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aventurineswife · 3 months ago

Note

Dear amazing author (you really are! I and my friend have always feast 💜)

If I may request something - may I please request the hugs and assurance, that everything would be alright? For Aventurine, Argenti, general Jing Yuan, Boothill, DHIL / Dan Heng (you may add more, if you want, I'd gladly read it all!)

Not only I, but also my friend has bad period of time... These last two months mainly... :') college in the last year is not funny, ngl...

Thank you sincerely 💜

(also Toki, surprise ;D no matter what would happen, we are strong introverts forever 💜🤭)

We Mend as We Go

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Dan Heng IL x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Vulnerability, Reassurance, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Introspection, Found Family, Slow Burn (implied), Mutual Support.

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Burdens of Leadership, Existential Doubt, References to Vengeance and Loss, Themes of Loneliness and Emotional Isolation, Mentions of Past Violence (in Boothill and Dan Heng's parts).

A/N: 😭😭STAWWPPP!! Y'ALL ARE TOO NICE 🧍‍♀️😔, ALSO I can relate with college... It's never fun but neither was school (for me at least) :') enjoy this! ;)

The moon hung high over the city, casting a soft, silvery glow across the balcony where Aventurine stood, his sharp eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Despite his outwardly confident demeanor, there was a deep unease within him tonight, a rare crack in his carefully crafted facade.

You approached him quietly, your footsteps soft on the stone. He didn't turn to look at you, but the subtle shift in his posture told you that he knew you were there. You stopped beside him, taking in the view, before gently reaching out and placing your hand on his shoulder.

Aventurine’s smile was as enigmatic as always, but his eyes—held a flicker of something else: vulnerability. It was fleeting, hidden just beneath the surface, but you had learned to read him, to see past the games and the charming mask.

"Everything’s a gamble, isn't it?" he mused, his voice light, but with an underlying tension. "No matter how many victories I've had, there's always that nagging feeling... What if it all crumbles?"

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a tender embrace. He froze at first, caught off guard by the warmth of your presence, before he slowly relaxed, a soft breath escaping his lips.

"Then we'll rebuild it together," you whispered, your voice calm, filled with assurance. "You’re not alone in this. Whatever happens, we’ll face it."

Aventurine stood still for a moment, his heart pounding with an unfamiliar comfort, before he allowed himself to lean into the hug. His arms hesitantly wrapped around you, the gesture more vulnerable than anything he had ever shown.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "You make the gamble seem worth it."

The night was quiet, the stars shining brightly above the peaceful valley where Argenti had paused in his travels. The weight of his armor felt heavier than usual tonight, as if the burden of his sacred duty pressed down upon him more than ever. He had been wandering for so long, always alone, always with the call of duty at his side. Yet, tonight, there was a crack in the armor of his conviction—a moment of doubt.

You found him sitting on a rock, staring at the night sky with a distant expression, as though lost in thought. Without a word, you sat beside him, the silence between you both comfortable in its familiarity. You didn’t need to ask what was troubling him; you could feel it emanating from him like an unseen weight.

After a few moments, Argenti spoke, his voice quieter than usual, filled with the kind of uncertainty he rarely allowed himself.

"Do you ever wonder if I’m doing the right thing?" he asked, his eyes reflecting the stars above. "I’ve faced so much... I’ve fought countless battles, restored cities, but... is it enough? Am I truly bringing beauty to the world?"

You reached out, gently resting your hand on his, offering him the comfort he often denied himself. Argenti looked at you, his sharp gaze softening as he met your eyes.

"You’re bringing beauty with every step you take," you replied, your voice unwavering. "It’s not about the battles or the victories. It’s about the light you share, the way you inspire others. You don’t have to carry the world alone."

Argenti’s shoulders relaxed, the tension that had built up slowly dissipating as he leaned into your embrace. His armor was cold against your skin, but the warmth between you was enough to melt the doubt away, if only for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. "It’s a lonely path, but with you, it feels less so."

The evening was calm on the Xianzhou Luofu, a rare stillness settling over the grand halls and corridors. Jing Yuan had long since finished his duties for the day, but the weight of centuries seemed to linger in the quiet moments, especially as he found himself gazing at the stars from his study. His eyes, sharp and calculating, softened as he thought about the future, the past, and the delicate balance he maintained as the General.

You entered the room quietly, approaching him from behind. Jing Yuan didn’t turn, but the slight shift of his posture told you he was aware of your presence. You stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, the touch grounding him in the present.

"Jing Yuan," you said softly, "everything will be alright."

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that seemed to carry the weight of both amusement and something more. "You say that, but you know how fragile peace can be," he remarked, his voice soft with the wisdom of ages. "How long can it last?"

You knelt beside him, your presence a reminder that he was not alone in his struggles. You placed a hand over his, your fingers intertwined with his, and offered him a comforting smile.

"You’ve kept the peace for so long," you said. "You’ve already proven that you can handle whatever comes. But it’s alright to lean on others too. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself."

Jing Yuan’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. "And will you be here... when the burden feels too much?"

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, offering the kind of reassurance only love and time could bring. Jing Yuan, for all his wisdom and strength, leaned into your embrace, a sigh escaping his lips. He had known countless battles and victories, but in this moment, it was the peace of your presence that soothed him.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice quiet but filled with warmth. "With you, I know everything will be alright."

The cold winds of the galaxy howled through the dim-lit room, the hum of the ship's engine the only sound breaking the silence. Boothill sat by the window, his mechanical hand tracing the outlines of the distant stars. His white hair framed his face, the black streaks almost seeming to shimmer in the faint light. His sharp teeth were barely visible, lips tight, eyes focused on something far beyond the stars—something far beyond the pain he’d been through.

You entered the room quietly, your footsteps soft against the metal floor. You had always known when Boothill needed space, but tonight, something about him seemed different—more distant, like the weight of his past was pulling him under. The bounty on his head grew heavier by the day, and Oswaldo Schneider was still a shadow, always out of reach. His quest for vengeance was endless, and it was slowly consuming him.

Sitting beside him, you placed a gentle hand on his. His cold, metallic fingers trembled slightly under your touch, a sign of just how much his humanity was still alive beneath the hard surface.

"Boothill," you whispered, your voice steady but full of warmth, "it's okay. You’ve fought so long, but you don’t have to fight alone anymore. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. You’re not alone. Everything... everything will be alright."

He didn’t respond immediately, but you saw the slight shift in his posture—the way he leaned just a little closer, his hair brushing against your arm. His eyes, those sharp, calculating eyes, softened, just for a moment. The aim symbols within them flickered slightly, as though they, too, were taking a break from their endless mission.

His voice was low, rough, as though it had been unused for far too long. "I... I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting like this." The words came out almost as a confession, a crack in his usually impenetrable armor. "Everywhere I go, it feels like I’m chasing ghosts. My family... my home... it all just keeps slipping away, no matter how hard I try."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. He stiffened at first, his mechanical body too rigid, but then, slowly, he let go of the tension, allowing himself to be enveloped by your warmth. His chin rested on your shoulder, the weight of his past pressing against you, but you held him tighter.

"It’s okay, Boothill," you murmured, your voice a gentle whisper. "You don’t have to carry everything alone. I’m right here, always. And I’ll help you find your peace, even if we have to fight for it together. We’re a team, and I’ll never leave your side."

For the first time in a long while, Boothill let himself relax, his grip on you steady but soft. The storm inside him had not yet passed, but in this moment, there was comfort—a fleeting sense of safety.

"You’re right," he whispered, his voice low, almost hesitant. "I’ve been carrying too much... Maybe it’s time to let someone else carry a little of the weight."

And for a moment, the stars outside seemed to shine a little brighter. As if even the universe itself was reminding him that he was not alone.

The stars stretched infinitely before you, the ship gliding smoothly through the cosmos. Dan Heng stood near the observation window, his eyes distant, gazing into the void. His posture was tense, as it often was, his sharp features betraying none of the turmoil within. The weight of his past, the memories of his previous incarnation, lingered like a storm cloud hanging over him.

You had known him long enough to recognize the signs—the way his shoulders would stiffen, how he would withdraw into himself when the shadows of the past grew too overwhelming. He had always been like this: detached, burdened by things he could not control, unable to fully reconcile with the legacy of his past life as the Imbibitor Lunae.

Without saying a word, you approached him. He didn’t turn to face you, but you didn’t need him to. You knew what he needed, even when he didn’t.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, but the tension in his body was like a barrier—one that you knew he had built over countless years. Still, you could feel the way his body subtly relaxed at your touch, just a fraction, but it was enough.

"Dan Heng," you said softly, your voice the only thing breaking the silence. "I know you carry a heavy burden, and I know it’s not easy to shake the past. But you don’t have to do it alone. Whatever comes, I’ll be here. You don’t have to keep everything locked inside. Everything will be alright, I promise."

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on the stars, his expression unreadable. But you didn’t pull away. You stayed close, your presence offering the quiet reassurance he needed.

Finally, his voice came, almost like a whisper. "It’s hard," he admitted, his tone low, vulnerable in a way you rarely heard. "To live with all these memories. To know what I’ve done... what I was capable of... and still wonder if I can ever make up for it."

You stepped closer, placing your other hand on his back, your warmth reaching through the cold walls he had built around himself. "You’ve already done so much, Dan Heng. You’ve made a choice. And that choice is yours, not anyone else's. The past doesn’t define who you are now. You are not your past life. You’re you—and you are enough."

He exhaled slowly, as if your words had finally reached him, breaking through the fog of his thoughts. His hand, which had been resting at his side, slowly reached up, fingers brushing against yours. The touch was small, fleeting, but it was enough—a silent acknowledgment of your words.

For the first time in a long while, Dan Heng allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—everything would be alright. And as he turned his head slightly to meet your gaze, the faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft. "I... I needed to hear that."

And in that quiet moment, amidst the vast expanse of the stars, you both knew that, no matter how far you had to go or how many trials awaited, you would face them together.

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astrids-blog333 · 23 days ago

Text

Call Me Husband

Guard!Lucius Verus Aurelius x Reader

Fandom: Gladiator II

Summary: Your father sent his most loyal guard to protect you. A man twice your age and owned by your house. And this week, he has to pretend to be your husband.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT, age gap, loss of virginity, jealousy, power imbalance, mild exhibitionism, period-typical misogyny.

A/N: In this kinda combined a bunch of my fav fic tropes, like forced proximity, age gap, enemies to lovers situation, fake dating...yeah you get the idea. It's purely self-indulgent 🤭

MASTERLIST - REQUESTS (OPEN)

WC: 4.1k

The carriage pulls to a slow, creaking stop in front of Lord Aldryn's estate. Sunlight glints off the polished stone, warm and golden, but your skin is already prickling before you even step down. This place is grand, older than your father’s home.

Lucius hops down first.

You expect him to offer a hand, which he does, but it's forced, rigid. His jaw is tight, but you take his hand anyway, forcing it, curling your fingers around his rough palm like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

You smile up at him sweetly. “Darling.”

His eyes cut down to you, a warning simmering just under the surface. “You better behave,” he mutters.

You only grin wider. “We’re supposed to be blending in, you're supposed to be my Husband, remember?”

You're here on your father’s orders, representing the family at this summer gathering, a week of hunting, feasting, and mingling. But your father couldn’t attend himself, so he sent you.

And Lucius, your guard. A man at least twice your age, who has killed for your family more times than you can count, and who is pretending to be your new husband of two weeks.

The steward greets you before Lucius can argue. “Lord and Lady,” the man beams. “Welcome. Lord Aldryn is delighted you could join us. We’ve prepared your chambers.”

You open your mouth, Lucius beats you to it.

“Thank you,” he says curtly. “We’re honoured.”

The steward leads you through the estate. You feel Lucius’s eyes on your back, burning a hole through your dress.

Your chambers are beautiful. High ceilings, tall windows, a carved bed in the centre of the room.

The steward chuckles as he sets down your cases. “Privacy for newlyweds is important, yes? I remember the first time my wife and I- well, never mind.” He bows and disappears before you can say a word.

Lucius stands frozen.

The dining hall is already buzzing when you arrive. Candles flicker along the long table. Nobles laugh and drink, the room full of too many eyes, none of which seem to notice Lucius’s hand resting just barely against the small of your back.

You slide into your seat beside him. You’re seated as a pair. Of course.

The host, Lord Aldryn, raises his goblet. “To new marriages!” he declares. “May you enjoy this week of peace, and of pleasure.”

There’s laughter. A few raised brows aimed at you and Lucius.

You don’t miss the way he stiffens.

You lean into him. Just enough for your lips to brush the edge of his jaw. “Loosen up,” you whisper. “You’re supposed to be in love with me.” His hand curls into a fist under the table.

Lunch begins. Roasted meats are brought out, still sizzling. There is fresh fruit, honeyed wine, and you behave for exactly ten minutes.

Then you pick up a fig from your plate, soft and sweet, and turn to Lucius with a slow smile. “Lucius,” you say aloud, “you’ll like this.”

You lift the fruit to his lips, but he doesn’t open his mouth.

Your smile doesn’t falter. You lean closer, brushing the fig against his lower lip. “Come on.” Lucius stares at you like he’s about to strangle you.

But he opens his mouth. Bites. Chews.

The table around you coos.

“How sweet,” a woman says. “Such devotion,” another murmurs.

Lucius doesn’t say a word. His jaw moves tightly, and his hand is now gripping the arm of his chair like he’s holding himself back from slamming it into someone’s face.

You just hum and turn back to your food, satisfied.

You’re playing with fire and you know it.

You’re not supposed to wear this.

The gown is too fine, too fitted, and the colour so deep, it's almost sinful. You’d chosen it carefully. Lucius had said nothing when you laid it out on the bed. He’d just glanced once, jaw hard, eyes unreadable.

Now, hours later, you’re walking through Lord Aldryn’s gardens with a crystal goblet in one hand and every eye in the party on you. Or rather, on the gown. On the skin it reveals, the shape it clings to.

But only one pair of eyes matters.

Lucius is posted at a distance, dressed in a dark, understated tunic. A blade at his hip. Standing guard, as always. You can feel his stare from across the lawn, like pressure against your spine.

You don’t look at him. Not yet.

Someone else approaches first.

“Lady,” a voice says smoothly, drawing close.

You turn. Lord Aldryn's eldest son, handsome, far too confident, and just drunk enough to think he stands a chance. He bows low before you. His golden hair gleams in the torchlight.

“My lady wife,” you correct lightly.

He laughs, bold. “Ah yes, the quiet brute you came with. I saw you feeding him. Must be exhausting, trying to draw affection from stone.”

"Yes, my lord husband,” you correct, lips curved.

You force a laugh and try to step back, but he follows. Closer.

“You should smile more,” he says, lifting a hand to brush a lock of hair from your shoulder. “Someone like you shouldn’t waste time on someone so...cold.”

His fingers graze your bare skin.

You feel it before you see it, the shift in the air. Your breath hitches.

Lucius is moving.

Across the garden, his posture changes. His stance widens, shoulders drawn back, hand resting at the hilt of his sword.

You look up at him, offer a smile that’s more of a warning. “Excuse me,” you say tightly, stepping to the side.

But the boy follows, still talking, still grinning. “Come now, don’t be shy. We’re all friends here.”

You glance over his shoulder, locking eyes with Lucius.

It’s the first time you’ve ever begged him silently.

And gods, does he respond.

Lucius appears beside you like a storm on legs. Not saying a word, not drawing his sword. Just there, towering, broad, eyes black with rage. He doesn’t touch the boy. Doesn’t need to.

The noble flinches, retreats half a step. “My apologies,” he mumbles. “Didn’t realise your husband was the possessive type,” he quips, trying for humour.

Lucius smiles. A slow, terrible thing.

He steps forward. Just one step, but the boy flinches like he’s been struck.

“Try again,” Lucius says, voice soft as ash.

The boy's face goes white, and he slowly backs away.

As he leaves, Lucius turns to you. He doesn’t speak, just watches you.

And you can’t breathe.

Later, back in the room, the door clicks shut behind you. The silence is thunderous.

You move first, walking to the vanity to untie your gown. Your fingers tremble slightly, but you keep your chin high, spine straight. You don’t look at him, but you feel him, his presence swallowing the entire room, coiled like a storm held back by sheer will.

“You’re angry,” you say softly, unclasping the back of your necklace.

No response.

You glance in the mirror and see him, still standing by the door, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising and falling in long, deliberate breaths. His jaw is tight, shoulders rigid beneath his dark tunic. His eyes, when they catch yours in the reflection, are unreadable. Dangerous.

“You didn’t stop me earlier,” you murmur.

Still nothing.

“Lucius.”

That does it.

He crosses the room in three strides. You turn just as your back hits the wall with a quiet thud, the cool stone jarring through the fabric of your gown.

He doesn’t touch you.

His hands slam into the wall on either side of your head. His breath is hot and ragged, his chest brushing yours with every inhale. His eyes burn into yours, and yet he still holds himself back.

“He touched you,” he growls, voice rough and low, vibrating through your bones.

You don’t flinch. “He thought I was available.”

“You let him think it.”

“You let him think it.” A sharp inhale “Are you jealous, Lucius?”

Lucius barks a short, humourless laugh. His teeth flash in the dim candlelight, more snarl than smile. “Your father owns me. I am here to guard your life, not ruin it.”

You don’t look away. “I don’t feel ruined.”

“I do,” he snaps.

The words land with force.

But still, you don’t break. “Then why didn’t you step in?”

“I wanted to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He leans in. So close now. The wall cold against your back, his body a furnace in front of you. His voice is a breath away from vicious. “Because if I’d put my hands on him, I wouldn’t have stopped.”

A beat of silence. You swallow. “And if you put your hands on me?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, your throat, the rapid rise and fall of your chest. His self-control shudders, visible in the tense line of his jaw, in the way his knuckles whiten against the wall.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you whisper.

Lucius exhales through his nose, slow and tight. “You should be.”

You reach for his belt.

His hand shoots out, seizing your wrist mid-air. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds. He could crush you. He doesn’t.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

“I’m not a child.”

His grip tightens. “No. But you’re still soft. Untouched. Reckless.”

“I’m not reckless,” you say, breath catching. “I’m choosing this.”

Lucius stares at you, something furious and protective and almost...devastated flickering behind his eyes. “You think that makes you ready? You think you know what it means to be with a man?”

“I know what I want.”

"You don't want a man like me."

"I do. I know I do!"

“You want danger. You want control taken from you and handed to someone who knows better.” His voice is a low rasp now, eyes flashing. “You want to be ruined. And I-” he cuts himself off, jaw clenched. “I’m trying not to give in.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You try to pull your wrist back. He doesn’t let go.

“You’re playing games,” he breathes. “But I don’t play. I take.”

You tilt your chin up. “I want you to.”

His eyes flick down. To your mouth. Your neck. Lower still.

“No you don't,” he murmurs.

“If you don’t touch me right now, I’ll scream.”

“And if I do?”

“Then I’ll beg." Lucius exhales sharply. Like he’s been struck.

His grip loosens, then releases. He steps back but he doesn’t leave. He looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Like he’s fighting for his soul and losing.

Then he says, rough and quiet, “Get on the bed.”

The mattress dips beneath you as you climb onto the bed, knees sinking into soft linen. The silk of your gown shivers over your skin. You sit back on your heels, hands folded in your lap, eyes fixed on Lucius.

He watches you.

His chest still rises and falls with that same coiled restraint, but his eyes… his eyes are wild. Dark. Unforgiving.

