To Serve a King
Sequel to To Bend the Knee
Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, abuse of power, mentions of violence, blood kink, crying kink/dacriphylia, humiliation, oral. My tags are not exhaustive, proceed at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your brother is killed by rebels and you’re forced to flee the realm, but is your escape any better than staying? (Medieval AU)
Characters: king!Peter Parker
Note: Have a happy weekend <3
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3
Love you all like Prince Charming loves mirrors. Take care. 💖
Peter fixes his jacket as you lean against the end of the bed, holding closed the ruin of your bodice. His boots scuff on the floor as he rolls his shoulders and sighs, pushing straight the circlet around his brow. You mop your nose with the back of your hand as you watch him through puffy eyes. Your body is fiery with shame and agony.
“Don’t be unhappy, my queen,” he nears and bends to look you in the face, “I have conceded to your safekeeping. All you have to do is wear a crown and smile for the people.”
You avert your gaze and bite your lip as you tamp down another sob.
He chuckles and tickles your cheek, “I must go make arrangements for our marriage. The joining of two kingdoms is much ado.” He pulls his hand back and holds it before you, “princess.”
You shakily take his fingers and lean forward to kiss his rings. Pleased, he draws away and you hang your head as you listen to his steps.
“I’ll have your maid come and–”
“N-no,” you say abruptly, “please, your majesty, I will…” you hold back a whimper as you get your feet under you and use the bedpost to get yourself up, “see to myself.”
“Good girl,” he taunts as he nears the door, “tomorrow, you will present yourself to sign the formal betrothal, yes?”
“Yes, your majesty,” you keep your arm across your chest as the silk droops.
He grins and leaves you at last. You stagger back and your bottom hits the bed, sending torment through your muscles. You slump forward and slip your hand between your legs and groan. You don’t know if the physical pain is worse than that in your soul.
As old as you are, you were naive to think that you would receive any favour without cost. You are a princess without a kingdom, so you are vulnerable to the whims of the world. A victim to the callousness of your own kind.
His savagery is hard to fathom. How rough he was. All those years, you knew him as a sweet boy, as a young man with beaming eyes, not another spoiled and spiteful fiend like your brother. The way he held you down, the force behind each mean thrust, his scornful words.
Then you recall his reports of your brother’s fate. Without his head, or innards, and his skin, his body was left to be picked apart by scavengers. You think of what should happen to you; of the same attack you just withstood tenfold over, by strange dirty, angry men, with a worser end.
You stand, shakily and go to the looking glass. Before, you noticed how the road left you looking weary and worn, a few lines beside your eyes and around your mouth, a shallow wrinkle in your forehead, now, all more noticeable in that moment. You should be thankful that a king is still willing to marry the decrepit princess.
Your blood stains your cheek and down your neck, some droplets dried on the canary silk and your shift. You cannot let Callista see, she is too young, she’s survived too much. When she returns, you will be as you were, with good news to share. That she will be safe.
You strip away the shorn layers and wash yourself from the basin with cold water. As you wipe your cunt, you bite your hand to keep from crying out. Your bones hurt as much as your flesh. You can feel him then, ramming into you without relent. Your legs tremble and you grasp the wall to keep from keeling over.
The bleeding subsides though the bite mark is inflamed and tender. You add a linen square beneath the fresh shift and pull a robe around you, tying the belt tight. You bundle the stained clothing and hide it away in the chest of drawers. You will have it burned by a servant when you can.
You pace, restless, knowing you cannot sleep though you are tired. You stop and stare down at the stringy seed still across the floor. You take another rag and wipe it up, scrubbing until the cloth begins to tear, until your fingers are raw. You stop yourself and toss the linen in the hearth.
You sit at the table, the smell of the food sickening. You cover the plates and brace the table. Silent but for the crackle of the fire and the nightbirds winging outside. You stare at the front of your robe.
Could he have truly put a child in you? Are you not too old? And if you do not quicken, what then? What if you have nothing to offer him but yourself? Should he tire of you, what would become of you? Queen or not, kings have never found much trouble in disposing of worthless women.
Callista helps you into the gown of red. You figure it’s best to wear Peter’s colours for your next encounter, a formal one. She’s happy since you told her you would remain in Arache and that the king even offered himself as suitor. Her relief was enough to keep your despair beneath the surface.
“I knew the king would love you, your highness,” Callista trills, “how could he not love a princess?”
“Cal, please,” you chide softly, “today, I shall only sign the betrothal, there are as many dissolved betrothals as fruitful marriages.”
“Oh, but your highness, every servant already knows of it, they all gossip and say the king is in a rare mood, most joyful,” she explains as she fetches you a belt of painted leather, “they say, while he is a man of good humour, he often falls into pensiveness. That he thinks overly much.”
