#I want to be unafraid to tell people when I love them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months

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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 4/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Word count: 10 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Another long chapter, but it's the last one, so... Enjoy! ^^

The next night, you dream awake.

You didn’t want to sleep with your back turned against him, and König didn’t even need to scoop you into his arms. You went there by yourself, completely willingly. You were disappointed when he didn’t even try anything; he just fell asleep like a baby after the hangover that left him weak.

Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart, as you listen to his soft snore. It’s like the whole world has shrunk into this bed, like your entire life suddenly consists of him. You can’t even hear the birds, the occasional gust of wind, or the pair of sandals outside the tent going to a nightly pee. The only thing you can hear or see or feel is him.

His heart under your palm. His chest against your cheek. The slow, steady rise and fall of it, the push and pull of it like a tide. His leg, draped across your hip, enclosing you under a heavy body that clings to you like he never wants to let you go.

And…

No.

It’s too stupid.

“Love” is something bards sing about. There’s no time for it in the real world; lust brings people together, and they multiply like birds and beasts. They simply flock together for warmth, food and survival. Love is the property of dreams and songs, something that happened at the dawn of time but now only occurs in tales and plays. Surely, a mountain giant knows nothing about love… He just wants to stuff his cock inside you and alleviate the burn of his loins.

But his words still linger.

”I have fallen in love with you.”

You repeat them over and over again in your head, snuggling even closer to him, your heart flaring into a small bonfire when he squeezes you in return through sleep. The warmth spreads across your chest, it makes your toes tingle, and the tingles rise up to your head like ale, bringing tears to your eyes.

Why does he have to be like this…?

There’s a sudden crack of thunder outside, and it makes you startle and clutch him tighter. It’s soon followed by a downpour of rain, the weight of it like a blanket spreading across the land. The drops beat the tent with so much noise you fear the whole abode will collapse from the force of them.

Another crackle sends you to grip him with fear; a violent rip of lightning makes you bury your head in his neck. König mostly wakes up to your distress rather than the sounds of thunder and hail, rumbling softly to the crown of your head and drawing you closer to him. You’ve always been afraid of thunder because nothing can compete with the fury of the Sky Father. You whimper as another roar shakes the bed, the very earth beneath you, and the rain begins to beat the tent in full.

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” König mutters, unafraid and clearly about to fall back to sleep again. “Only sky father making love to his woman...”

His explanation of the horrible display of the sky god’s power wipes your mind blank for a moment. He uses the same name of the god as you, but the viewpoint is thoroughly foreign. Is this the sound of lovemaking to him?

“Safe here,” he squishes you against him until it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is still beating in your chest as König falls asleep, the arms around you relaxing just enough to allow you to breathe again.

In the morning, you try to correct him on his strange thoughts about Sky Father. You tell him your people believe he’s fighting his enemies when it thunders, not… making love to anyone.

“Fighting or fucking,” he only shrugs. “Same noise.”

You open your mouth to explain the difference between fucking and lovemaking next, then decide it’s no use.

The weather is warm and the land is lush after the abundant rain. König takes you to a small stream and you risk to take a dip, delighted and relieved to have the opportunity for a quick wash. When you threaten to gut him when he sleeps if he takes a peek, König only laughs. Probably thinks it’s an exciting threat. Then he sits on the bank to work on a small piece of wood while you have your cold bath. He’s been carving it for a few days and has refused to show it to you, no matter how “nosy” you’ve been. It’s an unfinished piece, yes, but it still feels silly that a grown man is so secretive about a chunk of wood. You only now begin to understand that perhaps the statue of the Great Mother is not stolen. It’s not bought, and he hasn’t had it made. He carved it himself.

Shocked, you forget to keep an eye on him while you scrub and rub yourself in the stream. You never thought of him as a sculptor or even a carpenter, but apparently, some soldiers spend their leisure time in other activities than fucking and drinking and gambling.

Your hands meet the leather string of the necklace as you wash your hair, and you remember your vow. It makes your heart sink: it’s a beautiful day, the first of summer, and you have to let go of the loveliest thing König has ever given to you. You peek a glance at him: he’s looking so peaceful while carving the small figurine, with that signature smile his that always reveals itself through his eyes, warm and jovial, like he’s just a hunter or a fisherman having a break from a day of toil.

You strip yourself from the necklace and release it with a sullen breath. The spirits accept it hungrily, pulling it underwater the instant you let it go. The current carries it far away downstream, and you find your chin trembling, and not from cold. You have given your moonblood to Mother many, many times, but this gift is infinitely more valuable. Still, the most important thing is that the man you prayed for is alive and whistling happily on that bank.