“You look like a lamb waiting for slaughter,” he mutters.

"Then be the blade, Lucius. Just don’t leave me waiting." You smirk at the muscle that ticks in his jaw.

He crosses the room in slow, heavy steps, his boots loud against the floorboards. He stands at the foot of the bed and looks down at you, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze.

Then he reaches for the leather straps of his armour, tugging them loose with practised ease. One by one, pieces fall away. His shoulder guards go first, then the chestplate, and the belt at his waist.

When his tunic comes off, your breath catches. Not just because of the body, which is broad and strong and marked by battle, but because for the first time he looks like a man, not a soldier.

He steps forward again, kneels one knee onto the bed, and grabs your ankle gently, guiding your foot forward so you’re flat on your back. You let him move you. His hand is warm, calloused, rough in all the right places.

“You want to be mine,” he murmurs, voice low, rasped, eyes dragging over you.

“I already am,” you whisper.

Lucius makes a sound in his throat; half laugh, half groan, and leans over you. One hand plants beside your head. The other brushes down your side, fingers skimming the silk of your dress. When he finds the ties at your hip, he doesn’t yank. He pulls. Slow, deliberate, dragging each ribbon loose with maddening precision.

Your skin prickles as the fabric shifts. One shoulder bare. Then the other.

He drags the neckline lower with the back of his knuckles. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

“I want you to show me.”

That earns you a sharp, quiet laugh. “Gods help me,” he mutters, and leans in to kiss your throat.

His lips are warm, mouth hot as he trails lower. You arch beneath him without meaning to. His hands slide under the fabric of your gown, pushing it up, higher and higher, until it bunches at your waist.

His eyes flick to yours. “Lift your hips.”

You do.

And he pulls the gown over your thighs, down your legs, off.

You’re bare beneath him.

Your face flushes, but you don’t hide. You don’t cover yourself. You look at him, this man who is older, stronger, and dangerous.

Lucius groans quietly. “You are going to ruin me.”

He moves slower now, like he’s memorising you. His hands settle on your hips, thumbs pressing gently into your skin. His mouth finds your collarbone, your breast, lower still. Each kiss is reverent. Every touch is earned.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and you believe him.

You reach for him, grabbing his hand, his wrist, whatever you can hold. Needing something solid.

He guides you gently, shifting your legs apart, fitting his body between them.

Then he moves.

His fingers first, slow and careful, coaxing sounds from you you’ve never made before. He watches every reaction, like he’s studying you. Learning what you like. What you can take.

Your breathing turns ragged.

Lucius kisses you hard. “Look at me.”

You do.

“Good girl.”

You whimper and he keeps going, steady and slow, until you’re shaking.

Then he stops. Only for a moment.

You gasp when he pulls away, ready to protest, but he’s already undoing the ties of his trousers. You’re bare, trembling, and breathless.

And he is going to ruin you in the best way possible.

Lucius kicks off the last of his clothing, and your breath stutters. It's the way he looks at you, like you’re something sacred. Like he’s already in too deep.

He comes back over you, his body bracketing yours, heat radiating from his skin. One hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “Tell me again.”

“I want you.”

“No,” he breathes, dragging his nose along your jaw. “Tell me you want me inside you.”

You swallow hard, spine pressing into the mattress, thighs shaking. “I want you inside me.”

He groans like the words cost him something. Like he’s barely holding himself together.

Then, finally, he pushes inside.

You gasp, hands flying to his shoulders. The stretch burns, but his touch grounds you. He doesn’t move right away. He watches your face, studies your every reaction like it’s the only thing that matters.

"So fucking tight-" his jaw tightens, eyes wild, "so bloody innocent, what are you doing to me?" His hand clenches in the sheets beside your head. "You’ve never done this before." You shake your head, cheeks flaming.

"Tell me no one’s ever had you. Say it."

"You're the first Lucius."

That makes him groan again, lower this time, deep in his chest. “You should hate me for this.”

“I don’t.”

His hand covers yours where it clutches at his shoulder. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

So you do. And when he starts to move, it’s slow. Careful. Like he’s afraid you’ll break. You cling to him, your body gradually adjusting to his size, to the overwhelming fullness of him.

He presses his forehead to yours, his rhythm deliberate and steady. His other hand slides beneath your thigh, lifting it higher, deeper.

“Doing so well,” he mutters, kissing your cheek, your throat. “So brave. Gods, you feel like heaven.”

You whimper his name.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re mine now, sweet girl. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Lucius.”

His hips snap harder, once, and your breath catches. He chuckles, low and dangerous. “Good girl.”

Every thrust sends you spiralling. The sting of the first few moments fades into something molten, dizzying, unbearable in the best way.

You wrap your legs around his waist. Your fingers tangle in his hair. “Don’t stop. Please.”

“I won’t,” he says, mouth at your neck. “Not until you’re shaking for me.”

And you do.

It builds slowly, unbearably, the pressure mounting in your belly until it breaks. You cry out as your release crashes through you, body trembling beneath him, back arching off the mattress.

Lucius groans, lips at your ear. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You’re still gasping, trying to recover, when you hear footsteps. A shuffle outside the door.

Your eyes fly open in alarm.

Lucius doesn’t stop.

He reaches up, hand over your mouth, holding you still as he keeps moving inside you. His rhythm stays measured, deliberate.

He leans down, voice rough against your ear. “You started this,” he growls. “Now you’ll take everything I give you.”

Your eyes roll back. “Quiet now,” he murmurs. “Be good for me.”

You moan under his palm, helpless, hips twitching beneath him.

Even when the footsteps pause outside the door, Lucius doesn’t break pace. His hand tightens gently. His eyes stay locked on yours.

And still, you can’t look away.

Whoever’s out there moves on. The sound fades.

He keeps the pace slow for a few more strokes, teasing you, until your nails are digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling around his waist.

And then, something in him snaps.

His rhythm shifts. No more gentleness, no more mercy. He pounds into you, deep and unrelenting, and you sob out a sound you didn’t know you could make.

“Tell me you can take it,” he growls.

You nod, desperate, wrecked. “I can...I can Lucius-”

It hits like lightning.

The tension in your belly coils impossibly tight and then detonates. Your body clamps down around him, stars bursting behind your eyes. You cry out, shaking beneath him, your entire body seized in ecstasy.

He curses against your neck, voice breaking. “Fuck. That’s it. Just like that.”

You’re still convulsing around him, riding the waves, when he groans again and thrusts deep one last time.

Lucius stills. And then you feel him hot and thick, spilling inside you, his mouth catching your moan with a kiss. His whole body trembles with its force, arms locked around you like he’ll never let go.

It’s primal. Unrestrained.

Perfect.

He doesn’t move right away. Just breathes. His forehead presses to yours, and you feel his pulse hammering in his throat.

“That,” he breathes, “was never supposed to happen.”

Then slowly, reluctantly, he pulls out. He kisses you, softer now. Gentle. His thumb strokes your cheek where his hand had silenced you.

“You alright?” he murmurs.

You nod.

Lucius doesn’t speak as he moves to help you. His hands are gentle and careful as he dresses you, the soft laces of your nightgown slipping through his fingers with a reverence that seems almost out of place after everything.

But then, his voice cuts through the stillness. It’s hard, jagged. “You know this changes everything.”

You want to say something, but the weight of his words settles in your chest like a stone. You don’t need to ask what he means. You already know.

Before you can gather your thoughts, there's a knock at the door.

You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest. Panic flares in your stomach, but Lucius, ever calm, is already on his feet. His movements are swift, efficient, like a predator on alert. He doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate.

In a few seconds, he’s dressed, the sharp edges of his military demeanour snapping into place as he approaches the door. The sound of the knock feels like it echoes through the room, and you hold your breath, waiting.

Lucius opens the door like he owns the godsdamned world.

And maybe he does, because when Lord Aldryn’s son looks up, all cocky confidence from earlier is gone. The boy freezes.

Lucius is shirtless, his chest still rising and falling from exertion, his skin sheened with sweat. There’s a faint red mark trailing down his neck. Probably your teeth, if the boy’s smart enough to notice.

He doesn't move aside.

“She’s resting,” Lucius says, low and deliberate.

The boy shifts, glancing past him. His gaze lands on the tangled bedsheets, on your bare legs disappearing beneath them, on the bruises blooming along your throat, the kind only one man gets to leave.

Lucius watches him take it all in. Watches the exact moment that hope dies in his eyes.

“Ah,” Lucius murmurs. “So now you understand.”

The boy swallows hard. “I- I didn’t mean to intrude-”

“But you did,” Lucius cuts in smoothly. He leans against the doorframe, arms folding across his chest, utterly at ease. “You came to try. That’s what stings, isn’t it?”

The noble’s son flinches, colour rising to his cheeks.

Lucius smiles. It’s not kind. “Next time, don’t mistake a look for an invitation. She was never yours to chase.”

The boy stumbles over some half-formed apology before retreating fast down the hall, boots echoing like a retreat from war.

Lucius shuts the door with slow satisfaction. Then he turns back to you.

His eyes roam over your skin, your lips, the marks he left. And when he speaks again, it's with a dark, amused glint in his eye.

“He thought he could touch you,” he says. “Thought he might steal something that already fucking belongs to me.”

He grabs the discarded blanket and joins you back on the bed, pulling it over you both. You’re still trembling, still trying to believe it happened.

Lucius shifts beside you, propped on one elbow. “You don’t get to flirt with boys anymore.”

You smile, dazed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

His fingers trace lazy lines down your side. “Good.”

There’s a beat of silence before you whisper, “You’re going to pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Lucius meets your eyes. “No.”

You blink.

He brushes a kiss to your forehead. “But you should.”

You fall asleep wrapped in his arms. Spent. Claimed. Safe.

And completely, utterly his.

The next morning, you wake tangled in the sheets, Lucius’s body still close to yours. His arm is draped across you, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

The door to your room creaks open, and a servant’s voice breaks the stillness.

“Your father arrives tonight, My Lady.”

The words hit like a sudden gust of cold air. Your stomach drops. Lucius stiffens beside you, his muscles tensing as if someone had struck him. His gaze hardens, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move. His face is unreadable, but his eyes betray him; there’s panic, yes, but something darker beneath it.

The room is suffocating now, and you can feel the tension coil between you like a wire stretched to its breaking point.

Lucius’s body shifts, but he doesn’t speak at first. His jaw clenches, and his fists twitch at his sides. His gaze doesn’t leave you as he stands, moving to dress swiftly, his hands more methodical now, almost mechanical in the way he pulls on his clothes.

He’s slipping back into the role of the soldier, the guard, the man who is bound to your father, but there’s something there, something that fights against the ease with which he assumes that persona.

You look at Lucius. He looks at you.

The danger is real now.

But despite that danger, despite the weight of the consequences that hang in the air, you both remain silent. Neither of you moves to leave the room, nor do you speak, as if the world has stopped turning for just a moment.

Finally, Lucius steps toward you. His eyes are intense, burning with an emotion you can't quite place, possessiveness, anger, fear. His voice is low, gravelly, but there’s a tenderness in it that wasn’t there before.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” he says, his words quiet but firm. “No one will take you from me. Not even him.”

I really enjoyed this, that's all I have to say 😅

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midnight-shadow-cafe · 5 months ago

Text

The Emperor’s Gaze

Pairing: Emperor Geta x reader

Warnings : Fluff

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I couldn’t get Geta out of my mind so… here we are 🤭🤭

Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist Part 2

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The palace was a labyrinth of marble corridors and gilded chambers, each corner a testament to Rome’s wealth and power. For those who served its rulers, it was also a maze of rules, where a single misstep could lead to ruin. You had learned this early, keeping your head low and your presence quieter still.

Your role as a maid was one of humble necessity—sweeping the floors, polishing silver, ensuring the tapestries hung just so. Others gossiped about the palace’s intrigues, but you avoided such folly. It was better not to know.

Tonight, however, was different. The air was heavy with expectation. The emperor himself, Geta, had returned from a victorious campaign, and the palace was alive with revelry. You had hoped to avoid the feast entirely, yet a last-minute order sent you to the grand hall with a pitcher of wine in hand.

The moment you stepped inside, the scale of the event hit you like a wave. Braziers cast a golden glow over the sprawling chamber, their flames reflected in polished bronze shields mounted on the walls. Senators and noblemen lounged on silk-draped couches, while musicians played softly in the background. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine hung thick in the air.

At the far end of the hall, seated atop a raised platform, was the man himself. Emperor Geta.

He looked every bit the ruler of an empire. His dark crimson robes, edged in gold, flowed around him like a mantle of fire. The laurels on his head gleamed under the light of the chandeliers, but it was his presence that truly dominated the room. Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed the hall with a mix of boredom and subtle amusement, his dark eyes flickering over each guest as if weighing their worth.

You kept your gaze fixed firmly on the floor as you approached the head of the table, clutching the pitcher so tightly your knuckles turned white. The clamor of conversation around you seemed deafening, yet you moved unnoticed—just as you preferred.

Until you didn’t.

As you leaned forward to refill the emperor’s goblet, your trembling hands betrayed you. The lip of the pitcher brushed his fingers, and before you could pull back, he spoke.

“Stop.”

The single word was quiet, yet it silenced the room. A hush fell over the feast as all eyes turned toward the emperor—and you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you froze, the pitcher still in hand. Slowly, hesitantly, you straightened.

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a request.

For a moment, you debated disobedience. Maybe if you bowed deeply enough, he’d let you slip away unnoticed. But something in his tone—firm yet curious—compelled you to obey. You lifted your gaze, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it.

When your eyes met his, the world seemed to shrink.

His face was sharp, regal, yet there was a warmth in his deep brown eyes that you hadn’t expected. He studied you in silence, his gaze moving over your face with the precision of a man who missed nothing. Your breath hitched, your pulse racing under the weight of his scrutiny.

“What is your name?” he asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to steady. “Y/N, my lord.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, the syllables slow and deliberate, as though savoring them. His lips quirked into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How long have you served in my palace?”

“Two years, my lord.”

His head tilted slightly, as if considering your answer. The room seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. You felt the stares of the assembled nobles boring into you, some curious, others envious.

“Two years,” he mused, almost to himself. “And yet, I’ve never noticed you before.”

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of shame and confusion. Was that an insult? A compliment? You didn’t dare ask.

Geta’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer, then he leaned back in his chair, dismissing you with a slight wave of his hand. “You may go.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Bowing deeply, you retreated as quickly as decorum allowed, your hands trembling as you clutched the empty pitcher. The whispers began before you even reached the doors.

Back in the safety of the servants’ quarters, you pressed your back against the cool stone wall, your heart still racing. What had just happened? Why had the emperor singled you out in such a public way?

Unbeknownst to you, Geta’s thoughts lingered on the timid maid with the downcast eyes and steady voice. In a hall filled with Rome’s finest, it was you who had caught his attention.

And he wasn’t the type to let such curiosity go unanswered.

——

The next few days passed in a haze of unease. Though you tried to immerse yourself in your duties, the memory of the emperor’s gaze lingered, as vivid as if it had happened moments ago. Whispers of that night followed you through the palace—servants and guards speculating about why the emperor had spoken to you, of all people.

You did your best to ignore them. You were a maid, nothing more. Whatever had sparked his interest that night would surely fade.

Or so you thought.

It began subtly at first. A guard would appear in the kitchens as you worked, delivering a cryptic message: “The emperor has requested his chambers be attended to by Y/N.” The head housekeeper, though confused by the unusual request, complied without question. After all, one did not defy the emperor’s wishes.

And so, for three mornings in a row, you found yourself alone in his private quarters. The rooms were grand, draped in rich fabrics and adorned with treasures from across the empire. Yet they felt oddly… personal. A small desk near the window held stacks of parchment, the ink-stained quills hinting at late-night writings. A sword, its hilt worn with use, rested casually against the wall.

The first two mornings passed without incident. You worked quickly, cleaning and tidying without lingering, half expecting the emperor to appear at any moment. But he didn’t.

Until the third morning.

You had just finished smoothing the folds of his bed’s silk coverlet when you heard the door open behind you. Your breath caught, and you turned slowly, clutching the edge of the bed to steady yourself.

There he was, dressed in a simple tunic, his firey hair slightly tousled as though he’d only just risen. Without the laurels and formal attire, he looked younger, almost approachable. Almost.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice warm yet carrying the weight of command.

“My lord,” you replied, bowing deeply. Your hands twisted the hem of your apron nervously as you straightened, unsure of what to do or say.

He stepped further into the room, his gaze locked on you as if he were trying to solve a riddle. “Tell me, do you always avoid looking at me, or is it just since the feast?”

The question startled you. You glanced up, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away again. “I…I did not wish to presume, my lord.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he crossed the room to stand before you. “Presume what? That I’m a man who enjoys being ignored?”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. Was he teasing you? Testing you?

“You intrigue me, Y/N,” he said after a moment, his tone shifting to something quieter, more genuine. “In a palace filled with people clamoring for my attention, you shy away from it. Why?”

You hesitated, the words caught in your throat. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because attention in this palace is… dangerous, my lord.”

He tilted his head, considering your answer. “Wise,” he murmured. “But perhaps unwarranted.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, surprised by his response. His expression was unreadable, but there was no trace of mockery in his tone.

“Dangerous or not,” he continued, “I find myself drawn to you. And I’ve never been one to ignore my instincts.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. The room felt impossibly small, the air heavy with the weight of his words.

“Tell me,” he said, stepping closer, “what do you think of me?”

Your heart leapt into your throat. What was he asking? Why was he asking? You couldn’t afford to offend him, yet honesty seemed just as perilous.

“I think…” you began cautiously, your eyes darting to the floor, “that you are a great emperor, my lord. Respected. Feared.”

He laughed, a deep, genuine sound that caught you off guard. “Feared,” he repeated, shaking his head. “And are you afraid of me, Y/N?”

Your silence was answer enough.

Geta reached out then, his hand brushing your chin. Gently, he tilted your face upward, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch was warm, unexpected.

“You don’t need to fear me,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours. “Not when I intend to protect you.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your mind spinning. Protect you? From what? From whom? You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the two of you suspended in the quiet intimacy of that moment.

Then a knock at the door shattered the silence.

Geta’s hand dropped, his expression hardening as he turned toward the door. “Enter.”

A servant appeared, bowing low. “My lord, the council awaits your presence.”

Geta nodded, his composure returning as swiftly as it had slipped. He glanced back at you, his gaze lingering. “We will speak again, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the room, your heart racing and your thoughts tangled in a web of confusion and anticipation.

——

The following days passed in a strange blur. You carried out your duties with the same diligence as always, yet your mind was consumed by the emperor’s words: *You don’t need to fear me. Not when I intend to protect you.*

What had he meant by that? Protect you from what? And why had he chosen you, out of all the people in the palace, to share such a promise?

The whispers among the staff had only grown louder. They noticed, of course—the way the emperor’s gaze lingered on you when he passed through the halls, the way he seemed to seek you out in moments when no one else dared approach. You tried to ignore it, but the weight of their eyes was impossible to escape.

It was on a quiet afternoon, as you scrubbed the marble floors of the palace’s western wing, that your solitude was once again interrupted. The sound of boots echoed down the corridor, drawing closer with each passing moment. You didn’t look up, assuming it was a guard or another servant on an errand.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name, spoken in that familiar voice, sent a shiver down your spine. You froze, your hands stilling against the wet cloth. Slowly, you turned to see him standing there, his arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed simply again, his tunic and cloak free of the heavy embellishments he wore in public.

