#bandit/vigil | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nouearth · 4 months ago

Text

dancing with wolves.

pairing. glen powell x male reader.

word count. 8.8k.

summary. journeying from town to town provided glen a solitude he’d always dreamed of. however, since meeting you, it was all he could complain about.

content warning. smut, western!au, top!glen, yearning!glen, loner!glen, bottom!reader, prostitute!reader, love confession, established relationship, passionate love-making, gagging, deep-throating, handjob (r!receiving), blowjob (r!giving), spanking, overstimulation, milking, anal penetration, breeding.

Cases of whiskey and cider were stacked in a column of two. Six units per beverage, twelve in total as Glen triple-checked the count and label. Though he’d never made a mistake in his deliveries before, it was his vigilance that maintained his good repute amongst the townsfolk. His attentiveness and efficiency in deliveries allowed for trust to be built between him and the towns he’d distribute to.

Months and more, the head of these establishments he’d work with didn’t seem to mind Glen’s uptight and reserved nature. Rather, they were used to it. Penned him as ‘Gunpowder’ because of their inability to see through him, as if the smoke from deflagrated gunpowder had impaired their vision.

As long as the goods were delivered in mint condition, who was to complain that the brooding man marched right on out after receiving his payment without uttering a single word?

Not to mention, his sturdy build was a warning itself to those who’d dared.

“Nearly doubled the shipment from last time.” It was an observation noted to himself. A low mutter that the owner of the saloon caught with a smile, because frankly, the mustached man was known to run the folk’s ears off.

There was a reason why he owned a saloon, and not Glen.

He dropped his payment into his drawstring bag and tucked it into the inside pocket of his shirt. Crime was growing rampant, even in a bustling town like New Vale where a dust storm couldn’t ward off its folks from drinking into the night. Glen wasn’t sure what to make of it. Whether to call them idiots for ignoring the highly alarming signs of bandits gradually killing their way to the west, or brave for living their lives without a single regret.

One would’ve had the same vacillation between labeling Glen as an idiot or a man, for traveling 40 miles and more in his saddle, while the threat of murders loomed over his head. “God damn, I did! Business been growin’ ever since we’d expanded to include the whores. The fellas can’t keep their hands off of them!” Glen’s ears pricked up from the way the shorter man described the main attraction to his saloon. The man was practically ascending to heaven, tugging on the straps of his suspenders to ground him to the wooden flooring while he boasted about how much of a brilliant man he was for charging patrons by the hour, and taking a percentage of a prostitute’s pay.

All Glen could do was watch in stoic disgust while the man relished in his own pride, in his own greed.

Though, only for a few seconds before a feeling of guilt and shame took over Glen’s conscious, calling him out on his hypocrisy, on this selfish desire that all the men in the saloon had collectively shared.

He wasn’t much of a better man than the drunkard swaying in his seat, completely shit-faced with a shot glass in his grasp.

Glen tucked his hands into his pockets, leaned to the man’s ear, and lowered his voice to a hush. “The boy in today?”

Coincidentally, he felt a spare coin in his left pocket. The silver ridges scorched his skin like it had come straight from the devil’s fountain, prodding his urges.

“Should be cleaning out back, but I’ll let ‘em know you’re here. You know his room.” The man collected the single coin with a smug grin and tipped his hat. “Nice doing business with ya, and… get y’self a drink. On the house. I’m beginning to treasure your presence.” The march of his steps out to the back were resonant, even with the ragged rhythm of the piano blaring in Glen’s ears as he walked for the stairs.

- - -

The room was left as Glen remembered it.

The thin walls closed in on the oil lamps mounted on the walls. It didn’t take much to light up the room. As bright as candles could be lit, it only emphasized how truly compact the space was. Glen couldn’t imagine that no more than two men could be comfortable standing in this lodging, let alone reside in it. Luckily, Glen was a simple man. He hung his coat on the wall and took his boots off, a much needed relief from the compression at his feet, and he felt satisfied sitting on the miserable mattress. Not from the space, no. Not when he could hear other patrons like him revel in their own pleasure, albeit muffled by the thin walls.

No. It was because he got to see his boy again. Twice a month, like how it had been for almost a year now, and Glen could feel the two weeks of labor thanking him as a huge weight seemingly lifted off his shoulders.

Traveling from town to town and shipping out whiskey and cider didn’t take much of a toll on his body like herding cattle, but it was uninspiring. Sight-seeing was tranquil, but the sun was beating down on him harder this month. It was tiring. Always on his saddle, on his feet, and now with the threat of robberies ramping, on the defensive, all without so much of a break.

It was lonely.

And though it was his own fault, it made the moment of seeing his boy all the more special.

Touching you was even more cathartic than he’d like to admit.

Two hard knocks, a beat, then three more, and the door opened.

“You sleepin’ already, Bighorn?” You teased, chuckling to yourself when you could see Glen rise from his position as you locked the door.

Bighorn. The endearment made Glen chuckle.

Glen watched you come into the light as his elbows supported his body, legs extended to stretch the tight muscles in his thighs and calves. A button-up and suspenders, your typical attire as a novice cook. It had to be illegal to look this striking in hand-me-downs covered in flour.

“A second longer, and I would’ve demanded for a refund.” Glen quipped with a simple grin. It was all natural, his body responding to your approach by gathering himself onto his feet. You worked him in mysterious ways. Every step you took, Glen met you half-way.

Yearn weighted Glen’s heart to match the heaviness of your boots scraping against the floor until you stopped. He stopped in his tracks after, your wide smile reflecting off of his simpler grin, and Glen remained silent, taking you all in with the removal of his hat.

It wasn’t the first time his eyes ever tracked a man, nor was it the first time his heart ever sped up, but you had this power, this presence, that made him feel anew with the way you looked at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest close to his own.

Surely, he knew he wasn’t going crazy feeling like his affection for you had shot up like a bull for the past month. And the month before that.

And the month before that.

“And I would’ve made it up by makin’ sure you get the best sleep of your life. How’s that sound?” You met his eye level, unabashedly smiling wider than you had ever greeted him before.

He felt flat, like he’d been hit by the train itself. A sharp jolt that sent goosebumps all over his skin, and it was like you read into his soul, because your hands roamed around his body, warding off the tiny prickles over his skin with a caress to his broad chest, over his forearms, against his neck.

It didn’t take long for Glen to realize you were the curator of the bumps on his skin.

“Sounds like an overpromise...” Glen chuckled along with you, his larger hands feeling up your waist, backside, then to your arse, where they felt perfectly at home in his palms. His gaze was just as curious, peeking at the collar of your shirt that revealed the smallest amount of your neck. To your lips, marveling over ruby flesh he’d often daydream about while riding across the plains.

It was becoming a routine. Where the weeks leading up to the end the month felt like the world had a vengeance against you, and this month was surely taking out its worst out on you.

“You got a haircut.” Glen noticed the shorter length of your hair, pushing it back with a swoop of his hand. He then took ahold of your jaw, maneuvering it cheek by cheek to stoically marvel over your cut.

“Was gettin’ hot. Boss man didn’t like how it collected sweat.” Your fingers worked around his collar, unfurling the fold, then folding it back into place. “You like it?”

“I can see your face clearer. You look good.” Glen’s fingers raked through your hair once before messily ruffling it. You responded with a shove to his chest, knocking him back onto the bed with an unexpected laugh. “Guess I didn’t need to worry about whether you were eating or not. Christ, you gettin’ stronger too.”

A dull ache settled in his chest. He wanted to say something more than, “You look good.”

No, it fit you. The trimmed hairs on the sides matched how blunt you could be.

“You bring any gifts for me?”

“You’re sweaty, and that makes me aroused.”

“You pushing 40. That only makes me want you even more.”

“No one can fill my mouth like you do, Glen.”

On the contrary, it also framed your face like you were an angel who didn’t spout nonsense that would render him speechless. Though, he’d gotten used to that now. It made you all the more endearing, how someone could look as passive as you, have a mouth like that.

“Bastard’s been pushing more tasks onto me since business been growing. Same pay too. Man is too cheap to hire another employee. Don’t think I look any different though.” It took all the energy out of him to not sigh when you straddled his lap. He was swelling nicely beneath you, harder and thicker the more you rut your arse against him. “Or… maybe you’re just getting weaker?”

Glen rolled his eyes. “Don’t get so cocky, boy. Wouldn’t want me to beat it out of you, would you?” Your breath hitched when his palm struck down on your left ass cheek as a warning. It was effortlessly done, yet the subtle sting was more than enough to pull a groan out of you.

You brazened yourself, narrowing your eyes into his drawn gaze as you leaned closer, and pulled him halfway up by the collar. “Not if you call that a beatin’.” Your lips grazed against his, and just when Glen leaned closer, you pulled away and resumed your ruts, pushing your arse back onto his palms simultaneously.

“You gon’ regret that.” It was animalistic. The way you drove your hips into him, and the way Glen desperately responded back, groping your ass hard and pushing you flushed to his groin, to the weight of his bulge. He buried his groans into your neck, biting a patch of skin that would draw out whimpers in between your taunts.

“I ain’t regret nothin’-“ A loud yelp slipped from your mouth. His palm suddenly came down on your ass again. Harder, like the snap of lighting had bit into your skin. It shuddered you to think that it had hurt as much as it did while you were clothed. Yet, that didn’t stop you from unbuckling and drawing out your belt, and then Glen’s.

“That the best you got? Like a bee-sting. I ain’t impressed.” You muttered into his neck, kissing at the hot flush of skin after stripping you and Glen down to undergarments. Gradually, you worked his top off, licking and kissing every show of skin that would meet your lips, until he was deliciously bare-chested before you.

“I’ll break your damn ass if I have to.” Glen said through gritted teeth. His arms were folded behind his head, cushioning it while he watched your mouth worship every contour of his body like he was a king. Your mouth would latch onto one side of his ribs, suckling on a freckle, while the other admired his abdomen with several, drunken strokes. It took the trail of his stomach hair to pivot your mouth lower, to slip your hand into the opening of his drawers until it was inevitably full with Glen’s semi-hard cock, meaty and thick in your palm.

“You spendin’ the night?” Your ears perked up at the sound of his groans, your gaze followed the source. He was clearly desperate for more than the laze of your strokes as your grasp was loose and open, favoring to feel around his cock than against.

“That’s what I paid for.” His hips bucked once you began massaging his cock, throbbing harder in the palm of your hand.

“I’ll make sure it’s worthwhile, then.” With one hand continuing to knead at the tender muscle, you stripped the drawers off of his body, tossing it onto a pile of clothing in the corner.

“Look at me when you talkin’.” It came out more aggressive than he’d like it to, but your eyes lit up when he caught your gaze, a smoldering smile plastered across your face while you stroked him with your knees pressed to the mattress.

“You stressed or what? Don’t usually talk like this to me.” Stripping yourself bare, you resumed tending to his cock after, gulping at the unholy sight of the meaty tool drooling with a thick and ample amount of pre-cum that would surely stain the flooring if you hadn’t caught the sticky rope with your tongue.

You looked extra handsome tonight, Glen thought. Maybe it was the haircut working wonders on him. Making him act all crazy like he’d been bewitched. One strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead when you spat on his cock, and had your grasp around him not remind him, he would’ve forgotten to breathe.

“Just been thinking about my boy. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” You lapped up his cock while he struggled to pour out his words. It was like molasses, the way he’d pause himself to say the right thing so he wouldn’t scare you. Coincidentally, you seemed to be enjoying the taste of his pre-cum like it was molasses as well, sucking it out him with sunken cheeks.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about filling that filthy mouth of yours with even more filth.” He hissed as you began tonguing his slit.

“Y’know how much I love the taste of your seed.” You dragged your tongue over the head, polishing it with several needy sucks, while your gaze maintained on his. One hand was wrapped around the shaft to hold Glen steady, and the other was cupped around his heavy balls, stretching and fondling the loose stretch of skin.

“I know. You like how it’s warm in your mouth, don’t you?” The grasp around his thick cock tightened. Fingers pressed into his veins, stroking the aroused muscle while your mouth worked on his glans, plump and swollen against your lips.

“And how salty it is. Taste better than your whiskey.” Sweat and musk had built up in the thick hairs of his pubic, in the crevice of his glans as you inhaled his scent. The smell of his cock made your own swollen unbearably hard.

“You like my cock too. Like how heavy it is on your tongue.” He had his fingers running through your hair, keeping any strands from obscuring your eyes as you watched him, just as he had been watching you.

“Nothing better than feelin’ my dirty mouth stretch because of the size of it. Can barely wrap my hands around your tool. My asshole struggles too, if not more.”

You loved sucking on the head. It was tender in your mouth, leaking with salt that made your tongue dance into the slit for more. It was beautiful to look at too. Every now and then, you’d slip him out of your mouth to marvel over the glistening view of his cock, swollen in your own spit.

“Yet it don’t stop you, does it? You keep sucking with that hot mouth of yours. Fucking with that tight ass of yours.” He sat up to stretch his hand from your neck and then down to your spine, repeating the affectionate gesture when he’d reach the limit of his mobility.

“Your cock is my liquor.” You held his gaze with pride, proudly slapping his wet cock across your cheek, against your lips, onto your tongue, because you weren’t ashamed for desiring men.

You weren’t ashamed for needing Glen.

No amount of prejudice can suppress your very existence.

“You doin’ a whole lot of talking, and not a lot of sucking.” His hand was strong on the back of your neck, massaging as if it would warm your throat up.

