Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
A/N: It's FINALLY here holy shit y'all. sorry for the delay, it was just slow going mainly bc i got stuck on the smut lmao. SO, i just decided to post the bulk of the story now and then post a second smutty part later. I hope you all enjoy, and as usual I love to hear what you guys think!! Comments, reblogs and such are greatly appreacited.
Also: this fic was inspired by the song Give by Sleep token as well as the song Kingdom of cards by Bad Omens!
Word Count: 7.6k (oops)
Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of past abuse to reader, reader's father is abusive, hurt/comfort, soft john price, mentions of consummation, fluff, just so much fluff.
The room is eerily silent, the complete opposite of what you expected on a day like this.
Your wedding day.
Your mother had stepped out once the handmaid that was provided to you had finished helping you with your dress - panicked when she couldnât find the veil that she was passing down to you. Your father had entered as soon as your mother had left, and you dared not break the silence first. You know what will happen if you do.Â
But you canât stop the way you fidget, wiping your hands down the front of the bodice of your dress, tugging at the fingers of your silk gloves. You hate wearing gloves, they itch and they are too warm - but your father insisted, hand raised threatening above his head when you almost muttered a complaint.Â
So. Youâre wearing the gloves -
âStop fidgeting,â your father bites, standing abruptly from the armchair in the corner to storm over to you.Â
The flinch that jolts your body is instantaneous, shying away from the storm of a man approaching you. The only reason you donât shield yourself is because even you know he wonât do anything. Not today at least.Â
Canât risk marking up the wares.Â
But it doesnât stop him from gripping your arm like a vice, his nails digging into your skin beneath the delicate fabric of the ornate gown. You choke down the whimper, but fail to hide the fear you know is present in your gaze as you stare up at your oppressor.Â
âYou will not ruin this for us,â he all but hisses. âI understand that decorum is a foreign concept to you, but if you so much as think about sabotaging this - me - I will-â
âI found it!â Your mother calls from the other side of the door, her voice shoving your father away from you like a storm would a willow branch.Â
She breezes into the room with an elegance you could never hope to match, a beauty you could never achieve - at least according to your father. She smiles at you, and you donât fail to notice the way she takes in your shrunken appearance, the tense in your shoulders, before her eyes flicker to her husband.Â
She knows. Sheâs known the whole time - for she bears the scars too.Â
Her smile becomes tight, but she doesnât say anything, just comes to you with the veil raised in her hands. Itâs floor length, the back so long it trails even past your dress train, the lace details so intricate you canât imagine how long it took the original creator to tailor it. it has a front piece as well that drapes in front of your face, falling to just above your collar bone where it will stay until your future husband unveils you.Â
The king.Â
You have to fight the shudder that threatens to run through you at the thought. Youâve only met him once, and at the time neither of you knew you would end up wedding one another. The King rules over the land, but there are many territories, many clans - his the most fearsome of all. Youâd heard whispers through your childhood of the ruthlessness of the capitol city in which the King resides. Its citizens were born and bred to fight - knights and soldiers trained to kill.Â
Your fatherâs words ring in your ears as your mother fixes your veil to your head, fussing with the fabric.Â
âIf you even think about sabotaging meâŠâ
Any sane person would. They would probably try to run for the hills when they found out they were to wed the ruthless King, a king that has never lost a battle, a King whose Kings-guard have a reputation of gutting those who dare defy him.
But not you. Little did your father know that you would do everything in your power to escape him.Â
For even death must be a better sentence than your life back home.
ââ
Every woman youâd spoken to back home always talked about their nerves on their wedding day. Some from fear, some from joy or just pure excitement. Some of them talked of the way they got sick just before walking down the aisle or the way their hands hook or their palms sweat.Â
You donât feel anything.Â
Itâs just pure numbness. As if you are outside of your body watching as the doors to the massive temple open wide, all in attendance standing immediately. You can see the King, your future husband standing on the dais in front of a priest, the incense from the thurible curling around them both as your father all but marches you down the aisle.Â
You canât feel your feet or your hands, you canât even register your intakes of breath. The only thing that runs through your panicked mind is that at least your future husband is handsome. You remember having a similar thought when you met him all those years ago at a kingdom wide celebration here in this very city. He was easy to spot, sitting above the jousting ring, crown atop his head, surrounded by his three kings guard.Â
He takes up the whole room even now, commanding it with his very presence as the priest introduces him to the crowd - to you.
âKing Johnathan Price, third of his name, King ofâŠâ you zone out again, instead focusing on the very man being heralded.
He lacks the armor he usually wears, exchanging it instead for rich garments of silk and other fine fabrics. A long purple cloak, the collar adorned with fur of what appears to be a wolf, hangs from his shoulders, held together with a heavy golden chain decorated with the sigil of his house.Â
The crown still sits atop his head, golden and gleaming, each crevice and gemstone polished to perfection and nestled amongst chestnut colored locks. Only when you approach the dais do you notice the grey starting to pepper his temples and beard.Â
This is also the moment that you seem to come back to yourself, your soul being sucked back into your body as you and your father come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and piercing blue eyes capture your own despite the veil.Â
He smiles, a soft gentle thing that makes your lips turn down in a frown, the action only further deepened when the priest says something about your father relinquishing your hand and soon two strong arms wrap around you too tightly for a loving embrace.
