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whataperfectwasteoftime · 4 months ago

Text

The Gift

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Virgin f!Reader

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k

Warnings: Period typical sexism and treatment of women, period-typical ideas of virginity and virtue, Marcus is a bit rude at first but he comes around quickly, attempted assault that is heavily implied to be sexual, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, wound care, yearning, virginity loss, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PIV sex, mushy endings :)

Summary: The Emperor of Rome has given his most valued General, Marcus Acacius, a generous gift after his recent successful battle. Rather than the gold he’s hoping for, Marcus is stunned when a young virgin is delivered to his chambers. At first, he refuses to entertain the idea of stealing the virtue of a scared girl, but their lives become entwined when he learns that refusing his ‘gift’ puts her in even more danger…

A/N: The art in the header is by @norththelemon and is inspired by Paulo and Virginia by Alessandro Puttinati. Thank you so much for letting me use this artwork for my fic!!! <3 The artwork does not necessarily reflect the appearance of the reader character; rather, it is a reflection of the original artwork. The only physical description I included of reader is that she has long, curly hair (color and texture are never mentioned). Marcus’s pet name for her, bellatora, very loosely translates to “little warrior.” Thank you to the lovely @leslie-lyman for the beta! **NOTE: as attempted SA can be triggering to some people, I have separated out this section with asterisks (******). You can quickly skip this scene and you will not miss any significant plot. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to send me a DM! Be safe <3

Masterlist

Marcus rides through the streets of Rome, the cheers of citizens ringing in his ears and the white petals being thrown from above him sticking in his curls. The populus is joyful, but he cannot help but think of the cost of the battle, about the sons and husbands who he knows are not returning home.

He longs for a bath, to wash the grime, dirt and blood from his body. He longs to strip off the heavy, soiled armor and lay down on his bed, naked and warm and full of bread and wine, and sleep for several days.

First, however, he must endure the long procession up to the palace, where the Emperor was surely waiting for him–where he would have to play all the little games that come with positions of power: smile, nod, say the right words and act in the ways that other people expect of a General.

The horse whinnies nervously as the cacophony swells, and Marcus gently pats its neck, sending a cascade of petals to the ground to be trodden underfoot by so many hooves.

The Emperor waits at the top of the Palace steps, surrounded by all of his court and Roman nobility. Without allowing any of the contempt he feels to show on his face, Marcus Acacius dismounts from the horse and slowly ascends the marble stairs. When he reaches the top, the Emperor pulls him into an exaggerated hug, slapping his back and cheering loudly enough for the onlookers to hear.

“Congratulations to you, my friend, for your triumph and victory over the vanquished,” the man booms, slapping Marcus's pauldron again for good measure and causing another great cheer to rise up from the crowd.

Marcus does not say anything, but he turns to face the onlookers and unsheathes his sword, raising it over his head victoriously, knowing that's what they all want him to do. The resulting din seems to rattle the very stones of the palace.

“You must be weary, good soldier,” the Emperor tells him. “Go now and rest. A gift will be sent to your chambers to show your Emperor’s appreciation for your prowess in battle.”

Marcus nods and bows deeply, indicating his gratitude for his Lord's generosity. He's most thankful, however, for the quick dismissal.

The General’s quarters in the palace are spacious and outfitted with all modern amenities Marcus could ever think to ask for. He quickly lights a fire under the basin to begin heating water for a bath. He begins removing his armor, leaving it by the door where he knows it will be collected for cleaning and polishing. He discards the filthy underclothing and retrieves a clean cloth with which to wash.

It is only now that Marcus is able to take sock tock of his injuries; as the grime is wiped clean from his body, he can finally see where the blood was his, and where the blood was not his. His arms are peppered with bruises and superficial wounds, but nothing that requires any dressing.

He is lucky.

Marcus dresses in loose robes, luxuriating in the feeling of being free and unencumbered by his armor. With a deep, satisfied sigh, he settles himself down on the bed, surrounded by the ornate pillows that come with Palace trappings, and closes his eyes.

They’ve barely been closed for a few minutes when a knock sounds at the door.

Marcus frowns. All his joints and muscles protest when he reluctantly rises from the bed again and opens the door. He’s greeted by one of the Emperor’s personal guard, who is roughly holding the upper arm of a young girl.

“What is the meaning of this?” Marcus asks hesitantly, taking in the girl’s simple, white shift that clings to her breasts and hips, her trembling lips, and her wide, terrified eyes.

“The Emperor, in his generosity, presents you with this virgin as reward for your duty to Rome,” the guard announces. He pushes the girl forward into Marcus’s chambers and shuts the door behind him.

“What in the Gods’...” the General murmurs under his breath as you are shoved unceremoniously into the room.

You curtsy deeply, remembering, despite your fear, what you have been instructed to do. “M-My Lord,” you whisper through trembling lips. You can only stare at the floor, unable to look at the man to whom you have been gifted.

“I had been hoping for gold,” the man grumbles. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

He sounds angry. This terrifies you more.

“I am f-for your… p-pleasure,” you try to explain. “My Lord.” You deepen the curtsy, until your knees nearly scrape the floor. If you please him, perhaps he will not be unkind.

“Stop that. Get up.” the man snaps. “I’m not in the mood for deflowering virgins.”

“S-Sir?” You don’t understand. You weren’t prepared for the man to say no. You were bathed, dressed, and told that you were to be a gift for a mighty general. You were to please him, let him bed you, and serve him until he tired of you. You were instructed to kneel, to address him as only “My Lord,” and to do whatever he asked of you. Only then would the debt your father owed to the Emperor be paid in full.

You were not given instructions on what to do if the General refused his gift.

“D-Do I not please My Lord?” you try again. Terrified of being turned away, sent back to your father, where they’d surely kill you both, you begin to cry.

“By the Gods–stop, come here,” the General says, sounding exasperated. He gently leads you to a chair and indicates you should sit. You do. He crouches on his heels so that your heads are level, and examines you. “Who are you, girl?”

“I… am the only daughter of Proculus Opilio,” you sniffle. “I am a gift for his Lord’s pleasure.”

The man’s fingers take hold of your chin; his hands are gentle as he guides your eyes up to his. “Why are you a gift,” he presses.

“M-My family owes a great debt,” you whisper. “I am to be payment for our transgressions against the Emperor.”

“The Emperor sends me a frightened child,” the man growls as he quickly stands and paces away from you, “and calls it a gift.”

“You must accept,” you say frantically, hopping up from your seat and following him. “They will know if you do not, and we will be punished for it.”

The general scoffs. “What, they intend on checking?” he asks, as if such a thing is too ridiculous to be spoken aloud.

“Yes,” you whisper. They told you as such.

“Girl,” he says sternly. “I am not going to enact such violence on a scared child.”

“I am not a child,” you argue, sticking your chin up. “I have seen nineteen summers, almost twenty.”

The General seems to find this funny. He huffs, shaking his head and turning away. “Go home, girl.”

“I cannot go home,” you say, and start to cry again.

“Stop. Stop,” the man entreats. He turns toward you again and cages your face in his hands, rubbing the tears away with his thumbs. “Okay. Do not worry, I will… Gods, I will help. You and your family will come to no harm.”

“Thank you,” you say emphatically, your hands coming up to your shoulders in preparation to unclasp your shift.

“No! Stop!” You freeze again, eyes wide.

The General softens, and gentles his words. “Please stop. I am weary from battle and I need to sleep. Please… let us both rest, and after that we may discuss this with level heads.”

“Of course, My Lord,” you nod, curtsying again.

“Marcus.”

“...My Lord?”

“Call me Marcus. I am no Lord.”

“As you wish, My Lord.” It comes out automatically.

The General–Marcus–raises one eyebrow.

“...Marcus.” You watch as the man pads over to the bed and collapses onto it with a heavy sigh.

“You may sleep here, you may sleep elsewhere, it does not concern me,” he mumbles, eyes already closed. “I am not long for this world and will be unconscious for quite some time, I imagine.”

His words are correct; within a matter of minutes the man is snoring.

Alone and scared, you sink back down into the chair, and begin to cry again.

Marcus wakes with something tickling his nose. Opening his eyes, he’s greeted by a mass of curls on his pillow, framing the angelic face of…

Oh.

He had forgotten about you. At some point, you had clearly decided to sleep as well, because you are curled up next to him, your hands clasped under your chin and your lips slightly parted in sleep. This is the first time he’s seen your face not terrified, and he realizes that you are really quite beautiful.

He does not know what to do with you.

Marcus has never had a shortage of willing partners, and he is uninterested in the alternative. You are pretty, young, and soft, but he is not the sort of man to force himself on a woman. Even if you did ask him in no uncertain terms to do so, it would not be for the right reasons.

He needs to find a way out of this situation, ideally with his life, your life, and the lives of your family still intact; he did not wade through the blood and mire of battlefield just to condemn an innocent woman to death.

“Girl,” he says lowly, and your eyes open quickly. They go wide at his proximity, and you scramble back a few inches, creating more space between you.

“H-Hello,” you greet him shakily.

“Good morn,” he replies. “How are you feeling?”

“Well-rested, My Lo–Marcus.” You offer him a small, timid smile.

Marcus glances toward the window. “It must be almost midday,” he says, noticing the angle of the sun. He’d fallen asleep yesterday in the late afternoon, slept all night, and through the morning. He hopes you did the same.

“I am famished.” He gets up from the bed–Gods, his muscles still ache–and pads toward the door to his chambers. “With any luck, this morning’s breakfast will still be outside.”

It feels like the only act of providence that has happened since his return to the Palace that the breakfast tray is still there, laden with fresh bread and fruit. He carries it inside and sets it on the small table in his chambers. He grabs a piece of bread with one hand and beckons you over with the other, too hungry to be polite and wait for you before tearing a piece off with his teeth. He finishes the bread in a few bites, but you still stand near the bed, unmoving and watching him with wary eyes.

“Come. Eat.” Marcus grabs another piece of bread and a handful of grapes.

Hesitantly, you approach the table, looking like a wild animal unsure of whether the human offering you food can be trusted.

“I do not bite, girl,” he grumbles.

You snatch a loaf off of the table and retreat backwards a couple of paces, breaking off small pieces and popping them into your mouth as you continue to stare at him.

“What will you do with me?” you ask.

“Do with you?” Marcus laughs humorlessly. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” you repeat, beginning to sound angry. Good. Marcus would rather you be anything but the timid, scared girl that was shoved into his chambers. “So you would condemn my family to death?”

“I am not going to take an unwilling woman to bed,” he growls, taking more grapes from the tray and popping them into his mouth.

“Most people would do far worse to save the life of a loved one,” you argue.

Marcus scoffs. “I’ve seen and done things you could not imagine, girl. If losing your maidenhood is the worst thing you can conceive of–”

“It is not,” you snap, stamping your foot in a show of exasperated petulance. “If you are not going to help me, then… I—I hope the gods curse you!” you finish lamely. You spin on your heels and retreat to the corner of his room, sitting down on a chair and crossing your arms with a huff.

Marcus closes his eyes. He is being too harsh with her, too cruel. He has spent too long shouting orders at his men of late, and not enough time offering comfort or kind words. He grimaces and approaches you with caution. You glare at him, and he doesn’t blame you, but he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you before speaking.

“I have been unkind,” he says softly. “Please forgive my rudeness.”

He watches as your pretty eyes narrow, then widen, then narrow again as a number of emotions seem to flicker across your face. Your lips part, but you don’t respond, and Marcus forges on.

“I did not ask to be put in this situation, and neither did you. I made a promise to you last night that you and your family will come to no harm, but we must work together to keep you safe.”

“Would it not be easier to simply take your ‘gift’?” you sniffle, jutting your chin out and trying–unsuccessfully, he thinks to himself–to be brave.

Marcus chuckles softly, reaching forward and gently grasping both of your hands. “I have committed enough violence in the name of Emperor and Country to last a man several lifetimes. I may not have been as kind as I should have been to you, but I will not take the innocence of a scared girl who is being used as a pawn in the evil games of powerful men.”

You sniffle again, wiping your nose on the back of one hand. “Sometimes I wish I could just be free of this cursed ‘gift’ of innocence and lose all value to men like that.”

Marcus huffs in amusement. “Do you, now?”

You sigh, turning and looking out of the window. “How nice it would be to be valued for other qualities, instead,” you murmur, speaking more to yourself than to him. When you turn back to look at him, you ask, “How will you–we–subvert the wishes of the Emperor himself?”

Ah. He was rather hoping you wouldn’t ask, at least not yet. Truthfully, he has no idea; all he can really hope to do is attempt to sway the Emperor in some way, or at the very least, buy him some time.

“I will request an audience,” Marcus tells you. “I must go soon to debrief with the other generals, and he will be in attendance. I will speak to him, garner favor…” he trails off, knowing how vague and uncertain he sounds.

“You would really take such a risk for me…?” you ask hesitantly.

“The Emperor, in his wisdom, has bestowed upon me a gift,” Marcus says sardonically. “And as I see it, that gift is now mine, and is under my protection.” He gently cups your cheek, letting his palm rest against the slightly damp skin. “We will use his… generosity… to our advantage.”

He stands, letting his fingers trail across your jaw before pulling his hand back. “I must go. Do not open the door to anyone while I am gone.”

In the General’s absence, you finish off the rest of the breakfast tray, which was plentiful. With a full belly, you wander around the man’s chambers, exploring the space that will also be yours for the foreseeable future. You wash in the basin, splashing cool water on your face and sighing in relief. For the first time in over a day, you are finally able to breathe and take stock of your situation.

You should be grateful, really. The General Marcus, although gruff and tactless at times, seems to be a caring, even kind man. You believe him when he says he will protect you, protect your family, even though you have nothing to give him in return. Nothing he wishes to take, at any rate.

Your eyes fall on an ornate dagger sitting on a table near the window, and you cannot help but think of the way his hands–the same hands that would fiercely wield a weapon to slice through skin and bone–so gently touched your face.

A loud knock on the door to Marcus’s chambers startles him out of your reverie. A soft noise of surprise escapes you before you are able to clap your hand over your mouth to stifle it. You can tell that whoever is on the other side of the door has heard you, because they pause, listening, and then knock again.

The handle rattles as someone on the other side turns it back and forth, testing the strength of the lock, and your heart pounds with trepidation.

They cannot get in. They cannot get in. They cannot get in. You repeat the phrase over and over in your head, but then you hear the distinct click as the lock is bypassed or picked, and the door swings wide.

“Well, well, well,” a man in ornate robes sneers. “It appears the rumors are true.”

**********************************

Another man in similar garb pushes past him. “Our beloved general has a new toy.” The words are dripping in sarcasm.

You back up against the wall, and the table next to you rattles when you bump it with your hip. Quickly, you pick up the dagger and point it at the intruders.

Both men guffaw loudly, slapping their knees and shoving each others’ shoulders in their apparent mirth. “She has teeth, she does!” one of them jeers.

“Tell us, did you bite the General when he stuck you?”

The men lunge forward, and you slash with the blade. One of them howls, clutching at his arm, where red is already beginning to well up between his fingers, but you are unused to wielding weapons and the second man rips it from your grasp easily.

“You little bitch,” the injured one spits, and slaps you, hard, with his good hand, the blood from his injury splashing your face and your white robes. You crumple in an instant, clutching your cheek, as the two men close in.

“I bet she squeals nice and loud,” one of them growls menacingly as he reaches for you.

*************************************

A loud bang from behind the men makes them startle. You look for the source, and see the General standing in the doorway with fury in his eyes. He wrenches another dagger from its scabbard and, with no warning, lunges forward and plunges it into the neck of the man who had reached for you. With a sickening gurgle, the man collapses instantly, and red blood begins to pool underneath him. Marcus rips the dagger from the man’s neck and points it at the second man as he shoves him against the wall, who immediately begins to whimper and shake his head.

“Sniveling cur,” the General spits. “I would happily kill you both, but you are going to deliver a message for me instead.” At the man’s frantic nod, he continues. “It seems that some need reminding that I am not to be trifled with,” Marcus snarls. “And the next person who disrespects me by harming my property will be dealt with in the same manner as your friend. Now. Go.”

The man bolts, clutching the wound you had given him.

Marcus’s demeanor immediately changes. He drops the dagger on the floor and falls to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands again… hands that are trembling.

“They hurt you,” he murmurs, his eyes rapidly flicking back and forth over your face, seeing the blood that had spattered on your robes.

“It isn’t mine,” you manage to say, although your voice shakes and your chest heaves with leftover terror. You can’t keep your gaze from landing on the dead man in front of you, his eyes still open and staring sightlessly ahead. “I–your knife I–”

“Okay,” he nods, his thumbs still caressing your cheekbones. “Okay. Shhh. Don’t look at him, look at me.” When you manage to pull your gaze to the General instead, you’re suddenly captivated by his wild, dark eyes. They’re so full of fire, yes, but with that fire brings warmth. He stares at you as if you are a precious object, not some scared little girl covered in blood and cowering against the wall. “Come here,” Marcus says softly. “Let me help you up.”

You surprise even yourself when you automatically lean forward and into the General’s arms. He stiffens, seemingly just as stunned by your trust in him, but he recovers and carefully stands, pulling you up with him and gently turning your body away from the dead man. He leads you forward, and you follow blindly as he guides you down onto a chair.

“Let me fetch a cloth,” Marcus says, his expression stormy and troubled, “to clean you up. Do not move.”

You nod, watching as he fills a little bowl with water from the basin and comes back to crouch at your feet. “Your cheek,” he murmurs. “Is it very painful?”

You nod again, a few hot tears escaping from your eyes and stinging the small cut in question.

“I will be as gentle as I can,” Marcus promises. “But it must be cleaned.”

You shut your eyes as his fingers carefully grasp your chin, using his hold to tilt your head and grant him easier access. The cloth is cold against the burning skin of your cheek, and you cannot stop the soft whimper that leaves your lips. Gently, the General dabs the little wound, dipping the cloth in water over and over and soothing the tender skin as he wipes it clean of dirt and blood.

Once satisfied with your cheek, he cleans the man’s blood off of the rest of your face and neck, as well as the few droplets that had landed on your hands from the other man as he was stabbed.

“Thank you,” you whisper hoarsely as he gently turns one hand over and dabs away the last remaining spot of blood on the inside of your wrist.

“You should not be thanking me,” Marcus says, voice tinged with bitterness. “It is because of me that you came to harm.”

“Yet it is also because of you that I was not harmed further,” you tell him quietly. Your eyes dart toward the body in a pool of blood still lying on the floor, and quickly look away again. “You killed a man for me.”

“You are under my protection,” Marcus says solemnly. “I do not take that vow lightly.”

As your heartbeat finally begins to slow, the deep terror that had been swirling inside you leaves, replaced with bone-weary fatigue. Your vision swims and your head sways slightly as you suddenly feel that you must fight the urge to fall asleep right here in this chair.

“Something ails me,” you say, alarmed at your darkening vision.

“Battle fatigue,” the General says matter-of-factly. “When the fog of war lifts, sleep often takes its place.”

“I am no soldier,” you protest tiredly. The world shifts–Marcus has scooped you into his arms and is carrying you to his bed, carefully laying you down on the blankets.

“You are now,” he teases gently. “Victorious little soldier, bellatora, wielding a General’s weapon with ferocity. You even have a battle scar.” His finger gingerly brushes your cheek.

