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gracieheartspedro · 3 months ago

Text

Propositio

pairing: marcus acacius x fem!reader (daughter of marcus aurelius)

word count: 6k words

description: after assembling an army to win back rome, you finally get to confront the traitor to your cause. general marcus acacius.

warnings: DUBCON. this is for 18+ readers ONLY. lots of blood mentioned, marcus is mean, talks of execution, physical violence, choking, name-calling, manipulation (reader is manipulative, he is too), betrayal, misogyny, proposing a horny ultimatum, nicknames (little dove), unprotected p in v, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), he finishes inside you, he leaves blood prints on you, talking you through it, you and marcus are unhinged. (please let me know if I missed anything or mistagged)

dedication: my sweet sweet @amanitacowboy !! thank you for helping me with this, lindsey! you saved my ass by helping me edit this and your encouragement really got me through writing all of this. *MWAH* forehead kiss

author’s note: you whores asked, and I delivered. now please be kind and share and leave a comment!! you guys rock!!

You never thought you would see the day when Marcus Acacius would be behind iron bars. But here you are, standing before the slated door, watching him with his face in his hands. He looked despicable, completely unknowing of the situation in the city's streets.

“You care to stand for your Empress?”

His big brown eyes lift from his fingers, glaring at you. He easily recognized your voice, it was something that was imprinted in his mind. “Empress?”

You smirked at his absentminded statement, trying your best not to show your pleasure in hearing him call you that.

“Rome has fallen, General. And you are here. Shameful that I had to do this all on my own when I inquired to you about a months time.”

He stands up slowly, his tunic and face stained with blood and dirt. He had wounds littering his arms and legs, all dripping blood onto the sandy ground. You could only imagine the horrors he experienced at the hands of the twin emperors. You had no time to grieve for him though, because he is now trying to size you up through the cell. It makes your lips curve up.

“I would have been inclined to help you, but I was too occupied fighting for my life,” He bites, gritting his teeth.

Your eyes rake him up and down, noting his beaten-down expression. You have spent so long resenting the man who lied to you, that finally getting to stare him in the face was gratifying. He was already paying for his consequences, and not even at your hand.

“I was, too, General. I put together an army of eight thousand strong. For a woman, I did well.”

He puts his arms through the rails, leaning forward. His hands are close to you, but not close enough to touch you. He looks so different from what you remember. Maybe it’s the new scars that litter his face, one particularly on his right cheekbone. The struggle for power and the war he waged seemed to have caused some fine lines as well.

He is not the same soldier you knew years before.

“Now that you rule Rome, what is your first move? Kill all the loyalists?” His voice is gruff, almost like he had something caught in his throat.

You had pondered this day for so long. You were hopeful he was still alive so he could watch you do everything you had planned to do. You remember him telling you that you would make a great ruler someday, but that would probably never happen since you were a woman. He liked to remind you of that often.

You felt the urge to get in his space and pester him, as you had done time and time again.

You turn away from him, looking around the tables that surround you, searching for a way to get closer to him. You spot a ring of iron keys and snatch them up. You go through each one, finding one that matches the keyhole. You hear a click as soon as you turn it, the door sliding open. Instead of letting him come out, you stand in his space. All that occupies the room is a wooden bench, a small window, and a table with an empty bowl.

“These quarters meeting your standards?”

The iron door shuts on its own, rattling as it locks itself. Marcus grimaces, annoyed with your words about him and his situation. “Are you planning on keeping me in here?”

You cross your arms, completely disregarding his question. You did not feel like appeasing him that quickly. “The bench should be a bit softer for your aging back. I am positive you are not getting good sleep.”

The Marcus you knew before was polite and calculated. This Marcus was tired and unhinged. As soon as he notes your condescending tone, he realizes how easy it would be to kill you in the privacy of his cell. You would never expect that from him, he thought.

He reaches out, grabs your shoulders, and slams you against the dirt walls. Luckily, your head does not slam against the mud, only your back.

The air leaves your lungs as Marcus pins you. You were not expecting such a response, but you stayed unwavering in your expression. You already had your reasonings for being bitter towards the man. You were now ensuring he would never do another malicious thing towards you and that meant putting him in his place.

“You evil conniving whore,” He seethes, as you try to push out a breath. When you finally bring air back into your chest, you laugh out, your breath hitting his face.

“Talking dirty to me, General? I thought you were a gentleman.”

He grunts, wrapping his large hand around your neck. You know this is compromising, dangerous even, but you knew deep down that if he killed you, he would only be hurting himself. Rome needed you. He knew that better than anyone else.

“What are you going to do? Tell me,” He seethes, his fingers squeezing harder the more the seconds pass.

You try to speak, but he’s cutting off a lot of your air. You wedge your hands in between your bodies, pushing his chest back a bit. He was so warm. “Kill the loyalists. And for this, I may kill you.”

He grits his teeth, “You are not going to kill me.”

“You do not know me very well then, General.”

He removes his hand, knowing very well he bruised your neck in the process of getting information out of you. He is still very close to you as you catch your breath, fanning his sweaty hair off his forehead. He is trying to read you, but for some reason, your coldness informs him of nothing. Your intentions were usually blatant. Not today.

“What good does killing me do?” He inquires, his arms still caging you in. You cannot lie that you check out his muscular arms as you think about your next statement, considering that he’s more built than he was when you saw him years ago.

Marcus was always enjoyable to look at, but in this very moment, you could not stand the sight of his conflicted expressions. You did not understand why he was rattled and confused. He had no right to be.

Suddenly you are back in the juncture where you found out the Senate knew about your impending invasion. You had only told one person inside Rome of your grand plans and he was supposed to be helping you.

But instead, he was the one who informed the council. Your blood boiled at the horrid information. You had to get revenge. The General needed to pay.

“I do not bode well with traitors, General. You betrayed me.”

He scoffs, his eyes trained on your lips, “You know well I did not intentionally try to eradicate your plan. It worked anyway, why does it matter now?”

“You told the Senate that I was raising an army, am I correct in that assumption?”

“No, I told one Senator, one I thought I could trust, that I was aiding you to raise an army. It got me locked in this hell.” He gestures to his surroundings, finally backing away from your space. “I did not want to intentionally ruin this. You know that I would have done anything to see another Aurelius guide the Empire into what it should be. You are the hope Rome still has left.”

Your family history was the only way you had a pathway to be the Empress. You were technically the last of your family and you knew that would be your path to the position of the Roman Ceasar. Plus, Rome adored your Father. He was the greatest ruler Rome ever had. You had his heart and his compassion, unlike your older brother who ended up dead in the middle of the Coliseum due to his hunger for power. Your sister was practically useless when she lost her son, so it was up to you and you alone.

When the Twins took over Rome, you knew you had run away to farther lands to raise an army, appealing to every land that if you were not to aid them, they would get eliminated by Rome’s tyranny. Within 3 years, you had many countries and armies by your side, ready to take over the empire in your name.

Once the Twins knew of your plan, they sprang into action. They wanted your head. You had to fight to get into the walls of Rome and every soldier was directed to kill you at first sight. You had some close calls but you were decent with a sword and your guards were even better with theirs. Once you got to the steps of the palace, by some stroke of luck, the Twins were already dead. The rumor had spread that you were taking back Rome and the citizens took care of the last task you had without even asking.

You raise your chin, not giving in to Marcus’ game, “You almost got me killed. For that, I cannot forgive you.”

He winces a bit, putting his hands on his hips. “You never were very forgiving.”

“Hm, you perceive me well,” You sneer, trying your best not to take note of the ache around your neck. You bring your hand up to feel out the irritation. Marcus zeros in on your motions, smiling a bit.

“I was stuck looking after you for many years, remember? I know you better than you know yourself, little one.”

You think back to the days of being an obsessive young woman who was looked after by many guards during your father’s reign. Your favorite was always Marcus. He would let you get away with the most chaos. He was about ten years your senior. He knew it would be easier to let your childish nature roll off his shoulders than try to reprimand you. The few times you remember, you begged him to let you hold his sword and he refused telling you, ‘Women do not carry such weapons’. So instead of giving up on the conquest, you snuck into his sleeping quarters and stole it. When you showed off to a bunch of drunk soldiers, you thought Marcus’ face could not get any redder. He was so mad at you that he almost cursed you in front of your father.

You sickly enjoyed aggravating the man. Always have, always will.

You were starting to realize that you had a very broad history with the soldier. How were you to kill him?

“Tell me, Marcus. How would you like me to do it?”

He is quick with his response, “Do what, exactly?”

“How do you want me to kill you?”

He shakes his head, recognizing the look on your face, which suggests that you are only toying with the idea and are in conflict with yourself.

“You are not going to.”

You begin to realize you are showing too much honest emotion. He is too quick to notice such things about you, which annoyed you quite a bit.

You smile, trying to flip him off your trail. “But I am, General.”

“You are not going to kill me, girl. I will not die under your hand.”

He is not backing down, which only frustrates you further. You step past him, getting a big whiff of blood flooding your nostrils as you do. The unfortunate man has not bathed in weeks. The blood staining his body is probably of dozens of different men.

You peek out the iron bars to see that you two are still alone. You had three guards standing by not too far from the exit of the cells, but you instructed them not to follow you in.

“Then how would you like it? Another man’s hand?” You are silent for a moment, turning back to him, “I have a whole army.”

“Are they here now?”

He glances around his quarters, pondering how he is going to get out of this situation. You watch him carefully calculate his next move. His hand palms his face and his growing facial hair. He finally eyes you and you can tell he is getting tired. He knows he has only one choice.

“What do I have to do to get you to forgive me?”

You snicker, knowing he is going to have to do more than ask for forgiveness. You sickly want to watch him appeal for your mercy. “Get on your knees and beg.”

“I am not begging.”

“Then you die.”

He saunters over to you, his dirty fingers reaching up and tracing the hair on your arms. You take note that he’s touching you more cautiously than he was moments before. “I told you that I did not intentionally betray you.”

You stare down at his movements on your bare skin. “And I told you I do not care of what your intentions were.”

He smirks, cocking his eyebrow up. He knows that you will show some mercy to him because deep down, you could not stand the idea of losing him. He was a part of you, whether you liked it or not.

