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sceletaflores · 4 months ago

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HEAVY METAL LOVER!

pair: logan howlett x bartender!reader wc: 4.2k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, drinking, swearing, motorcycle rides, p in v, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering (fem!receiving), creampie, wolverine's hairy tits, the claws show up ofc, porn with plot, no use of y/n. author’s note: watched deadpool & wolverine twice in theaters, started rewatching the x-men movies, pondered many different thoughts, sat down and wrote this. i need him to breed me. title from lady gaga's 'heavy metal lover' cause it's literally his song.

the wolverine is a regular at your bar…

You're shining glasses behind the bar when you hear it, the gruff sound of Logan’s voice turning away yet another girl that worked up the courage to come up to him. It’s his third rejection of the night, not that you were counting.

You were, you always do. You pay more attention to that side of the bar than you normally would when he’s here, which is nearly everyday for the past three weeks. He's not like any of your other regulars. He's almost always alone, and he never talks to you except when he calls for another drink.

The only reason you even know his real name at all is because Wade told you one of the nights he tagged along, leaning his elbows on the bar to whisper over the sugared rim of his "Piña Colada. Extra creamy please, you know how I like it..." like he was telling you a secret.

"Don't let him hurt your feels honey bunch. That's just classic Logan for you, a man of few words. Huge case of blue balls by the way."

You remember the way he let the obvious innuendo hang in the air, the knowing look he gave you as he spun the little paper umbrella floating in his drink. You didn’t think you were being that obvious, that someone as socially inept as Wade was able to pick up on the way your eyes would linger a little too long on the broad width of Logan’s shoulders, on the way his arms would strain against the fabric of his flannels.

You’d seen him on the news, thick corded muscles all wrapped in blue and yellow leather. It haunted you for days, playing in your mind on a constant loop of sweaty biceps until you finally gave in and pulled out your favorite vibrator.

Even with that, there’s just something about the jeans and flannels he wears outside of the suit that make you want to jump over the bar and drop down to your knees right in front of him. Your mouth open wide and waiting.

The dull ‘thunk’ of Logan placing his empty glass on the bartop grabs your attention, two quick raps of his knuckles against the wood ripping you from your thoughts. “Another,” he says briskly, not looking away from the peeling backsplash on the wall behind you.

You usually snapped at men who’d bark orders at you, but The Wolverine isn’t just any man. He's certainly the only man you'd ever take orders from willingly, happily.

You grin, tossing your towel over your shoulder as you grab the whiskey bottle off the shelf and slide over to him, tipping the amber colored bottle over to start refilling his glass. “That’s the third one tonight,” you say casually, casting your eyes over his shoulder to the girl from before retreating back to her friends. “I take it you don’t come here looking for company?”

Logan’s eyes flick to yours, it’s the first time he’s looked at you all night. You look back, lips pulled into a small smile as more whiskey than you’d usually pour splashes against the sides of his glass. The music playing from the speakers fades into a dull hum around you.

He holds your gaze for a second longer, a flash of something you can't quite read passing through his eyes before he’s looking away again. “Not the kind you’re thinking of,” he replies, his voice a low rumble that has something warm zinging up your spine.

You set the bottle down next to him, brow piqued in curiosity. “And what kind is that?”

He doesn't respond right away, just raises the now full glass to his lips to take a slow sip. You almost think he’s going to ignore you again, but then he speaks, “You ask everyone that comes in here personal questions, bub?”

There’s the barest hint of amusement lacing his words that has you biting your bottom lip to try and contain the absolute giddiness blooming in your chest. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever given you before. Encouraged, you step in a little closer, hoping to draw him out further.

“Only the ones with their asses practically fused to my stools,” you shrug, a playful glint sparkling in your eyes. “So what is it, you got some poor wife you leave at home every time you come here? Because the ‘tall, dark, and kind of morally ambiguous’ thing is obviously working for you.”

Logan turns his eyes to you again, his brow raised in amusement. You’re close enough that you can see the way his lips turn up at the corners. He seems to consider your question, gaze slowly trailing along your face before flicking back to your eyes. "No wife," he replies, the words slow and deliberate. "No home to leave her at either.”

His response hangs in the air between you, heavier than you anticipated. You let out a soft breath, lips parting ever so slightly. You can practically feel the weight of his gaze settling over you, leaving your whole body warm and tingly. The heat swirling deep in your gut slipping down to pool wet and sticky in your panties. Logan’s eyes blink shut for just a second, the bridge of his nose twitching lightly.

You almost can’t believe this is really happening, that the angry guy at the end of your bar you’ve seen turn away pretty girl after pretty girl is flirting with you. It makes you feel dizzy with power, like you could do anything, but it’s also one of the most intimidating things you’ve ever experienced. You didn’t realize what it meant to be the center of Logan’s attention until now, but you refuse to back down.

He gives an inch, so you take a mile.

Your grin widens as you lean your elbows on the bar, resting your chin on the heels of your hands. Logan doesn’t react to you invading his space, just keeps his eyes on you with a passive look on his face, but you don’t miss the way his gaze darts down to the low cut of your top.

“So…” you say slowly, voice dipping into a softer more intimate tone, “that means you’re free later tonight?” You tilt your head to the side coyly, allowing your hair to cascade over your shoulder, the movement drawing his gaze.

Logan’s eyes widen the tiniest bit, a surprised huff leaving his lips. He raises his glass, taking another long drink. Your eyes trace the sharp line of his jaw to where his adam’s apple bobs enticingly as he swallows. Your lips tingle with the need to mark up the tan column of his throat, to sink your teeth in the skin there, to taste.

The neckline of his undershirt dips low enough that you can see the dark hair scattered across his chest, dog tags dangling from a chain around his neck to sit in the center.

You drag your eyes back up to his face, flushing when you see that he's already looking at you over the rim of his drink. He sets his half drained glass down, a skeptical look on his face. “How old are you, kid?”

You shake your head with a soft laugh, dropping your palms to lay flat on the bartop. If that makes your top dip a little lower to flash more of your cleavage in Logan’s eyeline, then that’s just a bonus. “Old enough to be here,” you reply after a short pause, gazing up at him from under your lashes, “Old enough to know what I want.”

Logan’s eyes darken, the warm brown of them seeming deeper and even more intense than before. The dim overhead lights cast shadows across his rugged features, highlighting the scruff on his jaw. You can’t help but imagine the rough scratch of it brushing up against your inner thighs.

Logan pushes his glass away, leaning in with a soft grunt, his eyes drop to your lips. You suck in a shocked breath, your whole body lighting up at being so close to him. Your heart is racing in your chest, a quick ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum that echoes in your ears.

His lips turn up in a sly grin, the sharp canines of his teeth on display. “Is that so?” He asks, voice going all husky like gravel and honey. He meets your eyes and you swear you can see the sparks going off in the air between you, everything else in the bar completely fizzling out as his breath mingles with yours. “Careful what you wish for,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes your knees weak. “You might just get it.”

Your lips curve into a mischievous smile, the heat between you palpable. “I’m counting on it,” you reply, your voice dripping with promise. It takes everything in you to straighten up and pull away from Logan, stepping back with the forgotten bottle in your hand. “My shift ends at eleven,” you say with a small shrug, jerking your head to a door across the room, “staff leaves through the alley door.”

It’s a clear invitation, one that Logan easily picks up on. His hungry gaze follows every move you make as you shelf the whiskey.

Before he can say anything, someone calls you from across the bar, shaking their empty glass impatiently. You throw him one last smile over your shoulder, mouthing ‘eleven‘ again with a quick nod of your head. You aren’t sure if it’s supposed to reassure you or him.

Logan smirks nonetheless, standing from the bar before draining the rest of his drink and throwing a few bills down. The air crackles as you watch him make his way towards the exit, eyes lingering on the way his jeans hug the thick muscles of his legs before someone is snapping their fingers at you to serve them.

The rest of your shift drags by, but the excitement and hope swirling in your stomach doesn’t fade. You’re practically thrumming with excitement by the time eleven rolls around, anticipation coursing through your veins as you clock out and grab your bag from your locker.

You pull the door to the alley open, the heavy metal creaking with the swing. The gravel crunches under your shoes as you step outside, eyes eagerly searching the space in search of Logan. The light mounted above the door shines around you, but you don’t see him anywhere.

Just as disappointment starts to settle in your chest, you hear a loud rumble coming from the down the street. A bright light shines across the road as it gets closer and closer until there’s a motorcycle pulled up against the alley’s opening.

Logan kicks the bike’s stand down, leaning over to hold out a helmet in offering. “You coming or not?” he calls out, voice deep and teasing, “I’m not known for my patience.”

You can’t help but laugh, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness bubbling up inside you. With a confident stride, you walk toward him, the loud growl of the bike reverberates through your body like thunder with every step. “You’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t you?”

You take the helmet from his hand, but he doesn't let go right away, making your fingers brush against his in a way that sends a shiver up your arm. You meet his gaze, the smirk on his lips matching the dangerous glint in his eyes.

He drops his hand down to the bike’s handle, jerking his head back to the empty space behind him. “Hop on.”

You straddle the bike, the leather seat warm from the rumbling engine beneath you. You give Logan your address as you slip the helmet on. His body is warm and solid against your front, you can’t help but press a little closer, your hands falling to rest on his waist. The leather of his jacket is smooth under your fingertips.

Logan turns his head to the side, the street lights shine along the side of his face in a warm yellow glow. “Hang on,” he says, voice barely audible over the roar of the bike’s engine starting up.

The sudden rush of wind as he pulls off paired with the thrillingly intense vibration of the engine revving under you is exhilarating. You wrap your arms tight around his waist, fingers digging in slightly as you lean into the curve of his body.

The city blurs into a whirlwind of colorful lights as Logan navigates the streets with a confident ease. The cool night air whips past you, every turn and acceleration pumping more adrenaline through your veins. You cling to Logan’s waist like it’s a lifeline– there’s a sense of freedom and excitement that comes with being on the bike, but you think the real thrill is being pressed against him like this, feeling the power of his strength under you.

The ride seems like it takes both hours and seconds all at once when Logan pulls up to your house's gate. He kills the engine, the sudden silence a stark contrast from the roaring bike. Your heart pounds in your chest, pulse thumping as you slide the helmet off.

Logan takes it from your hands, eyes scanning over your house. “Nice place,” he comments casually, swinging his leg over the bike to stand next to you.

"Thanks," you say, your voice a tad breathless. You can’t help but feel a little self-conscious as you dig for your keys in your bag, nerves finally starting to set in. The air is cold against your flushed skin, and you’re hyper aware of Logan’s presence behind you as you unlock the gate and push it open.

He doesn’t touch you as the two of you walk up the steps to your house, infuriatingly keeping his distance with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

Your legs shake with every step, you can’t tell if it’s left over adrenaline from the ride or the building anticipation for the ride you know is waiting for you beyond your front door. Your hands tremble as you fumble with the lock, opening the door and stepping into the darkness of your living room.

You’re barely a foot inside before a pair of strong hands pull you backwards, getting whirled around by your waist until your back hits your closed front door mute thud. You don’t have any time to react before Logan’s crowding up against you, his body a solid wall of muscle pressing you hard against the door. His lips crash into yours in a hungry kiss, you can taste the whiskey from earlier sharp and smoky on his tongue.

You respond eagerly, leaning up to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down even closer. Logan’s hands roam over your body rough and possessive, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other grips your waist, pulling you even closer. His hands leave a trail of fire in their wake, your skin tingling with every brush of his fingers. You can feel the raw power in his touch, a barely there restrained strength that has your heart racing even faster.

“I could fucking smell you,” he growls agasint your neck, digging his sharp teeth into your collarbone meanly. You can't help but let out a soft moan, your head falling back against the door to give him better access. The rough stubble on his jaw scrapes deliciously against your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Could smell how goddamn wet you got, back at the bar.”

His hand slips under the waistband of your jeans, sliding down the front of your panties to brush against your clit. Your mouth drops open with a soft moan, your slick lips still tingling. “Do you have any fuckin’ idea how hard it was not to bend you over, to not rip these things off and fuck you over the bar?” he asks roughly, lips brushing against your skin with every word. “Wanted to take you right, make everyone watch while I made you scream.”

Your breath hitches at his words, a wave of pleasure crashing through you. The rough skin of his fingertips press more firmly against your clit, drawing a broken moan from your lips. “Logan,” you gasp, your hips bucking involuntarily against his hand.Your hands claw at his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as you try to ground yourself.

His lips capture yours again in a bruising kiss, sliding two thick fingers into you with a rough thrust. “Atta girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, dragging his tongue across your bottom slip. “That’s it, say my name,” he growls, swallowing your moans as his fingers pump into you with an unrelenting pace. Your walls clench around him, a needy whine escaping your throat as he begins to fuck his fingers in and out of your wet cunt.

The coil of pleasure deep in your stomach tightens with every thrust of his fingers, your body trembling with the intensity of it all. You can feel the pressure start to build, like a dam threatening to burst, but this isn’t how you want to come. You break the kiss, a thin thread of saliva connecting your lips before it thins and breaks. “Wait,” you say breathlessly, hand slipping down to grip his forearm tightly, “I want to come with you inside me.”

Logan growls, a deep, primal sound that you can feel rumble deep in his chest where it’s pressed against yours. “Bedroom,” he demands, hands dropping to the back of your thighs and lifting.

You wrap your legs around his waist with a quiet squeal, attacking the skin of his neck with your teeth as he walks the two of you down the dark hallway. “First door on the right,” you whisper, dragging your tongue along the column of his throat. You can feel the thick length of his cock straining against his jeans press into your hip. He sucks in a sharp breath as you roll your hips down, sliding the damp fabric of your clothed cunt over him.

Logan kicks the door open with a force that has it slamming against the wall, the sound barely registering in your lust-addled brain. Logan dumps you on the bed, the force of it bouncing you on the mattress. He rips his white undershirt over his head and drops to his knees in front of you, big hands coming up to grip the waistband of your jeans.

The muscles in his arms don’t even flex as he rips your shorts down the middle, denim and along with lace panties tearing like tissue paper in his hands and falling to the floor in tattered pieces. You gasp at the cold air hitting your hot, aching cunt.

Logan’s hands run up and down the bare skin of your calves, eyes glued to the soaked skin of your inner thighs. Your thighs start to tremble under his gaze, your patience starting to wear thin. Logan drags his eyes back to you, taking in the pleading look on your face. He smirks, wordlessly rising to his feet to pop open the button of his jeans.

You watch with bated breath as he unzips his fly, eyes glued to the way he starts to push them down his legs just enough that they fall to pool around his ankles. Your mouth drops open, eyes going wide at the sight of him.

He’s so big, so thick and heavy that his cock hangs hard between his hairy thighs instead of slapping up against his stomach. There’s a thick drop of pre-cum leaking from the tip, dripping down a thick vein running along the side.

Your mouth waters with want, the want to bury your nose in the dark thatch of hair surrounding the base, the want to have him fuck your throat raw and red. You can almost feel the ache in your jaw.

As much as you want to get him in your mouth, you want him inside you even more.

“Get your ass over here,” you demand breathlessly, tearing your shirt off your head in one swift motion. Logan smirks, stepping out of his jeans and making his way across the room. His dog tags jingle with every step, your cunt clenches weakly.

He stalks up the mattress like a predator, eyes ablaze as a cocky smirk plays on his lips. Your legs fall open unconsciously, thighs spreading wide to make enough room for his hips to slot against yours.

You gasp at the thick head of his cock sliding through your wet folds, your body arching off the bed. The sensation is electric, shooting through you like a live wire. "Logan," you breathe, your voice barely more than a whimper. "Please..."

"Please what?" he asks, his lips curving into a smirk against your skin. "You gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart."

Your cheeks flush hot, but the need burning inside you is stronger than any embarrassment. "I want you," you admit, your voice trembling with desire. "I want you to fuck me, Logan."

His growl is low and feral, his fingers teasing you relentlessly as he presses his forehead to yours. "That's a good girl," he rumbles, his breath hot against your lips as he sinks into the tight heat of your cunt in a single thrust.

The pace he sets is unrelenting, one hand braced on the pillow next to your head while the other grips your bed’s frame for better leverage to fuck down into you. The sting of his cock splitting your cunt open has your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. His dog tags hang from his neck, swinging like a pendulum as he starts to thrust.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grates out, brows furrowed in pleasure. His hips speed up, barely pulling out halfway before he plunges back into you. The bed squeaks under you, slamming up against the wall as Logan fucks you.

It’s like Logan surrounds every inch of you, strong arms caged around your head while his body covers yours, metal bonded bones pressing you down into the mattress so there’s nothing you can do but take it. You know that he’s ruined every other man in the world for you as the heavy snap of his hips pounds against the skin of your ass hard enough to bruise. The thick muscles of chest bounces as he moves, the coarse hair scraping against your sensitive nipples.

The head of his cock pounds the soft spot inside of you that has your eyes fluttering closed, mind going hazy as heat starts to pool at the base of your spine.

“Don’t fucking stop,” you beg brokenly, tears sting the corners of your eyes. “God! I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me come–”

“Come on baby,” Logan goads, dropping down to his fore arm so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck, “Give it to me, come on this cock, show me how much you fucking love it,”

The stinging bite of his sharp canines scraping the fluttering pulse of your neck makes you wail, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave long red welts that heal as you go. Your cunt clenches around the pulsing length of his cock, greedily milking him as you come in a rush of wetness around his cock.

“Fuck,” Logan grits out, his hips faltering. It’s not by much, but just enough for you to notice. The rhythmic smack smack smack of skin stuttering as his breath comes out in fast pants against the sweaty skin of your neck. His cock jerks inside you fiercely, his heavy balls tightening as he gets closer to the edge. You can hear the metal frame of your bed creaking warningly under his grip.

“Come in me,” you beg breathlessly, tightening your ankles around his waist. “Please, Logan I need it–”

Logan lets out a feral growl as his hand drops from your headboard, the sharp metallic sound of his claws unsheathing rings out above you before he slams his fist into the mattress next to your head. He floods your insides, pumping you full of his come as he grunts like a beast on top of you. He gives a few more weak thrusts of his hips, letting the two of you ride out your highs before he finally stills.

You hear the quiet snikt of his claws retracting from your mattress and back into between his knuckles before Logan collapses on top of you, arms braced on either side of your head to take most of his weight. His breath puffs raggedly over the skin of your shoulder, his spent cock still snug in your sore cunt.

“You owe me a new mattress,” you say breathlessly, digging the heels of your feet into his lower back sharply.

Logan chuckles into your neck, tipping his head up to look at you with dark eyes. His lips curl into a smirk as he rolls his hips, his still hard cock dragging along the sensitive walls of your cunt makes you gasp. “Yeah?” he asks, low and velvety. His eyes flick to the three holes punched through your sheets.

“You can add it to my tab,” he says with another stronger roll of his hips, “We’re not done here.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

a/n! the actual biggest shout out to @ebodebo for beta reading and listening to my non-stop rambling and horny thoughts about this man. she's a true solider because i have been so annoying about this. mwah mwah mwah.

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pedrospatch · 4 months ago

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call it what it is

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: A disagreement over patrol duty leads to declarations that have been long overdue.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. established relationship. HEFTY AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and joel is 56). ellie and joel are fine bc i said so and they deserve nothing less. reader handles a rifle, joel’s a little too overprotective and almost seems controlling, but i promise he is not. well, maybe just a smidge. arguing, admission of feelings, joel miller says i love you (yes this is ooc, no i do not care bc i need this old man to tell me he loves me). angst, fluff. quite a bit of side character interaction before we get to joel and reader in the second half. the only physical description of reader is that she is shorter than joel. fair warning, i am quite rusty.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: hi hello. i have not shared a wip in over 2 months. i was going back and forth on whether or not i wanted to share a fic with so much going on but decided i wanted to get back to doing what i enjoy. that and ofc that new footage was a boost of inspo. i am sending so, so much love to anyone who happens to see this author note, whether you read this fic or just happen to see this note in passing whilst scrolling. i know things have been tough, but i am here with you. <3

Joel wakes with a gentle start. Yawning, he rolls over from his side onto his back, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as warm, golden sunlight filters into the bedroom through the sheer, white linen curtains drawn over the window. He stares up at the ceiling, his breathing slow, steady, and even. He’s still getting used to it, it seems. Waking this calmly, with a tranquil peace he had been so certain he would never in his life feel again. He knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence the nightmares had all but stopped tormenting him in his sleep when the two of you stopped doing that awkward little tap dance around one another and began sharing a bed, a home, a life.

No more bolting upright in sheer panic in the middle of the night, heart pounding and drenched head to toe in a cold sweat. No more believing he’s failing in his sleep. No more waking up feeling like he’s lost something.

Even his dreams about Sarah had become so, so much more pleasant. Images of her in that field on that night were replaced by different memories, like watching her teammates dogpile her after she’d scored the winning goal in their soccer tournament, or the big, triumphant grin she’d flashed him over her chocolate milkshake as the pair sat in their usual corner booth at their favorite fifties-themed diner in Austin—much to Joel’s surprise, Sarah had politely declined her teammates’ invitation for pizza once the match ended, choosing to celebrate her victory with him. Just the two of them.

“Y’sure you don’t wanna go with your friends, kiddo?” he’d asked, raising an eyebrow. He had been certain she was approaching the age where she would start spending less and less time with her old man. “I wouldn’t mind, y’know.”

“Positive,” she had reassured him with a smile, looping her arm through his and leading him off the pitch. “I’d much rather be with you, dad.”

Rather than smelling metallic in his slumber, he smells the grass that stained her white and blue striped jersey. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt, not with crimson.

