#man in a gold helmet

[the-punforgiven]

Yknow I never got why so many articles I see on like, eccentric or insanely weird, outlandish, impractical, and/or ornate armour always gotta compare it to Dark Souls

Like yeah, Dark Souls has like, the Catarina Armor and Havel's set, I guess the Armor of Thorns though it's wackiness it toned down somewhat, but I dunno, tbh I always found Dark Souls's Armor designs seemed like, remarkably sensible compared to most other fantasy media I've consumed

[artofthemystic]

GENERAL PECKERHEAD IN PURGATORY 25 by Otto Rapp Via Flickr: created in NIGHTCAFE - Juggernaut XL v7 EVOLVED - TEXT ONLY For the prompt and the title I took the clue from an old analog drawing of mine. But I expanded the prompt with a description of another painting from the eighties, which included all kinds of sea creatures as uniform decorations. The first image in this series was created with Contemporary Surreal. Much later I duplicated it , text only, for a challenge. I liked the idea so much, I ran several different versions in different modes, some with text only, some with a seed image. The results were largely very interesting, so eventually I made a special collection for it. Check it out here: creator.nightcafe.studio/collection/KjkvnAI1xX91rYwWggRr - from time to time I may add more. PROMPT: Portrait of Old Man General Peckerhead in Purgatory; golden helmet, uniform decorated with crustaceans, Alphonse Mucha, h.r.giger, cryptid taxidermy, Bogomil's Universe, imperial colors, surreal fantasy

[asketchydomesticatedgremlin]

DnD is fun

this old man has given 10% of his story to us.

I am worried for his safety, but all I can do is punch pretty good and look spooky.

[lamuradex]

It's been rattling around my head recently that Discworld is almost anti-whimsy, and I mean that in a good way.

Whimsy, as I define it, is when something magical is put in just to wow the reader. A magic thing that doesn't really effect the story, but its fantastical. Pots cleaning themselves? Moving paintings? A fantastical creature used as set dressing? A spell that does something cool but we'll never hear about it again? What do they mean? Why are they there? Doesn't matter, we're moving on.

But Discworld always applies Logic to these things.

e.g. The old idea of all dwarfs having beards? Ha ha, even the women have beards. How silly.

But that means all dwarfs are men. But there are female dwarfs, right? Are they happy being men? What if you gave one the chance not to be a man? Oh, sure, they'd still have the beard, the helmet, the axe, those are cultural, but what if a dwarf wanted to be a woman? How would other dwarfs react? Would there be biting insults? Snide remarks? Jealousy from other female dwarfs trapped in their society? What if the Low King were a woman? What then?

Pratchett always had this tenacity to follow a whimsical idea until it was ground down in its own grim reality. It's like those old conversations about what would really happen if Superman caught you falling from a high building. You'd smash on his arms because you're still hitting something indestructible at terminal velocity. But the comics would never show that.

Pratchett shows that.

Introduces a werewolf? She has a constant identity crisis and feels like a dog sometimes, between human and wolf, and she's discriminated against in places for being undead. A conman running a bank? Forces everyone to realise how useless gold really is in a scathing indictment of economics. Death becomes Santa? But WHY DOES THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL NEED TO DIE? WHY THE UNFAIRNESS IN THE WORLD? WHY?

What can the harvest hope for, if not the care of the Reaper Man?

It's what sets these stories apart from so many others. Magic is never the solution, reality is usually the solution. And little is introduced without Pratchett delving the idea to its depths, sooner or later.

[redvexillum]

Me: Alrighty-ho! Time to work on my grossly late fraugwinska's DBD x HH event and @6esiree's contest!

Me, completely a sub to my desires despite having zero experience writing a lucifer x reader fic: This is gonna be a quick, dirty, SHORT one shot. No problem-o! *nearly 5000 words later* fhuck.

TAGS/WARNINGS: vexi's brain rot, p in v, cunnilingus, wtf did I just write, f!reader, lucifer isn't quite over lilith because ✨drama✨️, low key blaming @sociosin for sending me spicy Lucifer's ask and @the-other-soup for drawing sexy lucifer - I stood no chance guys

When you first matched with DuckLover69 on Cinder, you laughed, thinking it was a typo—surely, he meant to type DickMaster69. That seemed on brand for a hook-up app straight out of Hell. But as you stood there in his room, surrounded by luxurious, crimson-hued furniture and bed sheets of rich satin that would have looked decadent if they weren’t crowded by piles—actual mounds—of rubber ducks, you realized this guy hadn’t mistyped at all.  

This man really, truly, loved ducks. 

Maybe a tad too much.

You wove your way carefully through a veritable army of rubber duckies, each dressed in an outfit more absurd than the last. A little one in a sombrero sat beside a duck knight, complete with a silver helmet and a feather. You squinted. Was that one wielding a miniature sword? It stuck out from its back at a haphazard angle, as if this duck had met some unspeakable end in battle. 

How…avant-garde?

“Sorry for the wait!” A nervous, high-pitched voice broke the silence, followed by an anxious chuckle that echoed through the room. You turned to see Mr. Duck Lover, as he’d introduced himself online, standing stiff as a board, his hand twirling a crimson red apple atop his sleek, obsidian-black staff. 

He was exactly as odd in person as he’d been in your chats: curious to a fault and totally oblivious to social cues. His very first question had been, “So, do you know the King of Hell?” Not exactly small talk. But you had shrugged it off, telling him the truth—that you’d hardly kept up with Hell’s political scene since you arrived. You were too busy dealing with entitled assholes in your new, endless service job, a punishment so mundane it felt like Hell’s personal version of torture. 

You’d expected the conversation to taper off after that, but Mr. Duck Lover had caught you off-guard by taking a U-turn, asking without reserve if you liked sex. The question had been so blunt, so awkwardly dropped into the conversation, that you’d ended up laughing. After a hellish day dealing with rude customers, his lack of tact and straight-up weirdness had been refreshing, if bizarre, and you’d surprised yourself by playing along. 

And now here you were, standing in his duck-filled lair, looking at him in all his nervous, overdressed glory. “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked ducks,” you said with a grin, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible as you waved at a particularly stylish duck with a feathered boa around its neck. 

Mr. Duck Lover's shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darted back and forth. Two bright red circles painted his cheeks, and he looked like a mime who’d been caught halfway through his act. His fingers fidgeted with the apple on his staff as he tried for a casual smile, though it came across more like a grimace. 

“I-is that a dealbreaker?” His voice cracked, and you could practically feel the nerves radiating off him. You chuckled, stepping a little closer, savouring the way his breath caught, and his cheeks flushed a unique shade of gold, the colour spilling across his nose in a way that was like glittering treasure strewn across white sand. 

“Nah, just… observing,” you said, your grin turning wicked. “What’s wrong, Mr. Duck Lover?”  

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of gold that had fallen over his forehead back into place. He froze, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as if he’d been zapped. The blush on his cheeks deepened, and he puffed them out, holding his breath, looking for all the world like he was trying not to combust from embarrassment. 

Odd, yes. But somehow, interesting. You found yourself curious—very curious—about just what went on in that strange, nervous, duck-obsessed mind of his. 

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling at the base of your throat as you took him in. How adorable. Everything about him felt so out of place for a guy on an app specifically for hookups. He stood there, stiff as a board, his eyes darting to your every move, arms glued to his sides as though his own body wasn’t sure what to do with itself. And as you leaned closer, you noticed a large portrait hung in the back corner of his room—a family picture, quaint and well-loved. 

Am I his rebound? you thought, as you slid your fingers along his collar, grazing the crisp fabric before slowly easing it off his shoulders. His vest, a pale pink stripe against white, gave him a soft, almost innocent look—a stark contrast to the nerves dancing in his wide eyes. He didn’t resist, simply let his jacket slip down his arms, his breath coming shallow as you leaned in, feeling the heat rise as your faces neared, breath mingling. 

With a gulp, he stammered, “I gu-guess we’re doing the do, that's fantastic!” He tried to smile, his teeth peeking out in a goofy, uncertain grin as he let the jacket fall to the floor. 

“You mean…” you whispered, your voice low as you pressed against him, feeling his entire body tense beneath your touch. “Fucking?” 

He squeaked—actually squeaked—and tried to clear his throat, summoning a shred of composure. “That’s right, f-ffucking,” he stammered, the word awkward on his lips as he sounded it out like it was a foreign concept. “Because that’s… what we do. Now. Here.” His body shivered slightly, and you could feel the tremble that ran from his chest to yours, betraying his every anxious thought. 

A spark of curiosity bloomed in you as you watched his attempts at bravado crumble with each beat of silence. You felt it all click into place. In Hell, family didn’t exactly… exist. Sinners couldn’t create new life here, so the idea of settling down with a partner wasn’t the norm, let alone the idea of casual intimacy. But here he was, talking about sex with the clumsy innocence of someone barely familiar with the concept. “Hey…” you murmured, a thrill lacing your words. “Are you… a virgin?” 

The question struck him like lightning, his eyes going wide, his fingers clutching at his vest in a mixture of embarrassment and flustered denial. “Wha—first time?” He laughed—a loud, forced laugh that seemed to rattle out of him, like he was trying to chase away the truth. “Oh, no, no, no, not at all! I’ve… I’ve used my penis in… numerous ways.” His voice dropped to a low, desperate tone. “I even shape-shifted a few times for… added spice,” he said, his forked tongue flicking nervously, searching your face as though hoping to see doubt there instead of amusement. 

But you couldn’t help it. The men you usually met were arrogant, self-assured, and too focused on themselves to care. Yet here he was—blushing, hesitant, endearing in his innocence. A wicked grin spread across your face as you let your fingers trail lower, smoothing down his vest, tracing each trembling line of muscle underneath until you reached the waistband of his pants. 

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smirk, and his breath caught. His lips quivered, his cheeks flushed, but he returned your grin—innocent and eager, albeit with a slight, deliciously shaky edge. 

You wondered just what kind of man Mr. Duck Lover truly was as your hands moved along his body, peeling away each layer of his clothing, his meagre defences landing on the floor with gentle thuds joining with yours. For all his usual fidgeting and awkwardness, there was something disarmingly tender in the way he touched you, as if each stroke of his fingertips was sacred, each caress reverent. That boyish, clumsy charm he wore like a mask seemed to slip away, leaving behind a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your pulse race. 

“Been… a while,” he murmured, his hands wandering in tentative exploration, pausing over the soft curve of your breast, then settling firmly at your hips. The admiration in his voice deepened as he sighed, his eyes tracing over you as though you were something divine. “God really did create the perfect being,” he whispered, his lips grazing your shoulder, and as your bare bodies met in a slow, full embrace, it was your turn to hold your breath, struck by the unexpected gentleness of it. 

You almost chuckled, the urge to tease him—“Praising God in Hell? How blasphemous,”—hovering at the tip of your tongue. But as he drew you closer, his face tucked deep into the curve of your neck, words fell away, replaced by a silent warmth that seeped into every nerve, every inch of your skin. His arms wound tighter around you, his body pressing against yours, not out of desire, but a kind of longing that felt… deeper.

Meaningful. 

Your arms wrapped around him on instinct, though your mind buzzed with confusion. Shouldn’t this be a quick, meaningless fuck by now? Yet, here you were, tangled in his arms, savouring the sensation of him, feeling the quiet, almost desperate comfort he sought as he held you. The naked intimacy was strange, yes. Unexpected, yes. But something in you didn’t want to break the moment; it felt like a balm, easing all the stress and tension that had worn you down for far too long as you toiled away in your eternal damnation.  

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the steady warmth of his body, your fingers tracing delicate paths along his spine. Each gentle touch pulled soft, barely audible sounds from his throat, the hint of a moan muffled against your skin as your fingers reached his hair, petting through the soft strands. His hair was even softer than you’d imagined, and you felt him sink into your touch, both of you on the brink of letting go.

Letting go of what? You weren't sure.  

But suddenly, he pulled back, and the spell shattered. His cheeks flushed, his hands awkwardly clutching at your waist as he avoided your gaze, his nervous energy flooding back. “Right, uh, sex. That’s what we’re… here for, isn’t it? So, we should, um…” He forced a grin. “Do the, uh… the sex!” 

That was when you finally absorbed your surroundings, the vast emptiness around you, the solemn quiet of his home. There was a lonely hush here, dark and endless, filling every corner, every shadow. And, of course, the lifeless ducks haphazardly thrown around. 

But there was no one else. 

Not a soul in these halls. 

You slipped your hand into his, guiding him toward the bed with a gentleness that felt at odds with your own intentions. You almost considered tucking him under the covers, wrapping him up and telling him that he didn’t have to prove anything to you, that he could wait until he was ready. But he wasn’t a child, and you weren’t here to be his caretaker. 

He lay down first, an eager anticipation flickering across his face despite the faint tremor in his limbs, his gaze fixed on you as you joined him. His body, still soft with nerves, lay at ease, his cock resting against his thigh. You reached out, taking him in hand, moving slowly as your fingers traced down his length, stroking him with a softness that coaxed him to relax. You felt him tense, then soften beneath your touch. 

“Oh… oh wow,” he breathed, his voice catching as he watched your hand, eyes wide with wonder. “Y-you’re… you’re pretty good at this,” he stammered, awe shimmering in his voice as he struggled to keep his composure, his gaze flicking between your face and your hand, his lips parting in quiet gasps. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but smile—feeling the thrill of his innocence, of his complete surrender. And somewhere in the warmth of his admiration, his trust, you realized you didn’t mind slowing down. 

True to his word, his body responded to your touch with a newfound firmness, his length growing against your hand, his skin silky and heated beneath your fingers. The sensation felt achingly familiar, like a melody you’d danced to before, each note resonating with a purpose neither of you had voiced aloud but understood all too well. 

Loneliness.

That was the reason, unspoken and raw, why you both found yourselves here tonight. You didn’t need his name, didn’t need his history because tonight was about filling that hollow ache. It was a fix—a fleeting, intoxicating drug against the gnawing ache deep in your chest. For one night, the world and its relentless wear could fall away in the ecstatic blur of release. 

