Have you had this disorder since you were little?" you asked.

He flinched, his hand stopping mid-motion as he was about to flip the paper. "It started when I was 12 years old," Bucky replied, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

His expression turned grieving. You knew this was the moment to stop asking questions; after all, you’d just met him for the second time. There’s a limit to how personal you can get with someone you barely know.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

The car stopped in front of a small house. It looked old but cozy, especially the garden with its many flowers. Bucky wondered if it was you who took care of all the roses.

You rolled your eyes, "It was my grandma who has the green thumb."

Bucky glanced at the flowers. "Pretty. I’m grateful for your cooperation, but I hope none of this gets leaked to outsiders."

So he was giving you a warning. You made a gesture of zipping your lips. "My lips are sealed." Then you closed the car door and headed to your house.

After he saw you enter the house, he told his driver to start the car.

You watched the car drive away from behind the curtain.

"Is that your boyfriend, my Ophelia?" The cheerful voice of an older woman startled you. You jumped, turning to see your grandma, Cassandra, standing beside you.

She smiled at you, happiness evident in her eyes, but you couldn't share her joy. To your grandmother, you were her daughter, Ophelia, your mother, who had passed away years ago.

Life had been cruel to her, taking away her only daughter, her son-in-law ignored her, and her business at the same time, which took a significant toll on her. The final blow was dementia.

She didn’t remember you at all. At 70 years old, her mind had regressed to when she was 40. Because of the striking resemblance between you and your mother, she thought you were Ophelia.

You sighed and put on a smile for her. "No, he's just a friend."

Cassandra giggled. "Really? Your father will be jealous when he hears this. Uhuk... uhuk..." She started coughing. You bring her to sit on her chair.

Your heart clenched each time you heard your grandma cough. It was getting worse.

She needed surgery, but you didn't have the money.

Having a rich father like Jonathan was useless because you didn't have access to your money. The reason was clear: Genevieve and Victoria.

She really hated you and wanted you to starve to death.

You quickly put a blanket on Cassandra lap and turned on the air humidifier to help ease her cough.

As you added the eucalyptus and lemongrass essential oil into the humidifier, your eyes caught the family photo on the wall. It was a picture of your family—your dad, your mom, and your grandparents—standing in front of your childhood home. Everyone was gathered to celebrate your birthday. But now, it was all just a memory.

You clenched your fist, feeling a surge of determination. Soon, you would get what was supposed to be yours.

💋💋💋💋

The next day after school, you went with Bucky to see the psychiatrist. But before that, the school was in an uproar because of the clothes you were wearing. You, who always dressed like a vampire hunter in jeans, combat boots, a grey shirt, and a black jacket, were now wearing a casual outfit with a vintage aesthetic.

You wore a cream-colored blouse tucked into a high-waisted plaid skirt paired with brown loafers and a light brown blazer with elbow patches. Your hair was styled in soft waves, and you carried a small leather satchel. The change in your appearance left everyone talking.

Jimmy couldn’t believe you were the same teacher who always yelled at him. “Who are you?”

You replied with a smirk, “Your worst nightmare.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. Despite your elegant outfit, you still commanded authority.

Bucky also noticed the change in your appearance. “You look different.”

You explained, “I don’t want your psychiatrist to think that I could be a bad influence on you.”

“Fair point,” he nodded in agreement.

After a while, both of you arrived at the destination, a fancy clinic. The receptionist, already accustomed to Bucky's appointments, greeted him warmly. “He’s waiting for you.”

Bucky led you to the room, which was bright and comfortable, conducive to a relaxed atmosphere. The walls were painted in calming colors and adorned with abstract art, and the furniture was modern yet inviting.

There was already someone sitting in the chair, holding a pen and a writing board. It was Dr. Javier, who had known Bucky for a long time.

Javier waited until both Bucky and you were seated. "You told me that you had a breakthrough. Is it her?" he inquired.

Bucky nodded, taking off his leather gloves and putting on a pulse oximeter on his finger. He then reached for your hand, and you placed yours in his.

Javier widened his eyes and adjusted his glasses. Bucky showed no signs of panic attacks, and his pulse appeared normal. "Wow. Incredible. How long has this been happening?" Javier asked.

Bucky replied, "Three days."

"After you touched her, you mentioned trying to shake somebody else's hand. Did the panic attacks suddenly reappear then?" Javier inquired further.

Bucky confirmed, "Yes."

Javier wondered what made you so special. Suddenly, he moved closer to you without warning.

You exclaimed, "What the-?"

“Interesting,” Javier nodded. “I can think of one reason: your body fragrance.”

You were taken aback. Did you really smell bad? You started sniffing your clothes. They were still new; you had only worn them three times, and they had been dry cleaned.

Then you remembered, “I am surrounded by buckets of sweat and cigarettes.”

Being around students who smoked and sweated a lot due to their frequent sports activities made you open all the classroom windows to get rid of the smell.

Bucky found it difficult to accept that his disorder could be triggered by your body odor.

Javier felt as though four eyes were judging him. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Your case is one of a kind, Bucky. Perhaps her scent doesn’t trigger your trauma—” He didn’t continue when he felt someone glaring at him.

Trauma? Bucky’s trauma? You wondered what Javier meant.

Bucky crossed his arms and changed the subject. “So the solution to my disorder is the smell of a locker room?”

Javier raised both arms, trying to calm down his patient's anger. “I’m not saying it’s the solution, but it could be.”

Bucky sighed heavily. What kind of nonsense was this? But the way he met you was also out of the blue. His life is full of surprises now.

Author Note: Poor Cassandra. 🥺 Also the reader is a non-smoker.

Taglist:

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@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

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@bada-lee-ily

[dreamfyrie]

Aemond’s Crown Jewel

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Imagine: Both POV's

Reader's POV

You and Aemond had been married for four months. Four agonizingly long and painful months of him refusing to show you his eye. It was an arranged marriage, there was no love between the two of you in the beginning, but it still hurt that he didn’t trust you enough to take his patch off in front of you. The two of you slept in separate chambers at his request. You weren’t sure if it was because he had trust issues and wasn’t used to being close to someone or if he hated you.

Probably the latter. You were patient and hadn’t pressured him at all, but you knew he was highly aware of his patch’s positions at all times when he was around you. He would constantly fidget with it. You felt eternally teased, every time he went to readjust it, you convinced yourself that this was it—he was finally going to take it off, and then he wouldn’t.

You felt a little dramatic. Obviously, he didn’t hate you, he treated you well. That could also be because he didn’t spend enough time with you to even have the opportunity to be unkind. Aemond wasn’t particularly talkative to begin with, but around his family, you’d hear him add in his thoughts every once in a while. He never talked to you though, all you could get out of him was a silent "hmm" in agreement or silence. His personality during sex, on the other hand, was quite different. He always had his head near your ear, and you would hear him whisper in High Valyrian to himself. When you first wed, you asked him what he was saying, but all you were met with was silence. He had an almost sheepish look on his face, and you decided not to bring it up again even though he said them every night. You could perfectly recite all of the words, yet you had no idea what any of them meant. Ñuhon, gevie, ābrazȳrys, dārilaros, zaldrītsos, to name a few. You could ask one of his siblings what it meant, but you wouldn’t want to risk embarrassing Aemond or losing the very little trust you’ve managed to gain.

From the very beginning, you trusted Aemond. His constant state of brooding might have worried you a little, but you always felt safe around him. It helped that he did nice little things for you, but you were convinced that it was his mother who forced him to make an effort. As a princess, you didn’t really have any responsibilities. At least when you were at home, you had things to keep you busy, like playing with your small siblings or riding your horse. Here, you were confined to the Red Keep. There are no family members to keep you company, and there are no open fields to ride your horse and escape into. Most of all, you missed your independence and getting to come and go as you please. Aemond was aware of how much you hated the guards following you around and was able to convince his mother to tone it down to just one personal guard.

After that, you felt relieved and thankful, until Aemond began relieving your guard of his duties and accompanying you on your walks instead. You couldn’t prove it, but you could almost swear Aemond had a jealous look in his eye when you would talk and laugh with your guard. You and he were from the same region, and he was one of the only people here who understood your sense of humor. You didn't understand what the point of Aemond taking his place was, it wasn't because he wanted to get to know you better and make conversation with you. Aemond had no reason to be jealous, you were only fond of your guard because he reminded you of home.

You were always writing to your family, you wanted to complain about how much you hated King’s Landing, but you didn’t want them to think you were ungrateful. Marrying into the royal family was an honor, and you knew there were many people who would kill to be in your shoes. Not to mention, you married the man who rides the largest dragon in the world. Aemond knew you were always sending ravens and gifted you a beautiful set of quills and a new wax seal stamp with a sapphire on the handle. That had been the first little present he had given you. You thanked him graciously, and he just casually commented on how you were a Targaryen now and needed a new seal.

There was a pattern to his gifts, they always contained sapphires. You didn't think too much about it, you doubted he was doing it intentionally. His mother was most likely giving it to him and telling him to give it to you. He never actually presented them to you, for all you knew, it could have been a maid delivering them directly from his mother to your chambers. It made you feel better to imagine that he was doing it himself, so you let yourself believe that. His main gift of choice was sapphire jewelry. Rings, necklaces, bracelets, everything. You thought it was just because he knew you were a little extravagant and liked wearing shiny things.

It wasn’t until one night, when the two of you were performing your marital duty of trying for heirs, that everything finally clicked. He had his face in the crook of your neck, as he always did, when his patch slipped up. Of course, he couldn’t see, so he wasn’t aware that it wasn’t still covering his eye. You didn’t notice until you were both finished and lying there catching your breath. He had no idea why you were staring at him. After sex, you both just silently said your goodbyes, you never looked at each other, especially not with the kind of awe you were showing right now. When he realized where exactly you were looking, he immediately tensed and sat up. Aemond felt defeated, you had already seen it, so what was the point of trying to hide it now? His sapphire eye looked identical to all of your gifts. This whole time, your entire marriage, he wasn’t giving you gifts because he was being forced to make an effort. He wanted to see you using your stamp. He wanted to watch you walk around covered in sapphires. It was his own little way of silently claiming you and marking his territory. You unconsciously touched the necklace you were wearing that he had given you, and his gaze went to your chest. He reached out and ran his fingers over the jewels. You put your hand over his and held it to you, not wanting to feel his touch leave you.

Without looking up at you, Aemond quietly whispered, "May I stay with you tonight?"

Aemond's POV

Aemond had never been happier or more anxious in his life. He thought he would've hated marriage, but there was something so relieving about it being arranged. It took away all the blame from him if it was an unhappy union. He didn't have to worry about never being able to find someone to marry him or them leaving him because you didn't really have a choice to divorce him. Of course he wanted you to be happy, but it was nice knowing that he had someone who would be by his side for the rest of his life, and he didn't have to wonder if you actually loved him or were just marrying him for his status. Because in the beginning, he knew you didn't love him, and he didn't love you either, but that was okay. He was aware that many arranged marriages have to start out in a place of mutual respect before they can grow into something more.

The thought of that not happening, though, plagued his mind. He wanted to talk to you, to plant the seeds for your relationship to blossom into something more, but he didn't know what to say. Aemond didn't want his marriage to turn into something that resembled his parents'. He supposed his mother and father loved each other in their own strange way, but it wasn't the kind of love he wanted for himself and you.

He didn't have a problem talking when you were intimate together. Using High Valyrian during sex was the only way he could get himself to open up to you. It wasn't the best way to communicate his feelings, but he knew he had to start somewhere, even if it was small. You had no idea he was telling you how beautiful you were, calling you his wife, his princess, and declaring that you were his. You smelled wonderful, you had no idea how much your scent soothed him. He loved tucking his face into your neck so he could breath you in. The combination of the safety you gave him, being inside of you, and feeling how well you took him turned him on so much. He wouldn't be able to keep in his words even if he wanted to.

Aemond knew you thought he hated you and that you weren't exactly in love with King's Landing. The city was a lot different from the countryside where you were raised, and he understood it would take time to get used to. Aegon was the heir, and Aemond was the spare. Even though he wasn't the king, Aemond's protection was a top priority. If something were to ever happen to Aegon, Aemond would be king. That importance now extended to you as well, you were expected to produce heirs in case the event ever occurred where they would be next in line. His mother had three guards assigned to follow you and keep an eye on you at all times to ensure your safety. You were strong-willed and had never complained to Aemond, but he could tell you were doing everything in your power not to lash out at your protectors for never providing you with any privacy. He spoke to his mother, asking her to reduce the number of guards watching over you. She agreed after Aemond recited the defensive argument he had been building in his head for you for the past few days to convince her.

Little did he know his mother would choose to keep the one guard that had the most in common with you and was well versed in the art of carrying a good conversation. He hated overhearing the two of you laughing and wished he could be the one responsible for your sweet sounds. Aemond didn't know how to make anyone laugh, let alone a beautiful woman who thought that he hated her and whom he had never had a real conversation with. He couldn't show his love through words, so he decided to give you gifts. You were always so excited whenever your parents sent you little presents, and he thought maybe that could be a way for him to start some sort of connection. He had yet to show you his eye, and he was aware that you were curious about what he truly looked like. It seemed unfair to him, and he felt guilty. That you had given everything up for him—your family, your home, your independence, your maidenhood—and he didn't have it in him to do something as simple as showing you his eye. The closest thing he could do was give you a piece of him, a piece of his sapphire.

There had been a large chunk of sapphire collected when they decided to make Aemond's new eye. They wanted to make sure they had a big piece so there was enough to work with in case they needed to make new eyes for him as he got older. He had little things along with jewelry made for you and asked them to use pieces from the sapphire they made his eye with. The royal jeweler protested at first, but one stern look from Aemond was enough to make anyone rethink all of their life choices. He would leave the jewelry in random places around your chamber as a surprise for you to find. Accepting compliments wasn't something Aemond knew how to do, and he didn't want to hear them from you. You did so much for him without even knowing it, you owed him no thanks or gratitude. No amount of gifts would be enough to repay you for how much happiness your small, fleeting smiles bring him. He loved watching you walk around the castle with his sapphires on, especially when you were with your guard. It made him feel a sense of security, that you were his and no one could take him from you. You wore the most sacred piece of him every day and didn't even know it.

