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reidsfilm · 30 days

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LIKE A GODDAMN PRAYER — LOGAN HOWLETT

WARNINGS: SMUT!!! (18+) age-gap (the reader is over 18+) p in v (wrap it up peeps) dirty talk, soft dom! logan, has no plot whatsoever, just straight-up filth petnames: baby, sweetheart, angel, darling, etc. fluff at the end. a tad bit of degarding.

WORD COUNT : 2k

Notes: i'm just now realizing how hot hugh jackman is.

Logan Howlett who swore he wouldn't stain a beautiful thing like you. With your sweet smiles, wide eyes, and flushed apple cheeks. He wouldn't, but the allure of you was too tempting.

And a visit to give him a basket of cookies led to something that couldn't be erased. But now, he wasn't sure if he wanted it removed at all.

Here you were, laying sprawled out underneath him, clothes strewn in piles on the floor, only a pair of white lacy panties covering your sweet pussy. God, it made his boxers feel all the tighter like they were suffocating him, literally and figuratively.

''Look at you... so pretty for me, huh?'' He cooed as his large and rough hand came up to grope at your tits, watching as they spilled between the gaps of his fingers. His eyes darkened further at the sight. A whiny moan left your lips as you wriggled underneath him, pushing your chest up, seeking more.

''S'okay... I got you. Gonna make you feel real good, darlin'.'' And you could only manage a whine, unable to form any words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. Logan tsked at you, head tilting to the side as he looked at you, eyes flickering from your flushed chest back up to your face, ''Haven't even fucked you yet, and your already going dumb?''

You nodded, slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, and Logan practically growled at the sight as his hand moved down, caressing your ribs, over your stomach, fingertips grazing against your belly button before moving lower.

Your breath hitched as he teased at the waistband of your panties, not quite going further and that made you only feel more desperate, and needy. ''These are cute. Did you wear them on purpose?'' He questioned, snapping it against your skin and eliciting a moan from your lips. ''Answer me, pretty angel.''

The nicknames were doing nothing to help the ache between your legs, instinctively making you rub your thighs together. ''Y-Yeah...'' You replied and he hummed.

''Can I take 'em off?'' And you wasted no time in nodding, bobbing your head up and down. God if you weren't so deeply rooted in this, you would've found yourself pathetic. And maybe you were, but you couldn't care less. You just wanted him. Like he was the answer to all your prayers. Someone you wouldn't think twice about listening to or worshipping.

You were a hundred percent sure this man was a God.

''Yeah, yeah please.'' You were quick to say and Logan didn't need more confirmation than that before he shuffled down a bit. His large hands planted on each side of your hips, ''Lift your hips f'me.'' And you did as he said, lifting up a bit from the soft mattress and allowing him to grip onto the material, dragging it down.

And he did it, oh so slowly. Tease.

''Logan...'' You whined as you watched him, how he kept those hazel eyes locked on your own pair as he tugged them down. ''Patience is a virtue.'' And you wanted to roll your eyes at the words as if you hadn't heard those before. You weren't in the mood for patience, not at all.

You just wanted him to fuck you until you could barely think straight.

''I'm not a patient person.'' You muttered as he slid them down to your ankles, before tossing them somewhere on the floor. His eyes met yours once more, ''Figures.'' He chuckles as he moves closer, grabbing underneath your thighs, and spreading your legs.

His eyes feast upon the sight of your glistening and awaiting pussy. His hazel eyes darken a tad as he takes you in. The prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes upon, and he almost feels ashamed for a split second. A man like him, who's brutal and lives within the darkness of his life, seeing something so eternal like you, it feels illegal.

Like you a forbidden fruit he shouldn't even have laid eyes on to begin with. But your voice pulls him from the depths of his mind.

''Something wrong? Am I not—'' He doesn't even let you finish your sentence, because god forbid something as angelic as you get to be insecure about yourself. ''No... no no. Just admiring the pretty sight laid before me.''

And you blush at his words, biting your lip. ''Yeah? Well if it's such a pretty sight, fuck me.'' You tried to sound confident, you really did. But the crack in your voice, the obvious desire yet nervousness was extremely evident.

And Logan was quick to catch onto it, a smirk gracing his lips, spurring the man on leaving any regret or anything like that behind as he dragged you closer to him by your thighs, making you let out a small squeal. ''Oh, I'll fuck you. Gonna make this pussy sing, yeah?''

He had a silver tongue on him, that's for sure. And it only made you wetter, if that was even possible. His hand slid down between your legs, making you shiver as his thick fingers inched closer to where you needed him most. And you spread your legs wider, opening up more for him.

Logan's rough, calloused fingers brushed against your slick folds, feeling the heat radiating from your core. He groaned at the sensation, his own desire rising rapidly. "Fuck, you're so wet for me already, darlin'," he growled, his voice thick with lust.

You whimpered, arching your back as Logan's fingers teased your entrance, not quite entering you but applying delicious pressure. "Please, Logan," you pleaded, your voice breathy and needy. "I need you."

Logan chuckled darkly, his eyes smoldering as he took in the sight of you sprawled out before him, your body on display, your breasts heaving with each shallow breath.

Logan's fingers continued their torturous teasing, circling your entrance without delving inside. He leaned down, his stubble grazing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your legs.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers up your spine. "I wanna savor this moment with you. Make it good for you."

You whined, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you as you tried to arch into Logan's touch. "Logan, please," you begged, your voice high and desperate. "I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me."

Logan hummed, the vibrations traveling through your body. "So impatient," he chided, but there was no real disapproval in his tone. "Alright, darlin', I'll give you what you want."

He got to removing his boxers, and you swore your eyes were about to pop out of their sockets at the sight of him. His cock was so thick, fat, and decorated with veins. He was definitely a god, no going back on that now.

He shifted, positioning himself between your spread legs. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the hunger in his eyes as he looked down at you. "You're fuckin' beautiful like this," he said, his voice low and rough. "Spread out for me, so eager for my cock."

You blushed at his words, but the embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by the desire coursing through your veins. You needed him, needed to feel him inside you, needed to be filled and stretched and claimed by this man who had captured your heart, soul, and body.

Logan reached down, grasping his hard length in his hand. He stroked himself a few times, his eyes never leaving your face. "You ready for me, baby?" he asked, his thumb swiping over the sensitive head of his cock, spreading the bead of pre-cum that had gathered there.

You nodded frantically, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes," you breathed. "God, yes, Logan. Please, just fuck me already."

Logan chuckled, positioning himself at your entrance. "As you wish," he said, and then he was pushing forward, his thick length sliding into your slick heat inch by inch.

You cried out, your head falling back against the pillow as you felt Logan fill you up. He was so big, stretching you most deliciously, and you could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he sank deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan groaned as he felt your tight warm heat envelop him, your walls clenching around his shaft as he bottomed out inside you. "Fuck, darlin'," he grunted, his hips stilling for a moment as he savored the sensation. "You're so fuckin' tight."

You whimpered beneath him, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "Logan," you gasped, your hips rocking slightly as you adjusted to his size. "You're so big. I can feel you everywhere."

Logan chuckled breathlessly, his forehead pressing against yours as he began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. "That's it, baby," he encouraged, his voice low and rough. "Take my cock. Fuck, you feel so good."

You moaned, your head falling back against the pillow as Logan set a steady rhythm, his hips snapping forward in a way that had him hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every thrust. "Yes, just like that," you gasped, your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him deeper.

Logan groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he increased his pace, driving into you harder and faster. The room filled with the sounds of your bodies coming together, the slap of skin on skin, your labored breaths, and needy moans.

"Fuck, I'm not gonna last," Logan grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic as he felt his orgasm building. "You feel too fuckin' good, darlin'. Gonna fill this pretty pussy up."

You cried out, your body tensing as you felt your own release approaching. "Yes, Logan, yes," you chanted, your nails raking down his back. "Come inside me. I want to feel you come."

With a final, brutal thrust, Logan buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled his cum into your awaiting womb. You screamed, your body shaking as your own orgasm crashed over you, your walls clamping down around Logan's shaft, milking him for every last drop.

You stayed like that for a moment, Logan's weight pressing down on you as you both struggled to catch your breath. Finally, he rolled off of you, pulling you into his arms and holding you close.

"That was...'' Logan trailed off, large hand caressing against your back.

''Amazing.'' You finished the sentence for him, head snuggling up against his chest, his chest hair tickling against your cheek. Your legs were still twitching, spasming at the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Logan's chest rumbled with a chuckle, his arm tightening around you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Yeah, it was," he agreed, his voice a low, satisfied growl. "You're amazing. Fuckin' incredible."

You felt yourself blush at his words, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "You're not so bad yourself," you teased, tilting your head up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "For an old man."

Logan scoffed, his hand coming up to tickle your side. "Old man? I'll show you who's an old man," he threatened, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I can go again, you know. And again, and again."

You giggled, squirming in his arms as his fingers danced over your ribs. "I'm sure you can," you said, your voice breathless with laughter. "But I think I need a break first. You kind of wrecked me."

Logan's expression softened, his hand stilling on your skin. "Sorry, darlin'," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I didn't mean to be too rough."

You shook your head, reaching up to cover his hand with your own. "No, it was perfect," you assured him, your eyes locking with his. "I loved every second of it."

Logan's gaze searched your face for a moment as if trying to determine the truth of your words. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because he leaned down and captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

When he pulled back, his eyes were warm and soft, a rare vulnerability shining through. "You're something else, angel," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm fuckin' grateful for it."

Your heart swelled at his words, your own eyes growing misty with emotion. "I'm the lucky one," you whispered, your hand coming up to cup his cheek.

And you were, having a man such as himself, making you reach heights you never thought you would, says a lot. And you'd seek him out more, eager and needing more of him.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #smut fanfiction #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine xmen #logan xmen #hugh jackman #age g@p

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lovegasmic · 2 months

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Hey , plzzz plzzz do 2nd part of daddy’s best friend 😭

DADDY’S BEST FRIEND !

𖥔 your father’s best friend, Gojo Satoru, who is sick or masturbating to the thought of you, will you finally let him have a taste ?

──── mdni . f!reader, age gap, unprotected sex , mention of creampie, this got nasty / pos. first part.

the constant urge, and ache of his cock, made it almost impossible for Satoru to leave your home that one afternoon when he finally, finally got to taste your sweet cunt, but of course, your father had to arrive and ruin your fun. or else you would have been walking with wobbly legs through the whole weekend.

having grown accustomed to jerk off his cock to the thought of you, it was not too hard to go home, shove his pants down and pump the fat girth while licking his teeth for any remaining of your slick that clung to his mouth.

day after day, Satoru’s visits to your home just increase, although your father is not surprised since the white haired often joined for dinner, unaware of the constant smiles and flirtatious touches you and the older man share, not to mention the times Satoru has sloppily sucked your pussy for every little drop of delicious slick against the same kitchen counter when your father had to stay longer at the office.

“S’toru” you had murmured a day, legs spread and feet dangling off his shoulders like your panties dangled off one of your ankles, too eager to properly take off your clothes and slide his head under your skirt.

a hum, “yhesh, baby?” not stopping the lewd sucking of his already reddened and plump lips around your tender folds, drooling all over your pussy and dripping down the crack of your ass onto the couch.

“i— u-uh, want you to fuck me” and he stops, your words ringing in his ears like it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, pulling back slightly to look into your cute half lidded eyes and flustered expression.

“are you sure, honey? i don’t want to pressure you” liar, Satoru could feel the veins of his cock throbbing and tip oozing precum into his expensive boxers.

a weak nod is what he gets, “mhm, i’m sure” why did you have to look so perfect while begging to be fucked? that was utterly unfair.

you’ve come to realize Satoru is a messy, messy man, much different to the pristine suit he always wore, hair perfectly slicked back and masculine cologne that clings to his body and clothes.

who could have expected he was into messy sex?

his fingers are so long, you realize, having them gripping the whole length of your forehead, touching the tops of your eyes, while the palm tightly pressed on the top of your head, pulling you back to meet every impossibly hard thrust of his cock into your soaked cunt, punching the air out of your lungs.

his grip tightened occasionally, mimicking the way your pussy sucked his cock, and pulling you back to give you a messy kiss, having you just lay and take everything like the good girl you are, too fucked stupid to even respond to a kiss that just left you more dizzy, saliva smeared all over your mouth and your insanity slipping with each suck of Satoru’s lips around your tongue.

the pool of slick and precum that stuck to your belly against the sheets was growing uncomfortable, yet unable to voice your complaining since all you could do was gasp little “uh, uh, uh’s” from the way your body jolted back and forth.

“good fuckin’ pussy” how was he even capable of speaking? with how hard he drove into your trembling form, and the way his words came out ragged, you expected for Satoru to go as dumb as you were, yet he didn’t, continuously tensing his jaw and praising the warmth of your cunt, “that’s right baby, such a good girl taking all of my cock into your tiny hole, hngh.. fuck, will make me cum deep into your perfect pussy”

soon your saliva joined the mess in the sheets, with eyes crossed and jaw slack, drooling all over your jiggling tits at the sudden angle change of Satoru’s hips, abusing your g-spot as if attempting to crave the shape of his cock deep inside your walls.

“staying with a friend? alright” how easy to fool was your father, agreeing for you to stay with a made up friend when in reality, you were to stay at Satoru’s penthouse for the nth time, your father’s best friend who was now your boyfriend, and judging the box in his suit jacket, the one you had no idea about, perhaps, future fiance.

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ewqjeon · 4 months

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⚤ LESSON | JJK

pairings: soft dom, stepdad!jungkook x sub!reader

genre: smut

warnings! unprotected sex (wrap it up), cow girl, creampie, slapping, tits play, praise kink, daddy kink, age gap (oc's 18 and jk's 31), use of nicknames, bigdick!jk etc.

Jungkook hums a content noise as he sits idly on the plush, white and ivory colored, L-sofa, arms extended on the top rest with his hands clasped together. His breathing is just a tad unsteady with his body slouched down, his hand palming his hard bulge through his sweatpants.

He seems to still be in his own thoughts, that is until a slight twitch of his cock brings him out of it. He lets out a shaky breath and slowly begins to rub his palm against his bulge. With a small moan and a shake of his head, he stops his movements and stands up from the couch.

Walking over to his bar, filled with a variety of whiskey to tequila and vodka, Jungkook's eyes slowly scan his small selection. He decides to just grab the bottle of tequila.. screw shots.

His sweatpants hang low on his hips as he casually sits down on one of the bar stools. He twists the cap off of the alcohol, bringing the rim of the bottle to his lips and throwing his head back.. letting a generous amount pour down his throat. Jungkook closes his mouth after a few seconds and pulls the bottle away, a gasp following after his deep breathing.

A groan of bliss and relief leaves Jungkook's throat, his eyes closing as his body leans back against the bar stool backrest. He brings the bottle over to his lips once more, another generous amount of the tequila going down his throat. He seems to like the burn of the alcohol going down. His head rests back against the cabinet as his eyes open, a small grin pulling at his lips as he feels the effect of the alcohol in his blood.

"Shit," He chuckles to himself.

He heard the front door slam shut and footsteps approaching. A few seconds later you stood in front of him with a smile on your face.

"Hey, dad." You smile.

"Hello, baby." He speaks up with a small smile. He couldn't help but let his eyes wandern down your body. You're wearing a tight mini leo print dress with matching heels and a black purse. You just came back from the club.

"I don't like that outfit." He says and places his glass down. "It's too short, darling."

Without so much as a minute to respond to his statement, Jungkook stands up and approaches you. He places his large hands onto your hips, lifting you up. His large hand then reaches down to cup your ass, carrying you to the couch.

With a light gasp at being suddenly carried to the couch, you're being pulled on his lap by him, making you straddle his thighs.

A light smile forms on the edge of his lips as his large hands are planted on your lower back, right above your ass. Slowly his grip tightens on you, and that grin on his lips never fades. It doesn't look like he's letting you go anytime soon either, and the sight of his glossy yet dark pupils keep your attention on nothing else but him.

"I don't know how many times I've forbidden you to go out in such short outfit," He starts, his voice low and gravely along with his breath brushing across your lips. "And again and again you rebel against your father. Tsk Tsk Tsk." He shakes his head with a soft smirk and narrowed eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat upon his sudden change of attitude, your lower lip slightly being caught between your teeth as you look up at Jungkook. His eyes are dark, but they shine with a gleam that has you entranced. You're not going anywhere anytime soon, not when he's got you straddled on his lap like it's meant to be. A small shiver crawls down your spine when you feel his grip tighten on your lower back, keeping you firmly seated on his thighs.