You purred, finding the increasing pressure on your neck welcoming as it naturally opened your mouth back up. Your tongue teased Glen for a little longer. Patience had been wearing thin, you could see it in his eyes as they hardened over the lazy trail of your tongue, unbearably sliming at the underside of his heavy cock. His grasp on your neck was clutching, pulling at your tender skin to maneuver you north and wrap your mouth back around him. But you were resisting. You were going to suck his cock on your own terms, on your own accord, flaunting your tongue over his stiffened pole to warm him up because you had all night with him.

You were beautiful like this, working your spit over his cock with your hand, while you silently leaned up for a kiss. He granted those rubies of yours a chaste peck, then another to the dried drool at the corner of your mouth, then another, a fulfilling kiss to your mouth that had drawn out simultaneous groans from the both of you because it was unapologetically more than lust.

You stroked his cock harder, to the warmth of his tongue as it slipped inside of you, keen to explore the cavern that had made his cock feel so glorious, to explore the mouth that often sent Glen into a spiral simply from his own imagination after the very minute he would depart from you.

His heart was beating, accelerating like it had soles to run on, and all it took was the palm of your hand caressing his chest in soothing swoops to ground him back to reality, to the kiss that had been broken in favor of you returning back to your original position between his legs, mouth agape and taunting as ever.

“Only because I want you to hear what it sounds like when I’m swallowing your cock.“ With those final words, you slid his cock into your mouth without letting your gags falter you.

His cock was heavy, maintaining the girth from base to tip as you took more of him after every cycle. Tears brimmed in your eyes when you’d choke on one attempt of slotting him down your throat. Then they dripped, rolled down your supple cheeks, when you’d work yourself through your gags until your throat closed in around his tool. You’d lie there with your throat stuffed to the brim, your lips clamped shut from the very base despite the fur of his pubic hairs tickling your lips to open back up.

Your ears rattled from your conscience begging you to end your torture, but watching Glen marvel at that mouth of yours made you endure the looming threat of fainting all the more worthwhile.

“Christ.” Drool spilled from either side of your mouth as Glen helped you stabilize with a palm to your nape. He gently pushed at the sound of your gags, keeping you situated against his groin in case you’d pull away. “You know how to make a man happy, don’t you?”

“Mmfgh—“ It was pointless responding, but Glen expected it. You always had to get the last word. The last sound.

He maneuvered you by the neck, pulling you back then forward again, your throat making ungodly sounds around his cock in midst of doing so. Occasionally, he’d meet you halfway and thrust himself into your gags, churning the arising saliva that foamed in your mouth back down your air duct, making you choke in the process.

“You miss my cock that much, boy?”

“Mmff-guh!”

He’d pull you back just in time, his cock releasing from the tight hold of your throat like a cork barricading liquor, and you didn’t waste a single second to fill your lungs again with the arousing air.

“You gon’ kill me with that thing, bastard.” Your spit resembled fizz that would spew out from opened cider. Glen kept it to himself, but he thought you looked dashing like this. Flushed in the face, cheeks stained by dried tears, nostrils stung with sniffles, you’d collect your composure quickly after, brazen yourself as if nothing had happened, but from the tremors in your hands, you were dismantled despite working your hand on him again.

“Too much for you?” He asked, reaching over with a hand to knead at the center of your throat. Glen didn’t show many moods, but you were well aware when he was either aroused, angry, or concerned, simply by the movement of his brows.

You lifted your chin upon the warm of his hand greeting you, grinning at the raise of the man’s brows. “I jest. Too much? Yes. But that’s the fun in it. Not knowing when to stop because I’m so addicted to you.”

“Should be a poet. You’d know how to charm people with your words.” He sighed into your mouth when he pulled you over, kissing you delicately while one hand lowered to gather his cock and yours in one hold, stroking the throbbing masses.

Glen was never too fond of feeling like this.

This warmth that was similar to downing liquor, yet not quite as strong or as scorching as to the sensation of aged spirit burning his insides.

It was foreign. The heat liked to spread around his body, the aftermath of hot rain he’d reckon. It was steaming inside of him. Pleasant and restful while his muscles eased. He felt like those biscuits he’d eaten for morning, noon, and evening. Buttery, warm, and pillowy.

That feeling only happened when he was with you.

It was unnerving how much power you held over him without you even realizing. How he’d weaken under the light of your smile, or even the dazed stare of your eyes, where Glen often found himself concerned with for the remaining month as the shadows beneath your eyes would grow with every visit.

You shouldn’t have that effect on him, because no one has managed to ignite such feelings inside of him. Yet you have, effortlessly so, without missing a single beat, and it was alarming to realize that his solitude had become unbearable since you’d came into the picture.

Frightening, where his solitude would feel like abandonment had something ever happened to you.

“Poets don’t make a home.” You whispered lightheartedly before breaking into soft, hushed moans, where Glen would happily devour as you resumed kissing him with tongue, running your hands over his muscles in meantime.

“And whoring yourself out does?” He sat up, pulling away to raise a questioning brow.

It was naive of you, but Glen knew better than to lecture you in the meantime. He hadn’t seen you in a month and he wasn’t letting a simple discourse interrupt that.

You shrugged, kissing at the underside of his jaw after he pulled you onto his lap. His hands were on your hips, his cock rubbing between your ass cheeks. “No, but at least I get fucked hollow out of it.”

“Forget what I said. If your mouth is this vulgar, I can’t imagine what you’d write on paper. You’d end a famine with folks dying from shock at your smut.” Without warning, one finger slipped inside of your hole. You clenched from surprise, but eventually welcomed him in with the languid kisses Glen would provide on your neck, on your shoulders, and on your chest.

“That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” You arched forward into his embrace, pushing your ass out as Glen twisted another finger inside of you, stretching your hole with two fingers. “I saved the world…” You moaned out in a manner that sent tremors down Glen’s spine. To his cock, when he stuffed another finger inside of you, and curled deep into your resistance. “Don’t do too much. Wanna feel you.”

“You silly.” The keening sound you give out rendered him speechless, along with the dew of your body and face, thinly layered with cold sweat of your own desires. Your hands braced on Glen’s shoulders as he pistoled his fingers inside of you for a little longer. Twisting, spreading, turning, curling, throttling, until you begged for him, in whispers, in hot kisses that muffled your sounds incoherent.

But Glen was an attentive man; tasting your tongue to feed off of your words, urging you to repeat with a smack to your ass. You would, desperate and delirious as you pushed your ass into the sting of his palm.

“Can’t take it anymore. I need you inside of me. C’mon.” You reached behind to stroke his cock with your spit, simultaneously pressing his shaft between your rump.

“You actin’ like you don’t get hollowed out daily.” Glen’s touch was tender on your cheek, holding the left side delicate in his palm, while his hips moved against your hand and grind, taunting your patience.

“Not like this. Always thinkin’ about you when someone else fucking me. They don’t do it like you.” It came out as a whine, a needy sound as you angled his wet cockhead against your pucker, dangerously pressing when you lifted your hips.

“They don’t satisfy you like I do.” A statement, rather than a query.

“They don’t...”

Glen was good at casting doubt on people.

Lies were often evident through the eyes. Novice liars either looked away, or stared too intensely like they were trying to convince themselves.

Your gaze yearned, lingered in search for Glen’s blessing. He held your gaze for a moment, catching a glimpse of stars in your pupils like he wasn’t aware that it was the candles’ doing. Getting lost in your eyes wasn’t warding off the warm feeling in his body. Rather, it began manifesting a smolder, burning more despite kissing you once to fan it away, to make the light in your eyes—the way you looked at him disappear.

He pulled away quickly to look into your eyes again. Burning now, he was burning.

Again, his lips sealed over yours, and then he pulled back to stare.

The stars winked.

Again.

A few morphed as one, seemingly emptying the space in your pupils.

Again.

No, Glen was wrong. They weren’t emptying space.

And again.

They were creating space.

He began witnessing the birth of a few more stars after every turn, crystal-like as they glimmered in your pupils once you smiled at his behavior.

Glen was in silent hysteria, finding himself spiral from one look you’d given him. It was different. Completely unlike anything you’d ever spared him. It felt true. Pure. Honest.

Loved.

There was no way out. He couldn’t find a way to escape if he’d tried. Burying his face into your neck didn’t work. You smelled like bread dough, ones you’d been kneading in the back of the kitchen. Ones he had eaten and marveled over before even meeting you.

Simply closing his eyes had no effect either, as your hand was on his cock, chasing after the throbbing with patient strokes.

“They don’t.” Glen repeated after you, a confirmation into the underside of your jaw.

Glen was never a man who lost. At least, he never lost without putting up a fight. When he spared you one more glance at the sound of your groan, he felt himself crumble and completely melt. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Feel himself melting until all that was left was for bone to be rattled with as you sank yourself back onto his lap, hands braced on his shoulders while you welcomed his cock inside of your cavity, inch by inch

“You’re an angel, y’know that? Every time I see you, I feel like my sins been washed away.” Glen ran a finger along your taut rim, marveling over the way you looked right now, bouncing on his cock, over his lap, your cock swinging in for the ride. He harbored his moans into the crook of your neck, fogging your skin with the warmth of his breath, until you’d break into cold sweats.

“Ironic, ain’t it? What loving a man can do?” You groaned and grunted with exertion as you worked your way lower in tiny thrusts. “They don’t make love to me like you do, just as I don’t make love to them like I do for you. ” You confessed with conviction, and let gravity weigh you down onto Glen’s cock, taking him into your sturdy body. “Only you.”

Glen didn’t hear that right, did he? Loving someone? It was difficult to concentrate with the way you were working his cock. It was a glorious feeling being back inside of you, compact and warm like how he’d remember breaching you.

You felt so stretched, uncomfortably yet pleasantly filled when you’d lift your hips until only the cockhead remained, and rammed his cock back in with a strong drop of your ass. Your forehead rested on Glen’s, and you could feel every puff of breath he’d exhale. Hear the restraints in his panting as you tied your arms around his neck, and let your weight push him flat onto his back, properly straddling him.

“You love me? What you talking ‘bout?” He didn’t have the will to stop you. You were so eager, absolutely high on your arousal as you rode his cock with desperate rhythms, but he needed to address the revelation, for his sanity.

First off, you beat him to the punch. Had it originally played out in his mind, Glen was the one to confess about his feelings, not you.

“What? I-I ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.” It must’ve slipped. You didn’t know when, or how, or maybe Glen was a mind reader because you definitely didn’t say that, did you? You rocked your lower body in quicker ruts, hoping it would distill any remaining questions, and looked off to the corner, silently cursing at yourself.

“You’re lying.” His grip on your hips was sudden, making you come to a pause.

“I ain’t lyin’—“ Your brows furrowed, exasperated at the interruption. Luckily, Glen’s cock was still hard inside you, somehow throbbing even more as you witnessed something clicked within him.

Glen took ahold of your body, arms secured around your waist, before stepping off the bed and carrying you to the lone rocking chair in the corner of the room. “So, you hate me?”

“What? No, I don’t hate you. You—I—Glen, put me down.” You groaned when Glen sat down on the chair, the position driving his cock impossibly deeper into your body.

He refused despite your attempt in wriggling yourself free. You were strong, but Glen was stronger, tightening his arms around you. “Then what is it? I want to know how you feel before I feel like a fool for loving you too.”

Though, not like he had to hold you with much strength considering your bewilderment stunned you in place. “What? You love me?”

“You tellin’ me you don’t know? What was all that “makin’ love” speech about?” He was just as perplexed as you were. His chest felt heavy with disappointment. He’d been overthinking it, hadn’t he? Glen was a liar, someone who tried to convince himself of the impossible.

“It felt like you were making love to me. Don’t mean that I thought you actually did.“

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

A deafening silence as you two stared at each other. You were about to leave his lap, only for him to bound you back to him at the last second.

“Well, I do. I love you.” Glen stated matter-of-factly, a peculiar tone to his official confession, you couldn’t help but chuckle at it.

“Bighorn…” You sighed, surrendering into his arms with the slouch of your body, your chest colliding onto his. Frankly, the thought of being with Glen made you happy, yet nervous at the same time. “You know it don’t matter whether I love you or not. Nothing is gonna happen beyond this. Nothing can happen, unless you wanna risk your life. Mine too.”

“That’s something I’m willin’ to do. I’ve risked my life traveling plains, through towns, carrying expensive liquor. Nothing I won’t do for you.” Your heart felt like a pond with thrown rocks skipping across the surface of water.

“Absolutely not, and that ain’t the same. How you gon’ love me when you’re ten feet underground because of the fact that you love me?” You crossed your arms, frowning at his persistence because… well, it was working. More rocks began breaking the solitude of the pond.

“From the heavens, hopefully. Can leave you with my horse. Got a ranch back at home too. Can leave you with that. You’d have a house like you’d always wanted. Carry on with my business.” Pure dreams. That was all they were. Dreams.

“That’s only if I ain’t buried with you, Bighorn.” As much as you seemed resistant to Glen’s imaginations, you found yourself picturing a better life for you as you buried your head into his neck, listening to his tales. Living on a ranch like he’d described. Cattle and sheep would run free while you struggled to keep up with Glen as you joined him on this new lifestyle. It would be hard work, but by dawn, you’d slip into bed with Glen after dinner, and deem that it was all worth it in the end.