You moved to straddle him, your body lowering until your wet, aching centre pressed firmly against the length of his cock, heat melding with heat. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, then back up to meet your gaze, a hungry, almost reverent look filling his face. As you began to grind your hips against him, the friction sent a rush of molten heat through you, a spark igniting as you slid over him, slick and needy. 

He watched, his breaths coming in short, shuddering waves, head falling back against the pillow, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he should reach for you or simply feel. His own pulse matched yours, every breath and heartbeat syncing to a rhythm of shared need, unburdened by names or burdens. 

Slowly, you lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, pressing yourself down until his thick, warm tip pushed past your folds. Inch by inch, you took him, feeling every delicious stretch, every bit of pressure radiating inside you. A soft, desperate mewl escaped your lips as you sank fully, your bodies meeting in a perfect, seamless join. The raw sensation of him filling you hit deep, igniting pleasure like embers to flame. 

His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering shut, a low hiss slipping past his parted lips. “This is…” he began, voice trembling, his fingers flexing as if fighting to keep control, “oh gosh… really wonderful.” His hands faltered, barely grazing your hips before he let them fall to his sides again, his face flushed with both pleasure and nervous restraint. His hips lifted, seeking you instinctively, meeting each of your downward strokes with soft thrusts that went deeper, each time pushing him further within. 

“Oh, oh jeez, oh—golly…” He groaned, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he struggled to find words, every breath shuddering as he fought to keep up. His words, his earnest surprise, almost made you laugh, a kind of sweetness seeping into his awkward sounds as he gripped the sheets tighter. “Wow…” 

You bit back a smile, letting a small laugh escape between breaths. “What? You’ve never had good sex before?” you taunted, rolling your hips, drawing him fully within before slamming back down again. 

His cheeks flushed a deep gold, his chest expanding as he gasped, his muscles tensing beneath you. “N-No—ah, that’s not…” His voice wavered, breaking off in a moan as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, no… if you keep doing that… I won’t last long.” His voice softened, rich with pleasure and just a hint of pleading, as his eyes met yours, full of shy desire. “Please… I want this to last… just a little longer.” His words trailed into a low, trembling moan, his hands finally reaching, hesitantly finding their place on your waist as he held you, breath heavy with yearning, surrendering entirely to the moment with you. 

You hummed thoughtfully, sliding him out of you, his cock springing free and bouncing against his stomach, throbbing with the loss of warmth. His sudden whimper made you smirk, biting back a laugh as you hovered just out of reach. 

“I'm nowhere close to finishing,” you teased, keeping your wet heat tantalizingly close to him, yet unreachable all the same. 

“I can fix that!” he nearly shouted, grinning like he’d just found a solution to all the world's problems. Sitting up eagerly, he waggled his eyebrows with such intensity that it made you giggle. “After all, I was quite the… generous eater in my day,” he added, flicking his forked tongue out for effect. 

“Oh, is that so?” You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “Show me, oh great, generous eater.”  

He joined in your laughter, but then his eyes drifted over your shoulder. His face faltered, brows knitting together, and you followed his gaze. The same family portrait you had initially noticed back in your view—a tall, curvaceous woman with long blonde hair standing beside him and a child who seemed to carry hints of both their features. 

You moved next to him, and leaned back, trying to keep your tone casual. “If you’re going to bring a one-night stand over, maybe next time use a room without a family portrait.” The words came out sharper than you intended, a twinge of bitterness souring the edge. 

His shoulders tensed as he turned to you, eyes wide with a guilty look. “Oh—no, that’s not…I…” He stammered, his hands fluttering in the air as if trying to reach some explanation. 

You sighed, deciding to throw him a lifeline. You were here for fun, not drama. “Hey, relax. It’s…whatever,” you said with a casual shrug, a grin playing on your lips. But that lingering bitterness in your chest didn’t quite vanish. 

Mr. Duck Lover seemed to seize onto your words, scrambling between your legs, though his excitement from earlier was starting to wane. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, leaning close, fingers hesitating on the curves of your hips, as if battling his own mind. His face hovered near your core, yet he seemed frozen in place, like he was staring into the void rather than your body. 

It was quite a comical sight. 

If you weren't in the picture, that is. 

There he was—his head bowed at your centre, practically on the verge of a self-reflective breakdown. While you laid there, spread out and ready, and he was having an existential crisis. 

You sighed, raising an eyebrow as he muttered to himself, “I can do this,” almost like he was about to leap off a bridge instead of…well, pleasing you. His hands twitched as his hands hovered over your hips, eyes squeezing shut in concentration as if gearing up for some monumental challenge. 

By now, the mood had evaporated, leaving behind only the lingering awkwardness of his whispered self-encouragement. Five seconds later, you realized that, yes, you’d completely lost the heat of the moment, and this was likely going nowhere but more awkwardness. 

You reached out gently, brushing his cheek. “Hey…maybe we should…” you started softly, hoping to ease him off this self-imposed, anxious ride and spare you both whatever spiral he was about to go down. 

His eyes snapped to yours, full of a pleading, vulnerable intensity, his lips parted and his gaze almost desperate. “No, no, I can do it!” His voice trembled, and he bit his lower lip, the slightest twitch in his left eye betraying his nerves. “It’s just been….” 

You softened, trying to help him find the words. “Years?” 

“Centuries,” he murmured, looking away as if confessing a secret. 

Centuries. The realization hits you with a strange thrill. You liked older men, sure, but you wondered how long he had stayed in Hell for. “Oh…” was all you managed, feeling the surreal weight of the moment. 

“May I?” he asked, his voice a tender murmur, fingers twitching, hesitant to touch you. You could only nod, slightly taken aback that he was asking for permission now, especially after where you'd both already been just minutes earlier. 

The moment his fingers touched your skin, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if relishing the warmth. He pressed a featherlight kiss against the curve of your hip, his touch more gentle than you could have imagined. With each kiss, he drifted lower, his lips tracing delicate patterns along your skin, until he found that sensitive spot just above your core, making you jolt beneath him. 

Your emotions tangled, caught between surprise and pleasure. You’d expected something hasty, careless, but this…this felt almost achingly tender. 

He opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze softening as his lips brushed against you. Then, slowly, his tongue traced between your folds, a warm, pleasant heat that sent a gasp spilling from your lips. His own groan followed, deep and low, a sound of unrestrained need, as he continued to explore you, his lips and tongue working in gentle, insistent rhythms. 

You bit your lip, mirroring the way he’d done earlier, clutching the sheets as your body arched, heels pressing into the bed. Every reaction you gave seemed to stoke something in him, drawing another low, desperate moan from his throat. He rocked his hips against the mattress, as if drinking each of your gasps, as if they were fuelling his own desire. 

“Ah—D-don't stop,” you whimpered, your chest rising as your back arched from the bed. But he didn’t let you escape, his lips chasing every inch of you. His mouth closed around your sensitive nub, sucking gently before he dipped his tongue to explore further, the alternating sensations sending you spiralling. 

Your breath came ragged and broken, each wave of pleasure building faster as he licked and sucked with an almost feverish devotion. His own body responded in turn, his hips grinding against the bed, the friction drawing needy, guttural sounds from him that only fed your own pleasure. 

The rhythm intensified, and just as you thought you might break from the mounting sensation, he pressed deeper, his tongue a soft, insistent force. You clenched around the bliss rising within you, every muscle tensing, as he held you there, relishing every sound, every tremor of pleasure that passed between you both in the heady, dizzying night. 

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, fingers tightening as you pulled him closer. His lips pressed even harder against you, and you felt yourself unravelling, teetering on the edge of something wild and raw. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, your legs bending as the fire in your belly coiled tighter. Then, with one last fierce suck and an indulgent lick, he shattered your restraint. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, tearing a ragged cry from your throat as it flooded every inch of your body. 

He moved with you, his own hips shifting as if in sync with the rhythm of your climax, his mouth still sealed to you, eager to take in every tremor and quake of your release. His hand slipped beneath him, the hurried motion of his strokes intensifying, his fingers relentless as he chased his own peak while lingering over every pulse and shudder of yours. 

He moaned against you, his mouth vibrating with his own mounting pleasure, his hips twitching as he hit his release just after yours. His strokes slowed, tapering off as he gasped, his lips finally releasing you as his chest heaved. He knelt there, breathless, lips glistening from the shared passion, drenched by the evidence of his pleasure pooling between you. 

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled up beside you, eyes softened as he reached for you, arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. You stayed there, uncertain yet draped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His heartbeat pounded against your ear, each beat so fierce you couldn’t tell if it was his or your own. 

His hand drifted up to brush your hair back, fingers combing gently as his breathing settled into a steady rhythm with yours. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then another to the crown of your head, his lips lingering as if they held some unspoken affection, each kiss like a vow. 

“You were wonderful, dear,” he whispered, his voice a low, affectionate murmur, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. He stayed there, his arms cradling you, showering you with gentle kisses, an unexpected tenderness weaving around you both in the aftermath, grounding you in a warmth that felt real, if only for this moment. 

“I'm not sure how to even respond to that” you murmured, your mind still a haze, struggling to piece itself back together in the lingering aftershocks of your release. His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, and when you looked up, his eyes were warm, soft, his gaze holding an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. 

“You’re perfect,” he said, tilting your chin up, his voice thick with emotion. His lips pressed gently to yours, lingering as if he wanted to etch this moment into his mind. “You’re everything I want and more.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, before he pulled you against his chest, his arms tightening around you with a fervency that felt almost desperate, as if he were holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. 

The raw affection in his embrace left you spinning. He held you as if you were his—an intimacy that felt foreign and startling. You’d just met him, after all. Yet here he was, clinging onto you as if you were more than a passing connection, as if you meant something deeper, something that couldn’t be dismissed. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to what you’d expected. 

Your eyes drifted to the shadowed portrait in the corner of the room, catching the faint outline of the woman in it—a powerful figure with curling horns and a smile that was as beautiful as it was unsettling. Whoever she was, she lingered here, like a ghost following his every step, a reminder of a past not fully left behind. 

But then, he murmured into your hair, “I love you. Please… don’t go.” His voice was fragile, almost broken, and his arms wrapped around you even tighter, his head pressing against yours, as if the strength of his embrace alone could keep you with him. 

There were many reasons people used Cinder. Some were looking for a thrill, some for a fleeting escape, some for connection in a moment that might otherwise feel empty. Maybe that was all this was, a bandage to the wound of loneliness he didn’t want to admit to, a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. 

You hesitated, your hands resting limply against his back. This wasn’t what you’d come for; it wasn’t what you’d expected. But then, you could feel his frame trembling beneath your touch, the vulnerability in his grip as if he’d waited lifetimes to feel the comfort of another. Gently, you placed a hand on his back, feeling the way he drew in a shaky breath. 

“I won’t,” you whispered softly, almost to yourself, your voice filling the quiet between you.  “I’m here for you.”  

It was a lie, but a beautiful lie, nonetheless. 

At your words, he shuddered, holding you tighter, his trembling easing as if you’d just unlocked something buried within him.  

You were just a passing soul, but at this moment, maybe that was enough. 

[choas232]

Canine Vastaya! G/N! reader x Steb ⊹ ˖ 𓃡⊹ ˖

Summary: Progress day has you and your fellow enforcers relaxing. Slacking, even. Posted deep in the bowels of the festivities, you decide (against your will) that you might join them along with your coworker, Steb.

Reader is a canine Vastaya, and an enforcer. NO MORE SILLY READER. We are serious people now. No use of Y/N, neutral terms and they/them are used to refer to reader.

CWs: Emetophobia, just one line and not described in depth. Suggestive themes. Most of all, SLACKING ON THE JOB.

Word count: 3.3k

⊹ ˖ 𓃡⊹ ˖

Gold. So much gold. Glimmering and crowding, the city fighting itself so violently that even you, you with your dulled Vastaya vision, can see the gory speculate of the festivities laid bare for all to see. The squawks of children, vendors, golden ticking butterflies, machinery, force your ears flush to your head. The scent of cheap carnival treats masquerading as delicacies assaults your sensitive nose, and try as you might you can’t push down the fur dusting your neck, standing on end.

Overstimulating. Cruel. Beautiful. You lean back on the chair, pressing your coiled tail against the hard surface to hide how it curls close to you.

“Can I leave now?” The man sat in the medical tent behind you slurs out. You do not give him the courtesy of replying, but you turn, catching Steb tucking the equipment back into its rightful places. The man’s not on any of the horrid drugs you see slipping out of Zaun these days, and although his remaining brain cells might be worse for wear, he just needs to sleep it off.

Maddie finishes chewing out his drunkard friends for leaving him passed out, and hastily trots back to the tent, wiping the thin gleam of sweat off of her forehead and quickly adjusting her hat. It’s only a brief lapse before she’s back to Junior officer Nolan, sternly helping him to his feet and carting him out to his waiting, hooting friends.

“Having fun?” She teases, returning back to the tent and slumping down on the chair beside you. You scoff, and turn back to watching the crowds, still spotting out of the corner of your eye how Steb moves to join you.

You try not to look at him, instead focusing on the ginger beside you. This turns out the be almost as much as a mistake as allowing yourself to dwell on your affections for him, because she’s already looking at you.

You see her grey-blue eyes flick to your tail, pressed tightly down between your legs now that your audience is gone, and then back to your ears. “Or maybe, disappointed to be missing out on the fun?” she gestures to the drunkards, stumbling away and your lips pull back in a semi-amused scoff.

“I’m working. This is important.”

“I think our law-mandated breaks are pretty important too.” You give her a scrutinizing look, and she shrugs, still smiling. “You two take a break. I’ll man the station.”

Two. Alone with him? No. You can’t.

“Your hypocrisy is almost as amusing as the fact you’d think I’d even consider taking a break.” You hastily push out, grasping like a drowning cat for a footing.

“Ahhhh. There’s where you’re wrong. I don’t think. I know.” She tilts her head, pointing a freckled finger towards your face.

Dammit. Your ears, perking up of their own accord, press against the hard surface of your enforcer helmet and traitorously peeking out. You move to tuck them away, scowling as you do, and you swear you watch her swallow a snicker.