Whenever he was buried inside of you, nothing else existed to him. The only things he was capable of processing were your moans and soft touches—the feeling of your hands caressing him from his biceps to his back. He knew you wanted to touch and hold his face but didn't want to scare him away, and he was thankful for the space you gave him. You both met your release and he laid there trying to gain his composure before he left. He never stayed with you after sex, he knew you would want to talk and didn't know what to say. The two of you had gone so long without properly talking about all that has happened in the past four months, and he knew there was too much to discuss. It was part of his nightly routine to spend a few minutes imagining what it would be like if he didn't leave before he eventually got up. Aemond looked at you to give his silent goodbye when he noticed you staring intently at him, not at him, at the left side of his face. He was suddenly aware that his patch didn't feel like it was positioned in its usual place. His hand faltered when he lifted it up to correct his patch, and he let it fall back on the bed when he saw you reach for your necklace. He knew you were finally realizing why all of his gifts were covered in sapphires, that it was a symbol of his love for you. Your hands looked so lovely playing with your necklace that he didn't realize he was touching it until you wrapped your hand around his and pressed it against your chest. Aemond could feel your heart beating rapidly and knew this was a defining moment in your marriage, and he couldn't leave now. This was the seed he had been wanting to plant all these months, and the time had finally come.

[cirtusmistress]

JJK Bridgerton Inspired HC’s - Gojo, Geto, Nanami

authors note: so your girl is on a Bridgerton binge and a JJK rewatch binge so like.. I’m boutta cater to such a niche audience lmao

genre: historical romance

tw: a lil horny sometimes but ultimately SFW

AO3 Crosspost

💙 Crown Prince Satoru Gojo and The Debutant 💙

• A prince by birth and next in line for the throne.

• Well bred, read, and wanted most dead. Has lived through multiple assasination attempts.

• Was never really interested in the prospect of marriage, was more invested in rehauling the royal system as a whole.

• Likes to spend his time with the young royals and nobles like his ward Megumi.

• W H O R E. Chronic flirt. Smart enough not to accidently sire an heir but knows how to have his fun.

• Met you during your debut year. You were the first woman to actually catch his eye.

• First he thought it was just more sexual attraction, but after a dance and a conversation he knew it was much more. Your wit was unmatched and you had snark enough to keep up with him.

• Played it cool though because he knew if he gave you too much attention you’d have a target on your back, and he wanted to make sure you were his.

• Goes out of his way to see you as much as he can. Lots of ‘accidental’ run-ins.

• The moment that sealed the deal for him was when you near bested him in a fencing match. It had been so long since someone had surprised him.

• Though being under the eyes of the crown prince doesn’t go unnoticed. Soon enough other men began attempting to court you. Even worse, certain parties started conspiring to use you against him.

• This all came to a head when you were cornered at a ball. You were meant to be taken hostage and used to lure and kill the prince. But there was no corner of the world they could hide you where he would not look. His day started and ended with you and if they harmed you the world would burn in your name.

• You were found and rescued by him, and your kidnappers were dealt with in a swift and brutal fashion.

• He proposed on the spot. No hesitation he was on that shit. You were to be his and that was that. And you would never be alone again.

• The wedding was huge. No expense was spared and he catered to your every whim and desire. You were his gorgeous only ever.

• Honeymoon was.. Oh baby. Literally. You weren’t coming back without being knocked up.

💜 Duke Suguru Geto and The Viscountess 💜

• Of common birth and rose to the rank of Duke after the former Duke passed away. He was the only living male relative, hence receiving the title.

• A former friend of the crown prince. The pair had a falling out when Geto grew power hungry in his new role. He is still a respected member of the ton, though under constant watch of the crown.

• As a Duke he is in charge of a small township. He’s known for his high taxes and using his citizens to collect rare birds from the surrounding area. He keeps them in an aviary with clipped wings, and sells them to other nobility for profit.

• He once was in charge of two townships, but one mysteriously burnt to the ground. An investigation brought no results, but it did reveal two survivors. Geto took them in as his wards.

• He met you during one of his bird sales to the Queen. You were a member of her entourage.

• You were a young widowed Viscountess with two young daughters of your own. Your husband had died of medical complications, leaving you alone with no sons. Luckily you had favor with the queen, but with no husband and no heirs you were in desperate need of saving.

• He found your unwavering commitment to your children admirable and you two began a long friendship.

• Your girls all got along well, and you loved his daughters with all your heart. Something about you doing their hair and tending to them so gently made his heart flutter.

• The friendship did eventually turn into more.. Especially after you admitted you urned for more children.

• Enter baby fever Suguru.

• He proposed in his aviary, promising to love your children as his own, and to give you as many more children as you desire.

• Townsfolk said Geto became far kinder after your marriage.

💛 Viscount Kento Nanami and The Housekeeper 💛

• Kento was born into his role as Viscount. And he takes it extremely seriously. Balancing finances and planning events, maintaining a reputation for his family.

• Unlike other men in the ton he rarely goes out to gentlemans clubs. He goes on the occasional hunt though he sees it as pointless and barbaric.

• His goal was to find a practical match, not a love match. He wanted someone who would bare him an heir, so that one day he could rest knowing he had done all he could for his family.

• His housekeeper eventually was forced to retire after injuring her hip. She had served his family for over fifty years and raised him, so he ensured she lived the rest of her life comfortably.

• But.. That meant he had to find a replacement. Easier said than done. No one could live up to the former housekeeper. Plenty of maids were recommended but.. None of them felt right. So he put out a request.

• And then you showed up. Younger, so he was skeptical. But you came on high recommendation from her majesty herself. Apparently you were quite capable and able to handle the heavy loads associated with the job.

• And lord were you. No one could have taken this job more seriously. Not a hair out of place, not a meal late. Sheets pressed. Animals tended.

• And Nanami found it.. Oh so attractive. Your dedication. Your concentration.

• Nothing impressed him more than your skills in the kitchen. You were an amazing cook. Although it wasn’t a listed priority in your job, you still took time out of your day to prepare one of his meals. Usually his afternoon tea.

• After a few months, he was starting to grow fond of you. It was improper to feel such emotions for a servant. But he couldn’t help notice all the little things. The crease of your brow as you kneaded dough. The satisfied smile after a days work completed. The pensive worry in your eyes as you dotted on him in his study.

• Eventually he had enough. Forgetting formality for once in his life, he gave you his heart. And you returned it.

• It was a scandal, but he took it. Because having you made it all worth it.

[allthornsnopetals]

Prologue: Stain the Parchment E. Bridgerton

Description: Flora Deluca -Lady da silva- is the pen pow and beloved author of Eloise Bridgerton. With her travels around the world, Flora finally travels to Mayfair London, in the hopes to inquire inspiration for yet another successful story, one in London, away from France and Italy with the aid of her pen pow. Unknowingly enbarking her romance mini-series.

:Master list:

"Miss Flora, you have received a few more letters from your readers, a lot more." Said Claudia, lowering a stack of folded and sealed papers, all written from the same sender.

Eloise Bridgerton: A new and quite fond reader of Miss Flora Deluca's novels, poems and volumes. She always wrote but Flora only ever read her letters, too busy to answer all her fan mail, especially Miss Eloise, who writes so often, she simply could not read them all.

But tonight is different, it's stale, cold and without excitement. Once left in peace, she began to sift through each written text, enjoying the character of the writer. She found amusement in every letter, all with a different perspective on love, marriage and romance. To simply put it, Miss Eloise is anti-love, which is ironic given, the reminder that Flora's genre is predominantly romantic.

But Eloise doesn't seem to mind, enjoying star-cross lovers, unrequited love, right person wrong time and general adventure. Adventures throughout France and Italy, Flora's mother lands. The more she read the more interested she became, intrigued in the young lady, who seems to have a gift for literature. Ideas racked her mind, ones of adventure, travels and new stories.

Without a second thought, Flora began to write to Miss Eloise of London.

Dear Miss Eloise Bridgerton,

I find your mind fascinating, intriguing and fresh. I like your take on the topic of romance and the rights for women. I do hope you put it to good use, for a woman like yourself has skill and potential. I am to travel to Mayfair London in four months, before the debutante season of marriage, for my father is to inherit his family estate there, and I am to start a new life in the Ton. By your letters, you seem to be a local, someone to show me around and help me to settle in.

I do hope to see you, perhaps get some ideas for a new story.

Yours truly,

Lady da Silva

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

"Eloise, you have a letter from... Italy?" Violet turns the letter in her hand, holding it out to her daughter with great confusion.

Eloise cracks her gaze from her book, eyeing the parchment, snatching and ripping it open. "From Italy? From whom?" Hyacinth inquires, trying to see the letter.

Eloise scowls. "From no one, mind your own. It is not your business." Said Eloise, shooing her little sister away with Benedict slumping himself beside her, also very excited.

"Is it from Lady da Silva?" He questions in a hushed voice, wetting his lips.

The two share a love for the author and artist, who illustrates her own books and covers. Both, sending letters frequently, but only one receiving a reply.

With a gasp, Eloise clarifies their suspicions, her grin far too wide for a typical letter. "She likes my mind, she thinks it's rather fascinating," She gloats with a smirk. "And she's moving to London!" She screams, jumping for joy with Benedict, like fools, sharing an embrace.

"I am to write to her right away!" She runs up the main stairway, leaving her family in silent confusion.

Dear Lady da Silva,

I am greatly honored to receive word from you and to be given the opportunity to aid you in your next book. I have plenty of ideas, adventures, character personality and genres. How about a heroine? A woman hero, who embarks on a quest, an adventure.

I cannot wait to finally meet you, to brainstorm with you, to work with you! Your novels are legendary here, in the Ton, enjoyed by all— yes, even by men. Genevieve Delacroix, the modiste introduced me to your books— surprisingly we mingle a lot, discussing your books over tea and fittings. She too, is quite the literature, she adores your poems, always quoting those of affection, frequently, must I add.

She would love to meet you. Oh, and my brother, Benedict, who found himself looped into our little book club— if you can call it that— and writes to you as well, but it seems you have only replied to my letters, which I thank you greatly, truly. You bruised his heart for only replying to me, forcing him to quote your latest publish: Irony is of the Heart. Your best work, if it means, he too, is quoting your work.

I can't wait to see you,

Eloise Bridgerton

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Time flew by rather quickly, sending letters, the two made a connection, forging a friendship by letter, staining their parchments, their minds occupied with the other. The two became pen pows, rather quickly, their letters becoming more intimate and personal, Flora was beginning to think she were already with her.

Sooner than she thought, she were in Mayfair London, unpacking her chambers, decorating and finding new furniture for her study. Once sat for the night, she wrote to Eloise, informing her of her arrival and her need for new garments. Marking a time to meet and unknowingly a new beginning.

[written-in-flowers]

At First Glance: (Otto x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Otto Hightower x Fem!OC

Genre: smut, fluff

Word count: 11k

Summary: Let's go back to the beginning of our Rosebud and her Hightower. Ser Otto is slotted to marry the young Tyrell girl, expecting resentment and disgust. However, his young bride proves him wrong quickly and erotically.

Tags: arranged marriage, old/young relationship (consensual), pool sex, poolside sex, public sex, oral (m. and f. giving/receiving), teasing, dirty talk, nipple play, breast worship, facials (kind of), tongue fucking, first time, a bit of coaxing on both parts but it's all consensual.

Masterlist!

***

They’d traveled for nearly two months before they finally saw it in the distance. Sitting high on a verdant hill, the Manderly river flowing nearby, was Highgarden. Seat of House Tyrell, it was a stone castle full of life, laughter, and light. White stones made up the high walls circulating the castle up top, each layer growing in height. Fields of golden roses stretched across the land, the fresh air flowing through to blow their sweet fragrance. The scene of natural beauty was such a stark contrast to the wretched, crowded, infested King’s Landing far away. Being near Highgarden put one in a completely different world, and Otto could see the appeal. How could someone want to live in King’s Landing or Oldtown when they had the flowers and entertainment of Highgarden? 

Otto thought about this as the wheelhouse pushed through the land towards the castle beyond. The Harvest Moon Festival was the biggest event in all of The Reach; the occasion was made twice as special due to The King’s progress happening to travel right through. Lord Gareth Tyrell responded to his raven with enthusiasm, as he looked forward to hosting The King’s party as well as seeing his childhood friend, Otto. House Tyrell were wardens of The Reach; House Hightower reigned in Oldtown, sacred place of The Citadel, The Starry Sept, and a notable trading port. The two great houses often mingled together through trade and politics. His older brother, Hobert, told him he’d recently drawn up new terms for House Tyrell to keep their families’ trade agreement going. The best way to seal this deal is through marriage. Hobert already married off his daughter and two sons. Otto had Alicent, who married King Viserys and was now queen; his son, Gwayne, was married with children as well. Hobert, having a living wife, turned his eyes to Otto. 

Widowed several years ago, he never considered finding another wife. No woman he met compared to Leyla, who’d been the light of his life. Being two-and-fifty, he told Hobert he’s too old to remarry; he had no desire. Hobert doubled down and reminded him of the importance. He thought he’d get some say in how his life went on after Leyla. But, he knew that his family must go on, and trade relations must remain on good terms. But still, it was madness. Gareth must be surely suffering from a bout of desperation, and will change his mind as he is so prone to doing. The offer might’ve been made on a whim; another fanciful idea his old friend made and will regret upon Otto’s arrival. Yet, for now, he must settle with the idea of marriage once more. 

Hobert told him he and Gareth can discuss dowry and dates when he’s chosen his bride. From what Otto recalled, Gareth and his wife, Jalissa, have six children: three boys and three girls. The youngest girl is only an infant, hardly fit to marry. The second eldest is one-and-ten, Aemond’s age and still not fit for a man like him. That left his eldest daughter, who was three-and-twenty. Lady Y/N Tyrell, “The Rose of Highgarden”, “Flower of The Reach”, “The Golden Flower”. Tales of your beauty and grace ran from Highgarden to Oldtown, and from Oltown to King’s Landing. You’d never been seen at court, but this was mainly your father’s doing. Gareth was very protective of his first-born daughter; Otto heard he turned down offers from younger suitors for the pettiest of reasons. He must admit he was surprised when Gareth wrote to Hobert about a possible marriage pact. He’d written a raven for Otto as well. He’d extolled his daughter’s obvious surface beauty, but her virtues and talents as well. 

‘Y/N is my most precious flower. I’d only entrust her to the noblest of men.’ 

