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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 month

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What about princess reader who falls for Konig? He's a retired royal soldier (Bit of an age gap but I was thinking more like he was so good he was able to retire early) that she saw every once and a while and she does the typical "disguise myself as a commoner so i can sneak into town" routine and he pretends he doesn't know but he used to serve her family so ofc he fucking recognizes her

He tries to be gentle with her but honestly she should just be happy he isn't ratting her out to her family 🙄🙄🙄 (not that she minds)

CW: 18+ MDNI. Medieval AU, forbidden love, mutual pining, virgin!princess!reader x veteran!knight!König. Undefined age gap (reader is of legal age which means she’s "old" for an unmarried woman of this period). Reader is kinda coercive, König is implied to be a virgin too. Bittersweet romance vibes, brooding guy/gentle girl trope, ambiguous ending.

Word count: 6.4 k

You never thought you’d have the guts to slap a knight.

Violence is unladylike, and even if you’re a princess, it doesn’t mean you should force your status down someone’s throat like that. Far less his, the man you were taught to respect and listen to because he’s a man, and older than you.

The fact that he was also an anointed knight didn’t seem as important as the simple truth that he possessed a cock between his legs, and it always annoyed you to no end that this was the reason why men ruled the world. As a lady still unwed, you’re supposed to be afraid of cocks, especially if they’re old and gruff.

But you never were afraid in the presence of your father’s most loyal knight. He was your sworn shield too, and the only time he had been away from your side was when he asked to go on a pilgrimage to some chapel nearby. Said he wanted to seek forgiveness for his sins.

A man like him must have a lot to pray forgiveness for, but knowing that he could split a man in half with that greatsword of his doesn’t stop you from sneaking out one night as you follow him outside the castle walls and into the local inn.

Dressed as a stable boy, you watch with wide eyes how he gulps down three pints of beer and doesn’t turn any dumber from it. His speech never slurs, his shoulders never slump, but when some kitchen wench sits down beside him, your breath gets caught in your throat.

You look at the odd couple for a moment or two, watch how your father’s knight, the secret object of your silly daydreams, finally loosens the strings of his purse and offers the girl a copper coin.

It’s more than you can take, so you shoot up from your bench and march to him. The woman looks up at you with lousy disinterest as you ask the man of your dreams if he’d like to have another pint of ale. Your knight recognizes you immediately, even in your too-big tunic and your uncomely hose, even with that dirty felt hat covering your hair.

And he’s mortified, from what you can tell.

Both your eyes are wide now, and the woman beside him is smart enough to leave. She slides herself off the bench and sneaks past your side, and your valiant knight just looks at you, looks at you, looks at you.

You should be worried that he’ll snitch about your adventures to your father, but right now, all you can do is stare at him like he’s the thief, caught fresh and red-handed. Because he is a thief, and a devil, the worst man on earth when he was supposed to be the best. You snort to let him know how much you despise him—for coming here and bedding women for money when he’s supposed to be a sworn, celibate knight—but what truly hurts here is that he’s bedding someone else than you.

When you march out of the inn, he follows you, even dares to lay his hand on you by grabbing your arm outside. That’s when you turn on your heels and deliver a fat slap on his cheek, lightly stubbled and sweet, something you had hoped to plant a kiss on for many, many years.

“Your grace,” He grunts and rubs his chin, slightly amused. “Have I offended you?”

The slap couldn’t hurt that much, and this man never does amused. Even now, the mirth extends only to his eyes, never to his lips.

“You know perfectly well that you have, sir,” you clasp your hands in front of you, now entirely his princess even though you’re dressed like a peasant.

“My lady,” he bows both in body and in voice. “I truly don’t know what crime I have committed.”

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

Usually this knight looks like there’s a stick up his ass, that someone pissed in his porridge and shat in his stew, that there’s nothing but hailstorms and calamity in his life.

Were you any more clever, you’d leave him be, but God has made it so that you’re drawn to battered and beaten animals. Of course you’re drawn to him too, lonely and spiteful as he is. This man broods so much you sometimes wonder if he’s the reason why it rains so violently up here in the hills. He probably summons dark clouds above the castle with those ponderous frowns alone – but now he’s looking at you as if he just woke up from the dead and walked into the shy sunshine after a long, harsh winter.

“You… You shouldn’t bed women,” you tell him, and he looks at you even more curiously.

“You shouldn’t pay for it,” you mumble next – unladylike, again, especially when your eyes turn to your shoes and away from that hawk-like, calm stare.

There’s a short silence after that, and you almost turn heel and walk back to the castle from the desire to escape the weight of his eyes. Eventually, he shifts his weight to the other leg and clears his throat.

“I sometimes pay for women to hold me. There’s nothing more to it.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, but the mirth is all gone now. It’s replaced by solemn acceptance, some sorrow you never even knew he had. Yes, he’s always silent and looks a bit pissed, but he’s not heartbroken, no, not your brave knight…

“To “hold you”, sir?”

The sorrow is covered with white lashes before you get to the bottom of it. Something tugs at the corner of his mouth—shame and frustration, probably.

“To hold me. Like a mother would. Is that a sin?”

His eyes search for yours from under dark brows, they beg for your consent as if it mattered to him. They’re quite catching, his eyes; enchanting in their intangibility. You know he doesn’t need your acceptance, nor is he threatened by your disgust. He’s unreachable, untouchable, forbidden—a mountain you can never climb because you wouldn't even find it among the mist. And those eyes see everything but feel nothing: they haven’t taken part in the troubles of this world in years.

…

He evades you for the whole of next week.

Leaves the hall if you choose to dine there, walks away when he sees you at the stables, looks through you if you have the courage to address him. You stand watch by the window every night to see if he slips out of the castle, but it seems your knight has lost his interest in kitchen wenches and copper hugs.

It burns like hot broth in your stomach, the thought of him in some other woman’s embrace. This mighty giant of a knight, kneeling in front of a girl, paying for her to simply put her arms around him.

You’re not sure if you’re childish to believe him and his words. To trust that he truly goes to them just to be held. You’re not sure if you’re the worst lover of poor, crippled creatures for not wanting to let him have even that...

Because you wish to hold him yourself, here, in the softest of all beds. Just wrap your arms around him after you’ve unburdened him of that heavy mail and thick gambeson; you’d help him with anything he needs. Let him sigh against you and have those lines of worry on his brooding face smooth somewhat. Maybe sing a soft song for him to help him sleep...

The thought of him being so lonely that he spends his wage on girls just to have a hug is driving you to madness.

It’s tearing you to pieces because he would never, ever have to pay you to hold him.

It’s forbidden, you know: this love you’ve harboured for years. He’s far below your rank, even as a bannerman, he’s far below you even if he’s taller than the tallest war horse in your father’s stables. He’s older than you too, but that’s hardly the biggest problem: your father took his second wife when he was five and thirty and the maid was seventeen. The match was considered perfectly normal, even healthy, but this would not. This would cause an outrage.

Oh yes, you’re to be wed far away to some sadistic young lord if your father has his way. You’re sure they’re already gossiping about it in the streets: how you should’ve been sold like a horse years ago. How is it that you’re still here, burdening the kingdom with your presence and swallowing up coin?

If they only knew that you’ve fought against every match with tooth and nail, the townsfolk would work themselves into a small uprising. And you’re not against marriage because you like it here so much... You’re against it because the knight who dresses himself in black mail and makes the servants piss themselves with his heavy footsteps alone makes your heart flutter like never before.

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

And you wonder… What would he do? Your pale, brooding knight?

Would he scoff and turn his head away if he knew you dreamed of him before sleep, would he be appalled to hear that you’ve touched yourself to the thoughts of him? Would he think you a whore…?

You dress differently that night, the night you catch him escape the dull horrors of the castle once more. Boredom oozes out of the walls here, a poison of nothingness and despair. The stones won’t offer warmth, not even during the height of spring, so it’s no wonder that your knight is headed elsewhere for warmth and a mug of ale.

You dress accordingly to see what this toughest of knights is made of: with a brown woolen skirt and a white cotton blouse, you look the part of a kitchen maid who forgot half her garments at home.

People look at you in the streets, but without your usual attire and with your hair styled differently, they wouldn’t know who they’re looking at even if they saw you frolic around like this in court. You know they’re looking at you because you're a half naked woman ripe for taking, stubbornly out at night and dressed so suggestively it’s a miracle no guard rapes you before you reach the inn.

Maybe it’s the royal pride that keeps them away: you certainly look like you haven’t toiled in the fields or shoveled horse dung in your poor miserable life. There’s an air about you, and he notices it too, far before you’ve sat your pretty bum on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing,” he asks with a slightly alarmed voice.

He has that stick up his arse again, sits so straight that you’ve never seen such a ramrod back on anyone. When you set your hand over his, he only blinks.

“One silver to hold you, sir,” you lean to whisper on his skin, the shaved cheek you’ve wanted to kiss for so, so long. “What do you say...?”

He’s still breathing, even if there’s no sound to prove that he is. You can only see it from the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a stained, cream-white gambeson, that he’s breathing. He’s big, even without his armor, big and strong and intimidating, a tower of strength in one man.

“I cannot bed women,” he talks to the stout logs that make the walls of the inn, refusing to even look at you after one quick horrified glimpse.

“Who said anything about bedding?”

“This is a dangerous game, your grace,” he warns with a low purr when you won’t relent.

His voice is parched but smooth, and you smell smoke; delicious smoke from the fire that sticks to the clothes of a person who spends too many hours staring into a fire. You smell ham and earth and leather and sweat, horses and metal, the rusty stench of mail gone bad.

You wonder how you smell to his nostrils – is it something sweet? Fresh herbs and lavender oil maybe, or soft, spun wool, some tangerines and summer wine?

“I’m not your grace,” you tell him, nose now touching the bridge of his ear. “Not in here.”

You see from the turned sleeve of his padded tunic that the hairs on his arm are standing on end. His eyes are closed, and you can finally hear his ragged breaths. Desire speaks in them, or then you’re in over your head... Why else would he sound like that, like he’s already making love?

“One silver, sir, and I’ll hold you all night,” you repeat softly, and he swallows with a dry, open mouth.

“I don’t have such money on me,” he rasps, voice drenched in slow, drowsy want.

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

You breathe a smile upon his skin, the place where his neck meets his jaw. Running your fingers across his wrist, you leave little to the imagination and you both know it.

“You can pay for the room and we’ll see how much you have left after that.”

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

He’s in pain now, you can see it: the sharpness, the distant eagle gaze from his eyes is gone. He can barely keep his lids open, and when you peel the sleeve back with your hand, pet him like he’s one of your cats, press your lips on the spot you know is the most sensitive, he groans.

“You’re going too far,” he whispers, but won’t move. Breathless now, he can’t even speak with dignity. Gone are the distanced grunts and the composure, even the stick in his arse has melted away.

If a touch of your lips and the softest caress can do this to him, what would happen if you straddled his lap? How would it feel to be pressed against him, naked and entwined in a mutual embrace?

“You didn’t say no to that other girl,” you breathe more kisses on his skin. “Am I so horrendous…?”

“You–” he starts, opens his eyes somewhat. “You are teasing me on purpose.”

“You never were the brightest of my father’s knights,” you smile a little laugh in his ear.

He grabs his pint as if that could save him; out of fury or lust, you don’t know. And that’s when your little adventure gets interrupted: someone must’ve had enough of this disgusting display of seduction and whoring.

“Pardon me, lovebirds. The room’s a copper, if it please you,” a tired voice says from somewhere above. “And the ale is–”

“Ja, ja. I’ll pay,” your knight grunts with such annoyance that you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or the poor soul who interrupted you two.

Everyone here must think that you’re here to make some coin on a lonesome, desperate man. And he’s desperate, by God, he’s desperate… But when you walk upstairs and into your room, he takes a dip in cold waters without you knowing anything about it. When the door shuts behind you, your knight is back to the unbroken effigy he was last week, as he has always been.

“You sleep there,” he points at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

“One more word from that pretty mouth and I’ll tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

You’re sent to your bed without supper, in your silly clothes, and get to watch how he barely takes his boots off before setting himself down on the floor, back turned to you. The innocent question “You think my mouth is pretty?” only gets an irritated scoff for an answer.

From under the linens, you watch him sigh and slowly turn to stone on the cold floor. There’s a big rug there but it’s barely enough to keep the chill out, and the hearth is cold during late days of spring. You’re warm enough here under your sheet, but you would be warmer if your knight was here with you… Warm body against yours as you both hold each other through the night.

If only he could be enticed here by lying that you’re freezing... His honor would force him to share the bed with you, and your poor knight wouldn’t have to wake up with sore joints. The more you listen to him let out those occasional sighs, the more you want to shake this man. This silly act of martyrdom has to come to an end, now.

Slipping out from the warmth of your bed, you tiptoe to him. You know he can hear you, probably cursing in his mind with that crude foreign tongue of his. Laying yourself down behind him, you snuggle close until your front is glued to his back.

It must pain him to have a maiden leave the comfort of her bed and trade it for the dirty floor, but you wonder if there’s pleasure in the pain when your touch finds him once more. And it’s not just want and lust you feel when you place your arm around him. It’s not motherly love either, although you do feel like you’re embracing a giant child who doesn’t want to be comforted. You know nothing about how lovers touch or hold each other, you’ve never touched a man other than your father, and those touches were never affectionate and warm, those touches were barely there at all.

You wonder if you should be scared: you were taught that men will fuck everything that moves when given the chance. If a man of his size chose to take you here on this floor, there would be nothing left of you. Such an outcome seems dubious, however, when your sworn shield acts like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper when he continues to be stiff as a rock in your embrace. “You don’t have to pay me. Surely you know that you don’t have to–”

He moves, and at first you fear he’s about to rise and dart to the door. Make a run for it and slam it shut because you pushed it too far, his dumb, danger seeking maiden.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns around and buries his face somewhere in your neck. He does it so forcefully that you’re almost sent to lie on your back, and you barely catch the naked pain in his eyes before a rough arm snakes itself around your waist and pulls you close.

Warm breaths hit your skin, sending all the little hairs in your body shooting up – were he to move an inch further down, his face would be buried in your tits…

And then come the tears.

You’ve never heard a man cry like that – well, you’ve never heard a man cry at all. You didn’t even know they knew how to weep. It’s like all the tears in the world are reserved for women and children because there’s no wetness even now: your knight cries in thick, dry sobs, shudders that shake the both of you, years and years of suffering sighed through gritted teeth and into your hair.

Slowly, so slowly, you place your arm around him once more. Your hand barely reaches the middle of his back, so vast is this man, now only a crumbling mountain in your embrace. But when you won’t waver, when you refuse to turn your tail and run, he slowly melts in your arms like spring snow.

He still breathes as if in pain, the sounds that come out of his mouth heartbroken and strained. You’re not surprised to see that even his crying is an act of violence; he’s a man inconsolable.

And yet, you console him. Comfort him. Like a mother, you stay and let him cry his fill in your ear as he clutches you, threatening to tear the back of your poor cotton blouse while doing it.

When he’s done, the shakes recede and his body is warm and calm, soft, almost. He pants and swallows, comes down from it with so much shame that you’re sure he has never done this with anyone, not ever before.

And then…

“I beg for your forgiveness, my lady,” he gruffs on your skin. “That was–”

“Shh... It’s alright.”

You caress the back of his neck, sweaty from the toil. He releases the fabric of your blouse only to grab it again in an even tighter fist. The face in your neck is buried deeper, his lips now pressed right over your throat.

“It has always been you, Geliebte... God knows it has always been you.”

You freeze in the middle of his confession, the panting on your skin intolerably thick now. When you swallow against his mouth, he pulls you against him, the body that used to be rigid and cold now like a hot, thick furnace, threatening to devour yours.

“You must know it too,” he whispers. “You must. You’ve seen my torment. Tell me you’ve seen it…”

He’s not demanding more than he is desperate, some dam suddenly being breached by a long-held flood.

If anything, you thought he hated you... You thought you were alone in your anguish, but it turns out he has carried the same soft secret all these years.

And it drowns you for a moment, his want and yours. Hands trying to touch whatever they can, mouth searching yours like he’s about to die if he can’t have a sip. You’ve heard what happens to women who allow themselves to get groped in dark hallways and winding steps; they hardly ever escape a man’s touch with their maidenhood still intact. And yet, this is what you’ve always dreamed of; a hot, blunt, forbidden encounter with this man.

Now that he’s finally on fire for you, you’re not so sure though. What if you’re about to mate with a beast?

“Sir…” you whisper when he plants trembling kisses down your throat. He thinks you’re only moaning his title in the throes of pleasure, and squeezes you against him so hard that a tight little whimper is squished out of your mouth.

“I’m–I’m untouched,” you tell him before he sends his face between your tits, and it finally has the effect you feared and hoped for.

He freezes too, in the middle of tearing down your blouse. A shivering hand releases the fabric slowly, reverently; it rises to cup your face as your flushed knight meets your stare with shame.

“Of course you are,” he hushes upon your lips, strokes your cheek softly. “I cannot bed you. I know. But let me…”

He blushes while searching for the right words. That’s the moment when you start to suspect if he’s ever even been with a woman. What kind of a womanizer would blush when they’re about to make love to a lady?

“Let me make you feel good,” he finally suggests. “I’ve heard… of a way.”

He almost stutters when he says it, and you wonder if this is what he’s prayed forgiveness for. If he’s been thinking about different ways of wrecking you so much that it’s enough to send him to hell…

“And then,” he continues, “we’ll never speak of this again. You’ll become my lady, and I’ll become your sworn shield once more. We’ll be as we always were. As it always was...”

You’re not sure if you like that – returning to your status quo, becoming who you were before clutching each other on the floor like mad animals about to mate. But you nod.

Whatever he wishes to do to you, it must be something good, and you trust him. Even after he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before, you’d trust this man with your life.

Your valiant knight carries you back to bed, and delivers on his promise. He never undresses you, he never defiles you. He just lifts your ankle to his lips and gives it a soft, reverent kiss, grazes your shin with his mouth before starting to worship you like a pagan idol of old.

You don’t know where he heard about it–at the stables, or the kitchen, at the barracks or the taverns–but the way with which he makes you squirm doesn’t require a cock, not even a hand. His lips are gentle, but his mouth is hungry, and you don’t know how to feel shame when he’s buried under your dress like that. You can’t even see his face when he makes you his, claims you with his mouth alone.

It must be a sin to not take you like a man takes a woman on a wedding night; it must be a sin that it does not hurt at all, what he wants to do to you. But you don’t care. Love is much better and far messier than how they depict it in the songs, and no one ever talks about the noises a man can make when they pleasure a woman.