Telling her was a mistake. Why did you think telling his closest friend you held… affection for him was a good idea? That your helmet is so tight it makes your skull ache in an attempt to hide your perking ears? That you stayed up teaching yourself sign language for him, even though you knew you could never let him know? That you think of him, constantly, each 24 hours, 1440 minutes and 86400 seconds of your days?

Possibly the alcohol in your system and the choking feeling of having pressed the fondness low in your gut, hoping it would rot. It didn’t

Steb watches the exchange without interjectural, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Calmy, he reaches a hand to brush at his scaled cheek before beginning work on unrolling the sleeves still tucked up from his medical misadventure.

You feel like a teenager, rabid and nervy as you try not to look, but also try not to look like you’re trying not to look.

 “Steb? Thoughts?” Maddie, noticing your gaze, crosses her legs, looking up at him from her place on the chair and folding her arms.

His eyes widen slightly at addressal, and he shallowly nods, tilting his head towards you followed with a questioning look. Do you want to?

Misinterpreting his communication on purpose, she gleefully spins back around to meet your glare. “A yes than. Don’t worry friends. I’ll be just fine all on my lonesome.” She turns to meet the sea of wide brimmed hats, parasols (all the rage, lately,) and bold, bright colours, and you know the conversation is done. She can be frighteningly persistent when she puts her mind to a task, and you know better than to argue and further her teasing.

With a sigh and a quick prayer to the heavens, you turn to make the maker of your troubles, who politely offers you a hand. You take it, and he hauls you off of the chair.

You curse the makers of the leather gloves that adorn his hands.

Great heavens. Where did that come from? Certainly not you.

Trying to accept defeat with grace, you say, “I could use a walk, anyways,” stretching as you do, popping your back and pushing out your arms until your claws scrape the roof of the tent. Steb’s eyes follow, and then snap away as you peer at him. “Any sightseeing you want to get done?” You try to evenly ask him.

He pauses, and then, with a tilt of his head, splays a hand out to instead gesture to you. He’s doting. You’re not to used to it. You didn’t get to where you are with hands holding on to yours, anyways.

“Well. I… I could do with some food.” There’s this stall, far from the main, noisy festivities and food-poisoning littered stalls that sells the sweet fried fruits of your childhood. Crunchy, thick and rolled in flour on the outside, and slick with blue, sweet juices that burst on your tongue when you take a bite. Nice to gnaw on for your teething child’s self, blue staining your lips and splattering across the pressed shirts your parents draped you in for Progress Day.

He nods, and then concernedly taps his helmet with a flicker of his ears. For a moment you don’t understand.

Then you do.

Of course he remembers how you complained about how the enforcers uniform’s headpiece hurts your ears, not built to suit Vastaya. A throw away comment. Of course, he looks at you with those big, gleaming blue eyes, stupidly kind-hearted, and of course your traitorous tail kicks up behind you.

You clamp it between your legs, meeting his eyes defensively and ignoring how they glance down to observe it. From her place, Maddie is grinning. You don’t need to look at her to tell.

You unclasp your helmet, dropping it onto a nearby table, flickering out your strained ears out not unlike your limbs minutes prior.

“Ready to go?” You inquire, and his ears affirmative flicker, nodding goodbye to Maddie as you leave. You do too, but with a different picture painted in your features. She laughs, and then the crowd swallows you whole.

The adults parts around you, one bonus to being in uniform. The children, however, do not follow this courtesy, instead slamming past you after miniature flying ships and bright, pink bubbles that chime when they pop. You have half a mind to reach out and feel the oil and soap slick surface yourself, your glimmering reflections blinking back at you.

Steb observes each passerby, each float and display with keen interest, every now and then glancing back at you. You try to pre-emptively look away when he does. He’s perceptive, you’ve noticed. Alert. Always the first to act, always to first to spot the danger.

You just hope he doesn’t notice how without meaning to you drift closer to him, how now your ears press against your skull with a different emotion than overstimulation.

You have half a mind to mimic his attention, anyways. The arcane, and technology, has been kind to you this year. The exploits of the people of Piltover has been many. You pass a humanoid golden robot, speaking animatedly and advertising the goods of a nearby vendor, and then a functioning, beating silver heart, water pumping through its long metal cords. A man yells over at you, trying to sell you golden jewellery fit for adorning your fangs, stopping when he sees the uniforms.

All the metal, the fabrics, and the ridiculous uniform, the heat cages you in. You push down the urge to stick out your tongue, pant, instead reaching up to massage sweat out of your nape and furred ears.

With a tap on your shoulder that makes you startle, he cuts through the crowd towards a nearby vendor, gesturing for you to wait. You do, and moments later he returns with water.

He makes it so hard not to love him.

Gratefully, you take it, unbottling the cap and taking a great gulp, water dribbling down the sides of your mouth. His sip of his own bottle, cool and elegant, makes you feel slightly ashamed, but he doesn’t seem to care. After refusing to let you pay him back, you continue on your way.

Finally, after what feels like simultaneously too long and too short of a trip, you duck under a banner-stricken archway, and step into the courtyard. Less adorned than the other sections of the festival, but in your humble opinion, kinder on the eyes. Copper, oxidized and gleaming blue, is crafted into flowers. They paste themselves over every inch of the courtyard, forming archways up to a great canopy, light filtering through to softly  illuminate your path, along with a cool breeze.

Small tents, strung with buzzing lights dot the area. Families sit beneath them, enjoying modified ice-cream that never melts, young couples tenderly brush their hands together on benches, and vendors chat.

You approach the stall, the store vendor barely looking up. The little embroidered rhinestones on their face flash as they lazily push a hand towards a sign, reading out the golden font. “30% discount for couples,” before turning back to the puzzle, some kind of contraption with a prize inside, no doubt.

You’re halfway through an awkward, no, that’s not, we’re not— when the scent of the fruits plasters to your nostrils. Delicious, dripping in memories of childhood, of stained fabric and high-pitched giggles.

Dammit.

Steb glances at your wagging tail, crushing any hope of retaining your dignity. He doesn’t look away quickly this time, trailing up slowly to meet your eyes, lips slightly parted. Your body betrays you, as it always does. You just hope he assumes the fruits are the cause.

“We’ll have six, please.” You defeatedly ask, abruptly looking away. Three for you, three for him.

Do you look like a couple? With your matching posture, neat uniforms, completely and utterly in step… you need to be, to do the work you do, and you talk without talking, but it’s largely because he’s mute. So why did they…

He reaches down into his pockets to tug out his wallet. You beat him to it, slamming yours down with a dull thump against the counter. He would scoff, you think, had he been more animation in his features, but the narrow of his eyes makes you well aware of his displeasure. You smile back at him, enjoying the childish feud. Your fangs flash.

Your damned tail is still wagging.

The vendor passes you the long, wooden sticks, three of the delicious treats impaled on them. You take yours and repress the urge to devour it immediately.

“Where to sit…” You mumble, only to spot the tents, shaded from the light and cooled by the breeze. Steb follows you as you fall with a thump into the tangle of blankets. He carefully sits as not to drop the treat, removing his hat and carefully placing it in the mouth of the tent.

You dig in. It’s exactly as what was remembered, filling, the thick fried flour coating contrasting with the blue juices inside. At first, you try to eat neatly, like you see your fellow Enforcer doing, but that falls to pieces the moments you get your fangs on the fruits. You wolf it down, (a pun, from you? More likely than one would think.) with a gusto that scares you, and place the wooden stick down on the mat below you.

You watch as he tilts his head, holding one hand under his mouth to catch stray crumbs and the other holding the stick at an angle so he can sink his pearly whites into the treats. It’s a careful process, one that doesn’t leave any of the mess splattered across his face, nor his shirt.

Conversation isn’t your strong suit. You aren’t literate in waxing poetic, nor charming the teeth off your fellows. The silence you keep with him is comfortable. It houses you in it’s embrace not unlike the breeze gently nipping at your skin.

You hate to say it, but Maddie was right. You’re enjoying this. Perhaps too much. You can hear your disobedient tail gently thumping against the fabric.

God, you’re parched after devouring the treat. Already having finished your own bottle, you eye Steb’s. Would it be weird to ask him to take a sip? Would you wrap your lips around the rim? No, no, but pouring it into your mouth without contact might look childish and ridiculous… perhaps you shouldn’t…

He notices you looking and slides you the bottle. Without thinking, your mind still screaming, you unclasp the top and take a swig. Saliva— his saliva is on the lips of the bottle… lips?

God, are you fifteen? You need to get a hold on yourself.

“You’ve been quiet.” You mutter, without really thinking. His eyes narrow, his head cocking coyly to the left. “I— you know what I mean… you haven’t been saying as much… showing as much?” He humours your attempts at communication with his full attention, turning to meet you as he places the blue-stained wooden stick away.

“…are you nervous?”

He shakes his head.

“Tired?”

Again. A quick shake.

“I’m out of guesses.”

He leans back, a quiet hum coming deep from his throat as he does. “Calm?” you don’t know why you sound as disbelieving as you do. A shallow nod, with a wave of his hand this time, towards your loose posture, relaxed, perked up ears and gently wagging tail. You’re calm too, you suppose.

Then, with a pause, he reaches up to brush his fingers to his cheek. “Hmm?” You mirror him, pressing yours to your own face. Your fingers come off blue.

He dips his fingers into his breast pocket, pulling out that neat, unstained handkerchief. Does he buy them in bulk? Does he clean them? A mystery you don’t want to uncover. He hands it to you, and you thank him quietly. He watches you as you dab the corners of your face, for a moment, before he repoints, gesturing for you to move to the left. You miss it again, before he reaches out, not bothering to take the handkerchief from you.

With the rest of his hand braced across your jaw, he stretches out a thumb to push, hard, down, wiping the fleck off juice off.

When he pulls away, you see blue on his finger.

Nonchalantly, he pops his thumb in his mouth, gently tugging the juice off with more teeth than tongue, before his hand moves to rest beside him once again.

You gape. You gape some more. Does he know what he does to you? Reduces you, you, studious and hardworking, you, into a mess. A stuttering, tail-wagging, blushing mess. You want to strangle him. You want to kiss him. He glances back at you, and you try to casually resume what you were doing before— what was that again?— your senses kicking into overdrive.

“Did you enjoy the uhm, snack?”

He nods, relaxedly. You feel, and retain, the horrible feeling you are being teased.

“…Yeah. Me too.” You swallow, and than talk, maybe to fill the once comfortable silence, wrangle it into submission. “I used to come here with my parents. When I was younger. They used to dress me up— in shirts they knew would be ruined by the grime I would acquire playing carnival games. I…” You don’t know where you’re going with this. Ceasing your rambling, you knead fabric in your hands. “Any happy memories of Progress Day?”

He nods. For a lapse too long to be natural, he pauses, almost in thought, and then with his thumb and pinkie fingers extended and his three middle fingers curled into his hands, he hurriedly brings his arms down. ‘Now.’ ‘Today.’

Sign language.

“I’m glad.” You quickly mutter, before your running mind can outpace your voice. Your face is treacherously flushing.

You realize too late he doesn’t know you’ve been teaching yourself sign language.

That him using it makes little sense— and frozen in the headlights, you watch as his face changes. He peers at you. He peers at you some more, and then his hands are moving, quickly. You catch pieces, something— M-A— something—I-E —Tell — something—

Oh. Oh no.

“Maddie? Maddie told you what, exactly?”

This is the situation of your nightmares. Telling her was a mistake. A drunk mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life, your pitiful life. Scared to watch his face but fearful looking away will make you look guilty— can you deny this? Laugh it off?— you hover somewhere between letting your racing thoughts overwhelm you and trying to breathe, dammit.

Slowly now, he pats his fingers to his outspread palm, before tapping his forehead.

‘Learn.’

He points to his moving hands

Learn… sign language….

Oh. Thank the lords.

She told him you learnt sign language for him.

Like that’s any less of a confession of love.

He’s still looking at you. Waiting for an explanation, maybe. God, you hate feeling like this— completely at his mercy.

“I. Ah.” Is it just you, or is he moving closer? It’s messing with your head, anyways, how close he suddenly feels to be. Your heart rattles around your ribcage. “I wanted to. For you.”

For you? You’re an idiot—

He kisses you.

You taste sweetness, sugary and blue on his lips. They’re softer than you thought they would be. He kisses as earnestly as expected, though. Just once, very chaste, pulling back to gingerly watch your expression.

That doesn’t last long before you go in for seconds. Or maybe he kisses you again. The details are lost in the hand you thread into his hair— his hair gel slick hair.

His hands blindly clutch for the curtains of the tent, yanking them shut with force. Your tail thumps so loudly against the ground you barely hear the little noises you make, barely feel his hands, steadying themselves on your sides. You kiss him again. And again. You gorge yourself on it— like the hungry wolf you are. He is so soft, and you are starving.

Piltover’s finest. Piltover’s finest. You’re Piltover’s finest. Handpicked, educated and dressed in taxpayer funded uniforms. You’re golden, machine-made butterflies, you’re store vendors, you can’t think, you’re ripe and plump for the picking, and you’re hating these stupid uniforms, these wretched uniforms, so tough to unbutton as they are.

It’s just when he threads his tongue over your pointed teeth, only when you move your fingers to his shoulders, and then down, when somebody staggers over drunkenly, throwing up loudly in a nearby bush.

With a sigh, he detaches (you do not miss the string of blue-stained saliva that connects you for a brief moment), rising to his feet and feeling for his helmet.

No rest for the wicked, you suppose.

He gives you a long look as he tugs the tent door open, tapping his finger against his palm and then twisting his hand down.

‘Later?’

Your tail thumps louder than you thought it could.

⊹ ˖ 𓃡⊹ ˖

Notes: Thank you to @spac3-shark for suggesting this sihiwnsowd. If i ever revisit this idea, I might try feline reader. Cat x fish? You get what I’m putting down? We’ve done yapping, silly reader, and stoic reader…. What next. If you have any ideas, please message me, drop an ask, anything!!! :)

As a side note, You curse the makers of the leather gloves that adorn his hands.

