#soldier boy x ofc

[zepskies]

Probably a dumb question, but on A03 is the break me down series the OC version the same as the one on here?

Hi there! Yes the OC version of Break Me Down on Ao3 is the same as the reader version here, if with some subtle tweaks. 😉 The reader insert story is there on Ao3 as well, but it's labeled "Reader Version" of course.

I hope you'll let me know what you think! 💚

Also, there's more of the sequel stories here on Tumblr because I haven't had time to convert the reader version fics into the OC version on Ao3. 😅

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Catch up before I start posting again, so you can be ready to go. Chapter 5 should be out by October 4. ❤️

Let Me See Inside Series Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

[the-offside-rule]

Jensen Ackles - Livin' On An Enchanted Prayer

Christmas: From The Vault

25 Days of Christmas

Warnings: none

The house was peaceful in the quiet aftermath of Christmas morning chaos. Y/n moved from room to room, picking up the remnants of shredded wrapping paper and discarded ribbons. Her brand-new puppy, a tiny golden retriever with floppy ears and an adorably clumsy gait, followed at her heels, occasionally stopping to chew on a stray lace. "You're not much help, you know." Y/n teased, smiling down at the pup.

She glanced around, noticing the unusually quiet atmosphere. "Where is everyone?" She muttered to herself. Jensen, her husband, had disappeared after breakfast, and their three daughters, Emma, Harper, and Lily, were nowhere to be seen.

As Y/n ascended the stairs with the puppy trailing behind, she heard it; a muffled but unmistakable sound. Music. Not just any music, but Bon Jovi's Livin' on a Prayer. Intrigued, she followed the sound to Emma's room, where the door was slightly ajar. Peeking in, she stifled a laugh at the sight before her. Jensen stood in the middle of the room, holding a pretend microphone—a.k.a. one of the girls' hairbrushes. His face was animated as he belted out the lyrics with gusto. Meanwhile, their daughters danced around him, giggling uncontrollably.

"Whoa-oh, we're halfway there!" Jensen sang dramatically, pointing to the girls, who joined him for the chorus, their high-pitched voices blending with his deep, playful tone. "Oh! Livin' on a prayer!" Y/n leaned against the doorframe, her heart full as she watched her family. Jensen noticed her then, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. "Girls! An intruder! Get her!" He called out, pointing to her. The girls squealed, rushing over to their mother and dragging her inside. "No, no! I was just wondering where you disappeared to." Y/n said, stepping inside. "Come on, you can't just stand there!" Jensen reached for her hand and gently pulled her into the circle. "You have to join the fun!"

Y/n laughed as the girls cheered, and soon she was dancing along with them, Jensen twirling her dramatically. The puppy, curious about the commotion, wandered into the room but froze, its big brown eyes wide as it took in the noise and movement. "Aw, poor thing." Harper said, immediately crouching down to comfort the puppy. The other two girls followed, cooing and fussing over the little dog until it calmed down and it's tail went back to wagging.

With the girls momentarily occupied, Jensen took the opportunity to sweep Y/n off her feet—literally. Lifting her bridal-style, he kissed her softly, his playful demeanor replaced by a tender one. "Jensen!" She gasped, laughing as she clung to him. "What are you doing?"

"Just enjoying the moment." He said with a wink. As he set her down, she gestured to the karaoke machine on the desk. "I'm getting the best out of Emma's karaoke machine." She arched a brow. "You meant the one you picked out for her? Yeah, I can tell." Jensen shrugged. "I think it's safe to say I love it." He replied with a sheepish grin. Y/n shook her head, grinning. "You're such a kid." Jensen chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Maybe, but at least I didn't marry one."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her amusement. The girls returned then, carrying the puppy like a precious treasure. "Can we do another song, Daddy?" Emma asked. Jensen looked at Y/n, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think? Another round?"

"Go for it." She said, her heart brimming with love for her family. "Alright girls. Roll out!" Jensen said as he flicked through all the available songs. "Taylor Swift, dad! You have to play Taylor Swift!" Harper squealed. "Do you know her, Dad?" Emma asked. "Not really. Shes your mom's friend so, I've met her. But I dont know her all that well." All three girls gasped as they turned to their mom. "We lived in the same town growing up, went to the same school. I wanted to be a producer, she wanted to be a singer. I've produced pretty much all her albums." She explained. "What about that Jack guy?" Harper asked. "Mr Antanoff? He produces for her too. I'm just one of her producers, girls. I thougt you knew that." Y/n chuckled. "Mom, you gotta sing with us then!" Y/n sighed. "Put on Enchanted, please." Jensen furrowed his brows as he searched for it. "Any particular reason?" He asked. "I helped her write it. I think I met you in and around that time."

"I don't think I've ever heard that one." Jensen said as the opening started. "You don’t listen to my songs?" He chuckled. "I usually do. What's it even about?" Y/n’s cheeks tinged pink. "It’s a love song. Taylor and I wrote it around the time she met a guy she liked. And... it was kind of inspired by someone I’d just met, too." Her eyes flicked to Jensen, who raised a curious eyebrow. "Wait." He said, straightening up. "You wrote that when we first met?"

She shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. "Maybe. Maybe not." The girls screamed again, dragging their mom toward the karaoke machine. "Come on, Mom, sing it with us!" Jensen sat back on Emma’s bed, the puppy curling up beside him as the girls picked up their microphones. The opening notes of Enchanted began to play, soft and melodic, and Y/n’s voice joined in effortlessly, harmonizing with her daughters.

This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go. I'm wonderstruck, blushing all the way home. I'd spend forever, wondering if you knew. I was enchanted to meet you." Jensen watched in awe as his daughters sang along, their little voices blending with Y/n’s. The way she moved, her love for music and her family shining through, made his heart swell. When Y/n reached the second verse, her eyes met his briefly, and he felt a pang of nostalgia. She had written this song at a time when their story was just beginning, when everything between them had been new and uncertain.

As the song swelled to the chorus again, the girls twirled around, giggling, and even the puppy let out an enthusiastic bark. But Jensen couldn’t take his eyes off Y/n. By the time the final note faded, he was completely mesmerized. Y/n turned to him, a teasing smile on her lips. "What do you think, Mr. Ackles? Worth knowing Taylor Swift for?" He got up from the bed and crossed the room to her, sliding his arms around her waist. "Pretty okay." He said softly. "Could use a little work." He joked. Y/n rolled her eyes, laughing, but the warmth in his gaze stopped her in her tracks.

Jensen leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I can count on you to write a love song like that after meeting a guy for two minutes." Y/n grinned up at him. "Worked out in the end, didn't it?" He chuckled. "You’re great."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know." She teased, but her voice was soft. Behind them, the girls erupted into cheers again. "Do another one!" Emma yelled. Jensen glanced at Y/n, grinning. "Looks like you’ve got more encores to do." Y/n sighed dramatically, but the laughter in her eyes gave her away. "Fine. But next time, you’re singing a love song."

"Deal." Jensen said, pulling her closer. "But only if it’s a duet with you."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The room buzzed with electric energy, the air thick with excitement and the faint scent of expensive cologne. Y/n and Taylor stood near the entrance of the award show venue, giddy and barely containing their excitement as celebrities strolled past. Both were 20 and wide-eyed, marveling at the glitz and glamour they’d only seen on TV. "I swear, that was Beyoncé." Taylor whispered, gripping Y/n’s arm tightly. "Right? And I think I just saw Katy Perry!" Y/n whispered back, her voice shaking with awe.

Lost in the whirlwind of famous faces, Y/n turned suddenly, colliding into someone. The impact was firm yet steadying. She stumbled back, her cheeks flushing. "Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-"

"It's okay." A deep, warm voice interrupted, laced with amusement. Y/n looked up to see piercing green eyes and a disarming smile. Jensen...fucking...Ackles. Her breath caught. He grinned wider. "Y/n Y/l/n, right? You’re the up-and-coming producer everyone’s talking about." Y/n blinked, utterly speechless. "Y-you know me?"

"Of course I do." Jensen said smoothly. "Word travels fast. I was talking to Jared and Misha about you the other day actually." Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to find a coherent response. All she could manage was a wide-eyed nod. "Hey, I’ll see you inside." He said, winking before disappearing into the crowd.

Y/n stood frozen, her cheeks blazing. "Taylor!" She finally hissed, spinning around, but her best friend was nowhere to be found. After a frantic search, she spotted Taylor chatting animatedly with another rising star. Pulling herself together, Y/n joined her, and together they headed into the award show.

The venue was breathtaking, the stage gleaming under soft golden lights. Y/n and Taylor found their seats, whispering excitedly as the show began. Midway through the event, a waiter appeared beside Y/n, tapping her on the shoulder. "A napkin for you, ma'am." He said, handing her a folded napkin. Puzzled, Y/n opened it to find a note written in neat, confident handwriting:

Couldn’t let the night end without another conversation. Let me know if I’m being too forward –Jensen

Her lips curved into a smile. She grabbed a pen from her clutch, scribbling a quick reply on the napkin.

Not too forward. But are you always this mysterious, or just tonight?

She handed the note back to the waiter, who promised to deliver it. Throughout the night, the napkin notes continued to pass between them. Each one carried a touch of wit, curiosity, and an undeniable spark. Y/n found herself glancing across the room more and more, her eyes meeting Jensen’s. His gaze held hers, warm and unwavering, sending her heart into overdrive.

By the time the show neared its end, the waiter returned one last time, handing Y/n a final note. Her hands trembled as she unfolded it.

I’ve enjoyed this little game of ours, but I’d rather talk to you without an audience. Here’s my number. Let’s continue this conversation soon. –J

A phone number was scrawled beneath the message. Y/n couldn’t suppress her grin, quickly tucking the napkin into her clutch. As the applause erupted for the final award of the night, she felt a thrilling sense of anticipation. This was only the beginning.

[sayafics]

Little White Lies - Teaser

I have been thinking about this for an unhealthy amount of time, but I need me some Butcher angst and SMUT

When Soldier Boy had been handed back over to Grace Mallory, Billy thought it best to keep it hidden from her.

Aurora had grown close to the soldier - able to see past the facade that had grown under the eyes of the media and millions, had come so close to loving him even. Butcher knew it was better if she thought he was dead, never able to return, even if the others disagreed.

When quiet feelings, ones hidden and repressed over the months she had known the Boys, clawed their way to the surface in the midst of her grief, Butcher had found it hard to deny her.

Still, he told himself he did not feel guilty, even as his heart turned and twisted when Aurora looked to him for comfort; when she fell into his arms and into his bed, when she searched for his warm body any chance she could.

He would deny guilt pooling in his veins, even when he knew with every sigh and moan and breath she gasped against him, she wished it was Ben on top of her and not him.

He didn't feel guilty for lying.

He didn't.

He would have kept this secret until his death bed, which was not too far in the future anyway, if he was being honest.

But the truth always did have a way of coming to light.

[chainsawsangel]

love you. love you. love you. love you.....

Violent Dog, OC!Pup x Soldier Boy. Commission done by @red-nightskies.

-

AHHH, THEY'RE FINALLY HERE!!! I've been looking forward to this commission of these two so much just because of the vision I had for it and it's here! red-nightskies did such an AMAZING job on these two, they're such a bloody mess but love each other soooo much haha and WOW, I love this!

they did a commission specifically of my THE BOYS (werewolf) OC/self-insert, Pup alongside Soldier Boy, her partner and I LOVE HOW THIS TURNED OUT!!! obsessed.

[mostlymarvelgirl]

~ ° • . ▪︎ ♤♡◇♧

MASTERLIST

▪︎ . • ° ~ ♧◇♡♤

¤♤ ~° •. ▪︎☆ a L!ttl3 b!t ab0ut m3 ☆▪︎ .• °~ ♤¤

~°•.▪︎☆♤♡◇♧▪︎.•°~

♤♡◇♧ ° Y0u c@n c@11 m3 Zara °

♤♡◇♧ ° I'm @ c0mplete d!ck5aster & sup3r 0rgan!sed at th3 s@me t!me °

♤♡◇♧ ° H3re t0 re@d & l!ke ev3ry0ne's w0rk b3cause ! l0v3 p30ple ° oh y3ah! I'm @lso a wh0r3.°

~°•.▪︎☆♤♡◇♧▪︎.•°~

~°•.▪︎¿☆ If you're brain hurts

reading about me. Seems like you

got skill issues, my friend. ☆¿▪︎.•°~

X-MEN

● Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

~ Imagine Erik Lehnsherr having sex with you during lockdown on your birthday and explaining why the mask is required EVEN during sex.

~ Imagine Peter Maximoff being bullied by some students at Xavier's school and you finding out about it.

~ X-Men Evolution (Teaser), Song Playlist (Ongoing)

~ I Wish I Were Heather Charles

~ I'm In Sweetheart, Always Am

~ Erik Coming Out To You As Bisexual

~ Imagine Erik Lehnsherr/Magneto Being A Supportive Member Of LGBTQIA+ Community After Finding Out The Reader (S/o) Is L/B/G/Q/etc.