He groans like a beast, but moans like a whore – it sends a flush of hot blood up your cheeks to hear him so utterly needy and vile. Your knight who barely gave you a grunt as a greeting in your father’s hall now whines with a broken pitch between your legs. His hot sighs drown your own, and you thank Saint Mary and all the angels that there’s loud music and booming laughter downstairs. It’s still there, the dirty tavern, even if you’re being sent to heaven on this bed...

He gives you mercy only after you break upon his mouth with a series of tight cries. Spends a lengthy amount of time under your dress too, licking and kissing you clean.

He doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there, but when he emerges, he looks like a drowned, happy puppy, this giant, brooding knight… The sight seizes your heart in a flaming hand that you know will never let go: it’s forever engraved in your heart, that drunken, devoted stare. You thought that men had the needs of an animal and that women were put on this earth just for them to have their fill, but when you look at your knight, it appears it’s the other way around... This man has finally found what he was looking for. Between your legs, he just found his Heaven on earth, his Holy Grail.

And so he returns from his quest with a devotion that leaves you breathless. Takes you in his arms like an injured bird, making you feel like it’s summer already, and the world is nothing but songs and tales and long nights of bliss.

“Know that I am yours,” he says. “Until my dying breath and even beyond, I’m yours.”

It’s a pledge, not a statement, and it’s said with so much weight that the vow he swore to your father pales in comparison.

“Sir... You always say such silly things,” you whisper back while lying in a pool of shimmering love, a heaven on earth indeed. Not even anointed, true to their faith knights talk like this… And he just smiles languidly when you raise a hand to brush his cheek.

He looks like another hug could save him, like a simple adoring stare from you is all that is needed to keep him going for another year. It irks you that he’s ready to settle for so little when you’re ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted and more. With what just happened, he’ll live on for a thousand, thousand years, he’ll survive even the coldest of nights – but you won’t.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him, and a flash of fresh panic crosses his eyes.

“Süssling…”

He says it with worry, but does nothing when you send an exploring hand to his bulge. Drawing a sharp breath when you sweep your hand over it, he goes rigid again, this time for reasons other than just nervousness.

You’re younger and therefore more impatient, which means you’re at the strings of his pants in no time. He looks at your greed with a slack jaw and a set of furrowed brows, but never tries to prevent you. It only spurs you on that he’s acting so shy in front of an eager maiden when other men would already be bullying their cocks in your unexplored heat.

“This is madness,” he whispers when you pull out the heavy, hard cock that reminds you of the members you’ve seen on horses and bulls.

Of course the man’s big down there when he’s practically a myth walking… And there must be a way to pleasure him too, some lovely devilry that will leave you a maiden. A virgin for him to take on your wedding night – because you will marry this man, no matter what anyone says. You’ll burn the whole kingdom down before giving yourself to any other man.

You wrap your fingers around him to punctuate it that he’s yours. If he feared you might mirror what he just did to you, he makes no comment about it when you don’t, only whines when his cock is snared by a frail but eager hand.

“Princess,” he warns, slightly out of breath. “I will stain your dress…”

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

The worry in his eyes is wild and bright, but the way your fingers mold around him leaves no space for arguments. A broken, stiff sigh is punched out of him when you begin to move: if he won’t show you how, it’s no trouble at all to try and find out yourself.

But when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of him, he finally brings a trembling hand upon yours. He starts to guide you, adjusts your grip, huffs when you both apply pressure on it. The curious creature that you are, you look down to witness the ugly beauty of it all.

It’s intimidating and rough, the cock in your hand... It looks like a weapon, honestly, a battering ram that leaks heady liquid from the head. Smooth and heavy and ripped with veins, it’s like a too hard muscle about to bludgeon something, and your hand is making it drool profusely. Would that it were inside you, you would be in grave danger, and why is it that you find the prospect so seductive?

His hand is far bigger than yours, and it makes your heart run wild, the way he tries to be gentle while using your grip to get himself off. He can’t even keep his eyes open from the shame, just takes a quick glance at your enthralled face before squeezing his eyes shut once more.

“Look at me,” you command softly, and he obeys – what else can a sworn knight do? – but you can see that the poor man is on the verge of tears. Shaking and panting, he stares at you while fucking himself with your hand, and when you close the small breath of air between you and kiss him, he melts.

The first thick spurt surprises you completely, you even mewl into his mouth when it shoots to stain your dress. You didn’t expect that to happen, at least not so fast… And because this is the first time you’ve seen a man come undone, you quickly leave the panting, moaning mouth and look down.

There’s so much of it, and the release is so violent; it looks and sounds like it hurts because the man is shuddering and groaning as if stabbed. Thick, white pulses of seed coat the brown wool of your dress, but it soaks the semen gladly: there’s nothing left of his cum other than dark, damp stains after he’s done.

And there’s no end to his shame. He pries your hand away from his cock as soon as he’s somewhat composed. Does it with a shaky hand, wipes what little stains of hot, wet seed you have on your palm to his pants, and all you’re thinking about is what it would feel like to have this giant trembling and groaning like that above you, inside you… If you could even take all of that thick, brutal length. If he would be able to move away when inside your heat, if he’d let you hug him again, just hold him close so that he’d never ever leave anymore…

“I have soiled you,” he mutters while looking at your skirt.

“Nonsense. You have only claimed me... I’m yours now.”

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You actually manage to kiss him silent. Tears begin to run down his face when you show him where he belongs. It’s the final surrender as he pulls you into his arms and finally drowns you in love – at last, you find yourself under him as he takes what's his. What seems like hours later, he breaks the kiss, only to look into your eyes with full-blown adoration.

“How am I to live without you after this?”

“You don’t have to. Not ever,” you say.

“Princess. If there was any hope for me to have your hand, if there was any hope that your father would give it, I would have carried you away from this place years ago.”

For a while, you fear it’s the fear of sin that burns him. But then you realize it was always only just you.

He looks so anguished now, even more in pain, when all you wanted to do was relieve his agonies. This was only a taste of what he can’t have. You both took a bite of the forbidden fruit but can’t eat the entire thing – no wonder he looks like he’s cast out of heaven he didn’t know even existed.

“Sir, I cannot do this,” you grab his face with both hands now. “Please don’t make me do this...”

He sighs and looks at the mess you just made. He’s broken every oath he’s ever taken, and the evidence is scattered right there between you. The only thing deadlier than this would’ve been if he pumped all of that hot, fluid sin inside you.

“Sweetling,” he laments. “Look at us. You’ve already ruined me. Ruined us both…”

“It’s called love, silly.”

He breathes a short, shy smile, the first you’ve ever seen on him. It’s cute and makes him look young, the quick flash of teeth between unruly lips, the almost bashful, downcast eyes that are not quite ready to meet the full brunt of your devotion.

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

Then he brings his eyes back to yours, his smile slowly making way for a more serious expression. He lifts a hand to touch your cheek, and you find yourself soaring in the sky like a bird, a phoenix that has risen from the dead. It’s heavenly, the way you both caress each other, here on the lowly tavern’s bed, covered in salt, sweetness and sin.

“Your father will have both our heads if he finds out,” he tells you as if you needed the reminder.

“I pray our heads will never be separated then.”

He snorts a quick smile again. It makes you heady, that you’re apparently the only one who can make this gruesome giant laugh.

“You’re dangerous, princess,” he gruffs. “I knew you were trouble… And yet I curse all the years I left you in peace.”

“I know,” you smile. “Never the brightest one, my love...”

When you lie in his arms that night and tell him about your silly little fantasies, he grows hard again. When you tell him you now have new ones—ones where you’d want to feel him inside you—he looks like a man condemned to death.

The stares he shoots your way make it clear that he’s lost – no matter what he says, he can’t be kept away from you, not anymore. You suppose he’ll forsake even more secret promises and vows before forsaking the pledge he swore to you. Even at the cost of your lives, he’ll come scratching at your door, howling for some quick, hot love in the night, begging for you to give him everything he has denied himself.

And eventually, you grow more serious too. While lying in his arms, safe and tucked away from all the horrors of this world, you play with the leather strings of his gambeson, tugging them and twisting them around your finger like a child.

“There will come a day when they promise me to another,” you whisper, wondering if he’s already asleep.

He promised to never leave your side again, he promised. And still… What will happen when the carriage and horses take you to some distant, hostile kingdom, far away from him? What if you only get this summer together, and then nothing no more?

“They’ll take me away,” you tell him, almost without a voice.

A soft, hearty grumble answers, a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for.

“No one will take you away, sweetling. Not as long as I live.”

#könig x reader #könig x you #medieval au #konig x reader #könig fanfiction #cheesy romance warning

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punkshort · 2 months

Text

somewhere to run | 10. austin

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel travel to Austin to meet with a lawyer.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, hurt/comfort, flirting, sexual tension, emotional abuse, infidelity, some recapping of DV and SA situations but nothing new, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected (reader previously mentions she's on bc) piv sex

WC: 6.6K

A/N: I have started a notification blog - @punkshort-notifs if you are interested in following for fic updates (but I will be keeping the tag list for this series until it is over)

Series Masterlist

One Month Later

Life carried on the way it always does. Without permission, regardless of any pain or suffering, it always remained a constant. Whether you were present or not, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or hide from it, it didn't matter, because life always carried on.

The first week was the worst. A week of what you could only describe as depression. A week of being alone. Safe, but terribly alone. Going to work helped distract you, until he came in for lunch like always and it felt like your heart was being torn in two all over again. And you could tell it hurt him, too, but you both seemed willing to withstand the pain over not seeing each other at all. Because even though it hurt, it was a reminder you were alive. A reminder that you could still care enough about somebody else, despite everything.

The second week was when you could no longer smell him in your bed. You woke up one morning, eyes barely even open as you searched around the pillowcase, then the sheets, grabbing and pulling at the fabric, desperate to seek out his scent to no avail.

The third week was when you finally didn't have to fight the urge to call or text him, even though he said you could, you knew it would just make things harder. And he must have agreed because he didn't reach out, either.

The fourth week was when you began to feel like you were finally coming out of your slump. You could go to the grocery store or pharmacy and didn't feel your heart skip a beat, you didn't scan the parking lot for his truck in the hopes of running into him. You didn't stop thinking about him, but it just hurt less. That is, until you ran into Hailey coming back from work one evening.

She was out on the sidewalk, cleaning up some garbage from the picnic tables in front of the pizzeria when you waved and caught her eye. You could immediately tell something was wrong by the pained smile she gave you.

"Hey," she said, the smile not reaching her eyes as she leaned up against her broom.

"What's going on?" you asked her. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah, I know, sorry. Work's been-" she waved in the direction of the propped open door and shook her head. "But I've been meaning to talk to you."

"Oh?"

"It's about book club," she said, dropping her gaze to the ground. "And I just want to let you know, I voted against it-"

"They don't want me back, do they?" you offered, trying to make it easier for her. She sighed and shook her head.

"It's all so stupid, I'm sorry," she said, looking up at you again. "Nikki's got all those old ladies wrapped around her finger and they're just pissed Joel dumped her for... well, y'know."

"They know we aren't together, right? I mean, I'm married..." you trailed off, not wishing to go into too much detail when you knew eventually when you went to court, all your dirty laundry would be aired.

"Yeah, they do. Still, they blame you, and it's stupid, like I said. They should be mad at Joel, it's not like it's your fault, and I swear I tried explaining that-"

"It's okay," you said, holding up your hand and giving her a sad smile. "I appreciate it, but it's fine. I have a lot coming up, anyway. I won't find that much time to read."

"But we can still hang out! Do you wanna go get drinks this weekend? Or maybe see a movie?" Hailey asked, and you could tell she genuinely felt bad.

"Yeah, either of those sound great," you said. "I'll text you and we can figure something out."

You made a hasty exit and dragged yourself up the stairs to your apartment. Even though you probably wouldn't have continued to go, the rejection still stung.

For a while, the silence was deafening. Without a TV to even distract you, leaving you with endless amounts of time to overthink, you were worried you were going insane. You lucked out recently and found a decent TV at a thrift store, so you at least had something to occupy your time, although you knew it would be short lived. In a couple days, you had an appointment to meet with a law firm in Austin. An appointment Joel had set up and offered to attend with you, and at the time, you were so desperate for anything to do with him, you agreed, but now you were wondering if that was a bad idea. Almost two hours in the car alone with Joel? No, that didn't seem like a good idea at all.

"Whadd'ya mean, you wanna drive separate?" Joel asked as you refilled his coffee. "That doesn't make any sense. Waste of gas."

"Yeah, but I was thinking of staying an extra day. Check out the city," you lied, turning your back to him so he wouldn't be able to see through you.

"Alone?"

You cringed at the word, but nodded. The little dinner bell rang in the window and your eyes jumped up just in time to see Thor put Joel's sandwich on the small shelf. You grabbed the plate and set it down in front of him, his eyes still boring into you, waiting for a better explanation.

"I think it'll just be easier," you said quietly, the words only meant for his ears. When he connected the dots, he leaned back in his chair and nodded.

"Oh," he said, gaze drifting down to his food. "That's a shame. I was lookin' forward to it."

"I'm sorry," you told him, grabbing a rag and pretending to wipe down the counter so your conversation didn't invite gossip and speculation. "So was I. That's the problem."

"And if I promise to behave myself, would you reconsider?" he teased, finally making you smile a little.

"I think you're incapable of behaving yourself, Sheriff," you replied, making him chuckle.

This was what your relationship had been reduced to: quick, flirty exchanges over coffee and turkey clubs. You supposed it was better than nothing.

"C'mon, it's just a couple hours. If you want, you can nap or listen to music," he said, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.

"Fine," you relented, but only because once you offered taking two cars out loud, you realized how stupid it sounded.

"Pick you up at 7?" he asked around a mouth full of food.

"Sure. Do I need to prepare anything? I've never gotten this far in the process before," you told him, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Nope. Helen already sent over all the reports and once the process gets started, they'll reach out to whatever hospital you went to back in Philly to get your emergency room medical reports," he explained, and you nodded along, feeling fidgety. "I'm sure they'll do some more digging while they're at it. Reach out to his police captain and all that."

"Right," you said, biting your nail.

"One step at a time, alright?" he told you softly, picking up on your nerves. "You already did your part, now let the lawyers do theirs."

"But I'll have to testify," you reminded him, and he slowly nodded.

"Most likely, yes. You don't have to, but it'll help your case if you do."

"And he'll be there?" you asked, wringing the towel between your hands.

"Yeah, he'll be there," Joel said, watching your face fall. "But I'll be there, too. You just look at me when the time comes, don't look at him."

"Okay," you said, taking a deep breath. You knew this would be hard, but you also knew it was necessary. "And this lawyer - they can help me get a divorce?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay," you said again. You forced yourself to smile even though the anxiety was already creeping up. "I can do this," you told him, trying to sound confident.

"Hell yes, you can do this," he replied. "That's my girl," he added, picking up his sandwich then pausing before taking a bite. He glanced up at you and gave you half a smirk when he noticed the look on your face at the term of endearment. "Sorry, I'll behave."

You had initially dreaded waking up so early, but after the restless night's sleep you ended up having, it turned out it didn't make much of a difference. Your appointment was at 9:30 and it took about two hours to get to Austin, so Joel arriving at 7am gave you a decent cushion in case there was traffic.

Already two cups of coffee down, you poured the rest into a travel thermos and grabbed your purse before jogging lightly down your stairs. You locked your door and turned towards the street to find Joel's truck parked right out front. Glancing around, you noticed it was fairly quiet still, which was a relief. Joel didn't have to take you to see a lawyer. His job was technically done until the trial. He was doing this for you, to give you some support and advice and it would be ideal if you could keep people from gossiping about it for as long as possible.

"Mornin'," he greeted you with a lazy smile, which perked right up when you handed him the thermos. "Oh, you're an angel, baby," he murmured, taking a sip with an appreciative groan. You took a deep breath and forced yourself to focus on your seatbelt. Less than two minutes and he already had you squirming in your seat.

The first hour of the trip actually turned out to be relatively quiet. You sat in a comfortable silence, listening to the radio while Joel hummed along and tapped the steering wheel and if you closed your eyes, you could imagine the scene just a little differently. Instead of Joel taking you to see a lawyer in Austin so you could press charges and divorce your abusive husband, you imagined you were taking a road trip together. Maybe with no destination in mind: just the two of you and the open road, stopping whenever you saw fit to explore and staying at roadside motels with stiff sheets and shag carpets, limbs tangled together as you panted into each other's mouths. No secrets. No drama. You smiled to yourself, the fantasy giving you a pleasant reminder of what you could have if you just stayed strong.

"What're you smilin' for?" he asked, and your eyes opened to look at him.

"Nothing," you said, and he clicked his tongue against his teeth. God, you missed that tongue and what it could do.

"When all this is over, do you think we can take a road trip together?" you asked him, and his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yeah, 'course we can," he replied, glancing over at you briefly before looking back at the road. "Where did you wanna go?"

"Doesn't matter," you said, rolling the back of your head against the seat. "Just wanna be with you," you added, softer this time. He looked over at you again, examining your face quickly before focusing back on the road.

"Me too, baby," he said, just as softly.

Joel stopped at a gas station just outside the city to fuel up and stretch your legs. After using the restroom, you wandered up and down the aisles while Joel pumped gas just outside. You were the only one in the store, aside from the sleazy cashier with greasy hair and nicotine stained teeth leering at you every time you crossed his field of vision.

You decided on a couple waters and some sugary pastries and made your way up to the front, forcing a polite smile for the cashier, whose eyes were greedily raking up and down your frame as you approached. You were wearing a modest dress with a cardigan, doing your best to look put together for your appointment, but that didn't stop the cashier's eyes from roaming.

"That all?" he asked as he began to ring you up. You nodded and hummed before glancing out the window, watching as Joel replaced the nozzle on the pump.

"$8.32," he told you, his eyes dropping to your chest as you pulled out a ten dollar bill from your wallet and handed it to him. Your fingertips tapped impatiently on the counter as he slowly counted out your change, clearly trying to prolong the interaction longer than necessary. When it appeared he was ready to hand over the money, you held your hand out, but he pulled your change back a bit and leaned forward.

"You from 'round here?"

"No, just passing through," you said, lifting your hand again, but he clenched your change in his fist.

"What's a pretty girl like you doin' out here all by yourself?" he sneered, his hand dropping below the counter to not so subtly adjust himself in his pants. You made a disgusted face and he smirked.