“Will others come?” you ask, struck with a sudden pang of fear even as your eyes threaten to close.

“No.”

“What if they do?” It’s a silly question, and you aren’t sure why you even gave voice to such a childish fear. Warmth envelops you as Marcus covers your form with a blanket. Your eyes finally close, and the General’s last words seem to come to you through a dream.

“Then I will fight the entire Roman army to keep you safe.”

Marcus Acacius did not want this “gift.”

He did not want a virgin to deflower, nor a scared girl to comfort, or even a servant that inexplicably tidied his rooms while he was away.

He did not want you.

But here you are, sitting by his window with a book, eating all of your dinner and a good portion of his, and leaving long, curly hairs on his pillows, by the basin, and even on his armor–something he had discovered during a drill one morning, pulling the offending strand off of his pauldron with a bemused shake of his head.

He does not want you. He doesn’t want the comb and mirror that now lie on the table by the basin, nor the extra rags he had to ask a servant for–ears burning bright red–when your… er… monthlies arrived. He does not want to spend his wages on new robes for you, but he hardly has a choice, not when your thin white shift became filthy with blood the night that he–

Gods.

The night that he almost lost you.

If his meeting had gone just five minutes longer, he would have been too late. He would have arrived to a much different scene, and he knows he would have killed every inhabitant of the palace in retribution.

This is how he knows that he cannot trust his own feelings when it comes to you. What should be an unwanted inconvenience in his life has quickly become much, much more. He acts like a man in love, the way he buys you trinkets and brings you sweets, but no matter how he twists the story in his own head, he cannot deny the truth: you are a captive. His captive.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, a wealthy merchant crosses his path in the bustling market, followed by another man carrying all of the man’s wares for him, purposely walking several paces behind as is the custom for slaves.

Marcus can dress you in all the finery his salary can afford, but that does not change the fact that you were intended to be a slave for his pleasure.

He already has his intended prize from the market–a parcel containing two pieces of sweetbread tucked under one arm–but perhaps it is guilt over your imprisonment that causes his head to wander to the stall of jewelry to his left.

“Trinkets for a special someone,” says a middle-aged woman wearing kohl eyeliner and almost as many beads around her own neck as are displayed in her stall. She shoots Marcus a knowing smirk as his fingers reach out to graze a length of beads of palest pink.

“Rose quartz,” the woman tells him. “For love, compassion, and emotional healing.”

Rose quartz. He cannot help but picture the pretty, pale beads glowing, luminous against the soft skin of your neck.

“How much?” His voice is rough and thick.

The woman’s smile widens.

They cost almost an entire weeks’ salary, and he’s never spent such a sum on anything for himself, let alone something so frivolous, but he’s already reaching for his purse.

You grin widely at Marcus’s return–a sight that makes his heart swell when he remembers how frightened you were of him on that first night. You make little grabbing motions with your hands, causing him to laugh as he hands over the parcel of sweetbread. You take your piece and hand him the other, hardly waiting until he’s taken it before you’re biting into the sweet dough with a sound of pleasure that goes straight to his nether regions.

He thinks of the necklace, wrapped in cloth and hidden in his robes, but he is struck with a moment of uncharacteristic cowardice, and he leaves it where it is.

“Tell me about the market,” you say wistfully.

“Too crowded,” Marcus grunts before taking a bite of his own sweetbread.

You seem to find his cantankerous nature funny, for Gods know what reason, and the pretty sound of your laughter fills the room–and his mind.

“There are a number of visitors for some play at the amphitheater tonight,” he explains further, shrugging slightly.

You suddenly exclaim in delight, startling him a little. “I love the amphitheater,” you say emphatically. “My father often had to punish me for sneaking in to see plays against his wishes when I was a little girl.”

Marcus chuckles, picturing a smaller version of you, but no less fiery.

“It was worth it,” you laugh. You pop the last piece of sweetbread into your mouth and suck each finger clean of the sticky dough in turn. Marcus should look away, but he’s entranced by the way your lips close around each digit, leaving clean, shiny skin in your wake.

He blames this momentary onset of utter madness for the words that leave his mouth next.

“Would you like to go see it? The play?”

The pure delight that washes over your face is enough to make Marcus want to take you to a different play every night, but after too short a time, you are frowning warily.

“Would that be wise?” you ask. “Is it not dangerous for me to leave your quarters?”

“You would be seen as my consort,” Marcus answers. “No harm will come to you, bellatora.”

“Your… your consort?”

“You cannot be a prisoner in these walls for the rest of your days,” he tells you softly. “If we play the parts we have been given–the General and his consort–no one will question it. They wouldn’t dare, not after my warning. The entire palace knows that I will gladly kill anyone who threatens you.”

You duck your head, looking down at your hands. Marcus wonders if you’re frightened of him, still.

“Everyone will see my act as one of possession,” he says. “Of territoriality. If we allow them to draw that conclusion, they will never suspect any different.”

You nod, biting your lower lip and giving him a timid smile that slowly spreads across your face and turns into something bright and joyful.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“The play will end before we even arrive, bellatora,” Marcus grouses from the main chamber.

“Patience,” you snap from the washroom. The stupid elaborate hairstyle that you keep trying to braid your hair into keeps falling out, and you’re beginning to feel frustrated. With a heavy sigh, you settle for a simpler plait that falls over one shoulder. You’re wearing one of the nicer gowns that Marcus has gifted you–robes of deep emerald green, but you still worry that you look far too common to be an appropriate consort to a General.

Since when has such a thing become a concern for you? Despite the roles you are forced to play, Marcus is not your consort, nor your lover. He has made it clear he will never touch you, so why are you hiding in the washroom, worrying over your appearance?

With a pained sigh, you shake yourself, square your shoulders, and turn to face the General.

“Ready,” you announce, and the man in question looks up.

His lips part slightly, a little crease forming on his brow as his eyebrows raise. He fixes you with that look–the one he keeps giving you lately. It’s as if he’s in a constant state of surprise every time he sees you, as if you aren’t a permanent fixture in his rooms and could disappear at any moment.

“What?” you finally ask.

Marcus seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “It is missing something.”

The statement confuses you. “I–I have nothing else to–” You cut yourself off as the man seems to be digging through his clothing, looking for what, you do not know.

“I thought this would suit you,” he says quietly, as he retrieves a small parcel and holds it out for you to take.

You hesitate, frowning. “What is it?”

Marcus huffs softly with impatience and opens the parcel himself, revealing the prettiest strand of stones you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Oh,” you gasp.

“Do you…” the man in front of you clears his throat and shifts in his stance, “Do you like it?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, I like it.”

Wordlessly, he removes it from the cloth and moves behind you to clasp it at the back of your neck. You can’t help the wide smile that breaks across your face at the feel of the cool beads resting against your throat. Gently, you touch the necklace with your fingers and turn to look at Marcus. “Does it look pretty?” you ask, still grinning at him.

The General’s face is almost pained when he returns your gaze. His eyes don’t leave yours when he softly answers, “Yes.”

Marcus Acacius has never been much for plays, but never before has he experienced seeing one with you. He can’t help cracking a small smile himself every time you let out a joyful peal of laughter, which you do often, as the story is a humorous one.

The necklace suits you just as he thought it would, but your beauty almost makes the stones appear dull in comparison. If anyone were to ask him, Marcus would say that your smile could outshine all of Rome. Pretending that you are his consort is far too easy; your delicate fingers find the crook of his elbow without prompting when he offers his arm to you as you walk through the streets when the show ends. Your eyes always seem to find his, your face bright and hopeful and oh so lovely as you look up at him.

“Marcus?”

He’s been lost in his thoughts again. He grunts and nods to you as the two of you walk back to the palace, when you suddenly stop.

“I want to tell you…” you begin, wringing your hands together nervously.

“What is it, bellatora?” Marcus asks with concern.

“I want to tell you that I am… very happy,” you say, ducking your head and avoiding his gaze.

“I am glad that you enjoyed the play,” Marcus says hesitantly, wondering what is making you suddenly be so… shy.

“With you,” you add quietly. “It’s not only the play, it’s… it’s just you, Marcus.” The final word is almost a plea, with how earnestly it leaves your lips. “I–I want you to know that I would. I would be your consort, i-if you wanted, and I’d–”

Marcus closes the small distance between you and presses his lips against yours. You yield to him immediately, your small hands moving up the planes of his chest and coming to rest at his jaw. You kiss with the slight timidness of someone unfamiliar with how to do it, but oh, he’s happy to guide you. One of his hands gently cups your neck, the other caresses your cheek and it’s all he can do to keep the kiss chaste and not frighten you by backing you up against the wall of the alleyway and opening his mouth to you.

When he releases your lips, you chase him–leaning forward with your mouth still pouted and your eyes closed, as though you cannot bear to be parted from him, and it takes a herculean effort not to indulge.

“Come,” Marcus murmurs softly, his thumb tracing back and forth over your cheekbone, watching as you flutter your eyes open and look at him with an expression of such open trust and want that he feels as though he’ll burn from the inside out. “Come, let us go home.”

You are ablaze.

Marcus’s hands seem to burn with heat as he guides you hastily through the palace and to his familiar quarters, but their temperature still seems to pale in comparison to the heat that rises within you.

Once inside, he kisses you again, and you swear your knees could simply buckle and give out just at the feel of his lips on yours. You crave it again and again; your hands grip at his robes to hold him close to you, hoping he’ll never stop.

“Sweet girl, little bellatora,” Marcus murmurs, his lips dragging from your mouth across your cheek to the side of your neck and oh, you like that even more–your head falls to the side and your back arches as you all but beg for his lips on your skin again. His hand on your lower back guides you even closer until your bodies are pressing together and you gasp softly at the feeling of his body against yours.

“Tell me,” he whispers in your ear, his lips grazing the shell of your earlobe and causing a cascade of shivers to course through you. “Tell me that you want this. If you do not, deny me now, and I promise I will never touch you again.”

“No,” you whimper automatically. “No, please don’t stop, just–”

“Shhh, bellatora.” Marcus seems to crumple with relief, leaning forward until your back hits the wall and his lips ravish your neck once again. “I won’t stop, just tell me you want me like this.”

“Yes,” you gasp, as the General’s hands cage your face and his mouth meets yours once again. “Yes, yes, yes–” You repeat the word over and over into his mouth, until he groans softly and parts his lips too, deepening the kiss and tasting you with his tongue.

His hands caress your neck, fingertips running up and down before settling on the clasps on your shoulders. “Let me see you,” he whispers. “Please, let me–”

You pull back, looking in his eyes as you nod slowly, giving him permission. He carefully undoes your dress, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The necklace is still around your neck, and he touches the beads lightly as he stares at the sight before him.

“Oh, Gods…” Marcus murmurs to himself, shaking his head in awe. “What a divine gift you are, bellatora.”

His eyes rake over your breasts, your hips, the swell of your stomach, and the fire burning within threatens to consume you. With one more soft kiss, he whispers, “Come to the bed, so I may worship you properly.”

You let him lead you, keeping your eyes on him as he takes your hands in his and pulls you toward the bed. You are too consumed with flames to feel fear of this moment, but a pang of nervousness thrums within you despite yourself.

Marcus guides you down until you’re sitting on the edge of the bed. You begin to scoot backwards–you might not have much experience, but you know you’re supposed to be lying on the bed–when he stops you, and instead sinks to his knees in front of you.

“I–” you begin, unsure of what to do.

“I want you to watch,” the General whispers, looking up at you in the same way an acolyte may look up at a temple. “I want you to see me.”

Slowly, cautiously, as if he’s afraid of spooking you, he guides your legs open until you’re splayed out in front of him. You would be embarrassed, but for the hungry look in his eyes, how his chest seems to heave in anticipation, and the way his tongue darts out to lick his lips as if he’s about to enjoy a feast.

When he leans forward, his mouth moving toward you, you gasp and stiffen, and he pauses.

“Trust me,” he soothes. “It will feel good, I promise.”

You swallow thickly and relax again, watching as Marcus comes even closer, until he’s able to press a kiss right on–

“Oh,” you whimper softly.

Emboldened, he angles his mouth against you and licks. The sensation of his tongue through your folds causes you to collapse backwards on your elbows, your head falling back and your eyes closing as you gasp toward the ceiling.

“Watch,” Marcus reminds you.

With you half-sprawled on the bed, your legs fall open even further and his hands wind underneath your hips as he pulls you even closer onto his mouth. His tongue, his lips… oh, it’s so decadent; you’ve never felt pleasure like this by your own hand. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you can only whine and babble wordlessly, your eyes wide as you dutifully watch him please you. He alternates between these deep, overwhelming strokes of his tongue and little licks right on the little bundle of nerves above, back and forth, back and forth until your entire body shakes.

“Exquisite,” Marcus rasps, his voice rough with exertion and pleasure. His lips close around you and he sucks gently, and the fire within you burns until it reaches a crescendo, until finally, you fall.

“Bellatora.” The endearment is laden with affection, and when you slowly blink your eyes open, the General is smiling down at you. “Are you with me, mi bellatora?”

You giggle. “I think so.”

He must have disrobed while your eyes were closed; you stare at his slightly golden chest, at the light dusting of hair and freckles, and further down, where–

Oh, Gods.

Marcus hangs thick, heavy, and proud, and you swallow in trepidation at the thought of all of that inside you.

“Don't look at that; look at me.” The words are soothing, but tinged with humor, and you can see the mirth sparkling in his eyes when you do as he asks and look at him.

“Let us just lie down together,” he says, smiling. “Nothing more.”

You scoot up until your head rests against the pillows, and Marcus crawls over you with a smirk, pressing little kisses up your body as he goes, until he lies down beside you and pulls you into his arms.

With your back against his chest, you can't exactly forget about the hard length of him, as it's currently pressing insistently against you. You wiggle, arching your back and trying to soothe the empty ache that still seems to reside within you.

“Feeling greedy, mi bellatora?”

You whine softly and push back against him harder. His arms are wrapped around you, but somehow, it’s still not enough. You want him everywhere, you need everything.

“What have you done to me?” you laugh softly.

“Nothing you have not also done to me,” Marcus murmurs, nipping your shoulder playfully.

“I have done nothing,” you say airily, leaning further back into his embrace.

“Oh, you have,” he growls. “You have invaded my quarters–”

“That is hardly my doing–”

“–and shortly after, invaded my heart,” Marcus continues, ignoring your interruption. “You have made me crave as I never have before.”

“You have made me feel the same,” you whisper. “I have never… felt anything like this before.”

“Mi bellatora,” he breathes against your skin, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“Do not be cruel.”

“Cruel?”

“You are denying me.”

At your playful accusation, Marcus suddenly shifts, rising up from beside you and pinning you to the bed with his body. “And it is taking the effort of every bone in my body, more challenging than all twelve labors of Hercules.”

“Then stop,” you tell him softly, reaching up to palm his cheek. “Stop denying us what we both want.”

Rather than answer, the General lowers his mouth to yours.

Kissing might be your new favorite thing–you thought the feel of Marcus’s lips was the most perfect thing you’d ever felt when he kissed you in the alleyway, but here, in his bed, with the weight of his body pressing deliciously down on you, his kisses feel even more profound. His hips roll gently against you, and you instinctively wrap one leg around his thigh to try and relieve your desire for more friction.

The action causes Marcus to groan and bury his face in your neck, his light beard scraping against your skin. Your hips cant upward unconsciously, and the skin of his cock catches and rubs against your folds.

With a little moan, you press against him harder, wanting more, more–

“Bellatora,” Marcus groans. He props himself on one elbow over you, spits on the other hand and rubs the wetness onto the head of his cock. He repeats the motion again, and then gently rubs the remainder onto you, making you arch back with a surprised gasp.

“I know, I know,” he murmurs. “It’ll be easier like this.”

He lines up the thick head of him with your entrance and pushes the tip in ever so slightly. Your eyes widen as you feel him, your mouth falling open as you stare up at him in awe.

“That’s it, just look at me,” Marcus murmurs. “Just keep looking at me.”

His face is so close to yours that your breaths mingle as he slowly slides in. You expect it to hurt, but you’re so soaked from his earlier attentions that it’s almost easy for him, at first. When he’s only about halfway in, though, you start to feel unbearably full–too full–and it makes you whimper softly and squirm against him.

“Breathe for me,” Marcus reminds you. “Breathe, mi bellatora.”

In between more kisses and soft praises, he pushes forward, bit by bit, until you can feel his body fully pressing against your core.

“Oh,” you whisper, smiling shakily. “I can feel you.”

Marcus chuckles. “And I, you.”

He stays just there, unmoving, stroking your face, until you begin to squirm with impatience again.

“I don’t want to hurt you, bellatora,” he says softly. “Please, love, tell me if I do.”

You nod, wide-eyed and enraptured by the feeling of being utterly filled. With one last gently kiss to your cheekbone, Marcus carefully begins to move. His cock drags slowly back and forth against your walls, and each time he buries himself to the hilt once again, it sends sparks of pleasure all over your body.

Your exhales turn high and breathy, little whimpers and gasps escaping every time Marcus reaches the end of you. You cling to his shoulders, the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his curls, eliciting a deep groan and a change in the rhythm of his thrusts as he gains confidence that you aren’t in any pain.

The faster Marcus’s hips move, the more it seems to send you into a frenzy. Your legs wrap around his hips and your grip on his upper body tightens as the fire within you starts to build again.

Your lips seek any available skin they can find, pressing open-mouthed against his jaw, his neck, his upper arm, anywhere you can reach. One of Marcus’s hands gently cups the back of your neck for leverage as he grinds against you; the other wanders up and down your body–gripping your hip, squeezing your breast and pressing his thumb against your nipple, stroking your cheek as he kisses you again and again.

His kisses become more and more messy and frenetic as he loses himself in the pleasure of your body. He pants softly, his voice catching on every exhale, quiet little noises deep in his throat that only you can hear.

Your bodies move seamlessly together, aided by the light sheen of sweat that beads on your skin. Marcus hand slips in between you, his fingers finding the little bundle of nerves and gently rubbing circles into the skin there.

“Oh, I–I–” you whimper brokenly, drunk on the sensations of pleasure that he’s pulling from your body. “M-Ma–”

“Say it,” he rasps in your ear. “Please, bellatora.”

“Marcus,” you manage to gasp.

“Again.”

“M-Marcus, Marcus, oh Gods, I–”

Your body arches off the bed as the strongest wave of pleasure you’ve ever felt courses through you. You convulse against him, hands scrabbling for a hold on his broad shoulders, gripping him for dear life as though he is the only thing keeping you from being pulled under by the waves.

Your cries reach a crescendo and Marcus gives you everything–his hips snapping roughly against you as your core continues to flutter weakly. Finally, when your body feels boneless and the fullness of him begins to ache, his thrusts falter and he finally stills, his cock twitching inside of you as he finishes.

He slips out, frowning slightly with concern when you wince, but continues to hover over you, his eyes sweeping over your face as your breathing slows and your heart quietens. He stays there, stroking your hair and kissing you until his shoulders start to shake with the effort of holding himself over you.

You fall asleep tangled together, safe and warm in Marcus’s arms.

[Several moons later]

“Must we really go?” you wheedle as you watch the General fiddle with the clasp on his ceremonial robes.

