#good lord not one tear spilled and still with just the tightness of the throat and the pauses he conveys it all!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cosmictapestry · 1 year

Note

"gazing" for the morphienne smut prompts if you're still accepting them?

[ GAZING ] receiver taking sender’s jaw and saying “look at me” during sex or foreplay.

god. horny for mister sturridge’s jaw brigade out in full force tonight

prompt list here

Lord Morpheus sits in his throne; Lucienne kneels straddling his lap, facing him. She is bare and gleaming in golden light, he is in full royal garb all rucked and parted to expose his thighs, his groin, his belly, white skin red-bitten and bruised, twitching cock slick with her spit. He is slumped and teary-eyed and trembling and his chest heaves, and he stares up at her where she looms over him.

Lucienne places his shaking hands on her hips, letting him hold on tight as she sinks down onto his cock. He cries out and arches from the throne and throws his head back, his hands gripping her, holding her still. His teeth sink into his bottom lip and tears spill down his cheeks, a shattered sob escaping him.

Lucienne shushes him, pets his face, runs her other hand through his hair. “Too much?” she asks, only half-teasing, worried despite knowing he would tell her if that was the case. Lord Morpheus shakes his head and breathes heavy, his face a rictus of restraint. Lucienne swallows hard around her tenderness for him. “Just feeling good?”

He nods, sighs, shoulders slumping, his hands loosening but still holding her steady on his lap. “Wait a moment, please.”

Lucienne does as she’s asked, sitting still and petting his hair, leaning forward to kiss his forehead while he slowly relaxes underneath her. “There you go,” she whispers, and she runs her hands down his cheeks, his neck, leaving them to rest on his quavering shoulders. She kisses down the bridge of his nose and then his salt-dashed lips, and he sighs. “So sweet.”

Lord Morpheus groans, shifts, thick and molten inside of her. “I make a good throne, then?” he asks, and it takes Lucienne a moment to recognize it as a joke, breathless as he is, and she gives a startled laugh in response.

“Easily the prettiest throne I’ve ever seen,” Lucienne murmurs, and she rubs his shoulders, feels the tense muscles give way, sees his expression go hazy and soft as the last of the panic abates. “Certainly the best conversationalist.”

He grins, and his hands run up her sides, stroke her skin with a silk-soft whisper. He sits up in the throne, moving her effortlessly with him, and he hefts her higher up on his lap, and then stills as this threatens to overwhelm him again. He closes his eyes with a frustrated huff, his head falling forward to rest on her shoulder.

Lucienne hums and kisses the side of his head, his hair all damp with sweat against her cheek. “My fault for teasing you so much,” she murmurs, earnestly apologetic. It had been an experiment, one she’s not too horribly disappointed to see fail—she prefers to make him come quickly and come often.

He kisses hot and wet across her shoulder rather than answer for a long moment. “Is this the part where I beg?”

Lucienne laughs, and she runs her hand up to the nape of his neck, tangles her fingers in his hair. “If you want to, certainly.”

“Please, then,” Lord Morpheus murmurs, and Lucienne freezes, because she didn’t expect him to want to. “Will you let me come?”

Lucienne feels a little like she’s been struck by lightning, and she sucks in a quick breath, and her body clenches around him and draws his answering gasp. Her hand wound up through his hair clenches. “Repeat that for me?” she whispers.

She hears his throat work around the words, feeling his stilted breath hot on her chest. “Please,” he breathes, and, his higher thinking apparently gone, his hips rolling beneath her, “please.”

Lucienne slides her hand from his hair down to his jaw, takes the sharp jut of it in hand. She eases him to slouch back in his throne, presses her thumb in under his chin to make his neck arch, make him stare at her with hazy, teary eyes. “Look at me,” she whispers when his eyes threaten to slip close. “I want to see you when you come.”

Lord Morpheus swallows, and his chest heaves, and his tongue darts to wet his lips before he can whisper, “yes,” and “alright,” and, after an aborted sob, brows drawn in anguish, “please.”

She doesn’t make him beg anymore, feels just as guilty about having done so as she does on fire with arousal, and she raises up on her knees, hollow and cold where he should be, then sinks down. Her lord’s eyes roll, and he fights to keep them on her, and she takes him again and his lashes flutter and sparkle with the tears that escape.

One more time her body swallows him, and he is nearly silent, the tendons in his neck straining as his body trembles, as his mouth goes slack, as he throbs inside of her like a heartbeat. Then he keens, and gasps between little cries while she grinds in his lap, and his hands spasm on her hips until he takes tighter hold, stills her movements completely.

Lucienne lets her lord heave and quiver for a moment longer, then she slips her hand from his jaw and she leans forward, drapes her front across his. His arms come up around her back and hold her tight to his chest, sticking with sweat. “Good,” he says, breathless, because soon she is going to ask him how he’s feeling, and he can sense when she’s overthinking, as usual. “That was. Very good.”

She nods against his chest, unspeakably relieved, because she also thinks that was very good, and she laughs, and when he can breathe he laughs too.

#posted a little bit i had written already a while back. this prompt worked so well to continue it oml #lil bit heavier on the domme/sub weird shit they've got going on. hell yeah #lucienne is like i'm a devout high priestess who just so happens to have god completely at my mercy :) this is normal #the sandman #morphienne #x #minors dni

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green-and-grey-kenaz · 1 year

Text

And He Drank

Language: English

Characters: Regulus Black, Sirius Black (brief), Kreacher (brief) Walburga Black (mention), Voldemortk (mention)

Summary: Regulus struggles to reconcile his faith with his life as a Death Eater.

Word Count: c. 1,600

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43360729

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days and six hours since my last confession,” Regulus said, hands clenching. He could count the hours between confessions. It shouldn’t be like this. It was never meant to be like this. Their cause was just, it was honourable.

Last night one of his imperioused victims had come to him with information that had to be acted on immediately. He’d brought Barty along. The Dark Lord had been pleased with his initiative. Dark magic still tingled through his flesh, finger nails a dark blue-purple and hands stiff as if plunged into frost. He closed his eyes, as if that could offer some privacy, escape from the truth.

“I am a soldier. I fight for a better world. I fight for justice, so we will not have to hide who we are. God made us all, why should we be considered some great shame to be kept hidden and downtrodden? We’re all His children, we’re worthy of walking in the light!” Regulus bit back the spiel that threatened to spill from his lips as angry tears hit his hands. They burnt his skin. “I… I fear that we are becoming the persecutors. In the days since my last confession, I have witnessed… torture and murder. I played my part in it. I have enforced my will on others and felt pride in my skill. Forgive me.”

He fingered his rosary, lapsing into silence and praying for the understanding he had once had to be restored to him. To once again feel conviction in their war, to believe in all the good that would come would outweigh the terror and the sins. He desperately tried to hold onto the knowledge that all could be forgiven – the same way he could still forgive muggles for their ignorance and Sirius for his hatred of the family. Forgiveness was all that he had left.

The priest remained silent, but Regulus found that there was no more he could say, his chest cold and tight.

“I am sorry for all these sins and the sins of my past life.” Regulus whispered; head bowed.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

His penance paid (as much as he could, for he could not take the advice to turn himself to the law) yet his soul not lightened, Regulus slipped from the church, knees aching from the hard stone floor. That in itself, he thought might bring him some solace.

“Reg?”

He refused to glance at the familiar figure who had been about to enter the church but Sirius turned about, quickly catching up and matching his footfalls.

“What are you doing here?”

“Confession.”

“At a muggle church?”

“I needed to Confess.”

“So much so that you couldn’t wait for Father Greengrass?”

“I don’t answer to you.”

“Reg… are you okay?”

There was concern in his brother’s voice and Regulus paused, turned and looked at Sirius for the first time since he had slammed the door of Grimmauld Place, supposedly only going out for a walk. That had been what mother had said, ‘he’ll be back’. It had happened numerous times before, so no one thought anything of it. Until he never came back. His last look at Sirius probably hadn’t even been a proper look. This time, Regulus tried to do him justice and raised his gaze to stare at his brother.

Sirius was dressed in muggle clothes, the tones dreadfully dull and overly form fitting, the legs covered only by what should be hidden behind heavy robes. It was a wonder that the muggle Catholic Church tolerated this shift in garb. But around his throat still hung the goblin-wrought gold cross that Sirius had been gifted at his Confirmation.

It occurred to Regulus that he had not expected Sirius to keep the faith, he had always been so contrary to the family, desperate to be something opposed.

“Reg?” Sirius repeated, taking a step forwards.

His face was open, inviting. Regulus looked into the face so like his and for a second he could imagine taking the poisoned chalice that promised the return of brotherhood and childhood innocence. He could accept Sirius unspoken offer and pretend that everything was behind them.

But Regulus was ready to forgive, not accept. He gave a small shake of his head and turned, walking hastily away. Eventually Sirius turned and made his way back towards the Church and Regulus wondered what someone of the Order would need to Confess. They always maintained their purity above all else.

A devilish voice in his head whispered, what hope is there, if both sides stain themselves in sin?

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Sitting in his room, waiting for the fire to warm his frozen blood, Regulus stared at his wall of clippings and perhaps for the first time, wondered at the idolatry of it.

Should not mother or father have warned him?

How was it anything but a shrine to a man who fashioned himself the Dark Lord? Who claimed to have defeated Death itself?

It was not the Dark Lord who had done that.

His hand reached for the papers, fingers, near numb to the touch now, skimming the pages but unable to tear down his monument to the man he may not name. The Dark Lord was not nameless out of the fear his followers had for him, but it was not that which stayed Regulus’ hand. He could not bear the thought that he should remove that man from his heart. It felt like a betrayal, it felt like blasphemy, so close to his heart had he placed the Dark Lord.

Regulus knew that what the Dark Lord had become to him was the sacrilegious.

Why could he not abandon him?

There was no one on this Earth who was too far gone to be saved.

This Regulus knew with his very being.

But he felt that perhaps the fact that he could not turn from the Dark Lord was proof that he had fallen too far.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Mother had instilled in him an understanding. Look not at how a witch treats her equals but rather her inferiors.

It had seemed strange to Regulus, all five years of age and clinging to her knee, to consider that someone might be inferior. Different perhaps, with different parts to play, but equal in so many other ways.

But he had watched wide eyed as his parents donated to charity with numbers that his young mind had scarcely considered. They helped to fund St Mungo’s various research into magical maladies, housing for young witches and wizards who would otherwise have to seek accommodation in less savoury places such as the muggle world. To have such wealth, to be able to make such a difference… how could they be anything but superior?

He had watched as they spoke to Kreacher as befitted his place, but with the respect that any living creature deserved. It was a respect that Sirius did not afford their loyal servant but as Sirius so liked to tell them, they did not view muggles as equals.

Sirius had never been able to understand that being inferior did not make one any less worthy.

Regulus sat on his floor, holding Kreacher’s trembling body, desperately trying to nurse life back into him and he wondered at the truth. Were they not all equal in the eyes of the Lord?

He could scarcely feel the warmth of Kreacher’s body in his lap, the slight weight of his oldest friend. Dark magic had robbed him of that. Perhaps his life had left him the moment he had received the Dark Mark upon his arm.

He bowed his head and prayed.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Regulus would not put the name to his task, for he knew it would be a cardinal sin, one to which there would be no confession. He had no intentions of surviving this war.

There lay no interest in leaving the cave to which the Dark Lord had brought Kreacher and where his faithful friend came once again.

It had never been a possibility.

He could only pray that this was his Lord God’s plan, that this was the ordained path that he must tread. He trusted in his Father and left as much as he could to the hands of the Almighty, lest the devil lean too heavily on Regulus.

He paid the toll of blood despite Kreacher’s protestations. The Dark Lord’s magic would accept only one of human magic but in protestation to the man, the payment came from a crucifix carved across the Dark Mark. The tattoo parted, sending forth a sea of red blood to purify the darkness. Regulus thought he could finally feel its warmth.

His bloodied fingers marked the cave and he muttered a silent prayer to the Saints, asking them to beseech on his behalf.

He crossed the waters and saw the bodies of those the Dark Lord had desecrated in his bid for power. It was only right that he offer a prayer for the souls of those who guarded the island. They deserved peace.

At the island, he paused, touching the crystal that held the poisoned draught. One last prayer he offered. No one was beyond saving but with a horcrux a mere magical boundary away from him, Regulus thought that some more words may be of help. He gave his last living prayer for the salvation the Dark Lord’s soul.

He refused Kreacher the potion for it was his cross to bear.

He promised Kreacher that everything would be fine.

And he drank.

#Regulus Black #Sirius Black #the noble and most ancient house of black #Harry Potter #fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #Christian Imagery #Major Character Death

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reflections-of-mobius · 8 months

Text

Type: Plot Progression | EVENT: “There One Moment, Gone the Next” Universe: Sandstorm Location: Meteo-Tech Tower/Chemical Plant Island

Claws slowly reached out- blackened tips brushing along the burnt edge of Node's injury. Smoke rose, the sound of the laser still reverberating in his ear. In other situations, he might have laughed at the silly noise- but he didn't, here. His ears were lowered, his eyes wet from glistening tears. The first fell.

His voice was failing- cracking even as he tried to whisper their name. He had promised- promised...and now, their body was as still as death- acrid black smoke rising from the injury they'd sustained, eyes closed, mouth open in a silent cry. I promised...

Bless cautiously moved Node's limp form, resting his head on their chest. His eyes closed, not wanting to see the sight of his deceased partner.

A cough- wet, but there.