"She ain't alone," Joel's deep voice rang out from behind you. The cashier's eyes drifted over your shoulder and looked like he was about to make a snide comment when you felt Joel's hand around your waist. His eyes fell to Joel's belt and saw the badge and gun and the smirk he was sporting a moment ago vanished. He quickly handed you back your change and busied himself with organizing the cigarettes while Joel tugged on your waist, urging you to back towards the parking lot.

"And you wanted to drive separate," Joel teased as he led you towards his truck. He opened the passenger door and stepped back so you could get in but you paused and looked up at him. His forehead crinkled as he grinned, his eyes squinting in the sun and all you wanted to do was kiss him and never stop.

"What?" he finally asked when you didn't make a move to get into the car.

"I really want to kiss you right now," you murmured, and you watched the grin slip from his face and his eyes flick down to your mouth.

"We can't," he replied, his voice pained as his gaze continued to drift from your eyes to your lips.

"I know," you sighed. Instead, you stood on your tiptoes to press a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering a moment longer than you should have before climbing into his truck. His breathing stuttered, the feeling of your lips on his skin again sending him into a tailspin. He took a deep breath and looked up at you in the cab, putting on your seatbelt.

"Soon," he told you, giving your leg a squeeze before closing the door.

"So you mentioned you know some of these lawyers?" you asked him as he drove through downtown Austin.

"Yeah, I've dealt with this law firm a lot on some cases over the years. They're good people, as far as lawyers go," he joked before making a right hand turn. "I asked to meet with one of the women. Her name's Madeline. She's nice. Been there a real long time. Thought you'd feel more comfortable with that," he said, and you nodded.

"Thank you," you told him for maybe the twentieth time that day. You were convinced if not for Joel, you never would have made it this far. You would have had no idea where to even begin, but he knew the answers to all those questions and helped give you the confidence you so desperately needed.

Your hands began to shake and your stomach felt like it was in knots as the two of you walked up to the front doors of the impressive four-story building. Men and women streamed in and out of the doors, most dressed in suits and pencil skirts and talking on their phones hurriedly. You swallowed the lump in your throat once you got to the front of the building, but Joel held the door open for you with a reassuring smile.

"Don't be nervous, it'll be alright," he murmured as you walked up to the large receptionist desk that housed two women with headsets on, typing furiously into their computers. One looked up and caught your eye, giving you a friendly smile.

"Mornin'," Joel said, telling the young woman your name and appointment time. She glanced at her computer and nodded before looking back up at you both with another smile.

"I'll let her know you're here, you can take a seat. It shouldn't be very long," the woman said, casting Joel one more admiring glance before she turned back to her phone and dialed a number.

Joel led you over to some plush couches and chairs and you nervously picked up an old magazine. You skimmed through it, just looking for something to occupy your hands as you waited. He sat down next to you, then inched closer so he could rest his arm along the back of the couch. It felt like he was wrapping his arms around you without actually touching you, and it gave you a temporary sense of peace.

After a few minutes of listening to the receptionists answer the phones and transfer calls, you finally heard your name and Joel's. You both looked up to find a thin, middle aged woman with short, blonde hair and glasses and a kind smile waiting for you.

"Maddy," Joel said warmly, and the hairs on the back of your neck went up. He wouldn't have asked an ex-girlfriend to represent you, would he?

"Joel, long time no see," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before introducing herself to you and shaking your hand.

"That's usually a good thing," he reminded her as the two of you followed her down a long hallway, passing by a few empty conference rooms and closed doors that presumably lead to offices.

"Yes, very true," she agreed with a chuckle before stopping in front of her office. She extended an arm, inviting the two of you to enter first before she followed and closed the door behind her.

"How's Tracy?" Joel asked, glancing at a photo on her desk as you sat down.

"She's great. It's our ten year anniversary this summer. We're planning a cruise," she said, settling into her desk chair and shooting you a smile.

Okay, so probably not an ex.

"Alright, let's not waste any time. I know you drove a long way to get here," Madeline said, clasping her hands together on her desk and giving you another smile. She gave off a positive energy, and you could feel yourself loosening up. "I read over everything Joel sent over so I know the basics, and I am so sorry for everything you've had to endure," she said, her eyes softening. "But can you explain to me why you've never tried to come forward before? Trust me, his lawyer will bring it up."

"Well, I have tried," you began, your fingers tangling together in your lap. "I've gone to the police a handful of times but every time I thought I was making progress, Patrick would do something - call in a favor, I don't know," you said with a shrug. "And my police reports magically disappeared. I've gone to the hospital on several occasions-"

"That's right, I did read that. Which hospital?" she asked, picking up a pen, the tip hovering over a legal pad.

"There were a few different ones," you said, then rattled off the names and approximate dates you visited each hospital.

"Okay. We'll reach out and get copies of those records for the trial," she said, dropping the pen and looking at you to continue.

You went on to tell her about your experience with the police back in Philadelphia and how angry Patrick would get after those visits. You told her about his disappearances for days at a time and how he would come home in a haze, no doubt with alcohol and some type of drug in his veins, how those were the times he hurt you the most.

By the time you got to the part in your story where you packed a bag and left Philadelphia during one of Patrick's benders, you felt a lot more at ease. Your nerves were gone and Madeline's comforting gaze made it so much easier to tell her everything.

"So the next step in the process is discovery. Our team here is going to be digging up dirt back in Philly, and I am sure Patrick's lawyer is already doing the same thing," she said, putting down her pen and looking at you over her glasses. "That being said: is there anything I need to know? I don't like surprises in court. I don't care if you ever smoked weed or pushed him back, I just need to know so I can get ahead of it." You quickly shook your head.

"No, I've never tried drugs and I never hit him back." You glanced over at Joel for the first time and found him staring at you with a look in his eye that made you believe you were thinking about the same thing. After a moment, you turned back to Madeline, about to open your mouth to speak when Joel cut you off.

"There's one more thing," he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. She looked at him curiously, clearly not expecting him to have anything to add. "We, uh," he cleared his throat and glanced over at you. "We had a brief, personal relationship," he said. Madeline sat back in her chair and you could have sworn she was glaring at him. "It's over. It was just once," he continued, and you nodded quickly, trying to help him out.

"Nobody knows, either," you told her, drawing her gaze back onto you. "Patrick had his suspicions, but he also accused me of sleeping with two cooks from work, which is untrue," you clarified, "he's just jealous and angry."

"How can you be sure nobody knows?" she asked, and you paused.

"W-well, nobody..." you trailed off, looking at Joel for help.

"It's a small town, Maddy. If people knew, they'd be talkin'. Trust me," he said, rolling his eyes. "The most anyone knows is I had a little crush on her, but nothin' more."

"Besides. Patrick's cheated on me for years. I'm not an idiot, I could smell the perfume on his jacket and found the condom wrappers in his pants pocket," you told her, but she shook her head.

"This is a little different, hun," she said, leaning forward. "Joel's the town sheriff. He arrested Patrick and broke his nose. It's going to look like he had ulterior motives," she said, lifting up a piece of paper in front of her to double check her notes.

"I didn't break his nose, the table broke his nose. It was self-defense. The guy's got nothin'," Joel scoffed.

"Yeah you're probably right, but he's still going to make your life a living hell in court," Madeline said. "You looking for representation, too?"

"What?!" you exclaimed, turning in your seat to look at Joel. "He's suing you?"

"Yeah, it's no big deal. Happens from time to time, nothin' ever comes from it," he said casually.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you asked, your voice softening.

"Didn't wanna worry you. You gotta focus on this," he said, pointing to Madeline. "The other shit doesn't matter."

You wanted to argue with him but you knew your time was running short, so you let it go.

"Well at least you had the good sense not to take her statement," she said, glancing down at the papers before her. "Let's just hope it doesn't come up, and if it does, I'll be prepared," she said, making a note to herself before giving you her attention again. "I'll do my best to fast track this and set a court date. I'll have my team call his superior officer and we'll run some checks on him, call the hospitals, and start building your case. I'll be in touch soon about any potential witnesses you can bring to the stand that you trust. Anybody who might have witnessed Patrick abusing you, even if he was just yelling or twisting your arm. People you confided in. Anybody you might think can help, start thinking about it now and gathering contact info, okay?"

"Okay," you said firmly. You were starting to feel better, like this was the beginning of the end. And you had the feeling that Madeline was the right person to fight for you. She seemed honest and straight forward, understanding yet tough. This was someone who would give you your freedom back.

"And I can get a divorce?" you asked, and she nodded.

"Yes, I'm going to file the petition this afternoon and he will be served the papers," she explained. "If he contests it, we can cross that bridge when we come to it, but I'm hoping with all the fire we're throwing at him, he won't want to put up a fight."

"Thank you," you breathed, feeling even more at ease now that something was actually happening today. Any amount of progress at this point made you feel good.

You stayed another hour to review an endless amount of paperwork: the contract with the law firm, reviewing your statement for any inaccuracies, initialing and dating next to so many paragraphs on the petition to be filed that your eyes were going blurry by the end.

As you both stood up to follow Madeline out of her office, you stopped short.

"Wait, what about payment? I don't think we discussed legal fees in the contract," you said, frowning as you pulled your copy of the contract out from under your arm.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought Joel already told you," she said, glancing over at Joel, who dropped his gaze to his shoes. "The partners picked your case pro bono. The firm has to do a certain number each year and Joel suggested to a few of the right people that your case should be considered."

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped.

"Are you kidding me?" you whispered in shock, trying to fight the tears that were beginning to spring up. You looked at Joel but he averted his gaze before awkwardly clearing his throat.

"It's no big deal-" he began, but you cut him off.

"No, it is a big deal," you told him, and he clamped his mouth shut. Madeline's eyes flicked between the two of you for a moment, watching as you tried and failed to come up with the right words to convey your gratitude.

"The firm is happy to represent you, hun," Madeline said, breaking the silence. "We're gonna make sure this guy gets what's coming to him, understand?"

You tore your eyes away from Joel, who was finding it difficult to look anywhere but the floor.

"Thank you. Thank you so much," you told her, and she smiled before extending her arm towards the door.

As you walked towards the lobby, she was reminding you to expect a call in a few days with an update and to have a list of contacts ready for her, but you just nodded along numbly, barely listening.

Joel had already gone above and beyond by finding you a good lawyer and coming with you for support, but to also convince them to handle your legal fees? He didn't have to do any of this, but he did, and he didn't expect anything in return. Nobody had ever expressed so much concern about you before. And as you walked in silence towards the parking garage, you realized there could only be one explanation. There could only be one reason why he would do so much, and the thought had your heart pounding in your chest.

You drove in silence for a while, the atmosphere in the truck tense. He tried putting music on but you couldn't focus on anything other than everything that happened in the past few hours. Then you started to go back even further: cleaning your apartment and finding you furniture after Patrick vandalized it, walking you home during a rain storm, fixing your fucking sink when you had barely spoken two sentences to him. You rolled your head to the side, watching him as he focused on the freeway, his grip tight around the steering wheel.

"Look at me," you said quietly, and you saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. After too long of a pause, he just said one word.

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm drivin'."

"Bullshit," you said, and watched his throat bob as he swallowed nervously. You continued to stare him down, willing him to look at you, needing to see into his eyes to confirm your suspicion.

"Please, Joel," you finally said, your voice small. You could see the conflict in his face. The way his lips formed a hard line and his brows pinched together as he fought the urge, but once again he found he couldn't say no.

Slowly, he pulled his gaze off the road and forced himself to look at you. Your lips parted as you looked right through him and he knew right then and there he was fucked.

"Pull over," you mumbled, and he just nodded. He could feel the heat of your gaze on him as he took the nearest exit and pulled into a parking lot of what appeared to be an abandoned department store.

He didn't need to ask and you didn't bother to explain.

Once he parked, doing his best to choose a secluded spot, you each ripped off your seatbelts. He reached down to pull the lever below his seat and slid it back as far as it would go and in broad daylight, you climbed over the console to straddle his lap. His hands flew to your hips as you gripped the sides of his face, searching his eyes frantically before your mouth crashed down over his with a moan.

Joel was normally a strong man, but something about you always made him so weak. Weak and selfish and desperate and he wouldn't have it any other way. That's why, even though he knew it was a mistake, he kissed you back. Your tongues tangled together and when your hands slid up to his hair, he was done for. You were too warm and tasted too sweet and felt too fucking good, it was a miracle he came to his senses when your hand dropped down between you to land on his belt and he managed to pull away.

"That's not why I did all this," he said, each of you panting for air. "I didn't do it so I could fuck you."

"I know," you assured him, cupping the back of his neck. "I know why you did it."

He gazed up at you and slowly nodded.

"Reckon it's pretty obvious, huh?" he said softly, toying with the hem of your dress.

You didn't say anything in return. Instead, you lowered your mouth hungrily over his and he happily obliged. And when your hand drifted back down to his belt, he didn't stop you. He couldn't deny it any longer. He tried, he really did, but it was hopeless.

He wouldn't say the words out loud, and you were grateful. Because if he had, you weren't sure you would be able to convince yourself this was a one-time thing. Madeline's disapproving glare was seared into the back of your mind, her comments about Joel's own lawsuit still very much a concern, but when you lowered yourself onto him, each of you groaning your need into each other's mouths as you stretched around him, it all became a distant memory.

"Missed you so much," you mumbled against his skin as your mouth dragged down his jaw. You rolled your hips, slowly at first, but picked up the pace when you remembered you were in the middle of a parking lot and didn't have much time. "You feel so good," you continued, feeling his arms tense around you as he tried to hold himself back. "Think about you all the time. Especially in bed - ah!" you cried out when he began bucking up into you.

"Yeah? You touch yourself when you think about me?" he grunted in your ear, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you nodded. His hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements up and down while his mouth ghosted over your chest, wishing more than ever he could glide his tongue over your nipples, but he was too aware of where you were. He settled for yanking the sleeve of your dress down, exposing your shoulder so his teeth and facial hair could leave little red marks, hidden from view.

"Can't get enough of you, can't fuckin' stay away," he groaned, watching as you circled your hips, greedily chasing your own pleasure. Your arm shot out to the side, seeking leverage against the now foggy window, your fingers leaving telltale streaks as your hand slowly dragged downwards so when he got into his truck the next morning, he would see the ghost of your hand in the early morning dew.

"Joel," you whined, tossing your head back while you began to bounce, your ass accidentally beeping the horn and making you both laugh. Nothing could harm you here. Not when you had each other. Not when you had the feel of his rough hands over your skin and his soft lips against your mouth.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. "C'mon, baby. Want you to feel me tomorrow," he said, lifting his hips up to meet yours, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

You gasped as your body went rigid, a white hot heat ripping through you while your legs began to shake and you whimpered his name over and over. You heard Joel groan and say something, probably a warning he was close, but you couldn't be sure. You nodded and mumbled some encouragement but your mind was still too fuzzy and your ears were practically ringing from the force of your orgasm. But when his teeth sunk into your shoulder, the slight pain snapped you out of it. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you down firmly onto his lap until his body stilled and he grunted into your skin.

You rested your cheek on the top of his head while his face stayed buried in your chest, both of you fighting for air as reality slowly began to sink in.

"Guess I didn't behave myself," he finally said with a chuckle. You grinned and lazily raised your head up so you could look at him.

"I think I'll take the blame for this one," you said before lifting off of him with a little gasp and moving your underwear back in place. You were about to swing your leg back over to your seat when he stopped you.

"Just another minute," he said, his hands mindlessly sliding up and down your thighs, and you draped your arms around his neck.

"We shouldn't do this again," you finally said, breaking the spell. He sighed and nodded but his hands continued to glide up and down your legs.

"I know."

You cupped his face and tilted his chin up to look at you. Your thumbs brushed over his cheeks as you stared into his eyes, still seeing everything he didn't have the courage to say. Leaning down, you pressed a tender kiss against his lips, then rested your foreheads together.

"Thank you, Joel."

"You're welcome, baby."

As promised, a few days later, Madeline's secretary reached out for a list of contacts that could be called upon to support your case. You didn't have many people in your corner, but you gave her your cousin's information back in Philadelphia, an old co-worker who you had partially confided in when the abuse started, a few friends who had noticed bruises but you had made up excuses for them at the time, and you reluctantly gave your mother's information, with the note to discuss with you first before contacting her.

You had hoped Madeline wouldn't want to call on your mother to testify. You hadn't spoken to her since you ran away to Texas, and given the way she responded when you told her what Patrick was doing, you weren't confident she would be a good witness. But it was still someone from your past who you confided in, and that was what Madeline was looking for: a trail of evidence, cries for help, anything to prove the most recent incident was not a one off situation.

"Madeline called me today," you told Joel after picking up his empty plate.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"She reviewed all the contacts I gave to her secretary and she scheduled another appointment for next week."

"Great, what day?" he asked, pulling out his phone.

"Tuesday," you said, replacing his coffee with a glass of ice water. He glanced up at you and quirked an eyebrow. "You drink too much caffeine," you explained, and he grinned.

"Ah, shit. I have a thing at Sarah's school that day. Lemme see if I can reschedule it-"

"No, go to Sarah's school, I wasn't telling you so you would come with me, I was just... letting you know," you said with a shrug.

"You sure?" he questioned, and you nodded.

"I'm sure. I know how to get there now and I feel comfortable with Madeline. I swear, I'll be fine," you told him. He put his phone down on the counter and thought for a moment before leaning forward and lowering his voice.

"This ain't 'bout what happened last time, is it?"

"No!" you said in surprise, and he looked relieved. "Not at all. I'm just trying to... I don't know, take control of my life, I guess?" He nodded but he still looked confused. "What I mean is, I think it's important I do some things for myself. Not that I don't appreciate-"

"I get it," he said with a chuckle as he stood up from his stool. "You just let me know if you change your mind."

"Okay," you replied with a smile, but stopped him when you realized he hadn't touched his water. You held the glass out to him and he stared at it, then looked at you with a sigh before plucking it from your grip and downing the whole thing in one gulp.

"Happy?"

"Very," you said with a grin, and watched him as he walked towards the front door, stopping briefly to chat with Maria before heading back to work.

Joel shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress pants as he walked back to the station, nodding to a few people along the way. He couldn't stop his gaze from traveling up to the window above the pizza place every time he walked by, smiling to himself when he noticed a new plant in your window.

The bullpen sounded quiet as Joel made his way back to his office. He liked quiet days. That was always a good day, in his book. He sat down in his chair with a huff, the little orange light on his desk phone blinking angrily at him, indicating a voicemail. He picked up the phone and punched in his passcode. He was reaching for a pen when the voice on the other end of the phone made him freeze.

"Joel, it's Maddy. Give me a call back when you get this, it's urgent."