“At least we’ll be together, one way or ‘nother.” He kissed you at your neck, laving your skin in the weakest kisses, almost like he was beginning to surrender to your defiance. “So, you love me? You love me too?”

“I—Bighorn—Glen…”

He’d come a long way since you’d met him. Describing him as quiet was an understatement. He refused to make small talk when you led him into this room for the first time. It was a quick exchange, a shameful one as Glen power walked out of the saloon without sparing you a single glance. Now, he often spent nights with you, refusing to let go of you even in the deep of his slumber. In retrospect, you could’ve left when you had the chance. You had many opportunities even, to find a better life in the next town, and the next.

The thought of having Glen disappear from your life felt like death itself, so you didn’t, knowing that he would eventually down the line.

A year later, and he hasn’t.

Love makes you do crazy things.

“You know I love you, Glen.” You rubbed his chest sweetly, forewarning him of the disappointment you’d never relieve him from. Tears formed at your waterline, threatening to leak, so you pressed your face deep into his neck, wiping them against his skin. Your heart felt heavy, like it wanted to burst out of your chest to stop you from pushing him away. It would’ve killed you, but at least it would’ve saved Glen the disappointment. “I love you too. I’m glad we sorted that out, but we—”

“No, stop. No more. I love you.” He cut you off with a sudden kiss, whispering into your mouth after. “I love you, and I need you, you understand me?” His palm was back on your rump, kneading at the tender, yet toned flesh, while the other hand pressed his growing erection back to your pucker again, prodding. “No more buts.”

“But—“ Your breath hitched when he slid himself in again, stretching you out like before, yet it felt like an endless slide, digging all the way into the deepest part of your body, like Glen was going to cradle your heart, until he was rooted deep inside of you, balls flushed to the cleft of your ass.

“(M/N), I’ll take care of ya. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of it, you hear me?” Glen cradled your head, kissing at your cheek while you returned to burying it in between his shoulder and neck. “Let me see you.”

“H-hmm, m-mhm—“ His cheeks burned as you made those wanton noises in midst of revealing yourself before him. Flushed in the face, cheeks stricken with tears; one would’ve mistaken you to be ill. Though, in a way you were. You’d been struck by incurable illness that was love.

Glen clicked his tongue, frowning in wonder. “So, so, so pretty. You look so pretty.” He began thrusting into you, resuming where you two had left off. “You look even prettier now that I’m making love to you, you know that?”

“You love me.” You bit your lip, holding back moans because you needed to hear it from Glen again, hear of his devotion for you.

“I love you.” He whispered through grunts, spreading your ass cheeks wide, and you pressed your body forward, arching your ass out as his thrusts ramped up. His cock slammed up into you with raw passion, devoting his remaining strength to holding your ass up, and making himself work for you, all in the name of love.

“I love you.” You repeated between needy whimpers. You soon began to bounce up and down, hands braced on Glen’s shoulders, while you joined his thrusts with your own movements, meeting him halfway. His large cock reared you from behind like a hammer to a nail, pummeling you without break, without the chance to let you breathe.

It was rather the opposite, to knock the breath out of you.

You watched close, mouthing at Glen’s neck, then jaw, until you reached his lips, where you’d let hungry moans delicately fall into place. Glen found you breathtaking as you lost your mind with primitive lust.

“You belong to me, you hear me?” Glen said simply, his features calm. “No one else fucks you like I do.”

Your arms tightened around his neck for a hug. Glen seemed absolutely serene in his love, with you on his lap, fucking yourself into his cock. On the other hand, you were absolutely wrecked. Glen was fucking you harder, knocking guttural moans out of you on each thrust. Your own hole clenched when Glen lifted your ass up, pulling his cock completely out of you until you were squeezing nothing but warm air. He’d expertly dip a finger inside of you, to feel how stretched you were, play with your rim because of how swollen it had gotten, before stretching you back to capacity as he brought you back down on his cock, and onto his upward thrust.

“No one makes love to me like you do.” You panted through his batter, each syllable of word rattling in volume as you had absolutely no sense of it. Glen hummed in agreement while he fucked your ass and jerked your cock all at once. He was taking care of you.

You knew what he meant in the long run; tending to your injuries if you’d happen to fall off his saddle, hosing you down with water when you’d take a dive in the lake, feeding you the last bit of his biscuit because he never liked seeing you hungry. A life far from neglect as Glen had made you realize that you and him shared the dream.

But for now, he was taking care of you. Meticulously so as Glen remembered all the spots that made his tongue taste sugary when you’d moan in his mouth. Glen’s thumb caressed your frenulum, using the pre-cum your cockhead had been spitting to slip his touch in the tightest crevices. The pad of his thumb sailed smooth over the neck of your glans, flicking, pressing, rubbing at the swollen flesh of skin. You sounded so sweet and looked so serene under Glen’s touch, a complete antithesis to how you’d normally present yourself.

Glen was familiar with the roll of your eyes; from the way you’d interact with displeased customers at the bar, or from his demand to hold you throughout the night. But would you hold it against him if Glen revealed that he preferred seeing the whites of your eyes from being fucked impeccably in the ass? With his thick cock, battering your insides until you’d remember the shape of his cock? The motion of it all, digging deep into your ass, into your guts, pummeling through your need to clench hard around him, failing to pause him from hitting that sweet spot, or else you’d spill. Your hands curled into his chest as they were braced on the sweaty surface, and you’d never felt so desired, especially with your reflection in the vanity staring right back at you, providing you a simple glimpse of how beautiful you looked to Glen.

You’re a dirty bastard, Glen reckoned you’d confront him with, only before bending over the mattress and spreading your ass cheeks for him. You lucky that I’m as well, Bighorn.

No. No, you wouldn’t hold it against him.

You were perfect.

“Close.” You warned, then dropped your head lower to kiss him on the lips, spilling your moans into his mouth in midst.

Your hips bucked into his fist while simultaneously rocking back into Glen’s cock. His hold on you was secure, clutching to keep you as close to him as possible. You toyed with your nipples, pinching and tugging on them, and Glen accepted those gestures as a silent invitation for him to wrap his lips around one nub at at a time, suckling on the perky bud until you’d gone swollen. You’d join his lips for another kiss in gratitude, thanking him with your tongue as it explored his warm mouth, licking into his panting, his grunts, his devotion for you. You swallowed his spit after, and your fate with Glen was sealed and optimistically beyond your control.

“You look like an angel right now, but your hole’s the devil. Squeezing around my cock like this, holding me so tight like you’re afraid I’m ‘bout to pull out of ya. Christ, you’re so tight. You my dirty angel. My sweet devil.” His hand had abandoned your cock in favor of taking your ass into both palms and spreading them like before, fucking his cock up into you.

Your eyes shared pleasure with his, only your pupils had seem blown since he’d started angling his hips in a way that sent tremors to your body. With your cock in your hand, you gazed down at Glen with dazed passion, lips parted to warn, yet only little sounds had come out instead. “Glen. Christ—“ His cockhead tickled your sweet spot at first, a brief brushing that you didn’t think much of other than the fact that it made your body tremble. But Glen persisted, shifting his body against your gorgeous, helpless, and needy body, and fucked your tight body with force, teeth-bared, sweat beading on his forehead. Your mouth fell open, and your face slackened with unadulterated pleasure. “Damn you, I’m gonna come—“

Glen shuddered, witnessing your gaze blur in and out in an attempt to focus on him as he was on the brink of his control himself. “Do it,” he urged you. “I want you to. Come from my cock. Gonna come too, inside of your hole.”

You wailed when Glen’s strong thighs slammed into your sweaty ass. A thunder of delicious sounds: your wails and his growls, the bruising smacks of flesh to flesh, the hard rocking of the chair, scraping against the floor; they created a symphony that was nearing a crescendo. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Glen pounded up into you, and your ears blared with sounds of Glen’s pleasure. Your fist pumped your cock until your forearms began to burn, veins pulsing through to power you to your high.

He was gutting you, hollowing your hole out until it would recover just in time for his next visit. You’d remember him for the remaining weeks, his cock pummeling you until your melodic cries had shifted from want to euphoric need.

“Glen..!” You yelled.

Glen kissed you deeply and bit your lower lip, one hand steeling you by the nape to hold your forehead to his. He doesn’t plan on letting go. Watching you like this, submerged in unconditional pleasure, was just as gratifying as hammering into your prostate. “You feel so good, angel. Look at you. Look at that pretty smile, you’re so happy to be filled with my cock.

You were so full of cock, of Glen’s cock, and you cried from it. Cried from how Glen was taking care of you so well, back to fisting your cock, kissing your neck, pounding your insides out.

Love has never felt so good.

Finally, you came with an arch of your back. Glen’s fist released just in time for thick and heavy ropes to splatter on his chest. Glen stiffened, his eyes daring back and forth between the exhilarating expression on your face and the obscene visual of your cum flooding Glen’s fists as he wrapped his hand back around you, and worked you through your orgasm.

“M-mmfgh, come inside— Need it. I need you.” With your eyes on his, you leaned down to kiss him and take his hands into yours for balance, raising them over his head. They were sticky shut from layers of your cum, but that only made it more thrilling as you rode him. You lifted your hips and brought it down without a single pause, burying his cock inside of you to the hilt.

“Angel, fuck— I’m coming.“

You swallowed his growls, warnings of the inevitable, yet you accelerated like you didn’t hear, slamming your ass down repeatedly, chasing after his high. His hands suddenly grasped hard onto yours, sponging cum out from the locked hands and letting it trail down your arms, and his hips bucked. You could feel his thighs flex, see rapture possess his very being as his gritted teeth no longer could contain the trumpeting sound of his moans, his muscles pulsing. With one more press of your ass, you buried Glen’s cock and felt him come inside of you. Heavy and thick as his hot seed stained your walls. Creamy like butter, when you slowly milked him inside of you with gentle rhythms of your hips. It felt sublime, having your insides contain Glen’s devotion for you.

“You the devil himself…” Glen groaned and his body twitched as you emptied him of seed, stopping once you were satisfied. He then released your hands to embrace your waist, letting you slump into him with relief. Your head rested on his shoulder, and your eyes closed shut.

“You really mean it? You’d wanna live on a ranch together, or something?” You asked, feeling his heart come to a calm with your palm providing soothing strokes to his chest.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He turned, pressing his nose to yours. One hand caressed the small of your back, and occasionally would fondle your rump. Warm and plump in his grasp, he couldn’t help that he was in love with every aspect of you.

You thought about his question for a moment, pursing your lips before shaking your head. “No.”

“Then that’s your answer.” He assured with a kiss to your lips. “We ain’t gotta do it now, or the next month, or the month after that. When you’re ready. Just wanted to know I want a future with you.”

“Me too...” You muttered, playing with his chest hair to distract the sudden conflict you’d been harboring from him.

Silence filled the room for a moment as he watched you intently. You picked up his hat from the floor and fit it on yourself.

“There’s that ‘but’ again. What’s the problem?” Glen chuckled, his heart racing again despite maintaining his composure. He playfully flicked the rim of his hat down, making it tilt on your head, and cover your sight line.

“Hey—You ain’t gon’ like it.” You adjusted the hat, sighing in defeat when Glen watched you with vigilance.

“What?” He sat up, making you straighten your posture in turn.

“Think the sheriff’s not gonna like the sound of me quitting.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope.” You pursed your lips again, then sighed. “He’s boss’s most loyal customer. Pays well too. I mean, I don’t know. I may be wrong, but… think he likes me beyond what I do for him. Buys me gift from the city and all.“

“Well, he’s gonna have to prove it. I ain’t leaving without a fight. Not until I’m dead, and even then, I’ll be watchin’ over ya.”

“You a mad man.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#glen powell x reader #glen powell x male reader #glen powell x you #glen powell fanfic #glen powell imagine #x male reader #male reader #x reader #x you #male reader insert #male reader bottom #bottom male reader #male!reader #nou.fics

880 notes · View notes

candycandy00 · 4 months ago

Text

Once Upon a Time - A Sukuna x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Sleeping Beauty featuring Sukuna! After your parents are killed, leaving you as the young queen, you hire the mysterious and violent Sukuna to be your Captain of the Guard to protect you from an evil fairy’s curse. You’re in love with him, but he just keeps refusing you!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. AU. Reader as Sleeping Beauty, Sukuna as her Captain of the Guard. Violence/Blood. Rough fingering.

Any feedback is adored! Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear.

It’s a beautiful day in town again, the weather warm, the sky blue with fluffy clouds drifting by, birds singing… and a would be assassin rolling on the ground, screaming in agony as blood pours from his wounds.

The nondescript man had posed as a villager, smiling to you as you walked by and holding out a peach to you. Villagers often give you small gifts like these. You’re now their queen after the very recent deaths of your parents, themselves killed by an assassin just like the man wailing before you.

As you reached out to take the peach, thanking him for his generosity, his hands were suddenly sliced from his arms, causing the peach to fall to the now bloody dirt. You looked around in alarm, spotting your Captain of the Guard standing nearby. You hadn’t even seen him draw his sword.

The Captain, named Sukuna, strolls over and picks up the bloody peach, ignoring the assassin quickly bleeding out beside it. He pulls something tiny, almost invisible, from the fruit. “A needle,” he says, holding it up so that it glints in the sunlight.

How did he notice that? Oh well, that’s why you made him Captain of your personal guard. “Thank you, Captain. Your vigilance has saved me again.”