“You will let me live. You are going to let me lead the army like I once did,” He remarks, very certain of himself.

You scoff, tilting your head back, “You sound sure of yourself, Marcus. I do not think you understand-“

“Do you not remember telling me that I was the only man you trusted with your mind, body, and soul? What happened to that woman?”

It was something you had told him years before after he finally gave in and fucked you. It was probably the best night of your life, having him ravish you and please you. In a lustful conversation, you informed him that you only trusted him with your entire being. Looking back, you were a bit too vulnerable. You visibly cringe remembering it.

As you scan his face, your annoyance for him only grows as he uses that moment as a pawn in his appeal to get out of this.

“That was before, this is now.”

“So you lied, too,” His fingers drag up and down your arm, his nails leaving marks as he does, “Why would you lie to me?”

You know that he is trying to flip the circumstances back on you. While the manipulation was easily sensed, you could not help but continue to entertain it. Privately, you thrived on the disorder of it all. Marcus was the only man who could talk this way to you. He did know you very well.

“You know this is not the same. The entire army of Rome had orders to behead me. That happened because of your gossip.”

He shakes his head, his dirty curls taking up space on his forehead again, “It is to me. You said I was the only man worthy of protecting you. If I were not held up in a cell, I would have ended this war before it even began.”

“I do not wish for your protection, not anymore.”

He did not anticipate you resisting his every advancement. You usually cowered your head and accepted whatever retort he gave back, but this time, you were ready with a riposte immediately.

He coughs out a laugh, “You will when the entire Roman army turns against you. All I do is say the words.”

You knew that Rome would bow to you without resistance. His army had heard too many awful things about him by now. He was down in the pits for treason. You knew that he was only saying this to get back in your good graces. Deep down, you had already decided that this argument was useless. Marcus may have deceived you, but you know he would have never deliberately given you up. It would make no sense for his safety, also. By the looks of it, he fought for a long while to stay alive in the Coliseum.

But you wanted to get him to believe that you still could not trust him, just to put him on edge. You desired some revenge after such emotional turmoil.

“They would never betray me,” You reply, bringing your hands together in front of your stomach. You wait for him to take the bait.

Marcus notices your lip twitch. You are bluffing and he is unsure why you would be trying to stir up his emotions. You were good at bringing him no peace and since he was so exhausted and hungry, he was getting angrier than he was accustomed to.

He sighs, trying to blow off some of the steam rising to his face. “They have gotten more loyal to me during this previous reign. They would be rather disappointed to find me dead by your hand. You will not kill me.”

You stare at him, your lips pursed in faux contemplation.

“You are right. I will not.”

The response throws him off balance. He stumbles a bit. “What?” “Instead, I will have someone else do it. I will watch them as they give you a soldier’s death. A beautiful shining blade at the very top of your spine,” You walk closer to him, your hands still adjoined at the bottom of your abdomen. “Slicing you all the way down your midsection. I will enjoy watching the blood spill out, staining the marble floors of the palace.”

He steps towards you, his jaw clenched. He is sick of the back and forth when he knows you will not make good on your plans. He is peering at you suspiciously before his hand reaches up to your soft cheek. For some odd reason, you believe he will be gentle. But he is not. He grabs your face roughly, squishing your cheeks against your back teeth. “I am beginning to lose my patience. Are you sure you want to do this, little dove?”

The nickname. It was something he used to call you when you two were intimate all those years ago. He saw you as a delicate thing back then. The woman you had morphed into was foreign to him. You were more maddening than ever.

“I will do whatever is good for the Republic, General.”

He uses all his strength to shove you backward into the bench. Your ass falls against the wooden plank that Marcus had been sleeping on for a fortnight. The wood is rough against your thin vein of fabric.

The shock of his violence sends wetness pooling between your legs. You had only seen Marcus rough with you once and it was never to this degree. He may have given in to you with aggressive and unforgiving hips, but this was another level of hostility. Your heart begins to race as he stands over you, his tanned body heaving in frustration.

He squints at you, “Good for the Republic, huh? What good is a dirty little whore to the Republic?”

You try your best not to give in at this moment. And Marcus knows it. Your face twists, your nose pointing upward like you used to when you were a young woman. He suddenly recalls a moment where you were being reprimanded by someone of higher rank and you had crossed your arms over your chest and crinkled your nose like you inhaled something awful. It was a facial expression he would never forget. A simple indication that you were wrong and someone else was correct.

You are noticing the way his eyes are tracing your face and you try to keep yourself as still as possible. “You are speaking to your Empress, Marcus.”

His eyes rake your body, almost like he is looking for something. He smiles, “My Empress who I am aware has a dagger stored somewhere on her body and yet she has not used it on me yet. Why is that?”

You are not ready for what is next on Marcus’ mind. He pushes your thighs apart with his knee, forcing you to look at him again by aggressively holding onto your face again. You wince when his filthy fingernails dig into your cheeks.

“Marcus-”

“Why have you not already plunged your dagger into my heart if you want me gone? Why do you need someone else to do your work?”

He is mocking you, his tone not giving you a break in the slightest. Somewhere deep down, Marcus knows something is up. With the way your body is giving into his every move, he can tell your intentions were simple: to make him the fool.

And you were doing a very good job. Because he is getting very antsy. You pull your head back, trying to add some distance between him and yourself. But his face is so close to yours, that you can smell the metallic scent of blood from his skin. Your eyes avert away, not wanting him to finally look inside and read your mind.

You manage to muster up something. “Because I still very much enjoy watching you writhe under my thumb.”

He is seething, his face is beet red. The way you are positioned, so impurely before him, brings his hateful aggression to full-blown rageful desire.

He is eager with his movements and you are fallen at his mercy. Within only a few moments, he is hiking up your stola moving the fabric away from your lower half. You groan out as soon as his fingers grope you. You believe every breath has left your body.

He chuckles darkly to himself, “Me? Writhe under your thumb? Is that so? You only came here to watch me suffer?”

“Yes-” “You believe some impish whore, like yourself, can here and make me completely fall apart? Hm? How about I load myself in that pussy of yours and we see who truly falls apart first?”

He was not wrong with his words, but they were so unhinged. You had never heard Marcus talk like this to you. While he was quick with his language, he was still always very respectable.

His proposition was not completely unwelcome.

“You do not know what I want. Why are you doing this?”

You try to manage as he spreads around your dampness with his fingers. You had not been touched like this in so long so you were easily swayed why the action. You lull your head back, making it pretty obvious that you did want this.

He hums to himself, watching your body squirm under him. “Do I not? Here you are, so easily taken down by me, a traitor. What kind of emperor falls to her knees for a man who allegedly betrayed her? What good chance will Rome have with a leader like that?”

You watch as he tears up the fabric, completely revealing your naked core up to your lower breastplate. He stares down at the state of you, grinning to himself wickedly. You can not think of a single word to say to him, so you just lament with your hands at your side.

He strips off his tunic, leaving him in just his subligaculum. The cloth was tented by the strain of his hard-pressed cock.

His body was covered in blood and dirt, the tunic not absorbing all of the fluids from his battles. His skin is splattered with it. He watches you stare at it intently, huffing out.

“So what will we do, Empress? How about… If you fall apart first, I am free. If I release first, you kill me. How about that?”

You watch as he palms his cock over the cloth. Your mouth starts to overproduce saliva as you observe his action. You knew you were not going to win such a thing, and that is completely okay with you. Marcus knew this, too. The last time you two were intimate, he inserted himself into you for a whole minute before you were squeezing around him and begging for more.

“That is a deal I can agree with, General.”

He nods arrogantly before he grabs your hips, kneading the flesh. You watch him spread his bloodstained hands all around your legs, hinging your knees with his forearms.

“Do not even need to warm you up,” He uses his left hand to guide his cock through your seeping folds.

You do not prefer the sound of no foreplay, but you do not think it is your time to say anything. As soon as your lips open, Marcus dribbles spit down between your bodies, landing perfectly right at your slit. It’s obscene, his actions. But instead of gasping at the immortality of it, you are breathing out in pleasure. His member splits you open, every ridge pressing against your insides.

“Marcus, my Gods,” You whine, trying to gain some sense. “I need your fingers first.”

He scrunches his nose, guiding himself into the hilt. “No, you do not. You will take me like this first.”

“Marcus-” “And after I watch you fall apart on me, I am going to,” He pulls his cock out of you begrudgingly slow, “Make you fall apart on my mouth. And then when I get two out of you, I will fuck you again with my cock. When my seed spills inside you and leaks down your legs, I will send you out to the streets and have you clear my name.”

And then he slams into you again. He is very girthy, which is a lot for your untouched cunt. You had no formal stretching before he entered you, so it hurts a bit as he speeds up his incursion inside you.

He plants his hands right on your hips, his hands expanding down your side. With the way your head is propped up on the wall, you are practically forced into watching him fuck you with such vigorous speed. He’s animalistic. His hands leave blood prints on your body, sticky and off-putting.

You are so enamored with him, that you do not even begin teetering on the edge of your release. He notices this as your cunt squeezes his member, which encourages him to speed up his pistoning hips.

“Oh, dove, I feel you,” He extends his thumb down to the very top of your slit, “Your flower is just seizing around me. You are about to cum.”

You try to tense up a bit, but your body feels weightless. “No. No, I can not.”

You can not stop what is impending. He rubs circles on your sensitive bud, sending your back lurching away from the wall.

“Ah, yes, that’s right, dove. Release on my cock. You know you want to,” He is gritting his teeth, eyes gazing directly into yours.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, trying to hold back, but him grinding into you sends you over. A scream rips through your body as you careen forward towards his shoulders. You hold on to him like he is going to dissipate away, grabbing at his back. Your climax is white hot almost as if your entire body was lit on fire and quickly extinguished.

“There it is…” He fucks you through it all, his thrusts slowing as you relax yourself against the wall again. “I win.”

His words set you off. The high of your release is now ruined by his statement. Your arms are still lazily around his shoulders. You glare up at him, seeing his smug smirk painting his lips. It’s truly sinful.