“My lord,” you said, bowing your head quickly, trying to mask the nervous flutter in your chest.

He stepped closer, his boots clicking softly against the marble. “Is this how you spend your afternoons? Scrubbing floors?”

You dared a small smile, though you kept your eyes lowered. “It’s honest work, my lord.”

His expression softened. “Honest, perhaps. But a waste of your talents, I think.”

You blinked, startled. “My… talents?”

He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to your level. “Do you know what intrigues me about you, Y/N?”

You shook your head, your breath caught somewhere between confusion and anticipation.

“You see things others don’t,” he said, his voice low. “You understand the dangers of this palace, the way power twists and turns. But you also carry yourself with grace—humility. It’s rare.”

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. Was he testing you again? Trying to unsettle you? Yet there was no trace of malice in his tone, only sincerity.

“I don’t belong in your world, my lord,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” he agreed. “You don’t. And perhaps that’s why I find you so… refreshing.”

His words hung between you, their weight heavy with unspoken meaning. You felt your cheeks flush under his gaze, your heart racing in a way you couldn’t control.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, standing and offering his hand.

Your eyes widened. “My lord, I—”

“No arguments,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve spent enough time scrubbing these floors. Humor me for a while.”

Hesitating only a moment, you placed your hand in his. His grip was steady, warm, and surprisingly gentle as he helped you to your feet. He led you through the palace, his stride purposeful yet unhurried.

The halls grew quieter the further you went, until you found yourself in a secluded garden, hidden away behind towering marble walls. The air was cool, the scent of blooming jasmine filling your lungs. A small fountain trickled in the center, its soft gurgle the only sound.

“This is my favorite place,” he said, releasing your hand and turning to face you. “Away from the politics, the noise. No one comes here without my permission.”

You looked around, awed by the serene beauty of the space. It was unlike anything you’d seen in the palace—a haven untouched by the chaos of court.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked softly, your voice barely carrying over the sound of the fountain.

“Because I want you to understand something,” he said, stepping closer. “In this palace, you’re right—attention can be dangerous. But it can also be a shield.”

You frowned, confused. “A shield?”

“Yes.” His eyes locked onto yours, their intensity stealing your breath. “As long as my attention is on you, no one else will dare harm you. They won’t dare use you to get to me.”

Your chest tightened at his words. Was this his way of protecting you? Claiming you as his, if only to keep the vultures at bay?

“But why me?” you asked, the question tumbling out before you could stop it. “I’m just a maid. Why would you risk your reputation for someone like me?”

His lips curved into a small, almost sad smile. “Because you’re the first person in years to see me as a man, not just an emperor.”

The weight of his confession left you speechless. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, his fingers warm against your skin.

“You don’t have to answer now,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur. “But when the time comes, I want you to trust me. Will you try?”

You nodded, unable to find your voice. His smile grew, a flicker of warmth crossing his otherwise guarded expression.

“Good,” he said, stepping back. “Now, come. There’s more to this garden I want to show you.”

And as you followed him deeper into the hidden sanctuary, you couldn’t help but feel that, for the first time, the world might not be such a dangerous place after all.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

#x reader #emperor geta #geta x reader #geta x you #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator ll #joseph quinn gladiator #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #emperor geta x female reader #emperor geta x y/n

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xbellaxcarolinax · 2 years ago

Note

miguel + "you can take it" please 🤭

Crazy

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: Fucking filthy. P in v, biting, oral (f receiving), pain (he's big, as we all know). It's late for me, sorry for any mistakes.

Pls enjoy and let me know what you think!

MDNI

...

It was a new position.

He’d never taken you from behind before, ass in the air and completely exposed—entirely at Miguel’s mercy.

He ran his large hands down your sides and over the smooth globes of your ass, giving them both a little slap. You moaned, knees pressed into the mattress and face buried in his sweet-smelling sheets. Your back was impossibly arched as Miguel ate from you, keeping a large hand flat against your shoulder blades to keep you exactly how he wanted.

His expert tongue swirled over your sensitive nub, sucking on it gently as he listened to your gentle pants and mewls. You could feel him smiling against your cunt, a little puff of air released from his nose in amusement.

“W-what?” You panted, raising your head just a bit so he could hear you properly.

“Nada,” he chuckled, giving your ass a messy kiss, “you sound cute.” You huffed, ready to retort with a slick response but cut yourself short when Miguel began to flick his tongue in a way that had your toes curling, your hips moving to chase his eager mouth.

He dragged his tongue through your swollen folds, his mouth making obscene noises as he sucked all your juices, dipping into your hole and thrusting inside every so often.

“M-Miguel.” You whined—not for the first time that night—your hands extending outward to fist his sheets, nails biting into your palms through the thin cotton fabric.

“Feels good?” He murmured, his words muffled by your glistening cunt.

“M-mhm.”

Your legs were spread so far apart you thought your pelvis would snap in half if it weren’t for Miguel stabilizing you. His hands held your cheeks open as he devoured you ravenously—like a starved man. He began licking so viciously that you were reaching your peak, legs trembling and hole twitching around his tongue.

"Fuck, Miguel, I'm gonna—"

"Come for me."

That did it. You cried into his sheets, tears welling in your eyes as your cunt convulsed, filling Miguel's waiting mouth with your essence. He groaned, feasting on your tangy juices with powerful sucks and long licks with his flat tongue.

“You fuckin’ taste amazing.” Miguel hummed into your swollen pussy, giving it a messy kiss, his nose buried deep in your folds and taking in your heavy scent.

He gave you about thirty seconds to catch your breath, getting on his knees and pressing his hips against your ass. He lowered his head to spit over your hole, watching it drip down your crack and flow over your puckering cunt.

You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut, his fingers skimming through your tender folds to spread the mess. Your muscles tensed at his touch, not because you didn’t like it, but because you knew that soon his cock would be breaching your walls, splitting you open.

“Relax, baby,” Miguel cooed, bringing a hand to the nape of your neck and lightly dragging it down to the curve of your spine in comfort, “I need you to relax. No quiero lastimarte.”

You knew it would hurt. It always does at first, no matter the position. Miguel was just so big—and equally smug about it.

He glided his hard cock through your folds, completely coating the underside in your slick before lining himself up. You could feel his swollen head right over your sensitive cunt, teasing it a bit.

“¿Estas lista?” He asked, not daring to move until you gave him permission to do so. You nodded your head, bracing yourself for impact.

“Lemme hear you say it.” He said, slapping your ass gently.

“I-I’m ready.” You breathed, gasping when he carefully notched his tip into your entrance, griping your hips, and pushing in a few inches. You let out a pained moan, your pussy being stretched raw in the new position.

Miguel paused, letting your walls adjust to his girth, petting your hair in an attempt to soothe you.

“I know, baby, I know. ¿Te duele?“ You sniffed with another simple nod of your head, because yes, it did hurt, but you were tough, and it wasn’t the first time you were taking his cock. You could do it. You would do it.

Miguel continued to soothe you in the way he knew best, draping over you to place kisses on your bare shoulders, mindful of not shifting his hips too much. You felt your cunt flutter around him, fighting to accommodate his massive size. You panted, squeezing his cock, catching his slight intake of breath.

“Miguel.”

“Mm?”

“Move, please.” Miguel wasted no time, gripping your hips again and continuing to push forward, pressing in a couple of inches more. You cried out, shoving your face into the sheets as you fought against the pain.

Maybe you couldn’t do it.

“Miguel, I can’t—pull out, I-I can’t do it, you’re too fucking big.” Miguel was panting above you, fighting with every nerve in his body to not ram into you. You were so tight and wet and so fucking inviting.

“Don’t give up on me yet,” he groaned, “you can take it, baby, si puedes.”

“Fuuuuck,” you whined when he slowly pushed his cock deeper, “y-you’re so fucking big.”

“Almost there.” He reassured you, pressing firmly until he was balls deep, hips pressed snuggly against your ass. “Fuck, you see? You did it.” His praise went straight to your core as he pressed another kiss to your shoulder.

He began to gently grind into you, taking his time before slowly pulling himself out and pushing back in. He did it again, and again, and again, picking up speed until he had you mewling beneath him, your cunt providing him with the juices needed to easily fuck into you.

It felt good, so fucking good. The sheets were damp with your tears and drool, your mouth open as he repeatedly hit your sweet spot. Your eyes fluttered, your throat dry from your screams, and pussy squelching around him so loudly, it was the only thing he was really focusing on.

Miguel started getting mouthy, groaning, and whimpering, telling you how good you felt, how wet you were, how tight you gripped his cock. The stretch was unbelievable in this position, his cock seemingly reaching past your cervix and straight into your stomach—utterly stuffed to the brim.

“Feels good, mama?” He grunted, suddenly lifting you up so that your back was against his chest. He pressed his mouth to your ear, one arm holding you around the waist while the other searched for your swollen clit, circling it with the pad of two fingers. “This cock making you feel good?”

You wept, cheeks wet with tears as he rammed into you violently now, your pussy creaming all over him.

“I’m s-so close,” you cried, feeling your climax approaching rapidly, your hips moving in sync with his to meet his thrust. “F-fuck, Miguel, I’m coming.” As soon as you said the words he latched on to your neck, sinking his fangs into you with a moan. You were overstimulated, your body trembling in his arms as you came over his cock, your sticky juices covering his toned abdomen.

“Mmm, fuck, you’re squeezing me tight,” he panted in your ear, his thrusting growing sloppier and uncoordinated before a vicious moan ripped from him, holding you in his trembling arms as he came, and filling you up with rope after rope of his cum. “Goddamn, you’re gonna kill me.” You could feel his chest heaving on your back, his breathing erratic as he slowly calmed himself down.

“Not before you rip me in half with that massive thing you call a cock.” You answered weakly. Miguel buried his face as deep as he could into your neck, chuckling softly, tongue darting out to lap at the tiny wound he inflicted.

“Mi muñequita,” he mumbled sleepily, “you took me so well, hm? Knew you could do it. You're a champ, baby.” His cock began to soften just enough for his spend to leak out, coating you both in sticky cum and sweat.

You hummed, reaching back to run your fingers through his sweaty hair, turning your head so that he could meet you in a kiss. It was sloppy, like everything else, noisy in the silence of Miguel’s bedroom.

“Wanna go again?” You felt his lips pull into a grin, cock slipping out but hardening once again. You scoffed, lightly tapping his face.

“You’re crazy.” You yelped when he pushed you down against his bed in the same position you were in only a moment ago—chest flat against the mattress and ass up in the air to reveal your sopping cunt.

“Yeah,” he whispered, dragging his cock through your aching folds before pressing in, “I am crazy.”

...

Nada- Nothing

No quiero lastimarte- I don't want to hurt you

¿Estas lista?- Are you ready?

¿Te duele?- Does it hurt?

si puedes- yes you can

Mi muñequita- My little doll

#caro's 2k #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara reader #atsv #spiderverse

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flos-obsessivus · 2 months ago

Note

Please excuse what I'm about to say, but all I could imagine with the new illustration of Lillian was that I just wanted to feast between his legs 🤤 He just looks so good, and honestly, I keep coming back just to stare. Once his curse is broken, I'd be such a shameful advisor, I'd never keep my hands off of him 🤭

Luckily for you, in the current timeline that I follow, he is still 20 years old, so the curse still hasn't happened. But unfortunately for you, the accidental cockblocking curse was not created by Maleficus, but by the universe itself. Until he overcomes the urge to pass out every time you touch him, he is at the mercy of his weak heart.

But worry not! He has already given you permission to touch him even when he has passed out. You'll find that he is VERY receptive both awake and asleep, though he is rather sad that he was not awake when you were between his legs. Nevertheless, he enjoys the marks on his thighs and the tenderness of his royal jewels, he hopes that the gods would be merciful enough to grant him just even a day of him withstanding the fainting spells.

#asks #yandere #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lilian oc #yandere prince #male yandere

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atsro-slut · 5 months ago

Note

Hi againnnn, could you maybe do a fem!reader x Remus where reader is kinda down cause it's Christmas and everyone is getting cozy and she's feeling very single but then she realised Remus has been there all this time? Like the "Oh. OH." moment? And preferably with a cute confession in the snow? 🤭 I'd be eternally thankful! ❤️

Under the Snowfall

Hi bby! Thank you so much for the request! You are literally my fav! I hope you enjoy!

Remus Lupin x Female!Reader

On Christmas Eve, Y/N’s feeling a bit lonely among all the couples—until a walk in the snow with Remus makes her realize that the one person she’s been waiting for has been right by her side all along.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

It was Christmas Eve at Hogwarts, and the Great Hall sparkled with twinkling fairy lights, a towering Christmas tree adorned with gold and silver ornaments, and the rich scent of roasted turkey and sweet pastries hanging in the air. Despite the festive atmosphere, though, Y/N couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in her chest.

She sat at the edge of the Gryffindor table, her plate barely touched, her appetite long gone. Around her, her friends were laughing, talking, and getting cozy with their partners—James and Lily, Sirius and Marlene, even Peter had someone to share the evening with. Everyone seemed to be wrapped up in their own little world of comfort and affection. Everyone, it seemed, except for Y/N.

She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter. She didn’t need someone else to enjoy the holiday, right? But as her gaze flickered over to Lily and James, whispering to each other with smiles only couples seemed to share, her heart ached.

"You're not eating much," a voice broke through her thoughts, and Y/N looked up to find Remus Lupin standing beside her, his warm brown eyes flicking down to her plate. His hair was a little disheveled from the wind outside, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

Y/N forced a smile, trying to hide the way her chest felt tight. "Not really hungry."

Remus gave her a small nod, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Ah, that makes sense," he said, pulling out the chair next to her and sitting down. "With all the excitement and the feast, sometimes it’s nice to take a break."

Y/N nodded absently, grateful for his calm presence. Remus was always the type to offer quiet support without pushing. He never made her feel like she was in the way, even when she felt like an outsider.

They fell into easy conversation, talking about the latest books they had been reading, the snowstorm raging outside, and the Christmas decorations scattered throughout the castle. Y/N responded with the occasional laugh or comment, but her mind kept drifting back to the couples surrounding them, her own feelings of loneliness growing stronger.

After a while, Remus stretched his arms over his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don’t suppose you’d want to get some fresh air? Maybe take a walk outside in the snow? It might be a good way to escape all the noise for a bit."

Y/N blinked, looking at him. "In the snow?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "It’s freezing out there."

"I know," he said with a soft smile, "but it’s peaceful. And sometimes it’s nice to get away from all the hustle and bustle."

There was something in his voice—something kind and understanding—that made her feel like it would be a good idea, a moment to breathe. She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Why not?"

The moment they stepped outside, the cold air hit Y/N’s face, sharp and invigorating. The grounds of Hogwarts were blanketed in thick, glittering snow, the world seeming to hold its breath in the soft, quiet night. The moon hung high above, casting a soft glow over the snow, making everything feel magical and distant from the noise inside.

The two of them walked in comfortable silence, their boots crunching in the snow. Y/N felt the cold on her cheeks and nose, but the crispness of the air felt good, even if her mind was still occupied. It was so easy to get lost in her own thoughts, especially at times like this, when everything around her seemed to highlight the one thing she was missing.

Finally, Remus spoke again, his voice low and gentle. "You’ve seemed a little... off tonight," he said, his eyes flicking to her. "Everything okay?"

Y/N shrugged, forcing a smile. "It’s nothing. Just... Christmas, I guess." She glanced over at the couples again, her heart tightening. "Everyone else seems so happy with their partners, and I’m... well, I’m just here."

Remus gave a small, thoughtful nod. "I get it. Christmas can feel a bit... overwhelming, when it seems like everyone has someone to share it with."

Y/N didn’t know why, but something about the way he said it, the way he understood, made her pause. She stopped walking, turning to look at him.

"Remus, you’ve always been here for me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You’ve always been... the person I turn to, the one who’s always there when I need someone. I’ve been so focused on wanting something big, something grand, but... it’s always been you, hasn’t it?"

Remus stopped walking as well, clearly taken aback by her words. His brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Y/N stepped a little closer to him, her chest tight with a sudden, intense realization. "All this time, I’ve been waiting for something huge. A sign. But you’ve been right here, Remus. You’ve been my person all along."

For a moment, Remus didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, his expression unreadable. The snow continued to fall softly around them, and for what felt like an eternity, nothing moved. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a soft, shy smile. "You’ve always been my person, too," he said quietly. "I just didn’t know how to say it."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she took another step closer to him. There it was again—that quiet warmth in his voice, the kind that had always made her feel safe, seen. It was in those little moments she’d never questioned, in his thoughtful gestures, the way he always seemed to be there when she needed him most.

Without thinking, Y/N reached for his hand, her fingers brushing against his. The simple touch sent a wave of warmth through her, and before she could stop herself, she leaned in and kissed him. It was soft, hesitant at first, like the snowflakes falling around them—gentle but certain.

When they pulled away, Remus was still smiling, his cheeks pink from the cold, his eyes sparkling with something unspoken. "I should have said it sooner," he murmured, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "But I’m glad you figured it out."

Y/N grinned, feeling the weight in her chest finally lift. "Me too," she whispered, her voice light as she stepped closer to him, their hands still intertwined.

The world around them felt different now—lighter, warmer, as if everything had shifted into place. The distant sounds of laughter from the castle faded, leaving just the two of them standing in the snow, wrapped in the quiet beauty of the moment. It felt like the start of something new, something they had both unknowingly been waiting for.

And for the first time all night, Y/N felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:☆

I hope you enjoy love!!

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wenwenbittercake · 2 months ago

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Chapter 2: In the lion’s den (Sukuna x reader x Uraume) 🦌🔥🦌🔥🦌🔥🦌

(Sorry for late update and oh boy this one is a lot. I hope you guys enjoy. A little bit of Uraume x reader there so beware 🤭🤭

chapter 1 : The hunter's Prey

Chapter 3: Hope induced by despair

Warning: blood, killing, cannibalism, public embarrassment. Also, in this fanfic i use he/him to call Uraume since before his reincarnation he was male. If it is an issue please tell me. Art by : woshihedawei on twt )

“My lord, I greet you well from your ga-“ words of the followers were cut short from the sight.

There, on lord Sukuna’s right shoulder is a woman, no a doe? Her lower half is of a doe’s and her upper body is of a woman. Her face was concealed by her long black hair. Sukuna holds her like a sack of grains with little to no care. He grins in triumph as he held the woman on his shoulder. On of his large arm, holds her by his waist so she wouldn’t slip off. A part of him wonders if she’s dead. Her body weight almost feels as if she’s dead however, occasional muscle spasms of the doe woman assure him that she’s much alive but unconscious. As he walks into the mansion, passing by cult followers, they all awe at the sight, most of the servants stopping on their tracks to do so. Sukuna scoffs at their reaction. As if their lord isn’t a 4 eyed beast with a mouth on his stomach. Not to mention the extra limbs he possesses. He walks through maze like wooden corridors of the mansion. His looming shadow stretched across the wooden paper sliding doors, shifting and bending with each step along the corridor. Making his way to the person he wants to meet the most.

Uraume as usual, preparing recipes with the help of ten other servants in the kitchen area of the mansion for Sukuna when he brought in his recent prey. Without even turning around, his ears picked up on the familiar sound of heavy footsteps on wood and-

“URAUMEEEE”

Uraume, with a sigh, stop their task in hand. Turning their attention to Sukuna with his head low.

“It seems my lord had a splendid hunt from your tone my lo-“ “THUD” Uraume eyes widen to the object that dropped on to the butcher block.