The other townsfolk are whispering and looking at the assassin with scared, worried faces. Sukuna raises his leg and brings his boot down on the man’s head, crushing it into a gooey mess. You wish he’d found a more tactful way of disposing of the would be killer.

You address the townsfolk in your most soothing voice. “I apologize for the trouble. I’ll send someone to clean up this mess as soon as possible. Please continue about your business!”

No more explanation is necessary. Everyone in town knows why a needle is as big a threat to you as a sword.

When you were an infant, a wicked old fairy laid a curse upon you. If you ever prick your finger on a needle, you will immediately die. Supposedly, a good fairy altered the curse so that you’ll fall into a deep sleep for a hundred years instead of dying, or until certain conditions are met to awaken you. But you’re not certain of that part, and you want no part of any of it either way.

Your parents were desperate to save you, so they took every precaution. They banned all needles from the castle and refused to allow you to go into town, even after you turned eighteen. Now at age twenty, you’ve been forced to take the role of queen after your parents were murdered three months ago.

The old fairy of the woods apparently held a grudge. She’s been sending assassins to try to get you to prick your finger, and you highly suspect she’s responsible for what happened to the king and queen.

Newly without your parents’ protection, your first order of business was hiring a Captain of the Guard who could keep you alive until you found the fairy and put her to death. And as it happened, you met Ryomen Sukuna on the day your parents were buried.

Bandits attacked your carriage as you were riding back from the cemetery, killing your coachman and two of your best guards before a mysterious man in a cloak appeared. With seconds, he’d cut down seven bandits with his sword, as if they were made of paper. The hood of his cloak fell back, revealing a handsome face lined with black tattoos, and a feral smile as blood sprayed from the bandits and colored him red.

When finished with the bandits, he approached you, his sword still drawn, his crimson eyes burning with a strange intensity. He was going to kill you. He wasn’t there to save you, but to settle a score with the bandits. As he stepped closer, a bizarre thought entered your mind: I hope he has his way with me first.

You shook your head to cast the thought aside. Then stared him down, using your most regal voice to say, “Your skills are impressive. I want to hire you to be my Captain of the Guard.”

He paused, a look of amusement on his face. “And why would I want such a job?”

Ah, his voice was like satin.

“You would be paid exceptionally well, would live in the castle with all the luxuries that it can provide. Your own private room, all the best foods, authority and power over others…”

“And all I have to do is babysit a princess?” he asked, grinning.

“Actually,” you said, somewhat haughtily, “I’m a queen now.”

He accepted your offer, and you returned to the castle that day with a new Captain. All your advisors thought it was a terrible idea to give such a position to a man you knew nothing about, but they hadn’t seen his skill, his raw power. If he kept you alive, you didn’t care who he was.

There’s just one problem. You’re insanely attracted to him! You’ve wanted him from the day you met him, and despite him being so close in proximity to you, he remains frustratingly out of reach.

On multiple occasions you’ve made it clear that’s he’s welcome in your bed, but he always has the same response: a condescending grin while smugly saying, “You couldn’t handle me, Princess.”

Each time you remind him you’re a queen, not a princess, but by this point it’s obvious that he’s teasing you.

Now, you find yourself walking through the gardens of your castle after returning from the town, sighing as you look over the sorry state of the roses. Your parents had gotten rid of every rose bush, afraid a thorn would somehow have the same effect as a needle. But you’d accidentally pricked yourself on a thorn at your parents’ funeral, where some well meaning townsperson had given you some roses, and nothing had happened.

The next day you planted several rose bushes in the gardens, but they’re not doing well. They grew in pots but had not done well enough to be transferred to the ground.

As you look up from your plants, your heart nearly stops. Two strange men are approaching, already too close to effectively flee from. You turn your head, to call for your Captain, but you remember that he went to wash off the blood from the previous assassin. Still, there should be four other guards nearby, two at each entrance to the gardens. The fact that these men waltzed in and don’t even seem to be in a hurry tells you that all four guards are probably dead.

And, these men are skilled fighters.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my gardens?” you ask, trying to get them talking, trying to buy time until Sukuna returns. No matter how skilled they are, he would utterly destroy them.

One of the men, tall with long shaggy hair and beard, chuckles. “I think you know what we’re here for, Your Majesty.”

The shorter of the two, who looks like he hasn’t bathed in weeks, looks you up and down like a piece of meat. “She’ll really fall asleep if we stick her with a needle?” he asks the other man.

The taller man shrugs. “Either that or die. The old witch isn’t sure.”

The shorter man looks at you with excitement. “Remember what you promised! I can do whatever I want with her afterwards!”

Your skin crawls with horror. The thought of this disgusting man touching you, even if you’re dead, makes bile threaten to rise in your mouth.

And it makes you wish even more strongly that Sukuna had lain with you. At least then the first man to touch you would be someone you loved.

Wait… loved? Do you love him, or just feel lust for him? You suppose it doesn’t matter now.

“I can give you riches,” you tell them, “beyond anything the old fairy has promised.”

The men glance at each other, then laugh. “She hasn’t promised us any riches,” the taller man says. “I just enjoy killing, and that one there only has one thing on his mind.” He reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling it close while holding a needle in his free hand.

The shorter man’s face is getting red with anticipation as you struggle to pull your arm free. He licks his lips. “I just want some royal pussy!”

“No!” you shout, slamming your eyes shut as the needle gets closer.

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

Sukuna walks down the lavish hallway, freshly bathed with a new set of clothes. He doesn’t really mind being covered in blood, but his delicate little princess seems bothered by it, even if she doesn’t say so.

He finds it amusing that she tries so hard to seem strong and in charge. Maybe she thinks she is. Somehow she’s convinced herself that she wants Sukuna to fuck her. He finds the idea laughable. While she is lovely to look at, and he’d enjoy nothing more than splitting her open on his cock, he knows for certain that his tender princess would break too easily. He enjoys this job, this position, far too much to give it up now.

If he were to act on his desires, he would end up destroying her, and so he keeps himself contained. For now.

The biggest challenge was when he went into her chambers one night to check on her, moving quietly to avoid waking her, only to find her pleasuring herself in her bed. The sheets were thrown back, her legs spread wide, her back arched as she moaned his name.

She never realized he was in the room, or how close she came to being absolutely ravaged that night. He remained in a darkened corner, watching, until she finished with a cry of pleasure. He snuck back out as soon as she fell asleep.

Lately she’s been occupying more and more of his thoughts, and he doesn’t like it. He’s been with countless women, never getting attached or even remembering their names. Outside the protected castle town, Sukuna was infamous for being a violent murderer who could never be tamed or subdued. Even he didn’t know why he accepted her offer to be Captain of the Guard in the first place. It was far more like him to slit her pretty throat and leave her bleeding out on the ground.

But the more time he spends with her, the more times he watches this weak little royal try to be brave, the more endeared she becomes to him

As he nears the gardens, trying to dispel all these thoughts from his mind, he notices something up ahead: the two guards who were watching the entrance are lying on the ground in pools of blood. Knowing exactly what this means, Sukuna breaks into a sprint while drawing his sword.

Running through the gardens, he spots his princess, desperately struggling against two men, one of them gripping her hand.

He hears one of them say, “I just want some royal pussy!” and suddenly his blood is boiling. He sees the needle in the other man’s hand, getting close to one of her fingers, and he wonders if he’ll reach her in time.

Suddenly his princess kicks a pot by her feet, holding a withered plant. The pot hits the man in the leg, distracting him enough to loosen his grip. Sukuna grins as he watches her pull free and turn to see him running toward her.

“Captain!” she calls, relief evident on her face.

The other two men notice him just before he reaches them, and they turn to flee, but they’re too slow. He catches up to them in seconds, swinging his sword in an arc that cuts both of them down.

As they lay on the ground bleeding, Sukuna stands over them, his red eyes flashing with anger. “You fuckers thought you could touch her?” he asks, stabbing into the shorter one’s stomach and twisting the blade. The man howls in agony, but Sukuna doesn’t stop. “What were you saying? That you wanted some royal pussy?” He pulls the sword out and stabs it into the man’s groin, drawing another scream.

Finally the man dies, and Sukuna turns his attention to the other man, who is lying helplessly in a pool of his own urine. Sukuna is so disgusted, he finishes the man off quickly with a stab to the heart.

He turns to his princess, wondering what sort of expression she’ll be wearing. This is the closest assassins have ever came to actually pricking her finger.

Her face looks passive, calm, as she huffs and crosses her arms. “You’re late, Captain.”

She can’t fool Sukuna. He sees the way her hands tremble before she balls them into fists, hears the way her voice quivers even as she tries desperately to project nonchalance.

He remembers hearing from a servant that the princess refused to cry when her beloved parents were murdered. She had immediately realized she was queen now, and she has a duty to hold this kingdom together in a time of turmoil. And so she pretends to be made of stone.

For over three months straight, she’s been wearing a steel mask, never letting it slip even once. Watching her stand there, clearly shaken and afraid, he wants to rip that mask off. But he won’t. At least not here and now.

“Didn’t expect two attempts in the same day,” he says, mimicking her casual tone. “The old bitch must be getting impatient.”

“I’m going inside,” she says, walking past him quickly. He follows behind, stepping over the guards’ corpses. She had only stopped for a moment to look at them, her face blank as she gave a small bow of respect. Now she’s walking swiftly to her chambers, and once inside, Sukuna shuts the door behind him.

She looks up as if surprised to see him. “I wish to be alone for a moment,” she says. “Please wait outside my door.”

He steps closer until he’s right in front of her. “You’re trembling,” he tells her, placing one hand on her shoulder.

A tiny flicker of panic flashes across her face, but she quickly recovers. “I am not trembling! I’m just… I just…”

He looks down at her, his face softening. “You don’t have to feign strength with me, Princess. In all the world, the one place you can let yourself be weak is by my side.”

Her eyes are becoming wet as they stare up at him. He moves his hand from her shoulder to her face, his fingers gently grazing her cheek.

“I was terrified,” she whispers. “The things they planned to do to me… I can’t bear the thought!”

Sukuna feels the powerful urge to comfort her, to draw her into his arms, but he maintains his control. Instead, his hand slides down a bit, caressing her jaw, his thumb rubbing over her plump, painted lips. He leans in closer. He wants to kiss her, to claim her, but he won’t. He pulls away, deciding he needs to put some distance between the two of them, lest he do something he’ll regret.

A look of hurt passes over her features as he turns away from her and walks a few steps away.

That’s when he hears her voice behind him, still fragile and raw, say, “Coward!”

He freezes. The word sends a spike of anger through him, bordering on rage. He stomps back to her, not knowing if he wants to kiss her or hit her. She’s looking up at him defiantly.

“You don’t even know what you’re saying,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “You want a man like me to fuck you, a dainty virgin princess? I’d tear you apart.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Stop acting like I’m some lovesick teenager. I’m a grown woman. And I’m a queen, not a princess.”

Something in him snaps. He moves forward, closing the small distance between them in three steps, and roughly turns her around to face the tall window in her bedroom. His hands yank up her dress, diving under the layers of satin and lace, finding the flimsy panties beneath and ripping them off. She makes a sound, something between a gasp and a cry, clearly surprised.

One hand shoves between her soft thighs, squeezing and groping the delicate flesh there, feeling how wet and slippery she already is. His callused fingers, the fingers of a killer who never should have been anywhere near this woman, part her slick folds and find her sensitive clit. He rubs it harshly, having no experience being gentle with anyone.

She cries out, her shaking legs buckling beneath her. He wraps one arm around her chest, under her arms, holding her upright as his other hand relentlessly strokes her most tender places. Her quick, shuddering breaths are like music to him as he finally releases her clit and instead plunges one thick finger into her tiny, dripping hole.

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

This is what you want, what you’ve wanted for three months: Sukuna’s hands on you, pleasuring you, his firm body pressed against yours.

His fingers are rough, one of them shoving inside you, making you jerk. And when he pushes a second one in, you feel a sting as your body stretches around him. You whimper, your body already collapsed and being held up by him.

Then you hear his voice in your ear, “You want my cock but you can’t even handle my fingers, princess.”

He’s pumping them in and out, his palm rubbing against your aching clit. You let out a moan that sounds more like a sob, your hands gripping his arm. “Please,” you say, your voice broken, desperate for release, “m-make me cum!”

You can feel his hot breath on your neck as his fingers curl inside you, touching something that’s never been touched before. You scream, your body going completely limp in his grasp. You cum in his arms, twitching with pleasure, your pussy sore and stinging from the two fingers still lodged inside it.

He keeps them there until you ride out your orgasm, then finally withdraws them and lowers your spent body to the floor. You’re left on your knees, panting, your own fluids dripping out of you. It takes you a moment to realize your face is wet with tears. Were you crying?

You look up in time to see him licking his fingers clean, and the lewd sight has you hungering for more. You stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to tear your dress off and have his way with you. Instead, he gives you a disdainful look.

“That’s all you’re getting from me. I’m not going to ruin you,” he says.

“You keep saying that! Maybe I want you to ruin me!”

He looks down at you, red eyes gleaming with anger. “You turned into a crying mess when I put two fingers in you. What do you think will happen if I shove my whole cock into that tight little pussy?”

You glare back at him. “I don’t know, but I’d like to find out!”

He grumbles something under his breath, then turns away from you again. It almost sounded like he said, “Don’t tempt me”.

You practically growl in frustration as you climb to your feet and head to your private washroom to clean up.