~ Forever & Infinity

~ Imagine If Magneto's Private Moment With You Was Released Into The Internet (Fem! Reader)

~ Imagine Erik Finding Out That You Are Pregnant

● Charles Xavier (Professor X)

~ Imagine Charles Planning A Surprise For You

~ I'm A Telepath Too, Love: Part 1, Part 2 (Series) (Ongoing)

~ Imagine Charles Asking You For An Intense Night On Valentine's Day

~ Charles reading fanfics of him and Erik, and asking the reader whether people really think him to be sub and inexperienced in the bed.

~ Professor Kink (Text)

● OTHER CHERIK STUFF IG?

Photoshopped Charles & Erik As Middle Aged & Young Women. Part 1 Part 2

MCU

● Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier/ White Wolf)

~ Older: Part 1 (series) (Ongoing)

THE BOYS (TV SHOW)

● Soldier Boy (Jensen Ackles)

~ "Ouch! What The Fuck Woma-?!" *Slap*

SUPERNATURAL (TV SHOW)

● Hear Me Out (Headcanons)

● Dean Winchester (Jensen Ackles)

~ More Than Just Love

~ Better Than Pie *smut*

~ Jealous Much? *smut*

● Sam Winchester (Jared Padalecki)

~ A Winchester Kind Of Love

~ Hexes & Heartbeats (series) (Ongoing) Teaser Part 1

~°•.▪︎☆¤♤♡◇♧¤☆▪︎.•°~

[winchestergirl2]

March Reading Recs 2024

To show some love and appreciation to all the amazing writers here on tumblr, here are all the fantastic fics I've read this month. 💖

Many of these fics and blogs are 18+ only, and NSFW please heed the author's individual fic warnings and requests regarding no minors. I am not responsible for your media consumption.

2023 Reading Recs | 2024 Reading Recs

Supernatural

Sam Winchester

You're On Your Own Kid Part 2 @my-proof-is-you

Authors Summary: You’re used to being on your own. You’d been on your own as long as you could remember. Could Sam show you that it isn’t the only way to live?

Don't Worry About Me @my-proof-is-you

Authors Summary: Anon Request: hi! could you do a sam imagine where he’s been really stressed with work/researching for a big hunt, y/n can’t sleep and sees him still awake and tries to make him feel better? maybe some hidden feelings for both of them?? just really fluffy cute stuff please!! thank you! i love your work!

Requited Love @uhohnotthisagain

Authors Summary: Sam discovers his love for you in a not so clean dream, he doesn't realise his actions following the realisation would effect you so much.

10 Inch Hero

Boaz Priestly

The Miracle Man @zepskies

Authors Summary: The first time you met Priestly was both the worst and best night of your life. He gave you a Miracle.

Centerfold Dance Party @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms

The Boys

Soldier Boy

The Bet @quin-ns

Authors Summary: butcher leaves you to keep an eye on soldier boy and things become interesting when a deck of cards gets involved

Let's Dance @impala-dreamer

Authors Summary ~If there's one thing she knows, it's that she fucking hates Soldier Boy. If there's one thing he knows, it's that he can change her mind.~

I'm A Ruin Part I | Part II | Part III | @anundyingfidelity

Authors Summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Billy Butcher

And So It Goes (Masterlist) @zepskies

Authors Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — and helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Big Sky

Beau Arlen

Take Me Home Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | @zepskies

Authors Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you’ve both got a past you’re running from. 

Jurisdiction @waynes-multiverse

I need your hand but I don't want to burn it Part 1 @thebiggerbear

Authors Summary: You receive a phone call letting you know a family member has passed. The news rocks your world, especially when you find yourself flying back home for the services, returning to a place you'd rather forget. As your best friend, Beau is trying to be there for you but you're determined to go it alone. But since you've known him, when has Beau Arlen ever not had your back?

[markofcastiel]

WIP - Soldier Boy x Castiel x Dean

If you want to be added to the taglist let me know. P.s.: blame @naughtystiel cursed event for this

[kickingitwithkirk]

Greetings from Austin

Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC

Word Count: 2161

Warnings: a/b/o, J2 are married/mated, homophobia, bisexuality, biphobia, outdated beliefs, angst, cursing, jealousy, depression/anxiety, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility, IVF, surrogacy, subgender inequality

*additional warnings to be added in future parts.

Square filled: Non-traditional Alpha Traits @spnabobingo Maid Au @spnaubingo

A/N: Here we go again with one my weird as hell dreams, series Inspired by this art.

A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles or Padalecki families. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse. Some dates/events altered to fit story.

A/N III: thank you to everyone for hanging in there since it’s taken me ages to drop a new character, I’ve been doing rewrites/updating on all my series, more to come in future.

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*divider by @writeyourmindaway​​​​​​

*images found online

Part IV

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

“DON'T YA’ BE YELLING AT ME, MR. MAN, EVEN IF THIS IS YOUR FUCKING HOUSE…”

“I gotta go,” tossing his phone on the bedside table, Jared, wearing his blessed socks, runs across the main room and slides on the hardwood floor into the kitchen and saw his husband standing three feet from Quinn as she’s vigorously gesturing with a paring knife while telling him off in her colorful language.

“Put the knife down!” The older Alpha’s voice resonates through the room, making Jared flinch, feeling the command’s power, watching Quinn set it on the counter and Jensen reach over, sliding it towards him.

She stood a bit longer before blinking in confusion, and then her demeanor shifted to madder than a wet hen, her natural lower voice dropped another octave, and the lilt became very pronounced. “Don’t ya’ ever use that fucking voice on me again!” 

“You were threatening me with a knife!” Jensen picks up the item, making her laugh, “Holy fucking shit, are ya’ serious? Ya’ could barely use it for a toothpick, let alone...” 

Jared stood there, mouth hanging open, have’n seen others take on his mate, wrongfully assuming he’d be the easier of the two to intimidate, but when let off its leash, Jensen's wolf made Dean Winchester look like a pussy cat.

“JARED!”

The younger Alpha's mouth snapped shut, “sorry, what?”

“I asked you what the surrogate is doing here?”

“The surrogate has a name.” 

 “What is Quinn doing here?”

 “So..uh..okay,” Jared slowly starts around the island doing his sometimes awkward, hesitant thing.  “A few days ago, I got a call from this number I didn’t recognize. It was about the ultrasound appointment scheduled while you were in LA.” 

He paused to see if Jensen remembered, and yep, his mate was wearing his get to the fucking point expression.

“They informed me she’d canceled it because she was leaving town.” 

Jensen's attention returned to the O, ”Don’t fucking start on me again, Ackles!”

“You know who I am?” 

“Duh, Sherlock!” 

Jensen would later try to justify it was jet lag and surprise finding their surrogate in their home, not her smart-ass mouth, for snarling at her.

“Och, save it for the cameras, drama queen. Ya’ put pants on just like the rest of us; the only difference is yours have designer labels.”

Jared interrupted the speeding downhill faster than an Olympic bobsledder situation, “I remembered her saying something about managing Mulroney’s Bookstore, so I called Clif to see if he’d get her to contact me and calls back saying some Alpha...” 

“...who’s a flaming jackass!”

“Yeah, that’s what Clif called him. Anyways, he claimed to be the manager and had no idea where she was when another employee said they knew where she was living...”

“... that’s when ya’ boy shows up..”

“…I explained about the mixup...”

“…Padalecki followed me to my room to get the new date, then he caused a scene...”

“...I couldn’t help my wolf freaking out at where my..our pups were living...”

“…told ya’ it was there or the I-35 underpass!”

Jared bristled at the reminder, “The door had three locks, a barely functional heater, and a broken fridge. Cockroaches wouldn’t even live there!”

Quinn raises onto the balls of her feet and loudly reminds him about putting her in the shitter with the manager and getting fired when Jared shouts back in his booming voice, “there was a guy by the ice machine offering to sell me heroin!!”

“ENOUGH!” Jensen's Alpha voice echoes throughout the kitchen, quieting them both.

“She’s right,” Jared opened his mouth to retort, but Jensen countered with, “And so are you. Quinn, couldn’t your family help,” the Alphas wrinkled their noses at her souring scent, so he attempted another approach. 

“I want to clear something up. I recall one of the stipulations for surrogates is that they reside in an appropriate domicile. Why were you living in a motel? Could you tell us what happened?”

“The flaming jackass tipped off the landlord I’m an O, and that fucker evicted me even though I never caused any problem or was late with rent.”

“There is a moratorium on evictions..”

“..that moratorium is a fucking joke!”  

“What a minute,” Jensen said, and at the same time, Jared remarked, “It protects people...”

“Newsflash, Mr. Wizard, was created by and for the protection of Alphas and Betas! Take a hot minute to read the fine print, and you’ll find loopholes granting landlords, to quote, discretionary privileges pertaining to the eviction of those designated with the sub-gender Omega. In other words, they can boot O’s for any damn reason!” She gave the Alphas a hard stare, “So, enlighten me as to why y’all didn’t know a fucking thing about that bit?”

The kitchen got quiet as the Alphas glanced at each other, trying to find a non-assholey-sounding response. “Yeah, that’s what I thought; since it’s well known you two prefer Betas.” Quinn addressed the older Alpha.

“Padalecki and I have an arrangement. I keep the house and do meals in exchange for temporary boarding. No need to fret that pretty head of yours, Ackles; I’ll do me damnedest to stay outta the way."

🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎🐿️🫎

December 23rd                                                                                                   Late Afternoon

Quinn heard Jensen’s surprised greeting covering the stewpot of goulash, slid it into the oven to stay warm, and peeked around the wall and saw him in the foyer hugging a small, older O, then a tall, bald Alpha carrying several bags crossed over to them.

“Let me help you with those, sir,” she offered, taking them couldn’t help but overhear his not-subtle sniff, “Jensen, who’s this?”

“Umm,” Jensen scratched the back of his neck, fumbling for a response, “this is the housekeeper, Quinn.”  His mother-in-law peered inquisitively at the tall Omega before asking, “What happened to your boys' service?”

“I worked for it.”

Gerald Padalecki dubiously eyed the O up and down as she continued. “They pared down the staff, and Jared offered to retain me in exchange for lodging...”

“You live with them?” Gerald barked, “Jensen, that’s unwise considering...”

“Considering what Gerry,” his mate sharply asks, “the boys wouldn’t let someone stay they couldn’t trust.”

 “I normally wouldn’t question their judgment, but she's an unmated O.”

“Whoa,’ Jensen jumped in, “are you suggesting that Jared or I...” 

“Mama..daddy..what’re y’all doing here?” Jared couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, wrapping his long arms around his mother, “thought you were coming tomorrow.” 

“We decided to surprise you but got it instead.” Gerald’s gruff reply made Jared throw his husband a confused look, catching a whiff of his dad and Jensen, “What’s going on?”

“I bet y’all would like to freshen up after your trip.” Quinn blurted out, “Jensen, would you help me with their luggage, please.”

Taking the car keys, he follows her out the door, remarking, “you think fast, coming up with that story.”

“Ya’ were about to lose ya' shit on your father-in-law, and I didn’t precisely fib, just moved a few facts around,” Quinn shoots back, grabbing a bag while Jensen, fuming, retrieves the other, following her to the guest house.

How could the Alpha he considered his father even think, after everything they’d been through, found his dark thoughts distracted by two simultaneous acts; a deflating blow-up bed and his bewildered husband storming in shouting, “What the fuck was that?”

Jensen ticked his head towards the O and made the finger-in-hole gesture.

 “I’ve gotten that shit since I presented,” the pair look towards Quinn with confused expressions. “Loads of Alphas still carry antiquated beliefs about unmated O’s, and I’m…pick an adjective to fill in the blank.”

“So much for a peaceful holiday,” Jensen grumbled.

“Yeah, too bad ya’ boy stuck his nose where it didn’t belong, right?” Quinn's tone was caustic. “I don’t want to be a bone of contention with ya' family. I’ll figure somewhere else to stay.”

Jared’s wolf simmers under his skin, “How? You have $636.96 in your account. That won’t cover a security deposit, let alone fir..” 

“How the fuck ya’ know what’s in my account?!”

“Your laptop was open...”

“...and ya’ snooped...”

“...I happened to see it...”

“...still not your fucking problem...”

“...you’re carrying my..our pups, that makes it my fucking..”

“...ya’ are the most unfucking...”

“I’m tired of y’alls motherfucking bitching, so shut the fuck up!!” 

Jensen wrinkles his nose, “Dude, dial it down; you’re stinking up the joint! And Quinn, Jared screwed up...”

“I never asked...”

“...doesn’t matter! He's trying to make amends, for fuck sake!” Jensen felt the vein in his left temple throbbing again.

“There will be many people dropping in or staying with us this fucking week, and this is how we’re all going to handle our situation.”

🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿🫎🐿

January 15th

“Humph,” Jensen jerked awake, slapping a hand around, and found his phone before cracking an eye open.

7:18 A.M.

Groaning, he dropped face-first into his pillow and wrestled his mates over his head to muffle the noise, but the pearls of his pup's laughter signaled he wouldn’t sleep much longer.

His fuzzy brain's insistence that coffee was more imperative than a shower has Jensen sleepily shuffling around the oversized couches, once again grateful they’d decided to move their bedroom to the main floor, spots the group in the kitchen muttered too damn early.

“That’s a bad word, Daddy,” JJ says, her frown a replica of his, “you owe the swear jar.”