"Why am I even surprised? You're a brat, darling, and brats don't follow rules." He leans closer and his lips brush against your cheek bone, leaving a soft and feathery kiss that has your lashes fluttering. "Did you act like a whore in public to get attention, baby? Is that what you wanted, hm?" He whispers against your skin, his breath hot against the shell of your ear before slowly trailing down to the crook of your neck.

With a shiver trailing down your spine from his sensual, low whisper, you swallow thickly and try to ignore the heat starting to pool throughout your body from his words.. and the fact that you're sitting on his lap. Your stepfather's lap, Y/n, get it together.

But oh, it's so hard when the said man that's caressing you has the body of a god. It's even harder when you secretly lust after him in the first place.

With a breathless chuckle against your skin, Jungkook turns his head so his lips are now at your jawline just above your jawline, planting a few gentle and teasing kisses along the length. As he does this, his hands begin to wander around your body, caressing your sides and teasingly grazing over your hips and ass.

"What am I going to do with you, princess? Should teach you some lessons?" He whispers, before finally bringing his face back to look at your flushed face.

You bite down on your lower lip at the sound of his chuckle leaving his soft lips, your breathing becoming erratic and heavy.

The way he speaks.. like he owns you.. you can feel your pussy clenching around nothing in response.

"I-I don't know.." You stutter, a soft and small whine leaving your lips.

Jungkook's dark gaze never falters as he hears the sound of your whine, even when he continues his teasing. His hot breath mingles with your own, and your noses barely meet with the closeness.

"Don't you know what you do to me, baby? How hard it is to keep you and not fuck you every single night? Hm?" He asks quietly, yet still loud enough so it's all you can hear.

Your eyes flutter shut and your heart beats wildly against your chest. Your breathing gets heavier, and you desperately try to think of a coherent response to his question.

"I-I.. um..." is all you can come up with, your breaths shallow and your head feeling dizzy.

His lips pull into a small smirk at your stutter, a quiet snort leaving his own parted lips. His right hand wanders upwards so his thumb can swipe across your lower-red bitten lip, then he brushes your hair away from your forehead.

"You're beautiful, love." He whispers quietly. The gleam in his dark eyes never leaves though, the slight gleam with lust is still there.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks.

Your breathing has your lungs feeling tight, and your heart almost feels like it's swelling at his words and his touch. Your eyes snap open at his question, and you hesitate to answer. This isn't right, he's your stepfather.. Right?

"You don't have to ask..." You mutter before you lean forward and bring your lips to his in a firm kiss, your fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck to pull him closer to you.

With your breathless words, Jungkook groans and instantly leans into your touch. His tongue presses along with your lower lip, asking for permission which you gladly accept.

His left arm remains firmly planted on your ass as his right one moves to cup your cheek, caressing your cheek bone with his thumb with slight hesitancy. His body is warm and firm against your own form, and his breaths are soft and hot.

His tongue soon slides against yours, your eyes shutting close while your fingers tangle in his raven dark locks. You gently pull on them as you feel your lower lip being caught gently between his teeth, a small whimper leaving your own lips at the feeling of his tongue brushing against yours.

His breathing hitches when he feels you pull his hair, his left hand delivering a hard slap onto your ass.

The slap has a gasp of both shock as well as pain leaving your lips in a small whine, the kiss breaking for a moment. With your breathing coming in shallow gasps, your body arches softly when it feels the pain in your ass.

"Mmm, you like that, huh, baby?" He whispers lightly, leaning his face into the crook of your neck and placing a kiss on it.

"Y-Yes." You reply in a breathless murmur, your breathing catching in your throat when you feel his teeth graze over your pulse.

"Good girl." He whispers once again before planting another few kisses along your neck, his teeth grazing your skin and leaving small teeth marks.

You can't help but let his praises affect you, soft sighs leaving your lips as he kisses along your skin. Your breathing quickens when his lips go further down your chest, now making their way down to the valley between your tits.

You don't know what's going on.. you shouldn't be doing this, yet it feels too good to stop. Your fingers tighten in his hair as he pulls your dress down, releasing your breast to him.

"Shit, so fucking pretty." He mumbles. His dark gaze never wavers from you as he stares, his breathing getting slightly heavier while his fingers trace over your breasts. His touch has goosebumps forming on your skin, and you can't help but shiver and arch up against his touch.

"Jungkook..." Your whimper is breathless and needy, your body practically begging him to touch you as the soft whines leave your lips. Your chest rises and falls with each heavy breath, all your thoughts and doubts forgotten as your lust and need take over.

He's entranced as his hands squeeze your tits and his breathing soon catches as he feels his cock harden.

You're his downfall, his breaking point and you have no idea how dangerous that is.

"You're so gorgeous, princess. So pretty for your daddy." he whispers huskily, gently biting down on your exposed shoulder.

"Daddy.. please." You moan, your voice a mixture of both a whine and a needy whisper.

Your body is heated and flushed, your fingers still buried in his soft hair. You feel your pussy getting wetter, making your body arch more into his.

His body tenses when he hears you call him daddy and his grip unconsciously tightening on your breasts. A small groan leaves his lips, low and quiet as he glances at your flushed and needy form.

"Please, what, princess?" He asks huskily, now gently squeezing your breast and swiping his thumb over your pebbled bud.

"Use your words, pretty girl."

"Jungkook.. I need-" You're unable to finish your sentence, a broken whine leaving your lips as soon as you feel Jungkook's thumb swipe over your nipple. Your head is still dizzy, and your own breathing is heavy while your body is almost quivering.

"What do you need, baby? Hm?" He teases, while he continues to toy with your hardened nipple. His touch is light and teasing, his pace slow and torturous along with the smirk on his lips. His face is now buried in the crook of your neck, and his hot breath brushes along your flushed skin.

"Beg." He mutters against your skin.

You whimper at his words, your fingers digging into his hair before finally muttering out the words, "Daddy, please. I need you."

"Please, daddy. Please, daddy please." You start repeating over and over, your head growing more and more dizzy. His touches make you feel dizzy, his voice makes you feel dizzy, the scent of him is dizzying and you're just barely clinging onto reality at this point.

"So desperate, baby girl." He almost smirks while he mutters his words, his thumb brushing over your bud again with a slightly more forceful pressure.

"Please, daddy. Please, fuck me." You whine out, your body aching and your core clenching at the need of his cock.

He pulls his face back from your neck to look at you, his dark gaze taking in the sight of you in all your needy and desperate glory.

"Take my cock out," He says.

You bite down on your lower lip, glancing at him with your hazy gaze before nodding. You kneel in front of him and slowly bring one of your hand to the edge of his pants, your fingers teasing the edge before you hook them around his pants and begin to pull them down.

"Mmm, good girl." He says softly, his breathing still remaining a bit fast as his own dark gaze takes in the sight of you wrapping your small hand around his cock.

He lets out a small quiet groan when he feels your small and cold hand fisting his cock. His abdomen tenses at the cold feeling, a quiet laugh leaving his lips. "Cold hands, huh princess?"

"Mmhm." You hum quietly.

His breath hitches quietly, his cock twitching in your hand as you continue to jerk him off. One of his hands reaches down to pull you off of your knees, his body sitting up more on the couch.

The other hand moves to cup your cheek with a breathless chuckle leaving his lips. "Come here, ride me princess."

As soon as the words leave his lips, your body instantly moves onto his lap, straddling his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer as you move your panties to the side and sit on his cock. You let out a hiss as his big cock stretches your folds, your head leaning on his shoulder breathing heavily.

"Shit, it's okay baby. Take your time.." He murmurs with a soft moan.

After a few seconds of adjusting you begin to move your hips, slowly grinding against him.

"Like this?" You ask breathlessly, tilting your head slightly with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

"There you go, baby." He sighs and throws his head back, his voice growing breathless as he feels your tight walls squeezing him.

"Now fuck yourself on this dick, baby." He whispers, gently tilting your chin up with his fingers to capture your lips in a hungry and firm kiss.

His lips are just as desperate as your own, and his other hand has already moved behind your back to support you. His touch is possessive as he tightens his grip on you.

The feeling of your body rocking against his own makes him let out a deep groan. Your pussy is warm, your hips moving desperately on his dick while your hands tangle in his hair.

He pulls away after a moment, breathing heavily against your face while his head tilts back on the headrest on the couch behind him. The sound he lets out is low and guttural, and his eyes flutter closed while he grips your waist.

"Ah, Jesus. Look at you." He mutters breathlessly as he glances at your face, the sound of a groan leaving your lips making his breath hitch in his throat.

You whine his name quietly each time the bouncing of your hips brings you closer to a release, and both your breathing and minds are hazy with the heat of the moment.

His fingers slide down your waist until they're on your ass before he smacks it harshly.

The small sting from the slap to your butt only makes you whine louder, your breathing becoming more desperate as each gasp of air that leaves your lips brings you closer to your high.

"D-daddy, please- please." You manage to let out between heavy breaths, your body nearly quivering with a mixture of both pleasure and anticipation.

His own body is practically quivering as well, his breathing only growing raspier and more desperate with each sharp breath he takes between each kiss that he presses against your mouth.

"Use your words, princess." He mutters against your lips while his hands grip your waist, making you roll your hips again with the force of his grip.

Your body arches against him with a whine, and you barely manage to mutter out "don't stop, don't stop." at his words.

You're so close, you can feel it. Your abdomen only grows tighter as you continue to whine and rock your hips, and the feel of his hot skin and his hands on you only heightens the sensations.

"Am I riding you better than mom?"

Jungkooks body nearly stills and his breath hitches at your words, a groan leaving his lips as you rock down on him again, your words only fueling his own excitement as the fire in the pit of his abdomen burns.

"Yes, baby. You're so much better. So much better." He breathes against your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin and biting down hard as he feels his own self begin to unravel.

Your whole body shivers at the feeling of his teeth biting in your neck, your hips stuttering slightly on his lap as you feel your orgasm right around the corner.

You barely manage to breathe out "Daddy, gonna- gonna-" before you fall apart on him, your whole body shuddering and quivering as your nails dig into his shoulders.

The feeling of you falling apart on top of him is enough to send him over the edge as well, his whole body tensing before he comes inside you. He lets out a low groan against your chest as his hips press against you, thrusting harshly, every muscle in his body tensing and straining with every wave of his own release.

Your name falls from his lips in a breathy whisper, the sound a mixture of your name and a curse.

Your cheek resting on his shoulder as you both breathe heavily in a state of bliss. Your body is still quivering slightly, your mind still trying to return to reality. You feel warm and dizzy, almost like you’re high.

His fingertips trace a gentle pattern over your back as he lets out a quiet chuckle. “You still with me princess?”

You're unable to speak, your mind still fuzzy from your orgasm as you nod your head with a small hum. "Mmm.. I'm here." You say quietly, your words slightly slurred as you keep your cheek resting on his shoulder.

He runs his fingers through your now messy hair, a small smile on his lips as he looks down at your hazy and dazed form. "Well.. welcome back, baby." He says with a small chuckle.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts #bts army #bts jungkook #bts smut

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traumatrios · 5 months

Text

friends, fwb!ART DONALDSON

josie’s notes! this is kind of a character study & lowkey bad but i got out of the theater 4 hours ago and have been obsessing. new era incoming!

ART DONALDSON was unable to keep his eyes off of you.

They are thirsty to drink in the way your body curves with ease in the bootcut jeans you wear out of Art’s bathroom. He lets his gaze swipe up and down your form, as you twist and turn in search of your straggling belongings. Most importantly, your phone.

“Mornin’,” Art chimed, admiring the curve of your chest in the sculpted tank you sported.

“Good morning,” you returned with an innocent smile, swinging the strap of your backpack on your shoulder. Your hands patted along the front, back and sides of your thighs, coming up empty handed.

Art’s eyes located your phone atop his dresser, spinning over in his desk chair to reach and retrieve it. Weight slid off of your shoulders in the form of a relieved sigh.

The corners of Art’s eyes crinkled in a friendly smile as he held it out for you to take. His arms– most notably his biceps –and the bruised marks that stretched across the skin. You could still see the fresh indents your newly manicured nails left earlier in the morning.

“Here, princess.”

There it was again. That Donaldson smile that has all the ladies swooning. You were a victim of the assault. It took every nerve in your body to speak with how your knees grew wobbly and your thighs began to grow sore.

“Thanks, friend,” you uttered, lifting your fingers to grab the phone. Art pulled his hand away from you, clicking his tongue.

“Ah-ah,” his smile turned into a smirk as he teased you. You were supposed to leave for class five minutes ago, but with his hand ‘accidentally’ prodding at your ass this morning and how he seems to be playing a game now, you began to ponder the possibility of never being able to leave. Your knee was already pressing next to his in his chair, any further and you weren’t ever getting up.

“C’mon, gotta leave,” you attempted to grab the phone again, only for him to pull it further away from you. The tips of your ears began to burn with your growing frustration.

Art raised his eyebrows in suggestion, and you knew exactly what it meant. Tilting your head at the gesture, he rebounded with a different motive.

“Kiss first?” he asked, an attempt at batting his eyelashes following. “Please?” he added.

You roll your eyes at him. You liked how playful he was, you did, but leaving his dorm the morning after another needy fuck was starting to get tiring. What was the next step?

This wasn’t the heavy subject you needed to focus on right now, instead you needed to start thinking about what you’d do if you failed this mornings’ calculus exam.

Before your feet could get moving, your lips were already obliging his request. Art’s hand cupped the back of your scalp to deepen what was meant to be a parting kiss, turning the soft peck into a loving kiss.

With the way his teeth didn’t try to clash with yours, you wondered if this was how he fed the fantasies in his head. It was obvious, Art wanted more than a fuck-buddy, but his passion was way ahead of his heart when it came to pretty girls like you. He always dove in head first, never thinking of the commitment— or lack thereof —when it came to this type of relationship.

You didn’t know what you wanted. It was hard to tell in college; you didn’t even fully know what you wanted to do with your life, how were you supposed to know anything else?

So you’d continue your late-night ventures to his dorm building and totally-not-lunch-dates whenever he had a gap in his weekend tennis schedule and you weren’t swamped with homework. You’d settle with quickies in closets and longing stares if it meant you had a warm body next to you that made you feel wanted.

After what felt like too long, you were the one to break the kiss. Art’s mouth was tinted with a frown to see you snatch your cell phone from his palm and begin to exit his dorm.

“Bye, friend!” You called.

“Bye, friend.”

divider by @benkeibear !

#˚* ੈ🎾‧ art donaldson #art donaldson x reader #josie writes!

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 2 months

Text

48 / 1.1k / shark mermen Ghost and Soap + lionfish mermaid reader, courtesy of @porcelainpot :)

...

The moment you and Soap lock eyes, you push yourself up off the soft sea floor. Tendrils of sand, gold in the sun, trail after your tailfin all the way back into the tangle of reef coral you’ve claimed as your home.

Soap laughs behind you.

Why is he so obsessed with this? This stupid game he plays. Ghost—who rolls over near the sunny patch where you were just lazing together—doesn’t care when you’re around. You don’t bother him; he doesn’t bother you. But Soap won’t leave you alone. He all but ignores the clear warning signs all over your body—the auburn striping your tail; your bright, fanlike fins; the enormous fuckoff venom-coated spines running the length of your dorsal line, arms, and ear fins.

You scowl. Every time you think he won’t find you when you venture out into the reef, every time you let yourself relax after the day’s hunting is done, he turns up. Watching you the same way he’s looking at you right now: too fucking closely. His eyes flash with mischief and lock onto your fins through the sparse gaps in your coral cave.

“Think she bites?” he asks Ghost.

Ghost grunts. “Most things do.”

“Saw her lookin’ at you like she might want to take a piece home.”

“Doubt it.”

“Doubt you’d feel it if she did. Could hardly kill a minnow with those wee teeth. Don’t know how she hunts with ‘em.”

You duck down back into the entrance of your cave with a flick of your lacy tail. He’s talking loudly enough for you to hear on purpose. “You’re never getting close enough to find out,” you snap.

Soap’s smirk stretches into a grin. You took the bait. “Can’t hide in your cage forever, can ya?”

Ghost rolls back over. “She’s got more sense than the ones who swim toward you.”

“Oh, piss off. Fleein’ from a predator is what prey fish do. It’s a natural response.”

You lurk a little further outside your cave. “I’m not prey. I’m just as much a predator as you sharks.”

This time, Ghost is the one who scoffs. “Sure you are.”