You’ll be disappointed, no doubt. Perhaps when he and Gareth spoke in private, he could convince him to make a match with another Hightower or related member. Marriage might not be needed at all. They’ve made such agreements without it before now. He couldn’t marry again. Not because of the ceremonies or feasts or events beforehand, but because then you will carry the surname ‘Hightower’. You’d be ‘Lady Hightower’. Leyla was Lady Hightower. Lady Leyla Hightower. He pictured her even now as the wheelhouse passed through the final gate into Highgarden. He remembered the slender beauty with ginger curls and large brown eyes, who cheered for him the loudest and held his hand through the difficult times. It made his heart ache. Even if you are beautiful, there is no guarantee he’d like you or that you two had anything in common. 

The wheelhouse stopped when they reached the stone roundabout in front of the doors of Highgarden. On the walls, he saw crawling vines of roses and small flowers going up from the ground; more of them bloomed in the bushes lining the courtyard and the large fountain in the middle. He saw armored guards in silver with green cloaks standing by the steps, and a long green and gold carpet leading from door to bottom step. Right in front of the entrance, he spotted Gareth. A large man with dark brown hair, his mustache had grown thicker since Otto last saw him and gray hairs now mixed with the brown. Beside him stood Lady Jalissa, a willowy woman with auburn hair braided down her back, holding an infant swaddled in a green blanket. The children who remained at home stood alongside them: heir to Highgarden, Matthos, stood a tall as his father, a man grown with his own family; the twins, Loras and Horas, who were Aegon’s age of six-and-ten; Elise, the second eldest daughter who wore a dress of pale pink and gold with her thick hair braided, and the eldest daughter, you. His stomach churned as he forced himself to ignore you. 

His nerves tried overcoming him as the wheelhouse stopped in front of the party. No, he wouldn’t let himself be anxious. Otto took a deep breath and stepped out of the wheelhouse. The warm breeze coming through didn’t feel unpleasant; it felt quite relaxing. How can an old man like him take you away from such a beautiful home? You must hate him for it. 

“Otto!” Gareth held out his arms to Otto, and beamed brightly. Otto stepped forward and the two men embraced, laughing and patting one another on the back. “You look well, Otto. You look well,” he commented, “I just finished writing a letter to Hobert. He’s been badgering me about the damn trade routes! He tells me bandits and outlaws have been stopping his export cargo.”

“He mentioned the same to me as well. Let’s hope our alliance might help things.” Hobert often scolded his younger brother about not caring more about trade between Highgarden and Oldtown. He looked down the line to Jalissa and the infant in her arms. “Lady Jalissa,” he smiled at her, kissing the back of one of her hands, “You look lovely as ever.”

“Highgarden welcomes you, Otto,” she beamed back. “I’d like you to meet our newest Tyrell: Adeline.”

“How charming,” he said, tickling the baby’s chin and watching her smile. “She looks like you.”

“Thank the Gods,” Gareth added, “If she looked anything like me, I’d have a hard time marrying her off.” The three friends laughed before he said, “Speaking of marrying off…Ser Hightower, this is my daughter, Y/N.”

Radiant. That was the only word he could find to describe you. Everything about you was soft and gentle. It shined. You shined. Pretty eyes blinked up at him shyly, and your soft lips curled into a smile. Your dress was a painted gold vest with short sleeves, with a scarf underneath to cover your chest. The skirt was a fine light blue fabric that hung to your feet. His eyes spent time taking in all your features. For once, rumors spoke truthfully. The Rose of Highgarden was the epitome of beauty. 

“Ser Hightower,” you said in a soft spoken voice, curtsying for him. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“And you, Lady Y/N.” 

Leyla didn’t speak softly or show signs of shyness when they met. She’d been bold and out-spoken. She made a statement simply by the way she stood. You took charge in a different way. Gareth and Jalissa introduced their children. Seeing young Elise, he knew Gareth will propose a match between the king’s household and his own. Gareth never missed an opportunity to make alliances or connections to other great houses. He finally led them all inside the castle. Tapestries, fine art, and sculptures decorated every hall. He saw the vines from outside creeping through windows and onto the inner walls. Any earthy scent the rooms might have was blown away by the fresh air coming in through the wide corridors. Gareth started giving instructions to a castle guard, while Jalissa came into step beside Otto. 

“How are you, Otto?” she asked. 

“I’ve been well.”

“No, I mean right now,” she said. “Being betrothed after Leyla…it must be troubling you.”

He caught sight of you ahead of him. You glided as if walking on clouds above the sky. He spotted the golden rose pin keeping your hair back. “Your daughter’s so young, Jalissa,” he said quietly. “She should be marrying someone closer to her age. I can name five young men who’d be better suitors.”

“And my lord husband will find a reason why each one is not worthy of our Y/N,” she replied. “It has been an absolute struggle securing a marriage for her. He always had one reason or another: ‘the boy is too brash’ ‘the boy is too dim-witted’ ‘the boy is a brute’.” She sighed defeatedly, “When Hobert mentioned marriage, he jumped at the chance.” She glanced over at him, “He trusts you; he always has.”

“I’m old enough to be her father. She must be repulsed by the idea of marrying me.”

“Trust me,” she chortled, “My Y/N is overjoyed to be marrying you.”

“Of course, I’m a Hightower of Oldtown. It offers her protection, wealth and security for the rest of her life.”

“That is not the only reason she’s happy about it.”

Otto felt there was more in the statement than Jalissa said out loud. He looked back over to you as they walked into the Grand Hall, the central hub of Highgarden. Otto expected melancholy or a hidden fury in them, but instead he saw a subtle joy. You talk animatedly to Elise, the both of you giggling together before you looked over at him. You gave another sweet smile that melted hearts before bashfully looking away. No, that’s absurd. Jalissa meant to ease any doubts and worries he might have; maybe to keep him from running away, but she should know by now. 

He never runs from his duties. 

A spread of food and drink had been put out for the guests, no doubt to let them rest as their belongings were taken to their apartments. He spoke with the other lords of the Reach who’d come for the festival and his nuptials, reconnecting and greeting old friends from home. But, his eyes occasionally casted over towards you. You stood with other noble ladies, no doubt gossiping and chatting amongst yourselves. He couldn’t overcome the look you’d given him. Otto wouldn’t lie. The thought of you desiring him sounded appealing. He liked imagining such a beautiful creature wanting him, aching for him. He briefly pictured you coming to him, sneaking into his chambers and asking for him rather than him sending a maid to collect you for him. The odds of that were unlikely. Very. 

****

You’d heard many things about Ser Otto Hightower, your father’s childhood friend. You heard your father recount stories about him and Ser Otto, and your mother often spoke kindly of him. They both told you he’d make a good husband; he’d treat you honorably and keep you comfortably for the rest of your days. You heard other people say he was methodical and ambitious, which you could understand. Your own father can be the same way at times. You supposed all men are ambitious, in truth, but that did not intrigue you. 

“He’s so…old, though,” said Maera, one of your ladies-in-waiting. She and your other companions stood in a circle on the other side of the room. You saw the disgust on her face as she looked over at Otto. “He could be your father.”

“My father says his family is wealthy and pious,” you told her, trying to find a reason to excuse your compliance. “He seems kind enough.”

And handsome, though you’d never say so out loud. Ser Otto Hightower carried a refined, regal aura that made him stand out. The boys brought forward as suitors bumbled about, tried too hard to impress you, or spoke about your beauty endlessly with no substance. Ser Otto hardly said a word to you since meeting apart from his greeting, but you’d seen the recognition in his eyes. Your eyes looked over his tall stature, the light brown in his beard and the ginger in his auburn hair. It gave him a more respectable appearance. You did not know much about him besides what your parents told you, and you considered approaching him first. Yet, the thought tightened nerves in your stomach. What would you say to him? How would the conversation go? What if, like all the others, he saw you as an object to possess? You knew you’d be miserable if the latter was true. So many men seeking your hand saw you as a trophy to be won. You’d be a pretty, shiny jewel they can flaunt at balls and feasts. Your father, thankfully, hated every man who stepped through the door with your name on his lips. 

Except Ser Otto. 

You watched him speaking jovially with other lords of The Reach. Many people came from all around the region to attend the Harvest Moon Festival; many came for your upcoming wedding, which was at week's end. Several of your friends and relatives worked tirelessly on their gowns for the ball at the end of the week. Your seamstress recently finished the last draft of her designs for you, bringing your vision of a dress of maple leaves in orange, yellow, and red to life, and started sewing. Tonight, your father plans to host a welcoming feast for all the noble houses attending, and you have your gowns lined up for the entire week. You’d made sure they were eye-catching, pretty and slightly provocative. Men Ser Otto’s age tended to like pretty girls who flaunted their bodies. Your mother told you he was an honorable man, who wouldn’t want a wife who shows so much skin, so you held back into a more subtle gown. Still, you hoped Ser Otto approached you tonight. 

That little voice in the back of your head hoped he did more than talk. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” Elise, your younger sister, bounced over to you. In her hands, she held several flower crowns of different colors. She already wore her crown of pink carnations and baby’s breath on her head. “Mother wishes for the ladies to wear these tonight!” she held them out for your friends to grab, “And she said you get to wear this one.”

Your flower crown had gold roses woven into green leaves and feathers. Looking over to where your mother stood, a wet nurse holding your baby sister, you both locked eyes. She gave you a knowing smile, then nodded her head towards your father and Ser Otto. You returned with a nervous look, and shook your head. She gave a visible sigh, as if to say “alright, but you must speak with him eventually”. You would. Just not now. Especially not with your friends so closely watching. 

“I heard his wife died some time ago,” said Cornelia, holding her own crown of blue and white flowers. “She fell ill from a fever and passed away. Maybe he’ll be so distraught over his wife still, he won’t pay you much mind. My mother says the only time I’d need to see my husband is at the bedding and on formal occasions. Perhaps the same will be for you.”

“I hope not.”

“What?” said Maera incredulously. 

“I’d always hoped to have a loving marriage,” you admitted, playing with the crown in your hands. “A husband who adores and loves me like in the stories.”

“Life isn’t a fairytale, Y/N,” she replied, drinking from her wine cup. “My mother says women in this realm are dealt bad cards, and we must adapt to them or else we lose. My father promised me to August Tarly,” she said the name with disdain, “Once he’s been knighted.”

“Seeing how August Tarly wields a sword, I can’t imagine that’ll be any time soon,” you said. 

"I'm not counting the days, is all I can say."

You looked back at Ser Otto, who happened to catch you at the same time. Warmth filled your cheeks, you smiled and turned away. You hoped he was as kind as your mother said. If not that, then at least civil and decent towards you. A part of you worried you may spoil everything and Ser Otto chooses not to marry you. He might not be fully over his wife’s death, and find another way to avoid marriage. You'd thought about sneaking away until you spotted Ser Otto heading into the gardens from afar. 

"I will see you all tonight," you told the women, and swiftly moved through the crowd without an explanation.

You stayed by the stone archway leading into the vast gardens beyond. Other guests stayed spread out through the blossoming flowers and fountains, and you saw him talking to Lord Tarly, shaking hands and smiling. You never knew how to tell your friends about your taste in men. They all swooned over the handsome, young knights and lords who came through Highgarden, each of them fighting for the man’s attention. You, however, found yourself admiring men much older than you. Older men were more experienced in life and love. Now, you didn’t fall in love with the wrinkled, elderly men who sat in chairs and walked about on sticks. You liked men like Otto, middle-aged and still fit. You hoped your father would fight for the marriage if Otto should suggest another form of alliance. You’d love nothing more than to be his wife. 

Otto eventually left the company of Lord Tarly and his men, and walked towards the garden maze. Having grown up within the walls of Highgarden, you knew the garden maze like the back of your hand. Waiting until he’d disappeared through the archway, you stealthily followed him inside. The tall hedges made narrow paths going in all directions, each path leading the wanderer into groves of fruits and flowers, small sitting areas, or bathing pools. Perhaps he may get lost, and you can happen to have come upon him? You were merely enjoying your family’s gardens, and found him? 

‘Oh, forgive me, Ser. I thought I was alone…What? You’ve gotten turned around in the maze? Ha, that’s alright. Everyone does. Come, I will lead you back to the party…” You entertained yourself with the idea of coming upon Ser Otto in the citrus groves. Oranges, peaches, and apricots growing on trees, and their sweet smell hanging in the air. You moved along the trodden path Ser Otto had taken, hearing footsteps nearby and sensing it might be him. “What was that, Ser? Where is my chaperone? Well, Septa Gaunt’s ankles often swell when standing too long, so I left her sitting by one of the fountains…Why yes, I am happy to be marrying you. I promise I will be a good wife to you and mother to our children…No, Ser, I would not be opposed to you kissing me right now…I wore this gown just for you. I hope you like it…Oh, you wish for me to remove-”

“-It seems I am not the only one who enjoys the infamous Tyrell garden maze.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice. Turning around, you saw Otto standing in the entryway to the small courtyard you’d walked into. Benches on either side of the small space, a fountain of The Maiden holding her arms out as birds zoomed around her stood in the center. It was one of your favorites. Made of bronze, it shone in the morning sunlight, and the water spewed from her hands like crystals into the pond around her. The daydream running in your mind immediately dissipated when you caught sight of him. A deep heat rushed up your neck and burned your cheeks. 

“Oh, um, Ser Otto, my…you, um, uh, gave me a fright…” you sounded so childish. ‘Gave me a fright’. You could’ve kicked yourself right then and there. 

“Forgive me, my lady,” he replied, “That was not my intention.” He spotted the fountain behind you, “Ha, it seems your mother’s statue is still here.”

“Ha, uh yes. It is.” 

“I remember when your father commissioned this. It’d been after he married your mother,” he told you, coming up to your side. “He told me she was The Maiden in flesh, and wanted to dedicate a statue to preserve her beauty for eternity. He’s always been the hopeless romantic, your father,” he snorted. 

“You, um, see quite close to him and my mother,” you said, grabbing at topics to discuss. “He said he’d been fostered at The Hightower in Oldtown?” 

“Yes, he was,” he nodded. “He came to us after our fathers decided to renew Hightower and Tyrell ties. Fosterage was a lot more common back then. Your father and I became fast friends, training and being educated together. I suppose my father really did it because I never had many friends my own age. My brother was much older than me by that time, and I had no other siblings. I grew to truly cherish your father,” he said to you. “And him in return to me. I suppose that’s why he’s so adamant that I be your husband.”

