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saturnsorbits · 9 days

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LiSyK: Lesson One

Fandom: My Hero Academia, Warnings: Prince!Bakugo, Concubine Reader and Kirishima, Smut, Voyeurism, Unprotected Sex, Unprepared Sex, Cum Eating (Kinda). Word Count: 5k.

A/N: So, it's a series... No regular uploads, I'm just going to see where it goes.

Bakugo claps his hands, the sound echoing around the chamber like a rifle shot. 'You'll find my bed behind you.'

You blanch. 'Your bed, my lord?'

Concubines were a fixture of the royal rooms and have been for as long as anyone could remember. It wasn't unusual to see a collection of beautiful men and women lounging in living rooms or bedrooms, their skin almost entirely bare with only silk and gold to adorn them. Some, if favoured enough, were even gifted their own rooms were they could entertain their lord at their leisure.

And yet, it was unheard of to entertain a prince in his own chambers.

'Is there something wrong with my bed?' Bakugo's voice is a growl, low and deadly in the back of his throat. The idea of seeing you, the two of you, in his own bed sets up a stirring in his groin – one the demands to have its reward.

'No... No, I -.'

Kirishima's voice is an even timber when he steps in, easily picking up where your babbling had left you off. 'To share your personal bed chamber is a true honour, my lord.'

You curtsey, bowing you head low, thankful for the out.

The implications of Bakugo's excitement swarm in his head, but the buzzing never comes close to dampening his desire. Nodding towards the bed, he clenches his jaw tight. He'll deal with whatever fall out that comes later, right now... Both his heart and cock are set on this. 'Continue.'

Perching on the edge of the bed, you scoot backwards until your back presses against the plush cushions piled at the headboard. You can feel your pulse migrate, its steady rhythm sinking lower and lower until you're forced to resist the urge to cover your sex.

At the foot of the bed stands Kirishima. He smiles, soft and without his teeth, the apples of his cheeks swelling as he tries to render you at ease. The bump of his throat bobs as he leans forward, hands braced on the mattress as he prepares the advance on you, but before he can move, Bakugo's voice is ringing out clear from across the room.

Even across the room, Bakugo's throne feels far too close for comfort. He perches there, one knee raised with all the posture of a boy king. Atop his head the gold circlet of his crown sits off centre, the mess of his hair forcing it to tip towards his forehead. Beneath, his ruby eyes shine – deadly in their stare as he grips the edges of his chair with an almost white-knuckled force.

'Strip.' It's a command. One he's glad doesn't slip from his tongue with the anxiety that bubbles in his stomach. The acid is thick there, anticipation turning to bile as he fidgets, hoping neither of you can see his cock already raising to half mast under his trousers. 'Bare yourself to us.'

You swallow, tasting trepidation at the back of your tongue as you sit up and work at the straps of your covering. You'd been gifted new clothing after being chosen by the prince, upgrading your simple cloth rags for finer silks and golden bands. Now, a thin silken top cascades over your chest, the folds of the material deep and red, like waves of fresh fire licking at your skin. At your neck, a chain keeps the material from falling as it hangs from your golden collar.

The collar bares a series of symbols. Those for both the house of Bakugo, granting you movement throughout the entire fortress and those for the prince himself: a mark of his ownership. The chain wraps your back too, meeting in a clasp that you quickly undo, allowing the material to sink and expose the edges of your breasts as you work at loosing the chain to let the entire article slip away.

Kirishima's eyes linger. He can't help it. The fabric covering you slips to the mattress and immediately leaves you bare. Soft tits fill his vision, the gentle rise and fall of your chest making them jiggle slightly as you try and calm your breathing. His palms are sweating, making him thankful for the bedsheets under his hands and his voice demands he speak words of praise and devotion, even despite his not having permission to utter a word.

For the prince to be able to touch you seems obvious, for you're nothing short of a royal gift, but for him... He's not quite sure how he managed to get so lucky to be allowed to lay his eyes on a treasure such as you.

'Show him everything.' Bakugo clicks his tongue. His fist is balled in his pants, pulling them from his crotch to save their staining. Shifting in his seat, he attempts to hide his arousal. Not for the first time, he's glad he placed himself away from your gazes.

'Yes, my lord.' Your breathing catches as you unbuckle the silk skirt at your hips. You'd been denied underthings. Such items are inconvenient for the prince, should his cock wish to be buried in your tight heat at short notice. Instead, leather straps sit at your hips with long silken strips of material stitched to their edges. Falling to mid calf, the material flows effortlessly with your movement just as it drifts easily to the floor now as you unbuckle it.

'Knees apart.'

You comply, sensing the tightness in the princes voice and drop your knees, exposing the softness of your inner thighs and the sweetness of your sex to the air.

You're dripping. Even from this distance Kirishima can tell. There's a sheen coating your skin, a slick mix of arousal that gives off a heady scent. It infests his lungs, soaks into the roof of his mouth as he drags more of your aroma into him with each breath. His fingers twitch on the mattress gathering more sheet between them as he tries to stop himself from moving too soon and gaining the punishment of the prince.

Bakugo leans so far off his throne he's not confident he won't fall. He's never smelt sex before, but if it smells anything like you do, he's not sure he'll ever be able to be without it. Your musk is an aphrodisiac, making his mouth water and his cock twitch as he gives up attempting to hide his erection. Reaching for his belt, he loosens the buckle and reaches into his pants squeezing around the base of his cock as he pulls it into the air.

The princes cock is average in length. Delicate, almost, in how it bends slightly to the left – the rose petal head rounded and plump, dribbling more than it's fair share of pre-cum down the man's fist. Along the pale shaft, a series of purpling vein's break up the tone. Most are wide, pulsing with his heartbeat and splaying as they reach his base, where a delicate crop of blonde hair obscures the rest. It's darker than the hair on his head, closer to the brown of his fathers as it trails, reaching up over the muscle of his stomach and beyond.

Kirishima gulps, quickly snapping his gaze from over his shoulder and back to you. He can't say for certain, but he's pretty sure he has a bigger cock than the prince.

It should be an ego boost, something to brag about in those few moments of peace he's awarded outside of his royal duty, except there's just one thing he's worried about.

You.

'Stretch yourself...' Clenching his teeth, Bakugo refuses to show his breathlessness. His cock kicks in his hand, demanding a friction he withholds; but even with his precaution, there's no removing his affliction entirely from his visage. He straightens, rolling his shoulders to flatten against the back of his throne. Still, greed and longing sink into his tone. 'Let me see.'

Reaching between your thighs, you do as your told. The stickiness of your cunt clings to your fingers immediately, your clit twitching as clumsy fingers spread into a 'V' to expose your insides.

'Fuck.' The word trips from Kirishima's tongue carelessly and drops into the air like the last firework at new year. Around him, the world freezes – the muscles of his shoulders tense as he watches your abdomen hitch. He hadn't been given permission to speak. For all he knows, your allure has truly become the end of him. After all, it isn't unknown for rulers to punish their concubines for far less than speaking out of turn.

Bakugo clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and savours the knot that appears in the centre of Kirishima's back. The muscles bunch, writhing in a manner that makes him wonders if he could recreate it. 'Yeah...' He sighs. 'Fuck.' Coughing the delicacy from his voice, he licks over his lips before addressing the scene again. 'You. Kirishima. Strip.'

Kirishima complies in a heartbeat.

His loin cloth is much like yours in design, a thick strip of leather wrapping his waist just below his navel that buckles at either hip. Attached is the same material, thin and translucent and falling to mid-thigh; sheer enough to almost see the heft of his cock as it lays against his thighs.

Thick fingers work at the buckles, nimbly loosening the leather until he can swiftly shuck the material down his legs and discard it with a flick of his foot.

From his throne, Bakugo has to bite back the groan that threatens to rock through his chest and spill into the air. His mouth waters. Kirishima's cock is larger than he'd expected... A lot larger than he'd expected.

It bends under it's own weight, almost hanging despite his being fully hard. His foreskin is dark, a flush of deep mauve that slips back just enough to expose a slither of dark cherry head. Pre-cum leaks from him like a tap. It glistens on his skin, making the two thick vein's that raise from his skin just below his head glow in vague purple as they pulse. The crop of hair at his base is thick and black, a stark contrast to his own pale, downy hair.

Bakugo swallows, ridding his throat of the desire to be full. His tongue flattens to the roof of his mouth, his taste buds desperate for a lick of whatever divine nector drips from the pair of you. 'Go on then...' He barks, excitement flooding his bloodstream as he attempts to maintain some kind of dignity with his hand still squeezing the base of his cock. 'Fuck her.'

'I... Uhm,' Kirishima's cock bobs, threatening to steal his cohesion. He struggles to remember his teachings, a million and one things racing through his mind as he tries to remember the diagrams and words of the old mothers. 'I need to, to... Prepare her first.'

'Of course.' Bakugo frowns. He knew that. Of course, he knew that – he's eager, that's all. Maybe a little too eager.

'Can... Can I?' Kirishima's eyes shine when he brings them up to meet you. There's a gentleness there, a softness that barely disguises the blind pleasure that coils his stomach into knots. He reaches forward, a hand brushing the skin of your shin as his thumb draws an awkward half-circle in your calve.

You nod. With your fingers still spreading your cunt, you can feel the rush of slick that gathers there as you wait under his gaze for your devouring. It coats your fingers, leaving strings of pearl on your skin like jewellery.

Kirishima climbs up onto the bed, forcing it to dip under his weight. You feel bare laying there, exposed, as you watch his eyes dip between your legs and grows hungry. Fighting the urge to snap shut your legs and scramble away, you force yourself to relax. No-one has seen you quite like this before. Your intimacies have always been your own, exposed only to the King's consort Inko to confirm your virginity before a bright 'V' had been painted on your chest.

You wonder if you're pretty down there. If you look appealing... Fuckable.

A large hand wraps your thigh, a reassuring squeeze drawing you from your thoughts and back into the moment. Kirishima smiles, the tips of his teeth worrying his bottom lip as he reaches out with his other arm and hovers centimetres away from your sex. He catches your eye, eyebrows raising slightly on his forehead as the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 'You'll tell me if you want me to stop, won't you?'

There's a trepidation lingering under his skin, the kind of anxiety that is laced with excitement and easily highlights his inexperience and yet, his movements are sure when he finally touches you.

The pad of his thumb swipes at your clit making your back arch. Your eyes widen as the breath is taken from your lungs, a soft gasp leaping from your mouth. You become aware of your body then, more aware than you've ever been as the tingles of pleasure begin to recede with his touch. It leaves you raw and desperate, hips lifting from the bed in order to seek him out once more.

'Louder.' Bakugo's voice is broken. His cock still sit in his hand, pulsing angrily at it's neglect. Already he can feel his balls pulling up tight against him, threatening an end to something he hasn't even been able to start yet. 'Make her louder.'

Kirishima repeats the action. This time, the pad of his thumb presses harder, circling, until he earns another gasp from your lungs. He's surprised to learn that you're soft. Softer than he'd expected. You're so wet he can feel it clinging to his skin, the heat radiating through his thumb and making his mouth water. Against the mattress his cock stirs, smearing pre-cum against his stomach as he grinds down, offering himself only the smallest amounts of relief. He licks his teeth. 'Can...' His thumb moves lower, slipping off the wet hood of your clit and hovering over your entrance. 'Can I?'

'Please.' Lifting your hips from the bed, you attempt to rub his thumb back over your clit, desperate for more of his touch. You don't know what he's offering, you're not sure you care as long as it means you get to feel his hands on you again. 'Please...'

With your permission, Kirishima presses into you until you squeeze around the base of his thumb. You're hot inside, your walls silken and soaking, tightening around him as he pulls back out, testing your reactions. His eyes flicker to yours, a quick check in before he twists his wrist and offers you two fingers. This time you struggle with the stretch. He can feel it, the flutter in your walls as you breathe through the intrusion, but soon enough, you're relaxing, sucking him in and whining soft and breathy above him.

Your voice doesn't feel like your own. Each noise that escapes you is new, sinfully sweet as it escapes your throat and floats through the air. The women at the temple may have trained you, but they had never prepared you for this. Their lessons had always been focused on pleasing, not being pleased – the pillow dances and allure routines, all of it was useless here with you on your back and a man's thick fingers pressing up into the spongy roof of your cunt.

You writhe as a pressure builds below your pubic bone, encouraging a series of moans to leak from your mouth. It feels as though you might burst as your cunt clenches, but before you can discover just what comes next Bakugo's voice is spilling into the room and Kirishima's fingers still inside of you.

Bakugo is hanging on by a thread. His cock has gone pale with his grip around the base, his balls pulled so tight he can feel his pulse beating through them. Still, he refuses to embarrass himself. Not without seeing what he came to see. 'That's enough...' He speaks through his teeth, gritting out his words. 'Fuck her already.'

Kirishima looks to you before he moves. His brow is set, his eyes cool as he waits for your permission once again. He crawls over you until his arms bracket your shoulders, your chests almost level.

You look stunning like this, your lips shining, eyes wide and watery as you heave in deep, steadying breaths. There's no denying that he wants you, the sheer fact he's been allowed to touch you alone has his cock jumping against his stomach, but his mother's taught him to be respectful before anything else and so, he waits...

'I said...' Bakugo growls, but before he can finish his sentence, you're shifting.

Looking between you body and Kirishima's, you stifle a squeak as you see just what you have to contend with. Lined up as he is, it seems as though he'd reach your navel with ease – a far from appetising idea and yet, there's a yearning that spreads from the curve of your stomach to the depths of your cunt. One that has your insides tingling.

You don't care how big he is.

Don't care if it'll hurt.

As a matter of fact... A small piece of you wishes it will.

You reach between your legs, petting over your pubic hair until you can smooth your fingers across the twitching peak of your clit. A breathy whine slips from between your lips, but you continue, denying yourself in the quest for something more. Slipping further, you take two of your own fingers and arc your spine, feeling the beating of your cunt squeezing around you softly. With the other hand, you lean forward, taking Kirishima's cock in your palm and giving it a slow, gentle tug.

The man shudders at your touch. His whole body quakes at the faintest gripping of your fingertips, thick muscles rippling like he might collapse. Locking his elbows, he narrowly avoids falling on top of you as you ease him down and press his tip to your clit. He's panting openly now, his chest heaving as he struggles against the sin of your hands. If he's like this now, he dares not to think of what the tight heat of your cunt will do to him.

Tapping him against you once, twice – you enjoy each jolt of pleasure as it zips down your legs. It leaves you tingling and wanting more as you finally, finally line him up with your entrance. His cock catches against you, but before you can bask in the power you hold over him, Kirishima slips his hand between your bodies and collects your wrists in one, large palm.

He doesn't speak when he pins your hands above your head, he doesn't think he can. Instead, he holds your eye and hopes you can see what you're doing to him. Shifting his hips, he rocks into you and almost sees the Gods when the head of his cock sinks into you. You feel divine, hot and wet and tight and begging for his release. He breathes, unsure just how long he'll last. For a moment he waits, giving you just the tip and nothing more, waiting for the both of you to adjust.

The stretch he gives you is impossible. Even with so little of him inside of you, you feel full, incapable of taking the more you know he's going to give you. There's a burn radiating through your pelvis, a persistent, but delectable pain that subsides only as you breathe through it. You moan, a pretty noise escaping your throat as you feel him rut just a little deeper, taking the air from your lungs. Fisting your hands in whatever bedsheets you can find, your ribcage lifts from the bed, tits pressing flush with Kirishima's chest.

Bakugo thinks he might explode. He can see the rim of your cunt, Kirishima's cock stuffing it full and barley a quarter in. It's exhilarating as he watches both of you shiver, trying to hold it together as much as possible. Loosening his grip on his cock, he chances a slow, but firm pull upwards and quickly regrets it.

You moan, eyes rolling as flick up your hips as harshly as you can. The movement sheaths him further inside of you, dragging a harsh grunt out of his lungs as he falters. His cock presses up into you, bringing tears to your eyes as he slides back out almost immediately, but his fullness isn't a sensation you're willing to give up. Desperation claws at you, begs you for more, for a release you're dying to experience. 'Please, please, please...'

You're incensed, but then again, so is Kirishima.

Maybe that's why he gives you what you want, despite knowing you probably can't take it. Dipping his head to your neck, he rolls his hips to fill you completely and hopes he he can hold out long enough to please both you and the prince.

Your body struggles, cunt pulsing with that familiar sweet throb as he stills his movements once more and waits. You feel light headed, your body pulled taught as you hiccup through your next few breaths.

Teeth graze the junction of your shoulder, a whispered 'Is it too much?' tickling your ear before you feel the slow sensation of him pulling out. You move instantly. Wrapping your legs around him, you stop his retreat and squeeze tight, anxious to keep him inside, to be stretched and full.

The moan he lets out is pure sin. It's deep, guttural, lingering in his throat as he rocks his hips back into you and basks in the heaven that your cunt provides. With your ankles locked at the base of his spine, he's forced to bottom out – his thicket of pubic hair brushing against your clit making you twitch and writhe against him.

A strangled whine leaves Bakugo's throat as he comes to terms with his nearing end. He fucks his fist, hips lifting from the cushioned throne seat as he quickens his pace, eyes glued to were your two bodies meet on the bed. It takes barely a handful of strokes, especially when Kirishima's hips begin to move earning a cacophony of moans from both of your throats.

You can't help it. Neither of you can.

Both of your eyes drift to the back of the room, stealing quick glances at the prince. He looks ethereal, lost to his own throws of pleasure with his eyes squeezed shut and his head tipped back. A trickle of moans sneak from his lips despite his breath catching behind his Adam's apple, making goose flesh prickle on both of your arms. It feels wrong, to watch him like this – to see him so vulnerable, throat exposed, cock in his hand and cumming in his own fist, but you swear you've never seen a more beautiful sight.

He cums in waves. His body shaking as he coats his fist, his hand still smoothing the rest of his orgasm from his body. Eventually, his breathing levels out, the faint tingle from his release making him loose and light-headed. His skin prickles. The odd tug of being watched itching at the back of his neck, but when he finally blinks open his eyes there's no-one watching him.

Kirishima groans. He could feel you, your cunt pulsing around him as you watched the prince come undone. It spurs something inside of him, calls on him to please you in the way your body so desperately wanted to be pleased. Spreading his legs a little wider, he forces your hips open allowing him to reach even deeper inside of you and begins to rock his hips.

Something spoilt bubbles in your stomach. Watching the prince has made you hungry, but before you can get carried away feeling jealous of his release Kirishima begins to fuck you. Each of his thrusts gets deeper, his pace quickening until it becomes hard to concentrate. His cock fills you perfectly, making your whole body raw in a way you've never felt before.