It’s later in the evening when you’re standing in your room, looking out the very window he pressed you against earlier. You touch the glass, remembering how his fingers felt. You turn around, angry at yourself for getting heated again, angry at him for leaving you unsatisfied. You could die or fall into a deep sleep at any moment! Why can’t he understand that you want to be with him before that happens?

You feel something soft brush against your ankle, and you look down to see Briar, the cat that lives in the castle to kill rats, rubbing his face on you. Bending down, you scoop him up and pet his back. “Have you been doing your job properly?” you ask, scratching his ears as he purrs.

You hear your door opening and look over to see Sukuna walking in. He hasn’t spoken to you since the… incident earlier. Will he apologize? Or maybe tell you he’s leaving? He’s an unpredictable one. You brace yourself for whatever he has to say, your hand absently rubbing Briar’s fur.

Suddenly you feel something sharp. You wince and Briar jumps down from your arms. You look at your finer, seeing one tiny drop of blood.

Oh no.

The conniving old fairy used the cat!

You look up at Sukuna, holding up your finger. There’s a look of horror on his face as he breaks into a run. But it’s too late. Everything is going dark. You hear him shouting your name, feel his strong arms catch you before you hit the floor, but your eyes slide closed, and you see nothing more.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #x reader

249 notes · View notes

thedarks1de · 9 months ago

Text

Little spy

Tobirama x !uchiha reader

Do not read this if you are under 18 years old.

Ignore the mistakes. I'm not a native English speaker.

Warnings: DARK CONTENT; rape; sex against one's will; gang rape; all characters are adults; feud between clans; spy; sneaky Tobirama; bad ending.

It wasn't easy to infiltrate the Senju clan's territory, but you succeeded. By hiding your chakra and pretending to be an ordinary person in need of help, you managed to infiltrate the enemy's hideout. You needed to steal one scroll that contained important information. You didn't know what was in the scroll or why it was so important, but since Madara-sama had entrusted it to you, you had to deal with it without question.

You didn't say your name, you made up another. You made up a story about your house being attacked and destroyed by bandits, but you escaped. They let you into their territory and gave you a roof over your head, but they were still suspicious.

Tobirama Senju was known for his vigilance and caution. The man had been watching you since you first arrived here. And you knew that the scroll you needed was kept in his house. That's why you had to be so careful. You tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, so as not to attract unwanted attention.

You knew your disguise had to be perfect, but even with all your efforts, you couldn't overcome the feeling that Tobirama was reading your every thought. All his attention was on you, his cold gaze penetrating your soul as if he were reading you like an open book. You began to feel nervous, realizing that Tobirama was slowly revealing your true nature. You couldn't hide your chakra concentration for too long, so you had to finish this task as soon as possible and get out of here before you were revealed, or all would be lost.

Tobirama often attended clan council meetings, where major decisions and plans were discussed. You spent days studying the schedules of those meetings to figure out exactly when to slip into his house and find the scroll. Finally, you found the right time to accomplish your task.

You were willing to risk everything to complete your mission. Quietly and carefully, you entered his domain, fearing every rustle and creaking. It was quite quiet, only the faint whistle of the wind could be heard from the open window. Tobirama's house looked modest but organized. With hopeful anticipation, you began to look through the documents, books, and other scrolls. You froze for a moment when you heard a sound in the other room. Your heartbeat accelerated, and you began to listen to every rustle.

Thinking that it was only your imagination, you continued looking for the right thing, not paying attention to anything. Eventually you found what you needed and quickly left the house. You managed to slip out of the camp unnoticed.Rejoicing in your victory, you quickly ran through the forest, out of breath, when suddenly a kunai with an explosive seal flew in front of you and exploded, throwing you a few meters away. You hit a tree and whimpered in pain.

Suddenly, there was a rustle nearby that sent shivers down your spine. You heard footsteps coming toward you. There was tension in the air, and your heart was beating as fast as if it wanted to jump out of your chest.

It took you a moment to realize that Tobirama himself was standing in front of you. You tried to get up, but pain shot through your body and you sank to the ground. Your eyes darted around, trying to find a way out of the situation. Meanwhile, Senju came closer and closer, his cold gaze piercing you like sharp blades.

«Did you really think you could sneak into my house and get away undetected, little spy?» — Tobirama asked sarcastically. The sound of his voice penetrated your ears, making you tense up even more.

«You were sorely mistaken to think you could fool me. You didn't hide your chakra well, you damn Uchiha». — he whispered.

Tobirama had no trouble taking the scroll from you. He gloated that he knew about your spy mission and had been watching you for a long time. Now it was the end of the road for you.

You fucked the hell up.You didn't understand how he got here. You saw him enter the council chamber with the rest of his clan, and you were sure he wouldn't leave for at least the next hour. You had it all figured out, he wasn't supposed to be here, but...

«You're thinking about the fact that I should have been at the council right now, aren't you?» — he asked, as if he'd read your mind. You remained silent, glaring angrily at him, and then he continued. «Actually, you're not wrong. I'm actually there at the moment».

«What?» — You finally raised your voice, staring at Tobirama in bewilderment. What he was talking about, you didn't understand. How could he be both here and there at the same time?

Senju grinned before making a couple of hand motions, folding the seal. White smoke appeared next to him, which soon dissipated, and now there was not just one Tobirama standing in front of you, but three at once. Your eyes widened in surprise. This was the first time you had seen this technique.

«Shadow Cloning Technique,» — he said, looking at his clones. «A personal development of mine. And I haven't used it in combat yet».

You frowned, expecting him to do something. Is he going to attack you? You were annoyed that you could do absolutely nothing to help yourself in this situation. And what's the point of fighting? You failed the mission anyway.

«Are you going to kill me, or are we going to keep talking like this?» — You asked. You wanted to sound confident, not to show your weakness in front of him, but your voice shook anyway.

Senju pulled out his katana and aimed the point at your throat. You realized now that your life depended on his decision. Death seemed more like deliverance than punishment, and you were willing to accept it to avoid further humiliation. But instead of delivering the fatal blow, Tobirama grinningly moved closer to you, knelt down so he could see your face, and whispered.

«I can find another punishment for a pathetic spy like you».

Your heart sank with fear, your breathing quickened, and goosebumps dined across your body. Tobirama tied your hands behind your back, giving you no chance to resist. Real panic gripped you as he reached for the waistband of your kimono and untied it.

«Hey, what the hell are you doing?!» — you exclaimed indignantly, your face reddening with shame and anger. The kimono crept down, exposing your shoulders and breasts. Senju started pawing at your breasts, as if he was evaluating them.

«Stop it! Don't you dare touch me, you filthy Senju...»

Tobirama ignored your insults as he continued to explore your body with his hands, as if it were just the object of his next experiment.

You tried to move away from him, but his strong arms held you in place. His smirk only made you more anxious, and you became fully aware of the situation you were in.

Tobirama spread your legs in one swift movement. His gaze was fixed on your clothed cunt. You tried to close your legs, but he held them firmly with one hand while he used the other to remove your panties. He abruptly flipped you over onto your stomach, putting you on all fours, and pressed himself against you, his cock resting against your ass.

«Did you really think you could get away from me with impunity after sneaking into our camp like a rat?» — He whispered in your ear, causing you to shiver. Senju had already pulled his cock out of his pants and was rubbing it against your pussy.

«No, no! You better kill me, you bastard!» — you screamed, trying to get out from under him.

You didn't want to show your weakness, but from your hopelessness you had already started to cry. Tears rolled down your cheeks, and seeing them, Tobirama only grinned. He wanted to stuff you with his cock so that you would cry harder and realize your mistake of not getting involved with Senju. He would fill you with his cum and send you back to your clan, humiliated and used by the enemy. The perfect punishment for you.

«Bastard! Damn bastard, how dare you...» — You continued to resist.

«Hey, shut her up,» — Tobirama turned to his clone.

Two of his clones stood in front of you. One of the bottoms pulled out his cock, holding it in his hand, and walked over to you. He took you by the chin and forced you to look at him.

«Open your mouth,» — the clone ordered you. You shook your head negatively, and then he forcefully pulled your lips apart and pushed his cock down your throat.

He took you by the hair and began to move up and down on his cock.

The real Tobirama pressed the head of his cock against your cunt and pushed inside without much preparation. You grunted in pain, choking on the clone's cock. He immediately started moving inside you, causing you more pain and discomfort.

His pace was fast, and you couldn't breathe properly. Tobirama held you by the hips, sinful moans escaping from his throat. He fucked you like he hadn't seen a woman in years.

The clone's cock began to throb in your mouth, and you realized that he was about to cum and wanted to pull away from him, but he pressed your head against his groin and cummed down your throat, then with a pop he vanished, leaving behind only smoke. But no sooner had you relaxed than another clone took his place, and he also put his cock in your mouth. You started to move your head yourself, not wanting the clone to yank your hair, causing more discomfort. You squeezed your eyes shut, moving your head up and down on his cock as he moaned in pleasure.

Tobirama continued to move inside you with inexorable force. You felt as if it would never end, and by sheer force of will you held back your screams and sobs.

Approximately ten minutes passed when this clone, too, cummed and vaporized. Finally, the real Tobirama reached his limit. He came out of your exhausted cunt and cum on your back. Wiping his cock on your kimono, he slipped it back into his pants, and got up from his seat.

You collapsed to the ground without strength. Your gaze was blank, hot tears running down your cheeks.

«I'll see you again, little spy,» — he said before he walked away, giving you one last scornful look.

In pain and humiliation, you tried to cope with the consequences of this cruel punishment. You had lost everything: your pride, dignity, and willpower. You had a great hatred for the Senju clan, and especially for Tobirama. You will take revenge on him someday. You will. But right now, you need to think about getting to your clan.

«What am I going to tell Madara...» — you thought as you walked through the dark forest. You didn't know how you would explain it to him. You failed his mission, it would make him very angry.

@naoyagasm

#naruto smut #dark content #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama smut #tobirama x !uchiha reader #thedarks1de

211 notes · View notes

the-badger-mole · 10 days ago

Note

Hi! I'm so glad you're doing these🙂

For the ask game, scenario 2 for Zutara, please and thank you.

He'd failed again. Zuko had turned his head for a second. With Katara behind him, he knew he didn't have to be as vigilant as he would be alone.

He made a mistake. Katara had seen the attack coming from Zuko's side, and she slammed the man into a stone wall with bone breaking force before turning back to her own attackers. Neither of them had seen the fifth attacker sneak away and position himself a few yards away in the bushes.

He wasn't a firebender. He was an archer. Military trained. He knew better than to try to take on a bender and swordsman up close. So he took aim.

Zuko froze for just a split second when he heard Katara gasp. He knew instinctively something terrible had happened. He spun around in time to catch Katara before she fell. The arrow protruded from her chest. It had missed her heart, but that wouldn't matter if she didn't get help and soon. Three of the five attackers were down, and the last two approached Zuko with twin smiles that promised a very unpleasant time.

"Not so tough now," the archer said, nocking another arrow. He aimed at Katara, gasping for air as Zuko cradled her in his arms. "Stand down or I end her right here."

Rage rolled through Zuko like lava spilling down a mountain.

"Stay away from her," he hissed. The other man- the one who was not aiming an arrow at Katara- scowled down at Zuko. He kicked one of the dao swords that Zuko had dropped out of reach.

"Or what?" he challenged the younger man. The archer drew his arrow back and aimed for Katara's head. Zuko snarled and held her closer.

"I said, stay ba~ack!" The fire burst from Zuko's mouth was met with shrieks of surprise and terror from the men. The archer cried out in agonized pain as the fire ball swallowed up his bow and arrow and left his arms burned and blistered. The other man, a much, much weaker firebender turned and fled. Of the three men Zuko and Katara had already managed to take out, two were conscious and uninjured enough to try to hobble or crawl away from the man they now knew was both an expert swordsman and a formidable firebender. Another night, perhaps Zuko would've rounded them up and left the bandits tied up to be found by law enforcement, but he couldn't care less about them now. Katara was still struggling to breathe. His entire purpose was to get her to the river and pull the arrow from her chest so she could heal herself.

#atla #zutara #prompt game #OTP Prompts: Protectiveness

44 notes · View notes

missbluesunflowersstuff · 8 months ago

Note

How do you imagine the adult!Damian's life?

First of all no evil pipeline and second no batman pipeline

I've seen some posts about him retiring himself and becoming a veterinarian but let's be real here, this boy can't stay still, he would enjoy the peace of civil life in the start but he will get bored soon and all his siblings and friends know it

Then I offer you: reluctant hero Damian 'I-said-I-want-peace-and-no-hero-stuff-but-I-see-some-bandits-and-I-need-to-protect-the-others' Wayne

The stories can help him help with the investigation, do a "hacker job" for some friends or siblings, fix some machine, literally punching villains and criminals in their face, being the family healer (he is a sorcerer guys), being the neighborhood cryptid, go some night as random vigilant because 'my brothers and father are so stupid for the fuckin' sake! I still need to do this shit' to save the city and/or his family

Also

Damian, in call with Tim: Explain to me again, why should I do it?

Tim: because I and Bernard are in our sabbat year and we all know how dad is when he is focused and your grades are perfect, Damian, no one would bother if you skip some class to help in this case

Damian: >tt< it's better you give me a nice souvenir when you come back, Timothy

_______

Damian: Jason... Why are you in my kitchen?

Jason: There's a bullet in my leg and I need you to take it out

Damian: ... You have luck that Alfred the cat like you

Jason: Are you not fixing this with magic?