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller series #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #sheriff!joel #waitress reader #STR fic

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ohnococo · 15 days

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Love Potion | Sukuna x Reader

Sukuna shows a hidden side of himself, thanks to Uraume’s interference

❦ WC: 2.7k

❦ Warnings: Love potions/love spell, fem bodied reader (no pronouns stated, true form sukuna, heian era, light body worship (reader receiving), porn with very loose plot, vaginal sex, creampie, love confessions

Sukuna doesn’t know what’s happening to him. His limbs are heavy, his head is spinning, and he’s moving so, so slowly despite the adrenaline coursing through him and forcing his heart to stomp out a fast beat.

One moment he’s indulging in another of Uraume’s carefully prepared meals, the next he’s dragging his heavy feet through the halls, seeking out the only thing that could soothe the tightly clenched fist that pounds away inside of his chest. His lower arms hang at his sides, the upper ones groping uselessly at the walls, as if his body were warning him that every little thought that he’d buried deep in the back of his mind with all the other things that had no use to him was on the tip of his tongue, threatening to escape.

Because he knew where his body was carrying him from the moment he’d realised he was standing. He’s tread this path many times, it’s one leading to you, his favourite plaything. He treads this path when he’s hungry, looking for your body to indulge him. He treads this path when he needs another pretty thing to drape across himself as warlords and sorcerers alike bore him with their paltry offerings. He even treads this path when he feels his favour towards you is becoming too obvious, but if he has chosen to turn his attention elsewhere he will still will his large body to move silently enough to watch you through your cracked door as you preen and slumber and lie in wait for only him.

This time he knows that something has caused him to lose his thick armour of control over his mind and body alike. As his feet move against his will he wonders, had some unknown curse been sent his way, or attached itself to him upon his return? Had some sorcerer managed to apply some technique to have him acting recklessly, risking it all, and he would be left with everything he’d built ruined once he’d finished up whatever his body needed from you in this moment?

Because his body does need you. It had needed you from the moment he’d last left you, it had needed you every time he went to someone else to satisfy his hedonistic urges. But no, he thinks, he has no desire to start challenges unfitting, no desire to claim that which is not yet ready to be his by way of encroaching upon territories unavailable to even him. His only desire is you.

As he finally reaches the door to your room, it comes to him then. The drink Uraume had insisted he have alongside his meal, metallic and bitter, but able to wash sustenance down all the same. Some spell must have been put upon that drink, and it’s led him here. With all of his wondering if he was being too soft on you for his reputation’s sake, he had failed to consider he was being too soft on Uraume. Soft enough to allow them to meddle in things which did not concern them, things Sukuna often wished did not concern him too.

That’s a matter for another time though, as his head pounds with his blood’s attempts to decide where it should be sent to, because his cock was already alert, as if it were a compass pointing him in your direction. And his face and chest alike are tinted pink with a blush betraying the feelings plaguing his mind and overtaking his consideration of why and how this was all happening.

Once the door is opened, and his eyes are on you, he isn’t thinking about anything at all, he’s just letting his body do what it so badly needs to, as if he’s in a trance.

“Lord Sukuna!” You’re quick as ever, sliding off of your bed to settle onto your knees, prostrate on the floor for your Lord.

His blood rushes so quickly he can hardly hear you, but the image of you before him, in a perfect dogeza, makes his head spin. He falls to his knees in front of you, waiting for you to look at him with your adoring eyes, but you know better. You know so much when it comes to him, though with everything his body was screaming for him to do you may just find out something new.

Eventually, just as your body tensed and shivers with a chill of uncertainty about his intentions in crouching before you and watching instead of doing, as he generally did, it’s he who moves you. He lifts you by your shoulders, crawling forward on all fours and nearly toppling you backwards in a bid to take up any space dividing you. It’s unlike him to lower himself to your level, and he can see an attempt to hide your confusion at seeing him on his knees like this. You let him move you, only adding enough stiffness to your body to stay upright until you’re propping yourself up with your hands behind you. Sukuna gets low enough, in what one could mistake as a bow of his own until he’s pressing kisses to the tops of your feet.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this now of all times, and in a manner that could almost be construed as submissive. Usually this was an action meant for highly specific occasions: when your legs are up and he’s been fucking you until you hardly know where you are or what’s happening, when he bends his head just low enough to press a kiss to the arch of your feet, eyes on you in case you come to from your sweating, drooling state of overwhelm and see the odd slip of tenderness he bides his time for.

But now, your feet were the first thing his eyes locked onto once he had hit the ground before you. So he does what his body calls for without a second thought. It’s odd, soft even, until he wraps his hand around your ankle and sits back on his haunches as he kisses at the ball of your foot. Having your leg lifted up so high forces you to lie back fully, and Sukuna is pulled to close one set of eyes with the relief of finally touching you, while the other watches how your hair splays out on the floor below. The view of your chest rising and falling quicker moves his focus to your body as he kisses at your ankle, indulging in you even as his chest screams for him to erase the remaining space between you so he can be close enough to hear your breaths over his pounding heart.

He makes a steady path of kisses up your legs, yet another distraction of desire arising as he’s torn between the call of your softly parted lips letting out gentle sighs and the smell of your heat as you become ready for him as is your duty. His hands move to grope at your body, kneading at your calves, your thighs, your hips. The way you twitch in his grasp assures him of your readiness for him to latch onto your pussy.

It’s presented so needily to him as he spreads it and sees the glistening wetness awaiting him. Being so lucky as to have Ryomen Sukuna between your legs always results in his making a vicious and unrelenting move to have you screaming from his actions until you were crying and trembling and too sore for what would surely come after. You’ve come to expect this when he dips between your thighs, and he’s come to find a hidden level of appreciation in giving it.

Then he shocks himself as much as he does you when instead, he presses a kiss to your mound, drawn in by the scent and softness of your hair more than anything. It’s gentle, chaste, and he buries his nose into the hair there, breathing deeply and trembling slightly as he releases that breath hot and heavy through his mouth. He opens wide, as if he means to finally dive in as you’d both been anticipating, but only presses his lips there and breathes you in, as if he could taste your essence just from having his mouth so near. He nuzzles at the soft hair again, before sliding his nose upwards until he’s kissing at your hip.

His path makes another diversion as he moves further and his tongue circles your belly button. It sends a shiver through you, before he’s returning to making his way up your body, scooping you off of the floor and onto his lap as he does. Kisses and touches alike are soft enough that you’re covered in goosebumps, nipples hardened and body already preparing for him to sink you down on him. Instead, he only holds you close, rocking back and forth gently as he buries his face between your breasts and slides your open robe off of your shoulders to pool on the floor behind you.

When you relax into him, sighing and cooing like he’s never experienced before, he’s overcome with an odd feeling in his chest. A tightness even more intense than before, like his lungs were failing him, like his heart was bound so tightly it had to fight to beat and keep his blood stuck in its preternatural rush. Every move you make seems to push his mind and body further out of his control, as if he were acting on instinct alone - except his instincts aren’t telling him to tear you apart and bury himself in what is his, they’re telling him to surround you and fill you and let you fill him until his senses know nothing else.

Another string knots itself around his bound heart as you lean back in his grasp, exposing your neck to him. He’s quick to bring his affections upwards to the sensitive skin, licking up your throat and sucking at the spot between your jaw and neck. He nuzzles into you there, breathing you in deep, making a groan so low and drawn out it was as if he were purring like a cat.

“Touch me.” Hearing his own voice startles him, low and breathy rather than his usual demanding growl or lilting disinterest, and you’re quick to obey as you wrap your arms around him, running your hands across his broad shoulders.

“Yes.” This he can feel himself letting loose, a hiss sent straight from his chest, then from somewhere lower as his next order comes a little more forcefully. “More.”

You run your hands along what you can reach of his upper back, as if soothing his heated skin, and everywhere your touch connects has his eyes rolling, head lolling back as he separates his face from you for the first time since his lips had connected. He feels like he needs to straighten himself to breathe properly, lifting you higher as his hips rise and his tired eyes look towards the obscured heavens.

Each inhale is laboured, each exhale that low purr, as you drag your hands up, over the back of his neck, tilting his head forward to rest on your shoulder. You run your fingers through his hair, sending shivers through him, and the sensory overload of your touch, your skin on his, your scent clouding the murky waters of his mind, trickles down to converge in his aching cock.

It finally reminds him of why his body had brought him here, and what was needed to soothe it and stop the way it screams for you. If only he could focus, but your movements continue because he hasn’t told you to stop - he can’t - and hairs stand on end as you massage at his scalp, then run your fingers back down until you’re caressing his thick neck again. You lean back in his strong arms, held up by only him as he separates your bodies for you to run your hands over his chest. Fingertips tickle at his clavicles, and his breath stutters. When your hands slide gently over his nipples, he swallows hard, and as your hands are drawn back upward he wonders if your body hears the call of his.

You trace the sides of his neck, increasing the intensity until his eyes stop rolling long enough to focus on yours. Sukuna realises that whatever you chose to do to him right now, he couldn’t stop you, or rather wouldn’t, and were he more coherent such a thought might frighten him. It doesn’t though. With his eyes locked on yours he’s gone, floating above his body, falling into yours, breathing when you breathe, blinking when you blink, until you seem to understand that for the moment you are in control.

His chest tightens further when your first act of control is to kiss him, lips soft and wet on his cheek, just below his eyes. The action is mirrored on the other side as well, a little more firmly, and then you hook one arm around the back of his neck, reaching down below to line him up with your entrance.

The Ryomen Sukuna he believes himself to truly be returns to him for a moment, as he buries himself in your warmth in one smooth motion, eyes rolling back as he does. He holds you firmly at the hips with two hands, the others retaining the new gentleness he’d been offering you as they slide over your body and feel your every muscle tensing as you squirm and adjust to the stretch of having all of him so quickly.

When you wrap your legs around him, clinging to him as tightly as you can manage, he’s wound even tighter - breath forced from his lungs as he feels as if every inch of you is connected to him. He rocks you both, not in a way that slides his cock against you, in a way that soothes you both. Until your body relaxes, melting into him fully. Your forehead pressed to his, your hands gripping and kneading at the back of his neck, dipping into his hair every so often, your eyes focused on his as if you were waiting for whatever would be set loose once the bindings on his heart snapped.

He feels like he’s floating, like every muscle in his body except for his heart were fully relaxed and carried on the current of his emotions, and it isn’t until the soft ring of your rising moans reaches his ears that he realises he’s been thrusting up into you for some time. You rock into those thrusts, clinging to him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead with soft sighing lips. As for Sukuna, he hardly knows what noises he’s making, or anything that his body is doing except for chasing the high of keeping the two of you connected wherever possible. His eyes take turns rolling or watching you reverently, letting the moment wash over him, scatter him through the current, and rebuild him anew as you clench at him.

In time - though how much time has passed he cannot say - there comes a distant echo, cutting through the haze of the sounds of your breaths and bodies colliding. It sounds very much like his own voice, though he has no clue which mouth is chanting on his behalf. He can’t focus on the words, not that he needs to, as the tightness in his chest begins to snap, little by little, forcing him to face the truth of those words as his body speaks them.

You grip him tightly enough that he can be sure it is not the mouth on his stomach speaking them, because they ring loud and clear in his mind, through the fog that had brought them forth in the first place. Then, you kiss him, and they stop, as his lips busy themselves with drinking in your moans, tangling his tongue with yours, feeling your mouth slide against his.

Then you’re saying them back, and his heart is released, beating wildly enough that it can no longer be restrained. He lets out a noise unlike him, a plea, a prayer, a wilting bellow as he releases inside of you and you squeeze and pull everything he has to offer with the intensity of your body following him through the waves.

You repeat it back to him again, breathlessly, and each utterance waves away the fog in his brain until his own response is the clearest thought he’s had since that drink had passed his lips.

“I love you.”

banners by @cafekitsune

#my writing #reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #x reader #reader insert #self insert #sukuna fic #jjk smut

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black-narwhal · 3 months

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One of my favorite zolu fanfic tropes is just them being so obviously close that everyone else thinks that they clearly should/must be together. But they just arent, and why? cause they're still pining. Or suffice to say Zoro is pining and Luffy is playing the long game. Its just so funny to me when Zoro finally acknowledges he's in love, and everyone else is like dude just say something. But he's all no i cant it'll change everything :( , anyway imma go lay down and cuddle luffy all night. Meanwhile Luffy is just like haha Zoro is mine, my swordsman all mine. And Luffy doesn't even try to hide it. He's always seeking Zoro out first thing, he's always touching him and getting close. Hell he even offers him a bite of food. God forbid someone else hits on Zoro cause Luffy would just crowd up in his space and make Zoro look at only him. And the concept is so fucking funny to me. Because zoro is having a conniption on the side meanwhile Luffy is mentally patting himself on the back cause hes secured his man. he knows Zoro is obsessed with him too.

#zolu #luzo #ao3

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hey-august · 5 months

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Negotiating with pirates | NSFW (Cross Guild x afab!reader)

Description: After accidentally ending up as a bargaining chip during Cross Guild negotiations, you eagerly accept the chance to protect your captain and end up between Mihawk and Crocodile.

Word count: ~2.6k

A/N: One shot smut. Reader has an established relationship with Buggy. Let me know if you see any errors or typos. ♡

Warnings: Not beta read. NC-17. → MDNI ← sub!reader, cuck!buggy, dom!mihawk, dom!crocodile. Threesome, PIV, oral m receiving, vaginal fingering, creampie. afab!reader, no use of Y/N. All parties are consenting adults.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

A Cross Guild meeting was getting heated, more so than usual. A contract that failed under Buggy’s involvement was construed as debt the figurehead clown owed. An increasingly panicked Buggy offered anything to assuage the anger of his furious “companions” and to reduce any debt that they imposed on him.

“What do you have that we can’t get ourselves?” Sir Crocodile asked disdainfully. Buggy floundered. His mouth was faster than his mind, but there must be something he could offer. Propose. Promise.

“I can think of something he has…or should I say someone,” Mihawk remarked. This was an uncomfortable observation.

The trio rarely spoke about personal matters, and definitely never intentionally, however it wasn’t a secret that Buggy had a hook-up. A dedicated partner. This was a fact that the other two would say they didn’t care about. Truthfully, Mihawk had some thoughts. More like a passing interest in why - out of anyone else you could pick - were you with the clown. Maybe you didn’t know what else the world had to offer and this was his chance to show you.

The rest of the discussion, if you could call it that, happened in a blur. Buggy’s wavering voice was overpowered by the two former warlords negotiating on his behalf. When Buggy realized that he had become an accessory once again, he bounced in his seat, trying to alleviate the nervous energy flooding his body. The two commanding pirates set the place and time, which was not far from this moment. As the clown hurried out of the room, Crocodile called out a demand in a puff of smoke, telling Buggy to pick out your outfit.

“When we undress her, I want to be pulling off clothes that you picked out for us.”

Buggy’s panic took on a different tone as he seeked you out. You both had spoken about his cuckold fantasies, but never did anything to make them reality. And now…well it was a classic Buggy mistake. When he finally told you what happened, he had tears in his eyes. Even he doesn’t know if they’re from worry about how you’ll react or fear of what Mihawk and Crocodile will do if you disagree. Or maybe the tears held hopeful anxiety that you might go along with the plan.

Relief washed over Buggy when you agreed. It wasn’t his tears or trembling grasp that convinced you, but your adoration for the pirate clown. For once, you had power that could help him. Not only could this garner favor for your captain, but the heat in his shaky hands told you that he had a personal interest in this idea. You could benefit your captain and fulfill your partner’s fantasy, all while getting intimately familiar with some of the most powerful pirates around.

When the appointed time arrived, Buggy walked you to Mihawk’s quarters. He didn’t guide the way so much as herd you. The clown’s jittery nerves had him flitting around, caught in your orbit. Buggy was a one-man surround sound system - apologizing for putting you in this position, professing his love, telling you to not be nervous or scared, reminding you to say “lighthouse” if you needed to stop, calling you gorgeous, and whining about how hard he was already.

Buggy pulled open the door and let you step into the eagle’s nest first. Partly because you were the visitor they were waiting for, but also to watch how the skirt he chose flounced around your ass while you walked. Crocodile sat back on an ornate sofa, a hazy cloud of smoke circling his head. Mihawk stood nearby, closing whatever discussion they were having before you two arrived. The swordsman held out a hand, beckoning you to come closer. The atmosphere in the room was heavy. Intense. But the attention Mihawk sent your way felt lighter and inviting. When you placed your hand on his, it was the final piece of your confirmation to participate in this arrangement.

A pointed look from Mihawk and a dismissive wave from Crocodile sent Buggy slinking away to a seat on the far side of the room. You turned to watch your captain, but a slender finger on your chin stopped your movement. Mihawk turned your gaze back towards him as his golden eyes looked you up and down.

“Crocodile…” His companion grunted an acknowledgement, already aware of Mihawk’s thoughts.

“Clown, this is really the outfit you picked for us?” Crocodile said, clearly displeased with your attire.

To be fair, it wasn’t particularly sexy or revealing. It was one of your normal outfits, maybe a little more composed than others. It fit well and flattered your figure. You chimed in before Buggy could speak, wanting to divert negative attention away from him.

“What’s wrong with it?”

Following Mihawk’s hesitation, you grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand under your top, letting him graze your bare breast. He squeezed firmly, his touch cool against the heat you were radiating and sent chills through your body. Mihawk felt your nipple harden in response to his touch and gave it a gentle tweak, drinking in the sound of your feather-soft sigh and the intoxicating expression he extracted. Your eyes fluttered under your crinkled brows as you tried to maintain eye contact.

Your hand was still on his wrist and you wanted to show him the other positive benefit of this outfit. Mihawk tensed for a brief moment, reluctant to let you control his body before giving in. You moved his hand under your short skirt, slowly drifting it up the skin of your hip. Teasing both yourself and the pirate in front of you.

“I see,” he murmured while grabbing a handful of your ass, your skin soft and supple against his touch, “it’s not about what you’re wearing, but what you don’t have on. Is that right?”

“Hawkeye gets it! Now you’ll always wonder if there’s anything underneath,” Buggy called out proudly, pleased with his contribution. From this moment on, Mihawk and Crocodile will question what you are, or aren’t, wearing. And if this outfit survives, it will remind you and Buggy of how you were shared between the fierce pirates. It’s a win-win-win.

Ignoring Buggy’s remark, Mihawk kept his attention on you. He pulled away his hand and replaced it on the small of your back, guiding you closer to Crocodile.