Soap swims up closer to your hiding spot, eyes roaming over your form. You bristle instinctively and raise your spines in warning as he drifts closer. But it doesn’t drive him away. If anything, it seems to draw his interest even more.

“Ya’ve got an impressive display, I’ll give it that,” he says. “But you’re a scrap compared to us.”

“So? I don’t need size to defend myself.” You fan your fins up higher, emboldened as you rise with the current.

Soap grins even wider at the threat display. You’re all barbed fins, colorful scales, and angry pout. His gaze reflects the challenge you’re issuing him. “Careful sayin’ that. I’ll chase you if you tease me.”

Ghost lets out an irritated growl at Soap’s flirtation, knowing very well Soap only says these things to get a rise out of you. “Those spines aren’t just for show, Soap. You know what lionfish venom feels like. Bet hers is worse. Might kill you. You think it's worth dying just to prove a point?"

“I think spines break as easy as they sting.”

Anger surges through your chest. “Brute,” you snap.

Soap laughs. You don’t seem to notice you’ve drifted some distance away from your hiding spot, but he has. Ghost shifts, side-eying both of you more closely.

“I’m just curious, gorgeous.” His senses sharpen with the thrill of your threat display and your anger. Of course he thinks it’s sexy. The more you insult him, the more he wants to see what it takes to earn more than just that sharp tongue of yours. “Think touchin’ you might be worth the sting.”

“You’d be wrong.”

“You’re cute when you’ve got a problem with me. Gnashin’ like a miniature barracuda.”

You puff up a little more, daring to swim closer. You’re smugly satisfied when he backs away a little in response.

“Try it,” you bluff.

Soap’s eyes drop down, tracing the length of your fins, and he grins. He’s just as aware of the lethality of any lionfish's wicked barbs as he is of their beauty, but he doesn’t seem particularly deterred by the threats of this particular mer wielding them. “Bet you wouldn’t bite me too hard.”

“Soap.” Ghost’s voice is calm, but a warning lurks in his tone. “Don’t provoke her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Soap replies without looking away from you. “Bet those spines are brittle.” He reaches forward to touch one.

You hiss and whip your tail away on instinct, darting back. Your spines are still raised in defense. But your rational mind doesn’t want to risk him getting any closer. You don’t want him to know what happens if he's stung--that your venom is a faulty mimic of a true lionfish. He needs to think you're dangerous and keep his distance. And you need to keep your pride intact.

Soap hardly notices how upset you are. He’s thrilled to provoke an interesting new reaction out of you. Before he can reach out again, though, Ghost grabs his wrist and jerks him back, forcing him out of your personal space.

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re not fast enough to avoid a sting.”

“You’re no fun, Ghost.”

“Fuck off,” you snap. Your heart is pounding. He got too close, way too close.

You retreat while Ghost has ahold of him, slipping down into your small den and out of sight. Soap calls after you, but he’s not surprised when you don’t come back out.

Soap rips his wrist out of Ghost’s claws with a muttered curse. At Ghost’s hard look, he snaps, “Like you wouldn’t do it too.”

“That’s not the problem. She’s a pincushion. You go pissing her off too much, you’re going to wind up full of poison.

“Aye.”

“And it'll probably kill you. Hurt the whole time doing it. It’s all fun and games until you’re dying because you just couldn’t help but poke a pretty fish.”

Soap scoffs. “You’re exaggerating. No sting can kill me. It'll hurt a little an’ I’ll be fine.”

Ghost gives Soap an unimpressed glance. “And if you're wrong? You think you’re strong enough to fight off a neurotoxin.” He snorts. “You want to test that hypothesis?”

Soap glances back at your den with a frown.

“Keep your bloody distance,” Ghost mutters, giving Soap a shove back toward the center of the reef. “She’s no prize.”

Soap gives in and turns back toward the reef, turning a restless corkscrew in the water. Still, the smirk reappears on his face. “Aye. Little nightmare, isn’t she?” He sighs. “All bite and no kiss.”

...

[part 1 ] / part 2 by porcelainpot here!! <3

more mer au / more Soap / masterlist

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pedrospatch · 7 months

Text

captive

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You find yourself missing your captor while he’s out on an early morning hunt with the rest of the group.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. IMPLIED PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, it’s implied her family members were also killed, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own, stockholm syndrome, reader deals with a lot of very distressing and conflicting feelings, Joel isn’t too creepy or extremely dark, but he is still not a good person, mentions of Tommy. VERY BRIEF SMUT in the form of cockwarming, daddy kink but i didn’t go overboard this time, pet names (honey, baby, babygirl, sweetheart) if i missed anything, you can POLITELY let me know because if i missed anything, it was purely accidental. minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i might actually throw up idk. i’ve had this itch to try dark joel and seeing as i have major writer’s block with all my other wips i decided to just scratch the itch. this is a little out of my comfort zone but i actually ended up feeling pleased with what i wrote. this is my personal take on dark/raider joel, i’m sure it is very out of character but it’s fanfiction so…yeah. here it is.

It’s the rain that rouses you from your sleep.

It beats down heavily on the remote cabin’s tin roof.

Loud. Much too loud.

You roll over, settling yourself on your side.

The mattress is old, worn, rotting beneath the sheets.

You can’t complain, though. At least you have a bed.

Everybody else is forced to sleep on the hard floor.

He always gets the room with the bed.

As his special girl, that means you always get the room with the bed too.

It’s not quite as flattering as one would believe.

He only ever wants the bedroom for one reason—to keep you behind a locked door so you can’t run.

You sigh softly and stare out the window. He’d secured that too, made certain that it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

Closing your eyes, you try and go back to sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come.

His absence is starting to bother you.

You’ve been with him for an entire season now.

You’re getting used to him.

The sound of his voice.

The warmth of his body.

The taste of his lips.

You can’t even sleep without him next to you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, clutching the stale sheets, balling them in your fists out of frustration.

How was it possible? How could you be missing him?

He had taken everything from you.

Your family.

Your home.

Your innocence.

He was holding you captive. He was a monster.

But a monster doesn’t keep you safe.

Doesn’t clothe you.

Doesn’t feed you.

Doesn’t protect you.

He did all of those things and more.

Is that why you feel so empty without him beside you?

Is that why you’re no longer so certain you would run if you were given the chance to escape him?

You fucking hated him for what he’d done.

Yet here you are, aching for him to come back to you.

It’s another hour before you hear the lock clicking.

Joel pushes through the door, quietly closing it behind him.

“Y’awake?” he asks, slipping his pack off his shoulders.

“Mhm,” you answer with your back to him. “I am.”

You hear the sound of his pack hitting the floor.

His worn leather boots being kicked off.

His rifle being set down, propped against the wall.

“How was the hunt?”

You can feel him freeze as he’s taking off his jacket.

Getting you to willingly speak to him had always been a lot like pulling teeth. Difficult, almost impossible.

When he doesn’t respond, you roll over to face him.

There’s a swoop in your tummy.

Joel is drenched from head to toe. His blue denim shirt clings to his broad frame and his dark, graying curls are slicked back away from his face.

He’s got such a handsome face.

Monsters aren’t supposed to have handsome faces.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really askin’ me how the hunt went?” Suspicion laces his tone. “Why? Y’worried you won’t eat tonight?”

Of course you weren’t.

Joel Miller doesn’t let you go hungry.

When food is scarce, he makes sure you eat first. If he notices you rubbing your tummy because your portion wasn’t enough, he’ll give you his own portion.

He takes care of you.

“No.” You pause and sit up. The sheets you two share fall away from your body, leaving your soft, supple breasts on full display for him. “Just wanted to know how your morning went. That’s all.”

It’s not your tits that make his cock twitch against the zipper of his jeans—it’s the sincerity that flashes across your features, the sound of it in the tone of your voice.

You’re being sweet to him.

He clears his throat lightly.

“Went real good. Brought down a deer. Female, ‘bout a hundred pounds or so. Enough to keep all of us well fed for the next couple of weeks,” he says with a nod. “Was pissin’ rain the entire time but it was worth it. Tommy’s in the shed out back right now dressin’ it so we can get a stew started.” He pauses. “You’re gonna get a proper meal tonight, babygirl. Belly’s gonna be nice and full.”

He’s not just talking about food and you know it.

You make an effort to meet his gaze, but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do it, not when you remembered how he’d taken you away from your family—how he had carried you over his shoulder, kicking and screaming as his people raided your camp and slaughtered every last member of your group because that’s what Joel Miller had ordered them to do.

Looking him in the eye might be the one thing you will never, ever be able to do.

“It’s cold,” you murmur after a minute. “You should get out of those wet clothes before you get sick.”

With a subtle nod, Joel turns around and starts peeling off his clothes until he’s completely naked. He uses an old rag to dry himself off as best as he can, although it doesn’t do much for him.

You can’t help yourself and stare—your gaze drags over the strong muscles of his back and shoulders, how they flex and ripple beneath his skin with every single one of his movements. Arousal pools between your thighs and all you can do is fucking hate yourself for wanting it, for wanting him.

“S’pretty early still,” he states, his back still to you as he runs the rag through his hair. “Y’should try to get some more sleep.”

The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think about stopping it.

“I couldn’t sleep while you were gone.”

Surprised, he turns around.

Almost immediately, your eyes fall to his cock.

Even when he isn’t fully hard, he’s still so fucking big.

“Is that so?” Joel asks, sounding rather pleased.

“Yes,” you say, softly. “I—I missed you.”

His lips turn upwards into a subtle, faint grin.

“Yeah?” he coos. “My sweet little girl missed me while I was gone? Hm?” Slowly, he approaches the bed. It dips slightly and the frame creaks as he plants a knee on the mattress and leans over towards you. Gently, Joel takes your chin between his index finger and thumb. “Y’need Daddy by your side so you can sleep, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whisper, warm tears glazing over your eyes.

It’s bad enough your body welcomed him so easily.

Now your heart was starting to do the same.

And then there was your mind.

What if that stopped fighting him too?

Part of you is afraid it already has.

Joel climbs into bed, joining you under the sheets.

“M’here, my pretty girl. C’mere, honey.” He coaxes you to lay on your side and pulls you back against his chest. His skin is still damp, frigid from having been out in the elements, but somehow he’s still warm. “That better?”

“Need you closer,” you mumble, wiggling against him.

Joel groans, his thick cock hard and throbbing against the small of your back. He nips at your bare shoulder as his hand drags down the length of your body and slips between your thighs. “Christ, babygirl. Pussy’s soakin’ wet for me. Looks like she missed me while I was gone too, didn’t she, sweetheart?”

He runs his finger along your slick, silky folds.

“Daddy,” you whimper, bucking into his hand.

“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy knows what you need.”

Joel pulls his hand from between your legs.

You almost cry—you’re so fucking desperate for him.

And you shouldn’t be.

He reaches in between your bodies, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Without warning, he slips it into your tight, aching cunt, sheathing himself in your warm, wet heat in one smooth stroke.

You choke out a sob.

It’s always overwhelming, that initial stretch.

That fullness, the feeling of him being in your belly.

“S’alright, sweetheart. S’alright. I know you can take it,” he soothes you. “You’re such a good girl for me. Always take my cock so fuckin’ well. So good for me, baby. You feel better now that Daddy’s cock is buried inside your pretty little pussy?”

He drapes an arm around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Yes,” you breathe, placing your hand on top of his.

Joel feathers a kiss onto your neck.

“Go to sleep, babygirl. M’here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he promises you.

That shouldn’t be a comfort to you. But it is.

You close your eyes, your fingers subconsciously lacing together with his as you start to drift.

Cunt full of his cock, you fall asleep in your captor’s arms.

divider credit to @saradika🤍

#tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #tw noncon #raider joel #raider! joel #dark!fic #dark! joel miller #dark joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #tw daddy kink #dark!joel x reader #fic: captive

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amyispxnk · 4 months

Text

Grease and sweat

Summary - Another day, another venture out of the walls of the Boston QZ with Joel Miller. AKA, another day spent fantasizing about the burly man whom you spend most of your time with these days. When the two of you have to hole up for the night, things get a little heated, and you finally snap.

A/N: i started this oneshot like 6 months ago and finally found some random motivation today to finish it. and im not gonna spoil anything but like.. why has noone talked about this in a fic before? im literally salivating when he does this during the game and like.. yeah. idk. you’ll see.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: SMUT!! (oral f!receiving, unprotected PiV sex - don’t do this, especially during an apocalypse!, mentions of masturbation, lewd thoughts), language, age gap (roughly 15 years), firearms, pet names, fluff, aftercare

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

“The fuck’re you lookin’ at, kid?” Joel practically spat, having noticed the way you were eyeing him whilst he worked.

You scoffed, walking up to the workbench he was currently using. Kid. You weren’t a kid. Sure, you were almost 15 years younger than him, but you certainly weren’t a kid.

“I’m 34, Joel. Not a kid.” You argued, leaning on the wall and watching him work.

He just grunted in response before resuming what he was doing before, starting with cleaning his pistol.

His fingers danced along the metal, digging into certain bits with the old rag he used to get any grime out, before he used the screwdriver to make a few adjustments to the handgun.

You never really understood how to do all the fancy things he did with his weapons, and you probably should considering how intently you watched him whenever the pair of you came across one of these old benches - but you couldn’t focus on the guns which were in his hands. His big, strong, rough hands. You’d trade places with those guns just to feel his hands on you like that. He took so much care of the damn things too, like they were the most precious things in his life. Always cleaning and repairing them like this, practically never letting you touch them.. What did those guns have that you didn’t? You thought to yourself as you watched him, gaze drifting to his fingers in particular. The ones you’d dreamt about far too many times, the ones you’d imagined inside of yourself rather than your own when you touched yourself. It was the way they moved, how thick they were, and how the veins in his hands and muscles flexed when he gripped his bow, and the way his arms would shine with his sweat as he worked. You’d lick the sweat off his body if he asked you to. Depraved as it sounds.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

Your absolutely maddening desire for and sickening crush on the man whom you knew close to nothing about. Just his name and a few things he revealed to you when the night was particularly long or the whisky he was having took a toll on his judgement, loosening him up for once. You knew where he was from, what his job was before, and you knew that he was basically just a grumpy old asshole who was only good for beating up guys when you went on supply runs.

He had never been overly kind to you, not that you needed it, had never asked you any questions, didn’t make small talk, and was a ruthless murderer.

You loved every single thing about him.

And you wanted to show him. You wanted him to love you back, no matter how he’d love you. You wouldn’t mind if he was a cold lover, a mean one - hell, he almost definitely was - you’d take him any way you could get him.

You looked back at his hands once more, subconsciously pulling your bottom lip between your teeth when he had to use his ring and middle fingers to clean out part of another gun, your thighs clenching together as you felt the all-too-familiar wetness start to form between them and making you groan when you realised you’d probably have to rub one out when you got back later. It was honestly annoying the amount of times you came by your own hand, his name on your lips, because you knew how much better it would feel if it was his thick fingers pushing into you, his big hands palming your breasts, his strong arms holding you down as he made you come over and over…

“Let’s get goin’.” He says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts as he tucks his gun away and slings his backpack on.

You push yourself off of the wall and follow him quickly, trying not to look flustered although you very much felt it.

He came to an abrupt stop when you reached your normal exit from this little pitstop en route to the guys who gave you weapons, and you almost walked face-first into his back.

“Joel? Wha-” you began, but he cut you off.

“This shouldn’t be closed.” He murmurs, like he’s talking to himself, not allowing you any time to respond before he’s going over to pull the chain which should open the garage door.

It doesn’t.

No matter how much he pulls on the metal, grunting and groaning and making your eyes flutter shut whilst you force your needy whimpers down with the noises he’s making, it barely opens, slamming shut every time he gets close to getting it open a quarter of the way.

“Fuck.” He grits, giving up and slamming his hand against the thing. It would be no use trying with that door anymore, the noise it was making was getting too loud anyway.

He stands there, clearly thinking hard about what to do. You can’t turn back because that would just lead you straight back to the QZ, which was useless to you right now, but you don’t have any other secured ways to get to your vendors - how could he have been so stupid to not plan ahead, he ridicules himself silently.

“Joel? What’s the plan?” You ask, getting slightly impatient with his constant silence. He may have been this hot brooding older man, but he could really leave you in the dark sometimes like this.

“Will you let me think, goddamnit?” He responds, clearly annoyed with your current predicament, scratching at his jaw before looking back up at you.

“Could try that window.” You suggest quietly, looking upwards. It was high and small, but you’d be able to get through it if he gave you a boost up.