Stifling another loud yawn, Joel stretches his arm out over towards your side of the bed, his calloused fingers seeking the warmth and softness of your naked body—instead, all they find are empty sheets, cold and long abandoned. He turns his head, and as suspected, you are not laying there beside him. That’s hardly out of the ordinary. Out of the two of you, you were the early riser, up before the neighbors’ rooster even had the chance to sound the alarm. Joel knows how much you treasure your quiet mornings lounging on the porch swing he’d built for you as you watched the sunrise with a hot cup of coffee in hand. He often made a genuine effort to get up and join you, but lately, his patrol rotations had been all over the place thanks to a shortage of patrolmen. He found himself sleeping in whenever he had the chance, seeing as he never knew when he might have to work a damn double. Or maybe it was just his age catching up with him.

He checks the time and then rolls out of bed, groaning when his sore knees and his aching lower back protest his movement.

After taking a quick shower using whatever hot water the kid had left for him after her own shower—much to his annoyance, it was not very much—Joel brushes his teeth and gets dressed for the day before pulling on his boots and heading downstairs into the kitchen where he finds the culprit responsible for the cold downpour he’d been forced to wash himself under. Ellie’s sitting at the table, absentmindedly stirring her oatmeal around her bowl with her spoon as she flips through one of her comic books. Just as he’s about to greet her, he spots the clean, empty coffee pot on the kitchen counter and frowns. You hadn’t even made coffee yet?

Now, that—that is out of the ordinary.

“Where is she?” he asks.

“Well, good morning to you too, old man. Oh, I slept great, thanks for asking,” Ellie quips without looking up at him as she flips the page. She mumbles something under her breath he doesn’t quite catch, something like, and you get on my ass about my manners?

Rolling his eyes, Joel snorts in response and pads over to the coffee maker on the counter. He spoons in some of the grounds he’d traded for earlier that week into the reusable filter, pours in water from the tap, and turns it on to brew. He grabs two ceramic mugs from the wire dish rack beside the sink and sets them down on the counter. “She out back?” he questions, yanking the refrigerator door open—he tries to remember the little things, like how you enjoyed your coffee with a bit of milk as well as a dash of cinnamon, if you had the rations, or something to trade for the precious spice. He always made sure that you did.

“Nope.” Ellie shovels a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth and adds thickly, “She went to get some eggs.”

Joel shoots her a look of disgust over his shoulder. “Jesus, Ellie! How many times do I gotta tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s bad manners,” he scolds her, shaking his head. He turns his attention back to the refrigerator. As he reaches for the glass bottle of milk, he pauses and his eyebrows pull together in confusion when he sees the wicker basket on the top shelf. “Wait a minute.” He feels her stiffen in her chair. “Why the hell would she go get eggs when we’ve got a full basket of ‘em right here in the fridge?”

She clears her throat. “Oh, uh, my bad. I got confused. Think she said she was gonna go get more honey? Uh, I used the last of it to make my breakfast this morning and she, uh—she wanted some for her toast. You know, ‘cause she really likes putting honey on her toast,” she rambles before piling more oatmeal into her mouth.

Closing the refrigerator door, he turns to her, his eyes narrowing with suspicion as uneasiness settles deep in the pit of his stomach. “Ellie?”

There’s a momentary pause. “...yeah?”

This time, Joel doesn’t bother to chastise the teenager for talking with her mouth full. “Where is she?”

Ellie nervously swallows her food and holds up both of her hands. “Hey, I already fucking told you, man.”

“Look, I know you like the back of my own hand, kiddo. And I know damn good and well when you’re lying to me.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Now tell me the truth. What do you know that I don’t?”

Groaning, Ellie sits back in her chair. “Ugh. She made me swear not to tell you! She’ll fucking strangle me if I do—”

“Yeah, well, not if I fuckin’ strangle you first myself,” he threatens her. “M’Serious, Ellie. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Alright, alright! Jesus,” she huffs. “She’s with Tommy. He’s been taking her out of town to do target practice in the mornings, just the two of them. She usually gets back to the house before you get up,” she admits.

Joel’s arms fall back to his sides, his shoulders tense. “And how long has this been goin’ on?” he asks, rigidly. There’s a sudden tightness inside his chest, a feeling he hasn’t felt it in a while, but is still all too familiar to him.

After Tommy spread the word around town that more people were needed for patrol duties, you’d expressed an interest in the role, but Joel had been all too quick to shut you down, telling you he didn’t want you stepping foot outside the community’s gates.

“No,” he’d said. “Not happenin’. S’too dangerous.”

“But Joel—”

“I said,” he lowered his voice. “No.”

He hadn’t offered you an explanation as to why he was against it, refused to give you one good, solid reason as to why it was acceptable for him to risk his own life to protect Jackson, but it wasn’t acceptable for you to do the same.

Joel hadn’t known how to tell you the truth. How he needed you far, far more than you needed him, how the mere thought of losing you, the best fucking thing that could have possibly happened to him since the world ended, made him feel like his heart was going to stop.

A few weeks had passed since then, and thankfully, you never brought it up to him again. You had lost interest in patrol duty. Or so he’d thought.

“How long has this been going on?” he repeats after a minute.

“C’mon, man! Haven’t I already snitched enough?”

“Ellie,” Joel bites out her name. “Tell me. How long?”

She sighs in defeat. “Two weeks? Maybe three?” When she notices the muscle in his jaw tick, she grimaces. “You do realize why she didn’t fucking tell you, right?”

“Don’t,” he warns her, sharply.

“I’m just saying,” Ellie mutters, peering down into her bowl.

Without another word, Joel angrily storms past her and straight out the front door, snatching up his rifle on the way. He heads straight for the stables, trying to ignore the anxiety flaring inside of his chest.

Focus.

Now, breathe in. And breathe out.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe...

You exhale as you slowly squeeze the trigger.

Y’squeeze it like you love it, you had been told by your reluctant instructor.

The round fires off into the distance and you swiftly grab the bolt handle, bringing it up, back, forward, and then down again. You pull the trigger once more, then repeat and continue firing one shot after the other for a total of five rounds.

The rifle’s recoil nearly sends you flying backwards, but a strong hand on your back keeps you nice and steady. That same hand then moves to your shoulder and gives you three firm taps.

“Alright, alright! Christ,” Tommy laughs. He withdraws his arm from around you and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ calm down, Annie Oakley.”

Picking up his binoculars, he rises to his feet and looks through the lens at the makeshift targets that he’d set up for you, three empty soup cans lined up in a row on top of a wooden fence about twenty-five yards away—your longest shooting distance to date.

“Well?” You don’t even bother masking your impatience as you lower the rifle, carefully propping the weapon up against the tree stump you’re perched behind. Rubbing your sore shoulder, you hope the kickback won’t leave a bruise. You wouldn’t know how to explain that to Joel. “How did I do?”

His response comes in the form of a long, low whistle.

There is no telling if that had been good whistle, or if it had been a bad one. You groan. Now was not the time for him to dick around. “Please tell me I got at least one of them?”

“You got ‘em all, actually.” Tommy replies, lowering the binoculars and peering down at you. There’s a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “Good job, kid.”

Kid? Not exactly a nickname one wants to be called by the brother of the much, much older man that they are romantically involved with. It’d taken Tommy months to accept your relationship with Joel, especially when you moved your things out of your unit and into his over the summer. Part of you wonders if him referring to you as a kid is simply his own subtle way of telling you—no, of reminding you, that he’s still not comfortable with it.

And perhaps he never would be.

After all, you had still been a teenager when you first arrived to Jackson a few years ago, stumbling upon the town just a few months shy of the twentieth birthday you weren’t sure you would survive long enough to see.

You were indeed a kid when you’d met Tommy Miller.

Were.

Scowling up at him, you snap, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’m not nineteen anymore, Tommy.”

Having read your mind, he gives you a small smile and acknowledges, “Yeah, you’re right. You definitely ain’t a kid anymore.” He offers you his hand and hoists you up to your feet. Before dropping your hand, he gives it an apologetic squeeze.

You relax a little and smile back at him. “Did I really get all three?”

Tommy nods. “You sure did. You’re a damn good shot. I gotta be honest with you—I didn’t expect you to be this fuckin’ good,” he admits sheepishly.

Chuckling, you scoff, “Thanks. I think.”

“It’s a compliment, sugar.” He winks and flashes you a lopsided grin. “In fact, I’d say my work here is done.”

“Great! So when are you putting me on the roster?”

His grin instantly vanishes. “Uh, listen. About that....”

He trails off, and your heart sinks a little.

Tommy wouldn’t back out of this now—would he?

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare go back on your word, Miller,” you say, lightly poking him in the chest. “We had a deal. You said if I did well enough, you’d think about it.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. Said I’d think about it. And I think that puttin’ you on the roster for patrol ain’t a good idea.”

Your mouth falls open. If he never had any intention of holding up his end of the bargain, then what had been the point of teaching you how to shoot?

You didn’t understand.

“You just said it yourself, I’m a great shot! I’m a good on horseback, too. I’m stealthy. I’m diligent. What more do you fucking need from me, Tommy?”

Tommy’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “Joel would fuckin’ murder me with his bare hands if I even thought about puttin’ you on patrol duty. Hell, he’d murder me just knowin’ we’re out here and I’m teachin’ you how to shoot. It’s a damn fuckin’ miracle he still hasn’t caught onto this, y’know.”

Shocked, your eyebrows shoot to your hairline. “This is about Joel? Are you serious?”

“‘Course it is.” He pauses. “Listen, now I know the three of us had our—differences—when he first told me ‘bout you two. Still takin’ me a bit of gettin’ used to, but I can see he’s real serious about you. I know my brother, and I know he won’t risk losin’ what’s most important to him. Ain’t no way in hell. He doesn’t want you out here and you know that as well as I do.” Tommy shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging as he shuffles his weight from one cowboy boot to the other. “Unless he’s alright with it, I ain’t gonna put you on the roster.”

For a moment, you’re at a complete loss for words.

Upon seeing the crestfallen expression on your face, he makes a suggestion. “You can try talkin’ to him ‘bout it again if it means that much to you. Ask him—”

“Ask?” You want to laugh. You almost do. “I’m an adult, Tommy. I don’t need his permission to do this. Or to do anything for that matter. Joel doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Tommy smiles wryly. “Well then, if that’s the case, why are we sneakin’ around and doin’ this behind his back?”

Your shoulders slump in defeat.

Because the ramifications could be disastrous.

Joel had made his stance on the matter abundantly clear, and yet here you were, deliberately disobeying him.

“Stumped you real good, didn’t I?”

Before you can even start to think about how you can possibly respond to that, you hear the sound of hooves in the dirt behind you, followed by whinny of a horse.

Tommy’s face pales as he glances over your shoulder.

“Shit.”

There’s no need for you to ask. His grimace says it all.

Somehow, you will yourself to turn around just as Joel’s steed comes to a halt beside the mare you and Tommy had ridden out on together. He jumps out of the saddle, grunting at the forceful impact on his knees when his feet hit the ground. His rifle hangs from a worn, brown leather strap slung across his back.

He approaches the two of you looking absolutely livid, and your throat goes dry.

“The hell is goin’ on here?” He breezes right past you, roughly shoving his brother with both hands. “Why the fuck would you bring her out here, Tommy? What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Joel, c’mon. Take it easy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ tell me to take it easy!”

“Joel!” You reach for his arm. “Wait, it’s not his fault!”

Joel shoves him again, then takes him by the collar of his shirt and pins him against the ponderosa pine tree behind him. “You’ve been bringin’ her outside the gates behind my fuckin’ back for weeks, asshole?”

The panic begins to set in—he’s taking his anger out on the wrong person, and deep down, he knows this too.

“Joel! Stop! Let him go!” Grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, you try pulling him off of the younger man. “Stop it! It’s not his fault! I asked Tommy to bring me out here!”

He whirls around, his nostrils flared, jaw clenched.

You’ve seen this side of him a handful of times before.

But his anger has never been directed at you.

“What?”

Immediately, you let go of him and take a step back. “I asked Tommy to bring me out here and teach me how to shoot so that I can start working patrol,” you explain, hoping, praying, he doesn’t catch the slight tremble in your voice. “This was all my idea, okay? If you’re going to be mad at someone, then be mad at me. Not at him.”

“So you did this after I fuckin’ told you I didn’t want you out here?” Joel seethes. His neck becomes flushed, his tan skin now a deep shade of red.

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “I had to find out from Ellie? You tried to get her to fuckin’ lie to me? After all the work it took for me and her to—” Stopping mid sentence, he places his hands on his hips and shakes his head.

“Joel. Please.” Behind the anger in his dark brown eyes, you detect something else. A mingle of hurt, concern—fear?

Tommy awkwardly clears his throat. “Well I’m, uh—I’m gonna head back to town,” he says, touching a hand to the back of his neck. “I’ll let the two of you work things out in private.” As he passes Joel, he lightly claps him on the shoulder. “Girl’s a sharp shooter, big brother. I’d reckon she’s almost better than you.”

His effort to lighten the mood fails. Miserably.

Offering you a subtle nod of encouragement, Tommy hops into the saddle of his mare and takes off towards the commune.

Silence falls over the both of you. It feels suffocating.

Unfamiliar.

Finally, you speak. “Joel, please just hear me out—”

“What the hell were you thinkin’? Or were you just not thinkin’ at all?”

“I was thinking I want to pull my weight in Jackson.”

“You already have a fuckin’ job,” Joel reminds you.

“Making sandwiches and serving whiskey at The Tipsy Bison?” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “I am capable of more than that, Joel. So much more. Don’t you believe I’m capable of doing more?”

“I don’t want you out here,” he grits through his teeth. “Capable or not, I don’t want you outside Jackson’s walls. I don’t want you on patrol and that’s fuckin’ final. You understand me?” Now it’s him who falters, and you wonder if you’re imagining things, or if that’s really a tear you see sliding down the side of his face, disappearing into the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

“That’s not your decision to make, Joel. It’s mine.”

“M’responsible for you. It’s my job to look after you—to protect you.”

Something about the way he is looking at you, it feels like a punch to the gut, and it’s at that precise moment when you begin to realize that he’s not angry. He’s afraid.

“Joel, I know that all you want to do is protect me,” you sigh, letting your arms fall down to your sides. “I know you do. But you’re doing me no favors by trying to keep me sheltered. By treating me like I’m defenseless. Don’t forget, I’m a survivor too.”

“You already know how fuckin’ dangerous it is out here. Clickers, raiders—”

“I can handle it,” you insist, stubbornly.

“You’d be puttin’ yourself right in harm’s way!”

You shoot back, “You mean, the way you and so many other people put yourselves in harm’s way every single day for the sake of keeping Jackson safe?”

A frustrated growl rumbles through his chest. “Christ, why are you bein’ so fuckin’ foolish? You’re just askin’ to get yourself killed!”

“I can take care of myself!” You realize your hands are shaking and curl them into tight fists at your sides in an effort to hide it. “Just accept it, Joel! Accept that I can take care of myself, alright?”

That is all it takes to tip Joel over the edge he’s been teetering on. “Then what do you fuckin’ need me for?” he shouts, his voice thundering over the quiet plains of Wyoming. “If you can take care of yourself, what’s the point in us bein’ together? Why are you with me?”

“Because I love you!”

As soon as the confession comes tumbling out of your mouth, you take a step back, your wide eyes meeting his own. Until now, neither of you have ever called this what it is, been bold enough to say it’s love.

Loving after so much grief, so much loss, is daunting. It’s something you thought you would never be capable of doing again, not in this lifetime. Not in this world. It’s happened, though.

You love Joel Miller.

And he loves you.

He’s never told you he does, but he’s shown you.

From the way remembers how you take your coffee in the mornings, to the way he laces his fingers with your own, holding your hand when he’s buried inside of you, whispering sweet nothings into your collarbone every single night.

“You—you what?” Joel’s whisper is hardly audible.

You inch your way closer to him, your voice soft. “I love you,” you declare once more. “I’m not with you because of what you can do for me. I’m not with you because you can take care of me.” Closer. “I’m with you because I love you—because I’m in love with you, Joel.” Closer, until your chest brushes against his, and he can smell the subtle scent of your homemade, rosewater soap. “The only thing I need, and have ever needed from you, is your love in return.”

His throat bobs. Before you can utter another word, he lifts his hands and gently takes your face, cradling it in between his large palms, gently. His eyes search yours, immediately finding the sincerity behind your words. Leaning down, he brushes the tip of nose against your own as one of his hands travels down, his long fingers curling around the nape of your neck. His thumb lightly strokes the column of your throat.

“I love you,” Joel says hoarsely. Three words he hadn’t said to anyone in over two decades—it feels foreign to him, they ring strange in his own ears. He tries it again, clearer this time, and with a little more confidence. After all, he’s only saying what he has known from the very start. “I love you.” His other hand moves to your hip, pulling you even closer to him. “M’gonna love you for the rest of my life, baby.”

He leans in further and presses his lips to yours lightly, at first, but he wastes no time in sweeping his tongue across your bottom lip, silently asking for more.

Your mouth parts for him, and he backs you against the ponderosa, kissing you deeply, greedily, like he’s a man starved.

You whimper into him, your hands sliding up his broad chest and past his shoulders until they’re tangled in his soft, graying curls. He breathes you in, like you are the oxygen he needs to stay alive.

It isn’t until you both hear the sound of rustling behind a nearby shrub that you’re forced to pull apart. “Don’t move,” Joel instructs in a hushed voice. He keeps you pinned against the tree, his hand abandoning your hip. He glances around, slowly reaching behind his back for his rifle. His tense shoulders relax when the both of you see a pair of rabbits dart out from one dried bush and straight into another. Exhaling an amused huff, Joel shifts his attention back to you and rests his forehead against yours.

Smiling, you reach up and softly graze his beard with your fingertips. “Guess it’s about time we called this what it is, huh?”

“Guess you’re right, darlin’.” He lifts his chin, brushing a kiss onto your forehead. “M’sorry for raisin’ my voice to you. For talkin’ to you the way I did. S’just, the thought of somethin’ happenin’ to you out here scares shit out of me.” Taking a step back, he pulls the strap of his rifle from around his shoulder. He chews the inside of his cheek and silently stares at the gun in his hands. After a minute, he meets your curious gaze. “Do you really wanna do this, sweet girl?”

You nod. “Yeah. I really do.”

Joel sighs. “Can I put a condition it?”

“Depends on what that condition is.”

“I’m your patrol partner. Every shift. Every rotation.”

You roll your eyes. “Joel.”

“At least for the first few weeks,” he bargains. “Last thing I need is for you to be paired up with some fuckin’ idiot who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doin’.”

Knowing that would be the only way he’d have some peace of mind, you decide to agree. “Fine. We’re patrol partners.”

“Alright then.” Joel nods and hands you the rifle. He flashes you a small grin. “Show me what you got, baby.”

divider credit to @/saradika 💛

for fic notifications please follow @joelsgreysupdates!

#joel miller x reader #fic: call it what it is #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction

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rosyblooom · 8 months ago

Text

levi's jeans | ln4 smau

PAIRING: lando norris x fem quadrant!reader SUMMARY: y/n loves levi's jeans—it's all she wears, ever. so when lando has to draw her in a quadrant video, that's what he draws: levi's jeans. a bad attempt at flirting? maybe, but it gets the ball rolling. A/N: been listening to 'levii's jeans' 24/7 since the album dropped omg

Youtube - Quadrant

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yourusername

liked by riabish, landonorris, yourbestfriend and 101,467 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername happy now??? i don't only wear levi's jeans see😌

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landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: New Quadrant video out now!! Swipe up to watch ]

Youtube - Quadrant

Twitter

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landonorris posted to his story!

[ caption: 👖 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

Twitter

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: let's ride 🏍️ ]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 12,400 others

f1gossipofficial After two months of being spotted together numerous times in London and Monaco, and stirring up dating rumours, Lando Norris and fellow Quadrant member Y/N L/N were recently seen off the coast of Spain, soaking up the sun and looking pretty cosy.

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username cause they're in the ocean??🤣 username a win is a win idc !!

username noo i hope they're just friends😭💔

username they're both so hot omfg

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liked by _aarava, landonorris, maxfewtrell and 389,576 others

tagged: levis

yourusername so happy to announce my levi's x y/n collab that's coming out next week friday!!😭 as everyone probably knows (and is sick of lol) i love me some levi's, so this collection has been soo much fun to work on and i'm very excited for you guys to see it!!🤍❤️💙

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riabish soo proud of you 🩷

yourusername ily🥹❤️

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yourusername levii's jeans ofc😌 username love that for you girl!

landonorris

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tagged: yourusername

landonorris Never getting sick of your levi's jeans obsession🤣 So proud of you baby ❤️👖

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username took yall long enough🤧

yourusername 🩷🩷

(liked by author)

username i love you y/n🥰

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3:35 ─────────ㅇ─── 4:17

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taintedcigs · 10 months ago

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— cowboy hat rule.

pairing: cowboy!steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, MINORS DNI!!!!, pet names, praising, kinda degrading but not really, a lil argument, dom!steve, rivals to fcking, swearing, good old bj for our good boy stevie! reader has a nickname 'sunshine' bc i didn't wanna do y/n sorry:(

summary: helping out mr. harrington in his ranch was supposed to be fun, but steve harrington was an asshole. an absolute pain in your ass that teased you, and you gave him the same energy back, always. so when you unknowingly wear his cowboy hat, he decides to teach you what exactly the cowboy hat rule is. (wc: 5k+)

author's note: this is just horny babbling. i have no idea how cowboy lore works so if im wrong pls just close ur eyes i tried to research but i couldnt find shit just pls i just want cowboy steve dick. and ofc no proof-reading bc im lazy as hell. no dividers ugly aesthetic bc of tumblrs f ass not showing my shit in tags SIGH.

also PLSSS LIKE + REBLOG + COMMENT TO SUPPORT ME MWAH ILY

When you told Mr. Harrington you’d be more than happy to help around his Ranch during the summer, you didn’t expect Steve to become a problem, but you were wrong, so fucking wrong.