“You should not repeat gossip,” you say, “it is not always true.”
A knock interrupts her girlish protests and she goes to answer the door. A servant offers a wooden box carved with the spiderwebs of Arache. Callista takes it graciously and returns to you.
“It is from the king,” she says, fingering the wax seal on the curled parchment attached to the box, “he is so sweet, your highness, yet you insist he does not love you.”
“We hardly know each other,” you detach the scroll and sit before the looking glass.
You break the seal, the eight-legged creature stamped into it distorting. You uncurl the small scrap and read quietly, grateful that Callista hasn’t her letters.
‘Princess, while I prefer you in nothing but this gift, you might present yourself decently this day in proper attire. Your king.’
His implications are clear and you hide away the scroll in the drawer. Callista teeters eagerly on her feet, fingers wiggling as she longs to unveil the contents of the box.
“What does the king say?” she asks.
“He looks forward to our meeting today,” you lie easily and turn to the table.
You twist the clasp and open the lid slowly. Within, a diadem of silver and amethyst, wrought in a familiar pattern. You stare at it, unmoving.
“It’s so beautiful,” Callista sings but you remain speechless, “your highness?”
“I…” you blink, “I once had an ornament like this before, when I was younger but… it was lost during travel.”
“The king must remember,” she chimes, “so he had it crafted for you.”
“Must,” you reach for it and lift it daintily. You turn it and see behind the biggest stone, the mark of your father’s smith. Was it that very journey to Arache that you lost it? You can’t recall. “Here.”
You hand over the diadem and she moves behind you to palace it on your head, the teardrop amethyst resting above your brow.
In that moment, you see the girl you were those years ago. You wonder what your life would’ve been if you had said yes then. Would Peter have been a kinder lover? Perhaps, it is your doing that he has grown so vicious.
“Your highness,” Callista says breathily, “you look so wonderful.”
You smile, but it’s not true. “We mustn’t let our hopes precede us, I am a deal older than the king and he must consider that. He will have time to reverse his decision.”
“You doubt yourself but you are a princess and your looks are still intact,” she assures you, “how can the prince not be entirely consumed by you?”
You mean, how can he not consume me entirely? You think but do not say it. Let her have her innocence, let her cling to all that you’ve lost, what was taken from you so violently.
“My slippers,” you request, “I would not keep the king waiting, it would be most unseemly.”
You sit at the long table, faced by Peter and his lords; Marquess Stark, Duke Osborn, Earl Leeds, and Earl Morales. Those four men were the same that rode into the yard with the king the day before. They sit, stoic, men of business as you have no other representation but yourself. You wonder how they can justify a betrothal to a princess without a realm.
“Your highness,” Stark addresses you after the reading of the contract, “do you understand the terms as laid out in this bond?”
He is the eldest and the most prestigious among the lords. His dark hair is shocked with grey at his temples and some silver strands in his trimmed beard. His voice betrays a figure of stature and stricture.
“I do, my lord,” you reply, “I understand that once the turmoil in my lands is quelled, that they will be ceded to Arache as a secondary seat.”
“And do you agree to these conditions?” he prompts.
“I do, my lord,” you respond as your eyes move with another’s; it’s not the first time you’ve noticed Osborn’s attention on Callista, the small girl against the wall behind you.
“And your majesty,” the Marquess declares to the king, “do you accept this compact as lawful and sanctified by the Lord?”
“I do,” Peter’s cheek twitches in satisfaction.
“Very well, as we have come to an agreement, we ask now that the parties conclude this contract by applying their signature and seal to the record.”
The document is first presented to Peter. You watch Lord Harry as his brilliant eyes gleam over your head and he grins. You squint at him until he sees your observation and resumes his distant detachment. You do not trust any of these men but him least of all.
Peter sprinkles sand over his signature then takes the stamp handed to him as a servant approaches with a warmed pot of wax in crimson. He presses his mark into the cooling liquid and resigns the stamp. The contact is then turned to you as the same tools are brought to your side of the table, though your seal is set in the bold cerulean of your homeland.
You surprise yourself by keeping your composure. You hand over the stamp and fold your hands on the oaken table top. The king rises, as his lords do the same, and you last. They bow their heads as the contract is swept away by the marquess.
“Lords, I will not keep you any longer, the travel ahead of us will require rest and preparation,” the king says, “so you may disperse and prepare for our imminent departure.”
“Your majesty,” the lords utter almost in unison.
You wait as they leave. It is only the king’s groom and Callista left behind. The council chamber is airy and quiet. Peter watches you as he stands across from you. He plants his hands on the table as he smirks.