“Your right, Birdie, sorry,” dropping a kiss on top of her and the twins' heads, stepping around them, pouring himself a mug, “remind me to pay it later.” 

Hopping up on the counter, Jensen sips his coffee, savoring the black elixir rolling over his taste buds; he feels the caffeine penetrate his system, working its magic to turn his morning grumpyass into a civilized human watching his brood.

JJ and Arrow are busily festooning Quinn’s long, wonky braided hair with ribbons. Zeppelin and Icarus are sitting on the O’s lap, watching something on his iPad that's precariously balanced against her feet; felt his wolf purr in contentment, starting him when his mate materializes and gives him an odd look.

“Alright, y’all,” hopping off the counter, Jensen scoops up his son and flies him around, making airplane sounds, “Uncle Jeff and Aunt H/W/N will be here soon. What do all of you need to do before going?”

“Brush teeth and hair,” Arrow says, then looks at JJ, “grab our snacks from the fridge,” she reminds her, “and put them into our backpacks.” 

“And do bath break!” Zep giggles as Jensen hands the pup to his mate and quietly says, “I wanna discuss something with Quinn.”

Jared reaches through their bond and finds a placidity in Jensen he hasn’t had for so long, but before he can deduce the causation, he gets distracted by the twins' squeals and escorts the pups upstairs. 

Quinn eyes the older Alpha while securing a hair tie around her long braids, “what the fuck I do this time, Ackles?”

“Jared mentioned something about your leaving..”

“...I know ya' expected me gone before now...”

 “...ya’ know what I expect?” Jensen snaps, mimicking her subtle accent, “I expect you to stop interrupting and let me get something out for fucking once! Now, could we please discuss this without fighting?”

Sitting at the dining room table, she says nothing, watching Jensen refill his coffee, grab another mug, and drops in a spoon of honey before pouring the brewed tea from the kettle, “Ya’ know how I take me tea?”

“I’m not a completely unobservant asshole,” Jensen self-deprecates, “you make a damn good cup of coffee,” he said, carrying both mugs over. “And I’m astonished how you balance everything, working at Emmer and Rye while keeping up with our hectic schedules. And what did you do to Jared?” Quinn looked confused, “you got him to put his wet clothes in the laundry instead of leaving them all over the bath. You’re either a witch or a goddamn miracle worker!”

“I gave him two options. Leave’um in the laundry or find itching powder in his clothing.”

“He’d just borrow my stuff...”

“...he did, once.” 

“So, you?

“Clif said ya’ boy spent the day denying it was jock itch.” 

Jensen was still laughing when the quartet came back downstairs, so Quinn placed both forearms on the table, leaning forward, and spoke softly, “okay, Ackles, the fucks going on with this little tête-à-tête? Cause ya’ been freaked the fuck out the entire time, so,” nodding to her mug, “What’s with the buttering up?”

“It’s about not leaving...”

“Quinns not gonna leave?” Jensen whipped around to find Arrow bouncing excitedly beside him, then she suddenly raced towards the front door, yelling, “Papa Jared, Daddy’s got Quinn to stay with us!”  

Jared stood there scrutinizing the seated duo with an indecipherable expression.

“Looks like ya’ the one dropping me in the shitter this time, Ackles.”

tbc

Part V

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva  @b3autyfuldisast3r  @lassie-bird @nancymcl  @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Sam/Jared:  @idreamofplaid Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @akshi8278  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl @siospins2

GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy @let-me-luve-you @all-4-wincest @ladysparkles78

[zepskies]

hiiii, it’s me again 😅💙 i hope your week is off to a good start lovely !!💗🫂 i have yet another random question, that i hope is fun :) it might be a little confusing, but here it is;

which versions of your jensen characters do you think would get along the most, and which ones do you think wouldn’t get along at all?

like for example, i’d like to think smoke eater-dean and take me home-beau would get along :)

meanwhile i’m not so sure break me down-ben would get along with against the wind-dean 🤔 (all the alpha macho man stuff maybe, one of them being a literal alpha loll)

if this is too strange or confusing please feel free to ignore lmao <3 have a wonderful rest of your day !!💕💕

Hey lovely, how are you? 💕 My week is off to a much better start than my weekend lol. And yay!! Omg I love your Qs. You always come up with good ones, and this one was no exception. 😉

Which versions of your Jensen characters do you think would get along the most, and which ones do you think wouldn’t get along at all?

Oh, interesting. 🤔 I'm going to separate my answers like this:

Cowboys & Law Enforcement:

I think you're so right -- Dean Winchester from Smoke Eater, my firefighter AU, would get along really well with Beau Arlen in Take Me Home. Even though Beau had a conflict with a firefighter in that story (the reader's asshole ex-fiance), he wouldn't hold it against all firefighters. 😜

Likewise, I think TMH Beau would also get along with Western/Cowboy Dean from The Honorable Choice and Outlander...for obvious reasons. Who doesn't wanna see a modern cowboy sheriff meet a true western cowboy? 🤠❤️

Soldier Boy:

He's his own category because...let's face it, he's prickly lmao.

Break Me Down version of Ben really only gets along with the reader (and his daughter) in that world. 😂 ...Well, maybe Frank and Loco too. But they're his subordinates, so it's a different dynamic.

However, Ben and Alpha Dean from Against the Wind would certainly butt heads, mostly because Ben is cocky as fuck and doesn't really care about making friends and being personable with people he thinks he's better than, unfortunately. The best the BMD reader can do is keep him civil with another "alpha" male, like Butcher or M.M. -- men he actually respects. 😅

BMD Ben might actually get along with Lost on You Ben, only because that version of SB has gone through a similar character growth. They would be able to find some common ground. And hell, BMD Ben would probably give LOY Ben some unsolicited parenting advice, especially where John is concerned. 😂

Also, I think Alec McDowell from Being Human would annoy the ever living shit out of BMD and LOY Ben the most lmfao. Alec's probably the only one who can match Ben's cockiness, considering he's a super soldier himself. How young and sarcastic and smart he is would just make him doubly grating for SB. 🤣💚

Total Bros:

As for who would get along the best...

I think Midnight Espresso Dean would get along the best with Russell Shaw from Every Second Counts. ME version of Dean is essentially "normal Dean" in his 40s with a Latina girlfriend.

Russell is around his same age, has done some shady shit, has "seen some stuff that would blow your hair back," drives a Chevy Malibu comparable to Dean's Chevy Impala, LOVES food and beer -- oh yeah, these guys would hang. 😂💜

[bejeweledblondie]

Simon “Ghost” Riley Headcannons

A/N: these are loosely inspired from real life experiences I’ve had living on a military base, these men have a on & off switch it’s crazy

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

Warnings: NSFW

• Simon first saw you while he was in the States for a training exercise, he was out at one of the local bars with some of the other soldiers he was with

• Soap had actually asked for your number first & since he was so intoxicated you turned him down

• Simon apologized for Soap & that’s how you met

• he did have a heart attack when he found out there was a bit of a age gap between you two but quickly got over it when he realized how mature you were

• it was a long distance relationship at first (from personal experience it sucks in the beginning)

• there were times when he couldn’t talk due to the risk of potentially exposing his teams location so you had to write letters every now & then

• you cried constantly whenever you saw some horrific news in the paper about what was going on overseas, the anxiety was awful

• but when he returned the reunions were euphoric

• you have a bottle of his cologne & aftershave so you can always feel close to him

• and you’d spray your perfume on the letters you sent so he couldn’t always smell the paper when he was missing you

• it took him sometime to open up to you about what had happened to him in his past, & your respected that

• when he first met your family, he was shocked by all the support he had received from them

• he asked your parents to marry you the first time he met them & showed them the ring too (ofc they said yes)

• he proposed to you in private after a nice dinner, he got choked up during the proposal

• your dad specifically was elated, he got to brag at how bad ass his son in law is

• your mom if she’s a teacher, had her entire class send cards, candy, anything they’d need in care packages Soap nearly cried when he opened the sweetest letter from a little girl (this actually happened irl my mom’s class did this & one guy got really choked up)

• Simon always would be your fiercest protector

• since he’s like an freakin tree he will guide your head with his bear paw of a hand in crowds

•he CANNOT sit with his back facing the door it stresses him out

•this man is strapped 24/7 whether that be a knife, bear spray etc. he’s ready

•he has a trauma kit in his car because “you never know”

•Simon is 1000% one of those apocalypse preppers you have freeze dried food, medicine, water, etc. he’s always on edge

• he sleeps with a damn rifle next to y’all’s bed

• you have a whole security system too

• your guy’s apartment is impeccable like you could eat off of the floor

• hell your guy’s bed has damn hospital corners

• Simon adopted a cat so you don’t feel as lonely when he’s deployed

• He’s your chonky boy & you do send plenty of photos to Simon when he’s deployed

• Gaz & Soap tease him about him living his “cat dad” life

• you start trying for a baby two years into your marriage

• Simon does fall victim to the “curse of the infantry” (which is not a negative thing btw it’s a running joke that infantry soldiers have all daughters) he makes girls

• he was deployed during your pregnancy & was worried sick he nearly missed the birth of your daughter

• that little girl is the most well protected baby in the whole world, the Task Force gifted him not just baby stuff but damn security for the nursery

• He watches your baby from his phone in the nursery on deployment, he was silently crying once when he was watching you sing a lullaby to your baby girl

•Price had to comfort him father to father

•In reality Simon has a very hard cold exterior at work for the sake of keeping his mental health for the profession he’s in but deep down he’s always held a soft spot & your relationship just brings it out

✨NSFW ✨

• there is a big size difference between you two & it drives him insane

• the first time y’all had together he didn’t want to break you in half

• when he returns from deployment y’all go at it like rabbits for multiple rounds, your poor pussy was so sore afterwards

• has a massive corruption & daddy kink

• he’s an ass man I don’t make the rules here so any position where your ass if the focal point is his favorite

• y’all have made so many sex tapes for him when he’s deployed, he has a whole folder on his phone & jerks off to them in the bathroom or the porta potty (it’s a canon event, trust me) to them

• he lets your cockwarm him constantly when you’re on the couch, when he’s working, hell y’all had even fallen asleep like that

• I know people say he has a Prince Albert piercing but alas per army regulation that is safety risk I think it’s more likely he’d use a cock ring on you

• during a military ball you two snuck off & fucked in a supply closet

• he couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel room after seeing you in your gown, it was red his favorite color

• and he just looked so fucking good in his dress uniform, that was the night you totally conceived your baby girl

• he groans into your ear when he cums & he’ll use his body to just eclipse yours

• “one more baby girl” & “c’mon pretty girl use your words tell me what you want”

• is a sucker for babydoll lingerie it brings your innocence & triggers his corruption kink

• moral of the story Simon Riley fucks

[kneelingshadowsalome]

What about princess reader who falls for Konig? He's a retired royal soldier (Bit of an age gap but I was thinking more like he was so good he was able to retire early) that she saw every once and a while and she does the typical "disguise myself as a commoner so i can sneak into town" routine and he pretends he doesn't know but he used to serve her family so ofc he fucking recognizes her

He tries to be gentle with her but honestly she should just be happy he isn't ratting her out to her family 🙄🙄🙄 (not that she minds)

CW: 18+ MDNI. Medieval AU, forbidden love, mutual pining, virgin!princess!reader x veteran!knight!König. Undefined age gap (reader is of legal age which means she’s "old" for an unmarried woman of this period). Reader is kinda coercive, König is implied to be a virgin too. Bittersweet romance vibes, brooding guy/gentle girl trope, ambiguous ending.

Word count: 6.4 k

You never thought you’d have the guts to slap a knight. 

Violence is unladylike, and even if you’re a princess, it doesn’t mean you should force your status down someone’s throat like that. Far less his, the man you were taught to respect and listen to because he’s a man, and older than you. 

The fact that he was also an anointed knight didn’t seem as important as the simple truth that he possessed a cock between his legs, and it always annoyed you to no end that this was the reason why men ruled the world. As a lady still unwed, you’re supposed to be afraid of cocks, especially if they’re old and gruff. 

But you never were afraid in the presence of your father’s most loyal knight. He was your sworn shield too, and the only time he had been away from your side was when he asked to go on a pilgrimage to some chapel nearby. Said he wanted to seek forgiveness for his sins.

A man like him must have a lot to pray forgiveness for, but knowing that he could split a man in half with that greatsword of his doesn’t stop you from sneaking out one night as you follow him outside the castle walls and into the local inn.

Dressed as a stable boy, you watch with wide eyes how he gulps down three pints of beer and doesn’t turn any dumber from it. His speech never slurs, his shoulders never slump, but when some kitchen wench sits down beside him, your breath gets caught in your throat. 

You look at the odd couple for a moment or two, watch how your father’s knight, the secret object of your silly daydreams, finally loosens the strings of his purse and offers the girl a copper coin. 

It’s more than you can take, so you shoot up from your bench and march to him. The woman looks up at you with lousy disinterest as you ask the man of your dreams if he’d like to have another pint of ale. Your knight recognizes you immediately, even in your too-big tunic and your uncomely hose, even with that dirty felt hat covering your hair.

And he’s mortified, from what you can tell.