A cocky cowboy who’s way too into partying and into his looks and his fluffy hair than you could ever imagine. That’s exactly how you’d describe Steve Harrington. Even though you so badly wanted to believe otherwise, wanted to disregard the rumors and the reputation that came with him. But, he made it so goddamn hard.

All he fucking did was tease you, complain. Order you around and act like you didn’t know how to do shit. And, you didn’t, but he was supposed to be your guidance, teach you. But all he did was grumble and give you that goddamned smirk.

Yet, you couldn’t fully hate him, there was a side of him he rarely showed you, one that cared, one that offered you rides—it was more of a mumble each night but you accepted nonetheless, one that ended up at your side whenever an asswipe bothered you at the bar, one that offered you a hand on your back when you were crying, he didn’t ask what happened, didn’t speak, just stood there, letting you spill out your guts. The two of you never spoke about these incidents, ever, because he acted like they didn’t exist, like he couldn’t bear the thought of being nice to you.

You were so fascinated by him, even though you’d never admit it out loud. He was charismatic, outright funny, and had a heart of gold that you only peered one layer of.

And fuck it, he was fine, annoyingly good-looking that he was a distraction to be around when you were supposed to be working, him with those sturdy denim jeans that cupped his ass perfectly, wide-brimmed cowboy hat with a creased crown, put perfectly on his head. Even though you’d much rather see his pretty hair falling on his face, run your hands through his smooth layers.

Usually, when it got as hot as it did today, he’d even take off that stupid shirt, feast your eyes with his glimmering chest, all hairy and glistening with sweat, broad shoulders as he ordered everyone around made you gulp. Like he is doing with you, right fucking now.

“Sunshine, get back to work.” Heat travels to your cheeks quickly, and that stupid nickname rolls off his lips so bitterly, the one he always called you just because you were all nice and smiley—even when he was being an asshole to you, something that grinded his gears, you guessed it was a foreign concept to him, being nice.

You were quick to shake off the hold he had on you, getting back on your feet as you stood your ground. “I am working! Just needed a second to breathe!” The lies rolled off your lips so simply that you wondered if he caught you staring. When he turned around to leave, you guessed he hadn’t.

“Asshole.” The insult leaves you before you can register how close Steve still was to you.

Turning head-spinningly fast. “What did ya say?” He spits, making you gulp physically.

He looks out of the world stunning when he’s mad, maybe it’s a toxic trait of yours but, fuck, the way his chocolate hues turn unrecognizable, that slight quirk of his brows, and the way his muscles flex in pure anger made you rub your thighs together.

Jesus Christ. He is getting into your head, and you hate that you think of him this way when he is so mean.

“Nothing! I’m just saying it’s really hot out today,” you hum, the sun rays hitting your face not making it easier on the heat that flame your cheeks.

He gives you a snort, all mocking once he takes a step closer, making you feel hotter if that is possible. “Well that’s what happens in the summer, darlin’”

Hand on the wall he tilts his head slightly, all with sass that has you rolling your eyes. “Or did you expect the weather to give Miss Sunshine some sorta special treatment?”

You roll your eyes, an act you always did that makes Steve’s jaw clench. “Oh, come on Steve! It’s really, really, hot, and the sun is all on my face!”

“Boo-hoo, princess,” he mocks, tipping his hat, almost as if to tease you further.

You scoff, getting closer to him. “Easy for you to just stand around in that big hat!” With a narrowed gaze, you cross your arms against your chest, like a brat, another trait that annoyed Steve even further.

Then, you beam again, and Steve knows no matter how much you hate it, Sunshine is absolutely the nickname you deserve, eyes glistening with happiness that it annoyingly even brings a glint to his pretty amber hues. His gaze unintentionally droops down to tour lips, so plushy and soft looking when it curls into that pretty smile that Steve wants to kiss you all over.

“Oh! Do you mind if I?” You ask all giggly, pointing toward his wide-brimmed hat, hand teasingly standing above his head.

He scoffs as if you had just asked him the most insulting question ever. “Not a chance,” he spits, now he crosses his arms in front of his chest, eyeing you with a dark glint in his eyes, one you couldn’t decide was full of annoyance or just pure desire.

“Mhmmm… okay,” you hum, feigning innocence for a second, before snatching it off his head with another hearty giggle.

Oh, what he would do to hear that on a loop, admire the way your lips stretched into the prettiest grin, brows quirked.

“Sunshine!” He chides, much rougher than he intends to, but you don’t pay attention to him when you place the hat carefully on your head, smoothing your hair.

You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes that have him melting, everytime, without fail. “Admit it, looks better on me.” You shrug, expecting him to agree.

Instead, he just offers you a deep sigh of breath, eyes almost widening when he realises what you just did. “Do you even—”

He huffs, hiding the obvious pink shade thats starting to color his cheeks, you really had no idea the hold you had on him, did you? “God, you city girls have no idea about anything, huh?”

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Cowboy hat rule?” He asks with a tilt of his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

A teasing smile curves on your plushy lips as you push for more information. “What’s that?”

“Just give me the hat back,” he insists, attempting to mask the warmth that crept into his tone.

With a shake of your head, your defiance only grows, a glint of mischief dancing in your gaze. “Not until you tell me the rules.”

“Sunshine,” he warns, voice so grumbly that heat travels all over your body quicker than the sun burning you.

“Steve?” You hum with a flirty gaze, so teasing that Steve wants to fuck you right then and there, until he teaches you proper manners, until he shows you not to be a total fucking brat and not to roll your eyes at him, until he shows you that you’re his.

But, of course, he settles on a low grumble of, “You’re annoying.”

“You used to be more creative with the insults, Harrington.” Another teasing remark, and Steve rolls his tongue inside of his mouth.

With a smirk, he takes another step toward you, when your back hit the walls of the barn, only then you realise, he has you cornered. “You wanna know the cowboy hat rule, princess?” He asks all smugly.

Gaze meaner than he is, chest almost pressed against yours, voice so low that all you can do is slightly nod.

Your breath gets hitched in your throat when his face is mere inches away from yours, hot breath fanning against your cheeks, skin heating on the impact, that brattiness you wear as a mask quick to slip off when he’s all demanding. “You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.” His tone is almost a growl, pupils blown wide, making you gulp, physically.

“What?” You blink, unsure of what he’s actually asking. Excitement jumping around in your tummy.

“You heard me. Wanna take me for a ride, Sunshine?” He is so goddamn close that you are sure he can hear the annoying tumble your heart does at the weight of what his words hold.

It makes you pause, gaze sticking on his, sometimes slipping away to his soft lips, almost to signal him of something, but all you can do is try to hide the embarrassment that burns your cheeks.

“Didn’t think so,” he scoffs, backing away just slightly.

His cowboy hat is too big on your head, tipping low over your eyes, possibly hiding your nervousness as you mutter, “What if I do?”

With a smooth motion, he flips it off from your head, holding it with his palm, away from you. “Get back to work, Sunshine.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I, those horses ain’t gonna straddle their strap themselves, off. to. work,” he hisses, turning to leave.

You huff, heat still burning off your cheeks, more embarrassed than annoyed, yet you still don’t have it in yourself to let it go, you can’t let him have this. Win this.

Quick to snatch the hat back, “So the hat rule is, wear the cowboy hat, ride the cowboy, huh?” You mumble behind him, your voice failing you, yet you appear to be giggly, and Steve heaves a deep sigh of breath, before fully turning to you.

He halts a bit when he sees you once again, in his hat, tipped low, that stupidly addicting smirk gracing your slightly-open lips, hand on your hips, and all he wants to do is fuck you till you lose that attitude of yours.

“Stop,” he warns, taking a step closer to you but with a shake of your head you back away, and he sighs, loud and annoyed.

“Gimme that, sunshine!”

“Nuh-uh.” All teasing and bratty, and grating on Steve’s last nerve. You know this, yet you wanna keep pushing him, further and further, until he snaps, until he can’t take it anymore. You have no reason to do this, you’re supposed to hate him, think of him as an annoying asshole.

But the two of you are finally tethering on that line, the line between purely teasing each other out of spite, to teasing each other out of flirting, you know that, and you don’t wanna take a step back. “Prove it.”

You are all up in his face, and all he can do his roll his eyes, cheeks beetle red, frustration worn on his face. “Knock it off.”

You tut gently, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Not until you—” Your words are interrupted quickly when he snatches up the hat from your head in annoyance, making you gasp when he discarded it easily.

“Get back to work!” His voice raises, and it makes you take a deep breath.

Shit, did you fuck this up?

“What?” You question, entire body feeling dizzy. He takes a step closer.

“You heard me.”

Another step closer, his breaths come out in short gasps, frustration taking over him. “Get back to fuckin’ work, before I can’t stop myself.”

He is close. Too fucking close, and you can’t help the way your gaze droops down to his soft lips, slightly parted open, downturned from frustration. God, you realize how hot he is when he is angry, once again. “F—from what?”

He hesitates, before licking his lips. This is it. He wants, no, he desperately needs you. Needs to put you to your place. Teach you what happens to bratty girls like you. Show you what exactly the stupid rule is. “From fucking you in this goddamn barn.”

You release the breath you’ve been holding back, feeling small, so small under his gaze. Mouth hanging open, and all you want is him to pin you against the wall, have you screaming out his name. “From making sure I show you how the goddamn cowboy hat rule works.”

Your back is plastered against the wall, his hands are by your side, you are caged beneath him, chest rising in anticipation. “Is that what you want, honey, think you can handle all of that?” He’s so smug, and you don’t know what overtakes you when he’s all in control like this, you wanna obey him, make him happy, proud, so you bite back on your insults.

His smirk is dangerously alluring, and you’re under his spell.

“Please,” you beg, heat finds your cheeks again, you hate the hold he has on you.

He barks out a chuckle, so mean, yet as equally hot. “Please, what? Speak up,” he spits, rolling his tongue inside of the roof of his mouth, lips wearing a smirk.

“Ruin me,” your voice is small, meek, yet it makes him groan.

You’re such a good girl for him, and he wants nothing more than to ruin you. Fully. Completely. Ruin you for every other man.

His head ducks down to your neck, leaving a sloppy kiss before leaning into your ear, his breath hot on your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Goddamit darlin’, you gonna be the death of me, huh?”

You don’t—you can’t answer, you’re speechless, rubbing your thighs together desperately, seeking some friction, a touch, anything.

He levels with you again, dangerous gaze on your lips, fingertips brushing against your cheeks teasingly “You know what I always wanted to do, sunshine?” He coarses lowly.

“W—what?” You ask with a gulp, lips twitching with need.

He gives you another grin, that asshole. The pad of his thumb slowly caressing your lips now, making you shiver with hunger. “Always wanted to put you to your place, you and that damn smart mouth, always runnin’ it for no good reason. I’d give you a good reason for those pretty lips, huh? Use it the way I wanna use it, fill it the way I wanna feel it,” he grunts like he said the most normal thing, yet you’re already squirming, wanting to open your lips, take his fingers in your mouth and suck on them, show him how much of a good girl you can be for him.

He has you on such a hold already, and you can’t complain. For someone who seemed to be annoyed—hell, even hated him a few minutes ago, you feel crazy, batshit insane, all you want is him.

His fingertips play with your lips all teasingly, pupils blown wide, the other hand caresses your hair so possessively that you melt into his touch. “You gonna be good for me sweet thing?”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. “Y—yes, sir.”

Sir.

Godfuckingdammit. You don’t know the hold you have on him, do you?

He bites back on the moan that rumbles in his throat, instead settling on a, “Good girl.” Your puppy dog eyes glint at the praise, and he makes a mental note of it. .

“Get on your knees f’me, darlin’,” he grumbles, and you’re quick to obey, not minding the uncomfortable feeling of the wooden floors scraping your knees, or the fact that anyone might’ve walked in, the door was locked, and there was probably no one around yet Mr. Harrington might’ve returned to the ranch at any moment. But he made you feel safe, somehow.

You look up at him with those doe-eyes again, making him suck in a breath before he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them off his hips, boxers so tight around his hard cock that he grunts involuntarily.

Your eyes go wide the second his erection springs free, almost hitting the tip of your nose, red, angry and leaking with pre-cum, he lets out a chuckle at your expression before grabbing the base of his cock.

Same eyes, looking up at him all hungrily, Steve feels the way blood rushes quickly to his cock, making him harder if that's even possible, with a groan he runs the leaking tip across your lips. “Open up.”

Your hand replaces his quickly, and he runs his fingers through several strands of your hair, teaching you how exactly he wants you.

You open your mouth wide, just like he likes it, tongue giving his slit kitten licks, moaning at the taste of his salty pre-cum, wrapping your plushy lips around his thick head, and sucking the life out of him, determined, and feigning innocence with the soft gaze you held.

Head thrown back, heavy boots planted on the harsh ground, he lets out a low groan, stroking your hair all softly. “Look at you s’pretty like this for me.”

His hand wraps tighter around your hair, pushing you onto him, making sure you gag a little and that only spurs you on, making you whine around his cock, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Cat got your tongue, darlin’?” He chuckles all meanly.

“God, do you have any idea how many times I wanted to shut up that bratty mouth like this?” He asks with grunts leaving his open mouth, hand working harshly around your head, mouth feeling like heaven the more you bob around his thick length, struggling to take all of him.

“Those pretty lips are—mmpf, shit—better stuffed with my cock than being a spoiled lil’ city girl runnin’ her mouth, ain’t that right, baby?” You nod meekly, angelic eyes seeking for his validation before you flatten your tongue around the sensitive part of his tip, struggling to take all of him in your mouth. Earning guttural moans, eyes squeezed shut as he feels your soft lips wrapped around him again.

“Fuck, sweet thing.” You can feel his filthy grunts straight in your core, all low and lewd that you almost moan around him again, he puts one hand on the wall, helping himself to better move in and out of your throat.

He knows if you keep this up, he’ll cum right and there, and fuck, he needs that. But he needs to be inside of you more.

You keep up your stroking, now adjusting yourself properly to start licking and sucking on his balls. “Sunshine, you need to s—stop,” the words barely leave his lips, he so doesn’t want you to stop. But, he needs to cum inside of you.

Yet, you don’t listen to him as your movement speeds up, determined to feel his load warming your throat, make him proud, and your mouth bobs harder around his length, making him growl at you harshly. “Sunshine,” he warns, pulling you by your hair.

You’re quick to take a deep breath of air once he pulls you off, looking up at him with the perfect innocent eyes, your lips wearing the prettiest pout. “Was that not good for you, Stevie?”

Stevie. That nickname makes his head spin faster, all he wants to do is fuck you against those stupid rustic walls, have you screaming out for him, the whole ranch filled with your filthy noises, no one was around anyway.

“You kiddin’, sweetheart?” He gives you a chuckle, wrapping his hands around your jaw, pulling you off the floor.

“You were fuckin’ amazing,” he hums, leaning down to kiss you, tasing the salty semen on your tongue.

His hands are quick to travel along to your waist, fingertips finding their way onto your panties rather quickly, earning a gasp out of you. “Need to be in here first, honey.”

You nod, so quickly that you can feel him grinning into the kiss, his hands are everywhere, yours are more or less the same, quick to get rid of his top, to feel his toned chest in your soft hands, your top is sprawled right next to his, revealing your pink and gold bra at him, breasts peeking out just enough to have him groan, big hands quick to get rid of them.

He has you caged against the amber walls, back hitting the rough material, making you hiss. Your skin heats at the impact, it’s filthy, lewd, and so public, but none of you even care enough to break the kiss. He settles between your thighs, his pants drooped to his ankles, hands rubbing across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The sight of you so easily submitting to him, makes his cock grow harder than he thought was possible, looking so ethereal that Steve forgets all about everything else. “Sunshine,” he breathes, hands fiddling with the hem of your panties.

“Mhmm,” is all you can muster, legs slightly open for him, and he almost feels possessive over you, it’s entirely stupid, but he looks so fucking alluring with those dark chestnut eyes, layered hair a mess, and cock weeping entirely with the thought of you.

His thumb runs over the seam of your pussy, just a glimpse of how his fingers are going to ruin you, and you pulse and clench against him already. Wet. Drenched. And all ready to take him. “You’re soaked,” he groans.

Leaning further into your ear, “is that all for me, honey?” he rasps, desperate, needing your confirmation.

Heat grows in your cheeks faster than a scorching day in July, and he grins, again, all cocky and proud. “Yes,” you admit meekly, and Steve’s quick to kiss your worries away.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he growls, swirling your wetness up and around your slit, almost toying with you, having you desperately mewl for him.

He can’t put his finger on it, what it is that draws him this much into you, but he’s hooked, so goddamn obsessed that he feels like an idiot, for being this much of an asshole, for acting like a grade school boy who’s pulling the pigtails of his crush. Like a stupid cliche.

“Stevie.” That nickname, again. Godfuckingdammit, Steve thinks. You have him so wrapped around your finger, it’s like a prayer, and he’s sure you’re not aware of it. And it drives him even crazier. “Please.”

“Talk to me.” His voice is low, lips now nipping at your neck, suckling, giving you all the marks you need.

“I need you,” you hum, eyes squeezed shut, desperate. His finger discard your panties and slide easily inside of you, your back is fully dipped into the well-worn walls with how good he feels, his thick fingers making their way in and out of your soppy cunt, whines leave your lips faster than you can comprehend.

“Ruin me, Steve, fully, completely.” You don’t know how those words leave past your lush lips, but your thighs ache with need, cunt throbbing for him and him only.

His eyes widen quickly, pure hunger quick to fill his veins, mouth hanging open, curses leaving his lips at how forward you are being. “Show me the cowboy hat rule, sir.”

Steve all but groans, mouth harshly on yours again, chests pressed together and you can feel how hard he truly is, rock stiff, and aching to be inside of you. The sheer size of how he feels against your thighs almost makes your eyes bulge again.

His fingers stop moving in and out of you, before you can whine, he spins you around so fast that you gasp loudly, hands immediately plastered on the wall, pleasure and excitement fills your tummy, but the fact that he’s seeing you all vulnerable like this is embarrassing enough that you try to close your legs.

He’s quick to stop you with a grin, rough hands landing on the back of your thighs, spreading them open while tutting you. “Nuh-uh. Don’t get all shy now, princess. Spread them open f’me.” You spread them a little, cunt throbbing with how close his fingers are.

He groans again once he fully gets a view of you like this, face down, ass up, your pussy slicked with your juices, at his mercy. “‘M gonna ruin you, honey, don’t you worry.” A dark chuckle barks out from his chest, sending chills down your spine, almost making you whine.

Fuck.

His hands are rough when he has you by your waist, bruising almost. Lining his cock in front of your slick core, he swipes the head of his reddened tip inside of you with one forceful thrust. Your plushy lips open slightly, stealing your breath away as you try to adjust to his size.

Shit, shit, shit, he feels even better than you fucking expected.

His cock splits you open, filling every goddamn inch of you. You don’t know how many times you thought this, but, shit, he’s as big as the gossip in this small town says he is.

His thrusts are slow, grunts so loud and heavenly that it spurs you on more and more. His weight on you, the bruising hold. You feel him everywhere. On your back, hips, and fucking inside of you.

“F-fucking, fuck!” he growls, leaving nibbles all over your shoulder and back, even with the fact that this was Steve, and he was rough and filthy, it was wildly intimate, so wildly intimate that you could feel your heart pounding inside of your chest.

“How are you this fuckin’ tight, s-sweetheart?” One of his hands travel up to your neck, roughly holding you down, hips slamming into you with such force that you cry out.

He watches the way his girthy cock disappears in and out of you, wetting himself with your juices, filling every inch of you. “Doin’ s’good for me, princess.” His praises are heavenly, making your chest swell with pride.

He moves inside of your soppy cunt with short thrusts. Completely bottomed out, thrusting against the same sensitive spot every time as his balls, heavy with cum grind against your clit, with each movement, making you cry out his name, babbles leaving your mouth. “Yeah, you like this don’t ya? Want me to ruin this slutty pussy, huh? Ruin it for every other men?”

You nod all dumbly, yet, it isn’t enough for him. He wants to hear you, have you scream it out. “Say it, sweet thing, fuckin’ say it,” he groans, coarse voice making tingles appear everywhere on your skin.

“I-I love it, Stevie, want you to ruin me for everyone else, mmpf,” you moan all fucked out, eyes rolled all the way back to your head, hips desperately grinding against him for some more friction.

He picks up his pace, fucking into you with reckless abandon.“F-fuck doll, won’t last if you keep runnin’ that dirty mouth.”

But his words just encourage you to keep going, gasps coming out in short breaths as you manage to drive him crazier. “All yours, sir, all yours.”

He grunts at that, one of his arms snaking around and under your hips to find a better angle, lifting you up so that he can fuck his cock deeper into you, make you feel how fucking big he really is. “That’s right, baby, it’s all fuckin’ mine.”

Hot tears spill down your cheeks, entire body burning with it. The slick sounds of his hips driving into you, your moans, his low groans are all that fill the room. So fucking filthy, and you can feel yourself clenching around him.

It’s all too much; his hands everywhere, the lewd noises he makes, how deep his girthy cock is bottomed out inside of you, making you feel every ridge. It’s fucking perfect, and you desperately need to cum.