“It is the most effective way to make our little statement, bellatora.”

You cross your arms and make a show of pouting, although you know Marcus is right. You raise your arms, which are currently holding half of an unfinished braid. “Help me with my hair?”

Marcus sighs loudly, although you know that, like your feigned petulance, it’s also an act. He takes the braid from you and finishes it before moving to the next section, plaiting it together the way he knows you like.

“Tell me the statement again.”

He huffs. “You just like hearing me say it.”

“Yes.”

“An act against one of us is an act against both of us,” he murmurs dutifully. “And tantamount to an act of war, to be met with a swift and disproportionate response.”

“You always say that–‘disproportionate response.’ I do not understand what you mean by it.”

“Mmm. An opposing force sends one arrow into my army, I send one back. Proportionate response. Someone sends an arrow into my army, and I reign fire from the sky, burn every building to the ground, kill every citizen and remove them from every map. Disproportionate response.” Marcus finishes your hair and gently drapes the long braid over your shoulder.

“If ever you ask why I was scared of you when first we met, I will refer to you to that statement,” you say wryly.

“You did ask, mi bellatora.” He picks up a belt and scabbard–similar to his, but smaller, more delicate, and ornate. He fastens it around your waist, cinching your dress and making you feel not only more alluring, but powerful.

You do a little twirl and turn to him. “Do I look like the consort of an esteemed General?”

Marcus leans in and gently captures your lips with his. “You look like so much more. Now let us go into this den of wolves.”

With your head held high, you walk proudly through the halls at the General’s side, your hand tucked neatly against the crook of his elbow, until you reach the banquet hall, where the Emperor is holding a great feast. In your wildest imagination, you cannot think of a single place you want to avoid more, but you hold Marcus’s earlier promise in your mind as the heads turn to look at your entrance.

This is the last time.

The Emperor, surrounded by his entourage, raises his glass with a shout and a laugh as he sees the two of you. “The good General,” he grins wolfishly.

“Taking his little plaything out for a walk,” one of the other men sneer.

“Letting his little pet out of its cage,” adds another, snickering.

Calmly, you unsheath the beautiful, ceremonial dagger that Marcus had given you as a gift and hold it at your side, just as he’d told you. A powerful warrior does not brandish their weapon or wave it under people’s noses, he had said. A powerful warrior does not need to. They simply remind their enemies that the weapon is there.

“You disrespect me,” you say, keeping your face even and your eyes stern. “And you disrespect my husband.”

Silence falls around the room. The Emperor’s men look at each other, to Marcus, and back to you again, unsure of how to respond. Finally, one of them laughs loudly.

“General Acacius is going soft,” he cackles. “Letting his little toy play pretend that she’s the wife of a noble.”

You fight to keep your expression free of malice or hurt, continuing to face them down calmly, your sword resting at your side.

“Your gift to the General was far more valuable than you knew,” you say evenly, speaking only to the Emperor. “My family’s debt is paid in full, and I am therefore free to leave the palace at my leisure.”

The Emperor of Rome stares at you with befuddlement, his eyes wide, seemingly completely at a loss for words.

“We take our leave,” you announce with a flourish of a bow.

“Leave?” The man sputters. “You are my finest General, you cannot–”

“I have given the Empire more than my fair share of years in service,” Marcus says quietly, standing resolutely next to you and placing his hand around your waist. “I find I have seen all I care to see of war, and the rest of my days will be filled with peace.”

Marcus turns to the other generals, who are all watching the confrontation with the Emperor. Without speaking, they draw their swords and hold them aloft in a silent salute to your husband–who solemnly returns the gesture. As you are still holding your dagger, you copy the gesture. This seems to please both him and the other Generals, who all smile.

Marcus turns to you, beaming with affection and pride. “Let’s go home, bellatora.”

Epilogue

In a small hamlet south of the big city, a villa sits on a small hill overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea.

There is a rumor among some of the residents of the town that the man who lives there used to be a General in the Emperor’s army, but most of the inhabitants agree that this is a ridiculous notion.

He’s too soft-spoken, you see; his gentle demeanor is unlike that of a soldier. He often likes to sit with his wife and watch the color of the sea change as the sun rises in the morning, savoring the moment of peace before his children wake up.

There are five of them now–with a sixth on the way. His wife jokes that should she find herself with child for the seventh time, she’s going to feed the man’s privates to their goats.

Their life is modest, but by all accounts of those who witness it, they are blissfully happy. Their home always seems to be filled with joy, laughter, and no small amount of chaos that always follows young children. They maintain a small farm, raise goats and chickens, and they sell their extra eggs and vegetables at the market every week, accompanied by their five children, who are helpful… to varying degrees.

Sometimes, late at night, the odd passer-by will see the silhouette of a couple standing on the cliffs overlooking the sea, wrapped in a tender embrace.

They have few visitors, but those who have been inside their villa have noted that two swords are mounted above the front door. One is large, utilitarian, but expertly crafted–with signs of wear that might indicate it has seen more conflict than most. The other is small and elegant, the hilt decorated with precious stones.

No one has ever dared to ask about them.

#marcus acacius #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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joeloverture · 10 months ago

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sea-cret obsession | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog pairing: dad's enemy!yachter!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] your dad's always had a superiority complex when it comes to his place at austin's finest yacht club. when joel miller joins the club, not only does he dethrone your dad — he also becomes your newest obsession. warnings: (18+ mdni) yachter!joel, dad's enemy!joel, age gap (mid 20s/mid 50s), alcohol, joel is implied to be older than reader's dad - don't read too far into it, reader wears a bikini (anyone can, i promise!), fantasizing, creepyish joel but reader's into it, soft!dom joel, porn with a paper-thin plot, m!receiving oral, throatfucking, facial, cum-eating, f!masturbation, blowjob in the captain's chair, daddy kink (oops), thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, degradation, pet names, aftercare [no use of y/n] word count: 2.9k a/n: this was supposed to be a ficlet for @iamasaddie's ✏️game. this is not a ficlet. please suspend your disbelief, this concept simply fell into my lap the moment i saw the wonderful moodboard aly put together for me. go check out the other fics, most of which are much shorter than mine and are absolute brain candy, that stemmed from aly's game!

Austin is hotter than the hinges on the gates of Hell, and you haven’t stopped sweating bullets since climbing out of Lake Travis. After an afternoon of floating belly-up in your bikini off of the dock of the yacht club your dad frequents, your need for a drink finally outweighed your need for aimless swimming.

Your bare feet are still burning from the hotfooted walk across the wooden deck into the bar. Water droplets cling to your skin and leave a pattern of stippled concrete in your wake. It’s been a few hours you’ve seen your dad around the club, having already gotten into a pissing contest with new club members over horsepower and amenities. Your dad’s the type to always want the biggest and the best: the most decks, the biggest wine fridge, the nicest galley — because God forbid he lose his running ten-year superiority to a newbie.

So yeah, you need a drink. You don’t even have to order; the bartender, Callie, simply slides your usual order over, which you nurse while watching a preseason football game. You haven’t bothered to sit down, your hip popped out with your elbows propped up on the granite countertop.

You don’t even notice the wolf whistle from behind is directed at you until a man sidles up next to you, flashing a smile at Callie. He looks like he belongs in a yacht club, curls styled and sculpted neatly around his face down to where the collar of his blue blazer begins. Some of the buttons on his striped shirt are undone, and your eyes, much to your chagrin, linger at the slice of tanned chest peeking through the fabric.

He looks you up and down, unabashedly licking his lips when he sees the crease of your thighs. “Sweetheart, you’re much too pretty to be entertainin’ the ragtag kinda men around here.”

It’s not the first time you’ve been hit on by the yachters at this particular club, but it is the first time one of them has caught your eye. “I’m not–” you start before you hear the telltale sign of your dad’s laughter coming from close by. You turn around, drink in hand as he rounds the corner, sunglasses on and a towel around the back of his neck.

Your dad’s expression immediately sours with a speed you’ve never seen in him before. His lips draw tight at the sight of you – or maybe the sight of the man next to you.

“Joel,” your dad says, separating from his entourage. He wraps a protective arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”

“Seems it,” the man, presumably Joel, nods, flagging down Callie for an old fashioned. The glass sweats condensation along his sturdy hand. He holds eye contact with you while he sips, only looking away when he runs his tongue along the rim of the glass. “Oughta let me take ‘er for a ride one day. Bet she’d appreciate the fine machinery of a real boat.”

You don’t miss the innuendo to his words even if your dad doesn’t. You scrub your hands along your sides, your sunscreen-sticky skin dewy beneath your palms. You shush the part of yourself that bets you’d appreciate it, too.

“Your boat is maybe good for getting to the retirement home across the lake,” your dad snaps, squeezing your shoulder. He pushes his sunglasses up his nose. “C’mon, kiddo, let’s head home.”

You find your flip flops at the bottom of your beach bag, barely having the time to kick them on before your dad is practically pulling you out of the yacht club. He gives half-hearted waves to his usual boating buddies until you’re in the parking lot, surrounded by heat shimmering over the blacktop. The scalding hot leather seats burn the backs of your thighs and the small of your back as you settle in. With a purr, the air conditioner blows a fresh burst of wind in your face.

“What was that all about?” you ask when he starts the engine.

Your dad clips his sunglasses on his polo shirt, gripping the steering wheel ten and two with a winded sigh through his nose. “Fuckin’... rookie with his triple-decker Ferretti.”

Joel looked rich. But not Ferretti rich. “Who the hell in Austin owns a Ferretti?”

“That son of a bitch, that’s who. I don’t want you runnin’ amok on Joel’s boat, you hear me?”

“Ain’t planning on it,” you respond as if you don’t already know what’ll happen if Joel propositions you again.

You see Joel again soon, but only in passing. A wink behind your father’s back, a drink from the gentleman across the bar that was only coincidentally Joel. The locations of these run-ins are always different. Sometimes you walked by each other on the dock. Sometimes he’d give you both a quick wave from across the water before he sped off, leaving the boat rocking on the stirred up tide and your dad cussing up a storm.

Today’s almost-tryst happens on the dock. You’re walking past Joel’s designated dock in a bikini that you’d nearly thrown out because of its snug fit. You have to smother your disappointment when you don’t see him on the top deck sipping a beer. You know better than to be disappointed over the man who your dad has not only claimed as a mortal enemy, but also claimed as the antichrist. With the thoughts Joel gives you when your hand is between your thighs, it might not be too far from the truth.

You think you have most of it figured out – he’s rough, he has to be. With how relentless as he is on the waters, it makes no sense for him to be anything else. His fancy, custom belt buckles snicking as it comes undone so he can yank his jeans down and get inside of you. Those chains he always wears would hang in your face, swaying with every roll of his hips into yours as he chases his pleasure deep inside of your–

“Woah there, darlin’,” a honeyed voice coaxes you, a muscled arm darting out to stop you in your path. “Almost walked right into the lake.” Your head snaps up to look at Joel, the very inconvenient object of your fantasies. You swallow the quickly-forming lump in the back of your throat. “You sure you ain’t had too many?”

“Positive,” you say. You haven’t even done a shot s0 far today.

“Mmm, alright.” The playful glint in his eyes doesn’t seem too convinced. It makes your heart stutter before you remind it to keep beating. “Tell ya what, you’re welcome to ‘sober up’ on my boat.”

You look between where your dad’s dock sits empty. He’s out with his co-workers today, shooting the shit too much for their own good. Then you look between Joel and his boat, the beauty of a Ferretti that’s just two steps away.

Mouth already watering at the possibilities, you say, “I do remember you promising me a ride, old man.”

Joel’s lips curl into a knowing smirk, and he makes the long step from the dock to the boat, hand held out for you. You don’t hesitate to let him help you aboard.

You’re on your knees in front of the captain’s chair before he gets to the middle of Lake Travis. “Old man,” he mocks above you with his legs spread as far as they can go. You kitten-lick his hardened cock, making sure to lap up the obscene amount of his precum. There’s certainly one part of Joel that doesn’t need to go to a retirement home, and it’s in your mouth. You suckle at the leaking head of his cock while his strokes your cheek, only pulling away to spoon a drop of his precum from your lip onto your tongue. “You like suckin’ an older man’s cock, pretty girl?”

You nod eagerly, taking him deeper so you can tongue the vein along the underside of his cock. From that, he groans, head slumping on the headrest so he can gather himself. You spit a generous amount into your hand, wrapping around the base to properly suck him.

“Bet there’s a whole ‘nother lake in that skimpy lil’ bikini of yours, ain’t that right?” You nod around his length and go a little deeper. He’s heavy on your tongue, long and girthy all at once. He presses lightly against the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him, but you wouldn’t pull away from him even if the yacht itself set on fire. He moans as you start to bob your head up and down. You rub your thighs together just thinking about what his cock could be capable of between your legs. “Mhm, I know, baby. You wanna push that outta the way and give it a rub for me? A rub for your real daddy?”

A choked whimper punches its way out of you. His hips jerk from the vibrations, unintentionally pushing himself further down your throat. You expect it to be too much, but it isn’t. You pull away from him, taking a quick breath as you wrap your hand around the wide palm seated on his thigh and raise it to the back of your head. “Please fuck my throat, daddy,” you pout up at him, a mixture of your spit and his precum dripping down your chin and into your cleavage.

Another groan tugs its way out of him when he looks down at you. He cups the back of your head and brings his cock back to your mouth. “Can’t say no to such a gorgeous fuckin’ face. Gonna look so damn good covered in my cum.” You keep licking his tip, not wanting to miss a single drop of him. “Go ‘head and put a hand on your pussy, baby. Rub that clit that daddy’s got all throbbin’.”

And how could you ever say no to him? Your hand is down your bikini within seconds, peeling your tacky panties away from your cunt so your fingertips can rub circles along your clit. A circle against your swollen core pulls a moan from you right as he thrusts into your throat. He starts out slow, tentative as he pushes all the way into your throat and then pulls all the way out. His second thrust is much harder, stifling your breathing for a moment as a strangled noise of pleasure leave his parted lips.

He nudges you further down onto his cock, burying your nose into the triangle of skin exposed by his rumpled button-down. You force down the gag that builds in the back of your throat. Joel keeps your mouth speared on his cock with shallow rolls of his hips into the warm wetness of your mouth. You whine, prompting a hearty chuckle from him. “Good girl, daddy’s good little girl. Keep playin’ with yourself for me.” He smirks down at you. “Ain’t much different than what you do in your own bed, huh? Pussy just cryin’ for some cock, I bet.”

You moan in agreement as your eyes flutter shut when you rub your clit harder, harder, harder until arousal is smeared all over your knuckles and across your mound. “Nuh-uh,” he says with a punctuating adjustment of his hips. You gag, spit webbing through Joel’s happy trail. “Eyes on me.”

You’re satisfied to find him just as debauched as you feel. Strands of his usually put-together hair are out of place along his forehead, and his golden chain glistens with sweat. His hands grip the arms of the captain’s chair, spread on the tanned leather and exerting dominance over your kneeling silhouette. But you aren’t fooled. There’s a certain rosiness to his cheeks, a flare to his nose, that lets you in on the secret: he’s just as wrecked, just as in deep as you are.

You pull up and immediately sink down on his cock again, pleading eyes looking up at him, asking him. I want it daddy. I want you. And then he’s fucking your throat in earnest. His hips buck up to meet the back of your throat. You struggle to keep up with his size, his pace, but you suck his cock even with the knowledge that you won’t know how to explain your sore throat or raspy voice to your dad.

Joel squints down at you, absorbing the seeping spit from the corners of your raw lips, your droopy, ecstasy-laden eyes. He sighs, sinking down into the chair as he grinds his cock into your mouth and moves your head up and down his length. You take the hand that isn’t playing with your clit and reach to grab at his balls, kneading them. A narrow breath trips out of his lips. “Nasty bitch. Fuck, baby. Daddy’s close. Keep – keep doin’ that.” You drag your tongue along that bottom vein again, kneading one of his balls and making sure that when he pulls you off of his cock, you treat the head to one final taste.

“Open up, slut,” he coaxes. His cock twitches. He jerks himself once, twice, and then cums, rope after rope hitting your damp skin. His cum is hot, sticky, and you’re too preoccupied with trying to catch some of his release that your hand stalls over your cunt. You whimper when his cum lands on your tongue and follow it up by swallowing. Joel’s breath is unsteady as he looks down at you, cock softening in his lap. “Good girl,” he praises, reaching out to run his thumb along your stained skin. Drop by drop, he feeds you his cum, and you lap it up just as eagerly as you’d lapped him up.

You pull your hand out of your bikini when he’s done, tacky arousal stretching between your fingers. Going back on your haunches, you suck in a deep breath through your abused throat.

Joel pats his wide, thick thighs above you, the same ones you’ve been fantasizing about since that first day in the bar. “I promised you a ride, didn’t I?” A familiar, hooked smirk pulls at his mouth. Your face lights up in recognition and you practically scamper onto his thigh, stumbling as you tug your bikini out of the way to settle yourself on the linen coral shorts he has on. Joel laughs, a noise that has your cunt leaking onto the fabric, clit fluttering from the friction. Heat pulls tight in your stomach.

His hands land on your hips, guiding you back and forth when you hesitate at first. “Grind on daddy’s thigh, baby. Wanna see you cum on me.” Your head tips forward, forehead slotting against his shoulder when you start to push your hips into his. Need springs awake in your stomach when he drags you forward. A frayed moan tumbles out of you from his near-manhandling. You rut into Joel, bouncing, grinding yourself on him in the same way that you’d imagined yourself doing at least a dozen times before this.

“Daddy,” you whimper when the muscle goes taut underneath you, plucking something in your cunt. At the same time, a speedboat passes Joel’s yacht outside, leaving the ship rocking on the water in time with your movements as you ride his thigh. You yelp, a strained noise as the pressure intensifies on your clit. “Close!”

He grips your hips even tighter, bounces his thigh up against you. “That’s it, that’s it. Let it happen baby, give it to daddy.”

You come undone with the taste of his cum still rich on your tongue and his words ringing in your buzzing ears. Your orgasm whips through your body and leaves you shuddering against his center, halfheartedly continuing to roll your hips up against him. His thumbs rub circles into your skin while you come down. You suck in a shaky breath, Joel’s palm stroking the small of your back. “Did good for me, baby. Look real pretty when you come. Real pretty.”

You give him a shy smile, and he leans forward to kiss you, a brief moment of gentleness amidst his usually ubiquitous harshness. He pulls away with a tiny pat to your ass. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You stumble off of him on shaky legs, leaning against the captain’s console. Joel pulls his shorts down his thighs and tucks his cock away, the wet spot your cunt had made on him beyond visible as he stretches himself out. He fishes around in a drawer in the galley for his baby wipes and joins you back at the console. He takes them to your face, wiping down where his cum had hit your skin. He even dabs gently at your thighs. Orgasm bliss clings to the edges of your vision still, and you can’t help but lean into him as he takes care of you.

“Could take you for a real ride, now,” Joel says with a moderate shrug. “Nice cove on the west side of the lake, good for a quick swim. I’m sure your dad would throw a fit if he knew, but I’m sure you’re good at keepin’ secrets, too. Got a real good mouth on ya.”

