Ysa (inactive)

Your ears perk up and a certain feeling washes over you, eyes meeting Jake’s as you take a sharp inhale.

The ships were close now; you could see their big flashlights filtering through every column in the village. They were here.

You spot the other Metkayina rushing to the shore to meet the enemies, taking a deep breath and willing yourself to stay calm when every fiber of your being was screaming at you to rush.

“Take the girls and go, now!” Jake says, holding his rifle tight as he stops moving and looks back at you.

“I want Jake Sully!” Quaritch’s voice booms at the shore, your fingers instinctively tightening on your bow as the others gathered at the shore.

“We will not go without you.” You say sternly, a growl in your tone, looking back to see Tuk and Kiri following close by, scared. Your heart aches.

“No!” Jake growls back. Fists clenched. “They’ve got Spider- there’s nothing holding them back, you’ve seen what they can do.” Jake says firmly, gaze set on you, hard expression on his face.

“These people will die.” A chill runs down your spine at his words, your chest heaves, ears pinning against your head, there was no way you could leave him, leave Jake, your husband… to what? Serve himself up as bait for Quaritch? Risk never not seeing him again?

You swallow and your voice breaks. “You cannot… you cannot ask this, husband… I cannot,” You can’t even process everything right now.

“I will not leave you with that-“ You began to say until Jake takes the sling of his gun off himself, throwing it with a thud in the sand, the muscles in your brow knitting as well as a pull of your lips into a frown.

“This is the only way.” Jake said, as if he had already made up his mind, that he had been thinking about it for a while. He probably had.

Your heart grows heavy at the thought. “Jake please-“

“Jake Sully!” Quaritch yells again over the noise, a lump forming in your throat. “Show yourself!”

Frozen, your eyes held Jake’s. “You gotta go… baby, please.” He breathes, a part of him, deep inside, that unsure pitch blending into his pleading tone. “You gotta go right now.”

No. You cannot leave your mate like this. To hide? That was not you.

Steeling yourself, you face Kiri, eyeing the girl who looks at you for what to do next. A hand on her arm. “Take your sister. Go and hide.” You command. “Go!”

Kiri looks at you and Jake before she was tugging Tuk by the hand, the latter reluctant, looking up at the two of you before they were off, disappearing from view to hide with the others.

A sudden rush of emotions fills you, holding up your bow. “Ma Jake if you stay I stay. I will kill many.” You announce, that fear in your veins turning into deep hatred.  

Jake resigns but he pushes your bow down, shaking his head. “Whatever happens, do not raise that bow.” A beat. “You swear to me.”

All you could do was purse your lips in a thin line. There was no use of arguing.

“I know he’s here.” Quaritch says, eyes scanning the crowd of reef people, tilting his head. “Give him to me.”

“He’s Metkayina. He’s one of us.” Tonowari’s voice could be heard. “He’s one of us!” The olo’eyktan’s words rang with his people, even when they were in the face of grave danger, they will never risk one of their own.

You were heading in with Jake when a burst of bright orange flares through followed by the smell of burning wood, crackling. Fire. Quaritch had burned a part of the village, earning cries from the Metkayina, cheers from the enemy. Your eyes wide, they did not deserve this… you hear their cries of agony, and it forces you to swallow the lump in your throat.

“I want Jake Sully!” Quaritch recurs, the tone now harsher.

Your husband rushes ahead of you before you realize, rushing towards the crowd and presenting himself right up front.

“Ma Jake-!“ Your voice dies down in your throat.

“Stop, stop, no, hold your fire! Hold your fire! Stop!” Jake places himself in the spotlight, arms outstretched in an attempt to de-escalate the situation.

Quaritch complies.

You were left standing along with other Metkayina, helplessly watching your husband at the front, saying something to Tonowari. In a second, the olo’eyktan crouches with their weapons down, the others soon follow, bowing their heads down.

You do not.

Keeping yourself upright with Jake, having managed to already notch an arrow in your bow, you held it close. Then your eyes met with the tsahik of the Mangkwan, an itch forming on the scar she had caused herself when her arrow punctured right through your shoulder.

She hisses and you do not stand down, you hiss back, ears pinning against your head and your tail stiffening.

Your eyes stray to the movement, Jake coming close towards the RDA, towards Quaritch.

“Colonel.”

“Corporal.”

“You take me, you leave my family and these people alone.” Jake directs. Your ears perk, eyes widening by a fraction as you stared into your husband’s back, before your eyes train back on Quaritch and his woman.

“Not good enough, gonna need the missus too.” Quaritch says, offering a nod towards you in which you tense, biting back a snarl as you straightened yourself, a thought away from aiming and releasing your arrow. Your breathing heavy.

Your toes dig into the sand, trying to plant yourself there, reminding yourself you still were capable of doing something- but clearly you were outnumbered.

“You get me.” Jake repeats. “Both of you or I’ll hammer this place flat. Pregnant ladies, kids, I’ll blow grandma’s skinny shit through the back of the hooch ‘cause I just don’t care.” Quaritch chuckles.

“My pals here,” he nods back to the Mangkwan. “Well, they’re just dying to waste everybody and take some scalps.” A chorus of yips and jeers follow behind Quaritch, the tsahik of the Mangkwan smiling like she held this great power over all of you.

You exhale sharply, eyes flitting from Jake to Quaritch, to his woman.

Jake steps back and in a flash, raises his fist and you waste no time raising your bow and aiming, as the other Metkayina stand and mirrors you, their own weapons aimed and growls escaping from their system. Ready to defend their village.

The Mangkwan aims their weapons; guns. You notice the more you eye everyone of them. What was this trick Quaritch had pulled now? But you couldn’t think about that right now.

“Really? We’re doing this?!” Quaritch’s voice was too amused to be in this situation.

“When I drop my arm, you and your new girlfriend die, you in particular die a lot.” Jake growls, taunting.

“I die; everybody here dies.” He replies casually, his rifle the only one held down except for the others directed at all of you.

“Maybe, I think you could get some of us but not all of us… maybe we bum-rush you, and your gunships hesitate because we all look the same…” Jake forwards. “And when you’re begging for your life,” He slips out his tomahawk with his free hand as you watch your mate, your heart still beating very fast in your chest. Ready to cover him if it goes sideways.

“I’ll scalp you.” He finishes, pointing the weapon at Quaritch.

Quaritch looks amused, fangs showing in his grin and shrugging. “God damn corporal, I don’t know if you’re smart or just shittin’ us… you never struck me as all that smart.”

You were beginning to tense up, just begging for something to happen already, your fingers tight on your arrow, just one slip and you could strike him right here, right now…

“I need your word, marine to marine. Safety, for these people.” Jake’s tone was less hostile now, making a pact.

The standoff was unyielding, the sounds of snarls, breathing, the sounds of the gunships with their guns aimed down at the people, the chopper and the bright light didn’t distract you from the fact that your mate stood there on the frontline, facing them all.

“Do we have a deal?” Jake questioned after a few seconds.

“Done. Wanna pinky swear?” Quaritch says, holding that extra finger the avatars have, your eyes squinting at the act.

Jake lets out a breath, looking back at Tonowari before he throws his weapon to the ground, palms up and open as the Metkayina drop down once more. You didn’t budge, arrow still aimed at Quaritch, tail lashing behind you.

It hits when Jake offers his wrists, walking towards him. “Take him.” Quaritch gestures, his fellow recom taking Jake’s wrists and tying it behind him, allowing Jake to finally look back at you.

It hits you. Jake’s expression, how he didn’t fight against the binds, how he just looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. Your grip on the bow tightens once more, though a shaky breath leaves you, everything suddenly feeling too constricting…

They began dragging him away and Jake doesn’t even look to where he’s going, eyes still planted on you. Your lips tremble, chest aching as you put on a brave appearance but Jake knew. He knew.

Your eyes shift to Quaritch and his eyes peer at you, taunting, taunting you to shoot that bow right at him when they’ve already got Jake. A last challenge.

Your fingers tremble. You let go with a growl, deciding to aim low, but enough to make a statement as the arrow lands in between Quaritch’s feet, him plucking it off and holding it up like a trophy.

Ears pinned down, your eyes flicker between Jake as they took him away into the chopper, Quaritch looking on proudly, his woman still aims at you.

“Another time then, Mrs. Sully.” Quaritch grins and you hiss in return, body coiled and was taking everything in you not to do something drastic.

They began to disperse and the reality sets in further. They were taking him, your husband, your mate… and there was nothing you could do about it. Thinking of not being able to see him again, the possibility that this was going to be your last time with him… You felt powerless for such an exceptional warrior.

You follow Jake’s gaze, your feet having a mind of their own, going forwards as they shove him into the chopper, your ears pinned and tail curled low, hands shaking as he didn’t look at anything else but you. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

“Ma Jake…” You whisper, as the engine starts up and they began to rise, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Then he was gone. Just like that.

Your knees buckle from under you, before they hit the sand, eyes leaving the night sky before it finds what was in front of you. His tomahawk. Your fingers reach for it, caress the handle before you find your tears rolling down your cheeks, bowing your head and letting yourself wallow in the sadness and frustration.

The other Metkayina look in concern, Ronal, even if you two had clashed more often than not, she silently moves next to you, placing her hand on your shoulder. Nobody would even wish to lose someone’s mate like that.

“He will make it. He is strong, and you must be brave yourself.” Her words usually stern, now held something close to comforting.

“That is no guarantee, tsahik-“ You look up at her but she does not argue despite your stubbornness. “He is Toruk Makto, a great warrior. He will find a way.” She simply says before she lets go, leaving you to your own.

Then the rush of footsteps, Kiri and Tuk as their voices echo. “Mom!”

They rush in between you and you pull back from holding Jake’s weapon to cradle the two of your daughter’s heads close to you, the two instantly leaning in but the missing presence of their father already gave them the clue as to what happened. Their father was taken.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

It had been almost three days. Three days since Jake was taken from you. The Marui had never felt so empty. The absence of your son Lo’ak cuts close to the lingering and painful absence of Neteyam. Lo’ak’s last parting gift to you was your bow, how every detail was carved as it had been, careful, strong… and then he was off, saying he had something he needed to do, he doesn’t even know his father had been taken…

It had just been you, Kiri, and Tuk in the large marui. You tried to stay strong for your girls, but you just had this feeling, this pull… you had to do something.

One night you pull them close, after having explained what you plan to do.

“Mom, this is dangerous…” Kiri’s voice reminds you, whilst Tuk nodded in agreement, her wide eyes looking at you. “You should not be alone.” Kiri added.

You sigh, hands coming up to their shoulders and you shake your head. “This is something I have to do… your father… he needs me.” You say, no chance of backing out your idea. “While I am gone, the tsahik would look after you, she has promised.” You say, offering their shoulders a squeeze.  

The two look at each other, growing up they’ve learned how much of a fierce woman their mother was, and now with her saying she’s going to try and save their father, all on her own… they knew better than to doubt her.

With no more sounds of protest, you smile at them, leaning down to press kisses to their temples, embracing them tightly before you slowly pull back. “Go…” You say before they nod and start to leave the marui.

Taking a sharp breath, you turn on your heel, grabbing where your bow was perched, closing your eyes and holding it close to your chest for a moment.

Preparing yourself, you look over and crouch, pulling off the mat covering the weapons Jake had recovered from the wreck, opening the latches with a soft click.

As much as you hated the thought, you pluck the arrows Jake had made for you, the one tipped with ‘explosives’ as Jake called it…

“Just don’t be close when it hits.”

With a shaky breath, you began packing.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

Traveling back to the forest with your ikran, it didn’t take long for you to track the growing Bridgehead. It was huge now since the last time you first saw it. Already you feel your eyes darken with hate, hidden by the foliage you look around for any signs, hints of how to progress from here.

As if on cue, there was rustling, ducking to keep yourself hidden, you easily track them down. Mangkwan. Three of them, having just finished a hunt and started to set camp.

Steeling yourself, you get a perimeter around them, moving as swift as a thanator, you got closer.

“…They were the ugliest ones in the village.” One pipes as the other two cackle, voicing their agreement and joked around. One was busy gutting their game, your first target, better to eliminate the one with the weapon first.

Bracing yourself, you grab your normal arrows, notch, aim…

Fire, shooting the one with the knife down, you move quick as they jump to alert while the one with the knife drops dead, snarling as you quickly pull another arrow to shoot one, taking the time to notch as the other grabbed their gun and as they pulled the trigger you hit them square in the chest, the spray of bullets flying, making you dodge them.

Inspecting if they were still alive, your ears pinned down, eyes scanning, until you find something strapped to their necks, you grab ahold of it, yanking it off the lifeless form, it looked to be some kind of… red card, with the RDA logo upon it.

Exhaling, your eyes travel to the walls of Bridgehead, then back to the necklace. One step closer to Jake.

Calling for your ikran, it doesn’t take her long enough to appear, calming her down before you ready to disguise both of yourselves, praying to the Great Mother that what you were about to do was right.

Finishing up the face paint and making sure your ikran also looked the part, you gave your girl a soft nuzzle, palm against her side, tapping lightly before you finally make the bond, hopping on and there, you held the necklace, with the other, you steer her towards the Bridgehead.

You held your breath the moment you got closer, knowing they had all these technologies to spot you easily, so you kept calm and hoped the disguised worked, and you felt relief flood you when you pass the walls.

You were here. Sky people territory. This was no place for them…

Your eyes take it all in, the tall structures, the bright lights, the passing vehicles on the ground, until you finally see it, tents that looked out of place. Na’vi.

Patting your ikran, you banked to the left, lowering until you had her perch on the pipes, landing smoothly and quietly, like you belonged. “Watch for me.” You say to her before you were off, clutching your bow.

You appear to blend in, though the sight of the humans made your skin crawl. “What’s up, cutie?” One even tried to call you for fun, but you respond with a hiss, making your way over to where you assumed the tsahik of the Mangkwan, Varang’s tent was.

Managing to easily cut yourself a small entrance behind her tent, your gaze zeroed on her laying on her furs, alone, much to your luck.

You could take her, then and there, plucking your knife from behind you, you crouch and press it against her throat.

“Make no sound, witch.” You whisper lowly, full of threat as she gasps awake, eyes wide before they met yours. “Where is Jake Sully?” You ask, keeping your grip on the knife tight.

But all Varang does is give you an amused smirk. “Ah, the wife… loyal to her man.” And you had no time for games, pressing further. “Speak or I cut.” You hiss but she quickly yanks back your wrist, but you were faster, free hand yanking around her own kuru, slotting your knife in the loop. “Where?” You demand again, holding her braid and your knife together.

“I will not ask again.” You mutter. She hisses but two could play at that game as you yank her kuru once more, moving your wrist but she yelps out, hands gesturing wildly. “Wait! Wait!”

“Past the camp, a cage for an animal.”

The muscles in your brows met. “Take me there, now.” You command, still holding onto her kuru. “Which way?” You ask but then the voice of Quaritch approaching stuns you, allowing her to break off from your grasp. You try slicing at her but she backs easily, grabbing her own weapon.

Then Quaritch opens the flap to the tent, the scene before him making him pause until you hiss at him, to which he recognizes instantly and wastes no time grabbing his handgun from his side, shooting.

You slip fast from the entrance you made, running and climbing as you hear the others be alerted of the sudden gunshots, heart hammering against your chest as you made your escape.

You climb and climb until you drop off onto your ikran, almost slipping but you got your bearings easily, pulling out one of the explosive arrows, aiming at anywhere before you release, the explosion certainly grabbing everyone’s attention now. Adrenaline was filling in your veins, all you could think about was Jake.

Meanwhile for Jake, he hasn’t touched the tray of food served to him earlier, just crouched down on the end of the cage, flashing lights endless, the TV flashing his face like some kind of spectacle. The traitor. 0600 tomorrow as Quaritch said, would be his end.

Maybe this was it... he didn’t imagine himself going down without a fight, but if it meant keeping the people safe, keeping you and his family safe…

His thoughts were interrupted by a huge explosion in the distance, making him perk up and stand, eyes wide. Then another explosion much closer to where he was now. Until he spots it.

You had set off another explosion, anger coursing through you before you finally spot Jake in the middle of it all. In a cage as Varang said, all eyes on him. You steer your ikran, letting her nails drag on the top of the glass cage, making Jake know you were there.

You were going to get him back.

Jake looks up as the scratch occurs and he couldn’t fight the huff leaving him. “Baby-“ He says in wonder. Of course it was you.

He watches you as you avoid the spray of bullets, making his heart and his mind race. You were crazy… and right now? He absolutely loved you for it.

The bullets follow you, but you were much more swift at evading them, trusting in your bond with your ikran, you dodge and flew, deciding to keep yourself on the low as the choppers began to spread around, without a doubt looking for you.

You find yourself beneath a structure, ikran perched on the post as she screeched, patting her to calm her down. “Shh… we are almost there…” You murmur softly, thinking of how to get Jake out of that cage.

Unbeknownst to you, somebody else had already done that part for you. You fly your ikran out your hiding spot when it was clear, already rounding back to the location but you saw the damages had been made not by you, your eyes scanning for Jake quickly.

Rounding your ikran until you found a sight that made your stomach churn. Jake and… Spider.

The human boy, who now breathes Pandora’s air was using himself as a shield for Jake, gesturing wildly to the ship before he was pushing Jake, running together, trying to get out of the sights of the gunship.

With a hiss, you flew by just in time before they could start shooting, shouting as your arrow strikes the pilot dead center, losing control as it explodes on the ground, sending debris flying everywhere, Jake shielding Spider.

Finally landing across from the two, you were still tense. “Ma Jake!” You yell, seeing him in one piece was enough to put you at ease. “Mrs. Sully!” Spider happily acknowledges, moving before Jake does, running and hopping up your ikran. You look at Spider momentarily before Jake was rushing towards you, hands cradling you and your arms- like he was dreaming.

“Baby! I don’t know whether to kiss you or yell at you!” He says, visibly ecstatic at your appearance. A light shove is what you give him. “You waste time!”

He’s dumbfounded before he follows, the three of you getting on your ikran before you were flying away, and out of Bridgehead.  

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──

You could feel how tired your ikran was, from how long you’ve been flying, even the sun has risen now, but all you could do was face forward, zoned out, your thoughts keeping you awake, as well as a small weight behind you, Spider had fallen asleep on your shoulder.

“Land… anywhere.” Jake finally calls out to you after the long silence, making you blink and follow, making your ikran slowly dip until you came upon a stream, landing, waking Spider up.

All of you disembarked, the peace now a contrast to what you all just went through. “You guys landed just in time.” Spider says with a small grin, moving towards the stream, crouching and taking a drink.

Your golden eyes watch him, still so cheerful after having guns pointed at him, risking his life for Jake’s, and who knows what else he’d gone through at Bridgehead.

You had mixed feelings for the human boy, you knew he meant so much to Kiri, and yet he was Quaritch’s son… your enemy. Despite that, he completely shows who his loyalties lie with. To Jake, to your family, to Kiri… even when he knew you often didn’t like him around.

But this time, you felt a change start to take root, he was a good kid.

Your thoughts were interrupted by Jake tugging you a couple of feet away, blinking up at him as he looked down at you.

“Come here.” He simply breathes, pulling you in an embrace, tight, filled with all the worry he had pent up the past few days, and you gladly lean into his touch, fearing you wouldn’t experience anything like this anymore, from him.

You bury your face in his neck, a soft breath leaving you, his warmth enveloping you before you pulled back, not without Jake kissing your temple first. “I was so worried Jake, I thought I would never…” You began.

“I had to do something; I cannot lose you.” You speak in a hush whisper, Spider looking to glance at the two of you for a moment before he minded his own business, interacting with your ikran instead, helping wash the paint from her.

“Baby you don’t know how I felt seeing you there, you done a number on ‘em…” Jake chuckles, cupping your jaw as his thumb stroked your cheek, eyes closing upon instinct.

“I mean, how’d you even…?” Jake says, tone filled with wonder at how you manage to sneak into such a heavily fortified city. You scoff, pulling back and shaking your head, also beginning to wash the paint off yourself when you crouch by the stream. “It is a long story.” You simply say.

“I knew it. You used the arrows I made you.” He said, quite proud of himself for that, tail flicking behind him.

When you finish, you splash water on your face again, rubbing off the last of the paint.

“Mrs. Sully…?” Your head lifts to see the boy, and you tense for a moment, yet you tilt your head, eyes landing on the scar starting to fade on his chest… a harsh reminder where you had cut him before in your fit of rage when Quaritch had Kiri to his knife, after losing your eldest. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

Spider noticed your eyes drift to his scar, and he almost shrinks into himself, but he only shrugs it off as much as he could. “Thank you… for saving me…” He says quietly. Jake sees this, but he remains where he stood, letting you get this moment to decide.

The more you looked at him, the more you felt yourself start to understand. You even recall yourself arguing with Jake about Spider’s fate… now you regret ever having those thoughts as the boy looked at you with nothing but unselfishness.

You could feel a lump form in your throat, now facing him still crouched, as your hand reached for him, large palm flat on his chest, feeling his heartbeat to which Spider freezes but he realizes what’s happening, his face softening before you moved your hand to his cheek.

“I see you.”

Jake could also feel that warmth bloom in his chest, moving towards the two of you, placing a hand on your shoulder before he looks at Spider who now had tears rolling down his eyes.

You could not hold it off either, finding your tears staining your cheeks when Jake pulled the both of you into an embrace, your hand and his cradling Spider’s head as you rest your own against Jake’s chest, closing your eyes, another press of Jake’s lips to the top of your head, a silent thank you.

The horns sounded once more and you snap your head up from the fishes swimming on the edge to see them file out one by one, the cheers growing louder from parents and clan-mates alike, seeing their youth with renewed pride and joy from their success in their iknimaya.

Your yellow gaze flickers from face to face, which every one of them wore smiles and laughter and gratitude.

Until you spotted that familiar grin, from which for the first time you laid eyes on him you wanted nothing but to wipe it off his stupid face. Now it was the opposite.

There was Aonung, all in his boyish demeanor, energetic, too much confidence and yet a level of honor. You saw how he looked around- not spotting you yet, and how he jokingly flexes to his friends much to the amusement of his parents and sister, showing off his new facial tattoo and the leather vest he now adorned. Now a warrior making his own path.

Something in your heart lurches seeing him be in his own element, his people, and how grown he now looked to be when it was not long ago, he was picking fights with your own siblings the first few weeks you got here.

And yet… something warm settles over you. You were proud, letting a warm smile slip from your lips even if he doesn’t see you through the crowd yet.

You let him have his moment and eventually the crowd gets a little too much for you, taking a small breath, you let your last gaze linger on Aonung for a little while longer before you turned on your heel, walking off on the bridge out the area, settling for the quiet crash of the waves against the nearby shore.

You sat yourself down on the sand, tail curling around your leg as you stared out, the noise of the festival muffled from where you were. 

The waves were calming, almost lulling you to sleep, ears drooping as your eyelids start to feel heavy. 

“Think you could leave without congratulating me?” 

Your senses jumped, tail lashing in surprise with your ears going up at the sound of a voice, eyes blinking and turning to find him standing there not too far from where you were, same smug expression but a hint of something deeper within his gaze. 

Aonung’s tone was playful, but also somewhat genuine, his eyes squinting slightly watching you. Unbeknownst to you, he did catch you leaving.

“No…” you trailed off, shaking your head to wake yourself a little more but his presence did exactly that already. 

He shrugs his shoulders before he saunters over, planting himself beside you as your eyes glued to his every move, now seeing his tattoo and his new garment up close, you were hit with that feeling again. 

Your fingers reach out without thought, tracing the garment now strapped to his chest, tracing over the weaving and the fish scales adorning it. 

Aonung tenses for a moment but he lets you, teal gaze locked down to your five-fingered hand before slowly turning his head to look at you instead, so focused and admiring every detail. 

All his boyish demeanor was gone, replaced by something quieter, observing…

When you finish inspecting his garment, your eyes and your fingers slowly drag up to meet his face, Aonung doesn’t flinch.