“Tell us, did your captain adequately inform you about this agreement?” Mihawk questioned, wanting to be sure you were aware of your involvement here. You nodded and acknowledged that your role was to offset any debt Buggy owed the two men in front of you. Mihawk appeared satisfied with your run-down, giving you courage to share an additional thought floating in your head.

“I’d like to add an amendment.” You felt your small flame of courage flicker under the change in atmosphere as you finished this sentence. Crocodile, who seemed to have been looking through you, was now paying rapt attention. There was an uncomfortable stillness from the area of the room where Buggy was sitting - a bad sign, since he usually had trouble sitting still and containing his nerves. With one foot in the door, you pushed on.

“I don’t like seeing Bu- Captain Buggy get hurt. Whatever frustrations you were going to take out on him, I want you to use me instead.”

If you thought the quiet in the room a moment ago was oppressive, this was a new level. If it wasn’t from the smoke still drifting from Croc, you wouldn’t be sure if anyone was breathing. Despite having Mihawk’s hand resting on your back and Crocodile close enough to touch, you felt as though you isolated yourself. Alone and adrift in a dangerous sea, surrounded by danger.

“I don’t think you know what you’re asking,” Sir Crocodile’s deep voice finally broke the spell in the room. In the corner of your eye, Mihawk nodded in agreement. “I don’t think you can take it.” The Desert King spoke his piece as if it was the end of your bargaining. You were not ready to give up, even with his dominating aura threatening to snuff the remainder of bravery in your body.

“I’d like to try.” Four simple words brought a smile to Crocodile’s face. A dangerous look.

“You’re going to regret this,” Mihawk said quietly, with a sliver of hungry anticipation. For the first time since stepping into the room, you felt small. Fragile under the intensity required to become a former warlord of the sea.

Sir Crocodile extended his large hand. Before you could consider changing your mind - not that they would allow that - you shook, sealing the deal. Before you could release his hand, Crocodile pulled you closer. The way his hand enveloped yours and the rough pull had heat pooling in your core.

“Mihawk’s right. You’re going to regret this deal. Unlike the others, I don’t care about you one way or another. I’m only here for my own pleasure.”

Spurred by false-confidence from your successful bartering, you firmly met Crocodile’s stare.

“If that’s the case, then why are you still talking to me instead of fucking me?”

Your boldness wavered as Crocodile leaned forward and grabbed your chin. Mihawk’s hands on your shoulders sent chills down your spine and made your knees weak. However, it was Crocodile’s cold hook pressing against your slick heat that broke you. A docile lamb at the mercy of two hungry predators.

Time passed in a blur. Hands, mouths, cocks, countless orgasms, kisses, bites, bruises, all of which left your mind spinning. Dirty commands and sweet praises went in one ear and out the other. Heavy moans, groans and whimpers, even periodic commentary from your kind captain filled the room.

“Don’t hold back, she likes it that way.” “Pretty girl, you look so good riding my cock.” “Squeeze your tits for me, dear.” “Cumming on my hand like that makes you look desperate.” “Tell me, does your captain fuck you like this?” “She loves the taste of cum, make her swallow it all.”

Only flashes stuck in your hazy memory. You recall one particular moment stuck between the pirates. Despite being on your hands and knees, you were barely able to keep yourself steady. Instead, you chose to lean into Mihawk’s hold on your hips as his eager cock bullied your dripping cunt. Your mouth ached as Crocodile languidly slid in and out, caressing your jaw and enjoying the vibrations from your endless moaning.

One poorly positioned thrust from Mihawk had him slam into you uncomfortably - nearly painfully. Your body rocked forwards, almost instinctively, trying to move away from the discomfort. Unfortunately, this pushed Crocodile further down your throat, which constricted around him as your gag reflex kicked in.

“Aw poor thing, you’d rather choke on my cock?” Crocodile rumbled as he wiped the tears from the corner of your eyes. “You know I won’t hurt you accidentally, hm? Unlike Mihawk, I know what I’m doing.”

His comments only served to spur on the swordsman, who directed all his attention to making you feel good. An accomplishment he felt satisfied with when you cried his name the loudest during your orgasms.

Eventually, you could tell that Crocodile and Mihawk were becoming worn out. Their movements were sloppy, far less intentional or calculated. They had trouble keeping their strength restrained as they grabbed you and maneuvered your weary body, leaving bruises that formed quickly. Each load they left in or on you felt less heavy than the last. The click of Crocodile’s lighter and the scent of tobacco filling the room were the white flags that signaled the end. Your body relaxed, sinking into the sticky sheets underneath you.

“You should tell your captain thank you,” Mihawk murmured against your ear in between soft kisses.

He pulled his body away from yours as you tilted your head to face Buggy, who was already standing at the edge of the bed. Mihawk hooked a hand around your knee and tugged, easing your sore legs apart. The gesture pulled Buggy’s attention to your beautiful cunt. Cum trickled from your overused hole with each breath and heartbeat, a pool collecting under your body.

Buggy’s hand was furiously pumping his own deprived cock, which was weeping for you. His attention snapped between the glistening treasure between your legs and your face, which was flushed with lust and pride. Words poured from Buggy’s mouth as he poised himself to decorate your heaving chest.

“You did s-so good, you’re such a good little slut.” “I watched the whole time, my little star.” “Just lay there, beautiful, m’so c-close…”

His cum felt hot against your cooling skin, carrying the warmth of his passion and care for you. Buggy leaned in and captured your mouth in a kiss full of emotion. Adoration, appreciation, and a slightly bittersweet hint of an apology for spurring on these events, even though you both clearly enjoyed things.

Buggy expected Mihawk to be upset about the state of his personal belongings. His obviously expensive sheets were beyond saving and it’s very likely that some fluids leaked through to the mattress below. But there was a softness in Mihawk’s eyes as he surveyed your exposed body draped across his bed - a sensual, albeit lewd, work of art. Buggy let Mihawk commit this vision to memory before mentioning that you’d need help cleaning up.

Before Mihawk could tend to you, Crocodile’s hook stopped him. You could barely make out the enigmatic look on his face through your half-lidded eyes. He placed his hand on your thigh, which quivered under the weight. His attention traveled upwards until his fingers brushed against your swollen, sensitive folds. A careful swipe of two fingers scooped up some of the cum that trickled out, which he then eased back into you. You gasped at the intrusion as your body fluttered helplessly around Crocodile’s large fingers. Weakly, you grabbed Crocodile’s wrist as he curled his fingers, already knowing your body inside and out. It only took a few choice movements and a swipe of his thick thumb against your clit to have you shaking under his touch, succumbing to yet another orgasm.

Satisfied with your encore, Crocodile took a towel from Mihawk and wiped his sticky fingers before moving onto your body. The pirates made quick work of caring for your worn out body, cautious of your aching muscles and tender skin. Finally, Buggy wrapped you in his embrace to carry you back to his quarters for a bath and additional tender care.

---

It seemed that everyone’s expectations were fulfilled. The two former warlords upheld the end of the bargain they struck with you, as Buggy rarely returned with injuries. For a time.

About a week later and even you could feel emotions rising. Agitation and tension carried through the air behind each of the three pirates, with a breaking point close behind. Once again, a meeting behind closed doors was escalating. Threads of an argument trickled through the closed door, a warning for others to stay away. A warning you chose to ignore.

A knock on the door interrupted the meeting and before Sir Crocodile could dismiss the unwelcome visitor, you stepped in with a tray of refreshments. You ignored the blush dusting your cheeks as Mihawk’s eyes swept your body, clothed in an outfit he was intimately familiar with, and placed the tray on the table.

“Perhaps we are due for a break. Why don’t you join us?” Mihawk disguised his command as a question. Choosing to take the statement at face value, you turned towards your captain and feigned innocence.

“May I?” Your request was quickly answered with a nervous but expectant nod, Buggy's hat nearly tumbling off his head from the movement. Following Buggy’s agreement, you chose to settle down on his lap before turning your attention to his companions. The bemused looks on their faces told you that they knew you were toying with them.

“Get the fuck over here.”

#cross guild x reader #buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x reader #mihawk x reader #one piece buggy #buggy the clown #one piece crocodile #one piece sir crocodile #one piece mihawk #buggy smut #sir crocodile smut #mihawk smut #one piece smut #one piece cross guild #x reader

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jingsyuans · 11 months

Text

Hugging Jing Yuan

. a/n: lol this isn’t very good because I wrote it for Me because I want to hug him. Goodbye

He’s noticed the question that never quite makes it way out while you’re at work. Your hesitation

The way you often put your hands on your hips or cross your arms against yourself when you hesitate

Clearly, you want something. Jing Yuan just can’t quite figure out what it is. One of the things he strives for at work is to know his subordinates and what they need, what he can give.

He’s a nice man in that way. He likes to give people that work with him at the Seat of Divine Foresight undivided attention every once in awhile ; because sometimes people need that. To look at someone in the eye, even if it’s him, and be an individual for a little while

Usually they’re reserved, because Jing Yuan is the ‘boss’ after all, no matter how much he reassures them that as long as they’re not in battle, there’s no need to be shy. He’s communicated this same thing to you, and you’re yet to take full advantage of it, like everyone else

But he’s determined. Seeking you out throughout the day with that calculating look in his eye, trying to figure out what that lingering question is that sits on your tongue.

It’s only a matter of time until you sigh, letting him win. Shuffling your feet as you suddenly look embarrassed.

‘All I really want is … to …’ the words are strained and shy. ‘Hug. Somebody. Anybody.’

Of course your answer surprises him

He didn’t think it would be something so simple, so… humane. He tries to think of the last time he actually hugged someone himself, and he’s surprised that he comes up short in his memory

So he offers. ‘Would you mind if I volunteered?’ He asks, smile on his face as he watches you frantically shake your head. As expected.

‘You really don’t need to do that, general-‘

‘Well, it’s not just for you,’ he teases, wanting to take a step closer to you but respecting your boundaries and staying firm in his spot. ‘I think it would be nice. There’s no need to hold back.’

You’re clearly thinking his offer over, hesitation written all over you. But you must be desperate, must be lonely, because soon enough you’re taking the step forward and wrapping your arms around your general’s middle.

He reciprocates in kind, hands staying in appropriate places. Usually, a hug only lasts a few seconds- but that’s not really what you need and he knows that. Jing Yuan squeezes you lightly, pressing you into him, softly persuading you to relax the tension of your body. Let go.

And you do. Your cheek pressed against his chest, you hug Jing Yuan close and squeeze him close. A soft breath leaving you as you soak in every inch of the affection he’s offered.

And Jing Yuan… never realized how nice an embrace could be, how long he’s gone without it. The longer you both stay together, the harder it is to convince himself to part. Sleepy sort of man that he is, he could easily doze off with the comfort of another against him. Even if the two of you are still standing.

Of course, he is still your boss. Eventually, for practical and appropriate reasons, he has to let go. When he takes a step back and loosens his grip, you break out of your reverie and follow his lead, putting space between the two of you.

He’s… surprised by how quickly you changed. The air around you lighter, eyes happier and your stance more relaxed than before. ‘Thank you, Jing Yuan,’ you tell him genuinely. ‘I needed that.’

Of course. He nods you off and you both continue your day, maybe feeling a little bit warmer than before. Jing Yuan continues his work at his desk, his mind a bit more clear than it was earlier, much to his surprise

Maybe he needed that, too.

#aka I am very touch starved and frequently think abt asking my coworkers for a hug but I bow out LOL #cause it’s awkward #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr Jing yuan #Headcanons #jing yuan reader insert #x reader #Reader insert

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mentos-or-mentoes · 2 months

Text

Headcanons! Cult of the lamb

Leshy, Heket, Shamura, Kallamar, Narinder and The lamb.

General:

(this will be in follower form for the bishops)

Leshy

Dude is definetly not happy upon being indoctrinated into the cult.

Like first he gets killed by the lamb and NOW he has to follow their commands? Yeah to say the least he might be a bit annoyed at first.

When you first introduce yourself, he might be a little skeptical mainly because he was a bishop so what were you gonna do? Make fun of him? Pull a ''prank'' Just because you could?

Surprisingly, no! You were kind, just trying to get to know him better, and trying to get him to know the cult a little better.

He is forever greatful if you help him around the place.

Romantic:

If Leshy smells anything he thinks is something like a flower, then he might try and guide you towards them.

Mainly because it might be difficult picking them, when he cant see where the hell he's going.

9.5 / 10 hugs and you cant convince me otherwise.

He might be a bit moist because of all the stuff growing on him but he definetly smells nice. (or atleast i headcanon it as such).

He can and will be a living scarf if he REALLY craves your attention.

He will just snuggling up to you in the middle of whatever you were doing.

Heket

General:

Heket was not the happiest when she awoke in the lambs cult to say the least.

Allthough she was hungry, (cant blame her tbh).

When you approached her and offered her a couple of berries as a little welcome gift you definetly became one of her favorites.

She probably didn't even want to try and care for someone that isn't her siblings, at this point.

She especially appreceates if you basically speak for her, mainly because you can get to the point (and the words) alot faster then her.

Heket will do absolutely anything to avoid you or anyone else finding out anything that embarrases her that isnt known, like her losing to the lamb.

She enjoys all meals with either you or her siblings.

Romantic:

If you pick her up in front of others for no reason you are getting the frog equivilent of a bitch slap.

She does still have a reputation to uphold to prevent the followers from being too cruel even as a member of the cult.

Okay but seriously, Heket is basically your knight in shining armor.

Someones bothering you? just tell Heket, and she will take care of it.

She loves it when you bring her snakcs while waiting for a meal to be done whenever you cook.

Can and will pass you notes of what she wants you to say to someone, if she's really annoyed bcause of something they did.

Might be dissapointed if you rephrase it, to not be as rude as what she wrote.

Shamura

General:

Them always seeking knowledge was definetly one of the things that allowed you to bond with them quickly.

You telling them about things they might find interesting, and them sharing some of the things they remember.

Shamura likes it when you remind them of small things they might forget.

They also like sharing stories of their past with you, or giving you small gifts.

Not that they cant defend themselves against other cult members who might be looking for payback (they probably can't).

But you talking some sense into the cultists heads definetly does not go unoticed.

Romantic:

Shamura probably does like cuddles, especially when comforting them.

Might forget that you gave them something and try to return it to you.

If you remind them, then well they'll probably feel a bit ashamed that they forgot one of your gifts.

Please comfort Shamura if this happens.

(sorry i couldn't come up with much for them Shamura fans).

Kallamar

General:

Kallamar is a very nervous person so you showing them kindness was definetly unexpected.

you being nice? To him, and this quickly? You must be plotting something, he thought. but when you continuesly kept showing kindness and defended him from any rude cult members, he quickly realized that it wasn't the case.

he likes it alot when you reassure him that everythings gonna be fine. This man isn't much for standing up for himself. So if you do stand up for him, when other cultists come to do whatever they'd wanna do, he'll be very thankful.

If you went through the trouble of learning sign language just to communicate with him easilier his heart basically melts (not literally though).

Romantic:

He loves holding your hand. he likes the comfort of you being around.

expect him to be with you for a majority of the time.

will hug you whenever he feels nervous if he is allowed to (usually he is).

If he's trying to talk to you about something personal he'll usually use sign language with you when alone.

Kallamar spends so much time with you that half of his stuff is probably at your place.

Narinder

General:

He was not letting anyone even try and converse with him, after his indoctrination.

Not like people were gonna try anyway, considering what he tried to do.

But theres always someone different, and that just so happened to be you.

You kept trying to start a conversation, pestering him untill he finally tried to actually speak with you.

He wasn't very happy when he finally did start talking.

Despite that you just kept coming back.

Soon he actually started trying to engage the conversations, not really having much else to do.

Small conversation became a small friendship.

Soon Narinder found himself actively trying to spend time with you , and you were more then happy to do so.

Atleast the place wasn't as bad now for Narinder.

Romantic:

This dude is for close to anything but PDA (Public displays of affection).

Will purr if you hug him.

Narinder will never admit it but he's a total cuddle bug when in private.

Will do anything to prevent the lamb from finding out because he already knows he's gonna get teased for eternity the second they find out.

May or may not actively seek you out if he's getting really needy for some cuddles.

Will have orange cat level stupid behavior if he somehow gets his hands on catnip.

The lamb / Lambert.

General:

upon first meeting you, for whatever reason you were wandering around the lands of the old faith, they immidietly asked if you wanted to become part of their cult.

Likes your dedication to the crown and the cult

If you're especially dedicated to the cult then they might read your mind (and might find out you're in love but who knows).

Definetly tries to become closer with you.

They might ask if you wanna go on walks to take a break from all the work.

If you have any problems then the lamb will be willing to do just about anything to help (not everything though).

Romantic:

The lamb definetly makes the first move.

They shower you in gifts, kisses and cuddles whenever they're not busy.

Will do a marriage ritiual as soon as you feel comfortable with it.

Will spend lots of time with you in their free time.

You're probably being put in charge of taking care of things whenever they go on crusades, mainly because they trust you the most.

Doesn't have alot of time when they're not working but they spend almost every second that they're not busy beside you

Expect surprise hugs.

Lots and lots of surprise hugs.

Alot of people are probably both jealous and happy for you because of you being with the lamb.

The lamb does not care because they got the most wonderful person in the world as their partner aka you <3.

(Hope you enjoyed my first ever headcannons)

#cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #cotl lamb x reader #cotl bishops x reader #Shamura x reader #narinder x reader #leshy x reader #heket x reader #lambert x reader

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mykneeshurt · 9 months

Text

Absolution

Image from wallpaper flare

Priest! Simon Riley x F! reader AU

Warnings - 18+, minors DNI, explicit smut, religious themes, if you're interested in going to heaven this ain't the fic for you, this is incredibly blasphemous so if your easily offended by religious themes being used DNI

100% inspired by @dotcie - you let all your love rot inside you

Thank you to @luminousbeings-crudematter for encouraging this and helping me with multiple ideas and beta reading it for me!

------------

The church was dark, the late evening sun shone through the stained-glass window above the altar. Hues of blue, red, green and purple descended into the empty church. Candles lined the walls, each mounted by a gold baroque style holder. The flames flickered as the warm summer air kissed them gently. Stone arches adorned the walls, each one intricately designed with faces of angels and demons. You walked along the aisle touching each of the pews with your fingertips, the wood was stained a deep walnut colour. Each seat perfectly imperfect, littered with the scars of the congregation who graced their presence.