You playfully punch his shoulder with a roll of your eyes, and in that moment, it feels like you’ve known Joel much longer than you have at all. Like this isn’t your first time on his boat, and this wasn’t his first time being in your mouth. “Alright,” you begrudgingly smile at him. “Whatever you say, old man.”

It’s his turn to roll his eyes as he starts the engine.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #✏️ game club

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magicdustsworld · 4 months ago

Text

His Favourite

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Tropes: King x concubine, fluff to angst. (Just a drabble)

Tags: intention of impregnation, suggestive smut, heian era, no mentions of y/n.

________________________________

Being Sukuna's favourite concubine has its perks.

She gets all the special treatment. From the jewels decking her radiant form to the luxurious amenities granted to her by the lord, himself; she has it all. The mealtimes as well as place for all the other concubines are set in stone. For her, no. She dines with his lordship, indulging him in stories of her own while he indulges her like a artist to his muse.

Ryomen Sukuna is enamored.

Enamored by this woman who was offered to him by the second clan head of the village – a means to negotiate with his highness to not exploit their land. A negotiation upon which Sukuna took an keen interest.

However, may the tale of that burning village be kept out for another day.

For today- and for all the forthcoming days, are meant for this very woman who he keeps by his side while he lets the mortals entertain him with their quandaries.

It's his decree, for he is the King of curses and she – his cherished.

Everyone who visits him would and should know that she demands as much respect as him. That she is a force not to be reckoned with. That by his side, she doesn't cower to fear instead commands it.

That's satisfaction. That's fulfilment.

That very fulfilment isn't attained until the woman tenderly grazes her hand against his. Delicately she runs her fingertips over the ridges and callouses of his skin. However, the relief only courses in his veins when she presses her lips on his palm.

Glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, the suggestive glint isn't elusive to him. The mirthful curve of her lips to the innocuous mien oftentimes left him ensnared in a cage. A cage from where he deliberately wishes to never attain freedom.

This little minx...

Isn't it laughable? The haunting nightmare of humanity left to a crumbling mess in front of his precious, his cherished, his soon to be consort.

Hence, he indulges her.

Indulges her in a passionate evening where he trails warm kisses down her spine, hand resting on the dip of her hip while he curls his finger in her warm core. The ridges of his knuckles brushes her lips, grazing the sensitive space in her he draws out her salacious moans. Her face twists into a series of expression – ones which he etches on his memories with all the others.

It isn't enough. He needs more. He needs to know her. All of her.

Her lower body spasms as she hits the peak of her ecstasy. He doesn't stop there, he cages her again in his arms; her only home. Anywhere else isn't safe for her delicate essence.

He continues the passion filled dance, aligning himself with her entrance before he is pushing in. The difference in bodies is starkly evident, no amount of lubrication would ever help the initial pain. However, when Sukuna marks the traces of tears in her eyes, he is quick to caress her with affection. Adoration brims in his irises while endearments combined with encouragement are befallen on her parched ears.

She smiles and may the lords be merciful...

He gains the signal and he keeps her in his embrace for how long no one knows. He jostles her body from one position to another, drawing out lascivious sounds from her as the wave of pleasure crashes over both of them simultaneously.

His seed drips out from her and Sukuna, for all is a twisted man, hence he can't help the pride that swells his chest.

One day, he tells himself. One day the very seed will grow inside her as his kin. One day, he will have her by his side as his queen.

Sukuna lets her rest in his chambers after the fateful display of lust and fire. She is fast asleep on the silken sheets and he finds himself, cleaning the mess – her. Verily, he has his servants but they don't get to see her like this.

This beauty, this vulnerability. All of its his and only his. She is his.

She has him enthralled.

Each glance, each smile, each honeyed word spoken to him, kindles a fire in the abyss of his existence. The unknown vulnerability ensnares him deeply, vexation causes the slight quirk of his brows when he observes her again – frolicking in the courtyard with the chosen mortals whom she calls her friends.

He scoffs.

The sun embraces her in its glows while the zephyrs play and curl her cascading strands. The butterfly perches on her bare shoulder while she feeds the pigeons in the courtyard. The daunting smile, the flicker of light, the luring whisper, even with all the evidences shouting at him, he tells himself that its only the nature.

The nature enthralls him, not her.

Yet, when the very nature decides to flaunt itself by rendering the land, the sky, the air in hues of the golden twilight, there's only one beauty he finds – her.

Ryomen Sukuna indulges what he desires.

He desires her, hence he indulges her as well.

From bringing her exorbitant jewels and fabrics to all the books she wishes to read, he does it all. She needs a relaxing bath after a day of endless toil? Uraume is ordered to watch over the luxurious bath. She craves for a certain kind of meal? Uraume must prepare it, no matter the situation.

At this point, Uraume just happened to be serving two masters simultaneously.

However, shimmering stoned and resplendent kimonos hold little light in front the affection she acquires. Little do his other consorts know about the poems he pens for her. Only her.

Yet, he is twisted. So is his affection. Therefore, he keeps the poems all around the map of his abode. For her to solve the mystery and finally gain the fruit of his affections.

If only... if only he wasn't such a twisted man.

If only, you never chose to step in this side of the garden. If only–

Under moonlit skies

Our fingers grazed, silent bliss

I knew that day, yet

Ignited hearts had senses merged

Melding in midnight's embrace.

Was it a cruel joke?

The knife twists itself into your heart, jabbing at the secluded corners with an intensity that physically hurt. Your shoulders trembles, nails dig into the flesh of your palm; so deep and so much that it draws blood.

The stinging pain of a pierced palm is negligible in front of a trampled heart. The pain courses through every vein, every pore, every inch. It's a kaleidoscope of memories that you're pushed in, fantastical memories with which you had always deluded yourself. The very pictures are running before your eyes as you struggle to breath, the lump forms in your throat as the tear pricks your eyes and yes– they tumble down. Smearing over your cheek and trails to your jaw.

Its almost like a concussion, the only difference is that your heart is hurting. A rippling pain grapples your entire being and then your knees give out.

You shoulders slump down so does all the breeze as the humidity causes your hairs to stick to your skin. You have your mouth agape, deep breaths for calming yourself down but it doesn't work.

Nothing works. Nothing works today. Nothing will ever work.

How could it when the man you love, loves someone else? How could anything ever be fine when the man you swore your loyalty to, never cared for it in the first place? How would you ever be alright knowing this is a grave you have dug for yourself?

You bring up the poem before yourself again. The very words swirling before your eyes akin bees near a flower.

Have you lost your sense or rationality? It hurts. It hurts so much. Yet, you read the poem again.

And again.

And then, you chuckle.

You bring your hand up to your mouth, suppressing the sounds which escape yet you keep reading. The chuckles continue with the streaming tears and finally, when the moisture in your eyes renders you incapable of proper vision, your laughs die down.

"Ah– just how foolish of me..."

Truly, so foolish of you.

After all, you're just another concubine while she is his favourite.

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k4vehrtz · 1 year ago

Text

⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out

“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”

you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”

he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”

and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.

the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.

he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.

though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”

“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”

“as you wish.”

“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”

silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.

“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.

either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.

“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”

he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”

the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.

if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.

turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.

“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”

you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”

he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.

now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.

there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.

as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.

he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.

then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”

my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.

“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.

well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.

so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.

and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.

you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.

“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”

and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.

your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.

you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.

all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”

#x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #toji x male reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #x sub male reader #jjk x male reader #toji fushiguro #toji smut

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solarmorrigan · 1 year ago

Text

Steve Harrington is absolutely the sort of person to become emotionally dependent on a pet. He grew up lonely and he loves taking care of things, and here's this creature that loves him unconditionally and is dependent on him for care? He's a goner

He finds a kitten in his backyard, wet and cold and alone, but in pretty good shape, all things considered. It hisses and swipes at him, but it's also mewing pathetically, and Steve can't just leave it, so he manages to get the thing inside with minimal blood loss (all his) and cleans it up and feeds it. It's a lot more amenable to the idea of Steve once it's warm and dry and full, and by the end of the day, it's curled up and purring in the crook of his neck, and Steve is already prepared to die for this thing

He does recognize that the right thing to do is to ask around and see if anyone is missing a kitten, which he does do, but no one on his street or the next one over lays claim to it, and there aren’t any kind of wanted posters going up for it, so Steve decides he is now the proud owner of a cat

He names her Baby and dotes on her accordingly. (In his defense, the name is Robin's idea; she tells him that he treats the cat enough like a baby, so the name might as well fit. Steve's always been shit at coming up with names, so he just goes with it)

Baby is the world's most spoiled cat, which Steve readily admits. But isn't that what cats are for? She's a wonderful cat and she clearly deserves nice things and Steve is going to get them for her. Toys, treats, a plush cat bed, the best food, whatever he thinks she could possibly need or want. If "I work hard so my cat can live a better life" t-shirts had existed in the 80s, Robin probably would have gotten one for him and he probably would have worn it

Of course, it helps that Baby actually does adore Steve. With everyone else, she ranges from frosty to outright hostile (she's taken a particular dislike to Eddie, of all people, which is unfortunate, because Steve really, really likes Eddie); she'll consent to be admired, and she'll accept treats, and she might even let more familiar people pet her, but in the end she is very much Steve's baby. If he's home, she's stuck to his side like a burr, curled up wherever he is and purring away, content just to be with him. She still snuggles up in the crook of his shoulder at night, just like when she was a kitten, even though she's bigger now and is a bit less easily accommodated

It goes without saying that Baby is strictly an indoor cat. Steve lives right up against the woods and there are predators out there, and people in town drive like assholes, and Steve won't take the chance of her being eaten or run over or meeting some other horrible fate. He really doesn't think his heart could take it

But of course, because all cats are terrible bastards at heart (affectionate), Baby darts out the back door one day as Steve is coming in off the patio, chasing after some other small animal that Steve can't even see, and she's out of the backyard and up towards the trees before Steve can do much more than make a grab for her

And Steve, who has survived interrogations and monster attacks and many situations objectively much more stressful than this, does not panic. He does spend half the night wandering around in the trees with a flashlight, shaking a bag of cat food and calling for Baby, but that's not panicking, that's problem solving

He eventually gets too cold and too tired to keep going and has to pack it in for the night. He holds onto some shred of hope that she'll be waiting by the back door when he wakes up, wondering why the hell it's taken so long for him to come let her in, but apparently that's not the way life works, because the patio and all areas around the house are still distinctly catless come daybreak

Eddie shows up sometime mid-morning, just as Steve is preparing to head back out and look for her. He has genuinely never seen Steve so upset; he looks like he might actually cry if he doesn't find that damn cat, which just isn't something that Steve does. But he's actually fucking distraught, and Eddie simply can't have that, even if Baby is his nemesis, so he goes to the phone and makes some calls

He cashes in on favors, he makes promises, he actually agrees to pay Mike ten bucks to show up, but he gets the kids, all the older teens (the only reason Robin hadn't been there already is because Steve hadn't paused long enough to tell her what was going on), and even the Corroded Coffin boys up to Steve's house to comb the woods for Steve's damn cat

It's Eddie who finds her in the end, a shock of pale, mewling fur actually stuck in a fucking tree. The cliche nearly kills him – either that or trying to climb down a tree one-handed while holding a cat. He's surprised she actually lets him pick her up, but then again, she's been out here all night, she's cold, and at least she recognizes Eddie. Maybe this is the beginning of a truce

Or, she might go back to hissing and swiping at Eddie any time she the mood takes her, but Eddie doesn't even care, because Steve is elated to have Baby back, so fucking happy that he doesn't even seem to notice that she's digging her claws into his arm as she clings to him for dear life all the way back to the house. Eddie will deal with anything that Steve loves that much

Steve pays for pizza to thank everyone for putting their Saturday on hold to search-and-rescue a cat, and everyone warms up and eats their fill before slowly filtering back out of the house. And later, after Baby's been cleaned up and fed and properly doted on and is purring away curled up over a heating vent in the living room, Steve takes Eddie upstairs to show his thanks in a much more thorough manner

After all – Baby is very important to him, and he's more relieved than he can say to have her back, but she isn't the only thing that Steve adores

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #while I'm sure steve would love a dog too I just really see him as a cat person #he wants to spoil the shit out of something and that's what cats are made for #meanwhile Eddie is losing his mind because cats love him normally. they LOVE him! what is wrong with Steve's cat!#(she does not like sharing steve. that's it that's the reason)#solar wrote

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dmitriene · 5 months ago

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johnny mctavish behaves like a lovesick puppy, all pawing hands and eyes full of loving devotion, curling himself around you and not letting you go anywhere without him, strolling alongside with his hand clasped in yours.

he's greedy, with animalistic ravenousness in his gaze as his blue eyes trace your form, tongue licking at his teeth behind the thin lips, hands curling at his sides with the need to touch and grasp, bend you down, sink his white canines in the plump, sugary sweet flesh.

no one said he's a well mannered pup, that he keeps his hands to himself in public and does not run them between your legs, feeling for the roundness of the flesh and the warmth of your crotch, heel of the palm pressing down.

johnny is wild, not amenable to training and scolds, as he is, who loves to take what lies before him, rough palms at the curve of your waist, thick cock sliding inside your slick cunt, blazing heat of your velvety walls latching around his fat girth, as he grinds deeper.

he let's you scold him, for his ruthless thrusts, for the rough nips he gives to the sensitive, ripe flesh of your neck, shudders when you curl your fingers in the brown strands of his mohawk, tugging his head back, as he moans.

because no matter how persistent johnny is, all control is still in your hands, in the way his hips halt their movements, throbbing cock stills inside your soaking heat, lips wet with drool where he was sucking at your skin, as his jaw drops down with whiny begs.

you love him for all of this, nodding with a pitched coo, because once you let him move again, he drills himself into you, carves in your stretched sappy pussy, huffing with muffled gratitudes as he makes you cling onto him.

main masterlist. quidelines.

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nana-luvy · 7 days ago

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. 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠 .

warnings: cheesy dripping in sugar fluff, high school!Luke Castellan, afab!reader, reader is apparently a little obsessed with pink

In which you should've talked a little quieter.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You know that myth that high school girls use weird nicknames instead of actual names to talk about people behind their back ? That was far from a myth to you.

"Pikachu ? Who the hell is that one again ?" you asked your friend, visibly confused.

"It's the new guy, Harry, remember ? You know, Harry Potter to thunderbolt to Pikachu," Silena tried to explain without getting too annoyed about having to repeat herself for the nth time. The nicknames weren't always the best idea when one of you two had really a short-term memory.

"Oh, right, right..."

The two of you had nicknames for almost everyone in the class. You had to --you loved a good gossip session at the back of the class during econ, and there were plenty of people to talk about. And Silena, committed as she was, had a new crush every week who required a nickname of his own.

"But, wait- Didn't you talk to me about spider just a few days ago ?" you asked, furrowing your eyebrows.

"Nah girl, spider is so last week... Plus, I saw his arms were as thick as twigs under his hoodie. That's a no-no for me, babe." Silena flicked her hair behind her shoulder sassily.

"Amen, sister," you added, initiating your iconic 'Legally Blondes' handshake.

“Anyways, I have chemistry right now, see you later ~”

“You’ll tell me everything about lab coat right ?” you yelled as your frend left in the other direction.

“And you about hedgehog !” She answered, turning around the corner.

You chuckled to yourself, putting your earphones back on, laughing softly at the mere thought: to have something to tell, you'd need to have any sort of interaction first...

Hedgehog was the nickname Silena had given to your own crush, Luke. Well, little... You had been pretty head over heels for months, now. But, in your opinion, he just had the whole package: curly hair that always looked effortlessly perfect, brown eyes like molten chocolate that drew you into their comfortable warmth, an athletic build after years in the fencing team, a charisma that shone through his every action, and a mischievous smile that could melt the coldest hearts.

He was in most of your classes, including math, were you were headed to at the moment. He usually took the seat in front of yours, and some days you had to put in the extra effort to not get distracted by the soft scent of his cologne or the overpowering of his radiant aura.

And apparently today was one of those days, as you heard his laughter resonate through your ears as soon as you sat on your chair, one you could hear even over the music still blasting in your earphones. You tried to ignore the soothing sound and simply unpacked your stuff, organizing your desk for the hour to come. But you didn't expect a discreet knock on your table, slightly startled by the movement in your vision, and expected even less to see Luke looking back at you when you looked up.

"Ca..row y...en?"

For a second you just looked into his eyes, incredulous, diving into the amber you worshiped so much, before he tilted his head to the side questioningly, a perfect curl falling perfectly on his oh so perfect face... Realization hit you and you instantly took the earphones out of your ears, your music still blasting.

"Sorry, couldn't hear you. You said ?" you rushed, clearly nervous despite your best effort to hide it.

He chuckled, a melody shooting straight to mess with your thoughts. "Yeah, that's pretty loud.." He motioned to your earphones. "Is that really Ayesha you're listening to?" he added, hint of a laugh in his voice as he quirked his eyebrow.

And you couldn't stop the light blush dusting your cheeks. "And unironically."

"Not bad." Luke said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Anyway, I was asking if I could borrow a pen ? I forgot half my stuff this morning and... yeah.” he explained, like trying to justify himself.

“Oh yeah sure, let me just-” you immediately delved into her case, trying to find something other than pink inked pens. Finally, you handed him one. “That should do it. Sorry it’s pink, it’s the only one I have I think… but it’s supposed to write in black, don’t worry.”

“No problem, I think I noticed you didn’t have much other color in your stuff anyways.” he chuckled, before delicately taking the pen you were holding, fingers brushing ever so softly. “Remind me to give it back at the end of the class.”

When he turned back to the board, the teacher now finally in the class to begin class, you were totally red. As cool and normal as it might've been to Luke, that slight, barely there contact had you in total panic mode, hand almost shaking, your fingers hanging in the air as you scrutinized every inch of skin that just touched his.

Finally, you would have something to tell your best friend after all.

The bell rang and you bolted out of your seat: you needed to find Silena and take your mind off what had happened just an hour ago. Quickly putting everything back in your backpack, you sprinted out of class, greeting the teacher before going out the door and practically running into your friend, that was apparently already waiting for you.

"The teacher let us out earlier than planned." Silena explained before the question even came up.

"Something happened." You said, wide eyes looking into nothingness. You grabbed your friend's wrist, quickly urging her to the other side of the hallway, not to stay at the entrance of your class.

"With.. who I think something could happen with?"

"Yes."

"Girl, we have five minutes before the next class, so you better make them count." she seriously replied, obviously wanting to know every single detail of the experience. An experience that just remembering had you dizzy and shaking from how unreal it was.

You explained everything, in detail as Silena expressly asked for an in-depth commenting, while going towards the next classroom for Lit, which you had together.

"I swear to goodness it felt like out of a fanfiction..." you whined, still having that tingling feeling in your fingers where Luke had brushed.

"I totally get you, I mea- Those fudging ashes." Silena glared at the two abyss creatures that had taken your usual spots, in the front row, before pouting dramatically. "I don't wanna seat at the baaack..."

You lead her to the back of the class, or more like dragged her, before taking seats next to each other on the last row.

"Could've been worse, we could've been separated." you stated seriously, though a small grin tugged at your lips, because it was a serious matter indeed: there was no way you could sat away from your best friend, how could you pass time in class if you did ?