He keeps his gaze on you, and you lock eyes with him, heart skipping a beat before your eyes take in the new mark on his temple instead, fingers reaching up now, it makes him breathe out a little, like he was holding his breath for that moment. 

Light as a wood sprite, the pads of your fingers seem to trace the new tattoo with the same admiration. 

Knowing Aonung, he can’t bear silence… or maybe because he wasn’t used to this kind of silence. 

Clearing his throat, he turns his face afront so you could look at the tattoo better, though leaning into your touch just by a fraction, tail thumps soft against the sand. 

“First of many I’ll get.” He spoke, not with his usual arrogance, no, he sounded hopeful, a dream of his he doesn’t usually voice but lets his actions do the talking, and this makes him feel… exposed. 

But the smile that appears on your face after he says that washes away ounce of uncertainty in him. You understood. 

“You will make a very fine warrior.” You finally speak and it feels like a reward, your fingers trace the arch again before it lingers there, eyes looking back into his as he turned to face you, teal eyes scanning your face and your yellow eyes, an understanding passing between the two of you. 

His four-fingered hand moved to cup your wrist that were still by his face, much bigger than yours, before it decides to slowly trace up to hold your fingers instead, pulling them down to press your hand to his chest, a simple act that meant so much more now to the two of you at this moment.

“Your fine warrior, one day.” He murmured, that all too familiar smirk curling on the edge of his lips, eyes holding all the promise he couldn’t put to words.

“You don’t have to do that.” She replied. You smiled and extended an arm out for her to grab your hand.

Being taller than Kiri certainly did have its advantages. “You’re moving too fast.”

“Sorry, maybe its just because I really want to spend time with you.”

Kiri looks at you with a shy smile, grabbing your hand as you led her towards underneath a tree. You sat down and leaned your back against it while Kiri still stood, looking at you. You extended both your arms for her. “You’re gonna have to make me.” Kiri says, sticking her tongue out at you.

“Are you challenging me?” You smile mischievously, moving to stand back up again.

“Maybe?” Kiri says, her tail swishing, you glanced at it, and you smirked, playfully grabbing at her tail, having her gasp in surprise and move away from you. “You know I’ll never back down from that.” You spoke.

“Then catch me.” Kiri said before taking off with a laugh.

You watched for a few seconds, giving her a head start as you shake your head. You take a deep breath in before you smiled, your feet picking up the pace.

You spent the last few minutes chasing each other, then you finally caught her, wrapping your arms around her from behind as she let out a yelp of surprise. You undercalculated your movements because before you know it, you were both sent onto the sand. Your back hitting first as Kiri’s weight dropped on top of you, making you wheeze.

“Oww..” You wheeze as Kiri just laughed, placing her hands atop your own on her waist. You sit up, you were pretty sure your back was covered in sand, along with your hair. But you didn’t mind. Not one bit as Kiri was now sat on your lap, your arms still wrapped around her as you laid your chin on her shoulder.

You were both facing the ocean, the waves sounding like music to your ears. You’ve never met anyone like Kiri before, she was unique. The two of you started to become close friends after helping along to teach her family the way of water. With that, things escalated from there and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You were staring at the ocean deep in thought of Kiri.

She turns her head to look at you her ears perking curiously as she tilts her head, looking at you. She relished in your warmth, leaning in. She lifts her hand to place upon your cheek, then an idea popped into her head.

She squeezed your cheek, that seemed to send you back as you looked at her. “What was that for?”

Kiri giggles, doing it a couple of times again until you hid your face behind her shoulder, smiling.

“What were you thinking about?” She asked.

“You.” You responded nonchalantly, making her flustered.

“Hm? Why? I’m literally just right here.” She said as you rested your chin on her shoulder again. “I just like thinking about you.”

“Thank you?” She responded unsurely that sent you both laughing.

Then something caught your eye. “Kiri, look!” You say, pointing at the ocean. Her eyes followed to where you point to find two ilus on the surface in the middle of the ocean, swirling around one another as they squawked and nudged their heads together.

“Oh my…” You hear Kiri whisper in awe.

You smiled, seeing the two ilu bond.

You pressed a small, feather-light kiss on her shoulder as she watched the creatures.

“They’re amazing.” She followed.

Neteyam Te Suli Tsyeyk'itan ♡

At Fault Not to Blame Night Swim A Part of The Family You— What? "This is my favorite day ever." The Night Is Still Young The Lovely Bookworm

Lo'ak Te Suli Tsyeyk'itan ♡

Lo'ak falling asleep on your shoulder Young and Dumb, with a Broken Arm Staring Problem A Life for A Life - A Soulmate Who Wasn't Meant To Be I Want You To Give In Do I Wanna Know

Kiri te Suli Kìreysì'ite ♡

Good Days

Miles "Spider" Socorro ♡

Code Blue Got A Secret

Tsireya te Tsika'u Ronal'ite ♡

Honey Blue - Ocean Eyes Clueless No Promises

Aonung te Tsika'u Tonowari'itan ♡

Aonung introducing you to his spirit brother A Not So Romantic Flight That One's Mine oh, and i found love where it wasn’t supposed to be, right in front of me. Ma Yawne

Rotxo te Rara Yapto'itan ♡

"Just please be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to."

Jacob "Jake" Sully ♡

Lay In My Arms Smitten Jake Sully's massive praise kink

Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite ♡

None yet.

Tsu'tey te Rongloa Ateyitan ♡

Yawne Doing It All For Love Open Arms Tsu'tey listening to your ramblings

Tarsem te Kumon Arun'itan ♡

None yet.

Tonowari te Tsika'u Arvak'itan ♡

In The Long Run Lay Your Head On Me Small drabble about Tonowari w a pregnant! reader

Ronal te Natsira Tan'ite ♡

My reckless warrior

Grace Augustine ♡

None yet.

Norm Spellman ♡

None yet.

Miles Quaritch ♡

Catboy Quaritch purring

Misc. fics

The people of Jackson were kind, hospitable. They fed your entire group and kept you warm. It was frightening—being around so many new different people, in a town that you assumed looked too similar to how it was before the outbreak.

Now that the group was safe, surrounded by towering walls and hot food, it gradually disbanded. You found yourself feeling strangely hollow sitting at a table all by yourself in the food hall, the soup in front of you almost too warm and too good, or in your house, because all of the people you came with grouped off and found others they preferred to stay with.

Similarly to how you were surviving on the outskirts of the state of Wyoming, you were all alone again.

It was almost comforting, strangely reassuring, as you silently agreed to whatever tasks were available by the time you rolled out of bed just after sunrise. The town was already bustling with energy, people shouting good mornings to each other, and it was almost like there was nothing horrifically disturbing happening outside of these walls.

You got tasked with clearing out the stables one sunny day. You didn’t mind—you loved animals. They never judged you and they actually craved to be in your presence. It was nice to be wanted for once.

You were told to ask for a Jesse. When you arrived, there was already a group of three other people around your age; two girls and a guy.

The two girls were huddled around an auburn horse that was nuzzling into their open palms, giggling at the tickling whiskers. You watched as their shoulders bumped together, trying to ignore the ache you felt bloom in your chest at the mere sight of them.

“Hey,” the boy calls out to you, voice deeper and smoother than you expected, and approaches you. “Did Maria send you?”

He was tall, all broad shoulders and thick arms. He was pretty, in a boyish way, with sparkling brown eyes and a polite smile. The cold winter air bit at his face, causing his cheeks to look a bit pink.

You nodded, the instructions that Maria had left you with dying in your throat. He must have been Jesse.

“Dina, Ellie, come on. Let’s get started.” Jesse doesn’t even bother waiting for them, or for you, and makes his way to the storage closet around the corner.

You’ve seen the three of them around Jackson before. Either huddled together in the corner of the mess hall or laughing and shoving at each other when you were walking through the main street. Everyone in town seemed to step aside for them, whispering amongst themselves about Ellie and the rugged man she came with several years ago. You never caught what it was about, but you didn’t really care.

Dina greets you with a warm smile while Ellie gives what you can only describe as a grimace as they pass by.

The rest of the morning is spent in a similar manner. The three of them talk, argue, bicker, and you’re off to the sidelines. You feel awkward, like an outsider. There’s an obvious sense of comfort the three of them bring each other, and you don’t want to ruin that.

And yet, when Dina makes a joke at Jesse’s expense, she looks at you. When you couldn’t find the farrier tools, Ellie appeared at your side and was able to dig them out behind a pair of old boots for you. When you found yourself actively listening to a long-winded story Ellie was telling about a comic book series that she loved, you found Jesse was blatantly staring at you out of the corner of your eye.

When Dina invited you to have dinner with them by time you’ve finished, you found yourself agreeing.

But then you kept getting invited—most of the time by Dina with a friendly shoulder bump, sometimes by Ellie with a nervousness that you found almost endearing, and occasionally by Jesse, wearing that polite smile that eventually continued to thaw away.

The next several months pass like that.

You would wake up alone in your house that was much too large for one person. You would go do your job for that day, either helping out at the store or at the garden, have your meals with the three people that you have suddenly realized you considered friends, and then home again.

You found yourself looking forward to mealtimes, even if you weren’t contributing much to the conversation. They were used to it by now and thankfully didn’t mind. Besides, watching the three of them bicker with each other about the most inane topics was entertaining enough.

You found that ache in your chest slowly dissipating. You were smiling more, talking more, and whenever you laughed, you could’ve sworn the three of them would make eye contact with each other as if having a silent conversation you weren’t privy to.

But you didn’t care. How could you care about what they were thinking when you found yourself looking forward to the day, contributing to the community, and hopeful that you’ll be ready to go out on a patrol.

And then there was Jesse.

You weren’t blind—you and the rest of the girls in Jackson knew he was handsome. Anyone could have told you about the strong cut of his jawline or the broad width of his shoulders as he helped with the construction of the town. He was quiet, not as quiet as you, but appeared to be just as content as you to watch Dina and Ellie squabble.

Often times he would join the conversation, and that’s when you noticed the strange history between him and Dina, though you know they tried to hide it.

So you try to shove down the stirring of emotion you get when you notice the way Jesse glances at you from across the table, eyebrows drawn together like he’s not quite sure what to think of you just yet. You ignore the way his hands would dwarf his handgun while cleaning it when you were hanging out in Ellie’s room and the expanse of skin that would reveal itself every time he stretched, the flex of muscles evident even through his shirt.

It's almost summer when you get invited out to the Tipsy Bison for a couple of drinks.

You usually prefer not to step foot in the dingy bar, instead much rather enjoying laying out on your couch to work through the dusty novels on your bookshelf. And you were about to decline Dina’s offer, citing that exact reason, but then she says something that has the hair on the back of your neck raise.

“Jesse said he was looking forward to seeing you there, but, oh well.”

And that’s how you found yourself huddled in a booth, Jesse brushing up against your left side and Ellie on the other.

It was absolutely packed tonight due to an event that you didn’t even realize the bar even had the capacity to hold. The rancid smell of moonshine and grilled meats permeated through the air, while the live band playing off-key and the animated chatter of the rest of the patrons filled your ears.

The rest of them were in the middle of gossiping, something juicy happening on someone else’s patrol, but you couldn’t even bother to pretend you were paying attention. You were staring holes at the glass of water in front of you, sweating from the bar’s humidity, and trying and failing to not think about what Dina meant when she said that Jesse was wanting you here.

So far, he hadn’t given you any special indication he was waiting for you when you arrived. He just gave you that warm and genuine smile that has been inexplicably making your chest hurt more and more, and stepped out of the booth so you could sit inside rather than out on the edge. Because he knew you didn’t like the chance that someone could bump into you during the night.

You and Jesse were friends, good friends even. He made sure to check up on you at the end of the day, always giving you the last bite of his bread during dinner, and always offering to walk you home after a night out at the bar or even from Ellie’s.

And again, there was that… thing he had with Dina. You could’ve sworn you saw them talking in private the other day, facial expressions open and hopeful. They were clearly dating, or talking, so you weren’t sure why they hadn’t told you yet. Not like it was technically any of your business.

You’re suddenly aware of a lull in the conversation and multiple pairs of eyes on you.

When you glance up from where you were staring at a droplet of water racing down the side of your glass, your assumption was correct. Dina and Ellie were watching you with equal amounts of concern and amusement dancing in their eyes while Jesse was making his way back from the bar with a new drink in hand.

You blink, not even noticing that Jesse had gotten up. “What?”

Ellie’s mouth twists, as if trying to hold back a laugh. “We asked you a question.”

“Sorry, I was thinking about something else.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue, you thought as you tried and failed to glance at Jesse out of the corner of your eye as he settled in next to you while taking a sip from his drink. “What was the question?”

“The question was,” Dina whispers, nearly conspiratorially and leaning into the table. You and the rest of the table unconsciously follow. “When was the last time you had sex?”

Suddenly, Jesse splutters out his drink, spraying the table and all of your hands. Ellie immediately yelps in disgust, swiping her hands on her jeans, while a burning heat crawls up your neck.

“What?” You hiss, yet it embarrassingly comes out like a squeak.

Jesse’s coughing, the corners of his eyes tearing, while Ellie has to stand and lean across the table to try and slap him on the back. It all would’ve been comical if it weren’t for the lazy eyebrow Dina raises and the smirk she’s wearing, as if she can see right through you.

“Don’t tell me… you’re not a virgin, are you?”

Blood rushes through your ears, dulling the music and the way Jesse hisses at Dina, most likely a warning. You can’t even be bothered to wonder why he would do that, react like that, because the hot flare of embarrassment blooms in your chest and up to your face. Your nails dig into your palms from how hard you’re clenching your fists underneath the table and your mouth gapes, opening and closing like a fish.

“Uhm,” is all you can manage out.

You know it’s nothing you technically should be embarrassed about—it was the end of the world. But it’s also been the end of the world for over 20 years now, and you’ve been living in Jackson for almost a year so you’re not sure if that’s an excuse anymore.

You’ve heard the other girls in the town gossiping, talking about sex so casually it was as if they were talking about the weather. And it’s not like you were a complete prude—you’ve seen the dirty magazines that were passed around in the groups you had to join for survival, the noises people would make when they thought everybody else was asleep. Only recently did you start experimenting with your own body, fingers silently dipping underneath your panties and adamantly trying not to think about soft brown eyes and thick biceps.

“You’ve had your first kiss at least, right?” Ellie looks concerned, eyebrows pinching together.

“Of course I have,” you mutter, avoiding everyone else’s eyes. You fail to mention that it only happened as recently as last year and with a boy who barely pressed his mouth to yours, and then had mysteriously disappeared the next day.

There’s silence. When you lift your head, the three of them are still watching you, waiting. They’re being nice, considerate, letting you open up as much as you want to. They’ve been so patient and welcoming, you don’t feel like it’s a chore at all when you heave a sigh, shoulders slumping forward as your eyes fixate on an old scratch on the table. “Yes, I’m a virgin. It’s kind of hard when the world is ending to find the right person.”

It’s a poor attempt at a joke, but you can hear the lack of conviction in your own voice. No one laughs. In fact, no one says anything for several seconds, long enough where you feel your ears start to burn.

You’re wondering why no one is fucking saying anything, not budging from where you’re staring a hole into the table, when Dina seems to take pity on you.

“You know, Jesse’s a great kisser.”

It doesn’t process at first, your ears still ringing from anxiety, but then you hear Jesse say a very dumbfounded “What the fuck, Dina,” and then it’s like time begins moving again. The music rushes through you like someone just raised the volume, you’re suddenly aware of how fast your heart is pounding, and you can feel Jesse’s warm thigh pressed up against yours underneath the table.

You suddenly feel like you’re being excluded from some inside joke as you watch confusedly as Jesse and Dina argue over the table. He looks embarrassed, a flush decorating his neck that you’re starting to wonder if it was due to the alcohol or something else, while Dina is wearing a poorly hidden smirk.

Because why would Dina bring up the fact that Jesse was a great kisser when they were dating? It’s not like she was the type to brag or rub it in people’s faces. In fact, she’s never even told you that they were dating in the first place besides it being a well-known fact throughout the town.

Maria suddenly appears to discuss a patrol-related issue with Jesse, and then it’s like nothing ever happened. The rest of them continue casual conversation as if Dina didn’t drop a nuclear bomb into your brain.

You try not to ruminate over it, not wanting to make the night more awkward than you felt like it already was. You attempt to participate with the group shenanigans and gossip, but it all feels stilted.

By the time you guys call it a night, citing an early patrol for some of them, you’ve come to terms with the fact that Dina had said that because she had already had too many drinks and was just making a poor attempt at flirting.

“You ready?” Jesse asks, throwing his coat over his arm to carry. You ignore the way you can see the flex in his arms as he leans against the booth. He’s stopped asking you whether he can walk you home or not, knowing that you would politely decline anyway, and has just decided for himself that he would whenever he could.

You nod wordlessly, tamping down at the fluttering in your stomach.

The both of you say bye to Dina and Ellie outside the bar. You watch with a slight frown when Dina whispers something in Jesse’s ear, causing him to hiss at her again and elbow her in shoulder. She laughs, loud and full of delight, and you manage to tear your eyes away at something that was clearly a private moment between them.

You were happy it was almost summer—warm enough where the snow has long since melted,  but still a refreshing coolness in the air as you and Jesse walk side by side. The air smelled crisp, the smell of a bonfire starting to become familiar and comforting, and you were looking forward to the summer heat after months of snow.

Despite the late hour, there were still people milling around Jackson, coming to and from the bar or just huddling around a group to joke around. You wonder if this was what it was like before the outbreak—people able to just stand outside without worrying about being heard by clickers or attacked by raiders.

Jesse’s arm continues to brush against yours with every step, the heat from his body nearly burning you from the inside out with every second of silence the passes.

It’s always nice to spend time with Jesse, even if it was only for the five-minute walk to the main street to your house. You’re content to have him all to yourself, even if it was only because your house was along the same route to his. He usually doesn’t bother talking to fill up the silence and you don’t mind, the sounds of your steady breathing and the noises of Jackson being enough.

Except today.

“So,” Jesse says suddenly, nearly causing you to jump. “You seeing anyone?”

The question almost stops you in your tracks, but instead you trip over your feet and nearly fall flat on your face.

His hands reach out, as if to catch you, but you’re able to stabilize yourself before letting out an incredulous laugh, head whipping around to face him. “Are you serious?”

To his credit, he looks embarrassed, looking off to the side and setting his shoulders. He’s been embarrassed a lot tonight. “What? I’m just curious.”

You take his word and assume that he’s right. He’s just being curious, or maybe even a bit protective, but there’s an annoying nagging feeling at the back of your brain that says otherwise. “I think you would notice if I was dating someone since you guys are my only friends.”

You’re grateful that Jesse doesn’t wince like anybody else would. Instead, he laughs, shoulders dropping as if in relief. The sound makes something warm settle in your chest. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t lying about being a virgin.”

The comment makes you flush, the near crudeness making your heart skip a beat. You try not to let it show, but you don’t think you do a very good job with the way Jesse tilts his chin to look at you. His gaze is dark, sending a strange shiver down your spine.

“I’ve barely even had my first kiss, I don’t think you need to worry about that,” and then you’re desperately rushing to change the subject, suddenly able to sense his curiosity. “Well, what about you? Are you and Dina still dating?”

For a moment, Jesse doesn’t say anything, and you start to think that you’ve overstepped a boundary. It makes sense since neither of them have even confirmed they were dating in the first place.

And then he’s chuckling, a low sound that doesn’t help the sharp desire crawling up your throat. “No,” he says. “Dina and I aren’t together.”

You hum, partly because you weren’t quite sure how to respond without giving away the sudden relief you felt but also partly because you’ve made it to your front porch. The stairs creak with every step and you’re glad that you had remembered to turn the porch light on, not confident that you would be able to have steady legs with Jesse at your side.

If him and Dina weren’t dating, what has all the whispering and nudging been about?

Both of you stop in front of the door, quiet besides your soft breaths. It’s awkward, or maybe it feels awkward to you and it’s all in your head, because you don’t think Jesse and the word awkward can even exist in the same sentence.

And yet, as you stand on your front porch to your too-big house, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jesse like this. A pretty tinge of pink plastered on his neck, thick fingers wringing together, shoulders tense as he shifts in place.

You’re struck with how handsome he looks like this, his hair ruffling from the faint breeze and boyish despite how much more experienced he was then you in probably all aspects—within the community, combat, and even in relationships, romantic or otherwise.

You’re not sure where you get the surge of confidence from, feeling spectacularly sober, but the way Jesse’s eyes flits to your lips and then back up has you feeling dazed like you had knocked back five drinks.

“Do you want to come inside and help me?”

You know you don’t have to clarify about what when Jesse’s eyes widen, lips parting, before he nods.

As you open the front door, breaths unsteady and hands nearly shaking, you wonder if he could somehow hear the concerningly erratic rate your heart was racing at.

The stale scent of dust and the fire you had burning last night immediately envelops you as you both toe off your shoes. The house was sparsely furnished since you were the only person living in it; an old couch with a cracked coffee table in the living room, a wobbly dining table with only one mismatched chair, and a worn mattress upstairs. There were a couple of bookshelves filled with the dusty novels you've been working on and random knickknacks that you hadn't had the heart to toss out.

The house is still unfamiliar to you, not quite a home yet, so you feel a strange sense of anticipation as you turn to face Jesse, your socks sliding against the hardwood.

You hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on, so the only way you were able to see was due to the street lamps bleeding through your windows and casting the empty living room with a warm glow.

You clearly hadn’t thought this through, not sure what to say or what to do next, and felt suddenly inadequate.

Because what if you do everything wrong and mess it up somehow? Or worse, you don’t even get that far and Jesse changes his mind, not finding you desirable in the same way you find him and avoids you around Jackson for the rest of your life?

Your racing thoughts come to a startingly quick stop at the brush of Jesse’s hand against your cheek, soft and warm. You meet his eyes from where you were staring at your feet, and you find yourself unconsciously holding your breath when you notice how close he suddenly was.

He’s unbearably gentle as he cradles your cheek, your jaw, as if you were a skittish animal. You catch a glimpse of the softness in his brown eyes, honeyed from the light filtering in from the street. His voice is low, raspy in a way that had lightning shoot up your spine, when he asks “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, barely a tilt of your chin, and then he’s leaning in and finally pressing his mouth to yours.

His lips were soft, just like you predicted, and so much better than the boy you had kissed last year. It’s clear Jesse knows what he’s doing too, with the way his large hand tilts your head to kiss you better, his other hand coming up to land on your hip.

He tastes like his drink he had at the bar, spicy and like caramel, incredibly intoxicating and enough for you to place your palms on his sturdy chest. You resist the urge to grab him by the collar and tug him closer.

When he pulls away and you open your eyes, not even realizing you had shut them in the first place, he’s watching you with an expression so fond it steals the breath from your lungs.

“How was that?” he asks, a nervous smile tugging at his lips and drawing your attention to them.

You could feel the erratic thumping of his heart underneath your palm, nearly matching yours, and you’re starting to realize that maybe your feelings weren’t all completely one-sided.

“I think I’m going to need more practice,” you attempt to joke, however the breathiness in your voice gives you away.

He smiles then. “I guess I can’t say no to that.”

You feel less awkward when he kisses you this time, exhilarated at the heady sensation of his mouth against yours, and you’re not even aware you’re stepping in closer into his embrace until your body is pressed up against his.

He hums, his hand tightening on your hip and tugging you even closer, and the sudden onslaught of pleasure that thrums through you when his muscular thigh settles against your core has you gasping in his mouth.

And it’s like a dam breaks. His hand leaves your jaw to grab at your hips, tugging you until your back was pressed up against the wall. He immediately delves into your mouth, deepening the kiss, and the feeling of his tongue lightly brushing against yours was new but not unwelcome. In fact, you fist at the fabric of his sweater, pulling you into him so his chest was pressed against yours.

By the time he pulls away, you’re gasping for air but following his mouth for more. His head dips to press tenderly along your jawline and then up to nip at your earlobe.

