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nereidprinc3ss · 2 months

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do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

part one | part three

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were.

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you.

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive.

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later.

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost.

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go.

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question.

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you.

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet.

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong.

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours.

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms.

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close.

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want.

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel.

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart.

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you.

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you.

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure.

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger.

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes.

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies.

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch.

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak.

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear.

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you.

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to.

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him.

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise.

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important.

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra.

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him.

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked.

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands.

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Not right now,” he agrees.

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides.

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown.

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range.

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff.

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight.

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles.

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing.

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs.

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought.

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you.

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together.

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles.

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage.

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair.

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess.

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you.

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you.

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this?

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself.

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches.

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply.

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone.

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck.

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him.

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff.

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again.

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod.

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze.

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction.

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him.

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions.

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core.

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry.

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious.

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest.

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him.

Thankfully, he delivers.

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl.

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you.

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds.

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second.

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh.

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer.

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit.

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light.

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous.

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning.

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan.

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it.

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection.

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat.

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core.

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first.

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. ��Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months

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

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

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

Word count: 6.4 k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To “hold you”, sir?”

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

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

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

…

He evades you for the whole of next week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who said anything about bedding?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

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

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

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t.

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

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

And then come the tears.

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

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

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

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

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

And then…

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

“Shh... It’s alright.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Süssling…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s called love, silly.”

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

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#könig x reader #könig x you #medieval au #konig x reader #könig fanfiction #cheesy romance warning

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tybaltsjuliet · 1 year

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here's the thing about charles dickens. [discussion of his antisemitism, misogyny, and racism ahead.]

his last, unfinished novel, the mystery of edwin drood, features helena and neville landless, heroic and sympathetic south asian (sri lankan, specifically) characters, and the racism they endure in an english town is relevant to the plot to the point where neville ends up falsely accused of murder. in the wake of the indian rebellion of 1857, dickens applauded the english brutality against "that oriental race," and called for genocide.

fagin is called "the jew" 274 times in the first half of oliver twist. an article in the jewish chronicle asked why "jews alone should be excluded from the 'sympathizing heart' of this great author and powerful friend of the oppressed." at first, dickens dismissed this, and claimed he was just being accurate about london's criminal makeup. but he was moved enough by eliza davis's letters to him on the matter that he halted the printing of the latter half of oliver twist so he could change the text and remove the antisemitic language therein.

dickens was an abolitionist who despised chattel slavery in the united states, and called emancipation a "moral duty." dickens didn't think black americans were intelligent enough to vote, and he wrote an entire character in bleak house who is a joke to be disliked and mocked because she'd rather oversee charity missions to help children in africa than be a proper mother and tend to her own family at home in england.

speaking of one's own family at home in england, dickens smeared his wife, catherine hogarth, publicly so he could justify separating from her and taking up with a younger woman. catherine hogarth was likely mentally ill, likely living with postpartum depression. she was also an author in her own right and loved her family dearly. her reputation never recovered in her lifetime from the claims he made about her. in dickens's novels, time and time again, from nicholas nickleby to david copperfield to our mutual friend to the mystery of edwin drood, men who menace and take advantage of vulnerable women are portrayed as the worst kind of villains, deserving of whatever grisly ends come to them.

charles dickens was both privately and publicly a raging asshole in many ways and the world would be worse off without him, because he wrote for bourgeois, comfortable victorians, the very people who so often failed to "think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys." in the same breath that he calls agnes fleming, who opens oliver twist as an unwed mother dying in a workhouse, "weak and erring," he dares to add that "i do believe that the shade of that poor girl often hovers about that solemn nook-ay, though it is a church." he calculated jo's death to the page in bleak house for maximum effect. but when he wrote of the orphaned crossing-sweeper, "dead, your majesty. dead, my lords and gentlemen. dead, right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts. and dying thus around us every day," people listened.

i dedicated years of my life to reading him and studying him and thinking about him and writing about him and his novels. now, i turn to condemn him; now, i turn to justify him. i wish i had a time machine so i could shake his hand. i wish i had a time machine so i could publicly debate him. i wish i had a time machine so i could break his nose.

charles dickens gives me courage and hope. charles dickens makes me want to tear my goddamn hair out. he is everything i despise and everything i love about the victorian age in one; the term "a man of his time" ought to have been invented for him. the leaps and bounds the victorians made for progress in the public good are only matched in greatness by the extremity of their atrocities against their "fellow-passengers" on this earth. the way we think about nearly every modern social ill can be traced back to the 19th century; the way we think about nearly every modern idea of social justice can be traced back to the 19th century. every last one is writ large and small in dickens's novels. he and his age are the greatest contradictions in human history and that's why i can't shut up about them, ever, even when i am exhausted by them, even when i am inspired by them, even when it was two centuries ago and it shouldn't matter anymore, but it does. it always will.

#filthy victorians; they made me what i'm made of.#;swan has a word.#;the long nineteenth century.#;they who call the whole world brother.

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zeldasnotes · 16 days

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ASTRO OBSERVATIONS 35 🛸

🛸 Venus in the 8th house might like to keep their art or source of income hidden or a secret. They might feel like art is something private and intimate. Rappers with this placement might always have the skimask on (no face no case) and painters with this might have a separate anonymous account for their paintings that nobody knows is theirs.

🛸 Asteroid Fan(151590) in the 12th or 8th house or in a scorpio or pisces degree gives a lot of secret fans.

🛸 Moon trine Venus in a mans chart makes him very comfortable with his feminine side. Often very well liked and sought after among women where they live. Men with this placement dont even have to be attractive they will still bag the baddest.

🛸 Mercury in Scorpio, Mercury/Pluto people are the kind of people to see two shady people walking towards them and in 2 seconds figure out what to say to not be robbed. They know how to deal with shady people.

🛸 Fixed star Unukalhai (22° Scorpio) shows success followed by fall. So if you have this one prominent never get to cocky when you reach success. It makes me think of the saying ”Be kind to the people you meet on your way up because you will need them on your way down.”

🛸 Look at my career asteroids post HERE and look if you have any of those asteroid conjunct especially North Node or MC. Megan Fox for example have asteroid Actor(12238) conjunct her North Node.

🛸 Eros(433) Square Psyche(16) in synastry might meet under the most inappropriate circumstances. Bumping into eachother when you cant talk like when one of you are with a parent or with a partner. Eros(433) conjunct Psyche(16) on the other hand will bump into eachother at the exact right time and place.

🛸 Abundantia(151)- (Abundance) literally means ”a large quantity of something” so check where yours is. Ive seen this in the 8th house of a lot of nepo babies.

🛸 Erato(62) means 'the awakener of desire' which is why she is so common in the charts of models and celebrities. People with this asteroid prominent are also experts at making themselves even more desireable to the public. Marilyn Monroe have this conjunct Mars in the 8th house and she was said to cut down a bit of her heel to get the wiggle walk, keep her facial hair/peach fuzz so that it reflected the light and made her more glowing. She was an expert awaking desire.

🛸 Having a lot of Neptune conjunctions in a chart especially to Sun, ASC, or MC is going outside and NOBODY notices you and the next day you go outside and EVERYONE stares. You will either be invisible or look like a celebrity depending on the day and your mood. almost never anything inbetween.

🛸 The worst year of my life was the year I had Moon conjunct Saturn in the Solar Return Chart. I swear I was put through HELL that year and it was especially women giving me a hard time.

🛸 Jay Z having his 7th house ruler conjunct Venus makes so much sense. He is considered extremely lucky. His chart ruler being neptune adds to this. Being with Beyonce seems so unreachable. I often see memes like ”If Jay Z was able to get Beyonce I shouldnt be afraid to ask my crush out” or other stuff to point out Jay Z should be lucky. With strong Venus energy to the 7th house you will get the one ”everyone wants” easily.

🛸 When I have both 7th and 8th house synastry with a person Ive noticed that only they are allowed to fight with me. Nobody else is. We can despise eachother but when they see me in trouble they will protect me over the other person.

🛸 Venus/Saturn, Venus 10th house & Capricorn Venus people are very aware of the social codes. Might be uncomfortable around people who dont ”act right”.

🛸 Scorpio and Pluto shows obsessive energy. Can shows what you are constantly thknking about without being aware of it. Scorpio Mars might be in constant competiton or constantly thinking about opps or revengeplans.

🛸 Ive noticed the same with Lilith. A constant underlaying energy that you cant escape. Lilith 2nd house are always thinking about money or money constantly comes in the way in some way like an annoying mosquito. With Lilith 8th house everything turn into something sexual. A very annoying energy.

🛸 Venus/Saturn is starting to like your appeaeance in your 20s but then it feels pointless because you needed that hotness growing up.

🛸 Some nasty rumours were spread about me in 2013 so i just checked my solar return chart for that year and i had Mercury and Dejanira conjunct MC that year.

🛸 I think I had beef with like seriously 10 different men the year I had Mars in the 8th house in the solar return chart. And it was mostly because of me saying no to them.

🛸 North Node in the 8th house often experience some kind of extremes that most people dont. Homelessness, constant loss or poverty. They are also often on Life Path 8.

🛸 Not the town player where I live whos been with EVERY girl in my town having Fama(408) conjunct both Mars and asteroid Casanova(7328).🤦‍♀️

#astro notes #astrology #astro observations #astronotes #lilith #birth chart readings #ascendant #lilith aspects #asteroids

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lialacleaf · 10 months

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To Care For A Woman

Chapter 1

Simon Riley x Reader

Summary: You join the army as a last-ditch effort to avoid destitution, but when you sustain an injury protecting Lieutenant Ghost and earn yourself a medical discharge, you're stuck all over again. Or maybe not... Warnings: Tension, Simon wants to care for you, small reader, a little bit spicy but not NSFW, man worrying about a woman's safety, typical cannon violence, deception I'm sorry it's unedited...

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Simon's POV

A fear tactic. That's what Johnny called it. The infamous Ghost. The Reaper of The Night. The man, myth, and legend that was coming to act as a vengeful reaper and mercilessly take the lives of those who got in his way.

His reputation preceded him. A reputation he never intended to have. The point was never to be something for others to fear. A Ghost couldn't be seen. A Ghost couldn't be touched. Most importantly, a Ghost couldn't be hurt. Simon was safe if he was dead.

Until he wasn't.

You were just some stupid rooky who joined the army so they'd pay for your college tuition. You had the same sob story most people did. No money, no marital prospects, and not enough education to obtain a job that would sustain you in a struggling economy. No one was coming to save you, so you made a decision to save yourself.

"Mom and Dad were barely making things work financially, I couldn't be a burden anymore," you explained once as you sat next to Soap in the helicopter, your head barely reaching the shoulders of the men and women you were seated around.

It made Ghost's stomach drop, no, Simon's stomach. You were fragile and had no business having that battle rifle in your small, soft hands. People like you were supposed to have options. At least Simon believed so.

How was he supposed to give you orders as if he didn't know you had a higher chance of not making it back? He just wanted to leave you on base, wrapped up in bubble wrap for good measure. When he looked into your eyes there was still a softness there, a feminine light that hadn't been beaten out of you just yet. The idea of seeing it vanish terrified him. It made his chest ache.

You didn't need to know that however, and as far as anyone knew, Lieutenant Ghost despised you. He told you to secure the landing zone for when they got back or left you behind to keep watch on every mission possible. You were convinced the large, masked man saw you as a disgrace to the 141 and was embarrassed to have such a small fry on his team. At least that was the gossip you picked up here and there. He didn't want you to see any action, that much was clear.

"You're up late."

Simon glanced in your direction as he stirred the honey in his tea, his grip on the chipped mug, the porcelain stained on the inside from many years of holding hot coffee, tightening ever so slightly. You were seated in one of the kitchen chairs, legs folded in on yourself as you sipped at your own steaming mug.

He didn't respond and went about dumping his tea bag in the wastebasket. He needed to not look at you in your soft leggings that hugged your figure with that baggy 141 sweatshirt that despite being a size small was still too big for you. You'd be swallowed whole in his clothes, and that was a sight that a very primal part of his brain wanted to see.

There was something about you being so delicate that made him want to press his lips against the curve of your jaw and tell Price to go to hell for not assigning you more office work instead of sending you out with his men.

He had to keep his mind in his upstairs brain, however, lest he risk your life and others in the field. He wouldn't be responsible for you getting hurt.

"I'm sorry," you said all of a sudden.

"What for?" he didn't look up from his mug as he took a sip.

"For being...being a liability that you have to plan for."

He let out a tired sigh. "What happened to going to college?" he disregarded your apology.

"What?"

"Heard you tell Soap you joined the army so you could get into college, that clearly never happened."

You coughed awkwardly. "I got a little lost along the way." You didn't know what to study. Didn't know where to apply. Didn't know what you really wanted out of it other than a career that would make you money. "The 141 offered me a good salary, no need to waste tax dollars on a degree I wouldn't even know what to do with."

You shouldn't have to worry about that sort of thing. You should have someone taking care of all of that so you could read books, go on walks, and grow a garden. You didn't seem like the type who worked because they wanted to, you did it because you had to.

The part of Simon that had watched his mother go to work grueling hours at the local diner just to support his father's addictions hated that. The part of him that had watched her slowly lose her feminine glow and replace it with withered steel to accommodate the survival of herself and her boys stung. He wasn't supposed to feel this hurt. He was supposed to be a Ghost. But the overwhelming urge to care for you was making that difficult.

He set his tea down on the counter and let out a huff as he approached you. Your hair was wet, and you had clearly just come from the shower. He suspected you showered later to avoid the others, specifically the men.

And boy did that thought have him grinding his teeth. If you were his woman, you'd be using his own private quarters to clean up. No prying eyes, not even his own.

"What would you have done if none of that was of any concern?" he asked, and you let out a soft little laugh.

"You'd have me anywhere but here, huh?" you said with a raised brow.

Simon tilted his masked face downward to pin you with a stare that made you swallow thickly, brown eyes boring into your own.

He'd have you dolled up in his cabin back home doing whatever the hell you pleased, painting pretty pictures, baking sweet bread, he bet you would like riding horses too.

"I'd have you safe, y/n."

He didn't say another word to you as he turned around, picked up his mug, and left you to watch him go with wide eyes.

He didn't want to take you on the mission, but Price said they needed someone small enough to sneak in through the warehouse's ventilation system and gather intel.

Price told him not to worry, and that you were a clever girl. That didn't ease his mind in the slightest. He had the scope of his sniper trained on the building, watching for any alarming movement.

"Confirmed intel on the location of the arms dealer and their client, ready to regroup, L.T.?" you whispered into your radio.

"Affirmative, meet us at evac," he replied, motioning for Soap to follow him. The other soldiers under his command had been circling the warehouse from a distance, looking for any sign of trouble. He had just about allowed his shoulders to relax when the alarms started.

Ghost whipped his head around as a slew of curses left Soap's lips. "What'd the little lass do now?" he muttered, but Ghost didn't hear him, having already taken off towards the warehouse.

He was already planning how he was going to chew you out for not being careful enough when he saw trucks approaching in the distance. It wasn't you that set the alarms off, it was some rag-tag terrorist group on their way to rob the warehouse. And you were going to be right in the middle of it.

"L/N! What's your status?" he demanded over the radio. His men were already being pulled into the firefight. It wasn't until he was nearing the warehouse that he finally had eyes on you, your small form crouched behind a stack of crates.

"L/N, Move!" he shouted, providing you with enough cover to make a run for the evac. He watched as you took off, running as fast as your small legs could carry you. He was so distracted with you that the sting of the bullet in his shoulder came as a shock.

Seconds later he was knocked to the ground, by a kick to the back of his leg, and a strained grunt left his chest. His head snapped up as his attacker stood above him, prepared to finish him off with a bullet between his eyes.

But then he stopped, and Ghost's eyes narrowed at the sound of running feet slamming against the ground. He felt his heart sink watching you throw yourself at his attacker, knife in hand.

No. It wasn’t going to work. He was bigger than you, and you didn't have a clue what you were doing. You were going to die for him. Because of him. He'd never hated himself more.

He had to watch the man rip the knife from your hand and drive it into your knee, his anger boiling over as his attacker pushed you away as if you were as threatening as a sunflower stalk.

You fell to the ground in a sobbing heap, and that sound alone had Simon reaching for the man's sidearm despite the pain in his shoulder. There was a bullet in his throat before he even noticed that the Lieutenant was no longer lying flat on his back.

"L.T.? Where are you? Evac is here?" Soap's voice chimed over the radio, but Ghost ignored him as he hefted your small form into his arms.

"Shh shh, hold on f' me now. Done so good so far. Gotta finish the mission," he murmured as he squeezed you against his chest. "M' not leavin' you here," he promised, trudging towards the evac site.

"L.T.?" Soap tried once again, but Ghost didn't answer. It was too much to think, too much to hit the button on his radio as he tried to hold you in a manner that wouldn't make you cry out in pain.

"Almost there, love."

AN: Let me know if you'd like to be tagged! Next chapter will be in Reader's POV!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader

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trikaranos · 5 months

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TRIKARANOS: THE PROLOGUE

TRIKARANOS is a dramatized narrative based on ancient events following Crassus (and Pompey and Caesar) through the years 87-48 BCE. Intended for an adult audience.

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read (in the near future, you’ll have the option to support this comic & my ability to make it through Patreon!)

⭐ There is no set update schedule (chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

CREDITS all additional art used are in the Public Domain [as per the Met's Open Access policy]

🍊 The Abduction of the Sabine Women, Nicolas Poussin 🍊 Obverse, a Terracotta neck-amphora depicting Aeneas rescuing his father, Anchises, during the fall of Troy. [description taken from the Met] 🍊 compositional study for The Lictors Bringing Brutus the Bodies of his Sons, Jacques Louis David 🍊The Battle of Vercellae, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo 🍊 The Capture of Carthage, Giovanni Battista Tiepolo

UNDER THE CUT creator's commentary, ancient citations, whatever else seems relevant. ideally, this is optional! you shouldn't need the citations for it to make sense as it unfolds since it's a comic and a story first and foremost, but it's here if you're curious and want to see where the inspiration is coming from!

so! there are a couple of accounts about the return of Marius and Cinna, I've chosen Appian's account for the primary source of inspiration, although I've cut the cast down to it's barest essentials because I want the claustrophobia of violence to really eat itself.