“Our families truly are intertwined,” you said, watching the clear water spill from the statue's ring of flowers underneath. “My father says a marriage between our house and yours will be beneficial to both parties. He says the trade routes aren’t very safe these days, and House Hightower can provide more men to guard them.”

“We can…” you heard his voice trailing off before he said, “Lady YN, I considered asking your father to call off our engagement.”

The words sunk your heart into the acidic pits of your stomach. You looked over to him, and said, “Ser?” 

“I’m an old man, my lady,” he replied, not really looking at you. “A woman your age should be matched with someone younger and fitter than I. I already have children and grandchildren of my own. You cannot possibly wish to marry someone as old as me. I know your father wants the best for you, and I assure you that is not me.”

“But, Ser…” the fact that he thought he wasn’t a suitable husband for you shattered your hopes and dreams. Your mother always said you hoped far too high. You played with the belt around your waist, and said, “I do wish to marry you.”

He huffed in a laugh, “There is no need for flattery, my lady. There is nobody around to hear you.”

“I am not trying to flatter you, Ser. I mean it,” you turned completely to face him, hoping he’d see the sincerity there, “I would very much like to be your wife.” 

He faced you, hands behind his back, “And why is that? There are plenty of boys in this region who’d cut a man down to be with you. You’d certainly be a good match for my grandson, Prince Aegon, were he not already betrothed.”

“I don’t want a boy. I want a man,” you stated, cringing at how foolish it sounded out loud. “What I mean to say is that the boys that have come forward are all simple-minded, brutish, and only see me as a trophy.”

“And what makes you think I wouldn’t see you that way, hm?” he stepped closer to you, his body a foot away from yours. It left you breathless for a moment, and a slew of scenarios ran through your mind. 

“Because we’ve been standing in this yard alone and you haven’t tried to touch or kiss me,” you said, letting the idea settle into his mind. “My mother has told me many great things about you: how you were Hand of the King, all the good things you did for the kingdom, and that you’re an honorable and pious man. And besides,” you moved to him until you were inches from each other, smiling softly, “I quite like older men. They’re much more experienced in life and…marriage.” 

You heard him let out a soft sigh, his eyes scanning over your features up close. Gently, he brushed your arm, the simple touch igniting something inside you, “So, you are not opposed to this match?”

“No, Ser,” you shook your head. You pressed even closer, your body right against his, and circled the geometric patterns bordering his doublet. “I look forward to it greatly.” 

You saw a slight pink tinge cover his cheeks. He continued looking over your face before landing on your lips, “You…truly are The Rose of Highgarden…”

“Thank you, Ser,” you giggled. “I, um, hope this was not too forward,” you moved away from him suddenly, realizing what you’d done. “I don’t…I promise I am not usually this way-”

“-Do not apologize,” he insisted, bringing you back gently by the elbow. “Do you truly…Certainly you could not truly wish to marry an old man like me? I am old enough to be your father.” 

“Ser, you are not so old,” you assured him. You realized you quite enjoyed being close to him this way. “Old is for men like my grandfather, who walk around with a cane and cannot remember what day it is. I’m sure there are many things you can still do.”

‘Such as me…’ you nearly said, but decided that was indeed far too forward. He laughed at your words, and replied, “I’m not so sure of that, my lady. I have not done certain things in a very long time.”

“Perhaps once we’re married, we could-”

“-Y/N! Y/N, darling, where are you?” 

Your mother’s voice came from somewhere near the hedges, and you both jumped apart. Soon, Lady Jalissa came around the corner, and smiled in relief. “Ah, there you are,” she said, coming to your side, “I have been looking for you. The King has just arrived.” Suddenly, she noticed Otto beside you. She looked between you and then Otto, and realized what she’d done. Rather than scowl, she smiled knowingly. “Her chaperone is not present, Otto,” she teased, taking your hand, “You know better.”

“Perhaps her chaperone will be more mindful of her wanderings in the future,” Otto said, also sneering. “The King has arrived, you said?”

“Yes, him, the Queen, and the children. I’m sure Alicent will be pleased to see her father.” 

It was then that you remembered. You’d only just remembered: Queen Alicent is Ser Otto’s daughter. A pang of nervousness hit you as your mother guided you back through the maze, chatting with Otto about the Queen and him seeing The King again. You’d be related to The Queen, who was a few years older than you. What if she did not approve of this union? What if Otto took her opinion seriously and did discuss other alliance options with your father? You walked into the main hall again with your mother, gulping anxiously as you spotted the crowd parting for the newest guests. 

The King’s party consisted of his Kingsguard, men in white cloaks and golden armor. He walked with a cane, his white hair thinning on his head and his left sleeve dangling from the shoulder. He was around Otto’s age, yet looked so much older than the last time he visited Highgarden. Queen Alicent walked behind him with her ladies-in-waiting, wearing a green gown and a golden circlet in her auburn curls. She looked regal, the way a queen should look. She too was much, much younger than her husband. How could Otto object to your betrothal, yet fully accept his daughter marrying a man his age? Because that man was The King, of course. Behind her were Otto’s grandchildren: Prince Aegon, a tall boy with thick silver hair, who looked around the room in disinterest; Princess Helaena, a slender girl with hair just like her brother’s, shyly walking beside him as everyone looked on, and finally Prince Aemond, short and slight with silver curls down to his shoulders. The only one missing was Prince Daeron, the youngest who was a squire and cupbearer in Oldtown for Otto’s brother. Should you marry Otto, you’d be part of their family. You wouldn’t be royalty, but you’d be related to them. Since Otto is no longer Hand of the King, he no longer lives in King’s Landing. 

Perhaps that might be a good thing. 

Your father walked alongside King Viserys, the both talking cordially despite the slow steps. Everyone got along well with your father. While he may be a bit pompous at times, his jovial spirit rippled through crowds around him. It made him the perfect host. Your mother appeared with you at the center of the room, your siblings standing with her. When King Viserys approached, you all bowed. Then, your father introduced his household to him and Queen Alicent. 

Your nerves tripled when she approached you. You hoped maybe she did not know about the betrothal, but when her eyes widened slightly, you knew the truth. 

“You’re Lady Y/N?” she asked, trying to hide her disbelief. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” you nodded, curtsying. 

Alicent’s eyes flitted to her father who stood nearby behind you, then back to you. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

She hates you. “And you, Your Grace.” 

A sickness entered your stomach, and you thought you might vomit. She disapproves. She’s not only Otto’s daughter, but the Queen. She might demand your father choose another suitor; she could convince her father to decline the offer. You turned to your mother, who took your hand in hers and squeezed reassuringly. No amount of hand-holding could hold off the dread. You almost did not acknowledge Prince Aegon, who gave you a swift once-over, then walked away unimpressed. Princess Helaena timidly nodded, and you smiled kindly at her. It was Prince Aemond who stood stock-still in front of you. 

“Um, uh, hmmm,” he stammered, “Hello, Lady Y/N.” 

“Prince Aemond,” you curtsied once again. 

He stared up into your face, since he was much shorter being only twelve. The sudden fear that Queen Alicent might suggest a marriage between House Tyrell and The Crown came to you. It wouldn’t be the first time a Targaryen-Tyrell marriage alliance would be proposed. Yet, at the time it’d been King Viserys’s brother, Prince Daemon, who’d suggested it. This time it’d be The Queen. What if your father saw the benefits in this match and called off your betrothal to Otto? You tried thinking the opposite. Aemond is much younger than you. You’re twenty-three. He’s twelve. 

Your father called for the royal family to be shown to their chambers for the week. You saw Alicent walk with her father after them, and you excused yourself to your own chambers for the day. 

***

“She’s a child, Father.”

“She’s a grown woman, Alicent.”

“She might as well be a child compared to you.”

Otto found his daughter’s reaction quite amusing. Standing in her quarters at Highgarden, the servants finished setting down Alicent’s possessions and left the father and daughter alone. It’d been so long since Otto laid eyes on Alicent. The last they’d seen one another, Aegon and Helaena were still infants. He’d embraced her the moment the servants left, taking in the scent of flowers in her hair and the warmth of her. Seeing her now in the sunlight, she reminded him of Leyla. He’d planned on asking her about Lord Lionel, his sucessor who'd perished in a fire, leaving the position open once more. But, she had other concerns. 

“I cannot believe you are agreeing to this union,” she said, hands crossed in front of her and displeasure on her face. “You’d told me you did not wish to remarry after Mother passed. Now, here you are, engaged to a girl twice your junior.”

“It is for political reasons alone,” he said. “House Tyrell needs men, and House Hightower is willing to offer them. Gareth has a daughter who needs marrying, and he has insisted it be me.”

“Why?”

“We are close friends and allies. He trusts me to look after his daughter.”

She scoffed, shaking her head, “Oh, look after her, you will, Father.”

“Alicent,” he said firmly, as if scolding her. 

“You cannot convince me it is not for her youth and looks that you wish to marry her,” she retorted. “I’ve heard the things people say about that girl.”

“What do they say?” Alicent did not answer at first. He pressed her, “Alicent, is there something about her that you know that I do not?”

She stayed silent for a moment more before answering, “That she is lovely.” It almost annoyed her to say it. “They say she is lovely, gracious, kind, and talented. Ladies who’ve met her speak very highly of her.” She plopped down onto a chair, “Her beauty is said to rival the most beautiful girls at court. It appears the rumors are true.” She’d moved her fingers to pick at her nails, but she quickly stopped herself. Otto then discovered the real reason she disapproved, “You said you loved Mother. You said you’d never want for another woman after she died. You’d told me so yourself when I asked you. I never imagined you marrying someone else, especially one so young.” 

He smiled softly, and came to sit beside her. “I did love your mother, Alicent. I still do, even if she is no longer with us. But, this union will benefit both our families.”

“Is there no other option?” she nearly snapped. “Perhaps Uncle Hobert could foster the little girl or one of the sons at Oldtown. Daeron would do well to be around children his age. Maybe the little girl could be betrothed to Aemond instead. They’re close in age. A match to the crown will benefit him more, would it not?”

It would. “I will confess I considered the same thing,” he said. “But, it is Y/N Gareth wishes to marry off, not Elise. I will not lie to you, my daughter,” he looked at her, “Gareth is not very fond of House Targaryen.”

“Really?” she asked, intrigued. 

He poured them both wine from a pitcher nearby, and said, “Lord Gareth is a strong believer in The Seven. He does not approve of the Targaryen’s queer customs of marrying within their own families. He says he cannot trust a family who use their dragons as a means to put themselves above other men. It would take much more than simple military gain to propose a match.” He took a sip from his cup, then said, “And yes…Lady Y/N is beautiful, and Jalissa assures me she will make a good wife.”

Alicent rolled her eyes, “That poor girl. I can’t imagine her being very fond of the idea.”

“She claims differently.” He instantly regretted saying this when she looked over at him with wide eyes. 

“Father?” 

“I spoke with her in the garden,” he admitted, “And she told me she’s partial to…older men.”

Alicent stifled a laugh with her wine. “Surely, her father must’ve convinced her to say it.”

For some reason, Otto got the impression that you were not as obedient a daughter as Alicent. He recalled how close you’d stood to him, touching his doublet lightly and pure sincerity in your eyes. When he touched you, a flame sparked within him. He’d been tempted to kiss you right then, but his own morals restricted him. He liked to believe you’d said it to ease any worries. Yet, he liked the idea of you desiring him even more. You’d walked so willingly into his embrace, your bosom centimeters from his chest, and your body heat radiating onto him. For a moment, he remembered the bathing pools of Highgarden, and the idea of taking you there. Even if he did not wed you…

Gods, he’d still love to undress you. 

The innocence you’d shown clearly shrouded something lustful within you. People at Highgarden tended to live much more loosely than those in King’s Landing. He liked the idea that you might be one of those people. 

“-Father? Father, are you listening?” Alicent’s voice broke into his thoughts. 

“Yes,” he lied, coughing and looking at her. 

She didn’t believe him. “I said, have you heard what’s happened to Lord Lionel and Ser Harwin?”

Otto sat up straight and took a drink, hoping the coolness might soothe the fires inside him. “Oh yes, a terrible thing. Very tragic. I understand it was a fire that broke out in Harrenhal?”

“Yes, it took them both," she said. He noticed other words lingering inside her. She did not look at him, and focused on her wine. Her mother once did the same whenever she withheld information from him. "The King…is looking for a new Hand."

Otto paused, "Is he?"

"He is. I have taken the position for the time being, but I put forward your name." She then broke, "I have no allies at court, Father. Viserys continuously favors Rhaenyra and her sons over mine. He remains entirely blind to their plain features, and their obvious birth illlegitimacy. Whenever I broch the subject, he gives me a weak answer." Her deep brown eyes pleaded with him, "Father, I cannot go against them on my own. I need you."

He hesitated. As Hand of the King, he'd have significantly more power. A second son to a noble house, he inherited very little compared to his brother. When he became Hand, he became a person of worth. He had power and influence throughout the realm. If he were still Hand, he wouldn't need to remarry. Hobert might've chosen another option. Otto recalled his days as Hand of the King, first to the last king and then to Viserys. He'd spoken with the King's voice when he fell too ill; he sat on the council and had The King’s ear. He'd be with his daughter and grandchildren again. They'd have a person in their corner, concerned with their futures and their lives. If Rhaenyra became queen, the realm would be flown into war and chaos. 

If her bastard boys became kings after, it'd ruin the kingdom further. 

"Have you managed to convince him?" He asked her. 

"I have mentioned it to him a few times," she said. "He may consider rebuilding the bridges he burned dismissing you from court."

"I only spoke the truth," Otto said. "It is not my fault he is willfully blind to her misdeeds. I tell him his daughter went into a brothel with Prince Daemon, and was seen coming out after him. He dismisses me instead of accepting the truth."

He also remembered Viserys telling him that he'd plotted to put his daughter forward as a queen. Well, he had, but he never admitted that. Should he be Hand again, he can push for Aegon to be named heir instead of Rhaenyra. If he was Hand, he could keep Prince Daemon from being on the throne. If he was Hand again, people will understand why you wish to marry him. 

"I will wait for him to approach me," as he knows Viserys will. "I have plenty to occupy me for the moment." Such as you and your beautiful eyes. 