It isn't long before Kirishima feels the tell tale pit in his stomach begin to swell. His balls pull up tight, the muscle in his abdomen twitching as he holds onto his composure with his finger tips. Still, he knows exactly what he has to do. Angling his hips down, he ensures his pubic bone brushes yours with each stroke, the thick mess of hair at his stomach tickling over your clit with each stroke.

You moan with each of his thrusts. There's no pain now, no sharp stabbing as his cock presses up inside of you. Instead, there's the dullness of a rising pleasure, one that threatens to tip you over the edge at any moment as you hold on for dear life. With your wrists still bound in his, it's impossible to pull him as closely as you want him, but Kirishima seems to read your mind.

Without pausing his rhythm, Kirishima presses his forehead to yours. Your eyes lock, the wildness in your iris' laid bare for him as his brow scrunches in concentration. He learns more about you in those following few seconds than he has for the week you'd been sequestered together before the selection. It's as if he's attuned to every inch of you, every hitch of your breath, each twitch of your lip and pulse of your cunt.

That's why he sees it coming.

He watches as your eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back towards the ceiling of the bed chamber. Your chest heaves, breath lodged there as a wave of pleasure strong enough to steal your breath rolls through you. Your mouth drops open, lips spit slicked and shining.

And then, then he feels your cunt pulse.

You milk him endlessly. Tightening around him in a vice he's not sure he'll ever want to escape, your pleasure is the most delectable thing he's ever experienced. A groan leaves his throat raw, his biceps shaking as he keep fucking your through your high, prolonging it for as long as possible. There had always been talk of what it was like to make a woman cum, the teachings endless, but none of it had come close to the real thing.

'Not...' Bakugo is breathless. His crown is still lob-sided, his smile lazy and satisfied as he kicks a leg back over the arm of his throne. 'Not inside. Don't come inside of her. That's an order.'

'Yes... Yes, my lord.' With his composure waning, Kirishima waits barely a beat, just until your cunt relaxes, the ghost of a smile tugging at the side of your lip. And then, he pulls out.

You whine, lurching forward as your wrists are released, but you don't get very far before thick strings of pearl are being lashed over your tits. The liquid is warm and coats your skin generously, painting you in his release. Above you, Kirishima fists his cock. His abdomen is tight, his nose scrunched, eyes heavy and half-lidded as he fights to keep looking at you.

And then, just like that, it's over.

The prince allows you a moment of reprieve, a minute or two to bask in the enormity of what has just occurred. The deflowering of a concubine was often a ritualised event and yet, here you were, with the spend of another concubine on your chest having just been taken for the first time. Kirishima's palm curls around your shoulder, steadying you as your world spins. His comfort is welcomed, something you offer him back with a hand on his thigh.

Bakugo clears his throat. 'Go...'

Your head snaps towards him, eyebrows scrunched. There's a shake in your knees still, one you're not sure will support you if the prince chooses to toss you out of his chambers so soon.

Licking his lips, there's a new softness in Bakugo's tone when he speaks again, shifting in his seat as he does. 'Go clean yourselves up. There's a bath through those doors, the servants should have it warm by now. You're welcome to it and whatever you wish to use in there. Sooth your muscles and return to your own quarters. I'll call for you again tomorrow.'

Kirishima glances at you and shrugs. There will be time to talk about the princes strangeness later, for now, you're not about to turn down a chance for a dip in the royal baths. Scrambling to your feet, Kirishima supports you into a messy curtsey before the prince before you slip out of the room and descend upon a world of luxury.

The door to the baths slams shut behind you, leaving Bakugo alone once again. He shouldn't have let you in there either, people will certainly talk if you're discovered, but the servants are obedient folk and his harsh nature keeps away the other prying eyes efficiently enough.

Springing from his seat, he crosses the room in barely two strides before he's at the bed. He crawls across it, feeling the warmth of your bodies still radiating through the sheets as he goes, imagining what it will feel like to be caught between the scene he witnessed only moments earlier. There's evidence of the act. Dips where you'd been lying, the sheets rumpled and tossed, but the thing that catches his eye is the darkened wet patch clear on the bed.

He doesn't think, he just moves. His chest meets the bed, rosy nipples rubbing against the sheets as his tongue slips from behind his teeth and drags across the wetness. The taste of you bursts across his tongue. A deadly mix of both you and Kirishima ensnares him, causing him to go back for more. He laps at the sheet until his saliva mixes with your essence overpowering your tastes, leaving him wanting.

Collapsing on the bed, Bakugo stares up at the ceiling and listens to the hushed tones and splashes of you in the next room.

Tomorrow. He thinks.

Tomorrow, he'll have you...

Or, at least some of you.

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#bakugo x reader smut #kirishima x reader smut #kiribaku x reader smut #mha smut #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #kiribaku x reader #saturnsorbits #saturnscribbles #LiSyK: Lesson One

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mikeandikeschmidt · 7 months

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Once Upon a Time

Mike Schmidt x babysitter!f!reader

Word Count: 1864

Summary: Like all other imagines go, ever since Mike hired you as Abby’s babysitter, you’ve made their life so much more fun. Today’s fun? Playing fairy tales with Abby. Mike thinks it’s hilarious until he’s suddenly brought into production…

• • •

There was a satisfying ‘click’ when Mike turned the key. With one little shove, the door was open and he could breathe again. Another rough shift at work, but he was so grateful to be home. Where he could relax and just unwind…

And then he heard giggling. And he had the sinking feeling this was not going to be an “unwind” kind of day. What kind of mischief was Abby getting into now? Although, he much preferred hearing her laughter over the silence he used to get. Ever since he hired that new babysitter, Abby’s brightened up a lot. So, despite the drowsy drooping over his shoulders, he smiled as he shut the door behind him.

“Hey, I’m home!” He called out.

“We’re in here!” Your voice replied, making his smile twitch just a bit wider without him meaning to. You were such a saint. After what happened with the last babysitter, he thought he wouldn’t find another half as good, but you surpassed any and all expectation. Once he got the ball rolling better with work, he’d pay you. Soon.

“What on earth…” Mike’s voice trailed off when he saw what was going on in Abby’s room.

Lights were strung about, a great big fort connected to the ceiling and strung down like a canopy. With the use of cardboard, paper, and markers, the fort was surrounded by fake towers and what he assumed was a moat. And under the strung-up blankets were two familiar faces with paper crowns.

“We’re playing fairy tales,” You quickly explained, feeling the urge to take off the crown. You hadn’t felt self-conscious when it was just you and Abby, but when a cute guy looks at you? That’s a whole different thing. The embarrassment only worsened when you saw him stifle a laugh. Crap, what could he be thinking right now?

If only you knew that he thought you both made the cutest sight he'd ever seen.

"If we're going to do Snow White, we need an apple." Abby turned to you, refusing to let Mike ruin your fun together. She was not done playing. In fact, seeing the two of you looking at each other gave her a little idea...

"I'll go get the apple." You stepped over the cardboard towers and paper moat to head to the kitchen, "I'll be in the kitchen."

"Right behind ya," Mike added as he shrugged off his jacket.

You quickly took the crown off and set it down before going to the counter. You rummaged through the bowl of fruit, going past bananas and pears to find what you wanted.

Mike pulled out a Gatorade from the fridge, "Heh, thanks again for this. You have no idea what a difference you've made to Abby."

"Oh it's nothing. She's a lot of fun." You reassured him.

"I promise I'll pay you as soon as my check comes in, this isn't going to be the usual. You know, if, uh, you still want to continue this. I get it if you don't. You're not obligated to keep coming..." He was rambling now. He hadn't gotten like this since high school. Sheesh, what was going on with him? He reached up and adjusted his shirt's collar. It was getting warm in here all of a sudden.

"Mike, stop. You're completely fine. I'm happy to be here. After all, what are neighbors for?"

He shrugged. He'd just gotten so used to you being here, so quick. You fit right in. Looking back on it, the house used to feel so empty. Abby used to go to her room and just draw by herself. Mike would go to bed early or watch a couple shows on TV. Now, there was so much light and laughter brought in. He barely recognized his life anymore. He really hoped this was a sign for better days.

"Ah! Here we are, a classic red apple. I better not keep the princess waiting." You teased and started heading back to Abby's room, with a little skip in your step. But to your surprise, upon entering in, you saw Abby wearing her darkest purple blanket over her head like a cloak.

"I don't remember Snow wearing anything that dark."

"I'm not going to be Snow, you are." Abby told you and hurried to take the apple from you, "I got to be the princess the last two times. It's your turn."

You hadn't realized you were taking turns but okay.

"Where is your crown?" Abby squinted at you and made a face, "Mikeee! (Y/n) needs her crownnn!"

"Where is it?" He hollered from the other room.

"I left it on the counter!" You rose your voice, trying not to laugh. What has your life become? You felt like a Mom or something. And hey, you kind of liked it. Even though this wasn't your blood family or anything, you'd gotten real close with Mike and Abby. You just felt so comfortable with them.

Mike came back and briefly held up the crown, "Alright, where's the princess?"

Your face reddened and you sheepishly held up your hand, "Here."

He nodded and strolled over, briefly standing on his tip-toes to set it dramatically over your head, earning giggles from his sister. But just before he went to leave, Abby grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Don't go yet, I want you to watch!"

"Watch?" You echoed and your heart dropped to your stomach. Yeah, you were doing this for the kid, but you felt so shy playing pretend in front of Mike.

"Oh, alright, I'd be happy to watch." To your horror, Mike plopped down into the chair by Abby's desk and folded his arms. A big smile on his face.

Your eye twitched at the cocky little gesture. Oh, he was loving this, wasn't he? You didn't know if that was better or worse. But you tried to put it out of your mind when Abby got into character. She came up in her makeshift cloak,

"The evil witch approaches and knocks on Snow White's door..." Abby narrated before knocking on one of the blankets, pretending there was a thudding sound.

You stepped inside the fort then immediately poked your head out, forcing your gaze on Abby instead of Mike's amused face in the corner, "Hello?"

"Hello, young lady..." Abby ironically croaked, despite being many years younger than you, "I am giving out free apples. Would you like one?"

You heard muffled laughter again. Well, you weren't going to let him get to you. If he was going to pay you someday, you were going to earn every penny. He wanted a performance? Alright, here we go.

"Oh, how lovely! Of course!" You reached for it and held it to your mouth before taking a big bite.

"Muahaha! My plan is all coming together!" Abby rubbed her hands together and burst into a fit of mischievous giggles—that sounded a little too convincing for half a second.

"Oh no! I feel strange!" You held a hand to your head then spun around before making a dramatic 'fall' back onto the floor, bending your knees at the right second so the impact wouldn't be so bad. Besides, there were so many scattered pillows around, it wasn't harsh at all.

"Oh, bravo! Great job." Mike chuckled and clapped before starting to get up from his seat.

"Hey! The story isn't over!" Abby pointed a finger at him, "This part is important! I need your help!"

"Wait, what?"

"Snow White needs a handsome prince to wake her up." Abby explained and took off the cloak. She reached to the side for the crown she had made for herself, and handed it to Mike, "Your turn."

You had been pretending to be asleep but now your eyes were wide open. You started to sit up, "Oh, Abby, that's not necessary--"

Ohh it suddenly wasn’t so funny anymore. Was it, Mike? “Yeah, I'm really not an actor. You guys have fun, I'll just prepare dinner..."

But Abby wasn’t having it. She pointed to you first, “No! You! Lay back down! And you! Prince!”

Mike blinked down at his sister, but…apparently he didn’t have the strength to turn her down. He sighed and put the crown on his head. You honestly couldn’t believe it.

You slowly lowered back to the ground and closed your eyes. Not like you weren’t kind of hoping for a kiss from Mike one of these days, but you couldn’t say this is the way you expected to have your first one.

It certainly wasn’t the way Mike planned it, either. He had expected he’d finally get up the courage to ask you on a date. After he’d gotten around to paying you and proved he was in a better situation. But as soon as Abby found out of his crush on you, she had to push this to go a little quicker. He just had to hope he didn’t die of embarrassment in the process.

Abby took off her cloak and let out a gasp, “Oh no! My friend, Snow White is hurt! Help! Help! Prince Charming, come help!”

Mike sighed and walked over, “What’s wrong?”

“The princess has been poisoned! She needs true love’s kiss to wake her up!” Abby held her hands together and looked up at him with expectation.

“Abby, you really don’t expect me to—“ But the look she gave him told him she was serious. Was this really happening? Why didn’t he have the courage to tell her no?

He got down on his knees and looked over your features. He couldn’t tell but you were just as panicked about this. Your heart was pounding like crazy. What was he going to do? Maybe he’d kiss your forehead or your cheek. Something light just to say he did it. But no. When Mike lowered himself near to you, you were surprised by the touch of his lips. The soft scratch of his stubble. His breath was warm on your skin and made your heart flutter. This wasn’t the way you both had planned it, but it was a beautiful first kiss together.

Of course you both didn’t go crazy, Abby was right there, but it was a lingering kiss. Soft and sweet. Mike was surprisingly gentle. But just before you both could get used to it…

“Yay! The princess is saved!” Abby threw up her hands and giggled.

You both broke apart and nervously chuckled at the same time. You decided to speak first before it got awkward.

“Thank you so much for saving me!”

“Of course.” Mike dutifully bowed his head like a prince would, briefly licking his lips.

“Now the prince carries Snow White off into happily ever after!” Abby beamed.

“Heh, alright. Right this way, princess.” Mike gently scooped you up into his arms and rose to his feet with no issue. Wow, he was strong…

“Off to happily ever after?” You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Off to the spaghetti and meatballs I’m making for dinner.” He replied.

You held a hand to your chest and laughed heartily, “Oh, my hero!”

The end.

#mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt fanfiction #mike schmidt #josh hutcherson #fnaf fanfiction #mike schmidt imagine #Mike schmidt one-shot #mike and Abby Schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #Mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n

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comfortless · 2 months

Note

Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨

Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴

Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️

In the Arms of Flowers

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.

wc: 11k.

There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.

It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.

Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.

The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.

He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.

Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.

Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.

“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.

She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.

“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”

And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.

He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.

The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.

His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.

“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.

The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.

“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”

“Ja. Verstanden.”

The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.

The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.

With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.

There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.

König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.

It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.

She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.

Poor little thing.

She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.

“Morning, Father.”

There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.

Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.

That doesn’t stop his approach.

König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.

The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.

But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.

“How are the carnations?”

“Hm?”

“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”

He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.

“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.

She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”

“I see…”

The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.

She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”

God gives and takes away.

“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”

The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”

His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.

Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.

When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.

He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.

The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.

It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.

And finally, regret comes.

Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.

The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.

The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.

It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.

Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.

There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.

Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.

“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.

“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.

“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.

“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.

“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.

“Danke… and you?”

God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.

But she came for him.

She must have hoped to see him.

He thanks his god for that.

— — —

“I bought a phone.”

“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.

The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.

In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.

Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.

The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.

Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.

“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”

“Thank you.”

The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.

The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.

“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.

“I don’t want to ruin you.”

But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.

She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.

He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.

“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”

“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”

The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.

As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.

It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.

He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.

“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.

This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.

“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.

His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.

“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”

He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.

“How about a walk?”

He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.

She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.

The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.

He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.

“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.

“Nein! That’s not—“

“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”

Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.

All hesitation had to be swallowed back.

There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.

God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.

His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.

She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.

Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.

With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.

She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.

The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.

Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.

The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.

There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.

He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.

Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.

It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.

— — —

“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.

But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.

Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.

The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.

There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.

“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.

“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.

God loves him and so do the sainted men.

But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.

He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.

Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.

He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.

The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.

God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?

After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.

Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.

Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.

The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.

“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.

“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.

“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”

He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.

“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.

“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.

No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.

His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.

She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.

The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.

She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.

He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.

She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.

And she returns when he abstains from her.

She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.

He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…

It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.

“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.

The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.

It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.

“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.

“You’re actually considering it…?”

“I might.”

The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.

“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”

“At night is probably not the best time.”

“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.

Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.

“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”

“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.

Stay.

If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.

It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.

And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.

None of it is fair.

The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.

He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.

There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.

She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.

She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.

And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”

“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.

Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.

“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.

The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.

“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.

Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.

“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”

“Does that hurt you?”

“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.

And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.

When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.

Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.

Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.

The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.

“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”

“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.

He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.

“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.

Scheisse.

He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.

The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.

He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.

Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.

She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”

“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”

His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.

Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.

His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.

And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.

— — —

Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.

It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.

To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.

And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.

There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.

Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.

The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.

After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.

And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.

Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.

The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.

There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.

A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.

König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.

Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.

He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.

He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.

Like her.

“You’re crying…”

“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”

No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.

“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.

The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.

“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.

Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.

That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.

The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.

“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.

But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.

“No… just give me a second.”

She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.

“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.

“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.

There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.

She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.

The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.

He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.

He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.

“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.

“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.

She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.

It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.

He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.

She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.

“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”

He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.

“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.

“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”

“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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princessbrunette · 3 months

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as highly requested, a small look into life with bunny!reader and rafe following the events of never lose me.

“i wanna go home, daddy.” you huff quietly out your nose as you stand on the deck of rafe’s large boat, overlooking the glimmering bahamas ocean. he presses his lips together, nodding. rafe was different now, oddly — he was more understanding, mature. he’d shaved off his hair, and now he had real responsibilities, so he fully came into the ‘grown man’ role he’d been after so bad.

he flicks his gaze towards you, pulling you by the waist so you lightly stumble into him, the man rubbing your back as you bury your cheek against his white linen shirt. “yeah… well. we can’t, not just yet. got business to handle here, remember?”

he feels you nod against him, and is satisfied with the answer — plucking his sunglasses from his collar and placing them on the bridge of his nose, squinting over at the row of other expensive boats lined up on the dock. after a calm moment, you speak again — twisting in his grip to look up at him.

“aren’t you worried?”

“about what? someone will buy the cross soon, okay — i can feel it. as for my dad he’s… he’s healing.” he explains and you blink dumbly, watching his soft lips explain your current situation.

“i know. i mean about the dead body in the truck. remember?” you ask so innocently, like it was nothing. a silly thing he could have just forgotten. you barely get the last word out, and he’s grabbed you by your arms— walking you backwards beneath the shelter of the boat, he yanks off his glasses to reveal a dangerous look in his eye.

“are you insane? gonna say that shit out loud when you don’t know who could be listening? what did i tell you, hm? remind me.”

your lip wobbles, lashes frantically fluttering as he’s snapped you out of your sleepy and lethargic mood beneath the hot sun. “not a wor—”

“not a word about it. ‘kay? you cannot afford to slip up. is that crystal clear?” he completes the sentence for you impatiently, eyes glancing between yours.

“i’m sorry. just homesick.” you mewl, and to this he softens— deflating with a sigh. he scratches behind his ear, staring off for a moment before nodding and pulling you back into his chest, lips brushing the crown of your head as he hugs you.