“Marlon, take the maid to the princess’s room to ready for the morrow’s journey,” Peter orders, “and send in the soldier.”
You gesture to Callista as the groom moves around the table, she pauses and comes close. You whisper to her, “lock the door.”
She nods and you let her go. You hope she doesn’t forget as you worry for Osborn lingering in expectation of her retreat. Peter sits and motions for you to do the same.
It is a moment before another enters and the king bids for the doors to be closed behind Dunstan.
“Your majesty,” he greets Peter but seems bothered by your presence, hesitating to address you with, “your highness.”
“Sir Duncan,” Peter rises and nears Dunstan, clapping his shoulder. He is not corrected in his misspoken address. “Please, sit, we have much to discuss.”
“I… yes, your majesty,” he looks at you then quickly averts his eyes guiltily.
“The betrothal is set,” Peter crosses his arms as he leans against the table, close to Dunstan, “and I have you to thank for it. You delivered the princess safely, spared her a bitter fate, and so it is to you that a great debt is owed.”
“I only served as I swore to,” Dunstan shifts and clears his throat.
“Ah, but you do require a price as any would, yes?” Peter suggests, “tell me what you want and you will have it.”
Dunstan is silent. He likely didn’t expect you to be present for the negotiation of your own worth. Nor did you. The barter of a princess like a sack of grain. All his good deeds bared before you as selfish labours.
“Come,” Peter pushes himself away from the table, taking long strides around Dunstan’s seat, his hand on his belt, “tell me; perhaps some gold, some land… perhaps a title. Wouldn’t you agree that are princess is worth quite a fee?”
Dunstan rubs his freshly-shaved chin. His eyes spark and his mouth slants. The king comes to stand behind his chair, ringed fingers resting on the high back.
“I wouldn’t complain for–” the soldier begins but sputters as his words are muted by the sudden flash of silver sinking into his neck.
You scream as the king twists the dagger and rips it out, a flood of blood pouring from the gaping hole. Dunstan covers the wound with his hand and chokes as he spits up more red and falls forward against the table, the strength seeping from him as he spasm and the sickly gurgle underline your shrieking.
Peter laughs as he pulls back the chair and Dunstan’s body falls to the floor heavily, leaving a puddle of blood on the table, dripping over the edge. You clasp your hands over your mouth as you hold back another shout. Peter admires the blade, red with death, before his eyes narrow on you.
“You don’t think I have to buy you, princess?” he goads, “you’re already mine.”
You grip the arms of the chair as your lips quivers. You stand as you gape at the blood on the table, “how– why would you do that?”
“Why? For you, princess. Do you think I should let some lowly mercenary insult you? To think there is any price in gold which could meet your worth,” he turns the dagger in his hand, blood on his knuckles as he nears you.
You stand still, focusing on the sharp point of the knife. You wince as he presses it your cheek. He runs it lightly down to your chin and angles your back against the table.
He grabs your throat with his other hand and you wriggle until he squeezes. He pushes you down over the table as he bends over you, pressing his forehead to yours, the knife hovering just above his fingers.
“I don’t get a thank you? That I defended your honour? That I avenged that fool’s deceit?” he snarls and pulls the knife away as you lightly touch his sleeve, trembling as his grip has you wheezing.
He raises the knife and you cry out, closing your eyes as you ready for the descent. He plunges it into the wood beside your head and you sob, body constricting beneath his as he laughs. He lets the blade stand as you open your eyes and glance over at the golden spider wrapped around the handle.
He pushes his bloodied hand over your lips and forces his fingers into your mouth. You nearly gang at the taste as his grasp moves to frame your jaw. He shoves his fingers in and out, as if he’s fucking your mouth as his eyes bore into yours.
“So,” he pushes his knee against your skirt and then his other, parting your legs around him as he withdraws his fingers, “princess, how grateful are you for my valiant favour?”
“V-very,” you stammer, “thank you, your majesty, I–”
“Shhh,” he pulls you away from the table and your feet hit the floor hard. He spins you and grabs the back of your neck, shoving your face to the wood. “I don’t ask for your flowery words, only for a similar gesture.”
He yanks at your skirts and heaps them above your ass, slapping you hard you squeak. You spread your fingers across the oak. You aren’t even disgusted with him, only that you are so weak. He pushes the front of his trousers against you and wiggles his hips.
“I don’t know how I made it through that ridiculous conference,” he growls, “when all I could think of was this.”
You take a deep breath and bow your head against the table. His hand tickles you as he feels along his breeches and plucks them open. You shiver as he frees himself, rubbing between your cheeks as he groans. He kneads your ass as he rocks, teasing himself as he bunches the back of your skirts in his fist.