He gave you a small nod before you both made your way up there and he got into position, hands outstretched and placed together as you got on and pushed yourself up. Normally, whenever he did this, you’d feel all dizzy afterwards from the proximity and his touch - but as soon as you looked out the window you were horrified. There were infected, just past the jammed door - and a whole lot of them. You weren’t getting past that. Forget the deal, you’d come back another day.

“Joel.” You say, not even realising you were whispering. He doesn’t answer.

“Joel! Joel, get me down.” You whisper-shout, and he furrows his brows.

“Why? What’s the matter?” He asks, and you have to fight against the urge to roll your eyes.

“Just get me down.” You say through clenched teeth, taking another look outside the window before he carefully lowers you. Of course, he boosts you up regularly, but he rarely ever tries to get you back down, so you stumble a bit and end up with your face against his chest as he falls back onto the wall slightly.

“Jesus, woman!” He grunts, but you don’t even try to move, you just look up at him with those fucking doe eyes of yours and it takes everything in him to not groan at the sight of you. God knows how many times he’s imagined you looking up at him whilst you sucked his cock, knelt on the floor with tears in your eyes and your hair all messy for him with your big eyes staring into his.

You open your mouth to speak, before realising the position you’re in and quickly standing up.

“I- there were infected outside, Joel.” You explain after a moment.

“So?” He questions you, squinting in confusion slightly. You’ve taken down infected before, no problem. What’s the issue today?

“No, like- I swear it looked like there were a hundred of them. Just this big fucking horde, right outside the garage door.” You gestured back towards the exit.

He clenched his jaw. Yeah, okay, you could take down some infected, not a hundred.

“Y’sure?”

“I’m fucking sure, Joel!” You almost yelled, way too many emotions going on in your body for you to act normal right now.

“Alright, alright, calm down.” He looked back outside. It was almost dark, there was no way you could get back to Boston in time now. It just wasn’t safe to go that far so late, and there was no point since you’d have to sneak by all the guards - who hopefully wouldn’t notice if you were gone for one night - to get back in.

“Go check all the doors, lock ‘em and then barricade ‘em. We’re gonna have to hold up here for tonight, then go back at dawn.” He decides, and you gape at him like a fish.

“We’re staying here?! Joel, what about curfew and the- the fucking infected right outside-” you start, but he silences you once again.

“We’re gonna be fine. When have things ever gone wrong for us since you started comin’ out with me?” He questions sternly, and you ponder it.

Never, really. He always saved you, and you’d save him when he needed it - even though it was only a handful of times he did.

“‘Kay, fine. Whatever.” You mumble stubbornly before turning round to go secure the doors leading to the small mechanic store you’d be staying in.

He looks around himself for any openings and closes them up before you both end up back in the main room.

It’s mostly silent as you look around at different things, poking at the ruined cars and whatnot whilst he sits on a crate and watches you as discreetly as possible.

“I have a question.” You say, turning to face him and making him snap his head away from you before you notice he was looking at you already.

He grunts to tell you to continue speaking, looking back at you when you do.

“Could you like.. show me how to fix up my guns and stuff? ‘Cause you always do it for me and I just thought it was.. Cool.” you murmur, trailing off at the end.

He actually lets out a small laugh at that. Not in a mean way, necessarily, just kind of teasingly.

“Cool?” He repeats with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, cool. It just- with all the attachments and shit. And I can never clean them properly.” You sigh, walking up closer to him. “Please? We’ve got nothing else to do.”

The sound of you saying please for him in that small voice wins him over. “Fine.” He gets up off the crate, walking back over to the workbench and flicking the light on before taking your gun from you. He talks you through it, shows you a little how to clean it before letting you try it yourself, and then he shows you how to add a scope to it. You can’t quite grasp it though, not being strong and precise enough to attach it properly, so he places his hands on top of yours and helps you screw it on.

The contact makes you shudder so violently that he definitely felt it, and you want to crumple into the ground.

“What was that for?” He murmurs, and you almost jump at how close he is now, voice loud and breath hot on the side of your face as he leans over your shoulder to look at the gun whilst he tries to help you.

“No-nothing.” You squeak, breathing at least ten times faster now.

He feels it. He knows. He has to know, you’d been so stupid and revealed it all now. Joel Miller was not an idiot and he knew how you felt and he’d hate you for it. Your thoughts spiralled.

“Nothin’, huh?” He taunts, a smirk pulling at his lips as he watches you slowly crumble. To make it worse, he turns you in his hold, so you’re pinned with your back to the desk and his hands on either side of you.

“Y’alright, darlin’? You look awfully hot. Don’t got a fever or nothin’?” He mumbles, seeing how far he can push you as he leans in closer.

“I-I’m fine.” You say quietly, mesmerised by the sight of his face so close as you notice little details you’d never noticed before, barely even realising his lips are so close to your own until he’s pressing them to yours.

You make a slight noise of surprise before you get lost in it. The feeling of his lips against yours was something you’d dreamed about for so long, and now it was finally happening.

Your hands come up and around his neck, pulling him closer towards you as he deepens the kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth and overpowering you immediately as he pushes you back onto the workbench, sitting you on top of it and already working open the buttons of your jeans.

He kisses you one more time before getting to his knees and pulling your pants completely off, eyeing your panties, a dark patch in the middle of them from your growing arousal.

“Joel, please.” You whimper from above him as his hands run up your legs, coming to your inner thighs before toying with the elastic of your panties.

“Y’need me here, darlin’?” He asks, smirking up at you as his fingers move to rub slow circles into your clit through the fabric.

“Fuck!” You gasp at the contact, needy and desperate for him by this point. “Yes, please- please Joel.” You’re reduced to begging already, something you figure only he had the power to make you do.

He shushes you gently, fingers slowly peeling your panties down and groaning at the sight of your bare cunt, dripping and pulsing with need.

“Fuck, baby. Such a pretty pussy, so fuckin’ wet. This all for me?” He hums, dragging a finger up and down your slit, gathering your wetness on it and sucking it into his mouth as he looks up at you.

You whine at the sight of him between your legs like this, not knowing how you’re going to survive when he actually makes contact with you, and nod furiously.

“Yes, oh my god. Yes, it’s all for you Joel.” You say quickly, and he seems satisfied with that answer, finally moving his face to your core and making you squirm as his hot breath fans over your pussy.

“Stop fuckin’ movin’.” He murmurs, seemingly enraptured by the sight of you, staring for a few seconds and making you want to shift away again under his intense gaze, but he has an arm on you to make sure you don’t move.

And then he finally, finally, licks a long stripe up your pussy, tongue running along your wet folds. And you fucking lose it.

“Oh my god, Joel, please. Fuck- fuck, please, more-” you start begging, moaning loudly as he picks up the pace and continues to devour you, drinking down your wetness, and eventually kissing and sucking at your clit. His fingers, those thick gorgeous fingers you’d dreamed of for so long, tease your entrance before he’s pushing those inside, making you wail at the feeling of something inside of you, getting you closer to that release you were aching for by this point.

“Fuck, yes!” You cry out, thighs shaking slightly as you feel yourself getting close.

“That’s right, baby. You like that?” He asks, voice an octave lower as he pumps his fingers in and out of your tight heat, tongue still working you over relentlessly.

“Please- it feels so good-” you whine in response, fingers grasping for something to hold onto, to tether yourself to earth with as you feel yourself start to float away. Finding his hair and tugging slightly which makes him groan.

“Good girl.” He praises, adding another finger. He curls his fingers, searching for your g-spot and finding it easily.

You moan weakly at the praise, hips bucking as you grind yourself against his mouth, the ridge of his nose stimulating your clit perfectly as your fingers pull at his hair, and before you know it, you’re coming with a hoarse scream of his name.

You see white as your thighs quiver around his head, tensing and squeezing slightly as he continues to work you through it, lapping at your juices until you cry out from the overstimulation.

He removes his fingers from your hole, licking them clean once more before standing up and removing his own clothes, revealing his hard cock and making your eyes widen slightly.

Of course he was big, you’d stared at the bulge of his jeans enough times to realise that, and you’d imagined it before, but it all paled in comparison to finally seeing it.

He was long, slightly curved, girthy with a flushed red tip which had precome leaking out of it as he pumped himself slowly with a smirk on his face.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty girl?” He hums teasingly, and you can’t even think straight anymore, just pulling him forward and kissing him hungrily as he positioned his cock at your slick entrance.

Needy little whines and whimpers flowed freely from your mouth straight into his, where he swallowed them whole before starting to push into you.

You part from the kiss suddenly, gasping as he pushes deeper and deeper, stretching you thoroughly, and you feel grateful that he has the decency to start off slow since you already feel like crying from how big he is, how fucking good it feels.

When he bottoms out, you’re already wrecked. He’s huge inside of you, and you can feel everything. Every single ridge, vein, and twitch of his pulsing cock as your walls hug him tightly.

“Y’okay?” He murmurs softly, making your heart swell at how tender he sounds right now, and you nod in response.

“Joel.. please move.” You whisper, and he complies, grabbing your hips and barely giving you a moment to think before he’s starting to pound into you, making you squeal as your arms came around his neck, nails digging into his back before his head ducks down into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking at your pulse point and making you clench harder around him, before moving down to your breasts, palming them and taking one of your nipples into his mouth as you scream his name.

“Joel! I’m gonna- gonna come- oh god, please!” You cry out, back arching. He growls, picking up the pace. He could feel his orgasm building, but he needed you to come first, needed to feel your tight walls clenching and gushing around him before he even considered his own pleasure.

“Come on, baby. Give me one more and I’ll fill you up. Fuck this little cunt full of me.. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He says, voice low and husky as his balls slap against your ass, the loud sound of your wetness filling the room as you start to tremble once more.

“Yes! Fuck, Joel. Need it so bad. Want your come inside of me. Please, Joel.” You gasp, making him groan as his fingers move down to rub at your clit.

“Come for me, baby.” He encourages, speeding up even more and hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars, making you scream as you come and dissolve into a shaking, whimpering mess whilst he continues to thrust into you.

“That’s it, darlin’. Come all over my cock.” He grunts, his own release approaching quickly. The sounds of your moans and cries are enough to set him off, barely thrusting a few more times before stilling and filling you with his hot seed, slowly fucking it even deeper inside of you before pulling out and looking at you.

Skin flushed, panting heavily, come leaking down your thighs. You looked perfect. He wished that cameras were still around so he could take a picture of how you looked right now, keep it in his pocket wherever he went. But he couldn’t, and he realised you probably needed cleaning up now as your hazy eyes blinked open and looked at him. You were quiet, thinking about what this meant for the two of you now. Would he go back to being the cold man you knew? Would he be even colder? Would he suddenly be attentive and caring towards you?

You supposed you got your answer when he gently cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheek as he looked at you with something scarily close to love in his eyes, the gaze he’d somehow managed to conceal from you all these months which he could now finally show you.

“You okay?” He murmurs, and you nod weakly in response. He hums, giving you another small kiss before walking off to go get a rag to clean you up with.

“Hold on, let me just..” he mumbles to himself as he goes to try clean off any dust from the rag, before returning to between your thighs and cleaning away any evidence of your previous activities, tossing the rag somewhere and handing you your clothes. You get dressed quietly before he takes your hand and leads you over to a space on the floor where you set up your sleeping bags, putting them as close together as possible until he eventually just lets you tuck yourself into his, wrapping his strong arms around you from behind and falling asleep.

You listen to his soft snores, feel his calloused hands on your stomach where they snaked under your shirt before he fell asleep, and smile to yourself softly before falling asleep with him.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and my requests are open 💞

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comfortless · 7 months

Text

Only Other

chapter one of three.

Goth soldier! König x fem, Roman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. historical au (set around 350BC); potential inaccuracies as i am no historian!, König speaks some German here (as opposed to Gothic), mutual pining & worship, mentions of an arranged marriage with a large age gap, slight sexism, descriptions of gore, groping, dubcon sword/knifeplay. additional warnings will be added to the next two chapters.

notes: for @writersdrug’s request. ^^

wc: 11k.

The barbarians are here.

The dream of river water lapping over your knees and songbirds in swaying trees fades out into a hazy fog as you begin to rise, dropping your legs from the mattress to spur yourself to move across the small room as quietly as your feet can carry you.

Heavy footfalls and staggering hoof beats from their horses weighed down by heavy sacks of supplies is what has pulled you from sleep.

The flames of their torches crackle, accompanied by the shrieks of clanging, well-polished metals singing out as if in the throes of war becomes a dull song; weapons, wicked and crudely crafted unlike the spears of the soldiers donned in red you were so accustomed to by now.

You had heard the whispers on the wind of the untamed beasts from Germania filtering in, settling down here; their arms and their blood for just a sliver of land to claim, soil to birth farmland, a semblance of peace from within the walls of the great empire.

Never, in these small words from gossiping tongues, did you suspect that these rugged men would be taking to camp so very close to your city. Not only that… they’ve been accepted into the walls, the door flung open for them with their gnashing teeth and thick, ugly weapons. These men of myth were usually set further out into the countryside, far from view of polite people to sow seed in soft fields, build the little shacks that seemed far too fragile for their rugged forms that could never compare to the villas built here.

Peering over the sill of the open window, stretching your upper half out into crisp night air to catch a glimpse of torches sailing along the breeze, flames just as ever-shifting as their darkened silhouettes, your breath seems to halt entirely. They look the trueness of harbingers like this: each somehow more imposing than the one they follow behind. You count only two horses split between the eight men of this small band.

Could any of them even speak in your tongue?

What stories could they tell?

Had any of them ventured as far as the sea or had they only bathed in waves of warm blood?

With eyes wide, you even dare to perch there to watch on, never bothering to conceal your underclothes with the faith that the darkness would hide away anything more than a illusory view of your shape.

Through the faint glow of the yellow-red flickering flames, your gaze drifts to something large, hulking and brutish, darker still against the backdrop of a sable horizon.

The shadow walks in line with the others, their proud and raucous foreign voices feathering through the otherwise quieted air… only he does not speak, does not make a single utterance of mirth or glee. He stares only forward as his feet tread on just paces behind the rest of the group.

Nine, then.

Like the tales you’ve heard of the Goths, you’ve also listened in on the children spinning wild stories of monsters, the legends of heroes of old slaying cruel beasts told by their elders. You had always believed them, even without the evidence currently striding through the sleeping streets, dark like a crypt, like the underworld itself. A true titan.

Just as your eyes track the brooding, silent form, he abruptly turns his head in your direction.

The glow of a nearby torch paints the shrouded face in the color of a dying sun, casts a glint on the thick seax strapped to his hip.

In that moment, it isn’t wonderment curling through your blood, but surprise, maybe even a tinge of fear.

Your heart hammers as you pull yourself from the window to whisper hurried, hushed prayers to Juno, protectress of women, as you reject your curious nature and climb back into your bed. You’ll bring your offerings to her altar just as any devout: incense and a sweet pastry so long as she keeps you safe, chaste.

Buried beneath cushions stuffed with straw and thin fabric sheets to tuck yourself away, you wish only to return to dreaming of the river’s silt beneath your feet and colorful birds parading past in the open air that smells only of violets and honey.

Instead, you dream of fire.

You dream of the city bathed in gold, molten and angry as the walls come down around you.

You watch as your neighbors, friends, all begin to writhe and shriek as their skin begins to blister, boil beneath until it melts layer by precious layer to puddle like oil where feet once stood until the mighty, wraithful scorch takes even that away too. What once was human becomes smoke: women, men, children, it made no difference. It all becomes a mighty roaring flame as the structures wail and crumble around you.

Yet, you remain untouched.

Dawn breaks with the puppets sewn in shadow all but entirely forgotten, washed away in the fearsome tides of your own dreaming.

You startle and bolt upright as you wipe cold sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

You’re no oracle: it’s just a dream… Vulcan would never turn his fiery gaze to your people after you’ve all honored him so, the offerings paid at his altar had been plentiful this past year with the steady expansion of the empire and the need for well-smithed weapons.

There were no volcanoes here to sweep away your life with magma and sulfur… only the lemures that haunted old shacks with their wailing had paid a visit to you last night. You let them in with your fears, and you would ward them away next with your courage.

The sun’s warmth creeps its way in, sweeps up from your blanketed legs until it curls and caresses at your cheek. From its positioning, proud and impossibly high in the sky it’s almost as though Sol himself were staring down at you, radiant yet scolding.

You’ve overslept.