“i know. i’m sorry, okay? just freaked me out, kid.” he mumbles, giving your back a firm rub before pulling back. “look, let’s just not think about it for now. yeah? that sound fair?”

you sniff, smiling obediently up at him, nodding your head.

“great. now…” he strokes two thumbs along each cheek, raising his brows. “you look like you want icecream. am i right? yes?”

just like that, it’s forgotten for another day.

#rafe cameron prompt #neverloseme!rafe #bunny!reader

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seravphs · 1 year

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — KNIGHT! GOJO x PRINCESS! FEM READER

Gojo has devoted his entire life to protecting you as your dedicated guard. A greater force is conspiring to keep you apart.

wc — 3.7k

tags — royal au, childhood friends, forbidden love, protective Gojo, sneaking around/flouting social etiquette, period drama-esque tension between repressed princess and rakish knight, mutually possessive, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

part 1 of the hand which holds the knife

Everyone knew Satoru Gojo was supposed to be yours.

You claimed him the day you knighted him. He wore your colors and answered to your demands. The physical evidence of your ownership was all over him, the way someone would mark a well loved pet. Even the neck of his jacket carried your embroidery like a collar. To anyone with eyes, he was your adored guard dog.

When all of your memories blur into one stream of consciousness, the day you knighted him remains clear. You remember everything, including your father stealing him out from under you.

You were the only one who truly thought he was ever going to be yours. It was part of the promise you had sworn to each other as children, playing princess and the guard with wooden swords and flower crowns.

Looking back, you can see the gears of court machinations turning. It was no simple coincidence that the only heir to House Gojo ended up in close proximity to you, any more than any other of your introductions to sons of highborn houses.

Gojo has no interest in pretending to be a prince. It was boring for him to be trapped in restricting uniforms complete with epaulets. He found more pleasure in protecting you from danger while you preened in your gilded cage, none the wiser through his efforts. Safe and unaware, the way he liked it. You would never have to know how dangerous the world was if he simply destroyed everything in your path before it got to you.

You didn’t understand the way the adults looked at the two of you. All you knew was that you couldn’t bear to be apart from him. You rose each morning looking for him, and went to bed waiting for the minute you’d be reunited again. He was your whole world, your one and only friend. It was his hand that guided you through childhood adventures. He was the sword and shield that had cut down kidnappers and serpents for you.

The first wedge in your relationship comes with his twelfth birthday.

You chase his back through the years, watching it broaden in front of your eyes. His body changes. His voice drops. The first time you hear it after the pitchy squeaks of puberty clear from his throat, you feel the sickening wrench of something in your stomach. It had never mattered before that Gojo was a man, potentially your betrothed.

Now it burns you to look at him. He became gorgeous while you weren’t looking, all long willowy limbs and snow white hair. The women of the court have started looking at him now. They call him the beautiful dragon, after his house crest.

Even though you know reasonably that you can do nothing about this, really, you have no right to, that galls you. You’re a princess. You’re used to being able to deal with things that upset you with little more than a nod to Gojo. But he can’t solve issues that he’s the root of.

The only way to show everyone that Gojo’s devotion belongs to you is to tie him to your side. At twelve, he’s already the strongest squire in the entire kingdom. Better than most knights, even. It’s a clear path to being the greatest knight of his time, throughout all of history, even. He already promised to be your sword when you were children. All you have to do is wait.

Gojo trains and you begin to learn the extent of your royal responsibilities. Study etiquette. Marry well. Become a dutiful wife. Give the king heirs.

Gojo becomes Lord Gojo. He calls you princess now. Although part of you rebels at the idea that he would ever call you anything other than your name, another part of you can’t help the queasy feeling you get when he says your title, low and soft. Like he means it for your ears only. Like princess is just another way of showing how much of him is yours.

Gojo is not usually a proud man because he doesn’t have to be. His abilities speak for himself. But he’s cocky to a fault. He knows the extent of his capabilities, which means he won’t capitulate to anyone. Why would he?

When it comes to you, however, he bends his neck and accepts the collar willingly. The strongest can only be tamed by what he allows to tame him and it’s you, it’s always been you.

Perhaps that’s why things turn out the way they do on the day you knight him.

Or, as you find out later, your father knights him.

It was the day after your sixteenth birthday. Gojo himself had turned seventeen three months and six days before. It was strangely old for a boy of his caliber. He was so talented he could’ve been the youngest knight in the realm, but no one could make Gojo do something he didn’t want to do.

There was no shame in it, either. Everyone knew Gojo was too talented and well-connected for it to be anything other than his own choice. The only heir of House Gojo, he was destined to become a knight even if he did nothing to earn it. And he had done much to earn it.

Winning wars single handedly tended to do that. There were already legends blooming from the battlefield by the time he came home and tossed the unlucky enemy commander’s head at the king’s feat. His bow wasn’t nearly low or respectful enough to be addressed to the king, but he had been lighter-hearted back then, more willing to forgive.

Especially for Gojo, who had cut a killing swathe through the ranks of the opposing army so ruthlessly they began to call him a god of death.

Gojo kneels at your feet, his white head still high. He’s a little too tall for you, even at this angle. Lord Commander Yaga clears his throat. Gojo looks up through the wisps of hair that have escaped to obscure his eyes. They’re piercing, an attractively violent blue.

“I’m sorry,” he says, so low no one else could’ve heard the two of you even if you hadn’t been standing alone on the podium in front of the king’s throne. “Am I too tall for you now, princess?”

“Don’t tease,” you whisper back, flustered despite yourself. The pommel of the sword is clammy in your grip. You’re scared to drop it and accidentally take a finger off with it.

You’re taking too long. It’s making you anxious. You’re distinctly aware of your father’s stare boring into your back. You’ve been sheltered since you were young by your father’s paranoia, but he’s recently begun letting you apply yourself more to your royal duties. You can’t give him any reason to doubt you.

Gojo dips a little lower.

With this change in angle, you can place the flat of the blade on each of his shoulders. It’s your father’s sword, too large and unwieldy in your hands. Standing over Gojo is a strange experience. It’s uncomfortable looking down on someone who’s been taller than you for all your life.

You wish he would stop looking at you like that. His gaze is searching. You feel naked underneath it, even with layers of dresses on. When he says his vows, it feels intimate, like he’s speaking them to you. For you.

Gojo rises, shaking his hair out of his eyes like a shaggy dog. Like this, you’re reminded suddenly of how strong he is. His shoulders are broad underneath his silver armor. Lean muscle cords his legs. There’s an easy, effortless grace to the way he moves - the confidence of a man who has never been bested in his entire life.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. He’s still standing too close. If it were any other man, your father would have demanded he be whipped by now, but Gojo has always gotten away with things no one could. He ducks his head so he can speak directly into your ear - dangerous, even for him. He says his piece fast. “I’ll see you in your rooms, my lady.”

Then he pulls back.

There are thunderclouds gathering across the king’s face, but when you shake your head, your father relents. He smiles and kisses your temple as you climb up the steps of the platform of his throne to return the sword to him.

Years later, you learn that the moment you leave the throne room, your shoulders sure with the knowledge that Gojo is finally secure in your grasp, your father takes up the sword you had held and knights him. Princesses have no authority to confer knighthood. Only kings.

You know your father means well. He loves you. You’re all he has left. If Gojo pushed for your hand to be one that he swears loyalty to first, then your father would have been happy to comply either way. You just wish you would’ve known that it meant nothing.

There’s a sharp rap on your door, followed by two short, one long. A code you had devised a long time ago. You pull open the door and Gojo all but falls into your room. He’s pressed up against you, front to front as he closes the door behind him, tumbling you into your bed.

“Hi, princess,” he says, his breath warm against your neck. You squirm in his hold, feeling heat rush through your veins. It’s getting harder and harder to hide the way he affects you, but you don’t want anything to change between the two of you. Though sometimes, you swear Gojo likes using your title so much precisely because he knows how you react to it.

“We have to stop doing this,” you tell him, like you tell him every time. “It’s inappropriate.”

He groans and pushes away from you. You mourn the loss of contact. “Come on, don’t make me do this again. Who cares if it’s inappropriate? Who says?”

“Dame Zenin thinks we’re too close.”

“Dame Zenin is an idiot,” Gojo says. “You know she only says that because she wants to get rid of me so you’ll look at Naoya. As if you would ever, even if I was gone.”

“Still.”

Gojo grabs your chin in his hand. “You are a princess and I am the only heir to House Gojo. We bow to no one, understand? What right do mice have to judge dragons?”

He’s the dragon, you think. Your crest is the rose. You exist to be judged. That’s the role of a princess.

Gojo sprawls out on your bed. He’s so tall he takes up more than half of it, even though your bed was built to be more than twice your size. His eyes are shut, his long white lashes soft. He looks gentle in repose, almost like a lamb with his coloring.

He’s beautiful. He always is. You want to touch, to hold, to claim. You want to press your ear against his chest and steal the thunderous beat of his heart for your own. You want to press your rouged lips to his neck and collarbones, to mark his body with a muted rose.

Instead, you sit stiff, prim and proper.

He opens his eyes. “Come here,” he says, his arm reaching for you. You let him pull you closer.

As always, he has to reach out first. You can’t allow yourself to take what you want. It’s not in your nature, the way you were raised.

You bury your face into the space between his neck and his shoulder.

“There we go,” he coos. Your face burns with the condescension of it, the way he treats you like an animal that has to be carefully coaxed closer. But he’s not wrong, and that’s why you let him pet you into submission, gently stroking your sides as he tangles his legs with yours.

You were never so affected by him as children. Somewhere along the way, Gojo had become unmanageable to you, and you don’t know what to do about it.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs against your hair. “Where are you going off to in that pretty head of yours?”

“I’m with you,” you whisper against his neck. “I’m always here.”

You’ve spoiled him, you think. When you were a child, you didn’t know any better. Gojo was just Gojo. Letting him stay by your side even as you got older was an indulgence that he now pushes the limits of. He’s never cared about propriety.

“You have to go back to your room now,” you whisper reluctantly. You’re always the more cautious one of your duo. It’s been too long. Someone will become suspicious. For once, you wish you could just let go of your worries, but someone has to check Gojo. If both of you just did whatever you wanted, it’d be the ruin of your houses. This is how it has to be: Gojo pushes and you pull back.

The dim light of the dying candles make his blue eyes appear black. “Give me something of yours first,” he says.

You know what he’s asking for. You climb up from the bed and go into your dresser to search, turning up one of your handkerchiefs. It bears the colors of your house and your careful embroidery.

He kneels at your feet.

“Stop,” you say, trying to pull away.

Gojo presses a kiss to your hand. His lips are soft against the skin of your hand, temptation incarnate. Your fingers tremble lightly in his grasp, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away. The enormity of your desire for him terrifies you. If you ever let him in for one second, you can see how easy your descent would be.

“I’m yours, princess. Don’t forget it.”

With that, he ties your favor around his wrist and finally leaves you to your room, panting like you’d run through the halls. No matter how old you get, Gojo always leads in your interactions. He plays with you, enjoying the way he can make you react to him.

It’s normal for a princess to visit the training yard, you try to convince yourself the next day. There’s nothing strange about stopping by while you’re on your afternoon walk. After all, you should keep abreast of everything within your castle.

Gojo stands in the center of the yard. He’s demonstrating one of his self created drills, a complicated set of maneuvers only he can pull off. In short, he’s showing off while pretending like he’s doing the class a favor by trying to teach them something.

Lord Commander Yaga notices you the moment you set foot in the yard. You should expect it. After all, it’s his territory.

“Attention,” he bellows. “The princess is here.”

Gojo perks up and finishes his final set of movements even faster. He throws his sword carelessly to the side, leaving a young squire scrambling to catch the priceless weapon as he strides towards you.

He’s a little sweaty. You want to wrap your arms around him anyways, but you restrain yourself.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” you say.

Gojo grins at you. It’s a sharp thing, his smile, hungry and wolfish. “Not at all. I was just thinking of you, my lady.”

You tilt your head at him curiously.

Around you, the men are scrambling to line up into neat little rows.

“I’m picking a squire,” Gojo says. “Would you like to make the decision for me?”

It’s a question that shocks you. You whirl to look at him again, see if he’s joking like usual, but he seems perfectly serious. “I don’t know anything about knighthood,” you tell him the truth.

He moves closer. You’re tempted to step back immediately, but you don’t. You don’t want a sign of discomfort to be misinterpreted and used against him. Besides, you relish the proximity. Seeing Gojo in public feels like dancing on blades. The adrenaline terrifies you, but you can’t stop wanting more of it.

“You may not, but you know people. I trust your judgement.”

A cursory scan of the boys in front of you reveals little. They’re all stiff and proper, their backs as straight as they can make them. Some stand with their arms glued to their sides, others fidget with their swords. Every single one of them is eager for the chance to be acknowledged by the princess. They’re equally hopeful for the chance to squire for the greatest knight in the kingdom.

None of them catch your eye on the first or second passes.

Only on the third, a boy with pink hair smiles at you. It’s such a small gesture. But for a boy who had looked just like everyone else at first, the toothy smile splits his features. It opens him up. He looks kind.

You gesture him forward.

Lord Commander Yaga nods approvingly. “Itadori is a good one, Your Royal Highness. He’s one of the best in this batch. Naturally strong, but just as hardworking.”

“See,” Gojo says. “I knew you would choose well.”

He touches your hand briefly, slipping a white scrap of paper inside your closed fist before he grabs Itadori by the shoulder and hauls him off for further training. Although disappointed, the other squires still look starstruck to be in his presence, though Yaga disperses them all to train themselves soon enough.

In elegant cursive, Gojo has written a time and place.

You shouldn’t go.

You can’t risk it.

All eyes are on you and Gojo as it is. People already suspect the two of you of something unsavory. Courtly love is one thing, but you and Gojo are too close for an unmarried man and a woman. As a princess, your sole purpose is to marry well and bring alliances to your house. You can’t risk damaging your reputation.

But every stolen encounter with Gojo steals your breath away. You sneak through the halls, quiet and empty.

A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor.

You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence.

“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.”

You bite him.

He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Why would you do that? You scared me!”

“You’re not careful enough, princess. There was a maid coming up on your left that you hadn’t even noticed.”

You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it.

He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.”

“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. It’s easy to relax when he’s with you, his presence the promise of security.

You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he’s silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him.

“Gojo?”

“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You laugh, picking it up and raising to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised.

Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile, too. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.”

“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease.

“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s, too.”

You freeze.

“I’m sorry. I can’t wait any longer. I’m going to ask your father to be your dedicated knight tomorrow. Do I have your permission?”

You hesitate, worrying your lip with your teeth, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you, bandaging your scrapes that you refuse to cry over or avenging your honor after you pretend your pride hasn’t been hurt has taught him a lot. He can see right through you. You never need to hide when you’re with him.

“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-”

“I know,” he says. “But I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?”

“Do you think he’ll say yes?”

Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him if I have to.”

“Don’t do that,” you gasp.

“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor. Can I ask your father for you?”

You look at the crushed violet in your hand.

Who else but Gojo?

You press the flower back into his palm. “I trust you to do what’s right.”

His eyes soften. He leans closer.

“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?”

You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer.

“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever.

You nod, not trusting your voice not to give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you.

“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.”

“A new plaything?” Asks the Lord Commander. “I’m not so scary, am I?”

Gojo notices you tremble harder. He lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face even further. “Come here, darling,” he murmurs. “That’s right, what a good little thing,” he says as you press yourself into him. He pulls you over his lap, your legs straddling his waist as he runs his hand up and down your back. “Keep your head down,” he whispers to you. You tuck your face farther into the crook of his neck.

Louder, he responds to Yaga. “The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard.”

“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?”

“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully.

In hindsight, you’re still not sure if Yaga recognized you or not. On one hand, he’s known you since you were a child. He watched, a silent guard, as your father raised you. On the other hand, he’s never brought it up to you.

The only other reason you suspect he realized who you really were was Gojo’s induction into the kingsguard the very next day.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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cowyolks · 1 year

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HER MAJESTY,

PART TWO OF KING AU (Read Part One Here)

Prompt: King! König x Female Reader

Summary: Your King indulges you on your wedding day. For you are his new wife and queen.

Words: 6.3 k

Warnings: Fingering, Oral (f receiving), Spit, Voyeurism, Public Sex (Bedding Cermony), mentions of running a train, P in V Sex, Cum Eating, Creampie, Slight Breeding Kink. Please note that these are inaccurate scenes of Weddings, Bedding Ceremonies and Coronations.

A/N: Whew! I had to take multiple breaks with this one guys. Please enjoy and tell me what you think! Part Three?

“Pst,”

“Pst!”

Your eyes flickered around the warm halls of the keep, several torches illuminating the corridors as the sun set through the stain glass windows. Still, you could not pinpoint where the calling noise came from.

Your fingers reached for the singular dagger you had secretly hidden against your thigh. Even in your wedding dress, you didn’t like being defenseless, perhaps it was the General in you.

Before you could brush off the odd pestering, a warm hand fell over your mouth, halting and muffling your yelp all in one motion. With a tug, you fell backwards, darkness invading your senses as you scanned the familar room you were pulled in.

An opposite hand held onto your wrist, stopping you from using the dagger clutched between your fingers. You released the weapon once you heard the familiar chuckle of your promised.

“Easy, Maus.”

You whirled around, the sound of your heels echoing in the empty room.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you!” You whispered harshly into the darkness, only the shine of your earrings, the white of your wedding dress and König’s crown glinted against the pitch black.

“I suppose I am… lucky that is,” his words were filled with pride and satisfaction, you imagined his pupils blown out and hungry looking. Like a wolf stalking upon sheep.

“Why’d you pull me in here? I’m supposed to be meeting in the throne room shortly.”

His hands weaved around the middle of your back, pulling you tight against his chest. His form massive and daunting as he enveloped you. He smelt of cherry wine and sage, a combination that made your legs weak.

“It’s the last time I’d see you before you were my wife, I wanted to leave this part of us on a good note, ja?”

You couldn’t help the little smile that flew upon your lips. It’s a word you’d never grow tired of, his wife, the queen.

“Whatever you plan on doing, we don’t have time.” You scolded, although your hands were already betraying you, your palms slowly sliding down his chest, the softness of his cloak like velvet under your skin.

“How do you expect me to simply act as a King when you’re dressed like a Goddess, hm?” He leant forward, his mouth chasing downwards to your own lips, catching them in a mouthwatering kiss.

He pulled away briefly, one of his canines biting harshly upon the flesh of your bottom lip. You whined at the painful sting, relishing in the feeling of arousal building under your dress.

“We don’t have time.” You practically whined, thighs rubbing together almost pathetically.

“I know.” Your King whispered into the dark, the intention in his voice the exact opposite of what he said. His tone was needy, desperate.