âRemember what I said,â he says lowly, and to onlookers it looks like a father telling his beloved daughter goodbye. But you know better.Â
âDo not disappoint me.â
And then heâs placing a kiss to your glove covered knuckles before placing your hand in the much larger calloused one before you.Â
The steps up the dais are a blur until youâre standing face to face with your fate. The priest rambles on as the king takes your other hand in his own, holding them between your bodies and all you can think about is how warm his hands are and how much larger he is up close. Your ears are ringing so loud you almost miss the prompt from the priest to say the scripted words, but your fatherâs threat echoes loudly in your mind and you speak the words automatically, your voice mixing with the rumbling baritone of the man before you as you recite them together.Â
The priest then sprinkles a fragrant oil on your joined hands, waves the thurible around as the crowd chants some vague prayer to bless your union. And then the words you didnât realize you were dreading until the moment they are spoken into the air.Â
âYou may kiss your bride.â
A hush falls over the crowd as the king releases your hands to reach for the edges of your veil. He lifts slowly, and you swear you stop breathing as he places it delicately over your head, finally revealing you to him.Â
And he gives you that soft smile again, the one thatâs so contradictory to the stories whispered in your ears. His eyes crinkle gently at the corners as his hands come up to cradle your face, again touching you like delicate porcelain as he dips down to press his lips to your own.Â
His lips are soft, softer than you ever imagined, and his hands are so warm against the skin of your cheeks, and you feel something jump in your chest and-
Itâs over so fast.Â
The crowd erupts in cheers as he pulls away, giving you one last reassuring smile before you both turn to face the crowd and his hand drops to take your own before raising them both above your heads in rejoice as you both descend the dais.Â
Rice and flowers and the like are thrown your way as you leave the temple, and once again your body works on itâs own set of instructions, following the kings lead and the attendants ushering you both through a maze of hallways until soon your seated at a large table in an even larger dining hall and the celebration has truly begun.Â
Food, more than youâve ever seen in a place at once is piled onto the tables, music floats merrily through the room, entertainers flooding the center of the floor to vie for their Kingâs attention. Only when the food has been served, the wine poured, and people start eating does anything manage to catch your attention.Â
And once again, itâs those damned hands.Â
One comes to settle atop your own that sits rigid in the table, fork held tightly between your fingers as you have yet to even touch the food set before you.Â
âAre you alright?â
His voice is like a siren song, yet also reminding you of rolling thunder, a comforting lull that soothes the nerves that must have come crashing down upon you as the weight of todayâs actions finally catches up with you.Â
You turn to look at the king - no - your husband, and you have to fight the burn at the back of your eyes.Â
Bright blue stares back at you, brows creased with worry as he gazes at you, and youâre suddenly aware of another set of eyes on you. You can feel them burning into the back of your head, and you canât help but steal a quick glance, only to see the seething gaze of your father looking back at you as he gestures silently to your plate.Â
Oh godsâŠyou look down to your plate, then to the kings, and youâre just now realizing his Kings-guard is also sat at the table with you, two on your side and one on his left, and theyâve all finished at least Half their plates and you havenât even touched yours-
âForgive me, my King,â you rush out, sitting up straighter, and immediately moving to pick up a piece of fruit - you think itâs a strawberry but you canât be sure, not past the buzzing in your head. âI did not intend to appear ungrateful. Iâm merelyâŠnervous thatâs all.â
His brows furrow further, and that must have been the wrong thing to say.
âI just meantâŠIâm excited, the nerves stem from joy I assure you-â
Soon the King is abandoning his utensils all together, reaching over to take your hand in both of his own, as that concerned look never leaves his face.Â
âItâs alright,â he says softly, that smile coming back to his face when he sees you relax slightly at his words. âAnd please, call me John,â he chuckles a little, âWeâre married after all. No need for the formalities.â
You nod, âOf course, my King - John-â
âAye, dinnae listen to him, lass,â an accented voice speaks from your right, and you startle slightly when the guard next to you leans in ever so slightly, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. âHeâs fullâo himself, call him âmy Kingâ all ye want-â
A rough shove from the man on his right stops him in his tracks, and you canât stop the way your eyes widen at the pure casualness of the interactions.Â
âCut it out MacTavish,â the man grumbles, leaning forward to address you now, âApologies, your majesty, but this one-â he jerks a thumb towards the one you now know as MacTavish, ânever knows when to shut his mouth.â
You go to speak, only to be cut off by John.
âLeave my wife be,â he says sternly before turning back to you. âSorry about them,â he apologizes needlessly, âtheyâreâŠâ he trails off and this time itâs you who gives him a smile, a real one.Â
âItâs alright, IâŠâ you pause, âthank you. For checking in with me andâŠthank you.â
You turn back to your meal before John can respond, missing the way his brows furrow again at your words as you finally start eating, trying and failing to ignore the way his earlier words made your heart stutter and you canât tell if itâs good or bad.
My wife.Â
ââ
The celebration went on for what feels like days, music and more entertainers and more gifts from more lords and ladies than you could name. They served dessert, and then the dancing began and John had even asked you out to the floor for a dance. It was one you knew the steps to, thank the gods, and by the end of it both of you were smiling so wide even you couldnât deny the way the earlier trepidation seemed to melt off of you.Â
That was until the night started to draw to a close. It was slow, but soon guests were retiring, coming up and giving their well wishes and goodbyes before leaving. With every guest that left it felt like a second closer to your perceived doom.Â
You arenât a fool - you arenât some naive maiden - you know what happens on one's wedding night. You know whatâs expected of you as a woman - as a queen now. And that thought is made all the more terrifying when your father and mother come up to bid their own farewells.Â
Your mother is first, and John is chivalrous enough to give you some space, although he never quite leaves your side, just steps a few paces back as your mother envelops you into a hug. You canât stop the tears in your eyes as her arms wrap around you, as you know this will be the last time you see her for a while, your fathers territory being many months away.Â
âI love you more than the entire world, my star,â your mother whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she pulls away, hands coming up to cradle your face in her gentle grasp. âYou will make an excellent queen.â
You pull her into one last hug before your father is impatiently tugging at you, though not in an obviously rough manner - he must keep up appearances after all. Even the large smile he wears as he pulls you into him is fake, full of deep seated hatred and loathing for a daughter he only ever saw a nuisance, a means to an end.Â
His grip is crushing, and you donât miss the way his fingers dig into your sides again, his breath disgustingly warm against your ear as he pretends to whisper his goodbyes, but instead whispers words you would never dare repeat.Â