You use all your strength and pull him down towards your lips. You capture him in a kiss that you almost believe he is going to pull away from but does not. You just want him to stop speaking for a moment so you settle with the reality of the situation. You would have to face Rome and tell them that the traitor is being let off for his crimes against you.

You were still better than the alternate reality of Rome. Under the Twins, they would see no peace. With you, the only chaos you would pursue is General Marcus Acacius. You could live with that.

He tilts his head back, trying to pull away from your mouth. You lock your arm around him, holding him there a moment longer. His lips manage to trail away.

“You won this. But I won Rome.”

He chuckles at your statement before reminding you of his promise, “I am not done yet, Dove.”

His tacky fingers grab you roughly, lifting you off the bench and towards the table across the dirt floor room. He places your feet on the ground, your back to his much taller figure. His cock is still solid, pressing right into your buttcheek.

“Bend over.”

You practically snap your neck trying to look back at the man.

He does not take kindly to that, using his hand to push your face to look towards the wall again. “Do what I say. I already told you what I was to do.”

You lean your body over the furniture, holding onto the edge as you feel Marcus’ hands slide across your back, all the way down to your ass. You hear a commotion but you are too afraid of what he may do if you look back. You then realize he’s on his knees behind you. When he settles in the dust, he uses both hands to spread you open. He wastes no time, diving face-first into your dripping core. Your cunt is already so sensitive that when you feel his tongue flattening between your slit, you cannot help but squeal.

Your sounds provoke Marcus to think back to the nights when he was alone on the front lines of war, lying in his tent, thinking about the first time he tasted you. You had never experienced pleasure like that, and he vividly remembers pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with his tongue. It was his favorite thing about your intimate times together. The memory was enough to have him erupting all over his stomach night after night.

And now here you are again, right under his thumb. Or rather, his tongue.

“My Gods, Marcus, please.”

His ministrations change from eager licks to suckling on your most sensitive bud. Obscene wet noises begin reverberating off the walls, filling the room with such crudeness. His nose is pressed into you, sucking in your sweet scent.

You silently prayed that no others heard you two.

The warmth in your stomach fills again. Your legs feel like they may give out from under you. Luckily, Marcus has his hands right where your thighs begin, spreading you open, but also holding you up. When the wave of pleasure hits, your legs shake and your throat lets out a guttural moan.

He licks up whatever your body offers him before he is back on his feet. His chest presses into your back as he traces the outline of your body with his digits. You feel so winded from your comedown, that you can hardly say anything. Marcus’ face creeps to the side of yours, nudging your cheek with his nose.

“You taste like heaven, little dove.”

His words are such a drastic shift from what he was saying to you before. But while his words were charming, his actions were still brute. He reaches down to his swollen cock head and begins to drag it along your slick. You cry out, your body still recovering from the last moments of his stimulation.

“Marcus-” “I am going to fill you with my seed now. You will take every last drop because of what you just put me through,” He slides himself back into your cunt, painfully slow, “You are so convincing when you want to be.”

You grunt, trying to prop yourself up on your elbows. When Marcus notices your movement, he takes the chance and grabs your arms in a very rough manner. His hands are gripping you so tightly, you anticipate another mark. He yanks your body closer to his, wrapping your arms between your bodies, locking you up. It was not the most comfortable position, but the feeling of his cock slipping in you further distracts you from the affliction.

“You played me for a fool. You were always going to let me go. You just wanted me to fill this greedy pussy.”

He fucks into you, letting out his own passionate grunts. His words rattle in your mind as your whole body jiggles over the edge of the table.

He had you all figured out. It was unnerving how well he could read you, but it was not surprising. He had been around for most of your life, looking after you and being your most trusted confidant. Even if he let something slip to the wrong person, he was still going to be the one person you looked to in every crowd.

Now that you have experienced this side of him, you only love him more. He has always been intimidating, but never this all-consuming.

“Need you always, Marcus,” You whimper, trying your best to not ruin his pace. His cock stretches you so deliciously, you wish to have it with you at all times.

His release comes hurriedly, his body becoming heavy on top of yours. He slams your body down on the table, his arms breaking most of the fall. You can feel his seed emptying into your spent hole, warming you inside. The string of words leaving his lips, that’s right dove, take all of me, your greedy hole just missed me.

You can not help yourself. You smile.

You really wish you had watched him fall apart, knowing it was probably a sight to behold. There was always next time.

He unwraps himself from you and stumbles back a couple of steps. You lift your tired body, turning around to face him. You know if you step forward, you may crash to the floor. Leaning on the table was your best course of action.

He is smirking himself, his cock still half hard on his leg. “Need me, huh?”

You knew he would find time to hang onto those words. You breathe out your nose, a bit caught off guard. “Yes. I always seem to need you when I feel vulnerable.”

“Well, coming from the Empress of Rome, that surely means a lot. That you look to me in such times, I mean.”

You bite your cheek, contemplating your next big plans for Marcus. You did not want him to leave your side now that you ruled over him. You felt a gravitational pull from him. Now with him here in front of you, that was even more apparent.

“Well… General..” You try to find a way to word your next course of action. He looks at you earnestly as you speak. “You will be pardoned under my rule. But you will not be returning to your men. I will see you through as my personal protection.”

He furrows his brow at you as he picks up his abandoned tunic. “Pardon me?”

“You are directed to be my personal guard, Marcus. Your troops will now be under the rule of another. If you see issue with my ruling, I will happily leave you in this cell.”

He wants to be angry, but he simply cannot be. Truth be told, he was ready to retire from being the leader of the world’s largest array of soldiers. He was just not expecting you to allow him to do such a thing.

He cracks a smile at the thought of you leaving him in this cell.

“What you order, goes. I will happily take on that role, Empress.”

All he knew was to be strong and even-tempered when he directed his armies. Now in a time of peace, under your rule, he needed to find calamity somewhere else. And he knew that would be right at your side.

tagging all who wanted this: @layaispunk @tammythr @amanitacowboy @noladyme @kluvspedro @fangirlcentral1

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dvchvnde · 4 months ago

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EXCERPT: JOHN PRICE, WINTER SOLDIER AU.

You're still getting used to the sight of him—bare faced in patches: the beard shorn off into a mere shadow of what it was before; a choice he'd made for himself after scrubbing down in a long shower, refusing any help or medical aid—and he doesn't make it any easier for you in these brief, uncomfortable stages of acclimation you suffer through.

Hands lashing out into dead air. Fingers catching, unyielding and firm, on your skin. Nails—split and jagged; regrown in patches after being ripped off over and over again (for hree years, is the mocking whisper snaking along the nausea when you look at the pinked-tinged beds)—burrowing into your flesh. Anchoring you in place as he bends down, moulds his frame around you. Malleable shadow eating you whole.

Indomitable.

John Price was always an intimidating man.

Towering. Broad. Gruff. Surly. Mean old man was often thrown around amongst the new recruits, ones too scared to voice what they really thought:

Miserable fucking bastard.

His weight thrown around like an extension of himself—all raw, barely contained anger trembling out through the cracks. Lashing thick, brutal lines across his forehead. In the sharp, downward tug of his mouth tucked behind a bed of brunt umbre hair.

He was difficult to deal with on a good day, even when he'd offer that mocking smile of his. A parody of geniality—lips split upwards like a crocodiles maw.

(come, come, put your hand inside this beasts jaws; he won't bite—)

As fucking if.

You've only known him in pieces. Patches. Barely enough to make a whole picture, but you could still fill in the empty spaces with that grizzled anger of his that seemed to roll off of him in waves.

(no wonder he burns so hot—it's all that fury.)

Mostly, he'd come to dress you down in front of everyone watching. Snapping at the sight of your desk—organised chaos a true oxymoron (and for the most part, that seemed to be what he thought of you: a moron)—and how you handled files, and how you waltzed around like you owned the place—

and do you, sweetheart? do you own this place, mm? is that why you never listen to a goddamn thing i tell you?

All-in-all: a miserable fucking man.

And one made of sharp, brutal contradictions. Paradoxes layered over each other. Sealed with fury—of the righteous, pragmatic kind—and reinforced with an utilitarian core. Forlorn hope in the distinct shape of a man, one always readying himself for a pyrrhic victory (but a victory, nevertheless).

Easy, in hindsight, to deal with when you knew how to navigate the frothing gyre of anger and juxtapositions that made up the man who brute force, physicality, to get what he wanted.

By sharp contrast, the version of him who stands before is more enigmatic than the mangled mess of savagery and labyrinthine defenses. Almost unknowable. Unfathomable.

Even more so when he lifts his hand—scarred up, still blistered and bruised from fighting his way through fire and kin to get to you—and presses those mangled knuckles to the swell of your cheek, as tender as a man like him could ever allow himself to be, and runs a soft, shallow line down the side of your face. Eyes—still that same, dizzying blue—darken into liquid sapphire as he stares at you. Inexplicably soft. Lids crested. Half-mast in pleasure as if staring at your face was relaxing. Comforting.

Something swirls in those deep, endless lagoons. Some implacable emotion—all at once too much; too heavy—frissoning over his feature. A paroxysm. You can't catch it. Can't define it.

It's unquantifiable. Unknowable. And yet—

You know, instantly, that John Price would never look at you with something this archaic, this intense, brimming up like geysers in the endless spill of blue that can't seem to look away from you.

This man is not John Price.

But when he pulls you into a kiss—one softer and sweeter than you'd ever imagined the infamous captain could ever be capable of—you let him.

In fact, you kiss back.

And you'd really rather not think about what that says about you.

#burrrrrrrr #messy disjointed chaotic #this fic is going to push me to my limits #john price x reader #winter soldier au #working title is being narrowed down to : öd und leer das meer #or desolate and empty is the sea #(literally the eng translation)#or wasteland (baby)#dunno yet send help!!!!

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winterarmyy · 1 year ago

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My Person

A series of random Bucky Drabbles that I can't let go but don't have the brain to make the whole complete plot of.

Summary: In which Sam's question forces Bucky to reveal his true feelings to his so called "friend", Y/N.