Both your eyes are wide now, and the woman beside him is smart enough to leave. She slides herself off the bench and sneaks past your side, and your valiant knight just looks at you, looks at you, looks at you. 

You should be worried that he’ll snitch about your adventures to your father, but right now, all you can do is stare at him like he’s the thief, caught fresh and red-handed. Because he is a thief, and a devil, the worst man on earth when he was supposed to be the best. You snort to let him know how much you despise him—for coming here and bedding women for money when he’s supposed to be a sworn, celibate knight—but what truly hurts here is that he’s bedding someone else than you.

When you march out of the inn, he follows you, even dares to lay his hand on you by grabbing your arm outside. That’s when you turn on your heels and deliver a fat slap on his cheek, lightly stubbled and sweet, something you had hoped to plant a kiss on for many, many years.

“Your grace,” He grunts and rubs his chin, slightly amused. “Have I offended you?”

The slap couldn’t hurt that much, and this man never does amused. Even now, the mirth extends only to his eyes, never to his lips. 

“You know perfectly well that you have, sir,” you clasp your hands in front of you, now entirely his princess even though you’re dressed like a peasant.

“My lady,” he bows both in body and in voice. “I truly don’t know what crime I have committed.”

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

Usually this knight looks like there’s a stick up his ass, that someone pissed in his porridge and shat in his stew, that there’s nothing but hailstorms and calamity in his life. 

Were you any more clever, you’d leave him be, but God has made it so that you’re drawn to battered and beaten animals. Of course you’re drawn to him too, lonely and spiteful as he is. This man broods so much you sometimes wonder if he’s the reason why it rains so violently up here in the hills. He probably summons dark clouds above the castle with those ponderous frowns alone – but now he’s looking at you as if he just woke up from the dead and walked into the shy sunshine after a long, harsh winter.

“You… You shouldn’t bed women,” you tell him, and he looks at you even more curiously.

“You shouldn’t pay for it,” you mumble next – unladylike, again, especially when your eyes turn to your shoes and away from that hawk-like, calm stare.

There’s a short silence after that, and you almost turn heel and walk back to the castle from the desire to escape the weight of his eyes. Eventually, he shifts his weight to the other leg and clears his throat.

“I sometimes pay for women to hold me. There’s nothing more to it.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, but the mirth is all gone now. It’s replaced by solemn acceptance, some sorrow you never even knew he had. Yes, he’s always silent and looks a bit pissed, but he’s not heartbroken, no, not your brave knight…

“To “hold you”, sir?”

The sorrow is covered with white lashes before you get to the bottom of it. Something tugs at the corner of his mouth—shame and frustration, probably.

“To hold me. Like a mother would. Is that a sin?”

His eyes search for yours from under dark brows, they beg for your consent as if it mattered to him. They’re quite catching, his eyes; enchanting in their intangibility. You know he doesn’t need your acceptance, nor is he threatened by your disgust. He’s unreachable, untouchable, forbidden—a mountain you can never climb because you wouldn't even find it among the mist. And those eyes see everything but feel nothing: they haven’t taken part in the troubles of this world in years.

…

He evades you for the whole of next week. 

Leaves the hall if you choose to dine there, walks away when he sees you at the stables, looks through you if you have the courage to address him. You stand watch by the window every night to see if he slips out of the castle, but it seems your knight has lost his interest in kitchen wenches and copper hugs. 

It burns like hot broth in your stomach, the thought of him in some other woman’s embrace. This mighty giant of a knight, kneeling in front of a girl, paying for her to simply put her arms around him. 

You’re not sure if you’re childish to believe him and his words. To trust that he truly goes to them just to be held. You’re not sure if you’re the worst lover of poor, crippled creatures for not wanting to let him have even that...

Because you wish to hold him yourself, here, in the softest of all beds. Just wrap your arms around him after you’ve unburdened him of that heavy mail and thick gambeson; you’d help him with anything he needs. Let him sigh against you and have those lines of worry on his brooding face smooth somewhat. Maybe sing a soft song for him to help him sleep...

The thought of him being so lonely that he spends his wage on girls just to have a hug is driving you to madness.

It’s tearing you to pieces because he would never, ever have to pay you to hold him. 

It’s forbidden, you know: this love you’ve harboured for years. He’s far below your rank, even as a bannerman, he’s far below you even if he’s taller than the tallest war horse in your father’s stables. He’s older than you too, but that’s hardly the biggest problem: your father took his second wife when he was five and thirty and the maid was seventeen. The match was considered perfectly normal, even healthy, but this would not. This would cause an outrage.

Oh yes, you’re to be wed far away to some sadistic young lord if your father has his way. You’re sure they’re already gossiping about it in the streets: how you should’ve been sold like a horse years ago. How is it that you’re still here, burdening the kingdom with your presence and swallowing up coin? 

If they only knew that you’ve fought against every match with tooth and nail, the townsfolk would work themselves into a small uprising. And you’re not against marriage because you like it here so much... You’re against it because the knight who dresses himself in black mail and makes the servants piss themselves with his heavy footsteps alone makes your heart flutter like never before.

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

And you wonder… What would he do? Your pale, brooding knight?

Would he scoff and turn his head away if he knew you dreamed of him before sleep, would he be appalled to hear that you’ve touched yourself to the thoughts of him? Would he think you a whore…?

You dress differently that night, the night you catch him escape the dull horrors of the castle once more. Boredom oozes out of the walls here, a poison of nothingness and despair. The stones won’t offer warmth, not even during the height of spring, so it’s no wonder that your knight is headed elsewhere for warmth and a mug of ale. 

You dress accordingly to see what this toughest of knights is made of: with a brown woolen skirt and a white cotton blouse, you look the part of a kitchen maid who forgot half her garments at home. 

People look at you in the streets, but without your usual attire and with your hair styled differently, they wouldn’t know who they’re looking at even if they saw you frolic around like this in court. You know they’re looking at you because you're a half naked woman ripe for taking, stubbornly out at night and dressed so suggestively it’s a miracle no guard rapes you before you reach the inn. 

Maybe it’s the royal pride that keeps them away: you certainly look like you haven’t toiled in the fields or shoveled horse dung in your poor miserable life. There’s an air about you, and he notices it too, far before you’ve sat your pretty bum on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing,” he asks with a slightly alarmed voice.

He has that stick up his arse again, sits so straight that you’ve never seen such a ramrod back on anyone. When you set your hand over his, he only blinks.

“One silver to hold you, sir,” you lean to whisper on his skin, the shaved cheek you’ve wanted to kiss for so, so long. “What do you say...?”

He’s still breathing, even if there’s no sound to prove that he is. You can only see it from the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a stained, cream-white gambeson, that he’s breathing. He’s big, even without his armor, big and strong and intimidating, a tower of strength in one man.

“I cannot bed women,” he talks to the stout logs that make the walls of the inn, refusing to even look at you after one quick horrified glimpse.

“Who said anything about bedding?”

“This is a dangerous game, your grace,” he warns with a low purr when you won’t relent. 

His voice is parched but smooth, and you smell smoke; delicious smoke from the fire that sticks to the clothes of a person who spends too many hours staring into a fire. You smell ham and earth and leather and sweat, horses and metal, the rusty stench of mail gone bad.

You wonder how you smell to his nostrils – is it something sweet? Fresh herbs and lavender oil maybe, or soft, spun wool, some tangerines and summer wine?

“I’m not your grace,” you tell him, nose now touching the bridge of his ear. “Not in here.”

You see from the turned sleeve of his padded tunic that the hairs on his arm are standing on end. His eyes are closed, and you can finally hear his ragged breaths. Desire speaks in them, or then you’re in over your head... Why else would he sound like that, like he’s already making love?

“One silver, sir, and I’ll hold you all night,” you repeat softly, and he swallows with a dry, open mouth.

“I don’t have such money on me,” he rasps, voice drenched in slow, drowsy want. 

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

You breathe a smile upon his skin, the place where his neck meets his jaw. Running your fingers across his wrist, you leave little to the imagination and you both know it.

“You can pay for the room and we’ll see how much you have left after that.”

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

He’s in pain now, you can see it: the sharpness, the distant eagle gaze from his eyes is gone. He can barely keep his lids open, and when you peel the sleeve back with your hand, pet him like he’s one of your cats, press your lips on the spot you know is the most sensitive, he groans.

“You’re going too far,” he whispers, but won’t move. Breathless now, he can’t even speak with dignity. Gone are the distanced grunts and the composure, even the stick in his arse has melted away. 

If a touch of your lips and the softest caress can do this to him, what would happen if you straddled his lap? How would it feel to be pressed against him, naked and entwined in a mutual embrace?

“You didn’t say no to that other girl,” you breathe more kisses on his skin. “Am I so horrendous…?”

“You–” he starts, opens his eyes somewhat. “You are teasing me on purpose.”

“You never were the brightest of my father’s knights,” you smile a little laugh in his ear. 

He grabs his pint as if that could save him; out of fury or lust, you don’t know. And that’s when your little adventure gets interrupted: someone must’ve had enough of this disgusting display of seduction and whoring. 

“Pardon me, lovebirds. The room’s a copper, if it please you,” a tired voice says from somewhere above. “And the ale is–”

“Ja, ja. I’ll pay,” your knight grunts with such annoyance that you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or the poor soul who interrupted you two. 

Everyone here must think that you’re here to make some coin on a lonesome, desperate man. And he’s desperate, by God, he’s desperate… But when you walk upstairs and into your room, he takes a dip in cold waters without you knowing anything about it. When the door shuts behind you, your knight is back to the unbroken effigy he was last week, as he has always been. 

“You sleep there,” he points at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

“One more word from that pretty mouth and I’ll tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

You’re sent to your bed without supper, in your silly clothes, and get to watch how he barely takes his boots off before setting himself down on the floor, back turned to you. The innocent question “You think my mouth is pretty?” only gets an irritated scoff for an answer.

From under the linens, you watch him sigh and slowly turn to stone on the cold floor. There’s a big rug there but it’s barely enough to keep the chill out, and the hearth is cold during late days of spring. You’re warm enough here under your sheet, but you would be warmer if your knight was here with you… Warm body against yours as you both hold each other through the night. 

If only he could be enticed here by lying that you’re freezing... His honor would force him to share the bed with you, and your poor knight wouldn’t have to wake up with sore joints. The more you listen to him let out those occasional sighs, the more you want to shake this man. This silly act of martyrdom has to come to an end, now.

Slipping out from the warmth of your bed, you tiptoe to him. You know he can hear you, probably cursing in his mind with that crude foreign tongue of his. Laying yourself down behind him, you snuggle close until your front is glued to his back. 

It must pain him to have a maiden leave the comfort of her bed and trade it for the dirty floor, but you wonder if there’s pleasure in the pain when your touch finds him once more. And it’s not just want and lust you feel when you place your arm around him. It’s not motherly love either, although you do feel like you’re embracing a giant child who doesn’t want to be comforted. You know nothing about how lovers touch or hold each other, you’ve never touched a man other than your father, and those touches were never affectionate and warm, those touches were barely there at all. 

You wonder if you should be scared: you were taught that men will fuck everything that moves when given the chance. If a man of his size chose to take you here on this floor, there would be nothing left of you. Such an outcome seems dubious, however, when your sworn shield acts like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper when he continues to be stiff as a rock in your embrace. “You don’t have to pay me. Surely you know that you don’t have to–”

He moves, and at first you fear he’s about to rise and dart to the door. Make a run for it and slam it shut because you pushed it too far, his dumb, danger seeking maiden. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he turns around and buries his face somewhere in your neck. He does it so forcefully that you’re almost sent to lie on your back, and you barely catch the naked pain in his eyes before a rough arm snakes itself around your waist and pulls you close.

Warm breaths hit your skin, sending all the little hairs in your body shooting up – were he to move an inch further down, his face would be buried in your tits…

And then come the tears.

You’ve never heard a man cry like that – well, you’ve never heard a man cry at all. You didn’t even know they knew how to weep. It’s like all the tears in the world are reserved for women and children because there’s no wetness even now: your knight cries in thick, dry sobs, shudders that shake the both of you, years and years of suffering sighed through gritted teeth and into your hair.

Slowly, so slowly, you place your arm around him once more. Your hand barely reaches the middle of his back, so vast is this man, now only a crumbling mountain in your embrace. But when you won’t waver, when you refuse to turn your tail and run, he slowly melts in your arms like spring snow.

He still breathes as if in pain, the sounds that come out of his mouth heartbroken and strained. You’re not surprised to see that even his crying is an act of violence; he’s a man inconsolable. 

And yet, you console him. Comfort him. Like a mother, you stay and let him cry his fill in your ear as he clutches you, threatening to tear the back of your poor cotton blouse while doing it.

When he’s done, the shakes recede and his body is warm and calm, soft, almost. He pants and swallows, comes down from it with so much shame that you’re sure he has never done this with anyone, not ever before.

And then…

“I beg for your forgiveness, my lady,” he gruffs on your skin. “That was–”

“Shh... It’s alright.”

You caress the back of his neck, sweaty from the toil. He releases the fabric of your blouse only to grab it again in an even tighter fist. The face in your neck is buried deeper, his lips now pressed right over your throat.

“It has always been you, Geliebte... God knows it has always been you.”