"Hhhchhh....." The voice was quiet- but it had Bless instantly shooting his head upright, emerald hues flashing over the battered body in his arms. The ring- he hadn't even realized- it was still pulsing, the glow barely visible, but there. Node coughed again- crimson spilling from their lips.

"Node...." He cradled them close, wiping away some blood from their mouth with a finger. Only then did it hit him- they'd coughed up blood. "Node--!"

"...th' He-ack-...hit me.." They were trying to move- a hand slowly sliding downwards. Bless was quick to pick Node up- thoughts frantic. Daytime was nearly here- he would be faster then, but the hit they'd taken...!

"Tails, have you got any-"

"No..."

"I do." Amy stepped closer, slowly reaching towards her back- and producing some gauze. "It's going to be patchy, but it'll work- just...give me a few minutes." She nodded towards the floor. "Put them down."

"I-"

"Bless." The look in her eyes stopped the werehog, his voice catching in his throat. He gingerly set Node back down- flinching as Node's jaw clenched tight. The ring's glow in their chest was slowly getting brighter-- a signifier that they were more awake, now?

He hovered as Amy set to work. There wasn't much that could be done, here- and with the threat of more robots should they attempt to leave... He couldn't get them to a hospital- not right away. They'd just have to figure out what Meteo-Tech wanted with the rings- and hopefully do it quick.

"...it's not fatal...but you'll need time to recover, Node." Prim sat back, allowing Bless access to his partner once more. He kneeled down beside them, fingers reaching- only to pause before they could touch. This is my fault.

"...t'bad the one thing I need...is the one thing I ain't got..." Node clenched their teeth, biting back a hiss as they tried to sit up. Bless didn't stop them, though his hands were directly before them- ready to assist if the task proved too much. "...can't stay here...n' can't be alone..."

Amy's lips pressed into a thin line.

"...you can't get into another fight, Node...these injuries-"

"--I'll be fine." The fox closed their eyes as they spoke, their side burning. It had been numb at first- but with each moment, the pain was blazing back. "...if I stay, I'm dead. If I go with you guys..."

"I know." Bless' reply was quiet. He cautiously moved his hands- helping Node to stand to their feet, much to Prim's disappointed scowl. "Look- we can't leave 'em here. And you and Inari are both in danger, so asking either of you to ta--"

"I get it, Bless." Amy rested a hand on the burly werehog's shoulder, even as another spark of snapping wires filled the air. "We should get going."

"...yeah." He cautiously tapped Node's arm. "...going up?" When he could see them reply with a faint nod, he lifted the fox- careful to keep their burned side as untouched as possible, even as he held them close to his chest.

The fire from the oil of the robots crackled and flickered. The tower's main floor had gone dark- but none of the team cared as they started for the exit Inari had pointed out earlier.

"...don't fucking scare me like that..." Even if it made him more top-heavy than before, Bless didn't care. He gingerly pecked Node's forehead, emerald hues softening. He didn't dare speak it, but the thought still crossed his mind- one that he knew could shatter his partner if it was uttered.

...I thought I lost you...

Almost imperceptibly, his claws tightened around Node's knees and shoulder.

He wouldn't let them get hurt-- ever again.

#a tranquil sea/on all horizons | writings #We can do this together/Bet you feel better when you’re dancing | Sandstorm #Hanging on the edge of tomorrow/From the works of yesterday | Sonic “Bless” the Hedgehog #Behind this soft exterior/Lies a warrior | Node the Fennec Fox #I wanna live better days/Never look back and say/It could have been me | Miles “Inari Archie/Tails” Prower #I wanna taste love and pain/I wanna feel pride and shame/I don’t wanna take my time/don’t wanna waste one line | Amy “Prim” Rose #injury tw #death tw #implied death tw #long post #//tbh I didn't want to write this small portion #//so today I just sat down and went 'BITCH' at myself #//and this happened #//ONWARDS #//some parts of pl0ts are necessary but stars the gods test me to write them #eye strain #eye strain tw

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knifefather · 3 years

Note

Mmmm you gotta do a scenario on helping Riz with those poor heavy breeder balls 🥴 I bet he'd appreciate you laving your tongue all over them and sucking his balls and his cock so thoroughly his legs turn to jelly

dI meannn Ris does have the biggest, juiciest balls of Passione so 👀 It is my duty to write about them! And I apologize that it took so long for me to fill this request. I hope that the wait was worth it!

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: messy blowjobs, size kink, established relationship. 18+ only

Risotto hasn't gotten a nut in weeks.

He recently returned back to Napoli after carrying out a particularly difficult assassination. The capo had a difficult time tracking the target due to their powerful stand and an even tougher time getting the blood stains out of his clothes after he was done with them. Oh well. Wearing all black has its perks.

Risotto was gone for approximately 21 days. The bastard really gave him a run for his money, because Risotto hasn't had a chase like that in a very long time. It was challenging for sure, but nothing he couldn't handle. What he couldn't handle, though, was going so long getting a nut. He was on high alert for several days on end, and you just don't have time for that kind of stuff when you're stalking a drug lord Stand user.

Risotto did nothing but sleep after he got back. He was excited to see you, his partner, once again, but his excitement was overpowered by exhaustion. After reuniting with you, he stumbled into the bedroom and crawled into bed. And that is where he stayed, asleep. You woke him up periodically to feed him, but otherwise, you watched over him while he rested. After a few days, Risotto seemed to wake for good. You were coincidentally in the bedroom at that time, quietly putting away laundry. He groaned and slowly sat up in the bed, one of his huge hands coming up to run the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hey, baby,” you greet, finishing hanging up a shirt in the closet.

“Hey,” he croaks back.

“You feeling okay?” you ask. You come to sit with him in the bed, your side still mostly made. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m alright,” he responds. “Wanna lay down for awhile?”

“You’ve been laying down for like... three days,” you say, snickering at him.

“You know what I mean. I’ve missed being close to you.”

Pulling up the sheets, you crawl into bed with him despite being in your day clothes. You lay on your side and he snuggles against your back, holding you securely. He inhales deeply, not doubt smelling the sweet scent of your shampoo. The two of your are still for a moment, holding each other and listening to the sound of your synchronized breathing. It’s so peaceful and comfortable in the room that your eyes begin to slip shut. Though, you’re disturbed by something poking you in the back. You adjust yourself, hoping it would go away, but instead Risotto grunts while you move.

“Morning wood?” you question, craning your head over your shoulder to smile at him. His black and red eyes are squinted as he fights off sleep once again.

“You could say that,” Risotto says. “It’s been almost a month since I’ve gotten any. Couldn’t even touch myself.”

“You could get some right now, you know,” you say mischievously. His eyes open wider now, red irises shifting to look at you.

“I’m too tired to fuck you properly.” He sounds disappointed.

“Don’t worry about this. Let me take the reigns,” you assure him. You carefully untangle yourself from his arms and push the blanket off of you. At your direction, Risotto makes himself comfortable against the pillows and slides off his boxer shorts. You position yourself between his legs, laying on your stomach between his thighs. He parts them for you, looking down at you eagerly. The expression on his face is making you feel some feel hot on the inside.

You gingerly grab his weighty cock and gave it a couple pumps with your fist. It’s as hard as a rock in your hand and stood intimidatingly tall. You can never get Risotto to fit in your mouth all of the way, but you’ll be damned if you don’t try. You grab it by the base and guide it towards your lips, giving it a few broad licks. Looking up at him, his black and red eyes met yours. His lids are heavy, his breaths deep as you handle his cock. You mouth his tip, getting it nice and wet before taking more into your mouth. Risotto lets out a pleased sigh as you work your way down, taking more and more of him with every little bob of your head.

“Merde,” he moans, his head rolling back on his shoulders before straightening. “I missed you so much,” he speaks, his hand coming down to cup the back of your head lovingly. You bat your lashes at him and smile as well as you can around his member. You swallow down more of him until you can’t stand it. Gagging yourself on his dick, you pump the remaining few inches that you can’t reach. Your saliva is dripping down his shaft as your mouth struggles to accommodate his pulsating length. Risotto was never particularly vocal. He didn’t usually speak or moan very much. Though, this time, he’s breathless, grunting and groaning as you suck him with all you’ve got. You feel triumphant, and with a bit more confidence, you begin to bob your head more fervidly on his cock. Risotto’s thighs start to twitch on either side of you, his muscles growing restless and you try to suck the cum from him. “How are you doing that with your tongue?” he moans, running a hand through his short, white hair. You smugly continue to tease the underside of his cock with your tongue, all while your cheeks are hollowed. Cheekily, you use your other hand to cup his balls, squeezing him just tight enough to send jolts of pleasure up his spine. A loud moan escapes him, followed by him biting his lip to silence himself. Risotto’s cheeks are red with embarrassment, but you think that it’s adorable. His sweet, pleasured noise travels right to your pussy, causing you to tingle and throb as you suck him off.

You can tell that your boyfriend is close because he’s beginning to buck up into your mouth. Usually he has enough control not to, because he is aware that his member is...bigger than average. But when he gets lost in the pleasure, on the edge and needing to cum, he will buck into your tight throat. Risotto only needs a little more to cum, just a bit. Tears are streaming steadily from your eyes, sloppy sounds coming from your throat with every bob of your head. Risotto grips your hair, pushing your head down slightly. “Gonna cum, cara,” he warns. But you’re prepared for it. You breathe in deeply through your nose and focuse all of your energy on relaxing your throat. Risotto lets out a long groan as he shoots his load down your throat. You sputter on his seed, some of it spilling out the sides of your mouth. Though, he’s relentless, and continues shooting ribbon after ribbon of his spunk. Drool, cum, and tears drip down your face and onto the sheets. The sight of you was truly beautiful.

Risotto’s eyelashes are fluttering in bliss as he gets his fill. It felt like an eternity since he got to have your hands and mouth on him, and he’s so happy. You only pull back from his cock when you physically cannot take having in him your throat anymore. The capo relaxes his hand as you pull off his cock, sputtering and coughing as more cum drips down your chin. You swallow what you can, drawing in deep breaths in an effort to gather yourself. “Easy, easy,” Risotto speaks softly to you, loosening his grip on your hair and petting the back of your head gently instead. As you gaze up at him, you can’t help but smile. He returns the gesture, giving you a small smirk. His hand moves from the back of your head to your chin, tilting your face up at him. “I love you so much,” he professes. “Thank you for doing that for me.”

“If you thought that this was just for you, then you are mistaken,” you reply wittily, still trying to regain your breath. “But you are welcome. I love you too, Ris.”

Risotto strokes your chin with his thumb lovingly. “Likewise. Why don’t you let me get a towel for your face?” he says, the smooth bass of his voice vibrating in your ears. You nod enthusiastically. He plants a kiss on the top of your head before he crawls out of bed.

#risotto nero x reader smut #Risotto Nero #jjba #knife asks #not sfw #cw blowjobs #cw size kink #my work

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starlightsearches · 3 years

Note

Hi Star! from the not-so-SFW prompts, maybe 1 +4 please? Thank you so much my friend! 🤩💖

Hey Irma, thanks for the request!

Hux x reader (f)

Requests are open ✨ (but slow-going)

1. I’m gonna fill you up to the brim,” and 4. “don’t talk with your mouth full,” from the top/dom prompt lists

Warnings: Dom! Hux, Sub! reader, vibrator use, oral (m receiving), over-stimulation, name-calling, facial, semi-public play, I don't remember what else so let me know if I missed anything!

The muscles in your fingers ache, hands clenched so hard at your sides you think your bones may splinter. Your toes curl inside your boots, thighs shaking, and you focus on taking deep breaths—quiet as you can—the blood rushing from your head, leaving you dizzy and faint.

You've been on edge for too long. You'll lose your mind if this continues.

Across the bridge, General Hux smirks, giving the remote in his hand a subtle twist. Your lips part of their own accord, the vibrator nestled just inside your slick entrance reaching a new peak before returning to a subtle rumble and slowly growing silent.

You can feel every minute of it—this game you've decided to play—every swallowed moan and stolen chance of pleasure stored in your aching core, begging to be released.

Taking a deep breath, you glance out of the corner of your eye. If the officer beside you notices anything amiss, he doesn't let on, his expression almost bored as he monitors the empty expanses of space for non-existent threats. The vibrator is quiet, at least; you're glad you haven't spilled your little secret with a wanton sigh or trembling hand.

Maybe he'd like that. Maybe the general is waiting for the moment you break—wants everyone to see you crumble under the weight of the pleasure he gives you, wants to watch them watching you, sweat-slicked and possessed, writing in an ecstasy only he can bring. Maybe he wants them all to know that you belong to him.

It's an intriguing idea, and your cunt clenches as the vision plays out, but you know him too well.

He wants you all to himself.

You do your best to school your features as you make your approach, but it's no use. You can't help the way your face goes soft when you look at him—the admiration in your eyes, the soft parting of your lips, memories like sugar on your tongue when you think about every way he's loved you.

His eyes latch on to yours, smug, the vibrator humming with triumph, singing against your skin. You don't break your stride or his gaze.

"General Hux," you begin, your mouth dry and voice shaking, "may I speak to you for a moment in your office? It's a matter of some urgency." He pauses, reading you. Maybe he's impressed you've lasted this long.

Or maybe he's planning on teasing you for a little while longer.

Either way, he nods, gesturing for you to lead the way, following just a little too close behind to be considered appropriate.

If anyone one on the bridge notices, they don't speak until you after you're out of the room.

The door to his office closes behind you, and you let it support your weight, your muscles too sore to hold you upright any longer.