It feels like an eternity before he lets go, and he only does so because another hand settles on your shoulder, tugging you gently.Â
âI fear itâs time for us to retire for the evening,â John says, voice tight as he gazes at your father in a way that makes you suspect he isnât as stupid as all the others your father has fooled in the past.Â
Your father bows, all reverence and kind smiles and posterity.Â
âOf course, my King.â
And then youâre gone, being whisked away from the only life youâve known into an all new and terrifying unknown one.Â
ââ
Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways as you follow John through what feels like a maze. This castle, just like the capitol itself is massive, larger than any youâve ever been in. If it wasnât for John, you feel like you might get lost in the twists and turns forever. You try to remember where heâs leading you - this is your new home after all, you will need to learn your way around. But with each turn and door your pass through it just gets more confusing. Did you turn left or right before or after the door-
âDonât worry,â John speaks up, breaking the tense silence that had befallen you both, âyou will learn your way faster than you think.â
You turn to him then, surprised that he caught on to your internal intentions. But heâs perceptive, thatâs at least one thing you know about your new husband.Â
You try to return the small smile he gives you as you nod, looking around once more.Â
âI have no doubt I will learn my way eventually,â you agree, letting out a small sigh, âItâs just soâŠbig. Iâve never seen a palace so magnificent. I canât even begin to imagine what all the rooms holdâŠâ
A small chuckle meets your ears, the sound surprising you slightly as you turn to look back at your husband as he speaks.Â
âWell, I would be happy to give you a proper tour tomorrow. I have a feeling you may enjoy the library the most,â he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the sconces lining the hallway.Â
You do perk up at that. âA library?âÂ
John hums, nodding. âYes IâŠâ he clears his throat, and if you didnât know any better you would think that he appears almostâŠnervous. âI noticed the multiple trunks of books among your things as the servants were bringing it in this morning. Iâm almost worried that our selection of books might be too small compared to your own.â
You shake your head, another real smile tugging at your lips. âI highly doubt that,â you say softly, âAnd IâŠI will be most happy with anything you deign to show me. You are most kind.â
John only hums again, and another silence envelops you, this one much more pleasant. Only when you take a few more turns does he speak up again.Â
âHere we are,â he says, gesturing to a large wooden door a few paces away at the end of the hallway. Thereâs another door that you passed a few steps back, both of them having a guard posted outside of them. The same guards that shared dinner with you earlier.Â
As you approach the door John directs you too, the guard standing outside stands straighter, nodding gently to you and the John, âyour majesties.â
John smiles at him, returning the gesture as he addresses him, âGarrick,â he reaches up placing a hand upon his armored shoulder, âGo join MacTavish will you? Make sure he doesnât need any help patrolling.â
The guard hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to something behind you both before John speaks again.Â
âDonât worry,â he assures him, âGhost is back there.â
The guard, Garrick, you try to remember nods, offering a curt bow before taking his leave and walking in the direction you and John came from. The clink of his armor fades until itâs just you and the King again, and you only realize youâd lost yourself again when gentle words greet your ears, this time in the form of your name.Â
You look up from where your eyes had fallen to the ground to see John standing in the doorway to the room, holding the door open and looking at you gently. A clear invitation to enter. You clear your throat, offering a small apology as you enter, eyes flitting about the space.
Itâs a large bedchamber, clearly your own if your things placed neatly about have anything to say about it. The four poster bed is larger than any youâve ever slept in, gauzy fabric draped prettily from the ceiling and down around the tall wooden posts. Furs, dozens of them adorned what was no doubt a feather mattress, made up to perfection. A fire roars in the fireplace across the room from the bed, a table and two chairs sitting off to the side of it near a stained glass window. A yewer of wine and two glasses sits atop the table, and if your stomach were roiling youâd make a beeline for the substance.Â
By all accounts the space is warm, welcoming even, leagues better than the single hard mattress in the tiny room of your old home. But all your eyes can seem to focus on is the bed, and the towering presence behind you. And as the solid wood door clicks shut behind you, it feels like the tolling of the bell, the final nail in your coffin as your spirit seems to leave your body once more.Â
You can hear John talking, voice soft as he rambles about how he tried to have the servants place your things in the best places, have them organized. You think he also mentions something about how the nights here get cold so the fires were always going. He eventually walks over to the table by the fireplace, pouring two glasses of wine, all while you struggle to breath, your eyes only leaving the bed when he calls your name again, somehow even softer this time as he offers you the second glass.Â
You walk over instinctively, taking the glass in your gloved hand, giving a wobbly smile as he taps his glass with your own before taking a small sip.Â
You follow his actions before you take a sip of your own. But the wine is good - itâs slightly spiced and warm and if you are to face the coming moments then you need all the courage you can get - and before you know it the wine is gone and you're turning back towards the bed. You notice a small dressing table off to the side of the large armoire and walk to it on unsteady feet.Â
John is speaking again, but you canât hear him, not over the rush of blood in your ears or the breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as you reach up to pull the veil from your hair. You drape it across the table delicately, hands trailing over the fine embroidery before your hands fall to the laces of your dress.Â
Letâs get this over with.
Youâre just thankful the dress laces in the front, at least you could do that by yourself. But as you tug at the strings, you find you canât - your hands shake and the damned glovesâŠ
You yank off the delicate silk, ignoring the raised white scars that glare back up at you as you try and manage to succeed this time in tugging the laces loose. The bodice of the dress loosens around you, the weight of the gown pulling it down slightly, the only thing holding it up being the sleeves on your shoulders. You reach up, still shaking to pull those down next, when warm calloused hands stop you.Â
Heâs calling your name - heâs been calling your name but you couldnât hear him over your own panic. But you hear him now, and the sound of it falling from his lips along with the grounding warmth of his hands holding your own brings you back to yourself.Â
âWhat are you doing?â He asks, and you notice now that heâs standing before you, having turned you away from the dressing table to face him, blue eyes swimming with confusion.Â
But youâre the confused one, your brows furrow as you look up at him. âWhat am IâŠ?â You pause, looking down at yourself and then back to the bed behind you. âTheâŠthe consummation. I thought-â
Strong hands squeeze your own, and you look back to the man before you. Heâs still dressed, you finally notice, and heâs looking at you like a delicate piece of glass, that you might break at the gentlest breeze.Â
And maybe you would.