You freeze in the middle of his confession, the panting on your skin intolerably thick now. When you swallow against his mouth, he pulls you against him, the body that used to be rigid and cold now like a hot, thick furnace, threatening to devour yours.

“You must know it too,” he whispers. “You must. You’ve seen my torment. Tell me you’ve seen it…”

He’s not demanding more than he is desperate, some dam suddenly being breached by a long-held flood.

If anything, you thought he hated you... You thought you were alone in your anguish, but it turns out he has carried the same soft secret all these years.

And it drowns you for a moment, his want and yours. Hands trying to touch whatever they can, mouth searching yours like he’s about to die if he can’t have a sip. You’ve heard what happens to women who allow themselves to get groped in dark hallways and winding steps; they hardly ever escape a man’s touch with their maidenhood still intact. And yet, this is what you’ve always dreamed of; a hot, blunt, forbidden encounter with this man. 

Now that he’s finally on fire for you, you’re not so sure though. What if you’re about to mate with a beast?

“Sir…” you whisper when he plants trembling kisses down your throat. He thinks you’re only moaning his title in the throes of pleasure, and squeezes you against him so hard that a tight little whimper is squished out of your mouth.

“I’m–I’m untouched,” you tell him before he sends his face between your tits, and it finally has the effect you feared and hoped for.

He freezes too, in the middle of tearing down your blouse. A shivering hand releases the fabric slowly, reverently; it rises to cup your face as your flushed knight meets your stare with shame.

“Of course you are,” he hushes upon your lips, strokes your cheek softly. “I cannot bed you. I know. But let me…”

He blushes while searching for the right words. That’s the moment when you start to suspect if he’s ever even been with a woman. What kind of a womanizer would blush when they’re about to make love to a lady?

“Let me make you feel good,” he finally suggests. “I’ve heard… of a way.”

He almost stutters when he says it, and you wonder if this is what he’s prayed forgiveness for. If he’s been thinking about different ways of wrecking you so much that it’s enough to send him to hell…

“And then,” he continues, “we’ll never speak of this again. You’ll become my lady, and I’ll become your sworn shield once more. We’ll be as we always were. As it always was...”

You’re not sure if you like that – returning to your status quo, becoming who you were before clutching each other on the floor like mad animals about to mate. But you nod. 

Whatever he wishes to do to you, it must be something good, and you trust him. Even after he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before, you’d trust this man with your life.

Your valiant knight carries you back to bed, and delivers on his promise. He never undresses you, he never defiles you. He just lifts your ankle to his lips and gives it a soft, reverent kiss, grazes your shin with his mouth before starting to worship you like a pagan idol of old.

You don’t know where he heard about it–at the stables, or the kitchen, at the barracks or the taverns–but the way with which he makes you squirm doesn’t require a cock, not even a hand. His lips are gentle, but his mouth is hungry, and you don’t know how to feel shame when he’s buried under your dress like that. You can’t even see his face when he makes you his, claims you with his mouth alone. 

It must be a sin to not take you like a man takes a woman on a wedding night; it must be a sin that it does not hurt at all, what he wants to do to you. But you don’t care. Love is much better and far messier than how they depict it in the songs, and no one ever talks about the noises a man can make when they pleasure a woman.

He groans like a beast, but moans like a whore – it sends a flush of hot blood up your cheeks to hear him so utterly needy and vile. Your knight who barely gave you a grunt as a greeting in your father’s hall now whines with a broken pitch between your legs. His hot sighs drown your own, and you thank Saint Mary and all the angels that there’s loud music and booming laughter downstairs. It’s still there, the dirty tavern, even if you’re being sent to heaven on this bed...

He gives you mercy only after you break upon his mouth with a series of tight cries. Spends a lengthy amount of time under your dress too, licking and kissing you clean.

He doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there, but when he emerges, he looks like a drowned, happy puppy, this giant, brooding knight… The sight seizes your heart in a flaming hand that you know will never let go: it’s forever engraved in your heart, that drunken, devoted stare. You thought that men had the needs of an animal and that women were put on this earth just for them to have their fill, but when you look at your knight, it appears it’s the other way around... This man has finally found what he was looking for. Between your legs, he just found his Heaven on earth, his Holy Grail.

And so he returns from his quest with a devotion that leaves you breathless. Takes you in his arms like an injured bird, making you feel like it’s summer already, and the world is nothing but songs and tales and long nights of bliss.

“Know that I am yours,” he says. “Until my dying breath and even beyond, I’m yours.”

It’s a pledge, not a statement, and it’s said with so much weight that the vow he swore to your father pales in comparison. 

“Sir... You always say such silly things,” you whisper back while lying in a pool of shimmering love, a heaven on earth indeed. Not even anointed, true to their faith knights talk like this… And he just smiles languidly when you raise a hand to brush his cheek. 

He looks like another hug could save him, like a simple adoring stare from you is all that is needed to keep him going for another year. It irks you that he’s ready to settle for so little when you’re ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted and more. With what just happened, he’ll live on for a thousand, thousand years, he’ll survive even the coldest of nights – but you won’t.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him, and a flash of fresh panic crosses his eyes.

“Süssling…”

He says it with worry, but does nothing when you send an exploring hand to his bulge. Drawing a sharp breath when you sweep your hand over it, he goes rigid again, this time for reasons other than just nervousness.

You’re younger and therefore more impatient, which means you’re at the strings of his pants in no time. He looks at your greed with a slack jaw and a set of furrowed brows, but never tries to prevent you. It only spurs you on that he’s acting so shy in front of an eager maiden when other men would already be bullying their cocks in your unexplored heat.

“This is madness,” he whispers when you pull out the heavy, hard cock that reminds you of the members you’ve seen on horses and bulls. 

Of course the man’s big down there when he’s practically a myth walking… And there must be a way to pleasure him too, some lovely devilry that will leave you a maiden. A virgin for him to take on your wedding night – because you will marry this man, no matter what anyone says. You’ll burn the whole kingdom down before giving yourself to any other man.

You wrap your fingers around him to punctuate it that he’s yours. If he feared you might mirror what he just did to you, he makes no comment about it when you don’t, only whines when his cock is snared by a frail but eager hand.

“Princess,” he warns, slightly out of breath. “I will stain your dress…” 

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

The worry in his eyes is wild and bright, but the way your fingers mold around him leaves no space for arguments. A broken, stiff sigh is punched out of him when you begin to move: if he won’t show you how, it’s no trouble at all to try and find out yourself. 

But when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of him, he finally brings a trembling hand upon yours. He starts to guide you, adjusts your grip, huffs when you both apply pressure on it. The curious creature that you are, you look down to witness the ugly beauty of it all.

It’s intimidating and rough, the cock in your hand... It looks like a weapon, honestly, a battering ram that leaks heady liquid from the head. Smooth and heavy and ripped with veins, it’s like a too hard muscle about to bludgeon something, and your hand is making it drool profusely. Would that it were inside you, you would be in grave danger, and why is it that you find the prospect so seductive?

His hand is far bigger than yours, and it makes your heart run wild, the way he tries to be gentle while using your grip to get himself off. He can’t even keep his eyes open from the shame, just takes a quick glance at your enthralled face before squeezing his eyes shut once more. 

“Look at me,” you command softly, and he obeys – what else can a sworn knight do? – but you can see that the poor man is on the verge of tears. Shaking and panting, he stares at you while fucking himself with your hand, and when you close the small breath of air between you and kiss him, he melts.

The first thick spurt surprises you completely, you even mewl into his mouth when it shoots to stain your dress. You didn’t expect that to happen, at least not so fast… And because this is the first time you’ve seen a man come undone, you quickly leave the panting, moaning mouth and look down. 

There’s so much of it, and the release is so violent; it looks and sounds like it hurts because the man is shuddering and groaning as if stabbed. Thick, white pulses of seed coat the brown wool of your dress, but it soaks the semen gladly: there’s nothing left of his cum other than dark, damp stains after he’s done.

And there’s no end to his shame. He pries your hand away from his cock as soon as he’s somewhat composed. Does it with a shaky hand, wipes what little stains of hot, wet seed you have on your palm to his pants, and all you’re thinking about is what it would feel like to have this giant trembling and groaning like that above you, inside you… If you could even take all of that thick, brutal length. If he would be able to move away when inside your heat, if he’d let you hug him again, just hold him close so that he’d never ever leave anymore…

“I have soiled you,” he mutters while looking at your skirt.

“Nonsense. You have only claimed me... I’m yours now.”

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You actually manage to kiss him silent. Tears begin to run down his face when you show him where he belongs. It’s the final surrender as he pulls you into his arms and finally drowns you in love – at last, you find yourself under him as he takes what's his. What seems like hours later, he breaks the kiss, only to look into your eyes with full-blown adoration.

“How am I to live without you after this?” 

“You don’t have to. Not ever,” you say.

“Princess. If there was any hope for me to have your hand, if there was any hope that your father would give it, I would have carried you away from this place years ago.”

For a while, you fear it’s the fear of sin that burns him. But then you realize it was always only just you. 

He looks so anguished now, even more in pain, when all you wanted to do was relieve his agonies. This was only a taste of what he can’t have. You both took a bite of the forbidden fruit but can’t eat the entire thing – no wonder he looks like he’s cast out of heaven he didn’t know even existed.

“Sir, I cannot do this,” you grab his face with both hands now. “Please don’t make me do this...”

He sighs and looks at the mess you just made. He’s broken every oath he’s ever taken, and the evidence is scattered right there between you. The only thing deadlier than this would’ve been if he pumped all of that hot, fluid sin inside you.

“Sweetling,” he laments. “Look at us. You’ve already ruined me. Ruined us both…”

“It’s called love, silly.”

He breathes a short, shy smile, the first you’ve ever seen on him. It’s cute and makes him look young, the quick flash of teeth between unruly lips, the almost bashful, downcast eyes that are not quite ready to meet the full brunt of your devotion.

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

Then he brings his eyes back to yours, his smile slowly making way for a more serious expression. He lifts a hand to touch your cheek, and you find yourself soaring in the sky like a bird, a phoenix that has risen from the dead. It’s heavenly, the way you both caress each other, here on the lowly tavern’s bed, covered in salt, sweetness and sin.

“Your father will have both our heads if he finds out,” he tells you as if you needed the reminder.

“I pray our heads will never be separated then.”

He snorts a quick smile again. It makes you heady, that you’re apparently the only one who can make this gruesome giant laugh. 

“You’re dangerous, princess,” he gruffs. “I knew you were trouble… And yet I curse all the years I left you in peace.”

“I know,” you smile. “Never the brightest one, my love...”

When you lie in his arms that night and tell him about your silly little fantasies, he grows hard again. When you tell him you now have new ones—ones where you’d want to feel him inside you—he looks like a man condemned to death. 

The stares he shoots your way make it clear that he’s lost – no matter what he says, he can’t be kept away from you, not anymore. You suppose he’ll forsake even more secret promises and vows before forsaking the pledge he swore to you. Even at the cost of your lives, he’ll come scratching at your door, howling for some quick, hot love in the night, begging for you to give him everything he has denied himself. 

And eventually, you grow more serious too. While lying in his arms, safe and tucked away from all the horrors of this world, you play with the leather strings of his gambeson, tugging them and twisting them around your finger like a child.

“There will come a day when they promise me to another,” you whisper, wondering if he’s already asleep. 

He promised to never leave your side again, he promised. And still… What will happen when the carriage and horses take you to some distant, hostile kingdom, far away from him? What if you only get this summer together, and then nothing no more?

“They’ll take me away,” you tell him, almost without a voice. 

A soft, hearty grumble answers, a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for.

“No one will take you away, sweetling. Not as long as I live.”

[antisupeagenda]

These two know what this is, but they also don't want to give it up.

🔥🔥🔥

CHAPTER FIVE: TOO DEEP

*image of Jensen Ackles is used with permission of the photographer Mandi Lea Photography.

Summary for this chapter: The sun comes out.

Characters in this chapter: AU Soldier Boy x OFC Brandy Miller, Annie January and Hughie Campbell (offscreen), Maggie Shaw, Butcher (mentioned)

Rating/warnings/tags for this chapter: 18+ ONLY, sex and substances hangover, being strung out on a thrill and good dick, inner conflict and contemplation, these two idiots, misogynistic language with his buddy Earving, rough couch sex, light face slap

Words in this chapter: 3k

Author’s notes: This fills my #"Too Deep" by RITUAL, Delilah square for @jacklesversebingo

Thank you, @stunudo for the green light and talking me through things.

Spotify Playlist - key song this chapter: “Too Deep" by RITUAL, Delilah

CHAPTER ONE: Inconsiderate Neighbor

CHAPTER TWO: Someone Loses A Bet

CHAPTER THREE: Coldest Night of the Year

CHAPTER FOUR: Breath Play

CHAPTER FIVE: Too Deep

The sun is bright. Too bright. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I’m barely awake. My body’s weighed down by a virtual ton of male and downy cotton.

He’s sleeping soundly with one leg thrown over my thighs and an arm roped across my chest. I need water and a bathroom — hungover from wine and weed and the dicking of a lifetime. I wiggle out from under his restraints and slide from the bed.

I wander nude to the master bathroom. Every joint and muscle in my body groans with effort. I want a shower and, fuck, I probably need a full body overhaul; I’m wrecked.