And of fucking course, Steve can feel your pussy gripping him, so tight that he knows he’s gonna cum right after you do. “Gonna cum f’me, huh? Such a good girl,” he praises, again, knowing the effect it has on you and all you can do is gasp and weakly nod.

One of his thumbs quickly finds your clit, making your pussy throb around him in pure ecstasy, all the overstimulation enough to have you crying like a bitch in heat. “Give it to me, angel,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses everywhere on your skin.

His movements pick up, padded thumb rubbing circles around your clit, the other hand landing on your nipples, twisting them while pumping into you, it’s all too much that it makes you sob and beg for him.

“Cream my cock, let me ruin you completely, darlin’” It’s all the confirmation you need as your orgasm builds and washes through you, body exploding with pleasure, spreading through your skin as you scream out his name.

Your pussy squeezes and pulses around his cock, and he fucking knows, he won’t last, not in the slightest. “S-shit, sweet thing, gonna make me cum with all those filthy noises.”

“Want that, honey, hmm? Wanna be filled with my cum? Show everybody in this town who owns ya? Owns this tight lil’ cunt?” He feels it, that pure hunger for you over taking him, coarse voice, dark eyes, like a man possessed. His fingers dig further into your skin as he desperately chases his orgasm, enjoying the sloppy sounds your pussy makes as he drives into you.

“P-please, Stevie, n-need your cum,” you weakly hum. And it fucking breaks him. Hips losing all rhythm when he spills his warm load into you, twitching inside of you once he pumps you full of his cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sunshine,” he breathes, collapsing on your back, both of you trying to come down from the high. He slips free of you slowly, his cum dripping down your thighs, making him grin proudly.

“S-steve,” you weakly murmur, collapsing in his arms. He holds you down, slight kisses left on your back, delicate in a way you have never seen him before. Yet, the two of you don’t mention it, “let me take you home,” he mutters, a gentle hold on you that makes you feel warm.

“N-no.”

“No?” Intrigued, his breath gets caught in his throat, the look you give him is so sultry that the blood rushes to his cock in an instant again. Fucking fuck, what have you done to him.

“We still haven’t followed the rules,” you purr sweetly, causing him to raise his brows in excitement, tempting him further and further.

“The rule was wear the hat, ride the cowboy, wasn’t it?” You question with a slight grin, eyes lulled, still fucked out.

Your fingertips gently grazed against his chest, hairy and slicked with sweat, his sudden dominance fading when you were so quick to switch from begging to cum underneath him to gaining that flirty, giddy personality again. Already leaving him a mess. “Y-yeah,” he murmured, watching you hungrily, his cock already weeping again.

“Then, sit down and lemme take care of you, cowboy,” you ordered again, shuddering breaths leaving him in an instant.

Now you were going to ruin him.

Fully.

Completely.

And Steve couldn’t be more infatuated. You were truly his demise.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fics #steve harrington smut #steve harrington imagines #cowboy!steve harrington

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mrfoox · 2 years ago

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Everytime I realize how.... Chill... My mom is im... Im torn between thinking it's the best and not /:

#miranda talking shit #She lets me do anything and basically always have. Well as a child she didnt ofc but generally things i WANTED to do i was #Allowed to do unless something obvious came in tje way. I wanted to see a friend i was allowed. Wanted to go to a bday party #Allowed. She was so chill and yeah. Only as an adult i realized its not super common? Like she was and still is more a friend than parent #There has not been anything she ever said... No against or openly expressed doubt about. Not that i was wild or anything #I never have done much crazy things no parties with alchol or anything but even if i did... She'd probably be ok with it #Idk if its bc she trusts me or what? Bc i know she cares and by nature she is a worry wart. Thats why i have been able to tell her like #Anything. I havent but i genuinely think i could and she'd not freak out too bad about things. She let me go fly out to germany #First time i ever flew alone... And i had to change flight and i was 15. To see a girl she had only known about for a year from conversatin #She ... Never said anything against it. I barely remember i asked for her permission i just said mom i want to fly to germany #To celebrate xmas with my gf and she was like aight. And same with her coming to me. Oh an stranger from another country is #Coming to live with us for a few weeks? Who speaks no swe? Alright okay shes welcome! And same about flying to london to visit my online #Friends. That was potentially worse bc i wasnt staying with anyone i knew... So i was technically alone for quite some time when i was thee #And i had talked less about those people. At thay point i was 18 so technically she didnt have the right to stop me... But she just said ye #Ok ill help pay for it (: when my sister heard about it she flipped. And when i went on a second date with a guy #And spontaneously asked to stay over at his place... Mom had already left to get me and was just like lol ok ill turn around 😂#At one hand this has been good for me bc... I dont naturally seek out experience and dare to do thing so if i got big #Arguments and stuff thrown at me when i wanted to do something id probably just ... Id not do shit and i already almost do that lol #But shes also too agreeable. She never had that authority over me... And is more like a friend . Aka if i ask her to do something she will #Do it 9/10 times without arguing and that has definitely missed me some lessons of own responsibility etc. I guess one can argue #Bc im autistic its okay to have more reliance on my mom. But yeah... Ive been trying to do so less. I mean some things she still does help #Me with. But since i live alone its... I cant rely on her like i have in the past so been adjusting for me and i dont think ive done all #Well. But yeah. I hear majority of moms either being .. Overbearing or controlling and im here like... Uh.. Oh uh mine is haha #I still think shes the best but probably not the best to make me into an independent human but best emotionally etc #Just ... Weird how she have managed parenting. Bc she is so loving and worring and emotional. I know she is. But she havent let that ....#Go over her kids? She have let her kids do a lot of stuff... With my brothers its been a somewhat problem bc they have acted out #But for me... I mean im reclusive but when i think back im suprised how cool she have been with the things i came with #Considering i usually never wanted anything ... When i came with something it was pretty big stuff like... Traveling outside the country #For the first time ever... To an person and her family she never met or have seen? Yeah . Her trust must be big for me

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koiiiji · 3 months ago

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im here for yakuza!Gun x reader smut 🤧🤧 like, you stayed at his family's mansion overnight because he introduced you to his clan for the first time and when the night came, this perv didn't care there was no soundproof system between rooms in the mansion (ofc, that's the traditional Japanese house style!!), he kept doing the deed, and even warned you to lower your voice if you didn't want anyone to hear 😏😏

ty as always bae <33

p/s: that's the idea and you can customize it however you want, just make sure that he is a meanie but soft at the same time (is it possible hm 🤔)

p/s (2): i have to send this idea right away in case you close your ask box too early lol 😂😂

author's note ; i mean Gun IS in fact yakuza, no? anyway sooo here we go! i had kinda same scenario but more rough and generally dark, like yandere, but fuck it, i think i won’t finish it anytime soon, bc i thought to add it to your request, but i don’t want to make you wait anymore. i think i was carried away a little in beginning, so its longer then expected, sorry!! 💞😮‍💨

author's note 2 ; art from pinterest, it says credits to : jongjong822 on x

tw ; f! reader, nsfw, minors, ageless/empty blogs DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU!!!

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to be honest, you had no plans to meet Yamazaki Gun's family tonight. it's not that you were against the idea — quite the opposite! you'd heard plenty about who his father was and what his family did. there were a lot of rumors swirling around town, and while you were a little wary, you were mostly curious. besides, you hadn’t been together for that long, so you didn’t expect Gun to introduce you to his family anytime soon.

when he told you earlier in the day to dress up for the evening, you weren’t surprised. it was just another night, another overly expensive restaurant, and another excuse to be in his company. as you sat in the passenger seat of Gun's sleek black car, you glanced out the window at the city passing by. the soft glow of the streetlights bathed the streets in a warm, golden hue, making everything feel a little more magical, a little more alive.

the atmosphere inside the car was just as enchanting. Gun had always been a man of few words, but tonight he seemed more at ease, more open. the quiet hum of the engine was accompanied by the faint sound of classical music playing through the car's speakers, creating a peaceful ambiance. you felt a sense of calm wash over you as you glanced at Gun, who was focused on the road ahead. his profile was illuminated by the soft light from the dashboard, casting shadows that only added to his already mysterious aura.

the restaurant was just as extravagant as you'd expected, with its towering marble pillars, crystal chandeliers, and tables draped in fine linen. evening went perfectly. you and Gun shared a bottle of wine, and as the evening wore on, you found yourself getting a little tipsy. it wasn’t enough to lose control, just enough to feel a pleasant buzz that made everything seem a little funnier, a little more relaxed. your laughter came more easily, and you found yourself leaning in closer to Gun, your hand occasionally brushing against his. he seemed to enjoy the relaxed version of you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened to your stories and responded with his own dry wit.

when the dinner finally came to an end, you felt a sense of contentment settle over you. the food had been exquisite, the wine even more so, and the company... well, there was no one else you'd rather be with. so you assumed that Gun would take you back to your home now, to end the night on a sweet note with a kiss or maybe something more at your doorstep. so, when he steered the car away from the familiar streets and onto an unknown road, you raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question him. the wine had left you feeling pleasantly hazy, and you were more focused on continuing your easygoing conversation than worrying about where you were headed.

“so, tell me,” you began, your words slightly slurred but still coherent, “why do you always pick these fancy places? are you still trying to impress me, Gun?”

Gun glanced at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “maybe i just like seeing you all dressed up,” he teased, his voice as smooth as the leather seats you were sitting on.

you laughed, leaning back in your seat and looking out at the unfamiliar road ahead. “well, it’s working. but you know, you don’t have to go all out every time. i'm just as happy with oversized t-shirt, most stupidest comedy and you.”

“noted,” he said with a small nod, though there was a hint of something more serious in his tone. “but tonight is special.”

you blinked, trying to process his words through the pleasant fog in your mind. “special? how so?”

“you'll see,” was all he said, and you let it go, too relaxed and warm from the wine to press him further. conversation flowed easily between the two of you as Gun drove. night seemed endless, the road stretching out in front of you like a promise of more to come. when the car finally slowed and turned into a long, tree-lined driveway, you began to wonder just where he had brought you. the driveway was impeccably maintained, with tall, ancient trees on either side casting long shadows under the soft glow of strategically placed lights.

Gun parked the car in front of an imposing mansion, the kind you’d only seen in movies. building was grand, with tall windows that gleamed in the moonlight and a wide set of steps leading up to the front door richly decorated with mahogany. you stared up at it, your slightly inebriated mind struggling to catch up with the reality of the situation.

“Gun… where are we?” you asked, your voice tinged with awe and a hint of nervousness. he turned off the engine and looked at you, his expression unreadable. “this is my family's home,” he said simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

your heart skipped a beat. “wait… you mean… we’re meeting your family? tonight?”

he nodded, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently take your hand. “yes, tonight. i wanted you to meet them.”

panic began to bubble up in your chest, but it was quickly tempered by the warmth of his hand in yours. the wine had left you feeling too relaxed to fully grasp the gravity of the situation. Instead, you let out a soft, nervous laugh. “well, you could have given me a bit more of a warning,” you teased, squeezing his hand as you tried to keep the mood light.

“i didn’t want you to worry,” he replied, his voice steady and reassuring. “you’ll be fine. they’ll love you.”

before you could respond, Gun stepped out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door for you. he offered you his hand, and you took it, letting him help you out of the car. as you stood there, staring up at the mansion, the reality of what was about to happen finally sank in.

you were about to meet Yamazaki Gun’s family. tonight.

you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and looked up at Gun. he was watching you with that same calm, unreadable expression, but there was a hint of something else in his eyes — something that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

with one last squeeze of his hand, you smiled and nodded. “alright then, let's do this.”

and to be honest, everything went better than you had expected. the Yamazaki mansion was truly grand, almost overwhelming in its size and elegance. the towering shoji screens, the polished wooden floors, and the delicate tatami mats all spoke of a family with deep roots and considerable influence. people you encountered within its walls — servants, distant relatives, or perhaps close family friends — were polite, yet cold. they carried themselves with an air of reserved dignity, their words carefully chosen, their expressions unreadable.

Gun guided you through the mansion with a familiarity that showed he had once called this place home. as you walked, you couldn't help but notice how much Gun resembled his father. the elder Yamazaki was a stoic man, tall and imposing, dressed in a traditional black kimono with a hakama. he carried an aura of authority, and though his demeanor was stern, there was something in his gaze — something that hinted at a really small softness beneath his cold exterior.

Gun's mother, on the other hand, was an elegant woman, the very picture of grace and strictness, wearing a beautiful, intricately patterned kimono. her hair was pulled back in a traditional style, and her movements were precise and measured. her eyes were sharp, watching you with an intensity that made you feel as if you were being evaluated at every turn. yet, despite the coldness in her gaze, she followed every formality with exacting precision, treating you with the respect and courtesy befitting a guest in their home. she spoke little, but when she did, her words were measured and polite, though they lacked any warmth.

as the evening drew to a close, and the final course after small greeting tea ceremony was cleared away, you felt a sense of relief. it hadn’t been as daunting as you’d feared, and you were proud of how well you’d handled yourself. you expected that Gun would now take you back home, and the two of you would quietly slip away from all formalities and coldness of this house. but then Gun’s father, in his deep, commanding voice, made a suggestion that took you by surprise. “why don’t the two of you stay the night? it’s late, and it wouldn’t be wise to drive in your current state.”

you glanced at Gun, waiting for him to politely decline, but to your shock, he simply nodded. “we’ll stay.”

you blinked in surprise, a slight panic rising in your chest. you were unprepared for an overnight stay, and the idea of spending the night in Gun’s childhood home — under the same roof as his parents — was suddenly very intimidating. you opened your mouth to protest, but Gun leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “don’t worry. my father asked us to stay because he wants to discuss some business matters with me in the morning. just relax.”

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

with those words echoing in your head, you found yourself sitting on the edge of the futon, carefully prepared by the staff just a few minutes ago. the evening had been long and emotionally exhausting, but now, in the quiet of Gun’s childhood room, you felt a sense of calm begin to wash over you. after taking a shower, you had washed off the remnants of your makeup, feeling refreshed as the warm water rinsed away the day’s tension. the pleasant residue from the alcohol was still making itself felt, leaving you relaxed as you climbed into bed, where your boyfriend was already waiting for you.

Gun was lying on his back, his dark hair still damp from his own shower, his yukata loosely tied around his waist. as you slid under the covers, you immediately fell into his arms, finding comfort in the warmth of his embrace. you settled comfortably against his chest, inhaling the clean, subtle scent of his shower gel, mingled with the familiar warmth of his skin. it was a scent that was unmistakably his, grounding you in the moment as you let out a contented sigh.

for a few moments, neither of you spoke, simply enjoying the quiet intimacy of being alone together. the soft rustle of the futon as you shifted closer, the gentle rise and fall of Gun’s chest under your cheek — it all felt so peaceful, so right.

but as the silence stretched on, a small thread of anxiety began to tug at the back of your mind, and you couldn’t help but voice the question that had been lingering in your thoughts all evening. “do you think your parents liked me?”

Gun’s chest rumbled with a soft chuckle, and you felt his hand gently stroke your hair. “why do you ask? you were amazing tonight.”

“i just… i don’t know,” you murmured, feeling a little self-conscious. “your father was so serious, and your mother barely smiled. i couldn't tell what they were thinking.”

he let out another soft laugh, tilting your chin up so you could meet his eyes. “that’s just how they are. don’t take it personally. my father rarely smiles, and my mother… well, she’s always been a bit strict. but trust me, you made a good impression.”

you felt a wave of relief at his words, but you couldn’t resist teasing him a little: rolling onto your stomach, you now lay on top of him, folding your arms across his chest and resting your chin on them, you playfully asked "are you sure they're not just being polite to me?"

flicking your nose with his finger, he just laughed in response, the sound deep and genuine, and you couldn’t help but join in, the last remnants of your nerves melting away in the warmth of his laughter. but as your soft giggles subsided, the mood shifted, the lightheartedness giving way to something more intense. Gun’s eyes darkened - more, if it was even possible - as he looked at you, his playful expression fading into one of pure desire. without warning, he moved, his hands gripping your waist as he flipped you onto your back. you let out a surprised gasp, your heart skipping a beat as he loomed over you, his body pressing you into the futon. the sudden shift in his demeanor left you breathless, a thrill of anticipation coursing through you as his face hovered inches from yours.

“Gun…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your neck.

“mmm?” he hummed in response, his breath hot against your skin as he began to trail kisses along the curve of your throat. his hands moved with a deliberate slowness, slipping beneath the folds of your yukata to find the smooth skin of your back. you shivered at his touch, your body responding to the gentle caress of his fingers as they traced a path up and down your spine. his kisses grew more urgent, more passionate, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips moving hungrily against your skin as his hands roamed freely over your body. the fabric of your yukata shifted as he explored, his touch sending sparks of pleasure racing through your veins.

“Gun,” you gasped again, your fingers tangling in his raven hair as you arched into him, craving more of the sensation he was drawing from you. his hands were everywhere, gliding over the curve of your back, sliding down to cup your ass cheeks before moving up again, each touch sending shivers of pleasure rippling through you.

he pulled back slightly, his breath coming in shallow pants as he gazed down at you — your hair, disheveled and slightly damp from the shower, was scattered across the pillows, your breathing was a little ragged and the fabric of your yukata, pulled to the side, opened up a beautiful view of your chest, which was slightly heaving from confusion, your cheeks were burning with excitement and still a small amount of embarrassment, while due to the alcohol you barely remembered where you both were.

with a quiet growl, Gun again clung to your collarbones, his hands moved faster, skillfully, undoing the ties of your robe with practiced ease to pull the unnecessary fabric lower. without moving away from you even for a centimeter, he caressed your neck with his lips, moved up a little higher, biting the lobe of your ear and descending in a wet path lower, again to the collarbones, this time not lingering there, but going lower to your chest, clasping it with one hand and kneading it in his large, calloused palm. with each of his movements, you moved towards him more and more, forgetting yourself and melting in his arms, moaning from his each touch.

as he skillfully make the fabric fell away, leaving you exposed beneath him, he groaned softly, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“you are so beautiful” he murmured, his voice filled with reverence as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours, his hands on your body. right now there was only Gun, his touch, his warmth, the overwhelming passion that consumed you both.

“please” you whispered into his lips as he rose above you on his elbows again. one of his hands had already slid below your tummy, stroking your pussy with his entire palm, only fleetingly touching the sensitive bundle of nerves, pulling the first loud moan out of you.

“come on kitten, be quiet, you remember where we are” Gun's hot whisper enveloped your ear as his fingers continued to play with your wet pussy. “you know, this is a traditional old style house, the walls here are extremely thin” your boyfriend continued to whisper in your ear, enjoying your once again confused look as your cheeks flushed with renewed vigor. “you don't want anyone to hear us, do you, baby?” now one of his fingers slid up and down between your lips, smearing the moisture oozing out of you all over the entrance. he was lying on his side next to you, one of his hands reached under your neck as he place one finger in your mouth, making you suck and lick it with your tongue, while his other hand never left your pussy, now more insistently stroking and massaging your clit with one finger, while the other played with your tight entrance, pushing finger in just halfway.

time seemed to stand still as you surrendered to him, your body responding to his every caress and touch, every kiss, every whisper. the intensity of the moment, the way he made you feel cherished, desired, loved—it was all-encompassing, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

and that's when you reached your first peak from his fingers caressing you deep inside, when your hot and wet walls tightened around him, and you could no longer stifle your moans with his fingers behind your cheek, only then Gun smiled insidiously, and with one light movement turned your softened body back onto your stomach. without wasting a second, his hands dug into the soft skin of your sides, right where he could feel the pelvic bones, and with your clouded brain you already assumed that there would be traces there in the morning. reaching for a pillow, and pushing it between your thighs and the futon, Gun hurriedly, casually stroked your pussy, passing from bottom to top, collecting all the juices of your previous orgasm, simultaneously stroking his cock, smearing mix of your saliva and his own spit along the entire length.

whimpering softly and burying your head in the pillow, in an attempt to stifle your moans, you gasped, clutching at the edges of the futon and the blanket under you, as the fat tip of his dick slowly squeezed into your tensed, gummy folds, painfully stretching you. a deep and heavy moan was heard from behind when Gun collapsed on top of you with all his weight, completely plunging his fat dick into your bosom, in one sharp movement, immediately hitting the g-spot, forcing you to arch your back, pressing your ass harder into his hips. with a satisfied purr, Gun covered your hands with his own, fastening them together into a lock, again leaning closer to you with his all body, pressing you into the thin mattress, he began to slowly move inside your warmth.

with each strong thrust, as he picked up speed, with each of his heavy breaths into your neck, it became harder for you to hold your ass higher, as well as your moans, almost drowned out by the pillow. over and over, as Gun's thick cock filled your gummy, warm walls completely, your eyelids grew heavy and your head fell back, right on his shoulder, as your jaw dropped, allowing sweet moans and whimpers to escape from your throat.

“kitten still wants the whole house to hear her, mm?” your boyfriend purrs breathlessly in your ear, mercilessly hammering into your poor pussy, forcing you to give up, and fall on the bed with your whole body, and only moan piteously when one of his arms wraps around your neck and closes your mouth, and the other one gets tangled in your hair, pulling it back just a little.

you never doubted that in the matter of bed, Gun always was a bit more wild and animalistic, but the way his hips slammed into you now, how heavy balls were beating against your clit, and the dirty sounds of squelching and slapping skin against skin, how his biceps tensed right where your cheek lay, all this made your eyes roll up to the back of your head and just whine pathetically under him and drool on his muscles.

you didn't even have the strength left, to hold still, all that helped him mercilessly hammer you into the mattress was the pillow under your hips while you lay under him and helplessly muttering incoherent words and praises. both intoxicated by the euphoria of sex, emotions and feelings, the two of you have lost your sense of time and space, just chasing your own peak and pleasure. to be honest, you didn't think much when your pussy covered Gun's twitching dick with cream, when he hitted his pink head right to the cervix, forcing you to scream and arch towards him, pressing your ass into his hips, and feel with your shoulder blades as his chest pressing you into bed.

and to be completely honest, you almost didn't remember how you both cum, the most important thing that was in front of your eyes was Gun's chest and his warm hand gently caressing your back, while he murmured something into your hair, when he covered you both with a blanket and you fell into a sweet sleep.