He pretends as not to notice, adjusting his gloves before turning to face you. "What did you want to speak with me about, lieutenant?"

“Please," you swallow past the lump in your throat, "I need to cum. I need it."

His shoulders drop, lips pressed together with a pitying smile, his eyes tracing your features with a scalpel's precision. “I don’t think you’ve earned it, pet.”

The vibrator rumbles, and your eyes fall closed, listening to the taps of his shoes as he stalks closer. You could end this, right now. You could let the word fall from your quivering lips and he'd drop the facade immediately, pulling you into his arms and coaxing the sweetest heights out of you, his lips pressing gentle apologies against your skin.

You lick your lips instead, putting all your focus into your next words. “What can I do?”

“I want you—" he presses in closer, the heat of his body heavy against your own but his his knuckles light as a whisper when he strokes them down the length of your cheek, his breath feathering through your hair, "—on your knees.”

Oh thank gods. You meet his gaze, his dilated pupils swallowing the color from his eyes, turning them dark behind gilded lashes. His hand stays on your cheek as you shift to the floor, and you focus on that rather than the sting of the durasteel against your skin.

“Look at you, eager little thing,” he whispers, pressing two fingers against your lips until they part, and you taste leather, gagging slightly as he slides his digits between your teeth.

He hums, disappointed, dragging his slick fingers from your mouth, encasing your jaw in his hand, pulling your chin higher so he can look in your eyes when he leans in close.

“Is that the best you can do? I had expected more.”

Your words are stolen from your throat when the vibrator sparks to life again, the intensity quickly rising until you're staring into the abyss at the back of your eyelids.

"Does that feel good?"

Your cunt drips, soaking into the fabric of your uniform. You can only hum in response, haphazardly shifting on your knees, aching for more contact, more pressure.

He shifts his grip against your jaw, smearing more of your spit over your cheek. "Are you sure? What if you could have my cock instead?"

You buck your hips forward, grateful his office is sound-proofed to the outside when you hear the desperation in your whine.

"Please."

"I'll be so good to you. I'll fill you up to the brim—" he pets his hand over your hair, gripping tight at the back of your neck, his lips almost on yours. The buzz of the vibrator fills you, overtaking every other sense, and you're there, at the peak, waiting to fall over onto the other side.

"Later."

It's all ruined. The vibrator goes still.

There must be tears on your cheeks, because he clears them away with both hands, cupping your face between his palms. You see the question in the deep green of his eyes—is this okay?—the silent worry that he might be taking this too far. You nod against his grasp.

"I'm just trying to provide some motivation," he whispers, pressing the softest kiss against your cheek. You reach for the fastener on his pants, pressing your hands tight against his body to keep your fingers from shaking.

His neck stretches to the ceiling high above you, but you still hear that gasp when you grip his cock, your feverish skin meeting his own. He's harder than you've ever seen him, his dick flushed a deep purple like a bruise. It makes your mouth water.

Your lips encompass the tip, licking a firm stripe over the slit, letting the salt of him spread through your mouth.

“Good girl,” he breathes, taking the back of your head in his hand, pulling your closer, “now choke on it.”

His dick hits the back of your throat, halting the breath in your lungs, and you gag on the excess spit that floods past your cheeks and pools at the corners of your lips.

His hand encases the back of your head and he groans. “Such a perfect little slut for me.”

Gods. He's never like this; never mean, never so demanding. You're fighting to breathe, your throat squeezing involuntarily around the head of his dick as he fucks into your mouth with harsh thrusts, moans like sin echoing off the walls.

He must be close. You can feel it in his fingers, gripping tighter in your hair, buried against your scalp, hear it in the groans he tries to keep locked behind gritted teeth. But more than anything, you know it's true when the vibrator roars back to life, blurring out every minor pain with a roaring pleasure.

You whine around his cock, the sound muffled by the weight of it. It's too much, too fast, but there are no words for what you're feeling, just sticky tears and fragmented moans.

He silences you with a soft tug at your roots. "Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Your orgasm rips through you, pouring in pleasure, leeching the strength from your limbs until he's supporting most of your weight, holding you by the back of the neck.

It only takes a few more strokes before he finishes, hot ropes of cum sticking to your skin, pooling against your lashes, melting into your hair.

You don't have the energy to stand, but he finds his way to your level, laying down beside you on his office floor. His skin sticks to yours, mouth urgent and searching.

"Thank you," he whispers, brushing his thumb over your skin, cleaning his spend from your cheek. He presses the digit against your tongue, letting you taste the tang of his pleasure. It's not just the release that he's thanking you for, but the vulnerability. The trust you placed in him. He's not saying it, but you know what he means. There's love in that trust. Love in the way he strokes a hand over your hair, the soft smile on his lips.

He loves you. The feeling is mutual. It's enough to bring tears to your eyes.

You smile, press a kiss to his cheek. "Don't mention it."

18+ Hux Tag List: @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @pradahux, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @gen,eralthirst, @tobealostwanderer, @huxxoxo, @theoriginalannoyingbird, @liceforlunch, @g3n3ralhux, @mylifeisactuallyamess, @superunkn0wn, @therealnoex, @luna-is-on-mars, @xxinvisiblexx, @fear-prism, @serenaisavillian, @a-literal-no-name

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#armitage hux x female reader #armitage hux x reader #armitage hux x you #general hux x female reader #general hux x reader #general hux x you #armitage hux fanfic #armitage hux fanfiction #general hux fanfiction #general hux fanfic #general hux oneshot #armitage hux oneshot #general hux smut #armitage hux smut #my writing #requests

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little-diable · 3 years

Text

Darkness - Tom Riddle (smut Drabble)

Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tom has his way with the reader, not showing any mercy as he completely wrecks her

Warnings: smut, dub con, 18+, humiliation (names, spitting, slapping), blood play, spanking, choking, unprotected sex,

There was no use, no matter how hard she’d tug on the rope it wouldn’t budge, cutting through her skin, leaving angry, red scars on her wrist, a nice contrast to her naked, shivering body. Blood was trickling down her arms, “Perfect.” Tom’s voice made her breath hitch in her chest, she felt his warm tongue on her skin, licking its way up her skin, blood staining his lips red.

A whimper rolled off her tongue, eyebrows knitted together, weakly giving into the touch of her lover. He had been toying with her for hours, coaxing one orgasm after another out of her, abusing her body just as he liked, blindfolding her, tying her to his bed, all while leaving marks on her skin. “Tom,” the name turned into a soft moan, eyes blinking to adjust to the light, blindfold ripped off her, “Patience love.”

Patience? Patience? He had been torturing her, had pushed her body towards its limits and he wanted her to be patient?

“Tom, fuck, stop this, I need you,” her voice dripped with annoyance, (y/e/c) eyes piercing right through him, “What?” He froze, wondering if he had only imagined her words, this was new, she wasn’t a brat, would rarely protest.

An annoyed huff rolled off her tongue, struggling against the rope once again, “I’ve been patient for long enough Riddle.” Ere another breath had left her, Tom had freed her, flipping her around, face pressed into his pillow, “Somebody thinks she can be bratty? Thinks she can tell me what to do?” The Slytherin head boy unbuckled his belt, naked chest on full show as the leather fabric came down on her skin.

(Y/n)’s eyes shot open, whimpering into the pillow, he had never spanked her with a belt before, would only use his hand, rings leaving dark marks behind. But this, she had never felt something like this, pain took over every vessel of her body, made tears run down her cheeks, he wouldn’t show any mercy, her whimpers would only urge him on.

“Take it, you wanted to be a brat, so fucking take it you slut,” the sound of another harsh slap eachoed through the room, the leather was cutting into her skin, blood tickled down her ass, drops running down between her folds.

His eyes rolled back into his head, a moan slipped out of his lips, body high on the powerful feeling that flooded through him, he loved seeing her quivering for him, body giving its all to him.

Tom didn’t warn her, threw the belt aside as he flipped her around, eyes meeting hers for a moment, harshly he pierced his fingernails through the skin of her thighs, lips connected to her folds. The taste of her arousal got mixed up with the iron taste of her blood, he felt his length twitch from it, more aroused than he probably had ever been.

Her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own, lips parted to let her sounds rumble through her, his tongue brought her closer to her release with every passing moment, by now (y/n) wasn’t sure how many times she had already stumbled over the edge, but she knew that Tom wasn’t done with her, at least not yet. “Give it to me,” Tom rasped out, hot breath crashing against her pulsing, enlarged clit, “I can’t.” Her sobs made him smirk, eyes darkening, “Yes you can.”

Unwillingly another orgasm crashed upon her, robbing her of all the strength that was still left inside of her. “See, I knew that a good, little slut like you could take it,” Toms lips left some bloody marks as he kissed his way up to her lips, wasting no time in finally undressing himself, length rock hard, tip leaking precum.

“How will you address me from now on?” He slipped his member through her folds, coating himself with her slick, some blood was still lingering on her skin, drops he wiped away with his thumb, licking his finger clean, “My lord.”

Tom's length splitted her in half, made her cry out, a mixture between pain and lust, body instantly trembling from the heavenly feeling. “That’s right, I’m your lord”, (y/n) tried to connect her lips to his, but she felt too weak to move, whimpering as she couldn’t reach him.

He pressed a kiss to her lips, for a spur of a moment concern flooded through his eyes, Tom didn’t want her to pass out, didn’t want to put her through any more pain, but the breathless moan that spilled out of her made him snap back into reality.

“You’re so tight, so perfect,” he groaned, teeth grazing her lower lip, hand possessively wrapped around her throat, keeping her locked in place. “Fuck-my lord-I’m-,” she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to tell him, (y/n) felt her release building up, pushing her into the arms of another orgasm before she could let out a shaky breath. Tom disappointingly shook his head, “you know the rules, slut” he spat on her face, saliva dripping down her cheeks, “I’m sorry my lord.”

Darkness was slowly engulfing her, air knocked out of her lungs, heart racing, desperately trying to keep her awake, Tom grasped her cheeks, slapping her skin, “Stay with me.” It didn’t take him long to give into his orgasm, release dripping into her heat, filling her up like every single time he’d have his way with her. He’d stay inside of her for a bit longer, relishing in her heat, finally letting (y/n) catch her breath.

A sinister smirk tugged on his lips, already planning out his next move, she wouldn’t stop screaming his name for the rest of the night.

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle smut #Tom Riddle imagine #Tom Riddle x reader #harry potter #Harry Potter smut #Harry Potter imagine

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drabblecat · 3 years

Text

Yandere!Heisenberg x F!Reader Part 2

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: yandere behavior, slight nudity, drugging

Part 1

Slightly longer than i was aiming for but that's ok! My initial thought was more pwp but then I realized I kinda wanted some sort of plot... Anyways, big plans for next chapters! As always I'd love to hear what you think and the ask box is open!

You took a moment to try and calm your nerves. Heisenberg still had your face in his rough hands, and you couldn’t try to run with that chain holding you down. As his thumb ran across your lips anger built inside you. Mother Miranda was supposed to protect everyone in the village, but as soon as shit hit the fan there was no one that came to the rescue. You parted your lips as if starting to speak, his thumb now pressing down on your lower lip. Tilting your head forward ever so slightly, you bit down on the man’s thumb. He pulled back and sat up in shock that someone in your current position would do such a thing.

“Take care of me huh? Like Mother Miranda was supposed to? Yeah, well look how that worked out!” The hand still next to your head quickly gasped onto your neck, lifting you up to meet his eyes.

“That bitch was just using the village. It was a lie she used to make sure we had the right number of bodies to work with and everyone fell for it!” Tightening around your throat you started to gasp for air, hands pulling at Heisenberg’s grip. He let you go, house bouncing against the mattress. “It seems you need some more time to adjust. I’ll be back later and hopefully you’ll realize your place here.” The bed shifted as he stood up. Walking to the door and closing it behind him you heard a loud telltale click of a lock.

You stared up at the ceiling for a moment, not only to catch your breath, but also in attempt to process what exactly was happening. Tears formed in the corner of your eyes, one spilling over your cheek and rolled down to your chin. You let it fall for just a moment, and then gathered yourself. What was done was done. True you saw people that you knew dying in the streets, but you didn’t truly know them. You were just the new girl in town, if they were in your place, they would just be happy to be alive. Besides, Heisenberg was one of the town’s lords, right? It’s possible that this isn’t all that bad, you don’t know anything about him besides owning the old factory. At least he’s not Beneviento or Moreau. The dolls were creepy as hell, and you were never one for going near the waters that looked like they’d eat you if given the chance.

Using the sheet you wiped your eyes, and decided it was best to examine your surroundings further. Getting off the bed, the chain falling to the floor with it, you saw the cuff had a decent amount of length to it. Besides the bed and the heavy door, there were a few other things. There was the chair still at the end of the bed, a small nightstand, a vanity, and two other doors. Walking over to the vanity you were taken back. It had a framed photo of you that you do not remember taking. Especially since it was of you just out of the shower! Hesitantly you tipped it over, not wanting to even think of what that photo implied. Below the vanity were some drawers, opening them you found a hairbrush, and what only could be described as some of the raunchiest lingerie you’ve ever seen. Then came the two doors, one was significantly smaller than the other. Trying the small one first in the back left of the room, no luck. After turning the round door knob a few times you gave it a rest. Next was the larger door, this one opened right away. Nothing too interesting, just an ordinary bathroom. It was a little dirty, but nothing worse than what you’ve seen at certain gas stations.

