Lavender

all his life, ever since he was a boy, there have been whispers. ugly, they'd called him then, back before he'd taken up the sword for lord price and earned himself a few scars, burns, and deep gouges over the years. nowadays he's built himself a brutish enough reputation on the battlefield to keep others opinions of his looks relegated to mere whispers when he leaves the room- but he hears them all the same.

monstrous, hideous, unbearable to look at.

not that he minds, really. when others in his position would opt for a mask, he instead shows his face and bares his teeth- not as a smile, but a threat display, like an animal would. he keeps his coal-dark stare long and unblinking, his lip permanently curled in a sneer bisected by purple scar tissue. he's grown to like the way lords and ladies alike look away, eyes growing wide and averting his gaze as he comes into their sight. enjoys the slight wrinkle of disgust on the noses of the more haughty nobles, who like to pretend they're not just a few hours of torture in price's dungeons away from looking just as mangled and hideous as he does.

so when word reaches him that lord price has arranged a marriage for him, he knows what it is. it's a punishment, a humiliation for your family, some lesser lord whose ego outgrew his rank and needed to be cut back without bloodshed. you'll be used both as a hostage and to humble your father, the pretty maiden lady given to the monstrous captain of lord price's guard- a reminder to any other upstart lordlings to mind their place, lest their own beloved children be given off to a kingdom-renowned brute like simon.

he doesn't meet you until the wedding day, and when he catches that first glimpse of your wide, terrified eyes behind your veil, lord price's words ring in his head.

"-and when you break this one, i'm sure it won't be long until we can find you another."

except seeing you here and now, trembling before him as the maester reads aloud from his book, he realizes he doesn't want another. he likes the way your eyes keep darting to his face and then away again, as if you're working up the courage to hold his gaze. you're trying so hard to be brave, and fun as it is to watch you tremble in front of him, what he likes even more is the way you're pretending not to.

you're so pretty, with big soft curves and hands that have never seen a hard day's work. you smell vaguely of expensive perfumes and oils, your braids tight and even, and everything from the rounded shape of you to the quality of your dress looks like a luxury. no wonder your father got cocky, he must be doing well for himself if he's got a big soft daughter like you.

the maester's words wash over him, a droning background noise drowned out by the flurry of thoughts racing through simon's head. you're his now, and the knowledge that he can do as he pleases with you (with impunity!) makes him feel a bit mad with power. you have so many soft bits that are just begging for him to sink his teeth into, to pinch and grab and smack at will. when he puts his cloak on your shoulders, all he can think about is digging his fingers into the fat of your thighs, the jut of your hips, the plushness of your ass.

it takes all of his strength and self-discipline not to consummate the marriage right then and there.

the feast afterwards is boisterous, and simon wastes no time pushing the limits of propriety by ordering a servant to take your chair away, insisting you sit on his lap as he hand-feeds you. poor thing, you try so hard to stutter out your objections about what's proper, what custom dictates- but what you haven't learned yet is that none of that means anything to simon. he'll do whatever he bloody wants and only stop if lord price tells him to.

"go on, love. starvin' over here. your turn t'feed me now." he rumbles in your ear, squeezing your hip hard enough to make you squeak. he's watched the way your shoulders have slowly climbed up to your ears, the way you can't bear to look at him, or even anyone else. you're humiliated, being forced to sit on the lap of an ogre and call him your husband.

simon's never been harder in his life.

slowly, tentatively, you hold up a small piece of bread to his mouth- squeaking and flinching when he suddenly snaps his teeth like a dog. the volume of the conversations around you temporarily dims as the rest of the castle observes your plight for a moment- before immediately reverting back to merriment. sure, they all feel sorry for you, but not enough to actually do anything about it.

it isn't long before your lady mother breaks down in tears and is hurriedly escorted out of the great hall by your siblings and a few of her ladies of the court, followed behind by your father after a few moments when he gives the excuse that he's going to check on her.

neither of them look back at you.

neither of them return to the festivities that night.

one by one lords and ladies stop by to give their carefully-worded well-wishes, all of them speaking directly to you alone, save for lord price and his men. unlike the other lords and ladies, none of them bother mincing words, and it amuses simon to no end to watch a big girl like you still try to shrink yourself down as much as possible.