Great heavens. Where did that come from? Certainly not you.

Reader: he should take off his gloves…

Reader: WHO SAID THAT.

SIDE SIDE NOTE: I swear there will be more kissing and less yearning next time!! you have my word.

[mv1simp]

my constant thought about max is him and virgin reader where r is saving herself for marriage and for her husband but max convinces her that doing anal means she’ll stay a virgin <33

Anon YOU EVEN MADE ME BLUSHH 🤭🤭🤭 do u know how hard that is. got me kickin and gigglin an shit, here u go u filthy animal keep the requests coming 🫶

Low Life ♥️

Max Verstappen x Horner! Reader

I been on the molly and ‘em xans with your daughter, if she catch me cheatin’ I won’t ever tell her sorry

Mad Max is back in full force with the poor Redbull strategy this season - and his boss, Christian Horner, doesn’t seem to be doing anything about it. Guess Max will just have to find some other way to get his revenge and relieve his stress…starting with his boss’s precious, spoiled daughter.

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, innocent virgin!reader, who’s also a spoiled brat lol, dark! Max, blackmail, coercion, filming, VERY dubcon, anal, size kink, dom/sub, bimbofication, religious themes, EVERYTIME I WRITE A DARK MAX FIC IT KEEPS GETTING MORE NASTY GODDAMN, 5.2k WC

To say Max was pent up with rage would be an understatement. After dedicating himself tirelessly and dominating the track since his debut, the Redbull team had disappointed him this season with their pisspoor car and even poorer strategy. And to top it off, his boss was now making comments to the media about how he needed to spend less time on the sim rig the night before a race, making Max scoff. As if Horner knew more about winning a race than a 3 time world champion, Max thought angrily, yanking off his helmet as he stormed straight to his boss's office to give him a piece of his mind after another disappointing P3 finish.

Horner was having none of it, though, telling Max some bullshit about how the team needed to have a united front blah blah blah. Max has already tuned him out, cause what the fuck does he mean the team - he was the one bringing home the results every weekend, and anyone who tried to say otherwise just needed to look at the track record of Max completely dominating his teammates in equal machinery. God, he hadn’t gotten this mad in a long time, so he excuses himself rudely as he can tell he’s about to wreck something if he has to hear another one of Horner’s excuses. He wrenches open the office door just to have you stumble straight into his firm chest as you try to enter it.

You, Christian’s Horner’s daughter from his first wedding, freshly graduated from some private all girls college. He’d met you 3 months ago while you were trotting about like the spoiled little brat you undoubtedly were. No job, just using your degree as decor while you used your daddy’s fame to find yourself a rich man to spread your legs for, he had speculated, knowing just your type.

And it irritated him to no end that you looked the picture of innocence, an angelic figure in your white minidress and kitten heels and wide doe eyes, with a matching purity ring and all - even though your pretty tits and fat ass were openly ogled by many a male staff member. Max himself had to readjust his pants a few times when he’d seen you bend over.

He’d assumed you’d try to sink your gold digging claws into him soon enough, wanting some of his multimillionaire status for yourself, but you’d surprised him by skittishly avoiding him, almost looking a little scared, which he found amusing. He supposed he did dwarf your 5 foot frame though, and you had all the aura of a sweet little lamb compared to the Dutch lion. You’d surprised him again last month, when you’d introduced your dad to your pick of a first boyfriend - Tim, a docile looking, short guy who was a lowly new hire in the F4 reserve category. Too far down in the rankings to do any real benefit to your status. Conveniently, though, Tim’s father happened to own a software development app that was currently in the process of a $3 million acquisition deal. Chump change to someone like Max, but like he said, he knew your type, didn’t he?

But he’d been most surprised when he’d overheard moaning one night when he’d stayed late in the garage - and had pervily gone to investigate down the abandoned hallway and into one of the empty rooms - only to get an instant hard on at the sight of you on your knees, dress pulled down to your waist and those delicious tits out on display. So entranced by the angelic vision, Max hadn’t even noticed your loser boyfriend - till a scowl appeared on your pretty face as Tim furiously jerked his tiny dick off in front of you. He was panting and whining, sweat running down his face as he pathetically begged please, please can i touch your boobs-

You were no scared little lamb now as you snapped at him viciously. No! I told you, only looking and no touching! I promised daddy I would stay pure for my husband- Eww! Oh my god, what is that?

You’d been cut off as your boyfriend came, his small, clear load weakly spurting past his fist so that only a couple of drops landed on your caramel skin. Max had thought you’d been lying about the purity bullshit, just wanting an excuse to avoid Tim’s touch - but his eyes narrowed at your look of disgust at your boyfriend’s dick, and the genuinely puzzled expression on your face as you tried to figure out what the clear fluid that landed on you was - making the impressive semi he still rocked twitch, despite your pathetic boyfriend ruining his show. Interesting, you were still a virgin, huh?

Sure, you’d piqued his interest then, but he ignored you now as you stumble back from his hard chest, wide brown doe eyes blinking up at him. He’s still furious with Horner and starts to move past you but your aggravating father perks up, asking if you could show Max where his new drivers' room was in the refurbished wing, so that he could cool down and destress in peace after today’s race. Of course, daddy, you responded sweetly, making Max’s cock stir. He eyed you doubtfully as you lead the way. You had to know what you were doing, a grown woman using that word, right? But then again, he’d seen you call Horner by that title in a team wide press conference, making GP choke on his water next to him - so maybe not.

His anger hadn’t dissipated one bit as you approached his room, in a much more secluded area of the new wing for him to “cool down” as Horner had passively aggressively suggested. Still clearly nervous in his presence, you accidentally dropped the key you’d fished out. As you bent over to collect them, your miniskirt rose up, revealing your juicy ass peeking past your white cotton panties. Oh, he’d found the perfect way to get back at his boss, Max thought devilishly.

As you unlocked the door, he stepped in behind you, giving you no choice but to stumble inside - and then he’d casually stopped in front of the door to block your exit. You nervously twirled your keycard in your fingers, shuffling side to side.

Why don’t you sit down, he offered, we should get to know each other, yeah? You still looked like you wanted to bolt any second, but at Max’s authoritative tone you gingerly sat down on the plush couch.

He started with some generic bullshit about how he’d seen you around, you were his boss’s daughter after all, and as Horner’s best driver he should be on good terms with you too, no?

You relaxed, now looking up to meet his eyes and smiling brightly, pleased that the great Max Verstappen had come to seek your favour. You start saying that it was nice to meet him too, you’d heard lots about him, he was such an incredible driver-

You hadn’t noticed Max discreetly locking the door behind him. Stepping forward, he responded neutrally to your excited questions as he casually strips off his top layer, leaving him shirtless.

You abruptly stop talking, going pink in the face, and he asks what’s wrong, I’m just getting changed, are you a virgin or something? His mocking tone makes it clear that he still didn’t quite believe you were one. When you don’t reply, he gently lifts your face up with his large hand. And as your eyes shyly rise up to meet his, desperately avoiding looking at his broad, toned abs, there’s no faking the genuine innocence in them. I am, you stutter out. A virgin, I mean. I made a promise to daddy to wait till marriage.

You twirl your promise ring around anxiously as you say it. Max didn’t know what kind of sick brainwashing Horner had been subjecting his daughter too, but he fully intended to use it to his advantage. Really? He says slyly. Does your daddy know you let your little boyfriend jerk off on your tits?

You gasp, then glare as you demanded to know how he knew that, had he been watching, that was soo creepy and gross -

There’s the bratty angel he knew had been hiding. He cuts you off, confirming that yes, he’d been watching - but you’d been the dirty girl who seduced her innocent boyfriend in the garage for just anyone to see, hadn’t you?

You’d look outraged at his statements, but he reminded you of the power he had when he nonchalantly mentioned that he hadn’t planned on telling your father, but now that he knew about the promise you had made - well, it was his duty to let Horner know what kind of naughty things you’d been doing behind his back, right?

That had wiped the bratty glare right off your face, instead making you wide eyed and tremble with fear at the thought of your daddy finding out. You begged Max to keep your secret. Please don’t tell him, he would die, you'd do anything to stop him knowing!

Jackpot. Smirking darkly, Max pretended to consider your option before saying that he supposed he could keep it to himself if you helped him destress and relax like your father had sent you here to do, okay?

You nodded eagerly, looking up at him with those innocent doe eyes as he stepped right in front of you, watching you predatorily. His thick fingers brush along your pink lips, and his eyes darken as you instinctively take them into your mouth, sucking sweetly. Oh, you were going to be such a sweet little angel for him, he just knew it.

Within seconds he had you dropping your dress down to your waist, exposing those lush, pretty tits of yours. You blushed when he stared hungrily and ordered you to play with them, and at first you obliged and gently squeezed them, but then stopped to brattily ask just how this was supposed to help destress him, was he just being pervy again?

Great point, he said, and sat down next to you to easily lift you into his lap, taking over and roughly palming your tits. N-no touching! You had squealed, desperately trying to escape his strong arms. Rolling his eyes, he forced you back against him, explaining that it was okay, you knew that it didn’t count if it was to help him destress, right? And besides, nothing would affect your promise to your daddy except a man’s cock actually entering your precious virgin hole-

Okay! You had said frantically to put a stop to his explicit words, face flushed. Okay, if you promise it doesn’t count, I’ll still be a virgin, right?

God, it was so cute how naive you were. You hadn’t even realised that if what Max was saying was true then there was nothing illicit with what you and Tim had done - and Max had nothing to hold over you. Right, Angel, Max promised, enjoying the dazed look you gave him at the nickname as he squeezed your tits, bending down to take a pretty nipple into his mouth. It doesn’t count.

And that was how Max had his boss’s innocent little daughter wrapped around his fingers, ready to do whatever he asked of her, as long as he kept your secret. It was such a rush, having his way with you right under your father’s nose, being able to punish you for his crimes and ruining you more and more each time Horner pissed him off - and oh, did he piss Max off constantly.

So the next race, he’d had you fully strip for him, and yes, even those cute panties, Angel, when you’d whined, embarrassed from his intense gaze. You’d bit your lip and slid them off, obediently spreading your legs and gently playing with yourself like he’d asked, using unfamiliar movements. Soon enough you’d become accustomed to Max’s hungry stares at your innocent parts and began thrusting your tiny fingers inside your virgin cunny, because it had started to feel sooo good and soo tingly down there, and you’d never felt like that before.

You’d become distracted, closing your eyes from the sensation and when you opened them you shrieked, because Max was now standing right above you, greedily looking down at your petite form as he stroked his own private parts - called a cock, he’d made you repeat. He’d also warned you never to scream again in his room, or he’d gag you next time and tell your dad about Tim. You pouted, nodding obediently, but whining that you got scared Maxie, why was it so big, so angry, was it going to hurt you?

Of course not, Angel he’d reassured at the next race again, this time making you sit next to him, naked except for your kitten heels and a lacy blue thong he’d had delivered to your house - your father as clueless as ever when he handed the package over to you. It won’t hurt you, he promised, but it's very hard from stress and needs you to help drain it, okay?

He’d guided you to his large cock, smirking evilly as you struggled to grip him even with two hands. He moved one large hand over both of yours, showing you how to jerk him off the way he liked. You’d picked it up very quickly, innocently asking him why Tim's cock was so much tinier that his. Cause, Angel, I'm just a better man than he is, he had said with a chuckle. Oh, you had said, then - I hope my husband is a good man then, and has a big cock like you.

Oh, Jesus. Max was definitely going to hell after this. Feeling his peak approaching, he ordered you onto your knees, making you hold your tits up - and then proceeded to cover them with his thick, creamy release, so much of it that it dripped down onto your stomach - and much more than the time you had seen Tim’s cock explode. You’d almost screamed again but bit your tongue at the last minute, remembering Max’s threat last time. But it didn’t stop you from glaring up at him, brattily asking what this gross stuff was, eww, you didn’t want it on you-

That’s fine, Max had said cooly. That’s fine, because next time he'd make you drink it all instead. Your eyes went wide at that, tears forming and you adamantly denied Max, saying you’d never do something like that, it sounded pervy and dirty.

But your reluctance meant nothing to Max, as he smirked at you from your fathers side the next day, whispering something in his ear that had your daddy looking over at you and an icy chill running down your back. You were petrified as you got a text from your father to come see him in his office now, walking in on the verge of tears only to have him smile delightedly at you because Max mentioned you’d been very supportive of his races lately, it’s been a big reason why he’s so much more of a team player these days, so proud of you for helping the team, sweetie!

You’d accepted his praise, blushing from the attention, and later had dutifully wandered back to Max’s room to greet him after the race. He smirked at finding you there, already naked except for a pink lacey thong and heels, on your knees for him, shyly thanking him for keeping your secret and saying such nice things to your daddy. Of course, Angel, he murmured, unzipping himself. You know just how to say thank you then, hmm? And you obediently nodded, jerking him off like he’d taught you, then licking and sucking on his cock when he asked, and then taking all of his length inside your eager throat at his command, gagging the whole way as he tutted disapprovingly at you, taking over and controlling the pace with his large hands. It had really hurt your tiny mouth, and you couldn’t speak properly afterwards, but seeing Maxie swear and tell you how good you were doing, how he never wanted to let you go, made that tingly feeling come back in between your legs again. Instead of ignoring it like you normally did, this time you couldn't resist fingering yourself, thong pushed the side as you shoved your fingers inside your wet cunny.

Maxie had gone breathless seeing that, and then he tensed before you felt his warm, sticky thick cum fill your mouth. You swallowed every drop, opening your mouth afterwords for him to inspect. Good girl, he said, patting your head. My sweet angel, you drained my stress so well. Oh, so that’s what it was, you say innocently. I’m glad I made you feel better, Maxie.

After that, there were no races for a whole month as the paddock went into summer break. You had thought you’d be glad for the relief from Maxie and his mean demands, but you found yourself texting him often, missing his loving kisses and touches after you helped relieve his stress, missing the tingly feeling you got when he looked predatorily at you spread open for him.