Everyone in the kitchen stop what they’re doing, turning their attention to the matter that drop on to the butcher block. Just a breath away from gasp. Uraume stop them with a stern glare, making every servant in the kitchen scurry out. Only after the last servant leave and the sound of the sliding door shutting is heard, Uraume grope the skin of it, examining it like a slab of meat. After all, in Uraume’s eyes, man or animal, both are just a slab of meat for them.

“My lord, would you prefer grilled deer meat or human sashimi for your feast?”

Sukuna’s roaring laugh filled the kitchen, threatening to shake the very roof of the kitchen down as he grabs his jaw and stomach to control his laughs.

“You are a great jest Uraume, truly. However, this doe is not for eating.” With an odd gentleness, Sukuna carefully tucks the inky strands of hair that covers Y/N’s face with his fingernails, making sure his sharp nails don’t graze on her pale milky skin. Revealing her unconscious beauty. Even with doe like features on her facial features, her beauty still radiates from wild grace and human elegance. “Take her to the courtesans' quarters. See that she is made presentable. I wish to see her dance at tonight’s feast.” Sukuna claw like fingers, drift from playing with Y/N’s soft doe ears to her soft cheeks, squeezing them, making her unconscious self-pout. This causes the forever tormenting, lord Sukuna to slip an amused smile. Oh how easy it is for you to amuse him.

“Splash!” Y/N gasp awake to the sudden feeling of cold water being splash over her head. Making her gasp for air and cough on water. She hurriedly pushes her hair out of her face to assist the surroundings. You are in a pool of water. No, you are in a tub. A wooden one and the water is cold. You hug your knees in your chest, almost in a defensive effort. The action causes you to let out a pained whimper, realizing the blood that is oozing out of your wound making the once clear water, slightly red.

“Don’t strain yourself.” A cold voice appears behind you, making you sit upright in alarm. The man emerges from behind you.

He walks to the end of the tub with a bucket in hand which he drops it to the corner of the room. You take in your surround to realize you are in a dimly lit, four walled room. The walls made of sliding bamboo paper door, and you can make out the sounds of shifting feet right outside the doors. The man seems to notice your attention as he mutters,

“Ignore them, their miniscule brains cannot comprehend your existence.” His words cold and unempathetic. Almost in a condescending tone.

You realize not only his words are cold when his pale hand reach into the water, pulling out the leg that is injured out of the water in a rough manner, causing you to let out a yelp. You try to straggle out of his icy fingers, but his fingers tighten on your ankle the more you struggle.

“Halt! I wish to not repeat my words.” His tone sharp and clear, making you stop on your tracks.

You can only shiver as your body is awkwardly out of the water with his freezing grip tight around your ankle. You can see the man fiddle out something from his pouch around his waist. He retrieves a needle out with a thread connecting it. You almost pull away but the man just gives you a sharp glare, making you stop from you notion.

“Hold still, your wound needs to be closed.” With that the man carefully starts to stitch your open wound on your thigh.

You grip on the edge of the wooden tub from the pain and to hold yourself steady from being in an awkward position in the tub. Thankfully, the man has no sadistic tendencies as he treats your wound as fast as possible with more care than you would ever put to yourself. You feel conflicted by his hash treatment earlier, opposing the tenderness he has shown when he treats your wound. He gently places your leg back in the water after he’s done with sewing your wound. He wordless baths you with a washcloth. Not a single emotion exposed from the man as you watch curiously at him washing your body. As he scrubs your arms, you can’t help but noticed how masculine and feminine he looks. His white hair and lashes somewhat resemble snow. Soft snow you use to roll around on the forest clearing with your friends. You can remember how soft and cold it felt, you can almost feel it.

Uraume flinch at the feeling of the woman’s soft fingers threading through his air. It was so light, but he felt it. He flinches; a shade of vulnerability crosses his face. His eyes wide, mirroring of the woman’s.

“Please refrain from touching me.”

You kept your head low as the man now you know as Uraume instructed you to. The heavy material of the kimono stuck to your fur and the length of it tangles with your hooves. It hot and uncomfortable, making you internally groan in frustration. Your hooves clatter as you walk down the dark wooden corridor lead by Uraume. The corridors only lit faintly by the yellow candles lights illuminating from the rooms on the other side of the paper sliding doors. You can hear the distance booming laughter of men and instruments playing. The music and the laughter all mix in a concoction of chaos. The closer you get to the source of the noises, the harder it gets for you to breathe, the tighter the kimono starts to get. Your labored breath starts to quicken. Beads of sweat starts to form on your peach fuzz temple as you stand in front of the door, where you assume lord Sukuna would be. The lord Uraume said you must entertain. Wait why must you entertain him?

“Do as he command you to. Don’t question, don’t resist if you value your life.” The thought left you when you feel the cold touch of Uraume’s hand over your shoulder.

A part of him feels bad for this woman, seeing how she’s already trembling even before seeing his lord. However, the twisted part of him want to see if he can make her tremble more. His icy fingers drift from the tight hold of her shoulder to slowly drifting down to feel the smooth texture of her kimono sleeves with just the tip of his fingers. Not feeling her skin until just for a brief moment. Just for a few seconds. Uraume holds the back of your heated hand in a feather light touch.

So brief that you thought you imagine it. Before you could think more of the matter. Uraume sharply make his presence known.

“My lord…The doe has arrived.”

The voices and the music inside silence as if they never existed.

“Come in.” The familiar voice make you froze in your place. Your eyes widen. You’ve heard of this voice before. Before you can question more, the sliding doors open and your horrors greet you.

Sukuna’s eyes lighten with delight at the sight of his doe. Her beautiful fur hidden under all those fabrics, much to his disappointment. However, soft patches of fur peeks out of her nape and the doe like features of on her facial features are enough to please Sukuna for now.

“Come my dear, do not be afraid.” Sukuna said with a knowing grin.

Y/N hasn’t registered the jest which edge the sadistic part of Sukuna further. The room full of follower’s eyes follow to lord Sukuna before traveling to Y/N’s face before back to Sukuna. Only when he slips a smirk does everyone in the room start to laugh maniacally to the point where it looks like an act. Y/N grimace at the sight. She doesn’t dare to step into what looks to be a big hall, lit with bright candle lights and suffocating incense, but in actuality, a lion’s den that she might not be able to crawl out of. Y/N took a step back, wanting to run back down to hall and jump out any window she could find but her efforts were stopped by Uraume’s firm hand against her back pushing her in. She looks back to him with betrayed eyes only for Uraume to slide the door shut on her face.

“Feast your eyes upon my finest prize as of late. She may wear the skin of a woman, but beneath all that cloth, she is naught but a deer. Tell me, do you find it so hard to believe?" Sukuna’s deep voice crackle the air into silence. The followers stop their laughter in an instant like puppets on a string.

"My lord, how could such a thing be? Do you mean to test our wit with this riddle?" “Oh you will see, such thing could be possible.” Sukuna’s eyes darken with malicious intent. He grins from these lips and from the mouth of his stomach, exposing those familiar beastly sharp teeth. All Y/N could do is shiver in her sport, not daring to move an inch. "Come forth, stand before me. Let me take in the whole of you." Sukuna’s eyes follow as you move forward.

Your hooves clatter on the tatami mats as you step forward into the middle of the room. You gaze on the floor, not daring to look up. How room feels almost hotter now. The hot candles and the obnoxious smell of incense intensify as you approach lord Sukuna. It’s making you lightheaded. You did lose a lot of blood earlier, making you weaker than you actually are, and all of this is making you feel like you are trapped in hell fire of sorts.

“Strip”

The word snaps you out of your daze notions. You look confuse, almost not understanding why you must take off these fabrics when Uraume had carefully put on me with great efforts.

"Remove your kimono. I would have our guest witness the deer that lies beneath your guise."

At that moment, you don’t feel uncomfortable. The shame of nudity is something unfamiliar to you. You live in the wild with nothing. So, as every living creature you’ve met. So, when you slip off the kimono, you felt nothing of shame just fear from not knowing what is going on. Finally, when all the confining fabrics of the kimono drop to the floor. You almost felt free as the cool air touched your bare skin. Freedom that’s short lived as soon as the eyes of the followers’ stare at you. Their inappropriate eyes stare at you like an object, not a living being that can feel their stares. Only then, you experience the shame of nudity for the first time. The discomfort starts to seep into your skin. Your arms cradle your chest, your hands gripping your shoulders tight to bring in some comfort. Your legs threaten to buckle and fall. Your eyes widen in confusion and fear at this foreign feeling.

"Gaze upon her, isn’t she exotic?" Sukuna could barely contain his excitement as he watches his doe squirm on her hooves. She’s trembling and he can see it, yet he makes no attempt to consol her. “Your grace, you have done exceedingly well in your hunt. Truly, you possess an unmatched eye for discovering treasures even in the most untamed of places." One of the follows said in awe. Sukuna just scoffs. He rather not hears the praise of his cult following right now. Now his interest is held to this poor doe. "Come now, I know creatures like you are fond of jumping around, aren’t you? Go on, hop.” Sukuna purposely lowers his tone as if to tease a child but in the context of the situation. It only sound of ridicule over Y/N.

Y/N through teary eyes, not knowing what is going on, she does as what Uraume told her to do. Listen to lord Sukuna if she wants to live. She hops. A small leap to her side. When her hooves land on the mat. Sukuna starts to laugh in triumph.

“More, go on, hop around more.” Sukuna rumbles out through his cackling laugh. Every follower around him starts to laugh along with him. Making a fool out of y/n.

Tears start to fall down your cheek. You don’t know what’s going on nor know why they are making you do this. All of this is strange, odd and unnaturally cruel. With shaky legs, you hop, with every hop, more laughter from the crowd comes out, the louder Sukuna gets.

“Go on, hop like a little fool you are.” The last jib causes you to fall on the tatami mat with a thud. You last hop makes your legs unable to hold yourself up under the sheer pressure of embarrassment and shame.

You huddle on the floor, holding you knee and you face in your lap, closing your eyes, you wish to disappear.

This is not real.

I am not here

I don’t exist

This is not real

A glimpse of concern morphs onto Sukuna’s face when his doe falls. He slights get up from his lean back sitting position. Something that the followers fail to notice since they are too entrance in the doe.

“Lord her fur, can we touch it?” “Yes lord can we?”

The followers are not even looking at Sukuna when making such request as they are too entrance in the doe. Sukuna face morph into disgust at the sight of perversions shown on the followers’ behaviour. Some of them even started to crawl closer to his doe from where they sat on the floor. Sukuna felt immense disgust at the sight.

Roaches…Disgusting roaches that he could squash in less than a second.

“I hereby forbid any human in the 100-meter radius from moving until say the word now.”

Y/N eyes finally open when she heard those words. First, she realizes the silence, that unnatural silence. Did those men leave? She timidly looks up, slowly from her position. The sight causes her to let out a gasp. There, in front her, men just a few inches from her, in a position of trying to reach to her. However something is freezing them in place, she doesn’t know what but it’s unnatural. Their face quivering in fear, eyes wide open. Her gaze quickly shifts to Sukuna when he got up from where he sat. He stretches and yawn, his muscles rippling, seen from how he wears only one sleeve of the kimono and the other arm off, showing off his two powerful right arms and the slit along his stomach. Markings tatters his expose body with ink. He strides towards her, much to her horror, he steps on to the frozen followers of his, crushing them under his feet, literally. Blood splatters across the floor with every steps. It oozes along the tatami mat until it reaches your fingers that you planted on the mat. It stains your pale soft hands that never do no harm. With Sukuna’s final steps, the splatter of blood reaches your face. You felt the warm liquid on your cheek and jaw, but you don’t dare to look down. Your eyes strain on lord Sukuna’s face. Much to his delight. He gets down on one knee, to see you eye to eye. His piercing gaze meet your eye before it travels down to your lips. His calloused thumb reaches up, swiping the droplets of blood that landed on your lips, causing a rouge smear along your lower lips.

Sukuna smirk at that sight, oh how he wishes to paint you red in that moment. Instead, he holds a firm grip on your jaw with his thick hand. He leans real close to you, enough that you could feel his warm breath against your face and his 4 eyes staring down at you. Your lips just mere inches from his. Then...

“Now”

(Thank you for your support from my Chapter 1 post. It really means a lot to me. Thank you everyone. Again, I apologize for any grammatical error as English isn’t my first language. If you are confused why I use ‘you’ and ‘she/her’ to acknowledge reader sometimes is because when I use ‘you’, it is meant to be personal and to show the perspective of reader however when I use ‘she/her’ this is to show reader in the perspective of others. That’s all I hope you guys enjoyed and stay tune for the next ones) @paradisestarfishh

#jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jujutsu fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu sukuna #jjk ryomen #uraume x reader #uraume x y/n #jjk uraume #hybrid reader

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lifeofpriya · 3 months ago

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Valentine's Love - Lukáš Dostál

[gif credit goes to @escapentropy]

a/n: @smileysvech reached out to me a while ago about a potential Valentine's Day fic with Lukáš and i immediately heeded the call 🤭🫡 hope y'all enjoy this fic 🫶🏼 who knows, as long as @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech don't put me in fic prison, there might be a few more valentine's day fics coming out too hehe

summary: Lukáš decides to surprise you for Valentine's Day...

You're standing in the cozy living room of the apartment you share with Lukáš, feeling a peculiar warmth that seems to radiate from the kitchen. The scent of garlic and basil fills the air, hinting at something delicious simmering on the stove. You've been dating the 24-year-old goalie for a few months now, and he's proven to be as adept at cooking as he is at saving pucks. You've come to appreciate the quiet moments at home, nestled between his grueling training sessions and travels for games.

As you hang up your coat, you hear the clink of pans and the rhythmic thud of something rolling. Curiosity piqued, you peek into the kitchen, expecting to see the usual takeout containers from your favorite Italian place. But instead, Lukáš stands at the counter, his strong arms covered in flour, meticulously rolling out pasta dough. He looks up, catching your gaze, and a bashful smile lights up his face. "Surprise!" he exclaims, his Czech accent thick with excitement.

You step closer, taking in the sight of your typically stoic boyfriend in an apron, a smear of sauce across his cheek. The counter is a landscape of ingredients: eggs, flour, a cheese grater, a bottle of wine with a mysterious label, and a bouquet of fresh herbs. "I wanted to do something special for Valentine's Day," he says, his eyes searching yours for approval.

You can't help but smile. "It smells amazing," you say, leaning over to give him a kiss. The flour on his face transfers to your cheek, leaving a powdery imprint. Lukáš laughs, wiping his hands on a towel before embracing you. His arms are warm and solid, a reminder of the protection he offers not just on the ice but in your life as well.

"Thank you," you murmur, your heart swelling with affection. You've never had a partner put so much effort into the small things. Most of your past relationships felt like a blur of Netflix binges and takeout food. But Lukáš brought a certain charm and romance to your life that you never knew you were missing.

As you slip out of your shoes, the floor feels cool against your feet. You notice a trail of rose petals leading from the kitchen to the dining room. You follow them, finding the table set with two place settings, each with a flickering candle. In the center, a handwritten note waits for you. "Dobrý večer, my love," it reads. "Tonight, we feast."

The aroma of the simmering sauce fills your senses, making your stomach rumble. You recognize the scents of tomatoes, onions, and the richness of olive oil. Lukáš must have been planning this for days, you think, impressed by his culinary prowess. "What kind of pasta are you making?" you ask, eager to learn more about the feast that awaits.

"It's tagliatelle," he replies, holding up a long strand of the freshly-made pasta with a flourish. "With a homemade bolognese. I hope you like it."

You nod enthusiastically, feeling a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the steam rising from the pot. "It's already perfect," you say, and you mean it. You can't remember the last time someone had done something so thoughtful for you, especially for a holiday that's often dismissed as commercial.

Lukáš beams at your response, his cheeks flushing slightly. He's usually so composed on the ice, but in the kitchen, he's all passion and nerves. It's endearing. You watch as he carefully drapes the pasta into the bubbling sauce, the strands sizzling as they make contact.

The kitchen, usually a place of casual meals and hasty breakfasts before early morning skates, has been transformed into a romantic haven. The candles cast a soft glow, and a playlist plays in the background—a mix of songs that you both enjoy. You're touched by his attention to detail, how he's created an atmosphere that feels so intimate and thoughtful.

You offer to help, but Lukáš gently shakes his head. "No, no," he says, waving you away with a floury hand. "You just sit and relax. This is my gift to you."

You take a seat at the table, watching as he works. His movements are precise and focused, his eyes never leaving the pot. You can see the love he puts into every gesture—the way he stirs the sauce with a wooden spoon, the care with which he arranges the pasta on the plates. It's not just about the food; it's about the effort, the time, the intention behind it all.

As you wait, you sip on the wine he's poured for you, feeling the warmth spread through your body. The notes of berries and oak mingle with the scents from the kitchen, creating a symphony of flavors that dance on your tongue. The music shifts to a slow, sweet melody, and Lukáš looks over at you with a question in his eyes. You nod, giving him the go-ahead.

He approaches you, holding out his hand. You stand, taking it, and he leads you to the small area he's cleared in the living room. It's not a fancy dance floor, but the way he looks at you, the way his hand fits in yours, it might as well be the most luxurious ballroom. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close. You can feel his heart beating in time with the music.

The song he's chosen is one you both discovered together, a hidden gem from a Spotify playlist. It's about love found in unexpected places, about two people from different worlds colliding and finding harmony. As you sway together, your eyes locked, you realize how true those words are.

Lukáš's hand is firm but gentle as it guides you through the makeshift dance floor. His other hand rests lightly on the small of your back, the heat from his palm seeping through your sweater. You've never felt so safe, so cherished. The way he leads you in the dance mirrors the way he's been guiding your relationship—with confidence, but also with tenderness, always making sure you're comfortable and happy.

As the song reaches its crescendo, he dips you, and you laugh, your hair brushing the floor. The room spins for a moment, the candles casting a dizzying pattern of light and shadow. When you right yourself, you find his lips waiting, and you kiss him deeply, tasting the remnants of the wine and the sweetness of his smile.

"Let's eat," he whispers against your mouth, and you break away reluctantly, the scent of the bolognese growing stronger by the minute.

As you sit down to dinner, the tagliatelle is a perfect al dente, each strand coated in the rich sauce that clings to them like a warm embrace. The flavors meld together in a symphony of taste, each bite a testament to Lukáš's dedication.

"What are you thinking?" Lukáš asks, his gaze holding yours as you savor a bite of the tagliatelle. The sauce is heavenly, a blend of flavors that dance on your tongue, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in the beauty of the moment.

"I'm just thinking how lucky I am," you reply, your voice a soft whisper. You can't remember the last time you felt so seen, so understood.

Lukáš's eyes light up, and he leans across the table, capturing your hand in his. "I feel the same," he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the back of your hand.

The conversation flows as easily as the wine, your laughter echoing off the walls. You share stories about your day, the mundane and the magical, and he listens with the same intensity he brings to the net. You can see his mind working, filing away details to remember for later, to ask about, to understand you better.

As you finish your meal, the tension between you builds, not from unspoken words, but from the love that has grown in the quiet moments you've shared. He reaches for your plate, his fingertips brushing against yours. "Dessert?" he asks, his voice hopeful.

You nod, curious about what he's prepared. Lukáš leaves the room and returns with a small box, setting it gently on the table between you. "I hope you like it," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and nerves.