Hurriedly, you ready yourself for the day, cinching your waist, clasping the shoulder of the stola, and dutifully washing your face with still water held in a clay pot. There was little else to do than bide your time with tedium: the animals loitering about needed tending to, a neglected sewing project lay strewn across the floor that had long-awaited its completion, and as the questions began to stir in your mind again… perhaps, gods willing, you would safely be gifted the opportunity to peek at the barbarian camp. To see that peculiar titan that they kept tethered at their sides.

It was dangerous and unheard of for a maiden, of course, but with little else to do than work and practice stitching threads for a betrothed you held no true affection for, this was a significant reprieve from the humdrum of what was scrawled out into the stars.

You weren’t given the luxury of further studies and communing with the aristocrats at their hearty banquets, sipping wine and prattling onwards about politics and how to further Rome as a whole. A part of you preferred this simple life of taking to the street, to peruse the market with what little money you held clutched in your palm, to pet the horses and watch as bulls sparred out in the fields beyond. Returning home to an empty house was a comfort, too.

As always, the market is a lively place, full to bursting with people exchanging anything under the sun, either beneath painted wooden stalls or from the first floor of their very homes, all with very little regard for you.

The city was simply too full to take in every name and face, and only their chatter seemed to intrigue you anyhow. You didn’t need a scroll or a song about each individual, your people were easy enough to read: war, pride, and duty all embedded into their very blood. The only ones that drew your attention were the poets and bards, entertainers who spun their stories of lives vastly different from your own… but there were none awaiting coin on the streets today.

A man passes with his wife at his side, loudly bolstering onward about his progress on some expedition.

Women with flowers woven into the braids of their hair laugh softly behind their palms as they exchange their secrets in singsong whispers.

The children play and pocket with eager palms when salesmen are unaware, likely to be caught later on and have their hands whipped raw.

There’s no talk of the Goths.

With these foreign men, most of your people seemed unbothered, taking solace in the knowledge that the empire’s cavalry would ride to strike down any opposition. A tentative, arrogant sort of comfort that you knew very well not to trust entirely. Most were simply not as educated on the potential of what could be, hadn’t snuck around on quiet feet to listen in on the men discussing failed treaties and negotiations.

The Goths could find their own food, their own women and shelters after fighting for the empire for a time: likely what they were here to do… give up their lives in exchange for a sliver of a Roman dream. A band as small as the one you witnessed could never quite hope to topple an empire, anyhow.

That sense of safety brought forth disinterest and smug little grins with little else to say, whereas your mind only took to further conjuring curiosity.

The more you wander the more you question whether you saw them at all, or if they were mere specters, already slain and silenced on some field far off from here, long dead and forgotten by all but the sleep-addled mind of a maiden.

You’ve never felt so disheartened. Though the city remained constantly bustling and full of intrigue when you knew where to look, these days the ease of it all only seemed to further the boredom. If nothing were to come, it would be no surprise to find that Juno would serve her purpose, looking after all with her blessings. You almost regret calling for her safety last night.

If the barbarians were indeed real, had some plot to overthrow an empire with their small numbers, perhaps only a vulture would be pleased with your thoughts now: teetering on the cusp of anticipation and wonder. You would never think yourself treasonous, but to learn, to see more… Your appetite for something further than a life spent sewing and child-rearing after marrying a man that made your skin prickle with distaste in the coming winter was rational.

Maybe not to most, but to you.

The fruit stall pulls you from thought with its sappy, honey-sweet scent and brilliant colors littered in crates: reds, greens, even some soft and blue… You only then notice you’ve been standing entirely still here, lost in thought, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to split the world in two.

Two apricots were purchased, one for you and the other for the gray mare in the stable you had grown fond of. You give the merchant a smile and a few bronze coins and carry on your way, nibbling at one of the fruits on your walk.

There were usually servants tending to the horses just beyond the city's paved streets, but it seemed today they were busy with other affairs: Quinquatria would be upon the city soon, and there was much to prepare for such an important festival. The place was empty all apart from yourself and the horses, some off in the fields to gallop to their heart’s content, while others like your mare, secured by wooden gates and paddocks.

You feed her, cooing gently as she takes the pitted fruit from your hand and between her blunt teeth; then, allows you to lead her into the grass with your honeyed words and languid steps.

One day, you hoped to have the opportunity to ride her, perhaps far away to touch the waters of the ocean, to see the foreign trees in some great adventure that would leave you more fulfilled. Ideally, without being weighed down heavy with child.

Your hand strokes at her nose before she begins to tense, eyes wandering from your form to something just beyond, far off and nestled in tall, fluttering grass and small bushes. You track her gaze for a moment, finally turning to look over your shoulder.

The wind has the tops of the trees swaying along the hills, grass pushed down to kiss the earth with each flutter of air. It all smells and feels so gentle, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the soil and salt of the earth itself. Ceres would have found herself prideful at the sight; everything rich and lush with the spring… Harvests would be bountiful this year, and everyone would be well-fed and contented. It’s no surprise that after pilfering through old calendars and running his tests upon the soil, Gaius had declared that this was the year he would take you to be his wife.

Past the expanse of soft blossoms and a cavalcade of greenery, all sweeping and rolling, a beauty that would stifle anyone should they think to look hard enough… but amidst all of this sits a man that you recognize immediately. Though he remains utterly faceless, his stature is somehow enough to make a gladiator blush and turn tail in shame.

There, just where the hill dips down and gives way to the soft rush of the stream, sits your warrior. His head is lowered as he crouches by the water, hands tucked to his front as he busies himself with something in his lap. The bare expanse of his back presented to you is unfathomable even from such a distance.

The men from Germania were said to be huge, dwarfing those that you were accustomed to by lengths, tall and thick like the weapons that they carry. They were said to be handsome, too… and like some hazy dream you were already certain that he was, somehow, beneath the pelt tied round his waist to keep him warmed at night, the sable shroud hanging over his head as he works away at sharpening the blade laying over his lap.

Your legs feel weak like a freshly birthed lamb’s as you watch him; the muscles of his bare arms bulging and quivering, his nude back tensing with effort. The soft rays of the sun beaming down only seem to paint him golden, untouchable except by higherborn women and men who could pay well to have him dirty his blade or his cock. Radiant, cruel, maybe even a bastard son of Mars himself, because what better a place for a man so vast and laden with scar tissue to be than in the midst of some great war.

Someone like this, you know with a certainty, would have no time for fickle maidens with their heads filled with the fluff of fantasies, and in a way that only seems to solidify a plume of possessiveness stirred up within your head.

You wonder even, if he calls to Vulcan as he pauses to hold his blade up to the sun to marvel at his work, the sharpened silver glinting in the light. The weapon casts its rays to only further illuminate the paleness of his flesh, coupled with the gleam of the flowing water ebbing past it only serves to make him look the very picture of those old stories and myths. The older women in the city would have tapestries embroidered of this scene, no doubt, if they could see through your eyes now.

Your horse trots off, satisfied that there is no true threat here, and you feel yourself begin to creep forward.

The gods and goddesses must play their tricks, because you are no fool. The pull only feels undeniable, something that you could not fight with a stern will alone. You pacify your impromptu decision with the thought that you could turn away at any point in the meters it would take to reach him. Surely, if he turned to face you before then that same fear from the night before would come to surface and you would sprint, startled and wary.

Perhaps he would even give chase…

There’s no excitement to be held on him, either acutely unaware or ignoring your presence entirely as you draw ever-closer. The grass softens your footsteps, the breeze blanketing any sound from each shift of your legs beneath the linen stola. You’re near silent in your approach, only halting where the hill crests over the bank several paces away from where he remains seated.

Only then does he turn to look your way.

There’s no greeting, no display of friendliness. His body language remains closed off, distant, like that of a wolf in cautious preparation; deciding whether or not it would be necessary to bare his teeth, to snap and growl until your flesh rends beneath him.

So it’s left up to you and to Juno who remains harbored in your heart. The goddess would protect you most assuredly, you’ve left her offerings for as long as you could remember, prayed at her altars and devoted yourself entirely— perhaps not in the same way of the temple maidens, but certainly more so than most.

You take a breath, watching him with kind eyes and an air of unease about you that only seems sweet by comparison to the very danger that his presence proposes. He only returns your stare with something colder, detached and unamused beneath that ugly veil he wears: two holes for the eyes, dyed beneath with the red rimming yellow like the tissue a butcher may find in a plump calf.

“Can you understand me?”

There’s a long, tense silence that follows your frail question. The titan stares, looks you over from the crown of your head, briefly pauses midway- at your hips- then further. It’s both heated and cold, coaxing yet analytical.

Finally, the barbarian gives a curt nod in response, seeming no less frigid and closed off even as your voice feathers over the breeze. But he understands, can decipher your language, that’s a start.

“You are… one of the barbarians, yes?” Is that even what they preferred to be called? The word certainly sounded prettier on your tongue than the brutish pronunciation of ‘Goths’. There would certainly be some price to be paid if your blood was spilled over a mere insult…

Graciously, he only seems to overlook it as he sheaths his blade and rises to his full height, tall like the mountains you had only heard stories of, where gods and goddesses sit in council not meant for mortal ears.

Freed of any covering upon his upper body, you find yourself reluctantly mesmerized by the trail of light hair that runs from chest to abdomen and down further… until a little tuft peeks from the hem of the pelt tied around his narrow hips. The layer of fat over his midsection paves a way upward to reveal the muscles of his chest, wider and more prominent somehow than most breasts you’ve seen.

Unruly thoughts clutter that would have others questioning your status and devotion to your Gaius if they could hear them. It couldn’t be helped, you reason; you had never seen a man quite so vast, so meant for battle and breeding.

“That is what your people call me,” he huffs, bull preparing to charge. His words come out with a thick accent, northern. The trees and mountains would sound similar if they could speak at all.

He drinks you in with his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides as though itching to touch your most sensitive parts. Though he doesn’t move yet, you get the sense that all it would take is one false move, a skitter in your step that leaves you tumbling to the earth, and he would be upon you like the downpours of spring. You even wonder if he would roar like the thunder delivered from Jupiter’s weighty palms if he were to mount you.

Of course, what he sees before him is not a maiden of Rome. His people didn’t care for purity, for your religions and ideals: you’re a fertile little doe, wandering straight to a buck in his prime.

You swallow hard, a little bob from your fragile throat, to force those treasonous thoughts from your mind. Even talking to this man was a risk to your reputation… Your poor betrothed, nearing thrice your age and horribly delicate by comparison to this beast, would be up in arms if he were to find you here. More concerning, you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

“What do you call yourself, then?” Your voice comes almost breathless, thighs pressed together beneath your stola as your own body sends its signs and omens to tell you that you’re precariously close to the underworld just by gracing him with your presence. Perhaps it would be that dark, too, if this giant decided to push you to the soil, hover over you as he plucked you apart like petals from a flower.

His eyes track that subtle shift of your legs, crinkling at the outer corners when they roam back upward to your face. The beast grins beneath his hood, you’re certain of it, and those eyes of pale blue seem to glitter like the sun's rays on the stream to your side. He shifts, crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his hips just slightly forward, some strange display undoubtedly meant to tempt and charm you.

You don’t budge from your perch, despite your body’s persistent singing for him. Enticing scents and views of flesh could do that… this man wasn’t special, you were just curious. That’s all that it was.

“König.” He answers things plainly in that lilted voice, as though he’s trying to seem more of a man to spite that boyish way of speaking. And gods help you- it’s cute.

“Does it have meaning?,” you settle to ask when he does not request your name in turn. A bit rude, though you do wonder if perhaps the bullish men in his settlements see delicate things like you more like pets anyhow. The thought of this warrior whisking you away and naming you one day… You swallow that lump in your throat again, teetering back on your heels as if to place more distance between you two.

“What do you think it means?”

That simple non-answer does finally allow your pulse to settle, only to rise immediately to find it insulting— as if this wild man with no proper education had the right to insult you at all.

He only smiles again beneath that veil when your face sours. Awful, wretched, gorgeous creature… You’re no threat to him and he knows it. He’s only playing with you, dodging your pretension with a bit of his own, and unfortunately… This is the most pleasant conversation that you’ve had with any man.

Your betrothed was only arrogant and dull, there’s no light in his eyes when he smiles at you- everything is duty. Not here. Not with König, and surely the goddess of marriage and love is frowning down at you from her lofty throne, because you’re almost certain you’re infatuated with the brute by now.

“You’re a bit rude.”

“King.” He grins, a grin that you can see when he frees the leather flask from his belt and shoves his mask upward to take a heavy gulp of what is undoubtedly Roman wine. The glimpse alone makes you weak again, honey drips from your thoughts to your cunt, and you know now that you were never simply curious.

No, this brute would be the end of your engagement and even you if you allowed it.

You watch him take his fill, catch the bitter scent in the air as a bit trickles down from his rough jaw to his throat, all covered in scars. He’s been in battle for a long time, likely why he wears the hood at all. The rest of that handsome face is undoubtedly a wreck just as what could be seen of his body, all covered in memories of where he’s had scrapes and dances with daggers only to fell his foes one by one with that long seax dangling from his hip.

After the hood and the flask are in their proper places once more, he gives you a nod, then speaks, “How many coins?”

It takes a moment for the question to register in full; he isn’t asking what you have on your person, but how much you’re worth. How much it would cost for you to spend a night in his bed, tolerating this giant between your legs…

Your attractions billow up in smoke immediately, just as you expression sours and your hands curl to fists at your side, crushing the half-eaten apricot in the process. You toss the ruined fruit to the ground, allowing the sweet juice to coat your fingers as it flows downward.

You wring your hand as you very nearly shout, “You are an animal. I’m not here to sell myself.”

Your voice falters to a meek, little whisper with your final words, the breath a weak gust through the first tiny blossoms of spring.

Of course he catches onto your body language, to the way your thighs rub and tense beneath your skirt, the way your nipples peak at the mere sight of him and all of the infatuation and curiosity in your eyes. Men knew things like this, offhandedly, it seemed; if the others were correct then this beast could surely smell you, too.

The bastard only stares, eyes narrowing as his brow pulls together beneath the hood in some strange confusion. The whores wore their togas, not the stolas of maidens and married women, even a barbarian should have known that: his men were certainly no strangers to the sweet women with their faces chalked in lead.

Then, his shoulders pull up to fall in a shrug.

“Run, then, little one.”

It’s almost as though he knows your thoughts in and out, a lemure himself as he presents the bulk of him that would strike fear into any man, taunts and goads. You don’t want another fire dream. You force your courage and mirror his stance: chin up, back straightened as you look down upon him like a goddess sent to deliver her fury with… a pitted apricot at your feet rather than bolts of famine and misfortunes.

His eyes become stars, twinkling in earnest when he sees you then. You’re no aristocrat, no empress, but you certainly feel the part when the giant’s gaze finally relaxes its pilferage and settles upon your face instead.

Your act is all for naught, because you realize that his men are approaching, opposite the stream. One of them was enough, but a hoard of others… You were not even certain that he could understand you properly, and the others could be even less patient. Your gaze travels over their forms, smaller than this ‘König’, but each equipped with their own weapons and their own scars from battle.

They look from their leader to you, eyes grazing over the plush flesh that your stola dutifully conceals like starved dogs. One of them mutters something in a foreign tongue, harsh and guttural, his eyes never leaving your shape in a display of brazen appraisal.

König responds in turn, voice taking on a lower octave as he all but barks his response: harsh, unyielding language that you couldn’t hope to interpret… but if you had to guess, you were nearly certain that his men were asking who would lift your skirts and have their way with you first.

You depart from them with tentative yet hurried feet, and you don’t look back as you cross across the lush field. There’s no stopping at the stable, not a thought in your head except that you would most assuredly not be returning. The barbarians could have the field, the stream, whatever the city’s officials had allowed them.

Just not you.

It’s Gaius that greets you when you arrive home, to the little villa he had secured for you; to the place that would become less of a home and more of a prison once the two of you were wed. You’re barely a foot in the door when the man’s gaunt face turns to you, his lips set in a stern line.

“Where were you?”

You knew that look, it’s the very same that he gives to his slaves when he’s about to bleat out his orders like an enraged goat, shove them or grab at them to feel less small than he truly is.

Your brow pinches, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as you try in earnest to look the part of an innocent lady who had not just crossed a field and fantasized endlessly of some rude, barbaric oaf.

“In the field. With the horses,” you deliver your half-truth with practiced ease. This wasn’t the first time you’ve lied to him, and it certainly would not be the last. If the protectress of Rome could overlook your stunts and recognize your discomfort in this wretch’s presence… then she might even side with you; save you from a future of sharing this man’s bed.