Quicker than a flash of lightning, he flipped you, your ass pressed harshly against his growing length in his trousers. His chin pressed down against your collar bone, his body morphing into the unintentional arch of your back. His foot kicked your ankles apart, spreading your legs so he could fit his feet between your hunched over form. You shouldn’t, but you will.

Anything for the king.

König tilted his head, his lips greedily sucking upon your pulse point, quickly you jerked back, eyes narrowed as you looked him in the eyes.

“No marks…” you sounded, you did little to hide the disappointment in your voice, your body yearned to be painted in bruises and lovebites of your King’s doing. But alas, you had a reputation to uphold.

König pouted slightly, a rumbling chuckle vibrating from his chest, the vibrations filtering to your back. “I suppose you’re right.” He kissed your temple, before reaching back to your hips, his fingertips squeezing the soft flesh beneath the white lace.

“We have to be quick.” You sighed in defeat, although this defeat reaped plentiful rewards. Rewards in the form of your monstrous fiancé.

“I agree, although you deserve more than a few moments, I’ll promise you more time later tonight.” He vowed, lips finding the soft flesh of your shoulder again.

You reached behind your back, gently palming upon the hard length of his clothed cock, you heard his shaky exhale, just the same as the first time you held his cock. With a nimble finger you twisted upon his belt and buttons.

König hummed, “Cheeky girl, so eager for my cock.”

“Can’t help it.” You found yourself pouting, even more so when König pulled away to inch his trousers down enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth watered at the sight in the darkness.

“Don’t have time to warm you up. Think you can take it?” He cooed, his large hand pumping his shaft slightly.

You nodded, already beginning to gather your wedding dress to pool around towards the front, revealing your bare back to him, ravishing in the purr that escaped his body.

His hand reached upwards, palm engulfing upon the whole width of your neck, pulling you impossibly close to his body. His other hand guided his cock against your semi-wet cunt, a teasing dance that had you squirming.

“I need words, darling. Tell me you can handle it?”

You squirmed again at the feeling of his spit falling down between your ass, coating your cunt and his hard length in extra slick. It was enough to make you gasp.

“Yes! I’ll be good, I can handle it.” You pleaded, cheek nearly smacking against the stone wall near your head when he pushed inside your walls in a painful stretch. He groaned at the tightness, just as your vision went black from the stinging pain and fullness you felt when his cock tore into you.

One of his long arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you down impossibly deep upon his length, enough to make you squeak pathetically.

“That’s it darling, stay standing for me.” The King whispered in your ear, it was then you noticed just how little feeling you had in your legs, his arm holding majority of your weight. So much so that the tips of your toes were the only thing brushing against the cobblestone floors in each wicked thrust of his hips.

It was pathetic how much you unraveled around him. How each snap of his hips and scorching kiss amongst your neck brought you to oblivion.

It was delightfully sinful, having your soon to be husband ravish you in the innocent white of your wedding dress.

At the rate he was going, you wouldn’t last much longer, he seemed to pinpoint this too. König pressed his thumb to your clit, adding delightful pressure all the while still holding you up.

“Can’t take… much more,” he whined pathetically against your shoulder, getting himself lost in the tightness of your soppy cunt. It was simply enchanting watching such a giant fold to you.

It didn’t take long for you to see stars, hands reaching back to hold onto him as you clenched in preparation, with a few more feral thrusts against your walls you released with a moan, only able to savor the feeling for a moment before König took the liberty of burying into you.

His arms flexed against your middle, pulling you in a vice as he filled you, his panting the only thing that could be heard in the silent room. Warm seed ran down your thighs, making you snap out of the blissed out sensation and focusing on the chiming of wedding bells.

Your own wedding bells.

“Fuck, We’re late!”

It was delightful how easy it was for König to put on a show. While he didn’t necessarily like the attention, he was never shy to show you off, or his kingdom.

The palace was decorated in the most lavish of gems, diamonds and gold. Among with the hundred of white roses and tulips that happened to be your favorite.

He always knew. He always did.

Hundreds upon hundreds of voices chatted through the large doors that would open in a couple of moments. Several civilians, nobles, your knights, and even other kings and queens awaited for this day. A day so incredibly special to you.

A day you’d become the King’s wife.

“Ready?” Your second in command asked from beside you, someone who would stand position to you against all your other knights on your way to the alter.

The knights represented a move of power towards the King. All your ranks and achievements would be flaunted all the while as you wore a white dress.

With a nod of your head, your second in command opened the large oak doors, the swinging of the hinges alerting the people that you were coming, and with a small inhale you began to descend alone, head held high as your searching eyes found your King.

He was there, a small smirk upon his lips as his eyes drank you in. The darkness of his chambers didn’t do him Justice, now in the warm setting sun, shaded by the beautiful gleams of stained glass did he look truly ethereal.

His auburn hair the color of flickering candlelight and warm cider parted for the iron-clad crown proudly displayed on his temples, the crown held no jewels, simply a testament to his power, made strictly of steel.

He was dressed in the colors of his nation, robes of red and white adorned his board shoulders and chiseled chest. His trousers were a dark color, that matched the black sigil illustrated on his cloak.

Your steps were sure, even with the thousands of eyes upon you. Your King’s eyes twinkled as he took you in. His gaze was the only thing you saw.

König reached out, his palm open to you, open to your new union. You took it with greedy hands, a smile upon your lips as you thought of how he was yours. Yours, yours, yours.

The officiants speech were blurred, a messy contraption of words you were too occupied to hear, until a heavy cloth landed upon your shoulders. The familiar black material that smelt like cherry wine and sage covered your dress. It dwarfed in comparison of your body, as most did when it came to the King.

“May your bride be forever under your protection. For she now carries your Sigil and name, for this day until the end of her days.” The officiant’s voice boomed in the silent throne room.

With those words, you turned to König, whose gaze was nothing short of undying affection. While he was a ruthless king in battle, he was also a ruthless lover. Never one to settle for less than perfection.

“Exchange rings.” The officiant ordered.

A small smile crossed your lips, as you pulled the ring out from your awaiting palm. The ring you would present to your King was something you had been pleased to make yourself. A band of gold, heavily intricate with weaving vines, a maze that encircled the entirety. You placed it upon his ring finger in pride, just as he planted an exquisite ring with a beautiful ruby rhinestone. Simple, yet elegant.

Then a ceremonial dagger was placed between your hands, the gold of the shaft glimmered and the hilt felt heavy in your hand.

You knew what to do as König offered his palm out to you. No hesitation in his mind as you gently held his wrist, hand strong and unwavering as you slid the dagger across his palm, a small dribble of blood pooling around the inflicted wound.

His face remained stolid, eyes only twinkling in affection as you passed the dagger to him. You presented your hand to him, just as his gaze bore into you, the crown making him seem even taller than he already was.

The cold metal stung against the crease of your palm, yet you couldn’t break away from his stare as you refused to flinch. Only looking down when the warmth of your blood fell from the wound.

König nodded to the officiant, then back to you. He held his hand out, offering you a permanent bond by his side. Offering you him.

You took his hand without question.

The officiant stepped forward, wrapping a soft ribbon upon your conjoined hands.

“With the bond of blood, man and woman become one, one unit, one nation, one love. I present to you husband and wife.”

The nation wept in happiness, loud applause drowning out from your ears as König bent down, attaching your lips in such a sweet and delicate kiss that it hurt your very heart.

Your Husband. Your King. And soon you’d be his Quee-

“Among with the wedding of your King, he has requested a coronation for his wife.”

Your breathing hitched, you did not think that your coronation would come soon. Maybe a week after your wedding, but now? Not that it mattered too much, you’d had time to gather yourself for your new rule as Queen Mother. Now it was only time to fulfill your promise to König. Your husband.

With a steady hand, König unwrapped the ribbon that created your bond, instead settling to create another one. Husband and Wife. King and Queen.

Your second in command ascended again, holding a velvet piece in his hand, something that protected a crown made of the same iron material that König’s was made of. Yours however was designed thinner, the rungs were taller and slender. A crown of simple elegance.

König nodded towards your captain, taking the crown gently in two hands. His body ascending in front of his people as he faced the crowds. You maneuvered as taught, back towards your people as your eyes fell to the King.

You dropped your knee, falling in front of him as your head tilted up. Awaiting your new position.

“You swear to uphold this Kingdom? Cherish it as one of your own, to protect them, shield them, and bear their burdens?” His deep voice rumbled over the kingdom, almost enough to shake the walls of his keep.

“I do.”

“And do you swear to serve the King? For his council is yours, and your council is his. Do you swear to rule together as one single force?”

“I do.” You vowed, head dropping slightly as your hands shook at your sides.

Fingers traced against your jaw, before a heavy object was placed against your head, the weight of the crown finally sinking in.

“Rise, my love.” His soft voice lured you to stand. To turn towards your people with a look of great pride. With his aid, you stood tall.

König took a step forward, his chest puffed up slightly as his eyes burnt towards his kingdom.

“For all to witness, here is my wife. Long live the Queen!” His voice boomed, just as the crowd chanted the words over and over again.

You gulped when König dropped to a knee, his eyes soft and dark at the same time as he took you in like a Goddess to be worshipped. The chants of “Long live the Queen!” vanishing as you gestured for him to stand beside you once more.

You stood shoulder to shoulder, hands intertwined as the two of you took in your kingdom.

Chatter rang throughout the large dining hall in merry celebration. Your lips were likely stained with the most lavish of cherry wines that König had been saving for this special date.

Now the two of you sat upon a large table overlooking the nobles and councilmen that took turns singing and dancing while feasting upon the layouts of roasted hog, breads, cheeses, and fresh fruits that heaped in surplus.

“You look divine in that dress.” Your husband’s voice broke your concentration away from the flickering lanterns of the hall.

“I bet you want nothing more than to take it off.” You teased lightly, only picking at your food as your gaze looked else where. Towards five approaching men coming to your table. Many had come, but only to lay gifts on the oak table with a gentle bow, these men however waited for König’s concentration to break from you.

Finally, his stare followed yours, settling upon the men that looked to hold shocking power. Perhaps Kings of their own nations?

“Ah, Welcome!” König voice was tight, a teasing notion that you noted. What was he up to?

The men all bowed slightly as they exchanged pleasantries, then their eyes left König and settling on you.

“This is my Wife,” König introduced you by name, just as your lips curled upwards in a greeting.

“Maus, these are the Kings of our bordering nations. I invited them as a hope to become allies”

They all were tall, one being taller than the rest and gloomy looking. He wore all black robes and kept his face covered much like your husband did in battle. His eyes were fiery as he squinted up at you. Carefully he placed a golden necklace next to your table, a gift you supposed.

His companion next to him was the opposite, instead dressed in a Scottish styled kilt and a smirk upon his face. You assumed this was John of Clan MacTavish, who graciously supplied the feast.

Another stepped forward, an impressive beard upon his face as he nodded to König. Before turning to you. “Simon and Johnny spoke of your beauty, I had to see if the rumors were true. They do not disappoint. You may call me Price.” His lit was elegant and precise.

Yet his eyes were nothing of that matter as he raked you up and down.

Another stepped forward, who offered the King pleasantries and you a simple nod. He offered you his blacksmiths who would make you a new sword fit for a general. His eyes never left your plush lips. Gaz he’d called himself.

Finally the last ascended, settling upon a gift of gems of every cut and size. His smirk never left his face as he bluntly disregarded König, instead going to your side.

“You bring every woman to shame with your beauty, cariña.” His lips found your knuckle, just as König cleared his throat in warning. Alejandro he’d called himself.

“I thank you for the gifts.” You muttered, feeling hot at the stares of all the kings. They departed, eyes still glancing at you occasionally from their designated seats.

A warm hand fell to your thigh, making you snap out of your haze and away from the gloomy stare of the king known as Simon. Instead, your attention settled back to König, whose fingers were digging slightly into the flesh of your leg, dancing dangerously close to your core. It made you shutter out a sigh.

“They’re right you know.” Your King’s voice was low as he continued his onslaught from under the table. His other hand holding onto his fork as if he was unbothered. Almost bored.

“Hmm?” You found yourself drunkenly leaning closer to König, just as his fingertip gently traced over your clothed clit. You jolted, alerting the other King’s attention from afar. Subtly you tried to control your flushed face and crossed your legs, smooshing his palm to get him to stop.

“That you’re the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms.” He leant to you, placing an innocent kiss upon your cheek as his warm breath fanned across your ear.

“I don’t care if they stare or compliment you. Hell, I don’t even care if they all take turns fucking your pretty cunt. Just as long as you know who you truly belong to.”

You shuddered at his words, shifting slightly in your chair as you imagined all of those men taking their turns ravishing you. König’s finger hooked along your chin, pulling you to face him.

“You do know who you belong to, right Maus?” He cooed, looking every bit the conquerer that you knew. You gulped, reaching up to twine your fingers.

“You, Your Grace. It’s always you.”

“Good Girl.” He smirked, dropping his hand to your thigh again. A sudden clatter made you jump, just as several councilmen stood up.

“It’s time for the King and Queen to indulge in the bedding ceremony.”

Your eyes skittered to König, who was back to rubbing his thumb amongst your leg. He had a relaxed smile upon his face, just as he stretched like a satisfied cat against his chair. He pushed it backwards, standing tall as he offered you a gentle hand.

You took it, standing tall as you eyed the foreign kings one last time before applause erupted through the hall as König led you down the halls and to his chambers.

Some of the councilmen followed, obviously to witness your matrimony and union as the both of you would try to produce heirs.

You weren’t particularly nervous, it wasn’t something the councilmen hadn’t seen before. Or at the very least heard. But you felt the pressure to please your husband, for this would be the first time you slept together since taking your vows.

Your King pushed open the door, and gestured you in first. Your steps faulted at the sudden transformation of his chambers. Soft candle light painted the walls a warm glow, and the air smelt faintly of summer cherries and scented wax. Petals of white roses scattered across the floor and on his furs, something that almost made your eyes roll in amusement.

König maneuvered past you with a brush of his hand, his touch lingering for a moment before he stepped towards his vanity.

He reached up, pulling the heavy crown from his wavy hair with a sigh. You felt the burning stares of the councilmen as you shuffled closer to König’s side, happily basking in his warmth as he removed his cloak, only left in his slightly unbuttoned under shirt and trousers.

His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer into his side as he preoccupied himself with pouring cherry wine into a cup. He took a large drink, before passing the goblet to you.

Your fingers snaked around the cool metal, eyes falling from your lover to the red liquid instead. You sipped upon the bittersweet wine, happily feeling the burning in your chest as König silently turned to face you.

It was much too silent. It made you itch.

His large palms reached upwards, cupping your cheeks in a cradle of security. His fingertips danced against your scalp, nails raking slightly in a calming gesture that you much appreciated.

You placed the goblet down, not sure if you were really supposed to touch him yet. The one thing you’d hadn’t prepared for was the bedding ceremony. You figured it would be König that made the first move, but he did little but relax you into his touch, distant from his warm furs of his bed.

“Are you waiting for me to start us off?” Your tone was soft as he lifted up on your own crown, discarding the steel material next to his as he went back to clutching your cheeks, this time his thumb brushed across the slight pucker of your lips.

He shook his head, a look of adoration crossing his features again. His stormy eyes were swirling lazily, if you looked closely the little freckles upon his cheeks seemed to glow in the candlelight. “No, I’m waiting for the rest of the council.” He admitted, maneuvering his large hands to your waist, flipping you so your back was turned to him and towards the entrance of his door. You avoided the stares of the council, instead focusing on the cinching sensation at your waist. “Everyone is here. Who else are we waiting for?”

König worked quietly, fingers threading through the ties of your corset. Occasionally he would press a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, causing goosebumps to fly against the contact. You shivered at the intimacy.

“On them.” He whispered against the lobe of your ear, nipping at the flesh. Glancing up, your heart rate picked up at the sight of the five kings from earlier, all eyes upon you and your husband.

König chuckled at your reaction, “if they’re so easy to praise your body with words, I’ll show them how I can praise you with my body and words.” He lowly spoke, so only you could hear. “They’ll speak compliments on their tongues, I’ll taste you with mine.”

Your breath hitched, all of this process was non traditional. Most of the bedding ceremonies in neighboring kingdoms just decided on a quick fuck, never bringing pleasure to the wife. Your husband was never one to follow tradition. He’d make the councilmen squirm as he ravished you with no shame.

The thought made you quiver.

“Shut the door.” Your King ordered, with the click of the hinges, you reveled in the feeling of his touch. His hands had finally tore apart the dreaded corset, his warm hands falling to the curve of your spine, until he dipped to your shoulders, pulling the dress down to your waist.

The air was cold upon your breasts, but the burning stares of the Kings seemed to set you on fire. You maneuvered in a trance, only being guided by your husband, who lowered you down upon the furs of your shared chambers.

He was grinning, obviously enjoying the ongoing attention as he hovered over you. He pulled you into a shuttering kiss, almost humming as you bit upon his lip.

His hands reached low, tugging upon the leftover material of your dress and discarding the white on the edge of the bed. Your eyes found his, he was a storm, the dark pupils nearly engulfing the rolling clouds of grey iris. Your bare legs wrapped around his torso, sinking him down further.

His tongue was hot against your lips, you welcomed him in open arms, loving the taste of the cherry wine leftover from his indulgence.

“So beautiful…” König paused, kissing innocently upon your nose, before shifting backwards and pulling off his shirt.

You bit upon your bottom lip, drinking in his pale skin covered in constellations of freckles. He was built, from all his years of wielding a sword and axe, yet still lean enough to move with great speed and precision.

Enchanting.

He lowered himself upon the furs, obviously enjoying the little hitch in your throat as he blew warm air upon your open and weeping cunt.

Not only were you aroused by the feeling of your King marking you as his, you were squirming at the feeling of eyes taking in your very naked form. Without thinking, your gaze shifted to the dark stare of Simon, who looked on with heavy eyes that were lidded in lust.

Your eyelashes fluttered when you felt the steady pressure of a kiss against the warmth of your inner thighs. König’s sharp canines nipped at the scorching flesh, definitely serving as a reprimand when he observed your wondering eyes.

“Is he holding his cock, Maus? Does he know you’ll only be filled by me tonight?”

You hummed, gaze falling back to your husband, who also looked at you in a hooded stupor, a look that made your insides jelly and your cunt to soak like a broken dam.

He watched you as his biceps entrapped the crease of your knees, prying you open, you faintly heard MacTavish and Gaz curse, for they got a full image of your arousal.

König must of heard, because a ghost of a smirk crossed over his lips before he buried himself against you. The wetness of his tongue against your opening was enough for you to let out an airy noise and drop your head against the silk pillows of his bed. The eyes watching were wiped away from your mind as König’s nose brushed against your aching clit, it was just enough pressure to have you chasing him, hand flying to the soft waves of his tousled auburn hair.