You’d been shocked when you opened your eyes as a shadow had blocked out the sun while you were sunbathing at your family’s St Tropez holiday home, only to find Max grinning down at you, saying your dad had invited him to come for the week. Had you been doing your homework? You nodded diligently, looking at the banana you’d been practising swallowing whole without gagging to copy the dirty video Max had texted you of a petite woman eagerly sucking a very big cock - he must be a good man, you’d thought, just like your Maxie.

Secretly, you were so glad he was here, shooting him looks over the dinner table as he sung praises about what a good friend you’d been to him, helping him get back to P1, making your daddy proudly pat your head. And after dinner when everyone had gone to bed, he joined you in the hot tub to unwind. You’d excitedly begun to tell him about what you had been upto on the break when you felt his thick fingers creeping up the inside of your thighs. You’d frozen instantly, because Maxie had never touched you there himself, but before you could say anything your father stepped out onto the veranda, asking you something about your plans for the next day.

Answer him, Max mouthed, smirking as you had no choice but to let him keep gliding up your legs and undoing your tiny bikini. And when your daddy had gone back inside, oblivious that the flush on your face wasn’t from the heat of the pool, you’d tried to shove Max’s hand away, brattily saying you didn’t want his hand near your private parts, that was just for your husband-

Doesn’t count, Angel, Max had cooed, easily overpowering you and sliding a finger in, much thicker and longer than yours and making you squeal as he started pumping it in and out of you. And he hadn’t stopped despite your half hearted protests, because you’d started to feel really good, really tingly, and Maxie, I feel funny, I think I’m going to pee-

After you had your first orgasm, he carried your tired figure back into the house, setting you down and licking your cum off his fingers. And then, through your half asleep state, you felt his tongue swirling around your nipples, leaving hickeys and then trailing down, and down before his warm breath gently blew over your puffy cunny. And then you felt his wide tongue licking your folds, making you gasp awake and squeal cause why was he kissing you down there, that’s so pervy-

But he’d easily bullied you back into quiet muffled moans again, your skimpy bikini bottoms shoved inside your mouth as he warned you that your father was going to wake up right next door and come investigate if you didn’t shut up. So you reluctantly let him continue his filthy kissing, spitting and licking on your most innocent parts until you felt you had to pee again. He grinned wickedly as you squirted a second time, completely ruining the sheets, before redressing your passed out figure in a comfy hoodie. You felt the ghost of a sweet kiss on your forehead before he walked away.

You avoided him the next few days, glaring when he would approach you, angry he’d kissed you somewhere only your husband should. He’d promised you were still a virgin, sure, but still! It was just too much, wasn’t it?

But you’d been unable to resist his advances any longer when he’d cornered you in the family study one day when everyone else had gone out to the markets. He’d sweetly apologised, presenting you with a new Dior bag he’d had speed delivered that morning, and you happily snatched it up, gasping with delight as you look inside to find a Cartier bracelet. You’ll forgive me, right, Angel? Max had said, slowly wrapping his arms around you from behind and rubbing his practically blue balls against your plush ass as you distractedly admire your new gifts. I just wanted to make you feel good, hmm?

You nodded breathlessly, agreeing that you supposed it had felt really good, you liked that tingly feeling in between your legs. Yeah? Max had grinned, kissing you and slipping his tongue inside and saying that he knew a way to make you feel even better, Angel, and you’d still be a virgin after it, he pinky promises, okay?

With the new Dior bag and diamond bracelet you’d become a lot more agreeable, and didn’t protest as he laid you back on your father’s study table, lifting your miniskirt over your hips and grinning wickedly when he found no panties - just your glistening pussy. Y-you always just rip them anyways, Maxie you pouted.

Oh, you secretly wanted this, didn’t you? Acting all bratty just cause you wanted to make him work for it, he was certain. Your sweet body was such a good plaything for him that he didn’t really mind, deciding not to punish you for avoiding him.

You curiously watch as he unzips himself, taking his thick cock out, then you squeal adamantly in protest when he brings it close to your innocent hole. Shh, Angel, it’s just on the outside, he’d promised, I won’t put it in, it’ll feel so good, trust me.

And it had felt sooo good, making you bite your lip and toss your head back as he dragged his warm length along your folds, slapping your clit a few times with his cockhead, making you spread your soft legs invitingly as you felt the addictive tingly feeling come back again.

He’d been unable to resist the temptation, sliding just the tip into your virgin cunny- but you’d immediately screamed in protest, twisting away and he had generously released you from his hold, tongue in cheek as you sashayed away with a backwards glare, Dior bag in hand. He’d had to leave the next day, and you didn’t see him the rest of the break.

After the break, you had seemed different to Max. You carried the brattiness openly in your eyes, confident now in your ability to seduce him as he has brought such expensive apology gifts just for a little taste of your virginity.

You had infuriatingly said no when he tried to rub himself against your cunny at the next race, and at the one after that, so here he was, stuck fingering you and sliding his tongue in and out of your folds for the 3rd time this week while his cock ached to be buried inside you - when the wicked idea came to him.

He’d made sure to have all the preparations ready for the next race, knowing you would be a brat and try to weasel your way out of it. Like he’d predicted, you make your way to his plush sofa, spreading your legs to show off your naked pussy and demanding he come kiss it how you liked.

Oh, his Angel had become quite the spoilt little bitch, hasn’t she? He’d have to make sure you learned your lesson about who was in charge around here. You smirk as he drags his tongue up and down your puffy folds, thinking you had the millionaire driver all wrapped around your fingers. His thick third and ring fingers join his tongue, making you moan and close your eyes as he pumps them into your pussy. And then, his thumb drops down, lower, to circle your other winking hole before sliding inside.

You’d jumped in shock, naively asking why he was touching your dirty hole, that’s so embarrassing, you don’t want him to touch that place!

Max cooes that he couldn’t care less, besides, he can clean it out for you, yeah? If he just slides his cock in, just a little bit, he can make sure it’s all clean for you.

Your eyes go impossibly wide at the thought of his big cock anywhere near your ass. You furiously close your legs, brattily telling him that you’d had enough, wasn’t he just being a pervert now, and you’d already broken up with Tim ages ago and since Max seemed to be very relaxed now given his P1s has resumed you didn’t think you needed to help him out anymore!

Time to pull out the big guns. Sitting back on the sofa now, Max palms his growing erection as he calls out to you, making you pause from where your hand rested on the doorknob.

You know, Angel, I’ve had a lot of creepy fans sneak onto the garage lately. Some even got into my room. I guess they just really wanted to see me shirtless, huh?

You turn around to look at him, confused, until your eyes slowly widen in horror as he points to the camera tucked in the corner. There’s no trace of sympathy on his handsome face as he starts lazily jerking himself off, telling you that it had been your fathers idea to set it up, for his safety, and he’d even kindly offered to go through all the footage later - he took any threats against his prized driver very seriously.

You panicked, already teary eyed at the thought of your father seeing you spreading your legs sluttily and demanding Max pleasure you. You immediately dropped to your knees, begging Max to keep the tape himself-

Now why would I do that, Angel? Max cooes, getting harder at the sight of you kneeling in front of him and crying for his help. After all, you’re the one who’s forcing him to kiss her pussy on that video, hmm?

He knows he has you right where he wants you as you beg him, offering up your precious pussy to slide against again if he wanted, just don’t go inside, okay?

That’s not the hole he wants, Angel, he told you darkly. No - he wanted your other hole, the dirty embarrassing one, and he wants to sink his entire cock inside it.

He watches you stutter and gasp, before you take a deep breath and naively ask My husband won’t be able to tell, right Maxie? I’ll still be a virgin?

Max smirks. Of course, Angel. You know he’d never break your precious promise. And with that, you’re ready to become his obedient pet again, blankly turning around and sticking your ass up in the air like he asks, spreading your cheeks for him to look at.

And oh, Max takes his sweet time looking, enjoying the twisted satisfaction of having completely broken you down like this. He generously douses you in lube, making you squeal at the chill, before he’s furiously pumping his thumb inside your impossibly tight back hole. You tremble as he lines his cock up, ordered you to relax or it’ll hurt, Angel. Slowly sinking inside, he moans as he finally finds his way into your heat, feeling like he’s reached heaven. Tears stream down your face as you wail once he begins meanly thrusting, wickedly taking your anal virginity all for himself and giving you his fingers to suckle on and keep quiet.

He doesn’t stop until he’s finished inside you, panting heavily and pushing his matted hair out of his eyes, pressing kisses down your spine to let you know you did so well for him.

He pulls out with a wet squelch, enjoying the sight of his cum dripping out of your poor, abused little hole. Sitting back comfortably on the sofa, legs spread, he gives you a cocky smirk as you turn around, still seated on the ground in front of him.

Now clean it up, he demands meanly. He can’t have your hole make his cock dirty now, can he? And you obediently responded, crawling forward with glazed eyes, licking him clean from balls to tip like he’s trained you to do.

After that night, Max had held you completely in the palm of his hand. You’d be the perfect angel for him, doing whatever he wanted wherever he wanted - except for entering your innocent pussy, of course. He’d let you keep it yours for now, finding the fantasy hot. He’d buy you a diamond ring one of these days, he mused, so that you’d beg him to finally claim your virginity.

But for now, he had a couple other tricks to try out. And if you’d try to refuse, he’ll pull up the video he has on his phone of your eyes rolling back as Max ate you out on your father’s work desk from summer break.

He’d taken you back to his hotel room to teach you those tricks, making you wail and scream his name without restriction, headboard banging against the wall. It was hilarious when Horner had come upto him at breakfast the next morning, patting his back and saying it sounded like he’d been celebrating his win very well last night, congratulations, he deserves it and sounded like the girl couldn’t get enough!

Max had to hold back his laughter, as your clueless father had no idea he was carrying an extra croissant up for the very same girl who couldn’t get enough - his precious little daughter, who still lay sleeping in his hotel bed, exhausted from his dirty activities all night.

You’d ended up missing your flight back, making some weak excuse to your daddy and had followed Max into his private jet, obediently spreading yourself open for him as he pulled you behind the privacy screen. The flight attendants had blushed as they heard your eager moans and the lewd sounds of Max greedily fucking your ass again.

And when you landed, greeting your waiting family, Max had to discreetly wipe the line of cum that trickled down your skirt. You didn’t have to worry, though, he’d already thoughtfully ordered another delivery of sexy underwear straight to your home 🖤

—————————————————————————

A/N: I actually gave myself post nut clarity writing this (post writing smut clarity?? Post smut conscience??) time to go outside and reconnect with nature. As always,,,lmk what u think 🤔

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Down Home 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as non/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The world's most famous heroes walk into a small town diner and change your life.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: Because of this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all to Jupiter and back. Take care. 💖

It’s a slow day. Every day is slow out in Tumble Down. The township’s name tells the whole story. Everything there is in decline. It’s hard to imagine there was ever a time when the people weren’t tiny and forgotten in the hubbub of the bigger world. Since the mines closed and the canning factory was outsourced, it feels even smaller. 

Smaller isn’t so bad. It’s simpler. You all know each other’s names and faces. You say hi and how are you and do what needs to be done. Simple is, simple as. 

You here there isn’t much to do in most small towns. Not for fun or for work. You’re one of the lucky ones. You got a job down at the diner in your sophomore year. It helped pay for your daddy’s new engine and since then, it keeps you all afloat in the rising waters of disparity as they close in on Tumble Down. 

You hum to the old radio that sits on the shelf you make sure to dust. The speakers crackle from time to time and the signal gets wonky in storm season, but the music’s never bad. It’s the classic stuff that always played in your mother’s kitchen. 

You wipe down another table. Not because it needs it, just because it’s something to do. The day has been long and listless. Even the breakfast rush was lower than usual. 

Darnell, the cook, whistles along from the back. Everyone knows he isn’t as mean as he looks. He just likes his space. 

As you go back to the counter and lean on it, staring at the ticking clock, a roar cuts through the distance. You blink and look up, narrowing your eyes at the dusty country road outside. Wind rustles through the tall wheat in the field opposite and the noise rumbles closer and closer. 

A man pulls in a motorbike. He’s going so fast that he has to circle the gravel lot before he can slow down. It’s not Lenny and his prized Harley but another man on a more modern-looking mount. Not far behind, another motorcycle zips through and the riders straddle their bikes as the survey the restaurant. 

You narrow your eyes. You probably need glasses but you make do. The last time you got your eyes checked, you didn’t have enough for the frames. 

The one man wears blue and red, an odd helmet on his head. Not a helmet at all but a sort of mask. The other man has dark hair to his chin and a beard to match. He’s all in black but his left arm shines with gold ripples. Not a sleeve, an arm, made of metal. 

“Oh my lord,” you murmur in shock, “Darnell!” You holler over your shoulder, “you’re not gonna believe this.” You turn to the window as he pokes his head around, “not sure I do myself. Tell me my eyes aren’t lyin’.” 

He looks above your head, an easy task for the mammoth cook. He hums and swirls around his spatula. “Thems those boys on the news. The one that was in the old war. Grandad’s battle.” 

“I’m not going crazy with boredom?” You bubble. 

He snorts. It’s as close to a laugh as you get from him. You spin back and hurry around the counter to grab a pair of menus. Still, you don’t want to seem too eager. You put down the menus and fiddle with a napkin holder instead. 

The bell over the door jingles and swipe up the menus and turn. You really can’t believe it’s them. Yet, as Captain America removes his cowl, you’re certain. They look just like they do on the TV. Even with your sight, you can tell. 

“Hello, fellas, how are you doin’ today?” 

The dark-haired one, the Winter Soldier, glances at the other, his cheek dimpling, “well... we’re... uh...” 

“We’re doing great,” Steve Rogers answers brightly. “Starving. You guys serve bacon? My buddy’s dying for some.” 

“Um, yes, sirs, yes. Can I sit ya down?” You ask, hugging the menus closer. 

“Please,” the Captain accepts as the other man stays silent and pensive, his eyes wandering down to the coffee stain on your apron. 

“Just here,” you sweep away and wave them on with you. You stop beside the nicest booth and lay down a menu on each side, “have a seat.” 