âDo you want to?â He asks, question sincere, brows raised slightly as his thumbs brush over your knuckles.Â
The question startles you. Never had it even occurred to you about wanting this or not. Of course you didnât want this. You just met this man - this man who is constantly contradicting every horrible thing youâve heard whispered about him. This man who is a stranger but has been so kind.Â
Youâve never been asked what you want.Â
You shake your head, convinced this is a trick. Like one of the cruel ones your father would play on you - asking you a question that only had one right answer and then punishing you when you got it wrong.Â
âIâŠâ you trail off, fighting with yourself. You want to tell the truth, something screaming inside you that you can trust him while the other, the years of experience tells you otherwise.Â
The latter wins out.Â
You swallow thickly, eyes falling to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie.Â
âYes, of course. Itâs my duty to-â
He squeezes your hands again, this time dropping one in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, urging you to look at him once more.Â
âLove,â he breathes, voice gentle, âYouâre shaking like a leaf.âÂ
He takes a deep breath, as if stilling a rage inside of him as he takes in the sight of his broken bride before him.Â
âI didnât ask about your duties,â he practically bites the word. âDo you want this?â
Gods, you canât do it. You canât look at him and his kind eyes and remember his soft smile and feel the way he holds you so gently and lie to him. Your lower lip wobbles, and tears burn at the back of your eyes as you internally prepare for the consequences of your next words.Â
âNo.â
Itâs whispered so softly that if he werenât standing so close to you, thereâs no way he would have heard it. But he does, and his hands are pulled from you so quickly that your eyes slip closed, prepared for a strike or a harsh word or something.Â
But it never comes.Â
Instead a tense silence falls over the room before his hand is taking one of yours in his own again, and your eyes open ever so slowly.Â
âThatâs it then,â he says, as if itâs the simplest thing in the world. âIâll send for your handmaid, she can help get you ready for the night.â
You canât stop the shake of your head, mind refusing to accept that this is it. That he is just going to leave you be.Â
âI donâtâŠI donât understand.â
John smiles, and you donât miss the flicker of sadness in his gaze. Pity, maybe?
âI wonât start our marriage off by forcing myself on you. I donâtâŠâ he looks away then, âIâll wait. until youâre ready.â
You speak the next words before you can think.Â
âAnd if Iâm never ready?âÂ
John smiles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, either ignoring or choosing not to acknowledge the multitude of scars adoring the skin beneath his lips.Â
âIâve waited this long,â he says simply, âForever doesnât seem like much longer.â
And then heâs gone, slipping from your bedchambers just as a handmaiden takes his place.Â
ââ
The same handmaid as the night before is the one to wake you, Ilora if you remember correctly. She says that the King has requested you join him to break your fast, as sheâs already searching through the armoire for something for you to wear. It's a somewhat silent affair as she helps you get ready, tying your corset, brushing your hair. She even offered you a pair of gloves when she sees you staring at the ones from yesterday, but you decline.Â
Heâs seen them anyways, and if he hadnât it was bound to come out at some point.Â
Maybe the conversation will come easier over tea and sweet rolls.Â
You follow Ilora as she leads you through the still winding passages of the castle until you eventually come to a door that opens into an open courtyard. Itâs still confined by the castle walls but the ceiling is open, allowing sunshine to pour down onto the cobbled pathways that wind between a multitude of flowers and bushes and even fruit trees.Â
Itâs like a tiny paradise hidden within the walls, sequestered away from the grim stone walls of the building itself. Birds chirp happily, flirting from one branch to the next; and you even spot a butterfly, bright blue and fluttering so prettily in the air before you. It makes you halt in your steps, watching the rhythmic beat of its wings as it floats in the gentle breeze around you.Â
You reach up before you can stop yourself, fingers held poised as you reach for the small creature. It flutters about for a moment before settling onto your offered hand, and you canât stop the smile that splits your lips as its wings beat lazily against your knuckles.Â
Soon, another presence joins you, and a familiar hand reaches up to mimic your own, a calloused finger tracing the delicate wing of the insect. Your eyes leave one color of blue only to find another, surrounded by familiar crows feet at the corners of his eyes as John gazes softly at you.Â
âPretty as a painting,â he murmurs softly, his words making the butterfly take flight, continuing on its earlier journey.Â
âIt was beautiful,â you agree, watching the winged creature until itâs out of sight.Â
John only chuckles, reaching over to place a hand lightly on your back.Â
âI wasnât talking about the butterfly, love.âÂ
His words and the meaning behind them make heat rush to your cheeks, and you look at him in surprise before dropping your eyes to the floor when you catch his playful grin.Â
âCome on then,â he says, breaking the tension, âletâs eat,â he turns back to your secret, âThank you, Ilora.â
Ilora offers a small bow at the dismissal and takes her leave as John leads you a few steps further into the courtyard to reveal a stone table laden with food and only two chairs. Once again youâre slightly taken aback by the abundance of food. Yes, you were a daughter of a noble house, your family was wealthy, your father a lord of some land. But you never saw this side of that life - the life of luxury. Your father made sure of that.Â
John must take your hesitance for nervousness rather than curiosity, because he smiles that warm smile and places that familiar hand on your back to urge you closer. He doesnât force though, never pushing you if your feet did not want to go. He merely encourages, like trying to placate a scared animal.Â
Maybe you are one.Â
âI figured you may want to break your fast away from the prying eyes in the dining hall,â he says simply, moving to pull out your chair when you finally concede to his invitation.Â
You nod politely, eyes still scanning the vast array of food before you until John takes his seat in the chair across the table. âThank you,â you say softly, eyes flitting to the attendants that seem to come from nowhere, pouring your drink, placing silverware, and even placing a napkin in your lap before retreating once more.Â
A silence befalls you both then, and you canât help but want to shrink under the awkwardness of it all. Itâs as if neither of you know what to say - what do you say to your husband or wife that - until less than a day ago - was a stranger to you.Â
Thank the gods John speaks first, your throat to dry with anxiety to do so.