Cinna now began to despise his enemies and drew near to the wall, halting out of range, and encamped. Octavius and his party were undecided and fearful, and hesitated to attack him on account of the desertions and the negotiations. The Senate was greatly perplexed and considered it a dreadful thing to depose Lucius Merula, the priest of Jupiter, who had been chosen consul in place of Cinna, and who had done nothing wrong in his office. Yet on account of the impending danger it reluctantly sent envoys to Cinna again, and this time as consul. They no longer expected favourable terms, so they only asked that Cinna should swear to them that he would abstain from bloodshed. He refused to take the oath, but he promised nevertheless that he would not willingly be the cause of anybody's death. He directed, however, that Octavius, who had gone round and entered the city by another gate, should keep away from the forum lest anything should befall him against his own will. This answer he delivered to the envoys from a high platform in his character as consul. Marius stood in silence beside the curule chair, but showed by the asperity of his countenance the slaughter he contemplated. When the Senate had accepted these terms and had invited Cinna and Marius to enter (for it was understood that, while it was Cinna's name which appeared, the moving spirit was Marius), the latter said with a scornful smile that it was not lawful for men banished to enter. Forthwith the tribunes voted to repeal the decree of banishment against him and all the others who were expelled under the consulship of Sulla.

Accordingly Cinna and Marius entered the city and everybody received them with fear. Straightway they began to plunder without hindrance all the goods of those who were supposed to be of the opposite party. Cinna and Marius had sworn to Octavius, and the augurs and soothsayers had predicted, that he would suffer no harm, yet his friends advised him to fly. He replied that he would never desert the city while he was consul. So he withdrew from the forum to the Janiculum with the nobility and what was left of his army, where he occupied the curule chair and wore the robes of office, attended as consul by lictors. Here he was attacked by Censorinus with a body of horse, and again his friends and the soldiers who stood by him urged him to fly and brought him his horse, but he disdained even to arise, and awaited death. Censorinus cut off his head and carried it to Cinna, and it was suspended in the forum in front of the rostra, the first head of a consul that was so exposed. After him the heads of others who were slain were suspended there; and this shocking custom, which began with Octavius, was not discontinued, but was handed down to subsequent massacres.

Appian, Civil Wars I, 70-71 (trans. Horace White)

Plutarch's biography of Marius also recounts the same event, but I was leaning more on Appian for this.

ALSO! the choice to use Giovanni Battista Tiepolo's painting The Capture of Carthage as a backdrop to Octavius: it's because Cinna and Octavius were co consuls for a minute and Rome and Carthage are twin cities (instar Carthaginis urbem babyyy), and I do love the doubling/twin-ification of a thing. which is what co consuls are to me. we're overlapping the themes, in addition to the overlapping of violence, which is what all iterations of Rome are founded on.

Textual Monuments: Reconstructing Carthage in Augustan Literary Culture, Nora Goldschmidt

the chapter cover is my own illustration of an Etruscan kantharos because Crassus may or may not have had some kind of Etruscan heritage. YMMV but for me it's fun to think about

Marcus Crassus and the Late Roman Republic, Allen Mason Ward (& the citation!)

#trikaranos the komik

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mellowwillowy · 7 months

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𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 x GN Reader

⤷ warnings — everyone is depressed :), masterpost

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who hates his work so much and despises the fact that he has to stay involved unless he wants his hard work in protecting you crushed down.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is a ruthless man nonetheless, stepping on anyone's fingers who tries to graze you with his boots, watching them wailing and trying to wriggle out of it.

"Such bug must really be squashed dead huh?"

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who will sometimes take the belongings of his dead enemies for you to collect. Whatever it is that manages to catch his and your interest is as good as yours now.

"You know, how about we make a deal? Give me this thing and I'll let you die in a more peaceful and easy way."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who hates the idea of seeing even a soul sneering at you. Anyone who makes the slightest bit of rude remarks toward you will be faced with his fist immediately, no matter where they are.

"Say. That. Again. And. I. Will. Make. Sure. You. Can't. Talk. Anymore."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is not a talkative man but will always tell you about his day as he strokes your hair, watching you sleep peacefully. He doesn't like telling people about himself but all that is thrown out of the window when it comes to you.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is indeed a loyal man, never indulging himself in the parties where women and men are involved with each other.

"Never seen ya' with anyone wrapped around your arm. Come get a taste of it!"

"If I were you, I'd immediately run along before I make you taste my gun's bullet."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who is tired of living, had it not been for you, he would have long chosen to kill himself and after you into oblivion. But that would simply mean he is wasting away all the troubles he had gone through just for his current standing.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who can never rest in peace because of you and the organization he's leading. He shouldn't have taken this position, and shouldn't have shot the previous ringleader down after the revolution he led. But he needs power and being that man's right-hand man wasn't enough.

"ELEANOR! IS THIS HOW A DOG SUPPOSED TO REPAY HIS MASTER'S KINDNESS?!"

"... Hey, unfortunately enough... I have never even once considered you to be my 'Master'. I'll let you go with your pride still intact, see you again."

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to tend the garden in place for your bedridden state. You love flowers and it truly would be a shame if the flowers have to wilt because no one takes care of it. Well... never mind that he'll just ask the gardener to tend it again later when he's absent.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who watches how the house that was once white slowly darkens into pitch black, just like how he is dragged deeper into the underground world. Reality and Fantasy, these are truly a shackle of curse to him.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to sit in front of the grandfather's clock, sipping his share of tea while flipping through the album photo of you two. All was great until you decided to commit something foolish that dragged him into the underworld.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to stroke your hair absentmindedly, watching you sleep while your chest heaves up and down. Always sleeping and never awake. He enjoys humming the lullaby that you have always been fond of, hoping that it'll somehow reach your ears.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who likes to play the Russian roulette with himself, will the dice finally choose to take him? Nonetheless, the dice is kind enough to make him survive for another day to take care of you.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who can not sleep in peace as he cradles your limp body, worries endowed in him as the thought of his enemies slipping into his manor and taking you away from him. They know a better way to kill him after all, and that is by taking you hostage rather than torturing him to death.

𝐘𝐚𝐧! 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 who will always make sure that you are breathing, his ear placed on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. The idea of your life slipping away from your comatose body terrifies him.

"... Good night." Eleanor places a kiss on your forehead before hugging your body, the two of you hiding beneath the cover of a blanket.

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mrsbuckybarnes1917 · 21 days

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4: UNDERCOVER MISSION

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The tension between you and Bucky builds during an undercover mission.

Word count: 4.2k

Warning: ongoing miscommunications, some dirty talk, Bucky Barnes being am awkward dumbass

The mission was simple, but you didn’t want to be the one taking part. It was an undercover op where you had to integrate yourself into a community of people who were high-ranking members of a terrorist organization. It was a challenge for the other Avengers to mask their infamy. So you and Bucky were the natural choice since Bucky was now unrecognizable from his appearance as the Winter Soldier. Also, times had progressed, and S.H.I.E.L.D. technology allowed him to disguise his vibranium arm with a hologram. The first time he had put it on, a look of sadness had crossed his handsome features. He had hidden it well from the scientists and engineers, but you could see it in his eyes, the hollow haunted glaze that made you long to throw your arms around his neck and hold him until he would smile and the small crinkles around his eyes would lengthen as this steel-blue orbs sparkled. But this wasn’t your place anymore.

"Jamie! Look how amazing you look!" Priya exclaimed.

You rolled your eyes and scowled. Who had allowed her to attend the fitting in the first place? Glancing around, you couldn’t see anyone else who seemed to object to Priya’s presence. In fact, some of the men and women seemed to be more focussed on her appearance than they were interested in the success of Bucky’s holographic arm technology.

"Yeah, it’s gotten better." Bucky flexed his bicep and opened and closed his fist, marveling at how realistic the skin looked. "Thanks," he nodded at the project lead.

"How does it feel, Jamie?"

Bucky shrugged. "Can't feel anything."

"It looks so realistic! Will you wear it all the time?"

You were lost in tracing the contours of Bucky’s muscular back and shoulders when Priya’s words brought you back to reality. “He doesn't need to wear it all the time,” you snapped.

“No, of course not,” Priya replied calmly, as though you were one of her small patients throwing a temper tantrum. “But sometimes James doesn't like the attention his arm draws. It makes him uncomfortable. So it would be good to have an option for him to avoid people staring.”

She was right, it would be good for Bucky to be able to wear t-shirts without being stared at, or feeling ashamed or self conscious. You despised that Bucky had to hide who he was. He was a veteran and shouldn’t have to feel the need to hide the sacrifices he had made for his country. But his past as the Winter Soldier was well known, making him a target for drawing scrutiny. You gritted your teeth, trying to formulate a counter-argument but failing. It was excruciating watching Bucky put a loving arm around her, pulling her into his side. He used to do that to you, just never so publicly.

“Thanks, Doll. It’s good to have someone looking out for me.”

The urge to punch Bucky in the face was something you did your best to push away. “Yeah, you don’t really need me here.” You slipped off the table you were perched on and turned to walk away.

"Don’t you and Bucky have to pretend to be a couple?" Priya called after you. "For this mission?"

Her questions made you stop in your tracks. Had Bucky really shared the sensitive information regarding your mission with his girlfriend?

"Yeah?" you answered, cautiously.

“Shouldn’t you hang around and see how Bucky is in a relationship then?”

“Thanks Priya, but I don’t need instructions on how to act in a relationship.” Your tone was laced with the spite you felt.

"Cricket!" Bucky looked at you, angrily.

You hated it. It hurt that he felt these emotions towards you. But you were desperate not to lose his friendship. In a way, you hated yourself for not having the courage to tell Bucky how you felt. And you knew that if you wanted to keep your friendship with him, you would be the one who needed to stay civil. It was harder that you’d originally thought. You were a good agent, you excelled at undercover work, but when it came to Bucky, you felt like you’d lost your mind. Your emotions were a rollercoaster ride and you often felt like you couldn’t hold back your screams any longer.

“I’m sorry, I-I-”

“It’s alright, Jamie.” Priya put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, that probably sounded really patronizing. I just want James… both of you to be safe.”

You nodded, a heat rising up your neck and reddening your cheeks. She knew. The pitying look on her face told you that she knew how you felt about Bucky. It was humiliating. This would have been the perfect time for the ground to open up and swallow you. But alas, of all the times you’d been surprised by the loss of integrity beneath your feet, this was the one time where the floor remained as sturdy as ever.

“Don’t worry, Cricket and I have been partners for a long time. We’ve got this. I’m sure she’ll take good care of me.” He turned to you and smiled softly. “She always does.”

You didn’t quite know how to interpret Bucky’s use of partners, he had always called you his friend. What had changed now? You returned his smile sadly. “I'll do my best.”

Bucky took the hologram off his arm and handed it back to its creator. “I'll come by tomorrow for this. Come on, Priya,” he put a hand on her back. “I'll take you home, I need to get an early night, we leave pretty early tomorrow.”

Priya smiled at him, “Sounds great, I can say goodbye properly there.”

With a heavy heart, you watched them leave before following at a distance where you wouldn’t have to hear their chatter. Bucky had never looked so animated before and jealousy burned inside you. So you decided to head back to your quarters where you could treat yourself to a comforting dinner and fall asleep to escape the pain and anxiety of what was to come.

Your alarm went off at 4.30am and you groaned, rolling out of bed. There was no time to lounge around, there was a mission to complete and you always set your alarm for the last minute. A quick bracing shower woke you sufficiently enough for you to dress in a light, comfortable travel outfit and grab some coffee in the kitchen at the end of your corridor. You finished making a coffee for yourself and were pouring the leftovers into a travel mug when a slightly disheveled Bucky made an appearance.

"Thanks," he grunted, taking the mug you offered him.

"I thought you were getting an early night?" you smirked at him.

"Always a ray of sunshine, aren’t you?" he replied, sarcastically.

"What happened? Goodbye took longer than expected?"

It was Bucky’s turn to smirk. "Actually, we ended up having to say it several times."

His words made your face fall and your eyes twitch dangerously. It was time to retreat from this conversation. "We should get going."

Bucky nodded, falling instep beside you silently. He had noticed the change in your tone.

"Cricket?"

"Is everything okay between us?"

"Yeah! Why do you ask?" Your face remained impassive, but your soul was screaming with fear.

"Things have changed so much. I guess… I was just checking."

"You don’t think we can do this?" you asked, trying to deflect from the real issue at hand. But your question held more depth than you cared to admit.

"It just feels like we’re not as … in sync as we used to be."

"And why do you think that is, Bucky?"

Bucky stopped walking. "Ever since I introduced you to Priya, you’ve built this wall between us. I don’t understand what your problem is, Cricket. She’s been nothing but nice to you."

You took a deep breath, knowing you needed to choose your words very carefully or the truth would come spilling out and the embarrassment would be unbearable. "I don’t have a problem with Priya."

"Then what is it? What is your problem?"

You tried to think of an answer, but the only words that your brain screamed at you were "I LOVE YOU!"

"I don’t know," you whimpered. You bit down on your lower lip to stop it trembling, but nothing could stop the tears building up in your eyes. You dropped your head to hide your face but not soon enough for Bucky to catch sight of the water fall from your eyes.

Bucky wrapped his arm around you, sweeping you into a much needed hug. He smelled like home. You missed his warmth, the closeness you’d had. Bucky’s sturdiness made you want to melt into him, to break down, to confess your feelings to him. But the vibration of your phone brought you back to your sad lonely reality.

"Hello?" you answered the device.

Bucky wiped a stray tear from your face with his thumb as he listened to Steve’s voice asking where you were.

"We’re coming, Steve." Bucky raised his voice so Steve would be able to hear him through the phone in your hand, before reaching over and hanging up the phone. "You gonna be okay?"

You nodded, sadly.

"I'm worried about you, you know that, right?"

"I'll be fine, Bucky. I won't fuck this up."

"Not the mission. Fuck the mission. I'm worried about you."

"I'll be fine, Buck. But thank you… for caring."

The two of you reached the hangar bay where Steve was waiting impatiently with your mission packs. He handed them to you wordlessly, analyzing your faces for signs of concern. You avoided eye contact with him, hoping he wouldn't notice your slightly reddened eyes.

"This one's important. We all need this to work."

"We got this, Cap!" You saluted him with a grin plastered across your face.

Steve rolled his eyes at you and even Bucky couldn't help but smile as you led the way to the quinjet. Bucky was going to fly the two of you to a southern Italian resort where the conference was taking place. The conference was a cover for major arms dealers and Bucky would be posing as a representative to a S.H.I.E.L.D. fabricated 'bad guy’ named Zandor.

Bucky’s cover was James Road, Zandor’s right hand man and you were playing Sabrina Road, James's wife. You had been told to expect a high end affair at a deluxe resort where the various representatives would schmooze with each other, gathering intelligence and allies. You weren't worried about your safety, not with Bucky at your side, but you didn't want your cover blown or to fail to get what you needed.

Bucky had once told you that he had never felt like a ‘James’, Bucky was the only name he had really known. It always made you wonder why he never asked Priya to call him ‘Bucky’. You wondered how he would react to you calling him James for the next few days.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Bucky interrupted your musings.

"Hmm?" You turned to face him, hoping he wouldn’t ask too many intrusive questions. For some reason, tears seemed too close to the surface for your liking these days.

Bucky set the quinjet’s controls to autopilot and swiveled his chair to face you. "Steve gave me something before we left. One of them is for you."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside it were a beautiful pair of matching wedding rings, made of a shiny rose gold. Bucky slipped one onto his finger and held his hand out, palm facing up. But the other ring wasn’t what he was offering. He was holding out his hand for you to take, so he could place the ring on your finger. What you wouldn’t give for that moment to be real!

"Here, hand it over." You snatched the ring unceremoniously out of the velvet box, your heart pounding. The metal was cool against your skin, and you marveled at the delicate craftsmanship. The rose gold glimmered in the soft light of the quinjet’s cabin, casting a warm glow.

Bucky’s eyes bore into yours, intense and searching. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the ring back from you. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine. For a moment, the world outside the quinjet ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, suspended in this charged atmosphere.

He held your hand gently, turning it so your palm faced down. The ring slid onto your finger smoothly, a perfect fit. He wanted nothing more than to hold on to you forever, lost in the comfort of your touch and your eyes. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. His cerulean eyes held a mixture of vulnerability and determination. It was as if he was silently saying, this is real, even if it’s just for this mission.

"James," you whispered, testing out the name. It felt strange on your tongue, yet oddly right. He didn’t flinch or correct you. Instead, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

"Sabrina," he murmured, his lips brushing your knuckles. The intimacy of the moment stole your breath away. You wondered if he could hear your heart racing.

The quinjet hummed around you, cocooning you both in its metal embrace. Outside, the world continued to spin, but here, in this stolen instant, time stood still. You wanted to believe that this wasn’t just part of the mission—that maybe, just maybe, there was something more between you and Bucky.

But reality crashed back in. The mission, the danger, the arms dealers—they all loomed ahead. You couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.

"Thank you," you said softly, meeting his gaze. "For this."

Bucky’s smile was bittersweet. "We’ll get through this, Cricket. Just like we always do."

And with that promise hanging in the air, you both returned to your roles—the undercover couple, James and Sabrina Road. But as the quinjet soared toward Italy, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this mission held more than just secrets and lies. Perhaps, hidden beneath it all, there was a chance for something real.

The rings on your fingers seemed to whisper their own silent vows, binding you together in this dangerous dance. And for now, that was enough.

Bucky landed the quinjet in a small isolated airspace that had been predetermined to be safe by S.H.I.E.L.D.. Nat had scouted the area a few days previously and ensured an SUV was waiting for you. Both of you changed into casual holiday clothing.

Bucky’s transformation was nothing short of remarkable. The once stoic and battle-worn soldier now stood before you, bathed in sunlight, a vision of rugged charm. His light blue shirt clung to his broad chest, the top buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing hint of skin and chest hair. Beige slacks hung low on his hips, tailored to perfection. The aviators perched on his nose lent an air of mystery, shielding eyes that had seen too much. He was beautiful.