You lift the lid, revealing two heart-shaped chocolate truffles, each one with a sprinkle of gold dust. They're not store-bought, you can tell; they're homemade, with an artistry that matches the pasta. "They're beautiful," you breathe, reaching for one.

Lukáš's smile widens. "I made them myself. I know you love chocolate."

You take a truffle, feeling the velvety smoothness against your fingertips. As you bring it to your mouth, you pause, looking at him. "What's the special ingredient?"

Lukáš chuckles, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "It's a secret," he says, popping the other one into his mouth.

You cock your head, your curiosity piqued. "A secret ingredient?" You take a bite of the truffle, letting the chocolate melt on your tongue. It's heavenly, a rich, velvety symphony of flavors. As the taste unfolds, you detect a hint of something unexpected—it felt like you bit into something solid.

"Wait!" Lukáš says, his eyes wide with excitement. "Don't swallow yet."

You look at him, the truffle still melting in your mouth. He pulls out a tiny envelope from his pocket, his hand shaking slightly. "I had these made special," he explains, handing it to you.

Inside is a small note card with an intricate design of a duck—his team's mascot—and a heart intertwined. You read it out loud, the words sending a shiver down your spine. "To my love, who fills my net with warmth and keeps me from feeling empty, Happy Valentine's Day. Love, Lukáš."

You look up at him, your eyes brimming with tears. "This is so beautiful," you murmur, taking his hand.

Lukáš's smile falters slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "You're crying," he says, his voice a mix of concern and confusion. "Is it bad?"

You shake your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. "No, it's just…" You struggle to find the right words. "It's so sweet and perfect. I've never had anyone do something like this for me."

Lukáš looks relieved, his hand still clutching yours. "I wanted it to be special," he says, his voice earnest. "You make me so happy."

You lean across the table, the candlelight flickering in your eyes. "You make me happy too," you reply, your voice thick with emotion. "This dinner, the dance, the truffles… it's all so perfect."

Lukáš squeezes your hand. "Good," he says, his own voice a little tight. "I wanted to show you how much you mean to me. Wait, you didn't swallow the ring, did you?"

Your eyes widen in shock and you almost choke on the mouthful of truffle. "Ring?"

Lukáš's eyes dart to your mouth, and he looks slightly panicked. "The truffle… it's supposed to have a ring inside."

You laugh, your shock turning into delight. You chew slowly, the sweetness of the chocolate giving way to something hard and metallic. Your teeth clink against it, and you pull it out with your tongue. It's a ring, a beautiful, small diamond set in a delicate band of gold.

Lukáš watches you, his eyes a mix of hope and terror. "You didn't swallow it," he says, sounding almost like he's been holding his breath.

You laugh, shaking your head, holding up the ring between your fingers. "No, I didn't," you manage to say around the mouthful of chocolate. "It's… it's beautiful."

Lukáš's expression relaxes into a smile, his eyes shining with relief. He takes the ring from you, walking over to the sink to give it a quick rinse before returning to the table. He reaches for your hand again, taking a deep breath. "It's a promise ring," he explains, his voice husky. "A symbol of my commitment to you, to us."

You feel the weight of the ring in his hand, the cold metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. "A promise?" you repeat, your heart racing.

"A promise," Lukáš confirms, his voice steady. "To be here, to support you, to love you, through all the games, the wins and the losses." He pauses, looking into your eyes. "And if you ever want more, just say the word."

You're speechless, the ring glinting in the candlelight. You've never been one for grand gestures, but this… this feels right. The warmth of his hand, the earnestness in his gaze, it all clicks into place. This is the kind of love you've always hoped for—unexpected, unyielding, and wrapped up in homemade pasta and chocolate truffles.

"Lukáš," you start, your voice a little shaky, "this is…"

"Too much?" he asks, his own voice filled with uncertainty.

You shake your head, your eyes never leaving the ring. "No, it's perfect," you murmur. "It's more than perfect."

Lukáš slides the ring onto your finger, his hands steady despite the tremor in his voice. It fits perfectly, as if it was made just for you. "Good," he says, his smile reaching his eyes. "I knew it would."

You sit there for a moment, the ring glinting in the candlelight, feeling the weight of the promise on your hand. "Thank you," you murmur, the words feeling inadequate for the depth of emotions swirling inside you.

Lukáš's gaze holds yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your knuckles. "You're welcome," he says, his voice a warm caress. "But the night isn't over yet."

The promise in his eyes sends a thrill through you, and you realize that the surprise isn't just about the food or the ring. It's about the journey he's crafted, a romantic evening that's as much about the little things as it is about the grand gestures.

"What's next?" you ask, your voice a mix of wonder and anticipation.

Lukáš winks at you, his eyes full of mischief. "I've got one more surprise," he says, rising from his chair. He disappears into the kitchen, returning with a tray of steaming hot chocolate.

"I made it from scratch," he explains, setting the tray down on the coffee table. The mugs are filled to the brim, a fluffy cloud of whipped cream adorning each one. "It's a recipe from my babička, my grandmother. She always said it's the perfect end to a romantic dinner."

You take a sip, the rich chocolate warming your throat. "It's incredible," you say truthfully. The sweetness is balanced with a hint of bitterness that grounds it, much like your relationship—sweet moments with a hint of the challenges that come from two people navigating their careers and hearts.

Lukáš settles back into his chair, watching you with a content smile. "I'm glad you like it."

You take another sip of the heavenly hot chocolate, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. "It's the perfect ending to an amazing night," you say, leaning back in your chair.

Lukáš's eyes sparkle with satisfaction. "I'm happy you liked it all."

You lean back into the cushions, your belly full and your heart even fuller. The warmth of the hot chocolate is echoed in the glow of the room. The candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the music plays softly in the background, a serenade to your newfound love.

Lukáš reaches over, his hand brushing against your thigh, sending a shiver of excitement through you. "What do you think?" he asks, his eyes searching yours for approval.

You look down at the ring, feeling the weight of his words. "It's… it's amazing," you finally manage to say. "I never knew I needed this kind of surprise."

Lukáš's smile turns shy. "I wanted to do something to show you that you're not just my partner, but also my teammate, my support system."

You nod, understanding. "You know, I've never had anyone who cared so much about what makes me happy," you admit, your voice a little wobbly.

"Well, I do," Lukáš says, his thumb still tracing circles on your hand. "And I want to keep making you happy, every day."

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year ago

Text

The Rite of Movement | part seven

“you flower, you feast”

A/N: okay, okay so this chapter took WAY longer than planned, but between my birthday traveling and work just being poop, I didn’t have any motivation. Well, the inspo hit, and it hit HARD 🤭 I’m so unbelievably happy with how this chapter turned out and I hope you all enjoy it! 💘

~word count: 5.0k~

Summary: what happens when Joel and Tommy Miller eat chicken wings in front of you, baby love? You start picturing yourself as that chicken wing, being split open, meat sucked clean from the bone—

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader x pornstar!tommy

Warnings: smut, consent, fluff, relationship security, established relationship, fingering, oral (f! And m! receiving) face riding, bush love! , f!masturbation, sexual tension, cock dumb, pussy drunk vibes, teasing, filth, praise kink, daddy kink go brrrrp, threesome (Joel and Tommy do NOT touch. Please don’t be weird 😭) pussy pronouns, sharing is caring, Joel’s dom side comes out to play, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, reader, Joel and Tommy are pornstars, readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical desertions such as skin tone, height etc. NSFW, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Joel & baby love by @kenobiwanx

“Baby love, Tommy and I are gonna go run out and grab the food, okay? Probably gonna be 30 minutes tops.” Joel said from the kitchen where he was grabbing the keys to his truck.

“Sounds good!” You chirped from the living room, deep in an erotica novel that one of your followers had recommended to you. The main character was just about to get fucked into a new dimension by her boyfriend and his hot brother— “Artemis!” You giggled, scolding her softly when she jumped right onto the page you were reading and swatted playfully at the paper.

You heard Joel’s approaching footsteps alongside the couch when he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips and then one to the top of Artemis’s head as you looked up at him, “think we’re gonna stop and get a case of beer as well. I’ll text ya when we’re on the way back, ‘Kay?”

You reached your hand up, curling it around his jaw and pulled him in for another kiss.

“Christ. Y’all really need to get a room.” Tommy snickered from the entryway, broad arms crossed over his chest.

Joel grinned against your lips, kissing you one last time before he reluctantly pulled away. “Shut your trap, Tommy.” He said playfully and gave Artemis a quick pet behind her ears.

“Fuck off, you twathead.” Tommy quipped back.

Joel gave him the finger and tossed the keys in his direction, “jus’ for that, your ass is driving!”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” He caught the keys, twirling the ring between his fingers, “be back in a jiffy, baby love!” Tommy singsonged.

You swore you heard Joel mutter under his breath, “hey, only I can call her baby love.”

You listened to the front door swing shut, and Joel and Tommy’s usual banter before Joel’s truck peeled down the driveway. You set the book down on the coffee table with the page you left off on dog eared and carefully picked up Artemis and placed her on the spot you were just sitting on with the blanket. Now that you had a bit of time to kill…what better way to spend it than getting yourself off.

Before Tommy had come over, you and Joel discussed the prospect of the three of you filming a threeway scene. Joel left everything up to you and how you wanted it to play out. You ultimately decided that you didn’t want to plan for it, and would rather have the moment be completely based on spontaneity. So, while you used one of your favorite vibrators, gifted by Joel of course, you picked one of your favorite MMF videos on the Miller-Co website to get off to. It was one of Joel and Tommy’s first videos that they filmed after leaving Brazzers. You immediately recognized the familiar couch in Joel’s garage while you settled back against the pillows of your shared bed, thighs spread, arousal and slick already pooling between your folds.

When 30 minutes came and went, Joel texted you saying that the food was taking longer than expected and that the restaurant was super busy. Usually you would respond almost immediately, but 10 minutes had gone by and you hadn’t responded to his message.

He couldn’t help the smirk that spread across his lips as he typed out, you there, baby love?

No response.

“I bet she’s playin’ with her pussy right now an’ that’s why she ain’t responding. Naughty girl.” Tommy tsked under his breath as he peeked over at Joel’s phone from the drivers seat.

“Mmm…that’s exactly what she’s doin’ right now. She was reading’ some erotica book right before we left. Didn’t get a look at the page, but m’sure it was juicy.” Joel responded, sinking further against the passenger seat.

“Fuck. We gonna play with her a bit when we get back?” Tommy tapped his knuckles along the steering wheel, glancing down at time on the dashboard.

“Oh, we will be. S’what my baby love wants. She’s thirstin’ for both of us, Tommy.”

“Goddamn. Is she really? This food better hurry the fuck up then. Gonna start gettin’ impatient jus’ thinkin’ about—hey!” He let out a surprised grunt when Joel had whacked him on the side of the head.

“Patience, you horndog.” Joel scolded him.

“Call her. See if she picks up. Wanna know if my theory was right.”

“What?”

“Y’heard me. Call ‘er up. See if she answers.” Tommy reiteratedeagerly.

“Fine, fine, but she ain’t gonna answer.” Joel knew you better than that and if you were on the brink of an orgasm, you sure as fuck weren’t going to answer your phone. He dialed your number anyway, and it rang three times before going to voicemail. “Told ya. She’s too busy playin’ with herself.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tommy scoffed.

You were on the edge of having a mind numbing, toe curling orgasm when you heard the familiar roll of Joel’s truck tires in the driveway and as soon as your mindset switched, your orgasm was delayed and frustration began to settle deep into your bones as you cursed under your breath, clicking the button on the vibrator off and tossed it to the side of the bed with a huff.

“I was this fucking close.” You grumbled to yourself, taking a moment to catch your breath when you heard the front door open.

“Baby love, food’s here!” Joel’s voice traveled from downstairs and straight up to your pulsing core. “Where ya at, pretty girl?”

Did he know what you were just doing? He couldn’t have—right?

“Coming!” You responded back, your voice wavering when you thought about the possibility of him coming upstairs and catching you like this.

Joel and Tommy exchanged a knowing look as they set the bag of food down on the kitchen table. “Take your time, sweetheart! Ain’t no reason to rush!” Tommy said with a smirk tugging on his lips.

You threw on your flimsy tank top over your head and pulled your cotton shorts over your trembling thighs with your lower lip caught between your teeth. You checked your appearance in the mirror, looking a little disheveled with a noticeable sheen of sweat coating your neck and chest. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks in tandem, as you grabbed your phone from the bedside.

Joel was waiting for you at the foot of the stairs and once you were at arm's length, his strong biceps wrapped around your waist and pulled you into his warm embrace. He kissed you sweetly, one hand dropping down to grab a handful of your ass in his palm. You nearly moaned into his mouth, managing to hold it back. When he pulled back from the kiss, his eyes flickered southwards, zoning in on the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin and the edges of his lips curved upwards. “Sorry for the delay, baby love. The wait was longer than we anticipated.” He rasped softly.

Between his calloused palm groping your ass, and his lingering stare, your stomach was doing somersaults, and your pussy was chanting: Yes, Joel! Right here. Take us right here. Right now. Against the staircase! C’mon, big boy.

“Baby, why are you looking at me like…you wanna eat me right now?” You whispered softly to him, letting your hand curve around his bicep.

“Like I wanna eat you right now?” He mused, “Baby love, I always wanna eat you up.” He chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Lemme watch f’you guys are gonna fuck against the staircase.” Tommy snickered from the kitchen table where he had already plated out his food and cracked open a beer, taking a swig from the bottle, his eyebrows raising in a mischievous manner.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks from Tommy’s crude comment as images of Joel bending you over the railing and fucking you from behind while Tommy watched flooded your mind.

“Cat got your tongue, baby love?” Joel murmured, smirk still playing on his lips.

“No.” You shook your head, squeezing his bicep gently. “I’m just starving.”

You were a fool to think that your temptations would dissipate as you and Joel sat down at the kitchen table across from Tommy. If anything, they were heightened when you were forced to watch both brothers demolish their chicken wings, sucking the meat right off the bone effortlessly.

They’re doing this on purpose. They have to be, right?

The longer you watched the two brothers ravenously eating their chicken wings, the damper the fabric of your cotton shorts grew. The blooming wet patch was evident, and your mouth was parched when you watched Joel suck the meat from the chicken wing bone clean off again. He twisted and split the delicate wing bones right down the middle, hollowing his cheeks slightly as he sucked the meat clean from the bone, making an obscene slurping noise in the process. He paid no mind to the figurative daggers you were sending him when he used his thumb to wipe a stray dribble of sauce from the corner of his lips and sucked it right into his mouth. The way he devoured those wings immediately made you think of the way he would mold and press you open at his leisure, mouth and tongue sloppy on your cunt, eating you like you were quite literally his last meal on earth.

“Can you guys…stop eating like that?”

“Pardon?” Tommy looked directly across the table at you, plucking the meat clean from the bone, brow raised in amusement.

“Like…that.” You reiterated and subtly squeezed your thighs together beneath the table.

“Sorry, baby love. You’re gonna have to explain what you mean by that.” Joel chimed in alongside you, taking a swig of his beer.

Your nostrils flared and your knuckles clenched tightly around either side of your chair. They absolutely were toying with you on purpose, and you were just waiting for the chord to be pulled so tight, that it would inevitably snap from the pressure.

“You feelin’ alright over there, sweetheart? Can see the sweat drippin’ off ya from here.” Tommy commented with a sly grin. “Somethin’ wrong with the way Joel and I are eating our wings?”

Yeah, well, there’s more than just sweat dripping off of me,Tommy- is what you really wanted to say.

“Feeling just peachy, Tommy. Nothing wrong with the way you guys are eating your wings.” You lied through your teeth.

“Hmmm.” Joel hummed alongside you and his freehand creeped towards your thigh, fingers flexing and you could feel his phantom touch before he even made contact with your hot skin. “Sure you ain’t…feelin’ a little frustrated, baby love?”

Oh fuck. He knows. He knows

“Nope.” You popped the ‘p’ for emphasis, but neither Joel or Tommy were convinced at your attempted bluff.

“You sure about that, baby love? S’okay if you are.” He leaned in, hot breath fanning your face when you felt his fingers brush against the apex of your thighs, coaxing them open. “Were you touching yourself while we were gone, baby love? Hmm?”

Busted.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks in tandem, and your thighs clench from his words. You didn’t want this little game to end so soon, you were determined to build up the anticipation even further. “No, baby.” You shook your head, “I wasn’t touching myself while you and Tommy were gone.”

Tommy’s interest in the conversation was immediately piqued when you were quick to deny Joel’s accusations, and he reminded you of a predator stalking its prey in the tall grass from the way he was looking at you.

“No?” Joel pouts, tsking under his breath as he continues his ministrations. “How wet do you think she is right now, Tommy? On a scale from 1-10.” He briefly looks across the table before you feel his eyes searing into the side of your head once more.

“10, easy. She’s practically squirmin’ in her seat right now, and you haven’t even started to touch her yet.” Tommy rasped with a chuckle, leaning back against the seat of the chair. “Bet she’s so wet that there’s a damp spot right through the fabric.” He mused.

“How do you feel about his answer, baby love? Think you’re that wet right now? Think I should…have a look for myself? What do ya think I’m gonna find beneath these ‘lil cotton shorts of yours, naughty girl?”

Fuuck.

Your eyes lingered on Joel’s face, and then over to Tommy as you harshly took your lower lip between your teeth, spreading your thighs further so he had easier access to feel the heat of your core through the thin, strained fabric. “I—I think that’s accurate, baby.” You let out a huff of air through your nose, heat steadily rising up your cheeks. “You know exactly what you’re gonna find under my shorts, Joel. How about we just…skip the theatrics, and you take them off so Tommy can get a good view of my wet little pussy?”

He chuckled, leaning over the short distance between your chair and his, nudging his nose against your jaw, nipping at your skin, a growl edging up his throat, “Yeah? That’s what you want me to do, sweet girl? You wanna show my brother jus’ how fuckin’ wet you are right now? He’d love that, baby love…” he trailed off, thinking of what he was going to say next, “can’t do that m’fraid.” His lips curved downwards in a plush pout.

“Why the hell not?” You whined, feeling your frustrations begin to bubble in the pit of your stomach.

“Gotta clean my hands first, baby love.” He snickered, fully planning on grabbing the nearest napkin to wipe the wings sauce from his fingers. Instead, you took matters into your own hands, er—mouth, and grabbed his hand, swiftly yanking it towards your mouth. He watched with hooded eyes when you wasted no time to suck his thick digits into your mouth, swirling your tongue around each one, licking them clean, eyes locked in an intense stare with him.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Tommy let out a groan from where he was sitting, unable to tear his eyes away from your pretty lips working around Joel’s fingers. “I ain’t gonna fuckin’ survive this night.” He said out loud, fully intending to keep that thought to himself.

“Jus’ wait till you feel her mouth around your cock, brother. You’ll never be able to look at head the same way again after she—fuck.” He hissed between his teeth when he felt your teeth lightly drag across the underside of his fingers.

“Oh, I believe it, but m’gonna combust o’here if I don’t get a taste of her sweet fuckin’ pussy, I swear to god—”

“Yeah, and I’m going to kill both of you if someone doesn’t fucking start touching me in the next five seconds.” You mumbled around Joel’s fingers, slowly slipping them from your mouth and guided them between your thighs. “Please.” You added sweetly.