He hummed at your taste, pulling back for air. You could tell he was restraining himself, attempting to stop the vile sayings that would usually slip out of his mouth. You nearly purred when you spotted the slick upon his lips, watching him lick them clean before he dove back for more.

You squirmed as his lips pressed to your clit, sucking upon the bead of nerves in desperation, as if he was starving.

“Oh God…” you moaned softly, attempting to be silent enough for the council not to hear, but your King seemed scoff at that reaction. The cheeky bastard wanted you to scream, to embarrass yourself by squirming and screaming his name.

He was doing a well enough job, a loud moan falling unconsciously from your lips as a thick finger breached your hole, pushing snuggly against your walls.

König cursed at your reaction, still suckling upon your clit in soft slow pressure. Your eyes wandered again, catching on Alejandro, who was obviously glancing at your open breasts, bouncing slightly with each push of your husbands finger.

König looked up, seeing again that your eyes had wandered, with a amused huff he added another finger, this time watching you gasp at the fullness. Yet, it wasn’t just the width that made you cry for air, but the cold metal of his wedding ring pressed against the opening of your sex, the change of temperature sending you over the edge.

He spread his fingers, delightfully stretching your opening, his quick thrusts and licking tongue had you seeing stars. The knot in your stomach twisted and with a rather deep thrust, you whined spilling on his fingers as you rolled your eyes back, reveling in the feeling of a delicious orgasm.

With a sudden burst of need, you maneuvered König up, smiling drunkly when his fingers left your hole with a satisfying squelch, that had Price growling lightly in the corner, making a silent chuckle fall from your lips.

“You like them watching you, don’t you? Like them to see what I do to you, Maus?” König teased, pecking lightly on your lips, you hummed at the taste of yourself.

“What you do to me?” You found yourself becoming bold, likely too bold for a bedding ceremony, but you simply didn’t care as your legs wrapped around his waist, using enough momentum to flip your husband on his back. He looked far to irresistible under your mercy.

And he was enjoying it. You could tell by the darkening of his eyes, his pupils taking a majority of his iris, even with the candles lighting his handsome features.

You leant low, chasing after him in a drunken bliss, he hummed against your lips, hands falling to your hips. He desperately dug into your skin, maneuvering you to roll against his trousers. The catch of the material rubbing slightly upon your sensitive bead.

You pried down his trousers, happily nipping at König’s jaw when he hitched his hips up to help you rid them.

With lusting eyes you lowered your gaze, falling upon the hard and unwavering length of him. He twitched as you settled over him, the shaft of his cock sliding against your folds in a teasing notion. It physically pained you to not be full of your husband, but watching his forehead wrinkle and lips part open in sexual frustration was almost more delicious then being speared on him.

You rolled your hips down even slower, the head of his cock slightly breaching your entrance before you pulled away, you bit back a gasp, attempting to not let your husband know how much he effected you.

He cursed, a low hiss leaving his throat at the sudden movement.

“You wickedly divine woman,” he shunned, obviously taken with your little stunt.

A giggle escaped you, after all you couldn’t help the pleasure you received from teasing your King. Although, he seemed to be the most impatient tonight.

His hand found the plump curve of your ass, he lifted you with one arm, his other hand wrapping around himself. He gave himself a few pumps from his own hand, before lining his throbbing cock in one try.

Oh, how he memorized every curve of your body. How he adored every freckle, every blemish, every mark, and every limb. How he thought of kissing every worry from your mind, and fuck you like you were the only thing he’d ever worship.

Your palms lay flat on his open chest as you slowly settled down upon his tip, nails scratching against his firm muscle as your cunt swallowed him whole. Your head flew backwards, just enough for your breasts to bounce and throat to bob at your arousal.

The Kings all purred at the sight.

“That’s it, Maus.” König airily spoke, his fingertips digging so hard against your hips they would likely leave bruises.

You heaved yourself up again, his cock barely inside you before you let yourself fall back, filling completely. König twitched under you, the violent motion causing him to groan.

He was always one to fall apart when you were on top of him.

You bounced shallowly, reveling in the feeling of him sliding against your very womb with each bob of your hips. It had tears welling in your eyes, especially with the enormous size of him stretching upon your gummy walls.

“You like me hugging your cock? I bet the Kings wish they were here under me.” You whispered the vile words, enjoying the way your husband’s eyes flashed at such revelation.

His arm snaked around your back, allowing him to pull you closer and for him to rise up to meet your every move. You moaned at the jerky movement, allowing your walls to clench even tighter against him. König’s hands roamed your back, pulling you against his chest when he sat up, you ground down against him, appreciating his closeness as his lips nipped at your neck, now definitely leaving marks of purple and red.

You didn’t care. In fact, you clenched tighter at the thought of König taking you as his in front of everyone.

As it turned out, your King was relishing in that aspect too, his chin cradled against your collarbone as he eyed the kings from over your shoulders. A smirk plastered to his lips as he bucked his hips upwards, making a musical moan fall from your throat. Seeing the men so tore up with need for his precious wife only made him more smug.

He’d ruin you for any other man. No one could please you as he did.

He drew back, his mouth shining and bruised from your kisses. König’s lips pressed against your ear, “I bet they do wish for you. How could they not with your pretty little mouth crying on my cock?”

König bit the lobe of your ear, before squeezing his hands onto the backs of your thighs. He used his brute strength he only reserved for the battlefield to raise himself up, his cock still speared inside you.

You’ve seen him break backs over his knees, crack necks in his bare hands, spill guts with his sword. Now he used his strength to pull you into him, your legs wrapping helplessly around his waist. He used his strength to drop you onto your back, your head falling back onto the soft pillows once more.

You gasped hard, when he began to take control, pistoning into you at such a rapid speed you found yourself unable to control the cries of pleasure that left your throat.

He was sloppy, thrusting into you like a boy instead of a King. His large palms squeezed at your breasts as he ravished, your clenching cunt almost spent at the pace he was going.

His fingers rolled against a nipple, before he pinched upon the bud, making you cry out in painful delight. He was enjoying this, he was enjoying plowing into you and spreading your legs out wider to go deeper.

“I can’t…” you whimpered when he dug deep, his very tip hitting harshly against your womb.

“You will.” He growled, teeth clenching down as sweat began to slick onto his forehead. “Come on my love, just cum one more time for me.” He pleaded, kissing your lips as he rutted into you.

Those were the only words you needed, before you did as told. With a cry of pleasure, you clenched at the near euphoric sensation, your arms finding closure around his torso and legs wrapping around his waist as you shook.

“Fuckin’ Hell…” you heard one of the Kings loudly grunt, although you paid little attention as your eyes rolled backwards as König sloppily thrusted a few more times before he to, let out a grunt. He silenced himself by clenching his teeth down on your shoulder.

The warm feeling of his seed painted against your walls, a feeling of such deep devotion it had you thinking you could stay like this forever. Forever pierced on your Husband’s cock as he caressed your face sheening in sweat.

With a sigh, you unwrapped your legs, knowing you wouldn’t be able to stay like this forever. People were watching after all.

König dropped away from you, not without burying his seed one more time into your aching cunt. Whispers broke out into your shared chambers, the councilmen seemingly pleased that there was a guarantee for heirs. They left, satisfied with your activities.

Yet, the eyes of the neighboring Kings were still glued to your body. König rolled over, sitting up into the furs and looking the Kings dead in the eyes. He looked playful, yet determination glittered in the storms of his iris.

With a cool finger, he traced your hipbone, before dipping lower. You gasped when his fingers dug near the entrance of your used cunt. He dug them into his cum, scooping out just enough for all of the observers to see.

“You’ve served your purpose. See that my seed is taken by my wife. She’s mine.”

Your face reddened at his vulgar point, just as he brought his messy fingers to your mouth.

“Open.” He ordered, before having you suck his fingertips in obedience. He was bittersweet on your tongue, but ever so exquisite.

“You may do what you like with her if she allows it. But I want you all to know, her cunt only belongs to me.”

“My wife. My Queen.”

Tags: @soapyghost @downbadformaskedmen @brainlessgf @uriahs-sketchings @mykneeshurt @lenafisher @idkthefuckimdoingwithmylife @keiva1000 @imtherain @purple-crying-out

#good grief I need a cold shower #cod #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #könig #konig #könig x reader #konig x reader #King AU

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blackopals-world · 1 year

Text

"Maid Crazy"

Maid!FemYuu × Headwardens

Summary: Every girl has a hobby. Yuu's are maids. Sort of an Otaku for maids. She loves dressing as one and collecting different styles. But when everyone finds out they offer her a chance to make her fantasies reality.

It's more then just a cheap sexy costume. Those don't have the appeal of a true maid. Maids are the noble hardworking women that support a household not just some slave to a lusty master. Beautiful and graceful as the flitted about doing their work.

Yuu squealed in delight as she held up her newest acquisition. A new Victorian Era apron and lace bonnet. All thank to Crowley's credit card which is now her's after some not so idle threats.

Feeling a bit empowered Yuu put on her new set with a black collared dress. She grabbed a broom and began sweeping the the steps of Ramshackle. She felt like a Step Girl working for a small family.

She didn't notice someone had come up the path and saw her.

Riddle- House maid

He didn't see a problem with Yuu's hobby. If anything he respected it. Maids are diligent and place an importance on order as well as respect.

He offered Yuu a job to work at Heartslabyul where she could show off her skills In a place where it could fit right in.

Cooking and cleaning was a simple job. The uniform Riddle helpfully supplied helped her go unnoticed as she worked.

Yuu's Victorian style red botton up dress that reached just past the ankle and white lace apron over it. Her lace bonnet was replaced with a crown on white roses binded with red ribbons. He had a Heartslabyul student brooch on her apron.

She seemed to blind into the background for most guests in the dorm as though her presence was natural. Not that she minded as he did laundry and fed the hedgehogs.

Teatime was the most important as Yuu would happily prepare the table and load a trolley with cakes and tarts. She felt like a perfect maid as she rolled the cart into the garden.

Riddle his face furn red the moment "Good Afternoon, Master" left her red painted lips. If he had been drinking tea already he probably would have made a mess.

All things considered Yuu took to working in Heartslabyul like a duck to water.

Leona- Chamber maid

Yuu believed it was rotten luck that put Leona in her path. Unlike most he knew the roles of maids and has the pleasure of having many at home. That isn't necessarily a good thing. He doesn't care about making servant's job easier because it's their job to serve.

He doesn't bother or harass the staff but he certainly doesn't pay them any attention or respect.

That's why when he saw Yuu dressed in her frilly get up all he could see was someone he could use. Not that Yuu minds. What she does mind is his behavior because Leona is nothing but trouble.

Her duties were to wake Leona up in the morning for one thing which is fight on its own. Throwing off his blankets only to find that he sleeps naked.

Yuu had to get used to that and surly from Leona's perspective the novelty wore off due to how quickly she adjusted. Because after a few days she went about pulling out his clothes and other things so she could move on to cleaning and laundry. She had no time for maidenly nonsense of seeing a man in undress when work was to be done. Leona no doubt was disappointed although he was used to it from his maid back home.

Still, Yuu was committed to her role. Fixing Leona's clothes, organizing his stuff and cleaning his room.

Leona become frustrated when he realized that Yuu won't nap with him or even pay him any mind when working. She was too committed to her job that she wouldn't overstep as a servant. So, lame.

Azul- Café Maid/Scullary maid

Azul had no need of a maid. His room and laundry where neatly done at all times. He was quite alright but the lounge could benefit from the appearance of cute maid. Maid Café were very popular especially for young men who want to gawk at girls.

Of course Yuu vihamenly disagreed to it because she isn't a maid just to be watched. She took it very seriously.

Azul still didn't want to lose out so a deal was made. She would work in the lounge as a busboy cleaning up the tables and seats but she had to wear the attire he chose.

The uniform was kind of short and reached mid-thigh. The color was nice, iridescent purple and blue instead of white and black. The ruffled apron resembled a frilled jellyfish. A person's eyes drew themselves to the seashell shaped bust. Her shoes were mary janes so she could move around easily. Azul even gave her pearl jewelry to wear.

It added traffic to the lounge as she bounced from table to table to clean. It was going well till it wasn't. One of the reasons lest savory characters came was because while cleaning Yuu's dress came dangerously close to revealing things she didn't want to show since she had to bend over. At one point a customer "accidentally" spilled their drink when she went to pick up the cup, and her dress skirt was purposefully flipped. It was funny at first but the laughter ended when Floyd grabbed the guy by the throat.

Yuu was frustrated and crying during the event. She let Azul have it for the costume and not listening to her about Café Maids not being treated with dignity. She quit right there and threw off the jewelry and apron right there in his office.

It took a lot of apologies for Yuu to look Azul in the eye again because she was disgusted by him just as much as the skirt chasers.

Eventually Azul was forgiven but Yuu's role and outfit where changed to be more sensible. She was now a parlor maid. She managed Azul's paperwork and served him coffee. Alongside that she arranged Azul's schedule and meetings. When she wasn't greeting and seating customers and telling the tweels what to do.

A no touching policy was instituted with threats of Jade and Floyd "dealing" with rule breakers.

Kalim- Tweeny

Kalim was probably one of the ideal people to catch Yuu in maid dress. He's used to servant/master dynamic and already has Jamil.

Making Yuu his maid seemed natural because now he has two of his friends always with him. Which Yuu found to be unintentionally condescending. Kalim was nice but there was a difference between servants and friends due to power imbalances.

The problem with serving Kalim was Jamil. Servents have hierarchies and Jamil and Yuu were not on the same level. She was a low level maid that would have to follow his orders, which she honored rather then rejected.

That meant any task he made she did. If Jamil's role was to take care of Kalim then it was her's to take care of Jamil since she wasn't a personal maid.

It was hard work but she enjoyed it. Kalim still came to check on her when she worked.

Jamil however got ahead of himself and gave her an unreasonable task. She put her foot down for that one. Jamil should know better and he's forgotten that their was a clear difference between them and it wasn't seniority. It was that she chose to do this and was free to leave.

Jamil apologized, he was treating her like how he was treated by older servents. If anything he hated how happy she was to be a servent and didn't understand why anyone chooses a life like this. Yuu liked to help others and was happy to fetch clothes or do dishes.

They didn't understand each other but they understand Kalim and weren't going to fight over something like this. They both had a job to take care of Kalim and must work together for his sake.

Vil-Lady's Maid

Well if there was someone who could actually need a maid then it's him. He actually finds maids appealing and notes that they have been known for their beauty. However what he doesn't like is the specific style of Yuu's choice. Victoria Era is played out when the French maid was known for their stunning appearance.

He takes Yuu aside and gives her a new role. As a handmaid in charge of taking care of his needs, and he has a lot of needs.

It's not bad but Yuu thinks that Vil underestimates what a personal maid does. From the first moments of the morning, she has already planned his outfit in accordance with the weather, season, and his schedule. His bath is ready and she might not have mentioned that personal maids not only dress their masters but bathe them as well. She had assumed he knew but if he did he probably wasn't expecting Yuu to go through with it.

Vil had to make a diversion for her to keep her from entering the bathroom. He didn't know he was supposed to just dismiss her yet. For all his talk he doesn't know the specifics of what he was asking her to do when he gave her the job. When she returned she wasn't happy to know she couldn't wash his hair properly.

Vil's handsy maid was actually a godsend. Yuu was well versed in etiquette and was gentle and efficient in dressing Vil for the day. She even had him fastened in a corset with little time wasted and only a few ribs bruised.

She styled his hair to his liking and lavished him with complaints as she placed any jewelry he wished on him. His makeup was done perfectly as though he had done it himself.

Yuu had a way on making him feel like the queen he already was. He didn't need to lift a finger with someone to do it for him and to do it gladly.

He did some reading about maids and decided to start giving Yuu old jewelry and clothes that would suit her better. It was actually a sign among maids of how well taken care of they were by their masters. It was a good trade for having someone who makes you the center of their world.

He ensures that his maid looks her best and takes Yuu to photoshoots as his stylist. Though some wonder just how intimate he was with this "stylist."

Idia- Nurse Maid

Idia has never seen a maids outside of Cons, and animes. They were fictional characters with a SSR ranking. His favorite gotcha game had just released the maid café side story. He just got the new card to show Yuu.

He pretend to not see Yuu wearing her maid attire and immediately when the way he came. His heart couldn't take it.

Idia didn't proposition Yuu to be his maid. Wouldn't dream of it. He's a otaku but he's not a sleazy pervert who makes girls wear stuff for a sick fetish. Not if they aren't in a relationship at least.

It was Ortho who asked Yuu to be a maid for Idia after Idia got sick.

Yuu took on the job gladly. She cooked his meals and fed him by hand. Despite Idia's protests, he couldn't fight her off in his weak state. She kept his room tidy and organized. Idia had a sense of pride despite what people think and being treated like an invalid by a girl dressed as some kind of Cyberpunk maid was honestly...tolerable.

She routinely came to check Idia's fever and cleaning the sweat from his head. Whenever he asked she stayed until he fell back to sleep.

Idia became more dependent on her constant presence. Maybe he should just enjoy every otaku's dream

Malleus-Maid of All-Work

No,no,no,no! He doesn't like his child of man acting as maid!

It was cute at first watching Yuu sweep without a care in the world. He believed that if Yuu worked near him they would be even closer. But now she was more distant.

If they walk Yuu trails a few paces behind. She was determined to be prim and proper. She no longer called Malleus by the nickname he held so dear, now it was only master. Malleus was used to people calling him master but he hated when she said it.

He didn't have the heart to tell her to stop. She was genuinely happy to play her new role. She smiled as she worked at the dorm without faltering. She cooked great meals and served wonderful tea.

Malleus adjusted knowing that when she was off duty it was as if she wasn't a maid. He just preferred her as Yuu and nothing more.

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littlestarlightseverywhere · 6 months

Text

Sunkissed

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The inner circle goes on holiday and Azzie is just allllll over his girl <3

Warnings: None

Notes: Thank you so much for all the love on my last story!

Image Credit: Pinterest

“It’s my pleasure,” Helion smirked, addressing the crowd with his words yet focusing his eyes on her. His brown skin reflected golden in the sun, the white cloth of his draped garment seeming to glow with it.

“Ever the generous host you are, Helion,” She played along for fun, the nature– and limits– of their flirty yet friendly relationship barely a secret.

“I wouldn’t dare displease you,” Helion purred. “You shouldn’t want for anything here. Just say the words, darling, and I’ll personally take care of it.”

Azriel was not the jealous type. He knew the effect he had on her, even all this time, and knew even better the effect she still had on him. It was like no time had passed since they’d been newly mated. His skin flushed as he recalled that initial period, how love-drunk he’d been, truly sated for the first time in his life by her burning affection, having his fill of her taste, and touch, and beautiful mind yet never getting enough of it at the same time.

He was a fool when it came to her, his brothers knew it, she knew it, and Azriel himself would not deny it either.