Your eyes roamed along the paintings of different bible passages, all hung delicately along the sandstone walls. Each painting an abyss of pain and torment, each brush stroke a testament to the sheer emotion the artist must have felt.    As you reached the altar you once again questioned why you were here. You sunk to your knees seeking sanctuary, the maroon carpet offering some comfort to your aching joints. The weight of what you’d done pressed heavily on your heart. So much so silent tears fell, staining the carpet beneath you.    ‘Are you ok?’ A voice from behind you asked, it was gentle and calm. Gasping you spun around, stood before was a shadow of a man. He was tall, his broad physique clearly visible through the shadows. ‘Oh! I’m so sorry I didn’t know anyone else was here’ you stammered, your breath catching in your chest.    He stepped forward out of the shadows and into the light. As the sun rays illuminated him before you his divine beauty was slowly revealed. His jaw was sharp, his lips plump and soft with a small scar cutting through them. His hair was a sandy colour which was swept away from his face, bar a few strands which hung lazily on his forehead. He wore all black, his sleeves rolled up revealing a tattoo on his forearm.    You stayed kneeling, feeling unable to move, unable speak. He stood before you extending his hand to cup your chin, his touch was merciful, soft, all consuming. Slowly he caressed your cheek, his thumb wiping away the solitary tear that stained your skin. His gaze pierced through you, eyes dark and possessive, a foreboding presence lurking in the void.    ‘Tell me what’s bothering you?’ He asked, voice calm but thicker than molasses. You tried to find the words, tried to articulate the feelings deep within you, but the words wouldn’t come. ‘Use your words’ he cooed, still cupping your jaw. All moisture suddenly evaporated from your mouth as you opened your lips to speak. ‘I … I did something bad’ you stammered.    ‘Is it forgiveness you seek?’  ‘Yes Father’ your voice all but a whisper, yet still echoing in the empty church. He hummed to himself, dropping his gaze to your lips. ‘Stay’ he ordered as he removed his hand, a silent whimper falling from your lips as your cheek cooled from his touch.    He walked to the alter and despite his muscular stature he moved almost silently. Like a ghost. As he turned back to you, he held the Ciborium in his hands, the emerald colour contrasting perfectly against his porcelain skin. Towering over you he pulled the host from the cup ‘I have a passage I’d like you to read, but first, take the body of Christ.’    Holding out your hand you waited for him to place it in your hands, except he didn’t. ‘Open’ he said forcefully. Lowering your hand, you opened your mouth sticking out your tongue. A small smirk tugged at your lips as he placed the thin wafer onto it. The host slowly dissolved on the heat of your tongue, as did any remaining sanity. He pulled your lower lip with his thumb ‘good.’    He motioned for you to follow him to the lectern, a black bible with gold rimmed pages sat unassumingly on the shelf. Placing you in front of him he bent you over slightly, your body completely pliable in his hands. He gently skimmed the pages with his fingers, the tattoo now fully visible. Veins kissed the surface of his skin as the defined muscles danced with every movement.

Finally he stopped on the page he was looking for: Proverbs 28:13. His face was dangerously close to yours, so much so you could see the texture of his skin. A small amount of stubble littered his skin as his breath fanned over your neck. Lowering his lips to your ear he whispered ‘read, and no matter what don’t stop.’ His words vibrated down your spine straight to your aching pussy, taking a deep breath you began to read

‘Whoever conceals their sins …' his hand slipped to your lower back, but his eyes were fixed firmly on the text in front of you.

Gulping you tried to continue ‘... does not prosper …' his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, causing you to buck your hips slightly.

‘... but the one who confesses …' a whine exuded from the back of your throat, guttural and desperate. ‘Shhh, keep going’ he whispered in your ear. Swallowing hard you tried again.

‘… and renounces them …’ his fingers slipped past the hem of your panties, the sudden contact made you jump, you bit your lip trying to stifle a moan. ‘Good girl, keep going.’ ‘ … finds mercy.’ As the last word slipped past your lips, he sunk his finger into your wet cunt causing you to lurch forward onto the lectern, gripping the sides for balance. ‘Read it again’ he ordered. Taking a deep breath, you did as you were told, sounding out each word, each syllable laced with desire and pleasure. He slowly added another finger, stretching your pussy with his girth. Your whine rang out in the desolate church, ricocheting off the sandstone walls as he pumped his fingers. He pressed his thumb against your clit, once wet with your tears it was now wet with your arousal.

Soon enough you were tripping over your words, a stuttering mess under his touch. With his free hand he wrapped it around your throat pulling you close to him, his fingers still orchestrating a flurry of moans from you. You were completely lost in him, your jaw slack as whimpers and gasps seeped from your very soul. You were so lost in fact you didn’t even realise he’d manoeuvred you towards the altar, the cool granite kissed your skin as he pressed you against it.

Removing his fingers, he placed them on his tongue savouring your arousal, his gaze once again found yours ‘fuckin sinful’ he growled. Using his muscular arms, he trapped you against the altar the warmth of his skin seeping into yours like a virus. Reaching behind you he grabbed the gold chalice and took a sip of the wine, never once breaking eye contact with you. Gripping your chin, he tilted it, so you were looking directly up at him, slowly he placed his lips against yours allowing the wine to trickle into your mouth. A single drop trickled down your neck, his tongue was soon pressed against your skin lapping it up.

You pulled him by his shirt collar into another kiss, it was velocious and messy. He gripped at your thighs pulling you up onto the altar, tilting you backwards the wine fell causing the once pristine white cotton to turn red with your sins. He nipped at your collar bone as he raked his nails along your skin, moaning into his mouth it was too much but not enough all the same time. He kissed along your torso and onto your abdomen, his lips teased the sliver of skin which poked out between your top and skirt. Goosebumps trickled along your skin as he bit the sensitive skin.

Pulling at his hair you silently begged him to continue, silently pleading with him to taste you. Keeping his eyes on yours he lifted your leg onto his shoulder, he ripped your panties at the seam and placed his lips onto your weeping cunt. The sudden intrusion caused you to arch your back and moan into oblivion. His eyes pierced yours as he moved his tongue in languid motions, each swipe pulling another whimper from your chest. You gripped his hair digging your nails into his scalp, God rays cascaded around you encapsulating you both in this moment of pure sin. As the priest looked up you could have sworn it was Lucifer himself staring right back at you.

‘Fuck … don’t stop’ you whined, finally finding words to use, finally finding your voice. Kissing his way back up your body he hovered over you for a moment, his stare intense and dominating. ‘Simon’ he muttered. You hummed, not quite catching what he said. ‘My name … Simon’ he repeated, edging closer to your lips once more. Pulling your lips open he allowed a dribble of saliva to drop into your mouth, instinctively you swallowed allowing the ribbon of spilt to glide down your throat.

‘Please fuck me Simon’ you said as you placed your lips on his once more. Pulling away he unbuckled his trousers allowing his cock to spring free. Still staring at you intently he began to pump his hard cock ‘allow me this and I shall absolve you of all your sins.’ You could hear how breathless he was behind his stoic demeanour, a man on the edge of losing control.

‘Yes Father, please.’

Slowly he pushed into you, once again stretching your cunt, the sting was delicious. You both gasped as he filled you to the brim, bottoming out in one swift motion. He placed his forearms next to your head as strands of hair fell forward framing his face perfectly. The sun had moved slightly causing the coloured glass to reflect onto your bodies as you became one. He kissed you again, except this time you bit his lip causing it to bleed, ‘hmm, the blood of Christ’ you said smirking. Lowering his head to your neck he smiled into your skin ‘Amen.’

He began to move his hips back and forth, caressing the sweet spot within you. The sound of skin on skin reverberated in the church, filling the once silent, once holy place with the sin of lust. Placing his hand around your throat he hissed through his teeth ‘beg me for forgiveness, for I will be your absolution.’ Tears stung the corners of your eyes as he fucked you on the altar, each thrust took you to a new level of pleasure. You ran your nails along his shirt, desperately trying to imagine what his skin felt like. ‘Please, forgive me’ you whined as you rolled your hips into him ‘please father … please.’

Upping his pace, he held onto your hips as he dug his fingertips into your flesh. Small grunts and breathless whimpers filled the space between you as he allowed himself to give into his primal desires. Rolling his hips, he dragged his cock against your cunt making you feel every movement, every thrust, every inch of him. Pulling your hand off his back he placed it on your clit ‘show me’ he murmured ‘show me how you like it.’ Feeling yourself instantly tighten you began to play with your clit, you watched as he dropped his eyes to watch the show you were putting on for him, his mouth opening slightly before biting his lip.

Your breath began to catch in your throat as you felt yourself on the brink of orgasm, as your eyes rolled you caught sight of Mary looking down on you, watching you getting fucked within an inch of your life on the once pure altar. Wrapping your legs around him you pulled him closer, not wanting to let him go. ‘Faster’ you begged, ‘harder Father please.’ He let out a slight chuckle of disbelief, once again placing his hand around your throat ‘you’re insatiable.’ Biting your lip you giggled, but that giggle was soon replaced with a broken guttural moan as he slammed his hips into yours. This was enough to push you into the blinding light of your orgasm, your back arched off the wine-stained cloth as you came around his cock. Shockwaves of pleasure shot through every fiber of your body as rode out your high.

As the white noise from your orgasm finally dissipated your eyes met with his, his gaze was piercing, all knowing and consuming. His pace became sloppy, knowing he was close you sat up and pushed him away. Turning him round so his back was now against the altar you dropped to your knees, staring up at him like you did mere moments ago. You placed his cock on your tongue as the sweet bitterness of your combined arousal seeped over your tongue, ready to receive him. He looked down on you blocking out the sun, the light giving the illusion of a halo around him, but you knew when you were looking the devil in the face.

Slowly you took his cock to the back of your throat, the change in sensation causing him to throw his head back and hiss. He cradled the back of your head as you bobbed back and forth, humming a hymn softly to yourself, praising the man before you. The humming caused vibrations to travel down his thick cock adding a whole new layer of pleasure to this already wicked act. He became breathless as you worked his cock in your mouth, you could feel the change in him as you dragged your tongue along his shaft. ‘Yes’, he whispered softly, repeating it like a prayer. Looking up at him you pleased with him to let go, to finish what he’d started.

And that he did. You kept looking up at him as he came in your mouth, doe like eyes eager to please the man in front of you. His mouth was parted slightly as ragged breaths fell from his lips; he caressed your jaw as you swallowed. His touch just as soft and possessive as before.

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LMAO see you in hell x

@cowyolks @strlingsav @ave661 @glitterypirateduck @soapyghost

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley #fan fic smut #simon riley au #simon riley smut #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #alternate universe #ghost cod smut

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

Text

I've been dreaming of the Plotting Serpent.

A Sorcerer in the Sands seeks something far bigger than himself. Freedom, sweet freedom.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Bundled up in several layers, Jamil makes his way down a twisting path and into an open market.

The ground crunches softly under his boots. His breath is chilled, turning into a fleeting fog as he exhales. He retreats to the comfort and safety that his bulky coat provides, watching bales of white lazily drift down around him.

Snow instead of sand—imagine that.

The market operates straight out of the town square. From a vantage point--his temporary housing upon a hill--he can see the entirety of it, all the stalls forming a circle. The market is, by no means, large—but it has the spirit of something grander. The banter, the bartering.

Not so different from the bazaars at home.

Jamil ducks in, taking his time to pace around to each vendor. He’s agile and bright, like a child first viewing the moon and rushing to catch it in his palms.

Most sellers—and most customers—are elderly, gnarled like the roots of a tree. The cold colors their rounded cheeks the same red as many of the apples on display.

There’s pink and yellow and green too, and other fresh produce. The majority of it, he is told, is grown in Harveston. Others are foraged from Mt. Moln—nuts, plants, berries, and mushrooms.

Other stalls offer already manufactured goods. Scarves and gloves to protect against the winter, steaming apple drinks and sweetly spiced snacks, toiletries lovingly handcrafted with botanical oils.

His eyes light up with interest. He stops to inspect a row of shampoo and conditioner bars.

Feel free to touch and smell! says a sign at the stall.

He does, testing the weight of a bar in his hand. It is light and has an easy slip to it, and gives off the faint aroma of apples. Slightly tart and juicy.

It'll be good to have on hand, especially when it weighs less than liquid variants. The sign says these bars are made with apple seed oil, an ingredient that treats split ends and dryness while restoring a shine...

He absentmindedly feels the ends of his hair. The locks are normally dark and glossy, but the cold has not treated them well, leaving them slightly dry and brittle.

That's the cost of travel. It can be difficult to predict how my skin and hair react to different climates.

“Excuse me,” Jamil calls out to the stall owner, “I’d like to buy one of these shampoo bars, please. One in the conditioner bars as well."

“Sure thing!!” The owner wraps up the bars and slides them over. As Jamil hands him a few bills, he pipes up. “Say, yer not from ‘round here, are ya, sonny?”

“Yes. I am but a traveler.”

“Traveler!” The owner’s eyebrows shoot up. “Real fancy livin’ ya must have."

“No, not at all. I try to live humbly and travel light.” Jamil indicates his backpack, the one piece of luggage that follows him wherever he goes.

"That so? Not many young folk visit these parts." The owner strokes his rounded chin in contemplation. "I figured ya must be on yer way to the city. A lot more for youngins to see 'n do there."

“I beg to differ. The village has shown me incredible hospitality during my stay. Delicious foods, friendliness... I can enjoy Harveston's natural sights without worry. I'm content with just that."

With each word that leaves his lips, he feels the weight that has been on his shoulders lifting.

Jamil, you're free, the wind seems to whisper. The realization is intoxicatingly sweet and crisp, the first bite taken from a forbidden fruit.

"Aww, that warms mah heart ta hear ya say," the owner beams. "Yer a good kid, yer parents would be proud of ya."

"My... parents?" Jamil falters at the mention of them.

His parents are back home. His sister, too. Najma had texted not long ago, pestering him about bringing her a souvenir and asking when he’d be back.

His family is waiting for him. And... who else is there?

Jamil's brows furrow. Suddenly, he feels as though someone should be beside him, and he, trailing after them. A hopeless person buying up all the stalls, shoveling new dish after new dish at him.

"Here, try this, Jamil! Oooh, and this! That looks super tasty, have some too! And this cracker!"

"Where did you get all this food from?! There's no way we'll be able to feasibly finish this before it goes bad. Why do you never listen to me, Ka..."

A growl rips from his stomach. Jamil's eyes widen, and his face heats.

The stall owner's laugh cuts through his confusion. "Gahahah! Ya hungry there, son? Here, lemme grab ya somethin' on the house."

"Oh no, sir, I can't accept that."

"I insist!! Won't be long 'fore ya mosey on outta here and move on ta the next place. Eat yer fill while yer here, there ain't nothin' like a homegrown Harveston meal or snack anywhere else in Twisted Wonderland!"

The owner rustles with utensils behind the stall, He fills a container with a generous slice of pie--oozing with apple filling--and fluffy pancakes, plus a few potstickers. Then he pours hot tea, apple cubes bobbing in the spiced brown liquid, into a paper cup.

Jamil gets a whiff of it from where he stands and--against his better judgment, his mouth waters. When the owner hands him the container, cup, and a wooden fork, he doesn't refuse them.

"Remember us ‘n all the fun times ya spent here."

"Thank you, sir." Jamil bows his head. "I will. I'll never forget your kindness."

"Don't 'cha mention it. Go on 'n git now, ya got plenty more of the village to visit!""

Jamil departs with his purchase and his gifts, which he immediately settles into.

Lifting the paper cup to his lips, he sips his tea. It's deep and tangy from the cinnamon and apples it has been brewed with. He pleasantly warms from head to toe.

It isn't long before he downs the rest of the drink, apple cubes and all. They're not fresh, but dried--so when his teeth slices them into halves, they're springy and chewy, with a strong flavor.

Jamil lowers the cup, dragging out a satisfied sigh.

It's then that he realizes he's walking directly into a black wall. He veers sharply to the right, but still brushes his arm against that of the incoming person.

“Pardon me. I wasn't watching where I was going...” Jamil looks back, but is startled to find no one where his shoulder has made contact.

Hm? Was I imagining things?

Jamil glances around the marketplace. The crowd is too sparse for him to miss anyone. There are grandmothers and grandfathers, mothers and fathers, each dressed in thick coats and boots, some wrapped in scarves and others sporting fuzzy hats or earmuffs.

But no one is wearing all black.

He shakes his head.

It was probably nothing then.

Jamil returns to browsing the square, his every stride as light as a feather. He feels as though he is dancing atop the snow.

The cold no longer bothers him.

The wind, carrying a new message that resonates with his heart. It seems stronger now, rumbling like a deadly avalanche.

"Be free, Viper. Be free."

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drysdalesworld · 3 months

Text

the sun & it’s shadow

pairing: percy jackson x fem!nike!reader (platonic)

genre: fluff, angsty, & violence

word count: literally no clue. started to write it on here & was on a role & never transferred it to goggle docs

warning(s): NOT PROOF READ! (i will do it once i have time), mention of reader death (so sorry), timeskippy (first part takes place in the pjo show season 1 & the second takes place during the 5th book), mentions of sun!reader & shadow!percy, mentions of blood + traitor siblings + murder

note: i tried to make this poetic but very much failed at it so enjoy my attempt :) <3

The sun is many things. In realistic terms, it’s a glowing ball of gas in the middle of our solar system. In metaphorical terms, it is something that gives life and provides warmth for those on Earth. It’s a vital source of life that humans cannot live without. And for Percy Jackson, (Y/N) (L/N) was the sun.

She was one of the first people he met at Camp Half-Blood.

(Y/N) had been on her way to sit with her half-siblings when she noticed a petit blond boy sitting by himself during dinner. He had been left abandoned by the Hermes cabin as they did their nightly offerings to their godly parent. Occasionally, he’d stab his fork into whatever was on his plate and push it around, clearly disinterested in what was in front of him. (Y/N) quickly changed course and decided that she was going to sit with the lonely boy instead. Her siblings would see her later in the night anyway.

Percy felt her before he saw her, blue eyes darting up from the mashed and jumbled food in front of him to the figure approaching. The light hair on his eyebrow bone furrowed together in confusion at the sight. But before he could express his confusion, the girl opened her mouth and began to speak.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N). You must be Percy, right? I’d say it’s a pleasure to welcome you to Camp Half-Blood, but it never really is. Especially on your first day”.

The young boy let out a small snort at her saying, a small, but genuine, smile painting his lips.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N)”.

During the entirety of their conversation, Percy swore he could see literal light shine from the body of the daughter of Nike. Maybe even a little more whenever she smiled. She produced such a warm and comforting aura that Percy found himself seeking solace in her presence nearly every day. She was a comfort that was not being provided anywhere else at Camp Half-Blood. He truly believed that she was a literal interpretation of the sun, even from the first moment he saw her.