He guides his tip down to your cunt, prodding at you tauntingly as you twitch, tensing as you try to brace for his intrusion. He laughs as he senses your fear. He pokes against your entrance and inches in, just a little. Your nails dig into the carved wood as he bends over you, hooking his arm around your middle.
He pulls you up and sinks to his hilt. You gasp as you stand on tiptoes and he nuzzles the crook of your neck. He reaches to dislodge the knife from the table and brings the edge to your throat, forcing your head up as he thrust his hips. You grab his wrist, unthinkingly, fearing the bite of the silver.
“I can feel you quaking around me,” he snarls as he lifts his head and nibbles your ear, “is that fear or desire?”
You whine as your eyes well, teardrops spilling in hot beads and landing on his hand as he holds the knife firm to your neck. He grunts as he tilts into you, hitting your hips against the table as another snicker rattles in his throat.
“I think you like this, princess,” he sneers, “hm?” He turns the knife and you wince as he pokes it down to your bodice, slipping it between your cleavage. “You like to bleed for me, don’t you?”
He cuts between your breasts, not deep, but enough to split the skin. The blood rises hotly as he drags the knife from beneath the fabric.
His other hand latches onto your shoulder and forces your back down so your chest hits the table. He hums as your cheek chafes on the wood and you see him lick the length of the blade from the corner of your eye. He snaps his hips so you yelp and traces the dagger over your laces.
“It’s all you, princess,” he spins the point of the dagger on the small of your back, “show me you’re grateful.”
You close your eyes and turn your face down. You pull your hands back to brace the table and push back into him. He lets the knife drift away from you and slaps your ass as he groans. You lean forward and push yourself back again, sliding along his length. He pinches your ass and smacks it again.
“Oh, princess,” he rasps, “look at you.”
You clamp your lips together as your tears trickle onto the table. You just want it to be over, to do whatever you need to, to end it. His hand wraps around your hip and he leads your motion, slamming you back harder as you find a rhythm. His other hand rests on your back, the blade flat to your dress as he urges you on.
His voice rises as you murmur into the wood. You pant as you work at keeping your body moving, muscles burning with the effort. He growls and throws the knife to bounce over the table. He stills you as he squeezes your hip and bends over you once more. His other hand delves beneath your pelvis and along your folds.
You exclaim as a tingle turns to a zing and lights your core. You gulp as he rubs your bud, rolling his fingertips as he rocks into you from behind. His hot breath crawls over your scalp as he puffs into your short hair, flesh clapping as fabric brushes together.
“See, princess, I can be benevolent,” he purrs as his fingers flick quickly along your cunt, “isn’t that nice? Aren’t I nice?”
You gurgle, speechless. The sensation brewing in your loins is unlike anything you’ve felt before. The fullness of him inside of you and the frantic swirling of his fingertips mingle and flow over you like a tide. You shudder and gasp, letting out an inhuman whine as it peaks in a vibrant bloom of pleasure.
Your body spasms against his and you slap the table, reaching back with one hand to cling to his jacket. Senseless, you long for him to be deeper in you, to devour you whole. Your hand falls away limp as the spark dissipates, leaving you breathless and wilting.
Quickly, the shame adds to the heat of your delight and chases it away. Peter keeps on, fucking you against the wood so the wood knocks against you harshly. He keeps his finger flush to your bud as he bucks eagerly, his voice droning until he meets his climax. He crashes into you as hard as he can and holds himself deep as he twitches and spills his seed into you.
He groans as he stills, purring into your hair as he cloyingly rolls his hips, “another fine gift for you, my princess.”
You inhale and let it out slowly, “thank… you…” you eke out.
He laughs and jerks against you hard, “it is entirely my pleasure, princess.”
The road to Spinne, the capital, is only a few days by horse. You’re afforded the first day in a carriage just ahead of the luggage train, then Peter insists you dress in the lilac silk tailored for you and the amethyst diadem for your arrival in the city.
The welcome of the people surprises you as you expected little as an exile. The king rides at your side, dressed in the colour of your kingdom, a rich blue, and gold at his brow. He sits straight and bids you do the same. He makes a show of reining close and kissing your hand as you near the gates of the castle.
You give a smile, a display of your own. It will not do to show your true emotion. You must uphold Peter’s facade for your own good, for that of Callista, and even your realm. Arachne may be the only ally that remains to you.
“Princess,” Peter comes to you as a groom helps you dismount, “I must say farewell until the end of your seclusion, as tradition requires.”
“Seclusion?” you wonder.
“It is a custom of all queens who marry into the royal bloodline, that you retreat until the altar,” he explains, “but you needn’t fear, it will only be some days as the occasion is nearly arranged and you may have your maid.”
You don’t show the relief that swells in your chest. Some time without him, without the threat of him, merely, is enough to hearten you. You keep your face placid.