Yet his skin tightened over his bones and his shirt collar constricted the base of his thick neck ever so slightly as he walked behind her, watching Helion’s eyes trace her form, catching at her collarbones. The thought of him, another male, trying to provide for her, meet her every need, giving her anything… Azriel’s blood boiled. That was his place. He watched as his mate laughed dismissively, unobservant of Helion’s intense gaze.

She was beautiful, charming, and witty. No one could deny it. Rhys did not make her his foreign advisor for no reason. Azriel was quite used to people staring and trying to win her affections, but usually it never bothered him. Because at the end of the day, it was his ears that heard her thoughts and secrets, his eyes that watched her take on the world with grace and strength, and it was his bed they shared every night. He felt secure in their bond and she only had eyes for him, despite the entire world trying to court her at any given moment.

Mor and Feyre shared an amused, knowing glance at each other, studying the three as Rhys took over the conversation.

Helion led the group to his private lake just behind his palace. He was gracious in allowing the Inner Circle to have their summer holiday at his place in the Day Court, granting them access to his entire estate and anything on it for as long as they wished. “There are no such things as debts or favors when it comes to friends,” he said when he offered the location to Rhys in the first place.

The lake was downright gorgeous. Velaris was beautiful, but the Sidra could not compare to the Day Court’s waters even on its best day, a truth Azriel had kept to himself and Cassian had no problem voicing to Rhys. Its turquoise waters stretched for miles and miles, the sandy floor, algae, and tiny native fish visible through the watery looking glass. The palace sat behind them, watching protectively over its best-kept secret, and a vast expanse of green mountains rose on either side, their jagged edges softened by the lush native trees and vegetation. They curved around the lake the same way the gold of a crown hugs its jewel, enclosing it tightly in its earthy palm. Flowers trailed from the balcony down to the beach, the mud and sand padding the rock where the water met the earth. Blankets and a large wicker picnic basket lay ready on the beach.

Mor grabbed her and Feyre in her either of hands and dragged them down to the beach in a giddy, childish run. Azriel’s guiding, protective hand that had been poised at the small of her back suddenly felt cold at the fingertips as she was whisked away, her warm skin no longer close enough to soothe his skin like a balm.

He watched as she shed her clothes, throwing them haphazardly across the blankets. She laughed as Mor threw her dress over the picnic basket and picked out the gold pins in her hair, one by one, letting them land where they wanted to.

Azriel’s cheeks burned and his heart hammered with desire as he watched her shimmy out of her clothing, exposing her soft skin to the touch of the sun. The two-piece swimming slip adorned her curves so perfectly, like the garment was in love with its wearer. He’d picked it out for her. Her hair caught the breeze like something out of a novel and he swore he could smell her soap on the breeze even from all the way over where he was. Everytime he looked at her he felt like he was taking her in for the first time all over again. Part of him almost wanted to turn away with how difficult he suddenly found it to breathe, but he reminded himself with giddy disbelief, she’s mine.

“Easy,” Cassian muttered with a smirk, scenting him.

Azriel cleared his throat and Rhys sent him a boyish smile while continuing his conversation with Helion. Nesta and Amren joined the girls getting ready to get into the water while Elain and Varian settled on the blankets, books in each of their laps.

Mor was the first in the water, squealing at the sensation of it, cold at first, but warming to a luxurious temperature almost immediately. She laced her fingers with Feyre’s and they immediately followed Mor, throwing their heads back and laughing.

She savored the feel of the water against her skin, letting herself melt into its grasp and flow, letting it spread her hair behind her back and thread its liquid fingers through her strands. She submerged herself, gliding through the water until she was further out than anyone else. She’d waited for this holiday even before she knew they were going. She adored swimming, but there weren’t too many spots to do so in Velaris. In the water like this, enveloped in the lapping, balmy embrace of its ripples, she was at peace. Squealing, she beckoned the rest of the girls towards her, waving to Azriel from where he stood smiling like an idiot at her on the beach. He was shirtless now, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Azriel thought the sun complemented her skin, but in her eyes, it downright worshiped his. A glow even brighter than Helion’s overly-dramatic gold crown beamed from every inch of his body, tan and beautiful, broad and strong. She needed him in the water now.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a splash of water to her face. She gasped and laughed at the unexpected sensation, Mor and Feyre giggling like schoolgirls at their mischief.

Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel settled back into the blankets, supporting themselves with elbows that dug divots in the sand.

“Did you ever imagine this life for us?” Cassian asked his brothers as each of them watched their mates in the water.

They rarely got a holiday, and it was even more rare that they allowed themselves to take one if they had the time. Of course, it was Rhys that encouraged this outing in the first place. When Azriel and Amren refused, he required it, as their High Lord, to take the holiday with everyone else.

That wasn’t what convinced Azriel, though. It was his mate's excited chatter about the prospect of the holiday at Helion’s lake with all of their friends, getting to spend time with each other outside of Velaris, visiting another court without the prospect of war hovering over them, being able to swim for the first time in so long. She could hardly wait to feel the water on her skin, to feel the sun on her face, and to spend time with Azriel, experience a new place together. He couldn’t say no as he sat back on their bed and watched her try on her new swimming slips for him, as she packed their bags so early in advance because she could hardly wait.

No, Azriel would not take this vacation because of Rhys’ orders as High Lord of the Night Court, but because it made his soulmate so unbelievably happy. That was all the reason he needed.

Azriel shook his head. “I never would have expected it to be this good. Every day feels like I’m waking up in a dream when she’s next to me.”

His brothers could not even ridicule him for his uncharacteristic sappiness. None of them expected to have mates, let alone be so loved by them, when they were just three boys in a war camp deep in the Illyrian mountains. They did not dare to imagine anything about their future for fear of never seeing it. An rough-and-ready lordling and two bastards. What odds.

Life wasn’t always perfect– there would always be Hybern and their human sympathizers, and probably a hundred other things, to worry about. But with their loves in their lives and talks of starting families, they supposed it was as close to perfect as the Cauldron would allow.

The women spent some time in the water, swimming, splashing, lounging, and talking with their mates watching them as they talked amongst themselves. When they decided to get out to eat, Feyre challenged them all to a race.

“You’re going to regret that.”

Feyre raised her brows at Azriel’s mate, her closest friend out of them all, with mischief in her eyes. “Just because you’ve bested me in two other races doesn’t mean you’ll have this one too.”

“I think it does,” she smirked devilishly.

Feyre broke into a swim for the shore to the dismay of the other women. Amidst shouts of protest at Feyre’s unfair start, everyone else began their dash to the shore.

She sliced through the water like a knife through butter, already ahead of Mor, Nesta, and Amren, the latter of which refused to participate. Surpassing Feyre like a born nymph, she barely had to try as her body fell into the familiar motion of cutting through the soft waves of the lake until she felt the water shallow beneath her belly and she was able to stand.

The water swished at her ankles as her feet touched land once again, running up the beach. At the sight of Azriel waiting a little ways down with her towel in his hand, she all but forgot about the race. She ran toward him, blushing at his gaze. He immediately rolled the towel open and wrapped it around her as she ran into him, securing the towel with strong arms that wrapped around her body and swayed her gently with the momentum of her sprint. His strong presence was enough to halt her and she savored the feeling of his body at her back, his warmth seeping through he towel and caressing her water-frozen skin.

She was breathing deeply now, chest rising and falling under his arm. Azriel reveled in the thrum of her heart under his hold, willing it to ease.

Azriel nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck and she giggled, ticklish and giddy at his proximity.

“Did you see the race, Az? I wooon,” she sang, reaching an arm out of the towel to hold his face behind her. She leaned back against his chest, craning her neck up to meet his eyes, eyes that were absolutely drunk on watching her high. She was naturally competitive, much like he was during his snowball fights with his brothers. Watching her in her element filled him with pride to an extent she would never fully know.

“I did, I’m so proud of you, honey,” he smiled, sliding one of his arms up until it was slung across her chest, connecting his lips with hers. She tasted like the water, sweet and fresh. Azriel couldn’t help himself as he grabbed her waist. It was like drinking from a fountain with an eternal thirst he couldn’t quench. More, more, more. He didn’t care who was around.

She pulled away, flustered. “You sure don’t mind putting on a show,” she turned around fully in his arms so that she was facing him now. The towel had fallen slightly, now hung loosely around the crooks of her elbows. Her wet hair fell in waves around her face and to him, she looked like a goddess of the water. He was barely religious, the furthest thing from it really, but he’d devote himself to her for nothing in return.

After the food had been brought out, the Inner Circle enjoyed the lunchtime feast of bread, wine, fruit, and meats. After everyone had eaten their fill, namely Cassian who was half passed out on his back, they lounged on the beach. Nesta nestled into Cassian’s broad side with her book, speaking to Elain quietly. Amren and Varian had rattled off somewhere right after they were done eating– insatiable those two were. Mor was laying on her back, facing the sun, catching a tan.

“I’m so happy we did this,” Feyre said softly, addressing the group. “It feels like lately our joy has come from short-lived bursts of happiness or quiet. I can’t tell you all what it means to me that we can have this time without preparing for the worst.”

Rhys rubbed a soothing thumb over her shoulder. Everyone raised their glasses to that.

Azriel leaned back into the sand, one arm folded under his head and the other extended as his mate rested her head on the inside of his bicep. Tired from swimming and full from their meal, she curled into his side, draping a leg across his.

“I’m so happy to be here with you,” She murmured into the side of his chest, peppering kisses there on his warm, tan skin. Azriel brought his arm around her, pulling her closer and resting a hand over her hip, enjoying the heat of her sun-kissed skin beneath it.

He rested his mouth at the top of his forehead as she drifted in and out of sleep. He was like her sleeping drug. Whenever they sat back together to watch a movie, read their books, or on nights in with their friends for some wine and card games, she could hardly stay awake beside him.

His heart swelled. She felt so comfortable around him that her guards collapsed to dust in his presence. She gave herself fully to him, to his care, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold her any tighter at that moment.

Helion came out to check on his guests. “Like a litter of babes, the lot of you,” He chuckled as he took in his friends, exhausted and full, lazing about his private beach. His eyes floated over to her, to her dozing form beside her mate, beautiful and soft. Peaceful. Azriel was aware of his gaze– he always was aware of anyone perceiving his mate. He only opened his book and continued skimming his fingers on her hips above the waistband of her swimsuit. She was blissfully unaware, half awake, half dreaming, lulled into a world of dreams and darkness by the steadiness of Azriel’s breath and light touch.

After the group of friends were well rested, everyone made their way into the water again. Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel raced out to the middle of the lake, Azriel the obvious winner and it wasn’t even close. Cassian batted a wave of water over Az with his wing in tantrum and Rhys only laughed until his stomach throbbed. They played chicken, Nesta on Cassian’s shoulders and she on Azriel’s. Mor wanted to pretend-play mermaids and they dragged the males in on their fun. They begrudgingly played along, yet were silently more than happy to oblige them. Nesta placed a crown of algae on Cassian’s head and he fully committed to his part as King of the Plankton. They floated on their backs, swam in circles, and splashed waves at each other.

Climbing the jagged, rocky cliffs on either side of the lake, they jumped off of their ledges into the water below, in flips and turns, nosedives and backflips. The setting sun cooled the water, a pink and purple sky above their heads melting into an inky blue that lined the horizon.

A perfect day.

Everyone grew tired again. From the beach music began to play. Light and upbeat, but beautiful and soft– distinctly Day Court.

Azriel gently grabbed her hand, leading her behind one of the cliffs they had jumped off of. It was the largest cliff jutting out of the lake and provided complete privacy when they were on the other side of it.

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone all day,” Azriel said, removing a hand from under the surface of the water and moving a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. He took in her tanned skin and sun-blushed shoulders and cheeks.

“All you had to do was ask,” She replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

Azriel’s self control snapped like a rubber band and he pushed his body through the water against her, pinning her to the rock behind them. His hand cradled the back of her head against the jagged cuts of the cliff. He needed more, but he paced himself, letting himself savor the feel of her skin under the water. Azriel ran his hand up and down the side of her stomach, his fingertips trailing the skin as he moved. Her skin pebbled in the wake of his touch, sending a shiver down her spine. Even in his frenzy he took his time. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as he slanted his lips over hers, water sloshing between their bodies in whatever space was left.

She sighed into his mouth and it drove him crazy. Pressing her chest to his, she needed to be as close as could, within his very being if it was possible.

“If I could just crawl into your skin and live inside your heart I would,” She told him one drunken night when she’d gotten so trashed with Nesta and Mor that he needed to fly her back home rather than walk like they always did after a night out. Azriel never forgot those words, and everytime they kissed or hugged he was reminded of them with an intensity that made his chest squeeze.

“Az,” She whispered into his mouth. His hands lowered from her waist to her hips, thumbs skimming the waistband of her bottoms again.

She couldn’t get enough of him. No matter how much time passed, he drove her absolutely mad. They’d only stopped for air once they absolutely could not breathe anymore, and even then, Azriel didn’t pull too far away, needing to feel her breath on him.

“What has gotten into you today?” She laughed lightly, though definitely not complaining. It was not like him to be so risky, to be so passionate when they weren’t completely alone.

“I just love you,” was all he said.

Night fell over the Day Court slowly but surely. The day had gone on forever. By the time it was dark enough, some of Helion’s housekeepers started a bonfire and replenished the beach with more food and wine.

She laid down on the blankets again with Azriel beside her, propped up on his elbow and leaning on his side so he was looking directly down at her. Their legs were intertwined and they laughed and spoke softly, a bit away from the rest of the group.

Azriel’s free hand rested on the plane of her soft belly, listening more than he spoke. Of course he was a man of few words, but around her, he enjoyed letting her speak. It was one of his favorite things, learning more and more about the way her brilliant mind worked with the things she said.

With her thoughts, ideas, and opinions, he thought she was incredibly intelligent– the smartest person he knew. He learned so much from her eloquent tongue, adoration filling him from head to toe when she went on her tangents.

The first time she even went on one of her rants in front of him, even before the bond had snapped into place, she was flustered and apologized to Azriel. At the time, she didn’t know Azriel liked her back and dread filled her veins at the idea that she possibly scared him away for good. But he simply shook his head and encouraged her, asking questions and helping her carry the conversation when he felt it start to falter with her hesitation.

They rejoined their friends at some point– he couldn’t remember when, or how long they’d been lost in each other. When she said she wanted to go sit with everyone else for a bit, he agreed. He’d always follow her wherever she led, no questions asked. Back up the beach, up to their room, to the ends of the earth, even.

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cryptidclaw · 8 months

Text

Star Ravenscourge!

Apprentice version v

Design Notes:

New Raven designnnn

I have completely changed his build, he is no longer tall and lanky, he is simply dinky <3 Im obssessed with this design, one of the faves I have done yet!

Character Bio:

fun fact: he looks a lot like his outsider sire, which makes him stand out a lot bec of how small and not average Thunder looking he is.

Alsoo I'm adding the leader crowns i designed!!

Star Ravenscourge

(Ravenpaw)

Gay; demi-boy; he/him

Age as of 1st arc's end: 2 cycles, 6 moons; ~26 Hyrs

Title meaning: -scourge = a terrifying and powerful cat, a cat who is a "scourge" upon their enemies. This tile is unique to Raven, as he earned it from the tales that began to spread about him once he became leader of Blood Order.

First Leader of Blood Order; he alongside several city cats founded Blood Order, and Raven was appointed their leader, much to his honor and surprise.

Seconds: Bonehunter (appointed before they followed succession laws) -> (Star) Paintdapple (mentored by Raven)

Mentor: Star Tigerclaw -> Bonehunter (unofficial mentor)

Mother: Dappledew

Siblings: Dustpelt

Half Siblings: Downnose; Cricketstep

Mate: Barleycloud

Kits (donor: Violetdream): Cowstep, Lambcry, Ryewhisper

Other notable kin: Thrushcloud (uncle); Shriketail (nephew); Cloudtail (adoptive nephew); Snowshoe (nephew); Mistletoe (niece); Spiderleg (nephew); Shrew (nephew)

Bonus facts: He came up with the idea of reinforcing his claws with sharpened dogs teeth, bec of Tigerclaw's extra big claws. Tiger always told Raven he was extra weak because his claws were rather small, so raven thought, maybe he could find a new, better way to protect himself, and make his claws even stronger than Tigerclaw's ever were. They were in fact stronger than Tiger bec they disemboweled him.

Character Summary:

In Progress (to be added later)

...

[Image 1 ID: a digital drawing of Ravenscourge an au version of Ravenpaw from Warrior Cats. He is standing with his right side showing, his right paw raised with claws (reinforced with dog's teeth) unsheathed. He has a proud and determined expression on his face. He is a small, slender, black tom with a white tail tip, above his nose and on his chin, two spots on his cheek, and a white sock on his right leg. He is mostly short furred with longer cheek and tail fur, as well as a tuft on longer fur on his chest and on his head, acting as bangs. He has extremely large ears and purple eyes, he wears a crown on his forehead with a teardrop shaped bloodstone and a smaller teardrop shaped moonstone hanging below it. He also has a tooth pieced through one ear and wears a purple dog's collar adorned with sharp teeth and claws. he has claw scars running along his shoulder and flank as well as a scar over his right eye and on his left upper lip./End ID]

[Image 2 ID: a digital drawing of Raven (apprentice Ravenscourge) an au version of Ravenpaw from Warrior Cats. This image is the same as the previous one, but Raven has no scars, wears no collar, teeth, or crown and has wide scarred eyes and a general fearful expression on his face./End ID]

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change #ravenpaw #ravencourge #scourge #ravenpaw design #scourge design #scourge au #ravenpaw au #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats design

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ceruleancattail · 7 months

Note

May i request for Yandere Riddle but Its actually Alice in wonderland? Like Riddle replaces the Queen of hearts and the reader is Alice.

Acceptance

Yandere Queen of Hearts Riddle x reader

Your back ached.

Standing stock still, spine yanked as straight as it would go. Almost like a statue, carved out of unmoving rock. He expected that of you.

Wait until you’re called upon.

Be obedient.

Today, The Queen of Hearts decided to grace you with some proper attire. You expected a delivery by one of her card soldiers, knocking some strange, bizarre rhythm into your door.

You didn’t expect he would come himself.

The clothes themselves were picture perfect. Every fold artistically arranged with a gaudy amount of bows and ribbons. Everything was ironed with a blazing hot iron. The metal gleamed a sinister ruby, pressed against the cloth until you could smell the foul, heavy stench of something charred beyond saving. The smoke choked you, silver wisps curling up from the fabric, waxing and waning hazily right before your eyes.

With all the ribbons and the fuzz, you felt like one of the Queen’s tarts.

All dolled up pretty just for a show.

The clothes were immediately thrown at you, molten flames sewn into a garment designed to pinch at all the wrong places. Stone grey eyes watched you expectedly. Waiting for your words of gratitude, perhaps?