He often bugged Luke about her. Requesting that she be the one to show him around and show him how to properly fight. Albeit Luke being basically the best option of being Percy’s mentor, the boy only wanted the sun. He used the excuse of her being the literal daughter of Nike, Goddess of Victory. She surely had to have better, if not as good, swordskills as Luke. The elder son of Hermes eventually gave in, only for a week though, then it was back to business.

“Your elbows too low. It needs to be level with the hilt of the sword,” she’d speak to him in such a gentle voice that his mind often wondered to his Mother and her tenderness. “Your grip needs to be loosened. It’s too tight”.

The more she spoke, the more Percy found himself soaking in her advice and actually listening to her. She made it easy to listen. Her voice was as soft as honey and as sweet as his blue gummy candy. She never raised her voice nor scolded him when he got something wrong. Her touch was so soft that Percy barely felt her fingertips brush the point of his elbow as she corrected his stance as needed. He flourished under her watch and it was noticeable.

“Your skills are improving,” Luke heaved, picking back up his sword as the young son of Poseidon managed to disarm him within minutes of them dueling. “Your lessons with (Y/N) are really paying off huh?”.

Pride swelled within Percy’s chest at Luke’s comment, a smile spreading across his lips. He was proud of the improvement he has made in such little time and the only person he could think to thank is you.

“If I’d know any better, I’d say she’s a better mentor than me,” the son of Hermes grinned, slight disgust and jealousy tugged at his stomach. He felt Percy slipping through his hands and he needed to act quick before he lost the demigod for good.

“Perhaps,” Percy smirked, happy with the result.

When it was time for his first quest, the young twelve-year-old found himself at the Nike cabin, asking for you when one of your siblings answered the door instead.

“What’s up, kelp boy?” (Y/N) croaked out, voice still laced with sleep. She rubbed her eyes as she leaned against the door frame of her Mothers cabin.

“Sorry to wake you,” Percy spoke, teeth tearing at the dried skin on his lower lip. “I just – I just wanted to ask you something”.

“Shoot,” she replied.

“Have you ever been on a quest?”.

“A handful, I’d say. Why? Are you nervous for yours?”.

The tone of which she spoke was so sweet and soft, Percy found himself already at ease, shouldering relaxing from their prior tense state.

“I won’t tell you not to be because that’s not very helpful. But I will tell you to be careful. Don’t get too over in your head or you and the others won’t end up back home. Just because you’re the son of Poseidon and got your first ever quest at the ripe age of twelve doesn’t mean you’re immune to what’s out there. Remember what you’ve learned throughout your stay here and hold steadfast, Jackson. You’ll be just fine”.

And he was. He was fine, at least for some parts of his quest. Percy often found himself thinking back on your words spoken that night. How you unknowingly repeated the same phrase his Mother told him before being taken by the minotaur. How you had unwavering faith in him and his, limited, abilities as a new and fresh demigod. The blond often found himself thinking about what you’d do in this kind of situation. Of how’d you approach the entire situation. Of how’d you hold your sword in your hands. Of what you’d say in the times he’d need it most. He found himself shaping and molding hisself to what you’d do. A perfect making of a protégé.

When he arrived back at camp, you were the first to pull him into your arms, nearly squeezing all the air out of his lungs as you did so.

“Welcome back, kelp boy,” you’d whisper, teary eyed and thankful to the Gods that twelve-year-old Percy Jackson was brought back safe and sound.

And he never left your side much after that.

He’d go wherever you’d go. He was your shadow and you were his sun.

And it stayed like that for years, even throughout all the losses and defeats and Luke and his growing Titan army. But, it came to a final halt during the Great War.

(Y/N) had been too busy aiding the wounded and fighting for her life to notice the glittering sword blade of her traitor half-sibling. It being too late as the weapon sunk it’s entirety into the back of Nike’s daughter.

A gasp had been the only thing to alert Percy and the others of her demise, the sound of ripping flesh and gushing blood being the next.

Poseidon’s son let out an angered scream, rushing towards the person he looked up to the most. He gathered her into his arms as she practically went limp in his hold, his pale hands coated in her blood as he tried to stop the seemingly never ending flow.

Percy’s cried pleas where the only thing that echoed throughout the now quiet night. He begged her not to go and that she was going to be okay because she had to. She had to or he didn’t know who else was going to make sure he remembered to eat breakfast or make sure his swordskills were always refined and perfect.

The horrible realization that she had been gone the minute her body hit the hard concrete had settled into Percy Jackson’s bones as he let out an anguished roar, holding the body of his sun close to his chest as his salty tears made streaks down her dirt covered face and droplet marks in her battered orange Camp Half-Blood shirt.

At the end of the war, Percy had made his way back to the body of someone he considered a familial figure. The sight of her Mother gently stroking the cheek of her slumped over body brought fresh tears to his eyes. He wasn’t able to bring himself to carry her body back to camp. He left it to the children of Apollo, making sure they treated it with the upmost care.

The days following her passing, Percy found himself in the Nike cabin most nights, sleeping on the floor next to (Y/N)‘s bed, for he was too afraid that the smell of you would disappear too quickly due to his presence on the sheets. He found himself finding you in a multitude of things and it always shattered his heart into pieces once more. Everything served as a reminder of you, even the actual sun, for he missed the warmth and comfort you brought wherever you went.

And with the sun gone, it’s shadow would forever search for it’s source of light, destined to never find what it so desperately craved.

#drysdalesworld works!#drysdalesworld #pjo x reader #percy jackson x reader #pjo series #percy series #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson and the lightning thief #percy jackson and the last olympian #nike!reader

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writefightandflightclub · 10 months

Text

Blorbo thought of the day #7

Call me: (feral!Steven Grant x fem!reader)

Summary: Steven needs you. What else is new?

Genre: pwp, established relationship

Author’s note: ya seemed to enjoy feral!Steven getting sucked off and so… I brought him back. So, here is Steven just being all out needy and desperate for you… at the most inconvenient of times. (Dashes of Marc.)

Warnings: masturbation (at work), phone sex, sorta dirty talk.

MINORS (and ageless/untitled blogs) interacting will be blocked. 18+ only

“I’ve got a bit of a problem,” Steven breathes through the phone, and you immediately note how his voice sounds alarmingly wobbly.

In response, you pace just as urgently to your office, seeking privacy, and keeping your voice hushed as you swerve through the corridors. “What is it? Is everything alright?”

“Mmhmph. I need you.” His voice is quivering now, and it only adds to your sudden, spiking concern. “So good to hear your voice, I…”

“Okay. Okay, Steven, I can be there,” you reassure without a second thought, clicking your office door closed behind you and scanning your desk for your car keys. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Oh. Oh, no. I’m fine, love,” Steven backtracks. “I don’t want to worry you. It’s just. It’s just that I… I need you.” His emphasis on the word need is a little bratty. Almost petulant. Stretched out, low and slow.

Oh. Oh it’s like that, is it?

You plonk yourself down into your office chair, with relief that he’s okay. And then, it doesn’t take long at all for you to reframe the conversation so far. To rethink the breathiness and tremor in his voice.

You recognise it.

That desperation.

That want; the pleas normally delivered into your skin, your throat, your arousal, spoken in between obedient swipes of his tongue.

“Oh, you do, baby? Well, I need you too, Steven,” you purr, voice hushed - as though someone else in the building could possibly hear you, even though you’re relatively sure that would be impossible. You slam the lid on your laptop shut all the same though, just in case you somehow initiate a video call against all conceivable odds. Then, licking your lips, you think up something tantalising to offer him, and it doesn’t take you long. “Just wait until later, baby. I’ll take all of you in my mouth until-“

“-No.”

“No?” But he usually likes that.

“No. I can’t wait,” he pleads, and the neediness in his hoarse, fractured voice has you pulsing with your own want. Squeezing your thighs unconsciously together. “You’ve got to help me. Please.”

“Fuck. Where are you?”

“I’m downstairs. In inventory.” You bite your lip. Steven hates that room. His need must really be a problem if he’s willingly taken himself down there. Out of sight. He must really be driven to distraction, and God, the thought of him working himself up behind that gift shop desk - with no possible hope of relieving himself - makes you feel some kind of way.

“Are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone. I’ve had to lock the bloody door, haven’t I? I’ll get blimmin’ arrested if I walk around the museum with this in my trousers.” Your mind short-circuits a little at the thought of his bulging arousal. “I’m just so… uhhhhh. You have to help me, love. Can’t stop thinking about you and your beautiful body and I…” he huffs a punched breath into the receiver. “I need you.” The plea sends a warm honey melting through you core, and you can’t help but tease the pad of your finger along the centre seam of your trousers, enjoying the pressure against your now aching clit.

“Mmmm. Are you all hard for me, Steven?”

“Y-yes,” he flusters, and you can imagine his pretty eyelashes fanning against his cheek. “Aching. I thought hearing your voice would make it better but it’s… even harder to… concentrate on anythin’ else…”

Fuck.

The effect you have on him. How open he is with his want. Some men would be derogatory about how earnest Steven is, you’re sure. Personally, however, you find a man who knows what he wants and who isn’t afraid of it so endlessly hot. Especially, of course, when what he wants so badly is you.

Thinking quickly, you unfurl your headphones from your pocket, plugging them into your phone and leaving it on the desk. If you’re going to make Steven come, you want it in surround sound. And, of course, you might just want your own hands entirely free, after all. “It’s okay, Steven,” you soothe, voice smooth as silk and dousing some of his urgency. You hear a relieved exhale sound into the shell of your ear. “I’m going to help you, baby boy. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

“Th-thank you.”

“Good, Steven. Now. Can you… can you take yourself out of your pants?” You fight now to keep your own voice level, your chest heaving slightly - getting worked up for him too.

“Wh-what? Here? You can’t be bloody serious. Donna would have a-“

“-Yes. Right there, Steven,” you say more firmly. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be good. Can you do that for me?”

You can tell that he doesn’t have the will to argue. That he wants this. “O-okay. One sec. I’m gonna-”

You vaguely hear the clink of a belt buckle being loosened. Imagine that you hear the crank of a zip. But you most definitely do hear Steven’s muffled groan into the receiver, which lets you know - with certainty- that he’s now gripping his aching, weighty shaft in his broad, warm hand.

Tension hangs taut on the line, and his voice comes back little more than a whisper - which somehow fills your head all the same. “What now?”

“Move your hand, Steven. Up and down that thick shaft of yours. Really slow. Don’t rush.” Steven is breathing so hard that the sound crackles through your headphones, like a rumble of thunder in your head. “Are you hard, baby boy? Tell me.”

“‘M so hard.”

“Feel tender?” Steven’s in the most sensitive cock you’ve had. You think of the way he jerks and bucks against every touch. The way the flushed head of him throbs. The gusts of breath which billows out as his hands twist in the sheets. As he tries to stave off his end and fails. As you make him come over and over, just the way he likes, until he’s made a mess of himself, load after load covering his toned stomach. Edging him and milking him until he can’t take it anymore - and still, he begs you not to stop.

“Mmmmhmmm,” he hums affirmatively.

“Most sensitive cock I’ve had, aren’t you, my sweet thing?”

His breath and his voice are shaking now, fluttering against the receiver like fragile bird’s wings. “Y-yes. Only for you. Make me feel so g-good.”

“Mmm, Steven. Fuck. You’re making me all wet at my desk, do you know that? Keep touching yourself for me. Don’t you dare stop.”

“Won’t. Can’t stop. Anything you say.”

“That’s good, sweet boy.”

“W-will you… will you do it with me? Can you? Please.” The words are being squeezed out of him now, the way the circle of his fist must be squeezing down on his shaft. Gripping himself hard. Rolling his palm over the sensitive head of him, spreading that leaked bead of slick over his flushed, veined length. “Need to hear you, darling. B-been thinking about it all morning. The way you moaned into my ear last night when we made you cum. Like an angel, so beautiful. Keep thinking about you touching me. Making me give you everything, love.”

You can’t be blamed, can you, for popping the button on your trousers. For slipping them down around your ankles beneath the desk so you can part your legs just enough. For dragging your knickers aside just enough to skim a finger through your heat, finding it sensitive and slick. “I’m soaking, Steven. All wet for you. Do you want me to touch myself? Is that what you need?”

“Yes.” The man sounds broken. Levelled by want. You think back to how shy he was when you’d first gotten to know him. When he’d never had anyone touch him like that. About how quickly all of that unravelled as soon as you had gotten your hands - and mouth, and heat- on him.

“I’m going to put a finger inside of myself now, just for you.”

“No,” he counters.

“No?”

“Two. Spread yourself open.”

“Fuck. Okay.” You slip two fingers inside of yourself and you find that your cunt swallows them eagerly, so ready to be filled. “Still touching yourself for me too?”

“Yes. I wanna…”

“What do you want?”

“Wanna be good for you.”

Hnnng. From the bashfulness in his tone you can imagine the crimson flush creeping up his neck and reddening his cheeks all too well. You wonder if, with your words, you can make him blush more deeply again, even if you aren’t there to see it. “You are good for me,” you purr, and his breaths grow more ragged, the sounds coming hard and fast through the headphones. “You’re so good for me, Steven. So handsome. So beautiful. Touching yourself so well. Going to give me everything, aren’t you?”

“Mmmhhhmmm.”

“Use your words, baby boy. How does it feel? Tell me.”

“N-nothing like you,” he stutters. “But f-feels good. Feels n-nice.

You moan too, as you pulse your two fingers inside your heat, curling them and gathering up your dripping juices. Steven moans too as he hears your own sounds filter through the phone, and you can only imagine the glassy-eyed, pussy-drunk look washing over his face.

“So beautiful,” he gushes. “Want to be inside you.”

“Steven.”

“Again. Please.”

“What, baby?”

“Touch yourself, and say my name again. Please. Not anyone else. Need you all for myself.”

“Who’s a greedy little thing today, hmm?”

“Yeah. I am. Don’t care. Want you to be all mine. Need you so badly. Please.”

His broken, cracked apart plea breaks you, and you relish the pressure and glide of the slick pads of your fingers as you circle them against your wanting clit. “Steven,” you suspire, and that’s a wrecked sound too. You realise then the state you’re in, his brazen want inching you towards your own precipice. Dragging you over that edge with him. “Fuck, Steven, you’re going to make me come at my desk.”

“Want you to. Need you to. Please.”

“Are you close?”

“I’m going to make a mess.”

“Mmmm. That sounds delicious.”

Steven submits some broken apart syllables to you then, unable to get his words out.

“What is it, baby boy?”

“What should I think about when I…?” He huffs out a taut, loaded breath, and you know it signals that he is close to his end.

You increase the pressure and ministrations of your own hand, thinking about him doing the same. Thinking about how, if he were here, he could so easily glide the swollen head of him inside you and pulse himself into the depths of you. “Think about opening me up on your cock, Steven. Think about-“

That’s enough.

That’s enough and Steven’s blissed-out noises fill your head. You slip your fingers back inside of yourself as you picture him spilling himself over his own knuckles, the slight look of awe and surprise that always settles over his pretty face when he comes undone for you. You thumb at your clit and it’s enough. More than enough as Steven’s breathy noises punctuate each relieving pulse of his cock.

“Yes, that’s it, Steven. I’m coming now too. Fuck, baby. So good for me.”

Shit. You’re coming hard. So hard that you buck yourself against your own hand. That you screw your eyes shut as his disbelieving moans fill your head, right in the shell of your ear as though he is next to you. The sensations explode out through your whole body and you shudder with aftershocks, nervy and shaking, and sitting in a pool of your own juices on the sticky, faux leather office chair.

You relish it. Stay silent for a moment as you listen to Steven squeeze out every last drop. Wring himself dry. You enjoy each little nuance and variation of his ragged breaths right in your ear. All his little noises as he comes down, increasingly slow instead of urgent. Calm and sated rather than distressed. “Mmmm,” he hums as you curl your fingers inside of you one more time, the sound drawing a final, blooming aftershock from you which seeps warmly through your core. “Thank you, love.”

“Better?” You smile softly, feeling sleepy and cosy, despite it being the middle of the day. Despite being in your goddamn office.

“Much, thank you. You’re a goddess, you know?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smile, thinking of the man who has met actual deities and still sees fit to address you as such. It makes you feel special. Continues the warm buzz emanating through your body.

“Are you all gooey now?”

“I’ve made quite the mess,” you giggle.

“Me too.”

“Can you clean up?”

“Think so. Mostly went on the wall, thankfully. Bugger - there’s so bloody much of it.”

“Just couldn’t wait for me, baby?”

“No, angel.” There is a beat, as Steven’s feral state recedes, and his unfortunate thud back to reality begins. “Oh god, you weren’t busy when I called, were you, love?”

“Nah. Was only in a meeting with Royce. The twatty foxhunter prick?” Steven hums to signal he remembers. “Trust me. This was much more fun.”

“I’m glad. I’m gonna have to go though, love, I’m so sorry to dash.” You glance at the clock. He doesn’t have long left of his lunch break. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too, Steven.”

“See you later tonight, yeah?”

“Bye, baby.”

You feel blissed out as you prepare to hang-up the call; however, something prevents you from doing so. Another, even more unexpected voice on the line.

“Wait. Don’t hang up.”

Marc.

Your stomach churns pleasantly, wondering if he’s been listening to you. Maybe even watching Steven. “I’m here. Been missing you.” It’s been a few days since he fronted.

“Good. ‘Cause it’s my turn next. How’s that little clit feeling, princess? Can it take another thrashing?”

“Jesus, Marc.”

“What? Getting Steven all worked up like that… Think you don’t do the exact same thing to me?”

“Mmmmph.” Words fail you right now, honestly. Sometimes, you truly can’t believe how lucky you are. “Alright. Tell me then. How can I be of service to you, Marc?”

“First thing’s first. Send me a picture of the mess you made.”

A dark smirk blooms over your mouth. “I will if you will.”

There is a beat. You hang on his every word, until he responds to you. “Copy that. But you’ll have to get me to make one first.”

Well. You might be in the office, but today, you really love your job.

#steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #Marc Spector x reader #steven grant #blorbo totd

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holylulusworld · 4 months

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Flowers (3) - Soapwort

Summary: Soapwort is the essence of bewilderment and confusion.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of FWB arrangement, Bucky is still confused

Flowers (2) - Snapdragon

Flowers masterlist

Rule number one. You should never trust a man. If you let them between your legs or in your heart, you are done for.

Grandmother Y/L/N was right. Men don’t deserve your attention, love or to feel the warmth of your pussy.

Especially when said man is a cheating cunt. The kind of man who fucks you straight into the mattress only to give a red-haired bitch sunflowers later.