“Some days? How long precisely, your majesty?” you ask.
He smirks, “are you so keen to have me as your husband?”
You swallow and look down, “I am only curious for how long I need to hide away, your majesty.”
“Three days,” he answers, “but I might… find a way to secret us a rendezvous.”
“Three days is not very long,” you assure him and reach for his hand. You bend and kiss his rings, “your majesty.”
His brows twitch as you straighten. He seems almost pleased. You fight to keep your mask in place. He takes your hand and puts it to his chest as he steps close.
“Find your maid and go,” he says quietly, “or I might not be able to resist for longer.”
You acquiesce and search for Callista in the rush. She’s been quite taken with the whole affair, dreamy but devoted to her tasks. Her optimism keeps your cynicism from casting you into despair. She will be good company for those days of waiting, the last before your vows are said, before your life is truly and utterly his.
The days are fleeting, like sand they slip between your fingers, as if they never even happened. The whirlwind of the capital sweeps away any respite and so you sit beside your new husband before your new people at a feast of celebration. Though for you, it is a day of mourning.
The lords, Norman and Harry Osborn, Anthony Stark, Miles Morales, Ned Leeds, and Otto Octavius make a show of presenting you and the king with rich gifts. For fertility, for peace, for victory, for love… They make their declaration as they present the meaningless trinkets. And their, wives, their daughters, cousins, siblings fill the hall with gaiety and drunkenness.
“Wife,” Peter relishes the title, as he says it often, “let us dance and celebrate our union… a lifetime ahead of us.”
You glance at him. There’s a tint in his eye, an angle in his jaw, you know it is not a request. And you are a bride, you should at least act joyful. You take his hand as he stands.
He guides you down from the royal dais decorated in azure and scarlet for the joining of your houses, and those already entwined in dancing, move aside to let you through. The pairs around you wait with unabashed gazes as the king guides you into step with the music.
You hold your head high, as your old madam bid you as a child, when she put a book on your head and kept her cane ready to rap on your knees.
You turn with him as the music lulls your audience back to their partners. Peter is graceful but you feel out of discipline, some years since your last feast. A pattern that is ingrained in your head despite that life drifting further and further by the day. What remains is the question, how did it come to this?
“My beautiful wife,” Peter intones, “I cannot help but praise you. How delightful you are. Immaculate, elegant, divine. I find it hard to contain myself. All those years of longing and I have you at last. All those lonely days.”
You hold back your spite, you twirl with him, keep in time with his movement. His sweet words do not align with the man you truly know him to be. The depravity of his desires. Is this a show for you or those around you?
“See how my people welcome you, how they cherish you, and how my kingdom shall recover your own, that we should bleed for you, my queen,” he draws you close with those last words, “all that I’ve given you, that I will give for you. My dearest, you do not understand all that I’ve done and will do to have you.
“Your majesty,” you breathe, “I am ever grateful for all you’ve gifted me. Every favour… I stand here, your queen, beholden entirely to you–”
“That you do speak such sweet words,” he purrs, “that I almost believe but I know that it will not be long before you see how you need me. How you’ve always needed me. That no other can ever be worthy of you but I.”
His eyes rove down your figure and he gives a lewd squeeze to your bottom as he pulls you flush to him, “how I should wish to strip you bare and have you at this very moment among all these people, watching.”
“Your majesty,” you protest gently, “I am flattered–”
“Come,” he ignores you and tugs on your hand, “any longer and I might make ruin of you upon this very spot.”
He drags you past those spinning and stomping to the music, themselves hypnotised by the flutes and drumming. The tumult rises with their laughter and singing, their clapping and leaping. Their figures smear in colours around you. The heat of the crowd pricks at your neck and draws sweat over your brow as your feet fall clumsily in Peter’s stead.
The cool air of the corridor soothes you as he leads you out of the hall. The hubbub of celebration roars as he quickly smothers your mouth and traps you against the stone wall. You grasp his shoulders as he gropes you through your skirt, kneading your thigh hungrily.
“Peter,” you say and hold your breath, recalling the last time you used his name. He does nothing as his lips peck at your cheek, “not here, please–”
“Shhhh,” hushes you and claps a hand over your mouth, “be a good wife.”
He leans down and grabs your leg, hiking it up over his hip as he yanks your skirt up. You murmur into his palm as he pushes your head against the wall. His hand sneaks below your shift and rubs between your folds, rousing you as he rolls over your clit. You hiss as he slides further, spreading the slickness around as he nips at your neck.
He rescinds his hand and snakes it between you. He shoves his breeches down with a grunt, lip curling at the struggle. He presses against you, pinning you as he spreads your lips with two fingers and tilts up against your cunt. He impales you slowly as the tension drains from his face.