For you to prostrate yourself before the Queen of Hearts , devotedly clutching onto the attire, tongue-tied with gratitude for his generosity. Maybe he would have liked to hear you stutter, simpering over just how wonderful he was.

It was all you could do not to hurl right there and then, staining the reds and white with the foulness of your bile. That would have been a damn better sight then all the shows the Queen… no, Riddle Rosehearts, insisted on hosting.

Grand affairs where all 52 card soldiers stood at attention, swarms of crimson and ebony parading across his estate. The grand gallows would be set up, blades polished into a steely gleam. In the golden rays of the sun, it shone with a certain grim determination.

A sharp click of tongue. Riddle was losing his patience. It would not do to dawdle, especially in front of royalty. Quickly, you sunk into a shallow bow, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered onto your face.

Arms slipping into sleeves, you did your best not to wince. The heat of the fabric stung, blazing-hot needles stabbing themselves deep into your flesh. The cloth itself dug deep into your shoulders, constraining your movements.

Much like a straitjacket. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. You were probably the last person in here who needed to be put into one. Every last soul in Twisted Wonderland was mad.

God help you, you might follow suit if this keeps up.

A round of applause. Riddle’s gloved hands clasped each other as he beamed at you. Smile as dazzling as the golden crown that adorned his head.

“You look simply ravishing, my dear.”

His arm stretched out, pinching the cloth that draped over your thigh. Instantly, your hand rushed over in attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

In the process, your fingertips brushed against his, nudging him back ever so slightly. A brief touch could be explained away with a smile and a joke. Pushing him, out of all people, away?

You could feel the anger radiating off him. The searing heat coming off his body in waves, scorching every inch of your skin. The slight tremble in his fingers as they reached for your collar, gripping firmly.

Riddle drags you forward by the throat, yanking you closer to him. Your lungs gasped, collapsing into themselves. Your chest shuddered, trying to inhale even just the slightest breath of air-

It burns.

Your throat, your nose, your mouth were all on fire, forked tongues of pain jabbing deep into your veins. Everything burnt.

With a fury like no other.

Spluttering, your hands claw at his wrist, lips moving soundlessly, desperately. Begging Riddle to release you, to let you breathe-

He finally relents, loosening his grip. Gasping, you clutch at your chest, lungs greedily sucking up whatever air they could reach. It took a few shuddering coughs before your heart stopped racing.

Even then, it still beat rather loudly in your ears. Trashing against its cage of bone, a feral beast threatening to burst right out of your chest.

Gently, something slid across the curve of your chin. A sceptre, as cold as ice. Even the slightest touch made your skin crawl, goosebumps racing up your limbs. Riddle holds it there for awhile, nudging your jaw until your eyes were forced to meet his.

Those accursed crimson irises.

Gingerly, he raises a gloved hand to his lips. Teeth biting down on the edge of the silk, he pulls it off. Discarding it somewhere onto the ground. Riddle reaches for you with his hand, now bare. Cupping your face gently, tenderly, like one would with a lover.

His eyes flickered towards yours, a silent warning.

Do not reject his touch.

Do not reject his gifts.

Do not reject him.

Or it’ll be your head rolling next.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x reader #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle #riddle x reader #yandere riddle #yandere riddle x reader #protection potion ♦️

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romantique-dreams · 2 years

Text

IT'S GONNA KILL ME - E.M

summary: your parents just happened to not be home, and hawkins' infamous sex-god needed an outlet for his anger, but pink rooms and relationships were not his thing.

wc: 3.8k

it's gonna kill me vol. 2 (here)

warnings: 18+ minors dni! spit kink, swearing, unprotected sex, p in v, choking, fwb (kinda), fuckboy/mean!eddie, making out, dom(ish)!eddie, creampie, masturbation (m&f), nipple play, petnames. that's all i can think of, but please let me know if you find more!

You could sense the way every time you would give Eddie a kiss, his body would go rigid. It wasn’t hard to ignore—he didn’t like physical touch when it came to purposeful intimacy. It was a routine for the both of you though; you’d meet wherever he saw fit, went inside, laid on the picnic table, leaned against the stall door, or sprawled out on the floor of his van. You would fuck like rabid animals, swap each others stash, and go your different ways. You were almost positive his heart was ripped from his chest. It was possible his core could have been filled with cement, with each ventricle plugged, or nerve endings severed to prevent the dreadful emotions from slipping in or out.

“Where are we meeting tonight, hot stuff?” You sniggered over the other end of the phone.

“God dammit, how about you not call me that, yeah? And, well, my uncle is home.”

Eddie hated pet names outside of making you feel good during sex.

Your eyebrows pulled together while thinking of something. He was going to hate this. “You’ve never been to my house, what about here?”

“No can do,” his vowels were drawled out, “Pink, girly rooms, not my thing. Major turn off. Besides, your family is way too into each other, ‘makes me sick.”

“Dude, get over yourself. Do you want to get your rocks off, or what? My parents aren’t home, I’m alone, no one will even see you pull into my driveway. I’m plenty far enough away from the main road.”

Eddie’s entire being shuddered thinking of being caught with you, and having to go through the ‘is this your boyfriend?’ conversation.

The line was silent until Eddie muttered under his breath.

“Alright, fine. I’ll just come there.” He hung up.

“Love you too, sweetcheeks,” you sneered and slammed the phone down onto the receiver.

Eddie went as far as shaving. He had a sex-god reputation among the girls in Hawkins, and there was no way he was going to lose that title due to being unshaven on one of the worst weeks of his life. He splashed some aftershave along his jawline, and rubbed some on the freshly shaven skin below his belt, a hiss escaping between his teeth. He dressed himself in a black and white flannel, the top two buttons undone, his mane framing his face and cascading down his back, with his infamous bulge-hugging black jeans. Regardless of anyone wanting to admit it at Hawkins, he was some goddamn eye candy. The metalhead placed himself in the driver seat of his van, he ruffled his flannel, and smoothed down the collar. He started his van, and drove off.

You had dressed yourself into a tight tank top that accentuated the apex of your breasts just right, and pulled your hair to the crown of your head in a ponytail held up by a tattered scrunchie that was tradition to use while sucking him off. It was in no time that he was pulling up to your driveway, hearing him stroll down the winding trail that led to a hidden house away in the woods.

You closed your eyes and inhaled through your nose. You could feel it again. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t as if this was going to be different than any other time, it was merely a routine—each position and touch just another item checked off on the list. You and Eddie were each other's relief. While others meditated, you guys fucked.

You gathered yourself, picking up all the sentiment that had seeped out onto the floor beneath. “”Sup, bitch?”

“Just here to fuck your brains out, I guess.” Eddie shoved his hands in his front pockets.

“You should try taking a girl on a date first, sheesh.” You stepped out of the way and bent down, signifying royalty entering your humble abode.

“Um, how about try shutting the fuck up?” He snipped back towards you while kicking his shoes off. “You know I don’t do that, I like getting to the point. Less hassle, less attachment, freedom.”

“How do you even keep a girl around? Going on a date and actually having fun isn’t that barbaric to you, is it?”

He turned to you, eyes narrowing. “Let’s just say my skills make up for lack thereof in the dating department, ‘kay? And are you trying to go on a date, or are you trying to come? Because right now it seems like you want me to take you out and spend my hard earned money selling to minors on you. You gettin’ all mushy on me? Do I need to end this?”

You shrugged with a sly smirk. “Believe whatcha’ want to believe, honey. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Eddie was taken aback. Was he really making that up because he wanted to, or did it just seem like you wanted to?

He took a slight step towards you with his mouth pressed into a firm line, his jaw clenching tightly as the muscles moved under his pale skin. “Can you stop with the pet names, for the love of god?”

“Mmm—, I’ll think about it.” You shot him a finger towards him and then scratched your chin with a half-assed pondering look on your face.

“You piss me off, you know that?”

“It’s what I do best, right?”

You were putting up a facade that didn’t feel like you, clearly. You enjoyed the banter between the both of you, but sometimes you wanted it to be laced with something for one another. You just wanted him to have some sort of care in the world, the smallest hope wanting it to be for you.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You tell me all of the time, can’t forget.”

“So, are you going to show me to your bedroom, or are we just going to sit here holding our dicks in our hands?” He peered at you, sticking his head out with an annoyed look.

“Well, considering you’re the guest and all, and I’m a nice host,” you jabbed his chest with your finger that was still hanging in the air. “I was going to ask if you wanted water or anything, but you can’t wait to get into my pants, so I’m assuming you aren’t thirsty.”

Eddie’s wall faltered, a brick crumbling and dropping to the ground. He stepped back from you while he fiddled with the metal around his fingers. You were just trying to be nice, that’s all, but all he could do was take his anger out onto you at the end of a long week. Wayne was on his ass, business at school was slow, and the shop had a month's wait that was filled with cars needing to be fixed.

“I mean I could use some water, sure.” He was quick with his words and rounded the couch next to the entryway of your house.

“Alright, I’ll be right back, ‘kay? Don’t get too impatient.”

His wall was reconstructed and his posture firmed. The couch was too hard, it was too sterile in here, it looked like no one even lived in here. His hands rubbed up and down his upper thighs, too uncomfortable to lean back. He was out of his element. These events never happened anywhere but his house. He didn’t have the comfort of his home to be able to keep up the crassness of his persona.

You scurried yourself off to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, hair trailing behind you as you turned the corner. You began to realize the neverending roller coaster of emotions you had purchased a ticket to when you first endeavored in this risque escapade with Eddie. He gave you whiplash with his constant demeanor changes and his vulgar words.

You were quick to return to the living room with the glass of water in hand. You stopped in the doorway noticing his unyielding silhouette, he was sticking out like a sore thumb in your living room that was littered with family memorabilia. Eddie had told you once a small snippet of past life; the desolation of it all as his mom worked countless nights at the hospital, while his dad was out doing ‘business deals’, or so he told him. You could do nothing but hurt for him as he opened up to you. Although you were both stoned out of your minds, you appreciated the small intimate moment you’d cherish between the two of you. It had been the only occurrence, yet all you tried to do was get to know him from then on, and he never budged.

“Alright, order up!” You slid him the glass of water across the coffee table.

“Yeah, thank—,” He began monotonously.

“You’re welcome my kind sir.” You bent before him and curtsied.

Eddie was quick to gulp down some of his water as you sat down next to him, setting the cup down after with a content exhale. He was still sitting upright, his back never touching the sofa behind him. This was not him, nor will it ever be. He didn’t do the cordial conversations in the living room, or the witty flirtatious remarks, or the talking stage in the first place. He was there to liberate all of his pent up emotions into you and get out. You were his release, merely but a short hour of his day.

You were quick to place yourself next to him with a raised brow. “Why do you look like you have an actual stick up your ass right now?”

Eddie turned to you and glared as he gestured between the two of you. “Because this shit is stupid, that’s why. I don’t want to be here longer than it takes to fuck you. Get in, get out. That’s all I’m here for, so can we get this show on the road?”

Your heart twinged within your chest. Was it really that bad to actually spend some time together without fucking your brains out? Was it oh so terrible to not be around you without your tits out? Those were questions that were meant to be left unanswered, unaccounted for; because in all honesty you couldn’t stomach the actual truth.

You clicked your tongue against your teeth and motioned towards the stairs. “Yeah, you’re right. C’mon, my room is upstairs.”

You briskly walked away, leaving a scrambling Eddie behind you as he followed to your bedroom. Without hesitation you slammed the door behind you, immediately removing your clothes from your body. Your blood was boiling, pumping hot beneath your skin and fuelling the fire that was burning. You grabbed Eddie by his broad shoulders while your fingernails dug into the fabric hanging off of them and stood him in front of you, following by undoing each button on his flannel. Your jaw was tightened and your eyebrows were low, pupils growing in size from the anger that resonated within you.

Eddie looked down at you quizzically, both hands beside him in the air to surrender. He didn’t mind the idea, but your abruptness startled him. You never took initiative when it came to starting these moments, but he wasn’t complaining.

You continued on with your mission; unbuttoning his pants next and removing them, completely taking his flannel off of his slender body. You were already shirtless and pantless by now, only remaining in your bra and underwear. You placed both of your hands onto his bare chest and shoved him down onto the bed, straddling him instantaneously. Your bra was gone within seconds as you ground your hips down onto his confined length, slotting your mouth above his. Hot, sweet breath was fanning against his cheeks as you stared at him with intensity. Eddie was the first to connect your lips together, with each eager kiss ending in you both gasping for air.

“Goddamn, baby, what’s got you all riled up?”

First he’s mean, now pet names?

“You, asshole,” you spat at him as you slid your hand into his boxers, only after you spit into your hand. Your anger was evident in every movement you made.

A sharp inhale was heard from Eddie as your velvety hand that was slick with spit connected with his now swollen cock, precum beading at the tip. You gave him quick pumps to his mid-shaft as you could feel it twitch beneath while your hand grazed the under ridge of his head. His head was thrown back, his hair cascading down to either side of his while his Adam's apple bobbed with each gulp he took. A carnal instinct was building within Eddie’s aura, he attached his lips to yours once more, savoring the sweet flavor of your saliva against his taste buds.

Eddie wasn’t about to be the one taken control of. You made him come to your house, you made him come into your room, you were the one making him only think about you. He flipped the both of you in one fluid motion, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he pinned both wrists down against your duvet cover.

“I’m going to set the record straight for ‘ya—,” He paused as his hair tumbled down to cast a shadow over your features, “I’m in charge, not you. It’s bad enough we’re at your house, in your room, got it?”

You were quick to submit, curtly nodding up at him, lips forming into a pout.

“Good, wasn’t taking no for an answer anyways.” He shrugged, pulling your bottom half to the edge of the bed.

Eddie was quick to have his hands on you, making sure to let his hot touch linger on your skin. He danced his fingers down your side, harsh squeezes being made to each malleable part you held, sure to leave imprints in your delicate skin. Your lip was pulled between your teeth and you exhaled short breaths through your nose. He continued his expedition down to your puffy core with one slender digit trailing up between your folds and collecting your arousal. He replaced his now slick finger with two others rubbing abrupt circles into your clit, his other finger slipping between his lips and releasing with a pop.

“Y’taste so fucking sweet, ‘ya know that, baby?” He cooed, a harsh contrast to his actions.

Your legs squirmed beneath him and your eyes shut tightly as crinkle lines formed by your lash line. Your body was jerking with each of Eddie’s swipes over your bud, electricity shooting to the end of each neuron in your brain. There was one thing about Eddie you couldn’t deny, when he said his skills in bed made up for where he was lacking, he wasn’t wrong. He was so good at making someone feel good. He knew just what made you give yourself up to him, and what left you wanting more. He could read you like a book, and had memorized each word with sticky notes next to each quirk that made you come in an instant.

While his left hand was working his other had traveled to your throat, fingers wrapping around to the nape of your neck. The veins in your neck were bulging and you could feel the air becoming harder and harder to breathe, your air supply was being cut off now. Eddie could feel your rapid pulse that was bounding beneath his calloused hand, a smirk of satisfaction resonating on his lips. Your climax was building, but interrupted by his fingers sliding into you with an embarrassingly wet squelch.

The metalhead's fingers slammed into you with force, the edges of his fingertips were curled to graze the spongy spot with each entrance and exit. Your eyes were now rolled to the back of your head and your jaw went slack, mouth dropping down to touch your chest as you propped yourself up on your elbows. Gasps and chokes for air, slapping skin, and your arousal being spread beneath you were the only sounds heard in the room.

Positions were eventually switched and Eddie was soon enough plunging his aching cock inside of you. You swallowed him whole, each thrust inwards being met with a clench of your slicked walls.

“God, you’re so fucking warm, fuck—,” Eddie cooed, pussy drunk already.

This was one thing you had over him. Your whole being when you were intimate had him intoxicated, so inebriated to the point you could get him to do anything for you. You wanted him to eat you out? Done. You want him to finger you a certain way? Done. Whatever it was, he was at your beck and call. You knew you were special compared to the other girls, the way he paid extra attention to all your curves and delicacies, but also sold to you for free on the side. You were higher on the totem pole compared to the groupies who hung around The Hideout.

Eddie’s thrusts picked up in pace and depth, giving your cervix slight kisses with each dive into you. Your lips attacked the soft alabaster skin of his neck while your nails did a number on his back—scraping harshly, leaving puffy trails of red behind. Little did anyone know it, but you owned him. You always made sure to leave marks, whether that be just for you to see, or others.

“Shit, baby. Y’gonna leave me lookin’ like a leper when I show up to school tomorrow,” he grumbled against your neck, syllables emphasized by his plunges.

“That’s okay, god damn—, that’s fine. Gotta let them know I’m your favorite,” you hissed through your teeth, whimpers trailing behind.

Eddie’s smirk glistened in the dim light of your room and he nipped at your neck. “You caught me there, you feel so fucking good compared to anyone else, mhm.”

Your orgasm was rising in your lower stomach, only noticeable from the immense heat flowing throughout your body, while pleasure kissed each overstimulated neuron. Your muscles were tensing; all the way from your calves to your jaw, the skin above going rigid. As Eddie continued his relentless pace your hands were entangled in the mess he called his hair, harsh tugs ensuing after.

Eddie had come to the decision to really set you ablaze beneath him. His ring clad hand found its way around your neck once again, only applying pressure to the sides, making sure to be careful of not cutting off your airflow too much. How considerate. His mouth attached to your pebbled nipples, and gently rolled them between his two front teeth, while contrasting with brutal bites to the supple surrounding skin. He finished with his free hand moving to your clit, the sad, pitiful bundle of nerves that ached for him.

It wasn’t long before you were overstimulated. “Eddie, ‘s a lot, c’mon,” you choked out.

“Ah-ah, what did I say? I make the rules tonight sweetheart, fuck‒,” he grunted with a particularly gruff thrust into you. “I came here, this is my night. Do you understand?”

His words were succeeded with a splat of saliva from Eddie that landed on your tongue. You were quick enough to savor his taste sucking on the remnants dancing on your tastebuds. Something about him tonight seemed so primal, so salacious. You couldn’t help but succumb to him and nod your head.

“Thatta girl.” His pace accelerated significantly to the point you were sure he was tearing you in half.

He raised an eyebrow towards you and released his hand from your throat to snatch your chin between his pointer finger and his thumb. “You’re gonna let go for me in just a second when I tell you to, okay? I want you to come so hard on my fucking cock while I come inside of you. I’m gonna let you have all of my sweet stuff, and make you all sticky and shit. Y’gonna feel so fucking dirty, ‘mkay?”

All you could do was nod, you were desperate. You were already robbed of your first orgasm, and each thrust of his was bringing you closer to the brink of your release. It was becoming painful, tears brimming at the bottom of your eyes. You had known from experience what it was like to come when Eddie had told you not to.