Pairing: tfatws!bucky x female!reader

Words: 3.2k++

Warnings: 18+ content, no minors allowed, nsfw, fluff, wee bit of angst, bucky is so adorable in this I WANT HIM SO BAD, also he is a bit feral. I feel like he can be more feral than this but you know, he doesn't wanna scare her away lol. This is just a result from surge of need so might not be too much of plot but I hope you enjoy your reading, anyway.

Inspiration: This post right here by @black-cat-2

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Sam took notice on every single crooks and corners as he followed Bucky's dragging footsteps from behind. It wasn't that he didn't want to help him but Bucky refused the offer right on the bat, saying that the serum will fix him up sooner or later.

The aftermath of their final battle with the flagsmasher was chaotic to say the least. With the splitting sides of public opinions of the new Captain America and the whispers about how the former winter soldier saved a bunch of civilian tonight had been the talk of the town.

But both Sam and Bucky decided not to think of it too much, especially when both were exhausted from the fight. Not to mention Bucky was injured. Although Sam knew damn well that the soldier can managed himself to a hotel to rest for the night like he always does, but as a worried friend, or rather a babysitter some would say, he insisted to accompany Bucky all the way through.

And Bucky was not in the mood to argue; Sam is as equally stubborn as Steve used to be, so he let the man do whatever he wants.

It was clear Sam was suspicious of where the hell did this terminator brought him to, but mostly he was curious. He thought he would just accompany him to the nearest hotel but nope. After taking an Uber, the next thing he knew, Bucky was leading him into this apartment building, that was obviously not his.

"Last time I checked your apartment was in Brooklyn. When did you get a place here?" Sam asked as Bucky stopped at one of the identical looking doors.

"It's not mine" Bucky replied truthfully as he removed the glove from his fleshed hand and pressed his thumb at the top of the door handle.

Sam eyed him with a look on his face when he sassed at him, "Said the guy who is currently unlocking the doors with his fingerprint."

Bucky simply rolled his eyes before the chiming sound alerts that the door was unlocked. Bucky opened the door to let Sam inside before he himself got in after him. "Seriously, man. If I knew you can afford having two apartments I would've asked you to pay for tonight's dinner. That's the least you can do..." Sam's words died as his eyes scanned the apartment.

Whatever he was expecting the apartment to look like, it was far from it. He surely was not expecting the place to be fully decorated with complete set of furniture in every area of the room. Whether it is the living room area, or the huge kitchen that was also equipped with built-in oven.

Even with the lack of light, Sam could see the color pallette on the walls were definitely not what Bucky would go for. The sentimetal trinkets on the shelves, the sweet fragrant of the scented candles; everything was the very opposite of what Bucky's apartment in Brooklyn looks like, feels like.

This, it felt like home. Warm and inviting. Quiet and serene.

"You know what? I take that back. Whose house have you broke us into?" Sam asked, almost in awe rather than shocked, "I know for a fact that this ain't your house."

Bucky huffed a heavy breath as he remove his tactical gears, "I didn't say it was mine, remember? Or flying with the pigeons in the sky had made you forgot how to undertand human language?" there was an unfiltered sarcasm in his tone that didn't go unnoticed by Sam.

So obviously he got defensive and unknowingly increase his volume as he countered, "Woah woah, that was uncalled for. And for your information pigeons can't fly as fast a my wings, and rest assured that I--"

Bucky swiftly stomped towards him, eyes wide almost in anger, while his metal hand reached to cover Sam's mouth, "Can you shut the fuck up, she's probably asleep and your noisy ass will wake--"

"Bucky?" A tiny yet groggy voice interrupted the conversation causing both of them to turn their attention to the source. The figure peeped itself from the bedroom, her uncertainty made it that only half of her body was revealed through the doorway.

Her squinting eyes indicates how recent she was woken up from her sleep and Bucky flashed a quick glared at Sam for that. Sam simply shrug with his hands the air as a response. He was still confused who is this woman and why were they in her house.

Bucky's tight features softens as he called for her, "Hey, babydoll. What are you doing up?"

Recognizing that voice anywhere her feet made her way to him, "Heard some noises." She answered shortly as her knuckles find her eyes and rubbed it lightly. The closer she gets, the clearer Bucky can see the dark circles under her eyes, signifying how much she was lacking of sleep.

His heart squeeze a little at the sight, "M'sorry, sweetheart." it was as if their bodies were magnets that they naturally found each other. Bucky opened his arms wide for her to find her rightful place in his embrace.

"It's okay" she mumbled against his sturdy chest. "Welcome home." She continued.

You'd be surprise to know how much the former winter soldier absolutely adore the feeling of her lips moving against his skin. Even if it was blocked by the fabric of his shirt. It always felt good and he swore he could not get enough of it.

Bucky leaned down on top of her head, inhaling the strawberry yogurt scent of her shampooed hair, "Yes. I am home, indeed." His hugged got tighter, crushing her just enough to make those pretty little sounds slipped her from lips.

Strings of hushed moan kept purring in her throat when Bucky lightly swayed her from side to side; his fleshed hand drawing invisible circles on the back of her waist, while his metal hand gently squeeze the back of her neck.

If she let him pamper her more than this, they'd probably forget that Sam was in the room. Unabashedly had his mouth agape at the sight in front of him. He was not sure whether he wanted to look away or to continue staring because no amount of explanation will suffice to answer his questions.

Peeking from Bucky's shoulder, she smiled warmly as she finally acknowledge the unexpected guest, "You must be Sam. I've heard a lot about you."

She tried to wiggle an escape from Bucky arms, but it was no avail; he was not planning to let her go any time soon. She ended up dragging the enormous koala bear who was stuck on her back as she offered Sam a handshake, introducing herself.

"Good things I hope." Sam took her hand and lightly shake it as she replied, "Of course." As much as he wanted to keep his eye contact with her, it was extremely hard when the grumpy super soldier that he knew was basically melting in crook of her neck.

"I don't want to be rude but the two of you are..." Sam purposely left his words hanging, hoping that one of them would finish the sentence before he let out his assumption, however both of them remained silent. The woman was blinking at him confused, while Bucky was practically still drooling over the her.

"...Lovers?" Sam ended his sentence with an uncertain tone.

Both of them went rigid to the question but before Bucky could say anything, she answered first, "No!" She almost shouted, taking a deep breath before she rephrase her answer, "No. I mean yes. We're not... like that."

"So, you guys are friends then?" Sam quirked an eyebrow to her answer, and seeing Bucky's silence, he guessed that the super soldier might liked her more than just 'friends'.

"Yup, we are. We first met when Bucky was on the run from Hydra, before you guys found him. It's a long story, really." And by the time she explained the shorten version of their story, Bucky finally drifted his attention to Sam, a deep frown decorated his brows as he was mentally asking, "How much longer are you going to stand there? Get the fuck out."

Sam should be offended by his silent orders but considering he came in the middle of the night, uninvited, he realized that he should leave them be,"Then, let that be a reason for us to meet again. You can tell me all about this meet-cute of yours later. I don't want to keep you away from him any longer. Especially when he is staring daggers at me."

She lightly tapped on Bucky's arms, and quick frown at him followed after as she non-verbally asking him stop glaring at Sam. Needless to say, Sam removed himself from the scene after they, or rather she, bid him goodbye.

As soon as the doors closed, Bucky has her back pressed against the door, wasting no time than to capture her lips. A gasped from her made it easy for him to slip his tongue inside. He kissed her slow yet so hungrily as if he was starved of the taste of her sweet mouth against his.

Bucky broke the kiss momentarily just to whisper, "I missed you so much, babydoll." With his thigh in between her legs, he guided her clothed core to slowly hump against him. "Missed you, too." Her beautiful moans only encourage his cock to swell even more than it already was.

Breaking the kiss, Bucky let her catch a breath as his glazed eyes adored her soft features. He still remembered the day when he first met her. When he escaped from Hydra's control, he was determined to keep his life down low. Don't attract to much attention, follow the schedule and stick to rules.

And his schedule was never interesting, it was always:

- write his journal entry

- find/do odd and non-permenant jobs for money

- grocery shopping and cooking

- watch the news

- and mostly just stay at home

Obviously, Bucky knows how to use the internet and all those modern devices that they have nowadays, but he never understand them; the 'social media' and the 'viral' things were never really appealing to him. So one day he decided to pay a visit to a small local library; hoping to find fimiliar solace in books instead.

What are the odds that both of them reach for the same book at the same time? After the multiple exchange of: 'Oh, I'm sorry, here take it.' 'No, you take.' 'No, please I insist.' They ended up meeting on a common ground; making a decision to sit down and read together. Turns out, spending a few hours with her at the library was the most peace he had since forever.

Bucky had a strict routine and rules. But the moment she asked him if he want to spend more time with her while she was there, he was ready to break all of it. And he did; for 7 days straight.

She was his first sense of freedom. His first choice in life.

Though, back then he was on a run, for presumably a lifetime, while she was on business trip for a week. So, they lost contact after that, especially when Bucky was running around with the Avengers and fighting aliens, but fate seemed to be on their side when they were reunited again in New York.

It's a miracle that she even recognized him. Little did he knew, he wasn't the only one who got hooked on the first few hours of that reading session had.

Though, he was extremely grateful that she reach out the moment she recognized him; no hesitant, no doubt. Just a confident and cheerful shout of his name in middle of the park that he walks through everyday.

The first thing that came out from her mouth after calling out his name was a compliment of his new hair cut and how she can see his beautiful eyes more clearer now. And that alone had made Bucky absolutely red in blush.

Weeks after that, she often joined him with his daily walk, making it their routine instead of just his. And months into this newly founded 'friendship', they found solace in each other's arms, comfort in each other's touch, and this quickly become their new favourite activity to do together.

Though none of them ever actually discuss their status but their body language suggest that they are more than just friends.

Especially with the way Bucky was rubbing the tip of his leaking cock on her clit; so desperate yet so gentle. Just like how he always does when he makes love to her. But, tonight he felt different. Maybe he was just needy or maybe it was the way she admit that they were not lovers when Sam asked about their relationship.

It was true. But, it felt so wrong.

"Am I just a friend to you, doll? Bucky leaned forward, his forehead met hers, his hot breath tickling her skin.