"He's been quite sentimental these days," she told him. "His declining health has made him even more so."

"I can imagine. The King has always been fickle with his commands. He banishes Daemon and then allows him back at court to only banish him again. He dismisses me as Hand, and then brings me back. It's only a matter of time."

She looked over at him, then said, "What will you do about Lady Y/N? You cannot seriously wish to marry her."

"I will. I must."

And wished to, though he kept this to himself. "I will leave you to settle in," he said, standing up from his seat. "I have yet to see my own quarters."

"I suspect they'll be close to Lady Y/N's," she said with disdain. "I know how these Tyrell's work. Her mother will no doubt have placed you close, so her daughter may tempt you in the dark."

He chuckled. She had not even spoken to you, and she already accused you of a plot. He kissed her hands, then left her chambers. He made his way to the rooms Gareth and Jalissa always kept for him. A spacious suite with an adjacent sitting area in front of a fire. A floral tapestry of a young maiden with flowing hair dancing in a silk chemise was added to the room. He couldn't help noting the maiden's similarities to you. Otto smirked. Alicent was not completely wrong. Jalissa can be as cunning as him when she wishes. 

Otto spent the rest of his day with his grandchildren and daughter. He did not see you again until later that night at the welcoming feast. As he walked in, the herald announcing his arrival, he spotted you sitting with your sister and companions. Each girl wore a circlet of different flowers, matching ribbons falling down the back. Yours was the only golden one, roses woven into vines and feathers. It matched the gold flowers embroidered into the baby blue gown you wore. You stood out amongst the ladies around you, not only because of your obvious beauty, but because you sat in the middle. You'd laughed at something your sister said, and his heart couldn't help but flutter. He took seats with his household on your side of the room, glad to have you out of his eyeline. Otherwise, he'd be unable to look anywhere else. 

"Evening, Ser Otto," The King approached him, and he stood up at once. 

"Good Evening, Your Grace," he bowed. "I pray you have been well."

"I wish I could say so," he chuckled. "I heard you're marrying the Tyrell girl on week's end?"

"Her father has proposed that to me," he nodded. "There is a situation with bandits on the routes from here to Oldtown, and her father has offered a marriage pact." 

"You're a lucky man then," he said, "She's lovely. Ha, I know Daemon would be envious of you were he here." 

"Thank you, Your Grace. I was sorry to hear about Lord Lionel and his son," he added. "It's such a shame. He was a good Hand."

"Not as good as you were," Viserys noted. 

"I appreciate that, Your Grace." 

"Perhaps," he limped closer to Otto, "We may sit down some time soon? Make amends and rebuild the bridge we burned so long ago."

"I would be open to that," he said. 

This pleased Viserys, who nodded and hobbled away to his seat on the high table. Otto watched him leave, more concerned than satisfied. Viserys is already missing a limb due to infection, and now he is becoming weaker. His days are numbered, and this means that Rhaenyra may soon take the throne. With her came Prince Daemon, who'd turn the Red Keep into a brothel and wouldn't hesitate to have his head on the executioner's block. Him being Hand again will ensure the right person ends up on the throne. Not to mention, people may not question his bride-to-be on her choice of husband. Any girl in your position would be a fool to not want the Hand of the King. 

Glancing across the hall, he took in your beauty once more. He couldn’t help noticing the low cut neckline of your gown, his eyes gluing themselves to it. The look might be considered scandalous at court, but here in your father’s home, many women wore similar dresses. He suspected due to the warm weather, but Jalissa’s mischievous smile came to the forefront of his mind. Otto could not help imagining those mounds in his hands, hard nipples on his tongue while you squirm with pleasure. He took a drink to wash down these thoughts. When you sensed someone watching you, you turned in his direction. Unsure what else to do, he raised his cup and you did the same. The Seven took their time when creating you, putting all the love and beauty in the world into your form. He walked towards your parents, hoping striking a conversation might distract him from your gaze. 

“Doesn’t YN look lovely tonight, Otto?” Jalissa asked him, looking in your direction. 

“She does,” he said. “She certainly inherited her mother’s looks.” 

“You flatter me,” she tsked, smiling at him. 

“I only speak the truth,” he insisted. He then moved on to the most concerning topic: “Your daughter told me she isn’t bothered by our arrangement,” he said. “When I told her that I considered ending it, she insisted that she approved of our match.” He glanced over at her, “Was this your doing, Jalissa?”

“Not entirely,” she admitted freely. “I may have slipped your name into the list of suitors, but I told her she may decline it, if she wished. She said she did not.”

“She mentioned she preferred men of a certain age…”

Jalissa's humored smile gave everything away. “YN has always shown a certain interest in older men.” She stepped closer to him, “I only wish for my daughter’s happiness, Otto. If I can find a way to give her even a crumb of it, I will do what it takes. Surely that is how you feel for your children?”

“That is what we all wish for them, Jalissa, but do you not worry what it might look like for her? A woman as young as her with a man of my age?”

“People will talk whether she marries a young man or an old one,” she shrugged indifferently. “Why the inquiry? Do you not find my daughter pleasing?”

“Oh, um, well…” his cheeks tinged pink at the question. “Your daughter is-”

“-You may speak freely with me,” she giggled at his flustered reaction. “Unless you’d rather tell my husband instead? He’ll be overjoyed at the idea.”

“Your daughter is beautiful, there is no doubt,” he said, finding you in the crowd again. This time he caught you looking at him. You gave a shy, embarrassed smile when his eyes met yours, but you did not look away. It took his breath away. “She is utterly enchanting.” 

“She’s even more enchanting up close,” she nudged him before walking away from him. 

This he knew. Otto watched Jalissa disappear into the crowd, leaving him awkwardly standing alone. His body burned from being under your gaze. He couldn't recall the last time a woman gave him so much attention. Normally, Otto did not struggle to maintain his composure. He could remain calm and collected regardless of the subject or person. Yet, your stare alone made him shift and gulp thickly. You are only a girl. Nothing malicious or threatening. But, he still took deep breaths as he made his way over to you. 

“Evening, Lady YN,” he gave a curt bow, immediately scrambling for what to say. Underneath the candlelights above, you looked positively glowing. “You look lovely tonight.”

“Thank you, ser,” you beamed. “I spoke with Her Grace when she arrived…” 

His stomach twisted, “Forgive anything she might have said. She may be our queen, but she’s my daughter as well. I hope she wasn’t too harsh.”

“Actually, it’d been quite the opposite,” you said. “She said she looked forward to the union of our houses, and to my joining your family.”

Undoubtedly pleasantries expected of a queen and daughter of an old man like him. He gazed around the room to see his daughter on the dais, chatting with Jalissa and being a proper guest. Alicent means well, and likely harbors resentment at him but he anticipated that. He only hoped Alicent wouldn’t be outwardly vicious towards you; none of this was your doing. It was your father’s and his brother’s idea. But, seeing you this close up and recalling your gentle touch, he might be warming up to it himself. 

“Would you care for a dance, my lady?” he asked, turning back to you. His body yearned to be close to you again. 

“I’d love to,” you smiled at him, immediately leaving your seat to join him. 

You took his arm and he walked you to the sea of dancers in the middle of the hall. Immediately, you both went into step together. Otto couldn’t recall the last time he’d danced at a banquet, so he did miss a step or two, but that exhilarating feeling he once felt returned. 

“Has it been long since you danced, ser?” you questioned, a small tease in your voice but nothing malicious. 

“I will admit yes,” he chuckled embarrassed. “Not since my lady wife passed. She loved dancing. So, forgive me if I have two-left feet.”

“You’re simply out of practice,” you took his hands at the appropriate moment, gazing into his eyes flirtatiously, “I can help you become reacquainted with it, if you like. I know you have plenty of things to teach me, I’d like to return the favor.”

The implication, however subtle, made him shudder. He loved and hated how easily this nymph effected him. You were The Maiden personified, in his eyes. 

“I’d like that,” he said quietly, the both of you standing in the middle of the floor. “I hear you’re a splendid dancer. When I’m tutored, I only learn from the best.”

You giggled, and then the lesson began. Nimble and light on your feet, you easily moved about the floor with him at every song. You made it fun and delightful. Otto almost forgot who he was and the people watching the two of you as you repeatedly came close together. Your electric energy pulled him in and kept a firm grip on him the entire time. Hearing from Jalissa that you might truly harbor favor for him only made his desires burn hotter. He did his best to keep himself from touching you too long or glancing at your body, but he’ll admit he snuck his peeks. 

“-I found Septon Rowley’s writings about the Seven intriguing,” you said as both walked into the garden. 

You’d both decided to take some air in the garden outside the hall after dancing. The lanterns hanging around the lush garden gave dim lighting to the cobbled paths around the vast landscape. He also noticed how much quieter and empty they were. The idea of being fully alone with you again stirred disquiet in his gut. Truly, he should’ve warned your septa, but the idea of the aged woman hovering nearby bothered him. He isn’t a green boy who cannot control himself. He is a grown man who can withhold his desires regardless of how badly they wished to be released. 

“He talks about them as if they’re people and not gods,” you continued. “He made them sound more human, even if some septons believe his work to lean more into storytelling than facts.”

“Septon Rowley is known to be a bit fanciful with his writing. He said he intended it to be read to children, but I found myself enjoying it as well,” he replied. “Your father mentioned you’re quite versed in scriptures?”

“I wouldn’t say versed, since I can only recite the more common phrases, but I did take a liking to it in my youth. My septa and my mother used to read them to us during sewing circles or after dinner. When they read them, it didn’t sound like a religious practice, but more for entertainment,” you said, “And I do pray in the sept every morning after I break my fast.”

“Do you?”

You giggled, “You believe I do not?”

“I’ve never known your mother or father to impress prayers upon their children before,” he said. “Your mother has loved the arts and your father prefers hunting over praying.”

“It’s true that they never did,” you nodded, “But I find it soothing in a way. The sept is truly the only place where I’m alone.”

“Oh?”

“I’m always surrounded by my ladies-in-waiting, my family, the servants…In the sept, I can kneel down on a bench in front of a statue with candles and sit. It’s become more of a special hideout than a sept.”

“I know the sept here in Highgarden is a rival to it, but The Starry Sept in Oldtown is glorious,” he told you. 

“The Starry Sept was beautiful when I was there last” you said, the both of you reaching a secluded section of the garden. 

He realized you’d both walked into one of the bathing pools of Highgarden. A square pool with clear water was dotted with lily pads and flowers, this particular pool sat in the middle of an orange grove surrounded by thick stone walls. You each took seats on a bench near the water. 

“It was so ancient,” you said, “And so many important things have happened there. It was a bit intimidating to me. There’d also been far too many people there for my taste. Also, my mother and sister went with me since they didn’t want me straying off alone.”

He gulped when he noticed the angle you sat put your bosom right in front of him. Otto knew he should not look. He did not bring you here to ravage you. He truly wished to know you; to see your true nature absent any wandering eyes. Yet, could anyone blame him? It was as if you meant to bring him here to tease him. 

“The sept in Hightower is a bit smaller, but,” he said, “Much more private than the Starry Sept.”

You glanced over to him, and he knew he’d been caught. A lump caught in his throat when you shifted closer to him. “Like this place here?” you suggested. 

“A bit,” he nodded, “Yes.” 

He knew he was doomed when your thigh pressed against his own. You’re simply teasing him. Your mother must have put you up to this, which wouldn’t surprise him. They want this marriage pact to go smoothly, and you showing interest in him would assure it does. It’s the sort of thing he’d done when he steered his daughter to Viserys. But, something about the way your fingers timidly danced over his thigh told him otherwise. When he forced himself to meet your eyes, he saw sincerity in them as you spoke. 

“Books about The Faith aren’t the only ones I like,” you said, voice dropping low and sultry. It drew him to you like a siren’s song. “My mother has a collection of books from Essos and she taught me how to read them.”

Heat burned in Otto’s cheeks, and tightened his stomach. He knew exactly what sort of books came out of the Free Cities. While most were educational texts about the various people and cultures, he’d read a fair few erotic tales written by pillowhouse owners or their courtesans. The picture of you in nothing but your chemise, legs parted as you pleasured yourself to one came to him immediately. 

“Did she? Jalissa should know better…”

“She only wished to educate me in things outside of a lady’s instruction,” you told him. “I’m not as naive as some of my companions might be, if I’m putting modesty aside. I knew I’d be married one day and,” you rested your hand on his inner thigh and whispered in his ear, “I want to be able to please my husband however he likes.” 

“My lady…this is…”

“If you wish for me to stop,” you pulled away from him, “Then my apologies. I…I should not have been so-”

“-What sort of things did you read, my lady?” he asked a bit too eagerly. “I’ve read a few tales myself.”

“Have you?” you asked in disbelief. “My father always painted you as a stout believer.”

“I do hold strongly to my faith and values but, YN, I am a man.” It was his turn to lean in close, “My favorite was written by a Lysene courtesan who shared beds with kings and princes. She claimed she ruled entire cities by using her body to sway her lovers. I found it quite clever of her to bring a man to such deep pleasure he throws away his ideals for her.” 

“Lady Harresha of the Red House?” you asked, a bit eager yourself. 

“The same,” he nodded. 

“I particularly enjoyed her stories about the lover she took in the house’s bathing pool,” you said, putting your hand back on his thigh. This time, he did not shy away. “The things she wrote about him doing to her sounded so sinful and delightful. The way she talked about his tongue tracing her sex made me imagine my own lover doing it to me.” 

Hearing such vulgar words coming from your mouth burned his loins. “She was said to taste as sweet as strawberries,” he said, taking the bait, “But I bet the Rose of Highgarden would taste like peaches.” 

“Ser…” you said in a bated breath. 

“I think we’ve moved far past formalities, YN,” he breathed, his hand gently creeping over yours. “You can call me ‘Otto’.” 

He thought you might shy away now; perhaps you’ll believe you’d bitten off more than you could chew. But, instead you guided your hand right over his groin. He bit the inside of his cheek when your soft, warm hand cupped his growing bulge. Slow and light, your fingers traced the faint outline. Seeing your breasts so close to him now, he reached out for one which caused you to gasp in surprise. Through the thin layers of your dress and chemise, he realized you didn’t wear a corset. Your hard nipple brushed against his palm as he gave a light squeeze, and he couldn’t help grazing over it. 