Starting by opening all the possible cabinets you found they were all empty. Nothing to even try to use to get out. No cleaning chemicals or even medicine in the medicine cabinet. Heisenberg must have thought this through this for some time. The chain finally ran out of length at the toilet, just short of the bath. Seeing as nothing came from this, you returned to the bed to stare at the ceiling and think. Not like there was anything else to do. Who knows how long it took you to explore the room and think your thoughts. Without windows or any sort of clock there was no way to tell. Curling up to one side you snuggled into the blankets. Once again you heard the door click, causing you to bolt upright to face the noise. Heisenberg came through the door, carrying a metal tray holding a plate of food, a fork, a glass with what looked like water, and a small white vase with two wilted yellow flowers.

“Dinner time! Now I know I’m not the best cook, but you should find this to at least be appetizing. After all you must be starving darling.” He sat the tray on the bed and sat back in his chair. The plate was just as he said, didn’t look five stars, but your stomach growled at the mess of food. It looked like some baked beans, accompanied by some thick slices of grilled ham, and a chunk of corn bread. You still didn’t move, despite your hunger.

“Ok ok, you probably think I drugged the food, right? Well, I didn’t. Drugging you would be easier with a dart gun.” He lowered his glasses slightly to look you in the eye. With a sigh he grabbed the fork, picking up an entire slice of the ham, ripping a bite out of it. “See?” he placed the ham with the fork in it back down on the plate, speaking as he chewed. You couldn’t hold out much longer. If now was dinner time, that means you missed an entire day with nothing to eat. Planning any sort of escape or resistance to him couldn’t be done on an empty stomach. Reaching forward you used the fork the cut off a bite sized piece. It was surprisingly well seasoned, and super tender.

“There you go sweetheart! I knew it would just take some time to get used to, I’m not all that bad.” He chuckled and watched you as you ate. Only because he was watching you did you eat just a little faster than you had wanted to. Sure, he was a little off putting, but he seemed happy when you played along with whatever sick fantasy he had conjured up in his head. Once the meal was done, he set the flower on your nightstand and the tray right beside it. He stood up, taking his hat and coat off and throwing it on the chair.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I had a full day today and I am beat. Time to get some shut eye.” He glanced over to the vanity; a small piece of cloth poked out from where you had rummaged around. “I see you had some fun today as well. Your still in that ragged gown, I think you might want to change into something a little more… fresh.” Shit, you thought you’d put everything back to where it was. You mentally curse yourself as he opened the drawers. He was right though; you were still in the stained nightgown from the attack. As much as a fresh outfit was a good idea, you dreaded what his choice might be.

After a few moments of rummaging, he pulled out a gown that looked like it went down to mid-thigh, in a deep crimson color. It would have been a nice gown, if it wasn’t for the fact that the entire section around the breasts were almost see through lace with slits on both sides that went from the bottom and halfway up.

“Absolutely not.” You blurted out, causing him to chuckle.

“Sweetheart I don’t think you have a choice in the matter. Besides you and I both know that if you stay in that grimy thing, it’ll make you more uncomfortable than wearing this. It’s soft to, pure silk.” He tossed it on the bed and gave you a wink. Giving a defeated huff, you picked it up. He was right, it was incredibly soft. Getting off the bed with the garment in hand you headed towards the bathroom.

“Aww, and I thought I was going to see you strip. Maybe some other time…” He looked at you with his shit-eating grin. Your face became flustered, and you slammed the door as fast as you could, not shutting all the way due to the chain. Once inside the bathroom you began to change, making sure he couldn’t see you through the crack in the door. It was only then that you found the slip came with a matching pair of panties. Sighing in defeat and honestly just tired of all the bullshit thrown at you these past days you just put them on. It did give you some comfort, surprisingly feeling clean in this lewd outfit over your much more covering, yet crawling with filth, night gown. Taking a look in the mirror you looked yourself over. At least your tits looked hot in this, a confidence boost is good, right?

Slowly opening the door further, you became almost timid at what you saw. Heisenberg had also begun to strip down to his boxers for the night. He was in the middle of removing his shirt. His muscular back was littered with all sorts of scars. His muscles flexed as he took of the white stained undershirt, the smallest beads of sweat wicked away by the fabric. His tight ass was also a sight to see. Looking over his shoulder, he locked eyes with you, no longer having glasses obscure the direct line of sight.

“Well well, seems we’ve both found ourselves some eye candy huh.” Tossing the last piece of clothing to the chair he approached the door. Opening it and taking your hand he looked down at you, you quickly looked away to avoid feeling more embarrassment. Suddenly he picked up bridal style, your hands immediately reaching for his chest in attempt to hold on. In doing so your hands felt the warm firm handful of his pecks. He chuckled as you quickly folded your hands back into your own chest. Ever so gently he set you back on the bed, a sharp contrast to what had happened earlier.

Settling down next to you, you turned away from him. As you felt the bed dip with his weight, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. You could feel a slight bulge resting against your ass. You tried to create some sort of distance, but you couldn’t move at all. Resigning to the situation, you tried to settle down, eyes unable to close despite some tiredness. All you could see in the limited range of movement you had was the nightstand, remnants of the meal, and the two flowers wilted but vibrant as they sat in the small vase.

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg #re8 #yandere!heisenberg #yandere resident evil #smut #re8 smut #x reader #karl heisenberg x you

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angryschnauzer · 3 years

Text

Full Mast

Summary: Your idyllic life as a trophy wife of a rich lord is suddenly disturbed with the arrival of a pirate ship and a mutiny... what will your husband do to save you from the pirates grasp?

Fandoms: Henry Cavill, Sand Castle - Movie, Mission Impossible: Fallout, Night Hunter, Hellraiser Hellworld

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female Reader.

A/N: This is a CRACK FIC. After a brief discussion with @nuggsmum about the cheap romance novels that you could find in the 80′s and 90′s, i called upon the awful storylines, plot holes, and general cheesyness of those books that walked so fanfiction could run. Read the warnings please.

Storyboard note: The only artwork i could find that was suitable to show a Henry-like character included the woman seen above. I tried to crop as much of her out as possible, the story itself does not describe the female reader at all.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Very Dubious Consent, Dub-con, public fingering, public sex, shackles, imprisonment, very corny word choices that echo back to the romance novels.

Full Mast

You resisted the strong arms that pulled you along, the rough blindfold shielding you from your destination, and yet you could hear the call of the gulls so you knew you were near to the shoreline. The cloth tied tightly around your mouth to gag you overwhelmed your senses, the rich musk of male sweat reminding you in no uncertain terms that these were far from civilised men that had snatched you away from your husbands rose garden as you’d been quietly cutting blooms in the dewy morning light.

The ground beneath your feet changed from loose earth to cobblestones, and you could smell the stench of the docks; of the gutted fish and the slop buckets, of the morning after the night before sailors' tavern. You had never been inside but had heard tales of the men that frequented it; dark and dangerous, men that circled the globe as well as the law. Your husband had regaled you with stories of such men, no doubt to frighten you from wandering off, but the man your father had arranged for you to be married to was but two generations your senior, old enough to be your grandfather, and rarely finished a story without veering off to start another. You’d had no say in the matter, the Lord had paid your father a princely sum for your hand in marriage, ignoring your pleas and protests. It had been three months since your father had hopped upon a spice ship returning to Europe with his gold, forgetting about his only daughter.

“Almost there” a gruff voice uttered, and you were suddenly hoisted over a wide shoulder

“Mmmmfff!” you exclaimed around the gag, but your protests were not heard as the men climbed the gangplank and aboard a vessel. Soon you were tied and thrown into a small room, left alone in the darkness as you heard the ship being prepared for sail.

The ship was on the open water when you were pulled out into the bright daylight, having managed to work the blindfold lose you were now wishing it was still in place, the bright carribean morning sunshine now blinding you as it glinted on the crystal blue waters. Big men stared hungrily at you as you were dragged across the deck to a small staircase that led up to the ships wheel and that’s when you saw him;

“Captain! Here she is!”

The big man at the wheel grinned, his bushy beard and cropped hair doing little to distract you from his piercing blue eyes that shone with a marked interest. Nodding to a young dark haired man he handed the control of the wheel over before quickly descending the stairs and landing steadily on his booted feet just inches from where you stood. With a toothy grin he looked down at you, his gaze falling to your heaving bosom where the stays of your corset had become loose in the struggle, licking his lips before he addressed one of the men gripping your arms;

“Well ain’t she a peach… caught a good one here Constable”

Your attention snapped to the man at your side and you suddenly realised who he was; Walter Marshall; the town constable. His wild and unruly hair and stone cold stare had kept order in town for as long as you’d lived on the island, but you recalled the last town meeting that had been held at your husband’s mansion had been far from smooth, with a number of towns people getting into a heated argument with the lords and gentry, Constable Marshall being one of them.

“You can still smell the roses on her Sy” the man on your other side commented.

The Captains beard tickled your cheek as he leaned forwards and inhaled, his nose brushing against your bare neck and sending a shiver down your spine, the whimper that escaped your throat barely audible and yet he pulled back, a faint look of surprise on his face that was quickly replaced with a smirk;

“She might be smellin’ of sumthin’ else once we’re done with her” he paused and nodded to the man on your other side; “Walker, shackle her to the rigging chest, we’ll be in the shadows of horseshoe cove shortly until it's time to do the sail past… her husband will realise paying the towns folk their dues is the only way to ensure he can live his idyllic life”

An hour of being chained to the enormous storage chest had given you time to watch the goings on of the ship, the way the men worked together, and you’d learned a thing or two about what had seemed to be your boring and idyllic island life had in fact been a town of corruption and mutiny. Captain Syverson had been a Navy Captain, retired once injured but seemingly now fully healed. Walker had been Infantry with the Fusiliers and was a crack shot with both a pistol and a rifle. Of course you already knew of Constable Marshall, and from eavesdropping the conversations you’d learned that they had scuttled the entire islands ships; anything the gentry owned was out of service and unable to sail. With the fishing fleet having left for open waters at dawn there wasn’t a single seaworthy vessel left on the island. Covert operations had meant the fuses for the island’s canons had all been removed in the dead of night, meaning a quick attack would be out of the question. Captain Syverson planned to sail just out of shot reach of your husbands mansion, the ransom note having already been delivered that morning an hour after your disappearance, and only the sign of a yellow flag being waved would ensure your safe return.

When the dark haired deck hand suddenly came to sit next to you, you were surprised as he started to remove the scarf that still acted as a gag;

“Don’t scream, ok? Capt’n has told me to make sure you drink, he doesn’t want you passing out from thirst”

You nodded and the younger man carefully untied the scarf, before taking the earthenware flagon and lifted it to your lips, the cool ale it held soothing your parched throat. Tipping it a little too much it spilled from your mouth and onto your chest, his eyes going wide in fear;

“I… I can’t touch you… Captain’s orders”

“It’ll dry, its hot out today”

“You’re surprisingly unafraid”

“Should i be afraid?”

He shrugged;

“Dunno. I’m Mikey by the way”

“Aren’t you a little young to be a Pirate?”

Mikey shrugged;

“I guess it was just the inevitable”

Through the conversation that followed you found yourself telling him all about yourself; how your father had basically sold your hand, how your husband was literally only on paper, having far more predilection for the handsome young footman than for you. Mid sentence the Captain’s voice boomed across the deck;

“Mikey! Back to work!”

“Yes Capt’n”

When you heard the bells chime of the church on the hill to say it was noon you were moved, the ship sailing around the side of the island and into position 100ft from the shoreline of your husband’s property. With your arms pulled above your head, you were tied to the base of the mast, the big captain coming to stand at your side, his eyes glancing at your breasts as they threatened to spill from your corset that had become loose and had slid down your ribcage.

“What do you see Walker?”

Peering through the spyglass the moustached man paused before he spoke;

“No yellow flag Captain… wait a moment... they’re using semaphores” He was referring to the message flags that the Navy used to send messages from passing ship to passing ship, each small triangular flag each meaning a different seafaring reference; “Hang on… ‘No duties owed’”

The Captain roared and grabbed the spyglass, peering through before grunting and handing it back;

“Lets see if we can change his mind, eh?”

Pulling his knife from his thigh holster he hooked the blade beneath the stays of your corset, tearing the garment in two and watching as it fell to the deck at your feet, your breasts now on full show and greeted with a wild cheer from the crew. Syverson turned to Walker;

“How about now?”

He peered through the spyglass before letting out a defeated sigh;

“Same again… no duties owed”

“So, he’s sticking to his guns… let’s kick this up a level”

Turning back to you he smirked;

“This ain't personal sweetheart…”

To your surprise the big man started to gather your skirts, your eyes wide as he pulled up your petticoats and his large hand slid between your silky thighs, finding you without your undergarments and he cocked an eyebrow;

“Your men found me before I had dressed fully for the day”

“I ain’t complainin’ sweetheart, makes it easier to find…”

His hand found your petals and you groaned quietly as he discovered you slick and ready, his calloused fingers seeking out your clit before he slid two into your velvet channel, filling you more than your own fingers ever had;

“Tight little thing, aren’t ya? Your husband got a small dick?”

You turned your head to face him, emboldened by the wanton display;

“I wouldn’t know, i’ve never seen it”

The Captain froze;

“Fuck”

His hand stopped, still inside you and you could feel your walls trembling with excitement around his digits as his men approached, Walker and Marshall both having heard your admission;

“Sy… we gotta continue, we’re owed for three months pay from the Lord…”

He nodded to the mansion;

“What’s the message?”