“Sergeant Barnes asked if you changed your mind,” Maria watched your reaction. She's not interested in getting involved in your relationship drama with Bucky but worried about the upcoming missions. “You worked well together in the past. Like a well-oiled machine.”

“That’s in the past,” you huffed. “I thought you were on my side in this. What changed? Did the man-baby ask his buddy Captain America to help him get what he wants?”

“This has nothing to do with Captain Rogers. Sergeant Barnes seemed to be desperate about your sudden change of behavior,” she pointed out. “Is it possible that he’s not cheating on you? Maybe he’s just…dull.”

“Dull?” You cocked a brow. “James Buchanan Barnes may be many things, but he’s not dull!”

“Y/N, believe me. Men can be unbelievably dull when it comes to recognizing feelings.”

“We never talked about feelings, Maria. This is not the problem here. It’s that he had sex with me and gave that woman something he never gave me. Flowers. And he dared to give her my smile.”

Maria dipped her head to watch Dolores walk past you. You didn’t even recognize the red-haired devil, but Maria did. She saw the glint in Dot’s eyes and the smug grin on her lips when she glanced at you for a moment.

“I think, you should talk to Barnes. I know from experience, that men sometimes can’t distinguish a lonely woman from a lying wench.”

You wrinkle your forehead and consider her words. No. Even if he didn’t have anything going on with Dolores, he still gave her flowers. Who knows what else he did with her behind your back?

“I don’t get it Steve,” Bucky threw his hands up. “I thought everything was going in the right direction. We talked for hours and had fun together. She loved my bike and going on a ride. The sex was mind-blowing. Y/N and I just clicked.”

“Did you go on dates with her?” Steve questioned, raising a brow. “Did you tell anyone about your relationship? Because I know for sure you didn’t tell me about it.”

Bucky huffed, beyond frustrated. “We wanted to keep it a secret. Y/N never said that we wanted to tell anyone. I waited for her to tell me she was ready.”

“Buck, you told me that you had sex with Y/N that morning,” Steve shrugged at his friend’s angry expression. “And then you go and give Dolores, a woman you barely know, flowers.”

“ONE FLOWER! STEVE!” Bucky yelled and rammed his metal fist into the wall. “It was one flower. If only Y/N had stayed a little longer and not played hide and seek, I would’ve given her the rest of the sunflowers.”

“Why didn’t you give them to her first, Buck? Why give the flower to Dot first?” Steve yelled back. He barely raises his voice, but Bucky turns a blind eye to Dot’s foul play for too long.

“I bought the flowers for Y/N, Steve. I was on my way to her apartment, and then Dolores started to cry. I tried to soothe her, punk. I faked a smile, handed her the sunflower, and walked away.”

“If that’s the truth, go and explain things to Y/N instead of moping like an angry child. I love you like a brother, but if I must watch you pout for one more second I’ll punch your face.”

Bucky wrinkles his nose. “Uh-I don’t know how to start. I didn’t even know Y/N was mad at me. I’m so…” The brunette shrugged. "Confused."

“Buck, you’re not a confused puppy. Go,” Steve pushed Bucky toward your room, “and get your woman back. Oh, maybe you should offer more than a pout to her…” But not flowers. This would only make her mad.

Part 4

Tags in reblog.

#Flowers (3) - Soapwort #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x female reader

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trappolia · 3 months

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WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING (I FELL IN LOVE) ── gallagher + gn!reader, 790

he finds comfort in you in the waking world the same way people do in their dreams.

sleep comes easier in penacony. the reverie where locals and outlanders alike seek some semblance of escape from their truths and the hedonistic what-ifs that can become reality in the dreamscape is simply gallagher's "daytime" job ─ the meticulous dream-to-dream routine of maintaining peace and some semblance of order in a world where it is so easy for one's perceived reality to warp. those in the dreamscape prefer it to the rigid frame of the waking world, but gallagher knows all too well that the warping images of an illusion so easily influenced by the slightest shift of one's mood is anything but a utopia.

so, really, it's no surprise he finds such dear solace in your arms.

"you're back!" you beam, so sweet and darling when you catch sight of gallagher dragging his shoes past the drunken revelers ─ who will no doubt be stumbling back to their rooms where their dreampools lay, the portal to even more hedonistic pleasures and drunken revelries.

"that i am," he grunts, sliding onto an empty barstool just as you slide him his usual drink over the countertop. the gin burns through his throat, just enough to warm him up some. gallagher doesn't care how much dreamers fawn over the aesthetic of dreampools and the further bonus of their purpose. he's not fond of waking up in anything other than a bed, no matter how dreampools have been designed to offer the semblance of one. dreampools mean work, and he's had quite enough of that for the next 24 hours or so.

but stars know he won't be so lucky.

"tough time at work?" you offer him a sympathetic smile, wiping a glass with a clean rag. your customers at the bar had begun to dwindle, the few that remained idly chatting with their companions or indulging in their drink in personal quiet.

gallagher sighs ─ straightens his shoulders and tries to look less disheveled; he's here and out of work to enjoy some time with you, not to bitch and moan about his day. "sorry, darlin'. it wasn't that bad, 's just─"

he sighs again, not wanting to think about how the pillars that are supposed to uphold the dreamscape and his work seem to be crumbling every time he goes back to sleep. gallagher hasn't been on the scene yet, but he's heard reports of stuff that might be going on, and if they were true, then he was going to have a hell of a field day and a bunch of paperwork to do.

"i get it," you say, reaching over the counter to squeeze his hand. it's been hours since your shift started, and you smell of something akin to cinnamon and spice, the undertone of brandy and whiskey underneath. he thinks it fitting ─ you're so sweet, such a darling, so that must have translated into the drinks you brew even in the waking world, where the taste of one's mix relies simply on ingredient and skill.

gallagher manages a smile ─ one that doesn't strain at his lips and makes him feel like he's cosplaying in someone else's skin ─ and brings your hand up to his lips, kissing the soft skin of your knuckles. the metal of your wedding band is cool, but fills his blood with heat and his heart with warmth. "i don't deserve you, honestly."

"now i think that's just the gin talking," you tease, pinching his chin playfully.

"gah," gallagher feigns annoyance ─ badly, if the amused grin on his face is any indication but ─ and swats your hand away. "'s your shift ending soon?"

"mhm," you nod, giggling as you pull back from him and retreat back into your personal space ─ and gallagher misses you already. god, maybe the gin really is getting to him.

"what do you say we head back to our room and catch a nap after this?" gallagher asks, idly tracing his finger along the edge of his empty shot glass. the band on his finger ─ the mirror of yours ─ glints in the hazy yellow light of the bar. "or i can tell you about the day i've had and you can doze off because of how boring it is."

you give him a cheeky grin. "hard pass. your stories always keep me up at night. tell me about that masked fool who gave you a nightmare about me divorcing you."

"never again," gallagher deadpans, and when you burst into laughter, he's convinced that no sort of illusion a masked fool or xipe themself can conjure could ever compare to you ─ his very own dream come true.

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thebiggerbear · 4 months

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Soldier Boy x Reader - Prompt Response - "Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Summary: You're tired of running and you go to Soldier Boy for protection. He agrees to do it but not without a price.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. The original character I wanted to respond to this prompt with before deciding to make it multi-character. This scenario immediately popped into my head reading the line and I just had to write it. Hope it's okay.

Thank you to my beta Em for her services. You rock, girl!

Warnings: violence/murder; implied assassination attempts; sexual propositioning; Soldier Boy being himself; starts out as a blackmail type dynamic that appears as if a little dubcon at first; language?

Word Count: 2528

SB Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

<-->

You never thought in a million years that you would be seeking out one of the most dangerous Supes in the world for protection. Then again, you never would have thought that a multi-billion dollar corporation would be after you, intent on seeing you torn apart and scattered to the four winds. You didn’t exactly blow the whistle on them, but you didn’t exactly tow the company line either—something Stan Edgar was less than thrilled with and now the evil son of a bitch wanted you dead.

It was no secret that Edgar and Soldier Boy had a falling out of sorts after the truth about his being handed to the Russians had come to light. His old team may have made it happen, but it was Edgar pulling the strings all along. Surprisingly, the Supe who had been so focused on revenge hadn’t hunted Edgar down after this revelation, which made you wary about going this route. However, after narrowly escaping the latest death squad sent after you, you decided you had no choice but to take the gamble. There was nowhere you could run that Vought wouldn’t find you and you just hoped this would be more of an ‘enemy of my enemy’ situation rather than a ‘handing you right over to your enemy’ situation.

Once you had managed to track him down in Hong Kong while you were busy running yourself, he had shockingly agreed to a meet, and even more shockingly agreed to help you. Not without certain stipulations, of course.

“Let me in that sweet pussy of yours and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You should have known, especially from the way he had been eyeing you up ever since he caught sight of you. Screwing your face up in disgust, you flat out refused. “Not happening.”

He shrugged and began to walk away. “Then you must not need my protection that badly.”

You scoffed in disbelief. “You’re seriously turning me down because I won’t fuck you? Whatever happened to the ‘Soldier Boy is America’s son’ bullshit? The OG superhero who fought Nazis and protected people?”

Soldier Boy stopped and slowly turned back towards you. “I’d be putting myself on the line to protect you. For that, I deserve one hell of a payment.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “So now you’re blackmailing me into sleeping with you? Unbelievable.” You had heard he was more like America’s Asshole than its Son, but you still couldn’t believe your ears. You had even offered to help him take Vought down with what you knew, so long as he kept you safe. You knew he’d want that kind of information. Why else was he hopping from continent to continent in the last few months, trying to shake Vought just like you were? Instead, his dick was taking top priority. Typical.

“It’s the least you can do, doll.” He faced you fully again, shield hanging off of his arm as if it weighed nothing. “Like you said, I fought for this country, fought the Nazis, and now you’re asking me to play bodyguard while taking on Vought for you. I deserve something worth all that trouble.”

You ran through all other options in your mind. You still had a contact that could possibly put you in touch with someone that wouldn’t mind tapping into Vought’s offshore accounts that weren’t supposed to exist. You were already on Vought’s kill list; what would a few hundred thousand dollars of theirs matter? “I could pay you,” you offered.

“I’m not interested in money.” His eyes roved over you as he approached. “Besides,” he murmured as he came to a stop in front of you. You tensed as he reached up to tuck a strand of your hair that had gotten loose from under your ball cap behind your ear. ”I haven’t had a looker as pretty as you in a long time. Been locked away.” He gently gripped your chin in between his thumb and index finger, his eyes intent on your mouth before lifting to meet yours. A hint of a smirk started to appear on his handsome face when he most likely heard your heart beat starting to increase.

He released you and even took a step back from you, allowing you physical and metaphorical space. “Your call.”

You bit your lip as thoughts chaotically swirled inside your head. On one hand, you refused to be manipulated or pushed into sex with this asshole. No matter how physically attractive he might be, you weren’t willing to get on your back just so he would help you. But on the other hand, the cold hard truth was that you were tired — tired of running, tired of little-to-no sleep, tired of the paranoia that came with such a flight. Hell, at present, you hadn’t slept in almost two days and you were running on fumes; there wasn’t enough caffeine or energy pills in the world to get you through another day with no rest. Your reaction time was already dragging if your last narrow escape was anything to go by. If you continued this way, you’d be dead before the sun started to warm the sky; you were certain of it.

Soldier Boy stared you down. “What’s it gonna be?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you glanced behind you at a small noise far off down the street. Thankfully, it was an old woman tossing something out onto the pavement, but you couldn’t deny it put you further on edge. You turned back to the Supe whose eyes stayed trained on you. You took a deep breath to steady your nerves and readied your response. His lips began to quirk upwards into a smile; he knew what your answer was going to be before you even said the words.

…

Vought Tower had been completely demolished. Luckily, it had been mostly evacuated before the destruction occurred. A fight between Soldier Boy and the now-dead Homelander had caused most of the damage, but the C4 that had been carefully lined throughout the infrastructure is what ended up bringing it down.

Before it went boom, Soldier Boy had approached Stan Edgar, who refused to cower in a corner. The Supe respected that, but it didn’t change what he’d come here to do. He gripped Edgar by the throat and lifted him in the air, choking the older man and ignoring the fingers that desperately clawed at his hand.

“I thought we had an agreement,” Edgar rasped out.

Soldier Boy shrugged. “She made me a better one.” He then snapped the man’s neck and tossed his body aside like a rag doll.

“Oi! We ought to get out of here,” Butcher warned after seeing Stan Edgar lifeless on the floor. “Frenchie’s about to blow this place to fucking hell.”

He glared over at the Brit and picked up his shield. He still didn’t trust him, not after what he and his merry band of assholes had tried to do the last time they’d teamed up, but he’d made a deal with you and he was intent on keeping his end of it. The only conditions Butcher and Captain Lesbo had given this time around was: no civilian casualties and Ryan was off limits. He did his best with the first and he could give less than a fuck on the other. As far as he was concerned, the kid was Butcher’s problem as long as the kid didn’t come looking for some payback once he got older, which Butcher assured he wouldn’t. That, and there better not be Novichok gas waiting at the end of this mission for him. They’d reluctantly agreed, knowing they had no other way to kill Homelander and take down Vought all in one swoop.

“After you.” Soldier Boy gestured for Butcher to leave first. The man scowled but obliged, keeping a wary eye out as he moved. Smirking, Soldier boy followed. The Supe might have enjoyed the reaction—or even tried to settle the score from Butcher’s previous betrayal—if he didn’t have you to get back to. He needed to let you know that you no longer had Stan Edgar or Vought to worry about. He’d kept up his end of the bargain you’d both made — now, finally, you were free.

…

You woke up to the sound of someone moving through the darkness in your room. You grabbed the gun from beneath your pillow and bolted upright as much as you could, trying to get your eyes to adjust so you could get a good shot.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Soldier Boy assured you.

Recognizing his voice, you slowly lowered the gun and focused on his location. When your eyes finally adjusted, you realized he was near the foot of the bed, completely nude, his hair damp from a fresh shower. “Ben,” you breathed out in relief. “You scared me.”

Through the beams of moonlight shining into the room from the window, you saw him give you a smile and lay his shield down on the floor next to him. “Didn’t mean to.”

You slipped the safety back on the gun and stashed it into the drawer of your nightstand. You hated having it under your pillow at night; it was super uncomfortable and you only needed to do that when Soldier Boy — Ben, as he’d asked you to call him instead — wasn’t around. “Everything go okay?”

“Better than okay.” You glanced back to see a smirk adorning that handsome face of his, with an all-too familiar gleam in those green eyes. You watched as he slipped on some sweats and then made his way to the opposite side of the bed. You moved onto your side to face him, smiling as he climbed in next to you and sat up against the headboard, turning to grin down at you. Within seconds, he had his arms wrapped around you, pulling you up against him, and he was kissing you a proper hello. He only pulled back when you needed air and tenderly rubbed his nose along yours, nuzzling you. “How about you, doll? Everything go okay while I was gone?”

You nodded and snuggled into his bare chest, letting out a relieved sigh when you felt his warm hands stroking your back. “Everything’s fine,” you assured him, closing your eyes. You’d never admit it aloud, but you felt so much better when he was around. Not only did you feel protected but you just felt better in general. You’d have to be under the pain of torture to admit to him (or yourself) that you actually missed him when he had to leave.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and let his lips linger there, continuing to rub your back just the way you liked. “Edgar and Vought are gone,” he murmured. “The Caped Cunt, too. You’ve got nothing more to worry about.”

Your eyes snapped open and you lifted yourself up to meet his gaze, your brows furrowed. “What?” You asked in shock.

“You heard me.” He stroked your cheek with his thumb, his grin now a smug smile. “You’re safe, baby.”

Your eyes widened when the realization hit you. “That’s where you went?”

Your only answer was the lengthening of that smile.

“Jesus, Ben.” So many thoughts and emotions swirled within you all at once. You were free, truly free. You no longer had to worry about Vought death squads hunting you down, Homelander coming for you, or Stan Edgar sending after you any ragtag Supes he could scrounge up. You were free. Although, Ben hadn’t told you that he was about to go on his most dangerous mission yet. He might be America’s original superhero and he might be tough to kill, but that didn’t mean he was completely invincible. He’d admitted as much to you over the last few months. “What if… What if you didn’t—”

He kissed you, effectively cutting you off. “I did,” he hummed against your lips. “Told you I would.”

You nodded, gently tracing his facial features with your hands before gliding down to his shoulders, dipping down the warm expanse of his back and then slowly returning to his chest. As always, he remained patient whenever you did this ritual of checking him for any wounds or injuries, knowing you wouldn’t find any but needing to assure yourself just the same. Truthfully, this man had come to mean more to you than you’d ever imagined would be possible. Hell, there had been a time when it wouldn’t have been possible at all.

When you were done, you met his gaze head on. “Do I want to know?”

Ben remained silent, but his eyes said it all: no, you didn’t want to know. You and Ben may have planned for the downfall of Vought and the ends of Homelander and Stan Edgar, the very same bastards that had put a target on your back in the first place, but that didn’t mean you wanted to hear the gory details of their deaths. You were just grateful Ben had come back to you alive and unharmed.

You gave him a thin-lipped smile in understanding. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Ben studied you for a moment, then pulled you in and kissed you again, his fingers slipping through your hair until he grabbed the back of your neck and urged you to meet him more fully. Just as you were getting into it, he broke away and chuckled. “You’re real eager for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” You shot him a look and the smirk was suddenly back on his face. Without warning, he picked you up to rearrange you in the bed how he wanted you. “Too bad that you need to get some rest. We’re blowing the fuck out of here tomorrow and you’re gonna need to keep up.”

As if he would leave you behind if you couldn’t. “I thought you said Butcher would leave us alone after this.”

“I don’t trust that dicksucking Brit and I trust his bitch of a boss even less.”

You rolled your eyes, smirking when you felt him settle in behind you, knowing how much he enjoyed spooning you like this. “‘Kay,” you agreed. He had successfully protected you this far; you’d follow his lead on this one, too. You shut your eyes and snuggled into your pillow, content to feel his hands on your back caressing you once more. You were just about asleep when you heard him murmur in your ear, “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” You smiled when you heard the words he’d been saying to you every night now for many months and your heart lightened when you felt his hands trail from your back to cup protectively over your rounding stomach, rubbing gently. ‘Safe’ is exactly how you felt right in this moment, and the little girl moving to meet her father’s embrace—like she always did when she sensed he was near—only cemented the knowledge that this was the first night neither you nor she were in danger any longer. It gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t known in a long time.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy #the boys fanfiction #the boys #prompt response #the boys fandom #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x female!human!reader #female!human!reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles character #thebiggerbear

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