"bet the bonnie lasses at the brothels will be glad tae hear the news the big brute's off the market." ser john mactavish jokes, and simon flexes his grip on your thigh.

"don't you listen to him, love. whores never took my coin anyways- said no gold was worth beddin' a monster." he places a kiss on your cheek, relishing in the way you go stock still and just take it instead of trying to pull away. he leans in closer and whispers. "you'll be doin' for free what i couldn't get even the most desperate slags to do for pay."

"have you decided if you'll do the bedding ceremony?" asks ser kyle, with a mean looking glint in his eye. it's one thing, making a pretty girl like you marry an ugly mug like simon, it's entirely another to have a crowd watch him mount you like the dog he is. the murmur of conversation near the table comes to a hush as every ear turns simon's way.

"you lot just want to see if my cock is as mangled as the rest of me." simon rebuffs, laughing. "ain't nobody's gonna see my wife's pretty cunt but me, yeah? i'nt that right, love?"

he gives your thigh another squeeze, spurring on a furious nod. it's so obvious that you're trying not to cry, he can tell you're biting at the inside of your cheek to try to keep yourself together.

poor thing, being forced to bear the brunt of this humiliation when you'd done nothing wrong, and your cowardly father leaving rather than truly looking at the consequences of his boldness. were he still here, maybe simon would consider the ceremony- but he'd meant what he'd said. that pretty pussy of yours is his property now, and fuck if he won't guard it like a dog with a bone.

"speakin' of- i'm takin' the missus to my chambers. leg's gone numb and i'm lookin' t'get my heir and my spare made as soon as i can. up, you." he commands, patting at your hip and chuckling to himself over how obediently you rise. you make no fuss about letting him lead you out of the feast and away from all of those watching eyes, the ones that stare at you with pity and him with disgust.

like a woman headed to the gallows, you follow him through the castle to his chambers, arms wrapped around yourself and head hung low, biting at your own lip. briefly, simon thinks about how wasted all your training to be a member of a royal court is- the way you wait until the door to his chambers closes before you allow the tears to silently cascade onto your cheeks is really quite impressive. come to think of it, you've done very well all night. simon imagines that any other girl would have been wailing and sobbing throughout the wedding- but not you. not his brave, pretty, soft wife.

"look at me." his cock throbs at the way you obediently turn to face him- he'd been prepared to grab your jaw and make you, but it's much nicer to have you comply on your own. "if you're cryin' thinkin' i'm gonna kill you- don't."

the shock on your face is delicious. he can see in the candlelight, the way the tears are gathered against your lower eyelid, ready to fall at a moments notice while the gears in your head churn, trying to figure out if he's tricking you or not. your mouth hangs open as you wordlessly try to find the words- or any words, really- to help you express your surprise.

"i don't kill people f'free anymore, and unless lord price decides to declare war on you, specifically, you don't have nothin' t'worry about." the corner of his mouth ticks up in a smirk. "but if your blubberin' is 'cause you've got yourself one pig-ugly husband, well. ain't nothin' you or i can do about that, so you may as well have y'self a good cry about it now and get it over with."

he reaches out, scarred fingers gripping your chin as his thumb runs gently over your bottom lip, stretching it down, down, down, until it snaps back up into position.

"go on, love. cry. sob to your heart's content, right here on my bed. mourn for all those hideous babies you'll be pushin' out." he taunts, crowding your space until you back up, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the bed. two big hands push at your shoulders, causing you to fall back with a squeak.

"pop your tits out." simon orders as he pulls at your skirts, not bothering to even fully undress himself as he fumbles with his trousers, fishing out a fat, ugly cock that's already dripping onto the bed. it looks angry as it bobs up and down in the air, clearly struggling under it's own weight.

"it'll fit." simon tells you, as if reading your mind. "tits, love. if i have to get 'em myself, i'll ruin your pretty dress."