It’s nearly ticklish with his warm breaths and his hair brushing against your face, but you can’t help the whimper that escapes when he starts pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. A familiar coil of heat starts at the pit of your stomach, only intensifying with each brush of Jesse’s clothed thigh in between yours.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he whispers against your neck. “Whatever you want.”

It’s sweet, and so earnestly like him to make sure that you were comfortable that it makes you smile.

You don’t think you’ve ever trusted anyone more than you trusted Jesse. The few times that you went on a practice patrol with him, just barely on the outskirts of town, you knew you were safe. He always treated you with kindness, more than you ever deserved, and you knew this was no exception.

“Can we go upstairs?”

He presses one last kiss on your bare shoulder, the collar of your shirt skewed, and pulls back to lean his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as if he needed a second to breathe.

When he opens his eyes, arousal runs hot through you when you notice the way his pupils were blown and nearly swallowing the honey brown of his eyes. Lips parted with heavy breaths, he searches your gaze.

You’re not sure what he finds or what he was looking for, but he swallows and nods. “Okay.”

When he steps away, leaving your body significantly colder than before, you take a hold of his hand to intertwine your fingers with his to pull him upstairs and into your bedroom. You think you notice him try to hide a smile.

If your living room was sparse, your bedroom was even worse—an old twin bed tucked in the corner, an empty desk, and all of your clothes spilling out of your backpack instead of hung up in the empty closet. Even though it’s been several months since you’ve been in Jackson, you weren’t quite ready to hang your clothes up.

If Jesse notices, he doesn’t say anything, instead crowding against you with large hands on your hips until the back of your knees collide against the edge of the bed. He captures your giggle with a chaste kiss, and then another, and tugs you close until you were flushed against him.

You feel him fidget with the hem of your shirt and it causes a sudden spike of anxiety in your stomach, overpowering the steady hum of arousal.

Jesse must notice because he pulls back, pausing. “Is this okay?”

Now you were crossing into unknown territory, but rather than being scared, the tenderness in Jesse’s eyes did nothing but comfort you, your nervousness slowly ebbing away.

You nod and move your hands to grasp at the edge of his shirt, his fingers still ghosting over the hem of your sweater. “You first.”

He huffs a laugh at that, rolling his eyes fondly, and then lifts his shirt off to throw in the far corner of your room.

Any words you were going to say die in your throat. You knew Jesse was in shape, evident by how often he was called on for construction duty, but seeing it in person with no clothes and in the privacy of your bedroom was a whole different story.

Fair skin riddled with scars dusting over his chest and his stomach, the muscles of his abdomen jumping out at you. Before you could stop yourself, you brush your fingers across his chest to trace a predominant scar before trailing down. You watch, entranced, as he shivers, stomach tensing and goosebumps rising along his skin.

He sucks in a sharp breath, breaking you out of your reverie, and when you glance up at him, he looks nearly dazed, eyes wide and searching.

When you lift the hem of your shirt off and over your head, you jump at his hands suddenly coming to run along your ribcage, fingers brushing against the stiff underwire of your old bra. He deftly unclasps it, letting it fall away, as he mutters a curse under his breath at the sight of your breasts.

“On the bed,” he rasps, eyes still fixated on your chest.

It makes you want to giggle, maybe preen a little, because he’s being such a boy, but then he steps away to unbuckle his belt and you spot the noticeable bulge pressing through the crotch of his jeans. Your breath stutters, fingers twitching with curiosity, before eventually obeying and climbing up your bed until you were laying with your head on your flat pillow.

He’s on you a moment later, crawling up the length of your body until he’s hovering over you. His arms are on either side of your head, his warm breath fanning over your face. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, finally allowing yourself to run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He makes a noise, almost akin to a purr, and nudges his nose against yours, causing a grin to form on your face.

He studies you for a moment, eyes wide as if in awe despite the clear arousal swimming in them. He reaches up to tuck a stray wisp of hair behind your ear, the pad of his finger brushing along your cheekbone. The action sends your heart flipping in your chest.

“You know this is more than me doing you a favor, right?” he whispers, as if worried that speaking any louder would break the daze you felt.

If possible, your heart nearly seizes. You had your suspicions, having difficulty justifying the plain affection Jesse wore as soon as he stepped through your doorway. It explained the deliberate way he sought you out in the food hall or how he seemed to always find you when you were on your way back from the store, silently falling in step with you.

It certainly explained the now obvious way Dina was trying to set you two up.

The revelation has you grinning, fondness for the friends you’ve made here in your new home fluttering in your stomach. Maybe Jackson wasn’t too bad after all.

Jesse’s brows furrow in confusion, and before he can climb off of you thinking you were hesitating, you tug at his hair. A thrill runs up your spine at the way his eyes flutter shut, a rough groan tumbling out of his mouth that sends molten arousal between your thighs before you say, “I know.”

You tug him down to kiss you, this time your lips parting easily as if to convey just how sure you were.

You think he can tell, knows, by the way he hums into your mouth, tongue brushing against yours briefly before making his way down your jaw again, your neck. His warm breaths and the way his teeth skims along the column of your throat, the dip of your collarbone, has you feeling dizzy and distantly wondering if he’ll leave a mark if you ask for it.

“Fuck,” he mutters, muffled against the base of your throat, the low hum of his voice causing you to press your thighs together. His hands splay along your sides, thumbs brushing along the underside of your breasts. “You’re so pretty.”

His words warm you from the inside out despite the way you want to immediately shake your head and adamantly deny it. He doesn’t give you the chance to before he’s kneading your breasts, groaning under his breath again, and then dipping his head to wrap his plush lips around your nipple.

A broken gasp escapes you as you arch your back to push your chest further against him. The ache between your thighs flares further as the hard heat of his cock straining his jeans presses against your inner thigh. He swirls his tongue around the nub before flicking it with the tip before moving to your other breast and giving it the same amount of meticulous attention.

“Jesse…” you breath, mind muddled with the amount of pleasure humming through your veins. You’re not sure what you’re trying to tell him, whether to keep going because it feels so good or to stop because you’ve only just started but it feels like he’s been touching you for hours.

He pulls away with a lewd pop. “What is it, baby?” he murmurs, his lips faintly brushing against your nipple and causing you to whine. “Use your words, tell me how you feel.”

The pet name nearly sends you into a heart attack. Your hands move to grab onto his broad shoulders, the firmness of him somewhat grounding and giving you enough strength to answer him. “Feels good…”

“Yeah,” Jesse whispers before pressing a brief open-mouthed kiss to your nipple that has you sharply exhaling. “I always want to make you feel good.”

He kisses down your stomach, the warmth of his hands following, and then his lips stop at the waistband of your jeans. He glances up at you then, pretty brown eyes wide, and you’re not sure how you suddenly found yourself in your shitty bed with your best friend peering up at you between your thighs but you’re certainly not complaining.

“You don’t have to…” you whisper, a sharp edge of insecurity digging into your chest again. You’ve never had someone go down on you before.

He presses a chaste kiss to the skin right below your navel, sincerity dripping from his voice as he says “Of course I want to.”

But he’s still gentle, cautious as if you were on the verge of running out of the room, as he unbuttons your jeans and slides them and your panties off. You balk at the obvious spot of wetness in the crotch of them, nearly sticking to your pussy, but Jesse doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it spurs him on even further, watching the way your slick leaves behind a string of your arousal.

And then he’s laying in between your legs, head perfectly framed between your thighs and mouth so achingly close to your core. You could feel his warm breath fanning over your pussy, your inner thighs, and a whine threatens to come out of your throat at the way his hands dig into them.

“Just tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, okay?” He’s staring at your pussy, the way your puffy folds glisten even in the darkness of your room, but eventually peers up at you for your answer.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and shakily nod. Jesse gives you a grin so nonchalant, carefree, as if he wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world except for in between your legs.

He starts by kissing your inner thighs, open-mouthed and gentle, and it already has you slightly arching your back. Your hand reaches out to take a hold of his where he has it wrapped around your thigh. The immediate way he threads your fingers together over your lower stomach has your heart threatening to burst.

You know he’s not trying to tease you, most likely wanting to take his time with you, but fuck if you aren’t impatient, aching like you’ve been teetering on the edge all day.

He spares you, most likely just as impatient, and leans in to slowly swipe his flattened tongue up your seam and against your clit.

Your reaction is immediate—a shiver running through you and your mouth falling open as a low sound comes out of you. Your elbows give out, your head falling back onto your pillow.

That must have been what Jesse was waiting for because his grip on your thigh tightens and then he’s delving in, deliberately parting your folds with his tongue to gather your wetness and tasting you. He groans, the sound muffled in between your thighs, as he dips his tongue briefly in your entrance before coming up to circle around your clit.

It feels like fucking heaven and you’re not sure how you’re going to go about your day, your life, without the feeling of Jesse taking his time with you between your thighs imprinted in your brain. The warmth of his wet mouth, the eagerness and expertise of his tongue, and the way he’s pressing his face into you, like he can’t get enough of you, has you lightheaded.

He’s slow, unhurried, but you can tell he’s holding back from immediately fucking you with his tongue, eating you like he was a man starved. He’s trying to make it good for you, and he was, but the thought of him ravenously devouring your pussy until he had to hold you down by your hips to take it has you bucking your hips and whimpering into the open air.

Jesse makes an approving noise against your cunt, the vibrations sending heat curling up your spine, and then he’s trailing the tip of his tongue through your folds before flicking against your clit.

It feels like he just started, but already you feel the unfamiliar coil of your orgasm forming at the pit of your stomach. It’s been nearly months since you had your first orgasm, wretched out of you in your half-asleep daze with your blankets wrapped around your thighs and pressing against your pussy, and the way you were throbbing like how it was then has you breathless and dizzy.

“Jesse,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut and your grip on his hand tightening. Your hips jerk up, chasing the heat and expertise of his mouth, and he just lets you. “I think I’m—”

His resolve fractures, because he doesn’t hold back as he essentially makes out with your needy pussy—suckling onto your clit before leaning down to fuck you with his pointed tongue, his hand that was gripping your thigh coming to rub firm circles around your clit, slick with the combined wetness of your arousal and his spit.

When you peer down at him, he’s already staring back at you. A particularly well-timed thrust of his tongue against your entrance has you coming with a shout, the tension in you snapping harder than you’ve ever thought possible. You felt your hips grind down unashamedly against his face as you cry out, your pussy desperately clenching around nothing.

He works you through it, tongue gently running over your folds as you catch your breath. Your thighs are still trembling when he crawls up your body to hover over you.

The entire bottom half of his face was covered in your slick and the sight sent something hot zinging through your body, your arousal now reduced to a soft hum between your legs. He was smirking and the scent of yourself on his face, so close to yours, was new. But then he’s licking his lips, tongue flicking out to capture the rest of you, and he looks so fucking sexy.

You surge up to capture his mouth in a kiss and the taste of yourself has you whimpering, kissing him harder as if he could tamp down the flare of all-consuming desire that was starting to overwhelm you.

When you pull away, you snake your hand down between your bodies to wrap a hand around his cock. He’s thick, velvety smooth, and weighs deliciously heavy in your hand as you curiously stroke him once.

Jesse grunts in surprise, hips jerking forward involuntarily and thrusting his cock into your fist. “Fuck, that feels good.”

The sound of his voice, already low and smooth like molasses, rasping in your ear because of you had you craving for more.

You attempt to wiggle your hips down the bed, hitching your legs around his waist and blindly trying to aim his hard cock against your entrance when Jesse stops you with a large hand on your wrist.

Before you could anxiously ask whether you were going too fast or coming on too strong, he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth and gives you a soft smile despite the sticky trail the head of his cock leaves against your inner thigh. “Sit up for me?”

Curious, you sit up and maneuver around so he could take your spot in the center of the bed, propped up and leaning back against the headboard. He was broad, taking up nearly all the room on your ratty twin mattress, and you stare at the flex of his thighs as he spreads them a bit and the pearly string of precum his cock leaves against the hard planes of his stomach.

“Come here,” he whispers, tapping his bare thigh.

You swallow, throat dry as you watch the bob of his cock and wonder what he would taste like, but you listen. You crawl up the bed until you’re straddling him, hovering your pussy over his cock with your knees on either side of his hips and your hands holding onto his shoulders.

You release a breathy sigh when you drop down briefly and feel the smooth skin of his cock against your aching pussy. You’re tempted to just move your hips back and forth, allowing your slick to coat his cock as he rubs against your seam.

And you think, why the fuck not, and lower yourself down to rub your pussy against his length. You gasp at the way his shaft rubs along your clit and how the continuous slick leaking out of you easily coats him and allows him to glide against you seamlessly.

Jesse groans at that, dick twitching against you, and his head falls forward until his forehead was pressed against yours. His hands fly out to clutch at your hips, torn between pulling you back and forth against his cock or up so he could fuck into you. “Fuck, baby, you’re killing me here.”

You bite back a smile. The thought of you, inexperienced and eager, causing Jesse to feel overwhelmed made you feel a bit smug, even a little prideful. It was flattering to know that Jesse was as hopelessly head over heels for you as you were for him.

Your smile is wiped off your face when you feel the head of Jesse’s cock slide along your entrance, dipping in quickly before sliding through your pussy and nudging against your clit.

It’s overwhelming, the heat underneath your skin nearly burning you from the inside out, so you lean forward until you’re panting, lips brushing against the shell of Jesse’s ear. His breath hitches, hands tightening on you, and then you whisper, “Please fuck me?”

He releases a strangled noise that sends heat straight between your thighs before he’s grabbing the base of his cock and notching the tip against your entrance. He stills, the muscles in his stomach tensing as you slowly bring yourself down on.

You bite your lip, face scrunching up at the initial stretch. It’s uncomfortable, burning just a little, but the barest hints of pleasure were there just out of reach.

“Breathe,” he says, voice strained from holding himself back from fucking into you immediately. When you open your eyes, eyebrows still furrowed as you slide down his cock, Jesse’s watching your face with such open concern and affection it has your heart thudding painfully.

You release a shaky breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding, nodding as you take a deep breath. You feel your lungs expanding, concentrating on the cool air filling them, as you lower yourself fully onto his cock until he was buried all the way inside of you.

He throws his head back against the headboard with a light thud, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, and you’re able to see the thudding of his pulse in his neck. His hands are clenched into fists against your hips, biceps flexing with the effort of holding himself back from running his hands all over your body.

And that won’t do, you think, craving his touch so much that your chest ached.

So you circle your fingers around his wrist, catching his attention as he lifts his head up to look at you curiously. You raise his hand until his palm is on your breast, and you smile when he instinctively molds his hand around you, fingers squeezing around your flesh. “You can touch me, you know.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he rasps. His eyes run over your entire body, drinking you in and lingering on where he could see his cock disappearing in your cunt.

“More than okay,” you whisper before leaning in to kiss him.

The slight change in angle nudges his cock deeper inside of you, causing your lips to part against his in a sigh, and he takes that opportunity to kiss you deeper with a hand cradling your cheek. The plushness of his lips and his harsh breaths fanning over your face was a nice distraction, allowing your tight pussy to adjust to him.

After several minutes, you experimentally rock your hips forward. The action immediately causes you to moan into Jesse’s open mouth, heat fizzling up your spine.

“Yeah?” He whispers, allowing you to continue moving your hips back and forth. The sensation of his cock rubbing against your walls, nudging against spots that you didn’t think were possible, made your head fall back. He takes the opportunity to dip his head forward and lick and nip at the delicate skin of your neck. “That feel good, baby?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak without rambling. The stretch has faded to a dull ache, blending into the one you felt at the pit of your stomach. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your sensitive clit, just on the border of being too much, so you straighten up a bit on your knees.

You lift yourself up with your hands on his shoulders, moaning at the delicious friction of his cock dragging out of you, before dropping yourself back down. It’s a little graceless, clumsy even, but fuck does it feel good. You repeat it, pulling yourself off and then back down on his cock with your knees pressed against your flimsy mattress until you were riding him at a steady pace.

Your knees and thighs were already starting to ache, possibly due to the fact that you haven’t been as physically active since you arrived at Jackson, but the strangled noises Jesse was making with each thrust made you think that it didn’t even matter.

His hands were all over you now—fingers tracing every freckle and palms running over your curves. His hips have started moving alongside yours, timing his thrusts perfectly to make sure his cock was driving into you as deep as it could get each time you dropped down onto his thighs.

He was staring at you again, eyes flickering all over your face and your body, catching on your breasts every time they bounced or when you licked your lips. He was vocal, which you appreciated—groaning deep from his chest every time you decided to grind against him or whispering praises about how good your pussy felt squeezing around him that made your face heat up.

It hits you then, as Jesse rubs his thumbs back and forth along your nipples, that he must have chosen this position for you.

He wants to make it good for you, not caring if he gets off at all or if you’d return the favor. Realizing the extent of how much he cares about you and making sure the first time you were physical with someone was pleasurable and exciting made you smile from feeling a little giddy.

“What are you giggling about?” he asks, an amused smile playing at his lips. He’s not even out of breath the same way you are, clearly more in shape than you based off the thickness of his arms and the deliberate way he was rutting his hips into you without so much as a sweat.

“Nothing,” you say, smile growing wider for some inexplicable reason. Maybe it was because you’re realizing that Jesse, seemingly unobtainable Jesse, has shown you more kindness than you thought was possible to exist in a person. Or maybe it was because the reason he always offered to walk you home was so he could spend more time with you.

Or maybe it was from the way he was rolling his hips up, making sure the thick head of his cock was nudging against a spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your hands to squeeze his shoulders “Oh, fuck.”

His grin widens, dark eyes glinting underneath the moonlight, and then he’s pulling you down until you were laying on his chest and your face was nestled into his neck. He grabs you by your hips and manages to scoot himself down until he was lying flat on the bed, not once letting you off his dick. He takes a hold of your thighs and lifts you up an inch, and then he’s driving his cock back into you.

You have to bite back your moan, aware of how close you were to Jesse’s ear, but you can’t hold back the high pitched whimpers seamlessly leaving your throat out of your own accord.

He fucks up into you, relentlessly, hips snapping against yours in a frantic rhythm that belies how on edge he’s been the entire night. “Fuck, you take my cock so pretty, baby.”

And the filth of his words, so sudden, has you shuddering, moaning softly as heat crawls up your spine and your walls clench around his length.

You try to sit up, your hands pressing on his chest, but the white-hot pleasure running through your veins has you feeling weak and your arms give out immediately. You knew you were getting close, can feel it in the throbbing of your cunt, and you didn’t want it to be over yet. You wanted to see him.

“Oh, just like that,” he moans, his thrusts faltering and turning sloppy from how tight your pussy was clenching around him. “That’s my perfect girl.”

The possessive edge in his words lights you up, stoking at the fire burning under your skin and in your stomach. You groan directly in his ear, your breath fanning against the side of his neck, as he somehow fucks you harder, faster.

You’re distantly aware of your poor bedframe, already on its last legs, creaking forebodingly, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin, but your orgasm is creeping up the length of your spine, just barely out of reach.

You manage to straighten up, gathering enough strength in your arms until you were sitting up, your knees pressing into the mattress next to his hips and his cock deep inside of you. His rhythm doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter, and you’re dazedly snaking a hand between your legs to rub your clit.

You don’t get the chance to as Jesse bats your hand away, replacing it with the pad of his thumb. You’d feel embarrassed at how wet you were, your slick coating the insides of your thighs, if it weren’t for the fact that it allowed him to glide effortlessly through your folds until he was dragging careful circles around your clit.

Your entire body jerks at the sensation, muscles tensing and your cunt clenching around his cock impossibly tighter. Blood roared in your ears as you reached out to grab his wrist, as if to stabilize yourself. “Jesse, fuck—”

His dark eyes don’t stray from your face, his thumb expertly dissolving you into nothing but a moaning, shaking mess. His lips are parted, face flushed and only now slightly out of breath as he continues fucking into you so hard your breasts jolt with every thrust. “You gonna come for me, baby? Let me feel that pretty pussy come on my cock.”

When your orgasm finally takes a hold of you, it’s stronger than the one coaxed from Jesse’s mouth. Your breath catches, jaw dropping open in a silent scream, your grip on his wrist tightening into a near death grip as you pulse around him.

Jesse curses, biting out your name as your pussy clenches around him, nearly pulling him in even deeper. He still makes sure to slow down the motions of his thumb, helping you ride it out until you were twitching and shuddering on top of him, but his thrusts quicken, turning almost sloppy.

You could tell he was close based off the deep grunts accompanying each thrust and whispers mixed with curses and your name. You try to blink away the daze in your eyes, wanting to watch the way he fell apart right below you—needed to witness it, as if you wouldn’t be able to believe this whole night even happened if you didn’t.

His hips stutter, exhaling like his breaths have been punched out of him, and then he’s thrusting into you once, twice, before scrambling back. You gasp wetly when his thick cock slips out of you, but your mouth snaps shut and your eyes widen when his large hand wraps around his cock, turning into a blur as he strokes himself.

And then he’s coming with a guttural groan, voice so deep it sends another shiver through you. You watch as ropes of his come shoot out, landing on the puffy folds of your pussy and dripping down your thighs, landing on his stomach and thighs.

Your legs are trembling from where you’re still kneeling above him, nearly screaming out at you until you finally sit down on Jesse’s thick thighs, your knees still on either side of his hips. The entire lower half of your body was sore, your pussy deliciously so, and you’re ready to just pass out while nestled into a certain man’s strong arms.

You’re still catching your breath when Jesse leans over the edge of the bed to grab his shirt and then he’s diligently wiping away his release from your skin, eyebrows furrowed as he makes sure he’s gentle with you.

He balls up his shirt and then tosses it aside before suddenly leaning over to wrap his arms around your midsection and pulling you up to him. You squeal, giggling as he manhandles you until you were lying on your side and he was flushed up behind you, his softening cock nestled at the base of your spine.

“You need to get a bigger bed,” Jesse mutters, face buried at the nape of your neck. The combination of his arms still wrapped around your midsection, giving you a gentle squeeze as he tries to get impossibly closer to you, as well as his warm breath against your skin has the beginning seeds of arousal sparking in your stomach again.

“You going to get me one?”

“If it means I can cuddle you without the threat of falling off the side of the bed, then yes.”

You smile, wrestling your arms free from where he’s essentially got them pinned at your sides so you could intertwine your fingers with his. He presses a kiss behind your ear, his lips soft, and the action causes your eyes to droop shut.

“As long as you’re the one paying for it.”

You feel Jesse’s laugh before you hear it, his chest shaking against your back, as the heat emanating from him and the low hum of chatter outside your window lulls you to sleep.

-

You wake up before him the next morning, beginning streaks of sunlight breaking through your curtains and shining into your face.

He’s still pressed right up against you, spooning you with his face tucked into your neck as if neither of you had moved an inch throughout the night. However, your thin comforter was thrown over the both of you, and combined with Jesse being an absolute furnace, you were nearly sweating through the sheets.

You’re blinking the sleep from your eyes, anxiety already curling around your heart and mind beginning to race that maybe this was a mistake or that Jesse didn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

You don’t have any friends besides essentially his friends, everyone in town seems to steer clear from you, and you’ve never been in a relationship before. Hell, you’ve been here for several months now and you still can’t think about actually being assigned for patrol and picking up a gun without your hand shaking.

You’re about to untangle yourself from him, suddenly craving the cold tile of the bathroom against your skin in an attempt to calm your pulse, but then he’s exhaling softly and squeezing his arms around you. He stretches his legs out, ankles popping, and then he’s mumbling something you can’t quite hear.

“What?” you say, heart nearly jumping in your throat.

He lifts his head, just enough so his words weren’t muffled against your neck as he says “Stop overthinking. Go back to sleep.” He nuzzles his face against your skin again, pressing his chapped lips to the curve of your throat that sends your pulse flying down to settle in between your thighs, and then he’s falling back asleep.

His soft snores right in your ear comfort you in a way that you never thought was possible before, warmth floating in your chest as his breath deepens.

So you fall back asleep.