Gaius relents then— as much as a stoic, old man could. He reaches out to cup your face with one weathered hand and you have to force back to urge to shudder.

It’s not that you mean to be cold, not after all that he’s done to care for you… it just comes as naturally as the seasons and the wills of the gods. Something about him always made you feel ill.

You eventually, tentatively jut your chin forward just a bit to force yourself into leaning toward the touch of his cold hand.

His lips curl into an unsightly grin; then, he pats your cheek and draws away enough to bless you with fresher air to breathe without his withering presence alone contaminating it.

“I brought you a gift, meum corculum.”

“Oh…” Your words come in a little hiss, your heart stuttering in your chest as you teeter back on the heels of your sandals. The straps along your calves feel tighter now, your stola too… maybe even the room itself: everything seems to close in, and you could only silently hope he doesn’t request your affections for doing such. “… you didn’t have to-“

“Nonsense.” Gaius raises both of his hands, arcs them before stepping out of your path to reveal a new dress lying on the wooden table just beyond him, dyed a light blue.

It’s pretty, well-spun and soft-looking… yet you still hesitate a bit when you step closer to run your fingertips over the fabric. It yields beneath your touch, bunches when you move each digit along the pliant linen, and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever touched, maybe even softer than the lambs and kittens you’ve played with in the streets.

“I thought that you might like something nicer to wear during Quinquatria,” he adds from just behind you. You feel his hands trace along your arms, further, until they reach your shoulders and give a gentle, but almost demanding squeeze.

It’s meant to be affectionate and he is your husband-to-be… but he still manages to make you feel ill. It’s only a blessing that he’s never requested more from you than a peck for his offerings to you.

What a man in his late stage of life could see in you, you couldn’t hope to imagine. A fertile womb, likely, and you could only hope that that isn’t also what he saw in the women he kept as slaves in his own home further toward the city’s center. Nosy, dull man that he was, of course he needed to be closer to the housings of banquets and discussions to feel some level of importance while he kept you locked away toward the wall and the slums like some filthy little mystery.

“I’m tired, my love,” you manage, voice thin as you slowly pull yourself away, from both Gaius and the delicate blue thing you would be forced into wearing for the coming festival.

The man balks, but doesn’t push. A few seasons and he would have what he’s awaited for years, the confident gleam in his eyes tells you that he’s certain of it.

It’s difficult to believe that someone you had once considered a hero and a friend could make you feel so much disgust now. You were naïve, then, and now you only feel how those poor horses locked away in the stables must feel, burdened with a constant yearning for your own freedom.

“Then rest.”

When the door shuts behind him, you’re only then able to expel your relief. The weight of what you must do settles upon you, heavy and unyielding, the boulder of Terminus.

You can not marry Gaius. You can not continue to breathe in the stink of the city from its miasmic aqueducts, perfumed only by the crowded marketplace full of mortals so contented with their own tedium. The unknown calls and calls, howling like a mother wolf to guide you. Even with the stories told of what fiends and horrors lie outside of the city you could almost feel with a certainty that you were destined for it.

You light your incense with a lump of coal in the burner of a clay pot. Just cinnamon would have to do for now. You make your peace with that promising Juno whichever sweet, flaking pastry that appeals most during the festival of Minerva.

Though you were more than content with your wish for nothing more to do with the barbarians after meeting with König earlier… he comes rushing back into your mind, rolling and lapping like waves as you begin to prepare yourself for sleep. The polished tin of your hand mirror reflects your face as you twirl the handle in a curled palm and you stare. Did he see beauty or simply a womb…? Had you taken offense to nothing? The questions stir up remorse as you strip away your gown and take to the bed.

Just one more meeting with the foreigner, maybe. Just to say your farewells, wish him luck in future battles, bless his seax and his shield with a touch and a prayer (if he even had the sight to keep any form of defense on his person).

When Quinquatria comes, when the people are busy and satisfied with their food, fortune telling and the gladiator games, you will take your mare and ride off into a sea of stars. Each light will be a point of guidance until you reach the riverbed you’ve only ever dreamt of, until you scale the mountains that sang so sweetly from the goth’s tongue…

And perhaps he will chase you.

— — —

Quinquatria used to be one of your favorite festivals. The fortune tellers were your favorites, always seeming to know so very much with so little insight into your life. Then there were the revelers donning their colorful masks, barking out song with bitter wine painting their tongues.

You try to listen in on them as a woman traces over the patterns in your palm, the curved lines and straight, fine indentations. Palmistry, rather than any proper reading with sacrifices and proper seers stood before a temple. You reason that this is for fun, just like the wine-drinking and the gladiators fighting for their lives and the horrible stink of the city’s streets: natural, reasonable, and dreadfully normal.

The fortune teller hums as she reads you through your hand, laughs a bit when she seems to note a secret or… something. You were not entirely sure. The woman was young, her belly likely as full of fermented fruit as everyone else’s as they dance and crowd the street where you two are stood.

“You’re unhappy, girl,” the woman muses, giving you a sympathetic look before another laugh pulls from her lips.

You give her a nod but don’t say a word as she continues to stroke at your palm. Of course you were, anyone could tell just by the frail look upon your face, as if you were indeed bereft and ready to cry at any moment in this horrible, dainty dress with your betrothed fondling some lady mere paces from you.

“Yet, so lovely,” she continues, nimbly running her fingers to your wrist. She curls them around you, turns your hand over and gives it a soft pat to signify that your reading is done.

“You’re destined for a summer wedding.” Winter, you want to correct. “And your husband… strong and brave like the sacred wolf.” Weak and old, you force back with a clenched jaw.

She releases your wrist with one last assessment, “Juno favors you, sweet girl.”

You want to call her a fraud, but instead you merely part with the bronze you had promised to her. With Gaius preoccupied, his wrinkled hands already tucked beneath the skirt of the other woman’s stola, now would be the best time to wrench the door of your little cage wide open… not make a scene.

Your chest feels tight, and for the first time it isn’t from some unknown fear, it’s excitement. Your heart hammers as the blood stirs within your veins, belly tense and breathing shallow, taking a stiff pace to walk along the shadow untouched by silver paths of moonlight.

There’s a bellow, a wail as the gladiators fight some distance off. Soft words and whispers filtering past like eerie words from something ghastly, moans from a brothel, bells on the wind, the stink of rot and perfume all from all that you’ve known for so long as you leave it all behind.

Your mare is pacing restlessly in the field, her ears flicking and tail swaying behind her. You’ve no saddle, you hadn’t even thought to procure food or any supplies. You’re not even certain that she’s been ridden by anyone, but you coax her over to the wooden fence that your body rests over; hands find the velvety fur of her gray snout, fingers moving to gently caress her mane and ears.

“We are going to be free,” you whisper as your hands curl over her neck. The mare makes her displeasure known immediately, huffing and tensing immediately… and you realize that this isn’t going to work, not without her bucking you off and leaving you injured or dead. You’re not stupid or brazen enough to break a horse or anything, really. Not Gaius. Not…

You would find König. Perhaps you could even trade the Goth for a horse already accustomed to being ridden… he had already revealed his intentions, and he was easy enough on the eyes to entertain the thought.

You give the mare a kiss farewell, right on the softness of her cheek and detach yourself from the fence to wander past the silver field, the gently flowing stream. The water dampens your dress, embeds it’s cold into your very bone where the sandals fail to protect. Spring or not, it’s hardly warm at night, and there are only so many rocks lying in the water to keep you from sinking in.

The clothes are drenched by the time you crawl to the other side. On the opposite bank, it’s only then that you turn back to look over at the city, one final glimpse of a place bathed in gold; cinder and ash from torchlight, flowers and the creeping scent of decay carry on the breeze. Even from the distance you can hear the music, chimes of steel on steel, the laughter and cries of mirth and pleasure.

Begrudgingly, you feel the first seeds of regret plucking at your heartstrings. You’ve nothing to your name apart from a few coins in a pouch strapped to your hip, no weapons, no food. You could die, you verily would if you went at this alone. And still, you force your face forward and continue your steady waltz to look the unknown straight in its bloody maw.

You won’t panic, won’t fear. Whatever awaits would be better— it had to be.

The barbarian camp comes into view some time later. You couldn’t be certain how long you’ve been walking, as though some spirit had plucked the chords of your mind and left you in some confused daze. It couldn’t have been your own desperation. Something greater had to be at play, a proper destiny: one much better than the life of Gaius’s wife, owned like a hound, imprisoned and uninspired.

Though their torches burn, their tents stitched together amalgamations of old pelts and cloth, the air is fresher here. You expected the reek of death, heavy on their skin, bathed in blood and the rot like visions of Mors herself. Instead, you smell smoked meat and wine on the air: a boar and fermented grape, fruit from the surrounding orchards, the heavy scent of men. There’s no celebration here, a few men talking quietly as their eyes wander over what you can only assume to be some sort of map— tactical discussion for their next bloodbath.

You puff your chest and steel your gaze as you walk towards them, expression set not unlike the stern looks your betrothed would give.

Your attempt at intimidation only earns a flicker of hunger in the gazes of these men, and then a bout of grating laughter. They glance at one another, discussing you in hushed voices in their mother tongue before one finally looks to you and asks a simple, “Was?”

“König,” you answer simply. “Where might I find him?”

The question undoubtedly goes uninterpreted, but the name does spark a wave of interest that passes between their faces. Finally, one points toward the tent at the far side of the camp: ugly thing, vast and layered in dark tones of gray and maroon, the very structure is a bleeding animal.

You hear the laughter behind you, the lewd whispers and jeers and only a simpleton wouldn’t be able to interpret the meaning; the titan that heads their little group has a lovely woman seeking him out like a wayward dream, and with adrenaline already coursing through you the thought of spending your night here doesn’t even seem an insulting prospect.

The flap serving as the door of the tent parts as your hands move to lift it, and sure enough… the beast lies in wait in his den, seated on a mattress made up entirely of fur. His hood remains over his head as he traces the carvings on the handle of the seax, under flickering flame and the shadow of the tent König seems further unearthly, god walking amongst men as he toys with his weapon in some strange sort of ritual.

The ritual only seems to be one of boredom, because his eyes light up when they rest over you, standing like a dream as your dress billows with the breeze creeping in. You’re drenched and dirty and pitiful in his presence, but he only seems to soften when he beckons you toward him with a curl of his fingers meeting his palm.

You obey with tentative steps, stopping next to him as he waits on the bed. If it were possible for your heart to seize and halt entirely without you collapsing to sink beneath the earth, it surely would now, so close to him.

“I need a favor,” you explain in whispers. “A horse.”

“A horse,” he repeats as his weapon is set aside, “Warum?”

You don’t want to explain a thing. He’s working with the very men that could drag you back to the city after being paid heavily by Gaius… your trust is blind and foolish and you almost want to break apart right here. How stupid to believe that you could find some solace here, with a giant that walks along the cusp between men and beasts. Your shaking hands reach out to drag along his vast shoulders, lingering on the healed wounds that dent and give rise to his flesh.

“I’ll do what you want,” you offer quietly, earning a pleased rumble from his chest.

Though after a moment, he only sieges your wrists, pulls you down to the mattress at his side. He touches you no further, only stares down at you in a twist of amusement, reverence and confusion.

“Warum?,” he repeats, “Tell me.”

You wind over onto your side, staring up at him with a desperation that you’ve never known until this night, clawing down from your throat to bed it’s way into your roaring pulse, frightened and pleading. Just give in, ask no more, you want to wail to him as your vision begins to blur with tears.

Mercifully, he doesn’t ask again. König lies at your side, mimicking the way you curl onto your side and again… he smiles, though this one is unlike the way he looked upon you by the stream. It lacks that boyish twinkle, the intensity of the lines forming beneath his eyes: it’s more of a pleasantry than anything genuine.

“You are married?”

“What? No…” You swallow hard, toying with a thread that’s begun to pull free from your hip, twirling it between your fingers. “…not yet.”

“Ach… but you belong to another, ja?”

You want to howl out your frustrations up to every god and goddess above, burn through the Elysian with your misery alone. You wish, yearn for the courage to cast off that mask and lure him in with a kiss, erase any memory of Gaius with the kindling of a truer passion.

Your voice doesn’t come, and your fingers steadily pluck at that thread, feeling more unsure of yourself with each passing second.

Again, your bastard god grants his mercy as he raises a hand to cup your jaw, the warmth of him singing away the memory of the weathered hand that had touched you there before. His hand is so much larger, strong and riddled with calluses; you swear that you can feel his own fluttering pulse through his fingertips when they press against your bottom lip.

“Not after tonight,” he hums.

When the shroud is tugged up and his mouth meets your own, König’s kiss is exactly what you had expected: a sloppy, eager clash of teeth and tongue. He steadies you with a hand pressed to the back of your neck as his grunts filter past your own lips. Your eyelids flutter, then close as you allow your mind to finally relax, coaxed into the ethereal with each swipe of his tongue and pleasured sound drawn up from the well of his throat.

He pulls away with a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth, gazing down at you as though he’s been deprived of light for the entirety of his being and had only now met the sacred flame. It’s incomparable to how easily your betrothed would cast his scrutiny; though the hunger is similar, there’s something far more enticing here.

“Do you trust me?”

König’s voice holds no apprehension as he speaks; the question is just as blunt as each bulge of muscle and peek of teeth through the grin on his face, only set aglow by dim candlelight in the tent. You don’t nod, don’t even reply immediately as you stare at him a little dumbly, still intoxicated by the ferocity of his affections.

“… I don’t know.”

He moves a hand over your eyes then, gently presses his palm over you until you’re bathed in such darkness that you shudder. It’s a disconcerting feeling— not because you fear him so much anymore, but because if this were Gaius you would have already been squirming away, rushing to hide. You want to kiss his palm, revel in whatever piece of him he gives to you.

“Sehr schön,” König coos to you in a whisper. You settle further, allowing the tension to leave you almost entirely as you fall into the velvety embrace of all of this darkness and the pelts beneath your back.

He shifts at your side, and almost immediately there’s a cold chill at your collar, something sharp that he rakes over the softness of your flesh, then down, down to snag at the top of your dress. Your gasp is quieted by a kiss as you feel his weight shift over you, and just as you begin to melt into it… the fabric begins to tear, shreds as he guides his blade further, past your breasts and along your sternum, your belly, further.

“Don’t..,” you manage to hiss against his mouth, immediately taken over by the feeling of his tongue lapping at your teeth. Your nipples peak at the sudden chill as your dress lies ruined to either side of your body, thighs trembling as the blade hooks along the linen concealing your maidenhood.

One more generous, gentle cut and that comes away too.

You’re entirely bare when he retreats to your side again, one hand still clutching the blade as he moves his head to lay over your breast and… never, never had you heard of a man lapping and suckling at a woman like a pup, but that’s what he begins to do; his tongue circles over the bud, tugging it between his teeth until you feel the wetness between your legs beginning to drip to smear upon the mattress.

It’s caught, quick, as he turns the blade in his hand to slot its grip against your sex. It’s cold, but his mouth is warm, attentive as he licks between the valley of your breasts to capture your other nipple.

The noises that leave your mouth are filthy, rivaled only by the sounds you’ve heard in brothels… König only seems appreciative of them, muttering praises as he grinds the cold metal against your cunt, careful as the ridges of it graze your throbbing bud, gathering your slick to make the glide that much easier.

When he moves to dive for your breasts again, you cradle his jaw in your hands, peering up at those moonlight eyes in silent pleading as you capture him in another burning kiss.

The blade turns again, its sharpness directed down so as to not bring you any harm as you desperately roll your hips against its coldness. He groans into your mouth, panting softly just as you begin to whine.

You’ve never heard of a man making love to a woman with a weapon… or of one suckling at her as though she’s lactating when she is not, but… it has the desired result when your body tenses and all that can escape you is a frail whisper of his name.

The heat sweeps from your foggy head to your middle as your thighs squeeze around the damned thing and König presses his lips to your temple. You climax for him, chasing wave upon crashing wave of intensity with stilted bucks of your hips. He clicks his tongue in approval when you’ve finished, holds up the seax again, smeared wet with your essence and twinkling as though it had been bathed in the stream once more.

You know with a certainty you’ve lost Juno’s favor. If he chose you to carve you open with his come-stained blade the goddess would not make her descent to save you.

“Gut,” he whispers into your hair. To your horror, maybe even fascination, he raises the dirtied silver to his lips and licks your sweetness from it with another low groan.