They do just as you bid. The blond puts his cowl on the table and unhooks the shield from his back to lay on the far end of the seat. He smooths back the sweaty strands of hair as his companion stretches his metal fingers. You sway nervously by the table, twitching as you remind yourself how to do your job. 

“Well, can I get ya started with coffee? You look beat from the road.” You beam with the smile Mr. Welk says could outshine the sun. 

“Not just the road,” the dark-haired one mutters as he rolls his shoulder. The one that connects to his real arm. “I’ll take one, please.” 

“Can I get an orange juice, please,” the Captain asks. 

“Course ya can. I’ll be right back. You have a look at the specials and give it a think,” you bounce and spin around. 

You go to pour the orange juice and a cup of black coffee. Darnell lingers by the window. He only ever really appears to put a plate up but he watches the new arrivals. 

You bring their drinks and step back, clasping your hands behind you. 

“Did ya need cream or sugar for your coffee, sir?” You ask. 

“Black’s fine,” he assures. 

“No need for the sirs. Steve, Bucky,” Captain America insists, “we’re off duty.” 

“Right, sorry about that, ssss...Steve,” you correct yourself. “You need some more time?” 

“Think I’m decided,” Bucky intones, “what about you?” 

“Set,” Steve confirms, “I’ll have the sunny side up with toast and sausage. Can I get some fruit on the side as well, please?” 

He hands over the menu and you take it as you hold your smile. Your cheeks ache. Not because you have to force it but because you can’t stop. This is the most exciting thing to happen in Tumble Down ever. If Darnell wasn’t there, no one would believe you. 

“Overeasy, bacon, extra bacon too, and some french toast, and uh... home fries.” Bucky offers up the second menu, “please and thank you.” 

“Alrighty,” you preen, “I’ll put your order in.” 

“Got it,” Darnell growls over the empty diner. 

“He’s got good hearing,” you giggle nervously as you look between the men. “Ummmm, sorry, I’ll leave ya be.” 

“You’re not bothering,” Steve assures. “I can see you’re dying to ask.” 

He gives a gentle smile. 

“Nah, oh, gosh. I’m sure ya get it all the time. I don’t wanna be one of those,” you put your hands up. “Really, you all look like you could use the peace and quiet.” 

“Well, actually, I’ve been stuck with this meathead for days,” Bucky scoffs, “so please, I’d love to hear someone else’s voice.” 

You laugh again. They’re funnier than you expect. They always look so serious on the TV. 

“What... what are y’all doing here in Tumble Down? It’s a bit far from... anywhere.” You ask sheepishly. 

“Tumble Down? Is that what it’s called?” Steve scratches his neck above his stained collar. “Well, we couldn’t get a signal so we’ve just been riding through. Saw the sign down the way and figured we’d get a bite.” 

“He’s lying. He was falling asleep on his bike,” Bucky teases. 

“Sure,” Steve shakes his head. “Only ‘cause I’m tired of you.” 

You giggle again, “I thought y’all were friends.” 

“Friends, partners, cursed with each other, have your pick,” Bucky snorts. 

“He’s playing,” Steve says. “Look, we’re boring. Despite what you think. We’re a couple of old men bickering with each other. What about you? What about Tumble Down?” 

“Ah, nothing really, sir. Steve,” you squeeze the menus tight at the edges. “Nothing going on since the coal law and that. Everyone’s all but run out. All but us.” 

“Just you? Your family?” Steve wonders. 

“Jesus, Steve, nosy much?” Bucky says over the brim of his mug. 

“Sorry. He’s right. Like I said. Crotchety old man. I talk to the pigeons.” 

You laugh again, “oh my, you are a hoot!” You slap your thigh emphatically, “I’m still my ma and pa. It’s just the three of us. They need help with the animals and that.” 

“Animals?” Steve wonders, his posture shifting towards you. 

“Chickens, cows. They got a farm. Was my grandpa’s. And his ma kept it going after he didn’t come home from... well, you’d know more about that time than me, I think.” You give a forlorn look to the floor. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry about your grandfather. Great grandfather,” he corrects himself. 

“Lotta good men gone,” Bucky mulls grimly. 

“Yeah, my great granny said as much. I wouldn’t know though, but I heard the stories,” you dare to look at them again. “Sorry to bring up the bad memories.” 

“Nah,” Bucky waves you off casually. “I got this nifty arm outta it.” 

“And I got a shield so, you know, not all losses,” Steve chuckles. 

“I s’pose,” you agree. “I’m gonna check on that food for ya. You good with your coffee?” 

Bucky raises the mug, “delicious.” 

You nod and turn with a swish of your skirt. You go up to the window and look over the ledge. “How’s it going, Darnell?” 

“Going. I’m happy it ain’t Raylene here. She’s got a mouth on her, don’t she? Them sort don’t deserve that trouble,” he tisks. 

“They’re nice. And Raylene is too. She’s just... Raylene,” you say, “can I help with anything?” 

“I don’t wanna be rude but I’m tired of tellin’ ya to stay outta my kitchen. You know the grill likes to spit,” he shakes his head. “You go, I’ll let ya know when it’s ready.” 

“Alright,” you back away and turn back. 

Steve and Bucky lean over the table, their voices low as they chat. As you move around behind the counter, they both sit up and the former clears his throat. You smile as you take the cloth from your apron pocket and wipe the already clean counter. 

As the radio buzzes, you hum without thinking. Stevie Ray Vaughan’s smoky voice mingles with the emotion plucked through electric strings. Your dad’s a big fan. He has old tapes with concerts on them and even went to one himself. 

The bell rings and you nearly jump out of your shoes. You turn and scoop up the plates as you thank Darnell. He grumbles that he’s going out to have a smoke; his code for having a Tootsie Pop by the backdoor. 

You bring the meals over to the table and set them down before the men. Their gazes make you sweat. It’s all a little more intense with no one else there. 

“Thank you,” Steve says and Bucky echoes him. 

“Not at all. Anything else? Water? Ketchup?” 

“It all looks great as is,” Steve says, “you got a nice voice.” 

“Oh, really? Ha, I was just humming out of tune. Sorry if I was too loud.” 

“Not at all,” Bucky picks up his fork as he leans forward. He tilts his head. “You know this one?” 

“Sure do. It’s Fleetwood Mac,” you answer. “One my all times.” 

He grins and nods as he looks at Steve. Steve watches you with a smile of his own. 

“Do you sing?” He asks. 

“Me? Only in my shower or to the chickens. They usually hide in the henhouse then.” You tinkle with laughter. 

“Ah,” Steve nods. 

“But if... if ya really wanna suffer, I could try it,” you smile, “but uh, you know, Stevie Nicks, she’s one of a kind.” 

“I’ve had worse,” Steve says. 

You look between him and Bucky. You chew your lip and think. You follow the song as you try to recognise which verse it is. You squint and perk up as you catch your place. 

“You just let me know when you’ve had enough,” you say before you start. Not only can you tell your pa that you met the super soldiers, you can tell him you sang for them. It’ll be a nice bit of excitement for the dinner table. 

[princesssmars]

thinking about princess reader and royal knight rhaenyra…

as the young princess of dorne, tourneys were nothing new to you. you’d never really cared for them, finding the blood and violence unnecessary and borderline barbaric. when you could you would beg your mother to come up with an excuse to your father to let you stay at the palace, citing sickness, weariness, anything.

but this time you had no choice. because as your family entered into the royal watching booth, politely greeting the members of your father court, your father stops before extending his hand to your guest - king viserys of westeros himself.

you’d heard many things about him, partially from overhearing your mothers gossip and from the workers talking a little too loudly when you’d sneak in the kitchens. you obviously knew he was a targaryen, his long silver gold hair and peculiar eyes telling anyone with a short distance of his heritage.

but more importantly you’d heard that he was a mostly kind and generous king, with a large portion of his people happy under his reign. there was no better option for your father to invite to his event.

you gracefully presented yourself to him, smiling when he kissed the back of your hand and gave you a polite compliment. he introduced his wife, the beautiful queen aemma, and his vibrant young son baelon who excitedly shook his hand at you and everyone else in the booth.

after the introductions everyone say down to let the people know the tourney could commence, cheers ringing as you settled into place in front of your father and next to rosalei, one of the fellow younger ladies in court who was your closest friend ever since she snuck some sugared treats to your room when the head cook had banned you from them for a week.

the even was like any other : knights got in their horses, they picked up giant sticks, then ran at each other on said horses with said sticks and tried to knock the other man down. yet again the event did nothing to entertain you, focusing on the small conversation you were keeping up with rosalei while paying attention to the ones around you. for now, your father and his guest had discovered their shared love for the histories and had veered to the animosity but occasional generosity between their people.

your father is close to getting on to the topic of a equally beneficial trade deal when whispers from the small folk take over the crowd, some standing up and pointing at a contender who had entered the fighting area. you bend over the edge of the booth to catch a look, ignoring your mother chastising your posture and manners.

it’s a knight everyone’s looking at, that’s true, but a knight unlike you’ve ever seen before. their armor is black and scarily imposing, a beautiful construction of steel with strong pleats and swoops. their horse is somehow darker than the armor, black as knight with a bright sun medallion around its neck. its only then you notice the flag in their hand, along with the dragon emblems on their armor.

"you have a competing knight, your grace?" you ask, turning your head around when you are only met with silence. the visiting kings face is red, smile so forced it looks like he’s going to quickly gain a cramp in his jaw. the queen is resting a hand on his shoulder, subtly trying to comfort him while they exchange hushed whispers.

“said…show strength…not what i meant-“

the queen tries to comfort him more before they look in your direction, along with every one else in your booth. your body goes rigid for a second before you realize they’re looking behind you, turning your body to see what was so intriguing.

the targaryen knight, poised right beneath the opening of the booth, helmeted head and joust sword tipped towards you. and even without being able to see their face you know their eyes are trained on you.

you can also tell that everyone is waiting for you to do something. so with all the farce you can muster you gently pick up your favor, raising it high enough for the people to see, and let it slide down onto the joust.

no further words are shared, the warrior staying in place for a few more seconds before goading their horse back into position. as you watch you plop back into your seat, breathing slightly stuttering at the encounter while your friend pokes and prods for an explanation for whatever that was.

even if you had the time you wouldn’t be able to say much, feeling like a warm thick jelly has suddenly made its home inside your throat. put of the corner of your you can see one of the kings guards looking at you, but before you can turn to look back at him the sudden roars of the crowd snap your attention to the game.

almost like a bolt of lighting does the warrior speed down the jousting lane, sword aimed steady at the burly man who had bested most of the other men in the contest. just when his sword is aimed inches away from the knight, then bend their body dangerously close to falling off of their horse before thrusting at just the right moment to knock the man down, the sound of galloping hooves and crunching metal all you can hear.

the cheers from the commoners is near deafening, but all you can focus on is the knight, who instead of basking in the success and praise is yet again looking in your direction. but looking back at the aghast king viserys, you can’t exactly tell who they are trying to impress.

after congratulating and thanking the people for coming and competing, and giving a personal thanks to the king for making his way down to your kingdom, your father dismisses everyone to enjoy the other tourney activities while the royal families go to prepare for later celebrations. after giving the royal family of westeros a quick goodbye, you grab rosealai’s hand and hurry out of the booth to grab a quick bite from one of the fair booths and to try to talk all you can about what just happened.

but right before you ca leave the booth you’re stopped in your tracks, no one other than the black knight standing in front of you. you blink up at them, waiting for them to speak before their hands raise to take off their helmet to reveal themselves . it’s almost in slow motion that you take in every part of their face - a soft angled jaw, pink lips, a broad nose, short silver hair -

“rhaenyra! finally, please show a bit of grace to our hosts and introduce yourself.” king viserys comes up beside you, gently scooting beside you to wrap an arm around the armored shoulders of the knight. “the last impression i’ll have my daughter making is that she’s yet another rude and british knight.”

neither of you move however, gazes locked and bodies still. only about a thousand thoughts are running through your head at the current moment.

the knight is a woman. the knight is an attractive woman. the knight is princess rhaenyra. princess rhaenyra who came up to your booth and quietly asked for your favor.

without a word spoken or breaking ye contact, the heavy hand of the princess grabs yours, physically strong but gently soft, bringing it up slowly before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand.

you’ve always been able to keep your composure in the face of extreme emotions, a necessary trait as a royal who had to make quick and harsh decisions. sadly that all seems to be going out the window as you feel your cheeks warm and your breathing get faster.

“it is an honor to meet you, princess. and even greater an honor to win a competition with your favor. i hope similar opportunities make themselves available in the future.”

her voice is melodic yet curt, no room for doubt or wrongful interpretation. you break her gaze to look down at her lips, looking back up to see her doing the same before a sly smile appears on her face.

clearly the moment goes on a little too long for comfort, the king further ushering his daughter to greet your father and mother after giving the two of you a worried look. when her body passes yours you can feel her hand discreetly brush against your side, shivering slightly at the cold of the steel even through the fabrics of your dress.

your father quickly motions for one of his guard to guide you back to the castle before turning to your guests with a welcoming but greedy smile. you can feel rosalei’s barey contained excitement as you rush out of the entryway, not before looking back one last time and seeing purple eyes already trained on your body.

maybe tourneys weren’t so boring after all.

can you tell i don’t really know shit about tourneys. sorry if some things are inaccurate i’m getting everything through hotd, asoiaf wiki, and tiktok’s 💔

[just-some-user-hunny]

I'm in a whimsical mood rn so please indulge my idea of former stable boy turned knight Simon Riley and princess reader who were once childhood friends...

Ok but princess reader throwing her handkerchief to the mysterious new knight who just won the joust out of playful spirit- this brute of a man bound with a fortress of blackened armour and a fierceness akin to a grizzly bear. His stead was a strong and sturdy stallion- fur black as mahogany and sheening with sweat. Kicking at the sand clumped with blood and petals.

The crowd roared with delight and excitement as he lingered beneath your canopy, watching with glee as the opposing gentleman was wheeled away by a few fretful healers, left in a heap of broken flesh and splintered wood.