His tongue briefly passed in between his lips as he spreads her legs further, revealing her dripping cunt for his display, "Do your friends touch you like this, hmm?" His husky whisper as he rubbed his hardened length in between her slit, brushing against her clit.

"Do your friends kiss you all over like me?" She moaned breathily, as he bit and kiss the softness of her breasts; easily leaving his marks as if she was his to claim.

And without any warning, his cock slammed straight into her hole, stretching the walls to his size causing her to yelp in painful pleasure. Bucky let out a satisfied groan as the tightness of her around him, "Do your friends fuck this tight little pussy with their cock like me?"

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from pulling and pushing his hips to meet hers, his fingertips was practically digging into the flesh of her hips, moving her in time with his thrusts, "What am I to you, baby?" Honestly, it was hard for her to form complete thoughts, let alone reply to his question when he was fucking her so good.

Gone was the gentleman she knew for the past years, the koala bear that she spent hours on the couch cuddling to a movie marathon with. Now, there was only this feral beast, hungry for pleasure, insatiable to devour her whole body and soul.

Each roll of his hips pushed her further from her sober thoughts, focusing only on the wild look on his face, his huge body hunched over hers, his throbbing cock kissing her cervix. Any answer she was trying to convey was lost at the tip of her tongue; there were just the mewling mess, as she fell apart underneath him, compliant to his every thrust as his cock ramming within her. "Tell me. Come on, now. Use your words."

Bucky was almost losing his mind, from how bad he wanted to cum and how stubborn she was for not answering his questions. He pushed her legs up and wide as his thrust punctuated to his words, "What. Am. I. To. You?"

It took her a couple of long moans at his roughness, before she could utter a single word, the only correct answer to his question, "Mine."

He groaned approvingly, pulling back just enough to slide his metal between their bodies. "I'm yours?" Those hard, cold fingers that she loved so much was quick to find her clit. She was already sensitive from all the friction of his rutting, and now was he relentlessly assaulting the swollen nub, "Then, does that make you mine as well huh, sweetheart?"

"Yes, Bucky. You're mine. And I'm yours. All yours. Pleasee"

Her back arches off the bed, toes curling tight as her nails dug into his skin and across his back; To have some kind of a leverage to hold as the overwhelming pleasure surged through her body.

"Yeah, that's right, babygirl. You're mine and mine alone. Mine to love, mine to fuck. Yes?" Bucky taunted her with both his words and the way he rutted into her wet pussy, as if he himself was not close to the egde.

The sound of skin to skin clashing intertwined with the sounds of her pussy squelching around his cock, his girth kept pounding straight into her sweet spot to the point that only lewd whimpers of plead were spewing out of her lips, "Yes, yes yes. Oh Bucky please,, fuck,, I'm cumming!"

"Cum, sweetheart. Let me feel that tight little pussy of mine cum around my cock" He hummed approvingly as he picked a deeper and harsher pace, causing her mouth to fall wide open and her eyes screwed shut as she felt her whole body shook as she came. "Yeah,, that's it, doll. That's my girl. fuckkk,, feels so good baby, gonna make me cum inside you if you keep choking me like that."

"Please, Bucky?" A breathy moan of his name passed her lips as she her walls spasm with need. Bucky groan to the sensation, he was sure that her pussy was already full of his precum, considering how it has been leaking inside her for so long, "Want my cum in you, pretty girl?"

Batting her eyes through her lashes, she stared up at him, pleading., "Need it, please."

"Oh fuck, you got it, sweetheart." Throwing his head back in pleasure, shutting his eyes solely to focus of the feeling of her wet and tight cunt, Bucky's pace quicken as he chased his high, "Hmmm,, fuckk,, gonna stuff you full. You'll leaking for days, babydoll. Then, I'm gonna keep filling you until you can't live without my cum inside your pussy."

Hearing such dirty confessiom only triggers her to near orgasm, "Yess pleasee i want it. Need it, bucky." Surely enough she came again when he hit that special spot inside her.

"Ahh,, fuck ahhh,, I'm cumming shit pussy so good m'cumming fuckkkk", Bucky couldn’t even stop himself from rutting in and out of her sweet pussy as his cock pulsed, especially when her cunt was sucking him in deeper.

His head fall down to watch his cock disappear inside her before squeezing it shut again when the white spurt of cum shoots against her walls. His jaw was loose as his mouth formed an ‘o’ shape to allow his loud groans contaminated the silenced room.

His thick endless cum warm her insides and the honeyed moans hanging off her lips to its own accord as Bucky hunched over her frame, pressing his face in crook of her neck, breathing heavily as she was. After awhile, a broken sound of his voice stopped the silence, "Do you really mean it?"

He refused to look at her in the eyes, afraid of the rejection that might come his way but she proved him wrong by holding him by his cheeks, leading his eyes to align with hers,

"Bucky. You, my dear, are my bestfriend; you are my heart, you are my person. And there is no one in this world that I'd rather spend my whole life with besides you." Her words was nothing but the truth and Bucky knew that.

His heart swelled with joy yet he didn't know how to express it other than, "I love you, doll..." there was pause as if he was gathering the pieces of his soul to offer it to her, "...So much."

And she accepted it with her whole heart, "I love you too, Bucky."

End.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: I was gone for awhile but never too long. Hope you enjoy this little drabble 👀

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #tfatws!bucky #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut

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crazeno · 15 hours ago

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HI i come baring an au i’ve been stupid ab and lowkey forgot i had tumblr and can share it here

A very basic summary so sorry for the plot holes and shitty wrriting

> CRYOGENIC AU

> Thousands upon thousands of years into the cybertronian war, Decepticon Mad Scientist, Shockwave, revealed his new experiment to dictator, Megatron, in hopes it would wipe out the Autobot faction for good. An infectious Bio-weapon dubbed the “Hate Plague” was unleashed onto the unknowing war soldiers.

> A violent virus spread through a prolonged touch, of which the infected would succumb to severe amounts of agitation, a loss of control and morality, as well as exhibiting violent behaviours towards any other life forms.

> Quickly they exhibited aggression towards each other, hoping the Autobots would tear their own faction apart. However the plague backfired, quickly advancing through cybertronian kind, both factions finding themselves trapped.

> Autobot inventor, Wheeljack, quickly explained the situation to the autobot commanders, having found a momentary solution to the virus during recent encounters, Cold Temperatures, a drop in the atmospheres temperature would halt the spread of the plague on an individual, but would not reverse the effects. Information that could be crucial in reversing the outbreak. But a task as such would be almost impossible with the large spread around the planet.

> The Decepticon faction had been completely overrun in attempt to fight back against the virus. Megatron reluctantly fleeing from the war grounds to save his own life, finding the remaining alive Autobots with their base in a secure lockdown.

> In a last ditch effort and attempt to prevent further bloodshed amidst the pandemic, Optimus Prime and Megatron formed an uneasy alliance, the raging war between the two factions had been shattered.

> Inventor Wheeljack believed he would be able to overcome the virus with a cure, but the current outbreak conditions on cybertron would make time and work near impossible.

> Optimus prime reluctantly left Cybertron, taking a handful of remaining autobot survivors, Megatron and what early stage infected bots they could safely secure with them, locked away in a frozen stasis.

> The first movements were rather slow, with little time to prepare their travel, energon and resources started to dwindle to dangerous levels, the crew travelling through the vast space for a safe place to land, until eventually crash landing on a near deserted frozen planet, Earth (1 million BCE), where they would be able to safely study and work towards curing the plague, as well as keep their energon stocked and collect resources to fix their ship and hopefully restore their dying planet.

With blood and rage of crimson red ripped from a corpse so freshly dead.

#transformers #transformers g1 #maccadams #maccadam #transformers au #TFcryogenicau #megop #shh #crazenoposting

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n1ght0f-nyx · 24 days ago

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It would be sooo cool if you wrote about a sailor making offerings to the sea, and the sea helping him back during a privateer attack. The sea being a sea monster (properly monstrous, properly grotesque) who has been waiting to return the sailors kindness.

(I suggested a privateer attack, not pirates, since I feel like a sea monster would have plenty of reason to hate the empires who poisoned their waters)

Your choice if you make the monster more human-minded and create a monster fuck scenario, or if you wish to keep it platonic and protecting only. Or a secret third option of course.

love this so much. water deity x reader. warnings/tags- god worship, monster fucking

word count- 961 words.

The sea is a cruel thing, or so your shipmates always say. The sea takes more than it gives, steals men from their homes, swallows ships whole. But you have never believed that.

You’ve sailed these waters for years, and you know the sea watches. It listens. And sometimes, in ways small and strange, it answers.

he first time you made an offering to the sea, it was nothing but a simple ritual. A bit of salted bread, a silver trinket, and a whispered prayer cast into the waves. A habit picked up from your grandmother, who swore by the old ways, though no one else on your crew paid the ocean much mind beyond cursing it. But you had seen the way the waters turned calm after a gift, how the storms held their breath when you spoke softly to the waves.

You had no way of knowing he was listening.

He—if such a thing could be called a man—was old. Older than the charts, older than the empires that had carved their borders across the seas. His body was the deep, vast and unknowable, his limbs were long things of shifting shadow and sinew, slick with brine and lined with ridges like the belly of a great fish. When he swam beneath your ship, the waters grew dark, as though the sky itself had plunged into the sea. His eyes were like pits, the color of the abyss, but within them burned something unmistakably alive.

And he had watched you.

Watched you kneel at the ship’s edge, murmuring your prayers, your offerings set adrift on the current. Watched you work, tireless and steady, the only one aboard who did not spit into the sea or demand from it. You were different. You were kind. And in all the years he had endured—watching men slaughter whales, pour filth into his waters, carve their wars into his depths—you were the first to show him reverence without fear.

So when the privateers came, he rose.

The attack came swift and merciless. Your ship, a modest merchant vessel, was never meant to withstand the wrath of empire-sanctioned cutthroats. Cannon fire split the hull, sending shouts and splinters into the air. You fought, though you were no soldier. You were thrown to the deck, the scent of salt and blood thick in your nose, your hands bound as you watched your crewmates slaughtered. The privateers laughed as they kicked you onto your knees. You had nothing left but a prayer.