"Right." You both sat down, putting everything you needed on your desks. "But I can't believe we didn't even have time to talk about lab coat, that boy is really taking over your thoughts... Dang, he's stealing my girlfriend." Silena shook her head from side to side disapprovingly, hugging you from the side in the clingiest way. "You know, I'm really starting to hate hedgehog for that, that little dwarf..."

You scoffed at her statement, before sighing dreamily. "Nah, you can't possibly hate him, he's too cute for that..."

"Why, thank you ~"

The boy in the seat right in front of yours twisted, a large grin on his face as he spoke those words, and you realized you should've paid attention when you took a seat. Because of two simple, common words. But two simple words spoken by Luke, that made you go pale and Silena stifle a laugh behind her hand.

He turned back to the board and away from you and your best friend in the same second as the lesson began, the two of you looking at each other with two purely different gazes. If one of you was clearly entertained by the interaction, a spark of mischief dancing in her brown orbs, the other looked like she wanted to get immediately buried alive 6 feet under. You wanted the ground to split under your chair and swallow you whole.

Silena just nudged your arm with her elbow, before going to listen to the teacher like nothing happened.

Meanwhile, your brain had probably never worked that hard and that fast to come up with a reason as to why in the world and how in the world he knew, all the while trying not to both gush like a crushing thirteen years old or burst into tears from the embarrassment.

The bell rang again and she had paid little to absolutely no attention to the lecture, words written on the white board completely meaningless to her, except maybe the 'cemetery' that did have a certain charm to it in this instant.

"Silena ? I'm going to the toilets. Meet me there." you said to your friend, keeping your sentences short. Your eyelids flickered in shock and panic after what had occurred just an hour ago, again, blinking repetitively. You plastered a small smile on your face before picking up your bag and going out of the classroom.

Once in the school's bathroom, you waited a good ten minutes for your friend, and Literature being your last class of the day you had time to waste. You paced the room, trying to clear your mind, thanking waterproof makeup when you splashed cold water on your face multiple times to try and ease the raging blush of your cheeks.

A few more minutes passed by, and Silena still hadn't come in yet. Actually, the door hadn't opened once since you'd come in; yes, a lot of people had class at this hour, but still, it felt weird. Curiously, you peeked outside of the room, wondering if the bathroom had been closed for public while she was in there for no one to come inside. And when you opened the door, stepping outside, you stumbled upon Luke, looking at his phone, leaning on the wall between the two bathroom doors.

But by the time he looked up, his eyes catching a movement, you had ran back behind the door, your back pressed to the stiff material while your chest heaved up and down quickly, in full blown panic mode again.

"Hey, you okay ? You don't sound well." You could hear his muffled voice on the other side, his worried face immediately conjuring in your mind.

"I"m good! I'm.. I'm good. Fine. Really. Don't worry."

"Very convincing..." You could just imagine his pretty brown eyes squinting with an amused expression on his face.

"What are you even doing here, lurking outside the toilets?" you asked, trying to calm your breathing while still sounding as unbothered as possible.

There was a short moment of silence. "I didn't give you your pen back, earlier."

Perfect, just perfect. "Luke, you can give it back tomorrow- you know what, just keep it, i have plenty of pens. Just go home."

A new silence. "You don't wanna know how I know ?"

You hesitated for a few seconds, pondering what could be the smartest choice, but ultimately opened the door a little, passing your head out.

Turning in your direction, Luke couldn't help but grin, weakly attempting to suppress a laugh at the scene and taking a deep breath to contain it. "Sorry, I'm not mocking you."

"Sure." you mumbled, finally going fully out of the bathroom and standing in front of the door, a few feet away only from the curly haired boy. "So ?"

"Well, I'd say you should pay attention to who's walking behind you when you describe a situation thoroughly, even when you use 'hedgehog' instead of a name." he simply replied, his characteristic smile dancing on his lips as he shrugged like it was obvious.

And you mentally face palmed, because it was obvious. Your eyes widened noticeably and you froze, a simple "Oh" the only breath that made it past your lips.

For a moment you stayed silent, completely frozen on the spot, your brain completely out of service.

"Y/n ? Is there someone behind your eyes ?" Luke joked, shaking a hand in front of your eyes in search of a reaction of some kind.

A name. Your name. In his mouth, rolling of his tongue, crossing his lips, like the only word that should ever exist. And it brought you back to the front of your mind.

“Yeah I- uh- how much did you hear, exactly ?” you asked, scanning his face.

“I’d say…. since the beginning until the end ?”

“Okay well then this is the moment where I tell you to please, please, forget all about it, it is no useful information to you, and I’m now going back inside the bathroom until you leave, bye.” You replied in one go, closing your eyes through it all to not have to face Luke's judgmental gaze, before reaching for the door knob.

But just before you opened it, the boy caught your wrist, your head snapping in his direction in confusion.

“Don’t you think it might be a bit dramatic ? I mean, maybe just forgetting about it isn’t the best solution.” he hinted.

You squinted your eyes at him, annoyance almost taking over your shyness. “Well, seeing as I don’t really feel like dealing with the problem in the logical way, I think my way is actually pretty good, saving you the hassle of the nice rejection and all...”

If you didn’t know better, you could’ve sworn you caught a glimpse of deception flashing behind his amused expression, his smirk faltering for a split second.

There was another moment of silence, before Luke replied. “I mean, is it really good to make assumptions like that ?”

“Actually it is, helps face reality when you already have it all figured out before it happens, you know ?”

The amusement on his face was slowly laced with confusion. “I really don’t get how you’re so smart yet so… not.”

“Uh… Ouch much ?” you replied, slightly offended.

“No I mean- To tell you the truth, i did forget half my stuffs today, but i totally had a bunch of pens in my bag.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Then why would you ask for one ? You wanted a pink one ?” you laughed, trying to ease the growing tension building up in you again, for some reason.

“My friend said it’d be easier to talk to you that way. And I mean, it indeed is since I'm pretty sure I'm talking to you right now.” he said with a little laugh, that sounded more anxious than intended.

You looked at him in disbelief, arching a brow. “Why ?”

Luke finally let go of your wrist, hand coming to scratch his nape awkwardly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to talk to you ?”

“Exactly, why ? You give really little information, you know ?”

“I mean, you looked cu-ool.” he said, tripping over his words a little, his eyes visibly widening.

“Cyool...?” you squinted, confused, before shaking your head to just dismiss it. “Congrats, that makes you one of the two only people who think so, first is my mom.”

“Oh, come on, smartass, don’t make me say it.” he shut his eyes for an instant, nervously sliding a hand through his messy curls.

“Say what ? If you got something else to say, better make it quick before i go back to hide from my embarrassment, that I definitely did not forget about like i’d like to.” you urged him, smiling sarcastically.

Luke looked back in yourr eyes for a moment, the brown of his almost covered by a cloud of hesitation, before he finally parted his lips. “I obviously wanted to say cute, not cyool.”

As expected, you simply froze again. Not even blinking, just staring straight in his eyes, though as if you looked into nothing.

“And I thought it would be no good to just forget about it simply because it’s the perfect occasion to finally ask you out on a… date.” he nervously continued, muttering the last word.

His eyes searched yours for an instant, darting from left to right and looking for a reaction, or even just a connection, before you finally snapped out of it. You blinked repetitively, eyes darting everywhere but on Jamie, before literally pinching herself, ensuring you weren't just daydreaming and wouldn't wake up in math class.

“Waw, uh, okay, I don’t think I ever got that far in a fake scenario. Uhhh…” You just opened and closed your mouth multiple times without even letting out a sound, completely overwhelmed by the current situation. “Hey you know what ? I- um…” You cleared your throat, somewhat hoping it might help clear your thoughts, and finally looked at the boy in front of you. “I’ll text you.”

And you ran off towards the school’s main exit, bag and pink pen in hand.

Stunned for a few seconds, Luke just picked-up his own backpack off the ground and started walking in the same direction, laughing softly. “Weirdly, that was kind of expected..”

Just a few minutes after you left him, he received an instagram notification from what he knew was your account, an audio message. ‘Well, that on the other hand is unexpectedly quick.’ he thought, opening it.

“Yo ma boyyy, it’s Silena ! Soooo… your girl is um… out of service for a little while, I think.. Girl you okay ?? But I’m telling you, she’s totally on for the date thinggg ~ Just text her the details and I’ll personally make sure she makes it in time and place, do not fre- env- do not worry, wow, I can’t even speak properly anymore, I'm turning into you. Anygayssss, maybe don’t text her today though, y’know ? Cause she’s like, freaked out as hellll, but um, yeah. See ya !”

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

'thank you' part on a tiktok kicking my feet like crazy, felt like I had to write it ~)

But yeah, hope you guys enjoyed reading, I love you allllll

Nana <3

#she's so me if it happened #delulu #pjo luke castellan #luke castellan #imagine #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #high school au #luke castellan modern au #pjo series #fanfiction #pjo x reader #pjo x you

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bigtedbear · 2 months ago

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" 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 "

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

content warnings: nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, dom top male reader, bottom male character, mlm, gay sex, anal sex, anal penetration, implied mpreg, breeding kink, implied impregnation (there's existential dread washing over me as I write this wondering what my ancestors think), unsafe sex (i fear condoms don't exist yet), they're both virgins but blade definitely doesn't act like one, the reader on the other hand-, sub top reader kinda, dom bottom blade kinda hallelujah amen, they're basically just both horny losers, medieval alternate universe, monsterfucking, blade is a dragon, mating rituals, extremely brief mentions of religion/purity/chastity, i didn't tag this as yandere cause that's kinda just blade???, hey 🪷 anon,,, pov getting over blade's creepy tendencies because of his absolutely fatal face card

ADDED CONTENT WARNINGS: body piercings (nipple piercings), mentions of lactation (there's no real lactation sorry guys i have to stick to the timeline), HEAVY talk of mpreg like that's the whole premise of this part, nipple play, reader is a FREAK for his wife, it came out way softer than I meant it to????, blade is still emotionally constipated but less than usual because he's also a horny loser

" new contact noted! caller blade has been added to your phonebook! - love, operator t-19 "

NOTE: hey guys I forgot about blades pierced nipples, both my heart and the hearts of my audience were broken

the public has spoken, I'm adding on more smut that's probably gonna basically revolve around his tits will update when this has been amended 🫡

SECOND NOTE: the section has been added in, you can read it as part of the entirety of the post of just a single drabble on foreplay with blades tiddies and HEAVY discussion of mpreg

" welcome back caller 🪷! connecting your line as we speak..."

‘The atmosphere swam around you like fish in a bowl; dark, dank, musty.

The strange tension in the air pulled you into an equally strange trance. Dazed, your perception seemed to fade in and out, in and out. Fully alert one moment, your eyelids were drooping as a wave of fatigue overtook you the next. You did your best to still the shaky sense of being that rocked the environment like a cradle, opting to try and break down the situation using your individual senses.

Sight: the air was cloudy and gray, thick like a curtain. You couldn't see it, but you knew there was a fire somewhere. It was shielded by the cold stone walls and the glittering mountains of gold and jewels.

Sound: the crackle of the fire and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Ominously, the quiet “drip… drip… drip…” of an unknown source tickled your eardrums.

Smell: sulfur and smoke curled and singed the tips of your nose hairs. The unpleasantness almost completely shrouded the warmth of the smoldering firewood. Some other smell, however, also permeated the area… something strong but hidden beneath the smell of smog.

Taste: akin to bile and equally nauseating, it crawled up your throat and threatened to spill past your lips. Infused with the noteworthy copper tone, the flavor in your mouth was disgusting at best.

Touch: there was a considerable weight in your dominant hand. It drew your arm down, down, down. Metal coated every inch of your body, but you were already used to that as a knight.

You forced your arm up, revealing to yourself what you had been holding. Of course, it was your own aged, well-loved sword…

drip… drip… dripping crimson.’

As much as your body urged you to sit up straight the moment you were awake, your lackluster sleep kept your body flush against your equally lackluster bed. Thrown together with what little blankets you could manage to carry, it was too thin and too flexible to adequately support your body.

Still, despite the recurring nightmares and terrible moral dilemmas, you forced your impossibly heavy body to sit up. The tiny wisps of sunlight that peeked through the openings of your makeshift tent forced you to squint. .Calloused hands met your face, trying to wipe the tired crust out of your eyes and bring some kind of sensation to your skin.

How pathetic. A Xianzhou Luofu knight afraid of a little blood.

It was a wonder you managed to retain your position, nonetheless become the unspoken “Chosen One” among your ranks.

Sure, you were tall, imposing even, muscular and sharp-witted. But even then, all that qualified you to be a top-rank knight was equally balanced with factors that should've barred you from the position altogether.

A pacifist, an outlander, and more than just uninterested, you were not only an oddity, but an exception to many of the hiring requirements. It was a shame your chosen profession as a botanist became a long forgotten dream you only seemed to remember when you weren't patrolling (never).

Combing your fingers through your hair served as a self-soothing gesture when you became lost in your thoughts. It'd first been pointed out to you by the Arbiter General. However, as you found yourself traversing the narrow, winding passages of inner conflict, you found it impossible to get into a rhythm.

It was to be expected after a few weeks of traveling. Your body was coated in soil and your hair was no exception. It was starting to get matted and knotted, more than just difficult but near impossible to comb through.

Of course you'd washed yourself during the prior few weeks, but continual travel and no access to good soap stunted what could be washed off your body in cold streams or still ponds.

The mountains nearby actually were known for two things; natural hot springs and… that other thing. While you might have originally intended to climb the mountain for one, the other served a pleasant add-on.

…

…maybe a hot bath would help ease your mind just a little bit.

However, deciding to take a bath in a hot spring was one thing. Then came the question of how you'd find a hot spring to take a bath in. You turned the query over in your head a few times before you came to a final decision.

‘I mean, they're everywhere, aren't they? It shouldn't be too hard to find one around here.’

With the decision made, you made the effort to stumble through your usual morning routine. Making breakfast, packing up your tent, and pulling on your heavy suit of armor, you prepared for another long day scaling the mountain.

With nobody to talk to, the only voice that cut through the sounds of the mountain habitat was your internal monologue. Crushing the twigs and branches under foot, the sparsely marked path was all but forgotten as the imagery of the strange visions from your sleep dotted your vision.

It was only when you'd nearly fell into a hot spring that you seemed to wake the fuck up and stop thinking about the nonexistent blood staining your sword.

Carefully, you propped your pack on a nearby tree, shielded by some shrubbery for safe keeping. Piece by piece, you began to strip the heavy pieces of iron armor that weighed down your fatigue worn body. They dropped to the hard, arid soil.

They looked as though they were smeared with red.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes.

It was just the same armor you always donned. Free of blood, free of stains.

You chastised yourself mentally for being such a wimp. All it took to make you crack was a task and a little sleep deprivation.

When the final piece of armor hit the sparse grass, you were left in the thin shirt and worn pair of trousers. Carefully, you unlaced the drawstrings at your collar, hastily tugging your shirt off to lay on the dirt. You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your socks next. Despite being all alone in the mountains, for fear of being watched, you crept closer to the water before beginning to unbuckle your belt.

The warm water on your skin was a luxury you seldom had the fortune to indulge in; one you hadn't indulged in since leaving. Sinking into the depths of the tide, your eyes fluttered shut. Finally, what greeted you in the darkness of your mind wasn't the visage of murder scene.

Originally, you’d chosen to bask in the warmth of the natural hot spring to clear your mind. Your task and the blood that would be on your hands… it weighed heavy on your conscience.

Observing the abundance of flora that decorated the banks of the water, you managed to strangle an eerie serenity you’d thought you’d lost. Sitting against the rocks and letting the soft slosh of the waves wash the muck and mire off your body, the tension building in your muscles finally seemed to release just a little bit.

Still, when your hands shook while brushing through the knots in your hair. Something unsettling resting at the bottom of your stomach told you not to get too comfortable.

Why did it feel like someone was watching you?

It took a day and a half to find the entrance to the cave.

For holding such a strong, looming beast in its walls, the opening to the nest wasn’t nearly as imposing as you’d imagined it to be. It made sense, thinking about it objectively. It wasn’t as though the dragon was trying to be found…

Still, you considered that perhaps it would’ve wanted to set up some kind of deterrent to all those that dared to enter.

With a heavy heart, you laid your possessions off to the side of the opening in the stone, taking the first few lumbering steps into the opening.

It was more than just eerie how similar the inner workings of the dragon’s den were to the visions you'd been having. Like some kind of prophet, the sights, the smells, the sounds, even the weight of your sword in your hand from your dream were like they were ripped straight from this moment in time exactly.

It was difficult to be quiet. The spilling piles of metal trinkets and gold coins littered the floor and clinked against the pieces of armor that adorned your figure.

Still, creeping in deeper to the cave, you came to a strange realization.

The dragon’s den was empty.

Despite knowing you were afforded the unique opportunity to have the upperhand in enemy territory, it didn’t seem to calm your anxious heart in the slightest. Instead, a new anxiety wrapped your pulse like a parasite.

You didn’t know why.

Up until this point, you attributed your nerves to fear of inadequacy. You were a head taller than the rest of the Cloud Knights, you worked hard for your position, but hard work did not equal competence.

Patrols were worlds away from dragon slaying. The worst you’d had to deal with was the occasional thief, a dispute in the squares, you weren’t killing mythical beasts on the daily. Relatively speaking, you were still at the very beginning of your life as a long-life species. You were a novice—a baby–in comparison to any of your superiors.

Stalking up the mountain, the weight of your sword was perpetually heavy in your hands because you felt you hadn’t earned the right to wield it.

But now, here you were.

There was a golden opportunity served to you on a platter, an ambush. You could sneak up on the dragon, free its head from its shoulders and return from the mountain a hero.

So why were you suddenly even more scared than before?

Why could you not just appreciate this blessing bestowed upon your shoulders?

As more and more doubts started to cloud your mind, you could feel your breathing start to pick up.

Aeons, this entire thing was becoming far too real.

You could pretend you were just going on some other trip while you were hiking up the side of the mountain. You could pretend this was just some training exercise when you laid down in your makeshift shelter at night. But right now? Right now, it seemed like reality was starting to set in.

You were inside of the dragon’s lair. You were inside of the den.

The light from somewhere deeper in the stone maze flickered and tickled the underbelly of the smoke and smog that hung heavy in the air. The shiny piles of gold that seemed to decorate every wall were almost mockingly bright. Even when you closed your eyes, the outline of the giant glittering heaps of extravagance traced the darkness behind your eyelids.

Rather quickly you came to the conclusion that you were hyperventilating. The grip on your weapon became harder to maintain as the influx of breath caused your vision to swim.

Still, when you heard a noise at the other end of the cavern, you ceased at once.

The shoddy handle you had on your sword suddenly became bone crushingly tight. You cringed at the noise of steel handguards scraping the metal handhold.

Soon enough, the shrill screech was nothing but a distant memory as the room was swarmed with the curious sound of rushing air. The thick, dark smoke that hung like a cloud was suddenly moving in a frenzy, rushing about like it had somewhere to be. Instead of clearing up, it seemed the moving smoke only further clouded your vision.

Your free arm came up to try and keep it out of your eyes. You screwed your feet to the sticking plate, remaining in stance and trying to figure out what exactly you were hearing beyond the opening of the dragon’s den.

The pit of dread forming in your stomach took a steep turn for the worse when you realized exactly what you were hearing.