Damian: How did you get shot?

Jason: ...me and my friends are drunk

Damian: you don't deserve magic

_____

Jon: Dami, please please please please please

Damian: I'm not a hero Jon, how do you expect me to invade the Luthor computer to help you? Do you want me to commit a crime?

Jon: please Damian! It's really important this time, I swear!

Damian: >tt< I'm in

Jon: you're the best Dami!

____

Damian gets an internship at the zoo and a group of criminals decide to steal the animals for genetic experiments

Damian: ... not in my watch

Damian, defeat the criminals and save everyone: you're late, it's yours and the girls' day shift

Duke: honestly? we came slowly because we knew you were here

___

Damian: today I just want to garden and read my shoujos

*literally aliens*

And the shit goes, sometimes he needs to be Batman because Bruce is old and needs help in some cases, and obviously the class "I'm not Batman!" basically adopt some random stray kid as young sibling now and carry them around everywhere

And also he will call his siblings for their first names in the future because they get Damian's trust but the most important family members still are: Alfred, Dick and Steph

And as a cherry on top: "you know what? I'm leaving! I can't have a shit in Gotham! I'm moving to Blüdhaven!"

Dick Grayson slowly picks up the box with a flamebird costume that "conveniently" fits on Damian perfectly

I say this because this boy has been disappointed by so many adults in his life and continues to be Robin, so the only conclusion is: he likes being a hero, not because of his father, but because of himself. That's why he wasn't just going to stop being a vigilant, he was going to continue being a hero even when he wanted peace

#damian wayne #dc comics #batfamily #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #tim drake #batfam headcanons #stephanie brown #duke thomas #cassandra cain #batfam

90 notes · View notes

taoriyu · 5 months ago

Text

Being in charge [Mizu x Reader]

=========== Pairing: Mizu x Reader Rating: T (I guess)

Short description: You are on watch tonight, and your military skills and commanding experience have proven invaluable. No harm was taken, but it seems a certain samurai has developed a taste for moments like these.

Additional warnings: - Things got a bit spicy this time but nothing mature. - An idea of archer reader isn't unique too, but a thought it would be a good match for a party of two melees and one useful handyman (kudos for Ringo)

Also: Mon - a round copper coins with a hole in the center, which were used for everyday transactions (according to ChatGPT).

Lleeet's go

===========

The night enveloped the surroundings in a cloak of brightness and freshness, the air imbued with the enchanting scent of blossoms and grass, mingling with the smoky essence of the fire. You established camp on the outskirts of the forest, sheltered beneath the towering canopy, away from the exposed and vulnerable thoroughfare that traversed the plain. Mizu, Ringo, and Taigen slumbered on their blankets around the crackling campfire, while owls hooted from the depths of the forest and leaves rustled noisily under the gentle caress of the wind, causing the treetops to sway in rhythm. The fire emitted soft, crackling sounds, punctuating the tranquil night of your watching.

Suddenly, a sharp snap shattered the serenity, followed by muted murmurs to your right. From the woods ahead, a hushed sound admonished silence. Metallic clicks echoed from the left, accompanied by the taut, high-pitched twang of a bowstring.

"Alarm! We're under attack!" Your shouts reverberated through the night, punctuated by the resounding clangs of a kitchen hatchet striking a metallic pot, your makeshift cooking vessel with Ringo.

"Ringo, raise your shield! There's an archer to your flank!" With agile reflexes, you leaped aside, narrowly avoiding the trajectory of an arrow.

"Mizu, Taigen, two assailants on my left!" Drawing the string of your bow taut, you hissed through clenched teeth, relying solely on your acute hearing to guide your aim. In the darkness of the forest and the flickering glow of the campfire behind you, discerning silhouettes proved impossible.

Thud. Thud. The sickening sound of arrows finding their mark, followed by the anguished cry of a fallen foe.

Swords clashed and screams erupted to your left. Swiftly, you pivoted, shifting towards the source of the archer's assault. With a swift motion, the archer released another arrow, only to find it stuck in an old shield repurposed as a makeshift table — a handy thing you and Ringo had devised for your cooking endeavors, now proving invaluable in defense.

Inhale. Aim. Exhale slowly. As your heartbeat steadied, time seemed to dilate. The assailant moved. Thud. Thud. The last of them fell.

You released a pent-up breath, surveying the aftermath.

"Are you alright, Ringo?" A nod confirmed his well-being as he rose from his defensive stance behind the shield.

"Mizu, Taigen, are you unharmed?" Your voice echoed through the night, seeking assurance from your comrades.

"We're fine," Taigen grumbled, emerging from the shadows along with Mizu.

Taigen retired to his blanket, voicing discontent, while Ringo extracted an arrow from the shield with attachable forceps.

"Mizu, with me. We need to inspect the fallen. The rest of you, remain vigilant. There may be more." Your directive was met with a quizzical glance from Mizu, but she acquiesced, falling into step beside you.

Three of the bodies yielded almost nothing: five mon, a bundle of poor-quality arrows, and no clues about the origin of the bandits. As you approached the last body, hidden in the shadows, Mizu spoke up.

"So, you're taking control tonight," she remarked quietly, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips, her eyes ignited with a certain spark.

"Perhaps I am," you responded, surprised by your own audacity, which failed to conceal the crimson hue coloring your ears.

Mizu's smile widened as she closed the distance between you, her stature seeming even taller in that moment.

"Command me then," Mizu murmured softly, trailing her knuckles across your cheek. Redness spread across your face, and your mouth fell open. Staring into her crystal blue eyes, dozens of thoughts raced through your mind, adrenaline amplifying every heartbeat.

Wait, what? She's serious? I thought she was mocking me. It's impossible, right? Gods, what do I do? Being in charge in battle is one thing. Commanding her right now is another. Maybe I should run? Coward. Argh!

Feeling as if you were standing on a cliff, you swallowed dryly and shifted your gaze to Mizu's lips. A faint pink blush colored her cheekbones too. To hell with it, you thought, and made a leap of faith.

"Kiss me then," you said, smiling nervously.

"I obey," Mizu whispered, propping up your chin and moving closer. Her tongue brushed against your bottom lip, making you gasp and hold your breath. She parted your lips and deepened the kiss. You felt like you were falling, your face hot and your fingers cold. A pulling sensation started to form inside your belly as the kiss grew more intense. Mizu let out a low, muted moan, sucking your bottom lip before parting from you. Both of you panted heavily, staring at each other with longing, unfocused gazes.

"Guys! Any discoveries?" Taigen's interruption shattered the moment.

Mizu’s eyes darted around, trying to focus. She gasped shortly, as if waking from a dream.

“Nothing interesting,” she shouted back to the camp.

She looked at you again, smiling cunningly. "I like when you're in charge," she said quietly, tapping the tip of your nose before heading back to the camp.

#mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai #bes #blue eye samurai netflix #blue eye samurai mizu #mizu x reader #in mizu we trust

59 notes · View notes

help-help-i-need-an-adult · 2 years ago

Text

“Geralt, darling…”

“Hmmm”

“I noticed your communication skills have greatly improved over the last few months. You use your words instead of just grunting far more these days. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you, Jaskier.”

“As such, I was thinking that perhaps it is time for another lesson in verbal communication.”

“Is that so.”

“Yes! It is so! Now, I realize this is a lesson usually given to performers, such as myself, but I think it is one you could greatly benefit from.”

Geralt sighs. Knowing that Jaskier will simply continue to pester him if he doesn’t agree, Geralt says, “If you think I would benefit from the lesson, I’ll to do my best to learn.”

Before, he would have told the bard to fuck off, but ever since the mountain, Geralt had been trying to put in an effort to do better. Doing better meant communicating better. The need for that had only increased when, a year ago, Geralt had finally gotten up the courage to kiss Jaskier and their relationship had been forever changed. In a good way. The kind of good way Geralt didn’t want to lose ever again.

“Excellent! In that case I see no reason not to start that lesson now.”

Geralt did. They were walking the path and Geralt was walking beside Jaskier; guiding Roach by her reigns. Ciri was away, somewhere safe with Yennifer and learning to control her magic, but that didn’t mean there weren’t still threats. He had to remain vigilant in case of an attack or a monster, and trying to focus on what Jaskier was saying would be distracting.

But, on the other hand, they were on a section of road surrounded by fields. For miles, there would be very few places for bandits or any monster too deadly to hide. Geralt would almost certainly see them long before they became a threat. So, he agreed.

“Alright. I’m listening.”

“Ok. So there are 5 organs of communication.” Geralt watched from the corner of his eye as Jaskier counted them off on his fingers.

The head

The heart

The gut

The groin

The arms

“You’re very good with the 1st and the 5th organs. The head refers to things you state. They are a matter of fact. No ifs ands or buts about them. You’ve proven to excel at this in the past several months. And the arms refer to non-verbal communication that is instead conveyed through action. Again. You excel at this.”

To prove his point, and to be an ass, Geralt raises an eyebrow at him and smirks while spreading the arm that is currently not busy guiding Roach.

Jaskier laughs and gently smacks the arm now extended towards him. “Yes. Exactly. However, you are lacking in the other three departments.”

Lowering his arm, Geralt asks, “so how do I go about fixing that? I’m not even sure I completely understand how the first 4 work. I’m communicating with my mouth and voice. Is that what you mean by head? And if that’s the case, I would have thought I was doing just fine with groin.”

Jaskier swats his arm again.

“Yes and no. In that regard, what you’re doing with your groin falls under arms.”

“Hmm.”

“Let me give you examples.”

Jaskier seems to take a moment to think.

“If I was going to tell you ‘I want you to come here’ there are 5 different ways I could go about that.”

“The 5th being arms. I could simply make eye contact with you. Point at you and then the ground. You would understand what that meant, yes?”

“Yes, Geralt exactly. The 1st one being head where I simply say to you ‘I want you to come here.’ And you would understand it to be a simple request.”

“Hmm.”

“But, if I were to make the same statement using my heart,” Jaskier’s eyes got bigger and his posture less ridged. When he continued, his voice was soft and breathy like when they’re lying together at night and just talking, “I want you to come here.”

Oh. Geralt had always been aware of how Jaskier would talk when it was just the two of them. How it would feel different, like now.

He’s tried to do that before, but it had never quite had the same effect. Like it was just… incorrect “I’ve tried that”, he tells Jaskier, “but it just doesn’t work right.”

“You mean when you look at me very intensely and get quieter?”

“Yes.”

“Well… that is part of it. But this isn’t about volume, or what your eyes are doing. It’s about what feeling you’re letting yourself have as you say it.”

Hmmm. That made sense. Even now, when letting his thoughts be known, Geralt struggled with the emotions part.

“So what’s gut?”

“But you haven’t tried heart yet!”

Geralt leveled a look at Jaskier that made it clear he needed to move on for now.

“Oh, all right. The 3rd is statements made in reaction. There isn’t much thought to them, like a gut reaction or when you have to make a decision in the moment.” Jaskier’s voice got louder and more rushed, “I want you to come here!”

Geralt moved closer to Jaskier on instinct. The almost fear in his voice had him going before he could remember this was an example.

“Ah. I think I understand this one. It’s fear.”

“Well,” Jaskier drawled, “it can be. It can also be excitement, or anger, or any other number of emotions. Much like heart can be hurt or longing and not just love. It’s just reactionary. Truth to the heads fact.”

This was getting confusing. How could it be fear but also other things? Geralt decided he’d need time to think about this and it was probably better to keep going. “So what is groin?”

“Ah,” Jaskier’s demeanor changed once again. It was one Geralt was very familiar with, he’d watched Jaskier adapt it with men and women all over the continent for decades. He’s been on the receiving end of it as of late and had grown fond of the change in Jaskier’s stance, the sway of his hips, the light in his eyes. He’d even seen Jaskier adopt it with a particularly good meal when they’d been getting by on what Geralt could hunt for too long.

When Jaskier spoke, it was low and gravely, and sent a shiver down Geralt’s spine. “I want you to come here.”

“Desire. And not just lust.”

Jaskier’s stance and voice changed once again, the change almost jarring, “Yes! Exactly. The wanting something so badly you can feel it.”

“Hmm. That one makes more sense.”

“Yes, you aren’t terrible at groin, but you tend to only use it when you’re horny and I insist you use your words. You could be using it for so many other things. And don’t give me the you want nothing speech again. I know that’s bullshit.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good!”

“I’m going to need some time to think on all of this, but in the meantime,” Geralt wrapped his free arm around Jaskier’s waist and gently pulled him into his side. Then, putting as much groin into his voice as he could, “telling me you want me got me hard. There’s no one around for miles.”

Geralt enjoyed watching a blush creep up Jaskier’s neck and hearing his heart speed up.

“Not going to say ‘no’ to that, dear witcher.”

Thanks @0dde11eth for telling me to write this

#the witcher #jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #the witcher netflix #geralt x jaskier #witcher #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier the bard #geraskier fic #short fic #just performer stuff #literally got a version of this lecture in chorus rehearsal this past week #it fucking works #and I knew it needed to be done with these two #thanks Cy

406 notes · View notes

comfortless · 10 months ago

Note

pls sir,,,, more dungeoneer konig and knight gf,,,, pls,,,,

why do you guys like seeing him suffer… part 3 of this guy i suppose! what are the sillies up to now….

dungeoneer! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: injury, violence, does it count as animal death if a gnoll dies i wonder…

She’s not entirely as adept as he is with these things, at least, that’s what he’s believed thus far. How could she be? A woman like her belongs in painted portraits adorning castle walls, not down in the dark with rarely little more than blades and sprays of blood for company.