His hand slips from your mouth and he clutches your head between his palms. He cradles your skull as he bottoms out and sighs. He ruts as your leg bends around him, your other foot arched to keep from slipping. He runs his thumbs down your temple as he tremors.
“Look at me, my queen,” he snarls, “look at me.”
Your eyes meet his and he grunts. His dark eyes flare and he drops his hand to grab your knee and hold it close. He bends slightly and pulls your other up, lifting you against the stone as he thrusts harder.
You squeal and cling to his shoulders as he pushes your legs further up, hooking his elbows beneath them.
“Touch yourself,” he demands as your lips part, “now.”
You moan but obey. You let your hand drift down and nestle between your legs. His cock brushes against your fingertips as you toy with yourself, shyly at first, but as the pressure builds, you can’t help but speed up.
You dig your nails into the brocade of Peter’s jacket as he buries his head against your shoulder. His hot breath seeps down your chest and he growls as he rocks quicker and quicker. Your legs quake against him as you cum, all noise muted by that from within the feast hall.
He bites you as he chases his peak, spasming as he empties into your cunt, fucking it into you deeper, until its pasted all around your cunt and dripping down him. He stops only as you slip down the wall.
He puts you back on your feet, your legs ready to collapse, and holds you up as he falls out of you. He lets your skirts fall around your sweaty and sticky legs as he admires your breathless afterglow.
He runs his teeth over his lower lip and grabs you suddenly, his hand around the back of your neck. He jerks you away from the wall so you stumble to your knees.
“Clean me up, wife,” he commands, “what a mess you’ve made.”
You peer up at him, your eyes glossy. You knew there would always be a cost, whatever he gave you, whatever he wanted from you, would come with a debt. You think of the voices buzzing from the hall; what if someone should discover you? Best have it done with.
You take him and put him in your mouth. He flinches, oversensitive still, as you tighten your lips around him and sick clean his length in a single stroke. Before you can pull off of him, he forces you back down. You gag as he twitches in your throat and clutches your head.
“Well, you’ve got me wanting again,” he chuckles and thrusts. You claw at his breeches as you choke and he does it again, “come on, wife, we must seal this marriage well.”
He fucks your face meanly as your knees ache on the hard stone, even through the layers of fabric. He rams as deep as he can and stays impaled in your throat, keeping you there as your head throbs. He brings his leg up over your shoulder and forces himself to his base, standing almost over you as he uses your mouth.
He carries on mercilessly, not stopping until his body tenses and he cums down your throat. His cum floods your mouth and bubbles around your lips with your spit. He eases out of you and shudders as he’s left bobbing in the open air.
You fall back on the heel of your hand and use your other to wipe your mouth and hide your strangled coughing.
“Get on your feet,” he grabs your wrist and urges you up, “you should not be on your knees, my queen.” He grips your chin and forces your head up, “you should walk proudly with my seed in your stomach and your womb.”
How they would react to you making them a caffe latte with a heart on top
Scenario: Coffee Shop AU, you work in a coffee shop and make a heart-shaped crema layer for your s/o :)
Characters: Bennet, Tartaglia, Diluc, Gorou, Itto, Kaeya, Razor, Scaramouche, Thoma, Venti, Zhongli
You walked over to him with a plate and a cup in your hands.
He had been visiting you frequently on the job, since it was one of the few moments he could see you.
When you gently placed the cup and the plate down, you quickly gave him a kiss on the forehead before standing back up straight.
He gazed at the Caffe latte you had made, a heart shape on top of it.
HIS HEART EXPLODED- His face turned a whole 'nother shade of red PLEASE.
Even though you were his s/o, he'd still ask if this was really for him..!
After you reassured him thousands of times, he finally grabbed the cup…
And he dropped it-
Proceeded to cry for 10 minutes straight.. You telling him it was alright while patting his back.
"Benny, it doesn't matter.. I will just make you another one.. Maybe in a plastic cup…"
"This one was so special (y/n)! Why am I always so unlucky…?!"
At least he helps you clean up..?
The two of you are almost done… LITERALLY ALMOST.
And he cuts his finger.
So you rush to the back of the store and get a bandage for his finger.
This guy :')
He thinks you look absolutely HOT in that apron..
Like DAMN, how many times did he whisper in your ear that he wanted to rip it off.. hELP.
When you approach him, he stares you from head to toe.. Making sure you see all of that sneaky eye movement
"You look good as hell in that apron.."
Even though you heard the comment thousands of times, it still makes you flustered as hell.
Leaving you entirely speechless, you place the cup and plate with the additional sweetness in front of him on the table
Cocks up his eyebrows when he sees the cute little art piece you made for him
"Oh? Well look at how cute this is.."