"i think you already plan on that." you say with a sniff, wiping at your eyes before you begin to pull at your laces.

"oh, she speaks!" he taunts. "and here i thought the only words you knew were weddin' vows."

there's barely enough time to glare at him before he brings his hand down to the neckline of your dress and pulls, tearing it open down the front. on instinct you raise your hands to protect your face, gasping in shock as simon pulls at your gowns, fabric loudly tearing as he yanks it off of you.

suddenly you find yourself bare, spread out on a pile of very expensive scraps of wedding dress, body exposed to the most disgusting brute of a man you've ever seen in your whole life.

not even a lifetime of etiquette classes and courtly manners could help you school your face as you look up at him.

"you hate me?" he chuckles,

"i hardly know you, ser." you reply, bitterness discoloring your otherwise polite remark.

"you'll hate me soon enough. know that." he warns with a cruel smirk, fingers flexing into the plush fat of your hip as his eyes flit down to stare at your exposed core. "you're a proper lady, yeah? you know how this works? anyone tell you what t'do?"

"i- i was told not to struggle." it feels as if your heart stops in your chest as you watch his eyes widen and hear him take an audible sucking breath.

"you could." he says, sounding lost in thought. "you could try and fight. could scream and scream and scream, and nobody would come f'ya. because you're mine now."

he stares at you for a moment, absent-mindedly biting at his thin, scarred lip as he mulls something over.

slowly, he nods to himself.

"yeah. want you t'struggle. t'fight. c'mon, softie, won't hurt you back- well. not too much, anyway. just wanna play a bit before we get down t'fuckin'." he leans down, hard cock pressed against your soft stomach as he whispers in your ear. "tomorrow you can tell the ladies of the court how you tried to keep your honor. how you fought, but i still forced you. don't bother me none, love. everybody knows i take what i want. you tell 'em oll that, and when your belly gets bigger with my heirs they'll look at you with pity instead of disgust."

the weight of his words, of everything that's happened today finally sinks in as you feel his cock twitch against your stomach- you're his wife now. this horrible man who delights in your discomfort and unease, this brute with dirty fingernails and an even filthier mouth is who you're tied to for the rest of your life.

he taps your cheek- not hard enough to hurt, but it's certainly enough to startle a terrified squeak out of you.

"go on, girlie. scream. scream loud enough f'your lady mother and lord father to hear ya. let 'em know exactly wot they put you through. give 'em somethin' t'think about on the carriage ride home- how their pride cost their pretty, soft daughter everythin'. if your old man hadn't run his mouth, they could've married you off t'some fancy little lordling, someone with softer hands and a nicer face. instead, you're here, waitin' t'get your cunt stuffed by the likes o'me." he grins down at you as he sits back up on his knees, and it feels like a threat.

his low, rumbling chuckle is cut short with the sudden snap of his teeth, and instinct kicks in- something in your hind brain that's assigned him the role of predator and you of prey- and you try your best to scramble back away from him, legs kicking out and arms flailing as you try and fail to escape. simon's head tips back, a mean laugh echoing through your chambers, and likely reaching out through the windows for others to hear as well.

"yeah, like that." he says, sounding pleased as he wraps a large, dirty palm around your ankle, his cock leaking and bouncing in the air as he avoids your kicks and settles himself between your legs. "now scream- or do you need my help? more than happy t'help you scream, love."

"no- don't-!"

"louder."

"please, ser, don't- please-"

"thassit." he shoves his ruddy prick inside of you, startling a pained yelp from behind your ribs, echoing off the stone walls. your new husband wastes no time, setting a brutal pace from the get-go, the loud slap of skin on skin intermingling with your warbled cries for him to please stop, which only serves to make him tip his head back and groan, a wicked smile carving it's way across his scarred face.

you try your best to bear it, to close your eyes, think of england, or perhaps imagine it's that beautiful knight you'd seen at tourney, ser garrick, whom you'd only met once but thought was so handsome-

a broad hand smacks across your face- not hard enough to injure, but enough to sting and shock another yelp from you.