âDo you like blueberry tarts?â He asks, hand already reaching for one of the flaky pastries in the center of the table, âtheyâre our bakerâs specialty,â he chuckles as he leans to place one on your plate when you offer no refusal. âIf you donât, Iâm sure you will after you try this.â
You snag the olive branch offered to you, smiling as you pick up your fork.Â
âI do,â you say, cutting into the delicate treat, âTheyâreâŠTheyâre my favorite, actually. But weâŠâyou trail off, remembering how once your father found out your affinity for the tarts, they had all but disappeared from the tables during meals.Â
You clear your throat, âthe ingredients were hard to find where Iâm from,â you lie smoothly, avoiding Johnâs gaze. âSo they were a luxury.â
You look up when he doesnât respond right away, and find the usual upturn of his lips absent in place of a scrutinizing gaze. Not a harsh one, but one that made it clear he was studying you, watching forâŠsomething.Â
But it was gone as quick as it came, that pleasant warmth back in full force.Â
âWell,â he says, placing a pastry on his own plate, âIâll make sure thereâs never a shortage.â
And on the meal went.Â
Conversation flowed easier after that, John picking up on when you were unsure of a particular dish or food, explaining it to you and watching in utter amusement for whether you would like or dislike a particular one. Heâd let out a particularly hard laugh when youâd tried a rather odd looking dish, promptly trying and failing to spit it out in as ladylike a manner as you could.Â
Blood pudding he called it - making you let out a disbelieving laugh at the withheld information, playfully tossing your napkin his way.Â
Heâd caught it easily, offering you a much sweeter fruit to wash the acrid taste from your mouth.Â
It felt like the morning lasted forever, and truthfully, you never wanted it to end. ItâsâŠnice, talking to someone without the fear of reprimand or a strike for saying the wrong thing. And John heâŠhe listens to you. Truly listens and seems to enjoy the things you talk about. He asks you questions about yourself; your favorite food, your favorite color, things you like to do to pass the time, places and things you wish to see.
And he listens to all of it, seemingly absorbing every word as if heâs a man in the desert dying of thirst and youâre the oasis heâs been searching for.
It goes on like this for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and soon weeks bleed into months and it seems like your past gets further and further behind you as this future you and John start to build gets closer.
He shows you the library like he promised, and itâs where you find yourself spending most of your time when separated from John. The first few weeks you both are nearly inseparable, claiming he wants to spend time getting to know his wife. But a kingdom cannot run itself and eventually he has duties and things to tend to, which you respect.Â
It doesnât mean you donât miss him though.Â
Itâs a shock when the feeling first hits you. Itâs the third day in a row of only seeing him in the morning to break your fast together. Itâs late, and you are as usual, sitting in the armchair you claimed in the library. Youâre reading a romance novel, one that you confessed guilty to John early on that you enjoyed reading. Most people back home (your father) hated them - claimed they were undignified, unfitting for a lady to fill her head with stories that would never come true.Â
John had hundreds of novels shipped in over the next fortnight.Â
The one youâre reading now is a short one, a cliche about a knight and a low born woman. But itâs sweet, and when you get to one particular part, you find yourself looking up from the page, chuckling lightly to yourself and wanting to share it with John.Â
But he isnât here.Â
And as you look up and notice the darkness outside the windows, the only light being the fire a few feet in front of you, you feel a pang in your chest. A longing youâve never felt before, never thought youâd feel in your lifetime.Â
You miss him. Â
And on this night, it appears as if he misses you too. Because, like a siren's call, as soon as you stand, marking your place in your book to retire to bed, the door to the library creaks open. You expect one of the guards, probably Kyle, as he too seems to be fond of the library, having found him in here on several occasions when he was off duty.Â
So, when you look up from where your book sits on the side table, you are surprised to see John slipping into the room, hair tousled, and looking as if he had just come straight from the stables. Riding boots caked in mud, light armor still adorning him. When he spots you, itâs as if the world itself falls from his shoulders, he sags beneath the relief and walks to you with sure even steps until heâs less than an arms length away.Â
âJohn, what are you doing?â You ask, looking down at his muddy boots and back up to the weary expression on his face. âWhatâsâŠis something wrong?âÂ
He pauses for a moment, a flicker of something flashing in his eyes before it's gone, and those piercing blues are softening and crow's feet appear at the corners as he reaches for you, taking your hands in his own gently.Â
âNothing, love,â he says, that nickname thatâs become more frequent making your heart flutter. âJust missed you, is all.â
His admission makes warmth spread through you, like warm honey on freshly baked bread. And you canât help but lean into him, relishing in the way his hands move to wrap around your waist.Â
âIâŠI missed you too, John,â you tell him softly, as if the words will scare him away.Â
But they do the exact opposite, they make the man beam brighter than before, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he steps ever closer, eyes falling from your own down to your lips.Â
Your breath hitches as he inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his words as he speaks, air brushing over your lips.Â
âCan I kiss you, love?â
You havenât kissed since your wedding day. Not other than the chaste ones heâd press against your knuckles or your cheek on occasion. Heâd respected the vow he spoke to you on your wedding night, never pushing you, never forcing you. He waited. Waited until you made the decision.Â
The nod you give him comes quicker than you thought it would, and his lips are on your own in an instant. Theyâre warm and slightly chapped from the ride he no doubt went on today, but to you itâsâŠperfect. Itâs warm and gentle and all consuming, and even though it isnât heated or rushed or rough you suddenly understand the passion that all those romance novels wax poetry about.Â
He doesnât dominate you or control it in any way, he moves with you - coaxing you at times perhaps, smiling against your lips when you let out a small whimper. His hands never stray far either, only moving to wrap further around your or caressing up and down your spin, maybe toying with the hair at the base of your neck before finally coming to cradle the apple of your cheek in his calloused palm.