Nudges you to come sit on his lap for a bit..
Even though you don’t really have time, you do it anyways.. Before you'll have a pouty Tartaglia hunting your ass down.
Nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck
Yes, he can be so affectionate outside o my lord.. Especially if you do these kind of things
"My little (y/n) is so adorable.. This is the best thing I could wish for on such a beautiful day"
Teases you about this for the rest of the day..
Coffee is literally his way through life
There isn't a day where he wouldn't be found in the café
Whenever he arrives, your co-workers poke your sides with a grin on their faces.. Literally. Always.
Throws you a sneaky glance to see if you're busy.. Always acts like he didn't saw you..
When you take a bit too long, he actually becomes worried you didn’t see him entering the shop..
Sometimes you just like to play games with him tho..
When you approach him with a cup and a plate, he sighs relieved and assumes it's the regular he always takes.
You smile at him and give him a soft and quick peck on the lips before placing down his order.
When turning around, swaying hips slightly .. He actually bites his lips before taking a look at his coffee.
When he sees the heart shaped milk on top, his smile grows wider.. His heart starts beating harder.
"Adorable.." He whispers to himself.
He makes sure to make eye contact and winks at you before taking a sip.
Visits the café once in a while..
Secretly its only for you…
He always gets worried when he sees you walking around with those plates.. Scared you'll fall, scratch your knee or something. Burn your hands.
He tries to hide show it.. Tries to take on a tough face.. Well, you always see through his act :)
Today you act like you're about to fall, only to make a pirouette and place his order in front of his nose.
His arms were already prepared to catch you, standing up half and stiff like a watchdog.
"You shouldn't play tricks like that..!"
Bam, you pierced through his defense once more!
Every time you giggle he calms down tho.
You give his hair a ruffle and return to continue your shift.
When he sees the delicacy you prepared for him, his tail wags from side to side excited.. His face red like a tomato.
Can't believe you made this for him either, flustered to the core..
He's so cute when he's flustered I cant-
Shouts "ARATAKI NUMERO ITTO IS HERE!" When he enters the coffee shop
Whispers "Numero uno boyfriend" after
The whole store looks at him, you turn three shades of red-
You're the one that needs to tell him to calm tf down please..
Walks him over to the seat where he always sits down, of course followed by a kiss on the cheek
Apologizing to other people who got startled..
People ARE intimidated by his build and muscles.. But he's just a big softie.
When you make his coffee, you make sure that nothing which contains other beans than coffee beans.
Yeah, it's in the name, but coffee beans aren't actually beans.. But plants! So nothing to fret about
Your friend almost pours in soymilk-
You slap the package out of her hand.. Telling her that Itto can't eat or drink anything with beans.
When you're done you bring him over his cup
Actually asks for another kiss before you place the cup down.. (HE'S SO CUTE-)
When he sees the heart formed in the milk, he turns into a total baby
"(Y/n)?! Is this for me!? For me?!"
You tell him yes more than ten times in fifteen seconds..
Hugs your waist tightly, almost squishing the life out of you
"THANKYOU! (Y/n) I cant believe it! You really made something like this for me!?"
"Itto you're killing me--"
A smug grin on his face when you walk past him with another order.
Tugs onto your apron to drag your attention to him
Of course, you saw him sitting down.. So it wasn't like you didn't see him at all
Will play around with the menu card for a bit while he waits for you.
When you finally arrive with a notebook in your hand… does the most cliché thing ever, as if the two aren't already in a relationship..
"I'd love to have a latte.. Also, add your phone number to that order."
Winks at you while you dryly stare at him.
When you turn around without saying anything, he grabs the back of your shirt and drags you closer to him
You lose your balance, fall on his lap and he passionately kisses you while pulling you back a bit more
Your co-worker actually wolf whistles..
Flustered you rush to the bar to work on his order
Some co-workers ask if the two of you weren't together..? Which you answer yes on
"We just like to play games.. The romance isn't dead.."
When you return a few minutes later, you place the cup in front of him with a cute pastry on another plate
Seeing this, Kaeya's smirk only grows wider.. His blue eyes darting to your face
You, immediately flushed with redness, adds a cute note to his order.
"Quite a tough one hmm..? What about this heart formed in my coffee than?"
You hide your face in your arm and turn around
"Don't worry.. I'll let your cold heart melt for me anyways sooner or later.."
Doesn’t even like coffee… Just comes by to visit you on the job
When he sees you, openly waves at you till you notice him..
A smile appears on your face, something about the boy waving at you makes you feel so happy..
He sits down while you approach him, his curious eyes never taken off you
A man of few words, but clear intentions and ideas
"(Y/n).. You.. Know right?"