And then there was you. In a pink floral print summer dress, you were a burst of color against the backdrop of wilderness. The fabric swirled around your legs as you turned, catching the sunlight like a thousand petals. Bucky’s jaw dropped, mirroring your own reaction. His gaze traced the delicate curve of your collarbone, the soft slope of your shoulders. The air crackled with unspoken tension of the last few weeks.

The change in location seemed to have freed you from the burden of your emotions. There was a thrill of anticipation that bubbled inside you. Was it excitement or anxiety? You never could be certain, but you felt it at the start of every mission. It was you and Bucky against the world and there was no one else you'd trust more with your life. Steve and Nat had brainstormed a few ideas for James and Sabrina’s relationship but they left the details down to the two of you. They had decided that the couple you were playing would be newly weds, as Nat always said, people were uncomfortable with public displays of affection. They had even gone as far as securing the honeymoon suite for your stay.

As the bellhop ushered you and Bucky into the honeymoon suite, the room unfolded before your eyes, a symphony of silk, candlelight, and rose petals. The air hung heavy with anticipation, like a secret whispered in the dark. The bed, a grand centerpiece, stretched out like an invitation, an intimate promise.

Yet, despite the plush surroundings and the illusion of newlywed bliss, unease settled in your chest. You stole a glance at Bucky, his features were etched in sunlight and his eyes, usually steely and guarded, now held a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in a long time. Perhaps it was the flickering glints of light between the net curtains or the soft strains of music playing in the background, but this charade felt more real than you’d anticipated.

The bed loomed large, its expanse inviting yet treacherous. It was a stage, and you were the actors, playing roles scripted by someone else. You remembered the nights when Bucky’s warmth had chased away your nightmares, the way his fingers traced constellations on your skin. But this bed wasn’t meant for whispered confessions or stolen kisses, it was but a prop, a cruel reminder of what you couldn’t have.

You glanced at Bucky again, wondering if he felt the same dissonance. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze lingered on the bed. Did he remember the nights in safe houses, huddled together for warmth? Or was this just another mission, another mask to wear?

"I guess this is a bit of a waste, huh?" Bucky commented, dismissing the tension.

You forced a laugh. "Let's get this over with."

Bucky followed you out of the suite, his awareness heightened by the people milling around. As you were about to mention their presence to him, his arm slid around your shoulder. You smiled up at him, perhaps the bond between you hadn’t completely faded. In the lobby, a lounge area beckoned, its bar opening onto a sunlit terrace and pool.

"What do you think, James? Too early for a drink?" you asked.

"It’s always happy hour somewhere, baby," Bucky replied with a charming smirk.

He ordered drinks for both of you, and you settled near Nadal, your target, who was downing mimosas as if his life depended on them. He was an older Latino man who was not only handsome, but impeccably groomed. He was dressed in casual clothing, but his attire radiated power nevertheless. Bucky placed your drink in front of you, sitting close, his arm around your waist.

"Time to put on a show?" Bucky inquired.

You smirked, sliding onto his lap. "Jameeeeeeees," you whined loudly. "I thought we were on holiday. Is this why you didn’t want to take me to Hawaii? You’re always working. What about me? I have needs too, you know!"

It worked—Nadal’s attention was now squarely on you.

Bucky chuckled, locking eyes with the target. "Women!"

"Can’t live with ‘em," Nadal drawled.

"Can't fuck anything else."

You stiffened with surprise with Bucky's language. You noticed he was more reserved about using foul language, you had always chalked it up to being Steve’s influence. Now that Bucky had Nadal’s attention, they chatted amicably and you took the opportunity to make the most of your surroundings; identifying security cameras, bodyguards and escape routes. You hadn’t noticed how much you had been squirming around on Bucky’s lap, because his grip on your thighs suddenly became very tight, holding you still.

His action didn’t go unnoticed by Nadal. "Save the action for the bedroom, kids!"

Bucky slapped your ass, salaciously and you gasped. You hadn’t expected it, neither had you expected the rush of desire between your legs. "James," you whined. It was clear that your role on this mission was mostly to cast suspicion away from your partner, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t play your part well. "You promised me you wouldn’t do that in public. You know what it does to me," you pouted.

"Better not let the little lady down, Road." Nadal winked, rising from his seat. "What room are you two in?"

"Managed to bag the honeymoon suite, for this one."

"Ahh, so it’s you I lost out to?" he chuckled. "Well my husband and I will be next door. Try and keep it down, your wife seems like a screamer." With that Nadal left you and Bucky alone in the bar feeling uncomfortable in more ways than one.

"Guess we’ll have to give them a show tonight," you grumbled, dropping out of Bucky’s lap.

"Yeah," Bucky replied, but from the way he was gazing off into the distance, you weren’t totally sure he was listening.

"What is it?"

"The competition."

"Great," you mumbled. "Guess we gotta get access to the intel before they do."

"What do you think our chances are if we play it by the book?"

"Slim, they look like they mean business. And they probably have the funds to challenge our bid."

"Should we go back to the room? Nadal is probably expecting some… noise." Bucky looked uncomfortable as he spoke.

"And we’ll be better equipped to know if they leave their room."

It didn’t take long for the two of you to saunter back to the suite, Bucky’s hands were all over you and you couldn’t help but wish that it was voluntary rather than duty. You kept up a shrill giggle to make people around you look away. Once in the room, neither of you seemed to know how to proceed. Bucky had never been forthcoming with his feelings at the best of times, often switching them off when it came to work.

"So, umm… so what now?" you asked.

"He’s probably in there right now." Bucky put his ear to the wall as you waited silently for his assessment. "Someone's moving around, don't hear any talking."

"Set up a camera so we know when they leave?" You pulled a small device out of your bag, tossing it to Bucky. "There was a plant on the table outside."

Bucky didn't need to be told twice, he was out the door and back in under 30 seconds.

"Wait!" You whispered urgently. "Slam it shut."

Bucky complied with your request, with a confused frown. His eyes went from narrowed to goggle-like as you moaned loudly.

"Ohhhh James!"

Bucky gave you a horrified look before mouthing at you across the room. "What’re you doing?"

"James, I want you!" You delivered your line with as much lust as you could muster. Smirking at him, you dropped your voice. "Giving them the show they're after."

"Oh God, you make me so wet. I love when you push me up against the wall."

You motioned wildly at Bucky, who rolled his eyes and threw himself against the wall of the neighboring room for effect.

"I've been waiting for this all day. I want you so bad. Here, feel!"

Bucky closed his eyes, a deep flush darkening his face as you looked at him expectantly.

"God, you're so wet, baby." Bucky's voice was husky. And for a moment you wondered how he sounded in bed.

Focus! You told yourself.

"Only for you, baby. I can't get enough of you touching me. I want your fingers inside me." You continued, pressing your face against the wall. "I can't wait until I get to rip these pants off of you."

"What do you want me to do to you?" Bucky eventually found words to contribute, having turned away from you.

You loudly moaned a few more times for effect. "Come on Mr Road, my badass arms dealer husband, you can do better than that!" you goaded him in a whisper.

"Are you serious?" he muttered.

"Tell me how much you want me," you cried.

Bucky thought for a moment, before choking out. "I want you so much, baby. I want to feel myself inside you and I want to fuck you so hard. Now get on the bed." Not once as he spoke did he make direct eye contact with you.

Was it wrong that his words had your cunt clenching uncontrollably? You fanned your face before you noticed Bucky pointing at the bed. Oh right! You flung yourself on the luxurious mattress, making sure that it rocked against the wall. "Please James, I want you inside me." Your voice was suddenly breathless.

Bucky sat down on the other side of the bed, tugging at the crotch in his pants. They seemed to be tighter than they were before. He used his legs to rock the bed.

"Fuck me, James, fuck me harder." You crawled up to the headboard rattling it enthusiastically. "Whatever you do, don't stop."

Bucky moaned. It was a good thing he was facing away from you, he thought as he pressed his palm over his growing erection.

"That feels so good, B-James. Oh my god, I'm gonna come." You squeezed your legs together, trying to control the throbbing between your legs. Bucky’s name had almost slipped past your lips, and you hoped he hadn't noticed.

"I'm going to make you come so hard."

"JAMES! OH YES!" you screamed.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fan fiction #my best friend's girl

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ghostkennedy · 7 months

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Workplace Romance

~ID! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Word count: 7213

Content warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, non-con, dub-con, serial killers, murder, leon's a major asshole and mean to reader, lots of arguing, confrontation, drugging, kidnapping, use of shock collar, degrading, pet names, serious bodily harm, forced self-harm, crawling, descriptions of blood/pain/body mutation, forced blowjob, cum swallowing, piss, reader pisses self, removal of an appendage/body part, capital punishment, death row, lethal injection, masturbation, very little comfort, no happy ending

the content warnings are a mess, but i think i included everything.

!!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

Agent Leon Kennedy. A name you weren’t familiar with until a few weeks ago. Now, he’s the leading cause of all your headaches.

He’s a renowned FBI agent. Not only is he an excellent detective, but an expert in serial killer psychology.

He’s successfully led in the investigations and captures of eight serial killers and helped in the convictions of upwards of a hundred murderers.

He’s spent years studying the minds of serial killers. He can find the smallest bit of information and utilize it to get inside a killer's head. He’s the FBI’s serial killer specialist and if there’s ever a suspected serial killing, the case files land right on his desk.

And that’s what’s brought the two of you together.

You had just made detective at the Raccoon City Police Department, but the training was subpar. Any case that goes through this department is almost guaranteed to go unsolved. It’s not the station's fault, but the lack of funding and resources that has led to its downfall.

You’re up to your neck in cold case files. And crime that needs any sort of investigation is immediately your obligation. You’re a one person department and absolutely set up to fail.

When the FBI finally shows interest in the series of murders taking place throughout the city, you’re honestly relieved. Anything to ease your heavy workload. But it all changes when you meet him.

Agent Leon fucking Kennedy.

He’s a cocky bastard who undermines your department, which is solely you, constantly. He is unimpressed with the investigative work done on the case and won’t hesitate to insult your abilities as a detective.

And the man is basically untouchable.

He’s the FBI’s golden boy who can do no wrong. Everyone in the station worships the ground he walks on because he’s here to save the town, like a superhero. He’s the best of the best and everyone is expected to tolerate him. No exceptions.

It doesn’t help that he’s absolutely gorgeous. Always looking so well put together, a calculated appearance that never falters. Men and women alike gawk at the man. Whether they want to be with him or be him, you’d be stupid to not acknowledge it.

A brown fringe cascading around his face. Pretty blue eyes matched with a prominent nose and jaw line, a dimple centered in his chin. Even the stubble lining his jaw is flawless. His eyebrows are knitted together in a permanent scowl. He looks like he despises the world and it makes him that much more enticing.

And it pisses you off entirely. If he was just some mediocre, average looking man, it’d make hating him so much easier. But of course the jackass is incredible. It makes you wanna pour acid in your eyes just to give you your peace of mind back. Seeing is believing, right?

Without a single break in the case and no solid leads, you’re happy to take a step back from the case. It doesn’t mean you don’t care, but the crime rate in town has been steadily rising and you know you can help better elsewhere.

You walk into the station on what you thought was a typical Tuesday morning. But you’ve barely made it through the front door when you’re met with chaos.

People are running around, coming in and out of the station. The noise level is atrocious and has you wishing you’d caught the fucking plague because it would be less exhausting than this.

You barely make it five paces into the station when one of the coworkers you actually bother with appears at your side.

“It never stops, does it?” Jill says breathlessly.

You shake your head before replying, “What’s going on now?”

“Wait, you don’t know? Shouldn’t you be the first to know, actually?” She stops dead in her tracks, which in result causes you also to abruptly stop.

“Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I have no idea.” You cross your arms over your chest and turn to face her.

She sighs and places her hands on her hips. “They found another body early this morning. Everything matches up with the previous ones, so it’s basically confirmed to be one of his.”

“Another body? This will be his tenth fucking kill.”

“Thank God we got the FBI on it then?” Jill quirks an eyebrow at you, causing you to roll your eyes in response.

Jill is one of the few people seemingly in the world to not care for Leon’s bullshit. She can’t stand the man and isn’t afraid to voice it. She’s your number one defender and isn’t shy about arguing with the dreaded FBI agent.

“Maybe he’ll finally be good for something other than making my life a living Hell.”

Jill reaches out and squeezes your shoulder as she shakes her head. “But at what cost? Let’s hope the sweet, tender boy can magically solve the case and fuck back off to wherever he flew in from.”

Another coworker comes up and pulls Jill away from you. As she marches away behind the man, she turns and waves at you. You hate that you instantly wave back, but it’s Jill. You’ll look like a dork over and over for her sake.

You lower your hand and sigh, but before you can even begin walking again, a presence takes shape beside you.

“What are you doing?” An unmistakable snarky voice calls out to you. Your muscles instantly tense up in his presence, like your body is physically rejecting him and his aura.

You scoff as you begin walking again. “None of your business, Leon.”

You’re annoyed when Leon meets your big strides, keeping up with you pace for pace. You both remain silent as you quickly arrive at your office door.

You go to close the door behind you, but Leon pushes past, welcoming himself into your office. You’re frozen in place for a second in your confusion, but you quickly snap out of it and sink into your desk chair.

“What’s up?” You fold your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair. Being around Leon is exhausting and you can already feel this conversation draining you.

Leon doesn’t take a seat, instead choosing to stand tall above your desk, looking down at you.

“None of your business.” Leon mocks you in a shrill voice.

“What’s up?” His eyes meet yours, locking in an intense stare.

“You need to address me properly. Agent Kennedy, not Leon.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the sudden authority in his voice. When he doesn’t speak up again, it prompts you to instead.

“Okay. But I would appreciate it if you addressed me properly too, Agent Kennedy.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

You quirk your head to the side, shocked by the pure audacity of this man. The audacity to demand respect when he can’t even give it. It’s infuriating.

“Well, Leon, I don’t appreciate being disrespected in my own-“

“Earn it.”

You shake your head in exasperation at his interruption. Yes. Infuriating is the best word to describe this man.

“What?” You release a heavy sigh, already exhausted from the few words exchanged.

“Respect is earned. Earn respect and you will receive it.”

“You haven’t earned-“

“I’m the FBI’s best asset when it comes to convicting serial killers, not to mention all of the side work I’ve done in homicide prevention and precaution. I’ve earned goddamn respect and I expect it, no exceptions.”

He slams his hands down on your desk, causing you to jump, your chair screeching across the floor as you put more space between you two.

Your voice is shaking as you throw your hands up in the air, “Fuck! Okay! Sorry, Agent Kennedy.”

He gives you a final death glare before backing up and causally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. It remains silent as you two stare across the room at each other.

“Anyways, I needed to talk to you.” He finally sits in the chair and your shoulders visibly relax. You hate yourself for being so visibly nervous in his presence currently, but it was out of your control.

“What about?”

He clears his throat. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but my bosses have instructed me to take you under my wing. Teach you what I know. And it’s my obligation to follow those orders and I think it’s in your best interest to do so as well. It would be very beneficial to you.”

Your eyes fall closed as you barely manage to hold back a groan. Your head falls back, scalp connecting with the back of your chair.

“You just made detective, correct?”

You sigh and look back up at him, “Yeah. Not even a month ago.”

“Then let me help you. There’s no one here to train you on how to be a good detective, a good investigator. I know a thing or two. You just have to let me help you. Also, it’ll be better on my conscience if I leave here confident in this station's sole detective.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m being serious. I have a lot to teach and you have a lot to learn. You’d be stupid to not take full advantage of this opportunity.”

You remain silent, lost in your own thoughts. You were confident with your abilities as a detective. Confident with your capability to solve cases, but he has the experience that you don’t. But he’s also Leon Kennedy and that alone is almost enough to make you say fuck no.

“How many people have died at the hands of this killer? That we know of so far.”

“9 I believe.”

“10 after the discovery this morning. And there could be more we don’t know about. You don’t wanna solve this case? Wanna bring this sick fuck to justice?”

“Well, of course-“

“Then work with me. How many more innocent people need to die?”

You release a heavy sigh. “Alright, alright. We have a deal or whatever.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Weeks have passed and Leon’s arrogance has only gotten worse.

The belittling, the undermining, just everything he does has you raging. You’ve given up on helping with the investigation because anything you do is scrutinized. You found a solid piece of evidence that could have easily been looked into, but he rejected it and told you to disregard it.

No matter how hard he tries to make you feel like it, you’re not an idiot. You’re a great detective and nothing about this situation is right. His behavior, his attitude, his methods of operation are all suspicious as hell, so how could you not look into him?

You’re not exactly sure what you were looking for. Maybe a sign that he was taking credit for work he didn’t actually do? Or maybe a sign of him planting evidence?

Why couldn’t you have just minded your goddamn business?

You’re the only two left in the station, working late on the case. To say things are tense is a fucking understatement if you’ve ever heard one.

“Can I ask you a question, (Reader)?”

Your head shoots up from your computer screen. The way he says your name has chills running down your spine, has you struggling to swallow.

“Um, yeah. What’s your question?”

His elbows are on the table, his chin resting on the backs of his clasped hands. “Did you find what you were looking for?” His tone is accusatory and it confuses you.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean?”

“Don’t play stupid.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why were you looking into me?” He brings his hands down to the table and leans in closer to your side of the table. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Your heart is in your throat as you struggle to find the words to explain yourself. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn’t?”

He snickers. “Answering a question with a question. Classic. But I’m not interested in beating around the fucking bush, so how about you just tell me what you were looking for.”

You take a deep breath before straightening your spine and feigning a confidence you definitely don’t feel. “Okay. You’re suspicious as fuck. And I don’t trust you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“And what did you find?” He snaps at you. You don’t understand why he’s taking such offense to a detective doing detective work? He didn’t anticipate this?

“Nothing. I didn’t find anything.”

“And do you still have your suspicions about me?”

“Yes.” You answer his questioning immediately. You’re not sure what compels you to do so, but your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I still don’t understand why you act the way you do.”

He looks away from you, pulling a file out of his briefcase and flipping through the papers inside of it. “What were you hoping to find?”

“I-” you’re once again stumbling over your words. No one has ever made you so nervous, no one has ever triggered your flight or fight as much as he does. Alarms are constantly going off in your head about him and you hate it. “I just wanted some answers.”