-

It’s past afternoon by the time you two crawl out of bed. It wasn’t your fault that Jesse was particularly handsy and needy in the mornings.

Your knees are knocking together underneath the table as you eat your late lunch in silence, the bustle of the dying lunch rush filling your ears. You’re trying to keep your smile off your face, nearly giddy with excitement and affection, but you don’t think you do a very good job based off the way Jesse continues to glance over at you with a similar expression.

When Dina and Ellie arrive, already in the middle of a conversation, you don’t pay them much mind and instead focus on the last remnants of your stew sticking to the edges of your bowl.

But then Dina takes one good look at you, eyes roving up and down and taking in the oversized sweater that swallowed you up and smelled faintly like pine. Her gaze lingers somewhere above your chest before her face splits into a wide grin.

“I see you got to experience how good of a kisser Jesse is.”

Your heart drops, because you think Dina’s going to be mad, but then she’s cackling so loud it echoes through the building, and Ellie is snickering behind her hand, and Jesse leans over to swat at her shoulder, pretending to look irritated but instead appearing endearingly sheepish.

“Dina,” he warns, voice low.

“Relax, I’m just teasing,” she says, eyes comically jumping between you two. “Pass the salt?”

And just like that, conversation flows like nothing even happened. Like it was any other day where Dina and Ellie would touch each other more than usual, you would take advantage of the sunny weather and spend your day at the stables, and Jesse would pretend that he was assigned at the same station that day anyway.

Warmth settles deep within your bones as you throw around the fact that if your friends didn’t take you in like they did, you’re not sure how you would’ve survived the deep-seated loneliness that threatened you every time you walked through your front door.

Jesse places a broad hand on your thigh, essentially breaking you out of your thoughts. He’s studying you curiously, concerned.

You give him a soft smile, place your hand over his to intertwine your fingers together, and think about how maybe staying in Jackson doesn’t sound too bad.

When you were younger, you expected to be married off to be a housewife to a solider. From what you heard growing up, it wasn't a terrible life. The men were gone most of the time which allowed the women to run the household and raise children in peace. Unfortunately, your mother died during childbirth and your father, a humble farmer, passed away too early in life, leaving you and his few workers to keep the farm operating for as long as possible. To make money, you spent much of your time at the market, selling the food you made on the farm and the goods you weaved and molded from the scraps.

It wasn't enough. You lost the farm after a handful of years and you were on the brink of becoming destitute. Already you were malnourished and dehydrated, but as hard as you tried, you couldn't find work.

That was how you found yourself in a long line of women, standing silently with your heads bowed and your hands clasped as you were all throughly inspected by a senior officer of the Roman army. They were choosing their group of whores to hire to accompany the men on their next battle across the sea. You were left with no other option but to sell your only remaining asset. The thought turned your stomach, but the idea of starving to death was worse.

One by one, women were hand picked to step forward and exit the room. All in all it had to have been close to forty whores hired to service an entire army.

The odds were not in your favor if you were picked.

It came as a relief when you ended up not getting chosen. You breathed a deep sigh and lifted your chin, scanning the room of remaining women and senior ranking soldiers. You would make do somehow. At least you wouldn't be spreading your legs multiple times a night for different men after they've spent the day fighting and working up their appetite.

You turned to follow the women back out onto the streets of Rome, no doubt searching for another way to sell their bodies, when you heard a deep, familiar voice call your name. You froze in disbelief, wondering who could possibly know you, and then you slowly turned.

It was General Acacius. The fearless leader of the Roman army, but you knew him from your stand in the market. Whenever he was home from battle, he always found you and purchased more than he could possibly need, feeding you and your farmhands for weeks. He never said much and neither did you, but you had grown fond of seeing his greying curls and dark, smoldering eyes approach your stall, albeit with a new wound or scar to show for his travels.

You did not even realize he knew your name.

His eyes drifted up and down your worn tunic, noticing the stains and rips and your poor fitting sandals. Your gaze flickered nervously around the room at the other men impatiently looking to wrap up their work and begin their long journey, but remained silent, deferring to the general.

"You will come with us," was all he said, his voice booming in the small room. Your blood ran cold and panic seized your throat.

"But the choices have already been made-"

"I am paying. I believe I am allowed to decide how many whores we bring along."

You clamped your mouth shut, brows furrowing in anger. How foolish you were to assume he was a man of honor, a man who wanted to help you when he bought your meager wares in the market. As it turned out, he was no better than any other, only out to seek pleasure between your legs.

At that point, you knew better than to argue. Your fate was sealed. Begrudgingly, you forced yourself to follow after the other chosen women, walking past the high ranking officials who sized you up as you went.

The army was to travel by ship. Or multiple ships, to be exact. The women were counted off and told to stand in smaller groups, one handful of whores for each ship of hungry soldiers. When your group was assigned, you heard that familiar powerful voice come out of nowhere once again, stopping everybody in their paths.

"She is to travel on mine," General Acacius announced. A few men exchanged confused glances and Acacius grew irritated. "That one," he clarified, pointing directly at you. The other men quickly nodded and shuffled you into another group, and you thought that would be the end of it, but then he spoke again as the others began to board.

"She will stay in my chambers."

If the soldiers were surprised, they hid it well, but you didn't. You whipped around and glared at him defiantly, a litany of disrespectful curses on the tip of your tongue. Thankfully, you remembered your place and who you were speaking to and caught yourself before you got killed, but as you turned to board the ship, you noticed an amused smirk play across the general's lips.

A young solider shoved you into the general's quarters, ordering you to not go through his things or they would cut off your hands, then slammed the door shut, leaving you all alone. The rest of the women had gone below deck, most likely to a shared room that was filthy and freezing cold. You, on the other hand, had a beautiful soft bed and a roaring fire to warm yourself by a small wooden dining table. There was a bookshelf tucked into the corner and your fingers itched to pull the books out and examine them, but you didn't dare. Instead, you sat on the small cushioned bench next to the only porthole in the room, tucking your knees against your chest protectively while you waited for the inevitable.

Sleep took hold of you at some point while you waited for the general to retire. The last thing you remembered was the open sea and the glorious golden sun beginning to dip just below the horizon. When you awoke, it was dark, the only light in the room coming from the fire. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and unfurled yourself from your bench to look around, then nearly yelped when you found the general quietly sitting at the table pouring himself wine.

Your heart raced violently in your chest, knowing full well what he expected of you. And despite offering yourself up earlier that day as a whore, you had decided you would not do it for this man. Because this man came to your booth in the market under the guise of kindness that turned out to be a lie, and it simply did not sit right with you.

"I will not lie with you willingly," you announced boldly with your arms crossed. The general quirked an eyebrow and took a long sip of his wine.

"When was the last time you have eaten?"

You scowled, body vibrating with energy and ready for a fight only to be met with indifference.

"I am not hungry."

"You will eat or you will die," he said, avoiding your eye and standing to collect a plate of food by the door. He dropped it onto the table and pointed angrily at it. "Eat."

"Why?"

"You need your strength, you are frail."

"You do not like your whores thin, then?" you shot back. Acacius clenched his jaw, eyes still cast down. "You wish to fatten me up so you have something to hold onto when you force my legs apart?"

"That is enough!" he roared, fiery eyes finally finding yours and pinning you with an intense stare that had you trembling. "I will not be forcing you to do anything except eat. Now sit down, do not test my patience."

It was a combination of fear and hunger that made you obey, sinking down into the chair opposite his where the plate of lukewarm food awaited you. Acacius sat down and picked up his goblet, watching you from over the rim as you slowly began to pick at the food. You both remained silent while you ate and he drank, the only sound to be heard was the crackling from the fire and the distant laughter and yells from his men in the galley below.

He was right. You hadn't eaten in days. It was no wonder you fell asleep so quickly earlier. You wanted to express your thanks, but you were too stubborn. Instead, you finished your food and put the plate in the basin of water by the door before looking around the room once again. It was easily the nicest room on the ship. You had to imagine most of the soldiers would be sleeping in hammocks stacked on top of one another down below, but the general had the biggest, softest looking bed you had ever seen in your life.

But there was only one.

He watched you from his place at the table, studying your face as you worked out the mechanics.

"I will not force myself upon you if we share the bed," he said, dragging your attention back to him. He was still in his armor, all shiny and clean from the public celebration that took place prior to the army's departure.

"Why am I here, if not to pleasure you?" you asked. You sounded calmer than before but you were still very much on edge.

"You believe I would find pleasure in forcing myself upon a woman?" he questioned before draining his cup. You thought about it for a moment and shrugged.

"Perhaps. Yes."

He stared down at his empty chalice, your heinous opinion of him rolling around in his head and making his chest ache.

"Well, I do not," he proclaimed, standing up quickly and causing his chair to almost topple backwards. He began to unhook his heavy armor, dropping it into a pile on the floor until he was down to his tunic.

"If we were to lie together, it would be because you wish it so," he said softly with his back to you. You swallowed thickly.

"What am I to do here, then?" you asked as he began to turn down his sheets. He slid his tired body into bed and sighed.

"Whatever you like. So long as you stay in this room, you will remain unharmed."

You blinked rapidly, desperately trying to put the pieces together.

"That is all?"

"Yes. That is all. My only wish is you are safe and fed."

You couldn't help it. You had to ask.

"But... why?"

But the general rolled onto his side, effectively ending your conversation and leaving you wondering what you had gotten yourself into.

That first night, you did not share his bed. You slept on the bench by your porthole, curled up small, arms wrapped around yourself protectively until the sun rose. When you awoke, the general was gone, but a plate of food was left on the table for you.

The first week on the ship went exactly the same. You stayed in his chambers, staring out at the sea or sleeping until he returned way past dark with some food for you and a tired look in his eye. And every night, you slept on the bench, still far too distrusting of him.

The second week, the general brought a game with him at dinner time. Two cups and two wooden dice. The idea was you had to guess what you would roll. If you won, you got whatever you bet on the round. It wasn't that entertaining at first since you had only the clothes on your back and nothing else, but what you did have were stories or songs or a slight of hand trick your father taught you when you were young.

You wouldn't realize until much later that it was his way of getting to know you better.

"You released all the cows from the pasture?" Acacius repeated in disbelief. You giggled and nodded.

"I was only six years old! I thought they were being held against their will!"

Acacius laughed, the sound making you grin like a fool and your cheeks warm.

"Alright," he said once he got ahold of himself. "Go on."

You picked up the die and tossed them into a cup, giving it a firm shake and smiling when he shot you a playful wink.

You clapped the cup firmly over the table and before you raised it up, you announced, "One three and one five."

"What is your wager?"

You nodded towards his bookshelf. "One of your books."

He looked up at you in shock. "You can read?"

You gave him a fake look of disgust and nodded. "Of course I can read."

"And you have been here this whole time without picking up a book?"

"Your men told me they would cut off my hands if I touched what is yours."

His face softened and he sat back in his chair.

"No one will touch you," he told you firmly. You stared at one another, the heavy moment weighing between you, the implication of his words impossible to deny. No one will touch you because you are his.

To break the tension, you smirked and said, "So I suppose that means I do not need to wager the books?"

Acacius grinned and shook his head. "Too late, little one."

You rolled your eyes and lifted the cup, pouting when you saw two six's.

"Your turn," you said, pushing the cup to the side.

Acacius collected the dice and dumped them into the cup, shaking it while looking at you curiously from across the table and admiring the way the light from the fire flickered over your beautiful face.

"You can still take a book."

You perked up but shook your head. "That is against the rules of the game, General."

"I make the rules. Take a book tomorrow," he insisted before slamming the cup down. His large hand gripped the top of the cup, keeping it pressed tightly against the table.

"Your wager?" you asked, cocking your head to the side.

He swallowed, wondering if he should say what he wanted to say. The fear that you would pull away from him again fought against the insatiable attraction he had harbored for you for years. But the wine must have won the fight because he said, "One kiss."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise and for a moment, he thought he made a horrible mistake. But then you squared your jaw and narrowed your eyes and said, "Go ahead."

He grinned, pulse thrumming excitedly in his throat when he said, "One one and one four."

But when he lifted the cup, his face fell. A three and a six.

"Ah, well," he said, shoulders drooping. He yawned and stood to collect the dice. "Better luck tomorrow."

Before you could stop yourself, you stood as well and leaned up to peck a chaste kiss against his scruffy cheek. He looked at you in surprise and you gave him a crooked grin.

"For the book."

He smiled and nodded, doing his best to hide his disappointment as you got yourself ready for bed. You had a small pillow and thin blanket to curl up with by the porthole, and it irked him that you wouldn't take more. He feared you would catch a sickness and your malnourished body wouldn't be able to fight off an infection, but you were so stubborn that he couldn't convince you otherwise.

However, the third and final week at sea had you shivering on your bench. Acacius could hardly sleep knowing how cold you were. He could hear your teeth chattering from across the room.

"I beg of you, please sleep in my bed," he said one night as you began to make your little nest by the porthole. You shook your head.

"I am fine, I swear it."

"You are not fine. Please, I will not touch you, you have my word."

You chewed on your lower lip and looked over his shoulder at his warm, plush bed. He could see your resolve begin to falter, so he offered to sleep on the bench in your place.

"No, do not be ridiculous. You have an army to lead tomorrow, you cannot be tense as a knot because you slept on a too small bench."

"I will if it means you are safe and warm," he said softly, his vulnerability taking you off guard.

"General-" you sighed, but he cut you off.

"Please. I promise I will remain on my side of the bed. Just stop being so stubborn for once in your life."

You scoffed and propped your hands on your hips. "For once in my life? And what would you know of it?"

He squinted at you and crossed his arms. "I know more than you think. I know you would not quit until you broke in that filly when you were twelve years old. I know you nearly pushed a boy down a well when he tried to kiss you in front of the whole school. I know you argued with your teacher over the correct spelling of amaranth and I know you poured every last bit of yourself into a dying farm just to keep the memory of your father alive."

Your jaw hung open in surprise, taken aback by the way he stored all of the little snippets of your life you had given him over the past two weeks only to end it with his own observation of you at the market.

You could feel yourself growing weak for him, the temptation to give in too much to bear. He had been slowly wearing you down since you arrived and perhaps he was right, perhaps you were far too stubborn because the last thing you wanted to do was go back on the proclamation you made that very first night.

So, you chose to be defiant.

"Fine," you snapped, swiveling on your heel and stomping towards his bed. "If you wish to share your bed with a whore so badly, then so be it."

Acacius rounded the bed and slipped in beside you, making sure to leave plenty of space.

"You and I both know you are no whore."

"Oh, you know so very much about me, I forget."

You tugged the heavy blankets up to your chin and tried not to audibly sigh at how comfortable it was in his bed.

"If you are a whore, tell me then: how many men have you laid with?"

You clenched your jaw, angry that he was able to figure you out so easily. Instead of answering, you rolled onto your side, your back to him, and muttered, "good night."

Acacius grinned and closed his eyes, proud of himself for besting you.

"Good night."

The following morning, you awoke earlier than usual. When your eyelids fluttered open, the first thing you noticed was the ache in your bones was gone. The large, soft bed had been enough to cure you in just one night.

Not something you planned on admitting to the general, of course.

The second thing you noticed when you sat up in bed was that the ship was not moving. It was completely still, and you could hear loud, quick footsteps outside your door and above your head. Men were shouting to one another and the clink of swords and armor were echoing throughout the halls. Then, through the walls somewhere above you, you heard the general's deep, booming voice yelling orders to his men. You threw off the blankets and hurried to the porthole, your eyes widening when you saw land and small boats being lowered into the water.

You had arrived at whatever distant land the emperors demanded Acacius claim for Rome, and the soldiers were getting ready to depart for their first fight.

You chewed nervously on your nail, curled up against the wall and peering out the window for hours until the very last boat sailed away. In the distance, you could see the general's broad back covered in armor, his dark curls fluttering in the sea breeze and his massive sword tucked dutifully at his waist.

He had left for war and didn't even say goodbye.

Why would you care if he said goodbye? Maybe if they all die, you could escape to shore and be free, find a new city and make a home for yourself.

Even you had to admit that fantasy was foolish. No matter where you went, your fate would always be the same. You had no money, no prospects, no skills and no family. Your destiny was already written and it was a miracle your first attempt at prostitution landed you in the cushy quarters of Rome's surprisingly respectful general.

Your nerves kept your feet moving all day. You tidied up the general's desk, sorting his papers and maps. You scrubbed at the dishware until they sparkled and you made the bed, fluffing up the pillows and tucking in the loose edges until you had nothing left to do. The room was as neat as possible, not a single item out of place, and yet you still floundered around looking for something to occupy your busy mind.

When the sun began to dip and his room grew darker, you went around lighting candles to allow for more light. You were in the middle of lighting the last candle when you heard a timid knock at the door.

Nobody had ever come to his chambers the entire three weeks besides the general himself. You swallowed anxiously, wondering who it could be and if you should answer when you heard a woman's small voice from the other side of the door.

You decided it was safe and opened the door a crack to find one of the whores you had boarded the ship with waiting on the other side with buckets of water and a basin.

"For the general," she said softly. You nodded and dragged the buckets into the room, trying not to stare at the bruises and dirt littering her dry skin. Your stomach twisted with guilt after she left and you locked the door. The other women were living like cattle and you were living the life of luxury. Not only was the general not forcing you to fuck him, but you were giving him sass at every turn.

It was a harsh reminder of your fortune, of what your life could be like. The thought of living the life of the women below deck frightened you, so you had decided that evening when the general returned, you would give yourself to him to show your appreciation, as well as out of fear he would soon get rid of you if you didn't give him what he wanted.

You remained at your post, staring out at the dark sea until you could see the bobbing of lanterns making their way across the black expanse, letting you know the men were returning for the night. You rushed to warm up his water over the fire, dumping it into the large basin. You poured some scented oils into the bath just as the door unlocked and opened, revealing a very filthy and exhausted looking general holding two plates of food.

"Good evening," you said, standing obediently. Acacius paused at the door, confused by your formality before closing it with his heel and setting down the food at the table. "I have a warm bath ready for you, General," you added, pointing towards the basin. He nodded tiredly and began to work on the hooks of his armor. You rushed forward to help him, once again taking him by surprise until he was stripped down to his red tunic.

"Would you like to eat or bathe first?" you asked. The general sighed and looked longingly at the bath.

"I will clean myself while you eat," he said. He pointed towards the table and motioned for you to turn around.

"May I assist you instead, General?" you asked with your back turned. You could hear the shuffle of fabric falling to the wooden floor and then a sharp hiss when he sunk down into the warm water.

"Assist me with what? Cleansing myself? I believe I can manage," he chuckled. You turned around to stare at the back of his head, his body now submerged in the water and hidden from view, but you could still see his shoulders and arms. They looked bruised and bloodied.

He didn't notice your eyes on him, of course. He was busy scrubbing the dirt and blood from his skin while he looked around the tidy room.

"It is very nice in here, you did not have to straighten up."

It was the least you could do and you knew it but said nothing.

Instead, you shakily lifted your worn tunic over your head and let it crumple to the floor. Nerves fluttered in your stomach as you slowly approached him, the general completely unaware as he continued to scrub his skin.

"I can think of another way to assist you," you said nervously as you stepped into his eyeline. His chin tilted up and he did a double take when he saw your naked form standing before him. His cloth dropped into the water and his jaw fell open in surprise, eyes wide and greedily raking over your body.

"Wh- what is this?" he stammered, gaze glued to your chest. Your fingers fidgeted at your sides under his scrutiny.

"I thought I would show you my appreciation for your hospitality," you explained. "I would like to repay you in some way for choosing me to share your quarters."

A small smile tugged at his lips as he eagerly reached forward, then stopped when he registered your words. He looked up at you questioningly, excitement falling from his face when he asked, "What do you mean, repay me?"

You shrugged and took a hesitant step forward, close enough now so he could reach out and touch your cunt if he chose.

"I realized today my fate could have been much harsher," you explained. "I have not been showing you my appreciation and respect, and in return, I wish to give you my body to use as you see fit."

Acacius frowned and turned his head away, searching for the cloth so he could continue cleaning himself.

"I do not want your body as payment, I believe I told you that weeks ago."

"You said we would not lie together unless I wished it so," you protested. "I now wish it."

"You wish to lay with me out of obligation, not desire. That is not something I want."

Embarrassment and confusion flooded your mind as you slowly stretched your arms across your exposed body, trying to hide yourself out of shame.

"I apologize-"

"Get yourself decent and eat," he commanded without looking up. His voice sounded hard and cold and for some reason, it made you want to cry. You did as you were told, dragging your dirty tunic over your head and sat quietly at his table to pick at your food. You were confused and ashamed, sitting in the tense room with him while you tried to work out what he wanted from you. The idea of wanting a man out of desire never occurred to you. You had grown up under the impression women of your station did not get to experience the luxury of desire, and instead came to terms early on in life that you always had one asset to use at your disposal.

Not one time did you ever imagine being with a man out of affection or love.

"I apologize," you tried again after he had dried off and joined you. He had changed into a clean, white tunic and was clenching a similar one in his fist.

"You may use this," he said, ignoring your apology yet again. He thrusted the tunic towards you and you fumbled when you took it from his grasp. "The one you are wearing looks as if it might fall apart the moment you step outside and feel the sea breeze."

"Thank you," you murmured, fingertips brushing over the soft and expensive material in your lap.

"I will also call for more water tomorrow so you may wash yourself," he said before biting into a chunk of bread.

Your cheeks went hot with shame, still feeling guilt over the mercy and generosity he had shown you.

"I do not know what it is to desire someone," you said after a few quiet moments. Acacius continued to chew and kept his focus fixed on his plate. "I never imagined it would be a part of my life. May I remind you we come from different worlds."

He grunted in response but you noticed his shoulders begin to relax.

"I understand. But you must stop treating yourself as a whore. You are so much more than that, I have seen it with my own eyes. And to watch you debase yourself, to think so lowly of yourself, breaks my heart."

Your breath caught in your throat and you felt tears begin to well up, quickly threatening to spill down your cheeks. How could you have been so wrong? How could you not see the man for who he really was? He was a man who was gentle, kindhearted, protective and most importantly, cared very deeply for you. To what extent, you were unsure, but if he wanted you to desire him and he saved you from being used by countless other men, he certainly must have harbored stronger feelings than you ever thought possible.

"Alright."

His dark eyes flicked up to yours when you spoke.

"I will not debase myself," you said flatly. The corner of his mouth twitched before he looked back down at his food.

"Very well. I am pleased that has been sorted," he replied before shoving his plate off to the side and standing to collect the cups and dice. "Shall we play a few rounds before bed?"

You grinned and nodded, gathering up your plates and dumping them in the water by the door to clean later before joining him back at the table. And somehow, the awkwardness from the evening faded away after a few rolls of the dice.

It had been two weeks docked off shore on some foreign land. You hadn't left his room in over a month and you were beginning to feel insane. You told him as much early one morning when he was dressing for battle. It was still dark outside. Acacius had mentioned he wanted to arrive on shore before dawn so that he might get into position under the cover of night.

"When I return tonight, I will take you up on the deck for some fresh air," he promised as he cinched up his armor. "Do not leave this room when I am not here."

"Why not? Are your men not with you during the daytime?" you asked from his bed.

"It is not my men I worry about," he explained, sheathing his sword after lacing up his sandals.

"Then what do you worry for?"

"I worry about everything," he confessed. His hand was on the doorknob poised to leave, but he stopped to turn to you one last time. "I do not trust the soldiers from this city not to try to climb aboard the ships whilst we are gone. It is important the ships appear empty."

You nodded in understanding before burrowing back in his sheets and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of you looking comfortable and radiant in his bed.

"Behave, my dove, and we may dine on the deck tonight," he said, making you smile wide. He slipped quietly out of his room and locked the door behind him, fearful if he lingered any longer, he may not leave the ship the whole day.

You spent the afternoon reading and bathing and cleaning the general's dirty clothes in the extra water he had brought up after he left. You weren't sure how it happened, but the two of you had fallen into a life of domesticity amidst war without even sharing so much as a kiss.