Checking again, Walker sighed;

“Return Cargo. No duties owed”

The Captain roared with anger;

“The fucking bastard! Every single man on this ship is owed half a years wages, and for what? Keeping his idyllic island life”

The look on his face had changed, and you finally saw the Pirate in him as he approached you, wrapping a big hand around the back of your neck and kissing you roughly. When you willingly opened your mouth and your tongue pushed against his it gave him the green light to go ahead, his body pressing you to the mast and you could feel his hardness pressing against the thin layers of your petticoats. With a flurry of hands he pulled your skirts up and unbuttoned his breaches, revealing his fat length, almost as thick as your wrist and patterned with veins.

You may never have lain in the marital bed or known the intimate touch of a man, but you had sought your own pleasure with your fingers and even the occasional candle from your husbands drawing room. But you’d never had anything as large as the Captains throbbing length inside you. You hooked your leg over his hip, pulling him close even though your hands were still tied, and let out a cry of pleasure as his hot flesh speared your soaked cavern.

Syverson ravaged you against the mast, fucking you with such a fury that you could feel your body start to tighten around him, and with a cry you came, pressing your head back against the hard wood, a blissful smile across your face as you had your first ever orgasm that you hadn’t given yourself. You were vaguely aware of him pulling out, fisting his shaft and spilling his seed over your bare thighs, before your skirts were dropped and he was fastening himself back into his breeches;

“Well?” the Captain demanded of his men.

Constable Marshall cleared his throat;

“There’s a new semaphore… Cargo Abandoned”

“HE WHAT?” you spat out, filled with anger that your husband would just leave you to the Pirates.

“Very well” Syverson nodded; “Hoist the mainsail, we sail for Kingstown”

He turned to you whilst addressing his men;

“Get her down and have her taken to my cabin” he turned to you; “You ever sailed before?”

“Spent a decade on spice ships Captain” to which he nodded.

“At least you have your sea legs then”

Mikey had unshackled you and was stripping himself of his vest, helping you to slip it onto your arms so you could cover your naked chest.

“Michael?” the captain boomed; “... find her some of the chests of finery we took from that French vessel a couple of months ago”

“Yes Father”

“He’s your father!?”

Mikey nodded;

“Welcome aboard The Cavillry. We’re like one big family here”

Just then the bow hit a wave as it reached the deeper waters, spray splashing up and soaking you, much to Mikey’s amusement;

“You’ll get used to being wet here”

Part 2 Link HERE

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Masterlist can be found on AO3, link HERE

#henry cavill #captain syverson #captain sy x reader #captain syverson smut #crack fic

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bokugaos · 3 years

Text

Perfection

pairing: Bokuto x f!reader

length: 4.3k

summary: You are taken away and kept as the yakuza head’s trophy toy in exchange for clearing your father’s debt.

tags — traditional yakuza AU, dubcon, breeding, spanking, overstimulation, cum bulge.

a/n: (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ this is a secret santa gift for @kuroos-babygirl! it’s also my first fic of 2021 and we’re starting the year right!!~ HAPPY NEW YEAR <33

You look so petulant and angry in your defeat and sink down on your knees as soon as you are dropped off to your own feet inside the walls of the estate. Still you press your clamped hands against your lips, and murmur encouragement for yourself.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Your mouth is trembling in frustration—it makes Bokuto’s victory all the sweeter. He can tell that you haven’t heard him approach because you flinch back when his shadow suddenly falls across you.

Your pupils become little pinpricks of fear, then dilate again when the first confusion settles as you stare up at the yakuza boss, remembering why he is standing there now, tapping his foot impatiently.

He is slightly hunched over, yet still towering so high above you. A menacing grin slowly stretches his mouth. He looks a lot less tired when he smiles—and a lot less creepy. It doesn’t keep your heart from throbbing. You stare up at him quietly, your thoughts running across your face clear as day—so when you try to flee, he already knows about it long before you even move the first muscle. His arm shoots out to grab your hair and keep you right where you are.

“A deal’s a deal.” he murmurs into your grimacing face. You reach up and curl your hands around his wrist, but… it appears that he doesn’t even feel your fingers around him.

Bokuto doesn’t do deals with just any commoners, but your father is in too much debt, one that he wouldn’t even be able to pay back in an entire lifetime. Your father knows that, and the yakuza lord does too. Hence why he very kindly offered to clear the debt in exchange for, well, you. And of course, your parents agreed in a heartbeat. If there was even a slight hesitation or remorse of the fact that you were practically being sold to the city’s lord, your parents didn’t show any of it. You clench your thighs together, belly tight and prickly, tears ready to spill from your eyes.

Bokuto’s smile widens. The fist he has in your hair tightens and as you wince and whine, he pulls you closer to push your face against the growing bulge beneath his hakama.

He moves his hips, fucking against your face while you make choked little sounds and half-heartedly try to turn yourself away despite you becoming stupidly excited at the heat and smell of his dick through the fabric. You could use your hands to push him off of you, but you don’t.

“Take all your clothes off. The maids will take care of them.”

You pause at that. You’ve forgotten that you’re not alone.

You start to glance around as much as possible while he distractingly keeps smearing his bulge against your face. There are shadows slinking around the edges of the buildings.

You know that none of them would be able to help you.

—

It is rather embarrassing to admit this, but Bokuto takes care of you better than your parents ever did. He makes sure the servants make you good food, drapes you in lavish clothes, have you bathed in the finest of flowers; practically everything you’ve ever dreamed of about being in the higher class in the society.

And yet, you still spend your time as if you’re counting down the days to your release from a place so godforsaken. At this rate, and with the way you are behaving, you are quickly becoming more of an embarrassment to him than something he can show off.

Hurriedly spreading out the futon and sitting on the edge of it, he pulls you into his lap, only slightly sated by hearing your small yelp of surprise. He quickly locates the hem of your kimono and pushes it up to bunch at your waist, not even bothering to untie your obi. You try to get a word out at the same time his open palm comes down hard against the flesh of your exposed ass, and any would-be protests die in your throat.

Silently fuming, Bokuto holds you in place with a firm hand on the small of your back. Holding you close like this while also getting to take out his disappointment on you satisfied several needs at once, save for a particular need he only becomes aware of when the feeling of your belly against his crotch becomes too good to ignore.

However, his conscience sternly urges him to hold back. You are not perfect yet. This is not the right time.

If you are not responding to his graciousness, maybe you are the type who learns from being punished.

Once that thought crosses his mind, Bokuto feels like a man possessed as he hoists you off of his lap and onto the futon. You fall on your front with little more than a muted sound of surprise, and he pins you down with his own body before you can even attempt to find your bearings. In his haste to fulfill the desire that has finally been fully recognized, he begins tearing away your intricately wrapped kimono. You are in no position to refuse his grabbing hands, though you do become bolder in your soft cries of protest. You are becoming confident enough to use your words.

So Bokuto holds you in such a way to force you further against the sheets, quite literally taking your breath away. He is much, much bigger and stronger than you, holding all of your struggling limbs at once with ease.

He pins your arms behind your back and moves on to your legs and seizes you specifically by your ankles to spread them open in a humiliating pose. The position left your pussy open and vulnerable to him, and he can’t rid himself of his hakama fast enough. He catches sight of you glancing over your shoulder just in time to see his hard, leaking cock, and the look of fear on your face practically has him throbbing. When he grabs your thighs and aligns the tip with your distinctly unaroused entrance, he shoves in as deep as your body will allow.

You can no longer keep your pain silent, the pathetic cries bubbling out over your quivering lips as he holds you tight and prepares to spear in further. Your walls are beginning to grow slick from what he suspects is not desire but necessity, as the experience would have been much more painful than it needs to be if you were not at least a little wet. Every thrust slowly becomes easier, but the delicious resistance of your tight body remains dominant.

Bokuto buries himself within you and only moves his hips slightly at first, before starting a pace that wrings out the volume you are still holding back. You are crying out like a bitch in heat and it only encourages him to fuck you harder.

Bokuto hoists you back up just enough to arch your back towards him. This way he is able to look into your eyes, brimming with emotion and the primal fear of prey that felt its flesh being torn apart by a predator. He groans as his hand moves to your throat, holding you tight so he can feel you tremble and gasp for breath.

“I’ve been very patient. I gave everything you needed to adjust to living here with me. Yet you still refuse to fulfill your purpose,” he murmurs harshly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear with every word. “If you continue to refuse me, you’ll be sorry.”

With little more than a grunt of exertion, he spills himself directly into your abused womb. His hand slowly lets up its grip on your throat and you are able to breathe, though each breath comes out ragged and pitiful. Your body falls slack against the futon as soon as he lets you go, and he moves in to catch your legs and lift them up. Then he shifts to move closer to you, pulling you close and slipping a hand downwards to scoop up his release and push it back inside of you.

He feels you shiver against him when he presses his lips to the back of your shoulder. The hand that is not between your thighs is idly rubbing your belly, and his voice came out smooth as silk. “Don’t disappoint me again, you hear me?”

You are quiet, but Bokuto knows better than to read this as hesitation. It is more like you are tired and trying to catch your breath, or to find the proper words to say.

You are not yet in love with the idea, but rather, it’s as if you are at peace. Like you are finally coming to terms with what your life is now. The thought brings a bright grim to Bokuto’s face. Acceptance constitutes progress too, and it brings you one step closer to perfection.

—

There are many days where he is rough with you. Bokuto has taken over leadership at a very young age, and oftentimes, he takes his aggravation with him and takes it out on you. Part of him is dimly aware of this, but not aware enough to make him stop. Today is one of those days, and he is in a sour mood, desperately in need of both an outlet to pour his anger out and consolation.

You are shivering when Bokuto returns to the room, his steps heavy even on the carpeted floor. It is not exactly cold but you are naked, without even a single strand of hair out of place and your slender neck is on display just as the rest of you, and so nothing gets caught within any straps and hinges.

It is more the trepidation—and anticipation—that has you nervously dancing in place despite the thing he has carefully strapped you into a few minutes earlier. The wood is polished within an inch of its life, cinched around your neck and wrists, keeping you forced to bend over, ass to the door—just another little twist to his games that will keep you nervous and whiny because the thought of someone else stumbling in and getting an eyeful of your cunt is getting you tingly all over.

His little slut.

For the first time, Bokuto stays quiet. He is known as loud and boisterous young yakuza boss across the land, so to experience this silence is extremely unnerving for you. He does not even address you as he makes his way over with slow, heavy steps, but the thick air in the room makes his labored breathing all the louder.

It’s as if your cunt is glowing like a stop sign between your thighs, beckoning him closer. He wants to drag his fingers through the soft gape of your lips and pay some attention to your plump clit; torture it with some mean pinching like he knows you’ll go crazy for, but first, he slowly rounds to the front to have a look at your expression.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, anticipating his every move. You try to look up at him but his height and your position makes it impossible. He reaches for your chin, and you try to turn away from it but he grabs you anyway and slowly leans down, bringing his face very close to yours. You jerk away and abruptly avert your gaze elsewhere when you remember that you’re not supposed to look at him—not yet, not until he gives you the permission to—but he can see your face: bright and every bit scared as is excited.

He breathes slowly and measured, staring at you a bit longer just to unsettle you—then he lets go of your face and carefully tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ear. Some of the nervous fear seems to vanish from your expression after that.

Satisfied that everything is back in order, Bokuto stands back up and rounds you, watching the sway of your tits hanging down, and how your nipples are already swollen and needy. He pinches one—hard—and you cry out in surprise, your hips jerk as you automatically try to get away from the pain and realize you can’t go anywhere.

“No!” You whine, but it sounds weak. Your voice is trembling. He ignores you and pinches again, slower this time; increasing the pressure bit by bit until you start whining louder and louder, your knees bending then stretching again as you try to somehow mitigate the pain radiating off the tip of your breast.

He pulls down slowly, stretching the tissue until your whining becomes a short, rough cry of real pain, then he lets abruptly go.

When he leans over, he can see your cunt clench and relax desperately, slick already starting to glisten at the opening. You’ve always been a slut for pain.

He rounds you slowly, making a show out of letting his belt jingle loudly so you know he’s getting his cock out. You start whining again but a sharp two-fingered slap to your cunt has you shut up quickly.

Bokuto presses down with one big hand on the small of your back until you bend for him to have a comfortable grip on your hips as he drags the wide head of his cock through the valley of your ass.

Finally, it catches at the pouty rim of your pussy, pressing against it and forcing it to start spreading for the massive intrusion. He can hear you gasp for breath and he smirks in triumph.

“Squeal for me,” he murmurs, deep and ominous, then presses forward in earnest.

You do, because there’s no way you can keep quiet when Bokuto is fucking you open on his dick. You spread your toes against the carpet and curl them, trying to twitch out of the way but being held in place by his huge hands and his heavy weight on your back.

You are pinned in place, made to take his cock—basically letting him use you anyway he wants—and you couldn’t be more happy that he’s not hurting you too much, even though it is so very scary. You trust him, deep down. Of course you do.

But when you are like this, deep in your head space and reduced to a breeding sow gagging for dick, it is difficult to remember that you are nothing else but a trophy for him.

Bokuto tells you to squeal—and you obey. Simple as that.

His cock digs into your hole, spreading you so wide you are sure you are going to tear right through the middle. You don’t know when he stops existing as Bokuto in your mind and becomes your owner; domineering, possessive and belittling.

“Gonna put some little babies in you, yeah? Get your belly so swollen you can only waddle around.”

The words settle like hot coals in your belly, burning through you and sparking electric and delicious at the tips of your nipples. Bokuto can be really mean to you when he is angry. And while you are scared of his wrath, his words only serve as the fuel for your slippery slide down the slope. “Have to piss standing up because you’d not be able to get back up by yourself.”