“I read one about a Pentoshi trade prince and a woman whom he declared had the most beautiful breasts in the world,” he said, pinching your nipple through your gown. “I’m beginning to believe I’ve found a pair to rival them.” 

You leaned into him, brushing your lips with his as you asked, “Would you like to find out? In a week’s time, they will be yours after all. You should see if you’ll like what you’re getting.”

“I know I will.”

It started with a few brief pecks before you deepened the kiss. His tongue slid between your lips and over your own, rolling around it smoothly as he continued groping your chest. Your lips worked so easily with his that sensuality laced every kiss. He felt alive again. Kissing your sweet lips revived a deep-seated arousal that hadn’t stirred for some time. Your hand rubbing his cock over his breeches had him moaning into your mouth as he cupped your cheek. Every small brush of your fingers on his tip stoked the fires inside him more. 

Soon, his hands left the front to snake around the back. His fingers deftly worked the lacings of your gown while yours unbuttoned his jerkin. He didn’t need to fill you tonight. There’d be time for that much later, but for now he’d be content seeing and touching your body. The two of you stood as he slid your dress off your shoulders, leaving you in only your chemise and stockings. Otto groaned at the sight of your breasts in front of him. The brief thought that someone might walk in and see the two of you crossed his mind, but the feeling of your hands untying his breeches brought him back to you. Quickly removing boots and slippers, you each stripped down to your underclothes, which only fanned the flames growing between you. 

“You look beautiful,” he growled into your neck, peppering the crook with soft kisses that tickled your flesh. “Far more beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Am I?”

“Truly,” he kissed you again, tongues slipping together briefly. 

He wasn’t so old and wrinkled that he considered himself unappealing, but he didn’t imagine you enjoying the sight of him too much. However, you proved him wrong as you traced your fingers down his chest and stomach to his pelvic bone. “I haven’t seen many men nude, ser, but yours definitely arouses me. Particularly after I see this,” you gripped the muscle sticking up to your stomach, smiling as he groaned deeply. “Come into the water with me just like in Lady Harresha’s story.” 

“Gladly, my lady.”

He kissed down your body to your thighs where he untied and slipped off your stockings. The moment you removed the last bits of clothing, Otto thought he might die. Your sex stood several inches from his face, a patch of hair above two soft folds that he saw himself licking and sucking to his heart’s content. His hands rubbed up and down your thighs as he looked on it, the thumbs pressing into the muscles as he reached the inner sides. Your soft whimpers added more fuel to his ever growing fires. Restraining himself, he guided you over to the steps of the pool, where he watched your body slink into the cool waters. 

Once there, he brought you into his embrace again. One hand on his shoulder, you wasted no time in taking him in your hand. You gave hos pulsating length gentle strokes, content to watch him kiss down your chest to your breasts. They truly were beautiful. Soft mounds with hard nipples that fit perfectly in his mouth, he grasped both as he suckled each one. The creases on the peaks constricted at his tongue, them being one of the most sensitive spots on your body. He moaned at the combination of your tits in his hands and you stroking his cock. When he felt you grip his shaft tightly, he sensed you might need his tongue elsewhere. First, he’d use his hand. Sliding one from your chest to the apex of your thighs, you trembled as his fingers slipped easily over your sex. He groaned softly as he felt a distinct wetness between the folds, and the hard nub that ran against his middle finger. 

“Otto…” you whined, gripping his shoulder as you tried staying still for him. 

You cried out when his fingers gently started rubbing around your clit. He chuckled softly at you squirming in his grasp, eager for more but not wishing to be demanding. 

“Let me have a closer look at you,” he said, capturing your lips to kiss you once more. “I want to see you.”

“Only see me?”

“For the moment, sweetling.” 

He guided you to the top step, where you eagerly spread your thighs to show him your sex above the low surface of water. Timidly, you mimicked his touches seconds before as you kept your eyes on him. His own eyes landed on your center, watching your hand slowly open your folds for him. He envisioned himself plunging hilt-deep into your tightness, ravaging you the way you richly deserved every night. He wrapped his hand around his tip and started gradually jerking from base to head every time. Otto groaned at the light trembles going through his body once you spread the lips for him.

“Do you like it?” you asked shyly, biting your lower lip as you traced your clit in front of him. 

“I love it,” he said, jaw dropping at the faint glistening he saw between them. “Do you often touch yourself like this?” he moved closer to touch your inner thigh, hooking one arm around it. 

“I do,” you nodded, clit tucked between two fingers as you slid them up and down. 

“While you read your naughty tales?”

“Yes. I get so aroused and wet,” you emphasized this by pushing your folds apart for him, “From reading about the things the characters do in the stories. Like the Lorathi slave who fucked her way to be the concubine of a Pentoshi prince.” You slowly continued touching yourself as you said, “How she pleasured a merchant with her mouth for passage across the river, letting his son fuck her from behind while she did it. I loved the part about her with a Norvoshi soldier, riding his large cock in order to gain access to his master. I can’t wait to feel one inside me,” you slid a finger inside your pussy, pushing it to the knuckle. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.” 

“Tell me more,” he groaned, hooking his arms around both your thighs now. “Tell me more while I taste you.” 

Holding you in his grasp, he kept you in place as he gave your sex long, flat licks. He tasted hints of your essence on his tongue, which had his cock throbbing in the water. He kept his pace steady, starting at the bottom before reaching the hard clit at the top and then repeating it. You leaned back into the edge behind you, your hands falling into his hair and feeling the strands between your fingers. 

“I climaxed hardest to the part when she finally meets the man at the end of her journey,” you panted. “Reading about how she sat on his face and rode his tongue left me wishing I had a husband who’d let me do that too. I came once, and kept going just to imagine it all over again.” 

You filthy girl. Otto never thought he’d find someone as dirty as himself. He growled into your pussy as he thought of you giving yourself multiple orgasms out of pure desire. When he swirled his tongue around your clit, your breaths became ragged and whiny that encouraged him to continue. Your sex tasted sweet, as intoxicating to him as wine, and he licked up any trickle that leaked from you. You tentatively grinded yourself into his mouth, moaning as he ran his tongue over the outer lips. 

“How often?” he asked you, rolling his tongue around once more. 

“Every night.”

“You fib.”

“I don’t,” you giggled breathily, grinding your hips into his face. He allowed it to hear the moan cut off your laugh. “You should hide in my bedchamber tonight. You’ll see it for yourself.” 

“Do not tempt me,” he said, sucking on your throbbing clit. “I will if pressed.”

“And that will only make me want your cock more.” 

“YN….” 

“Otto…please…”

“Please?” he taunted between licks before sucking tenderly. 

“Put your tongue inside,” you whimpered, pinching one of your nipples. “Like the man in the story. I want to feel a part of you inside me at least once.”

Otto planted himself in front of you and slipped his tongue inside your virginal sex. He let his moans vibrate in your entrance each time he darted in and out of you. This new sensation had you wriggling in his arms. He tightened his grip on you and started tongue fucking you faster, reaching as far as he can each time. He allowed you to grab hold of his hair once more to keep him in place as you used him. You soon started shuddering, your walls contracting around his tongue and thighs shaking in his arms. Thick waves of cum spilled over his tongue and he swallowed every bit he could; the juices became smeared on his chin and nose, drowning him in your scent and taste. Even when he removed his tongue, Otto continued sucking your wet sex until you squealed from the sensitivity. 

“Sit up for me,” he ordered, standing up in front of you. 

You did not need guidance in what happened next. Otto’s jaw fell in a low moan when you stuck out your tongue and licked him from bottom to top. Your hot tongue tickled the underside of his length, flicking just beneath the sensitive head before giving it a light suck. Droplets of precum spilled out as you kissed and licked him; he thought you might avoid it due to the taste, but you surprised him once again. You traced the slit of the head to the leaking hole, running your tongue around it before sucking it softly. A small hum of approval told him you enjoyed it.

“And here I thought I’d have a timid little virgin on my hands,” he said, one hand on his hip and the other on your head as you took him fully in your mouth. “I might think you’ve…you’ve done this before.”

“I assure you, ser,” you said, pecking his tip with your lips, “I have not. I only take instructions from reading well.”

“Did your Lorathi slave write about sucking cock too?”

“Often and with great detail.”

You proved this to him soon enough. Otto found himself struggling to stay put as you stroked and sucked his cock. Your warm mouth felt like heaven. Your wet tongue slid over the throbbing vein each time, while your cheeks hollowed tightly around his girth. He’d marry you on the morrow if he could; he’d marry you right after you finish him if you wanted. Much like the whores in your Essos fairytales, you’d bewitched him with your mouth and tongue. With a cradle of his balls in your hand, light squeezes and gentle touches had him thrusting into your throat. The sounds of your choking gasps sent him over the edge. He thought you’d pull away, and you did but only to open your mouth wide for him. Jerking him in the same pace as before, you locked eyes with him as thick white droplets fell on your tongue. 

Not even his Leyla would've done such acts. 

His orgasm hit him before he could control himself. He moaned your name louder than he intended, unable to stop himself from spilling over your lips. When you saw them getting away from you, you latched your mouth to the squirting head and this drove him even wilder. Even as his relief came, his desire for you continued burning. You stroked him until nothing else was left; you licked until he stopped twitching. When you finished, you dared to appear timid and shy once more. He bent down to latch his lips to yours, not caring what flavors he might find but only wanting your kiss. 

Neither of you left the pool right away. Basking in the afterglow of the moment, you stayed contently in his arms on the soft grass as you both continued talking. He felt at ease in your company now. He supposed having worked out his initial desires, he could enjoy the woman underneath the seductive veil. If this first meeting brought about such tension, he couldn’t imagine your wedding night. As you both eventually dried off and dressed, he thought about a life with you. He knew you’d love Oldtown and the Hightower. You’d be surrounded by his family who will undoubtedly accept and grow to love you. 

He knew he was starting to.

***

A/N: Hello sweet ottogasms lmao I had this sitting around in my drafts for a looonnggg time and recently got into the swing of writing this duo again <3

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick’s hands didn’t tremble as he slipped off the rings on his fingers.  Dick’s hands had stopped trembling days ago, when Ra’s had strolled through their keep’s gates like the place belonged to him, and Dick hadn’t been able to stop him from seizing control.

From taking guardianship of Damian.  From stealing Tim’s letters.  From sending a small army to hunt for Jason and his outlaws.

From marrying Dick off to a warlord from the plains—a personal favor, Ra’s had called it, and Dick knew that anyone who won favors from the likes of Ra’s al Ghul was not someone he wanted to marry or mate.

His first impression of Slade Wilson did nothing to change that.

The man was a head and a half taller than Dick, broad and muscled—a warrior born and bred, and Dick had never been raised as some fainting, delicate omega in a tower, but he’d almost shivered and stepped back when Slade had dismounted from his great stallion in the middle of the courtyard.

He was older than Dick, much older—he had three kids from his first marriage, the eldest Damian’s age, and Dick didn’t dare ask what happened to his mate—and had only one eye, and moved like he was the most dangerous thing in any given space and the world knew it too.  Dick had gone still whenever Slade passed close to him, like a rabbit freezing in the hopes that the predator would ignore it.

Like now.

“Leave it,” came the gruff voice, when Dick moved to slide off the arm bracers.  “It suits you.”

Dick left the arm bracers on.  Dick did not meet his new husband’s eyes as he worked on the catches of the other jewelry.  The last was the heavy, symbolic choker tight around his neck.

He remembered Bruce showing it to him once, when he’d been years younger, and promising that Dick would get to wear it for his wedding.  That he would get to take it off to bare his neck for the person he’d chosen to be his mate.

Dick carefully placed his grandmother’s collar on the table, and did not cry.

His hands moved up, to the flowers and woven braids stylized like a crown in his short hair, but his husband tsked again.  “You’ll ruin it,” he said, a callused thumb brushing along Dick’s hairline.  “It looks like it took a lot of work.”

It did.  Dick remembered the hollow blankness inside of him as he was prepared for the wedding by Ra’s al Ghul’s maids, as he was led out by Ra’s al Ghul’s nobles, as he was escorted up the aisle by the evil scheming snake and not his father.

Because Bruce was dead, and his whole world had fallen apart because of it.

Dick left the hair, not making a single comment about how the pins were already starting to give him a headache, and stood, bracing himself against the dresser for a moment to make sure that his knees would hold him.  There was no use stalling or delaying—Dick’s heart was already in his throat, and all waiting would do was make the panic climb higher.

Slade was so close behind him that Dick could feel his presence as a tangible prickle down his spine, but he ignored it, and began working at the knots in the silks.  It would be a shame to ruin the finery for a wedding he’d been threatened into.

The memory of Ra’s al Ghul’s satisfied smirk as Dick said the vows to seal his fate was seared into his mind.

Some of the knots were in awkward places, and the third time a knot slipped out of his numb fingers, Slade spoke up again.  “Would you like me to help?” he asked.  Like it was a choice.

Well, Dick supposed it was.  The same way the demands Ra’s gave had been choices.  Submit gracefully.  Or suffer, along with everyone he loved.

Dick turned to give Slade easier access to the laces down his sides.

His husband was efficient, pulling each knot free quickly, his fingers leaving scorching trails of fire wherever they brushed against Dick’s skin, even through the layers of silks.  Dick didn’t bother holding the outer layer up, and let it slip down, knot by knot, freed laces by freed laces, until Slade was done and it slid down to pool around his feet.

Dick stepped out of it.  The second layer was easier to pull off, until Dick was left in what could charitably be called a shift, because omegas didn’t wear full shifts under their wedding wear, because after the wedding came the mating and Dick was standing in a piece of cloth that covered next to nothing but that the maids swore would be enticing.

Dick didn’t want to turn around.  He didn’t want to see if his husband was enticed.

But if he didn’t turn around, Slade would grab his elbow and yank, and the longer Dick obeyed, the longer Slade would be…gentle, almost, his grip light and firm instead of hard and squeezing, voice level instead of harsh, treating him like a wife and not a hostage.  Since Dick had to spend the rest of his life with him, he should enjoy the gentleness where he got it.

If Slade was a friend of Ra’s al Ghul, then Dick knew that the man was cruel.  But he hadn’t seen it, not once since he gave his hand and said the words, and if the alpha was that good at hiding it, it was possible that a subservient omega was what the warlord wanted.

Either that, or he wanted to enjoy Dick for a bit before trying to make him break.