Eddie replaced your newfound necklace, his hand, and smirked. He had already angled your hips slightly upwards so your bottom was off of the bed, and your spongy spot was being hit with a relentless amount of force. Lewd sounds were filling the room—nothing but slicked symphonies and desperate whines were to be heard, and Eddie was the director of it all. Surely it was the most sinful orchestra you had listened to.

With each dive into you, your breasts recoiled and your eyes screwed shut. A layer of sweat was visible now as small droplets formed at your temples and above your lip. You could feel it. Your orgasm was approaching and you were hoping to god his was too, practically praying on your hands and knees to have some sort of relief. It was as though angels were singing to you when you finally heard him speak.

“Go ahead, baby, come for me,” he gasped out as his own release came.

Your body jerked as the wave of consolation consumed you. With toes curling, hands ripping at the sheets beneath you, walls convulsing, and your back arching you were letting out the unholiest of sounds. Wetness pooled beneath you while Eddie’s potent seed covered your gummy walls.

Eddie’s hips slammed into you a few more times until he was hopelessly rocking into your sticky hole, the both of you riding out your orgasms. He fell completely forward while small wisps of his mane tickled your neck. He let out a shudder and slowly pulled himself from inside of you.

“Good, huh?” He chuckled and laid himself down next to you, a content sigh coming after.

“It was mediocre.”

This wasn’t a common occurrence for Eddie after your visits. He never laid down next to you, instead he was lighting up and ushering you out the front door as soon as you were dressed.

He looked over at you, bewilderment covering his soft features while he slid closer. “You’re bullshitting me.”

“Great catch, smart one,” you quipped as you rolled your eyes. “I wouldn’t have came if it wasn’t mind blowing, ‘ya know? I have high standards after all.”

“As if you’ve ever been with anyone besides me,” he grinned. “Your standards are literally me, idiot.”

“Whatever.”

Eddie stood himself up from the bed, legs a bit wobbly as he carried himself over to your vanity. He bent down to inspect the damage done to his neck and back, gently tracing his fingers over the love bites that were beginning to form.

“Looks like I’ll only be exclusively seeing you for the next week, my dear. Can’t have my other babes knowing I let you give me these, no one gets to mark me up.”

Did he just say that?

There was a strange feeling residing in Eddie, he wasn’t sure what it was. Did you just break through to him? There was no way you had steam rolled the wall he built for himself when he was around you. It was secure, strong, fortified with every emotion blocker known to himself. Was it really all that bad?

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose between his pointer finger and thumb as he let out a shaky exhale.

There was no way Eddie could possibly indulge himself in this mess, he couldn’t. Relationships weren’t his thing, or were they?

a/n: this was a whole process of writing, i apologize if it isn't my best! i have been very busy and mentally ill LMFAO. i hope everyone enjoys it tho! i'm very insecure about this one hahahads. i went through and proofread it myself, so i'm hoping there are no mess ups, but if there are please feel free to let me know! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

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frostironfudge · 2 years

Text

My Angel - Bucky Barnes Smut

Summary: Bucky Barnes, your father's best friend has been very, very patient about matters involving you. Seeing you in that outfit however, he can't help but want to corrupt his angel.

Pairing: DBF! Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: main kink: corruption, age gap: bucky is 40 reader late twenties eg: 26, smut, dom/sub dynamics, possessiveness, slight dark bucky, praise kink, mild degradation kink, nickname - angel, oral f receiving, p in v, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, handjob, cosplay, cum play, Bucky Barnes is a warning MINORS DNI

A.N: i always wanted to write DBF!Bucky and the best way is smut I guess, hope you enjoy! also side note i know nothing of the hobbit and i did ask my best friend @stevesmewmew about it. also song i constantly heard while writing - dirty thoughts - chole adams

Word Count: 3020

Main Masterlist|| AO3 || Kinktober Materlist

You stare at yourself in the mirror, gnawing your bottom lip. The white dress looks pretty, sort of flowy, your cheeks heat at why you picked the outfit.

The lace sits nicely, you stare at the silver woven crown you DIY-ed. Placing it upon your head. You don’t know the first thing about the character apart from what you found on google.

Galadriel, you stare at your attempt of cosplay one more time. You do admire the dress. All your best friend said was she was powerful, innocent and that she had battle skills as well as knowledgeable. She seemed badass.

You knew the man’s eye you watched to catch was a fan of the franchise. You wondered who he would dress as, your palms smoothen over the dress once again. Grabbing your purse you do a final check and head downstairs. Nervousness blooms in your abdomen.

Your elder brother’s annual halloween party was an excuse for friends and teens to sort of let loose. The only reason it was even allowed was the fact that Bucky Barnes, your dad’s best friend and neighbour would keep the antics in line. The same man who you wanted to impress tonight.

Usually he would be having fun with everyone and covering for your brother’s shenanigans and mostly keeping you company and coaxing you out of your shell for about an hour and then you both would sneak into the theatre room to have a horror movie marathon.

As you traverse downstairs, the party already in full swing. Music thumping, you squeeze past the crowd in the hallway going to the kitchen for a drink. You wonder if forgoing the wig makes a difference as you head to the fridge. Shrugging you uncap the bottle. Glad, that the kitchen isn’t occupied yet.

“Holy fuck.” The voice startles you and the water drops across your chest. You wince turning to tell of the source. Your throat dries when it’s Bucky — dressed in a suit, fangs peaking through his lips.

“B-bucky?” You confirm, he’s gone for the modern vampire vibe and you can’t stop staring at the fit of his inner white collared shirt.

“You, you’re dressed as—,” his eyes trace over you, crown to hem of the white gown. His fake fang sinks into his bottom lip. Tongue then peeking out to wet the flesh.

You gulp eyes on his lips, “G-galadriel.”

“You look, ethereal.” He admits, you look away shyly.

“Thank, thank you.” Internally your heart hammers at his response.

Bucky steps closer, towering over you. His woodsy cologne evades your senses, he reaches up, fixing your crown. Fingertips then trace from your temple to your jaw to your chin, tilting your head back.

His heated gazes prompts your thighs to clench. Bucky inhales deeply.

“Such innocence.” He murmurs, “So much light. How would you look flush against darkness?” Bucky questions he can feel all the blood rush to his cock. Your nipples hardened perceivable through the lace. The tea towel he holds pressed against your chest.

He wants to push you against the wall and kiss you. Wants to rip the lace off with his teeth, watch how your lips part moaning his name, or stretched around his cock, how would you look bouncing on his— you blink up at him, he shifts back.

“Can’t taint you, can I?” He muses. You frown.

“Bucky I,”

“Do you like my outfit?” He gestures, changing the topic.

“Vampire?” You giggle when he smiles brightly, fangs bared.

“From those shows you like,” He admits sheepish.

“The one I like wears a leather jacket.” You tease, he narrows his eyes.

“Oh so when I caught you salivating at the suit wearing one, that was what?” He chuckles when you huff caught in your own web of lies.

“I do like him in a suit, you might just make it better.” Your fingertips trace the undone jacket button, biting your lip you look up at him.

Bucky breathes your name in warning, not for himself but for you. He had begun to disregard warnings the night he coated his fist and abdomen with his cum thinking about you.

“Want to know a dirty little secret?” You burn his curiosity brighter than light. He nods.

“I wore the outfit for you.” Your hand traces up to the jacket lapel, Bucky breathes deeply.

“You dressed up as one of the most innocent characters of my favourite series, for me?” Bucky recounts, god your perfume so sweet. How would you taste? He wonders.

“All for you.” You admit, swallowing when his palm finally meets your waist. Warmth sears through your skin as his thumb brushes over the lace.

Bucky’s mind is a swirl of should I, should I not, but you were making it so easy. So easy to choose the idea to corrupt you.

The groan he produces rumbles in his chest, Bucky watches as you shift and your pelvis moves in the slightest to your thighs clenching.

“Want to know a dirty little secret, Angel?” He questions, palm trailing up your side, to your breast.

“Y-yes.” You bite your lip trying not to make a sound as he palms the flesh through the lace.

“I want to ruin you, with my tongue, my fingers and my cock.” Bucky’s voice is deep, you softly moan at his words.

“Look at that, little innocent angel wants to be ruined.” He comments, tugging on your nipples.

“You’re going to look so pretty wrapped around my cock, begging for release.” He tugs on your earlobe, you feel his thigh between your legs, your hips buck involuntary, you whimper at the contact.

“Look at you Angel, turning into such a needy, pretty slut for me.” Bucky marvels at the way you’re complying, the way your needy little breaths are making him so hard.

He pulls away as he hears boisterous laughter approaching. You whine at the loss of him.

“Angel.” He chastises. Handing you the dish towel to help soak the water from your dress.

“Oh hey, Mr. Barnes, hey tiny.” Your brother chuckles when you groan at his stupid nickname for you. He busies himself taking out drinks from the wine cooler.

“Hi Y/N. What happened?” Nick Fowler, your brother’s best friend steps closer to you.

“Just spilled a drink,” you shrug, his grey eyes on you.

“Oh I’ll help—,” Nick’s hand outstretches, but Bucky steps closer, “She’s got it.”

Nick’s jaw tenses, Bucky only smiles at him.

You look between the two, not understanding the reason for the stare down.

“Run along now.” Bucky speaks sickly sweet as your brother calls out to Nick, he gives you a once over and then leaves with him.

You look at Bucky, he turns to you, signs of irritation leaving his features.

“Meet me in my theatre room?” Bucky smiles when you nod eagerly.

He cups your face between, his metal and calloused hand.

Blue eyes, admire you.

“I want the crown to remain on, though I wonder if it will stay secure after I’m done with you.” Before you can react he presses his lips to yours, warm, soft lingering taste of his whiskey.

The cold metal of the refrigerator blooms across your back as he presses you against the appliance.

You kiss back, as his tongue swipes at your bottom lip exploring your mouth. Taking his bottom lip between your teeth you suck on the flesh, he moans your name, grinding against you.

Bucky parts his lips from yours, your lust blown eyes gaze up at him, so innocent.

“Oh, Angel. I don’t think I have any patience left any longer.” Is all he says before grabbing your hand and guiding you out the side door, towards his house.

Bucky’s hands are everywhere, your knees either side of his lap, the dress pushed up bunching around your hips. He lifts his hips ever so slightly, you cry out around his fingers.

“Go on Angel, get them nice and wet. Good girl, oh are you chocking on my fingers already? Oh sweet little needy baby, what will you do with my cock then?” He tuts, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, a trail of saliva connects from the tip of his finger to your lips.

“Ask for my fingers Angel.” Bucky smirks as you whine.

“Please.” Your hands rest on his chest.

“That wasn’t a really good job.” He chastises, “You can do better sweet Angel, go on say the filthy words of what you want from me.”

Staring into his eyes, your skin heats, Bucky shifts his hips again, you mewl.

“Bucky please.” Your hands clutch at his half unbuttoned shirt. It hangs off of his shoulders.

“Please what?” His left hand moves up your back, cooler fingers find the zipper undoing it.

“Please fuck me with, with your fingers.” You bite your lip.

“Only my fingers?” He teases thumb brushing over your inner thigh.

“Do you want to sit on my face baby? Do you want me to lap up your sweetness? Bet you taste so good.” His thumb brushes over your clit.

You nod, you want all of it.

“No panties, no bra, were you wanting me to fuck you?” He raises a brow, thumb applying pressure.

You nod preening, “Want, want you.” His left hand urges you to kneel straighter, index and middle finger circling your entrance.

“You want, me, Angel?” He confirms again, “Look at you, clenching around nothing, let’s change that shall we?” His digit sinks into you, Bucky swirls it around touching your walls, he then begins to pump in and out.

You begin to meet the slow thrusts, your gown beginning to fall from your shoulders. Bucky swears as he sees the untouched skin and the pebbled nipples.

“Look at you,” Two fingers fucking into your cunt, “Meeting every thrust, not so innocent are you?” His lips latch onto your nipple, sucking and biting your head thrown back his palm rubs over your clit as you grind down upon his fingers.

Bucky shifts his attention to the other nipple, the pace of his fingers increasing he adds a third, “Have to stretch you out don’t I? Aw, Angel are you going to make a mess on me? My Dirty, dirty girl.”

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky—,” His fingers continually tap over the spongy sport, stars begin to cloud your vision, left hand gripping your breast, tweaking your nipples.

“Go on, cum for me Angel, this is only the beginning of your ruin.” Bucky smirks as you shudder against him, cunt squeezing his fingers, thighs trying to close, your hands tugging on is hair.

Lust blown blues admire you unraveling, the bliss spreading over your features as the orgasm takes you, your walls begging to keep his fingers in, Bucky’s palm rubbing circles over your clit and the burn of it delicious. Your shaking from the aftershocks ceases. It takes everything in Bucky not to have his fingers replaced by his cock swiftly.

“You with me Angel?” Bucky chuckles, when you blink through the haze.

“Y-yeah.” You run your fingers through his hair.

“Crown’s still on.” He chuckles, bringing his slick covered fingers to your lips, “Have a taste, you need to know how you taste without me.”

His fingertips trace your lips, your tongue follows. Bucky then tastes you from his fingers and moans.

Your dress is pushed off of your body, Bucky’s hands roam in admiration.

“So fucking delicious, I deserve a reward don’t I? For being this patient, for letting you remain untainted by me this long.” He looks at you, you nod. Bucky taps your hips and you move off him to allow him to slide down.

He kisses your clit, “Already needy, my, my.” his tongue licks over your folds, humming at your taste.

“Grab onto the headboard, Angel.” He says before his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks wantonly upon the pulsing nub. Shivers bloom across your back.

You moan, grinding onto his face, he groans. Hands clutching your hips not letting you move away, Bucky laps at your entrance, licking stripes from your clit to circle and back. Nibbling on the clit your mewls and preens don’t stop, his light scruff burns deliciously over your inner thighs and folds.

“Bucky please, please, please—,” You warn as the coil snaps again, his hips lift off of the bed in response as he hungrily devours you for every single drop. When he doesn’t relent you try pulling away, you can feel yourself getting slick again as his ministrations continue.

His large hands push you back to sit on his lap again, pink lips glistening as he smirks. He pulls you close chest to chest.

“Rewarding.” He comments lazily tracing patters on your thigh.

You look down, the tent in his pants achingly visible.

“Can, can I?” You request.

“All words, Angel, need to know the filth that goes on in that innocent little mind, tell me is it all for me? Have my thoughts been corrupting you?” Your thighs squeeze at his word.

“Have you touched yourself thinking about me? Played with my pussy without asking me?” His thumb returns to your clit.

“Yes.” You squeak.

“Tell me what you’ve thought about baby?” He questions, “Tell me while you undo my pants, go on.”

Shaky fingers reach for the button, “I’ve thought, I’ve though about you fucking me, in your study.” You undo the zipper.

“Bent over my table?” He questions watch your tits with every deep breath you take.

You shake your head, toying with the wait band of his boxers.

“Against the window? My sweet, innocent, Angel wants the world to see I’m fucking her?” He questions, you nod.

“And maybe the table too.” You add, drawing amused laughter from him.

“What else, Angel?” He questions pace on your clit increasing, “Take my cock out.”

You do as he says, pumping him from bottom to top, his length is massive and girth as well. You bite your lip.

“Angel, don’t worry your pretty little head, it’ll fit, pussy was made for my cock.” He hisses as you rub your thumb on the slit then you bring the precum covered digit to your lips, locking eyes with him.

“Go on, taste me.” He watches as you clean your thumb eyes closed and humming at his taste before returning your hand to his cock.

“Stand up, we’re going to my office.” Bucky’s cock twitches in your hold.

His clothes are discarded, he easily lips you up, legs wrapped around him, his cock shifts over your folds with each step, Bucky keeps his lips pressed to yours as he easily moves to his office down the hall.

“Bend over the table corner.” He instructs, setting you down, you do as he says the cold marble has you shift, the rounded corner touches your clit.

“Just how I pictured.” He hums appreciative, lining himself up with you, slowly sinking in inch by inch you both moan in synchrony. Bucky grabs your hands holding them behind you. The arch it creates has him move in deeper, tip right against your g-spot.

“Fuck, so fucking tight, look at you, spread out for me, what would people say? Innocent little Angel is Bucky’s pretty little slut. She fantasises about being fucked by him. I’ll fuck you on every surface if you ask me.” His hips snap you cry out, clenching hard around him.

“Only you.” You whimper, as his pace increases, the cold marble rubbing against your clit.

“Fuck, how good are you squeezing me, cunt doesn’t want to let me go.” Bucky groans, pulling you up.

His cock moves deeper, your back is against his chest, his left hand moves to your clit, right hand around your throat squeezing lightly. Your walls quiver around him.

“Oh Angel likes being choked? Fuck, you’re perfect. My pretty little slut, look at you.” He groans, adding pressure and the sounds of his cock have you mewl and preen.

“Please, please, please,” More incoherent thoughts spill from your lips, he feels so good, so good. So deep.

“Only I, get to see you this way don’t I? Begging, on the brink of bliss.”

Yes, yes, yes—“Bucky, please—,”

“Look at you, can only think about my cock filling you up so good, can’t you Angel?” He bites down on your neck, leaving his mark.

“So, g-good,” You choke on another moan.

Your hands around his neck, your nails manage to claw at his flesh. Bucky knows he’s not going to last, he knows you aren’t going to either.

“Go on Angel, cum so you can feel me everywhere. My dirty, little, pretty girl. Innocent little slutty Angel.” His words set off the flame that consumed your veins, distantly you hear a desperate cry of Bucky’s name, Bucky groans your name in response your spasming walls setting his orgasm off.

He continues to fuck you through your orgasms, panting in his arms, Bucky loves how your pussy feels wrapped around him. He leans back taking you with him into his plush chair.

Cock still inside of you, his fingers rubbing at your clit, you protest, his hand clutches at your hair, lips swallow down your protests, fingers moving fast your babbles return, cumming undone on his cock, marking it with yourself.

“Look at that Angel, you’ve claimed my cock.” He admires the fluids coating your thighs and his balls, gathering the cum, he brings his fingers to your lips.

You keep your eyes locked with his, as you lick his fingers clean. Your clit pulses at the taste. Bucky smirks feeling your pussy clench. Your mind is a haze as his lips press kisses to your temple and cheek.

“I’ve got all night to corrupt your thoughts further. Against the window next, Angel. I know someone who would hate to miss out on the show we put on.” He chuckles darkly, hands roam your body.

You hum tiredly, basking in the warmth, Bucky’s eyes shift to the broken crown discarded to the floor.

“Little corrupted Angel.” He hums, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, "My Angel." He repeats, placing a soft kiss over the love bite on your neck.

"All yours, Bucky." You whisper, tilting your head back to meet his blue eyes.

-x-

permanent tags for bucky: @slutforsexyseabass

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