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warriors heart, soft as steel

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It was getting harder and harder to part with Camilla each time she went to battle. No matter the fact that you knew she would return victorious; she never quite returned whole. She would smile, she would tease her retainers, she would tease you , but she was not the wife you saw off at the gates.

The nights of her return would be the worst. She would hold you close, strong, muscled arms wrapped around you as if you were liable to disappear on a gust of air, and you would breathe in her smell, relearning the scent of her. But then she would fall asleep, and it would greet her with terrors that caused her to twist and scream and cry—and no amount of shaking or begging could rouse her. It was painful to watch one you loved suffer so, but there seemed to be no stopping it.

Trying to discuss it with her the morning after landed you nowhere. She would stonewall you, pretending she knew nothing about what you were talking about, and kiss you into silence if you pressed further. As much as you love her, you wish she would open up to you.

So when you watch her training from afar, axe swings powerful and controlled, it is with mixed emotions.

“Are you going to come any closer, my darling? Or shall I have a voyeur for the entire duration of my training regime?”

Caught, you slink out of the shadows. She turns to you, sweaty and smiling, and you can tell she’s worked out quite a lot of her angst here. Still, your returning smile does not meet your eyes. No matter how much she let out here, she was still not telling you anything, and her refusal to open up was taking its toll on the both of you.

“Thought I’d come and watch you in action. See where the magic happens, you know?”

“Hm. And nothing to do with the clothes I chose for training today?”

If that’s what she believes, you’ll play the part of lustful wife before you play the role of nagging, worried wife any day. Her body is covered in a generous sheen of sweat, her chest covered with a tight binding of cloth and nothing else. Her trousers are close to her skin, accentuating every curve of her leg and framing her ass perfectly. It’s not hard to pretend you’d only wanted to admire her.

“Well… how could I resist an excuse to see you in your element? And I don’t just mean with an axe in your hand.”

She throws her head back with a laugh, full-bodied and honest.

“Keep your eyes up then, darling! I’ll make sure to give you a show.”

She heads back to training, and you let your smile fade as she turns her back on you.

“I love you.”

“And I, you, Camilla. What brought this on?”

“I thought that, perhaps, I had not told you well enough recently. I have not shown you, either.”


“Come on, my love,” she urges, kissing hot paths down the side of your neck. “I want you. Want to show you that I remember why I married you, to show you how much I wish to have a family with you.”

“You… truly?”

Her hands drift around your waist, dainty and light until they find your back. She pulls you into her, draws you into her body until you two are pressed together: the silk of your gown melting into the rougher material of her towel, the softness of your bodies molding together from breasts to stomach to thighs. She’s a marvel. When your fingers come to rest on her triceps, the muscle underneath is strong and taught from years of expert axe wielding, yet she still manages to carry a wondrous softness that makes you fingers itch to sink into it. Her hips—goddess, her hips —her breasts… you feel so blessed to have her strength and beauty surround you.

And to have a child with her, to raise a family—to go through the joys and the hardships of motherhood—you could not imagine anyone who would love or protect your young one moreso than Camilla. But from the feeling of her hardening length against your waist, you think perhaps she is focusing more on making a child than raising a child.

“Truly, my love. I wish to fill your stomach with my heir, as many times as I can. To watch as you grow, your skin stretching thin over the reminder that none other than I will ever have you.”

“Hm, and it wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the fact that you’d get to fuck me into the mattress every day until it took, would it?”

She grins, wild and cruelly happy, eyes full of lust. “Perhaps. What can I say? My darling wife has a darling cunt, and both feel like home to me.”

“I hate when you’re cute while you’re crude,” you say, but you let her back you up until you fall backwards onto your bed, silken sheets crumpling below you. She falls with you, coming to kneel over you, her hands intertwining with yours. She gazes down at you, unguarded, and you wriggle your back against your pillows under the intensity.

“You should know, my love, that I will give you anything you ask for. Nothing should feel further than your fingertips.” She brings your hand to her lips, pressing reverent kisses to the end of each one of your fingers. “I would bring Mila to her knees before you, should you wish it.”

“And yet all I’ve ever wanted is you,” you whisper, smiling up at her.

She groans, and you know her well enough to say that it’s one of need. When the two of you were feeling sweet and sappy, those meaningful words worked just like foreplay; her hips rocking into your thigh prove that it’s doing pretty well at turning her on.