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

BONUS ;

the morning sunlight filtered softly through the shoji screens, casting a gentle glow over the room. you blinked awake, feeling the warmth of the futon and the lingering scent of Gun beside you. but as you turned over, reaching out to pull him closer, you found his side of the bed empty and cold. confusion washed over you as you sat up, realizing he was gone.

events of the night before came rushing back, and a deep blush crept over your cheeks. you buried your face in your hands, mortified at the thought of facing anyone after what had happened. Gun's parents, the staff — how could you possibly look them in the eye now? the thought of leaving the room made your heart race with anxiety, so you resolved to stay put, hoping to avoid any awkward encounters. minutes ticked by, each one stretching out into what felt like an eternity. you had no idea where Gun had gone or when he'd be back, leaving you in an uncomfortable solitude.

and just as you were about to retreat further under the covers, there was a soft knock at the door. your heart skipped a beat, dread pooling in your stomach. before you could respond, the door slid open, and Gun’s mother stepped inside.

she was impeccably dressed, her expression calm and composed. you immediately lowered your gaze, unable to meet her eyes, but she approached with a certain grace, her footsteps barely making a sound on the tatami mats.

“good morning,” she greeted you, her voice steady.

“m-mrs. Yamazaki,” you stammered, still unable to look up. “i-i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to-”

“stop,” she interrupted, her tone firm but not unkind. “you have nothing to be sorry of. it’s natural.”

you finally dared to glance up at her, confusion flickering in your eyes. she took a seat beside you on the futon, her movements deliberate and serene. “you’re a woman, and you’re desired and loved. there’s nothing shameful about that. that’s just the nature of men — wild and unbridled when a woman is around. i was in your place once, and someday, you’ll be in mine.”

you blinked, taken aback by her words. was that… a blessing?

“wait,” you began hesitantly, “so… you heard everything?”

mrs. Yamazaki let out a soft sigh, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. “i’m not an idiot. from beginning i saw the way my son looks at you. and i know Yuzuru well enough, and what’s going on in his head, to prepare your bedroom far away from our own.”

your cheeks burned hotter, the mortification almost unbearable. “so… you didn’t hear?”

she paused, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “let’s say the whole mansion didn’t hear you… but maybe some part of it did.”

you swore you caught a fleeting, light, and kind laugh in her voice, and for a moment, the tension between you eased. there was a warmth in her tone that you hadn’t expected, something almost motherly and understanding.

“i...” you trailed off, still unsure of what to say.

mrs. Yamazaki reached out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “you are welcome here, as long as you make my son happy. and believe me, i haven't seen him this happy in a very long time.”

her words soothed some of the anxiety gnawing at you, and you managed a small, grateful smile. “thank you.”

she nodded, standing up gracefully. “now, come along. breakfast is ready.” as she turned to leave, you felt a sense of relief, the earlier embarrassment slowly fading.

· ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

author's note 3 ; I FOUGHT INNER DEMONS TO FINISH IT I SWEAR!! SORRY THAT SPICY PART WASN’T THAT JUICY AND STUFF, I STILL NEED TO LEARN HOW TO WRITE PORN…HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT😤😤🫶🏻

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leahrintarou · 2 months ago

Text

✩₊˚.⋆ YOU'RE FORGIVEN ! - hawks/keigo takami / 10.10 / kinktober

CW: he's sexually frustrated ofc, oral sex (he receives), tiny argument for plot, snowballing kiss, she/her used, not anatomy specified when it comes to reader, petname used ("pretty"), thats all :)

Word Count: 2.2k

Author's Note: hi guys! i forgot what number kinktober post this is...lol. i think it's the 6th but anyways, i hope you enjoy reading! ily guys and appreciate the love <3. leave a like or reblog to show support.

hawks had been in a sour mood lately. he wasn’t the type to lash out or act cold, especially not toward y/n. usually, he was all smirks and feathered winks, always pulling her close, teasing her with that warm, cocky charm. but for the past few days, he’d been distant, barely speaking, his touch cold and detached. it felt like she was sharing space with a stranger instead of the man she loved.

being the number 2 hero weighed on him, and she knew that much. the constant pressure, the relentless expectations—it had him on edge. but still, that didn’t make it any easier for her to watch him shut her out, day after day, without so much as an explanation.

one evening, y/n had finally had enough. she found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, eyes focused on some distant point. she stormed over, her voice tense as she spat, “what the hell is your problem, keigo?”

his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t answer. that only made her blood boil more. “seriously, this is getting old. if you’ve got something to say, then say it. stop acting like a complete jerk.”

he finally met her gaze, his eyes hard and unrecognizable. “maybe you should just leave it alone. i’m dealing with a lot of crap that you wouldn’t understand.”

she let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “oh, so that’s it? you just get to walk around, treating me like crap, and i’m supposed to act like it’s fine? newsflash, kei, i’m not putting up with this. you’re not the only one who’s got things to deal with.”

they stood there, glaring at each other in silence, until he muttered something under his breath and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. the sound echoed through the empty space, leaving her standing there, fists clenched, anger and hurt simmering under her skin.

---

later that night, y/n heard the door creak open. she was still awake, curled up on the couch with her arms wrapped around her knees, staring into the dark. she didn’t look up as he walked in, but she could feel his presence fill the room, heavy with the weight of his regret.

hawks stepped closer, his movements slow and tentative, like he was afraid to get too close. when she finally glanced up, she saw his eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, like he’d been holding back tears. he hesitated, hovering a moment before sitting down beside her. he looked down, his hands fidgeting in his lap, as if he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch her. after a long silence, he let out a shaky breath, his voice barely more than a whisper. “i’m sorry,” he began, each word thick with emotion. “i shouldn’t have treated you that way. it’s just… it’s been rough. all this pressure, all these expectations, they’re eating away at me. but that doesn’t make it right. i took it out on you, and i hate that i did.”

he glanced over at her, his eyes searching hers, hoping for a sign that she could forgive him. slowly, he reached out, his hand closing gently around hers. “i don’t want you to think that’s who i am or who i want to be with you.” he moved closer, his gaze softening, filled with remorse. his other hand came up to brush a tear from her cheek, his touch so tender it nearly broke her heart. then, he leaned in, pressing his lips softly against hers.

the kiss was hesitant at first, a silent apology, his lips moving slowly, as though he feared she might pull away. but as he felt her respond, he deepened the kiss, his hands trembling as he held her close. he broke away just long enough to whisper, “i’m sorry,” the words spilling from him over and over again, a quiet mantra of regret and longing. “i’m so, so sorry…”

she felt the tension between them melt away, and her arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. his lips found hers again, and the kiss grew more intense, a desperate attempt to bridge the distance that had come between them. his hands cradled her face, his thumbs tracing gentle circles along her skin, as if he was trying to memorize every detail, every curve.

he held her like he never wanted to let go, his touch tender but fierce, his kisses a blend of need and apology. with each soft, murmured “i’m sorry,” he poured out all the words he couldn’t seem to say, hoping she could feel how deeply he regretted the hurt he’d caused. and as they stayed there, wrapped up in each other, it felt like the pain was finally fading, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the quiet promise that he would try to do better.

hawks pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his breathing ragged, his gaze clouded with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. he cupped her face, his hands trembling slightly as he held her close, his voice a rough whisper laced with desperation.

“i need you, y/n,” he muttered, frustration thick in his tone. “god, you have no idea how much i missed you… your touch, your warmth. it’s been driving me crazy.” his hands slid down to grip her waist, pulling her flush against him, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any space between them. “these past few days… i thought i could just push through it alone, but i can’t. i need you.”

his lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough and hungry, filled with the pent-up longing he’d tried so hard to ignore. his hands moved over her body, desperate to feel every inch of her, like he was trying to make up for all the time he’d lost. he kissed her with an urgency, almost frantic, his fingers pressing into her skin as if grounding himself, anchoring himself back to her.

“i’m sorry for shutting you out,” he whispered hoarsely between kisses, his voice thick with emotion. “i missed you so damn much, y/n. i don’t ever want to feel like that again, like i’m just drifting without you. you’re all i need.” his lips traveled down her neck, his touch rougher, more desperate, as if he was trying to make sure she understood just how badly he needed her.

“you have no idea what it’s like,” he said, voice strained, his words spilling out in a low, frustrated growl. “i can’t take it. i need you like this, close to me. i need you, now.” he pulled her back into another kiss, fierce and passionate, his hands exploring every curve of her body as if he was trying to imprint her into his memory. his touch was needy, almost frantic, like he was trying to make up for every second he’d spent apart from her, and he held her like he never wanted to let go again.

y/n pulled away, muttering something underneath her breath before pulling a string from his sweatpants, loosening the waistband. she pulled it down in one motion, his breifs coming down with it as well. his length was hardening with every second that passed, making him glance over to look at her. her hands gently gripped his erection and hawks let out a soft moan.

the arousal that was already leaking down his length gave her enough slip to begin slow stroking motions. "f-fuck. please don't tease, pretty. I've been waiting so long already." he muttered, his head leaning back against the couch. "i should for payback."

"i said that i was sorry."

y/n's grip around him tightened and her stroking movements sped up immediately. "don't do it again, kei." she frowned, a small pout on her lips. "i wont, pretty. i promise." his voice sounded strained. he was trying to speak properly, but y/n's hand alone was driving him insane.

it'd been well over a few weeks since he got anything close to this kind of affection with y/n, so now that he's gotten this despite it not being much, it was still enough for the time being. "can you use your mouth?" he asked, pleading eyes with dilated pupils staring directly at y/n. she held his gaze, in thought as she contemplated what to do.

"please? i wanna feel you."

"i'm still mad at you." she huffed before shifting in her seat. "i know, beautiful. I'll make it up to you i swear." hawks' voice sounded like pure vulnerability and so did his body language. he was tense in y/n's her hold, but he allowed the entirety of himself to remain on display for y/n’s eyes.

"promise?" she questioned. hawks knew that she was only trying to drag it out, but instead of calling it out, he remained 'oblivious'. "mhm." he nodded, another moan escaping from his throat.

y/n moved back just a bit before leaning down. her tongue ran a strip over the tip of his length. a shaky moan was heard from him and he bit down on his bottom lip when her lips wrapped around him completely, her hand still around the base. his breathing went in and out with sharp breaths through his nose and his hands wrapped around y/n's as he aided her to fit a pace more comfortable them both.

the sounds that filled the room was nothing short of lewd. y/n's occasional moans around his length, hawks trying to hold back, but the pleasure being overwhelming, and the quiet sounds of her gags when she'd take too much of his length in.

the saliva and arousal leaking down their hands and his painful erection. when hawks decided to take a glance at the sight after having his eyes shut tightly, he couldn't fight the shiver that ran through his body. "this is so pathetic." he groaned, feeling that familiar sensation approach.

y/n looked at him, a questioning look in her eyes. "close." was all he said with a look of embarrassment on his features. y/n was taken aback by this. her boyfriend was never the type to not be able to hold out for long periods of the time, so she could understand why he'd feel embarrassed about it now. "it's been so long that even if you stared at me long enough, i could probably get off too."

y/n attempted to hold back a laugh, but the vibration made hawks tighten his hand around y/n's, forcing her grip to be firm. "can you take more of me? just for a minute? you've done it before. " he pleaded. y/n pulled her mouth off of him, heavy pants falling from her breath. "you don't even deserve this much." she rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the small smirk on his lips.

"i'll do whatever you ask of me later, pretty."

"anything?"

"anything. i have all night."

with another wary look, she let out a huff. "okay, fine. jeez, i need to learn how to tell you no. you're so spoiled."

hawks leaned down, tilting her chin up and placing a kiss to her lips, a string of his arousal connecting them when he pulled back. "who's fault is that?" with a groan of annoyance, she leaned back down, taking him in whole. y/n shut her eyes, trying not to focus on the fact that the tip of his length met with the very back of her throat. hawks drew in a sharp breath, his breathing quickening in just seconds

"please dont stop." he moaned, hand gently cupping y/n's nape as she lifted her head before taking him in once again. the warmth of her mouth was all too familiar yet he couldn't get used to it even if he tried. y/n tightly shut her eyes when she gagged around his length and hawks felt a bit of pity for her but his selfishness didn't want her to stop. afterall, he was so close.

his climax approached when the tip of y/n's nose met his abdomen. she held that position for a few long seconds and in no time, his high rushed throughout his being. ribbons of white coated the inside of her mouth as she collected every drop of his arousal.

y/n stood up, holding the warm liquid behind her lips, watching as hawks's gaze fluttered open. "what is it?" he asked. y/n rolled her eyes since she couldn't talk. hawks squinted his eyes at her when she shifted to straddle his thighs. she pointed at his lips and then her own. "you want a kiss?" he lifted a brow.

she nodded and he was about to retaliate until y/n glared at him. he knew her all to well which is why he could almost curse himself when he remembered his words from earlier. he let out a long sigh. "anything." he muttered, rolling his eyes as he quoted himself.

"you better forgive me after this."

she rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips when she placed them against his. her lips parted and her tongue traced his. his arousal fell onto his own tongue and he wrapped her lips with his, the taste of his arousal coating his tongue. y/n let out a small laugh into his mouth before pulling back. "you're forgiven." she smiled, watching as he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"that was by far the most disgusting thing I've done." he muttered, reaching up to y/n to wipe away at the corner of her lips with his thumb. "guess that makes you a weirdo for enjoying it." she smiled, glancing down at his erection that was growing once again.

"fuck off."

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witchywcmans · 4 months ago

Text

TOO SWEET. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after accepting his new title, your moments alone with laios start to become a rarity. it was hard for him to find time, making him long for the days in the dungeon with you. and now, the kisses between you two were quick and desperate, until one night...when a very tired laios just can't seem to ignore you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ cunnilingus + fingering, praise, size kink, reader on top, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, yearning + sexual tension, laios and reader haven't boinked in a bit, monster facts as dirty talk ofc, confession, mentions of dubious consent in 5th paragraph (from when the winged lion switched into laios's body). nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 5.4k

song inspiration ━━ howl, florence + the machine / oil & water, pvris / love story, taylor swift

author's note ━━ THIS ONE-SHOT CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF DUNGEON MESHI! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! okay, part 3 (and final part) of my laios series is here! like the other parts, this could be read as a standalone, if you want. my plan for part 3 was to make it vague in case ppl who haven’t read the manga want to read it, but that kinda went out the window. I highly encourage everyone to read the manga if you want more of the story, it gets so interesting! I'm a SUCKER for a knight x ruler ship, so that's what you're getting in this!! I've enjoyed writing this little connected series so much and it really pushed me to start writing reader one-shots! if it hadn't been for all the ppl in the dungeon meshi fandom who read my work, I probably wouldn't have started this. this anime + manga has become one of my absolute favorites!! I hope you guys enjoy this! ps: don't worry, I will be writing more laios in the future 😉

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

After what felt like years, all was right in the world when the Island’s dungeon was destroyed and the Golden Kingdom finally rose from the sea. You had gotten to know Laios – in more ways than one – throughout your journey inside the dungeon, which had left you terrified at some points, especially when you almost lost him. But it hadn’t surprised you when the people had declared him King of a land that was thought to have been perished 1000 years ago. With everything he sacrificed, Laios – the devour of monsters, the destroyer of demons – was the only right person to rule.

With the help of Marcille, Senshi, Chilchuck, and even more friends met along the way, Laios was advised thoroughly as he undertook the stresses of establishing the Golden Kingdom once again. He had to deal with villager problems, instituting the economy, and keeping an eye on the monsters that took residence in surrounding lands. He watched them from his bedroom window on the farthest tower of the castle, admiring the beasts that warded off any threats to the kingdom. But his passion had become the production and preservation of food throughout his land, specifically in regards to magic and monsters. He made sure not one person in the Golden Kingdom went hungry, even if it killed him someday.

Most days were spent researching with his advisors or sitting in the throne room, listening to villagers' pleas for more building materials, better water, or whatever else they came up with that day. Laios made sure to listen to every ask, but he had to admit – just talking to people was exhausting. He never regretted his decision to become King, but sometimes … he longed for the days in the dungeons, tearing into whatever monster they cooked up that night, fighting alongside you, holding your hand or kissing you … tasting you.

Like your former party members, you had taken up residence in the castle as Laios’s chief knight and sworn protector. It made sense, given the fact that you had saved him with your crossbow on several occasions in the dungeon. You frequented by his side, except when he was in his own chambers. You led him to meetings, walked with him through the streets of the kingdom, protected him if any threats arose. Ever since you took up this mantle, your moments alone together had become rare. There had been one night: after Laios was safe and sound in the walls of the castle … that you shared his bed with him, tears streaming down your face because you had been so worried for him, but it didn’t matter anymore now that he was safe, and healing, and pounding into you so hard that it left you both gasping for air. Besides that, the only encounters you had alone were fleeting, consisting of swift, passionate kisses and rough squeezes in dark corners. You two hadn’t been intimate in any sense of the word since … well, since the Winged Lion was defeated.

Just the memory of the demon made you shiver. You remembered when the Wing Lion had switched into Laios’s body and granted his true desire to become a monster. Before trying to escape the dungeon, he had tried fooling all the party members that he really was Laios and he almost fooled you. You recalled the way he had tried to kiss you – probably devouring your own desires right from your mouth – and how his hands so eagerly tried to slip underneath your skirt, finding you already aching and ready for your lover, just needing to be touched after being so distraught over Laios’s wellbeing. But you recognized the foreign contact from a mile away, and you had pushed him back, screaming at the Winged Lion to bring back your Laios.

You shook yourself out of the memory as you walked Laios back to his bed chambers that night. His stomach was full from dinner, but he was also worn out from a long day of meeting with his advisors. Marcille had really chewed into him about something today, but you weren’t sure of the reason. Holding open the door to his room for him, you caught his tired, lingering gaze before he disappeared inside. You swallowed hard, stationing yourself outside his door, your fingers on the handle of your sword. Nights like these were hard. They were lonely. It was just you out here, manning the King’s chambers, with nothing but the memory of his mouth between your legs or his groans echoing in your ears.

His half-lidded eyes tonight had you reeling, squeezing your thighs together as you tried to forget about how much you wanted him. It had been almost two weeks since he last kissed you. And that kiss had been quick, desperate, two people colliding in the small, unlit closet used by the maids.

Your hand enclosed around the hilt of your sword, and you nodded at two other guards walking past. If you kept losing yourself to daydreams like this, there was no way you’d be focused enough to protect Laios from an immediate threat. That’s what mattered after all: the King’s protection … the King’s protection … the King. Surely, it wasn’t wise to be so entranced with the new King of the Golden Kingdom as his sworn sword. And again, you understood why you were picked. But it was nights like this where you really wished you had just been … his lover. Hell, you’d even survive with just being a lady of the court if it meant no more secret meetings in closets.

You could’ve dwelled on this predicament for hours, if the door to the Laios’s chambers wasn’t opening.

You turned immediately, your hand on the hilt of your sword going tight. But it was just Laios, leaning against the open door and rubbing at his tired eyes. He had shed his fancy clothes for a nightshirt and loose-fitting drawers. His hair had grown a bit longer, and he refused to cut it out of spite. The way it was sticking out right now, pushed back slightly by his hand … you swore you could feel your knees buckling.

“Your Grace?” You greeted, remaining professional, until you saw that look in his eyes again. That tired, lingering gaze. Full of want, and care, and desperation for another body against his.

His eyes crinkled, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at your call. “Please, do not feel the need to call me that at this hour.” He then held out his hand, beckoning you closer.

Swallowing hard, your eyes flicker down the barren hallway before taking his hand, letting him lead you inside his bed chambers. This was the moment you’d been waiting for so long. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as he slowly shut the large door. You unhooked your belt and scabbard, setting them by the door. As you turned to him, he was already in front of you, helping you take off your armor. His fingers were slow, not in a hurry, as he fiddled with the metal fasteners. He struggled with some clasps, muttering under his breath, and you laughed softly. Each piece was set delicately on the ground, and then he was lifting off your chainmail as if it weighed nothing. You sometimes wondered how you were able to walk around with such heavy material every day since taking up this mantle.

Finally, you were left in nothing but your clothes beneath the armor: a loose red tunic and suede trousers. The relaxed nature in his eyes vanished, replaced by an intense hunger, mirroring the stance of a wolf. Laios was rushing towards you, pushing you against the wall, and pressing his mouth onto yours. You matched his desire tenfold, winding your hands into his hair as you kissed each other with desperation. His fingers fisted into the sides of your shirt, pulling you against him, while his tongue prodded into your mouth. He groaned immediately. All this time without tasting just a bit of you had him weak in the knees. He’d never go this long without kissing you ever again.

“It’s been weeks,” he muttered between kisses. Gone was the monster-obsessed adventurer who saved you from turning into a sea serpent. He’d been replaced by a King who yearned for your touch the second he saw you every morning.

“Since we last kissed,” you corrected as he pressed your back even further into the cold, stone wall. His lips broke away from yours, leaving a trail of spit connecting you two. You exhaled, “It’s been months since we were alone for longer than two minutes.”