It didn’t matter.  There was no way out of this.  Even if Dick managed to overpower Slade and get out of the room, he had no friends left in Gotham.  If Dick managed to flee, Ra’s would take it out on everyone who was left behind.  He’d execute Jason after he caught the outlaws, and he’d chain Tim after his little brother got back from his fool’s quest, and he’d force Damian through the harsh training that the boy had endured for too much of his childhood, and Dick could not let that happen.

Whatever Slade wanted, he would suffer.  For his brothers.  For the only family he had left.

Dick turned around, his gaze fixed at his husband’s collarbone.  Slade had taken his shirt off, and scars crisscrossed corded muscle, speaking to a life lived on a constant battlefield.  “Beautiful,” his husband said in a low murmur, and a hand on his cheek forced his head up.

Lips sealed on his, and Dick let them plunder his mouth, let them take as an arm wrapped around his back, his shift riding up till it was concealing nothing at all, eyes closed and prickling hot and he would not cry.

Dick had to gasp when Slade pulled back, breathless and panting, and Slade’s gaze darkened further, satisfaction clear in his icy blue eye.  He nudged Dick back towards the bed, nodding, “Go on.”

Dick stepped back, bare feet against the rugs, until he felt the edge of the bed hit his thighs.  At Slade’s expectant look, he boosted himself up, crawling backwards until he was in the center of the bed, watching Slade’s expression sharpen into desire.

At least this wasn’t his room.  Or Bruce’s.  Dick couldn’t bear to have his last memory of his father’s room be the bed he was raped on.

Slade stalked forward like a wolf, and Dick’s first reaction was to flee.  Suppressing that instinct left little room for anything else, and Dick stayed stuck, half up on his elbows, as Slade reached the edge of the bed.

“No room for me?” Slade asked, almost amused, and Dick realized that his thighs were firmly pressed together.

He let his knees fall open, sinking back against the bed, trying not to think about the fact that he was completely bared, and clutched desperately at the haze to surround himself with.

Light, open-mouthed kisses against his ankles, rising up his calves, and Dick fell deeper, deeper, deeper.  If Slade was proportionate all the way—it would hurt.  It would hurt a lot, and badly, and teasing nips to the inside of his thighs wouldn’t change that.  Even if Slade wasn’t proportionate, it would hurt, Dick wasn’t in heat and he knew that several alphas didn’t believe in lube or prep, that omegas’ bodies were built to take them so it would be fine.

He had to cocoon himself in not-feeling, or he’d scream, or cry, or—or beg, and he couldn’t do that.

He was scared.

He wanted his dad.

The kisses had stopped.  Dick forced himself to detach further from his body, but halted when he heard his name, sounding like it was coming from far away.  “Dick?”

“Yes?” Dick responded, a breathy even to his own ears.

“…Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Dick said.  Or maybe slurred.  Everything felt a little floaty.

“You don’t sound fine,” the voice informed him.  “Can you sit up?”

It took Dick a moment to figure out how his arms worked, but he pushed up.  Slade was kneeling between his spread legs, expression no longer warm and desire-heavy, but closed and analytical.

“Are you okay?” Slade asked again.

“I’m fine,” Dick repeated, and this time his voice sounded hollow instead of floaty.  There was a curl of dread deep inside of him—apparently Slade wanted him present—and Dick mentally bid adieu to the haze as he forced himself back to reality.

He realized he was shaking, minute tremors wracking his body, and Slade’s eyebrows were pinching even further.  “You’re trembling,” Slade pointed out.

Dick wasn’t sure if he could stop.  “Just—just a little nervous,” he answered, trying not to stutter.  The bashful, blushing bride was still a thing, right?  Slade wasn’t—wasn’t expecting him to be experienced and—and participating, was he?  “And it’s a little—cold,” Dick added, to cover all his bases.

Hopefully Slade would decide to warm him up and they could get this over with.

Slade reached to the side of the bed, tugging one of the blankets free and—and wrapping it around Dick’s shoulders, practically swaddling him in the material.  Dick blinked.

“You said you were cold,” Slade said levelly, shifting back and studying Dick with that scrutinizing expression again.  Dick allowed himself to clutch the blanket, and wondered what the hell this was supposed to be.

“You don’t want this,” Slade said after a stretching silence, and Dick froze.

How the fuck was he supposed to respond to that?  Agree?  Disagree?  Convince Slade that he was wrong?  He felt like he was standing in a trap but he didn’t know where it would spring from.

“You’re not nervous,” Slade said, voice tight.  “You’re terrified.”

[lizzy06]

Naruto Fic Recs!! (AO3)

Fandom Masterlist

Hey guys these are my favorite Naruto fics!! Hope u enjoy them too <3!!

No Paring

becoming the memory✨💖 by iinsomniatic(Time travel fix it, Jiraiya raises naruto) Out of options and about to die, Jiraiya writes a seal he’s sure isn’t going to work anyway. Then he wakes up, and damn it all, it’s October 10th. [ONGOING] From me to you: Unsent letters ✨✨by Lady_Ye(oneshot, suicide note)This made me cry so hard!! [COMPLETED]

Naruto Uzumaki x Sakura Haruno

Artistic purpose ✨by StormyInk (one shot, fluff) sai gets his new inspiration of drawing from his friends with which he also sets something off!! [COMPLETED] Just like me by bendingwing (oneshot, fluff)The beginnings of narusaku [COMPLETED] The Children of Omelas byFangirlJo (oneshot, Utopia, Dystopia, inspired by the one who walks away from omelas)She was 8 when she noticed the blonde boy in ragged clothing with bruises, sores and cuts all over him. She doesn't think the adults ever noticed him despite his bizarre looks, but she did.[COMPLETED] Date Night by TwinEnigma(oneshot Wingman sasuke, funny)In which Sasuke tries to do something nice for Naruto and Sakura's first anniversary. Hilarity ensues. [COMPLETED] Of pink and orange by FairyLetters (oneshot, reader is a spectator, fluff and angst)You watch as Sakura Haruno and Naruto Uzumaki come to an understanding that Sasuke Uchiha has left again.[COMPLETED] What now? by Kameodash(oneshot, after war)Naruto and Sakura try to cope with the trauma of the war together.[COMPLETED] Leaving You by THE_MAN42(oneshot, Love confession ,Sad ending)Naruto dies in her arms.[COMPLETED] Shinachiku and the Multiverse of...Wait There's a Multiverse?! by DuchessofChaos (time travel,falling in love) shinachiku travels to a world where his parents don't exist[ONGOING] Open Hearts by gabriella0807(post war,fluff)After the war there is a lot of work left to be done and many problems to be solved in the Shinobi world, while our heroes need to heal and move forward with their lives. [COMPLETED] Baby its you ✨by Behla(fake dating, friends to lovers, crush's wedding, single bed) Haruno Sakura finds herself in desperate need of a date for the wedding of a man she's been pining after for over eight years, in order to convince him and his bride that she's getting over him.[ONGOING]

Nara shikamaru x Ino Yamanaka

Red Ribbon by amuk(one shot,humour, friendship)They made a promise and Ino spent three years searching for Shikamaru to keep that promise. Time changes everyone, though, and Shikamaru looks cozy with his coworker, Temari. Some promises can't be kept. [COMPLETED]

In the forest 💖💖💖✨by SenkaHitomi(LadyTegan) - (post war, mission gone wrong, slow burn) shikamaru returns in catatonic state from a mission and ino must go into the labyrinth of his mind to bring shikamru back! [COMPLETED]

Its her again... ✨✨by atmymercy (Highschool au, pinning) Ino gets jealous of the girl who sits beside shika on his train and this leads to a whirlwind confrontation of her feelings..[COMPLETED]

Uchiha sasuke x sakura Haruno

Before the storm ✨by crissy_writes_garbage(Time travel to past, pregnant sakura)Sakura is pregnant and lost, a combination that leads to more trouble than necessary. Specially when you're lost in the past. [COMPLETED]

Gaara x Sakura Haruno

words that tie, ties that bind by Binxxx(soulmates, angst,SHUKAKU THE THERAPIST)During the chaos of the Chunin Exams, Sakura discovers who her soulmate is. [ONGOING] The four heavenly treasures by IRinna(arranged marriage, politics, friends-to-lovers)Princess Sakura of the Land of Fire is offered in a political alliance to the Land of Wind to help survive the incoming war. There she meets Gaara, leader of Wind and one of the champions of the Four Heavenly Treasures. [COMPLETED]

Uchiha Madara x Sakura Haruno

The Black bull by Vesperchan (oneshot, beauty and the beast elements)Based on the classic Scottish fairytale The Black Bull of Norroway.[COMPLETED]

Itachi Uchia(xf!reader)

Ikigai ✨by MissWriter97(arranged marriage, senju reader, alternate au) Uchiha Itachi gets married to the women he does not love to prevent the massacre! This is a lovely fic...[ONGOING]

Senju Tobirama(xf!reader)

A Step in Time by MizzGinger (senju tobirama x Princess! reader ,arrange marriage, time travel, second chances) This is and alternate au story with a lot of war time drama going on!! It has a brilliant set up!![ONGOING]

The Home I crave✨✨ by cafeinthemoon93( arranged marriage, angst, slowburn, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers )I really loved this fics, the detailing and pacing were chef's kiss!![HIATUS]

Some other pairing stories

Iruka x reader

Growing along the line✨✨💖 by FreakyPseudWriter(fake dating, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, fluff)After a really bad day at your workplace you meet Umino Iruka, who quickly makes you open up to him. But you certainly didn't expect him to suddenly claim you two were romantically involved! [COMPLETED]

Sasori x Sakura Haruno

Bait and Hitch✨✨ by Aelynthi (fake dating, coworkers, crush's wedding)When Haruno Sakura finds out Sasuke is engaged, she does the only thing she knows to do in order to save her pride—she lies.[ONGOING]

[mrsmaxwelllord]

Summer Storm — Chapter II

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Martell Lady!Reader

Summary: The curse ignites a fire in Harrenhal.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Arranged Marriage. Mediumship. Fire. Burn Injury. Medical Inaccuracies. Annoyng man and (A LOT OF) gossip.

A/N: Enjoy!

AO3.

Harwin didn’t tell you half of the history, but the conversation you had after agreeing to a partnership of sorts — as if you were not married already — was full of meaning. You didn't expect him to blindly throw everything at you, yet it was strange to receive so little information about the events that doomed your marriage.

Nevertheless, you got a better understanding of him and his reasons. 

You heard what he confided in you with grace and patience you did not know you had. When he finished, you gave him your honest opinion: if he truly wanted to leave the past behind and protect the princes, he could never go back to the Red Keep or contact them again. It was harsh and very painful, you knew, but it was the truth and he knew it too. He promised he’d not do anything to compromise you or the House, not willingly, but you didn’t trust him just enough to believe him in this.

When this matter was settled, he asked about you again and insisted he wanted an honest answer this time. You refused. It was late and you were tired, exhausted really. But promised him you'd have all the time in the world to talk in the future. 

To keep the farce, he even made a small cut in his hand to stain the bed sheet. You watched the blood drain from him with a strange satisfaction, it was as if you were sealing the pact with blood. 

He guided you to your own chamber after wrapping you in one of his coats.  Once alone, you allow yourself to reflect on the events that lead you to this new life. You knew of the marriage a month before it happened, being the middle child of House Martell you were expected to have a good marriage, but not a great one - by marrying Harwin you had accomplished just enough success to be forgotten from your father's mind, he did his job to you and now was free to go on with his life. Your mother died years ago and was of no consequence. Your brothers and sisters were never really close, although they promised to write letters and keep contact — which you weren’t entirely sure would happen.

 You had come to Harrenghall with a sworn knight to protect and look after you, but he was a stranger, and all friends you had made so far are in Dorne worried about their own future. Long ago, when you weren't of age yet, you had a truly loyal friend, one you could no longer talk to but who had teached all you could possibly need in life. All that was behind now. You were to learn how to live in this strange land far away from everything you once knew.

Harwin wasn’t what you expected of him, he proved to be honest and fair — as far as you could tell — and, although his words burned deeply, you knew this was twice better than most husbands in Westero. Before leaving Dorne, you were worried he'd be violent and unfair, mistreated or humiliate you. A man as strong as he was rumored to be would have no difficulty to do so and, with his prestige and high place in society, no one would bat an eye to your suffering.

 You were ready to make herself unbothered by any of his rules, you would pray in the Sept for a tranquil life and not get into his way. Yet... hidden in your belongings, you had the most curious herb, one that could be turned into a tea. You wouldn’t hesitate to give it to him if he proved himself to be beyond endurance. 

However, this new routine seemed… simple. Easy to follow. 

He told you he wished to have a peaceful life too, that he would listen to you and all decisions would be made together, as future Lady and Lord of Harrenhal.

You didn’t fully trust him just yet, but you could try it. You shall do it. Your past costumes could be tamed and subdued. 

 You could be the perfect Lady Strong.

...

Not long after falling asleep, a voice calling your name woke you.

It was a feminine voice, but deep as a man’s who smoked his whole life, commanding and assertive like the Maester you had as a child, and it called for you. You could feel the vexation in its tone, but most of all its urgency, a terrible urgency that made you sit up quickly and worried. You blinked your eyes to get used to the eerie light that came from the woman calling you.

 The corpulent woman was leaning over you, the candle mere centimeters away from your face, making it impossible to clearly see her own face under the thick white veil she wore, she was head to toe covered with clothes in various shades of white. You didn’t recognize her from the early party nor was she dressed as a maid, yet she commanded you to follow her. Her voice alone obliged you to do so.

 You followed her to the wall beside the biggest window in the chamber and after pressing a very peculiar brick, the wall moved aside displaying a narrow hallway and a stone stair leading down. She led you through the hallway without difficulty, even though you had to follow sideways to accompany her rhythm. After a short while, the stone walls started to heat up and get warmer and warmer; you were wearing only your chemise and your forearms burned when touching the stones, yet you followed her silently, drowsy.

 She made a stop at the very end of the hallway, where there was no window and no light except for the candle she held. She pushed what looked a lot like a mirror and it opened like a door to a room almost entirely consumed by flames. The lady walked through the flames to a door at the opposite wall and turned around, not muttering a single word, looking at you as if waiting for you to go to her. You woke from your dreamlike state then, realizing it was not one of your dreams, but the woman stayed there.