What surprised you the most was you enjoyed it. You enjoyed tending to his things and cleaning what you could during the day, and then caring for him at night when he returned all bloodied and tired.

It had not once crossed your mind that he may not return until it happened.

That night, you saw the lanterns bobbing over the water, your signal to begin heating up his water for a bath. Your hair smelled like the expensive oils you poured into his water from your own bath earlier. You smiled to yourself when you thought of smelling like him, and him of you.

Heavy footsteps landed on the wooden floorboards above your head and outside your door. At first, nothing seemed amiss. Acacius usually didn't come to his room right away. He typically visited the wounded soldiers in the infirmary, making sure they were well tended to and fed before doing his rounds, assigning a night crew, and then finally gathering food for you both before retiring for the evening.

But more time passed than usual. You could tell because your stomach began to rumble and his water grew lukewarm. You paced around the room, ears straining to hear the voices from the other soldiers, trying to discern anything from their muffled conversations.

It wasn't until two hours went by that you heard a sharp rap at the door and a man's voice echoing on the other side, announcing he brought you food.

Your blood went cold and you wondered if you should open the door, but then you remembered Acacius told you he wasn't worried about his own men, the underlying message being that his soldiers would never touch what was his. So after a moment's hesitation, you swung open the door.

"Here," a young man said, shoving one plate of food towards you. His face was stained with dried blood and dirt and you frowned before taking the food and thanking him softly.

"Where is the general?" you asked timidly.

"He fell in battle," he grumbled before turning away. Your heart plummeted as you reached out and grabbed his shoulder, taking him by surprise.

"What do you mean?" you exclaimed. Fear and adrenaline mixed with something foreign coursed through your veins as you felt your lower lip tremble. The solider shook you off with disgust before stepping back.

"He was struck down. Last I saw of him he was lying still on the battlefield."

When he saw the look of despair on your face, he took pity on you.

"Others were assisting him, his body will return to Rome," he assured you before giving you a firm nod and disappearing down the long hall, leaving you to collapse into a fit of sobs behind the locked door.

The feeling you had in your chest was similar to the way you felt when your father passed, but something was different. It felt like a piece of you went dark, like you may never smile or laugh ever again. Grief consumed every fiber of your being and you found yourself crawling into his bed, face streaked with tears so thick you could hardly see your hands reach for his pillow. You pulled it tightly against your chest and you curled up around it, muffling your wails until your head began to pound and your body felt weak.

You drifted in and out of sleep, tossing and turning until the room grew cold and the fire dissolved into embers. You stood and wrapped a blanket around yourself, sniffling and shuffling over to the fire to stoke the flames wearing the general's spare tunic he had gifted you. After a few minutes, the fire roared back to life and you sat back with a heavy sigh.

Just as you were wondering what you would do come morning and how you would ever be able to move on without him, you heard footsteps approaching. You whipped around in fear and tightened your grip on the blanket. With the general no longer around to protect you, you had assumed the other men would eventually come looking for you, but you had to admit you didn't expect it so fast.

You curled yourself into a ball on your old bench, staring at the doorknob, expecting to see it jiggle and eventually forced open from the other side, but to your surprise the lock clicked quietly and the door slowly creaked open.

When you saw the general appear, limping and bloodied but still alive, you practically screamed. You jumped to your feet and rushed over, moments away from throwing yourself into his arms before you caught yourself.

"Acacius," you whispered in disbelief, the informality slipping easily past your lips for the very first time. He gave you a tired smile and locked the door behind him.

"I apologize for missing dinner," he said. You laughed as two fresh tears trickled down your cheeks. Your hands hovered nervously over his armor as if you weren't sure where you could touch him.

"Apology accepted," you replied before gingerly unhooking the armor around his shoulders. He groaned with relief when you lifted the heavy metal off him and set it against the wall by the door to polish another time. When you turned back around, you gasped at the blood that had seeped through his tunic, staining the yellow fabric a dark red.

"You are hurt," you whimpered, then hurried around his room for clean cloths, healing oils, and salves he kept in his desk. "Take that off and sit down. Allow me to tend to your wound."

He wordlessly lifted the ruined tunic over his head, wincing slightly when the wound at his side pulled, and he sat down at the table just as you instructed. You collected some of the unused water from his bath and set it over the flames to warm up before scooping up some more and setting it on the table next to him.

"They stemmed the bleeding on the boat," he explained. "It just needs to be cleaned and perhaps -"

"I will handle this. You just rest and eat," you told him, pushing your plate of uneaten food in his direction. His eyes fell onto the food and he frowned.

"It is untouched," he said, "why did you not eat?"

"How could I when I thought you were dead?" you snapped as you brought a soaked rag to his side and began to gently pat at the nasty looking gash.

Acacius took a bite of food, the flavors melting onto his tongue and making him groan. He didn't realize how hungry he was and before he knew it, he had eaten all of the food except for the grapes. You were leaning across his lap, bandaging up his wound with intense focus. He sighed contentedly, basking in the warmth from the fire and the soft touch of your hand on his skin. He could already feel his strength beginning to return.

"That should hold," you said, sitting upright to inspect your work. He glanced down and raised his eyebrows at the neat little bandage you had adhered to his wound.

"You did a very good job. Where did you learn such things?"

You shrugged and began to clean up the salves and oils. "On a farm, many accidents happen. You learn quickly how to tend to a wound."

He smiled and sipped from the wine you had poured for him while watching you move around the room, disposing of his soiled clothes and rags and then bringing the bucket of warm water over to the table with a fresh cloth.

When you pulled the other chair closer and sat, fitting your legs between his knees so you could reach him, he began to protest.

"You do not need to -"

"I want to," you said, cutting him off with a warm, wet cloth on his aching shoulders. His eyelids fluttered with a groan, leaning back into his chair and giving in. It felt so wonderful to be washed by your hand, to have you so close and safe while tenderly caring for him. It was all he had been dreaming about for years, ever since the first day he saw you at the market.

"So many scars," you whispered, swiping the cloth down his broad, strong chest. His breathing stuttered when you reached his stomach and he tensed.

"I have been in many battles," he murmured with his eyes still closed. You hummed to yourself and continued to work, diligently and carefully scrubbing away the layers of blood and grime until you cleaned everything you could see.

"Can you lean forward, General?" you asked, "I would like to cleanse your back."

He nodded and with a grunt, sat upright so he could lean forward. You stood from your chair and positioned yourself behind him, taking great care with every swipe of your cloth, afraid of unearthing a new wound under all the filth.

"Back to general now, are we?" he asked.

Your hand paused on his shoulder blade. He sensed your confusion and he chuckled.

"When I first arrived, you called me Acacius," he explained.

"Oh," you breathed before continuing your work. "That was disrespectful, I -"

"No, I quite liked it," he said before you could finish apologizing. "You may call me Marcus when we are alone, if you prefer."

Your eyes widened and although he couldn't see you, he could tell you were surprised.

"That would be highly irregular," you finally said softly, putting down the wet cloth and picking up a bottle of perfumed oil. You sprinkled a few drops into your palm and you rubbed your hands together. "That name should only be used by those closest to you."

He opened his mouth to respond but when your slick hands found his shoulders and your fingers began to dig into the knots in his muscles, he moaned and felt himself go lax.

"Oh gods, that feels incredible," he rasped. The deep timber of his voice sent a wave of arousal right to your core. You continued to work on his back and shoulders, privately marveling at his broad frame and firm muscles under his scarred, bronzed skin. He was truly something to behold. So strong, handsome, and fearless. Yet also kind and gentle. The proximity of his body and the ricocheting emotions you had experienced that evening had you reacting to him in a way you never had before. It was confusing and strange yet also exciting, and the noises you were drawing from his mouth with every roll of your thumbs was causing a dull ache to form between your thighs.

You blinked and cleared your throat, trying to shake the heavy curtain of lust that clung to you.

"What happened out there? One of your men informed me you were dead."

Marcus sighed and sat up straight, the angle causing you to drop your hands from his tight shoulders. One of his massive hands reached back to take yours so he could lead you to stand in front of him, between his knees.

"They had called a truce. They requested to discuss terms of surrender, so I called off my men and went to speak with their king," he began, his hand still engulfing your own as he gazed up at you with his soft, dark eyes. "It was a trap. They ambushed me when I got out of range. It must have been twenty of them," he continued solemnly, his thumb brushing against your wrist as he spoke. "I slayed them all, one by one, but once I took down their final solider, an archer took aim from the wall. I was able to dodge the arrow but I was not quick enough," he chuckled and looked down at his wound. "I am not the young man I once was."

"I cried for hours," you admitted quietly. His eyes darted up to yours again, holding his breath as you spoke. "I had never considered you would not return to me at the end of the day. However, when I got word you had died-"

You paused when a sob got lodged in your throat. You knit your brows together, hoping to stave off your tears while Marcus patiently waited. Eventually, you gave him a watery smile and lifted your free hand to cup his cheek.

"I felt a grief I never thought I would feel again," you said, voice shaking. His eyes searched your face, watching the way your anguish rolled through you at the memory. He swallowed tightly and, with his other hand, gently gripped your waist.

"Tell me," he whispered, "did you feel these things only because you feared for your safety if I was not here?"

You shook your head as one singular tear trickled down your cheek.

"No," you breathed, "it was because I felt like a part of me died, too. Because I could not imagine my life without you."

When you saw the joyful look in his eye, you quickly closed the remaining distance between you, leaning down the rest of the way and slanting your mouth desperately over his. He moaned and dropped your hand so he could cup the back of your neck, pulling you even closer so you were forced to straddle his lap.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he groaned amid kisses that were growing increasingly messy as the heat between you grew. "How badly I want you? How long I have waited?"

Your mind was blank. You couldn't think of a single thing to say, but Marcus didn't give you a chance to respond, anyway. His tongue slipped past your lips, greedily swirling in tandem with yours and forcing your jaw to open wider. The hand on your waist dropped to flatten against your lower back and he pressed you forward so not even a sliver of moonlight could sneak between your bodies.

Underneath your gifted tunic, you were bare. When you joined the other whores all those weeks ago, they told you there was no use for undergarments, that the men would just destroy them if you bothered to wear any, so just like all the others, you never did. It had never been a problem until that very moment, when Marcus had you writhing in his lap, hips stretched wide and cunt free to rub against his thigh. When you first made contact with his leg, the firm muscle brushing against your sensitive clit, you jumped in his lap and moaned into his mouth.

"Tell me, sweet thing," he murmured when he finally broke the kiss. You were panting heavily, eyelids drooping with need as you gazed down at him. "I know you have not sold yourself to a man, but have you ever laid with one before?"

You shook your head and wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, holding him close. His lips brushed up against your throat and he began to suck on the sensitive skin there as both of his hands fell to your hips. Gently, he rocked you back and forth, sliding your slick, bare cunt over his thigh. He heard you sigh and smiled against your skin when your head dipped backwards in pleasure.

"Does that feel good?"

"Yes," you whispered, voice raspy and thick. "Oh, yes, it feels... heavenly," you told him with a sigh.

"Good," he grunted, "keep going. Do not stop until you come. I will need you soft and wet before you take my cock."

"Yes, General," you replied obediently, making his cock jump behind his thin loincloth.

Marcus tugged at the back of your loose tunic, stretching the material across your breasts so your hardened nipples poked through. With a low growl, he lunged forward and wrapped his mouth around one, cloth and all. His teeth added a surprisingly tantalizing amount of pressure that had you gasping for air as your hips quickened their pace over his thigh. You must have been leaving streaks of arousal all over him but something told you he didn't mind.

"You desire me, yes?" he questioned when he switched his attention to your other breast. You nodded feverishly, face tilted towards the ceiling as you chased your pleasure.

"Yes," you gasped, "yes, Ge- Marcus."

He groaned so loudly you thought he might wake up the whole ship.

"Fuck, say that again."

You smiled and circled your hips faster, grinding down onto his thick leg. You were so close, you could taste it.

"Marcus," you whined, "oh, Marcus. I cannot wait to feel you inside of me. I just know you will make me feel so good, will you not?"

Suddenly, his hand was back on your neck and his mouth was pressed tightly against the underside of your jaw, not unlike a wild animal pinning his prey against his sharp fangs. You could feel his hot puffs of air fanning across your skin and his teeth scraping your throat. His intensity might have frightened you if you weren't on the brink of an earth shattering orgasm.

"I will make you feel so good, you will never want to take another lover again," he said darkly. The hairs on your arms stood up but you continued to rut yourself as fast as you could against his thigh, your own chest heaving as you fought for air. "And if I have it my way, you never will," he added.

His words were what tipped you over the edge. You cried out his name and clutched at his shoulders for support as your orgasm rolled through you, covering him with your slick.

Your body was still trembling in his arms when he lifted you up and carried you to the bed. You blinked rapidly in response, poised to argue with him about potentially reopening his wound, but before you could get a single word out he had tossed you onto the sheets and climbed on top of you, caging you in.

"Before I ravish you, my sweet, what do you know of coupling?"

You scoffed. "I am no fool, I know how it works."

Marcus chuckled at your snark and sat back on his heels to peel your tunic over your head, exposing yourself entirely to him. A groan rumbled through his wide, bare chest as he stared down at you hungrily, all spread out and ready for him.

"I cannot lie. Ever since you first stood before me naked, your beautiful body has consumed my every waking thought."

"It shows incredible restraint, then, for you to share a bed with me each night," you teased, eyes dancing playfully as he stripped himself of his loincloth.

"You have no idea," he growled, falling back onto his forearms. The tip of his nose nudged against yours affectionately. "I have waited years for this, my sweet."

The idea of any man pining after you, let alone the mighty General of Rome, was a strange and foreign concept.

"I am just the daughter of a poor farmer," you muttered, fingers brushing his peppered curls behind his ear.

"Your station means very little to me," he replied, looking down between your bodies so he could notch the thick head of his cock at your opening. "The heart wants what the heart wants."

Your pulse quickened when you felt the slight bit of pressure he applied. Knowing how it worked was one thing, experiencing it for the first time was another.

"I-I was told it may hurt," you said meekly. Marcus's eyes found yours and he tenderly cupped your jaw.

"Yes, that is true, but I promise it will not last long," he assured you. You swallowed and nodded before spreading your legs wider and hooking your ankles around the backs of his thighs.

"Tell me if it is too much," he murmured. He pressed your foreheads together, lips hovering above yours, ready to soothe you from the pain.

"Go on, then," you said bravely.

Slowly, he breeched your opening and sunk one inch inside of you. You gasped and dug your heels harder into his thighs, but Marcus held steady.

"Speak," he demanded after a few seconds of listening to your heavy breathing.

"It stings," you admitted, "but it is not... unpleasant."

He nodded and pecked a chaste kiss against your lips before giving you another inch. You whined and squirmed a bit but once you settled, he took it as his cue to continue. It went just like that until he finally found himself fully seated inside of your tight heat.

"The worst is over, my sweet," he told you.

You wiggled underneath him, moving this way and that until you got used to the feeling of him inside you. Your hands wrapped around the backs of his biceps and you stretched your neck so you could bite and nip playfully at his prickly jaw.

"I enjoy being full of you," you admitted shyly, eliciting a grunt from the back of his throat.

"Good," he grumbled before drawing back his hips and slowly easing himself back inside your warmth. "Because I intend on having you full of me as much as possible. I fear I will never have enough now that you have given me a taste."

Your jaw dropped open when he began to move faster, gently and steadily working you open, carving a space for himself inside of you forever. The only thing you wanted was to have him as close as you could, so you wrapped your arms around him and buried your face against his neck, molding your bodies together as one.

"My sweet girl," he panted, mouth hunting for yours. "You feel better than I ever dreamed. So fucking tight and wet. I cannot believe my fortune, that you would give yourself to me. I wonder if I did indeed die in battle and have ascended to the heavens."

The stretch was divine, his heavy length dragging in and out of you and nudging against a spot that made your stomach clench and your head grow fuzzy.

"Do not say such things," you scolded him breathlessly. His hips stilled for a moment, waiting for you to continue. "Do not jest about your death. My heart cannot handle it."

His eyes softened and his mouth crashed against yours with a groan, overcome that you would feel so strongly for him. He began to roll his hips again but kept his mouth latched onto yours, swallowing down your whimpers and moans.

"I will never leave you," he whispered against your lips. His thrusts grew quicker but he tried his best to be careful and not drive himself too deep for fear of causing you pain. "I will always return now that I have you waiting for me. I shall be invincible in battle."

You laughed lightly, dragging your mouth down his throat and tasting his freshly perfumed skin.

"Was that all it took for you to become immortal?" you teased.

"Yes," he hissed, "a cunt as snug and perfect as yours is all a man needs to give him purpose."

His hand slithered between your back and sheets, pressing his palm firmly against your spine so you arched underneath him. His knees spread wider so he could get better leverage, and he began to roughly snap his hips. You gasped and grabbed onto his hair, giving it a sharp tug and making him groan. It was lewd yet somehow romantic, hearing the sound of your skin slapping together in the otherwise quiet room.

"Does it hurt?" he managed to ask through clenched teeth.

"No," you whimpered inbetween the soft moans he drew every time his cock slammed back into you. "Oh gods, Marcus, please-"

"What do you need, my love?"

He sounded breathless, his voice slightly strained, and your chest burst with pride. You loved the idea of being the one who made such a strong man so very weak.

"I- I am not sure," you admitted truthfully. "It feels so wonderful, but it is different than before."

As it turned out, you didn't need to figure out what you needed because Marcus knew. Somehow, he managed to know your body better than you. He knew how to make it sing and thrum just for him.

His hand snuck between your bodies and the pad of his thumb found your clit. He rubbed firm, slow circles over the sensitive bud, and his name instantly flew from your mouth, loud and wild. You likely could be heard from shore, but Marcus never shushed you. In fact, he smiled and worked his thumb faster, drawing out more delicious moans with every stroke.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured while sucking a mark into your neck. He could feel your lower belly begin to tense and heard your breath waver, so he circled his hips faster, cock greedily plunging in and out of your soaked cunt, chasing his release with reckless abandon now that he could feel you were close.

"I have obsessed over you for years. Dreamed of having you all to myself, just like this," he continued. He could sense his words had a great effect on you. Your walls fluttered and pulsed around him when he admitted his deepest secrets, so he kept talking.

"Long nights spent on the cold ground in the middle of war, I would dream of you. I would wonder what you would be doing back in Rome. I would pray you did not find a husband while I was away."

Marcus gasped when your cunt gripped around him so tightly that it took his breath away. "The thought of you belonging to another was enough to drive me insane," he groaned before capturing your lips with his.

"I am yours," you rasped when he pulled away, and when your eyes locked, he could see the adoration he felt for you reflected right back. "For as long as you will have me, I am yours."

Marcus's eyes slid closed in bliss after hearing the words he so longed to hear. "Come for me, my love. Come for me and when we return home, I shall make you my wife. I will take care of you. I promise you will never go hungry again."

Your hands grappled with the back of his head, fingers threading through his unruly locks as you pulled him down for a searing kiss. He muffled the sounds of your orgasm, cries of his name dying in your throat while your body bucked wildly beneath him.

It only took a few moments before he joined you. With his hand roughly squeezing your hip, he yanked you towards him. His body stilled, pumping you full of his seed while your tongues danced together in tandem until his shoulders sagged and you began to shake.

Marcus flicked the sheets so he could toss them over your trembling bodies. He planted kisses along the side of your head and jaw, then brushed the hair away from your face until your breathing leveled and your eyes reopened.

"Are you alright?"

You nodded and gave him a weak smile. "I am tired."

Marcus withdrew his hips, sliding his softening cock out from your clutch. You cried out in pain and he instantly jolted out of bed to soak a clean rag in some leftover warm water, then hurried back to press it between your legs.

"Better?"

"Yes," you sighed. "Thank you."

He gave you a quick kiss and slid back under the covers. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest so he could nuzzle your hair and murmur sweet nothings in your ear.

"Must you leave me in the morning? Can you not spend just one day recovering from your wound?"

Marcus kissed your bare shoulder and shook his head.

"The war is almost done. Tomorrow, I will make them surrender so we may sail home and start our life together."

You grinned and burrowed deeper under the covers. "Did you mean that?"

"What is that, my love?"

"When you said you would make me your wife," you said sheepishly. "Or was that just your mind getting lost to desire?"

"No, I meant every word," he said before rolling over and snuffing out the candle next to the bed. "When we return to Rome, I will make you my bride. You will bear my children and I will watch them play in the garden with you by my side."

You hummed and closed your eyes. "That sounds lovely."

You had very little idea of the politics in Rome and how the highest ranking general of the Roman army could possibly announce he was going to wed a poor farmer's daughter, but you knew deep down if Marcus wanted it, he would somehow make it happen. You knew this because his determination always won, on and off the battlefield.

You shift the small wooden tray — laden with fresh bread, olives, figs, and a jug of strong wine — to your other hip. The soft scrape of your sandals against the stone floor alerts Lucius to your presence. His dark gaze lifts from the water, meeting yours with the quiet intensity that you’ve come to expect. Even in the haze of sweat and steam, his presence is impossible to ignore. 

Where others would let their gaze wander lower, drifting toward the rest of his bare form submerged beneath the water, you always look at his face. It‘s there that you find what you seek: the sharp edges of your own pain and anger mirrored in his dark eyes. It’s a reflection of the hurt you carry, of all that Rome took from you both. 

“You fought well today,” you say, settling beside the pool, the water lapping at the stone. 

The words come easily, practiced—part of the familiar routine you’ve both come to rely on. Though the bath is quiet and you seem to be alone, you know better. You’ve learned the hard way that the walls have ears. Every word, every glance, carries weight here, and even in the relative solitude of this alcove, your interactions could be reported back to Macrinus. Only when you’re hidden away in the cell you share each night can you let the pretense fall away. 

Lucius hums in response as he lets his head fall back against the cool stone. His muscled arm rests on the edge of the pool and you offer him a brief, gentle touch before withdrawing. The tension in his frame eases a fraction and his eyes flutter closed, but the sharpness of his presence doesn’t fade. He’s aware of every shift in the air, every sound around him. Even in the quiet comfort of this place, Lucius is never truly off guard. 

You pick up a ripe fig, its skin velvety and fragrant, and drag it slowly through the warmed honey. Gently, you bring it to his lips, offering it with a quiet gesture. Lucius sighs—softly, almost imperceptibly—and then his lips part, taking the fruit from your fingers. As he bites into it, you feel the heat of his tongue brush against your skin. You try to ignore the traitorous feeling that springs to life in your belly. That feeling has become a frequent companion, one you never asked for, and one that sits uneasily beside the grief you still carry for your late husband.

“You must eat too,” Lucius commands. “You will need your strength for later.”

His rough words carry no real threat, but you react like they do, tucking your chin to your chest in a subtle gesture of submission. At times, it feels like a performance—like you're both actors on a stage, with an unseen audience watching every move. You eat in silence until the tray is bare and the goblet empty. When he rises from the pool, water cascading from his sun-kissed skin, you reach for the fresh robe laid carefully over the stone bench. 

“Do you wish…” you begin, lifting your eyes to Lucius, only to falter at his expression. His eyes flicker briefly past you, and then, just as swiftly, return. He gives no warning before he pulls you forward and drags you into the water. Your cry of surprise is swallowed by the splash your bodies make as ripples spread outward. The wet robes cling to you like a heavy second skin and you sink deeper into the water.

“I’ll have you here,” Lucius announces loudly. He grasps your biceps and easily forces you to straddle him. Your face shields his from the outside world. His expression softens and even as his lips part to speak, you shake your head, stopping him before the words can leave his mouth.

You understand, without needing to hear it. The two of you are no longer alone.

He leans back, arms stretched along the edge of the bath. “Ride me,” he commands. 