Only then does he pull away, and you flush at how breathless you are, the embarrassment only soothed when you see he is just as affected as you are. He rests his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb brushes softly against your cheek.Â
âMaybe Iâll have them move my desk in here,â he says after a comfortable silence. âThat way even if I have things to tend to, I can still spend some time with you.â
You pull away from him only enough so he can see the smile on your face; and the next day when you come to the library, John is sitting at his desk, right next to your arm chair.Â
âââ
Another thing that has changed for the better is your dreams. Nightmares used to be a constant for you before the wedding, waking up in cold sweats, fear making your very bones ache. But after the first few nights in the castleâŠthey disappeared. Once you realize that the danger you used to live amongst each and every day is no longer present, itâs as if your body finally allowed you to rest.Â
Maybe thatâs why this one is so much worse.Â
Youâd been lulled into a false sense of security, your body's survival instincts failing you, telling you that you were safe when you should know better. Itâs the very thing he screams at you as he strikes you down in this hellscape. The bitter words he spits upon you as blood splatters across the stone flooring, as the toe of his boot meets your stomach again and again.Â
You naive, stupid girl - youâre nothing!Â
You want to scream out at him, tell him that itâs not true, that you are something and that someone loves you and cares for you. But the words are stuck in your throat like tar, and copper floods your tongue and any and all protests crumble like ash in your mouth as you see his guard raise the whip above his head.Â
You wake up screaming.Â
Throat raw, the taste of copper still coating your tongue and making you gag as you fight against the furs and blankest tangled around your legs. Itâs pitch black, the fire having died out to nothing but embers. So when a pair of hands finds you in the dark you canât stop the wail that slips from your lips.
Heâs come back for you. Heâs come to take you away-â
âItâs me, love stop-â the voice is muddled, far away from your panicked mind.Â
You fight the grip on your wrists, only stilling when one lets go to cup your cheek. Calloused hands, warmâŠthey speak again.
His name is but a whimper on your lips, and when he assures you that it is him, you fall apart like glass when it meets stone. Shattered into a million little pieces.Â
But he catches you, he catches and holds each and every piece of you as you sob in his arms, tears soaking the skin of his neck where you hide your face, fingers clutching desperately at the thin cotton of his shirt. He holds you so softly. Always soft, always gentle. His hands run up and down your back, over your shoulders, through your hair as he shushes you softly, cooing reassuring words into your ear.Â
And when you finally do calm, sobs ebbing away into ugly sniffles and hiccups, he still doesnât let go, shifting instead to lay back against the pillows with you tucked into his side as he pulls the covers around you - a safe cocoon against the world - against the things that still haunt you. He only stops speaking, stops humming some small random lullaby he had started up, when you begin to speak.Â
He didnât pressure you, didnât ask - heâs never asked. The whole time youâve spent together, and you know John is a perceptive man - he knows things. You assume heâs worked most of it out himself; yet, he never once asked you. Even now, when your screams no doubt jerked him from his slumber, or when you cried into him like a terrified child. He never once asked.Â
So you tell him on your own. You tell him of your childhood, of the hatred your father held for you, of the cruelty he subjected you and your mother to. You told him of the scathing words and the nights sent to your room without supper and maybe even days without anything but a simple loaf of bread and some water. You tell him of the things you swore youâd never tell anyone, of the blood and torment and beatings and the whip.Â
And in the darkness of your bedchamber you pull away from his embrace, slipping your shift from your shoulders as you tell him about the scars. Heâs seen the ones on your hands butâŠas he traces the jagged angry marks on your back, your ribs, your stomach in the darknessâŠyou can practically feel the rage radiating off of him like the sun on a hot summerâs day. His hands shake, fingers trembling as they trace over the evidence of darkness, of pure evil. You tell him everything, until the tears finally prevent you from saying more and heâs tugging your shift back up your arms and turning you back to face him and kissing them away with a reverence you never imagined possible for you.Â
âYou will never come to harm here,â he swears, voice terrifyingly calm and steady. âAnd if you do, gods help the man to do it, for Iâll hunt him down and slay him where he stands.â
 He pulls you tighter then, lips pressing against the crown of your head as arms wrap around your waist, soft words urging you back into slumber.Â
And despite everythingâŠ.you sleep, and dream this time of warm hands and kind words and a future worth living for.
Ma'am, I have no idea about COD or any of what this is based on, but it doesn't matter because this is lovely! It's so sweet and fluffy and just yes. I'm such a slut for an arranged marriage with a good man. You delivered the goods! đ„°
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Hi- I don't know if you are still writing but I just wanted to say your fics are AMAZING. I constantly go back and re-read them whenever I need a good comfort fic. I also kinda had a random question about the Pero Tovar AU... how does he come to find out that the reader is a werewolf and not a magical dog?? If you're not writing or answering questions about your fics anymore I totally understand and please disregard this question. Much love from a reader!!!!
Anon, this note/ask absolutely made my day, you have no idea! I am deeply touched that you reread my stories and they bring you comfort. That's really my goal with my fan fics, to be a soft, sweet place to land.
While I do not write fan fic much anymore, I was delighted by your question of how he comes to find out Reader is a werewolf and had to write a little ficlette about that moment. I hope it is a satisfactory answer!
Much love to you, dear Reader, and thank you for your kind words and lovely ask!!! đ„°
Pairing: Pero Tovar x Werewolf Female Reader
Summary: The new moon is upon you and Pero, which means you either have to leave him for a few days to hide your humanness or risk trusting him with the truth
POV: Werewolf Reader
Warnings: Mention of dead animals, non-sexual nudity, anxiety, brief fear of injury
Words: 750
Picking your canine teeth with a sharp bit of bone from your dinner, you look up at the night sky moodily. Thereâs only a sliver of the waning moon shining amongst the stars and you and Pero are nowhere near the bottom of the mountain.
A terrible blizzard has cost days of travel, forcing you two to hunker down in a cave. Even after the snow stopped, itâs been too cold for a human to be out in. The only choice is to wait for the temperature to rise a little more.
With less than two nights until the new moon, youâre faced with either disappearing for a few days or showing him youâre human.
The idea of leaving him without explanation, especially in these conditions, doesnât sit right with you. Underneath that gruff, smelly exterior is a kindhearted man who youâve come to care about and who cares about you, even if he does only see you as a magical dog and try to give you terrible names.
But to tell him is to potentially risk your life and that of the packâs. He might try to kill you or share of your existence with others. Itâs why thereâs a rule never to tell humans.