Despite his assessment, when a particularly nasty gnoll manages to land a deep bite into König’s shoulder, it’s her that saves him. The pain is instant, warm salivating fangs digging past all defenses and pushing straight into muscle. The gnoll even has the audacity to huff out what sounds like a whine of delight when warm blood spurts straight into its maw. Perhaps, had he not been so focused on the lady knight, he wouldn’t have made such an error. Even now, rather than moving to overpower his aggressor, he watches her as she weaves through the debris of the tight corridor, her rapier readied at her side.

He’s fortunate that she reacts immediately, driving the sword so deeply into the beast’s guts that König could almost swear he feels the sharpened tip brush over his own tunic before she presses her boot to the gnoll’s spine and pivots backwards to free her blade, now glistening in crimson. It’s gruesome and foul but the look in her eyes is anything but— only tender.

“Thought he went for your neck…” The concern in her voice rings out clear, her hands trembling when she sheaths the blade and takes his arm into both of her own to lead him out of the decrepit dungeon. There’s nothing here apart from cobwebs and enraged monsters, no signs of a treasure promised. It was foolish of him to even drag her out here and now she’s.. caring for him. Oddly enough, this is the first time in a long stretch he’s had any woman willingly do just that without pity or disdain.

He tries to protest; the wound isn’t that bad, just a few punctures where fangs met flesh. Still, she props him against a sturdy oak, straddles his lap as she takes a dagger to begin tearing away his clothes.

“You don’t need to…” He trails off when she begins to clean the wounds, a little hiss of breath from the sudden sting of some pungent alcohol she’s produced from her bag, a sigh of relief when she smears the balm and wraps the wound tightly with a length of silk.

She’s not as indifferent to him as she pretends to be. Not at all.

More often than not his longing stares are met with a curious glance from her, maybe a soft huff of breath when she turns to look away. After his injury, König finds she’s quite affectionate too. She forces him down to kneel in shallow water while she meticulously cleans him, fusses over the wound as though it were her own, telling him he should not move too much lest he irritates it and draws out other beasts with the scent of his blood. She even gives him an almost imperceptible kiss on the cheek once she’s finished.

Come nightfall, she’s migrated from her bed to his own. There are no inns this far out, only rolling fields and forests. They’re camped out in the open, a horrid idea in the event of bandits, but she insists on watching over him through the night— if anyone comes, they’ll be struck down by this cocky, vigilant lady. He doesn’t doubt her ability anymore.

Their torches have long since burned out, and seeing as she won’t allow him to do so much as brush his hair from his face, stoking a fire seems out of the question. The glow of the moon provides enough visibility for her to see he isn’t clammy and feverish from infection, and that’s satisfying enough for her.

When dawn rises, a soft yellow glow dimmed by pillowy white clouds, König finds her not awake, but curled against his side, still wearing that heavy armor. Though there’s still a dull ache in his shoulder, one that screams he’ll be reprimanded if caught, he diligently works at the straps and buckles to free it from all but her chest before she stirs. When those eyes stare up at him, his heart flutters in a way he’s not so sure it ever had before. There’s always a tingle during an invigorating battle or the wave of excitement that washes over him when he takes his first step to descend into a dark crypt.

This is different.

He finds that it’s not just a blistering lust he feels for her anymore, but an unwavering sense of belonging at her side.

“… told you not to move,” she grumbles, batting his hands away as they rest over the straps along her shoulders. He could never fully place why she looks so different without heavy steel securing her, like a drab cocoon cracking open to reveal an achingly beautiful butterfly. “You should still be sleeping.”

“Ja, but you looked uncomfortable.”

“I’m not even supposed to be asleep.” Follows it up with a laugh that breezes like the most gentle song to his ears.

When they begin to gather their things to move on to the next destination, a small village near the coast, he realizes just what this bizarre feeling is. It’s love, or at least the closest to it that he still believes in.

“Is it against your code to marry?,” he asks, nonchalant as their next journey begins.

She’s busying herself looking over the map, her fingertips ghosting over the weathered parchment ad if the carve a path. The question doesn’t register for a moment, but when it does, her brow raises slightly in confusion.

“You know that I’m not a knight, König.”

“You are to me.”

She pauses for a moment, nearly dropping the map as her steps come to a sudden halt. She rolls the parchment back up, glancing away from him then.

“Then no, I suppose it’s not.”

#dungeoneer!könig #könig x reader

121 notes · View notes

tj-dragonblade · 11 months ago

Note

hello hello, how about #6 for the spotify wrapped 👀

6 - Arwen's Vigil by The Piano Guys This is an instrumental piece evoking steadfast hope and sweeping passions, and I think it calls for a Knight!Hob AU. Visually, Hob will be a tidied-up version of 1389 and Dream will have Tom's Hollow Crown look.

(Synopsis bled into scene-drafting oops)

Dream, the ruler of wherever, has sent his best men on a dangerous quest of some sort. Including his unspoken favorite, his most faithful, the man who holds his heart, the man who will never know it. Dream cannot abuse his station; he is the king; Hob is his knight. They cannot be together. But nothing can stop him holding vigil each night as he waits for news, his thoughts circling on Hob, praying for his safe return.

The news when it comes is bittersweet; the quest was successful but at great price. Only three of the ten men remain to return home; the message does not tell who. Dream paces endlessly, frets endlessly, heart perpetually in his throat as he grapples with the not-knowing, the fear that his Hob has perished.

When the men return they are only two; the third fell to bandits on the road and the second is gravely injured. The first, Dream sees with a relief that threatens to overwhelm him, is his Hob.

The injured man is seen to, rushed to the medics; Hob is tired and dirty but unharmed, and Dream calls for a bath to be drawn in his private quarters. He will tend to Hob himself, with the viable excuse of debriefing him re: the quest.

So before long we wind up with Hob dozing quietly in the warm bath in Dream's quarters, Dream watching over him, letting him doze and making sure he doesn't slip underwater, keeping the fire roaring, etc. Ooh, ooh, there should be a hair washing scene first, Dream washing Hob's chest and shoulders and beard for him, gentle and intimate and Hob protesting his king serving him this way and Dream shushing him with something like 'My noble steadfast Hob, my most loyal and enduring friend (dangerous, so daring to admit aloud he considers him thus), let me take care of you for once' and so Hob quiets, and lets him, and Dream moves on to the proper hair washing and by the time he's finished Hob is drifting asleep.

So Dream lets him sleep, keeps watch, tends the fire etc, and after a bit he's sitting on a chair by the tub lost in thought when there's a wet touch to his hand and he looks up to find Hob's warm brown eyes fixed steadfastly on him.

"My liege," Hob says softly, gaze unwavering, and brings Dream's hand to his lips, lets them graze over the knuckles.

Dream sucks in a breath, shaken, filled with such ardent longing that he fears to speak, lest he give himself away. But Hob is still speaking.

"I have faced death many times, but none more certainly than this last."

"Hob—"

"And I'm alright with that." He sits up, leans forward, still holding Dream's hand. "I will go where you send me; I will serve you to my last breath and die gladly if it means you're safe. But having faced that possibility so starkly—" he turns Dream's hand, presses his lips soft to the cup of Dream's palm "—I have realized. There are things I do not wish to take to my grave." He arches Dream's hand back gently, places a softly-heartfelt kiss to the inside of his wrist, lifts his eyes back to Dream's.

"My lord Dream. It is not simply my sword and my service which are pledged to you, but my heart as well."

Dream cannot help the gasp that escapes him; neither can he manage words, which is just as well as Hob is still speaking.

"I know we can never be, and I do not expect any return of my feelings. I am happy to love you silently from afar, as I always have. This—" his lips brush the pulse beating furiously in Dream's wrist "—is more than enough, your care and consideration of me here, they are more than enough. If I am to die in some future endeavor, then I will die at peace knowing you are aware that you were loved by me. And that is enough."

"You dare." Dream finds his voice at last, though it trembles terribly. "You. Dare. To speak so carelessly of dying, when I have spent days sick with worry of your welfare, when I have not slept for fear I had lost you this time, when I have only just had those fears assuaged by your return—"

Hob is quite taken aback, but still he holds Dream's hand. "My liege—"

"Dream." The tremor in his voice matches the wavering of tears filling his vision, the way his fingers tremble in Hob's gentle hold. "You will call me Dream when it is only you and I, and you will not greet death so cavalierly should it come for you. You will exercise every caution, you will fight with your all to return to me, for I could not bear to lose you, not now, when you tell me that the heart I so long for is pledged to me in truth, I could not bear it—"

He is cut off by the soft touch of Hob's fingers to his lips, wet and wrinkled from the bath water, beseeching his silence. He meets Hob's eyes, tears spilling over soundlessly, and finds Hob's gaze wide, wondering, warm and hopeful and dark enough to drown in; when Hob's fingertips move gently from his lips to touch his tears, to reverently stroke a single droplet away, Dream shivers. And when Hob releases his hand, moves closer, when both of Hob's hands are gently framing his face, when Hob is gazing up at him with naked adoration, Dream knows he is lost. He does not fight the way Hob leans up and draws him down; he cannot fight his own desires any longer and he cannot deny this man any wish.

The kiss is tentative, soft, Hob's lips sliding across his, between, pressing gently until Dream gasps—

And Hob draws back, eyes searching Dream's, seeking permission, confirmation that his forwardness is welcome, and Dream can think of no better assurance than to kiss him again.

He lunges forward, mouth finding Hob's unerringly, and it is Hob this time who gasps, whereupon Dream brings his tongue into the kiss and then Hob moans. Dream touches him, as he has longed to do for years, strokes through his wet beard and wet hair, touches the wet curves of his shoulders and the glorious mat of wet hair on his chest, heedless of the drag of his own sleeves in the bathwater.

"My lord Dream—" Hob barely pulls away, lips brushing Dream's as he speaks.

"Not here," Dream interrupts. "Never here, think me not your lord when we are alone, I beg—let me be just a man, let me be but the one who would hold your heart dear and trust that you hold mine the same—"

"Dream," Hob says then, tremulous, wondering, and the blossoming familiarity of Dream's unadorned name on Hob's lips has him swooning back into a kiss.

It quickly grows desperately impassioned, fierce and frantic as emotions rise and inhibitions fall in their wake. Hob flounders about in the tub and stands, bringing Dream up with him, pulling Dream to him and picking him up, cradling Dream bridal-style as he steps out of the tub, naked and streaming wet and still kissing his king. Dream clings around his neck, lost in the ardent warmth of Hob's mouth, uncaring of how Hob's wet hirsute body makes an absolute ruin of his clothing.

He will not be wearing it much longer, regardless.

So I guess this will be going in the wip pile but there is no telling if or when I'll get back to it. The rest will just be smut; Hob carries Dream over to the furs spread on the stone floor in front of the fire, lays him down, strips him bare of his wet robes with reverence, tenderly fingers him open and then makes love to him over and over, ardent and adoring and attentive until tears of joy and pleasure are streaming from Dream's eyes, until his heart and body sing with the love Hob bears him, the love he bears Hob in turn. Or something equally purple-prosed and sappy. This will be smut to rot your teeth on I assure you.

Inevitably this art and the third one here ended up rotating in my mind even if they don't quite apply to what I scribbled down - they convey the same kind of mood.

Spotify Wrapped Askmeme Post

#Thank you Vi ❤️#askmemes #TJs Fics #of a sort #SpotifyWrapped asks #Dreamling #Sandman

132 notes · View notes

lunaewriting · 2 months ago

Text

The Healer: Xavier x OC

Chapter 1: Mortal

1884

The night had gone poorly. As the bandits descended upon Sirona, she thought about what a hassle it would be to regenerate IF she regenerated.

I will try to survive despite having nothing left on this earth.

Though her body was resilient, she was currently bleeding out. Sirona could heal quickly from most injuries. But at the moment, the woman was testing her limits. It didn't matter, though; she had nothing more to lose. Death was an old friend of Sirona's. She did not fear him.

For a split second, right before the predatory men tore her apart, she was blinded by a bright beam of light. It shot across the forest, and the monsters were gone, decimated, reduced to dust—a stark contrast to the rest of the bodies surrounding her—the ones she had dispatched.

Rapid, heavy footfalls approached her.

How careless to not notice another...

She knew she was utterly defenseless, crumpled on the dirt floor, her body rendered useless by the countless bullet wounds that littered her abdomen and lungs. She sensed that the end of her life was near. The woman took a final look at her surroundings; the church she had attended all of those decades ago, long reduced to ruins. The woods she would play in as a child. Sirona had lived a long time and had yet to age since she turned 25; she was permanently suspended like this and had been for well over a century.

Everyone the woman had once known and loved had either died of old age or had otherwise been slain. While she maintained a vigil over the town she grew up in, Sirona had kept her distance, not interfering unless there was a danger to the populace.

She supposed that the town was the last thing she had in her life that still mattered to her. No one would mourn her. That's alright, Sirona thought. What was she to expect from this lonely existence of hers?

Her eyes fluttered shut. Her chin raised indignantly in the face of death. At least, I want my end to be dignified…

Except the final blow never came.

"Are you alright?" a surprisingly calm voice called to her. The voice was unfamiliar… yet… it felt like she'd yearned for it her entire life.