The flapping of giant wings drew closer to the entrance of the cave and suddenly your previous courage started to dissipate into nothingness. You might have seen the dragon from afar when it came to ambush the treasury before, but the sound it was making now made it seem as though it was the size of the entire castle.

Taking a much stronger liking to your former ambush plans, you shuffled to one of the few exposed walls in the ever winding corridors of stone.

Good gods, the sounds were getting even closer now.

Both hands gripped the handle of your rather large weapon, the shriek of metal against metal all but drowned out by the louder and louder beating of your heart against your eardrums.

‘THUD!’

Your heart jumped into your throat.

The smoke began to settle again.

You forced your breathing to do the same.

You waited…

…and waited…

…and waited some more…

…but curiously…

…you didn't hear anything.

You realized something was wrong, but it took you a few more breathing cycles to actually solidify your resolve to check.

‘One…

Two…

Three!’

Cautiously, you peeled your back off the wall as quietly as possible. Despite your best efforts, there was a just barely audible scrape of stone against the back of your metal shin guards. Your face twisted with displeasure.

Still, nothing.

Waiting for another moment, you finally turned the corner and peeped just beyond the wall and back to the entrance of the cave.

The beast heaved through its nose as evidenced by the smoke billowing out of its nostrils. Its wings curled into its sides, but with the uncanny angling of the bones, the posture they had taken was awkward and forced.

It was about then you noticed the glaringly obvious problem the dragon had been confronted with.

A comically oversized crossbow arrow lodged where its ribs should've been. Grimly, you recognized the arrow to belong to the Zhuming. A clawed foot rested over the injury, most likely trying to feel for a solution of some kind.

Based on its current predicament, it was failing miserably.

Before you could even process what you were seeing, there was a blinding flash of light that forced you to shield your eyes. When you finally lowered your arm, you had to blink a few times to process what you were seeing.

In the previous position of the dragon, sat a man.

…but he was also obviously the dragon?

Long curled horns atop the crown of his head, a long serpentine tail dragging behind him on the ground, he heaved the same smoke and cradled the same injury.

Despite your reservations, you approached.

Sword heavy in your hand, you dropped it clattering to the ground.

That was when the man locked eyes with you.

Dragons were slowly beginning to die out.

Of course, that was only natural when their usual courting rituals involved pissing off every other species known to man. The larger the stash of gold, the more desirable a dragon would be to another. The more valuable the gold, the harder it would be to steal.

One would think this wouldn’t apply to Blade, a dragon with little to no interest in settling down. However, at his core he was still a dragon and he still felt the need to build his own little stash of gold for peace of mind.

What little dragons were left in the world had exactly zero appeal to him. The proud, strong ones had all been eliminated by technology and weaponry far beyond the capabilities of a singular beast. The only ones that seemed to be left were those that took to hiding and settling for paltry sums that served more as a courtesy than something that would draw a potential match in naturally.

He frowned upon it entirely.

Blade seemed to be the only dragon left in the Xianzhou with the upright morals that made up the core belief system of the species as a whole. But because of his own steadfast values, he also seemed to be the only dragon that refused to form a bond with one of his own.

He had never known the comfort of another, never.

Yet when he awoke, he found himself atop a nest of soft blankets. Blinking away the fatigue from his eyelids, he was greeted with the visage of a man at rest.

Half stripped of armor, a few meters away from him, a knight polished his breastplate while watching something roasting over a fire. Completely at peace in the tranquility of the silence, (e/c) eyes sparkled in the low light against the dreary atmosphere of the cave.

The smell of meat stunk up the corridor with an aroma enticing enough for Blade’s mouth to water. His clawed hands searched for some kind of purchase against the fluff of the comforters you'd laid him on as piercing red eyes swept his cave.

Your sword was nowhere to be seen.

Why?

Blade would've asked if he wasn’t already in an extremely compromised position.

You hadn’t even done anything to him, he had been incapacitated in his own home without you having to so much as raise a finger. You had been sent to kill him, even if you had chosen to do the exact opposite as of now, he didn’t know if or when you would feel the need to go back on your silent promise not to hurt him.

As he went to lay his tousled hair back against the blankets you’d laid out on the cave floor, embarrassingly, he misjudged the stability of his arms. With an even more embarrassingly loud–but muted–thud, his clawed fingers slipped against the fabric and his face hit the comforter just a second later.

The noise cracked the little moment you were having by the fire roasting meat over the open flame. Your eyes trailed over to where he was laying, basically completely still. He hoped that if he played dead, you wouldn’t comment on him falling back onto the makeshift mattress. Unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered.

“Careful,” you admonished him gently, “I just stitched up the puncture, if you strain too much, I’ll have to do it again and you probably won’t be asleep this time.”

Still, instead of coddling him like a baby, you turned back to the shiny piece of metal in your lap reflecting the impassioned red hues of the fire. With a damp rag, you swept over each and every scratch and dent with a special precision and care Blade was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.

Still, despite the idea being completely foreign to him and the soft nausea that rocked his gut with the unfamiliar trepidation, he found it difficult to pry his eyes away from your hands.

You used your fingernail to pick at the larger pieces of dirt, otherwise pressing the pads of your fingertips to the rag to wipe and wipe until the heavy armor shined. This, Blade wasn’t unfamiliar with. The gleam of the metal mirrored the mounds of spoils he’d managed to snag from the surrounding kingdoms. After you finished with the breastplate, the rag and the plate were set to the side in favor of grabbing a dagger strapped to your thigh.

To this, the man sprawled on the sheets visibly seemed to cringe and crumple in on himself.

He was increasingly vulnerable: you knew this.

You really didn’t want to infantilize him, he was a feared predator and someone who far outmatched you in terms of experience and wisdom. You brandished the dagger as you would’ve any other times, but avoided making any sudden movements.

You cut into the rather large slab of meat carefully, observing the color of the meat and the feeling of the muscle under the edge of the knife.

Satisfied with the hue and smell of the meat, you stomped a boot onto the pile of leaves you’d used to establish the fire. The dragon was visibly alarmed by the sudden loud noise, but you paid him no mind. Instead, you removed the stake you’d been using to roast the meat from the precarious stand you’d painstakingly crafted.

Using the dagger once again, the goat meat you’d be salting and seasoning for a couple days slid off the stick you’d whittled down with ease. You dropped the generous flank steak in front of the observing party. You sheathed the dagger in its holster on your thigh once again, dropping back onto the stone you’d turned into a makeshift stool.

It took Blade a moment to realize that the portion of meat was for him. His mouth watered at the smell, especially since the hide had been pierced and the true aroma of the seasonings began to mingle with meat. He poked at it carefully with a taloned finger.

You watched him prod at the food, crossing your arms in front of your your chest as you observed.

“...”

Finally, the other man pulled himself to sit up. Dragging the meal into his lap, he began to eat.

Once again, you watched him with a nonchalance that sent the hairs on the back of Blade’s neck standing up.

After he finished eating, you seemed to turn away from him once again to give him his privacy. Instead, you picked up the next piece of dirty armor to start to scrub off the accumulated dirt.

“Why?”

Blade’s cheeks simmered a baby pink upon the realization his voice had cracked. Instead of pointing it out, you skipped over it entirely.

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

You shrugged.

He blinked.

“...”

You hummed, “Perhaps I’m not cut out to be a knight.”

He balked at your response.

You bit the inside of your cheek, “The entire time I was climbing the mountain, I thought I was scared I wouldn’t be able to kill you.” You chipped away at the building dirt on the surface of your shin guard, “I eventually realized it wasn’t that I couldn’t kill you.”

“...”

“...Then what’s stopping you?” His clawed fingers gripped at the plush material beneath him, “You need to kill me, so why don’t you?”

You sighed, sweeping off the chalky remains of a particularly rough mud stain, “I don’t want to. I really don’t want to kill you; I don’t want to kill anyone.” You held the rag tight in your offhand, “If I can, I really want to solve this in a way where you don’t die.”

“...”

You swallowed the building lump of spit at the back of your throat,

“So, name your price. What exactly do you need in order to stop attacking Xianzhou?”

What did Blade want in return for not attacking the Xianzhou Alliance?

He didn’t know.

He was honest in not knowing what he wanted in exchange. You appreciated it… to a certain extent. He was honest and he didn’t lie to you when he said he didn’t know, but his indecision also put you in the precarious position of not knowing whether or not he was stringing you along until he healed and could properly fight you.

You were half tempted to put a deadline on his decision, but every time you looked over at his pitiful body lounging around on your blankets in his loose drapery, you decided against it.

It was around this point you learned his name.

You had what you liked to believe was a gentleman’s agreement. Even with the lack of any verbal acknowledgement, you would stay here and oversee his healing process. Eventually, he would make a decision on what he wanted in exchange for peace. Even if he decided there really wasn’t anything you could provide for him, he would allow you to walk away from this alive if you ultimately came to the decision to not try to kill him.

It was a little bit awkward to start with, neither trusted the other.

You were worried he’d grow tired of you taking up the space in his cave and slaughter you in your sleep. He was worried you’d do the same if you eventually grew tired of his indecision or some kind of outside pressure from your commander came up. Still, that was an awkward conversation to bring up so you opted to avoid it entirely.

After a week or so, the two of you seemed to grow a lot more comfortable with each other. It was about then you were starting to run out of meat.

While Blade had been unconscious, you’d been making trips to and from the closest water source to get your hands on some water for stew. You boiled some of the rabbit bones you’d held onto for broth, pulled out some salt and leftover meat you dried to make him some soup. He couldn’t chew while he was awake so that was the best you could do for him.

When you started running out of those ingredients, you went out and brought back a mountain goat for meat. While in the process of cooking yourself a nice, juicy flank steak, Blade had woken up. It’d be rude to hold a big hunk of meat in front of him without giving him some of the spoils, especially since he hadn’t been eating anything but bland rabbit stew while he was out of it. For the next few days, you cooked up what remained of the goat and shared it between the two of you.

Goats were not an infinite source of magical forever meat though, so you ended up having to go out to get more food. You left and came back with another goat, started cooking it. Around the time you came back, it seemed Blade was waking up from a nap and he fully came around when the cooked meat was basically being dangled right in front of his nose.

Once again, there weren’t any words exchanged between the two of you but the air seemed to be a lot more relaxed than usual. He didn’t seem to be picking at every bite of food you served him and you weren’t watching him like a hawk while you were clearing your own plate. A few more days went by before you actually started talking over your food.

You’d been the one to initiate the conversation, asking if he’d been thinking about anything that could possibly convince him to stop adding to his ever growing treasure hoard. He responded he had, but he still hadn’t come to any conclusions.

You didn’t press any further.

The next day while eating, you asked him again. Once again, he answered in the negative. Again, you didn’t press any further.

The third day, when he answered in the negative, you decided to press him further. You asked him, “Why exactly do dragons create hoards?” It was a long talk about mating rituals and explanations later that he seemed satisfied with his answer. You, also, were satisfied with this answer.

A few more days of asking went by before you would run out of meat again. At this point in the year, summer was beginning to come to a close and the peaks of the mountains were becoming colder and colder.

Instead of venturing out in just your shirt and trousers, you’d decide to pull on your armor before venturing out of the cave. While it was definitely warm inside the stone walls of the dragon’s den, the air outside the cave couldn’t say the same. In order to preserve your body heat, putting on more layers was the best course of action, even if the layer was made completely out of metal.

It seemed, while you were suiting up in armor that Blade watched you with a special curiosity he had yet to display before. For the first time since you’d stitched up his wound, he made the effort to approach you first. He gave you a once over in your suit, eyes dragging over the shine of the metal in the light of the fire.

You didn’t know why he was looking at you, but you’d made a habit of not asking too many questions about things you didn’t understand. He seemed satisfied after a little bit, nodding his head and letting out a grunt of approval. You nodded in response, holstering your sword in your belt.

Eventually, you would return with another goat. It really was the only option for food seeing as two grown men needed a little more food than a few rabbits could provide. With the goat over your shoulders, you made the long trek back to the cave and back to the warmth that came with it.

When you eventually found your way back to the same stone walls, Blade was at attention waiting for you at the door. You dropped the fresh game onto the ground, the dragon watching intently. It made you uneasy, but what could you do about it?

As you went to strip yourself of your armor, it seemed something about your hunting trip had caused something to change inside what you believed to be your temporary companion. Your hands rested on top of the large steel helmet, but before you could tug it off, there were clawed fingers fumbling with the hooks on the inside of your shoulder plates.

You jumped, startled.

Quickly, the same talons retracted.

You turned your head to face him, chastise him for sneaking up on you like that and putting his hands on you. However, your complaints were promptly swallowed. His expression hadn’t changed in the slightest, but he still managed to look like a kicked puppy.

Despite the stone cold nature of his face, his fingers clasped close to his chest like he didn’t know what to do with them. The long draconic tail was tucked between his legs and his head was painted a bashful pink and lowered just the slightest bit to avoid eye contact.

Your brows furrowed, really wondering if you should be letting him do this. The longer you looked, the more moved your poor, weak heart was. In the end, you huffed through your nose before going back to removing your helmet and turning your back on him again.

Slowly this time, the hands crept up your shoulder to unhook the heavy plate from your bicep. You didn’t pay him any mind the second time around, undoing the buckle that kept your metal handguards flush against the back of your knuckles.

He was a quick learner, especially once he'd gotten into the groove of helping you take off the amalgam of pieces that clung to your clothing. Soon enough, you were back in your shirt and trousers, turning to start a fire so you could warm up.

He trailed back over to the little pile of blankets you'd laid out for him. His eyes lingered as you started to skin the goat you'd brought home.

His home.

Something clicked in his brain as he observed. Despite the piles of gold that covered every other square inch of the scenery, he couldn't take his eyes off of you. He didn't know why.

When you were in armor he could write it off as another innate attraction to something shiny for his hoard. But at the moment you were in plain clothes, doing something he'd seen you do before already. Still, he watched with what he could only describe as bated breath. Mesmerized by the simple movement of the dagger cutting through the layers of fat.

As he tapped his nails against the plush fabric, he seemed to realize something.

His fingers stopped moving.

He blinked a couple times

'Yes,' he concluded,

... perhaps he knew what he wanted.

It was quiet, as it usually was for the majority of the time you would be eating dinner. Usually, you’d be the one to initiate the same conversation every single day. It was monotonous and predictable to the point that you could recite word for word what the two of you would say, the tone, and in what order.

“Have you thought about my offer at all, today?”

“I have.”

“Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

“I have not.”

If nothing else, you could count on Blade to be reliable.

Tonight however, your mind wandered.

Instead of striking up the usual conversation the two of you would have over dinner, you found your thoughts drifting off to your life on the Luofu. The temporary situation you found yourself in wasn’t bad, not at all even. If you were to make any complaints, it would be about how lonely you felt.

Even if you had a dragon to keep you company day in and day out, the dragon wasn’t all that good at being company. He didn’t like to talk but he liked to watch. Instead of having someone to pass comfortable silence with, it felt more like you were being observed by a camera.

Again, you really didn’t mind. You enjoyed your solitude and alone time. Today specifically, you reminisced on your home, your garden, your coworkers. You missed the privacy that came with living alone, you missed quiet afternoons on your days off tending to a low maintenance garden. Even if your coworkers annoyed you most of the time, they still made the effort to make you feel included.

Adrift among the clouds of memory lane, it completely slipped your mind to start up your usual conversation. Not only did you not pick up normal conversation, it seemed you were somewhere else altogether. You didn’t even notice the nervous fidgeting across the makeshift fire pit.

Blade’s long nails tapped all but silently on the cushioned ground. The long tail that trailed behind him swished back and forth quicker than usual. Instead of the same lethargic, languid movement, scales brushed over the bed haphazardly like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

Tonight, he would be the one to initiate the conversation.

“I’ve thought about your offer.”

You blinked a couple times, taking a second to process what was being said.

“You have?”

Finally in the present moment, your hand reached forward for your own share of dinner laid out between the two of you. Absent-mindedly you raised the steak to your mouth, chewing and swallowing in the time it took for the other man to respond.

“I have.”

The tapping of his nails ceased, instead taking to poking and prodding his food.

You nodded, falling into the familiar lull of the conversation. “Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

“...”

A pause.

That was new.

“I have.”

“...”

That was newer.

You finally tore your gaze away from the slab of meat in front of you, making direct eye contact.

His expression was immovable and stone cold as before. At least, it appeared to be upon first glance. You were quick to notice the tension in his jaw and the tiny crease between his eyebrows. It seemed he was… nervous?

“...you have?”

Instead of responding verbally, he gave a curt nod of the head.

“...”

You tilted your head to the side, thoughts of eating all but abandoned the more and more the reality of the situation set in.

“What did you end up deciding?”

“...”

He folded his arms into his lap, swallowing the lump of spit at the back of his throat in the process. “I want you to stay here; permanently.”

“...”

You cocked your head to the side, “...as a companion?”

“...”

It took him a second to respond; his hand clenched around the hunk of flesh in his palm. Internally, you cringed at the noise his talons made tearing into the meat.

“...I suppose it'd be similar to that.”

You didn't grasp what he was trying to get at, still. “Similar? I… I'm getting the feeling that I'm not quite following.”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. You could feel a pang of anxiety nip at the corners of your pulse. Like always, it seemed he struggled to find the words to accurately articulate himself. He always paused before he said something, searching for exactly the right way to convey himself.

“Dragons collect hoards to draw in potential partners; I explained this to you a few nights ago.”

Then it clicked.

“...oh.”

Still, the man sitting across from you continued. “If I fulfilled the purpose of collecting a hoard, there wouldn’t be a need for me to continue visiting the Xianzhou.”

Your cheeks started to burn indignantly. “I-” you bit the inside of your cheek, “Wouldn’t you prefer help in finding a partner rather than just settling with the first person to enter the cave? It seems counterintuitive to collect such a… robust hoard and partner with someone such as myself. We wouldn't be able to produce any... offspring seeing as we're both men.”

Instead of his usual pause, Blade was quick to respond in the negative.

“I find you to be more than satisfactory.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but found it increasingly difficult to find the right words to say. “It’s just-” you stammered, “I’m not- I don’t-”

Your jaw snapped shut after a couple attempts to open a dialogue. Your brows crept down your face in an expression of exasperation. You flexed your hand into fists and then relaxed them again, trying to collect your thoughts.

Directly in front of you, the dragon sat with an unmoving expression.

You huffed a sigh, trying to ignore the painful flame across your cheekbones, “This would cause a few complications for me, is all. I’m unsure why you’re choosing this; I can’t seem to find the logic behind this and I’m frustrated. I want to confirm that this is truly what you want before I commit to fulfilling your request.”

Once again, he seemed to answer in the affirmative without a second thought.

“I am sure.”

You locked gazes with him. It almost seemed like you were challenging his resolve. Without any prompting he confirmed himself.

“I have thought on this matter for a period of time, I have confirmed this is the best option.”

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, seemingly going through the processes that would be required to actually fulfill the task set out in front of you. Without really thinking too much about your next words, you pondered to yourself aloud, “Isn't the purpose of mating to have children? You really wish to be married; married to me?”

The end of his tufted tail rattled in the air, seemingly amused, “Is that what the people of the Xianzhou call it? Aside from the issue of marriage, dragons have long evolved for both male presenting and female presenting partners to be able to carry children.” It was difficult to gauge what he was actually feeling, “...if that is the context you must view it in.”