“I know,” he sighed, now nuzzling his cheek against yours, “and I’m sorry. All I want to do is go back to the dungeon … with you. It’s just … there’s no time, and I’m so tired.” His mouth then dragged to the shell of your ear, and you shivered when his hot breath ghosted over the side of your face. “But the way you looked tonight at dinner … I don’t know … it was the way the wine made your face red … no matter how tired I was, I had to have you tonight. I missed you so much.”

You were sure that your cheeks had to be as flushed now as they were at dinner. Just his kiss alone had you wet, already wrapped around his finger. “I missed you too, Laios.”

He hardly gave you a second to continue before he was kneeling in front of you. He couldn’t wait; there was this fierce longing in his eyes that only you could cure. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your trousers as he muttered, “I need to taste you.”

Despite his desperation, he did take a moment to admire how soaked your underwear was, how he had always been the one to cause this. You looked down at him and he looked up at you. With long, expert fingers, Laios tugged your underwear down along with your trousers. Your pussy was absolutely dripping, like a goddamn faucet. A whine escaped his lips, hungry for a taste, and he spread your folds just slightly to see the wetness gather. There were just about a thousand monster dishes he enjoyed, but nothing – absolutely nothing – compared to how delicious you were.

Laios didn’t even give you time to step out of your pants and underwear. He was grasping your hips and burying his face between your legs, pushing you right back against the wall. You choked on a moan, even though you both knew you had to be quiet, but you just couldn’t help yourself. He placed one of your legs on his shoulder to give him better access, and when he finally got the first few drops of you on his tongue, he damn near started crying.

You were exquisite. You were too sweet. Sweet like Dryad fruit.

Grinding your hips against his tongue, you whined out his name and realized how badly you had needed him in this way for weeks. Your hands found purchase in his hair, tugging his face deeper into your pussy. He lapped at you, absolutely ravenous, groaning when more slick entered his mouth. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked harshly. His fingers dug into your hip, surely bruising you, while his other hand wrapped around your leg and pushed them even further apart.

“Missed the way you tasted,” he muttered before flicking your clit with his tongue. “I could do this for hours.”

You let out a shuddering breath, already hazy from his touch. “Why don’t you then?”

“I want to,” he chuckled, all awkward and blushing. Just the sight of him looking up at you with those pretty eyes while licking a stripe up your pussy had you gasping. “Tomorrow. I promise. I just need to be inside you tonight.”

His promise for tomorrow had your heart fluttering. You both were going to make time again, but he also had more plans for you tonight. This wasn’t going to be just two minutes in a closet. Thinking of him stretching your walls with his girth, pushing into you after all these weeks of yearning for him, of touching yourself whenever you could because you just missed him so much … it all made you start to buck your hips against his tongue again. You knew how much he loved that. You physically felt him smile against you, sucking on your clit once again as he prodded one finger inside your tight warmth.

Your eyes rolled back once he found your g-spot, curling his finger and beginning to pump in and out. “Fuck, Laios, I –”

“Needed this so badly,” he confessed, swirling his tongue around your increasingly swollen clit. His cock was straining against his drawers, precum seeping through the thin fabric, but he wanted you to cum on his tongue first. It’s all he’d been dreaming about. “Needed you.”

“I needed you too,” you whispered, and then felt him add a second finger inside of you. You bit the side of your hand, muffling your moan. “So good – fuck. Doing so good, Laios –”

Your body was starting to shake, your walls clenching around his fingers. Laios was relishing in your taste, teasing your clit in the most delicious way. You were so, so close and he needed this so much and so did you and before you knew it, you were crying out into your hand again. Your pussy went tight as his fingers curled into your g-spot and you came all over his waiting tongue. Laios whimpered when he finally tasted your release, pushing his face as much as he could into your pussy, almost suffocating himself. He licked at you, making sure he got every last drop, and when your hips finally stilled, he pulled his fingers out of you with a wet pop and lapped at the excess.

Sweat ran down your brow as you settled against the wall, trying to calm your breathing. When you opened your eyes, Laios was getting to his feet and towering over you. His hand clasped around your jaw and gave you another bruising kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It was like he was trying to devour you, to mold both of you into one so you could be together forever.

Carrying you over to the bed, he set you down on top of the blankets and finally tugged your pants and underwear from your ankles. You laughed together when he realized that he had gotten so excited he forgot to rid you of these. "Sorry," he said, setting them down in a pile.

You couldn't help but smile when you noticed the blush on his cheeks. "Missed me that much, huh?"

His face went even more pink. "Stop embarrassing me when I'm trying to seduce you."

He pulled his nightshirt over his head, and before his fingers could grasp the hem of your tunic, you were pinning him with the brute strength he forgot you acquired in the dungeon. "You don't have to do much to seduce me, Laios," you whispered in his ear, making him shudder.

Now underneath you, you straddled Laios's lap, feeling how hard he was in his drawers. He looked up at you in shock, like you were an offering from the Gods, as you lifted your tunic off and dropped it to the floor. His breathing stilled, watching the way your breasts heaved, and his cock was practically begging for release.

You leaned down, pressing your mouth to his throat, placing sloppy kisses on areas that made his breath hitch. This was the new King of the Golden Kingdom under you, trembling from just your lips on his skin. He was wrapped around your finger just as much as you were wrapped around his. Dragging your lips down, you kissed his chest before finally swirling your tongue around one of his nipples. Laios muttered expletives under his breath as you wrapped your lips around his nipple, pinching his other one. His whole body was becoming tense underneath you, his straining erection poking against your backside, but you kept teasing him.

At the end of the day, you were always there for your King.

Once both his nipples were taut and wet from your expert tongue, you leaned back up to his face and kissed the corner of his mouth. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, cupping your face so tenderly. “Laios, I just want to be extra sure. Do you want to …?” Your question hung heavy between you two, but recognition flashed in Laios’s eyes. You nuzzled the side of his face and added, “I know you’re tired. I don’t want to keep you up if you’re that exhausted.”

“I’ve been thinking about this – about you – for weeks,” he said, his eyes filled with need. “I want this. I want you.”

You stared at him, absolutely melting at the sight of that dopey grin on his face once again, the one you loved so, so much. Now you were blushing, unable to not giggle when you saw that grin. You traced the curve of his mouth with your finger, and he bit down on the top of it unexpectedly, making you both laugh. This is why you loved Laios: everything was so easy with him.

Wait, love. Is that was this was? The burning feeling in your chest whenever he was near. The way you couldn’t help but smile whenever he did, or how you always laughed along with him. The natural disposition to protect him, whether it be from demons or people. The way you could so easily melt under his touch, under his kiss. It had always been there, staring you right in the face … love.

Feeling your heart beat rapidly in your chest, you finally moved so he could push down his drawers, and his hard cock sprang free. Precum leaked from the blushing red tip, dripping down his shaft and onto his stomach. You adored how pretty his cock was, how easily he could stretch you out with his girth. He liked the way you looked at it now, how you praised him. It took a couple of times, but he eventually stopped being embarrassed about his size around you. He still liked to give you monster facts as he fucked you sometimes – as a treat.

Laios’s hands settled on your hips as you lifted yourself, positioning yourself above his cock. You wrapped your hand around his shaft to get the perfect angle, smearing his precum and making him hiss. “Did … did you know,” he said, voice strangled, “the maximum speed of a Red Dragon is approximately – oh, fuck – 60 kilometers per hour?”

“Mhmm …” You hummed, finally lowering yourself with his help, sinking down onto his cock slowly. Once he slipped a few inches inside your warm, wet walls, you both gasped. You placed your free hand on his chest and encouraged, “Tell me more, Laios.”

“Gods …” He breathed out, feeling your body quiver above him. “I … uh – fuck … people have theorized that changelings – shit – use their ability to change living things in order to propagate their species – fuck, almost there –”

You both let out a breath of relief once he was finally seated inside you. Laios sat up, tugging you more against him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You stayed there for a moment, adjusting to his size once again, clinging to him as he kissed your cheek and murmured how you took him so well. You’d probably never get used to how big he was, but he filled you so nicely, so completely. After making sure you were comfortable, Laios decided to take the reins and began moving you on his cock. You whimpered after the first pass, and he had to grip your hips so tightly just to stop himself from going overboard, wanting to make this last just a little while longer. Each roll of your hips had you mewling as his cock curved inside you, brushing your spongy g-spot. His fingers dug into your skin, rocking you back and forth, grinding your already oversensitive clit against his pelvis.

Burying your face into his neck, you let him start to bounce you on his cock. He groaned, feeling himself throb inside your tight heat. Everything about you was perfect: from the way you fit him inside of you so nicely to the way you whined against his skin, begging for more. He was thoroughly obsessed with you. It was a miracle that it took him so long to initiate with you after the Golden Kingdom had risen. He found himself thinking about your touch, about your taste, more often than not. And the way you smiled at him, your laughter sounding like wind chimes in a busy street market … he knew how deep his feelings went, farther than he expected. He was the King but you were the one who brought him to his knees every time.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, biting and sucking on the side of your neck. “You always feel so good … so warm …”

He started thrusting up into you when his arms got a little tired, and you let him simply take control. There was so little control he had in his life now, especially since he was being watched almost all the time, so you’d give him this – you’d give him you. And gods, did it feel good to just melt into him, to not be his sworn sword, just for a little while. Right now, you two were just lovers, desperate to soothe each other’s ache.

The expansive bedroom was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and moans echoing off the ceiling. Your arousal oozed out with each roll of your hips, dripping onto the lavish blankets befit for a King. But neither of you seemed to give a damn as his nails created crescent shapes in your hips, and you squeezed around him so much that he choked on a whimper. With your face nuzzling the crook of his neck, you carded your fingers into his hair, pulling slightly and eliciting another sound from him.

“Did you also know,” he began in a strained tone, “fuck – wargs have no fear of monsters larger than themselves – please, fuck – not even … not even dragons?”

“Are we still doing that?” You snorted, lifting your head from his neck.

He laughed along with you, and now you both were looking into each other’s eyes as he thrust up into you, hitting the best spots. He leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, moaning at the way you squirmed. His tongue moved to lick up the valley between your breasts, almost animalistic, before his mouth was grazing yours and his eyes were burning into you like melted gold. You clung onto him tighter, your chest flush against him, and you knew then that this wasn’t just fucking anymore. Laios was making love to you and you were making love to him and – fuck, he was going to make you cum so hard to make up for the past few weeks.

You were creating an absolute mess on top of him, just a blabbering heap of moans and whines, eyes locked on his as you rode him into oblivion. “I’m gonna cum,” you mewled, unable to keep your voice level. Your fingers tugged on his hair again, and he responded by downright slamming you up and down his thick cock.

“I know. It’s okay. I know.” One of his hands left your hip to reach in between your bodies, where you both were linked, and two fingers began to circle your clit. You hissed, back arching even more into him. Your vow to be quiet long forgotten as he teased your ache. “That’s it … there you go.”

Laios knew his strength, and it was certainly showing it off tonight. He was rocking your hips on his cock – so close to release – while rubbing your clit in tight circles. His sweet nothings in your ear had you crying out his name, and after a few more messy passes, you were cumming around him. You were shaking like fresh mandrake in his arms. Your walls squeezed him so tight that it only took one more thrust up into you before he was emptying himself into you. He came with a lewd groan, his hands falling to his sides and leaving you to bounce yourself on his cock through his release. Eventually, when the wave after wave of pleasure settled between you both, you slumped against him and breathed heavily. And he just held you, burying his face in your neck and licking at the bites he left on your bruised skin.

When you lifted your head to kiss him, he surprised you by rolling you onto your back, his soft cock slipping out and leaving you feeling empty. He kneeled at the end of the bed and spread your legs wide open, letting your combined releases spill out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and the anguish in his tone stunned you. “It’s been weeks, and I just … I need you.”

As soon as the word, “Please,” left your lips, he was diving in again, spreading your folds with two fingers. He licked a long stripe through your pussy, gathering your releases on his tongue. He didn’t care that he was tasting his own cum; all he wanted was this – you. He lapped at you, still starving for your taste, and the way he had you cumming again was slow, calculated. Laios edged you, teetering you on the brink of release, before his hunger got the best of him. And when you came again on his tongue, it felt long and relaxing, like a weight had been lifted off you. Warmth seeped from your aching pussy and onto his tongue. He drank his fill, relishing in your sweetness.

Laios rose back on the bed, curling against your side like a tamed dire wolf. His arms slotted against you, pulling your naked front against his once again. His hand lifted to your cheek, pushing strands of hair behind your ear. Your noses brushed against each other, and he finally kissed you, slowly and passionately. There was no desperation left in him. It was replaced by the steady rhythm of his heart next to yours.

“I love you, Laios,” you blurted in the softest voice you could muster. Once you realized what you said, you didn’t dare open your eyes to see his reaction. You simply felt him, his lips hovering just over yours, and then he hummed.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and your eyes opened to watch him. That dazed grin appeared once again, making your insides twist and your cheeks tinged pink.

Laios practically giggled and pecked your lips just to soothe your nerves. “I’m not sure how to handle you like this,” he joked, finally making you laugh with him. “Usually, you’re the one making me nervous.”

“I just …” You shook your head. “I was afraid you wouldn’t say it back.”

“I thought it was obvious that I’ve been in love with you since we first met,” he said in that straightforward tone of his. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones and he smiled. “Seems like I’m cooler than I thought.”

You chuckled, hitting his chest and making him fall back onto the bed. You were sitting up slightly, propping your elbow and resting your chin in your hand. Laios was looking up at you like you put the stars in the sky. Both of you knew, instinctively, that a King being intimate with his sworn protector was typically frowned upon. Neither of you truly cared, but the opinions of his people had to matter. He was a new King after all, and every move of his would be scrutinized. Which left him with one option.

Lacing his fingers with yours, he said, “We should get married.”

Your brow furrowed. “That seems a little rash.”

It was your gut instinct to deflect, to push him away, even when you scooted yourself closer to him. But you couldn’t deny that this had been in the back of your mind, shoved in the dark corners when you thought it might be too crazy of an idea. The first time it popped into your brain was when you saw Laios’s monster form lying helpless on the ground. His body was deteriorating, blood seeping out from every crevice of the three-headed creature. The Winged Lion had been defeated, but you couldn’t stop the wail that erupted from your mouth as you took in Laios’s monster body, reeking of death and despair. You remembered running from from the tower, taking one of the heads in your arms, and crying, your tears soaking the fur.

But then you and Marcille found him amongst the trees of the island, where Falin’s body had been frozen and resting against a boulder. From the moment his eyes met yours, you had no doubt that this was your Laios. And he was okay. He was tired, but he was okay. You didn’t think you could shed any more tears, but then you were running towards him, wrapping your arms around him, and he was burying his face in your neck and – gods, that had to be when you knew. With the relief flooding through you and his arms embracing you … you knew then that you wanted to be with him forever. You didn’t want to see him in harm’s way ever again. You would kill – again and again – for him. You would be by his side as long as he would have you. You loved him. You wanted him. Forever.

Laios snorted, bringing you out of the memory. “Rash? After how long we’ve known each other?” His tone grew serious. “I trust you with my life. That’s why I named you my sword. But I don’t want to go weeks without you ever again. I love you – I’m in love with you – and I know that I don’t want anyone else by my side.” He squeezed your fingers in his own. “I want to marry you. And then, we can be together freely with you as my Queen and sword sword.” He then paused, thinking. “We can do that, right?”

You laughed. “You’re the King. You can make your own rules, but …” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip for a moment as you mulled over his words. “Are you sure you want to marry me?”

“I’ve never been more certain about anything.” He then tapped his chin, feigning curiosity. “Unless you want me to marry Marcille? It would certainly be a loveless marriage, but she can be friendly when she isn’t advising me.”

Shaking you head, you flicked his arm. “Not sure if your sister would appreciate that. Or Marcille, for that matter.” Not even magic could force those two apart. They would love each other until the end of time.

Your eyes narrowed now. “Are you actually proposing to me without a ring, Your Grace?”

The formality made him cringe, but then his face relaxed as he stared up at you, taking in your beauty. You were the most beautiful like this, vulnerable and bare with your hair jutting out at every angle and your lips swollen from kissing him. But he’d reckon you were beautiful in every light. He couldn’t help but also think back to when you found him by Falin’s crystalized form, how it felt to just hold you again after such an egregious fight. Your warmth had seeped into him, reminding him of home. You were home. And that was when he knew, too, that he wanted to be bound to you.

Laios brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles. “Once the sun rises, you will get a proper proposal. I’ve always been a man of my word, haven’t I?”

And that he was. Because the moment you stirred awake the next morning, still sleeping in his bed, you opened your eyes to find Laios, King of Golden Kingdom, kneeling at your bedside. He held out a ring to you, eagerly awaiting your response. Once your eyes adjusted to the light and you saw his golden doe eyes, his big grin, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Of course, you said, Yes.

#my fics #fic: too sweet #laios touden x reader #laios touden smut #laios x reader #laios touden x reader smut #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi x reader #dunmeshi #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #one shot: too sweet #fic: please eat #fic: forbidden fruit #dunmeshi laios #dungeon meshi spoilers #dunmeshi spoilers

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dipperscavern · 4 months ago

Note

yes dippy we should talk about bi cregan with bi reader!!

imagine them recruiting northern hotties for threesomes 🤭

mmf: cregan with another man (preferably jace) giving her that double worship. cregan always has the upper hand ofc even when it's not a twink but another big broody northern they're sharing their bed with. and when cregan gets to top him while he eats her out and she holds eye contact with cregan as he's fucking that guy.

ffm: it's either the same way that she is the center of attention OR cregan and her tagteam that other woman and fuck her stupid. cregan with his big fat uncut cock and her with her tongue and fingers while cregan fucks the other woman.

- respectful anon

pairing: cregan stark x jacaerys velaryon x reader

authors note: oh respectful anon… i read (preferably jace) and absolutely shuddered. oh my god . i’m sorry the other ideas in here are wonderful too i just have to get this out before i go off my rocker

jacaerys arriving in the north, bearing the colors of queen rhaenyra, and being greeted by cregan stark — and his comely wife.

he can feel his breath hitch as soon as he slides off vermax and spots you, arm wrapped around cregans bicep. even though the snow crunches under his boots and the early winter winds seep beneath his clothing, jace feels his skin run hot. and this time, he cannot blame it on the blood of the dragon.

once you approach, jace gives you both a respectful nod of his head, before cregan greets jacaerys with a firm handshake. jace takes your hand, kissing your knuckles, and says the tales do not do your beauty (they don’t). you only smile, dipping into a small curtsy and playfully telling him not to make you blush.

he spares a glance at cregan, a small worry of overstepping dancing in his gaze, but cregan only nods — a smirk adorning the lord of winterfells lips.

the very lips that have grown accustomed to the feel of yours.

the thought is shooed away as quickly as it arises. you’re married, and jace feels a pang of disappointment at the places his mind has a tendency to wander to. you’re extending your hospitality to him, he won’t disrespect you with such concepts (won’t he?).

once having vermax sorted, you & cregan then escort him to winterfell. cregan speaks of the north and its history, and jace replies when necessary, but he finds his gaze drifting from the lord of winterfell, and landing on the lady attracted to his side instead. jace, no matter how much internal scolding, finds himself ceaselessly returning to quietly study (admire) your features.

as you enter the castle, jace notices your cheeks are flushed from the cold. cregan, mid sentence, silently ushers you towards the nearest hall fire with the unforeseen hand on the small of your back. something unfamiliar stirs in him at the sight (want).

they swore vows to each other in sight of the northern gods, chides jaces inner voice.

but, no matter how much restraint he expresses, as his stay continues, he finds himself enamored.

enamored with the playful glimmer in your eyes, the way your hips sway as you walk, how your dress hugs your curves, your light teasing, your love for lemon cakes, how you always catch jacaerys’ eye even from across the room. he’s utterly, hopelessly enthralled.

and even worse, he’s given himself away

you, jace, and cregan have been proper. careful not to overstep, but aware enough to silently acknowledge the underlying tension that sits between you. jacaerys would’ve been content with this dynamic for the entirety of his visit, it would’ve been a good exercise of self control — if the day in the kitchens didn’t change everything.

the skies weep, the raindrops making a soft pattering noise on the windows all around the castle. it's a brief change in atmosphere, and gives him time to get used to the more intimate aspects of winterfell.

rain trapping you inside, you and cregan had offered to give jacaerys a proper tour of winterfell, to rectify the short one he had been given upon his arrival.

this particular instance, that made him run as hot as his temper, takes place as the tour winded to an end, and you all ended up in the kitchens. the same kitchens that jace, when supping with you both from then on out, can't stop thinking about.

you had pulled them in, relishing in the idea of swiping a few small pastries to hold your sweet tooth over until dinner - assuring him that the cooks were quite used to you and cregans troublemaking, & were sworn to secrecy with a toothy grin (his heart skipped a beat at the sight).

you had been successful in your "stealing", but the problem arose when cregan had been conversing with one of the cooks, as you and jace stood over the counter, bringing the two small lemon cakes to your mouth.

you were conversing about something — what that was, jacaerys couldn’t remember if his life depended on it. once finished with your pastries, you had some leftover cream on the corner of your mouth. of course, since you're the worst minx to ever bewitch him, you raise a thumb to the corner of your mouth, swiping it off. then (of course), you bring it to your lips, maintaining eye contact with jace, and (of course) suck it off.

whatever he was saying had instantly died on his tongue.

his response was his parted lips trying to bring in air to send to his lungs so he could breathe, but, of course, you seem to have taken his breath too. suddenly the kitchen feels hot, ovens contributing to a warm atmosphere that had quickly turned blazingly overwhelming.

his gaze stayed trapped on where your thumb met your (soft looking) lips, as every part of the white cream had been sucked off.

you were most surprised & pleased by his reaction, indeed. you had an inkling the prince might be taken with you, but you wouldn’t act without certainty. and here you had it, certainty of the utmost stature had fallen right into your hands — watching his gaze flicker from your eyes, to your lips, your cleavage... and back to your lips again.

cregans voice snaps jacaerys out of the trance he had found himself in, and he’s ashamed to say he had to ask cregan to repeat himself. if he wasn’t devoting all of his energy into acting normal, he would see the way cregan glanced at you with raised brows seeing the smile on your face.

regardless of how it came to be, you’ve caught on. and jacaerys is seriously considering how dearly he’d be missed if the ground were to open up & swallow him whole.

your actions now have a certain weight behind them, confidence guiding your every step. hands “accidentally” brushing each other, glances from across the room, subconsciously leaning into each others warmth, flirtatious “jests” that grow bolder by the day, always teetering on the line of jesting and meaning it (you always mean it). you fix his crooked tunic for him, shifting it the right way. jacaerys pretends the warmth emanating from your hands doesn’t make him dizzy.

still, even so, jace had been showing remarkable restraint — not allowing his princely regime to falter (much), and keeping in his remarks. until you both spoke about vermax.

you stood atop one of winterfells walls, watching vermax fly, dipping in & out of the clouds. he was beautiful, and jacaerys would never abandon the opportunity of a conversation with you (or about vermax, of course).

jace told you of how vermax hatched in his crib as a babe, and you wistfully remark on your childhood dreams of dragonriding. he tells you you'd make a fearsome dragonrider. you say you'd made a good dragon rider indeed, but, instead of looking at vermax, jace finds your gaze fixed on him.

you poorly conceal the hidden tone of voice indicating you don't mean the green-scaled dragon in the sky above you, but the chocolate-curled dragon next to you. you don't do a good job of hiding the grin that threatens to erupt on your face, either.

jace feels a furious blush adorn his face, and the corners of his mouth tug up in a repressed smirk. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his smile turning upside down as his gaze shifts back to vermax's soaring form.