And this time, the sea answered.

A shadow unfurled beneath the waves, vast and slow, the water itself recoiling. The first to notice it was a privateer standing too close to the edge—he barely had time to scream before something yanked him under. The others turned just in time to see the waves boil over with darkness, tentacles slick with salt and spined like the deep-sea beasts of nightmare, a body rising from the depths, twisting, shifting, too large to be real. A maw opened in the water, lined with jagged, bioluminescent teeth, its throat glowing like the lantern-lit caves beneath the tides.

The sea had come to claim its due.

The privateers fell into chaos, some leaping overboard only to be dragged under, others frozen in terror as the creature moved through them with deliberate, inevitable force. He did not fight like a beast—he fought like a god, ancient and wrathful. A tentacle curled around you, slick but gentle, lifting you from the deck as the ship beneath you was torn apart. He cradled you in the crook of an armored limb, his touch lingering, careful. You did not struggle. You knew, somehow, that you would not be harmed.

And when the wreckage sank, when the last screams faded into the quiet hush of the waves, he finally spoke.

“Mine.”

His voice was the grind of shifting tides, the hum of the current against the hull of a ship, the rasp of sand against stone. You shuddered, not in fear, but in the weight of knowing. You had always known the sea could be cruel. You had not known it could be devoted.

He carried you to a place far beyond the reach of men—a cavern where the walls gleamed with mother-of-pearl, where the tide pooled in bioluminescent blue, where the air was thick with salt and the echoes of something ancient. He placed you upon the smooth, sea-worn rock and did not let go, curling around you like the tide itself.

“You gave to me,” he murmured, voice like the whisper of waves against a forgotten shore. His great, abyssal eyes peered down at you, hunger and adoration twining together. “No man has ever given to me.”

You swallowed hard. Your pulse thundered, but not in terror. The way he looked at you, the way he touched you—it was possessive, but not unkind. It was as if you had called to him all those years, and he had finally come to answer.

“…And now you return the favor,” you said, your voice quiet, testing.

His mouth curled, something like a smile but far too sharp. “Yes.”

You reached out, hesitant, your fingers brushing the slick, scaled ridge of his arm. He trembled beneath you. Something deep in his chest thrummed, like the rolling echo of waves against a cliffside. He leaned in, impossibly vast and terrifyingly gentle.

“Mine,” he rumbled again, but this time, it was a plea.

You could have denied him. You could have fought, could have feared, could have rejected the devotion of something so monstrous, so inhuman. But you had spent your whole life at sea, and you knew better than to deny the tide.

“…Yours,” you whispered.

The cavern filled with the sound of the ocean’s joy.

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cuppajj · 7 months ago

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I want more fun facts about living in Midnight Lilys kingdom / about Midnight Lily herself. I am curious about every day life in her kingdom.

Outsiders overlook how serene the silver kingdom is with how brutal they can be to everyone else. Through the hostile, deadly forest that protects its borders, and indeed much of the safest entries to Beast Yeast, lies a kingdom ever at work. Ordinary silver fae live most of their days doing what they’ve always done, caring for themselves and their kingdom in whatever duty they have. Under the Beast of Sovereignty, their individuality freedom is as valued as their devotion to her. (Ordinary fae are encouraged to assist in protecting the kingdom; in fact I see some of them hanging around the perimeter or going off to play tricks on unknowing cookies who stray too close.

I need to know more locations and info on Beast Yeast to really say how Midnight Lily has an influence over it, but what I can say is that the ancient history and magic of the Silver Kingdom makes it a slumbering superpower. Ordinary fae rest comfortably and oblivious to the means of Lily’s end, pay no mind to how slaughter is made from the serene and iridescent wildlife. There’s no questioning, only praise. Also a lot of ordinary fae like to hang around Midnight Lily in her garden; most keep a respectful distance doing other things for her, such as singing her songs or tending to her plants, but others are given permission to rebraid her hair or brush the dust off her dress. You’ll often see Lily surrounded by adoring fae who do anything and everything on her behalf.

Which might not be far from the truth; Lily can certainly make every fae in her kingdom stop what they’re doing and do everything for her with unseen devotion, but there hasn’t been a call to action yet.

Silver tree knights remain fiercely loyal to the silver queen. They are the ones who guard the kingdom and go abroad to wherever Lily goes when she leaves it. Their loyalty is expected twice as much now in comparison to their sovereignty; they might actually have little of it anymore, swearing it off when they gave their flavor up. They’re valued highly as loyal guards and soldiers, but anyone who questions that loyalty—or witches forbid the Queen herself—may put a new stigma on them, one that sees them as incomplete at best and unfit for the silver kingdom at worst.

TLDR life is normal but everyone serves Midnight Lily in the smallest of ways. It’s basically become the new culture, as well as being free to do whatever outside of it. And when the kingdom’s tainted by the will of a Beast, fae reflect it in what they do. Still waiting for more BY lore to flesh out Midnight Lily stuff tho

#also read: unseelie court since im shooting for that to be loose insp #beast ancients au ask #midnight lily cookie

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fandomfluffandfuck · 7 days ago

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I'll Do Anything For You

If you've been paying attention to the art I've been reblogging lately, the asks I've been answering, etc. then you already know that I am back to being fixated on muzzles... so you know where this is going. Basically, alright, Bucky puts the winter soldier muzzle on Steve, and suddenly, he has a mess of blonde, subby puppy at his feet.

Content warning for slightly dubious consent (as in Steve doesn't think it's a good idea at first but then is all fucking in for it)

Selflessness surges in an electric, pulsing rush through Steve's network of interwoven veins. When he's cut open, filleted alive again and again, he bleeds selfnessless; in fact, he bleeds for the masses, he bleeds for those that have bled too much already, he bleeds for anyone but himself. He had too before, but the serum has made him all the more aware of what he's made of, entwined in every fiber of his being. He bleeds for everyone else, holding back a dam of their needs inside himself. Erskine said, after all, that it would magnify everything inside him. He was selfless. To a fault.

He is even more selfless and even more faulty with the serum. Bucky and Natasha and Sam and--well, everyone who's been labeled lately as a vigilante after hanging around him for too long, polluted by his exhaustless morals--others, too, have all told him this. He has yet to be corrupted by the awareness of his own self-sacrificing selflessness, but... perhaps... he is on his way. There is mounting evidence. Like, how, when Bucky brought it up, despite how everything inside Steve urges selflessness, Steve didn't think he could do it.

It.

Daunting.

Looming.

He would, of course, he would do it.

He knew he would do it. Anything. If Bucky asked, he'd kill himself for him. He's done worse. He laid down and took it when Bucky tried to kill him with his bare hands still shackled, wrists flesh and metal alike bound by programming that crawled its way so deep inside neither of them knew the way out. Maybe the only way out was death. At least, if it were death, he'd go by those beloved, blood-soaked hands. He'd be buried to the sound of his name. The only way he can imagine going out. However, as it turns out, the programming was not as deep as the vows they'd dared to speak all those years ago, whispered in shared breaths in the dead of night when no one else could touch them. But. Still. Beyond death into a second kind of life, Steve didn't think he could do it.

Regardless, he would.

He will. No matter what. His own limitations be damned. He will endure. Bucky endured for him, unknowing he was waiting for anything or anyone at all. This is a sliver of that, is it not? Steve is sure it is.

He thought doing as Bucky asked would make everything inside him twist up and pull tighter and tighter and tighter until he was knotted up; his stomach and intestines tangled like grotesque, slick yarn, barely gritting his teeth enough to choke back the vomit that warned of its incoming presence via a flood of overwhelming, overly salty saliva and uncontrollable spasms of his throat. He didn't stop to think for a fraction of a moment, god forbid, that he'd like it.

Steve's head spins recklessly, on the cusp of twisting off his shoulders.

How could he like it?

What the hell does that say about him to like it?

How fucking fucked up is he?

Once, he thought he was an abomination for loving Bucky the way he did--beyond best friends, beyond brotherhood, beyond what even could be expressed by the intimacy of the word "lover," he loves him bad. He loves him down to the gritty, raw scrape of bone on bone. He loves him in his nerves. He loves him in every fiber of his DNA. He is loving Bucky--that's who he is.

Steve doesn't think he's an abomination anymore for loving Bucky. Maybe, though... maybe all there is between the fear of what he is or isn't, and the acceptance of that is time.

Maybe he just needs time.

Time, here and now, assaults him.

At first, time slows to a glass-like standstill of arrested lungs with the need for oxygen burning in his hollow chest, an inferno, holding space for anything. Anything for him. Anything he needs to heal. Anything Steve can do to be helpful in such a helpless scenario. Anything, anything, anything as Bucky stands before him, the thing in his hands, beckoning like a void of a yawning crevasse, about to slip it into place. Steve is held in place. Frozen. In contrast, Bucky flows like thawed ice, his cool, metal fingertips running through his golden hair, skimming the pale shell of his ear, feathering the back of his neck, and, click, it's slipped in place. Secondly--and truly in a single second--time explodes in a deafening, blinding thunderclap. Steve's entire body shudders, reacting in adrenalinizing terror to it. It's on him. It's, it's--

It's hot across his face.

The temperature strikes him in twin with the spiking of his libido. Heat.

Oh.

It is a thunderclap; it is a baseball bat to the gut; it is a building falling on him, tobbling concrete and rebar.

Oh.

Bucky's lips curl into a wicked, teasing smirk, shockingly quick and crude, "you look good like that, Rogers," the sound of his flesh and blood fingertips dragging over it is subtle yet as loud as a car crash, "quiet, that is."

Oh.

Instantaneously, Steve's overactive mind overlays the moment unfolding in front of him with a memory that's as syrupy and thick as the heat of Brooklyn summer. The memory is heady in his empty, dizzy mind, hitting him like the sickly sweet mead Thor challenges him to chug. Rippling through time, Bucky's familiar, old voice is in his head--thick, angry, and hot, echoing what he just said but a lifetime ago, telling him, ya sound much better moanin' my fuckin' name than you do yellin' at some fucking dick who'll never listen to ya anyway. Can't beat brains into somebody stupid. Pick your fights better, ya punk. 'M starting to think you're stupid, too. Jeez.