You struggle out of the heavy outer robe and your knuckles unwittingly brush over his abdomen. Lucius tenses beneath you. You offer him a quiet apology before withdrawing and rising to your knees. Your hips shift forward in a facsimile of his request, meeting nothing but a swell of water as you keep a careful distance from his body. He groans and you answer him with a quiet moan of your own. You rise up and down almost mechanically, staring at the chipped stone above his head. His hot breath fans over your neck, the heat of it lingering on your skin. You shudder as a warmth that has nothing to do with the pool gathers under your skin, shame twisting your insides. 

Lucius grabs your waist urging you to move faster, and the sounds of his pleasure rise in intensity. The muscles of your thighs protest, burning with effort as you hold the distance between your bodies. The air around you shifts and the murmur of conversation in the other pools begins to fade as the gladiators are drawn in, listening to your performance. The silence grows almost suffocating, but you force yourself to push through the charade. This is just one of many indignities you’ve endured since Rome descended onto the sleepy fishing village you called home. It pales to what could await you if it were gifted to a different gladiator. 

“Fuck,” Lucius growls loudly, abruptly stilling your movement to feign his pleasure. 

After a beat you gather the courage to look over your shoulder, meeting Viggo’s stare. You tense. Calloused fingertips brush lightly over your jaw, drawing your attention back to Lucius. You stare down at him, taking in the light flush of his dusky cheeks and the steady rise and fall of his chest. His touch lingers for a moment more before his hand disappears beneath the water. 

“Use my robe to cover yourself,” he instructs roughly. 

It’s then that you realize how transparent your dress has become in the water. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you slide away, only to freeze when your thigh brushes over an unexpected hardness. Your eyes jump to his and Lucius’s throat bobs, the usual intensity of his features faltering for a brief moment.

"I will fetch more wine," you stammer after a pause, your gaze flicking nervously to Viggo still lingering at the edge of the bath, all too aware that Lucius cannot leave in this state. 

Wrapping your arms around your chest, you rise from the pool. The cool air instantly prickles your damp skin. You reach for a robe nearby and pull it around you quickly, grateful for its modesty. Viggo shoots you a brief, assessing glance, but it’s Lucius who commands his attention next.

"Come to admire what isn't yours?" Lucius taunts.

He leans back casually, as though completely unfazed by the situation. It’s effortless the way he slips into his confident, unshakable mask while you hurry away, eager to break the silence and escape the strange weight of the moment.

–

The clang and clash of metal from the arena become a distant hum, fading into the background as you clean the wounds on Lucius's body. Ravi is occupied, tending to the more seriously injured men, so it falls to you to care for your gladiator. You kneel between his thighs and the coarse sand scrapes against the soft skin of your knees. The heat of the day clings to you both, the air thick with the smell of sweat and blood. But beneath it all, there's a scent you’ve come to recognize as uniquely his — a mix of earth and salt that’s oddly comforting. 

You gently press a cloth to one of the deeper gashes, cleaning away the blood before you begin stitching the wound. Lucius hisses as you draw the needle through his parted skin, and you glance up at him in concern, but his eyes are closed, his breath steady despite the discomfort. His fingers curl into the edge of the cot, gripping it tightly. You smear the thick, fragrant paste Ravi left over the wound once you’re done. 

“You’re getting better at this,” Lucius observes.

“Flesh is not so different from cloth,” you reply.

“A far cry from mending fishing nets,” he says, and for a moment, your eyes meet and you share a small, pained smile.

“And you are a long way from a farm, gladiator,” you acknowledge, shaking your head. 

You help him stand, your hands steady as you support his weight, but you pause when you spot Viggo standing in the doorway. Lately, he seems to haunt your every step, his presence a constant shadow. On instinct you shift a little closer to Lucius, your body seeking the reassurance of his proximity just as he draws you near. The subtle movement doesn’t go unnoticed. A small, knowing smile tugs at Viggo’s lips. It’s a look that sends a trickle of unease down your spine.

“Macrinus is entertaining some important guests tomorrow evening, and you are required to attend,” he announces looking at Lucius. “They wish to see a real gladiator up close, to witness your strength and skill firsthand.”

Then, to your surprise, Viggo turns his gaze toward you. “Your presence is also required,” he adds. Although his tone is casual there's an edge to it that makes your stomach tighten.

Lucius doesn’t speak, but his fingers flex against your hip as he considers the other man’s command. You both know there’s little room for refusal when it comes to Macrinus.

“I understand-” you say at the same time Lucius’s voice cuts through the silence, low and firm.

“She is not needed. I alone will attend.” 

His gaze never leaves Viggo, and you can see the challenge in his eyes. It’s an attempt to shield you, one you appreciate but understand is futile. 

Viggo’s smile remains unchanged. “Macrinus insists.”

The matter is settled and you bow your head, waiting for the other man to leave. Once he is gone you look to Lucius, voice tinged with concern. 

“You should not challenge him.”

Lucius steps away, anger rolling off him in waves. “And you should not submit so easily.”

You touch your throat, then turn away to busy yourself with the bloody scraps of cloth and scattered supplies. There’s no point in arguing. You know the truth: that sometimes submission is the only way to survive in a world ruled by men like Macrinus. As you work the silence between you stretches on, thick and charged before Lucius steps toward you. 

He sighs, his breath warm against the back of your neck. A moment later, his hand rests on your shoulder. The calloused pads of his fingers graze the nape of your neck, sending a fleeting sense of unexpected longing through you as they briefly sweep over your skin.

“I….” His voice trails off and you close your eyes.

“I know,” you say quietly. 

So much of what transpires between you seems left unsaid. You reach back, your hand finding his briefly as the two of you share a quiet moment before he must return to the arena. 

–

The bangles on your wrist are heavy and ornate, far too extravagant for a slave. They feel less like adornments and more like shackles. Beside you, Lucius looks equally as uncomfortable in his fine clothes. They’ve trimmed his beard and his tunic—lined with gold thread—glimmers in the dim light. From across the room, Macrinus raises his goblet to the two of you. All around you his guests mingle, sharing hushed conversation and knowing smirks that deepen your discomfort. 

The servants, once familiar to you from your time as a slave working in Macrinus's kitchen, all avoid your gaze. You spent years alongside them before you were plucked from that world and thrust into Lucius's service. Their hesitation, the way they look past you, is more than simple discomfort, it’s a warning you don’t yet understand. Your fingers tremble where they rest on Lucius’s arm.

“Something is not right,” you whisper, fear rising in your throat.

Before Lucius can reply, the conversation around you falters, and the air grows still as Macrinus moves to the center of the room. Then, with a sharp clap of his hands, the noise dies completely. 

“Our entertainment is about to begin,” he announces, beckoning you forward.

As you approach, his eyes drift between you and Lucius. His smile widens, though it never quite reaches his eyes. “I hope you enjoyed your meal. You’ll both need your strength for the show,” he says. 

“I am to fight?” Lucius questions, his voice edged with suspicion.

“No, not today,” Macrinus replies. “My guests are eager for a performance of another kind.”

Your brow furrows and Lucius stares blankly at Macrinus until two servants, moving in unison, pull a table forward. It is laden with the remnants of the earlier feast — half-finished plates, empty goblets, and discarded silverware. They work to clear away the table until it is left bare. 

“It is no bed, but it’s finer than your cot,” Macrinus assures.  

Lucius jerks back as if struck, his body stiffening in shock while cold dread settles over your shoulder as you both understand Macrinus’s meaning. He watches the small exchange between the two of you with amusement.

“Or, if you prefer not to,” he offers, watching Lucius intently. His voice is smooth with mock consideration as he continues speaking. “I’m sure another gladiator would gladly take your place.”

“No,” Lucius snarls. Before he can move, you dig your nails into his forearm, trying desperately to hold him in place.

Macrinus leans in close, his next words meant only for the two of you. “I expect a good show. Not like that mummer's farce in the bath.”

Ugly surprise washes over you as the full reality of your situation sinks in. Beside you, Lucius shifts and you see the familiar spark in his eyes. It’s the look he gets before a fight when the fire that lives inside him is ready to explode and consume everything in its path. You’ve seen it a thousand times in the arena, and it always ends the same way: with blood. 

You almost wish you could let him fight, but you know better. You step closer to Lucius, your presence a quiet plea for him to stop. It takes a moment before he meets your gaze and when he does you see the pain beneath the rage, the knowledge that this moment is slipping beyond his control. 

There’s no glory in this—only survival. Yet that truth doesn’t make it any easier to watch the fire in his eyes fade as he steps back. It’s the kind of defeat that no arena or battle could ever impose on him. 

“My guests are eager for the show,” Macrinus says and gestures to the table. 

You straighten your shoulders, willing your body to follow the courage your mind struggles to summon. Lucius follows with heavy footsteps. You stop before the table, heart pounding, and take a slow, steadying breath to gather your resolve before you turn to face your gladiator. You know the role you’re meant to play, this moment is just another part of the spectacle your life has become.

Without a word, Lucius steps closer and his hands come to rest on your hips, guiding you to sit on the edge of the table. When he moves between your legs, you can’t read his expression. Unexpectedly, one of his large hands cups the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheekbone. He leans in, his forehead pressing against yours.

“Focus on me,” he urges. “It is just us here, no one else matters. Do not think of them. Do not think of anything but me.”

His words are a command and a reassurance all at once, grounding you in the moment even as your pulse quickens. 

When he speaks again, his voice is louder, carrying across the room. “Lay back.”

The table is hard and cold beneath you as you follow his instruction, the chill seeping through the thin silks you wear. Lucius pulls you forward until you’re at the very edge, your legs hanging loosely off the sides. Gently, your dress is peeled away until you’re bare to him. His broad frame blocks the crowd from seeing much but you still feel vulnerable and exposed. You curl your fingers into the palms of your hands, trying to remember Lucius’s words as you close your eyes.

The murmurs of the observers increase, and you feel them shift, edging closer. Then, a woman’s gasp cuts through the tension, followed by a wave of hushed surprise that ripples through the gathered Romans. When you open your eyes you can only see the top of Lucius’s head from where he kneels between your thighs. Guilty anticipation zips through you, followed by a spark of heat that flickers low in your stomach at the sudden realization of what he intends to do. 

“Barbaric,” a man utters, his voice thick with disdain.

“Now now,” Macrinus says with a slight chuckle. “Remember, our gladiator hails from Numidia. Their customs are not ours."

The first touch from Lucius is barely there, a whisper of contact against your inner thigh, but it grows firmer the higher his fingers climb. Instinctively, you hold your breath, waiting for him to reach the most sacred part of you. At the first touch of his mouth to you, the rest of the world fades away.

Lucius builds your pleasure with slow, steady strokes while his calloused hands knead your thighs. His touch is an anchor and spark all at once. There is little resistance when he curls a finger inside. A second joins the first a moment later and without thought, you thread your fingers into his curls. A long, shuddering moan leaves him, and the vibration tightens the coil in your belly. Lucius’s touch grows rougher and more demanding. He drinks from you like he’s starved for it, as if every drop is the only thing keeping him alive while his fingers work you open.

You come with a throaty cry, your hips leaving the table. Every nerve in your body is alight. You cannot help but hold Lucius against you until the mere brush of his nose against your center makes you quake again, sending waves of warmth through your veins. As much as you want him to stop, you’re desperate for him to continue and keep you in this moment where nothing but the two of you exist. 

Lucius pulls away and reality crashes in with starting clarity while the eyes of the crowd cut through you like a thousand sharp edges. Before it all overwhelms you, he climbs onto the table. He lowers himself onto his forearms and the weight of him presses against you.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs.  

You open your mouth but the words you want to say seem to get caught, trapped somewhere between your chest and your lips. To your surprise, wetness gathers at the corner of your eyes. But even that feels like something you can't fully surrender to. You’re trapped in this strange, painful moment where nothing feels real and everything feels too real all at once. It’s all too much – his tenderness and the horror of the situation.

There’s a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in Lucius’s expression in response, but it’s enough to reveal something beneath the surface and allow you to see the guilt he bears. The lines around his eyes seem to deepen and the tension in his expression makes him look older, wearier, and more vulnerable than you've ever seen him. The desire to soothe him is enough to break the strange spell on you.

"All is well," you assure him, gently brushing your nose against his. “I am no maiden.”

“Fuck her already,” a voice shouts and Lucius pulls back, his handsome face twisting into a snarl. You feel the tension in his muscles, coiling like a spring, ready to snap—and a knot of anxiety tightens in your chest. 

You breathe his name, soft and pleading, and he stills, the clench of his jaw betraying the war within. “It is only us,” you remind him, repeating his own words back to him. 

He stares down at you, nostrils flaring and then suddenly he bows his head. You feel the fight leave him as he chooses restraint over the violence you both know he’s capable of.

"Only us," he replies, strained. 

You hold his gaze as you feel his knuckles brush against your inner thigh to line himself up. He pushes inside slowly and you lift your hips. Your body welcomes him with only the briefest flare of pain, eased by his earlier attention. 

“Oh,” you gasp.

Your eyes close as he fills you completely. The sensation is both comforting and alien all at once. You can’t help but think of your late husband, so different from Lucius in every way. You wonder fleetingly if the man above you is thinking of his lost love too. Does that unspoken grief weigh on him as heavily as it does on you?

Before your mind can wander further, Lucius begins to move and your thoughts fizzle out. He curls his powerful body over yours and keeps up a steady pace that makes your skin buzz. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and the smell of him surrounds you, familiar and comforting. As you move together each breath and shift of your body becomes a silent conversation between only the two of you. 

“Gods,” he groans into your ear. “You take me so well.”

His unexpected praise has you rocking into him, needy for more. The table creaks each time he thrusts back into you. His lips trail along your neck and you feel that familiar climb to ecstasy begin, like a delicate crescendo inside you. Your nails dig into his skin and his rhythm stutters. 

“Sweet girl,” Lucius sighs, pulling back just far enough to meet your gaze.

The tenderness in his eyes is unexpected. Since Macrinus gifted you to Lucius nearly six months ago, you’ve shared many looks; full of pain and grief, anger and understanding, but this is something new, fragile. You stroke his cheek and he surges forward, kissing you roughly.

His lips on yours are a revelation. A storm of emotion rolls through your chest, crystallizing into the realization that you want him. You long for him in a way that goes beyond the need for protection, or a desire for connection. You grasp his face in both hands, your fingers trembling against the hard line of his jaw, and return the kiss with urgency. It’s desperate, almost frantic, as though you’re trying to pull him closer, to merge with him in a way that makes the world outside of the two of you disappear. 

He responds with a sharp thrust, angled so perfectly that it sends a flash of heat up your spine. You taste yourself on him when his tongue delves into your mouth. He hardly lets you catch a breath as he pours himself into you over and over until another orgasm washes through you. It’s more intense than the last, bleeding into his own as he comes with a quiet moan. 

He gives a few more thrusts and stills, his lips hovering over yours as you share the same air. Your thumbs stroke the soft skin under his eyes and you hold his gaze. In the depths of it, you feel a thousand words rising in your chest, aching to spill out, but you are all too aware you’re not alone. 

Before you let the world back in you tilt your chin up, lips brushing over his in a slow, tender kiss that he returns with heartbreaking gentleness. When you finally pull apart, the applause from Macrinus makes you flinch, and Lucius’s expression clouds over.

“What a performance,” Macrinus exclaims.

A titter of applause follows from the audience as though they’ve witnessed something to be praised. Lucius pulls away and you wince as he slips from inside you. A trickle of his seed follows and cold air blankets your body. You curl in on yourself, feeling vulnerable and anxious. When Lucius moves to stand, he carefully pulls your dress to cover you. Then, he helps you upright, and draws you into his side, shielding you with his body. He lifts his chin and offers the crowd a sharp, almost vicious smirk that’s more a baring of teeth than a smile. 

“I thought you might fuck like you fight,” Macrinus says. He lays a hand on Lucius’s shoulder like they are old friends and leans close. “I’m pleased to see that I was wrong.”

There’s some other meaning in his words that you don’t catch but Lucius seems to understand. Anger flickers across his face, but beneath it, you see something more unsettling, something you’ve never seen before. Fear. 

“We will do a great many things together, I think,” Macrinus continues in a pleased tone, his gaze lingering on the hand Lucius settles possessively on your hip. “A great many things.”

This time when he smiles it reaches his eyes; cold, calculating, and full of something far more sinister.

You spend the rest of the party seated on Lucius’s lap, his arm banded around your waist while the other rests on your thigh. He’s tense and angry as you expect but his focus seems distant, lost somewhere far beyond the room. He rubs the fabric of your dress between his thumb and forefinger, the motion almost absentminded. The wine you sip is overly sweet and sits like a sour stone in your belly. Neither of you speak. Occasionally, some guests, perhaps emboldened by drink or bravery, approach, but Lucius quickly sends them on their way with nothing more than a look. 

Only once the party dies down are you dismissed by Viggo. On the journey back to your cell Lucius’s grip on you remains firm, as if he's afraid you might slip away. He doesn't speak, and you notice every so often, his free hand curls into a tight fist at his side, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. It’s not until the door closes behind you, locking you both inside the small, dimly lit space, that Lucius finally speaks. 

"You know my true name,” he begins pacing the length of the cell. “But there are things I have not told you."  

He speaks slowly, each word carefully measured, as though he’s weighing the cost of revealing what’s hidden. He tells you the truth of his origin, and with each sentence, you sink deeper into the thin cot you both share, the weight of his words pressing down on you. When he finally falls silent, you remain there, frozen. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, but none of them seem to form into anything coherent. 

"Does this mean-" you begin, words faltering as you try to process the magnitude of what he’s revealed to you. “Does this mean… you are the rightful emperor?”

“I am.” There’s no pride in his admission, only worry. He releases a harsh breath through his nose like he’s trying to clear something from his chest before he speaks again. “There is a plan in place, with my mother and Acacius, but he will not return from Persia for several weeks yet. We cannot wait for them.”

“What has changed?”

“Surely you must know,” he whispers, regarding you softly.  

You shake your head, a quick, instinctive denial, but a deeper part of you already understands. Or perhaps, hopes you do.  

“You," he says simply. 

It’s the way he says it, so certain and knowing, that makes your breath catch. You stare at him and your heart throbs in your chest, low and sweet like a song.

“I never thought I could want someone again,” he admits. His unexpected words summon the ghost of all you've both lost, and they rise between you like a shadow, lingering for a long painful moment. "I thought it would feel like..." His words trail off.

“A betrayal,” you finish for him, keenly aware of what he must feel. 

The vulnerable look on his face awakens something deep and real inside you that you never expected to feel again. You rise from the cot without thinking and move to stand before him.  

"It feels right," he continues, his voice softer now, but no less certain. "As easy as breathing." 

And then he kisses you, tentative at first, before he grasps your jaw, seeking more of you. The way he holds you, possessively, protectively, makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters, like you're his lifeline in a world that’s about to crumble. It fills you with such longing that you chase his lips when they part from yours.

"Macrinus knows now. And he is planning something," Lucius says, his voice tight with urgency, "and whatever it is, it will be at odds with the good of Rome. He will use you to get to me. And I cannot lose you."

“What will you do?” You ask.

"I'll send word to my mother in the morning," he replies. "You and she must leave Rome. It’s the only way."

You shake your head, unwilling to part from him.

“I will come for you when it is safe,” he promises, capturing your lips in another kiss before he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. "But tonight… tonight, I need you again. Will you have me?” He questions.  

You answer him with your lips and he gathers you in his arms. The coarseness of his beard against your chin and the firm press of his lips to yours ignites a bone-deep need within. Suddenly all the danger, the uncertainty, and the inevitability of what’s to come fades into the background. It's just the two of you, the heat of his touch, the depth of his kiss, and the unspoken promise in his embrace. 

When he pulls you down on the cot, urging you on top of him, you let his momentum carry you. 

“Ride me,” he pleads desperately, framing your hips with his hands. 

He gazes up at you with such a mix of desperation and love that you couldn’t deny him, even if you wanted to. The shudder he gives when you take him in hand emboldens you to stroke his length. He groans and pushes his head back, exposing his thickly corded neck. You rise up and sink down on him slowly, savoring each inch. It’s near perfect how he fills you, and even though you’re still sore from earlier, the blend of pain and pleasure thrills you too much to stop. 

“Your dress,” he pants, “remove it. Please. I want to see you. All of you.”

You pull the fabric from your body and shed the bangles on your wrist while Lucius removes his tunic. You’re familiar with every inch of his body from tending to his wounds and time in the bathhouse, but you gaze down at him now with renewed appreciation, resting your hands on his firm shoulders. His eyes are filled with affection and desire as they roam your body. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praises. 

He cups your breasts and draws his thumbs across your nipples until they grow hard. The touch sends sparks of pleasure along your nerves and you twitch around him. He moans and rolls his hips. His arms encircle you, holding you close while he fucks you with strong, powerful thrusts. You bury your face in his neck and drag his skin between your teeth. He answers your action with a groan. 

“Gods, the way you feel. You’re perfect,” he praises. 

You sit up and plant your hands on his chest, moving your hips to take him deeper. You gasp his name and arch your back, rocking forward with an urgent need that eclipses everything else. For the first time in what feels like forever, you close your eyes and let yourself simply feel. There’s no need to shield yourself, no barriers to maintain.

“Look at me,” Lucius begs, grasping your waist to take control of your movements.

Your eyes flutter open and meet his, the beginning of your orgasm rising to the surface like a tide pushing its way to shore. It grows steadily until it finally crashes over you, flooding your senses and leaving you breathless in its wake. Lucius finds his own end moments after with a low, shuddering gasp. It takes several moments for your breathing to return to normal and when it does Lucius sweeps his hands up your sides comfortingly.

"Stay with me like this,” he asks. 

You acquiesce and he gently guides you to rest your cheek against his chest. His hand slides to the middle of your back, his palm warm and steady as he holds you close. Even though he remains inside you still your body relaxes, pooling in his. You close your eyes and listen to the steady drum of his heart, feeling a profound sense of stillness. 

You’ve always felt safe in Lucius’s arms, but now, you feel loved in a way you never dreamed you’d experience again. It’s a kind of peace that settles into you, filling all the broken, hollow spaces in your heart where your grief and pain have lingered for so long.

Whatever comes next, his love and strength are something you can hold onto. And for now, that is all you need. 

♡

Also part of this series:

Ab Initio

Finis

Protego te

Jacaerys, your older brother turned to face you next, and he was about to speak. Though already sensing what he was going to say, you spoke again to halt his words. “I know my way through Spicetown and its beaches,” you began. “Surely spotting Seasmoke and his rider is an easy task.” You added, since you’ve been known to ride out often on your dragon to explore, taking after your mother Rhaenyra to which the latter now could see the stubbornness she once possessed. 

“Your grace, if I may,” interjected Lord Simon as he looked at you then back at Rhaenyra. “The princess has a habit of scouting Dragonstone and nearby islands, surely Spicetown had been one of them.” You offer Lord Simon a thankful nod before facing your mother once more. 

Picking at your gloves that you held in hand, Rhaenyra could see the determination in your eyes that reflected her youth. “Do you promise to–” “I would get back at once if I deem the situation inoperative.” Shutting down her doubts, Rhaenyra swallowed thickly. 

“Sister, you do realize what you might face?” Jacaerys then comes walking around the table to stop by you, his brown eyes scanning you as if searching for an ounce of hesitation that he couldn’t find even if he tried. You saw and knew what that look meant, both of your minds running over the memory of Lucerys, and you could not blame him so. 

 “Trust me brother, no harm shall come to me.” You replied, meeting your brother’s gaze, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving a squeeze which Jacaerys only sucked in a breath, his hand gliding to the hilt of his sword again, a habit he acquired when he thought deeply. He bowed his head, free hand placing itself on top of yours on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “You promise.” He said. 

Rhaenyra saw the interaction between her two oldest children and her chest panged, two of her oldest children forced to fight for their birthright and for her, their mother. “Then it is done, (Y/N), you shall seek Seasmoke and find its rider at once.” Rhaenyra voiced, though anyone heard the lace of care in her tone. 

You looked up and nodded, feeling emboldened by the task given. Looking out the window, the sun was still high and up, and there was no more time to waste. 