The blood loss had taken its toll on her. She was veritably delirious. Her vision blurred. For anyone else but Sirona, this would be lethal.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she coughed violently. Blood spurted from her lips as she looked up at the stranger before her. He was beautiful; his hair was like starlight, silver and seemingly sparkling under the moon's luminescence. He was tall and lean with broad, capable shoulders. From the second she looked into his enrapturing eyes, she knew she wanted to know him. Truly know him in a way that no one else could. His gaze held hers momentarily before breaking the connection and kneeling to examine her injury.

She broke out of her reverie—Preposterous, pull yourself together.

The stranger sighed, looking forlorn as if he, too, was about to lose something. "There is nothing more that I can do for you besides grant you a quick death,"

The woman was too weak to attempt a tough facade. Her voice cracked, "Please, don't lose hope for me yet. I am not as frail as most."

Sirona's vision obscured further. She would be losing consciousness soon. It became increasingly hard to breathe.

His eyebrows knit together as he considered what she said. She had suffered from injuries in the past, but nothing this severe. The odds of survival seemed slim, but there was still a chance her body would miraculously reconstruct itself yet again. The blood loss had caused her to turn numb from the cold. She couldn't feel anything at all.

"What's your name?" he whispered, probably to keep her conscious.

The stranger beside her was so warm despite his cold demeanor. That warmth… she craved more of it. How cruel life was to make her experience such warmth and yearning in her last moments. Something unattainable right before her closing eyes, as if taunting her.

"Sirona," she forced her body to say.

"I am Xavier," he suserated to her. He moved to wrap his arms around her.

Xavier. The whisper of his name in her mind and the warmth that enveloped her were the last things she remembered before blacking out.

⭒✦✵✦⭒

"Leave her alone!" Sirona cried.

"And what are you gonna do about it, runt?" The beastly boy said as he threatened to kick the little girl who was already curled up on the ground from a previous blow. The town's children had been playing in the nearby woods when the little girl accidentally threw a ball that hit the brute in the head. Before anyone could react, he began to hit her. She was new to town; Mom and Dad told Sirona she'd come from the ocean. She was surprisingly tenacious but ultimately no match for her attacker. None of the other children were.

"Hit her again, and I'll make you regret it!" Sirona screamed louder. At this point, many other kids began to get animated, their voices rising in volume, the noise likely to attract the nearby adults.

The boy started laughing at her and gave the new girl one final kick before Sirona shrieked and ran towards the bully; she had never felt so enraged. She instinctively placed her hand upon his head.

The contact caused the boy to scream. Her hand was a harbinger of death. She felt invigorated. When Sirona looked at her arm, it was cloaked in a green-black mist. But she was too angry at the boy to care.

"Sirona, stop!" her mother shouted in horror as the other children suddenly noticed what was happening to the boy. His body became shriveled and gaunt, and his screams became weaker. Sirona was forcefully pulled away by her father.

"Lemme go!" Sirona thrashed around, desperate to feel that power rushing into her again.

"Sirona, calm down this instant!" Hearing her father's angry voice, her fury dissipated. Sirona looked back at the boy. He was snot-nosed crying but was alright, and the color had returned to his cheeks.

"What did you do?" her father demanded with wide eyes. She looked at the shocked faces around her. Everyone looked at her as if they had never seen her before. Sirona didn't understand what had happened.

"I did something bad," she began to cry, just as shocked and afraid as the onlookers.

After that day, everyone in the village treated her differently, even her parents—everyone except one: the new girl. After the incident, she approached Sirona and whispered, "I don't care what anyone says; that was pretty impressive." She outstretched her tiny, bruised hand. "My name is Nysia."

⭒✦✵✦⭒

When Sirona awoke from the memory, she recognized her town's familiar sights and sounds. Of course, they would not recognize her, but she found herself comforted by the place she once called home.

Realizing that her anonymity had been effectively destroyed, she bolted upright from the ramshackle clinic bed she had been lying in. Oh no. They knew her face now. She would not form attachments, not again. The loss had become far too much to bear. She looked at her body, taking stock of her injuries… they were gone. It was not a surprise, but it suggested that a significant amount of time had passed. Her body had never healed instantly.

"I have treated many people in my time, but none who could survive an injury like yours. It was as if God himself was nurturing your recovery," said the kind-looking, older doctor.

"How long have I been here?" she demanded roughly, wishing she did not need to hear his answer.

"Only a few days. A girl whose healing ability can cure any ailment that afflicts her. No infection. I assume the dead band of marauders was your doing? A very odd state of affairs."

She tried to keep her face from blanching. She had been caught. However, her healing process had been vastly expedited from the norm, especially after that injury. Whoever this man was, he was very skilled in his craft.

These past several decades, she had lived in seclusion. Her garden was the only company she needed.

Sirona admitted that, at times, her life could be lonesome, but she would rather have a day of loneliness than an eternity of mourning. She was accustomed to her hidden cottage. She had only broken her unspoken rule only once. Heartless as she yearned to become, Sirona could not sit idly by while a child was in danger.

She protected the town but as a ghost. When the occasional highwaymen and bandits tried to raid her town, she always showed them a swift end. Though she did not know the townspeople individually, she loved them in her own way. As long as she was around, no one would lay a malignant finger on them.

She moved to stand, "Thank you for your help, but I must be going now!" She tried her hardest to keep the panic rising from boiling over the edge. As she stood, the older man laid a hand on her shoulder, a tinge of recognition in his eyes.

"There have been rumors of a guardian spirit that has protected this area for over a century. She came to me when I was a child… I will never forget her eyes; they were gold with just a hint of purple. I was deep in the woods, playing by a stream, when I fell into the water and bumped my head on a rock. The next thing I knew, I felt warmth and light; I opened my eyes to see her. I thought she was an angel. She must have healed me," he paused fleetingly as if savoring the memory, "Then she walked me back to the town's edge. That day, I realized that my life's purpose is to help people as she helped me. I never did get the chance to thank her… until now." A knowing glint appeared in his eyes.

I remember that day. It must have been 60 years ago now. A little boy. Around the age of 5 or 6. I found him lying motionless in a creek. He would have died that day had I not intervened, bled out, or drowned. I healed him. I asked him his name when I was finished, William.

After helping the boy, she found a small shrine had been put up in her honor. Her people occasionally left her gifts. The one most dear to her was a simple line drawing of herself standing next to a child. She could only assume it had been William who had penned the illustration, for he was the only one at that time who knew what she looked like.

Sirona found herself speechless at the revelation.

"William," she said as a smile broke across her face. As she studied him, she saw the remnants of the little boy he once was.

William chuckled. "You remember me! Don't worry, I'll take your secret to the grave."

Relief flooded into her at that. "Thank you for everything," she said gratefully. William's voice sounded as she began to get up and walk away.

"Before you go. Please have dinner with my family, you saved my life. I know that nothing will ever make up for what you did for me, but take pity on an old man who wants to try."

Sirona froze. Maybe she was weak, but the prospect of a warm meal and feeling like part of a family again lured her in. At the thought, she smiled.

"One meal…" She conceded.

"Wonderful!"

Still… one old memory haunted her above all the rest: Everyone around you dies, and yet here you are; you just get to keep on living. She jolted herself out of the thought.

⭒✦✵✦⭒

In the following months, Sirona spent more and more time in the town. For the first time in decades, she considered the place home again. However, she would often get the feeling that she was being watched. She was almost sure she saw her strange silver-haired savior from the corner of her eyes. But, she would convince herself that it was just wishful thinking.

In her younger years, she had been a healer. She began those duties again, helping William with his patients, and when standard medicine failed, she used her power to heal them. Her powers always came at a cost. If she overexerted herself, a deathly state would settle in. Her cheeks would hollow out, her skin would shrivel, and in extreme cases, she would fall unconscious for days at a time. Sirona was sure that if she were to push herself far enough, it could result in her death.

For the first time in a very long time, Sirona felt happy. The feeling felt so foreign to her, but she relished in it. I can help people again. She had been a social creature long ago, and as she spent more time with the townsfolk, she realized she still was. She had always intrigued them; everyone knew she had done her best to keep them safe for generations. They were in awe of her now that she was in the open, beloved by all.

However, the townspeople were not the only ones who had taken notice of her. Sirona had killed many bandits and highwaymen during her years in seclusion. Men had lost friends or brothers, even fathers and grandfathers, to her, and they long prayed for retribution.

It was late. Sirona often spent her nights in the clinic with William. It had been months since she woke up after the incident. After over a century, she finally regained her purpose—so many people needed help.

Sirona had no idea how William managed this clinic alone for so long.

Tonight, Sirona was helping William prepare a poultice of borage and chamomile for a young boy who had stepped into a shrub of poison ivy while playing in the woods.

Suddenly, Sirona heard gunshots and screams of terror. Her eyes caught William's, and they both rushed outside.

The scene before them was something out of Sirona's nightmares. Buildings were being set aflame, and the townspeople, the people she now called friends, were being slaughtered.

She had become careless, failing to maintain her vigil over the town. Her presence should have lessened threats; instead, it had put targets on their backs. And she would never forgive herself for that.

There was no time to wallow in her folly, however, she needed to act.

"Take care of the wounded!" She looked at William and saw the expression of devastation on his face.

"NOW!" she yelled.

The urgency of Sirona's tone caused William to break out of his trance. They both knew what was at stake.

The old man burst into action. First, he focused on the children that he knew were still trapped in the burning buildings. It became clear to her that this had been meticulously planned. Without an accelerant, these buildings would never have gone up in flames so quickly.

Sirona focused diligently on the bandits. The landscape was covered in carnage, and she witnessed one man, above all, commanding the masses to destroy the people she cared so deeply for.

As soon as she left the clinic, some bandits abandoned their previous victims, turning their attention to her. She had honed her hand-to-hand combat abilities over the years but never faced up against the number of villains now advancing upon her.

She chose to dispatch to the one closest to her first. The man aimed his revolver at her and pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed her cheek, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Sirona did not even feel it. She had never shown these people mercy before, and now, for the first time, Sirona knew she would feel joy while killing these men. She grasped the forehead of the man and siphoned his life force, the action healing her cheek and instantly invigorating her. She would be damned if they touched any more of their people.

After seeing what Sirona had done to the previous man, the others seemed much less brave. The fear on their faces was delicious.

They chose to commit this horrific act, and Sirona was their atonement.

The other men all raised their guns and fired. She was unable to dodge the onslaught of shrapnel. She was peppered with wounds and felt the searing pain as they punctured her heart and lungs. The rate of fire was beyond her ability to react. She couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter. She had to destroy these people.

As they were trying to reload, she broke the wrist of one of the men, preventing him from firing again. Another chose to take her on from behind, attempting to drive the butt of the rifle into her skull. She caught his wrist with one hand, his jugular with another, and squeezed as she siphoned his energy. As he died, his eyes bulged in his skull before closing forever.

She was a wolf patrolling her territory.

The next couple of men had finished reloading and shot again with their rifles. These bullets further damaged her lungs and punctured her throat. Although she was now feeling the effects of her injuries, she felt unaware of them. Her vision blurred, and her eyelids became tediously heavy, but she knew she had to go on for them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed William drag another child from a burning building. He was suffering the effects of smoke inhalation. William was coughing and sluggish. The man was old but cared so much for these people that he would do anything for them. Above all, she wanted to protect him, but of everyone in the town, he was the most capable of helping their people, and she had to allow him to go about his task. Sirona again felt the rush of adrenaline as she advanced upon the men; she dropped low and kicked the legs out from under one of the attackers; as he fell, she stomped on his throat, crushing his windpipe.

The next man shot her again, this time in the shoulder; she looked down, seeing the butchery that had become her torso, blood. She knew she had to act fast. Her regenerative abilities gave her heightened resilience and strength, but she was acutely aware that her limits had long since been surpassed. Sirona's wounds could not heal as quickly if there were obstructions. Despite her fading consciousness, she needed to keep going. She threw a kick high in the air to strike another attacker in the chest, throwing him back. She used the advantage to launch herself on top of him. She clawed at his throat. The more she was injured, the more savage she became. The severity of her injuries meant that her momentary blackout was imminent. She just had to hold out; she had to. As Sirona dug into the artery in the man's neck, she relished in his screams.

In her ecstasy, she had forgotten to keep up her awareness of her surroundings, she had allowed someone to come upon her back. He gleefully clenched her chin in his hand as he tried to slit her throat. As the man she had set upon lay dying, she snapped her head to face her latest attacker. He was the leader of the group she saw earlier. He sneered at her, almost a grimace, as Sirona returned his gaze. He had brought about this carnage, he had caused the devastation of her people. He would die. Unlike the others, he did not wield a pistol or rifle but a sword. Good, all the more easy to tear him apart. She screamed as she launched herself towards him. She shoved him up onto a nearby wall.

She needed to know the reason he had chosen them to torment, "Why?" she choked out.

He chuckled, "Because of you."

She saw nothing but red as she siphoned the energy out of him. When he was depleted, she realized how many more reinforcements there were, there were too many for her alone to handle. Blood filled her mouth, and she coughed. She could hardly see beyond the black veil upon her vision. She could no longer fight, there had been too many blows to her organs. She could only pray that her fight bought at least some people time to escape.

At last, she fell.

Everyone around you dies, and yet here you are.

#love and deepspace #lads xavier #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x oc #will they won't they

22 notes · View notes