“Wh… why would you do that..?” Your rapture feels almost shameful as you watch him lap at the weapon, the long tongue meeting silver only warmed by your heat.

He’s mad, certainly, and you only find yourself further infatuated: you reason that you must be too…

König doesn’t answer you as he sets the seax aside again, not in words. Instead, he cups your face and directs your lips to his own where he laps at your tongue, suckling it in the same way he did your tits. It’s slow and sensual, and you can taste yourself in his mouth, smell yourself on him as his hands find your waist and tug you closer until you’re lying almost entirely over him; one leg thrown over his thigh with your hands splayed over his chest.

The titan is hard beneath the pelt he wears, felt against the plushness of your thigh, the brown fur wrapped around his hips is pushed to rise where it’s harboring something akin to a pillar… but he doesn’t force you to settle over it, makes no attempt to tug it free, despite its throbbing against your leg,

“I needed your blessing,” he mutters, a hand settling over your naked hip, tracing small shapes with his thick fingers. The other finds your shoulder to pull you into a cuddle, pulled so tightly against him that you’re hardly able to discern where your warmth ends and his begins.

“A.. a blessing?” Your voice comes as a trembling croak, head pressed into the gap between a broad shoulder and the column of his throat.

“We are leaving in the morning.”

“Oh…”

“I will give you the horse when I return.”

Your head feels like a mess. You’re not even certain of what you’ve just done— did that count as sex? Would he tell the Roman soldiers he works alongside of how he had convinced some pompous aristocrat’s lovely bride to lustrate his blade with her essence? You could hit him, demand the horse now and bolt, but you only melt against him: eyelashes fluttering as exhaustion takes hold and the tension leaves you entirely.

“That’s all?”

König pets you, running a hand along your spine and back up to repeat. He presses his nose to the crown of your head, nuzzling against it until his hand is freed from your form and only then does it coax its way beneath the fur covering his groin.

He laughs at the weak sound of surprise you elicit when that beast is pulled free, another, thicker weapon curled in his hand. The thickness, the length of it that tapers off to a layer of skin, eager and pulled back from the tip, leaking beads of milky white: something that would surely tear you if he were not careful, and the thought brings you to squeeze your thighs together, concealing the leaking, thrumming thing between.

“I will fuck you when I return, too,” he huffs into your scalp, causing you to further bury your face against him, intent not to let him see the effect his derangement seems to have on you. You would let him bury himself into your chest, steal the breath from your very lungs, but you don’t breathe a word of it. Something tells you it’s a mutual thing, perhaps it was all spelled out for you when he asked for your favor rather than from any of his foreign gods.

You count your undeserved blessings. He seems sated only ruining you with his touch for the time being, you’re very comfortable here, and though you dare not speak it… you do find this brute charming. He speaks where you fail to, whispers of your beauty being like that from myths and dreams.

He doesn’t force you to leave, either, only paws at and squishes your breasts until you squeak and whine your protests, already sore from his teeth leaving their marks all over them. When he tires of his fun, you’re pulled into a crushing embrace where he rests his head against your own, blankets you in himself entirely. You were right… the shadow he casts over you blackens out the sun, moon, stars all of it; dulls the haze of carnality with something far more tender.

Your night becomes entirely made up of König: his scent like forest and sweat, the furs from beasts he’s chased down and slain, his soft breathing and gentle snores when he does fall asleep against you.

No dreams come to you, no lemures to haunt you with their wails and flames. Not even Juno descends to punish you. You’re warm and soft and contented like the kittens curled up in clusters along the streets on cold nights.

It’s the first night of peace you’ve had in some time.

When morning comes, the brightness of the sun peeking through the flaps of the tent, you wake to find König already out of bed. He stands at the far side of the tent, strapping on pelts and gear and the leather pouch filled with wine. His seax is held up in utter revelry, and mortifyingly enough… you immediately note that he hadn’t cleaned away the remnants of what occurred last night either.

When you bring yourself to sit upright, the giant only drops to his knees at your feet and curls his arms around your middle, pressing a kiss to the valley between your breasts through the thick fabric of the hood.

And… it almost hurts, to realize then that this is something you’ve longed for. You’re not arrogant enough to believe yourself worthy of some foreign worship, but he seems to liken you of some devout little acolyte, as if your come and kisses could grant him favor while he butchers poor souls all in favor of your empire: the people he had likely been communing and trading with only months before. Traitorous, mad, utterly enthralling man… You’re not certain whether you want to relieve yourself from him or guide him back into bed for more frenzied pleasures.

“You will stay?,” he murmurs into your skin as his kisses trail up to your neck.

You hadn’t even considered what you would do, it never came to mind, but staying in a shoddy tent in wait for him to return with the horse he’s promised was far from favorable. You’re out from the city, still without food or weapons, your dress and underclothes are a torn ruin on the floor, nothing but the wind and the stream and König’s stinking furs… The bathhouse seems to call to you now more than ever. Your lower lip trembles when you think of returning to that stale place, to be questioned endlessly about your affairs from your ‘doting’ husband-to-be…

Your head shakes solemnly. “I’ll wait for you at home.”

König drags you up onto your feet and closer as he savors in another embrace. You’re cloaked in a gray pelt, tied up and over your shoulders like the gaudiest tunic in the world, but you bur your nose into its shoulder, humming in contentment when you find that it smells just like him.

He’s more confident and proud than you’ve ever seen him now. The filthy blade remains strapped to his hip when he gathers you up to sit at his front on the back of his horse— a dark stallion with a pelt the same shade as the night sky. It doesn’t even seem to flinch at your combined weight, just canters along smoothly as König directs it through the sprawling field and past the stream to lead you back towards the city’s gates.

You’re not thinking of Juno or Gaius or traditions when König cinches your waist with a thick arm to draw you in closer; there’s nothing but fluffy warmth pooling in your chest sent by Venus when you feel his hips shift to press himself against your back. His head dips to kiss at your neck, your burning cheeks, shoulder, anyplace that he can.

When the horse comes to a halt with a sharp tug of its makeshift reigns, some length of rope and twine, his hand is at your rear.

Everything’s incensed and floral when you’re lowered to the ground, when he lifts the hood to grin down at you, not only with his eyes this time. It’s a sheepish, gluttonous grin, drunk off your very presence.

“I will come back for you, meine Göttin.”

And you know now, that the palm reading had been true— there’s your wolf in preparation for a hunt, the man who’s unwittingly aiding you in your pursuit of freedom painted with mountains and vast, blue skies. You will convince him to come away too, lay down the blade you’ve blessed with your pleasure. A summer wedding… far from wars of greed and smirking old men.

Your head swims when he bids you farewell, rides off on his massive horse back to his camp to gather his own men to march. You watch him go, breath caught up in your throat, a burning longing in your chest that you can not entirely dismiss.

The walk of shame only comes when you’ve crossed the threshold separating König’s world from your own.

The stink of the streets immediately washes away any lingering scent of him on your skin, on his pelt you now hide away with your arms curled around your waist.

You catch your reflection in stagnant water held in a pot, swaying and ebbing gently as others breeze past you.

You’re in a foreigner’s clothes that just barely crest your thighs, hair a mess and the carmine you had worn to bring a false blush to your cheeks is smeared over an eye and down to your jaw. You look the part of an adulteress, maybe, even as you dip your hand into the water to wash the makeup from your face.

There isn’t much to be done about the marks left over the hints of your chest revealed beneath the fur, but you make your way home without anyone even bothering to ask. If anything, the festivities from the night prior only seemed to subdue the standard bustle. You could only imagine how exhausted the hungover soldiers may have been as they undoubtedly prepare for the expedition König had mentioned.

That overrides your shame, sobers you from that sugary elation somewhat. You’re worried. It’s not just about König himself, not about the threat of fucking you when he returns left unfulfilled— though, those are enough to make your heart begin it’s hammering, rabbit in the throes of a chase. The horse, too. That proud stallion, your hope of a swift escape before winter comes and it’s all lost. If his drunken allies fail him in battle, if some other barbarian’s spear strikes true and fells your titan then the dream is dispelled into smoke, sunken down to river bed to be lashed away by frothing waters.

Whoever decided that the day after revelry would be the time to move was a fool indeed. The deities couldn’t look at you after last night, you know if they saw their noses would be turned up in disgust… perhaps not Jupiter’s, he’s more guilty than you could ever be, but your offerings had never been for him had they?

You fret and hiss below your breath as you wind your way back to the villa with its white walls and terracotta-tiled roof. The sun bears down on you like the flame of your dreaming. You’re afraid again, letting the lemures find their way in through the gaps in your shivering limbs to haunt your dreams.

Gaius is not there to greet you, likely still recovering from his own fevered night. You’re grateful for that.

The little altar to Juno still stands atop a table in your room, the burner still smells of cinnamon, dried flower petals and a dish of honey still sat there entirely untouched. She hasn’t split it in two, abandoned you, but it does feel that way when you peel away the fur.

Your fingers nudge at the bruises laden into your skin, the marks that look like teeth to either side of your breast. You press into them, gently, immediately feel that coil of heat, and you don’t want to sleep. That fire from your dream only seems to have become a part of you: you know it intimately now, it comes with pleasure and bite marks and a heavy weight harbored in your chest.

You cinch your waist and tie your stola at your shoulder, brush your hair out with a comb made of ivory. You rub your bruises with a salve made of honey, bandage up what you can and hide away what you can’t by tugging up your breast band.

The same as any other day, you take to the streets of the city and peruse the marketplace, take to the empty bathhouse to wash away all that’s consumed you over the past day. And you watch the soldiers go as they march through the streets, women and children waving away their fathers and brothers with prayers and sentimental words.

They don themselves in red, clutching their gladiuses, spears and heavy shields as they filter out and away where your very being longs to be. Their faces are giddy, almost: the prospect of pillaging and felling each enemy another delightful treat just like those found in the gladiator pits and amidst rolling with the whores in their brothel beds. You can not hope to understand their mirth, the happiness in any of the civilians either.

You watch them leave wistfully, lips pressed to a thin line, fingers digging into the waist of the stola. You down your fair share of the wine Gaius has left in your cellar. The day merely passes you by, the sewing left undone on the floor, altar bathed in cinnamon and saffron as you make your prayers and beg like any dog.

The mattress feels lonely and sad without the warmth of a body made for war curled against you, without his breath in your hair and his arms wrapped around you. It’s cold, too, and far harder than his, all straw and thin sheets. None of this feels like home.

Your eyes eventually close as the last of the sun’s rays begin to die, blotted out by the dark, untouched by torchlight.

You dream of fire.

#könig #könig x reader #könig x you #konig x reader #konig #konig x you #cod fanfiction #f: only other #tw: dubcon

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inkyajax · 17 days

Text

compulsive consumption

character: sunday warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, messy sleepy sex, dubcon at the start (somnophilia), extremely codependent relationship, a hint of a daddy kink, size kink/size difference, a lil bit of blood, overstimulation, creampie words: 2.3k

notes: maisie said exhausted almost asleep sex with sunday and somehow, this is what transpired

It’s become a ritual at this point; something special, something sacred, a ceremony you ardently anticipate each and every night, a sumptuous way to conclude the day and enter into sleep.

Because Sunday’s work day is long, tiring and tedious, and too often are there instances where you don’t see him at all—not a flash of silver-blue hair, nor a glimpse of ivory feathers—during your waking hours.

But he always comes back to you in the deep of night, after the moon as passed its highest point in the sky, after you’ve slipped into a fitful dreamland, incomplete without its master.

This you can be sure of. This you can expect eternally, always.

He’s dead on his feet by the time he returns to the sanctuary of your shared bed, linen steeped in your scent, engulfing him in a sweet embrace the moment he burrows between the sheets.

But it’ll never compare to the real thing.

Large hands snake through the fabric, navigating it expertly, as they’ve done every single night before, as they’ll do every single night after.

You’re wearing one of those lace-trimmed silk babydolls that he loves so much, shimmery material pooling around his wrists in bunched waves as eager palms slip beneath the garment. Lithe fingers curl around your hips, nails nipping the skin in a way that’s almost tender, embedding themselves in your flesh as Sunday anchors a good grasp.

No panties—good girl.

Then he’s tugging you toward him, your limp body obeying easily, a soft noise vibrating deep in your throat. Little hands grope instinctually at the air, clawing at nothing in search for him, before you roll toward his heat, a moth to a flame, a bee to honey, an addict to their fix.

Instinctual, automatic, right.

“Sunny?”

“I’m here, darling,” he nuzzles into your cheek, ribcage expanding against your torso as he inhales, deep and hungry. A slow exhale follows, as if he’s savouring the scent, intertwined with a soft hum. “I’m here.”

No other words are spoken as he shoves at his waistband, freeing his incessantly aching cock, one palm splayed on the mattress by your shoulder, keeping him precariously hovering above you, the other curling around the base of his cock, squeezing twice.

He’s been thinking about this. He’s always thinking about this.

It’s an insatiable craving that inevitably (and predictably) begins to flare up a few hours before it’s time for him to retire; an unbearable itch birthed behind his sternum, clawing at his heart, growing, spreading, infecting each limb and organ as time ticks by so that it has enveloped his entire form in torrid yearning for you the moment he’s off the clock.

The blood in his veins prickles, surges with each step that carries him closer to his lover, almost as if it’s attempting to escape, becoming fervent at the thought of being close to you.

The only reprieve to be found is when he sinks into your sweet cunt—ill-prepared, Sunday’s desperation casting a dense haze of lust over his brain; a sick pressure pressing against the walls of his skull, rendering logic incoherent and unnecessary, reducing him to something primal and salivating.

Delicate skin stretches, strains, splits as your body opens itself up for his cock, a soft hiss inhaled through the gaps of your teeth, jaw clenching with the action.

“I know, I know, I’m almost in,” he soothes, voice already gone hoarse from the way your body swallows him down, cunt gorging itself on his cock, cute little hole fluttering around his shaft as he bottoms out, almost as if it’s striving to suck him in further, draw him in deeper.

Greedy little thing.

He always allows himself a moment to bask in the feeling—to bask in the warmth of your body wrapped around his in the most intimate, complete sense: cockhead pressed snuggly to your cervix, your thighs embracing either side of his hips, your ankles instinctually linking behind his back in a possessive grip, heels digging into the dimples cushioning the base of his spine as they try to push him in more.

A sigh decompresses his chest, his body draping itself over yours as all of the trials and tribulations of the day seep from his pores, your cunt an automatic remedy, an instant rhapsody.

You’re drooling all over him, he can feel it—eager slick that pools around the base of his cock and streams down to puddle in the folds of his balls. It’s awe-inspiring, the way your body immediately reacts to his own—you’ve already soaked him, neatly trimmed silver curls dewy and glistening as they sop up your slick, and he’s done nothing more than fill you up with his flesh.

A moan pries its way past his lips, an involuntary reaction, his hips grinding down into you, smearing your arousal across his skin in a thick glaze. It’s slippery, his pelvis gliding against your body with fluid ease, pubic bone rolling over your swollen clit in slow, hard motions.

You’re murmuring something, pleads wadded up between your molars, gurgling on the back of your tongue as you burrow your face into his shoulder.

“Okay, okay, sweet girl,” he’s pacifying, the mattress dipping as his knees dig into it, bare palms running along your thighs in a smooth, tender caress.

Nimble fingers hook behind your knees, gently unlatching your legs from around his waist and pushing them up, up, up, until your thighs are on either side of your torso and your heels are resting on his shoulders.

And then, he begins.

There’s no gradual build up, no anticipation or teasing—neither of you have the patience or restraint for that; not tonight, not ever—and his pace is ruthless right from the start, his thrusts kept quick and deep as his hips piston into you.

The harmony of wet, sticky slaps fills the room, intertwined with your little whines and his husky growls as his balls, thoroughly drenched in your essence, smack against your ass, a sordid metronome.

Sugar-stained breath wafts across your face in dense pants as his body shrouds yours again, crushing your thighs between heaving chests, the tops of your toes curling around the nape of his neck. The mattress dents further beneath his knees, strong muscles flexing as his rutting accelerates, the head of his cock grinding against your g-spot in harsh, shallow jabs.

His name oozes from your lips, thick and lazy and swathed in spit, bastardized by his motions into a single syllable, your tongue never quite able to get the word out. It sounds like you’re drowning in it, almost, a precious garble of Sun-Su-Da-ay collecting at the back of your throat, sliced to pieces by pleasure.

Lashes fluttering against drowsiness, your head raises off the pillow, yearning to string a smattering of sloppy kisses along his jawline. Sunday hums, head quirking to the side and presenting to you his stretched neck, a silent request for more.