You groan low—more a gurgle, really—and helplessly clench down on the big fat dick fucking into you. With everything compounded, you feel hot and suffocated. He’s fucking destroying you from the inside out, starting at your poor womb that will get massively dilated by the time he is done with what he is going to put into you.

Because that’s what you’re meant to be. He wants you to be waddling around with your holes sloppy and gaping from that massive dick of his you regularly get. Think about the others seeing you like that and knowing exactly that you’re nothing more than a disgusting breeding sow, made to be pumped full of his cum.

He fucks you like a beast and you grunt with every filling of his dick you receive. You can feel his balls swinging between your thighs; full and ripe, ready to fill you up until your belly is distending and your guts are gurgling with the cum he’s filling you with.

He increases his pace and you’ve never felt more animalistic; he groans deep and drawn-out, his hands cupping your belly to feel it starting to bulge with the sheer amount of cum he’s flooding your with while your eyes roll up into your head and your tongue is lolling out, drooling onto your chin, undignified and animalistic.

When he pulls out, it is not smooth. Even the head of his cock is big, and despite the massive spread of your pussy lips, it gets caught behind it anyway and needs to be dragged out with a humiliating wet pop like a plug getting pulled.

His cum immediately starts flowing as you can’t help but bear down, knees bending and clit pulsating needy and ripe between your thighs when the warm mess slides down your thighs as if you had pissed yourself in your excitement.

You don’t notice much of what is going on around you, not when he unclasps the thing from your neck and wrists, until big hands carefully touch you and turn you around into his big arms.

He carefully pats your cheek with a wide fingertip until you blearily blink open your eyes that feel glued-shut from the tears.

His anger should have dissipated by now, because there is a spark of affection in his bright, gold eyes and he nods before cradling you closer to his wide chest with one arm as the hand of the other descends between your thighs.

He’s gentle as his massive fingers slide into your cunt, fucking you slow and gentle while his thumb presses just this side of pleasurable against your swollen clit, dragging painfully tight circles into it until your body is strung tight as a bow string again, your teeth clenched together, sharp little nails digging into his huge forearm.

He keeps at it until you come, messy and loud, crying out as you jerk in his secure hold and gets everything wet as you squirt and he fucks you through it all.

Afterwards he holds you close, warming you with his massive body as he gently rocks you and leans his cheek against your forehead.

Bokuto can be awfully affectionate like that.

And that’s the only sign you need to see that he adores you just as much as you trust him… so far. But trust and security is different from love, and you’re not sure if you will ever be able to. He’s your owner and nothing more, and you’d be naive to think otherwise.

—

Even though you’ve grown accustomed to his presence as well as your new life in the estate, you still tense at the sound of his footsteps as they draw closer and closer over the floor.

You are still not sure about just how much you are allowed to see—your every question in that regard is easily ignored.

By now, you are more eager—as much as that makes you loathe yourself to admit it. You begin to anticipate his visits, lying on your back on the lush mattress he equips your room with and fucking your hole with your fingers as fast as you can without getting a cramp in his arm.

Your loud whimpers suffuse the air and bring an indulgent, broad grin onto Bokuto’s face as soon as he finally emerges in the doorjamb.

“So eager, my feather,” he purrs, slowly collapsing the stick in itself. He strolls casually to where you are wriggling on the sheets, and you turn your face away from him, subsequently baring your throat. Predictably, a large hand finds it without problem as if that’s the only thing his eyes are focused on.

“Are you ready this time?” he rumbles, the deep voice making you shiver and your nipples tighten into sensitive, little nubs. You wet your lips with a quick tongue, legs spreading wide for the hand stroking down his throat, between the valley of your breasts and down your abdomen, in order to vanish between your legs. A soft whine escapes you as he circles your hole, sensitive from getting fucked so often, before one of his fingers dips inside alongside your own fingers, making you strain and gasp.

“Is this… is this going to be the last time?” It is your standard question—almost like a ritual by now. It’s familiar to you like the broad length of Bokuto’s cock was, spreading you open and fucking you breathless. “Are you going to let me go after this?”

His lips stretch into another smile, his free hand stroking over your hair like a parent consoling their child.

“I told you I will breed you full,” he coos—just like always, seems like he’s in a good mood today. “Can’t let anyone see my little toy if she’s not well-bred now, can I?” He seems to take amusement in your predicament, setting you on edge, the humiliation driving ever deeper because you know you could do nothing against it.

You huff, ready to turn around and present your ass on all fours, but…

“Not this time. Stay just like that, beautiful.” Bokuto leans down, his voice—impossibly—dropping even lower as he slides onto the bed and between your thighs; still clothed.

He huffs a laugh, his tactile fingers sliding along your inner thighs, gently rubbing on the lips of your puffy, stretched hole, then curling two fingers inside you.

Your body is moving on its own—hips curling up into his stroking hand. You hate it. You love it.

“Have you been waiting long?” Bokuto asks in amusement, opening his own pants and drawing out that length that makes your mouth water and your hole clench in anticipation. Endorphins rush through your body, making you tingly and needy to be filled with nothing but his cock and cum.

You’ve already been trained so well by now… and from Bokuto’s triumphant grin, he is obnoxiously proud about it. Can’t wait to show you off and brag to his friends about his sweet little plaything; his trophy toy.

He leans down, his deep breaths ghosting along your collarbone. The fact that Bokuto likes your scent the most—he told you himself—and he likes to breathe you in while sucing on your neck, the artery there, feeling the pump of your blood there—is just as arousing as it is intimidating.

“You are... exquisite,” he whispers against your bare neck, dripping the words onto you like they were poetry even as the head of his cock slowly breaches you. You gasp—every time surprised at the fact that you could prepare yourself as much as you liked… Bokuto’s cock will still split you open and make you feel so fucking vulnerable.

“I will groom you to perfection.”

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut as his hips snap forward, driving himself in deep with the first thrust. He could feel tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but whether from how much it burns (it still does, and you love it) or from the fact that he so casually tells you about his plans to corrupt you… you cannot tell. You don’t even want to tell.

You whimper, arms and legs curling around him, drawing him closer as he leisurely fucks you, his tongue and teeth scraping over your throat and collarbone.

“You are going to be the best there is.” Bokuto raises his head, mouthing along the line of your jaw. “Everyone else is going to wish that you’re theirs,” he sounded entirely too smug for that sentence, “but you’re mine. I own you. ”

You can feel Bokuto’s muscles flexing where your calves lay on his sides. He is so broad, so huge that you can barely wrap your whole body on him and yet… and yet…

Fuck, your whole body is primed to him. To this man brimming with strength and vitality and intellect.

Bokuto is the perfect owner to breed anyone… and your body welcomes him greedily—needy hole opening up despite the burn of the entry; just swallowing that cock again and again, clinging sweetly as if it loathes to let him out on every second stroke.

He laughs—low and painfully happy as if he has read your thoughts. The sound rumbles through his chest and directly into you, your toes curling and feet scrabbling at the backs of his thighs, fingernails scratching along his back as your lust spirals higher, soft sounds of satisfaction spilling out of your throat, no matter how hard you try to hold them back.

“Open up for me,” Bokuto whispers right into your ear—his voice sweet and deadly like poison. “Open up, sweet thing. Take it… take me.”

The last word is rasped in a low rumble—more carnal than human as he thrusts more harshly, grinding deep into you and making you cry with your head thrown back. You hear the breathy, rasping chuckle of him filling you up good and proper.

You love how satisfied you feel at being a good bitch for him.

—

Afterwards, when Bokuto is gone, you realize your face is wet. You think you must have been sweating more than you thought.

Yes. That’s it.

#bokuto smut #bokuto x reader smut #bokuto x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x reader #bokuto koutarou #yakuza!bokuto #tw dubcon #.bokuto!#.fics!

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blkgirl-writing · 4 years

Text

"Head Game" part 1 Zuko X Reader Smut Hcs

Warnings: complete filth. Zukos first blowjob at like 20, poor guy.

Requested: yes! By many beautiful, horny anons.

A/n: as always, Reader is assumed as a WOC. Though, everyone can read it, as its left a bit vague. My requests are always open!

[Part 2 found here!]

Zuko was having a really, really hard day.

Years had gone by as a king, and yet he felt less equipped the longer the title was held to his name,

Meetings became white noise, training because a dull pastime. There was no adventure left in life,

That's why he started the arrangement between you two...

You, a representative of a small city in the fire kingdom, and most importantly, his good friend.

A good friend who shot him the most dirty, lust filled looks at any given chance

He definitely shot some back too.

The touches you shared were getting longer, hugs a bit tighter,

You started to kiss his cheek, staining his skin a dark red. A memory of where your lips were.

He had a wet dream about you,

Lipstick still painting his skin

Zuko was fucking confused. Sure, the pair had flirted playfully, maybe he had placed his hand on your thigh one or two times, but no one had spoken about it.

The picture of your head bobbing, unholy moans from your lips on his-

It was wrong. Really, really wrong.

For the next week, Zuko avoided you at all costs.

If course you noticed the fire lord ignoring you clearly calling his name down the hall.

Had you miss stepped? Maybe he had a girlfriend and you had gone too far?

The week after that, you decided enough was enough. You had to know.

After a meeting, you asked to speak alone with Zuko

Zuko was freaking out.

He had three more dreams about you since the first. His only thought was how the fuck you found out about them. (This boy actually thought he was being so sly and smart with his avoidance)

"Do you hate me?" Your words came out far more desperate than you wanted. "I'm so sorry if I messed up. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable-"

"What?" Zuko was so confused, oh my god. Where the hell? What the hell were you talking about?"

"Well, you've been avoiding me, so I assumed that I was coming on too strongly and you don't..."

"Don't what?" Still confused Zuko can't imagine a girl liking him, even when shes flirted with him for years...

"This is already embarrassing, zuko, don't make me-"

"Tell me~" His voice changed, a bit more buttery, lower, sexy...

"I was worried I was too clear with my flirting, and you were disappointed? Disgusted? I don't know, honestly." You huffed.

There was a really, brutally long length of silence.

Zukos mind was going at full speed...all thise touches, all the small kisses that you gave no one else. You wanted the same thing he did...maybe. was it worth the risk?

The answer was yes.

"I think about you. I dream about you, even." Zuko forced himself to look up at you, who sat with your painted lips slightly parted. "My imagination went wild. I couldn't look at you without thinking of my...dreams."

"Oh."

"Well, I'm sure I can help with that-" you stood up, zuko quickly following. He didnt know what to do, so he just stood there, looking like a shook puppy.

"Tell me about your dreams, Zuko. Tell me how I made you feel."

Your hips pressed into his, lips inches away from his ear, hot breath sending shivers down his spine.

Zuko rested his hands on your hips, urging you so very softly to just come a bit closer. Maybe then his words wouldnt fair him.

"It's okay, Zuko. You can take your time." You hummed, placing a small kiss on the exposed skin if his neck. A perfect canvas to paint love marks.

After one or two, hickeys, you asked "is it okay if I keep going?" Followed by - "do you want this.

"More than anything-" "I dreamt that you

"Keep going-" you hummed, untying his pants as he spoke.

Zuko barely even breath. You so easily made him weak. So easily hard...painfully ficking hard as you palmed him though his boxers.

"You sucked my cock," Zukos voice was low, forcing himself to to whimper as you wrapped your fingers around his length.

You looked up into Zukos eyes, his yellow ones staring into your brown eyes with a desire you hadn't ever seen before. Lust beyond words.

The motions were quick...pushing his underwear down, his cock springing free from the cloth, spitting on his length as you used both hands to pump

Honestly you fought the urge to gasp, cause hot damn, he was packing

Your jaw was not gonna be okay after, holy shit

"What next, my king~" you purred, kitty licking his tip.

Zuko hummed under your touch, the way you talked to him was just pure filth, and he loved it.

"Can...can I touch your hair? I...i remember helping you take me in," for a man on the verge of being a puddle, his words were affirming and deep.

"You can pull my hair," this is how you knew you found Zuko attractive. Any other time you'd shamelessly swat the guys hand away. "Guide me."

His fingers intertwined with the hair near the nape of your neck a gentle motion to take him inside your mouth. Nothing too hard, just a bit of pain.

"Just like that-fuck" Zuko let out a strangled breath, shutting his eyes tight as you hollowed your cheeks around his cock.

It was slow, taking what seemed like minutes until you got as far as you could go, still quite a few inches left at his base. The muttered gagging sound as his length hit the back of your throat fully fucking aroused and confused Zuko

"Are you okay?" He choked out, moaning when you hummed a reply.

You bobbed your head at a decently slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm the king, who clearly hadn't gotten a blowjob before. Giving a soft pump from your right hand, just to give that extra amount of pleasure.

His eyes shot from how you sucked on his cock, lips pushing in and out, leaving a streak of red lipstick down his shaft, down to your exposed breasts. How did he not notice you unwrapping your blouse?

And how fucking soft your hair was in his hands, how you moaned around him if he pulled hard. Sometimes he just had to close his eyes for a few seconds, bathing himself from the moaning mess he had become. His free hand brushing through his messy hair,

"When I came," zuko muttered, licking his chapped lips. "You drank it all, licked your lips of the rest."

Your free hand came up to Zukos thigh, squeezing his skin softly as your own little reply.

Then you start going faster, hand moving to to caress his balls, and zuko comes undone.