“Then fucking ask.” He slams the folder shut and tosses it down the table. “Ask me your questions. Don’t be a baby about it, going behind my back to find them. You’re a big girl. If you want answers, come and get them.”

“Why are you such a dick?”

“Because I can be. Next question.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Obviously.”

“We’re getting nowhere. Nevermind.”

“Wait!” You yell at him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he goes to stand up. “I’m sorry. You just piss me off.”

He pulls his wrist from your grasp with a disgusted look, but he doesn’t get up from his chair. He stares at you silently, which means he wants you to speak up. He’s so fucking entitled, you have to refrain from going off on him for the billionith time.

“Why do you brush me off constantly? I bring you solid, concrete leads and you treat them like they’re nothing. You’re leaving so many loose ends. We’re not any closer to solving this case. Why?”

He hums at you like your question is invalid. You don’t know what you expected. Of course he was just going to be a prick like he always is.

“That’s your perspective on it. A false perspective, but one nonetheless.”

“What does that mean?” The offense is obvious in your voice. More belittling, more brushing off your valid concerns. Of course. Of fucking course.

“Because I’ve followed every last lead and every little piece of evidence. It’s not my fault you can’t keep up.”

“Bullshit!” You’re both surprised at your outburst. You can’t hold it back anymore. You can’t stand the lying and fucking diversions anymore. “I’ve been watching you, Leon. I haven’t seen you investigate shit. You pick and choose where you pay attention. This is the FBI’s very best? It’s fucking pathetic.”

He keeps his expression blank and neutral. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. I’m trying to figure out what the fuck it is you do that’s so fucking incredible that you’ve solved so many cases. Are you taking credit for other people’s work? Are you planting evidence? That’s the only thing that makes sense. You’re an opportunist. It’s like you’re just silently waiting to find the perfect person to blame. Is that it? You frame people to make yourself look better? What is it?”

Your voice is desperate and it’s genuinely embarrassing. But you are desperate. And you don’t wanna sit by anymore, not with the terrible suspicions constantly plaguing your exhausted mind.

“You think I’m covering up for serial killers? You realize how crazy that sounds, right?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s not that fucking farfetched.”

“Why would I do that?”

You let out a noise of frustration, “I don’t know! To make yourself look better? Everyone worships you for the work you’ve done. Maybe it’s for the praise and glory, to stroke your ego.”

He smirks at you and it only enrages you more.

“You told me to ask you questions!” you yell at him, “Now give me fucking answers!”

“I don’t give a shit what people think. You think I would cover up for serial killers to make myself look better? That’s stupid.”

“Then maybe you have another reason!”

“Like?”

“I don’t fucking know! For all I know, you’re the serial killer and you just frame people to cover your own ass. Your job would be the perfect guise wouldn’t it?” It’s just word vomit pouring from your mouth at this point, but something about what you’ve said has Leon jumping to his feet.

Before you even have time to react, he’s leapt across the table. His hand wraps around your neck, pushing you back in your chair until you go crashing to the floor. You cry out in pain as your skull connects with the ground.

Your vision is fuzzy from the impact, but you slowly blink your eyes until they focus back in on Leon’s body hovering over yours. With the grip he has on your throat, you can’t speak. All you can do is look up at him and the unhinged expression on his face.

Leon shifts and there’s a sudden sharp, burning pain in your neck. Your arms shoot up and your fingers connect with the syringe in your neck. Your eyes widen in fear.

“Good detective work, baby. You’ve figured it out. Congratulations! You found your guy!” His smile is huge and combined with his crazy eyes, has you shaking beneath him.

The muscles in your body quickly start to tingle as you lose control of them, slowly going limp beneath him.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you pass out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re awake, your eyes are open but your brain still isn’t able to process anything. You stare blankly as you try to actually wake up. The room is a blur and you can hear a voice calling out to you, but you can’t make out what it’s saying.

Sudden white hot pain has your consciousness finally catching up with you. You’re gasping for air as you finally take in your surroundings.

The room is dirty, trash littering the floor around you. The only object in the room is a chair on the other side of the room.

“Good morning. Thought that’d wake you up.”

You push yourself up into a sitting position as Leon appears in front of you. He gently pats your head causing you to cower away from him, but he just laughs at you and walks over to the chair. Every step he takes makes a loud crunching sound as his shoes connect with the debris covering the floor. The only cleared spot is the space surrounding you, just enough for your body to lay in.

You try to speak, but all you can manage to do is cough. Leon sits leisurely in his chair as you struggle through your coughing fit.

The second it passes, while you’re still gasping for air, you call out to him, “Wha-what are you doing? What do you want?”

“Crawl to me.”

You look at him like he’s insane, and in all honesty he is, but he only smirks at the look you’re giving him. He leans back in his chair so casually, legs spread open as his left hand dangles between them. It pisses you off that he looks so good like this. Maybe if he hadn’t just kidnapped you, you would be more willing to appreciate how good the view definitely is.

“I said, crawl to me.” His voice is filled with venom as he points to the ground between his legs. He cannot be fucking serious right now.

You look at the stretch of floor between you two. It’s littered with broken glass and who knows what else. It’s obviously been intentionally spread around. This house may be old and abandoned, but the sharp shards are too clean and perfect to have been sitting here long at all.

He wants you to crawl through shattered glass on your hands and knees to him. Kidnapping you wasn’t enough. Having complete control isn’t enough, he has to exercise it.

“Leon…” you struggle to find the right words, because what are you supposed to say? It’s obvious that you don’t want to crawl across this fucking floor. “Please don’t make me-”

You gasp as your body goes tense from a sudden, unfamiliar pain. It feels like several wasps just stung your neck, and as quick as it hits, it’s gone.

Your muscles finally loosen and your hands shoot up to your neck, feeling some sort of rough fabric with a rectangular plastic box at the front of your throat.

“What the fuck is this?” Your voice is strained, still panting as you try to recover from the pain.

He chuckles at you. “You will address me as sir and you will crawl to me.”

Your fingers are still fiddling with the device strapped to your throat, trying to find some way to take it off. But it’s complicated not being able to see what you’re doing. Just when you think you might be able to slip a finger under the tight, firm fabric, the pain comes back.

The stinging pain is more intense this time and longer. You’re about to collapse, unable to keep yourself in a sitting position, when the pain once again subsides.

You can’t stop the tears pouring down your cheeks, body still shaking and in shock from the intensity of the pain to your neck.

“Now. Stop fucking with your collar and crawl to me.”

Your head shoots up to him at his choice of words. “Collar?”

He licks his lips while a look of amusement lights up his face. “Yes, dumb little bunny. A shock collar. To help you behave.”

The hand that’s been lazily lying between his legs flips around to reveal the remote in his palm. Your eyes widen as your pain riddled brain slowly catches up to the present. A fucking shock collar. He put a shock collar on you like you’re some fucking dog.

“Crawl. To. Me. Now.” He spits out angrily, his tone sending chills down your spine.

When you don’t make any movement, he makes a big show of fiddling with the remote. Taunting you, warning you.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, shit okay. I’ll crawl to you.”

“Crawl to who?”

You push yourself up on your knees and lightly bring your palms to the ground, gently sitting them over top of the shattered glass. “You, sir. I’m going to crawl to you, sir.”

He relaxes in his chair once again at your answer, seemingly pleased with it. “Go on then. What’re you waiting for?”

You take a few deep breaths, attempting to will yourself to move forward. You know you have to do this, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to make the first move.

“Unless you need some more motivation. We could make good use of that collar.”

Your eyes shoot up and look up at him pleadingly, “Please, no.”

“Then fucking move.”

Leon’s patience is completely gone and you don’t want to see what other lengths he’s willing to go to to punish you.

You reach out with your right hand and your right knee slowly follows. You hiss out as your skin connects with some of the shards.

“That’s it, being such a good girl right now.”

Your breathing stops for a moment as a blush creeps up your neck at the praise. You’re so mad at yourself for your body’s reaction to his words. This is already fucking humiliating, how much worse can it get?

You move your left hand forward, breathing through the pain as it connects with the floor and your left knee follows. You’re going slow, being careful not to cut yourself up worse by being hasty.

You move your right hand carefully, blood already spilling from the cuts and onto the glass covered floor. It’s making shards stick to your skin and making everything that much more slippery.

Your right knee connects with the floor, right as the stinging pain returns to your throat. The sudden shock has you digging your knees, hands, and toes in the floor, heightening the pain you were already in.

The pain in your neck is once again gone and you’re left shaking and sobbing as blood puddles around your hands and knees.

“You know how to crawl. Go faster before you piss me off.”

You don’t know why you’re surprised he wants you to crawl faster, causing worse damage to your body. Of course he does. Why would you ever expect to be granted mercy?

You take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut tightly. At least you won’t have to see the glass you’re crawling into.

You’re still crawling fairly slowly, but a lot faster compared to your previous pace. You’re whining and groaning in pain and you feel the glass embedded deeply in your skin connect with even more glass. Your lower legs and toes are dragging glass behind you.

You feel the burning pain throughout your hands and legs, but you focus on moving your body forward.

“Open your eyes.”

You ignore his demands. You’re doing what he’s asking of you and he has the audacity to ask for even more.

“Look at me when you crawl to me. I will not tell you again. Unless you’d like another… shock of encouragement.”

You raise your chin up from your chest and shakily look up at him, opening your eyes. He smiles at you for listening to him and you wanna rip his fucking face off.

Your heart sinks when you realize you’ve only crawled half way so far. The pain is absolutely nauseating and you’re choking down the bile that keeps rising in your throat.

You begin crawling once again, vision blurry from the tears that are continuously falling.

All you feel is the agonizing pain as you force yourself to Leon’s blurry figure. You’re on the verge of passing out from the pain when you finally place yourself between his legs.

He runs his fingers through your tangled hair, almost soothingly. And you want so badly to jerk your head away, to run from his movements, but you can’t help but give yourself over to the gentle touch. His comfort somehow pulls you back down to Earth from your pain induced robotic state.

“Show me your hands, bunny.”

You go to push yourself up but red hot pain rages through your hands and knees, causing you to scream out in pain. Your body goes to collapse from the sheer exertion, but Leon is quick to catch you, steadying you and forcing you on your knees with your wrists in his hands.

You’re shaking as the glass embedded into your knees is forced deeper into your skin beneath your newly distributed weight. You take deep breaths as you adjust to the new level of pain. Bile fills your mouth, but you’re able to force it back down, the burning sensation of it only adding to your misery.

Your eyes open again after shutting in response to the pain. Your vision clears and you find Leon studying your destroyed hands.

Blood is still oozing from your countless wounds, shards of glass sticking out of your palms and fingers. Your hands and forearms are covered in blood, you can barely see your skin tone through the mess. Your hands are unrecognizable.

He tsks as he continues to look over them. “These are useless to me now. Shame.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at his words, not sure what the implications of his words are. He releases your wrists and you let your hands fall limply into your lap. When his hands move to his belt and he starts unbuckling it, you gasp and try to move away from him but are instantly met with sharp shooting pains in your legs from your injuries.

You’re stuck in place and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anything you could possibly need to do will require Leon’s help. Just how he planned it.

Rope, duct tape, or any other typical restraints are so boring. Glass being embedded into your skin as you sit in your own blood? Now, that’s new and fascinating. You’re a cute little test subject for his vile thoughts and ideas.

He slides the zipper down his pants and you finally look down at what he’s doing.

What the fuck? He’s hard, not just hard, but really fucking hard and about to pull his dick out right in your face.

Your throat is raw from your previous wailing so your words come out scratchy. “What, what are you doing?”

“Oh, baby… Look how hard you’ve made my cock. It’s only fair that you let me cream that tight, hot throat in return.”

“What?”

“Oh don’t be such a fucking prude.” He rolls his eyes as he stands before you, sliding his pants and boxers down just enough for his cock to pop out, his tip poking your lips. You attempt to pull your head back, but his hand is quick to grab onto your hair and push your face into his cock. You’re frantically trying to turn your face away from him, but it only has him gripping your hair impossibly tighter.

“Now, now. You don’t need another shock of encouragement do you?”

“N-no. Please.”

“Then start sucking. And don’t try anything smart because I am more than happy to shock your annoying little ass again.”

Before you can even prepare yourself, he’s pressing his fingers into your cheeks and forcing your mouth open, immediately shoving his cock into the back of your throat. You’re instantly gagging. And you’re already so close to throwing up that you’re certain you’re going to puke all over this man's dick.

“See, princess? You don’t want me to do it my way. So fucking behave and don’t stop until I’m creaming that fucking mouth.”

He pulls his dick out and you’re immediately running your tongue up and down his tip. You’re ready to do anything to keep him from choking you like that again.

“Make me cum in less than two minutes and maybe I’ll consider sparing you.”

You suck his tip into your wet mouth, the taste of his precum flooding your taste buds.

“There ya go. You’re so hot, all dirty and bloody for me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast. Pretty bunny has such a good mouth when she’s not running it.” He chuckles at his own words as you quickly bob your mouth up and down on his dick.

“Just like that. You ready to taste me, baby? Need to cream this throat.” He speaks quickly as he starts to thrust, meeting every bob of your head. His grip in your hair tightens as his hips still and he holds his tip against the back of your throat.

You resist the urge to gag and cough as you feel his cum fill your throat. You think he’ll never be done when he finally pulls himself from your mouth and stuffs his cock back in his pants. He refastens his belt and turns to walk away, but stops and looks down at you.

“Here.” He grabs your shoulder, causing you to gasp, as he pushes you down to the floor, until you’re laying on your back. “I’ll spare you.”

And then he’s quickly leaving the house, confident that you’re not going anywhere anytime fast. You realize you’re in less pain being off your hands and knees and breathe a sigh of relief. Your weight is distributed better over the glass, so your back and legs only tingle and sting slightly.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

You’re not sure how much time passes as you drift in and out of sleep, but when the front door finally opens, you can’t mask your excitement at Leon finally returning.

“Leon?” You call out in a happy, relieved voice.

“Hi, bunny. How are you doing?” His tone is lighter than you’ve ever heard it before and it fills you with hope.

“I’m gonna piss my pants, can you take me to the bathroom?” The back of your legs are getting badly cut up because you can’t keep your body still as your bladder throbs and aches.

“Sweetheart, you’re so silly.”

His tone is mocking. “What?” You're obviously confused and it has him shaking his head.

“That’s not my problem.”

“I can’t get up.” You whine out, praying he’ll give in and help you.

“I know,” he coos at you, “You’re gonna have to just piss yourself then. But don’t worry, I’ll stay here and watch.”

“What?”

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. It hurts so much.”

“And you know exactly what will relieve you of that pain don’t you?”

“But I can’t get myself up.”

“That’s too bad.”

You’re so fucking confused. You don’t understand what his game is here. It has to be about control, the humiliation it’ll bring you. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly and try your best to pretend this isn’t happening, but the pain is only getting worse and worse.

“Bunny… Just relax. You’ll feel better if you just relax.”

“Fuck no, Leon. No fucking way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” You open your eyes and give him a dirty look. “I’m not going to lay on the floor in my own blood and piss! What’s wrong with you?”

He smiles as he shakes his head, “You don’t have a choice, baby.”

You don’t know what to say to him. What can you say? Beg for his help? Hope he actually cares? It’s all so useless. You find yourself squeezing your eyes shut and clenching every muscle in your body. This is so stupid, so fucking stupid.

“You really want my help?” Leon breaks the silence, pulling you from your thoughts.

You look up at him once again, “Please.”

“Okay, I’ll help you.” You breathe a sigh of relief. He’s going to help you, there’s some sort of hope. If he can find it in himself to help you now, maybe you’ll be okay. Maybe everything will fall into place.

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a familiar remote. Your eyes widen in shock, realizing what he’s about to do. “Wait, Leon, don’t-”

But you aren’t even able to finish your statement before the shocks are shooting into your body and every muscle tenses up in resistance. A few seconds feel like minutes before the pain stops and your body goes limp on the ground. Every muscle in your body softens.

Before you can even process what’s happening, before your mind even comes back to yourself, you register a warmth growing on your thighs and ass. The warmth spreads further as you come back to yourself.

The second you realize what’s happening, you wish you’d remained oblivious. You try to stop it, but your body is so weakened that you have no more control.

You lay on the floor in your dried blood mixing with your hot piss. You’re no longer peeing, but the humiliation has tears welling up in your eyes.

The liquid starts to cool quickly in the chilly air and it has you shivering on the floor. It has you wishing you were dead.

Suddenly, Leon’s petting your head and hushing you. “You’re a good girl, you know that? Did such a good job for me.”

Your eyes dart up to his face. “What?”

“So pretty like this. All wet and helpless.” Your thighs clench together at the praise, furthering your humiliation. Leon notices immediately and smirks down at you. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we?”

You whine as he lifts you in his arms. You’re slack in his arms because of the extensive injuries to your body. You feel your piss soaked body pressed against him and knowing your piss is getting on him makes you wanna vomit.

But that’s not the only thing you feel. This time it’s a lot less surprising, but doesn’t make things make any more sense. His erection pressed against your ass and you don’t have the energy to point it out or try to push yourself away from it.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Thankfully, not a whole lot of glass is embedded in the skin of your back, so you can happily lay in the blankets piled on top of the mattress without causing yourself any more pain.

You lay with your arms against your sides, avoiding making contact with your hands. Every time you look at your hands, your stomach twists and turns at the deformed skin. They’re cut to shit and glass shards stick out haphazardly all throughout the skin.

“Are you comfortable?” Leon asks as he runs a cold, wet washcloth across your forehead.

“As comfortable as I can be.”

“Good, good.” Leon gets up and walks across the room. You let your eyes fall shut, your body crying out for blissful sleep.

You hear Leon’s footsteps approach your bedside, not bothering to open your eyes. You’re not even sure you could open your eyes if you wanted to.

“Baby, keep your eyes shut for me, alright?” You nod as he softly caresses your cheek, pushing your hair from your face.

“Can you stick your tongue out for me? I got a surprise for you.” You hum in response, too tired to question him. But you couldn’t help the hope growing in your stomach at the thought he might finally give you some water or food.

You lol your tongue out as far as you can and feel him grab it with his thumb and pointer finger. He grips it tightly. You’re not sure why he’s doing it, but once again, you’re too exhausted to question him or resist it.