And suddenly, Steve is nothing but a scrawny little pipsqueak again, and Bucky is a charming, suave angel with a devilish mouth. Every girl in Brooklyn and their mama loves that boy, but if only they knew... if only they could see how Steve looked up at him, seeing the rays of sun around him and God himself in that pretty, handsome face. He's an angel. An angel, halo'd and slapping him on the ass after another alley fight. If he needs riling up, Bucky will give 'im it. If he needs order to stay in line, Bucky's got him. Bucky will take care of him, give him what he needs--fuck him until he's on the cusp of an asthma attack or a heart attack or something, anything, heart racing in his thin chest, lungs rattling with undeniable moans of agonizing pleasure, right in time for Bucky to back off despite Steve's wheezing, crazed begging for just a little more, a little harder, a little longer, he was so close! Buckyyyy! Please!

Steve is shaken from the memory like an earthquake: does Bucky remember any of that? Does it matter if he's doing just that now?

Guh.

Steve realizes abruptly that his knees are fucking weak, trembling and unable to hold him for any longer, leaving him to slouch, held up only by the touch of Bucky's hand under his chin. Nothing else. His fingers twitch, aching to reach out and touch Bucky but unable to go so far. He doesn't have the strength. It doesn't feel right. Chest heaving, all he can imagine is Bucky touching him. He can't touch. Bucky has to touch him. Bucky has to pull or push or command him to touch if Steve is to touch--that's all that feels right, slipping into place with a click of his own.

This is how it's always been.

Steve has missed this so much.

Sagging where he stands, now rightfully shorter than Bucky, their eyes meet, snapping to each other like magnets. God. Another convulsion rolls through Steve. Bucky's gaze is penetrating, assessing, but deeper than that, it's dominant, too.

His grey eyes blaze with dark, intense hunger. He's enjoying this, taking the power back, getting back to what he used to be, who he used to be, whether he realizes it or not. Taking care of Steve. He is that and more. He is weaponized and competent.

Steve is enjoying this, he can't deny it--his body is reacting so fucking strongly and unpredictably to it.

How fucked up is he for immediately, erotically losing control of himself when Bucky slaps the winter soldier muzzle on his ugly mug? Where did his wires get crossed? Why didn't the serum fix that?

Shit.

Steve's normally pale face is so hot it's tingling. He's feeling the quiver of each individual nerve, plucked like a guitar string. It's overwhelming him, the rhythm bursting through his chest, spilling out of his mouth with a rough whimper. He must be dripping with a fresh wash of bright red paint from his hairline to his hidden jaw. He can feel the embarrassment digging deeper, too, trickling down his neck to his chest. God. It's so hard to think like this.

Bucky's eyes bore into him, the pressure of his flesh and blood fingers digging into his jaw even through the muzzle.

He is muzzled. Bucky's hand commands him, tied to him like a leash. Any order he gives, Steve will heel to. He is a dog.

In more ways than one, a damn dog--everything within him stuttering to a stop, not just his voice muffled but the entire rest of the world. There is nothing but Bucky. Bucky commands him. Anything he says.

Anything.

The only thing that's possible for Steve to focus on--other than the penetrating stare of Bucky assessing how he feels and how he's effortlessly making Steve melt--is trying and failing to steady his breathing. It feels so hard to breathe. Is it actually hard to breathe? It can't be that hard to breathe in this, can it? That, that's--

He's panting.

Not just panting, whining, and, worse, he's tripping and falling over nothing, too. He's not even taking half a step. He's just tumbling to his knees in a shivering heap of dog; any closer to Bucky, and he'd be humping his boot.

Fuck.

Bucky is smirking down at him, sharp and wolfish, not saying a damn 'nother thing. He doesn't have to say anything else. It's humiliating enough to be so weak for him. For any part of him. Bucky's taken control of him with nothing. This is an easy game for him now, overcoming the horrible power wielded by this muzzle over him using Steve's eager compliance to it, perverting the power, taking advantage of it in the most delicious way. He's reduced Steve to nothing but a muffled, whimpering, panting mess. Steve's mortified. Steve's burning up. He can never show his face to anyone ever again. How is this turning him on so bad? How can he convince Bucky to never take this off him? He doesn't want to think, he wants to help Bucky. He wants to be good for Bucky. Anything for Bucky.

#fandomfluffandfuck #is this coherent??? idk #you judge that #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #big sub steve #dom bucky #hurt/comfort in the form of kinky sex. you're welcome.

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balrogballs · 2 months ago

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Oh i would love your take on Thranduil’s grief in losing his wife! If your Celrond angst can shatter me and never piece me back together, I can only imagine how you’re going to annihilate readers with Thranduil angst 🙏🏼

Here you go go go, and I made this one a little cute/hopeful because feral baby Legolas is something I can never resist…

A year ago when Legolas was just three, Thranduil had brought him in to council with him because Irimë had stayed up with the teething toddler all night and it was only fair. Legolas had crawled up and around and onto laps, toddled barefoot across the table, and overall made a complete nuisance of himself but Thranduil, clearly struck down by what he normally refers to as Insufferably Elrondesque Behaviour, had indulged him.

Legolas was a curious child. He’d gotten into the habit of pointing at various people, from wardens to cooks to stableboys – asking, me? It was more an interrogation of his own future than actually wanting to know. Questioning what might one day come to be, what he would one day be. Me? he would ask, and always Thranduil would say yes, baby. Yes, if you wish it.

Me? he asked, pointing at Elrond’s twin sons, tall enough to be any little elfling’s ideal. Yes, baby, Thranduil would sigh somewhat reluctantly. Yes, if you wish it.

Indulging in Elrondesque Behaviour on that morning, unfortunately, had meant he also suffered the side effect of Elrondesque Luck. And that was why when he’d taken his eye off the boy for a second, Legolas had toddled into the garden just as his wardens brought in a bloated corpse, spider venom threading across his skin, a missing soldier. Legolas had watched wide eyed and when Thranduil rushed down, grabbed the child into his arms, Legolas pointed at the body. Me? all wide eyed in wonder.

No! Thranduil had exclaimed, wrenching his son away, pointing a finger at the body. No! Not you, baby. Never, never you.

It is a different kind of squalid, rotting emptiness now, as Irimë lay pale in state, the two-day wake. He remembers going to Imladris after Celebrían sailed, remembers how corpse-like Elrond had looked, as if performing an awful mummery of death, shrouded in paper-white skin. It is like that. He is the corpse now, holding a squirming child who keeps peering over at where his mother lay. Blue, befitting something killed on the road — the sole road the Elvenking had not appointed patrols to. Not something Thranduil can extricate himself from, like pestilence and spiders and fever, no, there’s a clear finger to point and it’s directed right at him. He cannot take his eyes off her. For two whole days, he cannot take his eyes off her, her own staring straight back at him.

And then there are starfish-hands on his face as he peers over at the body one final time before they take her away. Something pink-cheeked stroking his own, patting it. Legolas, in whose world nobody dies, only disappears, four by account of shyly held up fingers, who woke up without a mother in a suddenly-quiet world and took it in his stride. Guilt curls in his stomach, bloats him from head to toe.

No, baby, Legolas says, patting Thranduil’s face so hard it stings, pointing at the body. Not you.

Thranduil must be going insane. For there is no other explanation for how he clings to his son there, right in public, like he’s a lifeline, asks the child truly? Do you truly think so?

Not you, baby, Legolas parrots his own words from a year ago. Not a mummery of death but of love. He keeps saying it, unknowing, until his father believes it despite himself.

There’s no such thing as a blameless death in Mirkwood. This is no Imladris. Everything here, from shell-shocked rabbits to dead queens has a cause and every cause leads to death. In the swampy, wet cold under the Shadow, it is easy to decay, to rot, to turn into things that feed trees. It would have been so easy for Thranduil to have sunk into the freezing earth and let himself be taken. But on his knee sits Legolas, patting his face methodically, like a healer pressing breath into a dying thing. The beating heart of the Greenwood: warmer than every pyre, and so contagiously alive.

#asks #still getting through these apologies #legolas #thranduil

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theawkwardterrier · 1 month ago

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Wednesday 100: Heart Names

"Mo ghràidh," Jamie's mother would call his father. "Mo chridhe." "Miann mo shùl." If you had asked him on nearly any day before this one, that is what he would have imagined his own love calling him, the sounds of the language of his soul coming from the smiling mouth of the woman he was destined for.

Now, he looks at the woman before him — disheveled, thoroughly unamused, and bravely terrified — he knows differently. Her Englishwoman's tongue, accented and unknowing of Gaelic, calls him simply "soldier," and he wants to have her call him that all his life.

#Wednesday100 #Outlander #Jamie Fraser #Claire Fraser #Jamie/Claire

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zielemeczennicy · 3 months ago

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quick ref of the oc ive had in mind for the past week i think? more of a crack/joke oc tbh.

Rambling about her down below

Forgot to add on the ref but she's kinda in Kaub I guess??? And she knows multiple languages.

'Gen' wasn't in army prior to the Blight, so to get a uniform she had sown together parts of fallen soldiers' clothes- that's why the colours don't match and the outfit doesn't seem to fit her well.

The bandages on her face aren't needed, but she keeps them on under the excuse of fake injuries to conceal her identity, However the bandages on her neck are more justified as she had been attacked and prefers to keep the marks covered.

The mentioned attack and an earlier incident caused her to lose her voice almost completely. Gen can only talk for very short durations of time before her throat starts to hurt, so she just doesn't talk in general and communicates by gestures and writing. At least it eliminates the problem of being questioned about her feminine tone.

Due to how she can't communicate as easily, she was often left unknowing as to what were the names of her companions and such. To make it easier for herself she tends to make up nicknames for people, usually based off of pastries or other sweet things, even if in the end she mostly uses them to refer to people in her mind.