"You speak truly. Any man would envy the dragon."

he pretends not to see the smile spreading across your face from his peripheral. you lean in closer to him, wrapping a hand around his bicep to punctuate your words.

"Men already envy you, My Prince."

he keeps his resolve as you walk away, but as soon as you're out of sight, he sighs — leaning his weight against the edge of the top of the wall, a shuddering exhale leaving his lips. gods have mercy on jacaerys velaryon.

after you sup for dinner, you and cregan escort him to his chambers, and jace feels taking on the entire green army by itself would be easier than this. trying to conceal his eyes being trapped on you, furious desire mounting in his stomach as guilt claws it’s way up his throat. it’s only by stroke of luck that you all walk in silence — he could not entertain a proper conversation if he tried.

does cregan know of your conversation? what would he say? what would he do? the very last thing he needs to be doing is disrespecting the warden of the north that he’s trying to ally.

these thoughts echo in his mind as you approach the door leading to his chambers. you three stop, jaces back to the heavy oak door as you and cregan stand in front of him.

“We shall see you in the morn, then.” says cregan.

jace nods, but his next words die on his tongue as you move from cregans side. his heart hammers in his chest as you saunter to him, standing on your tiptoes as your hand moves to cup his cheek. he subconsciously leans down for you, and you press a kiss onto the corner of his mouth, a breath to the right away from his lips.

seven save him.

his lips part with bated breath, eyes locked onto you as you pull away. his hands twitch with the need to pull you to him, and then he remembers your husband that’s standing right in front of you both.

jaces eyes widen, looking to cregan, but cregan only tilts his head.

his lips… is he smiling? as they hold eye contact, he spots amusement, content, and want (?) in cregans gaze, and then, the smallest of nods.

oh.

jace’s gaze flickers from cregan, to you, and back and forth a few more times. his breathing is unsteady as you return to cregans side, and you can’t (or don’t) hide your pleasure at his reaction.

“Goodnight, My Prince.”

he cant even manage a nod as you both turn to walk away, cregan shooting him one last look. the flustered prince of dragonstone retreats to his chambers, leaning his head against his closed & locked door — moving to fiddle with the laces of his breeches.

you and your husband certainly make quite the pair. cregan, steadfast, burly, & brooding (handsome), with a reserved playfulness only for you — and you, teasing, warm, & confident, with a seemingly reserved deliberateness to drive jacaerys crazy (not that it takes much, of course).

one night, when he thinks he's completely lost any hope of sanity, the gods decide to have a sort of cruel mercy on him.

it is lord boltons name day, and he has extended the planned celebrations invitation to jacaerys as well. you three depart as one, opting to travel by horseback instead of jace arriving on vermax days before you and cregan. most are surprised by his decision, indeed (did jace sacrifice his freedom on dragonback for the prospect of spending more time with you both?).

jace didn't know you rode horses. he acts like the swaying of your hips doesn't capture him, distracting him throughout the entire journey. you and cregan act like you don't notice (do you?)

you all arrive, and on the day of celebrations, allow the wine & northern ale to wash away your sins down your throat. cregans tolerance is highest, jace's is lowest, with you resting in the middle. his cheeks are flushed, and his prided self control has seemed to have left itself at winterfell. you converse with one another in a secluded corner, allowing everyone else to fade from view. you speak with loose tongues, and jacaerys feels cregans hand on the back of his neck, thumb creeping into his hairline.

you speak of the festivities, the travel, the gossip, dragonstone, and jaces own interests. he can see something lurking beneath your usual gaze, you were hiding something. your eyes flickered with uncertainty. no — you wanted to know something.

and then, the very question that broke the damn - sweltering with the combined pent up desire allowed to built over the last weeks.

"Are you untouched, My Prince?"

363 notes · View notes

littlemisspascal · 9 days ago

Text

Creature Comfort

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Female Reader/OFC

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary:

Waiting out there is General Marcus Acacius. A real man of flesh and blood, strength and power. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband-to-be.

Rating: M / 18+ only

Warnings: Language, at least a million historical inaccuracies, referenced smut, references of blood + war + death, weapons, too many lion/animal references and metaphors to count, reader has self-esteem issues, arranged marriage, domestic life, cameo of reader's parents, switching povs,

- Reader has no name and no physical traits described in detail. Reader wears clothes such as a toga + wedding outfit

Author Note: This started as me simply wanting to write a fic where Acacius is compared to a lion and Reader's his wife and then it quickly led to me having a complete emotional breakdown that caused me to quit writing entirely for several months. Not one of my finest moments, but 🤷‍♀️ that's life I guess. It's nice to finally toss this fic out here, hopefully someone somewhere enjoys it 🧡

Special thanks to @wheresarizona for putting up with my emotional highs and lows and answering some questions about Rome for me and for just being an overall too-nice-for-this-world person I'm lucky to have met on here 💗

The morning of your wedding you can barely stomach your breakfast. Nerves are natural, your mother assures you, watching with a critical eye as the female servants of the house help dress you.

Your impending ceremony has severed your protection of your family’s household gods, leaving you spiritually defenseless until you’re officially wed to your husband. Maybe that is the true source of your worries, dark spirits playing wicked games with your heartstrings. Or maybe it’s your mother’s looming presence coupled with her stubborn determination to see you safely married off, analyzing every inch of your bridal outfit to root out the tiniest of imperfections, that has your stomach tied up in knots.

The wreath atop your head is thick with summer blooms, their scent potent and almost sickly sweet, tickling the inside of your nose. You’d sneeze if not for the veil covering your face, attached to a headband beneath the tangled greenery, its deep yellow color identical to the slippers donning your feet.

You’d personally woven your tunic on your family’s loom, a task expected of every new bride, intertwining every fiber into tangible proof to show your husband you were ready for the responsibilities of managing his household. Linen had been your initial choice, but your mother insisted wool was the better material to repel the forces of evil. The garment is heavy beneath your matching white stola, but rather than irritating there’s something oddly comforting about the weight. Almost like a warm embrace.

It’s tradition for weddings to take place in the home of the bride’s father. You can hear the arrival of guests now outside your room. Friends and relatives and other miscellaneous people here to witness and celebrate the union. Every minute brings you closer to a new stage of your life, and if not for the servants’ steadying hands, your weak knees might send you crashing to the floor. Fainting would surely be interpreted as a bad omen, derailing the whole ceremony before it even truly began.

You suck in a quiet breath, shoving down the worst of your anxieties. This day–your wedding–has been on your mind practically your whole life. You’d learned from a young age the importance of marriages arranged between families for political and financial purposes. You’d also learned you wouldn’t be the one choosing your future husband, that decision would be made by your father alone.

Of course, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t imagine marrying someone who was your own choice. Someone kind and handsome and as loyal as your household’s guard dogs. Someone who loved you above all others.

But waiting for you out there isn’t the imaginary stranger who's starred in your most intimate dreams. Waiting out there is General Marcus Acacius. A real man of flesh and blood, strength and power. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband-to-be.

When the pronuba arrives to accompany you to the ceremony, the servants disperse but your mother lingers a beat longer, running her fingers over your shoulders to smoothen out non-existent creases. Neither of you mention the shiny gleam of her eyes or the trembling of your hands.

Then, with a firm nod of her head, your mother declares, “She’s ready,” and leaves without another look to join your father’s side.

Your mother is not prone to lying. If she says you’re ready, then ready you must be.

You take another deep breath before linking your arm through the elder matron’s, but it’s the gentle patting of her hand on yours which calms you most. A reassurance of good things to come.

Stepping out into the atrium, you’re met with a packed crowd, locals and soldiers mixed as one, craning their necks for a glimpse of you. Their clothes resemble yours and the groom’s, another tactic to confuse evil spirits, but human eyes only need to spot your yellow veil to recognize you as the bride. And as for Acacius…

Well. To mistake the Atlas Lion for another would be as foolish as mistaking fire for water. He is unique in all the world.

You see him standing at the altar with the high priest, clad in a purple toga embroidered with a lion’s head in golden thread. A reward in honor of the general’s triumphs in warfare. The placement of the lion above his heart is deliberate, you suspect. A warning of what lies beneath the surface. A guarantee all the tales of his savagery and blood lust passed from mouth to mouth from the battlefields to the city streets are true.

Is it terrible that a part of you–an inane, minuscule scrap of a thing you’ll never verbally acknowledge, not even under oath–is fervently captivated by the notion? You should be listening to the high priest’s prayers to Juno, paying attention to the omens he reads in the entrails of the sacrificed ram upon the altar. But Acacius’ brown eyes, burning with the radiant June sunshine and something else distinctly dangerous, put a flame to your focus and narrow your vision to one central, all-encompassing point.

Is it terrible that you can meet a lion’s stare without a modicum of fear? You wonder how many have been able to say the same, if anyone else at all.

The priest deems the relationship blessed by the gods, carrying on with the proceedings, oblivious to your state of mind. He asks Acacius to make certain his intentions, if you are an acceptable wife.

Acacius draws himself up to full height, an immovable mountain firm in his convictions. “She is mine to me,” the timbre of his gravelly voice drags over you, eliciting a shudder down your spine you pray the elder matron does not notice. “I will want no other.”

Then it is your turn, and your voice is only a little hoarse when you confirm, “He will be my husband. My only choice.”

The slightest quirk of a smile curls the corner of Acacius’ lips. Instinctively, you return it with a small grin of your own. And even though he can’t physically see your face behind the veil, you think, somehow, he does see you.

It’s only after signing the marriage contract with crimson seals that the pronuba places your right hand in Acacius’, officially uniting you as one. The general’s palm is callused, fingers thick and gnarled from past wounds, but you can’t find it in yourself to hate them, or recoil, or do anything else than keep holding on.

“Raise the veil,” the priest says.

You swallow, the fingers of your left hand spasming against your side, then slowly reach for a fistful of the yellow fabric. Pulling it up over your head, you carefully watch the lines of Acacius’ expression, heartbeat fluttering at the way those brown eyes widen, taking you in for the first time. Absorbing everything like it might be his only chance. Like you’re something wondrous worth memorizing.

Acacius starts leaning forward, sending every last thought in your head scattering with his nearness. He’s massive, radiating such intense warmth, thumb stroking a line of heat along your wrist. There’s a fire igniting in your chest, lungs choking on the smoke, yet you’re trembling when he cups your face, the quietest of whines escaping your parted lips.

Please, you start to beg, the whooshing of blood thundering in your eardrums, plea–

Acacius swallows the silent plea with his own mouth, kissing you like a starving man. This isn’t love–no, it’s too soon for such sentiment–this is carnal passion, roaming tongues and clashing teeth like you’re no better than animals committed to the hunt of this new territory, this new taste.

The eruption of applause yanks you back to reality. You tear yourself away with a choked gasp, and it’s satisfying seeing the heave of Acacius’ broad chest with each ragged inhale as you both struggle to catch your breaths. You did that. You’re the reason for the flare of lust in his eyes and smear of spit across his bottom lip.

You’ve heard people say no man’s looks can compete with Adonis’ striking beauty. A fallacy, you realize in that moment upon seeing General Marcus Acacius in purple and gold, dark curls caressed by the gentle breeze, a constellation of freckles along the tendons of his neck, hardened by violence yet holding your hand so heartachingly sweet.

The rest of the world can have Adonis.

And as for you–boldly and selfishly, you’ll keep this man. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband.

The wedding feast afterwards is a blur of lavish food and wine, the jovial notes of flutes accompanying fescennine songs with interjections of salutations shouted from inebriated lips. Every touch of Acacius’ hand against your arm, your waist, everywhere sends sparks skittering along your nerves. It’s as bewildering as it is thrilling, like you’re balancing on the edge of a precipice, and you wonder if this is what Icarus felt moments before he flew too close to the sun. Falling, falling, falling…

You can only hope you meet a different, kinder fate.

When the sky begins to change and darken with the promise of encroaching evening time, you find yourself standing in the middle of your childhood home, trying to etch into memory everything from the slope of the roof to the tiny cracks in the stone floor. All the noises and voices seem to fade away, granting you this moment to yourself.

Once you step outside, there will be no familiarity to cling to. You’ll be escorted by the crowd of guests to Acacius’ secondary home—smaller, but no less grand than his main domus in Cosa. A port city to the south you’ll have to learn to navigate from square one—and then, once alone with the general, taken to his bed. His body will be another, far more intricate labyrinth you’ll need to learn and recognize the details of.

A new city, a new spouse, a new chapter of life with new expectations…

It’s overwhelming to say the least.

Your eyes cut to Acacius across the room, widening when you catch him already watching you. Something in your chest aches upon realizing you don’t know him well enough to read his face. If he’s angry, pleased, or just totally indifferent. But you can’t look away. Caught and cornered.

Like prey, you think, loathing the thought as soon as it forms. A lion cannot have a mouse for a wife. Imagine the shame of being an unworthy partner of one of Rome’s highest-ranking generals. Your name dragged through the mud, an embarrassment to your family and a blight on Acacius’ esteemed reputation—to say nothing of how the gods would react to your ruining of a blessed union. You’d be as insignificant as the fleas on a dog’s pelt in their eyes.

You must be stronger. Braver. Better.

Where Icarus fell, you must fly.

Maybe Acacius senses this change stirring within you, or maybe he grows impatient with this lengthy staring contest, either way he suddenly draws closer, weaving between bodies until he comes to a stop in front of you. Purposefully within grabbing reach. The ache in your chest lessens at that, replaced by a spike of adrenaline as awareness dawns.

“Is it time to leave?” you ask.

“It is,” he answers. Then, quick as lightning and just as unexpected, he pinches your waist.

You jerk away at the teasing touch, gaping like a fish. “Do you touch all women in that manner?”

“No.” A smug smirk spreads across his handsome face. Relishing his next words. “Only the woman who belongs to me.”

Possessive brute. Your eyes narrow even as heat envelops your body, toes curling in your shoes.

“You haven’t taken me yet. My body has no claim.”

Acacius’ jaw clenches at that. Like he’s holding onto his restraint by a mere thread. It’s practically tangible, a siren song tempting you to flex your claws.

“Answer me this, general, because it remains unclear to me.” Tilting your head, exposing the column of your neck for his hungry gaze to feast upon, your tone is deliberately provoking. “Are you a passionate man of action? Or merely a man of empty words?”

“Bite your tongue,” his tone is low, closer to a snarl than actual speech. You almost believe he’s angry, if not for the glint in his brown eyes, aroused and impressed by your antics in equal measure.

“I’d rather you bite it.”

The fragile thread snaps.

Acacius is on you at once, his large hands seizing hold of your arms. You wrestle against his grip, delivering a solid kick to his shin that draws an irritated hiss. He puts up with your struggling for a bit longer, unaffected by your inexpert blows to his torso, then ends it with a harsh tug, pulling you flush against his brick wall of a body. He sticks his face in your neck, breath hot and ticklish, mouthing at your thrumming pulse with blunt teeth. Oh gods. You slump against him, letting his thick muscles take the brunt of your weight, mind sinking like a stone in the overflowing well of new and overwhelming sensations. Desperate for more, more, more.

The deep rumbling of his chuckling vibrates through your bones, and you have the deliriously greedy thought of cutting out a piece of yourself to store the sound there.

“You’ve caused quite a scene,” he murmurs into the underside of your jaw, sounding just as wrecked as you feel. But beneath the raspiness, you detect the unmistakable lilt of amusement.

“It’s tradition,” you breathe, conscious of the numerous stares watching your every move, including your mother’s. Your pretending of resistance must have been satisfactory enough for her to not intervene.

Acacius leans back just enough to look at you, cradling you in the cage of his arms and chest. You place your hands upon his waist, absently clutching the purple-dyed wool between your fingers.

“Tell me how to call you.” It’s not a request.

“What?” Yet another tradition to appease household gods is meant to happen later after you had arrived at the threshold of Acacius’ home and smeared the doorway in oil and fat. He would ask you your name, to which you answer, taking your husband’s and modifying it: where you are Marcus, I am Marcia. And at last, excluding the event of a bad omen occurring, he would carry you inside. Your brow furrows, not understanding why he’s changing the order of things. “Shouldn’t we—”

“Not the name tradition wants, nor the one your parents and the gods assigned you,” he interrupts. “Tell me how I will call you when we’re alone.”

Oh.

You bow your head to hide your smile, pleased to have a choice. Your eyes fall upon the golden lion head.

Oh.

“Where and when you are Leo,” you tell him, trailing a finger along the perfectly stitched mane before tapping the spot where his heart resides. “There and then I am Leaena.”

{His bride is too innocent, too unaware of the ruthless nature of the Empire’s politics to endure what is expected of her as a general’s wife. This marriage should never have been blessed by the gods.

Still, Acacius can’t stop his gaze from following her every movement, intrigued to know the thoughts running through her head. Can’t stop himself from touching her either, drawn to her warmth, the rightness of her body in his hold. The ceremony was mere hours ago, yet seeing her in his bed, flesh bare and soft and trembling beneath him, the woman has already become the most important treasure of his life. His to worship and protect for the rest of his days.

“Gods, you really are massive all over,” she blurts out, seemingly without thinking, feeling the press of his hard cock against her. Then immediately averts her eyes with a nervous giggle, insecure of her own inexperience. “Could–could we take it slow?”

“That’s fine, my leaena,” he assures her, kissing the corner of her mouth, addicted to her taste dangerously fast. She won’t last, he thinks, scraping his teeth along her neck. They’ll swallow her whole. “I’ll make you feel good. I’ll take care of you.” And he sees it, the exact moment the apprehension slips aside and trust rises to take its place in those big, expressive eyes. She wants this—wants him.

It’s an impulsive, raw need that has him leaning down to kiss her, licking deep into her mouth, craving something he doesn’t know the name of. Repentance, maybe, for the hell coming her way in the coming months. Or maybe he’s just a selfish man who wants this, wants her, more than he deserves.

She rips him out of his thoughts by grabbing fistfulls of his curls, tugging until they’re even closer pressed together, opening up for him impossibly wider.

Maybe he’s wrong in his initial assumptions of his bride.

Maybe she’ll be the one to take care of him.}

Cosa matters a great deal to the Empire. A strategically defendable port with close connections to sources of timber and other supplies necessary for maintaining a vast army of fleets. The city itself was built upon a hill, high enough that on a clear day one could see miles of the Tyrrhenian Sea’s coastline. The crashes of the blue-green waves against the limestone cliffs.

Accompanying Acacius into the forum provides you with opportunities to observe the city’s layout. Enclosed within an imposing circuit of walls, the community has put careful thought into every corner of limited space, separating private houses from the sacred temples and civic buildings. Necessary architecture only, no spare room for the entertainment of a theatre.

Cosa is significantly smaller than the size of your birthplace, drenched in the scents of sea salt and fish, yet there are elements of opulence if one looks close enough. Pearl necklaces adorning necks and solid gold bracelets fastened around wrists. Chairs carved from precious woods, embellished with touches of silver or bronze. Acacius’ curule seat in his tablinum is made out of pure ivory, its legs resembling a lion’s paws. A gift from the Senate after a successful military campaign.

The majority of Acacius’ hours in the public square is split between the basilica, the curia, and the comitium speaking with the aediles and magistrates. Offices of elected officials which exclude women from entry–not that you have much interest in politics anyways.

The marketplace quickly becomes your favorite place outside of your domus. A variety of stalls clustered together bustling with activity. Haggling becomes second nature to you, and when you can’t get the price you want you make trades with your weavings.

Still. Cosa is a small enough city where you’re easily recognized as someone new by the locals. More than once you’ve experienced lingering glances, examining everything from your clothes to your hair. More than once those eyes have made your shoulder blades curl with the instinct to somehow fold into yourself like the little crabs that occasionally wash up on the sandy coastline.