And you obey, like the perfect little angel you are, tongue following the curve of his neck in one smooth, flat, fluid brush—from the hinge of his jaw to the protruding knob of his collarbone. It gleams in the dim light and you sigh a little, proud of your work. He looks so pretty painted in strokes of you.

Soft lips follow the path of saliva back up his throat, sealing yourself into his skin and giggling sleepily at the quivery little whine your motions evoke, Sunday nestling clumsily into your kiss.

Silver-blue tufts cling to his temples and his forehead, plastered with sweat into defined points, his sunset eyes gone dark and glimmering, framed by heavy lids drooping beneath the combined weight of exhaustion and ecstasy.

Despite the fatigue of the day, of his duties and obligations, he’s still absolutely ethereal, glowing in the radiance of your combined love, reinvigorated bit by bit with every sound he manages to tug from your throat—precious little moans and broken little gasps that he breathes in, gulps down, devours in time with the pumping of his hips.

They’re traded in exchange for sounds of his own, quiet whimpers and soft grunts exhaled onto your waiting, wanting tongue with every plunge of his cock. The appendage curls, hugging the sounds, melting them in the heat of your mouth and steeping your tastebuds with him before it darts back out again, tip lapping ravenously at his parted lips—tracing along his cupid’s bow, licking at the edges of his teeth, teasingly brushing the point of his own tongue, enticing it to come out and play.

That earns you a chuckle, something wispy and warm spilling down your throat, genuine amusement molding his mouth into an open grin.

He gives you what you want, tongue lolling out from between spit-slicked lips—an offering to you, and one you take gladly, greedily, suckling it into your scorching mouth to wreathe your own tongue around it in a slippery embrace.

A shudder ripples through his flesh, muscles seizing, and he whines low and needy in his throat, the only warning you get before he’s surging forward, front teeth clacking against your own, pinched lips splitting between sharp enamel.

Copper floods his mouth, tangy and pungent, but it does not deter him, his own tongue charging at yours with such force you nearly choke on it. You swear he’s attempting to lick down your throat, tongue jammed at the back of your mouth and sweeping across it, as if it’s desperate to venture deeper.

His breath his hot against your face, ragged pants exhaled through his nostrils beading on your cheeks and upper lip. The snapping of his hips has turned vicious, voracious, fucking into you in time with his tongue, stuffing you full from both ends.

It’s a divine sensation, being so filled up with Sunday—whole, right, one, like you were incomplete before this moment, and will be incomplete after he’s gone, something vital missing—and you keep trying to siphon him in further, throat constricting as it swallows around the tip of his tongue.

He wants to give you more, front lips mashed between sharp incisors as his mouth shoves forward, another spritz of blood—yours, his, doesn’t matter—smearing across chins, sticky and watered down with saliva, a pale pink glaze.

But his lungs are burning, huffs of breath tangling together within your conjoined mouths and scarfing down each other’s air, coughing around your lover’s exhales while oxygen slowly but steadily dissipates.

He breaks apart with a discontented whine of his own, clammy forehead resting against yours as you each gulp down air, stuttered and wheezing. Wrecked, raw little noises spill into the space between your lips, continuously shattering your attempted inhales, fucked from your chests with the wild bucking of his hips.

Rapture has been building within the both of you, brought closer and closer by each drive of his cock, each drag over that swollen spot deep within you, each teasing drift of your clit over his skin, his thrusts turned jerky and desperate as he chases that bliss, as he endeavours to deliver it to you.

“Please,” you’re begging for it, the one thing only he can give you, a single piece of heaven, of him, carved from his soul and gifted to you every night. “Please, Daddy, please, please—”

He’s nodding against you in short, swift motions, forehead grinding into your own, his tongue laving messily at your lips, as if attempting to sop up the remnants of your moans.

“I love you,” he manages to gasp out, rhythm never faltering, each ram into you harder and faster than the last. “I love you, I love you, I—a-ah—”

Hot cream fills your cunt suddenly, his cock throbbing almost viciously as it spurts endless loads of cum into you—so much, too much; your little womb can’t nearly take it all, stuffed and bulging before finally overflowing with his seed, thickly dribbling past the tight seal of his cock to gather in the ridges of the sheets, little rivers of silky white slowly seeping into crisp linen.

He always cums quick during these nightly rituals; you both do, too eager to have one another—a piece of one another—buried within you, or sheathing hard flesh and soaking into it, saturating it with your essence.

But it doesn’t stop there, because you can’t, because it is not and never will be quite enough to satisfy the ravenous craving you each harbour for one another. His hips don’t still, won’t still, not even after he’s emptied his balls into you and milked himself dry, jolting in erratic, juddering motions.

Your own pelvis rolls up in lazy ruts and sloppy circles, half-baked sounds of pleasure drivelling from the corner of your mouth with sleepy spit. Sunday has since collapsed on top of you, his weight pleasant and grounding, his breath a humid constant against your sticky skin. His palms outline the contours of your body as his hips rock, fingers sinking into plush flesh to knead and grope in appreciation. Delicate vessels snap beneath his grip, tissues flooded with navy and violet, leaving a smattering of fingerprints seared into your flesh.

You fuck until you’re both layered in sweat and slick, bodies gliding together effortlessly in smooth, wet movements, skin shimmering with one another beneath beams of silver. You fuck until your cunt is raw and puffy, chafed from the ceaseless rubbing, until you’re both sucking in hisses and jittering out strained whines from the shocks of overstimulation, routinely coursing through your frames in thick electric waves.

You fuck until you’re both too exhausted to continue, pathetic humping slowing to something tender and sporadic before it finally halts completely, Sunday still buried to the hilt, and you fall asleep stained with each other—you in his sweat and his breath and his fractured, hummed out moans; him in your cunt with evidence of your conjoined arousal glazing his pelvis and his thighs and his balls, sticky sweet like syrup.

It is the most blissful heaven either of you could ever dream of, nothing more pure than the ecstasy of entering sweet dreams submerged in one another, saturated with one another, bodies stitched together into a singular, perfect entity, breathing and being as one.

#sunday smut #sunday x reader #sunday x you #sunday x y/n #hsr smut #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr sunday #inky.sunday

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juletheghoul · 2 months

Text

unclean

a/n: Honestly, you can blame my period for this one. I took a huge liberty because usually women on their periods in this time weren't treated the way they should have been, also took an educated guess at forms of relief. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for losing her mind with me, thanks my love! 🩷Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus not being a little bitch about periods, creampie, blood & mess lets be real, boob worship, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.4k

reblogs are appreciated

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The wince came without your permission, your face twisting in discomfort as you poured his wine, pausing for a moment to steady yourself; thankfully without spilling a drop.

“Are you hurt, girl?” You unclench your eyes and find him staring at you with a frown, no doubt confused by your expression.

“Apologies Dominus, it is nothing.” You bow your head but hiss nonetheless and he puts down the bread.

“Answer me truthfully girl, what pains you?” His eyes are intent and for a moment you cannot tell if it is annoyance or worry that twists his features. Heat rushes to your face, men usually don’t take the news well when they are reminded of the troubles of the opposite sex. You fidget, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth while you gather your wits.

“It is just, my blood will flow soon Dominus. Sometimes the pain precedes it.” You bow your head and stare at the floor by his feet, gearing up for the usual responses you’d get from the men you’ve served, anger, or disgust. He says nothing, but when you look up he nods once. “I will retreat to my chambers soon. I will send someone else to tend to you if it pleases you, Dominus.”

“I require nothing further, you may tend to your needs.” He dismisses you gracefully, much more so than any other you’ve served and it’s as though a heavy weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

The blood does not dull the pain.

Hours after confessing to your Dominus, you can do nothing more than curl up in your bed, and suffer in silence. One of the older women had boiled some water for you to dip a flat stone, place it on your belly for relief and it had worked wonders for a time but both the water and the stone had gone cold ages ago. All that was left to do was grit your teeth and bear it.

You cannot help but crave him even more, with the blood flowing, your lower back and breasts aching, and your insides twisting, the pleasure of his cock seemed like the miracle that could cure you. Men didn’t do that though, women all knew it was nothing more than what the female body did, but men–society deemed it unclean. And so you had to endure, without the relief of his body or his gift. Still, you couldn’t help but be grateful for him, he did not protest to the women in his service sequestering themselves until it passed. He did not ask questions, he did not balk at the talk of pain.

The first day passed, and the second found you in more agony. The second was the worst for you, when the blood was the heaviest, and the discomfort grew nearly unbearable.

The women brought you hot soups and wine warmed with spices, boiled water for the stone and clean rags for the mess. You thanked them, with tears in your eyes and they nodded and left you to your misery. You slept when you could, but when the night came, sleep had become a stranger, and all you could do was pray to all of the Gods to either take the pain, or take your life.

Your door opened late into the night and you thought one of the women had brought more hot water but it was him, your Dominus, standing at the threshold to your modest chamber bathed in soft candlelight and shadow.

“Dominus-” You struggled, moving to stand too quickly and falling back to sit on your bed. “Apologies Dominus, what-” He held up his hands to forestall your speech.

“Peace, girl, I am not here to ask anything of you.” He came in and closed the door, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I heard one of the women speaking about you, she said you were suffering a great deal.”

“I am well, Dominus.” You could barely keep the grimace off your face.

“Do not lie to me, girl, I can see the agony.” He approached slowly, he’d already prepared for bed and wore a simple tunic. “I have heard it said that pleasure often eases the pain, but I will not force the issue if you do not desire it.” You stared up at him, confusion creeping into your pain-addled mind. He stood, staring at you, for all intents and purposes a gift from the Gods in himself. “Would you like me to help you?”

“I– but you are not… the blood does not bother you, Dominus? I am unclean–” He raised his arms once more, a frown arranged on his features.

“Blood has never bothered me, girl.” You droop with relief, tears springing to your eyes and an altogether different ache building between your legs. “You need it don’t you, you need me to take the pain away, hm?” He speaks softly again and all you can do is nod, pitifully. He stands before you, taking in the unruly state of you and for a moment you think you can almost see a soft affection on his face. His thumb swipes against the plump of your lower lip softly, “How do you desire it? Soft? With kisses and gentle touches?” he holds your chin between his pinched fingers, tilting your face up to gaze into his dark eyes, “Or do you desire it more forceful? How do you need me to fuck you?”

Tears well, and you’re not sure if it’s the softness in his voice or the relief so clearly visible on the horizon, but you swallow around the lump of gratitude in your throat. “I want it all, Dominus,” you hold onto his forearm, afraid that if you don’t make contact with him, he might evaporate like dew in the morning. “I want kisses, and gentle touches but I want force as well, I need your gift to ease the pain.”

“And you shall have it, my brave girl.” He reaches down, carefully pulling your tunic up and off and your nipples harden almost painfully. He slips his hand down, palming your breast softly, “Do they hurt too much for my attention?” soft as a breeze, his thumb strums at the sensitive tip of your breast and you bite your lip.

“They ache, but I do not wish for you to stop.” You bring his other hand to your other breast, sighing at the tenderness in his touch.

“I will be mindful.” He pulls away for a moment to undress and the sight of his cock standing at full mast is enough to make you whimper. “Patience, girl. You will have it soon enough, as deep as I can get.” You nod, but all at once you realize where you are.

“You wish to have me here? My bed is not as lush as yours-” He sees slight embarrassment on your face and he waves it away.

“This is my house, girl, I will have you where I please.”

You move back with a wince and he follows, discarding the soiled rag tucked between your legs without so much as a flinch and whatever feelings of devotion, of loyalty or possibly obsession you have for him grow to greater and greater strength. He settles between your spread thighs and just the warm heft of him is soothing, the heat of his skin on your belly, the heavy press of his cock on your sex like a balm.

Wordlessly he presses his lips to yours, soft, and then not so soft and his tongue explores your mouth, he tastes of wine and dark ripe fruit and you cannot help but wrap your arms around his neck, thread your fingers through his thick waves and whimper. His lips travel, mapping out their course across your skin, down the column of your neck, the base of your throat until he takes your breast in gentle hand and licks at the peak and the moan escapes your lips without your leave. He moves to the other and showers it with the same affection, both breasts shiny with his spit and your cunt melts for him like frost in the face of the sun. You can feel the way he coats himself in your want, his cock slipping between the lips of your sex. He continues to worship your breasts, licking soft like a kitten, and then sucking the tip into his mouth until you cannot take it anymore.

“Please Dominus,” Your voice breaks when he lets go of your nipple with a pop, enjoying the way you writhe underneath him. “I need it, I need your cock.” He kisses at your breast again before slipping his hand down, and finally slipping into the wet clutch of your cunt. “Gods above, yes, yes yes, please Dominus-” You’re breathless, the feel of him is good enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull.

“Yes, I know girl, I’m right here.” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust and the moan you let out is obscene. “This little cunt is going to behave for me, isn’t it?” His lips barely touch yours, speaking the words into your mouth; his words, his rhythm making you drip onto the fabric below. The sounds between your legs are vulgar, wet and far more appealing than any music in the world, but it is not enough. You let out a whine, pitiful and painful and he frowns. “Is it not enough?” There is no anger, only the quest for truth in his tone and you shake your head, heartbroken and shaking with need. He pulls away, and you let out a cry of anguish and clutch to him, if he left you like this you don’t think you’d survive. “Peace, girl. We will change our positioning so I can give it to you how you need it.”

When he pulls away, your eyes widen in shock and horror. Your blood has smeared all over him, his cock, his groin, spreading up almost to his belly, it collects at the mouth of your cunt and when you look down it is all over your inner thighs, the scene looking more like a battle than a bedding. He shakes his head, raising a hand to stop the apology before it is given.

“This does not frighten me, girl. This is not the first time I have been covered in the blood of another, and it will not be the last. Turn around, I would have you on your hands and knees.” You nod, and with a wince you rush to comply, presenting your backside to him and within a moment he has pulled your hips back to meet his, his cock entering you with no resistance and from this angle he knocks the wind out of you. “There it is, this is the answer, yes?” He thrusts again forcefully and a sound you’ve never heard comes out of your mouth, a dark, wanton noise and it only proves him right.

“Yes Dominus, please, like this–” you don’t finish your sentence because he pulls back and punches forward again with enough force to rock your bed. Your head drops, your back arching and he sets a brutal pace. Tears slip out from the corners of your eyes, trapped between where your face presses against the back of your forearms and you think for a moment that nothing has ever felt better.

He grunts, and for a handful of minutes the only sounds are your combined heavy breathing, the wet squelch between your legs, and the rhythmic rocking of your bed. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise but it matters not, the pleasure is too great, the relief of his cock is a sign that the Gods are real and that they have sent him to you.

You reach underneath, gasping at the feel of your cunt spread wide to take him and at just how wet you are. The engorged little pearl of your pleasure begs for attention, and you cannot deny it. With a handful of swirls you seize up, screaming through your climax and he groans as the fist of your cunt squeezes him tight, making him slow slightly but he doesn’t stop. Your knees give out for a moment but he doesn’t let you falter.

“I am not finished with you yet, this little cunt will take what I give her.” His grip tightens and he lifts you back up into position. Fucking you through your flutters, “You will give me another, girl, you will squeeze my cock again, only then will I give you my gift.” He’s breathless, maneuvering his hand around to reach between your legs while he drapes himself against your back. His fingers manipulate you rougher than you did, forcing another climax out of you while his hips drive his cock deep enough to kiss your womb.

The second climax is more intense and lasts longer and the force of it milks him dry. You feel him empty himself with a punched-out groan, collapsing onto you once his cock twitches for the last time.

Everything is silent, and for a moment, you think you might have gone onto the afterlife but then he shifts and you take a deep, steadying breath. The relaxation is so great you are afraid to move, afraid that any engagement of your muscles might result in the pain returning and so you stay still as he pulls out. You will clean once he is gone but he shocks you again when you feel a cool cloth on the skin of your backside.

“Dominus, I can–” You turn your head to him slowly but he shakes his head. The tenderness in his hands not reaching his face.

“Silence, girl.” He says nothing else, but dips the cloth into the basin of water again and rings it out, cleansing the mess between your legs silently. “I expect you to let me know the next time you are in pain.” Once he is satisfied with his task, he dips the cloth again, and uses it on himself and there is something about seeing him do this that is unnatural, you cannot help but stare. He is quick; utilitarian.

He drops the used cloth back into the basin, grabs his tunic and slips out of your room without so much as a glance but it matters not, you are asleep before he shuts the door.

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