“And what I want, right now, is to fill you full of me.” She raises the hem of your gown, lifting it until you’re on display for her. “Until there can be no mistake, until no one would ever believe you were anything other than mine.”

The thought of her stretching you out, making you fit her, only to fill you with her seed when she’s done—you don’t know how you’re meant to resist it. The hand that isn’t interwoven with her own reaches your heat, and you slip a finger in before she can stop you. You’re tight, and wet, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from moaning at the feeling so early. There’s no shame in feeling so turned on by her words, but for some reason you find yourself trying to reign in your wanton side, even now.

“Oh, come now, kitten,” Camilla chides, tutting. “You should know by now that I delight in your moans. Do not hide them from me, sweet thing. Do not hide from me what is mine.”

Her hand removes your own, but your whine from the loss quickly turns into a moan as two of her own take its place. She is so accustomed to you that her fingers quickly search out the spots she knows make you writhe, the pads of her fingertips prying deep into you until you’re soaking her hand. A third finger joins the first two, and through your haze of lust, you look down at her in question.

“We are making love tonight, darling. I have to get you ready.”

“I am ready,” you argue.

She chuckles. “Usually I would agree, and I know you don’t mind a little bit of a stretch, but I want you to remember only pleasure from this night. The last thing I could live with is knowing our child was conceived while their mother was in pain.”

It’s hard to argue further when she uses those talented fingers to stretch you further, her hands pulling in and out of you tortuously slowly, her thumb on your clit. It feels like her fingers are part of you, but that’s not all you can focus on—you can feel her breath, sweet and warm on your cheek as she admires you, and her other hand is still tangled with one of your own. You’re surrounded by her, and gods, if it were anyone else you’d feel smothered, but with her—with her, it’s like you only want more, want her all over you and in you and—

“Ooh, you’re clenching around me so well, kitten. And so wet, so lewd!” She removes her hand from you, and you feel yourself clenching for her lost fingers. Your gaze follows her hand as she takes it to her mouth, licking your wetness from her fingers in such a way that you’re unsure you’ve ever seen anything sexier. “I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

Your hands disentangle. She picks you up with ease, strong grip on your buttocks, your legs wrapping around her waist. She flips your positions, so that you’re sitting on her thighs, your heat pressed against her length, your breasts pressed against her own. You take the lead, here, raising yourself up until your cunt is teasing the tip of her cock, a gentle teasing that you know she appreciates.

“Camilla… take me, please.”

“With pleasure, princess.” She kisses you again, slow, protracted kisses that make you whimper with passion. Her hand grips the base of her cock, holding it steady as you sink down on it. She’s girthier where others are longer, but she’s not small at all—you only just manage to fit all of her into you comfortably. Camilla says you fit her like a glove. By the time she’s hilted in you, you’re more than thankful that she’d prepared you earlier. “Ride me, darling. I want to you to ride me until your thighs ache.”

Your hips buck towards her, your hands holding her the back of her neck for leverage. Her eyes hold yours with such reverence that it’s hard to admit that it’s all for you—it feels wrong for someone to feel that much for you, to have all that love and admiration in their eyes, and have those eyes directed at you. But Camilla has never been scared to show you how much she loves you or wants you, has never been afraid to throw your hearts in together. After learning of her past, it had only made you want to hold her closer.

And here, with her hands on your ass guiding your pace, you think—yeah, this woman is the only one you would ever trust with this. She’s the only one you trust to guide your pace here, the only one you will ever allow into your heart and your womb, and it drives your pace faster.

Her lips kiss trails from your shoulder to your breasts, sucking hickies in your collarbone and lavishing attention upon each nipple until they’re hard and aching in her mouth. “That gives me an idea…” Still buried in you, she picks you up—and gods, her strength makes you clench around her again—and lays you down on your back. “This way, perhaps you can use your mouth on my breasts while I take you.”

You moan, and immediately reach your mouth up to take one of her tits in your mouth, the other in your hand.

Gods, I love having you under me.” Her hips piston into you, her pace punishing. “I cannot wait to fill up that pretty little pussy of yours with me, to see you full to the brim with my seed.”

Your answering moan is so deep that she feels it reverberate through her breast to her chest. She laughs, breathlessly.

“You like the idea as much as I do, don’t you? You can’t wait to bear my child, can you? To wear the mark of me wherever you go, people able to tell who you belong to?”