“You’re gonna sit there and tell me that you didn’t fuckin’ eat her out in your truck? Goddammit, Tommy. Who the hell raised ya, huh?” Joel tsked under his breath and with his fingers now freshly soaked in your saliva, he pressed them firmly against your covered clit. “Her pussy is the neediest lil’ thing, and you missed the fuck out.”

You pressed your hips directly against Joel’s fingers, desperate for more stimulation than he was already providing you, and even when his fingers began to slowly circle your clit in a figure eight motion, that still wasn’t enough.

“Well, I got the perfect opportunity to make it up to her, don’t I? Ain’t no time like the present!” Tommy chuckled, wiping his hands off on a napkin before he slowly sank to his knees under the table, crawling on all fours till he found himself right between your thighs, peering up at you through onyx black, thick curls that were momentarily obstructing his view. “Cus’ the way that I see it? There’s never not an ideal time to eat pussy.” He mused, shooting you a playful and suggestive wink while his big hands creeped up the expanse of your thighs and grasped the hem of your shorts.

Joel looked over at you expectantly, admiring your side profile and the way that your tongue darted out to lick your lips, pupils dilating, flickering down to Tommy’s smirking expression between your spread thighs.

“How’s that sound to you, baby love? Hmm? You want Tommy to eat your pretty little pussy out under the table? I think he wants it really, really, bad, baby.” He chuckled warmly against the shell of your ear, pausing the ministrations of his fingers just as a low whine escaped your throat at the loss of contact.

Instead of taking the route of verbally responding, you let your desire and frustration take the wheel front and center. You reached for the back of Tommy’s head, carding your fingers through his lustrous curls and yanked his face directly against your covered, pulsing cunt. Joel’s fingers moved in tandem, sliding up the curve of your body, his big veiny hand came to rest along the base of your throat, thick fingers splayed out around your neck like a necklace.

“Oh,” he cooed, “my baby wants it really, really, bad, huh?”

“Course I fucking do. The two of you have riled me up since the second you got back with the food.” You stated the obvious tension growing between the three of you.

Your eyes met his sultry gaze, narrowing into slits when he leaned in for a chaste kiss, lips brushing, fingers flexing against the thin, delicate skin of your throat. He licks into your mouth, stealing the very breath from your lungs just as Tommy greedily sucked on the damp patch of fabric, drawing the flat side of his tongue through it, groaning, hands pressing you open further, broad nose bumping against your covered clit.

“Yeah, she fuckin’ wants it. Been drippin’ this whole fuckin’ time.” Tommy mumbled between your thighs, his saliva and hot breath causing the wet patch through the fabric to bloom more. “Can I fuckin’ take these off of ya baby, please? Need to get a full look at her. Bet she’s so fuckin’ puffy n’sensitve right now.” He rasped, sucking inwards, nipping playfully at the fabric that obstructed him from seeing all of you.

Between Joel’s head spinning kisses, and his underlying possessive nature of what was his, you broke from the kiss momentarily. “Please fucking take them off, Tommy.” Words breathless, diving back into his eager awaiting mouth. You never got tired of the way that Joel Miller kissed you. It was like that of an art form, an erotic dance that would send even the most stoic faces feeling flustered just from the sight of the two of you.

His eyes peeled open briefly to steal a glance of your now bare pussy, to see your little hole pulse, drooling a trail of pearlescent slick along the wooden chair that sent both men’s cocks twitching, awakening like two feral street mutts that were just given a plated, rare steak on a silver platter; you being the steak.

“So fuckin’ pretty.” The Miller brothers murmured in unison as if they were in a trance from that pulsing spot between your thighs. You never felt more turned on in your life than in this moment under their adoration filled gazes.

Joel stole your attention once more kissing you with more ferocity when your freehand reached across the chair, palming his hardening cock through the confines of his loose shorts. His hips shifted against your palm, rolling in a languid movement in comparison to his lips on yours. He groaned freely into your mouth, wet hot breath gliding across your tastebuds, the girth of his cock growing heavier, and heavier.

Tommy spread you open further with his pointer and middle finger. He marveled at how wet you truly were, getting an up close look at just how puffy the soft lips of your pussy were getting. He wolf whistled, inhaling the scent of your arousal before he spat a thick glob of saliva right over your clit, rubbing it in with your growing slick. “Fuckin’ Christ. Wettest lil’ pussy i’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”

A strained moan escaped past your interlocked lips when Tommy began to lap between your folds, jaw slack, eyes shut in pure bliss at the tangy, yet sweet taste of you on his tongue. He groaned deeply against your mound, licking from the entrance of your weeping hole all the way up to your clit, swirling the tip of his tongue in a figure eight motion, nose buried against the soft patch of curls that Joel would often lightly pet and play with. Joel loved the fact that you made the personal choice to not shave your pubic hair. (He’d love you just the same if you did, of course)

Joel’s breaths came out as soft pants against your locked lips, his kisses became more desperate when the head of his cock drooled a bead of precum through the slit, staining a wet patch through the front of his shorts. He was fully hard beneath your touch, tenting against the fabric.

“Move your chair closer to me, baby.” You mumbled against his lips, teeth lightly nipping at his lower lip eliciting a low rasp from deep within his throat to emerge, sending a warm tingle straight down to your pulsing core.

And while Tommy was off in his own little pussy drunk world, switching from focusing the movements of his tongue against your clit, to dragging it southwards, curling it inside of your weeping little hole, lapping up your sweet nectar as if he was a bee on a freshly bloomed flower. Joel wordlessly scooted his chair closer to yours, lips breaking from the kiss momentarily and when he moved his head to kiss you once more, you leaned over the side of your chair completely, eagerly dropping your face down to his spread thighs. A layer of his natural musk seeped in through your nose as you dragged your nose against the outline of his cock, listening to the sound of his breath hitching in his throat when you pressed open mouthed, hungry, wet kisses against the strained fabric.

You moaned wantonly when two of Tommy’s thick fingers slowly pressed into your tight opening, gradually sinking deeper till your walls had sucked his fingers all the way down to his knuckles.

“Oh, fuck me.” You heard Tommy mutter with a mouthful of pussy, “So fuckin’ tight, it’s unbelievable.” He shallowly began to pump his fingers, curling them against that soft spongy spot deep inside of you that had your eyes rolling back into your skull. Your hips rolled into his face, feeling the scrape of his beard against your inner thighs. Your lips moved in a frantic motion, sucking, kissing Joel’s cock through the fabric. All it took was for your eyes to flicker upwards towards his face, pupils blown wide, lashes fluttering for him to give in.

“Jesus, baby.” Joel breathed out, nostrils flaring, the veins in his broad neck protruding through the skin, “ok, ok, I’ll take it out for you, my eager girl.” He hummed appreciatively, lips curving upwards into a boyish grin as he reached his hand down beneath the band of his shorts, grasping the base of his cock in his fist and finally freed himself from the confines. His cock sprang up against his stomach, and you wasted no time to drag your tongue from the base all the way up the soft, velvety skin of his girth till you reached the crown of his cock and enveloped the engorged, mushroom head around your lips, swirling your tongue across his slit to collect the bead of precum, swallowing down the taste of him greedily.

He let out a soft grunt, head tilting back slowly, lower lip caught between his teeth as he relaxed further into the chair. He kept one hand firmly grasped around the base of his cock, holding himself steady just for you. While his other hand rested against the crown of your head, gently petting your hair while a tumble of praises slipped past his lips, “Fuuck, baby love. That feels s’good.” He rasped.

You preened at your man’s praise, focusing all of your attention on the head of his cock, placing your hand on top of his, slowly guiding his fist to pump and twist around the girth of him. And when you felt that coil deep within your tummy being pulled tight, and glowing red hot due to Tommy’s ministrations, you eased your mouth off of Joel, little mewls and pants slipping past your lips as you briefly looked over to see Tommy slowly begin to press a third finger alongside the two that were deliciously working inside of you. “Fuck,” you moaned, focusing your attention back on Joel, and lovingly slapped your tongue with the head of his cock, and then your cheek, gazing up at him with those big eyes of yours, entrancing him further.

Joel loved when you gave him the sloppiest head imaginable, when your drool would run down your chin and neck, mouth and throat stuffed with his cock, pretty tears springing along your waterline because he was so fucking thick. But the sight before him now could have easily sent him to an early grave. He watched you lovingly slap your cheek with the head of his cock, blissed out, smiling from ear to ear, and he wished he had his phone right now just so he could take a picture and show you how pretty you looked like this.

“You gonna come all over his fuckin’ fingers, baby love? Get ‘em all nice and creamy? Your pussy sounds so so pretty. Gettin’ her nice and ready for our cocks, hmm?” He cooed, voice dropping down an octave as his eyes flitted downwards between your thighs, listening to the delicious squelch of Tommy’s fingers fucking you open.

“Fuck yeah she is.” Tommy chimed in, pulling his face back, his chin and beard coated in your slick. He watched the way your pussy continued to hug and drag his fingers in further with each shallow thrust. “Pretty lil’ slutty pussy fuckin’ loves havin’ three fingers shoved inside of her. Ain’t that right, babygirl? God, you should see how fuckin’ pretty n’ puffy she is right now.” He rasped, pussy drunk, cock heavy between his thighs and harder than a slab of concrete. “Let’s see how soaked you can get my fingers sugar, and then you’re gonna watch, mouth stuffed with my brothers cock while I fuckin’ suck them clean.”

“Shit.” You whimpered, rubbing Joel’s heavy cock all over your face, leaving sloppy kisses here and there, “yeah, I fucking love it so much, daddy. Feels so good! I’m so close—I’m gonna come all over your fingers, daddy.”

“Yeah you are, babygirl. You’re gonna cream all over them like the good, slutty lil’ girl that daddy knows you are.” Tommy preened, pumping his fingers faster, the muscles in his forearm flexing from the movement, lips sloppily attaching to your stimulated clit, sucking on the little bud harshly.

Joel himself wasn’t usually turned on by the prospect of being called daddy, but hearing you freely moan and come undone around his brother's fingers, and call him daddy? Well, it did something to your man and he let you know immediately how he was feeling by firmly tapping the wet head of his cock against your cheek to refocus your attention on him. “Eyes up here, pretty girl. Eyes on me. Your daddy.” He sternly rasped, lips curved in a grin, brows furrowed intently.

All time seemed to cease when Joel fucking Miller referred to himself as your daddy. Your pretty, slicked covered, glistening lips parted in shock, pupils blown wide, pussy clenching down like a vice around Tommy’s fingers. You met Joel’s stern gaze, watching the way his brow slowly arched, head mockingly tilted to the side, “Yes, daddy.” You whimpered, “I—I won’t forget.”

“Thas’ right, baby love. Keep lookin’ at your daddy with those pretty eyes. Keep ‘em on me, not him. Me.” There was an underlying possessive tone to his words and the weight they held on you. But god, you had never felt more proud of him testing out these new uncharted waters with you, playing into your kinks. You mouthed, “I love you, daddy.” Before slipping his cock right back down your throat, taking as much of him as you could till you were gagging around him, tears welling from the thick girth of his cock stretching your throat open, and your orgasm crashing through you like a freight train.

“That’s it, babygirl!” Tommy preened excitedly when your sweet pussy squeezed around his fingers, coating them in your pearlescent release. “Good fuckin’ girl. You got anymore f’me? C’mon, gimme a lil’ more of your sugar, babygirl.” His mouth made an obscene slurping sound through your folds, shaking his head back and forth while you leaked out along his fingers and down his palm. He slipped his fingers out slowly, your fucked out little hole pushing out what was left of your orgasm to which he greedily lapped it up, moaning at the taste of you.

Joel softly praised you, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb, murmuring how much he loved you, gazing at you lovingly and in tandem his brain was screaming: ring, ring, ring. I need a fucking ring!

“Makin’ your daddy so proud, baby love. Did so good f’him.” He cooed, and his big palm rested around your face, slowly easing his cock from your throat and guiding you up towards his face. He kissed you sweetly, licking into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue, cradling your face so delicately, so tenderly, you couldn’t help but moan through the kiss.

Tommy sat back along his haunches, fingers stuffed down his mouth, licking them clean not wanting any of your sweet cream to be wasted. His own cock was leaking through his shorts, desperate for any kind of touch or stimulation.

Your words fell breathlessly against Joel’s lips, fingers tangling and tugging through his soft curls, “I think your brother might have you beat, daddy.” You said half jokingly, half serious.

Joel and Tommy Miller were competitive men by nature, and whether you had meant to or not, you had just unleashed the feral, competitive beasts within them without even realizing it.

Well, as they all say,

good luck, baby love. You and your pussy are gonna need it!

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aventurineswife · 6 months ago

Note

Aventurine, Dr Veritas Ratio (my pookie), Jing Yuan and Jiaoqiu with a really cozy lover who loves to make them cute food? Like they pack them little bento lunchboxes with cute designs and wake up super early to make it for them so they can take it to work, they take them out on picnics as a weekly date and stuff, maybe they're into crochet and crafts or something, sorry this is so self indulgent 😞 i just wanna make these boys something yummy, tis what i had in mind about the food omg this is so long im so sorry

(All art by @/eggbuttertoast on insta btw go check them out)

“You are the best thing, that ever happened to me”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Comfort, Picnic Dates, Domestic Moments, Caring Relationships.

A/N: DON'T WORRY!! I TOTALLY GET YOU!! 🤭 I'M OBSESSED WITH THOSE CUTE BENTO BOXES!! HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS!! 🫶💖

Aventurine was no stranger to indulgence. Life was a gamble, and he played it with style and cunning, always chasing the next high-stakes thrill. Yet, as he strolled into his office at the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, today’s highlight wasn’t a lucrative deal or a cunning scheme—it was the bento box you had lovingly prepared for him.

You’d been up since dawn, crafting an intricate lunch. Inside the box were bite-sized sandwiches shaped like playing cards, each adorned with edible glitter and tiny suit symbols cut from vegetables. A roulette wheel of fruits sat in the center, with a gold-painted chocolate coin at its hub.

When Aventurine opened the box, his eyes lit up. "My, my," he murmured, admiring the effort. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, darling. How am I supposed to focus on work after such a masterpiece?”

He loved how you infused warmth into his otherwise calculated world. It wasn’t just the food but the care and thought you put into every detail. Every Friday, you insisted on a picnic, dragging him away from the chaos of his work.

Today, you’d set up a cozy spread under the shade of a towering tree. You crocheted a new blanket for the occasion, its patterns inspired by roulette wheels and peacock feathers—a nod to his unique style. Aventurine leaned back, his hat tilted over his eyes, a rare moment of vulnerability.

“You spoil me.” he said, watching you unpack.

“That’s the idea.” you teased, placing a cookie in his hand.

Aventurine smirked. For all his charisma and confidence, he found himself marveling at how you could make even a gambler like him feel safe, cherished, and loved.

Ratio had always prided himself on precision, intellect, and order. Yet, as he peered into the meticulously crafted bento box you had left on his desk, he couldn’t help but smile. The rice was shaped into an owl, its wings made from thinly sliced seaweed. Around it, neatly arranged vegetables and protein formed an edible diorama of his Intelligentsia Guild office.

When you greeted him later that evening, Ratio’s tone was teasing but fond. “Do you think a brilliant mind like mine requires sustenance shaped like birds to function?”

“Maybe not,” you replied, grinning. “But even geniuses deserve to feel loved.”

Ratio adjusted his glasses, feigning exasperation, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. Your weekly picnics were another tradition he secretly adored. He admired your crocheted blankets and little crafts, treasures you’d offer him with shy excitement.

Today’s picnic was at a quiet park, where you’d prepared another feast. As he lay beside you, Ratio spoke softly, breaking the silence. “You know,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, “you’ve done what even the greatest minds of the Guild could not—bring balance to my chaotic thoughts.”

Jing Yuan, the so-called "Dozing General," had a knack for finding peace amid the chaos of his duties. But nothing soothed him more than the love you poured into his bento boxes.

The moment he opened today’s lunch, a fond chuckle escaped his lips. A lion cub, shaped from rice and adorned with omelet details, stared back at him. Around it, a battlefield of sausages and broccoli seemed to depict one of his strategic victories.

When you picked him up for your weekly picnic, his eyes softened as he took in the sight of you carrying yet another crocheted blanket. This time, it bore a swirling pattern inspired by the Cloud Knights’ insignia.

You spread the blanket under the cherry blossoms, unpacking the food with care. Jing Yuan leaned back, his long hair catching the sunlight. “You’ve truly turned even a General’s life into a dream.” he murmured.

“Good,” you replied, nudging him. “Because you deserve every bit of it.”

Jiaoqiu couldn’t see your creations, but he could feel the care in every bite. Despite his blindness, he often remarked how your lunches seemed to brighten his world.

Today’s bento box was no exception. You’d spent hours crafting it—a flower garden of colorful ingredients, each carefully arranged. When Jiaoqiu ran his fingers over the edge of the box, he smiled.

“I can tell you woke up early for this.” he teased, his voice warm and melodic.

“Of course,” you said, guiding his hands to the first bite. “I want you to feel loved, even when I’m not there.”

Your weekly picnics were his favorite. Though he couldn’t see the landscapes, you described every detail—the way the sun dappled through the leaves, the soft hues of the sky. He sat beside you, tail swishing contentedly as you crocheted a new blanket.

“Another masterpiece?” he asked, running his fingers over the textured yarn.

You smiled. “I made it with you in mind.”

Jiaoqiu tilted his head, his golden irises sharp even as he kept his eyes closed. “And I carry it with me, just as I carry your love.”

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anika-ann · 6 months ago

Text

Ochranuj me (Protect Me) - S.R.

Part 1/2

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; a part of this pseudomedieval-fantasy AU

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 8,6k

Summary: Your practice of magic is punishable by death. Your love is forbidden by law; and yet it has been blessed, more than he knows.

When the crown prince is poisoned, Knight Steven Rogers is faced with a choice: will he risk a war or the love of his life?

And what of you? If asked… shall you risk it all? For the lands where you live… for your knight?

Warnings: attempted murder, poisoning, blood, mentions of death, polytheism, mentions of pregnancy (reader/OFC), Slovak language ‘cause I can

A/N: Actual title is Ochraňuj mě (Protect Me) ...tumblr cannot handle a ň in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; fits after the events of the previous instalments

A/N 2: This is one less smut and more plot, forgive me 🤭 I hope you'll enjoy anyway. Yes, the Merlin inspo is real here. Inspo also from Bílá laň by Vesna. For music, check it out here, for visuals here.

Chodila, chodila za tebou bílá laň lásky se napila navzdory všem přísahám. Prosila pány lesa ať ji pustí za tebou zažít si, jaké to je jít za srdce ozvěnou.

Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj, jinam nepatříš. Jako bílá laň svoji duši chraň, ať záři neztratíš.

Tady je tvůj háj, tady je tvůj ráj, jinam nepatříš. Tak ať nepotká tě kříž. (kříž, kříž, kříž) - Bílá laň by Vesna

Boisterous laugh. Wine poured in gallons painting cheeks nearly just as ruddy as the warmth of the torches illuminating the high halls of the Starkerbürg castle painted the walls. Rich aroma of butter, oils, meats and spices flowing in the air, clinking of the most precious silverware and a distant sound of flutes as the musicians tasked to raise the already high spirits could be barely heard over the noise of the feast.

Under the watchful eye of the gods or the only God it was now believed there was, a celebration of peace was raving, everything but peaceful and serene; loud and overwhelming instead, a whirlwind of emerald green threaded with gold welcomed by the steady colours of rich crimson and gold. An anniversary of the peace made between the kingdom of Asgard and Starkerbürg, a party led by Thor Odinson, the king of the lands, honouring the deal his late father King Odin had made right before his passing.