“This will be quick.”

You make a “huh” sound as best as you can with your tongue in its current position, and that’s when you hear a disgusting snip sound followed by squelching.

You start screaming as excruciating pain sets in. Your screams are cut short as you start choking on your own blood, the liquid pouring from the wound and slipping down your throat.

Leon grabs you by the back of your neck and pulls you into a sitting position, allowing the blood to pour down your chin rather than your throat. Your body is shaking from the pain, you’re on the verge of passing out, feeling the darkness creeping up on you, awaiting to consume you completely.

“There you go, baby. I got rid of the thing that causes you the most trouble. You’re perfect now.”

Your tears pour down your face, mixing with the blood coming from your mouth. You look down at the bedspread in front of you and the sight of your severed tongue has your vision going foggy. You let out one final cry before passing out from the pain and blood loss.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

It’s been fourteen years, but you still remember it like it was yesterday. You relive those events every fucking day of your miserable existence. It doesn’t help that you have optimal time to think about it in your small prison cell on death row.

Of course he handed you over to the police with some elaborate story on how he found you out and when he confronted you, you went crazy and mutilated yourself. And of course, you can’t properly defend yourself, considering he took your fucking tongue. You could write out your claims of innocence over and over, but how could you possibly convey it with words alone?

Leon framed you for all of the murders. Planted all the evidence at your apartment and in your car, “finding” all the overlooked leads in your office. It was a pretty open and shut case. Took the jury less than an hour to find you guilty and for you to get sentenced to death.

Tomorrow’s the day. You’ll finally get the lethal injection and be free from your own personal purgatory. You’re confined to a prison cell by yourself 24/7 considering if you show your face outside of it, other inmates are instantly on you. You’re America’s most brutal female serial killer, how could they not want to kill you?

It’d be too easy if the prison would just let the other inmates go through with it. Just put you out of your misery and throw your body into the prison’s graveyard. But no. No amount of suffering will ever be enough to pay for “your” crimes.

You hate yourself. You look at your unrecognizable, mutilated hands and all you can do is sigh as you slip one down between your spread thighs to relieve the ache you feel between them.

In your line of work, you were well aware that trauma could cross wires in your brain. You can’t control your trauma responses. But the fact that your pussy is always soaking wet when you think about his dick in your mouth and the praising words he spoke to you is torture in itself.

You try to think of anything else, anything else at all. Even when your fantasies don’t revolve around that man, you can’t get yourself off without thinking of what he did to you.

As you lay in bed, shirt stuffed between your teeth to silence your sounds, you feel your climax grow closer and closer and his face above you is all you can see. And no matter how many times you go over it with yourself, telling yourself it’s a trauma response, you know the truth. You know that deep down you loved what he did to you and the only thing that makes you so angry is the fact that he put you here.

Here in this cold, lonely cell to waste away for the rest of your days. Leaving you with a heart, soul, and cunt that aches for him. You know what he’s done and you hate it, but you can’t bring yourself to hate him.

And as your wetness runs down your fingers, coating your palm in the proof of exactly what he does to you, all you can think about is that fucking day. You’re going to die tomorrow and here you are touching yourself to the man that put you here.

Your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a shaking and shivering mess in your threadbear sheets on your paper thin cot. It’d be so much easier to hate him, but you have the curse of hating yourself instead.

Tomorrow you will die and pay for your crimes. And maybe the crimes you’ll be dying for aren’t yours, but you still deserve to pay for being so fucked in the head. So you’re happy, almost giddy to be dying tomorrow.

Maybe you’ve gone mad, or maybe you were always mad to begin with and it took him coming along to pull it out of you. Either way, not like it fucking matters. You’ll still be dead and he’ll still be a free man. But you caught the killer and for that, you’ll always be a good fucking detective.

~masterlist~

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haggishlyhagging · 9 months

Text

I was standing before the desk of my doctoral dissertation adviser who was angrily telling me that I was not going about my dissertation in a way that suited him. He shouted at me, from his intimidating height, that my master's thesis adviser had told him I had pressured him unmercifully too and hadn't asked his advice either all along as I should have. I asked my fuming educator, as calmly as I could, why my master's adviser had never indicated this to me. I suggested that if he hadn't approved of the way I was proceeding, he should have said something to me at the time. And that since he always signed everything I took to him to sign, and since he had not stood in the way of my receiving my master's degree, I had simply assumed he approved.

Even as I asked the question, however, I knew the answer. I hadn't behaved femininely. I hadn't asked their advice. I hadn't acted as if I weren't capable of doing all this without their help. Hadn't, in short, acted incompetent, helpless, childish, and infinitely grateful for every little scrap of attention or advice they, as superior beings, had given me. I was twenty-eight years old when I began my master's research. I knew exactly what I wanted to do and how to go about doing it. I proposed it to my adviser. He agreed. I did it. That was that—I thought.

Oh, but not so. I didn't lean on him. To me he was just part of the red tape. I cut through him as quickly as possible. And I had no time to linger. Already we had one child and were ready to conceive another. I had to move faster almost than humanly possible, and I did.

Now my doctoral adviser had heard from my previous master that I had not been sufficiently humble and impressed (did not respect the priesthood enough, meaning the men). But this one wasn't going to make the same mistake. He'd show me who was boss. I understood this as women understand it, not intellectually, just in the flesh of my face as he scowled at it, just in the resignation of my weary-with-watching-male-ego-signs flesh. And I knew exactly what to do about it, without thinking, without strategizing—cry. So he would know I wasn't trying to show I was as smart as he was and didn't need him to tell me what to do next. Cry—so he would realize I was just another weak little woman and he had no cause for alarm. Cry—so he would feel bigger and more rational, and still, above all else, still blessedly in control.

So I cried on purpose that day, and because I did I became Dr. Johnson a year later, moving with great speed through a system designed to slow doctoral candidates down. Because I cried.

If men hate to be thus manipulated, then they must allow us to be real, they must not force us to manipulate their egos in order to live a full human life. I hate such machinations. I despise them with all my heart. But women are forced to resort to them because men won't otherwise allow us to exist. And we have a right to life.

-Sonia Johnson, From Housewife to Heretic

#Sonia Johnson #male ego #higher education #female tears #male manipulator

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xazse · 4 months

Note

I NEED A SEQUAL TO YOUR AFAB!GOJO X READER

AFAB!GOJO x MALE!READER

Notes: listen listen, ur gonna be mad at me but I had to this was the only way I had seen it ending! AND IF YOU DONT LIKE IT JUST LMK AND ILL DO AN ALTERNATIVE ENDING! And I think you meant my recent one? The Afab gojo

Tags: Smut, mentions of Afab!Geto, titjob, cuckholding, The readers actions might not align with yours! Just wanted to let some of you guys know and reader is kind of a bastard. 😭

Pairings: Afab!gojo x male!reader

Satoru despises this right now, he hates it, after your night together, with you fucking him so good in your car, He finds himself wanting to so badly at night, hell even in the mornings hes going crazy. Rubbing his clit for so long it starts to sting, night after night he’s fucking himself with his fingers.

You weren’t lying when you said you had been watching Suguru for a while now, he sees your drifting eyes when he’s in your proximity, he sees it all. Satoru can admit his best friend really is pretty, gandering attention from men and women, he just wishes you weren’t apart of that crowd.

So he’s devised a plan to keep Suguru away from you at all times. He changes his and Sugurus route to school, (they live together and travel everywhere together) he has your classes memorized so that was also easy. Suguru had brought up questions about the changes but he quickly reassured him that nothing was wrong: that he just wanted a change of scenery.

Suguru doesn’t know you, and Satoru wants to keep it that way. He truly doesn’t know why he’s doing all of this for you, I mean he could definitely score someone “better” than you, funnier than you, and just a lot more nicer in general but he keeps finding himself craving you even more.

It seems to work, everything is working in his favor… but you.. you’re a little too quiet, over the years Satoru’s noticed you’re rather upfront with the people you want, so why haven’t you made an attempt at Suguru from the start?

“Attachment: 2 images”

His phone goes off again

“Attachment: 1 video”

Image one consists of Suguru on his knees, with his face covered in cum, seemingly your cum, and dried tears.

Image two is Suguru with his pretty tits, pressed up around your cock, a cute cloudy smile decorating his face.

Satoru feels like time has stopped around him, he doesn’t blame Suguru at all since he hadn’t known of his and yours weird relationship, but you, you’re a bastard through and through, But Satorus fingers don’t stop him from clicking on the video.

It’s Suguru with his legs spread on a table facing forward, facing the camera. He can see all of Sugurus bits, he can see the way you’re sliding in him inch by inch, he can hear Suguru whining at the mere stretch of you. Sugurus hand flies up to his mouth to muffle some of the groans spilling out, then you begin fucking him ruthlessly, even with this you’re still holding the camera perfectly, making sure to rub it in Satorus face even more.

He can hear the lewd wet slapping sounds of your pelvis meeting sugurus ass, the glistening of your slick mixing together already.

He knows Suguru can feel the sting in his pussy when you do slam back into him, knows that it feels so fucking mind numbing and good. You use one of your hands to push his leg towards his shoulder to get deeper and a better angle. Suguru is wrecked with loud sobs of pleasure, one of his hands maneuver to his clit and he begins circling it roughly.

Satoru feels his own clit needing to be touched, his panties are soaking wet three minutes into the video, interrupted he can hear Suguru talking or at least attempting: “please..please.. I wanna..” by this point his hair is strewn all over his face, sticking in some places, he doesn’t even seem to be all there, you’ve reduced the poor man into nothing.

Satoru feels awful, his heart feels heavy, his body is on fire, he doesn’t have anyone he can call at this late hour to help him release his frustrations. He uses his dildo that night, it doesn’t compare it never will, he fucks himself on it for hours and hours, repeating your video everytime. He’s milking his pussy till tears are streaming down his face, but his hips won’t stop.

#zsworks #geto x reader #satoru x male reader #afab gojo x male reader #geto x male reader #afab geto #afab gojo #jjk x male reader #Afab geto x male Reader #jjk smut #afab suguru #Afab suguru x male Reader

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macsimagines · 7 months

Note

I’m so sorry that you’re getting hate. and I’ll make sure to reblog your works more to make sure you feel the appreciation you deserve!

but, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask for a request! Headcannons with Izana, Mikey, and Kisaki that have a photo of their darling on there desk, but when their secretary comes in to the office to hand them paperwork but knock down the photo in the process on purpose. the secretary obviously has a distaste for you being their lover so how would they react to it?

I love a jealous bitch. You just make things a little more interesting for Darling and their man. also this borders on a hyper specific scenario and i hate those so please if you have a fic idea try writing it yourself

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI, NSFW, JEALOUSY, TOXIC BEHAVIOR, MURDER MENTION, NSFW

Yandere!Izana Kurokawa

Let that bitch secretary of his stick around because he knows she makes you insecure. No joke, he really does let her act out how she wants because he wants to keep you in check.

Izana will allow her to flirt with him in front of you, maybe even give you some attitude and practically lets her roam around his office flaunting her goods because he wants you to feel bothered and belittled.

He's basically saying; "Look at what I can have and feel blessed I still choose you." without ever saying it.

But he knows he's pushing it and never lets her do anything further than those few things. In fact he treats very coldly if he's alone with her. He only goes out of his way to be nice when you're watching.

Truth is, he can't stand her. Hates her perfume, hates the way she looks, hates the way she speaks. She's only good for one things and that's keeping you in line he doesn't need or want her for anything else.

Then one day, she got cocky, one day she really fucked up. "Oops, knocked over your wife's picture. But it's fine sir, you don't really want to be looking at her when you have me right~?"

After that you never see her at the office again. Her replacement is actually a man hired by Kakucho, who went out of his way to find a proper replacement because he pitied you.

"My old secretary? She got too comfortable. I don't need an annoying woman like that. Now come over here and thank me for my kindness."

Yandere!Manjiro Sano (AKA Mikey)

Hates that bitch but can't get rid of her. Apparently everyone in the office has had a taste and his underlings convince him that's good for morale. Also she does her work well enough and he can ignore her.

He kidnapped you, robbed you of all your autonomy. He didn't go through all that trouble to just have some cheap whore when he already has you.

But then you keep trying to hold out on him, you're not breaking even though he loves you and on the bad advice of probably Sanzu he tries to use her to make you jealous.

Lets her flirt and even flirts back in front of you, just because he wants to know you still care. At one point you loved him, maybe its still there?

But you're a brick wall, maybe even amused by his antics. And he just goes back to despising her, because she's not you. Not your hair, not your smile, not your smell. She's fucking wrong wrong wrong wrong.

The unfortunate thing is that she's gotten ballsy. She thinks she has a shot, even though he was just trying to use her to get at you. This bitch actually defiled your picture by pushing it out of the way and Mikey...

He sees red. He doesn't like hitting women, maybe that was just the little bit of honor left in him, but he can kill this pig with his bare hands and not even flinch.

Mikey doesn't hear her screams, her begs or even her sorrys when its all said and done. Just a bloody pummled mess on the floor.

Maybe she can be good for something because he calls you into his office and makes you watch his men clean up her corpse and get rid of it. Just as a reminder of how much he loves. And what he's still capable of.

Yandere!Kisaki Tetta

He hates her. You're his whole world and perfect Darling. He showers you every day in affection that he only gives to you and she thinks she has a place?

Kisaki had hired her as a favor to business partner. His eldest daughter. And to keep good morale and images with this other company he gave her a job.

Don't worry, he was going to bleed that company dry and toss her out on her ass when he was done ruining her family's name. She was just a pawn, but you are everything.

But all that doesn't make her obvious attempts at winning him over any easier. Her father probably had sent her to seduce him and probably take your place as his new wife.

The thought makes him want to puke. As if that ugly cow has anything on you, the reason he lives and breaths and conquers the very business world.

You don't even know about the games this Secretary is playing because he doesn't need you to worry you're perfect pretty head about it. This is his problem and he will handle it when the time comes.

But that happens sooner than later when she DEFILES your image by accidentally knocking your photo into the trash. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sir. I was only putting it where I thought it belonged~"

Well Kisaki was a patient man, but if it was time for action... Her father's company is destroyed, her family name ruined with scandal and defamation, and her corpse was somewhere floating all alone in the ocean.

And you were at home with Kisaki suddenly planning a surprise vacation. "You deserve it, Honey. I just want to spend some time with you."

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere manjiro sano #yandere mikey sano #yandere izana kurokawa #yandere izana #yandere kisaki tetta

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aemonds-sapphire · 2 years

Text

Forbidden Fruit

Summary: You loathe Aemond Targaryen and that is all the motivation he needs.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem! reader (Baratheon)

Warnings: NSFW. Hate sex. Dry humping. Oral sex (f receiving). Toasting: Aemond style.

Word count: 3k

There he was.

Tall and proud stood Aemond Targaryen, surrounded by women and men alike. Some serving him, while the others wishing to be served by him should the opportunity arise.

There was no denying he knew how to pull people in. Even after what he did to your brother, you could not think otherwise.

Many craved the firstborn son of King Viserys, Prince Aegon, but it was Prince Aemond who’d often capture the attention of those who crossed paths with him. Mysterious, reserved, loyal to his house, and an excellent warrior.

If not by the unfortunate set of circumstances that led your older brother — and you, by extension— to despise him, you figured you’d entertain your physical attraction towards him more often.

And he rode Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon alive.

But as of now, you knew you had to hate all about him. From his perfectly combed silver hair to his handsome face. The scar that ran across his left eye and dipped under an eyepatch took nothing from him, and it only made him more striking.

He had humiliated your brother not long ago, and you had to hate him for it.

You observed him from a considerable distance, hoping your presence would go unnoticed for the most part of this feast in celebration of King Viserys and Queen Alicent.

But it seemed that fate had a twisted sense of humour when you spotted him making his way towards you.

Aemond bowed his head curtly as he came to a halt in front of you, extending one arm to offer a golden cup of wine.

You had no intention of accepting it, and instead forced yourself to put on a strained smile that, to those more oblivious, would appear genuine.

“No, thank you.”

“It is not poisoned, if that is your concern.”

You scoffed. “Well, that sounds exactly like something a person who’s about to poison someone would say,” you said as your eyes never left his. “Besides, I wouldn’t put it past you to do something of the sort.”

Aemond’s lips twisted into an amused grin, still waiting for you to take the offer from his hand. “That is not my way, my lady. As I’m sure you remember, I’m more of a duelist myself.”

How could you forget? And any sliver of attraction that had been brewing earlier completely vanished at his audacity.

Aemond had challenged your brother to a duel which ended in defeat for the young Baratheon boy. However, the prince didn’t stop there. Apparently, victory wasn’t enough for the likes of Aemond One-Eye. He desired everyone in the courtyard to bear witness to how lacking he considered the skills of his opponent to be, directly causing a rift between the young stags and dragons that lasted to this day.

Your father had always taught you to be gracious in the presence of unfavourable circumstances, and that was the reason you decided to simple ignore him.

You could feel his eye studying you which caused you to snap. “What do you want?”

“I am merely being courteous, my lady.”

Snapping the cup from his grasp you took a sip. “You wouldn’t know courtesy even if it hit you in the face, Aemond Targaryen.”

Amusement spread across his face. “Ever the charming one. No wonder you have no suitors yet.”

You had the cup on your lips and nearly chocked on the wine, eyeing him in disbelief. “How do you know that?”

But he had no intention of answering you as he flashed a final grin and proceeded to walk away.

How he could be possibly know that?

You turned your back on him, trying to contain yourself as the large hall was crawling with lords and ladies from across the seven kingdoms.

“I propose a toast,” Aemond’s voice was heard from behind you, effectively freezing you in place.

The cheerful music died hastily as everyone hurried to pay full attention to Prince Aemond. You spotter his mother making her way through the crowd, bearing both a golden cup and her warm smile. King Viserys, however, struggled to join his lady wife as the wounds that afflicted him and overall poor health condition had severally hindered his ability to walk.

You turned to face him as you joined your parents who stood by the king.

“To House Baratheon,” he began, hoisting his cup high above, followed by nearly everyone in the room. Even you. “May our alliance be ever fruitful. May the battles we share be met with victory. Even if the duels between us favour the house of the dragon, in the end.”