"F-fuck, you're doing so good, fucK"

His grip on your hair became much tighter, his hands forcing you to go just a bit deeper, faster, harder. Then he looked into your eyes,

Looking up at him, eyes begging to drink up every drop he would spill into your mouth

Zuko was literally shaking, his hands coming down to your shoulders as he came, knees so close to giving out.

The deeper angle of him, plus the weight of zuko keeping himself upright purely by hanging onto you made you honestly think you might drown in cum

Not the worst way to die, but still.

You brought both of your hands to his hips, steadying him as he bucked his hips into you

It seemed like he was cumming for hours, an absolute mess, black hair draping down on his sweaty face.

Eventually, Zuko pushed himself up from his slumped form, running a hair through his locks, trying to play it cool

The sight of you was dirty and so, so beautiful. Lips plumped, curls springing out left and right from your hair, tears of arousal brimming at the corners of your eyes. Fuck. Fuck fuck.

"Enjoy yourself?" You managed to smile, voice weak and throat a bit sore. With the help of Zuko, his hands held yours to help you balance. The long time on your knees had certainly taken a bit of a toll.

"Fuck yes-" he sighed, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. Just as you did to him, he placed small kisses along your neck, up to your ear, nibbling on your earlobe. "You're so good. So beautiful."

"Can I return the favor...?" Zuko whispered, voice hoarse and raspy from the moans.

"Of course, my king." You replied, bringing your hands up to his hair, pulling slightly. "Let's recreate one of my dreams."

#smut #requested #zuko smut #zuko x reader smut #prince zuko #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko x you #atla #atla x reader #atla x reader smut #avatar the last airbender x reader #avatar #zuko headcanon #zuko x reader headcanons

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Hue and Cry XI

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, sad reader, Bucky being Bucky because he don’t quit.

This is dark!medieval!Bucky Barnes x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You try to make things better.

Note: Finally it’s the weekend! Got this done catching up on FATWS and just kind went with it. Also if anyone’s interested in making a moodboard/banner for this, I’m not sure if I like the one I have and I might play around with it. I would forever be indebted to you.

Thanks to everyone and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

MASTERLIST

You were frightened by the gentle touch on your elbow. You were so ensnared in your despair, you hadn’t heard the soft footsteps or sensed the figure right beside you. It was only May’s sweet voice which woke you from your drunken malaise.

“Oh dearie, what is the matter?” she rubbed your arm, “I did see how you left but Peter did not say what upset you. It wasn’t him, was it? I swear, I taught that boy better--”

“No, no, it wasn’t him, never, I… No, he has only been kind to me,” you sniffed, “it is only… I have been untrue. I do not deserve his, or your kindness.”

“Dearie, that is ridiculous, you are a good girl, you deserve all good things. Perhaps we only did just meet days ago, but we care for you. We could not be unhappy with you for anything,” she cooed.

“You don’t understand,” you daubed your eyes with your knuckles, “I… I lied to you, to your husband, and your nephew. Everyone here.”

“Is it a lie that would hurt us? Truly?” she asked, “would it lead any true plight for us? Would we lose our livelihoods or our lives?” She tried to look you in the eye, “I do not think so and so I do not worry of it.”

“What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you?” she blinked in confusion.

“Yes, everyone wants something of me. If it is to be your friend, I do not know I could be much of one, and if it were to be… something else to your nephew, that surely could never be, and whatever it is, it cannot end well.”

“You speak in riddles, girl, and no doubt foolishly because you are already my friend and I would not rescind that title for anything.”

“And if I have no other title? Hmm? If I am only a servant painted to be a lady?” You looked at the floor and more tears streamed down, “do you still call me friend?”

She was silent. Her hand fell down your arm and she took your hand. You were surprised as she embraced you and pulled your head onto her shoulder. She rocked you as your tears spilled onto her gown.

“Whatever you are, you are good,” she whispered, “I, nor my husband, nor my nephew would take offense at your true bearing. The lie is small, but your character has shown true.”

“I can’t--I couldn’t--”

“What you will do is you will come with me for the night. You will let the wine drain from your veins and your tears subside,” she coaxed, “and whatever it is that truly troubles you will wait until then.”

“But what about--”

“Those men can tend to themselves,” she hooked her arm through yours and carefully drew you from the wall, “now let us go. I am weary myself.”

You let her lead you away even as uneasiness boiled in your stomach. You should go after Lord Barnes, find your way back to his chambers, but you were just as afraid to appease him as to defy him in that moment.

🏰

You slept beside May. Actually slept. You hadn’t done much of that in a long time. She was warm and reminded you of your mother. When you were young and she served the former Lord Barnes and you slept between her and your father on a straw mattress. He always smelled of hay and she smelled of some indiscernible pollen.

May smelled of cinnamon or something like it. You woke with a heavy head and limbs. You sat up in nothing but your shift as the older woman moved around in the dim. She hung a kettle over the small hearth in the tight chambers, nothing so roomy as the duke’s.

She stood and arranged two cups on the table. She wore a plain robe over her shift and rubbed her hands together in the morning chill. She smiled at you as she neared the window, “I didn’t mean to wake you, dearie.”

“No, I should,” you slid out from under the blankets as she pulled back the curtains from the only window, “I should go--”

“You should stay. I’ll brew some berry tea, it’ll do your head well,” she insisted.

“You don’t understand. I shouldn’t have come here last night, I should have--”

“Is this anything to do with Lord Rogers?” she interjected, “you did not say exactly how you knew him.”

“Rogers? No, he is not…” you pulled on your gown but it droop as you could not reach the laces, “please, help me dress. I must be back.”

“Back to what? To who?” she urged.

"Just back," you walked to her and turned your back to face her, "please, you've been so kind but you cannot know what should ensue should I delay."

"Because you won't tell me," she pulled the laces tight and jerked your entire body, "if you did, perhaps I might help."

"You couldn't even if you knew," you murmured as she knotted the ties, "I'm sorry. Thank you for all you've done," you faced her again, "but…"

"It's Lord Barnes." She declared staunchly, "isn't it? I saw him last night with you and Peter. My nephew would not share what was said but he was as out of sorts as you."

"As I said," you took your cap and pulled it over your head, "I am only a maid dressed to be another," you reached around your skirts to wiggle into your slippers, "I was remiss to lie to you, to involve you in my mess. You should stay away from me and I will do the same."

"You don't have to go back to him," she stopped you as you tried to flit past her.

"Where would I go?" You asked, "he will find me. He found me before. He is close with the king and every man of esteem in the kingdom and I haven't a coin to shield me."

"You could go to our stead. We could take you back with us, we are ever in need of another hand--"

"To be what? I would serve well but I expect you mean as more. Your nephew's interest in me is misplaced. I am not of his stature, in title or repute." You brushed past her and grabbed the long door handle, "I am a whore, that cannot be undone."

"Dearie--" you left her and pulled the door to clatter loudly behind you. It was early still but too late to please Barnes. You would face his wrath so it did not again stray to Peter and his kin.

You found Lester outside his door. The horse-faced guard snickered as he let you through and you hid your sneer from him. You knew how he listened through the door and there were times he mocked you when Barnes was not around, mimicking those whines and whimpers drawn from you in your torment. He would have more fodder that day.

The duke was awake. He sat only in his nightshirt before the blazing fire as he stirred it with the iron poker. He grumbled as the latch fell back into place.

"You're overdue," he stated bluntly, "how is the boy? Hmm, were you so desperate to beg his pardons that you could not be troubled with mine?"

"It was his aunt, she saw me through the night. I was drunk," you neared him cautiously, "I wanted to be back but she kept me. It is no excuse for my… straying."

You went around him so that you stood between him and the flames. He raised the poker to point it at your throat as he glared up at you. You grabbed it lightly and pushed it aside. He let you and dropped it to the floor with a clunk. He squinted up at you curiously. You bent slowly and gathered your skirts to lift them.

"No--" Bucky began and you put a finger to his lips, a shaky finger, and came closer as you hushed him.

You straddled him as your skirts bunched behind you as you held yourself up with your knees against the bench. You let your hand fall to his shoulder, that one which did not lead to more, and bent to kiss him through the thin linen.

"I came back, my lord," you said, "I wanted to all night but the wine… let me make it right."

He grabbed your chin with his other hand and forced you up. His jaw clenched as he looked you in the eye and held you there. You slid your hand down his chest and stomach and rubbed him through the tails of the shirt. He responded quickly as you felt him growing hard.

"You tell me all the things you want of me but do not allow me to be them," you leaned in so that his lips were close to yours, "so let me."

His blue eyes glimmered and you felt him gasp as you hand slipped under his nightshirt. His hand slipped down to your chest and squeezed as he moaned airily.

"You think I would forgive you?" He asked, his lips grazing yours hotly.

"For what, my lord? You thrust me into another's arms but what more did I do but dance," you struggled to keep your voice from quivering, "you left me there alone but I came back to you…" you stroked him and he gulped, "don't I always come back to you, my lord?"

You kissed him and forced down the revulsion and anxiety of what you were doing. This was the only language he understood. You angled his member and lifted yourself over him. You angled him against your entrance and shuddered as you let him inside. You croaked as you parted from his lips and sheathed him completely,

"I don't want that boy," you whispered as you moved you hips and latched onto his shoulders to keep on him, "only you, my lord, as you want me."

"Sweeting," he murmured, "ohhhh…"

His hand went to your hip beneath the layers of your gown and shift. He grasped your thigh as you kept your motion steady. You flinched only as his fingers crawled to your vee and he flicked your bud. You moaned without thinking and focused on your hips.

A heat built at his fingertips as he kissed you again, deep and desperate as his hips tilted into you from below. The bench creaked under your weight and the fire flickered against your back. You slung your arms around him and closed your eyes, they stung but you would not cry.

You huffed as the tension coiled inside of you, his fingers working faster and faster, urging you on as his smoky voice filled your lungs. You tore your mouth away from his and hung your head back as your body moved out of instinct.

You felt the same rise as that day in the carriage when he first touched you. Ripples rolled over you and you exclaimed as they rained over you like hail. Your walls clenched him and the tenderness that lingered dissolved. It had never felt this good, never felt good at all.

He pulled his hand from between your legs and hooked his arm around you. He stood and flipped you swiftly so that your back was across the bench. Your legs dangled down, splayed before him as he took control. He hammered into atop the narrow bench as you head and shoulders hung off the back.

Your hood fell onto the floor and sweat gathered beneath the silk and linen of your day-old attire. You swooped your arm around Bucky's neck as he pinned you on the thin cushion and the noise of his frantic intrusion filled the room. He smelled of leather and smoke. He felt like fire and ice at once.

He rammed into you as hard as he could and pushed his face into the crook of your neck. His heavy pants warmed your flesh and his bit into your throat as he groaned. His hips spasmed wildly and he came with a final pinch of your tender skin. He stopped at his hilt and rested atop you like a stone.

The blood pounded in your head painfully as you hung over the bench. He pulled you up with him and your vision swam from the disorienting rise as he kept inside of you. He staggered around the seat and carried you to the bed, falling atop you on the cushy feather mattress.

He pushed himself up on his elbow and gazed down at you. He shoved his cock as deep as he could and watched you squirm. His eyes were alight as he delighted in your helpless whimpers and you grasped the front of his nightshirt.

"You will always come back to me," he rasped and thrust hard, "always."

"Always… my lord," you squeaked as the pain once more filled your core and soul alike.

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hlizr50 · 3 years

Text

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

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#gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel fic #gwynriel #gwynriel supremacy #gwyneth berdara #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fic #gwyn x azriel #azwyn #azriel x gwyn #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction

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meltwonu · 3 years

Text

47. “Shut up.”

“Why don’t you come over here and make me.”

39. “You taste like fucking candy.”

notes; AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES… lord i just love the idea of fucking an annoyed mingyu kdsjfhkds, cocky!mingyu, dirty talk, using panties as a gag, a little oral(fem receiving)/fingering, a little cum eating. Also forgive me bc im trying a different formatting of my drabbles and rly im just turning them into 1k-ish word fics?😭😭 I JUST CAN’T SHUT UP and these get so long so theyre not rly drabbles anymore sorry but also ive gotten so far without renaming the entire drabble game thing so… ye. Should i rename this drabble game? Or is it okay? Sorry that i cannot write short things…😭😩 should i include a word count?😅 I’m a mess and this is longer than 1k so the rest is under the cut!! Thank you for requesting!!! Enjoy!💕

“Fuck, Mingyu, you left your shit in the washing machine again! Can you just get your shit together so I don’t have to wait on you all the time!?”

You prop a hand on your hip, watching as the male raises a brow from his place on the sofa when he turns his attention to you.

“Why don’t you go clean the bowl you left in the sink then, huh? I can say the same thing!”

Your lips press into a firm line; annoyance clear on your features. “My one fuckin’ bowl isn’t deterring you from using the sink but your shit in the washer is preventing me from washing my damn clothes!”

The tall male gets up from his spot on the sofa; annoyance obvious on his face as well. “You’re just so…”

“Just so what, Mingyu?”

He grits his teeth as he makes his way to leave and deal with the laundry. “Forget it.”

You watch as he moves his things to the dryer before shooting you a harsh stare and beelining straight for his room across the hallway.

You finally manage to put your things in the washer once Mingyu retreats to his bedroom and it beeps once when it finally finishes, 45 minutes later.

Except now Mingyu’s clothes are just sitting in the dryer.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you storm over to Mingyu’s bedroom, flinging the door open with the intent of giving him a piece of your mind again.

“Mingyu, you fuckin’----”

“Fuck!”