The squeeze of your walls around her gives her your answer.

“My sweet wife, my darling lover—you shall want for nothing, I promise. Yes, suck—suckle on my breasts, kitten. Soon enough it shall be you doing the nursing.” Her cock thrusts against something spongy and sensitive inside you, and you cry out, possibly the loudest you ever have. Your throat is raw as she keeps hitting you in just the right place, and when her fingers search out your clit in the mess of your combined wetness, you come undone silently.

No noise could accurately convey what you felt, anyway. Your lover, buried balls deep in you, the small fire that your clit had set; the idea that right now, right this moment, you were to become with child—no noise could hold all that. Instead, you let your silence speak volumes, and you know Camilla understands.

Her pace never drops, even though you’re worn out from your orgasm, but after the added stimulation of you clenching around her, she doesn’t last long anyway. She captures your mouth with her own, wet tongues tangling with each other, and then she stills. You can feel every spurt of her cum as she empties in you, and gods—the feeling is amazing. It was something else when she finished on your stomach, your ass, your face or in your mouth—this felt like she was leaving a part of herself inside of you. When she pulls out, grudgingly, you watch as small trails of her seed dribble down, tickling you as they fall towards your asshole.

“Gods, Camilla. If it feels like that every time, I think I’m going to end up pregnant a lot.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she purrs, rubbing noses with you. “We could have you full every year, if you wanted.”

You throw your head back and laugh a little. “Let’s just start with one, okay?”

“Well, it’s a start. But, as you said, we shall have to do this a lot more if we want to be sure it takes…”

It is not that night, but one of the following, after you’d lost yourselves in each other until dawn was almost breaking, that she speaks.

“I am scared,” she whispers into your bare shoulder. “I am afraid I shall lose all that I am, and there shall be no one to remember who I was. I am afraid that there shall be no one left who will care.”

“Camilla… darling, please look in my eyes.” You roll over to try and catch her gaze, and find it teary and honest in the moonlight illuminating your room. “This is the fear that follows you home from battle?” She nods. “Oh, my sweet woman. You believe that there would be no heart left broken were you to pass? Not the brothers and sisters you raised as your own children, that you cared for as a mother? Not the retainers who hold you so beloved they would lay down their own lives so that you may survive? Not the servants who see your small acts of tender kindness, a promise that not all given power are as cruel as your father? Not me, your wife, who pledged her own life to yours because we are two halves of one whole?”

“You make it seem as though the world revolves around me,” she says, laughing through tears.

“Mine does.” Your hand comes to palm her cheek, to wipe away those tears that mar the soft cheeks of the one you love. “Our lives are fleeting, fragile gifts, and yours is the greatest one I can imagine to have tethered to my own.”

“You spoil me,” she whispers, smiling at you.

“I would not be doing my duty as wife if I didn’t, would I?”

“You know, I’m not likely to let you out of this room at this point.” She reaches over you to take your hand in hers, bringing the hand with your wedding band to her lips. “I knew you were the heart of me before we married, but… you seem to be getting more perfect each day.”

“Camilla,” you laugh, “you’re exaggerating!”

“You think so? But here you are, like fire to ice, melting me down until I tell you all that I have hidden from all for so long—and with what? Others who have tried have been no different from you, except for the fact that you love me, and make me love you with all you do.”

“It is not a chore to love you, honeybee. You make it easy.”

“Mmh. But it has been a chore for you to get to the information you wanted out of me.” She watches your eyes widen, and laughs. “You are not as subtle as you think yourself; or, at least, I have become so accustomed to you that not a hair could change on your head without me noticing.”

“Camilla… I’m sorry. I understand you have your walls for a reason, and I—I apologise if my wheedling made you lower them without you being ready.”

“Oh, come now, kitten! Apology accepted, though unnecessary. You… you care for me, and saw something weighing upon me. It was unfair of me to hide it, once I saw how it was hurting you—unfair for me to not share my burden with you, when it is all you ask of me.”

“Not unfair,” you argue, “you are within your rights to keep your pain to yourself, but… but when we married, we agreed to share our pain, as well as our joy. You do not have to face anything alone. Not while I’m here.”

“Mm, and you’ll be here for a long time yet,” Camilla promises, kissing you quickly. “I’m never letting you go.”

You snuggle into her, your grip squeezing around her waist. With that grip, Camilla knows that you won't be letting her go, either.