A week after settling in, a man in the bathhouse grabs at your palla before you can enter the women’s section, pulling harsh enough to send your mother’s brooch clattering to the ground. You press a hand over your pounding heart, scrambling backwards a few steps, all too aware of the heavy veil of silence that has fallen over the room.

Acacius calmly appears at your side, soundless in his approach, filling the whole place with his commanding presence.

A blink. That’s all it takes.

One blink and suddenly the man’s blood spatters the stucco wall as Acacius slams his skull against it repeatedly until he no longer resembles anything human. Just a gruesome muddle of scarlet and bone, life thread severed by the jaws of death.

Acacius releases his hold, then points a bloodstained finger at you. “She is mine. Anyone who touches her will face my retribution. And I won’t hesitate to add another soul to Dis Pater’s realm.”

Living under the roof of your parents, you’d thought of home as a physical structure. A place to stay in a world full of constantly moving parts.

Marriage has taught you home is so much more. It’s the soft notes you hum as you spin and weave wool. A kiss pressed to your temple as Acacius moves past. The scent of fresh citrus each morning for breakfast and the sweet taste of fine wines. Plans to visit the coast. A bowl of seashells. Gazing up at constellations when the moon is high. Feelings bubbling up, spilling out, casting shadows on the walls and slipping beneath the bed sheets. It’s the warmth of another body, touching, feeling, familiarizing, until two halves become an inseverable one whole.

Home is learning to be loved and to be in love.

Acacius doesn’t receive many guests in his tablinum, preferring to settle his business affairs in the public offices, yet he still keeps a cushioned stool in front of his desk. You sit there, elbow propped on his desk and chin resting upon your fist, watching your husband search through his shelf of scrolls. The mosaic floors have been recently cleaned, colors popping vividly in the patches of sunlight sneaking in, and the painted scenes of nature adorning the walls are masterfully done, but you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere else except him.

“Where did your name come from?” you ask, breaking up the quiet.

Acacius pauses, glancing back with a raised eyebrow. “It was my father’s name. And his father’s name. And his father’s father’s name and–”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Your scolding is softened by the smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. Acacius keeps looking at you, smirking like he finds the whole thing amusing. “The Atlas Lion. A moniker as frightful as that, it must have an origin.”

He chuckles that deep, rumbling laugh of his. “Wondered when you’d finally ask.”

His tone is light, still smirking, but you see through the cracks of the facade. See the hesitation in the lowering of his eyes to the floor, see the slight furrow in his brow that only appears when he’s worried he’s upset you. He’s nervous—it’s so obvious and so dearly human that it aches. It looks absolutely wrong on the face of a man known throughout the Empire for his larger-than-life confidence.

You watch him warily, unsure what to do, what to say beyond his name. “Acacius.”

Your husband faces the scrolls again, and for a moment you’re afraid the fragile moment’s broken, but then he tells you the story behind his name. ‘Story’ is too soft a word though. Stories are for parties and entertainment, full of humor and unfolding drama and moral lessons. Acacius doesn’t tell you a story. No, he tells you his truth.

Acacius doesn’t mince words, describing the hellish months of military training in grueling detail. He tells you, in an almost detached manner, how he’d been a different man back then. Scrawnier, unused to bloodshed, restless, but above all else, near feral with the need to prove his own worth.

“It was General Meridius’ idea for soldiers to train as bestiarii.” There’s something about the way he says the name—full of respect. Admiration for a superior. But you think you detect a note of something else laced within the syllables too. Something almost…sad sounding. Grieving, perhaps. It’s gone in the next breath. “Face to face with wild beasts, you either become an expert with your weapon fast or you die an unglorified death in the arena.”

For all the nights you’ve traced meaningless patterns along the large scars gouged into Acacius’ shoulders, you didn’t ask about them. Assumed they were the result of a too-close enemy with a too-sharp weapon. A blade or spear, something man-made. Never occurred to you to think of fangs and claws as weapons too.

Blinking sharply, you sit up straighter, stuttering, “W-wait, are you…is that where…” There’s a swarm of questions buzzing in your head, stinging the back of your throat when you try to voice them. Finally, you manage to choke out, “So, that’s how you got your name? You actually fought lions?”

Acacius finally turns around at that, only to surprise you by shaking his head. “I did fight lions—and bears, boars, even a pair of hyenas once. But that’s not why they call me the Atlas Lion.”

He trails off, tension in the wrinkled lines of his expression your hands itch to smoothen out. You hesitate to rise from your seat, unable to tell if drawing closer would lighten your husband’s mood or worsen it. Moments like this–where he’s loosened the reins of his tightly controlled emotions, offering a glimpse of an ordinary, flesh and blood mortal man who’s been chewed up and spit out a dozen times over– are few and far between. Delicate like fine glass, requiring just the right handling.

“To prove I was ready for the army, I had to pass a test,” he explains. “I fought everything that attacked me. I stopped thinking, stopped feeling. Nothing mattered except the next stab of my gladius. And when they started throwing men into the arena, I didn’t even notice.” Acacius exhales a ragged breath. “I stopped seeing people as people.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice barely above a murmur.

There’s another pause, time seeming to slow down, seconds stretching lazily like a plump housecat, and then Acacius crosses the distance, close enough your knees graze each other, head tilted back to peer up at him. He says nothing, even as his thumb brushes over your chapped lips.

“Acacius.” Your body trembles, edges of your vision starting to blur. You lean into his touch. The center of your universe.

“I mean,” Acacius says, eyes on your mouth. Your lips part unthinkingly, letting his thumb slip inside, pressing lightly against your bottom teeth. “We’re all just animals, my leaena. Red tongues and hands.”

The air is cool this time of night, seems to press against your skin like a damp washcloth. Cleansing you from the inside out with each deep inhale.

Acacius stands in the courtyard, bronze skin painted in streaks of moonbeams and starlight, hair tousled by fitful hands. His absence from bed had stirred you awake, and a part of you wonders if these midnight musings are a regular occurrence you’ve only just now become aware of. Not all dreams are sweet after all, especially for soldiers.

“A nightmare?” you ask, a hushed inquiry disrupting the still of night.

“A memory,” is all he offers.

“Oh.”

He hasn’t looked at you yet, brown eyes boring holes into the distant moon. Maybe you should return to bed, give him space and privacy to sort himself out. But your bare feet stick to the floor and you can’t pull your eyes away. Noting the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his hands, the rising and falling of his chest with each breath.

You try to ignore the disappointment gnawing at your heart, hurt that Acacius won’t share his internal burden with you, even in the cover of darkness where it’s just you and him.

He’s revealed the truth of his name with you. Encouraged you to lick and bite and mark every inch of his flesh as your own. But tonight he’s put up a wall you can’t climb over.

Maybe that’s why you stay. You’re a glutton for punishment.

Somewhere else in the city, a dog begins to bark. It’s a harsh sound, all teeth, defending its territory from a threat, and you flinch despite the distance. Unsurprisingly, Acacius doesn’t so much as even twitch.

What is surprising though, is that he chooses then to finally speak.

“There are victories yet still to come,” he mutters, a tremor to his voice you’ve never heard before, like he’s standing on unsteady ground. And there’s this look in his eyes that unsettles you, haunted by something only he can see. “That’s what they always say.”

They?

Stepping closer, you gently bump your hand against his. A knot unravels in your chest when he blinks back to himself, pinky hooking onto yours. A tether securing him home with you.

“Who says that?”

“The Emperors.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Don’t know what words will build his wall higher or what ones will knock it down–if that’s even possible.

“What are they like?” Your mouth makes the choice for you. “Geta and Caracalla?”

You’ve never been to Rome, never seen the ruling brothers in person. All you really know about them are the stories and rumors from the mouths of travelers gossiping in the marketplace. Sometimes nice things are said, sometimes…not so nice things.

“They’re…” Dark brows draw together, mouth pulling downward in a frown. Acacius finally looks at you, the brown of his eyes lost in the dark, but not the sharp glint of fear. Tumultuous and excruciating, you feel it cut deep. “They’re fire and water. Two opposing forces unfit to inhabit the same space. It’s only a matter of time before one prevails over the other.”

You swallow, nervousness swelling in the pit of your stomach at the flat, doomed sound of certainty he speaks with. “And then what happens?”

“The Empire will either burn or drown."

“And us?” you ask tentatively. “What will happen to us?”

Acacius doesn’t have an answer.

A Roman naval ship is spotted just as dawn breaks, drawing a sizable crowd by the time it docks in the harbor. There’s a sense of wrongness associated with the lack of an official fleet, and that unsettling feeling is multiplied tenfold when it’s announced there are numerous injured soldiers aboard.

Acacius attends to them, ensuring each gets medical attention while also gathering information from the head officer in charge. You stand at the back of the crowd, heart in your throat, seeing but not truly processing. Blood, so much red. Expressions of young men scrunched in pain. The grim, motionless bodies of those who didn’t last the final hours of the journey.

“Steel yourself.” A feminine voice warns, and you turn with a blink of surprise upon seeing the high priestess at your side, unused to encountering her outside her temple walls. The sea breeze ruffles the red and white ribbons in her braided hair as she holds your gaze, calm in an almost preternatural way compared to the surrounding commotion. “You are a general’s wife. To express your fear in public is to express doubt of the Empire’s dominance and your husband’s own prowess.”

Her words sink like a stone in your stomach. “I’ll be better,” you promise, the acidic taste of shame burning the back of your throat.

“Stronger,” she corrects, fierce blue eyes rivaling an ocean storm. “You must be stronger than your greatest fear.”

You can only nod, imagining one of the corpses wearing your husband’s face.

{With every inch of territory the Empire gains, its list of bitter enemies grows exponentially longer. Not every threat rising up in defiance stems from foreign soil though, Acacius was forced to learn that the hard way. He’s seen the effects Rome’s constant warfare and rotting politics have had on its subjects, witnessed people turn against their masters’ hands like rabid dogs hell-bent on stripping flesh from bone.

Rebels are dealt with just like rabid dogs, too. Caught and decapitated in a public spectacle. Crimson rivulets flow from their remains, discoloring the city’s streets reminiscent of a spilled wine stain, seeping into the very foundation itself.

Then come the speeches in the comitium from Cosa’s magistrates. Addressing the huddled masses with sickly sweet, empty promises of better times to come. Lying through their teeth, scared the next outburst of internal strife will end with their own severed heads tossed into the sea.

Acacius’ attendance is mandatory, yet he only pretends to listen while standing on the stone steps behind the speakers. His wife’s shoulder presses against his, their hands firmly locked together, unbothered by the harsh ridges of his battle-hardened palm grazing against her smooth skin. A simple comfort he’d long believed himself unworthy of ever indulging in.

“It tears you up inside, doesn’t it?” His wife’s voice is just a faint murmur, so quiet there isn’t a chance anyone else hears her, but the knowing note in it has his chest tightening with a stiff exhale. “Like a thorn in your soul. Even from Rome, Geta and Caracalla control your tongue.”

“There is a time for a general to speak his mind and there is a time for him to keep his head,” he reminds her frankly, careful to maintain his facade of blank detachment. “It’d do you good to remember your place.”

Her sharp inhale is torturous to his ears. She reacts to his blunt discipline like a physical blow, shoulders sagging, lips pressed together in a thin line, practically rolling over and exposing her vulnerable underbelly. Acacius hates that look. Hates even more he’s the cause of it. He thinks impaling himself with his own blade would hurt less.

Nudging her shoulder drags her gaze reluctantly back to him. And this is not the appropriate setting for levity, Acacius should bite back the smile curling at the corners of his mouth—but for his wife, his divine leaena, he’s a sinner on his knees desperate to be in the warmth of her good graces again. “You are fond of this general’s face, yes?”

It’s not the offering this goddess deserves, but it’s enough to begin mending what he’d torn, soothing the worst of the sting. She smiles, an amused, uneven little twist of her mouth she once confessed being insecure about before he kissed away all worries from her mind. There’s something undeniably perfect about it, like the first rays of sunlight after a bleak winter.

“Of course I am. But…” She bites her lip, caught on something. He squeezes her hand, and it seems to be the needed boost to force the words out from the cage in her throat. “Even the Atlas Lion must want to roar sometimes.”

Acacius should be annoyed with her ability to read him–it’s a weakness, and any weakness in his personal experience is a promise of death’s swift arrival. It isn’t safe, for either of them. But she’s done the unthinkable, worming her way into his ugly, greedy heart, treating it like something tender, something lovable. And it was too damn easy how quickly she filled up every vacant space in his head. From the moment she lifted her veil he’s been enraptured by her essence. Starving for every scrap of attention she’s willing to give. His wife has become a critical piece of his life, as vitally essential as the breath in his lungs and the sword hanging at his hip.

It’s dangerous, what she’s done to him.

But it’s far, far more dangerous, what he’d do for her.

Her eyes widen with surprise when he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, but he feels the way she relaxes against him with easy acceptance. Believing she’s safe with him, ignorant of the threats closing in on all sides. Every day drawing nearer and nearer still.

That will have to change, he swears to himself. Her survival depends upon it.

“Yes,” he says at last, and it’s the most honest he’s been with himself in years. “Sometimes he does.”}

Acacius places one hand on your shoulder, the other settles on your hip. There is nothing delicate about his touch, no hesitation about maneuvering your body into a proper defensive stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, pugio held in a strong grasp.

“Lower your arm, always aim the blade at your opponent,” Acacius instructs, slipping into his alternate persona as a leader on the battlefield like a second skin, his critical eyes zeroing in on all the mistakes that will get you killed in a moment of danger. “When you hold that dagger, you must hold it with the intent to spill blood, my leaena. Words alone aren’t enough to protect you.”

You swallow, fingers flexing around the hilt. It’s a daunting experience, learning to sever someone’s life thread from an expert on the subject. You’re grateful for the privacy of your domus’ courtyard, concealing your clumsy movements from outsiders who’d undoubtedly laugh at each ungraceful slash and lunge. You resemble a fool, sweaty and fledgling, undeserving of your husband’s calling. The only women you’d seen fight with weapons were gladiatrices at festivals, an exotic and unusual form of entertainment which never failed to attract large crowds. Your mother claimed they brought shame upon womankind, yet when Acacius had asked you to learn, you’d accepted without delay.

She’d disown you immediately if she could see you now. The thought has your stomach churning, a sour taste on the back of your tongue.

“We’re wasting time,” you say, voice hoarse. “I’ll never be strong enough to pose a threat to anyone.”

Acacius clicks his tongue at you. “Never say never, my leaena. You’ll tempt the Fates.”

The courtyard is quiet besides your breathing, and the streets beyond the domus’ walls are empty this time of day. You’re keenly aware of Acacius’ nearness, the slight frown pulling at his lips, like he’s trying to understand your thoughts, and you want to fight him. Howl and claw and lash out like the beast he seeks to bring to light from your depths. But there is nothing there.

“I’m not like you. I can’t be.” His head tilts, still uncomprehending. You gesture at him with your empty hand, the rippling muscles straining the fabric of his sleeveless tunic. “The Atlas Lion. Devourer of the Emperors’ enemies. Ferocity unmatched amongst Rome’s army of warriors.” You then gesture at yourself, forcing the ugly words past your teeth if only so he’ll give up this futile endeavor. “I’m just me.”

The air shifts between you and him, a thick, cloying tension weighing heavily upon your shoulders. It’s only the knowledge that there’s nowhere in all of Cosa you could hide from your husband that keeps you anchored in place even as your heartbeat gallops away. Acacius’ brown eyes darken, thunder clouds blocking out the sun.

And then his callused hands are on your face, palms rough along the underside of your jaw, fingers pressing into the skin, squeezing. Claiming. An inescapable hold.

“Do not,” he starts, voice low and gravelly, a snarling darkness you’ve never heard before and never want to again, “ever speak so poorly of yourself again. How can you think of yourself as anything less than magnificent? How can you not know of the power you wield over me? You’ve made me live again. My heart, long cold and numbed by the trials of war, beats again only for you. There is nothing more valuable to me than your wellbeing–not wealth nor fame, nothing. Is it clear to you yet? You have tamed the Atlas Lion body and soul. This general heeds your every call.”

You shudder, dazed and captivated by his close proximity, his devotion. Intoxicated, that’s what you feel. So caught up in a fog of mindless pleasure you fail to notice him guiding your hand up, up, up until the pugio’s blade is put to his throat.

“All that I am is yours,” Acacius says, hushed now, a secret between lovers. The dagger pierces skin, a thin trickle of blood oozing. You flinch, eyes widening, but his hold remains firm. “Which makes you the most dangerous creature of all. And for that reason, my leaena, you will and you must learn to fight.”

He shoves you backwards a step. It’s not his full strength, more surprising than hurtful, but something inside you uncoils, teeth gnashing. A feeling sparks in your bloodstream, erupting into a wildfire at the look of pride in Acacius’ eye when you reflexively point your pugio at his heart.

You swipe at him, again and again, driven by this new source of power. And through it all he holds your gaze, the brown of his eyes as sharp as the blade in your hand. Neither one says I love you, I’d take a bite out of the world for you but neither one needs to.

Actions have always been louder than words.

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” you ask one night in bed together. Acacius reclines against the headboard, staring at you through half-lidded eyes as you drag your fingertips over his bare, scarred skin in meaningless patterns.

Would anyone believe this man was the Atlas Lion? A wild, virulent beast compliant and disarmed beneath the gentle stroke of your touch?

No. You think not.

“Out where?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, thumb catching on a particularly rough patch of damaged skin left of his hip bone. Every battle he fought, every combatant he faced—Mars laid fresh claims to his body with each fresh cicatrix.

Claims you challenge the only way you know how. Scrapes of your nails breaking skin and tender presses of your mouth licking up the crimson pearls of blood.

“Beyond the Empire’s borders. Somewhere without war.”

Acacius’ brow creases, gaze alert now, looking at you as if you’ve spoken a different language. “Without war…” he repeats slowly. “My leaena, there is no place such as that. Discordia’s reach is far, farther than the Emperors could ever conquer in their combined lifetimes, stirring up strife deep in the hearts of even the mildest of men, and it will always find an outlet one way or another.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat. It’s not the response you had hoped for, but it’s the one you should have expected. Acacius isn’t the type of man to indulge in far-fetched fantasies of softer living. Can’t be, not with all the horrors he’s witnessed and played a part in crafting.

“But,” Acacius pauses, and his hand covers yours. Not holding or moving it, just staying there. Feeling. “If somewhere without war did exist…” he smiles, a soft and little thing reserved just for these quiet moments. “I’d do whatever it took to get us there.”

The wool for your new palla has been carded and spun into yarn. It stretches and winds around the teeth of your wooden loom, weighed down by terracotta scales.

You’re alone in the domus. Acacius had been summoned by the magistrates for an urgent meeting, and you try not to let fear interfere with your work, an aggressive wasp buzzing at the back of your mind. Your touch remains light when pulling at uneven sections, its intended shape coming together bit by bit. The whooshing of a racing heartbeat echoes in your ears.

So long as there is land outside the Empire’s borders, the Emperors will expect Acacius to conquer it in their names. His time in Cosa is trapped in an hourglass, never quite knowing when the last grain of sand will slip away, summoned back to the front lines for another campaign. Another brush with death. Another chapter added to his legacy.

You feel the sand’s effects sometimes, a sinking sensation threatening to drag you down when you walk with him through the market. Coarse and gritty, scratching your skin as you fall asleep in his arms. Piling so high it chokes you, the cursed inevitability of it all.

Another loop of wool around teeth. Tension taut and held firm. The muscles of your arms burn with effort, left foot tingling uncomfortably from sitting too long with little movement. Cosa’s awake and thriving in the warm weather, echoes of voices drifting in with the breeze, but you’ve never felt more alone. A feeling you dread becoming intimately familiar with sooner or later.

Later, you pray selfishly, desperately, achingly to the Fates. Make it later.

So long as Acacius breathes he will always walk two paths—the path of a general and the path of a husband. And it’s a priority of yours–a requirement as his wife–to find a way to be okay when those paths split and you’re truly left all alone. You must then nurture the tiniest flame of hope one step, one trial, one lonely night at a time. Burning fiercely until every last shadow of doubt is purged from your mind, and the only thing that remains is the steadfast belief he’ll return to your side.

Then you must prepare yourself to do it all over again and again and again…too incapable of challenging the Emperors’ insatiable greed, too mortal to stop the sands of time.

You roll your shoulders once finished, scrutinizing the piece for errors. Later you’ll detach the palla from the loom to cut and tie off the loose end-threads of dangling wool, and later still you’ll take it to the fuller to be washed then to the dyer to be colored. You wonder if Acacius will like the shade of golden yellow you have in mind. If he’ll even be in Cosa to see the finished product or a thousand miles away in the heat of battle. A tremor racks your spine at the thought.

But then the front door opens with a quiet groan, and the cheerfully hummed notes of Acacius’ favorite song float through the house. You smile, heartbeat settling into its natural rhythm with the knowledge he’s here with you. The war has not stolen him away just yet.

“Come, my leaena,” he calls out, and you can hear the grin in his voice without having to see it. “It’s a beautiful day. Should we spend it by the coast?”

There’s an urge to close your eyes, to sink into this moment for all its worth, but sand is rising around your ankles. A reminder of all temporary things.

Your legs can’t move fast enough, drawn to your husband’s side.

Just a little bit longer. Another hour, another day.

You reach for Acacius’ hand, tangling them together, pulling him closer. Always closer.

Another call of my name.

“Let’s not waste a single second.”

#marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius #my fic #pedrostories

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