The high table with King Howard sitting at the centre, his son Anthony, the crown prince, by his right, along with the woman he was courting, Pepper of the Potts; on her right, King Howard’s daughter, Princess Morgana. On the king’s left, the guests of honour; King Thor, his wife Queen Jane, and his brother Prince Loki. Knights and warriors of the highest ranks, lords and ladies of nobility joining the celebrations, servants all but running around the hall to tend to everyone’s needs.

Then, a sound of a chalice hitting the stone floor, one that would have been met with more laughter, had it not fallen from Prince Anthony’s hand, suddenly scarily pale and trembling. Cold to touch too, a terrifying contrast to his burning forehead glistening with sweat. Body sliding down the chair, barely even faint frantic motions to his chest.

Brief, deafening silence.

The traitorous calm before a storm would hit and leave nothing but death and destruction in its wake.

Chaos.

Swords drawn.

A wave of threats of violence.

A thundering voice of the King of Starkerbürg himself.

Calls for the royal physician Banner.

Images of peace and joy shattered; a single inconspicuous calm face among the sea of others in the face of a tragedy in making.

“Poison. I cannot determine what kind as of yet. Carry His Royal Majesty to his chambers!” the physician called out, not bothered by the fact he was ordering around knights and other nobility. “At once! There is no time to spare!”

Knights practically tripping over each other to tend to their prince, to their future ruler, to their brother in arms even as by rank he stood high above them. Rustle and grunts; a whisper of skirts as the culprit slipped away in the midst of disarray and cries of fear for the prince and the future of both kingdoms alike.

To think that an attack at the crown happening during the presence of a party of another kingdom – one similarly strong – was but a coincidence, would have been foolishly naïve.

Oh there were no such coincidences; this was but the first step towards a war.

And the perpetrator would be treated with that in mind.

“Aconite, most likely,” sounded the verdict, the words solemn on the physician’s lips as he fearfully raised his gaze to the King hovering over his shoulder as he inspected the second most important patient of the kingdom at the royal chambers.

The dark note in Banner’s voice snapped Steven from the haze as he, Sir Barnes, Sir Barton and Sir Wilson stood along the walls of Anthony’s chambers, tall and menacing, but just as helpless as Prince Anthony’s betrothed seated in the corner.

Whatever poison the physician was talking about, it was not known to Steven; but the message written in Banner’s expression was clear as day and terrifying like a night to be spent in the woods with rumoured presence of ghouls.

Inevitable death.

It was true that King Howard Stark might have yet to comprehend, despite his long years of ruling his lands, that one might catch more flies with sugar than vinegar, gain more by threading his actions with kindness than by spitting threats of violence; but he was no fool. He perceived the solemnity of the announcement and received it with a shadow over his already distorted features.

“This… aconite, Banner. What kind of a poison is that?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest, but not bending. Not under the weight on the crown on his head, nor under the weight of the tidings he might be scared to receive. His face was but a mask of stern indifference; a silent warning to Banner to choose his next words carefully.

As if stating the patient’s condition was a choice, Steven thought darkly, his heart pounding painfully against his ribcage as he exchanged glances with his best friend standing by his side. When he looked back at the physician, he could see him swallow dryly even from the several feet distance. Yet, the brave man faced the King with his head held high and his expression filled with sorrow.

“A deadly kind, Your Royal Majesty,” Banner said slowly. Rage flashed on the King’s face, Steven’s stomach dropping at both the sight and the worst tidings brought. Death. “It is made from the nectar-filled blossoms or the tubers of the Aconitum lycoctonum flower. There is… no cure known to man.”

A sniffle sounded in the corner of the room, completely ignored except for Sir Barton’s compassionate glance towards the woman who was on the brink of despair at the mere thought of the man she had clearly already learned to love leaving this world forever.

The King beckoned to the guards standing by the door, making them instantly step forward with their spears ready, heading for Banner menacingly.

Steven’s feet twitched as he wanted to step forward to protect the physician, outrage rising at the injustice even as fear twisted his stomach.

Sir Barnes brushed his hand discreetly to stop him.

Steven gritted his teeth, but stayed put for now, watching the scene unfold with disdain.

Sir Barnes was correct in one thing: Anthony being poisoned and having his life hanging on a thread was horrible enough, and rash decisions and actions such as standing up to the King would only make it worse.

A raging man was an unwise man; and the King was only a man too, even as he compared himself to various deities and had nearly as much power as them – which only rendered him more dangerous. There was no point in scaring the physician to death or even hurting him, but such was the King’s power. Such was his God-given right to punish whoever as he pleased. It mattered little that Banner could barely be blamed for-

-for the crown prince’s impending death, apparently.

“Then I advise you, Banner, to find one fast,” King Howard sneered as the guards stood behind the physician now. “Otherwise, you shall meet the same fate as whoever of Asgard dared to try and rob me of my son.”

The guards grabbed the man’s shoulders and Steven’s hand instinctively went for his sword again; and he was not the only one. Still, the knights stood, hesitant to disobey their King even in the face of the glaring injustice, fighting an inner battle between honour and goodness of heart and the oath they had taken. Their loyalty was to the kingdom and the King represented it most of all, after all; even if he seemed to threaten it the most of all, too, at the moment.

Well, not on Steven’s watch.

“Wait!” he called out as he stepped forward, earning a hard glare from the King himself that should have told him to keep quiet and fall in line, but he could not. Not even for Bucky’s audible sigh behind him. Not when-

“Is there anything we can do for him as of now, is what we are trying to ask,” Sir Wilson spoke up before Steven could, moving to stand next to him.

Steven took a deep breath as his gaze flickered to his comrade, finding his face arranged in a carefully crafted humbleness – as it should be in the face of the ruler even when he was addressing the physician.

Banner’s words were kind, his voice firm and regretful.

“I am afraid there isn’t, good Sir.”

“The Royal Guard and all the knights have a clear mission given by the crown, Sir Wilson,” the King barked as he gestured for the physician to be dragged away, the poor man allowing it without a protest. King Howard’s gaze fell on his son’s pale face as he lied on the bed with nothing but soundless whimpers on his lips, before he snapped back to the four knights present. “Arrest all servants and nobility of Asgard. I shall have the King and his brother for myself. And should my son meet his forefathers, I shall have their heads on a spike by tomorrow.”

With those words, he turned on his heel and stepped out, his leave abruptly followed by Anthony’s wife-to-be rushing to her betrothed’s side, cheeks damp with tears.

Steven regarded the scene unfolding, frozen with horror and unease greater than anyone.

He feared the death of his friend, naturally, as they had just dragged the one single person with any chance of curing Anthony in the whole kingdom away from his bedside.

But Steven feared a lot more deaths too. Should Prince Anthony die, King Howard would unleash pure hell on Asgard and as a consequence, on all Starkerbürg as well.

All the knights knew that; everyone knew that. They all had a heavy feeling in their stomach at the mere thought, their feet slow and unwilling as they left the chambers one by one. Yet, Steven’s heart was heavier.

The thought had occurred to him when he had wondered what exactly the King was expecting from Banner.

To turn back time so the prince had never got poisoned?

To pray to the gods for a miracle?

To perform a miracle himself and cure what was considered uncurable?

The last idea had squeezed his heart in an icy fist, nausea clawing up his throat.

He knew someone who could achieve things as close to a miracle as possible in this realm. He had felt such miracle in his own blood, tissue and cells; he had felt the wonders strong magic was capable of when in the hands of the kind-hearted. He was still breathing solely because of it; and he knew the person who could achieve this closely, intimately even, mind, body and soul, the depth of the goodness of her heart.

Perhaps you would be able to replicate the feat of saving Steven from certain death.

Perhaps your magic was powerful enough to save thousands lives by saving one. Powerful enough to prevent a war.

But hope and miracles were not to be trifled with. Magic was not to be trifled with. Being seen practising magic meant a definite death sentence.

But would it? If it saved the future king’s life?

Surely, he couldn’t risk it; he couldn’t risk your life. Of all the things he had seen in his life, of all the things he had ever had the fortune to hold, you were the most precious one to him. If he brought you here, he could lose you. He could lose you, by his own hand no less, and that would be the highest price to pay for peace he did not even know would settle or not in the end.

No.

That was the one price he couldn’t pay. He’d much rather pay with his own life – but not yours. Gods, never yours.

But if you only could… knew a potion, could do anything at all…

As he marched with his comrades to arrest the innocent – for it could not be the work of all Asgardians at once – his jaw was tense, the dilemma occupying all his thoughts, feeling like it might tear him in half.

Until it hadn’t.

If he did nothing, the war was be inevitable. If he did nothing, he would lose you anyway.

A raging man was a dangerous man and King Stark would burn the world in the wake of his anger and grief, heedless of whoever would burn with it.

Steven stopped dead in his tracks, Sir Barnes nearly colliding with him as a result.

“Steve, what the-“

“I must go,” Steven said in a hushed voice, swiftly changing direction; or attempting to. Sir Barnes’ hand was quick to grab onto his elbow, stopping him, heedless of other knights continuing their path.

“Steve, what in heavens do you mean by that?”

“I must fetch someone. I believe she could help.”

Sir Barnes bewilderment would perhaps be almost comical had it not been for the dread pooling cold in Steven’s gut.

“…she? What—the woman you have been sneaking off to see?” Sir Barnes enquired, causing a startled and utterly confused expression to appear on Steven’s face, a small alarmed sound pushing past the man’s lips despite his effort to remain composed.

Hold on, hold on-- Bucky knew?!

The look Steven received back was unimpressed at best – of course Bucky knew. He knew Steven almost better than he knew himself.

“Save the surprise for another day. How could she possibly help? Is she a physician’s assistant? Or even an apprentice for some insane reason?”

Had Steve had the capacity, he’d glare at Bucky for the offensive tone with which he had asked the question; however, he did not have it and in the brief moment he spent pondering, he realized that Bucky was not opposed to the idea itself. It was simply the ways of Starkerbürg: to try and take a woman as a physician’s apprentice was insane indeed. King had the God-given right to appoint physicians – and King Howard would certainly never approve of a female one.

But that didn’t matter, because that was not who you were.

“She’s… she is a healer.”

“A healer?” Sir Barnes echoed pointedly, doubt colouring his words. “What does than even mean? We do not have time for this.”

Steven huffed, trying to tug his arm free from Sir Barnes’ grasp as his impatience grew along with the number of doubts whether it was ever a good idea to consider your aid; but there were no options. No time to search for them. No time to waste and no time for finesse. He needed to go and he needed Bucky to understand – and more than that.

“She saved my life, Bucky. Back when I fell from the crags into the river… when you thought I was dead-“

“You must have been lucky, fell into deep water. You had superficial injuries. This is a poison. One the best physician of the court claims to have no antidote for.”

Steven swallowed thickly, the heaviest of feelings in his stomach as he chose to reveal his greatest secret as to make a point and be released to act before it’d be too late. “Bucky, I had much more than superficial injuries. She… she helped then. She might be able to help now, but… I will need your help with protecting her should it come to it.”

Bucky looked at Steve as if he had just grown a second head, glancing around nervously as guards and knights alike kept passing them, casting strange looks at them for their stillness. Sir Barnes lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper.

“Are you saying you were wounded much worse and yet she was able to tend to you? In such short time that you were missing then? And that she might be able to help here, now, with a poison that has no known cure?” Sir Barnes demanded hastily, bewildered and clearly irritated. “Are you hearing yourself, Steven? What kind of a healer would she have to be to-“

The almost sardonic voice suddenly fell silent, all blood draining from Sir Barnes’ face when the horrifying realization finally dawned to him. His hand fell limp, finally releasing Steven’s arm.

“Steve, this is not a subject for joking.”

Steven swallowed heavily, heart thundering in his chest, blood pounding in his temples. He shouldn’t have told – but he had to. He had to, right? Bucky needed to understand-

He sighed quietly, whole body strung tight in expectation of his friend exploding in rage – rage he had no time for.

“I am not joking. And you are right, we are losing precious time, I should-”

The sudden grip on Steven’s his shoulder, appearing as to stop him from leaving, was much more brutal than the hold on his elbow had been, fingers digging into flesh even over the layers of clothing.

“You— have you been… lying with a--”

Steven’s voice was quiet, but as sharp and dangerous as the sword resting in the sheath on his hip. “Choose your words carefully, Bucky. That is the woman I love and owe my life to. I would die for her, and I would not have been standing here had she not healed me.”

“That could be exactly what she wants you to think!” Sir Barnes sputtered. Steven fought the urge to roll his eyes – the absurdity of such statement was glaring.

“Oh for heavens-- I might be a fool sometimes, but I am not an idiot-”

“Debatable!” Sir Barnes whispered as madly as if he was in fact yelling. “As you’re proving it this very moment!”

Steven shook his head, the feeling in his gut growing more gnawing by the second, every frantic beat of his heart feeling like a waste of precious time.

“Bucky, you said it yourself – we do not have time for this! I must go. I will get her, but… please. Help me protect her if the King is blind to the fact she uses--- it to do good.”

Sir Barnes simply stared back, the halls empty by now as much as his gaze, however inquiring.

The grip on Sir Rogers’ arm loosened.

Silence stretched. Precious second ticked by, grains of sand in hourglass no one could turn back falling; and with each and every one, Steve’s stomach tightened further with creeping horror.

Surely his most precious, most loyal friend, having been standing by his side since childhood, would not abandon him now? Surely he would not betray him in moments that might be deciding his fate, the fate of his beloved, of the whole kingdom?

“Bucky, please. I swear-- I’m begging you. I need to-- I need to protect her. At any cost.”

“What of your sword?” Sir Barnes asked dully, appearing indifferent to Steven’s desperate pleas.

What of your knighthood? Are you willing to give up that, if you are forced to leave in the darkness of the night and never return to bring your beloved to safety? Are you willing to leave the path of the honorary knight to become a lawless fugitive?

The smile which found its way to the corners of Steve’s lips was soft; sad and torn, for it was the greatest honour to serve, to protect, to help. He had been and always would be grateful for the rare chance he had got.

But there was no greater blessing of the gods themselves than you having entered his life and taking it by the most beautiful of storms. He loved you. He loved you more than anything and anyone in this world and that was what he would not even dream of giving up.

He didn’t respond with words; and yet, the exasperation on his closest friend’s face told him he did not have to. Sir Barnes understood from Steven’s expression alone. He always had.

“Gods, Steven Grant of Rogers, of all stunts you could have pulled to get yourself hanged, you truly had to go and chose the most foolish one. My God- Steven…”

Most foolish one? Echoed in Steven’s head, the words absurd. No. The most gorgeous one, the purest one, the most blessed, he allowed himself to muse. The most honourable one too, no? Love. Where was justice, if love, the purest emotions of all, was considered a crime? Did the new religious teachings not speak of love being kind, patient, knowing no dishonour and wrongs?

That was how he loved you. Wholly and entirely, kindly, patiently, even if passionately.

It was only then when Steven snapped from his haze and finally noticed a trace of hurt on Sir Barnes’ face when it occurred to him why Bucky had taken so long to respond. He was cross with Steven; but not as much for the alleged crime, but for having kept it a secret. Keeping you a secret; the one closest to his heart, his beloved, hidden from the one person he had always trusted with anything.

“I’m sorry, Bucky. No one could know. She’s-- she is too precious. I had to protect her,” he explained softly, urgently. “And I still do. I will, with your help or without it. But… please.”

Sir Barnes continued to regard him, stunned into silence still, expression unreadable.

Then, he shook his head; what might seem as disagreement however, Steve recognized as resignation. He had known Bucky for too long to not be able to decipher which shake of a head was a no and which was an expression of indignation and regret at his own choice of a best friend.

“Thank you, Bucky.”

And with those words, Steve took his hasty leave, his minute relief drowned in the sea of worry when he sneaked into the stables to rush through the gates of the castle, claiming to be running a King’s errand.

Seeking his closeness the pretty white doe having sipped at love all despite her oath, she begged the forest spirits to let her go to follow her heart and its eternal song.

Light breeze caressing your hair like the tender fingers of your lover, brushing away a lose strand from your face. Gentle September sunrays of a late afternoon warming your cheeks, long leaves of grass tickling your ankles and your hands as you gathered brownwort, thyme and lady’s mantle, the smell almost too much despite its pleasant notes. Your hand instinctively laying over your belly as the reminder of why you were gathering these particular herbs blossomed in your mind anew, a smile settling on your face. It was not just the time of year blessing people with abundance of these flowers, a nature’s reminder the time was coming to bath in the blessed lake on the Autumn equinox; it was the sweet secret humming under your heart too, growing stronger and more beautiful by day – and slightly bittersweet for for now, it was only yours to keep, your beloved knight none the wiser.

Steven.

The very reason, you suspected, for the heavy feeling in your heart; the reason why none of the kind offerings of mother nature seemed to sooth a jittery feeling you had woken with up from your restless sleep. Unease had been crawling over your skin; a solemnity’s shadows, despite the beautiful weather and the joyful morning realisation that a barely noticeable bump was now showing on your body, a testament to the blessings of love.

The sky was beginning to colour with sunset with no clouds in sight; and yet, you could feel a storm coming, one you did not feel would be of the refreshing purifying kind. The air did not smell of rain; if you breathed in deeply, it reeked of the very death the wind seemed to whisper about in the tallest of birch trees. A warning; a witch’s intuition tuned to the finest hints of the gods of nature and forest spirits. You had tried to sooth yourself, coaxing yourself into peace by wondering if it perhaps was but a new future mother’s anxiety.

Yet, an instinct as old as time whispered to you to know better.

Which was why the wild stomping of hooves nearing your cabin should have not taken you by surprise. But it did.

You rose from your crouch so fast your head span, gathered flowers falling from your hands at the brief faint sensation; you steadied yourself just as Steven’s horse came into view, slowing into a walk as not to startle you or crush all the blossoms on the meadow.

The silent thank you to the gods for seeing your love alive and well left your lips without prompting, followed by your spine tingling with a shudder of power at its base.

Almost as if the gods blessed you for your genuine gratitude and gifted you with strength. Strength you shall no doubt need, for Steven might be living and breathing, dismounting his mare in a thousand-times practised manner, breathtaking as ever, but the distress on his face and the tension of his wide shoulders told you those shoulders carried the weight of the world at the moment.

Feet waking with motion, you met him halfway as he rushed to you, his arms quick to embrace you lovingly but so tight all air left your ribcage for long moments. Steven’s heart thundered against your ear as you hid your face against his chest. Fresh air had washed his clothes of most smells, but sweat and wine and rich spices still enveloped your senses, a tell-tale signs of the feast which he had told you about being interrupted by something vicious.

Yet, you took precious moments of simply breathing your lover in, basking in the comfort his arms offered no matter the circumstance.

He nuzzled his face in your hair, his chest expanding with a generous inhale, a steadying breath which made his heart race faster, as if attempting to outrun the very storm you had felt arriving.

You ran your hands down his broad back, feeling your own heart leaping into your throat as the silence between you, often so sweet and comforting, stretched ominously.

“Steven… love,” you whispered, attempting to shift in his embrace, only achieving his hold growing firmer, his muscles almost shaking with effort not to let go.

Oh Steven… What a terrible feat had been laid upon him?

“What has happened?”

Finally releasing your body, his hands were quick to cradle your face instead, achingly gentle, even as his eyes roamed your face wordlessly, brimming with so much emotion it stirred your unease further.

“Rytier moj?”