#guts and blackpowder #g&b #art #gnb #guts & blackpowder #guts and blackpowder oc #ziele oc #gnb oc #ziele gen

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whalesforhands · 2 years ago

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did anyone see the 20 min poll i put up lol

i can’t help myself (geto x reader x gojo)

warnings: SMUT, everyone is an ADULT, minors DNI, penetration, sex whilst YOU are under the influence of smthg, dubcon, i die a little inside everytime i write porn, but ppl seem to like me more when i do, buddha i am not your strongest soldier, do i count as a writer with lots of variation yet

“Mm, see?” Gojo grinned as he hand-fed you the chocolates gifted to you by Ieiri, watching as you chewed on them, even daringly giving a cute kitten lick to the remnants of it on his fingers.

“Good, right? I went to this shop before during one of my missions. Should’ve brought back more if I knew you liked them this much.” He placed another on his tongue, leaning in to kiss you as he transferred the slightly melted treat into your mouth, his lips pressing closer to yours, tongue twirling with yours and tasting the sweet with you.

You moaned, your hands on his chest as he came closer. All of a sudden, a hot, pink haze settled over you, searing your body.

Your body felt hot, burning, ablaze with want. Your desire was wanton, lust coursing through your very veins as you suddenly clung onto the sleeves of Satoru’s shirt.

“Satoru…” You practically moan, the thought of him naked and pounding into your willing cunt flashing through your brain, the thought making you clench your thighs as you felt a gush of liquid leak from your core.

“Help-“ You feel your knees wobble, collapsing forward into Gojo’s waiting arms. “Please…”

His grin never got so wide.

——

Geto and Gojo are a pair. A pair that craved, wanted and lusted after you. A pair that had chased after the unknowing, oblivious you since your highschool days.

You can’t say that you haven’t fallen for their charms.

Now, as Satoru’s head buried itself into you, tongue deep inside of you as Suguru began to strip.

Suguru was so hard, you swear you saw his cock throb with desire as soon as he pulled his pants down, before your eyes were averted, mind focusing back on the white-haired man between your thighs.

Because with the way Satoru is practically making out with your pussy and combined with Suguru’s saccharine words, your resolve was slowly crumbling, your mind threatening to crumble under the pleasure.

“Satoru’s happily eating you out, won’t you suck my cock? Please?” Suguru pleads, his black eyes feigning hurt at your ignorance of his problem.

You need to be filled. Your lips obediently parting to slip the mushroom tip of his cock inside you as you begin to suckle and taste his deliciously thick cock.

“Mmm, good girl.” Suguru kneels over your head, his balls pressed against your closed eyelids as he pushed his cock down your throat.

You can’t see. It feels so hot, so heavy on your face. You don’t get time to think before you feel him shove deeper into your mouth, your jaw aching as it struggled to accommodate him.

Down below, you weren’t faring any better, your thighs squirming around as you began to reach your high, Satoru sucking and licking at your clit as his fingers increased his pace inside, one hand holding down your thigh to keep you in place as he gave and gave and gave, leading you to burst just as Suguru came down your throat, his heavy balls twitching on your eyelids as you swallowed every last drop.

——

“C-condom…!” You cried out as Gojo held your thighs down, his thick, bare cock already halfway inside you before he heard you.

He grunted, pulling out of you briefly as hurriedly tugs out a condom packet from Suguru’s wallet that was tossed onto the bedside drawer, rolling it on haphazardly before plunging back inside you as you whined at the sudden sensation.

His pace was merciless from the beginning, drool making its way out of the corner of your lips as your arms wrapped around him, feeling the inches slide in and out of your used cunt.

“Shit, this pussy feels sooo fucking good.” A hard thrust inside of you causes you to scream, your nails digging into his back, legs in the air and dangling uselessly.

“Yeah? You’re a good girl who likes taking my cock, right?”

You cry as you feel him sink that cock of his impossibly deeper into you, balls pressed right against your ass, your legs up in the air as the warm, sticky sensation of his cum began to seep out, thank goodness that the condom was thankfully catching his voluminous spend.

Right?

You don’t think condoms felt so… thick and hot inside of you. You try to urge him to pull out, shaking and punching at his shoulders as he held you down, to urge him out of his bliss as he continued to drain his semen inside of you. Finally getting his attention, he pouted as he began to take his time to slowly slide out, ensuring that you felt every ridge of his dick.

Milky white dripped out of you, running down one of your thighs as you began to panic. His seed, thick, viscous was trailing from your labia and wetting the very tip of his cock where he had just pulled out.

There the condom was, broken and ruptured as the remainder of it seemed to cling painfully tight to his base, which you expected to be limp and satisfied after coming so much.

That’s when you noticed. He was hovering over your abused entrance, tip still red, angry and wanting. He was waiting for your approval to plunge back inside.

“It’s fine because I already came inside once right?” You heard Satoru utter into your ear, releasing the remains of the broken condom around his cock. “What’s a few more from me and Suguru?”

Suguru strokes your head. “They make pills for this, don’t worry.” A timed kiss to swallow any more of your skepticism.

It’s definitely okay, right? They assured you so. They’ll take care of you. It’s totally fine, right?

You can’t even protest as Satoru pushes himself back in for an immediate round 2, your legs wrapping around his waist this time as you felt Suguru’s fingers prod at your ass.

——

“Why do you get her pussy again?” Satoru whined as he held you up in a full nelson, his arms wrapped up underneath your knees and holding your legs wide open, his cock buried deep inside your wet asshole.

“Cause,” Suguru began, his cockhead swiping up and down your cum-filled cunt, teasing you, making you whine as you begged for him to fill you. “You came inside her three times in a row. It’s my turn.” He pushes in, grinning as you cried out.

The sensation of having both men inside of you was too much, their thrusts just simply too much. You were crying, your tears starting to fill up your eyes as you began to beg, but what for? You’re too turned on, your womb was so full of semen, your ass felt like it was going to end up in the same state after Suguru had gone multiple rounds there. You’re so, so exhausted.

But you can’t stop. Don’t want them to stop.

“No, no- Mmm! I- I can’t-! Mmngh! So good!” Your words were broken, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as jumbled nonsense continued spilling from your lips.

“Look at her, all fucked out. So cute.”

“She’s not at her limit yet, look at how she’s still clenching around our cocks like a whore.”

“Let’s change that then.”

——

“Mmm, your drenched asshole feels so fucking good.” Your hips were clenched tight by Satoru’s hands as your fingers gripped the sheets, your cunt absolutely filled up by Suguru who laid beneath you, your head buried into the crook of his neck.

You feel then thrust powerfully up and down into you, their thrusts reaching an intensity in strength and in speed.

Their thrusts in tandem with each other, as one goes in, the other out, in perfect synchronization. You can’t help but moan helplessly in their arms as their heavy cocks plunge into you, body accepting each thrust as their penises master your holes.

“God, you’re the fucking best.”

Satoru throws his head back as he groans at Suguru’s lustful voice, burying his cock deep inside your asshole, his balls throbbing against you as you feel wet gushes of sperm spurt eagerly into your ass, soon feeling another wet spurt deep into your womb.

You were too full.

Their massive balls are full of seed, them choosing to keep their thick cocks sheathed deep within your warm, inviting holes as they press tight against you, sending every drop deep into your vagina.

——

Suguru grabs your bottom with both hands, thrusting his hips forward hard. It swiped against your pussy lips, just missing its mark before he groans, readjusting himself before he angles himself just right to plunge back in.

His chest presses your back against the wall, bus erection thrusting steadily into you as he slides his full length inside.

You draw his head down to yours, kissing along his jawline as each hard, rough thrust of his drives moans and moans out of you, leaving you incoherent and wanton.

“You like this, yeah?” A hard thrust into you. “Gonna take all of my load inside this slutty hole, aren’t you?”

“C-cummm inswideee…” You’re losing yourself; your brain turning to mush as he begins to churn up your insides with that wonderful cock of his. You can’t get enough.

You’re about to orgasm for the nth time tonight. Your body thrashes in wild abandon, hips bucking frantically against him, back arching your back against the wall as you clutch at him.

“C-cumming..!”

You hear him laugh, a hand reaching up to grope at one of your lonely breasts. “Already? I just put it in, sweetheart.”

“Too good too good too good-!”

You hear him chuckle again just as the door opens to reveal Satoru coming back with bottles of water.

——

Gojo Satoru ungraciously crashes onto the wet sheets, heaving with his arm across his eyes. He’s exhausted. Tuckered out.

You scream as Suguru holds your hips up from behind, cumming deep inside of your cunt yet again as your body remains limp and pliant for him.

As he pulls out, you whine and cry at the loss, at the painful emptiness of your body.

It’s not enough.

“Nwoo, Sugu-“ You babble, hand threading itself into his own as you pull him close, kissing and licking at his jaw. “Wan’ more! Need it!”

Suguru is running a hand through his hair as he shakes his head, his body shaking slightly as he carries you, settling you on his lap as he leans back against the headboard. He watches, awestruck, entranced as you drag yourself to his lying Satoru, cum seeping out of both of your used holes, climbing onto his lap and bouncing yourself vigorously up and down his significant other’s half hard cock.

“B-babe, I’m alr-already shooting bl-blanks-!” Satoru’s hands come up to your hips, helping to support you as you whine, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“S’not en-enough! P-please!” You were sobbing as he helped you maneuver your hips, your body screaming in exhaustion as your pussy whined for more.

Satoru was practically immobile at this point, only just conscious enough to help you a little, his groans sounding almost pained as his tired eyes continued to watch you. up down up down up down up-

You were going to break him. He doesn’t think he minds. As your oversensitive hole clenches hard around his painfully sensitive cock, he sees you reach your arms out for Suguru, begging him to come closer before your lips press hungrily to his, your hand tugging at his long black locks as your drool smears all over his mouth.

Your hole clenches tight around him, a whine of painful pleasure leaving you as you cum hard on his cock, feeling the familiar twitch that signaled he was reaching his end too, you can stay awake a little more, a little more to feel his hot liquid burst up deep insi-

You pass out. Your body physically can’t go on anymore even as your holes beg for more.

It’s over.

The duo don’t know whether to feel relieved or worried as you faint in Satoru’s embrace, finally able to sleep off the exhaustion you were facing.

come on y’all, i got geto asks, LOTS of gojo asks, but where’s the STSG asks lmao. i literally only wrote STSG and nobody is feeding me my literal main focus 😭

#dyf au

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