You ruffle his hairs and nod with a smile, pressing a quick kiss on his forehead before leaving
Sits on his hands while his legs rock back and forth, its such a cute scene.
Some of your co-workers, who are also students in your class, question if he comes for you..? Again?
Not a lot of people know that the two of you are in a relationship
"Yes, he comes regularly."
Knowing that Razor doesn't like coffee, you actually prepare chocolate milk for him.
When you walk back to his table, his eyes twinkle in excitement while you place the order in front of his nose
His eyes see the heart shaped on the chocolate milk, you smiled
Gives you one of his rare smiles and nudges you over to come closer
Presses a kiss on your cheek, whispering a soft "Thank you" in your ear
With pride, because of your almost impossible to make creation, you stride back to bar.
Sunglasses on to not be caught by anyone
Strides into the store, hoping that nobody notices him
Who can ignore that BIG ASS HAT THO? Geez-
When you see him, he's already sitting in a corner, menu card in front of his face to hide himself
You approach him, pulling the menu out of his hands and lifting his hat
"Who's that!? Who dares to-"
Sees your smiling face, immediately calms down but glares at you
You press a kiss on top of his nose
His face flushes with red..
You giggle and head back to the bar to make a coffee for him
When you return, he's looking around him to make sure nobody sees him.. AGAIN
You place down his coffee, only coffee for this bitter man.
When he sees the heart, he's speechless and his face turns red.
Starts looking at you, to the store's door, to the window and back to you multiple times.
'(Y/N) HOW DARE YOU MAKE SOMETHING LIKE T H I S FOR ME- This is embarrassing?!"
"Should I take it back then? I can make another one for y-"
Eventually enjoys his coffee..
Visits every day after his work, literally wouldn't skip a single day
Even when it rains, which is the case today, he walks in with or without an umbrella..
Sits at the bar instead of a table so he can talk directly to you
Of course, asks you how your day was and how you are feeling.. Asking if he could help you out.. Even if he doesn’t work there
Kind of worried when he sees you carry all those plates at the same time, but trusts in your abilities
When you're done, you reach over the bar to give him a kiss.. He immediately cheers up from the depressing weather and his soaked clothes don't matter anymore.
Chatters to you about his own day after hearing how yours was.. listens with such attention
When you finish his coffee, you place it in front of him along with a small pastry
Totally SOLD when he sees the heart on top, throws a puppy-like gaze to you
"This absolutely sets my heart aflame (Y/n)!"
Gives you an heart fluttering kiss in return
Your co-workers dont even interrupt the two of you, they're just melting because of how CUTE the two of you are
Visits at least four times a week to see how you're doing on the job
You convinced him to drink coffee instead of developing an alcohol addiction..
And he listened, surprisingly enough??
So when you see him walk in, taking his usual place at the bar, you sigh relieved. Another day without liquor.
He immediately nudges you over, and lucky enough for him today wasn't a busy day
"(Y/n).. Make the most delicious latte you can for me, like always.."
Kisses your cheek afterwards..
Winks at you when you back off, making you feel slightly more flustered than normal..
Observes your every movement, eyes never taken off you.. He's impressed with how precise you always do the job.
"(Y/nnn)! You're doing a great job! Heh."
Co-workers jokingly ask if you got a crowd watching you like always.. And if you'd get a tip again for showing off
When you arrive with his coffee, a few slices of apple next to it.. Knowing its the worst combi ever, but Venti LOVES it.. You place it in front of his nose
He sees the heart, even the slices of apple are shaped in hearts, he slowly starts to smile
"So, you're that devoted to me, my sweet little (Y/n)?"
Something mischievous in his eyes makes you question what would happen when you would come home.
You end up paying for his coffee TCH.
He likes his coffee strong. But like VERY strong.
He doesnt care about a snack, always tells you if you would feel like treating him.. You could add it.. Which you always do
Okay but imagine this, this man entering the Cafe, everybody staring at him because he's so handsome.. But his eyes only on you
You absolutely SQUEAL when you see his golden eyes staring you down
He approaches the bar to greet you , isn't a fan of PDA so he'll just give you a wink
You smile and start making his coffee, adding a pastry like you always do while he heads to an empty table next to the window
He likes to look outside, but also likes to see you do your work.. You always look so beautiful when you're doing your job
When you arrive, you steal a quick and discrete kiss from him and place his order on the table
When he sees the heart on the coffee, he's a bit speechless and flattered.. But flashed you a rare smile
"Its beautiful (Y/n). That you have such patience for me to create something so magnificent."
Grabs your hand gently and places a kiss on top..
With your belly filled with butterflies, you hop back to the bar