As I wash my hands, I do my best to avoid my reflection because a) I am certain I look as wrecked as I feel, and b) if I know anything about myself, I know that’s the sight that will push me over the proverbial edge. I fill a glass from the counter with water and sip, my dry throat convulsing.

I tiptoe from the bathroom to the bedroom, not immediately realizing that there are now blackout shades drawn. When I turn toward the door to the living room, his low, gravelly voice stops me cold.

“Where d’ya think you’re going?” he rasps.

“I was just- gonna get my bag to put on something warm,” I lie.

I was going to get my bag to put on something warm, then go home.

“Get back in bed,” he rumbles, and his covers rustle in the dark. 

I’m too exhausted to argue, and I’m freezing, so I do what he’s told me to do, setting my glass of water aside. An arm wraps around my middle and pulls me into the warmth of his body and blankets. He grunts and sighs as he fits me back in place like I’m a human-sized plushie. He ensnares me with one heavy leg and arm once again, his hard dick pressing the curve of my hip. 

“Go back t’sleep,” he mumbles, and I close my eyes and exhale.

When I awake the second time, I’m alone. I hear his voice outside the room. It sounds like he’s on the phone.

I slide from the bed, drinking down the rest of my water, then pick through the few pieces of his clothing that are scattered around the room. I find a hoodie to pull on before setting out to locate my bag for my own clothes.

“Ahh, man, I told you, that bitch is crazier than a shithouse rat!” He laughs, instantly clocking me with a wink. “What were you thinking?!” 

He undoubtedly heard me moving around his room. I swear he has preternatural senses. I shake my head at his less-than-delightful repartee with whomever it is he’s talking to and retrieve a pair of leggings and socks from my bag.

“Well, Earv, some pussy just ain’t worth the hassle. Especially not that one.” He snaps his fingers to get my attention, and I glare at him as I pull on my leggings. He points to a coffee cup in question, and I give him a nodding shrug.

“Alright, buddy, I’ll see you down at the yard. Okay. Yeah. Later.”

He takes his AirPods out as he fills a cup then rounds his kitchen island with two mugs. “Girl, you’re a mess. I rode you hard and put you up wet.” 

I arch a brow as I pull my hair up with a scrunchie. “Nice chat with your good ole boy?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, handing me my coffee. “Earving’s a fucking idiot. Got his car keyed and tires slashed because he jumps at any opportunity to get his dick wet no matter how many times she proves she’s crazy.” 

“Crazier than a shithouse rat sounds serious. Contagious even.”

He laughs, slipping a hand around the back of my neck. “Smartass,” he mutters, pulling me in for a kiss. He tastes like toothpaste, coffee, and cigarettes. I wish I could say that I hate it. After several twists and slides of our lips, I pull away. 

“I haven’t brushed my teeth.”

“I don’t give a shit.” He releases me and walks over to the wooden box on his mantle. “I ordered Dunkin, but that Nespresso should tide you over until it gets here.”

I settle on the couch with my coffee, the previous night’s events resurfacing in my mind. It’s not like me to not use a condom without talking about it first. But, then again, we don’t talk about much of anything.

“Do I need to worry about the lack of condom usage last night?” I sip my coffee, watching him smoke and scroll his music menu.

He squints. “Do I?”

I mirror his expression. “I no longer have a uterus if pregnancy is what you’re implying.”

He scowls and returns his attention to his music selection.

“But we aren’t exclusive, and we didn’t talk about it beforehand. So I need to know if I’m gonna come down with the clap or Hepatitis by Memorial Day weekend.”

“I’m clean.” A sultry, electronic beat drifts from his sound system, and he tosses his remote control aside before joining me on the couch. “And I always use a condom. Just not last night.” He snickers into his coffee, holding my gaze.

“Because I’m so special, I assume.”

His eyes narrow, and he licks his bottom lip back between his teeth, studying me for a beat. “Don’t put words in my mouth.” 

I blink slowly and sigh, and he discards his mug, pitching forward to relieve me of my own. “But you are,” he whispers, getting me on my back and wedging his hips between my thighs.

“God, you’re exhausting,” I breathe as he nuzzles my throat and nips at my jaw.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? I can fuck every doubt right out of your head, and you love it.”  

I exhale and arch into him, letting him push his hoodie up to expose and suck my nipples.

“Remember what you told me last night?” he asks, kneeling upright and peeling my leggings off. “Right before I fucked that hungry little cunt?”

I stretch my arms out and shake my head, but I do remember. How could I forget that every nerve ending in my body takes him in and I react without a second thought? The longer I let him, the harder he is to resist.

“No?” He tosses my leggings over his shoulder, his smug grin stretching his words as he knees me open wider, pushing his sweatpants over his strong, slim hips. “You told me how good I feel. How much you love my cock. Remember that?”

I sigh and nod as he whips his t-shirt over his head and blankets my body with his own. I slide my hands up his sides over miles of ink and scar and undulate beneath him while he teases my slit with his cock. I’m overwhelmed by this riptide of a man.  

“Tell me again, angel,” he whispers.

“You feel so good,” I breathe.

I crave his unrepentant ferality, while my inner voice screams for me to run. Even now, knowing what I know, saying what we’ve said, I want him — on top of me and inside me, to be carefree the way he is, to just feel. 

He props himself up on one elbow and notches himself just inside, then slides two fingers into my mouth, along my tongue, in and out, until I gag, then drags them down to twist and pull my nipples. He’s heavy and unmoving, won’t sink inside me like I want so badly. I try to change the angle for what I need, but I’m trapped.

“What’s wrong, angel? Need something?”

I whine and try to hide my face, but he tilts my chin up and glides his thumb between my lips and along my tongue. I greedily suck it and moan. 

“Ask for what you want,” he enunciates, pinching my chin. “Beg.” 

I squeeze my eyes closed to block himout, but he delivers a sharp slap to my cheek.

“Beg me.”

I groan. “Please.”

He nods slowly, pinning me in place with a look as he slides all the way home. 

“Fuck!” I shout with the rough drive of his hips, bracing my hands against the arm of the couch to weather the storm.

+++

“Bummed I didn’t get to ass-fuck you this weekend, but I’ll be back in a couple weeks.” He snaps a towel on my bare thigh as I try to pat my skin dry after our shower.

“Stop. You’re gonna make me swoon my face off,” I drone as I hang the bath towel.

“I don’t mince words.” He shrugs at his reflection, combing his hair in place. “You like that about me.”

“Do I?” I reach for the bottle of lotion I brought with me.

He turns and takes two steps toward me, backing me against his linen closet and shoving a hand between my legs. “Unless you’re perpetually wet, I’d say, yeah. You do.”

My skin prickles. I wish he didn’t know these things about me, but then I guess I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.

“Ben...”

He pops his eyebrows. “Ben? Since when do you call me Ben?”

“I dunno, man, you have like a dozen names for me. What the fuck am I supposed to call you?”

He pushes away from me with a lingering glare. “My dad’s Ben.” 

I tilt my head, watching him set back to his post-shower routine.

“Okay. What’s your mom’s name?” I prop a foot up on his closed toilet to massage lotion into my legs.

“Where the f-” He licks his lips like he’s trying to bite back an insult. “Cynthia.”

I narrow my gaze, spreading lotion up and down my arms. “Why are you so opposed to getting to know each other better?”

“The names of my parents won’t tell you more about me than you already know, Brandy.”

“So I can’t ask? What else are we supposed to talk about?” I drop my lotion in my bag and grab a pair of underwear.

“Anything but this surface shit.” He pulls the bath towel from around his waist and heads to his bedroom, and I follow.

“How is sharing our backgrounds surface shit?” I step into my panties and reach for the clothes I laid out on his bed. “I don’t know how else to do this.”

“You know exactly how to do this,” he waves a hand back and forth between us. “You just think it’s the wrong way. I told you; I don’t do traditional. But I do do this, and I do it well.”

He tosses a duffle bag on his bed and starts to get dressed.

“So, you’re unreliable, adulterous, and selfish,” I repeat his words from the night before. His eyes darken, and his jaw clenches. “Your words, not mine — yet we have ‘a connection’ that you seem to think we can maintain without ever talking about condoms, friends, or family. That’s not sustainable.”

“Why?” he asked, stepping into his boxer briefs. “Because you need a veneer to cling to?”

“That’s what people do! That’s what relationships are.” I clasp my bra and grab my sweatpants. 

“No, that’s propriety and appearances. Names and reputations. Promises that no one wants to keep and commitments that mean nothing more than to serve as a definition.”

I pause and blink. “Promises and commitments provide security.”

“Is that what you want? Security?” He stares me down.

That’s the million dollar question. I can’t tell him that I don’t know what I want besides him. That is the last thing I will ever admit to him.

“Well, I’d like to know the rug won’t get pulled out from under me.”

“I’m not a fucking rug.”

He told me who he was before he ever used the words. I really don’t know what I want, and part of me wonders if I’m just going through the motions, doing what I think I’m supposed to, saying I want things I think I’m supposed to want. 

“Look. I was just making conversation.” 

He cocks his jaw and yanks a clean t-shirt over his head before heading into his closet to pack.

+++

“Hughie, we can’t get a dog right now. We’re both busy with work, and we don’t have a yard.”

I freeze mid-stairs, pressing my lips together for fear they might hear me breathing. Every possible explanation for being here without flat out lying carousels in my mind. 

“You’re right. I know you’re right. He was just-”

“So cute,” they speak in unison.

Their steps come closer, and I close my eyes and pray.

“Oh, shit,” Annie exclaims.

“What? Did you forget something?”

Annie groans. “I left my phone at the diner.”

“Are you sure? You want me to call it?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, my watch is showing it across town. Ugh!”

Their garage door re-opens as they chatter, Hughie trying to console her for berating herself, and then their voices are thankfully muffled from getting in their car to leave. I wait long enough for them to back out of the stall and evacuate the immediate area before darting from the secrecy of the stairs and across the drive to my place.

Twenty minutes later, I hear BJ's garage door open and his motorcycle roar from our complex.

I’ve been playing this game for a month now. I call it a game because Maggie was right; I was trying to win something. He’s nothing like I assumed he was, though, so now I’m not sure what the fuck I’m trying for.

Maggie said she’d be back from her trip to Ireland this weekend. She’s been gone since I started hooking up with him, which only just now occurs to me, and that makes my belly flip.

Me: Hey, are you around?

Maggie: Hey! Yes, I’m just at the market for some groceries. Wanna share a bottle of wine while I unpack?

Me: Welcome home! Yeah, Lmk when you’re back and settled.

Maggie: 👍

I busy myself with throwing in some laundry, watering plants, and unloading my dishwasher until I hear Maggie climbing our stairs. About 15 minutes after her door closes, my phone buzzes with a text. 

Maggie: I’m home whenever you’re ready

Thankfully, I realize before I leave to cross the hall that I’m wearing one of BJ’s USMC hoodies, so I trade it for a sweater of my own. Then, as I knock on her door, I realize that I have consciously chosen to hide my relationship with him from the only friends I have in this town. 

Maggie opens the door with a grin. “Well, hello, neighbor. Come on in!”

I match her grin and hand her a small gift bag. “Saw these last week and thought of you.”

“Aww, I have a gift for you, too, but I still need to unpack everything. Why don’t you open the wine?”

“Sure thing.” I know my way around Maggie’s kitchen because we have the same layout and because I’ve spent enough evenings drinking wine with her.

I meet her in the living room amongst her luggage and piles of laundry.

“So, how was it?” I ask, setting our glasses on her coffee table to fill.

“It was really great. We saw a lot of family, ate a lot of food. The weather sucked, but I knew that going into it. January’s the worst.” She accepts her glass from me, and we tap our glasses together.

“Sláinte,” we toast before settling on the couch.

“You probably saw my Instagram posts, but I got some great shots for print, even though it was raining the whole freaking time.”

“Nice.”

“So, what’s new with you?” She pokes my thigh with her socked foot.

“Well, work’s steady. Been out with Annie and Hughie a few times.”

“Ohh,” she exclaims in mock delight. “How’s Tinkerbell and her twink?”

I huff a laugh. “They’re good. They took me to Butcher’s. Great burger.”

“Great burger,” she agrees. “Did I ever tell you I used to hook up with him?”

“No!” 

“Yes. And...” She sighs and shakes her head at the ceiling. “For the life of me, I do not know why I did it more than once.”

She snorts a laugh, and I echo it.

“Not good?”

“I mean, he’s hot, and it was fun, but I got absolutely nothing but orgasms from the experience.” She sips her wine thoughtfully. “I guess he introduced me to Susan Rayner. We had a threesome with her once, and I still get together with her from time to time.”

Maggie shrugs. “What else?” she asks.

I draw a deep breath and brace myself. “Well, speaking of hook ups-”

“Who? Please tell me it’s Marvin Milk from Butcher’s.”

“Ehhh, no. Umm...” I stall, suddenly forgetting how to say what I need to say.

I need to say it.

Maggie stares at me. “Who?!”

“BJ.”

Maggie blinks, and her mouth drops open. 

I bob my head, reaching for the bottle to refill our glasses. “Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” I set the bottle aside and take a long, healthy pull from my glass.