Your face got impossibly redder, food completely forgotten by this point. “Well, that-” you made a gesture with your hands, “-That would require a ceremony–a wedding– because of my own pledges as a Knight.” Your hands fell into your lap, “I would need to assemble a dowry for a proper proposal, exchanging rings, vows…” In a much quieter voice, you all but whispered, “...and the expected traditions after the wedding…”

For the first time during the discussion, Blade’s expression shifted. His lips pressed into a thin line. There was an awkward silence that hung in the air.

“...”

Eventually, he sighed, “The Xianzhou complicates these matters too much for my own liking.”

You avoided eye contact, the flush on your face having long crept down your neck and up your ears. “...”

Once again, Blade’s expression changed. He closed his eyes to let out a sigh, raking a hand through his silky navy blue hair. “We can go through these rituals quickly, yes? I don’t see the need for a large affair, the agreement is between the two of us.”

You didn’t really have the mind to reject him, nodding your head slowly after a pause that felt a little bit too long,

“I suppose so.”

“I believe a fitting dowry would be your armor. You will be giving up your status as a knight to stay here with me, will you not?”

Despite the fact you’d already seen his upper torso unclothed in the process of stitching up the crossbow wound cutting across the bottom of his ribs, the new context of the situation made your face flush a bright red. Where there had been a deep puncture wound carved by arrow, lay a star-shaped imprint of the memory.

His dexterous fingers wound up your sides on top of your clothes, stopping when they came to grasp the draw strings keeping your collar closed.

You realized you could stop him from pulling on them any moment now, he even paused to make sure he wasn’t moving too quickly. Instead of grabbing his wrists to stop him, you laid your hands on his thin, lean waist. Leaning against the impossibly soft hug of the blankets he’d been sleeping on top of for weeks, you tried to stay grounded and slow down your breathing. While avoiding eye contact, your eyes trailed down to his chest.

They were pierced.

Ripping your eyes away, you suddenly were now very conscious of where you were putting your eyes. Instead of giving him any verbal encouragement, your hands gently squeezed his love handles.

His throat gave a pleased rumble, his hands pinching the ends of the drawstring not unsimilar to how one would undo the ribbon on a gift.

“I’ve amassed a plentiful amount of rings to choose from, pick two and we’ll exchange them now.”

With a healthy amount of trepidation, your hands found themselves tracing Blade’s waistband. The loose bottoms he usually wore were equally loose around his hips, displaying a navy blue trail of hair framing the center of his pale stomach.

Impatiently, he raised his hips so you could tug his pants off. You hesitated to follow suit, suddenly seized by a wave of anxiety. Still, it seemed Blade was less than happy with that outcome.

One of his hands moved from bracing his weight on your thighs to making a grab towards your chest. He leaned forward, all but hovering over your body. Despite being in such a compromising position, it was hard to not be a little intimidated by the constant look he had in his eyes. It was almost like he was constantly planning a murder.

With his non-verbal request to go a little bit faster, you finally pulled his waistband down below his knees.

“Vows aren’t a complicated matter, it’d be much easier to speed up the process here. We can say our vows while consummating the marriage, can’t we? I don't want to delay the mating rituals of my own kind either.”

Like he was following a rhythm, little huffs and panting fell past his open lips. His eyes were wrenched shut, hips falling back onto your lap with each little movement he made. His thighs shook as you tried your best to stretch him out. He wasn’t making it easy, long clawed fingers digging into your shoulder blades the deeper your fingers were reaching.

He let out a particularly loud whine as your fingertips just barely grazed the little spot inside him that made him see stars.

His grip on your shoulder tightened, hips shifting impatiently to inch closer to your knuckles. You hissed, feeling the very tips of the talons start to break the skin. You started to draw your fingers from his hole, chastising him for not being more gentle. “Careful, I’ll bleed if you squeeze that hard.”

When confronted with his lack of self-control, it seemed Blade retreated into himself. With the two of you sitting up at this point, it was difficult to shy away from your eyes. His face transitioned from a sweet pink to an embarrassed cherry red. He didn't answer your admonishment verbally, but it was clear he heard you.

He stopped squeezing your shoulders, winding his arms around your neck instead. Avoiding the shame burning up his skin, he hid his nose in the crook of your neck.

You tried to give him a little grace period, but your offer was entirely unwanted. A few short seconds passed before his sharp canines were nipping at your collarbones, painfully hard leaking cock grinding against your still clothed thigh.

No words were exchanged, but the things that needed to be said were clearly communicated.

His neck was right in front of your waiting lips, tempting you really. Before going back to stretching him open on your fingers, you laid an open mouthed kiss on his jawline, dripping with a sweet taste like honey. Still embarrassed, he bit back the whimper that threatened to spill forth from his lips.

He let out a shaky sigh as he could feel your fingers start to hollow him out again. Almost immediately you were jabbing at the little lump that was his prostate. He keened, pressing back onto your fingers with shaky legs while he balled up his fists. His long nails dug into his palms this time, leaving your shoulders unblemished. You were particularly aware of the movement with the way the cold metal nipple piercings rubbed against the front of your torso.

If he was this excited you reasoned, he was most likely ready for a third finger. Slowly, doing your best to be gentle, you finally added in the last finger. He let out a little groan of discomfort, but ultimately didn't make any moves to stop you.

You continued to try your best to make him feel comfortable, gentle and slow as you could manage. As another moan slipped past his lips, you curled your fingers against his insides for the last time before completely pulling your fingers out of him.

You didn't know how you could tell, but you could feel a brewing sense of frustration wafting off of Blade. Your suspicions were confirmed when he all but lunged for your belt buckle.

He fumbled with the leather for a moment before you grabbed his wrist, stammering, “Wait, wait-” You swallowed some spit to wet your dry throat, “We, We haven't said our vows yet. We haven't officially been married.”

The dragon situated on your lap didn't seem happy when he was stopped. Instead, he hesitated to let go of your belt for a few long, awkward seconds before finally sitting back on his burning loins.

“Go on, quickly.”

He stressed the last word adamantly. It was extremely clear the speed at which his patience waned.

You swallowed more spit for a second, trying to rack your brain for the typical contents of wedding vows. “I-”

He watched you expectantly, tufted tail whipping back and forth on the blankets expectantly.

“For- For as long as I live, I swear to love and to cherish you as my wife,” the memories seemed to roll just out of reach, your inner monologue desperately grasping at straws, “With the lord as my witness, be it for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part I will fulfill my duty to you as a husband. To protect and honor you until my final breath.”

You held your breath for a second, trying to think of anything you missed. On the other hand, the oh-so “bashful” bride seated on your lap gave a straightforward nod. The next second, his clawed fingers were flying towards your belt again.

Reflexively, you stopped him, only further agitating what little patience he had left. “Wait!”

“What is it now?” His hands rested on your thighs, pointer finger tapping on your leg indignantly. Despite the accusatory tone of his voice, it seemed his eyes were trained on what exactly was hidden underneath your hand.

“You…” you paused, “You haven't said your vows yet.”

His brows furrowed, the first change in his expression the entire night. He sighed, grip tightening as he did his best to ignore the aching weight of his erection on your leg. “Fine.”

He sat back on his thighs to restrain himself, pulling his grip to sit lower on your thighs.

“As your wife, I swear to…” he paused, trying to recall your own vows, “love and cherish you for as long as I live.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what else to say. You had mentioned your duty as a husband, protecting and honoring him… what would his duties as a wife entail? Well, there was the obvious.

“I will fulfill my duty to you as a wife, bearing your children, honoring, and protecting you.”

“...”

He reached forward experimentally, testing to see if his own vows had been satisfactory.

You averted your gaze, moving your hand aside to give him full access to your belt buckle.

At this point in time, Blade was regretting his own lack of patience.

His thighs clenched with the exertion, flexing and unflexing while he tried to relax and sink a little bit further onto your dick. His breathing was labored, the flame of desire flickering and tickling at the bottom of his gut. You weren’t faring much better, fists gathering up the sheets in a vice grip. It took every fiber of determination in your body to not slam him down ass first onto your pelvis. Your jaw was tight, only breathing heavy out of your nose. You let out a particularly harsh breath the lower he managed to get. He was barely halfway down and you were already starting to see sounds. As a knight, you’d sworn yourself to abstinence your entire career. Was this really what you had been missing out on this entire time?

Without any warning, Blade’s legs completely seized up. His thighs squeezed together, clawed fingers suddenly scraping your skin. He braced himself on your chest, leaning his torso forward so you’d catch him. The change of angle didn’t seem to help him at all, a choked moan slipping out of his usually reserved lips the harder the tip of your dick prodded at his prostate. One of your hands moved from strangling the sheets to wrap snugly around his waist.

Despite your compulsions, your arm stayed draped around his midsection without applying any pressure. The sensations were overwhelming, so overwhelming you were struggling to keep any noises from sliding out. In the heat of the moment, you pushed yourself up from where you were leaning on your remaining arm to bury your face in the teal hair that framed his neck. Nuzzling your nose into his collarbone, you stifled what would’ve been a pathetic whine against his bare skin.

His hips nudged just a little bit lower, getting ever closer to bottoming out. Unlike yourself, he didn’t feel the need to try and be quiet. He pushed his neck up closer to your face, using a shaky hand to grasp the one you were still clutching the sheets with. He groaned, pulling your wrist to guide it onto his waist. You obliged him, fully cradling him between your large biceps. In return, his hands made their way up and around your neck.

They rested over your broad shoulders, still shaking when he finally managed to slide your dick in all the way to the hilt. He was breathless, feeling like he couldn’t breathe with how much room you were taking up in his guts. His core felt even hotter when you squeezed him tight in your arms, carving the imprint of your teeth into the side of his neck. He exhaled a shaky moan, hand trailing up the back of your neck to tangle his fingers in your hair.

In response, the clamp of your jaw drew tighter, a wave of heat surging over Blade’s entire body. Even with your impromptu gag, the sounds you were making were only further fueling his instincts. You huffed a raggedy breath through your nose, trying to hold back from bucking your hips up like an animal. You were a gentleman, you wanted your receiving partner to be the one to set the pace for fear of hurting him.

But you really were only human, and your blood was currently not rushing to your brain. Your heels dug into the mattress with how hard you were trying not to move, so it definitely wasn’t that you weren’t holding it in. But he was really warm and tight and sitting still was starting to get underwhelming and almost painful when you were this hard.

Blade let out a surprised noise when you pulled him in impossibly tighter, followed up by a punched out gasp when your hips involuntarily jerked upwards. Desperate at this point, you unlatched your teeth from the side of his neck, pressing feverish kisses up his jawline to his ear. In the process, you really couldn’t afford to try and mute any of your noises. Blade’s heart felt like it stopped when you whined directly in his ear. Suddenly very aware of his own dick rubbing up against the defined muscles of your abs.

You sounded like a kicked puppy when you whimpered into his ear, “Are you ready to move? Can I please move?”

Even if he tried to deny it, it seemed he wanted to move just as much as you did when a thick bead of precum dripped down your stomach.

Instead of immediately giving you the go ahead, though, he moved his arms from around your neck, grabbing at the hands wrapped around his waist. Pressing them back against the makeshift mattress, you took it as the go ahead to move, thrusting up slowly to start. He let out a drawn out moan, before putting his hand on your stomach, “Wait, wait-”

At this point, you could feel frustrated tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes but still, you stopped moving. You let him press his other hand on your chest, flexing and unflexing your hands to try and keep yourself from busting like a teenage boy seeing a pair of tits for the first time. You didn’t complain when he urged you to lay on your back, one of his hands bracing itself on your pecs, the other resting on the middle of your abdomen.

Experimentally, he rolled his hips. Instinctively, Blade bit down on his lower lip, feeling the delicious mix of pleasure and pain send an addictive shudder up his spine. Without even thinking, he rolled his hips again to get another taste.

And then another.

And another.

And then he couldn’t stop moving his hips, chin tilted up with his mouth hanging open. The movement was easy and the friction divine with the generous prep you’d done beforehand. The generous amount of precum sprouting from the end of his drooling tip made his dick slide across your stomach with ease, only encouraging Blade to move his hips even faster in search of euphoria. It really didn’t help his sanity when your large hands grappled his hips, serving to drag him up and down your length all while his legs seemed to grow weaker and weaker. It also didn’t help that it looked like you were equally lost in the fervor.

Saliva pooling in the back of your throat, you swallowed thickly when it seemed Blade’s arms gave out. He slumped against your chest, navy hair covering the lower half of his face awkwardly. Despite the harsh impact against your chest, you couldn’t seem to care less, finding a lot more frustration in the lack of movement. He used a shaky hand to brush the hair out of his face, chasing after your lips with his own. Before he could quite reach it, your hips seemed to develop a mind of their own, suddenly bucking up into his waiting insides.

The kiss ended up being teeth first, canines clacking against canines before your lips ended up locking. He let out a heavy groan when your hips still didn’t stop moving from behind. Combined with the new pressure on his dick from all sides, his piercings were dragging up and down the dips of your stomach every time you moved. His eyes fluttered open when the two of you finally parted for air, high-pitched whines rhythmically pushed out of him the harder your thighs hit his ass.

Drool trickled from the side of his mouth, leaking onto your shoulder before he tried to warn you, “Closer- agh~ really- mmmhmmnn close-” He really wanted to hold back for the sake of finishing at the same time, but the feeling of you rearranging his guts just about had him crying like a baby.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna- Ouhhghh~”

His talons broke the skin on your shoulders while his orgasm cut through him sharp and intense, an echoing squeal resounding through the room as sticky white cum shot out of his angry red tip onto both of your stomachs. With the way he clamped down around you, you only lasted for a few more thrusts before you were cumming basically in unison. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, tasting iron on your tongue.

For a moment, the two of you lay in a sweaty pile of limbs. Focused on breathing and recuperating your energy, you didn’t think to pull out. Eventually though, you’d gone soft and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears wasn’t as loud as your thoughts anymore. Slowly, you went to pull out so you could start clean-up–that’s what couples normally did, right?--but despite his numb legs, Blade pushed back onto your flaccid cock.

Blearily, you looked up at him, blinking away the fatigue that crept in at the corners of your vision.

“Did you think we were only going to have sex once?”

What he said didn’t compute in your tired brain.

“...huh?”

He hummed, you could hear disappointment in his tone.

“It’s customary for dragons to continue mating until pregnancy is guaranteed.”

"When you're pregnant, how exactly… will your body change?"

For the sake of Blade’s back and legs, the two of you decided a few rounds were enough to ensure he was actually pregnant. He lay splayed out on the thick stack of blankets, having made it his favorite place in the den long prior. He was on his stomach, resting his head on top of his crossed arms.

“Why? Did you not expect it to?”

You were a few feet away from him, sitting up cross-legged. Despite the two of you having been fucking minutes prior, you were still a little shy about sitting completely naked in the open expanse of the cave. For a bit of added modesty, you let your hands rest in your lap to cover up your dick at least a little bit.

“It’s not that I didn’t...” Your neck dropped at the miniscule creep of shame across your face. “I’m not versed in…” You fumbled with your words for a moment, rocking back and forth in an effort to get your blood from your dick back up to your brain.

“Pregnancy?”

You lagged for a second before nodding in agreement. “I haven’t spent much time around the women of the Xianzhou, usually it was with plants or other knights.” Your leg started bouncing when the air fell stagnant, “That isn’t to say I don’t know basic anatomy, it’s just… that I'm unfamiliar with some of the more intimate changes… not to mention, you’re also a man.”

To this, Blade raised an accusatory brow. “You say that as if you still don’t believe I can bear children.”

You held your hands up in front of your chest defensively, “That isn’t what I’m saying at all!”

Your partner let out a tired huff, not engaging in conversation further.

“...”

“I’m…just worried I’ll fail to support you properly while you’re carrying our child.”

Another silence hung, thickening into a kind of tension you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“...”

“...come here.”

Immediately, you perked up.

Dutifully, you shuffled over to where your spouse had beckoned you forward. Watching him push up on tired arms and a strained back, you couldn’t help but admire the sheen of shiny sweat that gleamed in the warm firelight. He always tended to show things better with actions rather than words, cuffing your wrist in one of his hands. You let him guide your hand to rest on his stomach.

“The most notable change will be weight gain.”

Immediately, you fervently nodded your head, completely at attention.

“The weight gain won’t just be my stomach,” he continued, “the rest of my body will start to swell. Simple tasks like walking and bending over will become difficult, especially in the later stages of pregnancy.”

You nodded a little bit slower.

“Physical illness is also possible, but my ancestors didn’t struggle with it as commonly as other draconic lines.” He positioned your hand at his hips, “During the first trimester, I’ll likely become more sensitive to smells. That can cause symptoms like vomiting.”

His grip eventually guided your hand to his back, all but tilting your body to drape over him. “The added weight will stress the back. I’ll be relying on you to do much of the heavy lifting.”

You nodded again, even slower than the last time.

Finally, he moved your hand to rest on his chest. The rush of cold from the silver piercing sent a rush of red hot flame to your cheeks. For the sake of paying attention to your pretty wife lecturing you about what would happen when he gets pregnant, you wrestled any nasty thoughts out of your mind.

“Based on genetics, the chest will begin swelling around the end of the second trimester.” With the minimal amount of light in the room, you could just barely make out the pink hue on the usual impassive features of the man in front of you. “I’ll be unusually sensitive, at times I could start lactating.”

“...lactating?”

Suddenly, all your efforts to be a gentleman were forgotten.

You repeated it again, this time a little bit louder. “Lactating?”

Blade didn’t respond.

Unintentionally, your grip on his tit got a little bit tighter.

He grunted, his own grip around your wrist tightening. “How else would I feed the child?”

This time, you didn't answer him. Your free hand was moving from your lap to tickle up his exposed side.

The higher up his side your touch danced on his skin, the darker he could feel the flush on his cheeks. Now, he was the one to avoid looking you in the eyes. Even in his embarrassment, he didn’t stop you from pushing him to lay flat on his back. He didn’t stop you when you kissed the underside of his jaw, he also didn’t stop you as you kissed a line down his jaw to his collarbones.

Most importantly, he still didn’t stop you when your teeth clacked against one of his piercings.

“How long will that take?”

In this position, there were two things that seemed to jump out to Blade in particular.

One, your breath was fanning hot against his chest and especially steamy over the nipple you were hovering over.

Two, your hard-on was starting to leak on his leg.

Much to your dismay his lips pressed into a tight line. However, even in the face of a roadblock, you didn’t relent. Experimentally, you licked a stripe up the exposed skin in between his pecs, drinking in the explosive shudder that ripped through his body.

Trembling fingers all of sudden were tangled in your hair, unsure whether or not to push your head away or pull it in closer. In the thick of it, you almost didn’t catch him muttering under his breath.

“...pervert.”

In retaliation, you tugged on one of the silver piercings with your teeth. He let out a strained whimper, suddenly pulling your hair away from his chest. You pinched the other nipple between two fingers, listening to the whine that was forced out of his throat. Eventually, you relented with a lewd click of enamel against metal and the even lewder noise created by the spit accumulating on his skin. “What was that?”