"look at me." he orders, hissing through his teeth. the smell of red wine on his breath makes your nose wrinkle. "don't you pretend i'm someone else. this is the brute that's fuckin' you, this is the ugly mug you're married to, this is the man whose babies you're gonna carry. and you'll bloody carry 'em, as many as you can, 'til death do us part."

god, it feels like he's hollowing you out, gutting you like so many stags and boars primed for being feasted upon. simon looks hungry, too, the way his lip is curled in a hungry sneer as he pants above you. a heat begins to build in the core of you- but it's hard to say if it's the starting of arousal, or merely friction burn.

all you can do is lie there and take it, whimpering and pleading all the while, just like he seems to want you to. every please stop and no more ser seems to goad him on, grinning down at you with a pleased smile that sends a shiver of fear down your spine.

"fuck, yeah, love the way you squirm under me." he pants, slapping at your tits with a loud crack of skin-on-skin. "c'mon, softie. fight me a bit. scratch me up. let 'em oll know you didn't let the brute take you without a struggle." he growls at you, snapping his teeth at you playfully.

your hand flies on it's own accord- airborne before you can even think about it- and it startled a shocked gasp out of you as you feel your own fingernails rake across his already marred face.

oh no oh god oh no oh shit shit shit-

simon stills for mere moments before groaning loudly, his grip on your hips flexing painfully as he empties himself inside of you, cock pulsing against your core. it's over, you did it, and while it wasn't pleasurable, sweet, or even nice- you made it through to the other side all the same.

simon doesn't bother pulling out, instead opting to collapse on top of you, pinning you with his considerable bulk as his cock softens inside of you. cooling sweat sticks to you, and you hope to god he can't see your nose wrinkled in disgust when he turns his head to plant a big, wet kiss on your cheek.

"never had m'self a girl who was conscious before. think that was the best fuck i ever had." he says, patting at your flank like you're his favorite horse. it's hard to tell if he's kidding or not- but as you listen to him chuckle to himself in the dark, you suspect he might not be.

For some reason there are a lot of them watching you today, which still unnerves after all this time here. No matter how they pricked and proded at your skin, doing test after test and gawking at your reactions like a couple of bored children playing with a small animal, you can't shake the chills down your spine from their gazes. There's an opaque screen on one of the "outdoor" walls which wasn't there when you went to sleep and you can't help but feel drawn to it.

That seems to be what they want as a few of the spectators throw some packets of food in that direction to encourage you to get there. You try not to let the gesture feel as humiliating as it is. Even if they stripped your humanity a long time ago, now something no different from a zoo animal, you pick at the last shreds of dignity and pointingly ignoring the blocks of dehydrated food. They never bothered enough with creating fresh food, finding it more convenient to imitate the cellular composition of astronauts' supplies found in the past.

The screen starts lifting slowly and at first you think your eyes are deceiving you, but after being away from home for so long you're finally face to face to another human. By his startled reaction you think it might be the same for him. He was recently brought in, you can't tell by the small bumps on his arm from all the testing, also adding the period of quarantine they must have held him, you suspect he's been abducted for a few months.

You're looking at him with curiosity, but there's something desperate in the way he's looking back at you. Putting your hand through the bars you want to see if it would pass through, if his image was just a hologram, a trick they devised to play with your mind further. To your surprise the tip of you finger touches a cheek that feels like flesh, even the small hairs of his unshaved beard tingle. Blue eyes stare intently at your movements and startle when a warm fingertip give the smallest touch, his body angling towards you for more.

Suddenly he grabs your hand in his and squeezing it hard, murmuring something under his breath and you have to strain yourself to try to understand him. Luckily he speaks english, but his accent make some of his words hard to make out. You think you hear something along the lines: "They're dead, they're dead, every last of them is gone. Are you even real?".

"Hey, it's ok. Take a few breaths, I know things seem scary right now, but if you look too agitated they're gonna sedate you."