âCome inside, pup, itâs too cold for even you,â he calls sternly from near the mouth of the cave, hands stuffed under his armpits.
Letting the bone fall from your mouth, you get to your feet and trot inside. After giving yourself a good shake just near enough to him to hit him with bits of snow, you head farther inside where a crackling fire welcomes you.
âDo you have to do that every time?â he gripes, brushing his hands exaggeratedly on his coat.
Smirking, you flop on the stone floor with your wet belly near the flames.
Despite his annoyed expression, he settles next to you to scratch behind your ears. After a few weeks together, heâs learned exactly where you like to be pet.
âIâm glad youâre back for the night,â he says with a quiet smile.
Warmth curls through you at his words. Youâre glad you are, too. Being with him makes you happy.
As you look at his fire-lit face, lined with both hardship and joy, your heart knows what you need to do: show him what you are. If things go badly, you can easily transform back into a wolf and disappear. Heâd never be able to track you in these conditions.
Heart pounding with both fear and determination, you close your eyes and let your human self out. Now youâre laying on your side, naked and chilly, while Pedroâs fingers brush your neck.
He freezes, hand stilling, as he stares at you with saucer-sized eyes. His breathing grows erratic and his own heart beats loudly in your ears.
You stay still, but use your voice for the first time with him, âHello.â
âWhat the fuck?â he wheezes, drawing back.
âItâs all right! Werewolves donât hurt humans unless thereâs no other choice.â
Pero swallows dryly. âWerewolves?â
Although you know itâs perfectly reasonable for him to be shocked, youâre starting to regret this. Heâs looking at you like youâre a monster.
Another unbearable beat goes by with you remaining on the ground and him staring.
âI can turn back,â you say, voice wobbling with the threat of tears. Why did you think you should do this? Youâve risked everything so impulsively! âIâll leave, you donât have to ever see me again. Just⊠please donât tell anyone!â
He reaches towards the nest of blankets where his large knife lays and you immediately transform back into a Wolf, ready to defend yourself.
But instead of grabbing the knife, he picks up one of the blankets. Although heâs still rather shaken, he says softly, âI promise, Iâm not going to hurt you, either. You can be human, but you need something to wear. Itâs too cold without fur.â
Pero lays the blanket over your fuzzy back, leaving it up to you what you want to do.
Now, his eyes are curious and hopeful, and thereâs no lie in the thrum of his heart. So, you allow yourself to shed your fur once more under the comfort of the blanket.
He chuckles. âNo wonder you didnât like the names âSnowballâ or âWhite Fellâ. What do you want me to call you?â
A sense of safety returns and you sit up, holding the edges of the fabric around you. With a shy smile, you tell him your real name.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Hi- I don't know if you are still writing but I just wanted to say your fics are AMAZING. I constantly go back and re-read them whenever I need a good comfort fic. I also kinda had a random question about the Pero Tovar AU... how does he come to find out that the reader is a werewolf and not a magical dog?? If you're not writing or answering questions about your fics anymore I totally understand and please disregard this question. Much love from a reader!!!!
Anon, this note/ask absolutely made my day, you have no idea! I am deeply touched that you reread my stories and they bring you comfort. That's really my goal with my fan fics, to be a soft, sweet place to land.
While I do not write fan fic much anymore, I was delighted by your question of how he comes to find out Reader is a werewolf and had to write a little ficlette about that moment. I hope it is a satisfactory answer!
Much love to you, dear Reader, and thank you for your kind words and lovely ask!!! đ„°
Pairing: Pero Tovar x Werewolf Female Reader
Summary: The new moon is upon you and Pero, which means you either have to leave him for a few days to hide your humanness or risk trusting him with the truth
POV: Werewolf Reader
Warnings: Mention of dead animals, non-sexual nudity, anxiety, brief fear of injury
Words: 750
A/N: Takes place between Cooking and Proposal
Picking your canine teeth with a sharp bit of bone from your dinner, you look up at the night sky moodily. Thereâs only a sliver of the waning moon shining amongst the stars and you and Pero are nowhere near the bottom of the mountain.
A terrible blizzard has cost days of travel, forcing you two to hunker down in a cave. Even after the snow stopped, itâs been too cold for a human to be out in. The only choice is to wait for the temperature to rise a little more.
With less than two nights until the new moon, youâre faced with either disappearing for a few days or showing him youâre human.
The idea of leaving him without explanation, especially in these conditions, doesnât sit right with you. Underneath that gruff, smelly exterior is a kindhearted man who youâve come to care about and who cares about you, even if he does only see you as a magical dog and try to give you terrible names.
But to tell him is to potentially risk your life and that of the packâs. He might try to kill you or share of your existence with others. Itâs why thereâs a rule never to tell humans.
âCome inside, pup, itâs too cold for even you,â he calls sternly from near the mouth of the cave, hands stuffed under his armpits.
Letting the bone fall from your mouth, you get to your feet and trot inside. After giving yourself a good shake just near enough to him to hit him with bits of snow, you head farther inside where a crackling fire welcomes you.
âDo you have to do that every time?â he gripes, brushing his hands exaggeratedly on his coat.
Smirking, you flop on the stone floor with your wet belly near the flames.
Despite his annoyed expression, he settles next to you to scratch behind your ears. After a few weeks together, heâs learned exactly where you like to be pet.
âIâm glad youâre back for the night,â he says with a quiet smile.
Warmth curls through you at his words. Youâre glad you are, too. Being with him makes you happy.
As you look at his fire-lit face, lined with both hardship and joy, your heart knows what you need to do: show him what you are. If things go badly, you can easily transform back into a wolf and disappear. Heâd never be able to track you in these conditions.
Heart pounding with both fear and determination, you close your eyes and let your human self out. Now youâre laying on your side, naked and chilly, while Pedroâs fingers brush your neck.
He freezes, hand stilling, as he stares at you with saucer-sized eyes. His breathing grows erratic and his own heart beats loudly in your ears.
You stay still, but use your voice for the first time with him, âHello.â
âWhat the fuck?â he wheezes, drawing back.