Steven’s face softened minutely, thumbs stroking your cheekbones as tenderly as butterfly wings despite the power – or the lack of it – in his grip.

“My love…”

Lips curling in a tiny smile, you mirrored Steven’s affection, reaching to settle your palm against his cheek, fingers of your other hand carding through his hair; your heart fluttered when he leaned into your touch, a wavering breath escaping his lips before they pressed against your palm to sooth the scratch of his beard against your skin.

Despite the dulcet image he made, eyes fluttering close for a blissful moment of nothing but love shared, you felt his body pulse with anxious urgency seemingly seeping into yours through your fingertips.

“I did not sleep well…” you confessed, his already pursed lips turning down. “I had a heavy feeling in me. Now I know the gods had not warned me simply for their own whims. What’s happened?”

Steven opened his eyes again; with a single caress of the breeze, he straightened, his aura of a knight – a fierce protector, a loyal friend, a humble determined servant – returning with its full force as did his worry.

“I need your help.”

A simple plea.

A simple answer.

“Always, rytier moj. Anything,” you promised.

One would expect relief to fill your lover’s features; instead, dread twisted them into a frown of dismay. Almost as if he had been hoping for your rejection.

Why?

The whisper of death among the trees grew louder, haunting, sending such a shudder through your body not even your lover’s warmth could hope to protect you from it, another urgent question scratching at the back of your mind.

Death, the trees seemed to whisper.

Whose death?

“Oh bosorka moja…”

Not Steven’s. Never. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.

And not your child’s. You’d claw a throat open with your bare hands had anyone tried to take them away. Take her away. You had dreamed two nights prior, dreamed of a girl with Steven’s beautiful eyes and your hair caressed by the wind, her laughter filling the air as he sat her on his shoulders and she placed the daisy crown on his head-

The image had been so full of hope, so bright, so full of promise; it battled the current scent of death fiercely, one blending into another, and it felt like you were stood in the middle.

Your choice. Your power.

Your victory; or your loss.

You gulped, your gentle hold on Steven’s face growing shaky; with fear or the weight of responsibility, you weren’t sure.

“What is it, love? You are worrying me… come in. Tell me what weights down your-“

“Prince Anthony has been poisoned,” he said at last.

The whisper of the wind seemed to turn into a screech of a gale, even as the tree leaves and grass barely rustled.

The Prince… was he the one whose death you felt impending? It must have been.

In a split second, it became so clear why Steven was so shaken.

An impending death of his brother in arms. Of someone whom he served and appreciated.

Of the future ruler; quite possibly caused by the attempts of the party of Asgard.

An act of war.

Should Prince Anthony die, there would be no stopping at one death. Devastating number of lives could be lost. Including Steven’s.

No. Not on your watch. Not as long as you walked this realm.

But could you stop it?

Stood in the middle. Your choice. Your power.

Could you prevent a war?

Your mind was set into a whirl, various herbs and remedies for different poisonings refreshed in your mind.

“Do you know which poison it was?” you asked urgently, dropping your hands; and confused as why Steven’s remained firmly on your face, his expression speaking of pain greater than before. “Steven, love. What are his troubles? I can send a potion, pass it as a remedy from a physician-”

“Burning feeling in his forehead, weakness of muscles, trembling, cold sweat… he fainted and could not be woken up, only for a brief moment. He had trouble speaking, began to shake, fainted again...” Steven listed slowly, his unease growing with every word.

And so did yours.

Determination bled out from your body drop by drop, replaced by dread, the very weakness your lover was talking about as if settling in your own muscles and bones.

“The physician believes it might have been... aconite?” he added.

You had figured as much, seemingly endless moments before Steven spoke the dreaded word.

Aconite.

The worst nightmare of all living things; the deadliest daydream of those who meant harm and would not stop until their enemy released their last breath.

Death, screeched the breeze in the crowns of the birch trees; the yew trees, the very symbol of passing, joining in.

Death. War. Death.

Your power. Your victory. Your loss.

Your voice shook more frantically than young aspen leaves in the wind.

“Steven… aconite is deadly. I have no potion or salve for this. There is no cure-”

“That is what physician Banner said.”

“But then what…”

Your voice trailed off, words stuck in your throat, air stolen from your chest. A lighting from clear skies could struck you at the very moment and you would barely take notice of such.

It all made sense now. You having lost sleep. The whispers of death. The assumed shiver of power you shall no doubt need. And at last, Steven’s almost palpable dismay when you had said you’d help. That you’d do anything.

He had hoped you’d help.

He was terrified of it all the same.

You could feel blood draining from your face, rushing past your ears; unspeakable horror and determination swept you like the non-existent gale in the tree crowns.

“Steven…”

His grip on your face grew firmer, unsteady but urgent, his forehead pressed against yours as his eyes slid shut, his whisper a frantic promise, a confession and a prayer at once.

“I know. Believe me, my love, I know, and I have never been more scared of anything in my whole life,” he said huskily, barely audible over the wild thundering of your heart, the shaky sound of your quick breaths, even as the rest of the world faded into background, all noise ceasing. Or perhaps even the sparrows forgot how to sing, struck by fear for their life.“I would have not asked this of you if I did not fear that Anthony’s death would unleash a war with Asgard and might destroy us all… and if I did not believe I could protect you.”

“Steven-“

A thumb over your lip, gently pressing to silence your protest, Steven guided you to look up to his eyes, every word falling from his lips an oath signed by his own blood.

“Bosorka moja… I shall protect you, no matter the cost. You must know I would lay my life for you. I will, should it come to it. As long as you are safe.”

Consumed by adoration and terror at once, you slipped from Steven’s hold, shaking your head.

He had not the slightest idea what he was speaking of, the reckless fool.

He had no idea.

And he had no idea whom he would be leaving should he deliver on his terrible promise.

“These words are not nearly as comforting as you believe them to be! How would we-- how would I live without you?” you lamented, feeling the fire of power and indignation burn inside of you, chasing the fear away for several beats of your heart. “And I-- I am not even sure I can heal him.”

“You healed me,” Steven offered kindly, encouraging, confusion and the softest trace of hurt at you having escaped his touch twisting his face. He had no idea. He had no idea at all. “You said I was at the brink of death myself-“

“You were,” you spat, not appreciating the reminder – not of his injuries, nor of your past recklessness, as grateful as you were for the latter, not a single regret in your mind for having risked it all to save the handsome stranger with goodness etched into his very soul, having shone so bright it had outshined your doubts and fear for your life. But this was different. So much circumstance had changed. “But I was… I had faith in your soul, saw your good heart. I believed to be safe from you should I be too weak to protect myself after I casted my spells, and for that, I was able to pour all my magic into the healing. And I-- I was much more careless with my power then… “

You made a pause, inhaling slowly, gathering courage in the face of Steven’s features twisting further with distress.

“But Steven… that was before. I-- before we-“

“What is it, bosorka moja? Before what?”

Your lower lip trembled, regret lacing the soft touch of your fingertips to his face.

This was not how you wished for him to find out. You had told him before, erased his memory to ease his conscience and to prepare for the right moment, a moment fit for such joyful tidings; but much like him, having rushed here asking for help despite the unspeakable risks, you had no other option.

You had no choice.

You had no time.

The deep-sea blue with a forest green shade of his irises brimmed with emotion, tenderness and silent question.

With a lump in your throat, you dropped your hands again, curling them around your middle as if to protect the secret and save it for a reverent moment your love and lover – and your child – would have deserved.

Steven regarded your stance with dread visibly climbing up his throat. You could see it in his eyes, the sudden uncertainty, the questions written in his eyes growing frantic and painful.

Why had you stepped back from him? Why had you evaded his touch? Why did you seem taken by sorrow? What secret had you been keeping from him? For you must have had some. You must have not told him something crucial – and in a dark time like this, it shall come to light.

You appeared so shaken; you appeared scared. Of something he had failed to protect you from?

Or of his reaction to the revelation?

You chose your words carefully, speaking them slowly, even though you could feel him hanging onto every syllable.

“It is not only me anymore who needs to be protected.”

Steven did not understand; that much was clear from his expression, from the step he took closer to you only for you to take a step back, etching his hurt deeper into his face.

“I… I do not understand, my love. Do you have—do you know of someone who could help you? Do they need protection too?”

The they tasted of poison much bitterer than aconite; disbelief and profound pain.

You could almost hear it, the absurd questions he seemed to be asking himself. Was there… was there someone else? Someone else who had earned your love more fiercely than he had? More deserving?

The way your love remained hidden, the distance he still had to keep, laid heavy in his mind, always, now feeding his doubt; his fear that someone else now occupied the space he had so selfishly taken up in your heart.

But had only been here mere days ago, yes? Surely you could have not--- you would have not… or had you? No. That wasn’t possible. You were the kindest most loving person he had ever met, loyal to a fault – and he was blessed to be yours, to be loved, unconditionally, more than he deserved for keeping you his little secret.

You could not read thoughts; but Steven’s always seemed to be laid bare in front of you to card through. Betrayal and resignation all at once, jaw tight to mask his hurt, to hide the very doubt you read so clearly. Doubt, but not of you; of him. He had always carried it with him, the guilt of not providing for you as he imagined he should for his beloved.

Doubt, crystal clear in his gaze. It was possible, was it not? The most wonderful woman he had ever met, finally fed up, the goblet of your patience finally having overflowed, deciding to find a man worthy of you, able to take care of you, truly, one you were willing to-

You could not bear his mind screaming anymore, even as you had not heard a single word, a single thought, all of it but achy questions expressed by his gaze alone.

“No, Steven, I do not--- I merely cannot only think of myself now,” you said softly, searching for words to reveal the secret at last, not, not wanting to and craving it all the same. “I… I need to protect us.”

His shoulders sagged, doubt and heartache erased at once, tenderness at your worry for him melting into his smile.

“Do not fret, bosorka moja. I can hold my own.”

The faint smile in the corner of your mouth hurt, tears burning in your eyes.

“I know, rytier moj… and yes, I meant us, but I--- I also meant us.”

The arm you had curled around your middle shifted. Your palm spread pointedly over your belly as you met his gaze with hesitance and silent hope; for as much as you dreaded revealing the source of your worst fear, the tidings were still joyful. And you hoped with the entirety of your heart that Steven would accept them as such, much like the first time.

But first, he had to comprehend them.

Several rushed beats of your heart it took him; but then he finally did.

Suddenly, it was his turn to stand still and rigid as if a lightning from the perfectly clear skies struck him. And it might have as well.

His voice was barely louder than a breath, hoarse, laced with careful hope despite the glaring truth.

“You—we- are we-?”

A crystal-clear memory of those being the very words he had spoken the first time entered your mind, a single tear spilling over; the awe and reverence on his face mirrored his expression all the same as you confirmed.

“Yes.”

“You are with a child? My child?”

It would have been amusing, the questions, if you hadn’t been on a brink of hysteria and hadn’t there been a metaphorical sword hanging above your heads while you indulged in revealing the sweetest secret there was between lovers.

“Yes.”

Countless grains of sand in hourglass fell, Steven simply observing you, his gaze feasting on the entirety of you with newfound emotion that touched your very soul and made it shiver with delight. He observed you with such adoration and devotion you could only imagine he would show to a deity descending to walk the Earth.

And then he was surging forward, falling on his knees in front you, one hand on your hip, the other wrapping around your lower back to keep you close as he laid his forehead on your belly, shaky, slow and careful; nothing short of reverent. Despite the circumstance, all the tears prickling in your eyes found their release – every inch of your body sang, feeling Steven’s love for both you and the life he had a generous hand in creating.

“Oh bosorka moja… láska moja,” he muttered into the fabric before he looked up, hesitant fingers slipping under, to feel the very bump you had only noticed today. His lips parted in mute awe, eyes turning glassy with sheer delight and wonder at the miracle.

You allowed yourself another moment of basking in his love; feeling the delight spreading through every vein, through every bone and nerve, all the way to your very core and source of power. Your hands found gentle purchase of Steven’s hair as his lips pressed to your belly.

But then, the inaudible crackle in the air brought you both from your reverie, the breeze screeching of death instead of new life returning.

There was no choice; dread filled your being along with a haunting whisper of opportunity from a voice speaking in tongues you barely understood and yet deciphered as guidance.

You must go. You must try. Despite the risks.

Stood in the middle. Your power. Your victory; your loss.

Your only hope and your possible doom.

“I shall try my best to help, even as I do not know if I will be able to. But Steven…” you addressed him softly, revealing one more piece, one more source of joy, “our little girl must remain safe at any cost.”

The hands sprawled around your middle twitched, a single tear escaping him as his eyes shone.

“Our--- a girl? How-“

“It is but a feeling,” you admitted, earning a brilliant smile which lasted too shortly.

You smiled tightly in return, a few more tears rolling down your cheeks as Steven’s hand softly caressed your barely-there bump again, butterflies seemingly to erupting in your stomach, your heart humming.

He rose to his feet with something in his eyes turning steely, his gentle voice once against taking on a heaviness of an oath.

“I will protect you both, even if it should be the last thing I will ever do.”

One wavering breath was all the luxury you granted yourself before springing into action, not allowing yourself to lament at the potential of death weaved into Steven’s promise. You could not afford any more distraction. The hourglass was unrelenting, rushing you.

“I know. We shall get going.”

You could feel his eyes on you, a mute confusion as you ruminated through the cabinets, the fire lit, a small pot placed on it, two handfuls of water, milk thistle, ginseng roots, and sprinkle of uncaria leaves added to the mix.

“You can sit down, love, I shall only complete the potion swiftly and we will be on our way,” you assured him, reaching for a pinch of turmeric to add.

Steven did not, in fact, sit down – if anything, you could feel him grow taller behind you, as if his growing bewilderment added an inch or two to his already impressive height. His stare was firmly set on you, a little burning and slightly insulting since you could almost hear his silent questioning of your sanity.

A potion? But you had said-

You looked over your shoulder briefly, your lover’s body nearer than expected, causing you to need to crane you neck a bit.

“No, there is no potion to neutralise the poison – but this remedy strengthens a body, aids it to fight off an infection and weakness,” you explained, expecting Steven’s face clearing, but not waiting for it do so, busying yourself with reading the mental list of ingredients, recalling every indispensable element. Milk thistle, ginseng, uncaria leaves, turmeric… ah. Yes. Where herbs were concerned, rare or common, that would be all. Only one last ingredient.

A gentle hand on your elbow stopped you as you were turning to the stack of knives, halting your movements tenderly but firmly. Blinking, you lifted your gaze to Steven’s face again, disconcerted by his unreadable expression.

“Is it… safe?”

Had it not been for the large distress he was in, the feeling oozing of him and adding to your own shakiness, had it not been for the tenderness of his touch, you’d feign a slap to chase his hand away at the almost silly question – and at the sudden doubt in your knowledge and power and your reign over it.

“Steven, love, my apologies for the bluntness, but Prince Anthony is on his deathbed, so I cannot very well hurt him further and I shall have you known that this very potion you have drunk yourself-”

“For you,” he clarified, two soft syllables in contrast to your slightly exasperated words, your voice falling silent as sweet worry reflected in his sky-blue irises. Despite the circumstance, your heart seared at the fussing, no matter how groundless and ironic. “I am asking whether it is safe for you and our… our child to prepare that. I know it may seem irrational given why I am here, but-“

It was, you had to admit. And yet. You spent a precious moment, precious grains of sand falling in the ominous hourglass above your heads, placing your palm over his hand, reassuring.

“It is perfectly safe, rytier moj… certainly no more dangerous than rushing to the castle, the very heart of the Kingdom, and attempt to save the prince using the most outlawed practice in these lands,” you added with an unsteady cheekiness, earning an exasperated glare; and a full body shudder he couldn’t hope to contain.

The same tremble ran through your body; and yet, the whisper for caution was overshadowed by a tingle of energy unknown, a wordless encouragement. Almost a haunting promise from the Fate itself that bravery shall be rewarded.

But if that were true, where would the ever-present whispers of death and upcoming end fit in the mosaic then?

Shaking your head as well as the overwhelmingly bewildering sensations off, you charmed a soft smile for your lover and love – for the father of your child, already caring so deeply for the life to be born out of your love – and let your hand fall, turning back to your work as stream began to fill the cabin.

One last ingredient; a life essence to help maintain life.

You cradled the handle of the blade carefully in your hand, turning your other palm against the tip; the knife was out of your hand before you could comprehend how, pressed flat to Steven’s thigh, shielded from your touch.

“I’m sorry. I--- is that necessary?” Steven asked with a painful edge to his voice, his continued concern causing your heart to tremble.

“Yes… it is but a drop of blood, my love, I promise. A speckle of life essence to maintain life.”

His frown deepened as you reached for the knife again, fingers brushing his soothingly as you grasped at the handle. So many emotions played over his features; hesitance, concern, guilt. He must have realised you had used your blood before to cure him before you had even learned his name, another sacrifice having been made aside from having left yourself completely vulnerable to him when you had drained your magic and body alike to bring him from the death’s doorstep where you had found him at.

Then, an almost shy question, as if he felt too bold to even suggest such heretic thought.

“Life essence… would mine suffice, then?”

Where his implication was shy – that his mere mortal, human blood could match yours, the blood of a born witch – his determination was not.

He met your eye, a brilliant satisfied sparkle lighting up his irises when he read the truth in your hesitant gaze.

“Yes… it would. But-“

Your knight offered his left palm outstretched, no further questions. The bottomless trust in his gesture and in his eyes caused a lump to grow in your throat; the mere idea of cutting him, even if it was to only be but a scratch, had ache sting deep within your ribcage.

“Are you cert-“

“Would you rather I lead the cut myself, love?” he asked, his voice tender upon your hesitance, understanding the action would cause you pain – as if you were to hurt yourself instead.

And you might as well.

Your hands were made to heal his wounds, not cause them; your hands were made to erase his aches, not bring them; your hands were made to love, not hurt.

Your read in his gentle gaze as he nearly read in yours: I despise the thought of hurting you, rytier moj; It is but alright, bosorka moja.

You shook your head.

“I-- no. I may do it. I apologize, we do not have time for-“

A hand grasping your jaw, soft lips silencing your apologies; your eyes fluttered close despite seeing right through the trick. You felt the pressure of his hand against the blade, the silent sound of protest earning you a deeper kiss, a softer caress of his lips against yours, tasting sweeter than summer breeze, so achingly tender.

“There you go, bosorka moja…”

With his retreat, Steven ran his thumb over your cheek, smiling; then, he moved his injured hand into yours, leading you above the pot.

Slightly dazed and exasperated still, you sighed and carefully squeezed his wound to indeed only spare a drop of his precious blood.

As you pressed your lips to his fingertips in a thank you, you let your healing power flow through your touch, closing the cut your body should have worn.

“This had better be the only blood spilled today,” you whispered; and prayed too. You met your Steven’s stormy gaze as the contents of the pot sizzled, sweet coppery aroma rising in the air.

“It will, bosorka moja. It will.”

He sealed the deal with a kiss, sweet and desperate and bruising.

And falling on deaf ears, whisper in the crowns of the birch trees, his and your words echoed the very same song.

Blood had better be spilled…

Today, today, today…It will, it will, it will…

Next part

Other headcanon and playlist

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist

Endearments used: Rytier moj (My knight) Bosorka moja (Witch mine) Láska moja (Love mine)

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #knight steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #medieval AU #fantasy au #fairy tale au #steve rogers #knight steve #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #witch reader #ochranuj me #protect me #anika ann

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