After several silent, awkward moments, my mind and heart racing, Maggie clears her throat.

“So... do you wanna talk about it?”

I nod, suddenly feeling a lump in my throat that I can’t swallow. “I think I do, yeah.”

“We’re gonna need something a little stronger than Pinot, huh?”

“That might be a good idea.”

Maggie sets her wine glass aside and heads toward the kitchen. “Good thing I hit up the Duty-Free.”

I finish my glass of wine, waiting for her to return.

Final Chapter coming soon...

Series Master List | Other Soldier Boy Fic

[crowsofdarkness]

Bill Skarsgard

All of my works are intended for ages eighteen years or older. MDNI. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY, TRANSLATE, STEAL, OR POST MY WORK ANYWHERE.

REQUESTS FOR BILL/ANY OF HIS CHARACTERS ARE OPEN!

Vampire!Bill

Shower Smut with Eric Draven

On Your Knees For Bill

A Certain Clown Facetimes You | Bill Brings Your Fantasy To Life

Red Carpet Smut

Cock Drunk With Eric Draven

Eric Draven Makes You Watch

Eric needs you to pull him from the darkness

Mustache Riding With Bill

Hate Fuck With Eric Draven

Eric Marks What's His

Eric Get's Handsy

You And Eric Make A Sex Tape

Fuck Buddies with Eric

Vampire!Eric Misses You

Valentines Day With Bill

Eric Delivers Your Punishment

Your Camera Roll Dating Bill: Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Bill's Camera Roll Dating You: Part One

Your Camera Roll Dating Eric Draven

Lazy Day with Bill

Wedding Day

NSFW Photos: ONE | TWO |

Neighbors: Bill Skarsgard x OFC! Rose- A simple chance encounter inside the laundry room with her new neighbor seems to change Rose's life without warning.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three-coming soon.

The Grey: Eric Draven(Bill Skarsgard Version) x Witch!OFC-For centuries, Nyx ran The Grey. One day, a group of thugs sneak in to steal something valuable to her and she makes it her mission to destroy everyone until she gets it back. When Eric Draven stumbles into her lair asking for help in his own revenge, Nyx agrees for a price. A love begins to form between the two of them, something that had been forbidden for Nyx. Will she break the rules for this love or use him to get back what’s rightfully hers? ON HOLD

A Fight For Darkness: Eric Draven( Bill Skarsgard) x Reader-An unknown text and a list full of questions for what happened to your sister leads you down to the underground fight ring that belongs to none other than Eric Draven, The Crow. Once he captures your eyes with his, the web you were desperate to untangle suddenly tightens. ON GOING

Who Are You?: The Winter Soldier: Bucky Barnes x Agent Fallen x The Crow: Agent Fallen was looking for a ghost, her ghost. With direct orders to shoot on sight to anyone who stands in her way, she soon finds herself at a crossroads when facing another ghost. The Crow. As they work together to find The Winter Soldier, Fallen and Eric Draven have to also work out their complicated relationship with each other. ON HOLD

Camboy: OF!Bill Skarsgard x Viewer!Reader[AU]- Bill isn't ashamed of the work he does, showcasing his body online for anyone willing to pay. His number one rule was never to make a connection with anyone who either sent him messages or paid for private one-on-one video sessions. That was until you decided to request a certain private session. ON GOING

El Este Aici: Count Orlok x OFC!Elenor-Elenor grew up hearing folklore about her family lineage. When death takes someone close to her, she’s forced to step foot into a home she was exiled from. Something draws her towards a box in the attic and once she opens it, she’s visited every five years by the darkness she was destined to always find.  ON GOING

The Bet: Eric Draven x OFC! Lucinda- Eric didn't give a shit about the new bakery that opened up across the street from his auto shop. And he definitely didn't give a shit about the pretty owner that seemed to always catch his eye. He told himself and others that she wasn't his type. So, why did Eric agree to a bet that involved making her fall in love with him within the month and then ghost her as soon as she uttered those three words? The answer is simple: he loves the thrill of the game.-COMING SOON.

Your and Bill's first time together

First kiss with Boy

Boy is tied up and you want a taste.

Size Kink with Bill

[darknessisafriend]

hello! 🥰i really like the way you write commodus and lately i've fallen in love hard with him. could i possibly request something with commodus x reader, where she is a healer he became friends with and she gets to him before he manages to kill marcus aurelius and comforts him?

ofc no pressure :D

Heyyyy! you're request really excited me, I had to write it instantly! so i hope you will enjoy it. Don't hesitate to comment or DM to tell me what you think of it, it really makes me happy to read reviews <3

Wait for me, Commodus x F!healer

The scent of damp earth and burning wood filled the cold night air. Distant echoes of celebration, soldiers laughing, music, the clatter of armor, the occasional shout of victory, passed through the Roman camp, nestled deep in the dense forests of Germania. The battle had been won, but the tension of war still clung to the air, thick as the mist rolling through the trees. 

Inside a modest tent, lit by the glow of oil lamps, you worked in silence. The table before you was cluttered with vials of balm, bandages stained in dried blood, and a bronze mortar filled with crushed herbs. The scent of laurel and myrrh mixed with the ever-present metallic tang of iron. 

Born the daughter of the imperial family's physician, you had spent her childhood in the shadow of power, learning the art of healing at your father’s side. You had been there the night Lucilla was born, watching from a quiet corner as your father worked. And years later, you had stood at the threshold once more, listening to the labored cries of Marcus Aurelius’ wife as she struggled to bring Commodus into the world. You had only been a child then, seven years old, watching with wide eyes as your father reassured the exhausted empress and helped deliver the boy who would one day call himself Caesar. 

Perhaps it was fate that bound the both of you. 

Commodus had never been an easy child, very sensitive, prone to tempers, defiance, and moments of dangerous stillness when the weight of being a ruler’s son settled too heavily on his young shoulders. While others scolded him, pressured him. You had only ever listened. While others treated him as an heir or a disappointment, you had treated him as something far simpler: a boy in need of understanding. 

Now, he was no longer a boy, and neither were you. Now, you followed everywhere the imperial family went, as their personal healer and reinforcement in the case of battles. In fact, you had spent the entire day tending to the wounded, despite the tiredness of entire days of riding to reach Marcus’ Aurelius camp.  

The fabric at the entrance of the tent shifted, and a tall figure stepped inside. You knew who it was before you even looked up. He had that quiet aura when he wandered around. 

"You took your time," you murmured, voice calm but knowing. A small smile playing on your lips as you cleaned your hands in a vinegared water basin. 

Commodus stood before you, clad in his blue and gold tunic which remained spotless, he had arrived too late on the battlefield, to his great relief, you knew. His dark eyes flickered in the low light, restless, troubled. You had witnessed his meeting with his father, cold, without affection from the older man for his son, barely a look and very little words exchanged. 

"You always wait for me..." he said, his voice lower than usual, almost tired. 

You finally met his gaze. Commodus, the boy you had known, the man he was, now seemed different. There was something unspoken in the way he carried himself, a crushing weight that had nothing to do with war. You knew it was due to his father, always was him or the Senate. 

“Of course. I promised to help you sleep didn’t I?” you smiled, approaching him as you pulled your cloak over your shoulders, those forest were very damp. You placed the back of your hand against his forehead to check for fever “No fever. But you seem unwell. Something happened?” you asked, caressing his cheek. You had always been quite intimate with the boy, protective, caring.  He looked down, boyish as if he already craved to be in peace, under a warm blanket. 

“I fear I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Father has requested my presence.” he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. A flicker of restlessness transpired through his entire being. 

You studied him carefully. Bringing your hand to his cheek, slightly rough from unshaved stubbles "You knew this was coming." you said, wanting to reassure him. You and Lucilla had listened to him during the entire trip, rambling passionately about��his future plans for Rome, how much he was eager to show his father what he planned for the Empire.   

Commodus nodded, but his fingers twitched where they rested on the edge of the table. He was anxious. Terribly anxious. But not because he feared the meeting, no, the gleam in his eye told her otherwise. 

"You believe this is it.” you said softly. How strange that atmosphere was, a sadness to lose a father soon yet eagerness to inherit what you’ve been prepared for your whole life.  

His gaze snapped to yours, unreadable. Then, slowly, he smirked. It was a fragile thing, thinly veiling something more desperate beneath. "You don’t?" 

You hesitated. You had known Commodus too long, had seen him through too many moments of doubt and yearning. You knew how deeply he craved his father’s approval, how much of himself he had molded to fit the role he thought he was destined for. And now, standing before you, he looked certain. Commodus stepped closer, tilting his head, close to your ear, lowering his voice as if confessing a secret. "It has to be." he said. "The war is over. Father is exhausted, you saw it. Rome will need an emperor soon. Who else would he choose?" He beamed; in that moment he didn’t notice the thought flashing through your mind. 

You could think of one man...Maximus. You had seen how differently he was treated by the emperor. But you said nothing. Then you felt Commodus’ eyes on your face. He exhaled, shaking his head as if to shake off his insecurities "Stay close tonight," he murmured. "When it happens, I want you there." 

She could see it now, the dream playing out in his mind, the moment his father would name him, the way the camp would kneel, the way he would turn to her first, as he always did. As if she was part of it. It made your stomach twist; you had the intuition that unfortunately it wouldn’t go the way he dreamt of.   

"Of course," you replied, because there was no other answer. You had always been at his side. Even now, even when the weight in your chest told you something was terribly, terribly wrong. 

The emperor’s tent was larger than the others, lined with thick furs to stave off the chill. It wasn’t too far from your tent. In case the emperor’s doctor required your assistance for the aging man. Outside, torches burned low, their flickering light barely touching the darkness of the forest beyond. 

Commodus had entered for a few minutes now. You stood just beyond the entrance, your heart pounding, anxiously waiting for any clues of what was being said inside. For now, you could only hear low voices, you couldn’t identify the words. But the atmosphere had grown freezing. Marcus Aurelius speaking was the usual measured and unwavering tone. As for Commodus he was awfully quiet and that was never a good sign. 

Then- 

“I searched the faces of the gods…for ways to please you…to make you proud…one kind word…one full hug, while you pressed me to your chest and held me tight…would have been like the Sun on my heart for a thousand years…what is this in me you hate so much?” you heard Commodus sob, his suffering was clear in the tone of his voice . You closed your eyes. You had known. Somehow you had known. Each words Commodus let out was a cry for help and each reply of his father another blow on his son’s wounded heart. You had witnessed many things on the battlefield, men gutted and bleeding, soldiers clawing at life with the last shreds of their will. But none of it compared to the horror of watching Commodus unravel. 

Suddenly your chest filled with anxiety, your eyes widening, Commodus was breaking. He was panting, erratic and the lack of reaction from his father worsening it all. You clenched your fists; you had to enter. Intervene or something terrible would happen. 

Inside the emperor’s tent, the air was thick, suffocating with the weight of the men’s words.  Commodus’ breath came sharp and uneven, his entire body trembling like a caged animal on the verge of breaking free. His father’s words still hung in the air, cold and absolute. 

“I would have butchered the whole world…if you had only loved me….!” As Commodus pronounced those words, he wrapped his arms around his father. The young man’s mind had fractured under the weight of betrayal. His hands curled into fists, his chest rising and falling with the force of his ragged breaths. The golden glow of the torches flickered over his face, catching the glint of something terrifying in his eyes. 

Not pain. Not sadness. Pure, violent desperation. 

You quickly stepped forward in urgency, understanding what he was about to do. "Commodus," you called, your voice steady despite the hammering of your pulse. But he didn’t hear you. His eyes were locked onto his father, his entire body tense like a predator ready to strike. He had been raised to be Rome’s next emperor. It had been whispered to him since childhood, a truth woven into the very fabric of his existence. And now, with a single sentence, his father had unmade him. 

"You won’t be Emperor.” 

"Maximus." 

A lifetime of belief had just turned to dust in his hands. And Commodus, Commodus did not know how to exist without it. 

"Commodus, stop!" You called again, louder this time as his father finally understood the intent of his son and pushed himself away. 

Thankfully the force of your voice cut through the tent like a blade. Pulling Commodus out of his mad act. He flinched, his breath catching as if your words had grabbed him by the throat. His wild, storming eyes flickered to you. For the first time, he hesitated. 

You took a step closer, slow, deliberate. "Look at me." You said softly. While others always used a firm tone with him, you had understood tenderness had more effect to him. The torment in his face was raw, so excruciatingly human that it nearly broke you. His entire body shook with the force of his rage, his betrayal, the years of longing for love that had just been shattered beyond repair. 

If you let him spiral, if you let him be consumed, you knew what would happen. And you would not lose him to that abyss. 

You reached up, pressing your palm against the side of his face as you had done so many times. "You are not a failure," you whispered. "Not to me." His breath hitched. His skin burned under your touch, feverish with emotion, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might shatter beneath the weight of it all. 

But he was listening. Waiting to grasp any ounce of affection he could get. "You are more than what he makes you feel." she murmured. "More than what he denies you." You spoke louder. Ignoring the old man who was perhaps only understanding now what he did. Now, it was just you and Commodus. 

The prince trembled, his eyes begging you. You swallowed down, letting your forehead press lightly against his. "I see you, Commodus. I always have. Always will." 