The defeaning sound of cups clinking and thunderous applause engulfed the hall, causing you to wince. From across the room, you spotted your older brother’s face drop.

No cheers came from any of the young stags. Your parents, on the other hand, aimed to please the king and queen. They cared not for the squabbles of the youngsters, as they had once said.

Aemond’s uncovered eye landed on you as he took a sip from his cup, visibly enjoying your face contort in anger.

The moment he turned away, you took large steps in his direction, purposefully colliding against his arm and spilling the content of your cup onto his dark shirt.

He immediately flinched away as some people close by gasped, hurrying to check on the young prince.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Prince Aemond,” you said, feigning concern and the he tried to pat away the excess liquid from his vests with his gloved hand. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

Before he could reply, one servant girl showed up with a cloth rag, ainding him as he glared at you with outrage splattered across his face.

You hurriedly bowed, taking your leave and not looking back.

A rush of excitement flushed through your veins and you realised you had managed to get back at him even if a not so elegant manner.

Placing the empty cup on a nearby table, you sprinted across the long stone walls of the Red Keep, until a familiar voice was heard.

“What happened? Where are you going?”

Your brother was soon pacing by your side. “I need some rest. I’ll be in my room.”

His hand gripped your arm, forcing you to slow down. “Did he do something to you?”

You met his worried eyes, but said nothing.

He didn’t insist and let go of you. You were fortunate to share a strong bond with your older brother, which proved beneficial in many ways.

Others weren’t as lucky.

The damp coldness from the poorly little walls accompanied you until you reached your chambers. You had run into several members of the kingsguard who paid no interest in you, and all simply allowed you to head toward your destination.

As you closed the heavy door behind you, a sigh of relief escaped your lips. The fireplace was lit which you were thankful for. You removed your shoes and allowed your entire body to soak in the heat radiating from the flames.

You had let Aemond get under your skin, but you didn’t regret what you’d done to him.

“Serves him right,” you muttered in bliss, rubbing your hands together.

As far as you were concerned, he deserved far worse than a wine stain on his shirt.

Just as you were about to undo the lacing on your dress, a strong knock made you jolt.

“Who is it?”

No response.

You repeated the question, but the silence endured.

A chill ran down your spine, and before you knew it you’d grabbed the dagger your brother had once offered you.

Another knock.

Against your will, your body started shaking in fear as you kept the blade glued to your chest, walking towards the door.

Taking a shaky deep breath, you tugged on the doorknob, revealing Aemond Targaryen on the other side, leaning into the door-frame.

When he eyes landed on the silver dagger you so firmly held, a loud chuckle erupted from him. “Do you intend on hurting me with that letter opener, my lady?”

You faltered momentarily, shocked that he was right in front of you. Once again.

“Are you lost?” you blurted out before you realized just how ridiculous that had sounded. This was his home, after all.

“Go ahead,” he taunted, taking a few steps toward you. “I’d like to see you try.”

For the second time that night, your judgment failed you and you flung into him, yielding the dagger aloft.

Aemond promptly dodged the blade, capturing your wrist and twisting your arm painfully behind your back before shoving you against the wall with his body.

“Truly impressive,” he mocked as he caught the blade that you ended up dropping. “I wonder… what was your plan, my lady? Hurting me and starting a war?”

“Let go of me!” you growled as the hard wall dug uncomfortably into your body.

Just as quickly as he had pinned you, he released you, taking a few steps back and twirling the dagger skillfully between his fingers.

Anger boiled in your blood. “Get out!”

Aemond rose both arms to his side. “I will, but first I must ask you to drop the act.”

Your heart was racing uncontrollably and it nearly skipped a beat.

“What?”

Aemond shut the door behind him and laced his hands behind his back.

“I’ve seen the way you stare at me,” he started, flashing a devious smile. “If I’ve misunderstood, I shall walk away and leave at once.”

You had been so caught off guard you didn’t even know what to say.

How had he noticed? Had you not been as discreet as you’d hoped?

“However, if I’ve correctly read you, then I ask you to let me have your way with you.”

Your mouth fell open for a second and it took you a moment to recover. “You think too highly of yourself if you think I’d ever feel attracted to you.”

“Oh, but you are,” he said as a matter of fact. “It’s very obvious.”

“Fuck off! I despise you.” You hissed failing to keep the distance between you two. “You’re despicable and not attractive in the slightest.”

Lies.

You knew.

And he knew.

You had gotten dangerously close to him, and even though he towered slightly over you, you had to try to keep your ground.

He smiled teasingly. “So you don’t want to kiss me?”

“No!”

You were so close to him, you could smell the fruity scent of wine that you had spilled on him.

An inch closer.

His breath fanned your lips, sending shivers down your spine. “Not even one kiss?”

Another inch closer.

“No…”

Your chest came into contact with his and he licked his lips. “Then I shall leave.”

“No!” You said as he leaned back and away from your touch.

Aemond clicked his tongue, twirling the dagger once again. “Make up your mind, my lady. My cock is too hard and my patience is running thin.”

For the third time that night, your judgement had failed you. You pulled him into a kiss that nearly caused you to lose balance, forcing him to hold on to you with one hand gripping your waist.

You were by no means new to keeping men company. Fortunately, your parents didn’t suspect a thing which allowed you to hone the ability to pleasure yourself.

Aemond took the time to sink into your touch, and that when you felt the outline of his covered cock jamming into you.

You were about to lower your hand to touch it when he grabbed your wrist, breaking off the kiss at once and spinning you around until you had your back to him.

“I want a taste of you first,” he purred into your ear, pushing you slowly until you were once again pressed against the wall. “Call it… compensation.”

You growled. “For what?”

His tongue trailed the length of your neck until he reach your earlobe, capturing it with his teeth.

You had to clench your thighs together to keep a gush of wetness from dripping into your undergarments. One firm hand guided your hips to meet his, and once he set a steady rhythm of rubbing his cock against your ass, you knew you were doomed.

You brought both hands to help you steady yourself as the young prince rolled his hips time and time again.

“I hate you… so much…” you moaned as he started suckling on you neck.

It wasn’t even a lie this time. You hated him for having you pussing soaked for him. You hated him for moving his hips in a way that was guaranteed to drive you mad.

You felt your dress being lifted, and readied yourself to be fully exposed to him. Truth be told, you would have preferred if the dress was out of the way entirely, but you needed him inside you urgently.

Suddenly, you felt a tug on the fabric and the sound of it being torn.

“Did you just cut my dress?!” You gasped, trying to take a look at the extension of the damage.

A low chuckle was heard as Aemond showed you the dagger in his hand. “Thank you for providing this, my lady.”

He flung the blade to the side to land on the floor, and proceeded to rip apart what was left of it with both hands as you aided as best as you could in this position.

You groaned in annoyance. “I adored that dress.”

Cool air hit your skin once he had successfully undressed you, dragging both hands along your body in utter fascination.

“I’ll buy you another one,” he groaned planting a kiss between your shoulder blades and rolling his covered cock directly against your exposed ass. “One that is easier to get rid of.”

You weren’t able to hold back and bucked into him, increasing the friction.

A marvellous moan left his lips and he finally had access to your pussy, dragging one finger along the folds before tasting you in his tongue.

“You’re not wet,” his hot breath was on your ear again. “You’re soaked.”

“Aemond…” you moaned as he rubbed your swollen clit with such expertise that you were sure he had never had one unsatisfied lover before. “I am sorry…”

He paused. “For what?”

You groaned, urging him to resume his ministrations. “For being soaked.”

He pinched your clit and snapped his hips hard against you, growling. “Such a tease…”

You jolted into his touch. “Are you always this insufferable?”

“Only when I want to fuck you,” he answered truthfully. “The amount of times I’ve dreamed of being buried inside you.”

Oh, he was good.

He surely knew how to make one feel special. “Then do it before I regret this.”

The next time you took a look at his face, his sapphire eye was uncovered, and he grinned. “Still trying to have me believe you hate me?”

“I do ha—”

Your words died in your throat as you felt his thick cock slide along the slick folds. The familiar coil of release on your lower stomach had you gliding along him, filling the room with wet sounds.

“Just… pull out…” you breathed in despair.

Aemond's hands caressed your sides until he cupped both breasts. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Fuck, Aemond Targaryen! Fuck me right now before you meet my wrath.”

He was visibly surprised at your outburst, but welcomed it by placing the tip at your entrance.

“I’ll go slow.”

You had to bite down on your hand to keep a cry of discomfort from being heard as he slid his cock inside.

You heard him growl before stopping. “You need to stop squeezing me so hard… please…”

Easier said than done, but you did try your best to ease your grip on his cock, and he was eventually able to sink its entirety deep within you.

He didn’t move for a a while, taking the time to make sure you could adjust to the size.

“Move…” you managed to say before biting your lip to muffle a moan.

You felt his tender lips on the nape of your neck. “If I move right now, I’ll spill inside you.”

For a split second you considered letting him do so, but you knew better than that.

He was panting heavily and you could tell he was struggling to keep his composure. You could swear he was cursing in his tongue, to ease some of the tension.

“Stop squeezing my cock so hard… kostilus…” his voice was but a whisper and you forced your body to comply.

Not long after, Aemond began moving painfully slowly inside you. You knew you weren’t going to last, not when you could feel his cock twitch inside you so deliciously.

Loud groans echoed through the room. He was too far gone, and you figured it had taken all of his willpower to be able to be able to rapidly slide out and have his cum coating your lower back.

You winced at the sudden loss of friction and expected him to be done with you as it do happens with many men after reaching their release, but Aemond was not like most men, you’d come to realise.

Aemond Targaryen was on his knees when you turned around, still in need to get off.

“Come here.”

His face was flushed and his silver hair a mess and his breathing irregular, yet there he was, wanting you to sit on his face.

The moment his tongue hit your clit, you had to dig your fingers into his hair to keep your legs from giving up. He began sucking on the sensitive bud, stilling your jerking by placing his hands on your thighs.

“So… good…. Aemond…” you were one lick away from insanity and he had noticed he increased the pace.

You nearly exploded when you looked down and saw your wetness coating his face each time he paused to control his breathing. Aemond’s agile tongue brought you over the edge with such skill that you felt your legs spasm and if not for his strong grip, you’d have collapsed to the floor.

He was still on his knees, leaned back, chest heaving and face covered in your wetness.

“Do you still hate me?”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond x y/n #aemond x you

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diejager · 2 months

Note

Hii just read ur Saccharine and Monstrosity stuff and it was really good! I was wondering if you could do one where reader gets super sick from having not felt sunlight in forever

Cw: DARKFIC, kidnapping, sickness, pregnancy, tell me if I missed any.

He watched you grow weary, your once vibrant skin ashen and your gleaming eyes dull. You looked sick and pale, the lushness in you that König loved and cherished slowly drained, the liveliness and sunshine in you drowned by the darkness of his bioluminecent cave. He craved the lightness in your tone, the energy in your struggle to rebel against the decisions he made for the betterment of you and the beautiful shine that you brought to his lonely home.

He wanted to protect you, to cherish and provide for you. All König wanted, in his cold, undying heart, was to love you the way a creature like him could, but all he did was snuff out the light in you. You were sick because of him, dying from the lack of sun in the darkest pit of his side of the ocean, the abyss of his domain where he ruled with an iron fist and commanded without hesitation. He told himself what he was doing was best for you, he had eons of knowledge and experience of the dangers of life.

His arrogance and pride showed in his patronising words, more self-assuring than to reassure you, to remind himself that every decision of his were made for you. Yet all he saw were the consequences of his acts, the saddening truth of reality striking him in the face when he came back from a hunt to find you gasping and whimpering, your tail swaying and curling into yourself in your unconscious state. It scared him to death, seeing his pregnant mate laying on the floor in a mess of agony and sickness.

Your kind depended on sunlight, the freedom to bathe and lay under it’s warm embrace whenever it shone brightly over the sea. You were a creature of beauty and light, legends whispered by sailors and venerated by women, precious creatures that the creator loved like he loved you, protecting and affectionate. Unlike him, who was a being of darkness and madness, feared by men in all form and idolised by madmen for the share of power he gifted to those who bowed to him at the altar.

He should have known, the dichotomy between you were far to wide to be shrunken, that you could live in the same environment as he did without suffering from the lack of sunlight. Perhaps he could give you a taste of warmth, something other than the cool abyss and his freezing body. He could watch while you bathed in the sun, a arm wrapped around the tip of your tail, keeping you within reach of him, but he despised the sun, it burned him and dried his skin, the light shining a being of chaos like him.

He didn’t fear any other God or the creators like the sun, moon and chaos, but he hated how they affected him, how his body involuntarily reacted to their presence. And he hated the thought of your beauty attracting other creatures, vying for your luscious hair and silky skin, the gem-like shine of your reflective scales and your fragile fins. He didn’t want to share you with any other being, but if it meant healing you, watching you get better before his eyes and support the clutch in your womb, he’s willing to suffer all that if it’d help.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @candlewitch-cryptic @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @0-ramen-0 @dreamdiaries777 @under-the-dirt @ajadell @danielle143 @bubbletae7 @mushroompasta @skystreamchan @notspiders @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @lilpothoscuttings @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig cod #eldritch!konig #Eldritch!könig #Eldritch horror #mermaid!reader #tw: kidnapping #tw: dark content #dark content #dead dove do not eat

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whxre-bxby · 1 year

Text

“This Is What You Came For”

Based on the scene where Tuk, Lo’ak and Tsireya are being held at gunpoint by Quaritch and his squad. Miles tells Jake to hand himself in otherwise he’ll shoot Lo’ak. Imagine you are Jake.

Recom soldiers (Quaritch/Lyle/Mansk/Prager/Ja/Lopez/Brown/Fike) x recom-Y/N

WARNINGS: SMUT, Angst, Hurt/comfort, non-con (sorry i love it), gangbang, voyeurism

Masterlist

9117 words

I have a big story to tell. My past is long and changed significantly once I arrived on Pandora as a marine soldier.

I was originally meant to work under the command of Colonel Quaritch but when Jake Sully arrived, I was given the task to help him get used to Pandora. I had my own Avatar already. Before Jake came, I would provide protection for Grace and her team every time we went into the forest to get samples of new botanical species. Lyle would often join us, but he didn’t have an Avatar.

The day Jake got lost was the same day I left at night to go find him. He was my assignment and I would be screwed if I didn’t find him alive. So while wandering the forest alone, obviously fully armed with guns and knives, I encountered real Na’vi. They were on horseback and brought me to Hometree, to decide whether to execute me. It surprised me because I expected to be dead on the spot but then luckily Jake said he knew me and persuaded Neytiri to persuade her parents not to have me executed.

I was young at that point in life. But time went by quickly.

Once problems started to rise I had to make a decision and I chose to turn on my own kind and help Jake save Pandora.

I fought by his side and we won the battle. But at the time, we didn’t know it would only be the first of many.

Just like Jake, the clan and Eywa transferred my consciousness from my human body to my Na’vi Avatar.

Now, Jake and I were close friends. I was the aunt to his and Neytiri’s kids and we recently left the forest because the Sky People were back. We travelled to the coastlines and were accepted into a new clan.

Now, the fight had been going on for a while and Jake was badly injured. Neytiri had retrieved him on her Ikran and flown him to safety because she knew that Quaritch was going after him. Quaritch was hunting Jake Sully, and me, Y/N L/N.

I rode next to Ronal and Tonowari on my ilu to free Lo’ak, Tuk, and Tsireya. We stopped and I raised my sniper gun, checking to see whether it was safe to shoot one of the other recom’s from here. Suddenly, I heard Quaritch.

“Y/N, tell your friends to stand down.” he says with a pause. I gasp and I feel my heart sink. He has the kids cuffed and at gunpoint. Half of me wants to go there with the warriors behind me and kill every single soldier, but I know better than to act on emotions. I’m afraid of what will happen if I don’t listen…

“You want your kids back?” he asks, knowing the damn answer. “Come out alone.” Quaritch orders. I tense, my ears tipped back. Of course, just like I remembered him. Nothing seemed to change about the Colonel other than his body. I noticed Z-Dog and Lyle on either side of him. I knew they all despised me. But I used to have quite a close relationship with Zdinarsk and Lyle and I were friendly. I guess that gave them more of a reason to hate me. That I chose this planet over everything I had with them.

“You know better than to test my result.” the Colonel warns, pointing his gun at the back of Lo’ak’s head. My heart is racing.

I snarl, cursing myself and putting my sniper gun down, knowing it won’t help me now. He kept on talking.

“I took you under my wing, Y/N. You betrayed me. You killed your own good men, good women. I will not hesitate to execute your kid.” the Colonel snarls.

I lean my hand in front of me, taking deep breaths to think about my next move. I know I need to listen to him.

I glanced at Ronal and Tonorwari who were both furious about the recoms taking Tsireya. Then I looked behind me and scanned all the warriors who had joined us. We were enough people to take down the ship, but we couldn’t endanger the kids’ lives.

My ears droop to the sides and I let my head hang before telling Ronal and Tonowari to stay here and keep the clan away.

Tonwori warns me that they are killers of Tulkun and that they need to die here and today. I nod, agreeing with him.

“They came here for me… for me and Jake. That’s what this whole thing is about…” I tell them and Ronal snarls in general anger and frustration.

“You brought this upon us! You!” she says in a harsh tone and I flinch a little, but I completely understand her anger.

“Then it’s me who has to do this…” I say and Tonowari gives me a firm nod before signalling to his warriors to stand down. I take a deep breath, looking back at the ship.

“Offer’s fixin’ to expire…” Quaritch warns me. “What’s it gonna be?”

My worried gaze turns into a glare. “Check your fire. I’m coming out.” I say, moving my gun back around my shoulder and moving forwards on my ilu.

Neytiri is circling the sky on her Ikran, watching the scene play out. She presses her neck and asks me what’s happening.

I sigh, feeling my gut wrench and stomach drop. Honestly, I feel a little sick. But I can’t tell her what I’m doing. I don’t have the heart to tell Neytiri. She helped me so much in the past years, I owed it to her to give my life for her children.

My ilu and I leave the warriors behind us and we dive under the water's surface.

I see one of the Tulkun nearby and it seems to acknowledge me. It was the outsider. The one that Lo’ak had befriended. I believed his story and he showed me the bond they had. I disconnected my queue from my beloved ilu, patting its neck as a goodbye before swimming towards the Tulkun.