Taking a bow, you took in a breath. “I shall see to it, your grace.” You said before bowing and turning on your heel to prepare. 

Once being donned in layers fit for dragonback, you quickly rushed to the hallway leading to the inside of the dragonmont, the atmosphere heating as well as the sight and smell of smoke filled your senses. 

At once, the dragonkeepers had already called upon your dragon, screeching at once as it sensed your presence. Approaching the magnificent creature, you breathed in as you placed your palm against its snout. “Lykirī (be calm), Naerax.” You hummed. The dragon crooned and you looked it in the eye. “Ready for another adventure?” You grinned, before hopping and strapping yourself onto the saddle. 

Breathing in, you nodded and tugged on your saddle, sending Naerax screeching before spreading its wings and taking flight, easily gliding out the mountains and out into the skies, Dragonstone shrinking from view.

It had been a while of flying, keeping your eyes peeled as you finally were able to make out the forms of Spicetown and the beaches scattered upon it, diving lower, you tried to find a sign of Seasmoke somehow, the silver-grey dragon seemed to be nowhere in sight. 

Until you had rounded into a particular patch of land, sands white and unoccupied, except for what you had been looking for. 

And there surely was Seasmoke upon the ground, a silhouette of a person standing in front of it. Naerax’s cries only further confirmed your thoughts and was enough to echo in the sky, Seasmoke screeching in turn as you quickly manoeuvred, circling the area before diving down onto the beach a good few yards away from Seasmoke and his new rider. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, never really having a plan once you’ve found them, but you steeled yourself, quickly sliding off the saddle and letting your feet touch the sandy ground after a while of patrolling the skies. 

Standing there, you couldn’t really make out the appearance of the rider but you had guessed it was a man, possibly residing from Driftmark. 

The two of you stood in utter silence, only both your dragons roaring at each other, until he had the gall to walk forward, Seasmoke following in tow as you turned over your mind for possibilities of how this interaction would go. 

Dragghar decided that the man had walked close enough as it sent a warning bellow, succeeding in making the man stop. This was the opportunity given to take a closer look at him, a tall young man by your age from the looks of things, having a skin of deep umber, face contorted to an apprehensive expression. 

After another beat of silence, you began. “You stand before the daughter of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with a dragon of House Targaryen.”  You shouted, making your voice firm as you kept your gaze onto him and Seasmoke behind him. 

“I had no design upon it!” The man had shouted back, voice full and deep. You furrow your brows in turn. “What do you want?” You asked, “To learn the ways of dragonriders,” Came his reply.

You were about to counter his request when he did something you were not expecting at that time. He knelt before you, “And to serve the queen!” He followed, bowing his head down. 

It sent you stunned, blinking back as you stared at him, still wary of his quick submission as the dragons continued to grumble at one another, with a sharp intake of breath, you slowly began to walk towards him, Naerax following suit, dragging his wings across the sand as it crawled, Seasmoke bracing as he roared at the two of you. 

“You kneel so quickly, for a man who’s suddenly elevated.” You commented, gaze switching from the man to Seasmoke. “This dragon came to me, not I to him.” He responded, his gaze never wavering from yours, you had to applaud his integrity.

“I have sweated blood in service of House Velaryon,” He continued, pausing and swallowing before gesturing to himself, still knelt.

“I may appear lowborn, but I know much and more of service… and if the Gods call me to greater things, who am I to refuse them?” He finished, huffing a breath as he looked at you, willing you to believe. 

The hand that was resting on the hilt of your dagger suddenly loosened as the wariness slowly started to ebb away with the waves crashing against the shore, the air feeling suddenly cool. Your feet had made the decision to walk towards him, stopping right across from him. “Is what you say true?” You questioned as you looked down at him. “I swear it, my lady.” 

“Stand.” You said, watching as the man seemed to be flooded in relief as he slowly stood back up to his full height. Remembering your mother’s task, you straightened yourself.

“What is your parentage?” You asked, tilting your head at him, seeing his features crease before answering. “My mother was a shipwright. My father is… no one of consequence.” The last part he uttered with a tone of indifference. 

Nodding, you continued to ask. “Your ancestors, do they happen to be of House Targaryen?” 

“We’re not the sort of family to keep annals, my lady.” He responded, by now he seems much more relaxed, which meant the most since there was no ounce of hostility from both parties moving forward. “What is your name?” You asked as he answered without missing a beat. “Addam… of Hull.” So you were right in your suspicions that he resided in Driftmark. 

Seasmoke grumbled in the background as you nodded. “You have done something my mother, the Queen, had feared unimaginable, Addam… the Queen will be most glad of it.” 

Addam then turned to face Seasmoke and back at you, a small grin settling on his face as he exhaled in relief, nodding as the words sinked in, feeling somewhat gratified.

“Thank you, my lady.” “(Y/N).” You offered with a smile settling on your own lips. “(Y/N).” He repeated, never had your name sounded so pleasant before. 

With this, a playful air began to take hold as you grinned. “Think you could get him to Dragonstone, then?” You asked, jerking your head to Seasmoke who grumbled. Addam blinked for a moment, never thinking to travel that far before, much less on dragonback. “I can try.” He chuckled nervously. 

And so, you were delighted that Addam had sided with the Queen, your mother. 

Climbing back on Naerax, you watched as Addam did the same on Seasmoke, the greyish creature letting Addam take his time as you rounded Naerax, tugging on the ropes as your dragon obliged, screeching and running before spreading its wings once more, a gust of dust left as Naerax took to the skies once more. As Addam and Seasmoke made it off the ground, you gestured for him to follow.  “Sōvēs (Fly), Naerax.” You commanded, heading for Dragonstone. 

Naerax calls out once Dragonstone comes to view, making you glance to see Addam following, though he didn’t look too well at the moment, making you laugh as you gestured for him to follow and show where to land the dragon. 

After dismounting, the two of you were making your way to the castle.

Rhaenyra was pacing back and forth as Jacaerys had been gripping the pommel of his sword tightly, knuckles turning white until Baela had to talk to him to calm him down. At once, a member of the Queensgard approached and Rhaenyra snapped to look at them, face expecting the news as the knight bowed. “The princess is unharmed.” 

Rhaenyra felt the tensions seep away from her veins as she sighed in relief, also with Jacaerys letting out a breath while Baela was glad of the news. “What of the rider? Do we know who he is?” Came Corlys Velaryon’s questions. 

“He appears to be a shipwright in your employ, Lord Hand.” Answered by Maester Gerardys. “A commoner? With respect to your workers, Lord Corlys, the lowborn cannot go around seizing dragons. Has the thief been secured?” Lord Baltimos conveyed. Rhaenyra’s brows furrowed and she was about to speak when in came (Y/N) Targaryen with Addam of Hull, immediately turning heads as they stopped inside the hall. 

“He is no thief, Lord Baltimos.” You spoke as Addam stood beside you, Rhaenyra then watched closely the man who Seasmoke now claimed as his rider. “Seasmoke had come to him and chose him as its rider, and I am sure no one in their right mind would face a dragon so willingly.” You defended. Glancing beside Addam, you nodded for him to speak.

 “Your grace, I am Addam, of Hull…” he began,swallowing as he ignored eyes on him and solely focused on Rhaenyra, bowing, “I realize a great power had been given to me, and I may know nothing of what awaits me from this day forth, but I stand here now to swear on my allegiance and with the belief that the Gods steered me to this path, to serve you, my Queen.” He voiced firmly, never wavering. 

Rhaenyra looked at him then at you, knowing that she trusts her daughter with her own calls, and if her daughter deemed him enough to come and lay bare here on Dragonstone, with his words so sincere and determined, Rhaenyra took a deep breath. “Very well, Addam of Hull.” She began. “He is here to remain as a guest, so as to be instructed in the art of dragonriding, teach him some High Valyrian.” Rhaenyra voiced. “With the help of maester Gerardys and the princess.” You blinked but nodded. “Of course, your grace.”

Thus, as the days blended, Rhaenyra had monitored Addam’s progress, further fueling her idea just might work as she spent relearning countless Targaryen lineages whilst Jacaerys seemed to resent the whole idea of other people who had the chance of dragonseed to simply up and claim a dragon, after having suffered to be proclaimed to be a bastard his whole life, but war was brewing and he as many others knew, needed the additional resources if they wanted the chance to bring down the Greens. 

With you, you had taken your time with Addam, often alternating with maester Gerardys to teach him, often bearing witness to his fails and successes when you stayed behind and watched, thus this allowed a small bond to be formed between the two of you. 

Now, you were with Addam again, at one of the many balconies in Dragonstone.

“Repeat after me, ‘rȳbās’, it means listen.” You explained, accentuating your High Valyrian as Addam looked at you with a hint of a fond gaze as he cleared his throat, repeating the command as best as he could. “That’s good.” You praised, smiling.

“A little more firmness to it might do good, but you’re a fast learner.” You added. 

“Must be because I have an impressive guide, won’t you say so?” He grinned boyishly, making you roll your eyes. “You did not say that the last time you slipped on Seasmoke’s saddle and almost smacked to the ground.” You teased with a light shrug as you flipped the pages on the tome.

“No, no, my boot got caught on the ropes!” He defended lightly, making you both laugh. “Something really bad could’ve happened to me, have you not thought of that?” He jested, face souring in mock hurt making you nod and play along. “Oh yes, I have, but your squeals proved far more entertaining.” 

Rhaenyra had been observing the interaction without the pair’s knowledge, finding it almost special as Addam had proved himself to be a man of integrity indeed and was quick to learn through his efforts, but now her daughter had a different certain glow to her as the days passed as Addam resided here in Dragonstone, and the two had only gone closer it seemed. 

𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 — 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

Yet, as he lay in his tent, feeling the bitter sting of what pain could bring, face-to-face with carnage, he felt some semblance of fear. It was the only time that a man could ever be brave, in the face of such strife. The Riverlands were occupied by Ser Criston Cole for some time, and in the name of the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Cregan Stark aimed to reclaim it.

The road to the Riverlands had been a lengthy one, hard on his force of Winter Wolves, greybeards that itched for combat. They were met with resistance at every turn after crossing the Twins, yet they endured, still a force of nearly two-thousand men.

More were on their way from the North, bannermen of all ilk and family called to-arms at Winterfell, to ride North and join his forces in the Riverlands. Despite his youthful age of one-and-twenty, Cregan was a fierce and proficient fighter, better than a great deal of the men under his command.

Struck by a stray arrow and slashed with a blade, he bared his injuries incredibly well — better than most. Cregan’s stalwart, hardened exterior served him well, never giving way to the pain he felt beneath. The arrow had gone clean through, thankfully. Much of his recovery was simply bandages and time.

He chafed at the notion of being bound to his tent for days on-end — he wanted to be with his men, helming any attacks, leading them to victory. He was useless here, abdomen wrapped in soiled bandages, laid-up and no good to anyone.

The healers who passed through all possessed older, wrinkled faces — men who had seen countless wars, perhaps thrice his age, acclaimed in talent and skill with the art of mending wounds and sewing bone together.

Imagine Cregan’s bewilderment when a young woman entered his tent one dismal morning.

You couldn’t have been much younger than him, clad in a tattered, coarse dress with a hem steeped in mud, white apron sullied with countless stains. Much of the cruor on your garments wasn’t your own, the blood of Stark men, men from White Harbor.

“Good morrow, Lord Stark.” The songbird’s lull of your voice had made him unusually calm, as if able to quell the growing tide of irritation he’d felt with his inaction. You brought with you a basket of supplies, tools of the trade that you had to scrounge around to get.

Men never looked upon a woman-healer with interest or a desire to teach — much of what you knew was from your own mother, or things you’d observed and taught yourself from piles of books at your disposal. Though, you found yourself excelling within your area of expertise.

Perplexed, Cregan watched you hawkishly, sluggishly sitting up from his bed of furs, a low grunt escaping him in the process. “My Lady,” He greeted with a nod of his head, muscles aching and sore from the clashes and skirmishes, coupled with time spent on the road. “You are a new face.”

Part of you wondered if he would take offense, given that you were a lady, but you decided not to address it. “I certainly hope that it isn’t a disappointment,” You mused, placing your supplies down at his bedside. “Other hands were needed elsewhere.”

He wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.

Cregan found you to be breathtakingly beautiful — it took one stolen glance for him to discern that. Your very presence seemed to flourish with warmth and amiability. It was a welcome change from the old men who poked and prodded at him, and he wouldn’t complain about being in the presence of someone his own age.

With a huff, he shook his head, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his visage. “Not at all,” He murmured, studying you with a thinly-veiled intrigue. “A welcome change.” Cregan replied, catching your amiable smile, as warm and as bright as the first inkling of springtime.

You had seen Cregan only in-passing, brief moments where you spotted the young Lord atop his dark steed, or stomping through muddied encampments alongside his soldiers. Now, up-close, you realized how young he really looked, with a youthful, babyish visage that did not match his stony expression or wisened, gray eyes.

“You say that now, but you’ll have to get used to me first, my Lord.” You mused, reaching for the first wrap of his soiled bandages. It was easier to make small-talk in the midst of situations like these — it often eased your nerves, gave you something else to think about.

Cregan moved his arms just enough, allowing you to unravel the crimson-crusted bandages. There was some momentary relief, without the scratching and irritation of coarse linen, wounds exposed to the lick of fresh air.

A steady exhale escaped him, and he watched as you discarded the bandages, fetching more from your basket, coupled with some strange poultice in a jar. He did not recall his former caretakers ever giving him something like that, and he refused Milk of the Poppy.

“How long have you had an interest in this?” Cregan inquired, genuinely interested in what led you down such a path. It wasn’t commonplace for a woman of your station, not in the slightest. He would never discourage it, but he was itching to know.

As you wrung out a cloth of hot water, you brought it to his left shoulder, thick and burly with muscle, gingerly swiping over the wound to clean it. “Many years,” You hummed, brows furrowing together in concentration. “My father didn’t like it, but I learned what I could from others.”

Cregan was the stoic sort, an indomitable mountain of a man who appeared so rugged and indifferent, yet he possessed a gentle hand and heart when away from wandering eyes. He listened attentively, soothed by the tenderness in your touch.

Becoming a Maester was something you’d desired in your youth, yet the Citadel never allowed for women to study and attain the position. You were left to your own devices, a life of healing and service to those who needed it most, and you were content with that. You would forge your own Maester’s Chain.

You then pressed the cloth against the still-swollen gash from the sword across his abdomen, the flesh around it somewhat angry and reddened. “You took quite a beating. I have no desire to see who was on the other end of your blade.”

A soft huff escaped him as he rolled his shoulders, dwarfing you completely in size and stature. Even for a man of his youth, he seemed imposing, larger than plenty of young men his age. “Best not to dwell on it,” He grunted, stormy hues following you wherever you went. “You are not a Northerner.”

The lack of a Northern accent gave it away, but you also spoke properly and eloquently, as if you had been raised somewhere with plenty of civility. “The Stormlands — I am from Bronzegate.” You replied, which happened to earn you a very threadbare smile from Lord Stark.

“A Southerner, then,” A twinge of amusement seemed interwoven with his gruff, husky timbre, a voice that you were rather charmed by. He was mesmerizing to listen to, Northern dialect and deeper voice marked by a stalwart calm. “What are you doing here?”

As you cleaned away the sluggish ooze of cruor, you ensured that his wounds were free of dirt or dried blood, inspecting them for infection. “Finding my way in the world,” You confessed, reaching for the jar of herbal poultice, a salve that you had made yourself. “As we all are.”

Cregan could respect your honesty and earnestness in knowing that you didn’t know what you were doing with your life — sometimes, he didn’t know, either. It was easy to forget oneself when tasked with the charge of leadership, easy to allow it to become a burden instead of a challenge.

Dipping your fingertips into the salve, you gently spread it across the wound on his shoulder, the strange concoction icy against his hot flesh. “What is that?” He questioned, the unusual smell of it stinging his nostrils. Whatever it was, it felt incredible.

“A salve that I made,” You chimed, clicking your tongue as you concentrated on spreading it thin, layering it across his skin. “It’s not something conventional. I exchanged certain herbs for others, and added something of my own. It takes the sting away, numbs the flesh around the wound.”

It did take the sting away, as you said, and soothed his wound at the same time. Cregan admired your ingenuity, charmed and ensnared by you. He hadn’t expected to enjoy your company as much as he was, which was always enough to draw some concern.

A union formed out of wedlock was a dangerous one, but these were perilous times, in the midst of war. He was bound to no one — he had no one. Gray hues silently appraised you, and whenever you got close enough, he could feel your sweet breath upon his flesh, smell the faint aroma of wildflowers and a dab of honey.

“If you are willing, I’d like to have your ingredients. It would be worthwhile for the rest of the healers to craft it, too. Do not waste it all on me.” Cregan rumbled, a soft sigh of relief escaping him as you spread the poultice all along the gash across his abdomen.

The instantaneous relief he felt made him relax, the tension unfurling within his shoulders. Once the salve began to dry just slightly, you took to bandaging him again, nearly chest-to-chest with him when you wrapped the linen around his torso.

Cregan’s jaw tensed, muscles tightening whenever you pressed closer, even if the action was a necessity. You felt the onslaught of warmth creep into your features, goosebumps cascading down your spine with the intensity of his gaze.

You happened to meet his smoldering stare for just a moment, butterflies swelling within the pit of your stomach, followed by a rush of heat that seeped into your very bones. “I will provide you with the list tomorrow.” You murmured, finishing wrapping up his wound.

The arrow puncture on his shoulder was something that you covered in a few layers of sturdier medicinal cloth, before wrapping it once to keep it stable. You had backed away slightly, the close proximity having made your nerves spark to life.

It was a warmth and intimacy that you hadn’t touched before, unfamiliar yet wild with curiosity. Perhaps you had a tryst with a young man back in Bronzegate, but never to this degree of intensity. Cregan gazed at you as if you were the only one to exist.

“I am finished here,” That was enough to shatter Cregan’s incendiary look, the heat dissipating from his gray hues. His visage resumed that stone-faced look, and he suddenly remembered himself and the bonds of propriety. “I will visit tomorrow with your list, if that’s all you need from me.”

He noticed how you straightened, posture somewhat rigid, fingertips stained in dried blood and cruor. You retrieved what supplies you had, placing them all back into your basket before you curtsied, as a Lady would before a Lord.

“You do not have to bow, my Lady,” Cregan assured, standing to his feet with a strenuous grunt. He was massive even when sitting before you, but seeing him upright and so close — Gods take you for the things you began to ponder and imagine. “I am grateful for your aid in these dour times.”

Cregan was as stubborn as an old mule, despite being so young. Rarely did he accept help from other people, preferring to do it all himself and be the guiding example, but this was something he was not practiced at.

“It is my duty, my Lord. It is a responsibility that I share for yourself, and for your soldiers. I pray that the Gods will usher you into a swift recovery, and victory.” That smile — Gods, you had a beautiful smile. It could melt even the hardiest of ice, bring exuberance and joy to those who had none. “I should take my leave.”

“Of course,” Cregan bowed his head, timbre gentle and akin to the roll of thunder before an encroaching thunderstorm. He retrieved his tunic from the foot of his bed, and before you could disappear from the tent, he cleared his throat. “What is your name, my Lady?”

You smiled, gaze dancing with a twinge of mischief and amusement as you chewed at the inside of your cheek. Lingering within the entryway of his tent, you took one, deliberate step backwards.

“I suppose you’ll have to learn that tomorrow.”

Sitting idly by while a war raged nearby had soured Cregan’s mood exponentially.

He had stared at the canvas canopy of his tent for so long that he began to lose count of the hours. It was only when his second-in-command harkened him to the war table, that he obeyed.

Green forces had stationed a battalion at The Trident, and the rest were attempting to seize Harrenhal from Daemon Targaryen and his Rivermen. Cregan intended on cutting off the battalion, ripping them out root and stem, effectively carving away a portion of Cole’s forces.

War was an ugly thing — killing a man never pleased him as it did some, but it was an unfortunate necessity. Ensuring that Rhaenyra Targaryen took her place upon the Iron Throne was paramount, an oath he forged with her son, Jacaerys Velaryon.

Cregan covered his wounds with his tunic and a fur cloak, knowing that the weight of armor would only hinder his recovery, and he needed to be prepared for what was to come. He spoke strategy with Lord Roderick Dustin of Barrowton, before taking his leave.

You happened to occupy his thoughts — a girl from Bronzegate, with a rosy, heartening smile and a demure nature, tending to his wounded men. Not a moment passed from last eve to now, an afternoon marked by grim, gray storm clouds, that he hadn’t thought of you.

It was improper, perhaps, to think so fondly of a young maiden out of wedlock, one he barely knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to you — and he had a feeling that you felt the same, a mutual sentiment.

The massive tent erected for those wounded in battle was marked by an ivory canvas and the hurried pace of healers floating in and out. Cregan knew where to find you, and he had learned of your name from several of his bannermen.

He spotted you outside, washing your hands free of crimson, the ends of your sleeves just as tattered and wrought with blood that didn’t belong to you. Your tresses were pulled into a braid to avoid interference with your work, brow creased in concentration.

“My Lady.” He greeted you with that familiar timbre, husky and gallant. There was a warmth that radiated from him, both in his tone and physically, that enveloped you whenever you were in his presence. He was a man of few words, but you made up for it.

Surprise settled into your features as you regarded him with mild bewilderment. You weren’t expecting him to seek you out. “My Lord,” You exhaled, bowing your head in reverence as you wiped the blood from your hands with a rag. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Cregan enjoyed your concern, staving off a threadbare smile before he shrugged, wisps of chestnut tresses fluttering with the breeze. The air smelled of rain, an approaching deluge. “You never said that I had to stay.” He stated, looking towards your hands.

A huff of laughter escaped you, hands mostly free of any blood, your knuckles bruised and bearing some scrapes. “Are you feeling well enough?” You asked, head canting to one side. There was a quell in the battle for now, allowing you time to recuperate.

“I have been for some time,” Cregan sighed, brows furrowing together. “Old men wished for me to stay abed, and I heeded them, until now.” Two wounds wouldn’t stop him — there was something powerful about him, a determination to continue even in the face of agony or strife.

You couldn’t help but smile in spite of his stubbornness — you wondered how his men dealt with him. Many soldiers and bannermen that you had conversed with praised Cregan, with nothing but honorable things to say about him. He was regarded as stoical and resigned, patient and pragmatic.

“Let me have a look. It’s the least that I can do, considering you made the trek here.” You motioned for him to follow you, sweeping the canvas aside as you beckoned him into the wounded tent. There were scores of men in worse states than he — some of them brushing close to death.

Cregan stepped behind you like a massive wall of stone, a mountain of a man, his shadow casting itself over you. Some of the healers seemed surprised with his coming here, a handful being familiar faces that had tended to him when he was first wounded.

The space in which you operated was a great deal smaller, yet tidy and orderly. He sat down with a grunt atop the cot you gestured to, shrugging off his fur cloak. Part of him felt strange for being here, considering the grievous state of some of the men.

A roll of parchment lay atop your footlocker, a lengthy list of ingredients used in your medicinal salve, the one that Cregan had requested yesterday. He watched you scurry about, fetching fresh bandages and your mysterious poultice that seemed to do him a world of good.

Some of the healers looked upon you with thinly-veiled disdain and scrutiny, eyes of wizened men who believed themselves to be better than you. A woman doing such gruesome work wasn’t exactly proper.

“Your tunic,” You murmured, averting your gaze away from Cregan’s body as he removed the smoky-blue garment, revealing his herculean musculature. The more you studied Lord Stark, the more enamored you became — he was handsome and well-spoken. Stubborn, perhaps, but most Northerners were. “Thank you.”

Cregan thoroughly enjoyed watching you work — it was a captivating thing to behold, the way you navigated a wound with such care and precision. Your hands were disarmingly gentle as you shifted the linen wrappings away, exposing his shoulder to the brisk afternoon air.

The pain had certainly diminished, moreso in his shoulder than his abdomen. In usual silence, Cregan studied you closely, storm-colored hues appraising you, committing every detail to memory. There was something breathtaking about you, a magnetizing pull that drew him in, kept him enthralled.