Even if your sudden burst of confidence was out of the blue (and starting to make him nervous), Blade’s own pride didn’t allow him to take anything back.

“Pervert.”

You cupped his pecs with both hands, sitting up on your elbows to make a point. “Ah, but last I checked you like this just as much as I do.” To punctuate your statement, you rutted against the inside of his thigh, all but pointing at his own excitement with your cock.

He looked away, closing his eyes shut with furrowed eyebrows.

An amused smile pulled at your features, suddenly emboldened by the surplus of blood rushing to your dick. “So tell me, how long will it take until you start producing milk?”

“...”

“...6 months.”

You frowned, groping his chest with both hands. Only a little groan managed to slip past Blade’s lips. “Ah… are you sure? Your chest already seems sensitive.”

He nodded his head, still refusing to make eye contact.

You rolled one of his nipples in your hand, positively ecstatic when his dick twitched in tandem. “You’ll start lactating because you’re pregnant, right?”

Thinking nothing of it, Blade gave a hum of affirmation.

There was your opening. “I think I should test to see if you’re actually pregnant then.”

Before he could process your words, your lips were already suctioned around one of his nipples. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, failing miserably to drown out the whine caught in the back of his throat. “That’s not- HnNg~”

Obviously, you didn’t neglect the other one. While your tongue laved over one, you pinched and pulled at the other with a pair of fingers. You groaned when his claws started to dig into the back of your head, the tight pressure only serving to add another layer of intimacy to the moment. He gave a particularly high-pitched whine when you started to thrust your cock against the inside of hip dip.

“Mmhgn~ Wait- ahn~ Wait-” he pleaded.

Insistently, you hooked your canines around the piercing and continued to suck on his chest. That was enough to have him rutting against your stomach. At this point, you finally pulled off of his chest with what one would call “a shit-eating grin”.

“Hm, nothing seemed to come out… maybe I’ll have better luck with the other one.”

The hand he was using to grapple the sheets flew up to your shoulder, trying to push your head back, “That isn’t how it works!”

Despite his complaints while you moved your head, they all seemed to get caught in his throat when your lips wrapped around his other nipple. His chest shook with the effort it took to breath through his nose without letting out any more pathetic whimpers. This time you got nasty with it. After a moment of suckling on his hardened bud until it turned a cherry red, you pulled back to spit on it.

At the same time, you flicked his other piercing with two fingers. Drool spilling past your lips at this point, you watched with satisfaction as his head fell back against the comforter. His thighs started to rub together as you flicked the nipple that wasn’t in your mouth again a little harder the second time around.

Feeling a little extra mean, you locked your teeth on the soft skin before pinching the other abused nub hard. He keened, nails scratching bloody lines into your upper back. Ultimately, you took your mouth off of his chest in favor of starting to kiss up the center of his chest in between his tits.

In between leaving sloppy wet kisses on his collarbones, you smiled, hands trailing back down to his sides before finally hooking the underside of his thighs. You looped one of his shins over your shoulder, watching with glee the panic interlaced in the way he whipped his head around to look you in the eyes.

You leaned over him, basically folding him in half to put a kiss on his lips.

“Nothing’s coming out… I’m not really sure you’re pregnant yet.”

You hooked his other thigh over your hip, blowing on his ear when your hand wrapped around your cock. Alarmed, his hands braced themselves on your shoulder. “What are you-”

You lined yourself up with his ass, biting on his earlobe. “Well, I thought maybe we’d go a couple more rounds to really make sure you’re pregnant.”

there's a note attached to the side of the phone booth, read it?

" you guys have to promise not to make fun of me for writing this after making a bit about how much mpreg terrifies me "

to my dearest anon for whom this was written:

i hope you're doing better SINCE YOU TOOK YOUR MEDICINE

YOU BETTER KEEP TAKING UR MEDICINE OR I'M NOT GONNA START ON UR SHORT REQUEST AFTER THIS ONE

to everyone else:

mentioned briefly in my little posts between updates, it's been so long since I've written smut I had to like take a break after every other word to look over my shoulder and make sure nobody was reading it from behind me or something (I am home alone with two cats)

one of the most humbling experiences is going back and editing your own smut, like damn what position are they in I've gotta go back and write in more details 🏃

as of now, i'm planning on having my update schedule consist of a lot more short requests than long requests since they're going to be a lot easier to update consistently with

now that college has rolled in I have a lot less time to write the longer form content my audience loves me for so expect drabbles most of the time

i'm still planning book content but as of right now, I'm struggling with concepting and figuring out ideas that I can consistently stay motivated for

I might scrap the book I'm planning right now and go with something else in its entirety, but we shall see

a big thank you to all the lovely supporters who have stayed by my side through my inactivity, you will be rewarded one day when I graduate promise

love all of you, also love blades titties <3

incoming shameless plug: if you guys were wondering about my next follower goal (238/300) follow for clear skin and part 3 ayato fic (mpreg edition)

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allur1ngs · 1 year ago

Text

✮ enflame ✮

TW: bada being too fine for her own good, a little bit of possessive!bada, lots of protective!bada, cold!bada (to anyone who isn't you), super brief mentions of violence, bada having beef w your bodyguard, pushy men, btw the picture to the farthest right is purely for aesthetics and not meant to represent reader’s skin tone or body type!!

SUMMARY: you manage to tear bada away from her work for an evening of shopping, where the soft spot she has for you is unveiled.

part iii. bloody knuckles

WC: 2.9k

A/N: read this for more background on this au. this is not exactly a part two to the headcanons but i got this idea out of nowhere so yeahhh

DISCLAIMER: all characteristics portrayed are purely speculation and fiction, they are not meant to reflect bada's actual character, values, or attitudes. please keep this in mind!!

From the moment Bada arose from her slumber, she sensed that her day would be draining. Usually, waking up before the sun had the chance to peak above the horizon wasn't difficult for her—so many years of doing so had made sleep fatigue all too familiar. However, last night, she stayed awake into the wee hours of the morning, something she typically tried to avoid.

So when her body starts to naturally wake up only a few hours later, she groans loudly into her pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and mentally cursing her past self for staying up so late.

Although all she wants is to stay in bed more than anything, she forces herself to rise from her plush king-sized bed and tosses the warm sheets aside.

Briefly, she turns around to gaze at the spot where she had just been lying when a thought strikes her. You must be asleep in your own bedroom. Curled up in a similar, large bed, a pocket of heat cradling your figure while your chest slowly rises and falls. Your eyes must be tightly shut, eyelashes fluttering as you fight to remain asleep despite the rays of sunlight that will soon begin to peek through your curtains. Your soft lips must be pursed together. Your lips...

Bada wishes you both shared the same bed. She wishes she hadn't been so courteous to buy you a new bed, comfortable sheets, and all the amenities you needed when you first arrived. She wishes instead that you were lying in her bed. She wishes she could wrap her arms around you, and pull you close whilst you slept. She wishes she could foster a beautiful heat between your two bodies. She wishes she could run her fingers across your skin--

Bada shakes her head, sighs loudly, and turns away sharply from her bed. She rubs her eyes as she makes her way over to her dresser, mumbling berating words under her breath for thinking of you in such a way. It's not appropriate and beyond that, those types of thoughts lead to feelings, which she does not--cannot have for you.

Bada's day seems to worsen after dressing herself in her usual attire, a freshly ironed black suit and slacks. The fabric touches her uncomfortably, and still feeling the edges of sleep mar her vision, everything is suddenly bothering her.

But the final nail in the coffin is when Lusher, one of Bebe's most trusted mafia members, walks into her office hours later, carrying a tray of breakfast.

Immediately looking up from the papers in front of her, Bada expects to see your lovely face greet her, but is met with Lusher's cheeky expression instead. She tries not to display her palpable disappointment, but concealing her feelings has never quite been her strong suit. Her mother had told her this many times when she was younger.

"Don't jump out of your seat in excitement, now." Lusher jokes, placing the breakfast tray on the desk.

Bada's lips tighten into a firm, thin line as she stares down at the food, feeling her hunger quickly escape her. "Thanks."

"I know I'm not who you wanted to see, but I can't lie, your disappointment hurts me." Lusher moves a hand to her chest, acting like she'd been wounded.

Bada sighs, shaking her head. "Why isn't she here this morning?"

"Still in bed, apparently." Lusher clasps her hands behind her back. "We found her asleep on the couches late last night. She must have been waiting for you to leave your office so she could wish you a good night, but ended up falling asleep out of exhaustion."

The butterflies that dance in Bada's stomach internally, are a stark contrast to the disapproving expression she wears externally. "I've told her many times not to wait up for me. It's not healthy to be staying up so late."

Lusher sighs dramatically. "You're telling me. How many times have I asked you to head to bed earlier?"

"That's different." Bada denies while picking up her golden ink pen and continuing to write. "I have work to do. Waiting so late into the morning just to wish me a good night is..."

"Sweet? Incredibly kind, and definitely a testament to how endearing your fiancée is?"

Bada clicks her tongue in annoyance. "What are you still doing here? Don't you have something better to do than bothering me?"

"You know there's nothing I like more than bothering you." Lusher shoots back with a sly smile.

Bada tried to continue working, she really did. She attempted to push through filling out papers, even though her wrist was screaming at her to take a break. However, come midday, she was already fed up.

Ruffling her hair and groaning loudly, Bada stands up from her table, the chair she'd been sitting out whining loudly against the floor. She wastes no time in shuffling to the door, grabbing the handle, and pulling it open.

Right when she does, she catches a flash of your figure walking down the hall toward her, your bodyguard only a few paces behind you. As her gaze connected with yours, she felt as if the world transformed, shifting from monochrome sketches to vibrant watercolor paintings

"Oh." You speak first, an easy smile finding your lips. "Good afternoon, Bada."

"Good afternoon." She greets back, trying her damnedest not to sound overjoyed at your presence. "Were you coming to see me?"

"I was." You nod. "I just wanted to let you know I'm planning on going to the mall."

"Are you now?" Bada says absentmindedly, her hand coming up to clutch at her tie and loosen it. The fabric suddenly feels much too tight around her neck.

"Yes..." You trail off, your eyes taking in how Bada's pale and lithe fingers grab at her tie and jostle it around, making it dangle a bit messily across her collarbones. Such a simple action should not be so attractive, no--it shouldn't. It's really ridiculous how easy it is for your fiancée to be so naturally alluring.

"That sounds nice." She hums. "Are you looking to buy something in particular?"

"No, not really." You shake your head. "I'm really just going to look around, and not stay at home all day."

Home. Bada's heart warms at you calling the mansion you both reside in your home. Although it technically is, it's different for you to perceive it as such. It means you feel comfortable here, with her--living with her--

"You should come with me." Your voice brings Bada out of her stupor, her eyes immediately finding yours.

Her mouth opens and closes dumbly, a clear look of shock painted across her face. She tries to quickly gather her bearings, half-heartedly muttering out, "I--I wish I could, but I have a lot of work to do--"

"Bada, all you do is work," you remark, crossing your arms over your chest. She has to force herself not to think about how cute you look doing so. "You deserve to have some downtime. Even if it is only for a few hours."

She stands there, still a bit shell-shocked, staring at you before her eyes shift to the figure behind you, finding your bodyguard, who is trying very hard to conceal her amused smile behind a shaky hand.

Bada's gaze turns icy as she eyes down your bodyguard, prompting the subordinate to immediately turn away and dispel her smile. "All right. I'll come with you."

"Wait, really?" You awe, your eyes going wide and your smile growing. "I didn't think you'd actually say yes."

"Well, you're right. I do need a break. At the rate I'm working at now, I'll never do anything productive by the end of the day." Bada admits with a tired smile. "Are you ready to go, then?"

"Yes." You begin to nod, but your smile slowly turns into a frown. "But you should change into different clothing."

For the second time that day, Bada is left surprised by your boldness. "Change? Why?"

"Don't you want to wear something other than a suit for once?" You ask innocently. "It seems... stuffy to be in it all day."

"Stuffy." She laughs breathily. "I guess you're right." Bada looks between you and your bodyguard. "Will you be all right to wait for me?"

"Of course." You smile.

"Great." She smiles back.

When Bada comes back, she isn't wearing her usual black suit. And although you'd been the one to suggest it, you're not quite ready for how amazing she looks in casual clothing.

A black leather jacket is draped over her shoulders, with slick white lines running down the sleeves and across the chest. She has paired the jacket with matching black leather pants and a black shirt.

In that moment, you want to scream at whatever higher power exists for making your fiancée so unfairly attractive. How were you supposed to act normal around her when her mere presence makes you hot below the collar?

Well, despite your internal struggles you give her a compliment before you're off to the mall, hopping into a sleek black sports car and speed away.

Your first destination in the large mall is a relatively luxurious clothing store. You can't lie; you had wanted to go into the store since you passed it on one of your trips to the mall without Bada, but you were too intimidated to enter. However, now, with her by your side, you feel much more comfortable stepping into the expensive store.

Approaching the door, your bodyguard begins to step forward, about to open the door for you like she always does, but Bada is quicker. She grabs onto the handle and opens the door, stepping aside to make room for you to walk in.

You look at her and smile while mumbling a soft thank you, to which she gives you a small smile back and nods. Your bodyguard begins to walk in after you, but again Bada is faster and enters the store, letting the door swing closed behind her. It almost hits your bodyguard in the face, making her flinch back and sigh.

"Keep a look out from there," Bada tells her sternly through the glass doors.

"Yes, Boss," your bodyguard begrudgingly mumbles back, understanding that this is payback for teasing your fiancée earlier.

Bada turns back around, her eyes easily finding you in the small crowd of people. You're looking around the store with wide eyes, a smile gracing your lips as you observe the embellished clothing around you. She smiles fondly to herself, finding every expression of yours much too cute for your own good.

However, before she can make her way to you, the familiar sound of a voice greets her from behind. Turning around, she finds In-Su, one of her business partners and the owner of the clothing store. Greeting him back, an air of professionalism immediately envelops her as she begins to engage in conversation with him

Meanwhile, you're in your own personal heaven. The clothing you've been browsing is exactly your style, and despite the high prices, you know you can afford it all, thanks to the black credit card Bada had gifted you.

A few minutes later, your hands are already starting to get full as you reach to pull another article of clothing from the rack when you suddenly feel a firm force push into your side, causing you to lose your balance and almost fall to the floor. making you lose your balance and almost fall to the floor. Thankfully, you manage to steady yourself before you do, huffing while turning to your right to see what--or more accurately who--had bumped into you.

"Excuse me." A well-dressed man stands a few feet away from you, his lips forming a snobbish frown.

Despite your irritation, you instinctively apologize. "Oh, sorry--"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, eyeing you up and down. "You should be careful where you stand."

Internally, you scoff at the man, but externally, you only mumble another half-hearted apology before turning away and walking down another aisle.

"Have I seen you before?" The man follows after you.

"I don't think so." You answer back flatly, trying to ignore him and busy yourself by flipping through pairs of jackets.

"I swear I've seen you before. I never forget the face of a beautiful woman."

This time, you're unable to control your expression and outwardly cringe. Is this random man who bumped into you flirting with you right now? After acting so rude?

You say nothing to him in response, choosing to completely ignore him instead.

"You know, when someone compliments you, it's common courtesy to say thank you."

Now you're starting to get increasingly anxious. You don't feel brave enough to confront the man, but he doesn't seem to understand that you're not interested and clearly uncomfortable with his advances.

Taking your silence in offense, the man scowls before grabbing your wrist rather roughly, making you drop all the clothing you'd been holding, and twists you around to face him.

You gasp at his painful hold, attempting to break away from him but unable to due to the sheer strength of his grip. "Let me--" you begin, but the words die in your mouth upon seeing someone standing behind him.

The man, who had been staring you down, notices the shift in your expression and suddenly becomes aware of a very strong presence behind him. He turns around, still gripping your wrist, and comes face to face with a scarily calm Bada Lee.

"Do you need something?" He snaps at her dumbly.

Bada stares down at him with steely eyes, her expression so devoid of emotion you're almost terrified for him. "I believe I should be asking you that question. Is there a reason why you're touching my fiancée?"

The man looks between you and Bada, scoffing disapprovingly. "Tch, she didn't tell me she was engaged."

"Even if she wasn't, in what world would it be appropriate to touch a woman who clearly isn't interested in your pathetic advances like that?" She asks rhetorically, her voice rising with every syllable. Clearly, her anger was getting to her.

The man grits his teeth, feeling his ego bruise because not only is Bada embarrassing him, but she's also easily intimidating him with her presence. "Hey, just who do you think you are?" He raises his voice to match hers.

"I think the real question is," Bada takes a step closer, leaving hardly any space between her and him, "who the fuck do you think you are?"

In that moment, the man's entire demeanor shifts. He turns to look around the store, finding every shopper, worker, and even the store owner staring back at him, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes set into firm glares. Some of them have their hands in their pockets or are grabbing something hidden next to them. His face pales, and looking back at Bada, her face starts to become familiar. He hadn't recognized her out of her normal formal attire, but now--

He gulps, quickly letting go of your wrist like your skin burned him and steps away from you both, his posture shrinking. He starts to make his way toward the exit, attempting to ignore the stares of everyone in the store but is stopped before he can make it out.

"And where do you think you're going?" Bada's hardened voice echoes through the store, making the man freeze in his spot, his entire body going rigid.

Bada's footsteps slowly approach him from behind again and stop just shy of him.

"You made her drop her clothing."

The man turns around, avoiding eye contact with Bada and finding your eyes instead. He's about to mumble an apology when she speaks up again.

"Pick it up." She demands flatly.

The man stays still in his spot, shocked and embarrassed. But clearly, he didn't move fast enough for Bada's liking, because he feels himself get shoved in your direction, almost falling onto his face.

"Do it. Now." She says, her voice bordering on yelling.

Immediately, the man throws himself onto the floor, scrambling to pick up every article of clothing he made you drop. He does so as quickly as possible, then stands up, about to pass you the clothing, when he feels Bada's unwavering gaze bore into him and decides it's in his best interest not to touch you anymore, so he carefully drapes the clothes across your arms.

He turns back to face Bada, approaching her with a cold sweat.

"Hold on." She stops him yet again. "You bumped into her, didn't you?"

"I--" He tries to explain himself but is cut off.

"Apologize."

This time, the man wastes no time in fulfilling her demands. He turns to you, apologizing profusely while shaking like a leaf. You're unable to even think about accepting his apologies before he practically runs to the store doors, throws them open, trying to leave the mall. But as always, Bada is ten steps ahead.

She nods at your bodyguard, who grabs onto the man's suit with little effort, turns him around, and punches him straight in the gut.

Bada then steps in front of you, blocking you from seeing what your bodyguard is doing to the man. Her hands grab the clothing from your arms, relieving you of their weight before slinging them across her right shoulder. She then gently holds your wrist up to her eyes, the ice behind them shifting to a warm and caring glow.

"Does it hurt?" She asks softly.

You feel your body turn to mush at the attention she gives you. "A little."

Bada sighs, leans in, and places her soft lips against your wrist, kissing it with a reverence and sweetness everyone besides you is surprised to see.

It's clear to everyone that the ice around Bada's heart melts only for you.

enflame: to excite to excessive or uncontrollable action or feeling

#bada lee x reader #bada x reader #bada lee #bada #street woman fighter 2 x reader #swf2 x reader

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