 You knew what she wanted. You had no choice but to do it.

 You made your way through the fire, going around the bed in the center of the room, avoiding the curtains and tapestry burning. When you finally got to her, you saw the body laid by her feet, broken pieces of a wooden pillar covering its back, all burning low — a terrible sense of dread came to you. It was Ser Harwin Strong, your husband. Unconscious. You couldn’t even tell if he was dead or alive. 

 “Save him” the voice told you. “He still lives. I will guide your hand.”

 There was no time to question the White Lady, so you kneeled beside Harwin and pushed the log away from his body, the Lady’s hand covering yours every time you reached the burning pieces. In no time he was free and you found a weak pulse in his neck, but upon the momentary relief came more distress: the simple linen shirt he had on was burnt and so was most of his back.

 You got a hold of both of his arms and pulled him, still belly down, back to the door on the wall and down the hallway. It was harder to go through the narrow walls with the additional weight, but the Lady followed you back to your chamber and when you were about to enter the room she told you to keep going to the other end of the hallway. You didn’t question her.

 After a few meters you passed another mirror-looking-door but upon looking at the room inside you saw only more flames, it was in a worse state than Harwin’s chambers but you could see a body laid in the burning bed.

 “He is already gone” the voice whispered for the first time, you had half a mind to question her then. You saved Harwin, why not try to save… “There is not much time left. Get to the end of this corridor and ask for help. You’ll not survive much more smoke.”

 As if in a cue, just then you realize how dark the hallway was where the candlelight couldn’t reach. Only it was not simply the dark of night; from ceiling to floor the hallway was enveloped in black smoke. You finally felt suffocated and trapped, the wall still burned your arms and Ser Harwin was almost unbearably heavy. 

 The Lady’s hand touched yours again.

 “Stay strong just a little bit longer, dove. Then you may rest.”

 You kept on the uneven pace until you got to the end of the hallway, where there was another door. The Lady opened it to a room without the flames, but with no less smoke, the man in the bed arose from his sleep with the cracking of hinges and started coughing. 

 “Help us!” you cried and he looked your way.

 “Who is there?” he couldn’t see you through the dark smoke that surrounded the room. 

 “It is me: Lady Strong” you answered him, all strength from you body leaving you, you fell to your knees. “And my Lord Husband, Ser Harwin.”

 You heard the swaying and rustling of the bed covers, then fell on the floor beside the unconscious body of Harwin. You felt the touch of the man that came to help you, he reached you first but upon seeing the state of Harwin left you to your own devices, it did not matter because now you could only focus on the face hovering the ceiling. You could finally see her face properly: a dark, scarred thing. Her eye sockets empty and dark, her mouth open in a silent scream. Yet her voice remained the same as before.

 “Sleep now, dove. The morrow shall come but for you only darkness the day will bring.”

 You fell unconscious then, the smoke surrounding you. 

...

Your senses only returned to you by the twilight of the next day, when all the fire was already gone and the dead piled in the courtyard. You were in a ward you haven't been before, a large room full of mattresses — all of them occupied with injured people.

 You wake up to a killing headache, feeling dizzy and disoriented. It is confusing to wake to crying and, for a second, you believe it was one of your nightmares again. However, the crying turned to screaming and you realised there was actually something wrong.

 Harwin, laid in the bed beside yours, woke not much earlier with the Maesters changing the bandage of his wounds. It was time to take off the remains of the shirt burned into his skin, otherwise it would infect and a fever would begin. It was a painful process, perhaps as hurtful as the burning itself — even the highest doses of Milk of Poppy had little effect on this case. However, if neglected, that would surely kill him shortly. Infection had a mysterious way of working.

 It was torturous to watch the process, definitely not for the weak of mind: the screaming was always soul cutting. It didn't get easier with time, by the end of it the patient was already begging for a knife in the neck.

 You had the misfortune to wake up in the beginning of Harwin’s treatment. He was gripping the mattress tightly, his face buried in the bed, there were five men holding him down, two Maesters working to finish it quicker. He was the one screaming, you realised, terrified.

 You had no real concept of Riverland’s medical practice, it being so brutal and different from Dorne. Before you could soothe yourself and think through it, you were already standing, going to the man closest to you and pushing him away.

 “What is the meaning of this?” you yelled. “Get away from him! He is hurting. Do you not see?”

 Your advances worked and the man let go of Harwin's arm, but only momentarily. He had tripped over his own feet when you pushed him, your sudden strength took him by surprise and he fell before he could even turn around. Yet, the men that weren't holding Harwin went to you promptly and restrained you.

 One of the Maesters, the one closer to you, complained about your behaviour:

 “I should be the one asking ‘what is the meaning of this’, Lady Strong” he had a stern expression. “This is not the moment for savagery. Stop at once.”

“It is you who should stop. He screams in pain, do you not hear it?” you question, struggling to escape from the guard’s strong hold. “Is this how you treat your people here in the Riverlands? No better than a cruel butcher?”

For the first time ever, you heard the sound of your husband laugh. It was low, weak, and between sharp tears,  but it was undoubtedly a laugh and it stopped you. His face turned to you.

“Aye, what a devoted dove I got myself. So fierce in her advances to protect her husband. We will get along just fine if you continue to prove yourself so courageous, Wife” he said with a rough tone, then looked at the man standing beside his bed. “If I didn't believe the stories you told about her before, I believe them now. Let go of her.”

“What is the meaning of this?” you asked out of breath, not so sure anymore. The distress had worn out and a sudden sickness made itself known then: the world seemed to turn around you, your head throbbed with pain, and you felt in the verse of fainting. You tried to hold your ground, but ended up falling to the bed.

“My Lady!” the maester called, going to you. “You stood too quickly! You are still recovering from all that smoke you breathed.”

“I’m fine,” you whispered. “Explain what has happened.”

They runned out of words to tell you then. The room turned somber as the Maester helped you to sit up. No one dared to answer or look at you, as if muttering any word would bring the fire back in the room. 

It was Harwin who spoke first.

“There was a fire, as you may remember” was all he said.

You wanted to question him further, but the mourning expression on each one of their faces told you enough. Instead, you returned to a more pressing matter. 

“Aye. That does not explain the butchery on your back.”

“I am no butcher!” the maester exclaimed. “This is the only treatment for burns, m’lady. We shall clean the wound before applying the ointment ”

“Must it be so….” you looked for words, but each one you thought of seemed to be insulting to your lord husband.

“Worry not, Lady Wife” Harwin told you, laying his head back on the mattress. “This shall end soon enough. Then we'll have a much needed conversation.”

…

You stayed by Harwin's side, with his head carefully laid on your lap, while the Maesters worked on his back. You tried to comfort him and take his mind off the pain, massaging his hair or just holding his hand at times, but it was all futile, the screaming didn't stop until the job was done. When the Maesters set the last utensil down, it was suggested that he drank Milk of the Poppy, to cease the pain. 

It would certainly help with the pain but also make him groggy and just a tad delirious, considering the amount that was offered. So the conversation was postponed to another time, to when he comes to his senses. 

You took it in your own hands to better understand what had happened the night before and asked about it to the Maesters. They were, however, of no help.

“Worry not, Lady” was said, no one truly bothering to listen to you. “Once Lord Strong awakens he will let you know of the damage. For now, you should try to rest.”

You looked for your swoon knight next, to see if he was still alive, and were pleased to find that he, along all the maids from Dorne, survived the fire without trouble. They readily told you all they knew.

The Knight, Ser Allyrion, had a good idea of the damage, he helped the men control the fire when the worst of it burned the Tower, he also helped bring Lyonel's body down from the main chambers. He told you it began suddenly and spread fast, that it would've been much worse had the Maester not alerted the guards about the fire.

He asked you how you managed to escape your chambers and also get to Harwin's, he tried to get to you once he learnt of the fire but to no avail. The lock was broken and the door was too dense to break in, he didn't believe you would make it and was about to go get help when the castle's knights appeared to break the doors. They explained you were safe downstairs and were there only to get to Lyonel's chambers, to which he helped with.

Ser Allyrion told you that his room was also locked, and Lyonel's body was laying on the bed when they finally got to him. So was Harwin's and the Maester’s. Allyrion told you it was most likely that you and Harwin wouldn't survive if you stayed in the room for even a bit longer; if not the fire, the smoke would have suffocated you. He questioned how could you know of the secret passage, you haven't been in the castle long enough to know of all its hallways and rooms.

You didn't know what to tell him. You wanted to trust him and be honest, perhaps he could understand and explain it all to you. However, the truth may get you in more trouble than a lie and you really didn't want to let anyone know of your endeavors with the White Lady. It wouldn't be the first time you encountered the dead and since you had always managed to deal with it by yourself, you decided to keep it a secret.

So you made up a story. Told him that one of the castle’s maids had assured you that, should you need her in the night, you could send for her and she would come by the servants stairway. You made sure to keep the history simple and not focus on the said maid, Ser Allyrion, bless his heart,  seemed to believe you right away and didn't question you further. Instead, he congratulated you on how brave it was to get into a room on fire to save Lord Strong.

You left him to find your own maids then and found them either helping the Maesters with the wounded or in the kitchen preparing supper. You didn't want to keep them from aiding the staff, so you decided to approach only one of them. Hallie was the face you were most familiar with, she helped you dress when you arrived in Harrenghall and had an outgoing personality, talking to you cheerfully about the castle.

You asked her to accompany you into a walk around the castle to see the damage and she promptly followed you. Walking around the castle was a ruse to talk to her more freely than you could surrounded by the servants of the House, of course, but it didn't mean you couldn't assert the damage caused by the fire and the reason it began. Talk spread fast and there wasn't a better place to know rumor than the kitchen, people liked to talk while working and you knew Hallie would be of service.

However, first you would need to find a quiet place. She followed you around and commented idly on the whole situation: where she spent the night, what she was doing when the fire began and what she did to escape it. You listen to her carefully, leading her through the hallways and chambers. There wasn't sign of the fire anywhere in the lower part of the castle; the room where the party was held the night before was intact, as were most of the stairs leading to the Tower. The real damage began there, the furniture and tapestry were burnt in the ground, the walls dark with smoke, the doors broken or locked still.

The highest you rose, less people there was. The fire was gone by now, but its warm was still there.

Hallie stopped talking when she realised you weren't listening anymore and carefully linked her arm to yours.

“What are people talking about in the kitchen, Hallie?” you asked, deciding to go for a more direct approach.

“Well, my lady, they didn't talk so freely with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm your maid.”

You were quick to understand her meaning. You were being blamed for the fire. But why?

“I see. They were afraid you would tell me what you heard.”

“Exactly, my lady. But that didn't stop them to gossip around when they thought I wasn't listening.”

In that moment you turned a corner and passed by two knights carrying a body, you couldn't even tell its gender, the fire burned most of their skin. It was chilling to think that could've been you. Hallie and you let them pass without muttering a word, each one of you doing a quiet prayer.

Only after they passed by you, Hallie resumed the conversation.

“They didn't talk directly to me, of course, however they did speak between themselves.”

“And what have you heard?”

“Well, at first they seemed sure it was Harrenhal's curse. It wouldn't be the first time the lord ruling died here by unnatural cause.”

“Yes, I’ve heard rumors in the past. I don’t see what could possibly happen to change their minds. Lyonel and Harwin’s death would bring me no benefit at all. My position here is safe. In no time I could've become Lady Strong of Harrenghall!”

“My Lady…” Hallie  said hesitantly. “You are Lady Strong of Harrenghall.”

You stopped right then, her words finally making the reality of the situation sink into you.

“When Lyonel died, the title of lord ruling passed to his heir — Ser Harwin” she explained. You still haven't moved, too shocked to really process her words. “That's the reason you're being blamed for, my lady. They believe you did it to become the lady of the house… sooner.”

After a pause, you found your voice again.

“That still doesn't make sense. Harwin almost died, had he gone too I'd have nothing.”

“But he didn't die, did he? That's the point. You saved him, but couldn't save Lord Lyonel in the room beside him. Forgive me, my lady, but that is too much of a coincidence that not only did you find the servant stairway in a room you've never been before but also found Harwin's chamber just in time to save him. The talk is that you hired us to do your wrongdoings, conspired to kill both Lyonel and Harwin and now plan to marry Larys.”

“Excuse me?”

“The last part is more complicated, I reckon” she smiled at you. “They were not interested in finding the reason why you planned to marry Larys' and still saved his older brother.”

“Hallie, that makes no sense at all. I don't understand…” you interrupt the walking at the end of a hallway, there's only a ceiling to floor window here and no way out but following back from where you came.

 “Frankly, my lady, it is gossip and there's no need for a complicated explanation. They talk because they don't have anything better to do and, of course, because someone needs to be responsible for the tragedy. They blamed you because it was easy, because...” she hesitated and you could tell she was considering if she should tell you something or not.

“Tell me.”

“Well. There may be a reason for you to conspire against Harwin, after all.”

You turned around and held her hands between yours, it was no time for hesitation. Not only yours but perhaps the lives of the girls and Ser Allyrion would be in danger if you don't properly deal with this situation. A lie is a dangerous thing, to have them believe you're the assassin of their lord is to put you in the gallows rope. You have to know every detail of the gossip.

“You need to tell me everything.”

“Forgive my frankness then, my lady” she looked back at the hallway to make sure no one was listening. “Is it just that everyone at the Court knows how close Ser Harwin and Princess Rhaenyra were. And there is resemblance between him and the…”

“Are all the uproar about this? Do they not know late Queen Aemma was an Arryn before marrying King Viserys? They are known for having…”

“As I said before, my lady. They don't look for a deep explanation. However, that's not all. Harwin has an explosive personality, it would be complicated to live with him. Larys is known for being more… malleable, it would be easier to rule Harrenhal.”

“Why are they so certain I want to rule Harrenhal?”

“Well, my lady, we are from Dorne. There is suspicion involved, they always distrust what they don't know.”

You took a deep breath then, holding on to the walls to not collapse. It was all too much to take in, you suddenly felt faint.

“My lady, are you not feeling well?” asked Hallie by your side, holding your arms carefully with the bandages. 

“I'm fine, Ally. Thank you. Let's just go back.”

“Did the Maesters not treat you, my lady?” 

“They were too busy, there were people in a much worse situation than I'm.”

“That doesn't mean you should be let aside. Let's go back to the kitchen, my lady, I'll help you there.”