A shudder tore through his frame at your words, his body collapsing forward into your arms. A strangled breath escaped him, followed by another, a sob... 

He tried to swallow it down, tried to hold himself together, but he was crumbling. Years of yearning, of being dismissed and overlooked, of being told in whispers that he was never enough, it all shattered at once. His hands clutched at you, desperate, like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. 

"Why?" His voice was hoarse, thick with unshed tears. "Why does he hate me?" Your chest ached at the rawness in his voice. 

You ran her fingers through his hair, soothing, grounding. "He doesn't hate you," you whispered. "He just...doesn’t see you the way you want him to. Doesn’t see the man you are." A ragged breath. Another tremor. Commodus broke apart in your arms, the fury, the grief, the unbearable weight of rejection spilling from him in unguarded sobs. 

And you held him through all of it. Because you were the only one he ever had. 

The world outside the tent was silent, save for the distant crackle of torches and the occasional murmur of soldiers keeping watch. Inside, the weight of Commodus’ grief filled the space like a storm that had yet to pass. Lucilla had joined, taking care of her father, leaving you the care of her brother. Even though she should have been there for him too.  

You could still feel the trembles running through him, his body pressed against yours as if he were holding on for life. His sobs had quieted, but his breath was still uneven, his fingers still gripping the fabric of your cloak as though, afraid you would slip away. You had never seen him like this before. So unguarded. So stripped of the armor he usually wore. 

And you knew, no one else would ever see him this way. His entire life, Commodus had been performing. For his father, for Rome, for anyone who dared question his worth. But here, in the dim light of the emperor’s tent, there was no mask left to wear. 

You kept running your hand through his dark curls, slow and soothing, waiting for his breathing to even out. "You’re shaking like a leaf my dear" you whispered almost motherly. He didn’t answer right away. Just held onto you tighter. 

"You're the only one who’s ever held me like this." he finally murmured, voice hoarse from unshed tears. You stilled. You had known him since he was a boy, a boy who had grown up feeling like a shadow in his father’s presence, constantly reaching for something just out of his grasp. And yet, even after all these years, he had never known a single touch that wasn’t meant to scold or shape him into something he was not. 

Your heart ached for him. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers tilting his chin up. His blue eyes, still wet with emotion, locked onto yours with a kind of desperation that sent a shiver through you. "Commodus." you murmured, your thumb brushing away a tear on his cheek. 

His breath hitched. His eyelids fluttering. As if something shifted between you. And it did. The way you said his name, the physical proximity you shared...the air grew heavier, charged with something neither of you had ever dared name before. Commodus wasn’t just clinging to you for comfort anymore, he was holding onto the only person who had ever seen him, truly seen him. 

And in that moment, you understood. You had always been his confidante. His safe place. But now, you were something more. A slow exhale left his lips, his forehead pressing against yours. He was still shaking, but not from sorrow anymore. Something else flickered behind his gaze, something raw, something dangerous. Something that had always been there, buried beneath the years. His fingers, still trembling, slid up your arm, tracing over the fabric of your sleeve before coming to rest at your wrist. He swallowed hard. "I don’t want to be alone tonight." he admitted, barely above a whisper. 

You felt your heart knock against your ribs. You had always put your emotions aside. Staying professional, at your place, even if you wished the opposite. Now, those feelings were rushing back to you. You should have stopped it before it went too far. But when you looked into his eyes, all that heartbreak, all that need, you knew you wouldn’t. 

Because the truth was, you didn’t want to leave him either. Not tonight. Not ever. 

The moment Commodus pulled away; you felt the loss of his warmth like a sudden chill in the air. His face was still close to yours, his breath unsteady, his grip lingering on your wrist as if he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. He swallowed down; his blue eyes dark with something unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the emperor’s tent. 

You hesitated, just for a moment. But then, as if some invisible force was pulling you forward, you followed him. 

The camp had quiet at this hour, the soldiers settled into their tents or hunched over fires, murmuring in low voices. No one paid you any mind. No one dared to. Commodus moved with purpose, his cape billowing behind him, his shoulders tense as if he was still caught in the storm of his own thoughts. 

You could sense it in him. That darkness. That fury. It was dangerous, unpredictable, and yet, you weren’t afraid of him. Perhaps you should have been. 

Your pulse quickened, your footsteps light as you trailed after him through the torch-lit paths of the camp. You had seen Commodus fight. You had seen him order men’s deaths without a second thought. There was something terrifyingly untamed about him tonight, like a lion still pacing after the kill, unable to find peace. 

And yet, that same wildness pulled at something deep inside you. You should have left him to his anger. You should have let him drown in it alone. But instead, you followed. You couldn’t leave him down that path. 

He led you to his tent, pushing through the heavy fabric without looking back. For a moment, you lingered at the entrance, you breath coming slow and measured, your own body betraying you with the faintest tremor. 

The air of the tent was full of his scent, one you always loved it brough such a sense of familiarity. Family. A single lantern flickered on a wooden table, casting long shadows along the tent walls. Commodus stood in the center, his back to you, his fingers pressing into the edge of the table as if grounding himself. The silence stretching between the two of you, almost unbreathable.  

“You followed me,” he murmured, his voice low, almost unreadable. His shoulders were tense, his head hung down.  

“You wanted me to.” you simply replied, calm. Wondering if you should approach to comfort him better.  

He turned then, slowly, deliberately. His face was unreadable, but his eyes burned. Not with rage. Not anymore. But with something else. Something that sent a sharp thrill down your spine. The storm in him hadn’t passed. It had only shifted. And now, it was coming for you, you thought. 

Commodus stood in the dim glow of the lantern, the golden light flickering over his face. His hair was still damp from the night air, stray curls slightly falling against his forehead, his tunic rumpled from where you had held him just minutes before. 

But the vulnerability was gone. In its place was something else, something coiled tight beneath his skin, something watching her with an intensity that sent a slow, heated ache through her stomach. 

You felt yourself almost unable to hold his gaze, wanting to step back. What you resisted for so long was pulling you stronger and stronger towards him. You didn’t manage to tear away your eyes from his, instead it was like your mind slipping into his. 

His chest still rose and fell too fast, his fingers flexed against the wooden table like he was fighting some invisible restraint. His gaze was not leaving you either. "You should leave." Commodus murmured, but his voice was rough, uneven. A warning, or perhaps a plea. 

You swallowed down; your throat dry. "Do you want me to?" You manage to ask. Something dark flickered behind his eyes. He exhaled sharply, running a hand on his chest before stepping forward. Not all the way, just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. 

"I don’t know what I want." he admitted as if resisting his pulsion and quickly stepped back again, leaning his back against the table, arms crossed over his chest.  But the way he was looking at you told you otherwise. The silence stretched between you again, the air thick, charged. You should have left then. That would have been the safest thing to do. But you didn’t. 

Instead, you took a step closer. And Commodus didn’t move away. He looked up, watching approach. His aura radiated dangerousness. He was unpredictable. And he was beautiful like this. Not in the way marble statues of emperors were beautiful, cold and untouchable. But in the way of something wild, wounded, and starved. 

You heart pounded. His breathing slowed. And in the flickering light of his tent, with no one else watching, you realized something...you wanted to see just how far he would go. 

The space between you vanished. You cupped his face again, his eyes never leaving yours, becoming darker and darker. Then, Commodus moved, and you didn’t resist. Didn’t step away. Didn’t even flinch as his hands found you, one curling around the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist, firm, possessive. 

His breath was uneven, hot against your skin as he exhaled harshly. His body was still trembling, not from sorrow now, not from despair, but from something else. Something dark, something he couldn’t name but could only act upon. 

"Do you know what you’re doing?" he murmured against your ear, kissing the shell of your ear, his voice ragged. 

"Yes." You nodded; your voice slightly trembling; your cheeks burning from the heat he made you feel.  

His grip tightened. "And do you know what it means if you stay?" 

You did. If you gave herself to him now, there would be no turning back. He would never let you go. He would claim you, make you his in a way that was absolute, undeniable. And you accepted it. 

You were the only one left standing between him and the abyss. If you let go, if you denied him this, if you turned away now...he would shatter. Or worse. He would tear the world apart in his grief. 

You lifted your gaze, meeting the storm in his eyes head-on. "Then take me, Commodus," you whispered. "Keep me. If I can make you happy. If I can show you the beautiful man you are... Then, make me yours." 

A shuddered breath left his lips at your words before he crushed you against him, his mouth finding yours with the desperation of a drowning man grasping for air. He didn’t take you gently. He wasn’t soft. He was starving, insatiable, frenzied, like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. 

He actually did. From the start you had been there for him. Listening to his heart aches, to his complaints. Healing his physical wounds, helping him to sleep. Perhaps he had realized that he had been blinded by his need to prove himself to his father. So blinded he forgot that you had been there, seeing him. If his father didn’t want him, then hell with it. He had someone else he could satisfy. You had become his anchor now. His obsession. 

The moment Commodus’ lips left yours, the room seemed to swallow you whole. His breath came in harsh pants, his hands still gripping your body. The heat between the two of you was suffocating, the air thick with tension and something darker. 

Your pulse raced as you stared at him, the boy who had become everything to you in these moments, a tempest of grief, desire, and madness that you had never known before. He pulled away just enough to look at you, his eyes wild and burning, as if you had discovered something in the night they hadn’t known existed before. 

And in that moment, you realized just how much power Commodus had over you now. But it worked both ways, you had his life, his fate between your hands. 

“I am not just a prince...no longer an heir...you are no longer just a healer...you and I...it will be our power, our weapon...” he breathed passionately against your lips. You had always believed in him and in the future, you would build something that even the emperor cannot destroy.  

Commodus touch was rough, but his eyes never leaving yours as his fingers slid beneath the edge of your tunic, tugging it upwards, and you let him, your breath hitching as the cool air of the tent met your skin. His lips traced down your neck, his hands pulling you closer until you were pressed against each other, skin to skin, you had seen his naked body many times, touched it. But touching it with passion...desire and even love was as if you touched him for the first time.  

His kisses became slower, as if you were slowly calming down the tempest inside him. Though the intensity of his touch still there but tempered with something deeper, something more intimate. His fingers trailed down your back, leaving a burning path in their wake. 

You could feel the storm would take time to pass but for now, something stronger had taken the lead. Need. It was no longer about possession. It was about holding onto something real, something that could make his life worth living.  

He guided you to the bed, which creaked beneath you as you fell onto it. Commodus wasted no time. He kissed you again, fiercely, all over your body, his hands exploring every part of your body. His ears drinking your cries of pleasure. He was making you his and by doing so he was giving himself entirely to you “Y/N if you break me too...I... I will become the nightmare of this world...and then I will die...die so you can all rejoice over my pitiful existence!” he whimpered against your skin. His fingers bruised your skin, his tongue tasted you. And you held, him, never letting go of that man you always took care of. That you always loved.   

That night, Commodus never left you a moment of rest. Each time the both of you climaxed, after a brief pause filled with tender kisses and touch, he would once again be taken by passion, by that need to you, your warmth wrapped him, clinging to him. Later in the night he found himself gained by tiredness, both physical and mental. He had whimpered, wishing he could keep going, fearing that this wonderful moment in your eyes would never happen again. Or perhaps that it was some frightful dream. Commodus laid beside you, his breath still uneven, but calmer now, as if the weight of his emotions had finally been momentarily lifted. 

You lay against him, your head resting on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. It was a stark contrast to the chaos that had just consumed you, his anger, his despair, and the madness that seemed to live just beneath his skin. 

But now, in the aftermath, there was something different. Something softer. Commodus, usually so guarded, now felt almost fragile, like the world he had built around himself had cracked, and for the first time, he was vulnerable. 

He shifted slightly, his arm curling around you, pulling you closer. His fingers traced absently across your arm, a small, almost childlike gesture. 

"You’re still here." he murmured, his voice rough but softer now. "You didn’t leave." 

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you reached up, your fingers brushing against the side of his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint stubble that had grown more throughout the night.  

"I’m not going anywhere. I promised you." you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You place a kiss at the place of his heart, as if to heal its deep wounds. 

For a moment, Commodus didn’t speak. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath, as if he were finally allowing himself to relax, even if only for a moment. His fingers, still gently tracing the curve of your shoulder, paused for a second before he spoke again. 

"You don’t know what this means to me," he admitted, opening his eyes again and looking at you with a fondness he only kept for you and his sister. 

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes. They were still stormy, but there was a flicker of something else there, softness, need, even a touch of shame."I think I have some idea," you replied, you voice steady despite the way your heart beat faster in her chest. "But you don’t have to say it." 

Commodus smiled then, not the wild, dangerous smile he often wore, but something more hesitant, almost shy. It didn’t reach the darkness in his eyes, but it was enough to make your heart flutter in your chest. He reached up, his hand brushing through your hair as he pulled you closer again. "I never wanted to need anyone." he said, his voice barely audible. "But I need you, Y/N." 

His words were a balm, soothing the parts of you that had always feared what might happen if you let yourself be too close. 

"I’m here," she whispered, her own voice thick with the weight of their bond. "And I will stay." In that tender moment, there was no emperor, no heir, no burden of destiny. There was only a man who had let himself be seen, and a woman who had chosen to stay. 

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