He reveled in the sensation of your fingertips tracing around his wound, feather-light and delicate, leaving behind a trail of fire in your wake. “It’s healed wonderfully,” You murmured, brows furrowing together as you applied a dab of honey, a natural antiseptic. You placed the bandage back over it. “How does it feel?”

“Acceptable.” He grunted, though his tone seemed somewhat warped with amusement. Your lips twitched into a brief frown, as if he wasn’t telling the whole truth. “I am well enough. You needn’t worry, my Lady.” Cregan assured, resting his thick forearms atop his thighs.

A soft sigh left you as you circled around him, coming to stand before him with a tender expression. Your countenance still seemed furrowed with concern, but he neglected to comment on it.

Peeling away the linen bandages that clung to his abdomen, the angry-red swelling had nearly dissipated, and the gash remained, still healing. “The salve seems to have helped,” You fought hard to ignore the closeness between yourself and Cregan, mere breaths apart. “The swelling has gone down.”

The scent of your warm breath fanned across his visage, basking him in your saccharine smell. Even if your garments were well-worn and speckled in gore, he could still detect the aroma of wildflowers on you.

“You have my gratitude, my Lady.” Cregan uttered, a valiant attempt to relieve some of the lingering tension. It was something he rarely, if ever, experienced with a woman — especially one such as yourself.

“You know my name already, Lord Stark. You do not have to continue to refer to me as a Lady,” A twinkle of amusement lingered within your eyes, knowing that his bannermen had shared your name with him. “I am not of noble birth, I’m afraid.”

Cregan huffed, and he realized that you were clever. The wit and fiery spirit leapt out from you on occasion, and this happened to be one of them. “Honor and good pleasantries demand that I continue to refer to you as a Lady.” He replied, tender and deep, like the shaking of a mountain.

With an amiable smile, you changed the bandages around Cregan’s torso, applying your salve before discarding the old ones. “Don’t,” You chimed, tone softening to the lull of a songbird. “Call me by my name.” You stood, wiping your hands against a swath of clean cloth.

A low, rumbling ‘hm’ escaped the man, whose chestnut brows furrowed together as he ogled you — shamelessly, this time. There was a fond playfulness laced within your banter, something that Cregan wasn’t entirely accustomed to. “Cregan.” He insisted, establishing a firm foundation for your blossoming relationship.

“Cregan.” You repeated, his name sounding sickeningly sweet from your Southern tongue. The young Lord moved to tug his tunic back on over his hulking frame, musculature working in such wondrous ways. It was difficult to tame your wandering eye, heat crawling along your spine.

Ripping yourself from your trance, you busied yourself with something else. “The salve ingredients that you requested, I made a list.” You stepped towards the footlocker, retrieving the scroll of parchment as you offered it to him. “I hope that it will do some good.”

After having placed his thick cloak over his shoulders, Cregan grunted, the vibration spreading throughout his chest as he accepted the list. “This is noble of you,” He murmured, turning it over within his roughened hand. “The men here owe you their gratitude — as do I.”

Dismissive of his praise, you remained humble, politely curtsying before Lord Stark. “It is my duty, that is all. I will continue on for as long as I am able.” You didn’t like being thanked for healing — it was a passion that you chased after, a job that brought you joy.

“If there is anything that I can do for you as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, name it — it will be done.” Cregan nodded, countenance bristling with a burning affection, one that wasn’t concealed in the slightest. Despite his stalwart demeanor, he made his fondness of you known.

A delicate hum escaped you, but nothing of importance came to mind. You didn’t want to make any demands of him, especially given the circumstances — he had little time to cater to a healer when war loomed overhead.

“If you insist, I would ask for a suitable stationary set,” Simplistic and curious, something uncommonly asked for. Writing was something you had no part in, but illustrations — that was a different story. “Do not toil over it, my Lo — Cregan. Your generosity is kind enough.”

Cregan nodded, taking it into consideration. “I will not toil over it,” He replied, peering over his shoulder toward a pack of healers. There were plenty of wounded men that required your attention more than he. “Consider it done. I will leave you to your work.”

You bowed again out of common courtesy, hands folded together as you offered Cregan another warm smile. “Of course. Should your recovery change course, please do not hesitate to return. I wish you good fortune in the battles to come.”

“Until next we meet.”

Bellflower flourished in moss-laden groves around the forks of the Trident, petals ranging from ivory to shades of cerulean and a light lilac. It grew in clutches, its blooms spherical and pleasing to the eye. Despite the deluge plaguing the Winter Wolves at every step, it seemed to slow Cole’s army down exponentially, too.

As dusk fell in a dark, cloudy gloom across the encampment, Cregan carried a bound bundle of bellflower in his hands, to be given to one person in particular.

It had only been two days since your last meeting in the healer’s tent, his wounds on the mend, no longer weighed down with bandages. The stationary you requested had been brought to your tent sometime the next day, after you had addressed it with Cregan.

It was intended to be a gesture of gratitude, something that he knew you would find favor in, but it was easily passable as a rite of courtship. The constant prodding of a marriage proposal was always at the fringes of Cregan’s mind — it was his duty to marry, and he had prolonged the process as much as he could.

With war tearing the realm apart, there was little time to consider a marriage — but a relationship, perhaps a budding bond, that was something he could make time for. Even in his duties as the Warden of the North, a champion for Queen Rhaenyra, there would be a lull, a calm in the storm.

Your tent wasn’t a far trek from the healer’s tent, smaller and humble compared to his own. It didn’t seem fair, given your importance and what you had contributed to their cause, but he didn’t dwell on it — not now, anyway.

To see the ferocious, stoic Cregan Stark carrying a bundle of flowers that seemed minuscule within his grasp was a most peculiar sight. His fur trappings and leather-and-chainmail bore the motif of the Direwolf, the sigil of House Stark, making him seem larger than he already was. His ancestral longsword, Ice, remained slung across his broad shoulders.

The glitter of candlelight cut through the dismal haze of rainfall around him, its orange glow pooling from your tent, closed-off for privacy. Through the sliver of canvas, Cregan could see you, hunched over your chair, moving a quill across parchment. You wore your hair down this time, visage framed by wisps of your tresses, brow creased in concentration.

Cregan stepped forward, announcing his presence with a noisy clearing of his throat. “My Lady,” He rumbled, standing just outside of your tent, chestnut tresses sticking to his skull from the deluge. “If I might have a moment of your time.”

Your surprise was palpable as you flung open your tent, with Cregan Stark standing before you, soaked to the bone and entirely unphased. Your gaze fell to the bouquet of bellflowers in his hand, features becoming hot almost immediately.

“Cregan,” You stepped aside to usher him in, getting him out of the storm. “I apologize if you attempted to summon me, I’ve been preoccupied.” Preoccupied with the wrong things, perhaps, but you felt horrible that he had walked all this way in a torrential downpour.

“An apology isn’t necessary,” Cregan assured, so tall and mountainous that he seemed to consume much of the space in your tent, scalp scraping the canvas above. “I merely wanted to extend my gratitude, for your diligence and steadfastness in my recovery.” He murmured.

Your lodgings were quite humble, your bed nothing more than a cot lined in fur blankets, pillows stuffed with linens to make it bearable. The rickety wooden chairs were ones you’d borrowed — it served as a place to draw, a series of candles sitting along your footlocker. The ground below was covered in layers of canvas and fur — perhaps more comfortable than the cot itself.

You offered him a polite smile, though the air seemed charged with more than just friendliness. “You’ve already extended your gratitude, my Lord. You needn’t do it again,” You replied, heart thrumming within your chest. “You are soaked to the bone. Why don’t you warm yourself?”

Cregan was plenty warm, his own metaphorical sun, blood running exceptionally hot — especially this evening. “There is no need,” He rumbled, jaw somewhat tense as he extended the bouquet of bellflowers to you, bound together with a thick cord. “Blooming along the Trident. I thought of you.”

Thought of you — did he do that often?

Gods, did you think of him — you thought of him at each waking moment, torturing yourself over him, the Lord of Winterfell. There were nights where you fantasized about him in such sinful ways that it left you gasping for air. It made your belly stir with butterflies, heat simmering across your flesh.

“These are beautiful,” Touched by such a simple gesture, you accepted the bouquet from him, moving to place it inside of a tall flask that once held one of your salves. Its mauve petals added a flair of color. “Thank you, Cregan.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Every man in this dreadful encampment paled in comparison to Cregan Stark, who gazed down at you with such intensity that you feared you would melt away. Your breath hitched within your throat when he stepped closer — involuntary or not, you sorely yearned for the closeness.

Droplets of water rolled from his temples, chestnut tresses sticking to his forehead, garb damp from the rain. He smelled of the woodlands — pine and petrichor, intermingled with that of a natural musk. Those gray hues of his raked over you, drinking you in with a thinly-veiled rapture.

“There are other ways to express your gratitude.”

Your mouth moved before your mind could tell you to cease — speaking to your Lord in such an uncouth manner was grounds for trouble. You hadn’t fully realized the salacious implications of your statement until it sank in, and you became nervous. Before you could apologize, Cregan stopped you.

“Why do you think I came all this way, my Lady?” He rumbled, lifting his hand to cup your face, palm nearly engulfing half of your visage. Gods, you were beautiful — nothing short of perfection in his eyes. The bulk of his arm hesitantly reached out to circle around you, drawing you closer into his embrace.

That wasn’t the only reason — Cregan’s fondness of you had manifested into something uncontrollable, and you shared the same sentiment. Your feelings were now just as raging as his own, like a wildfire spreading across a forest, unchecked and unchallenged.

“Aren’t you cold?” You whispered, brought into the warm expanse of his chest, broad and taut with muscle. Even through his armor, you knew that he was indomitable. Though, for all of his physical intimidation and mesomorphic might, he was disarmingly gentle, this mountain of a man.

“No,” The husky timbre of his voice made goosebumps dance along your spine, causing you to shiver. “Not anymore.” He murmured, gaze silently asking to kiss you. He did not move, didn’t intend on acting until you decided to let sentiments flow freely.

It was you that kissed him first, seeking his lips with a desperation that rattled even you. Cregan didn’t hide his mutual desire, brows furrowing together as he reciprocated your kiss, using the leverage of his arm to lift you closer.

His lips were rough, icy from being in the damp outdoors, visage slick from the rainfall. It was a stark contrast to the softness of your mouth, pliant and plush against him, your body curvaceous and perfect within his grasp. He felt your palms press against his chest, drifting towards the nape of his neck.

Rain-soaked tresses glided through your fingers, curling inward to grip and pull, kissing him with such dizzying passion. In the slim space of your lodgings, with rain pounding above, it provided a gentle ambiance that only provided to the charged atmosphere.

Your hands shifted toward the clasps of his thick cloak, hesitating as you pulled away, looking to him for approval. If it weren’t for the many layers he needed to remove, you would’ve shed your dress already.

“Is this what you want?” Cregan needed your consent and assurance before continuing on, thumb drawing circles into your hip as he held you close. His voice had dropped to a near-growl, husky and thick with desire. It only served to stoke the growing fire between the both of you, cracking with a mutual need.

You nodded, nearly rendered breathless. “Yes,” Barely above a whisper, you felt his hands settle over yours, unclasping the metallic direwolves that loosened his cloak. It was all damp and soggy from the rain, and it felt good to be rid of it. “I need you.” You murmured, voice pitched with lust.

Cregan didn’t hesitate, hands unfastening his armor, buckle by buckle, piece by piece. Your hands sometimes joined in on occasion, loosening a strap or helping to take it off altogether. You didn’t move away, allowing each item to join the growing pile until he was left in his smallclothes.

He gently reached for the nape of your neck, massive palm caressing into the base of your skull, tracing along your silky flesh as he brought you in for a kiss. Even without his armor, Cregan was impossibly large, with a bulk and stature that dwarfed your own.

His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, each kiss blistering with passion, an eagerness that never exceeded into something rough. There was a domineering undertone to his actions, but never anything that would hurt you or scare you off.

Northern perfection, an immaculate wall of strength and muscle, yet so gentle — it rattled you to your core in the best possible way, filling your belly with molten heat. You kissed him fervently, until he stopped to kiss along your jaw, roughened lips finding the silky column of your neck.

The coarse, cloth ties that gathered at the small of your back became unraveled by you, loosening the periwinkle-colored garment until it sagged upon your body. You let it drop, your plain dress pooling to the ground in a heap of wrinkled fabric. You nudged it aside, letting it join Cregan’s armor.

Gray hues flickered across your naked flesh, beautiful beyond compare, a woman’s body that possessed the loveliest of curves. Cregan was swift to lower his hands, smoothing them across your sides, and then to your hips, shamelessly grabbing greedy handfuls of your derrière.

“I’ve never seen a beauty like yours before.” Cregan rumbled, mouth pressing soft kisses all along your neck, and then to the hollow of your throat. His calloused palms caressed everywhere they could, savoring the sensation of your velveteen skin.

You shivered at his reverent touch, lips parting as a soft gasp escaped you. Your hands held his biceps, thick and taut beneath your fingertips as a warm slick continued to mount between your legs. He hitched one of your legs around him, keeping you steady.

As he continued to savor your throat, mouth dragging from your neck to collarbone, his available hand stroked along your belly, tracing a path toward the heat between your thighs. Cregan searched for signs of hesitation or protest, but found none, thick fingers sluggishly slipping against your core.

“Cregan,” You gasped, a sharp inhale escaping you as you desperately held onto him, clinging on like a drowning woman as he toyed with your cunt. He deftly pushed past your folds, digits tracing along your slit in rhythmic motions, exploring your body. “Gods, don’t stop.” You pleaded, face pressing near his shoulder.

Teeth scraped along your throat, gently biting at your sensitive flesh as his digits found a steady rhythm. With two fingers stroking along your cunt, his thumb moved to nudge against your clit, circling around the sensitive clutch of nerves. He was silent, save for the rumbling sounds of his grunts.

Gently coaxing you towards your cot, Cregan didn’t stop to think about how feeble it was for two people. Nevertheless, he sat beside you, wood groaning and splintering in protest to the sudden amount of weight it bore. Sitting atop the furs, he collected you into his lap, slotting you against his thigh.

Tangling your hands into the hem of his tunic, you managed to maneuver it off with his assistance, all wisps of air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him. Seeing him in this light, full of desire with candlelight dancing across his skin, he was wonderfully handsome.

One palm cupped your hips, holding you close as his fingers resumed their previous ministrations, thumb seeking your clit. He touched you with such fervent passion, mouth clamoring for yours, lips unable to tear themselves away.

Each kiss left you gasping and heaving, wanting more of him, all that he could give. Your hands sought to drape themselves over his broad shoulders, threading into his damp tresses as you rocked yourself into his hand. The friction it created was delicious, a raging heat that crawled all over your body.

Thunder split the skies outside, rain coming down in a noisy deluge that pounded against the durable canvas of your tent. Cregan shifted backwards, the cot continuing to groan and creak beneath his bulk, threatening to snap into two if your ministrations continued.

You felt along the corded muscle of his shoulders, his skin unusually soft beneath your palms. With the relentless appetite of a wolf, Cregan kissed you again, pulling away just enough to kiss your collarbone instead. Thick digits continued to nudge against your cunt, threatening to push their way inside of you.

At a slow pace, he eased two fingers inside of you, stretching you just enough for it to be quite pleasurable. A whine of delight tore from your mouth, head rolling back enough for him to have unobstructed access. Teeth nipped at your collarbone, providing a sharp sting that flourished across your body.

He was gentle yet vigorous, digits sluggishly pumping themselves in and out of your tight cunt, thumb providing a burst of stimulation against your clit. Your warm, sweet breath fanned over him, mouth agape as a series of excitable pants escaped you.

Planting hot kisses just above your breasts, Cregan’s rough palm caressed from the swell of your hip to your chest, full and perfect, kneading into your breast. The entirety of your body felt so soft — like a plane of velvet, unblemished and left in some state of perfection.

Rocking yourself into his hand, a myriad of needy whimpers left you in droves, ones that occasionally tapered off into wanton moans, others left hushed. Cregan’s chest blossomed with a stoic grunt, the vibrations of it rattling you to your core.

“Cregan,” A fleeting sigh of passion escaped you, breathless and wanting, caught within a tempest of desire and carnality. Your digits touched him wherever you could, from the bulk of his shoulders to his biceps, thick and taut, and his face. “Gods, I need you.” You moaned, coaxing him in for a kiss.

Such a sentiment was mutual — Cregan did not know what depths of want he was capable of, and the carnal need he developed for you was intense. Though, it had also manifested into something else, transcending into affection and ardor.

He did not want to be parted from you after this.

His rough lips molded themselves to yours, kissing you desperately, until he stole every wisp of air from your lungs. He occasionally scraped his teeth across your lower lip, digits still working their way in and out of you, continuing to palm at your breasts.

Between the stimulation of his mouth and digits, you were already worked up, tangled within a web of desire as the cot groaned in protest again — and then snapped.

Only one of the wooden frames suffered damage, and Cregan was quick to shield you from harm, if there was any harm to begin with. He simply sagged further into the canvas, a look of mild amusement rising to his features. “The ground, then.” He rumbled, and you began to giggle, nose crinkling from the awkwardness of it all.

“I could’ve warned you,” You mused, affection dancing within your fond gaze as you kissed his jaw. “It would not survive with your muscles sitting atop it.” Cregan found it difficult not to smile, the gesture faint yet prevalent as he stroked along your spine.

“I will have it replaced.” Cregan grumbled, but you didn’t care in the slightest, the both of you relocating to the sprawling floor of thick, layered furs. It was arguably more comfortable than your cot would’ve been anyway. Drawing you back into his lap, he touched you everywhere he could.

The glow of orange illumination covered the both of you, however faint, aided by slits of clouded moonlight that poured in from the gap in canvas. You were beautiful — everything that he had ever wanted, caged within his arms, staring at him with a heated intensity.

He was mountainous, even when sitting, large and powerful enough to move you wherever he pleased. Your kisses became feverish, as if each entanglement would be your last, heart hammering within your chest with a flurry of excitement.

For a moment, Cregan withdrew, content to gaze upon your smiling visage, gaze sparkling with affection. He lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and jaw, allowing himself a moment to commit every feature of yours to memory. His next kiss was agonizingly slow in the best way possible, causing you to sigh with passion.

He needed to be close to you, chest to chest, savoring every inch of your silken flesh. Cregan had never touched something so soft before, drinking you in again with those tempestuous hues, as alluring as gray clouds before a thunderstorm.

“I want you inside of me,” You pleaded, lips parting slightly as Cregan’s jaw tensed, lust festering within him. Gods, what a wonderful mother you would make — the thought was fleeting, but it lingered like a thick fog, taking up residence within his mind. “Please.”

Cregan did not hesitate, hands joining yours as you hastily unraveled the leather ties of his trousers. He wanted to stay this way, sitting up with you in his lap, allowing him to look upon your face, ravage your skin as he guided you atop his length.

To match his imposing stature and wall of muscle, his cock was just as intimidating, causing your stomach to turn with a twinge of worry. Then again, you had become so worked up that pain seemed impossible. Cregan’s hands steadied themselves atop the swell of your hips, bringing you up enough to let his cock glide against your slick folds.

“As you wish.” He huffed, letting you find your way, the flushed tip of his length beginning to penetrate you. You moaned at the intrusion, able to feel the girth of it stretch you perfectly, just as his fingers had. Cregan grunted, guiding you down until you could go no further.

Strong enough to ease you along his length with his hands alone, Cregan seized the opportunity to kiss you. You were only a few breaths taller like this, slotted within his lap, hands finding their purchase atop his shoulders as you began to ride him.

Gods, he was big — enough for you to realize that soreness was an inevitability. Being flush against him, nearly chest-to-chest, was perfect, something so intimate and sensual that hot shivers rolled down your spine. Cregan guided you up and down upon his cock, ensuring that he went at a sluggish pace, more for your sake than his own.

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

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

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders. Your nails sank into the muscle there, countenance one of complete and utter pleasure.

Cregan untangled his lips from yours, finding the column of your throat, greedily kissing and nipping wherever he could. Your taste was ambrosial, skin delicate and saccharine beneath his mouth. You moaned, one hand moving to tug at his chestnut tresses, bringing your hips down upon his cock again and again.

The sluggishness of the repetitive motion was agonizingly wonderful — the pace was perfect, not rough enough in the slightest, but passionate, instead. You much preferred this, the intimacy and closeness of it all, the way in which heat radiated between the both of you.

You felt incredible, every fiber of your body burning for him, arousal thick and heavy between your thighs. “Cregan,” A noisy moan escaped you, grinding yourself against him, hips flush together. It was as if you were touched by hot embers, the heat raking across your body time and time again. “Cregan!”

A deep, trembling groan tore past his mouth, one that made your belly fill with liquid fire. You shivered within his grasp, feeling his lips clamor to the underside of your jaw, nose brushing against your chin. His cock throbbed with a sense of urgency, slick with precum.

He continued to guide you, hands descending from your hips to the pliant flesh of your haunches, digits sinking into your derrière. Despite the chill of the rain and song of the storm raging around you, Cregan kept you anchored, warmth radiating from him.

Your hands deftly roamed across his musculature, coming to plant themselves against the expanse of his chest, his heart thudding beneath your palm. “That’s it.” Cregan rumbled, kissing at your jaw before he finally coaxed you in for a passionate kiss. He wanted you to come undone for him.

The intensity of your release blindsided you, crashing into you like a wave breaking upon the rock. Your nails desperately scratched at Cregan’s chest, sinking into his collarbone as you bucked forward. He continued to guide you up and down along his cock until your legs rattled like leaves in the wind.

Cregan joined you, following suit as he reached his peak, forehead bumping into yours as he sought your mouth for a tender kiss. He swallowed your sweet moans, spilling his seed into your cunt. Hot ropes of his spend filled you completely, causing the both of you to sigh, a low rumble reverberating from his throat.

You very nearly collapsed within his lap, heaving with excitable pants, basking in the aftermath of your release. In an intimate gesture, you kissed his jaw, peppering his visage in soft kisses that only made Cregan pull you closer. “Are you alright?” He murmured, running a hand along your side.

“I am,” You smiled, palm reaching to cup his cheek. Cregan’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, pressing a kiss to the silky skin there. Thunder crackled overhead, followed by a flash of lightning, the onslaught of rain pounding overhead. “It seems you’ve no choice but to stay.”

A bemused huff left Cregan, who seemed more than content to share your tent. “Thank the Gods for the deluge, then.” He rumbled, continuing to kiss from your wrist to your hand. A shiver rolled down the length of your spine, aided by his affectionate gestures.

Removing yourself from his lap, you settled down to lay beside him on the floor of your tent, gazing up at the damp canvas. The Warden of the North descended to you, offering you a muscular arm to rest against, moving the furs around the both of you.

It was a comfortable silence, born in the aftermath of your lovemaking as you curled against Cregan, palm settling above his abdomen. “When do you ride next?” You uttered, referring to the raging war that you were both caught within. It was easy to not think much of it when you were with him.

“On the morrow,” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together. He loathed the thought of leaving again, now that he had so much more to lose. His calloused digits idly traced around your shoulder, his other arm propped beneath his head. “We will fight hard, like Northerners.”

A subtle terror gripped your heart, foul tendrils sinking into every fiber of your being. You sat up just enough to gaze upon him, fingers drifting toward the slope of his jaw. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.” You uttered, stern as could be.

Cregan could not make such a promise — war was harrowing, and it was unpredictable. Instead, he reached for your face, holding you there as he met your gaze. “I will try,” A low rumble left him, gray eyes boring into you with devotion. “Should I fall prey to another arrow or sword, I will know who to seek.”

It was difficult not to smile, in spite of everything. You sighed, leaning in to kiss him, allowing gentleness and ardor to prevail. A low grunt escaped Cregan, gray hues fluttering shut as he drew you closer into the warmth of his musculature.

“I would certainly hope so.”

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