Your handkerchief falls, and he catches it in his gauntlet- glinting with silver and blood, imposing and mean. It was certainly mean to his opponent having been bludgeoned into his face. Some lord you couldn't recall the name of- proclaiming for your hand if he were to win. He hadn't even drawn his blade that rested at his hip- his jagged gauntlet fists were enough.

You didn't question the mysterious knights aggression to the lords proposal. A banter amongst men, You think. Smiling sweetly as your knight presses the delicate piece of cloth to his helmet- steel kisses silk, and he keeps it there. A Brutish steel paw keeping it cradled against the thin slits of his helmet, as if he was breathing it in. He was.

You can't help but be keen and lean over to capture a glance of this man's face as he slips his helmet down- just enough to capture a small glimpse of his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

Wispy blonde lashes. Stern Earthy brown eyes. Charcoal smudged skin... His gaze softens at you, and it stirs something in your chest. He seems so familiar...

It is too bad that you can't remember the wide-eyed stable boy who was once your companion in the hazy sunlit memory of your childhood. A boy with stern Earthy eyes and soft gold hair. The disposition of a fawn with gnarling teeth- trembling knees yet a fierceness to his gaze as he threw rocks at your tormentors of cruel ladies in waiting. You had only wanted to see the baby horses...

Simon. Simon the stable boy.

But look how far he's come now. A man filled out with muscle and brawn and hardened skin- a shell of gleaming armour and chainmail. Tall and poised and unshakeable.

The moment your father proclaims him your new protector, it makes it all worth it. The grueling years of hardship and training. The beating and suffering. The scuffed knees and bleeding knuckles.

You may not remember him, princess, but there's no worry for that.

He's now someone you can't forget.

[artbysconnor]

The DnD party from Wildlife SMP in Episode 1! I just couldn't help trying my hand at these designs, since it combines two of my favorite things currently (Dungeons and Dragons and the Life Series) . Lizzie - Goliath Champion Fighter

BigB - Halfling Circle of Dreams Druid

Ren - Fairy College of Lore Bard

Jimmy - Half-Elf Oath of Redemption (Or Oath of Glory?) Paladin

See below for design notes!

Lizzie:

I knew Lizzie would be a Goliath, and was torn between giving her a martial class or making her a War Cleric. In the end, party composition won out, and she ended up a Champion Fighter, but I kept the half skirt design from her cleric thumbnails and gave her a big ol' mace. Given her pink hair is so iconic I didn't want to go full bald, so I made her hair long along the scalp and tied into two buns and a ponytail (not realistic, but it works in the drawing so I'm sticking with it!). I tried to put butterfly wings in her tattoos by her eyes, and added some flowers to further the fairy vibes on her armor and bring in the light blues from her skin as well.

BigB:

I probably was the least sure about what race and class I wanted to go with for BigB. He fluctuated between a Twilight Cleric and a Druid, and between Gnome, Dwarf, and Halfling. I ended up going with a Halfling to match his easygoing attitude, and leaned into his association with the Pale Garden as perhaps a caretaker and watchful hand over the Fey-like landscape as a Dream Druid. I knew I wanted his staff to reflect that by containing a creaking heart, but I also made his armor woven bark from the exteriors of the black and white trees, with flickers of the orange creaking magic within it, and kept his palette somewhat subdued and faded compared to his more saturated normal palette.

Ren:

Our bard Ren is probably the least detailed here on account of scale, but I put just the same amount of thought into his clothes, too! I wanted to work in little details that make use of materials that would be big for his small racial size as a fairy, such as a button for a poleyn, sewing pins for tuning pegs on his lute, and oversized ribbon ties on his costume. The main costume (a doublet and flouncy pants) is inspired by flashy, slashed Renaissance fashions - I think they suit a bard with a bragadocious energy like Ren. I added a tiny 'wolf pelt' as a cape that was probably a rat or perhaps an ermine, and his sunglasses are cut and polished crystal.

Jimmy:

Jimmy, our normal-sized normal man, was always a paladin in my mind. I wanted to put him in predominantly pretty heavy plate armor, almost like he's trying to protect himself at all costs, and pull in references to canaries and birds with the wing motif and feathered plume on the helmet and cloak clasp (and sword, which is now hidden behind BigB). The gold linear details both reinforce the pieces and provide a flash of yellow in his design to balance the cool blues and silvers, and his unpictured shield in my mind has the image of a great golden bird being pierced through the heart by an arrow or spear of some sort - a tragic house crest that Jimmy seeks to bring to glory.

[deonsx]

How Did You Meet Them?

Feat: Dazai, Chuuya,Fyodor

Dazai Osamu

• This was definitely not a coincidence and he was the first one to notice you, it was never difficult for him to get the woman he wanted, after all, he is really a handsome brunette with curly brown hair, tall height, quick wit, sensual words and two brown orb eyes that shine like gold

• You first met him at the cafe under the agency, or rather, you came to get coffee with your friend, you didn't even have to think about what exactly to do to attract his attention. While you were waiting, he took your number from you and placed a kiss on your hand. That day, he made you think that he was a very gentleman, so you gave him the number easily

"When I first saw your mother, I said 'This is the woman I was looking for" ~Fifteen Years Later

Chuuya Nakahara

• Of course, he wasn't the one who made the first move, Chuuya is a man who doesn't pay that much attention to his surroundings and doesn't look for love. His priorities are his career and himself. Since he isn't looking for a love life, it will take him a long time to like someone

• You met him absolutely randomly. One day, you were waiting for your bus, following your usual routine, but since it didn't arrive, you were already late for your destination, and you sat on the road and waited, not knowing what to do. Since you were waiting at the traffic lights, a biker standing there caught your attention, and as a last resort, you came right next to him

• "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. Can you drop me off at my **** workplace on your way? I'm already late. Please, my only option is...-" The biker opened the eye part of his helmet while the lights were still burning red, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes looked like they were penetrating his soul "Well..I'm sorry-" interrupted him "Get in quickly"

"That's how lucky I met your mother” ~Fifteen Years Later

Fyodor Dostoyevski

• We have come to the most difficult person...yes, you will not be able to meet him, he will meet you and no, this cannot be a coincidence..it cannot be because he does not leave his house, works all the time and is awake every day without sleep, so he will definitely choose you as a victim, unfortunately, this is the highest probability

• The possibility of an enemy to love relationship is high, but he definitely chose you first to use you and then gave up on it, but it is impossible to know the reason, you cannot understand that he is in love with you, even his way of flirting would be by reading poems or playing the cello for you

"Back in the day, your mother used to listen to the music I played with pleasure" ~ Fifteen Years Later

Enjoy!

[artofthemystic]

GENERAL PECKERHEAD IN PURGATORY 29 by Otto Rapp Via Flickr: created in NIGHTCAFE - Juggernaut XL v7 EVOLVED - TEXT ONLY For the prompt and the title I took the clue from an old analog drawing of mine. But I expanded the prompt with a description of another painting from the eighties, which included all kinds of sea creatures as uniform decorations. The first image in this series was created with Contemporary Surreal. Much later I duplicated it , text only, for a challenge. I liked the idea so much, I ran several different versions in different modes, some with text only, some with a seed image. The results were largely very interesting, so eventually I made a special collection for it. Check it out here: creator.nightcafe.studio/collection/KjkvnAI1xX91rYwWggRr - from time to time I may add more. PROMPT: Portrait of Old Man General Peckerhead in Purgatory; golden helmet, uniform decorated with crustaceans, Alphonse Mucha, h.r.giger, cryptid taxidermy, Bogomil's Universe, imperial colors, surreal fantasy

[smuddee-papabear]

Thinking of a dragon that's hoard is entirely made up of knights who came to slay him and were all fucked out of their minds instead. (male dragon X male reader)

Just imagine you're a knight sent to slay a dragon who has killed an unholy amount of your fellow knights. You're not feeling too great about your chances but you weren't given a choice by your king, who just wants the beast's horns mounted above his throne.

You found the cave easily, even getting in was a breeze, but instead of piles of jewels and other fineries you see a good chunk of half or fully naked men lounging casually.

You're almost too shocked to notice the unmistakable feeling of something looming behind you. But notice it you do.

Whirling around isn't an option. A large clawed hand curls around your torso as a single claw slips your helmet off. Hot breath hits your newly exposed neck.

"Hello little knight. Did the king send me another treasure for my hoard?"

The men in the cave turn at the voice, and with heavy shock you realize that you recognize several of them. A blonde man lounging nude next to a natural pool was the very knight sent out before you.

His knowing smile does nothing to ease your confusion.

The dragon lets out a low growl as he turns you around. "Look at me little one."

You brace your sword for an attack but the creature stuns all action from you. His emerald scales seem to glitter in the dappled light, massive curled horns framing the sharp face lowered to stare back at you. There's an elegant grace to his poised musculature; powerful but sleek.

His body is long and slender. It's nothing like the stocky build you were expecting to encounter. Lost in awe you almost miss the sound of your sword clattering upon the stones.

His amber eyes crinkle as if in amusement. There's an animalistic playfulness in them that holds you hostage. "Quite a lovely little trinket you are. Come, we'll get those awful chunks of metal from your body so I may see you properly."

Before you can object you're scooped up in those massive claws and taken to a smaller pocket in the cave out of view to the others. You were back to complete confusion.

Dragons were supposed to like treasure, gold and jewels and silver, not knights.

Your armor is removed with a delicate and practiced air. This was most definitely not the first time the dragon unclothed a human knight.

Stripped bare you suddenly feel self conscious. The way the dragon's gaze trails every curve, every scar and blemish, causes a fire to burn across your skin.

A low rumble fills the cavern. "Yes, you will make a fine addition to my hoard."

Movement draws your eyes to the dragon's lower legs. A spear tipped cock was unsheathing, already dripping to the stones. It was small for his size but still massive compared to yourself.

Was he expecting you to take that? You figured it would end up splitting you in two. Again before you can protest you are firmly pressed into the fur lined bed.

His long tongue trails down, the warmth giving you goosebumps as it travels over your sternum to your belly and even lower. A whine slips from your lips as your own cock hardens in response. The dragon lets out a rumble.

Something slides to your ass. For a moment you panic, thinking it to be the dragon's cock already, and twist to see. It's not his penis.

You realize it's a claw, worn down to a dull point for safety. As your entrance is teased you fight against you own thoughts. You shouldn't enjoy this! You should be slaying the beast!

But you can't deny the warm weight that settles in your lower stomach, the barely contained whimpers. Many knights have lovers but you chose not to. You wanted to be fully dedicated to your training. Unfortunately that didn't mean that you didn't feel the urges, it just meant you never acted on them before.

And now you are so desperate to feel it that your orders are slipping from your mind.

Your dragon licks and teases until you're shaking. Once you're a begging mess he pulls his claw back and positions his cock. You moan as it goes in.

It's so large it burns but not in a way that makes you want to stop. In, in in, until he bottoms out. You never thought you'd feel this full. Your dragon waits until your muscles ease to start a steady pace.

His rumbles combine with your groans. You scramble to grab ahold of him, finding his forearms, and arch your back. New sensations wipe the last of your concerns from your mind.

"Ple-please-!" Your breathy whisper causes your dragon to shudder. From the side of your vision you see his pupils blow out.

No longer gentle, you dragon's eyes roll up as his hips buck the thick penis into your hole over and over. The calm pace turns into a fever pitch. You squirm from the overwhelming pleasure rolling over you in thundering waves.

You feel a climax building and with a breathy gasp white ropes shoot out onto your dragon's scales and your own belly. That only encourages him more.

He takes quite a few more minutes, amazing minutes, to cum himself. A roar shakes the cavern.

Your dragon doesn't collapse on you so much as lays down but his weight still bears down strong. Both of you are breathing hard.

"The claiming process is long, trinket. I need to be sure it properly sticks." Your chest heaves in anticipation. A few hours, the rest of the day, you weren't sure how long long was but you find yourself too cock drunk to care. The dragon's tongue laps your chest again.

In the end, "long" is a three day haze of pleasure and climaxes. Being sent to slay the dragon, you decide, was the best thing to happen to you.

[latenightdaydreams]

https://twitter.com/archivetic/status/1758334384585769157?t=hoktjLg2x8FmpQRqmJJPeA&s=19

Can you write about Knight!Konig and princess reader just like the video above? Konig takes her virginity and slaps her puffy pink unused pussy before he puts his humongous cock into her.

I LOVE KNIGHT KÖNIG!! Also😮‍💨 to be in the woods with König in that woman's position would be a dream.

I made up fake kingdoms so it is easier to self insert for the story!

Knight!König x Princess!Reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Master List

>cw: fem/afab. non-con, bondage, p in v, oral

2.7k word count

.

.

You are the youngest princess from the Kingdom of Cerdon, a rich kingdom not known for its generosity. You’ve been asked to travel to a neighboring kingdom to court the prince for allegiance. The Kingdom of Falgar, known for its strong military, would be able to provide your kingdom with the protection it needs and yours will provide the poor nation with gold.

You sit with a deep purple dress with golden hand embroidery along the hem, your hair pulled back exposing your delicate shoulders. You sit in the study with a book open on your lap while you gaze out of the window. A guard walks up to you and clears his throat to get your attention.

Turning your head slowly, your sad eyes meet his gaze.

“My Princess,” he bows before you, “I’ve been requested to bring you to the throne room.” He stands back up and steps to the side, waiting for you to stand and follow him.

“Why?” You’ve always been known as the defiant princess.

The guard sighs and turns his head to you, “Princess, the King is summoning you. You must come with me.” His voice stern, not wanting to deal with your antics.

Slowly you close the book in your lap, placing it on the seat next to you and standing. You adjust your dress and straighten your posture.

“Okay, let’s go.”

The guard escorts you to the throne room where you see your father and mother sitting at their thrones with an extremely large knight standing before them. You walk in and bow to the king, your own father and you hated it. You take a seat on your throne next to your mother.

“Princess y/n, this is Knight König, from the Kingdom of Falgar.”