Your eyes flit all across the tall male with his back against the headboard and you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from his large hand wrapped around his thick cock; throat going dry at the view. “Uh---”

“Don’t you fucking knock!?”

The words die on your tongue the longer you stand his doorway, and he, too, makes no effort to move from his place on his bed. “M--maybe if you fucking moved your shit from the dryer on t-time!” You retort; already losing the fight in your voice the longer your eyes fixate on the leaking tip of his cock.

Mingyu’s at a loss for words himself and he’s unsure of what to even do to make the situation less awkward.

But he will admit; your flustered expression might’ve made his cock twitch.

He clears his throat, “I don’t see you leaving. Finally owning up to the fact you wanna fuck me?” Mingyu grins; cockiness replacing the awkwardness he was feeling moments prior.

“Shut up.”

His grin falters momentarily before it’s back; his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Why don’t you come over here and make me.”

Mingyu is meticulous. You have to admit.

He cleans while he cooks and makes sure his utensils and prepping station are absolutely spotless before the meal is even done cooking.

He’s apparently also just as meticulous with his tongue when he eats you out; fingers knuckle deep and curling into your g-spot just as he uses the tip of his tongue to tease your clit for the umpteeth time. “Ngh, fuck---fuck you, Mingyu!” You lock your hands into his permed hair, tugging on it slightly when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard.

“God, fuck y-you!” You grind against his tongue and fingers as you get closer and closer to the verge of an orgasm.

Mingyu pulls away slightly, lips glistening and wet. “You taste like fucking candy. It’s a shock considering your sour nature.” He mutters quietly, only loud enough for you to catch it as the heat blooms on your cheeks. “Just shut up and eat me out.” You mumble back.

Scoffing, he thrusts his fingers into you harshly one more time. “I think you’ve had enough actually.” He wiggles his fingers inside of your wet cunt as you moan out. “It’s time for you to give me what I want too.”

He pulls his fingers out, popping them into his own mouth as he licks your wetness off of them. Your grip on his hair loosens as he starts to sit up between your legs; his long hair falling into his dark eyes when he looks down at you. “Get up, we’re switching places.”

“Fine.”

It takes you a second to maneuver around the tall male on his small bed; huffing when he lays down against the pillows. “I ate you out and fingered your ‘lil pussy so now you can ride my cock and pull some of the weight around here.” He snides.

A smirk paints its way onto his features as you clench your jaw and sit down onto his thighs. “You’re lucky I needed to get laid or I wouldn’t be this willing to ride your fuckin’ dick.”

“Oh please, you probably dream about my cock. I see you eyeing me when I’m just walkin’ around in my sweats. I bet I’m who you fantasize about when you’re getting off with that vibrator of yours. Which, by the way, is fuckin’ loud. I hope you realize I can hear it when I pass by your bedroom. You should really---mmph!”

You quickly stuff your soaked panties between his lips before he can say anything more; gritting your teeth. “You really need to shut up. You’re cuter with your mouth closed or eating me out.”

Mingyu wasn’t… technically wrong. You just didn’t want to hear it right now.

You quickly shimmy your body up until you can reach down and wrap a hand around his cock and Mingyu places his hands on your waist to steady you as you slowly start to sink down onto him. “O-oh, fuck…”

A garbled moan spills from your lips as you feel him filling you up inch by inch; already wanting to start a quick pace as you chase your own orgasm.

Mingyu groans from around the panties between his lips and he tosses his head back as your tight, warm walls clench around his cock.

He thought about you sometimes too. Not that he’d admit it either.

It takes a few tense seconds and a few stuttered breaths before you’re completely seated on his cock; the tip of it already curving into your g-spot as you give yourself a moment to adjust to his size. “Y’know, if you w-weren’t such a cocky son of a b-bitch, I wouldn’t be so, ah, opposed to fucking y-you… G-god, I’d probably even, ngh, d-date you..”

You slowly start to swivel your hips as you mewl; Mingyu’s cock fit inside your cunt so perfectly. “But all y-you do is, hah, c-complain about m-my messes when you’re m-messy too…”

Mingyu’s blunt nails dig into the skin of your naked waist as you alternate between bouncing in his lap and swiveling your hips. And in return, his harsh breaths are all you can hear as you fuck yourself on his cock. He knows he could easily flip you onto your back and fuck you into his bedsheets until all you knew was his name, but he plays nice for now and lets you have your fun while you could.

“What were you t-thinkin’ about, huh? Before I walked in h-here. Were you thinkin’ about, ah, me? Do I get you s-so heated that, mmh, you g-get hard? Are you t-that easy?” You shoot him a cocky grin of your own as you clench around his cock. He narrows his eyes at you before he plants his feet firmly onto the bed and bucks his hips up into you; effectively jostling you and making you bounce harder in his lap as he starts to fuck you.

A sharp whine escapes past your lips as he starts a quick pace and you're quick to meet his movements as you slam down onto his cock with each of his thrusts. The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm as you both unload all of the sexual tension that’d been brewing for the few months that you’d been roommates.

Your saccharine moans and whines mix in with Mingyu’s harsh breaths and muffled groans as you both feel yourselves inching closer and closer to the edge. He can already feel his cock twitching and he can already feel the way your walls tighten even more around his cock with each passing second.

You reach a hand between your body and his; fingertips on your swollen clit as you race towards your orgasm. “Fuck, I, ah, w-wanna cum…” You mumble.

Mingyu bites down onto the fabric in his mouth as he tosses his head back again, his forehead covered in a sheen of sweat as he starts to feel his abdomen tightening with his impending orgasm.

And he doesn’t warn you when he cums, but you can feel his cock twitching and his cum filling you up as his thrusts lose their rhythm. You let out a choked moan at the feeling and you rub quicker circles on your clit as you throw yourself over the edge and into your orgasm as well.

Mingyu lets out a muffled groan as he feels your walls fluttering around him and for a moment, he tells himself he could get used to fucking you.

“Oh, g-god, you’re, ah, fu--fucking cumming so---so much inside of m-me…” Whimpering, you slam down onto his cock as you both ride out your high and Mingyu’s eyes fixate on the way his cock slides out of your wet pussy covered in his cum and your wetness.

Mingyu moves a hand from your waist to pluck the soaked material out of his mouth; tossing it to the side as he gently massages his jaw.

“Look at you, still fucking yourself on my cock. Want more already, huh?” He watches as you reach down and scoop up some of the cum that settled onto his skin, lips parted slightly as he lets out a soft moan. You continue to swivel your hips atop his lap, waiting until your orgasm completely ebbs off before you come to a full stop.

You pop your wet digits into your mouth, keeping eye contact with him as he commits to memory the way you suck on your fingers and swallow down the cum.

He grits his teeth as he watches you repeat the action. “Such a good girl cleaning up your mess, huh? That’d be a first for you, wouldn’t it?” His eyes twinkle with an almost evil glint when you finally pop the clean digits from between your lips and move to straddle his thighs again; this time, globs of cum dripping from your pussy as his cock slides from inside of you.

Images of you in different positions flit through Mingyu’s mind as he smiles.

“Say, do you really want to know what I was thinking about before you walked in?”

#mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fic #seventeen fic #mingyu #kim mingyu

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 3 years

Text

dedicated to @quicksilver-ships <3 SPN 15x18 coda, tfw 2.0 angst.

Jack's waiting in the corridor when Dean exits room 7B, followed by an exhausted looking Sam. Dean knows he looks like shit too — and it's confirmed when Jack's face falls even harder on seeing him.

"Dean."

He sounds terrified.

"Hey, kid." Dean's mouth twists in a grimace. He's about to excuse himself — or try to anyways, since Sam probably wouldn't take too kindly to Dean fleeing to the undeniable loneliness of their whiskey cabinet after about an hour of intermittent crying, and a lot of it into his brother's stupid shirt too (Dean's not proud of it either) as he told him about Cas. He'd probably try to force some grub down Dean's throat instead. Hell, maybe even let go of his shiny, new hippie handbook and fry Dean some real fucking grief bacon.

And it wouldn't really work to go against his brother at times like these. Sam always ends up (wordlessly) in charge when they lose family, and fuck, have they lost family today.

Fuck, has Dean lost everything.

"Dean, I —" Jack exchanges a look with Sam, eyes flitting up and back to Dean's, nervous as though for affirmation, and then he's stepping forward, head bowed, eyebrows netted, and he's hugging Dean.

Dean stiffens, but feels Jack's resolution crumble almost immediately, and puts his hand on the kid's back.

"It's okay." He hears himself mutter.

"I'm sorry." Jack finishes, not letting go. He's shorter, so it's not like hugging the others. It's almost like being held on to, and Jack's fists curl desperately in Dean's jacket, and his heart thuds against Dean's ribs, evoking a fierce protectiveness in the mess of bleeding fragments that once made up Dean's heart — he's his kid, and Cas's kid, and Dean's got to take care of him like he's taken care of Sammy, of course he does — and it's really, really nothing like hugging anyone else.

Dean holds him tight, closes his eyes, and lets out a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Tell me what?" Dean asks blankly, the answer hitting him a fraction of a second after he hears his own words.

The blood in his veins freezes.

"You knew?"

"I'm sorry," Jack repeats, choked. He pulls away, takes a step back, and doesn't meet Dean's eyes. "I did. Castiel told me, and I'm sorry I didn't tell any of you, he made me promise, and he told me I didn't need to worry, and I —" His voice breaks. "I believed him. I'm sorry."

Dean thinks he's supposed to feel anger, but when he looks inside, all he finds is a blunt numbness. "You believed him."

"I'm really sorry." Jack cries, and Dean notices Sam's arm reaching to comfort the kid, but he stops him.

"Wait." Dean tells his brother, and turns to Jack. He knows he's wearing his iciest face, the glint in his eyes the most detached, and it's not like he means to, but he can see it scares Jack. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Jack falters.

"What is it?" Dean demands, and finally, as if in response, his anger flares. Cas is gone — gone forever — and the kid had known.

They could have fucking saved him.

"What's the real reason, Jack?" Dean shouts, and his gut screams at him to do something harsher. He has to know why Jack wouldn't tell them. The kid's hiding something even now. "I know you didn't trust shit. Why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you fucking tell —"

"Dean." Sam warns, sounding pissed.

Dean couldn't care less.

"Answer me, or I fucking swear." Dean grits his teeth. "Why didn't you tell us, Jack —"

"Dean!" Sam growls, cutting him off, and angrily pushing past to get to Jack. Dean jolts back to his senses when Sam rams into his side, and stares in shock at a red-faced Jack falling to his knees, crying.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Jack begs, shaking uncontrollably as Sam tries to compose him, glaring furiously at Dean as he rubs Jack's back. "I didn't believe him, no, but I — I just didn't want —"

Dean stays rooted to the spot, his face flushed as he violently blinks back a tear.

"I didn't want you to think Castiel wasn't happy with you." Jack says, sobbing with every syllable in Sam's arms. Sonuvabitch, Dean was a horrible person. "Because you were, and I was, and he was supposed to be, and I think he pretended sometimes, and that's hurtful, and I didn't want you to feel deceived or betrayed, or hurt like I did, when I realized he was never happy with us."

If Sam's as flummoxed as Dean is, it doesn't show on his face. (How does he keep it in, Dean wonders belatedly, vexed with admiration.)

"I know you — you thought he was family, and I know you were both happy, and I just didn't want you to hurt —" Jack's voice cracks, and Sam squeezes him worriedly, at which he moves to bury himself in Sam's chest.

Dean doesn't realize when he fell to his knees either, staring at his brother and son.

Jack's words got to him — his way of seeing this, the innocence, and the childlike fear in his voice pierces through Dean's armor of rage and asshole-parenting-tendencies, and he breaks. He breaks, and he spills, and Dean finds himself guiltily eyeing his brother and the sobbing child in his arms from eye-level, before he knows what to make of it.

"I knew it was my fault," Jack's still mumbling, dazed, between loud breaths. "My fault he wasn't happy — I wasn't enough — never good enough, strong enough — he wouldn't say it, wouldn't ever say it — but he could never be happy because of me —"

"It's not you, Jack." Sam promises, wringing himself dry of sincerity in saying it. "Never been you."

"S'not you." Dean adds, voice trembling, and Sam looks up with red-rimmed eyes from a couple feet away, smile one of the saddest Dean's ever seen on him, and he gestures him closer.

Dean blinks, but he goes.

He's done being destructive, he's fucking tired of causing pain to the people he loves, and he trusts Sam — trusts him to be right, trusts him to be in control, and Sam's asking him to come closer and hug Jack, so it must help in making things right.

Dean drags himself to them, ashamed of himself.

"Cas loved you, Jack." Sam swears, steady and true, speaking over Jack's agitated muttering, and finally, Jack stops.

"He loved you very much." Sam says again, promises it, and Jack curls into himself again, crying more quietly now. Dean can't take it, and he puts his own hand on the kid's shoulder — uncertain, but braving past it when Jack flinches, and Dean exchanges a mildly reassuring glance with Sam before hugging Jack too.

Sam's voice quivers the third time he says it. "He loved all of us."

And Dean reaches for his little brother, his brave, brave little brother, and pulls him into the hug too. A tear rolls down Sam's cheek as he does the same, Jack remaining hugged between them — slowly shifting so he holds onto them both.

Sam's words ring in Dean's ears as the three of them stay, wrapped in each other's arms and safety as they mourn Castiel, Angel of the Lord, hero, and a Winchester forever. Family, until the end of time.

They echo in his hollow chest until he comes apart again.

Cas loved you. He loved you very much.

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