If they want me to come to them I might as well make my entrance impressive.

The Tulkun lets me close to it and I hold on to its fin as he pulls me through the water. I look behind me to see the bottom of the clan’s animals and my loyal ilu waiting for me to return. It breaks my heart, leaving it behind, but it was the right thing to do.

We neared the ship and I moved on to the Tulkun’s back, and hold on to one of the horn-like shapes it has on its head. It swims up to the water's surface and soon, we slowly glide out of the water and in front of the ship.

Immediately everyone onboard shuffles around and all weapons are pointed at me. I stay, kneeling on its back as it brings me to the side so I can comfortably step on board. I glide my hand over its skin and thank the Tulkun before standing upright and for the first time, I set foot onto the ship.

I locked eyes with the Colonel, examining him and his team. Their guns remained pointed at me and followed my steps. I stopped, standing in front of them with nothing in my hands. The water was dripping from my body and hair, creating small puddles beneath my feet.

I shifted my gaze to the kids. They all looked worried but Tsireya and Tuk seemed a little relieved that an adult on their side was with them. On the other hand, Lo’ak looked upset. I saw him shaking his head at me before, he must not want me to give up my life. But I owe it to all of them. I owe it to Jake for helping me escape, I owe it to Neytiri for taking care of me, to the kids who have always been so lovely over the years and to Eywa. I saved Ewya once, but I also brought this upon her. I needed to make it right.

Quaritch firmly nodded, pressing his lips into a straight line and turning to face me while still pointing his gun at Lo’ak. That angered me.

“Slowly remove your weapon.” he ordered me and my ears tipped back, showing him clear signs of discomfort. I was about to rid my protection.

I listened, slowly pulling the strap over my head and arm, holding my gun in my hand before gently throwing it to the side.

A recom soldier kicked it out of my reach and I glared at him before looking back at Miles.

“Let them go.” I snarled and he glared back. With some hesitation, he lowered his weapon and signalled something to his soldiers. To my relief, they started opening the handcuffs of the children but still held them by the arms.

I stood firmly on the ground, my tail flicking around in irritation. I felt protective over them. They needed to return to Neytiri safe and unharmed.

“Let ‘em go.” The Colonel ordered, harshly pushing Lo’ak away from himself and towards me. Lo’ak glanced around and grabbed Tsireya’s hand before warily walking to me. Tuk couldn’t wait anymore. She was terrified of the soldiers so she sprinted to me and hugged my lower waist, hiding her face in my hip. I leaned down, cradling her body and holding her close to me. My hand stroked her head to try and comfort her in any way possible.

“Shh Tuk. It’s all okay now. You can go home.” I say in a soft voice, forgetting about all the danger around us for a second. Lo’ak comes around my other side and hugs me too. I hold them all for a few seconds as if we were one family and when Tuk lifts her head, I wipe her tears.

“Don’t cry Tuk. You are safe now.” I force a smile and press her forehead to mine. That was something that always helped calm her down when she was a baby. It seemed to still work.

In the next few seconds, I heard the cry of an Ikran and the flap of its wings behind me. I looked up and all soldiers had changed their aim from me to something behind me.

I just smiled in relief, knowing who it was.

I turned around and Neytiri had gotten off her Ikran and stood behind me, but luckily she wasn’t pointing weapons at the enemy.

“Don’t shoot.” I shout, wanting them to know she was here for her children.

Tuk gasped and ran to her mother and Lo’ak quickly joined her. Tsireya followed Lo’ak.

I want to walk to Neytiri too but I hear a shout behind me.

“You take one more step Y/L/N and I open fire.” The Colonel warns. “You’re stayin’ here.”

I freeze in my step and look over my shoulder to let him know I heard him before turning back to Neytiri. She had put Tuk on her Ikran already and Lo’ak and Tsireya got onto the Tulkun that brought me here.

Neytiri and I exchanged eye contact and as much as she hated that I was part of the reason this was happening, her gaze softened. She knew what I was doing and it saddened her. She also took to heart that I put her children's lives over my own and gave me a sad smile.

“I thank you Y/N…” she said in Na’vi.

I nod, smiling and bowing my head a little.

“You proved yourself to the Great Mother. It will not be forgotten.”

Her words make me feel proud and I thank her. She walks over to me, in slow strides, her eyes not leaving mine. Now I could see how saddened she was.

Her eyes are just as teared up as mine are.

She pressed her own forehead against mine and thanked me again, for helping her children. Then, she returned to her Ikran, looking at me one last time before taking off. Lo’ak and Tsierya were ordered by her to go, and I waved at Lo’ak slowly. He returned the gesture, also visibly sad and they dived under the water.

I stared at the open ocean for a few moments before taking a deep breath and turning back to face the Colonel.

I couldn’t read his expression but it had changed. Maybe seeing me with children had some kind of impact on him. After all, I knew he more or less thought of himself as Spider’s dad.

Then he signalled something and most weapons were put down. I heard a few chuckles from the soldiers around me who had now encircled me and blocked my exit. They were recoms. The humans didn’t dare get so close. I hiss at one that’s too close for my liking but he just smirks, not moving back.

“This is going to be fun.” the Colonel says, evilly smirking at me before turning around and leading the way. Almost instantly, a gun is pointed at my head and I am pushed forward, being told to follow him.

I let out a shaky breath but oblige. At least I wasn’t being held down.

We entered a large hall which looked like an empty car storage area inside the ship. There was a light in the middle of the ceiling that didn’t reach the dark corners. I sigh. This was probably the last room I was going to see in my life.

I knew whatever they had planned wasn’t going to go well for me. Then again, I was surprised I was still alive now. Maybe they wanted me for questioning first.

I heard a few footsteps behind me stop walking and then I heard a voice sternly say, “No humans allowed.”.

There was complaining coming from the humans on board and then the large doors started automatically closing.

All daylight was now gone and everything seemed dimmer. I was urged to walk to the centre of the room so that I more or less stood beneath the light.

The soldiers stopped around me, creating a type of wide circle to make sure I couldn’t escape. I assumed the doors were all locked anyway, so I wouldn’t test my luck.

“Zdinarsk, Warren, go to the deck and help Walker and Zhang.” the Colonel said and they nodded before walking off. I watched Zdinarsk and our eyes met but she left anyway without saying a word. I wasn’t surprised.

I slowly turn around, scanning everyone. Just to see what I was dealing with. Most of them looked the same, everyone wearing similar attire but something small would always differentiate them.

Surrounding Y/N stood Prager, Mansk, Fike, Ja(Alexander), Brown, Lopez, Wainfleet, and the Colonel. Their weapons were no longer pointed at her but they still held them firmly, in case she were to try something.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions and you will answer them.” the Colonel says, stepping forward a little and resting his hands on his vest. I turn to face him and glare again.

What makes him think I’m going to willingly snitch on my family?

“If you refuse, then you won’t look as pretty by the time we’re done.” Quaritch adds, and a bald soldier and a soldier wearing his cap backwards flash metal rods and another soldier cracks his knuckles behind me. I’ve seen them use those on other clans. They shock and electrocute them.

I recognize Lyle and Brown.

I frown at his words. He would always somehow manage to catch me off guard.

When I look back at him, he takes it as an answer to my understanding of the terms and conditions.

“How does it feel to betray your own kind, Y/N? Your own people.” he snarls and I scoff. As long as I answer I should be fine. What I say is up to me.

“Great.” I reply, staring him dead in the eye. He raises an eyebrow before nodding at Lyle. He steps forward and I feel a cold metal come in contact with my thigh before my whole body is tensed and I flinch at the shock waves running through me.

I yelp and quickly step away from him, my hand covering where he electrocuted me. I stared at him in shock. He didn’t even hesitate. After years of us knowing each other and that man mindlessly hurt me.

“Ah! Fuck- ‘in hell…You idiot- I answered the question!” I swear, not understanding why he did that.

My reaction amused the soldiers.

“Doesn’t seem to be going that well for you.” Quaritch teases and I look back at him, my eyes furious. God, I hated him. A few men chuckle and I twirl my tail around my leg. Being in the spotlight like this made me uncomfortable.

“Who’s here with you that we know?” the Colonel asks and my ears flick away a drop of water that fell from my hair.

I hesitate, not wanting to expose them. But then again, it wasn’t such a secret since they were watching the others leave Pandora after we had won. I hear the shock rod go off close to me as a warning and I jumped before opening my mouth to say something.

“Most of the science team…” I say, a bit quieter now. He doesn’t say anything and just keeps looking at me. I take it as a hint to elaborate.

“Dr. Norm Spellman, Max Patel, John, Lily, …”

“What about Augustine?” Quaritch asks and my frown turns into a blank expression. I stare at him in slight disbelief, trying to find out whether he was serious or not.

My silence seems to make him uncomfortable. So he signals his soldier to shock me but I answer before he can.

“You killed Grace…” I snarl at him, the memory paining me. He doesn’t seem upset but he definitely wasn’t expecting to hear that.

“You shot her… in her stomach.”

He looked away, not saying anything.

“But the Great Mother accepted her. Her soul is with Eywa now.” I softly say. He looks back. I can tell not a single person in this room still fully understood the power of Eywa.

“Grace helped Pandora, unlike you. Eywa will have no mercy on you.”

After what was probably a minute of silence, he continued questioning me.

“Where’s Sully?” he asks. I decide to irritate him just a little more.

“Which one?” I reply, smirking. I knew I wouldn’t get shocked because I answered and played it off as an innocent question.

His ears tipped back and he caught on to my attitude.

“Answer.” Quaritch demanded.

“I don’t know.” I say and suddenly I feel the same pain and shock shoot through my body. But this time, it comes from my hip.

I whine, bending forward and resting one arm on my knee while I regain my breath. I throw Brown a dirty look before returning my gaze to Quaritch.

“He’s injured. I don’t know where they took him. He could be anywhere.”

“I feel like you would know where.” the Colonel replies, taking an intimidating step forward. I stand my ground.

“No.” I simply say and suddenly I feel both rods on my ribs and shock waves hit me again. My knees give out and I’m kneeling on the floor, one arm hugging my waist while the other holds me up.

Quaritch stares me down before sighing and shaking his head.

“You know Y/N, I used to think of you as my best soldier.” he says and my ears perk up.

“You were everything you needed to be. I was hoping you’d become Colonel one day too.”

He was playing mind games with me. I wasn’t going to fall for it. I got off my knees and stood in front of him again.

“I don’t know why you decided to run off with Sully. But I can see it changed you.” he locks eyes with me again and he looks angry.

“I didn’t think it would be possible, but turns out you really did become Na’vi, huh?” he continues, almost mocking me.

“You live with them, talk like them…Hell, look at you. Ya even dress like ‘em.” he growls and I look down at my body. I wore typical female Na’vi clothing. A top which I used to think barely covered my chest and a loincloth.

I heard some shuffling around me and then Quaritch smirked.

“Definitely not complainin’.”

The soldiers around me chuckle darkly. I used to be one of them and now they think they can treat me like a minority.

That’s it. He crossed the line. I know exactly what that meant and it was completely unnecessary.

“Asshole.” I snarl and his eyes widen at my comment.

“I see you kept your spirit at least.” he grins. “Guess it won’t be as easy to break ya.”

I huff and he watches me for a while before asking away again.

“Who do you have the kids with? Sully?” he asks and I look at him confused. Did he not know they were Jake’s and Neytiri’s?

“What kids?” I ask and Lyle takes a step forward but I move out of his way when he tries to touch me with the metal stick again.

“They aren’t mine.”

“I’m meant to believe that?” he asks me and scoffs. I’m getting really frustrated here.

“They’re Neytiri’s… and Jake’s.” I say, knowing they are safe so it won’t matter if I tell them.

“You don’t have kids? Ya didn’t settle down like Sully?” he asks and I glare at him again. But I know I have to answer so I shake my head ‘no’.

“Why’d ya give yourself up for them then?” he asks, genuinely.

“Because they don’t deserve to die. They saw me as one of them.” I coldly replied, still angry about how they were treated. “I on the other hand came here with the intention to kill for our kind. People like that don’t deserve a good life.”

A few moments of silence.

Quaritch claps his hands together and smirks. “Well then, that’ll just make this even better.”

I stare at him trying to figure out what he means but I snap out of it when I see Lyle move out of the corner of my eye and I move away again. He huffs out in annoyance.

“Cut it out, I swear to god.” I say, having enough of this bullshit. But Lyle and Brown both attempt to shock me again this time. I turn around, facing them now and hiss. It just seems to annoy Lyle even more and the next time he tries to hit me with the rod I lose it.

“That’s it, you fuckin-” I start swearing, grabbing the rod where he’s holding it and kneeing him in the stomach. He lets go, groaning and bending forwards. I immediately upper-punch him in the face and he stumbles back. Behind me, Brown attempts to restrain my arms but I elbow him in the chest, knocking the air out of him and he lets go, taking a few steps back.

I want to turn around to face Quaritch but now Prager and Ja have dropped their weapons and run forward to try to contain me.

They seemed to forget that I used to be a marine too.

Prager wraps his arms around my waist, holding my arms down. I kick myself off the ground in a launch-mode position and then kick Ja in the face, sending him to the ground. When I land on my feet, I lean down, keeping the motion and Prager is more or less thrown over me.

He lets go and then I see Lyle standing and coming for me again. I just throw myself on him and tackle him to the ground. Lyle manages to hit me in the face but it doesn’t phase me. He rolls us over and tries pinning my arms down but I knee him between the legs and he gives out much easier than expected.

I roll him around and am now straddling his waist, delivering punch after punch to his face.

Before I know it, someone grabs both my arms and my braid, pulling me off of Lyle and hurling me to my feet. I struggle and try to set myself free from their grip but I can’t. I’m held tightly in place and pulled against this soldier's body, with my back pressing against his chest. The tight grip on my braid pains me.

I look up and notice it's Mansk. He removed his glasses and looked pissed off. That was unlike him. Rarely things got to him, he would usually have a neutral stern face with occasional smiles.

This was new. But maybe, I was the problem. Not like I cared if I annoyed him. Nothing could compare to the hell these meathead idiots put me through.

Lyle and Brown are helped up and all eyes are back on me. My chest is heaving slightly more than before and I feel the blood running down from my nose.

Quaritch doesn’t even seem angry. He actually looks impressed. The soldiers that didn’t join like Fike and Lopez are waiting for orders and seem to be expecting a horrible reaction from the Colonel. The soldiers that I did hit on the other hand… those fuckers are out for blood. I mean every single one of them looks at me like they want to kill me. Lyle included. The once goofy dumbass I would work with has his eyes filled with fury.

I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if this is how I go down. This could very well be how I die.

“What? Did you forget I used to be like you?” I snicker, not being able to hold back a small grin. I took down most of them. I was impressed with myself. Damn. Jake would be impressed too.

Quaritch smirked. I amused him. “Don’t think you’re gettin’ the princess treatment now.” he said. I wasn’t expecting it. Usually, fighting others in combat would earn someone more respect. That didn’t work in this case.

“Anyway…” Quaritch started again, starting to slowly walk around Mansk and me while the other soldiers watched him. As if they were waiting for permission to kill me and finish me off. “Since you’re ours now and we can do with you as we please…”

My eyes shoot to him and my ears perk up. His words confuse me but they have caught my attention.

“And you’re Na’vi now so you understand your body… you can help us out.” Quaritch states, stopping and facing me again. His hands are still holding onto the top of his vest.

My ears tip back when I hear him ask for my help. The last thing I would do is willingly help them. He scoffs at my reaction and Mansk rearranges his grip on my body, making sure to keep it tight.

“We noticed we get, frustrated, more easily…” Quaritch spoke, pretending as if it were nothing. “And you just happened to trigger that reaction again.”

I huff, glaring at him again. My body tenses and I try to push myself away from Mansk who just tugs me back into him.

“How do we contain or… solve that problem, Y/N?” Quaritch asks, taking a step towards me. His tall and built form is almost towering over my slightly smaller frame. I was never small but I never reached their height either.

My eyes widen and I gulp. Surely he doesn’t mean what I think he does. If they are going through their heat, or rut actually, then only finding a mate and forming tsaheylu can solve that as far as I know. And if that is the case here, I need to leave right now. The last thing I need is to be spiritually connected to these monsters through Eywa. She would probably banish me along with them.

He takes note of my reaction. “I can tell that you know the answer. Why don’t you open your pretty lil’ mouth and share it with us?” Quaritch mocks me and I notice how it spikes everyone's interest. It makes me feel more nervous than angry, to be honest. Nervous and even a little frightened because I don’t know what is to come.

I myself was nearing my heat cycle, so my pheromones could be stronger but I shouldn’t be due for the next week or two at least. I wasn’t feeling the symptoms either so I should be fine.

“No? You want to keep it to yourself? Alright then. Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance, sweetheart.” He says, turning away and walking to a chair. He picks it up, bringing it to the circle and sitting on it the wrong way.

“There’s one rule, squad. You listen to everything I say. If you don’t, you’re out and I’ll deal with you personally.” Quaritch threatened, scanning over his unit. A few soldiers nod while others just look between him and me.

I notice Mansk has tightened his grip on me and is almost hugging me from behind. If you could call his tight, bruising grip a hug.

“Understood?” Quaritch asks, wanting to make himself clear. Everyone responds with ‘yes sir.’ and the Colonel nods.

“Alright then. Deal with her.” he snarls and I hear a few dark chuckles and growls around the room. They seemed to know what to do while I was confused.

Mansk grins behind me and harshly pushes me forwards, almost making me stumble. I yelp and stop before I can get closer to the other soldiers but some of them are already making their way to me, their grins and smirks making me feel small. Almost instantly, multiple hands are on me and suddenly, my knee is kicked in. I whine as my legs give out and I fall to my knees while being pushed down. I feel two hands wrap around my queue and some push down my back, so I’m struggling to keep myself up on all fours. My hands are pulled from beneath me and arranged in front of me and I feel someone lift my waist.

I protest, curses and swear words spilling from my lips but they don’t faze anyone. I also continue to fight against their grip, hoping to make this as difficult for them as possible.

Quickly looking around me I notice some soldiers stood standing and watching. Around me, I recognize Mansk, Lyle, Lopez, and Fike.