König nods at you, his helmet covering his face completely. His eyes fall to your cleavage as your chest rises and falls with every deep breath you take; he can tell that you’re feeling nervous. What a sweet looking young woman you are.

The Queen, your mother, turns her head to you with a sad look in her eyes. One that makes your heart drop into your stomach. She gives you a weak smile before turning her head and looking at Knight König.

“Well, I suppose you know why we have called you here.”

You lean forward in your throne to see your father. He talks without looking at you. He can feel you looking at him, but you’re his youngest and the thought of this possibly being the last time he sees you hurts his heart; he has to be a strong man right now.

“Knight König here is going to be escorting you to the Kingdom of Falgar. Your items will be packed by the help and sent after you.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you frown. You knew this day would come, but you always thought that you would get a date so you could prepare. You look back at König and your father.

“I don’t want to go.” You say in a shaky voice.

The Queen closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, she knew you would fight this which is why they surprised you with it. They didn’t want to risk you trying to run away. König rolls his eyes but you can’t see it because of his helmet.

Typical spoiled brat… König thinks to himself.

“This is not up for discussion; the arrangements have already been made.” The King's voice booms.

With tears threatening to fall you cross your arms and glare at your father. You watch as your mothers drops her head.

“I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but we must leave before the sun begins to set.” Knight König speaks up in a soft tone.

Your head snaps in his direction with a look of disdain on your face. “No one asked you to speak!”

“Y/N!” Your meek mother snaps. “You will leave now! No more of this.” Tears begin to stream down her eyes as she stands.

You stand quickly and latch on to her, wrapping your arms around her in a deep hug, both of you crying as she pets your hair.

“Please behave, your kingdom needs you. Think of their wellbeing.”

Her words stung. Since you were a child, you’ve been well aware that your role as a Princess was to be educated, beautiful, and versed in the arts so you could be a worthy trade. You’re a human, not a piece in a chess game. You’ve always hated not being able to live life for yourself, always being told what to wear, how to look, what hobbies to learn. Your life is a gilded cage. Now you’re being sent away with this ogre to a poor Kingdom.

Your mother pulls away and walks away from you, leaving the throne room. You look at your father and he still avoids your gaze.

“Prinzessin,” Knight König approaches you with his hand extended for you to grasp. “We must leave now, Bitte.”

Your face mixed with sadness and rage, you take his hand and you let him lead you outside. He walks you outside to see the most beautiful black horse you’ve ever seen, but no carriage.

“I’m not riding on that the whole way there.”

“Would you rather walk?” König says quickly, annoyed with what he has seen so far of your attitude.

You cross your arms and glare at him.

“Let’s go, now.” He pulls you towards him and lifts you by your waist, putting you on the horse before getting on himself with you sitting in front of him.

Before he took off, you look back to see one of your older sisters standing outside and waving good-bye to you with a sad look on her face. You weakly raise your hand and wave back. König notices and he looks down at you before taking off quickly.

“You will be okay Prinzessin,” König attempted to comfort you.

“Don’t speak to me!” You were in no mood to speak to the man taking you from your family, from your cozy life.

König had to bite his tongue, feeling his anger rise as you snapped back at him. You need to be taught your manners.

.

.

The sun started to set, your shadows growing long. König begins to stir the horse towards the woods. You notice and protest.

“Shouldn’t we be going to an Inn? It’s getting dark.”

“Yes, but now we are camping in the woods.”

You're stunned by his words. Camping? In the woods? Where wild beasts live and thieves crawl. Has he gone crazy?

“I’m not camping in the woods.”

“You have no choice, Princess. Your little tantrum put us behind schedule so we didn’t make it to the Inn on time. The roads are dangerous after dark.”

He lied, your emotional outburst didn’t put you behind schedule at all, he just went a different route so he can have you sleep in the woods. He wants to teach the spoiled princess a lesson that things can’t always be her way.

He gets off the horse and drags you off of it, you protest and hit his arms. You don’t have to be manhandled, you’re capable of getting off the horse yourself. König pushes you a little when he puts you down, you’re really testing him.

König grabs the bedroll from the back of the horse, you’d have to share it. You continue to stand by the tree with your arms crossed and just looking at him.

“How am I supposed to sleep on the ground?”

“You’ll be sleeping on a bedroll, not the floor.” His voice has an edge to it now.

“Take me back to my kingdom now!” You shout in a demanding voice, not wanting to spend another second here.

“You’re a spoiled brat.”

Your eyes went wide, did he really just say that? No one has ever spoken to you this way before. “Uh, excuse me?”

König stands up and turns to face you, you only see blackness in the small visor area of his helmet. His size and the fact you cannot see him makes him very intimidating. König takes two steps towards you.

“I said you’re a fucking brat!”

You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms. He grabs one and pulls it away, grasping your arm tightly. You try to pull away but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“A brat that needs to learn a fucking lesson.” He moves his other hand to your neck and pushes you back against the tree.

Fear mixed with lust rushes over you. At this moment you’re just a young woman and he’s just a man. You’ve never had someone treat you this way before, like a human. You’re a princess.

“Stop!” You try to squirm away from him.

He moves his hand from your neck to your other arm and he swings you around, slamming you down on the bed roll. You begin to protest and kick, kicking his helmet in the process exposing his hardened and scared face. You both look at each other for a moment, him expecting you to be disgusted but you don’t seem to be. 

König fixes the helmet and begins to wear fabric from the bedroll and binds your wrist together, ripping extra and shoving it into your mouth to keep you quiet. His eyes travel over your body looking at how your breast jiggle as you struggle.

“Quiet, just how you should be.” He gently taps the side of your face and chuckles mockingly at your situation. “Don’t worry, I’m going to teach you how to be a proper woman.”

Your protest is muffled but the cloth in your mouth as he pulls up your dress. You move your arms trying to pull them out of the knot that he’s bound them into. König pulls off your underpants. His large hands gripping your thighs and pulling your legs wide apart to look at your pussy. He pulls off his gloves so he can touch your bare skin.

“My, my, my, look at this pretty thing.” He moves a finger down your untouched pussy, dragging his fingers through your public hair enjoying the softness of it.

You glare at him as he touches you, fighting the feeling of pleasure it gives you when you feel him touch your clit. Since you are royalty, you had to remain chaste until marriage and you’ve never had a man touch or see you like this. The feeling is…good.

He moves his other hand to spread your folds and look at your pretty pink pussy, your tight hole…

“So soft and pink,” He brings his face closer as if to smell you before leaning back.

He raises a hand and slaps your pussy hard, making you whimper and jerk forward. He smiles to himself watching your puffy pussy jiggle slightly as he slaps your pussy again, and again, and again. Finally, he drops your legs and leans back. His hands begin to fumble with his armor, pulling away his tassets and codpiece. His cock already hard underneath his armor.

Once he releases himself you look down at his cock and your eyes widen at his size. He notices and laughs.

“I’m about to ruin all other men for you, Meine süße Prinzessin.”

Grabbing you by your bound arms he pulls you up to your feet again. Your shoes have fallen off, your feet getting covered in dirt as you walk along the ground. Sharp sticks poking the sole of your feet. He pushes you up against a tree, you try to shake free but he just pushes you harder.

König begins to pull the skirt of your dress up with one hand as the other keeps you against the tree. Once your ass is in view, he spanks it lightly and lets out a pleased sigh. You mumble something he can’t understand and he doesn’t care.

Holding his fat cock he gids it to your pussy. Without prep or warning he shoves his girthy long cock right into your virgin hole. Your eyes widen as your hands grasp at the bark of the tree in front of you. The sharp stinging pain of him tearing through you sending a new sensation throughout your whole body.

König shoves himself all the way into you, letting out a loud groan. “Mein Gott, I’ve never been with a virgin before… or a princess for that matter.” He chuckles.

Slowly moving back before grasping your hips with both of his hands, his fingers digging into your flesh. He begins to fuck into you rapidly, his heavy balls slapping against your swollen clit as his hand move your hips to match his rhythm. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing in the quiet woods. He lifts one leg to get a better angle and goes deeper into you. You roll your head back as he does, your whimpers barely heard.

He quickly pulls out and begins to stroke his cock, “Fuck, you’re so tight I already feel like I want to cum.”

He kneels and shoves two fingers into your pussy making you moan loudly. König smirks and looks up at you as he fingers your sweet tender pussy. Your legs begin to shake. You move your body slightly as if trying to get away but you don’t really want to. This is an amazing feeling.

König knew you were close so he pulled his fingers out and shoves his cock back into you. His eyes watching your face as your eyes flutter. He reaches out and wraps his fingers around your throat to pull your head back to rest your body against his.

“Good girl, I knew you needed this.” König whispers into your ear. “Let me fuck that attitude out of you.”

He closes his eyes as he thrust his hips up into you. Your tight silky walls cling to his sensitive cock. He listens to your muffled moans as one of his hands snakes up the front of your dress and squeezes your breast tightly. He squeezes your neck slightly as he feels your body tense, your legs tremble under you and your body goes limp.

He drops to the floor with you, both of you landing on your knees as he bucks into you quickly. His hands moving to your hips

“Cum for me,” he pants.

You lean forward and rest your body on the tree. Your knees are getting scrapped up but you don’t even care. Your muffled moans grow louder as your eyes fully roll back. You feel naughty, you shouldn’t be enjoying this; but it’s something you’ve always wanted to do. And with a Knight? Father would explode with anger.

König thrust into you slowly as you calm down from your first orgasm. His hands reach all over your body, enjoying the sensation of your soft tender skin. Once he feels your body relax, he pulls out.

“Good girl,” he slaps your ass again. His hand reached to your mouth and pulled out the cloth that was shoved in. “Stay on your knees.”

He stands before you and you look up at him. He lists his helmet so you can look into his eyes as he cums on you. “Look at me Prinzessin, tongue out.” He turns you to face him, grabbing your jaw gently.

You look up at him as he begins to stroke his cock, using the creamy cum you left all over it as his lube. His other hand caresses your face gently. His eyes close as he lets out soft moans, his cock begins to throb as it spurts cum all over your face and in your mouth. The cum getting on your hair and in your eye, making you close the one as he continues to look up at him.

You swallow what was on your tongue, enjoying the bitter taste, as you look up at him with a dick dizzy smile. He slaps his cock on your face a few times before leaning over and slapping you across the face.

“You liked that?

You nod your head with a blush on your face. Your once clean dress is now covered in dirt, your hair in shambles, and your face covered in cum. You feel real.

“Gut,” König smiles down at you.

Magically this horrible journey doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

[verstarppen]

˗ˏˋ MASTERLIST ˎˊ˗

the pit stop for all your reading needs !

mv33 ｡⋆˚ max verstappen

max and the three musketeers — mercedes is a just a tiny bit worried about your dates with their archenemesis

ln4 ⋆⭒˚ lando norris

in a galaxy far, far away — there's little time between fast cars and spaceships, but you make it work

op81 ✩°˖ oscar piastri

[ WIP ] atalanta and hippomenes — your father is eager to marry you off, but you're not putting the ring for a man who can't beat you in a race

mv33 ｡⋆˚ max verstappen

best trophy in your showcase — cheaters deserve to get cheated out of their career, or at least that's how max justifies destroying your ex's life

cl16 ☾⋆˚ charles leclerc

oh no he's hot — your comic book signing takes a turn when a fan walks in wearing a t-shirt with a poorly photoshopped "charles lechair" or wheover that is [ WIP ] caramel splotches — charles makes an oddly specific reference to your youtube channel just once, but the internet decides to internet [ WIP ] apricot bowls — there's nothing charles wants more than to win a championship, but you, the baby and the cottage are a close second [ WIP ] beef? she's a vegetarian — no one could've possibly predicted the real reason why charles made a joke that he'll join eurovision 2024...but you do, and so does your ex

ls2 ✮⁺₊ logan sargeant

behind open doors — the relationship isn't as secretive as you think it is. texan egg hunt — the ricciardo urge to be obsessed with america takes a whole new meaning when your relationship with the only american on the grid is revealed...because of kinder eggs glitter bomb — logan has a very special helmet reveal on instagram to celebrate your olympics gold metal and a scavenger hunt seems like the appropriate way to reveal it to you she's everything, he's just logan — not to flex, but how many f1 drivers can say they're dating a princess?

gr63 ˖♡𓍢ִ໋ george russell

get on with the show... — mercedes have a strict policy regarding office romance, but that can't stop Totally Spies because they can't read

ll40 ⭒𓈒ㅤׂ liam lawson

[ WIP ] roller skate paparazzi — the guy you've been flirting with on the roller skate rink conveniently left out the part where he's super fucking famous

op81 ✩°˖ oscar piastri

[ WIP ] fly me to the moon — the world hadn't seen chaos until you parked a miniplane in the pit lane to bring your boyfriend lunchables [ WIP ] blueberry pastries — the mclaren and williams admins love taking advantage of the fact that you and oscar only seem to look like you're not absolutely miserable on camera when you're together meddle about — the singapore heat can't kill you, but the sight of him sweaty and disheveled just might

lh44 ౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ lewis hamilton

[ WIP ] vassastrophe — it'll take awhile for ferrari to adjust to lewis, and if that doesn't stress frédéric vasseur enough, the reveal of who his daughter's been seeing surely will

ln4 ⋆⭒˚ lando norris

[ WIP ] just a couple of besties — the king of spoilers himself, lando "oh is it confirmed?" norris, reveals to the whole world he has a girlfriend...and not a soul believes him. [ WIP ] el pollo verde — lando's obsession with studying spanish to impress fernando goes off and on track

dr3 ‧₊˚ daniel ricciardo

[ WIP ] you, me, and franz kafka — danny ric doesn't understand how a book about a guy turning into a insect can be interesting, but if it makes his girlfriend happy he'll read it- and maybe melt a few fans' hearts along the way

yt22 ★⋆.⁺ yuki tsunoda

cheap tricks on route 66 — losing a bag at a out-of-city gas station with an etched phone number seems a little too convenient doesn't it?

ms47 ❀˖˙⊹ mick schumacher

count me in — slowly but surely that fake dating plan you cooked up starts leaving its confined lines

last updated: 9/10/2024