The last words bring a pained expression over his face as if he's remembering something. His hand squeezes yours too hard, but you ignore the pain as your fingers start to go a little numb because this is the first human contact you've had in over a year and you can't bear to let go. Belatedly you remember them watching eagerly the two of you like waiting for a chemical reaction, somehow eager and bored at the same time.

An unpleasant feeling washes over you so despite craving the human touch for a moment longer, you wiggle your hand away and take a step back. The man looks as if you physically injured him, his hand streching through the bars towards you, but not able to touch. You think there's tears threatening to spill from his eyes and you feel the same sting. As you turn around wanting to return to your sleeping space, you hear him say:

"John, my name is John."

You nod and also tell him your name, the sound of it feels foreign on your tongue, but at least it calms him down. This meeting feels wrong, despite your loneliness and desperation you can't help but think that there's more to it than just giving you a companion. They disregarded your needs for so long that it's hard not to feel suspicious now.

It’s only muscle memory to follow his instruction, gasping when you push it inside your tight walls.

“Good baby, work that finger in you, take your time.”

You give your home such lazy pumped with your fingers, thighs squeezing together as you keen, “Toji.”

Your older boyfriend’s hands grip the steering wheel, Adam’s Apple bobbing, “Now put another finger in, slow, yer’not rammin it in there.”

Tojis deep voice swirls I’m your mind, easing another finger into your tight heat. Fluttering while you imagine his thick digits opening you up- more— the way he’s have his shaft filling you up to the brim, hold your legs open while he bottoms out. You start to thrust your fingers inside you faster, eyes low and hiccuping on your own moans. But it’s not enough, not wide enough, fast enough. “Mmph- fuck!” You groan out.

“There’s your second issue kid,” Toji drawls out, eyes focused on the road, almost crashing once from the way your pretty moans fills his ears, “‘S never gonna be enough, think about what’s I’d do for ya, huh? How I’d make you take it, legs over my shoulders while I got my cock through alll those tight little ridges ‘f yours, till you’re shaking and crying. Nipples all hard beggin f’me to suck on ‘em— shit, bet they’re all perked up for me right now, want my tongue around em, lapping you up don’t you baby?”

“Uugh- Yeah,” You mewl, hips bucking into your hand, more slick water falling out of you.

“Course ya do angel,” his voice so so hypnotic, makes your insides tingle, “get em all wet, biting and kissing up your neck to your plump lips, squeeze on you— fuck, wont you spank it for me? Lemme hear it.” He groans.

You’re trembling, fingers coming down on your chubby clit, hard, just like Toji would. The wet plap, plap, plap of your sobbing pussy filling Tojis ears, your sticky string of juices down your pruned fingers. You’re chanting his name between curses, eyes squeezing together. The pace of your fingers sloppy as you grind into your hand.

“God she’s messy, all f’me yeah?” He shifts in his seat, pulsing cock throbbing as your moans only get louder, trying to relieve some of the tension but you’re only making it harder.

Your lips purse out, head burred in the pillows, you can practically feel his large hands on you, guiding you, filling you, pressing right against that spongy slot that makes your cream, you’re babbling. “aaah- bastard, asshole-“

“Looove the way you talk t’me puddin, keep goin.”

The older man can imagine how disheveled you’d look around him, sobbing and your skin all clammy in the moonlight, nails going down his back as he drills deep into you, hands gripping your hips so hard Thry bruise. His jaw clenches, “Needed your old man t’talk you through it didn’t you? Wanted me more than 7 inches deep inside you while fucked you all mean ‘nd rough—”

“Fuck, mmm- yes!” Your toes curl, that deep feeling in your stomach snapping apart when you cum all of your digits. You’re still dazed as you come down from the high, rolling over to the side Toji usually sleeps on.

“Come home soon Toj.” You speak softly, still panting, your tired eyes finally closing, and he hums. Something about only being ten minutes away. “I’ll ‘pologize proper… so bring somethin good for breakfast.”

“F’Course puddin.”

And there’s a comfortable beat of silence before Toji speaks, “Love you kid.”

And your voice is so sweet, melodic in his ears, you purr, “Love you too Toji.”