âItâs all right! Werewolves donât hurt humans unless thereâs no other choice.â
Pero swallows dryly. âWerewolves?â
Although you know itâs perfectly reasonable for him to be shocked, youâre starting to regret this. Heâs looking at you like youâre a monster.
Another unbearable beat goes by with you remaining on the ground and him staring.
âI can turn back,â you say, voice wobbling with the threat of tears. Why did you think you should do this? Youâve risked everything so impulsively! âIâll leave, you donât have to ever see me again. Just⊠please donât tell anyone!â
He reaches towards the nest of blankets where his large knife lays and you immediately transform back into a Wolf, ready to defend yourself.
But instead of grabbing the knife, he picks up one of the blankets. Although heâs still rather shaken, he says softly, âI promise, Iâm not going to hurt you, either. You can be human, but you need something to wear. Itâs too cold without fur.â
Pero lays the blanket over your fuzzy back, leaving it up to you what you want to do.
Now, his eyes are curious and hopeful, and thereâs no lie in the thrum of his heart. So, you allow yourself to shed your fur once more under the comfort of the blanket.
He chuckles. âNo wonder you didnât like the names âSnowballâ or âWhite Fellâ. What do you want me to call you?â
A sense of safety returns and you sit up, holding the edges of the fabric around you. With a shy smile, you tell him your real name.
Hi- I don't know if you are still writing but I just wanted to say your fics are AMAZING. I constantly go back and re-read them whenever I need a good comfort fic. I also kinda had a random question about the Pero Tovar AU... how does he come to find out that the reader is a werewolf and not a magical dog?? If you're not writing or answering questions about your fics anymore I totally understand and please disregard this question. Much love from a reader!!!!
Anon, this note/ask absolutely made my day, you have no idea! I am deeply touched that you reread my stories and they bring you comfort. That's really my goal with my fan fics, to be a soft, sweet place to land.
While I do not write fan fic much anymore, I was delighted by your question of how he comes to find out Reader is a werewolf and had to write a little ficlette about that moment. I hope it is a satisfactory answer!
Much love to you, dear Reader, and thank you for your kind words and lovely ask!!! đ„°
Pairing: Pero Tovar x Werewolf Female Reader
Summary: The new moon is upon you and Pero, which means you either have to leave him for a few days to hide your humanness or risk trusting him with the truth
POV: Werewolf Reader
Warnings: Mention of dead animals, non-sexual nudity, anxiety, brief fear of injury
Words: 750
A/N: Takes place between Cooking and Proposal
Picking your canine teeth with a sharp bit of bone from your dinner, you look up at the night sky moodily. Thereâs only a sliver of the waning moon shining amongst the stars and you and Pero are nowhere near the bottom of the mountain.
A terrible blizzard has cost days of travel, forcing you two to hunker down in a cave. Even after the snow stopped, itâs been too cold for a human to be out in. The only choice is to wait for the temperature to rise a little more.
With less than two nights until the new moon, youâre faced with either disappearing for a few days or showing him youâre human.
The idea of leaving him without explanation, especially in these conditions, doesnât sit right with you. Underneath that gruff, smelly exterior is a kindhearted man who youâve come to care about and who cares about you, even if he does only see you as a magical dog and try to give you terrible names.
But to tell him is to potentially risk your life and that of the packâs. He might try to kill you or share of your existence with others. Itâs why thereâs a rule never to tell humans.
âCome inside, pup, itâs too cold for even you,â he calls sternly from near the mouth of the cave, hands stuffed under his armpits.
Letting the bone fall from your mouth, you get to your feet and trot inside. After giving yourself a good shake just near enough to him to hit him with bits of snow, you head farther inside where a crackling fire welcomes you.
âDo you have to do that every time?â he gripes, brushing his hands exaggeratedly on his coat.
Smirking, you flop on the stone floor with your wet belly near the flames.
Despite his annoyed expression, he settles next to you to scratch behind your ears. After a few weeks together, heâs learned exactly where you like to be pet.
âIâm glad youâre back for the night,â he says with a quiet smile.
Warmth curls through you at his words. Youâre glad you are, too. Being with him makes you happy.
As you look at his fire-lit face, lined with both hardship and joy, your heart knows what you need to do: show him what you are. If things go badly, you can easily transform back into a wolf and disappear. Heâd never be able to track you in these conditions.
Heart pounding with both fear and determination, you close your eyes and let your human self out. Now youâre laying on your side, naked and chilly, while Pedroâs fingers brush your neck.
He freezes, hand stilling, as he stares at you with saucer-sized eyes. His breathing grows erratic and his own heart beats loudly in your ears.
You stay still, but use your voice for the first time with him, âHello.â
âWhat the fuck?â he wheezes, drawing back.
âItâs all right! Werewolves donât hurt humans unless thereâs no other choice.â
Pero swallows dryly. âWerewolves?â
Although you know itâs perfectly reasonable for him to be shocked, youâre starting to regret this. Heâs looking at you like youâre a monster.
Another unbearable beat goes by with you remaining on the ground and him staring.
âI can turn back,â you say, voice wobbling with the threat of tears. Why did you think you should do this? Youâve risked everything so impulsively! âIâll leave, you donât have to ever see me again. Just⊠please donât tell anyone!â
He reaches towards the nest of blankets where his large knife lays and you immediately transform back into a Wolf, ready to defend yourself.
But instead of grabbing the knife, he picks up one of the blankets. Although heâs still rather shaken, he says softly, âI promise, Iâm not going to hurt you, either. You can be human, but you need something to wear. Itâs too cold without fur.â
Pero lays the blanket over your fuzzy back, leaving it up to you what you want to do.
Now, his eyes are curious and hopeful, and thereâs no lie in the thrum of his heart. So, you allow yourself to shed your fur once more under the comfort of the blanket.
He chuckles. âNo wonder you didnât like the names âSnowballâ or âWhite Fellâ. What do you want me to call you?â
A sense of safety returns and you sit up, holding the edges of the fabric around you. With a shy smile, you tell him your real name.