“Come back here, hot stuff.” Mansk was behind me, pulling me back by my waist and hips when I tried to crawl away. Lyle was on my side and I assumed his hands were around my queue. Lopez and Fike were holding me down by pushing my back and grabbing my arms. Mansk had wrapped his arm around my tail, holding me in place.

“Stop fuckin’ movin’.” I heard Mansk growl and my eyes widened in shock when I felt my stomach erupt in excitement and realised my body was positively reacting to their handling.

Within the next few seconds, someone delivered a harsh slap to my ass and I cried out, arching my back in pain before dropping my head and trying to hide my embarrassed face.

Lyle chuckled at my reaction, moving to sit in front of me now. He picked up my face into his hand, forcing me to look up at him. I closed my eyes, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Look at you turning all red, buttercup.” he cooed, and it felt like he was making fun of me. “This ain’t how I remember you.”

I open my eyes and glare up at him while he just grins.

Fike’s hands are on the waistband of my loincloth and he looks back to the Colonel for permission.

“Take it off.” Quaritch orders and the soldier's snicker in response. My eyes shoot wide open when I hear the words and I struggle again.

“Don’t you fucking dare, I will-” I start threatening but within seconds I feel someone quite literally rip the cloth from my waist. I scream in shock and in pain because the fingers that removed it scratched my skin. I pull my head away from Lyle’s grip.

His focus seems to have been distracted from my face and shifted to my bare waist. He could only watch his colleague's reactions to imagine what you looked like. Based on their groans and curses, he couldn’t wait to have his turn.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Mansk groaned, resting his hand on my bare hip and Lopez laughed.

“Christmas came early.” Fike jokes and I hide my face in my arm again.

Some soldiers standing around came behind Mansk to see and I tried blocking their laughs and jokes out.

“Show me.” Lyle ordered, becoming visibly impatient. His hand still held my braid while the other pulled me around by my waist. He leaned over to see what I looked like and when he cursed too I wanted to cry. The embarrassment was overwhelming. I’d never had this much unwanted attention and I didn’t know how to deal with it.

“You better hurry the fuck up. I’m next.” Lyle grinned, looking at Mansk who pulled my hips back to him. I closed my legs and managed to cover myself with my now free tail but it earned me another harsh slap to my other ass cheek.

“Don’t hide baby. It won’t help you.” I heard Quaritch say and my cheeks heated up even more. I forgot he was still there and he was probably watching the whole thing. The superior I used to look up to was watching and commanding his men to use me.

My tail was snatched away by Mansk again and Lopez untied the knot I made on my back, holding my chest piece in place. It fell open and I clenched my jaw together, tensing all my muscles. It was pulled over my head and I watched as someone threw it to the side. I was completely naked now. In front of 8 men.

Hands were feeling up and down my body, squeezing and caressing my bare, burning skin.

Lyle was back in front of me now, hand holding my face. I didn’t even fight his grip anymore, I just let him hold my head up.

My teary eyes and flushed face seemed to turn him on even more.

“You look so pretty, baby. Don’t worry, you’re gonna get what you want.” He cooed and I managed to gather the strength and snarl at him. He knew damn well this is not what I asked for.

I heard someone unbuckle their belt and shuffle behind me. Before long, my hips were pulled flush against someone else’s bare abdomen. I gasped, looking behind me and whining. I hated how the excitement in my stomach turned into the wetness that was gathering by my core. It wasn’t fair. I needed to stay strong. I wanted to prove to them that I was still strong and could resist as long as I wanted to. But the truth was, my opposing and rebellious thoughts were fading and being replaced with feelings I was denying for way too long.

Mansk grinded himself against me, feeling my slick on himself.

“Shit- looks like you’re enjoying this.” he snarled and I shook my head no, my ears strained back. But I was lying to myself at this point.

“Not yet.” Quaritch said and Mansk stopped. “Prep her first.”

Mansk pulled away and suddenly, someone pushed two fingers into me and I bit down on my lip.

Lyle was watching my reactions, falling silent and looking almost mesmerised. His ears were pointed forwards, trying to pick up all and any noises I made. Even just your heavy breathing had him feeling fired up.

The fingers inside me started moving and I squeezed my eyes shut and bit my lip, fighting the urge to just submit and let them use me. I whine again through clenched teeth and hear how Lyle sighs.

Luckily it stops before I can fall apart and the fingers which belong to Lopez are removed.

“Fuck, look at how wet she is.” he says, spreading the slick over my hot skin.

That’s when I know that I can’t hide it anymore. Hot tears start spilling down my face in embarrassment and I become aware of the fact that I am screwed. My pride is gone.

“Aw, don’t cry, buttercup. We’ll make you feel good.” Lyle teases me, running a thumb over my cheek and wiping away a few tears.

“No.” I whimper, trying in one last attempt to keep up my rebellious act but then I feel Mansk line himself up with me and then it’s all over.

One of his hands is on my tail while the other then tightly grips my waist and with one strong thrust, he’s inside me. I gasp at the stretch and the foreign feeling of intrusion. He mutters a curse under his breath, stilling for a moment.

“Shit- so tight. I’m only half in.” he says, his tone a little quieter now and a few soldiers laugh. My wide eyes meet Lyle’s when he says only half and Lyle laughs too.

“Don’t worry, baby. You can take it.” he says, and surprisingly his now softer voice comforts me. He rubs his thumb over my cheek again while Mansk pulls out and with his next thrusts, he pushes even deeper into me. A whimper and a sob leave my lips, but the noises seem to spur him on. He’s getting a reaction from me and that’s what he needs.

Soon, he’s thrusting in and out of me and it starts feeling good. His heavy breathing and grunting have my stomach erupting in sick butterflies and then he hits a spot inside me that shoots pleasure through me. My tensed figure suddenly relaxes and I involuntarily arch my back and moan.

The soldier’s heads shoot to me and Lyle looks surprised but the filthy noise makes his grin return.

“Look at you, taking it like a good slut.” he says and lightly slaps my cheek. It doesn’t even hurt, it just stings a little and manages to keep my head in reality.

Mansk speeds up his pace, pulling me back against him every time he thrusts forward. I feel another pair of hands move up and down my arched back while the others grope my breasts and play with my nipples.

Lyle grips my jaw again and takes advantage of my parted lips. He pushes his thumb past them and into my hot mouth. My jaw drops open a bit more and our eyes meet. My half-lidded eyes find his intrigued gaze and I watch his eyes widen as I swirl my tongue around his finger.

“Shit.” he whispers, unable to stop watching me suck his thumb. Mansk speeds up even more and I moan around Lyle’s finger.

Hastily, he removes it from my mouth and his hands fly to his belt. I watch as he opens everything, pulling his cammies down his waist swiftly. His toned abdomen, his v-line, toned thighs and huge dick make me moan again.

Lyle can’t wait any longer and pulls my head to his length, wrapping his fingers around my braid again.

Without any fucking hesitation, I stick my tongue out and sloppily lick a long stripe from his base to his tip. I keep my eyes trained on his face and watch how his lips are white from how hard he’s biting down on them.

Next, I open my mouth and wrap my lips around his head. He moans and I notice his body shudder.

Mansk is relentlessly fucking into me and I feel myself get close too. He keeps hitting the same spot inside me and I moan around Lyle.

In the next few seconds, my legs shake and I clench around Mansk who curses again and rides out my orgasm. My eyes roll to the back of my head and then his hips still with his cock deep inside me. Mansk releases his load, leaning forward and hugging my waist to keep me close to him. My quivering legs slowly slide out from beneath me but Mansk gets up and pulls me back up by my waist. He pulls out with a sigh and Lyle removes himself from my lips.

“My fucking turn.” Lyle announces, getting up and taking Mansk’s position. Mansk moves to the side, regaining his breath before getting dressed.

Fike had been jerking off to my sounds and watched how I was being fucked. He finished just before I did and was now getting dressed with Mansk. They both got up, grinning at each other before taking their previous spots and holding their weapons.

Lyle doesn’t need to wait, he just immediately pushes himself deep into me and starts to fuck me. I moan, trying to crawl away because I’m still so sensitive but he just tugs me back and tightens his grip. Lopez is now in front of me and his pants open too. My vision is a little blurry now, but maybe it’s just my clouded mind. I can’t properly comprehend what’s happening but I sure can’t fight it. I just let it happen now.

Lyle grabs my thighs, spreading them further apart so that my legs are resting around his. One of his hands is wrapped around my tail while the other is groping my ass.

I want to moan but then my mouth is filled with Lopez’s dick. I open my mouth as he makes me almost choke and let my tongue trace his veins. Lopez groans, his ears tipped back and fangs bared. Their primal side turns me on.

"Watch it with those." Lopez growls out, his thumb tracing over my fangs. I don't even get the chance to nod before I'm urged to take more.

I wrap my lips around him, taking him as far into my mouth as possible before hollowing my cheeks. He snarls, responding to the pleasure and slowly moves in and out of me.

Compared to him, Lyle is fucking the life out of me. The area where the skin of his thighs and abdomen slaps mine has turned red and no longer stings, it's becoming numb.

I moan around Lopez again and because I’m already so fucked out, time passes quicker. Lyle finishes by plunging himself as deep as Mansk into me and cumming. He makes me come a second time because he paid attention to how my body responded to him and applied pressure on my clit to get me over the edge. Seeing my eyes roll back again sent Lopez into euphoria and after they both pulled away and my quivering self was laying on the floor regaining my breath, their positions were taken.

Strong hands pull me from the ground and back onto all fours. My knees and palms became red and sore. I open my eyes and see Prager, Ja, and Brown kneeling around me.

Brown lines himself up behind me while Ja cups my face, smiling. Prager is keeping me stable and holding me in place so I don’t fall over.

“I can’t- anymore.” I sob, feeling like a mess. My skin has beads of sweat covering it, my face is flushed and my hips are bruised. The blood from my nose ran down my lips and I can taste the blood.

Tears are wiped away by Ja and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Prager and Brown look over at Quaritch.

“She can take it.” Quaritch assures. His voice reminds me of how angry I felt before. Like he would know whether I can or can’t.

I feel Brown push into me and moan. My slick mixed with Lyle’s and Mansk’s cum is dripping down my legs now. I protest with a whimper, spreading my arms and legs so that I really don’t collapse.

“Someone’s been fucked dumb.” Ja coo’s but it no longer makes me feel embarrassed. It makes me enjoy it that much more.

Brown tugs my hips towards him, his tail caressing my thigh as he ruts into me with no mercy. Prager and Ja switch places and Prager is opening his belt in front of me again. I started feeling like I was about to lose consciousness from everything happening around me.

Once Prager rid himself of his pants, I instinctively opened my mouth and he chuckled. His former colleague who beat him in combat was now waiting for him to push his cock into her mouth.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get to see you like this, Y/N.” he teases but his words just went in one ear and out the other. The other men laughed.

“Hurry up before she passes out on you.” A voice from one of the soldiers standing called and more snickers followed.

“Take it easy on her. I’m surprised she’s still standin’.” Quaritch says and I can tell by the way he says it that he’s grinning.

Prager nods and Brown slows down a little. Then Prager places his tip on my lips, gripping the back of my head and pushing about halfway in. I’m more used to the intrusion so I can take more of him. He bites his lip, pulling out before back slowly advancing a little further in. He’s almost bottomed out and I choke a little, squeezing my eyes shut. Another tear runs down my cheek and Prager moans, his head falling back.

I hear a few voices around me exchanging words and in synch with Brown’s thrusts, Prager pushes all the way down my throat so that my nose is pressed against his abdomen. My eyes are wide because I can’t believe I’m able to take him so far down my throat. Especially because he and all the other soldiers are so big.

I hold back a choke and cough a little, swallowing around him which drives Prager feral. He and Brown both still their hips and the soldiers standing around cheer at him and whistle.

“Shit, she can take it all. Makes me want to have another turn.” Someone says but I’m too distracted to figure out who it is.

“Not today, otherwise, we’ll lose her.” Quaritch chuckles.

Prager and Brown both pull out while Ja holds me up now. Brown finishes quickly and then Prager follows. I swallow Prager’s load out of reflex because he is so far down my throat.

When Prager pulls out I gasp for air and cough, which has a few soldiers snickering darkly. He high-fives Brown as he gets up, but Prager stays kneeling by me to hold me up for Ja.

“You okay, baby?” Ja asks but I can’t respond. I feel so weak and tired. He lets go of my waist and I slowly sink to the ground. My limbs are almost useless at this point.

Prager is grinning while Ja takes a bit of pity on me. He carefully turns me around so that I’m laying on my back before climbing on top of me, his arms caging me in. I feel a little less exposed like this at least. He smirks when my eyes meet his.

“I’ll try to be gentle.” he whispers, taking into consideration how sore I am and how watery my eyes are.

“Oh god.” someone laughs. “Lover-boy’s fallin’ in love again.”

Ja’s ears tip back and he glares at the soldier that commented that.

“Hey. Cut it out and let the man handle things. Someone has to be last.” Lyle stepped in.

My ears have drooped, and I just watch him. I’m too tired to even turn my head.

Ja looks at me before undoing his pants. When he slips them down, he checks on me again to make sure I’m still awake. He seems very caring. Unlike the others. It makes me feel safer. It also makes me regret kicking him in the face before.

Ja takes one of my legs, wrapping it around his waist and then he takes both my hands and pins them above my head with one of his. I don’t even lift a finger in protest.

Then, he moves his hips forward and slowly enters me. He manages to push all the way in because I’m stretched out from all the others but it doesn’t feel any less good.

They’ve all been deprived of sexual relief for a long time and now they could finally let it all out.

He’s about to pull out again when someone comments on something. Ja was about to punch his colleague and take you away so he could have you to himself but the comment stopped his violent thoughts.

“Damn, look.” Lopez nudges Brown and Mansk, but their eyes are already fixed on your abdomen. Lyle chuckles and even Quaritch now stands up to look.

Ja is confused and looks down only to be met with one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever seen. He examines the belly bulge, letting go of your thigh and pressing down lightly on your abdomen.

I whine, closing my eyes and it makes Ja want to claim me as his right then and there.

“Fuck, you don’t know how good you look right now, babygirl.” Mansk says, feeling needy all over again.

I whimper, letting my head fall to the side so that I’m not looking at them.

“Poor girl’s embarrassed. Leave her alone.” Prager jokes and they chuckle knowing you’ve been embarrassed from the second your knees hit the ground.

“You’re okay, baby. Let me take care of you.” Ja whispered, leaning down to my ear. I look up at him and nod a little in response which makes him smile.

Slowly and steadily, he pulls out of me. Ja starts gently thrusting into me, his one hand returning to keep my thigh around his lower waist. He rubs his hand along the skin, keeping it in place while he makes sure I feel good too. Every reaction I give him he takes into account and once I arch my back off the ground and into him, he grins, seeing it as a positive response. He speeds up just a little, but not enough to have our skin slapping.

I whimper and occasionally moan, my eyes fluttering closed.

He drops his head and licks the skin around my nipples before biting and kissing my neck.

The kisses surprise me but they piss Quaritch off.

“Not her mouth. Don’t you dare.” Quaritch orders, sternly. Ja looks up, not seeming happy with the order but still listening. He doesn’t nod, he just returns to kissing my neck which makes the butterflies in my tummy come to life again.

My mouth drops open as I feel another orgasm start to build up.

Ja’s thrusts become a little sloppy and he grinds down against my clit every time he bottoms out.

“You can let go, baby.” he whispers in my ear and I nod again. With the next few thrusts, I’m in heaven. My pussy clenches around him which pushes him over the edge but he rides out both our orgasms.

His head is dropped in the crook of my neck while we both regain our breath. I can’t even open my eyes, I just go limp. Ja gives my cheek a small kiss before carefully letting go of me and pulling out. Quaritch glares at him before Ja starts getting dressed.

I just lay on the floor, my legs resting on top of each other with one arm slightly covering my chest.

Quaritch walks over to me and squats down. He turns my head to look up at him and I notice the shit-eating grin on his face. He watches how my ears tip back and my little rebellion against him amuses the Colonel.

“You and I aren’t done yet.” he whispers before standing up.

“Prager, get the towel. Lyle, help the poor lady up.” he orders and Lyle walks over to me, sinking to his knees and pulling me up into a sitting position. Prager comes over and wipes away the mixture of body fluids than ran down my inner thighs. I flinch when he touches my pussy but Lyle comforts me by holding my cheek and rubbing my belly.

“You did well, buttercup.” he says and I would have scoffed at the pet name which I was now able to comprehend again, but I was mentally absent.

The towel is wrapped around me and Lyle pulls me to my feet. He’s about to pick me up but to his surprise, I push him away.

“I can fucking walk by myself, I don’t need your help.” I say. My previous attitude returning amuses the squad.

Lyle grins. “Go ahead.”

He removes his arms from under my arms and I take a step forward. Almost immediately my quivering legs give out but before I can sink to the ground, Lyle catches me again.

“Fuck.” I swear and he chuckles.

“Pick her up.” Quaritch orders and Lyle scoops me into his arms. I cover my face with the towel and don’t protest.

“What were you saying, baby?” Lyle teased and Mansk chuckled.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I mumble. Lyle grins and starts walking behind the Colonel. The squad pick up their things and make their way to the exit.

“I want to go back.” I say, only loud enough for Lyle and Miles to hear.

I wanted to go back to my family, but I knew that there was no chance of that happening.

Quaritch scoffed, stopping in front of the exit doors and tucking in my towel so that nothing was exposed.

“Not happening. This is what you came for Y/N.” he teased, making sure I was covered before pressing the button and the large automatic doors opened. The daylight hit me and I shielded myself with the towel.

Mansk and Ja walked beside Lyle to keep the people and other soldiers who weren’t recoms away. They felt protective over you. You were their Y/N after all.

No one needed to know about their business. All they saw was them carrying out a limp, not moving Na’vi. Whether she was dead or alive, they didn’t know.

What the recoms knew was that they were not finished with you and you knew Quaritch still had plans.

The team knew you from before. They wouldn’t shoot you and dump your body in the water. You were being taken back to their base, where they would take care of you.

(probably won't be able to post for the next 2 weeks, so sorry. I'm learning for finals and have so many assignments due.)

Let me know how you liked it <3 i appreciate all feedback. This took me way too long💞💀

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