And you’re not an oathbreaker… But König is.

When you rise from the water, he steals a glance. Actually, he stares at you like you’ve particularly asked him to never rip his eyes from you.

You pay the adoring beast no mind and rise from the stream with the pride of a queen, only to have it all robbed from you as you notice there are flowers placed there where you left your clothes. The crazy giant has actually plucked flowers for you.

It’s an odd thing to do because in your land, only children pick flowers. Usually, people give flowers to the gods. Or, mainly just to the Great Mother... It’s because She appreciates them.

And you also notice your old dress is not where you left it.

“Where is it?”

He extends his hands to the sides and shrugs, faking innocence so poorly that you don’t know if you want to shove or kiss him. You’re desperately trying to cover your womanhood from his searing stare – an attempt that, of course, makes your tits press together even more cutely than before. König doesn’t even know where to look when there’s so much of your sweetness on display.

This man is so stupid and childish and simply unbelievable; hiding your dress the instant you are vulnerable and in your thoughts. You look around you, then up, and notice that he’s thrown the dress over a pine branch far above your reach. Of course.

“You’re a bully,” you turn your accusing gaze to him, hands now slowly curling into fists by your side. You’re not even angry: you’re just feeling... hot, and frustrated, and embarrassed, having to stand here in bright daylight, dripping wet and about to have another tantrum while naked. You’re starting to suspect that he probably enjoys it when you get in a pet. Maybe it makes his cock hard: to watch you stomp your foot at him, especially if you do it without clothes.

“Bully?” His eyes smile at you like he’s the son of Sky Father himself.

“It’s someone who… who tortures people,” you blurt, a bit more dramatically than you initially meant to. He bursts into laughter and laughs for a long time, either because you just called him precisely what he is or because you called him a torturer for doing a silly prank.

“Ach… Well, you are pretty,” he says after surviving something that was veritably not meant as a joke. As if you being pretty is some kind of an excuse for doing this stupid, childish stunt...

His stare sweeps over you like you’re merely property, his eyes darting between your pouty face and the glistening sex between your legs now that you’ve blessedly moved your hands out of the way. Then he notices that something’s missing, that there is no necklace resting above your breasts anymore. He takes a step and raises a hand, and for the first time ever, you wouldn’t even dream of shying away from his touch. He brushes your bare neck with a silent question and brief hurt in his eyes.

Gods, he can’t think you got rid of it because you despised it, can he...?

“The river took it,” you explain quickly and with genuine regret. It’s a lie, but you can’t tell him the real reason it’s gone. You can’t confess that you had to sacrifice it for his safe return.

“I really liked it,” you whisper while looking him straight in the eyes, stomach heavy with both lies and the horrible, sweet truth. König recuperates surprisingly fast and nods slowly, the caress rising to your cheek to console you.

“Don’t worry. I can make you a new one,” he promises stoutly, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right there in front of him. “With wolf claws, if you like?”

“I don’t know… Sounds dangerous.”

“Hah. I kill my first wolf when I was fifteen.”

Your heart is bursting inside your chest – the songs of the bards never tell about someone being so goofy that you want to hug them until they stop speaking silly things.

“I’m sure you did,” your lips quiver with a whisper of a smile. König takes in every crumb of your affection like it’s a blessing from the Mother below: his shoulders draw back everytime he senses you are appreciative of him or admire his strength. He’s even more proud when he presents the small carving he’s been working on.

You’re now absolutely, vehemently sure that he has made the statue of the Great Mother himself. Because what you’re looking at is very similar to that statue, only far more detailed. The breasts and hips on this figurine are more proportional, and you could almost swear that the statue he just gave you is trying to depict you. It has your hair and your face, or then he has tried to capture the slightly pouting face of some other ungrateful woman. But you can’t shake the thought that you may very well be looking into your own eyes.

“For you,” he says above you, and you swallow tears for gods know how many times today. He even winks at you, incredibly playful, like this statue is now a cute little secret only you two know about.

“It’s–I didn’t know you… Uh. Thank you,” you stutter like a fool. You can’t ask if it’s you – you can’t ask a simple question because to hear his unabashed, proud answer would mean that you won’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him.

You are starting to feel like… an idol of worship, almost.

He lavishes you with gifts and flowers, he feeds you grapes and wine, he brings you his bloodied loot and asks you to bless his sword. He honours your purity and respects your wishes not to be touched and pilfered.

What else are you if not a goddess?

Even the Mother in his satchel doesn’t get such fevered attention. He even carved a new statue for you. Of you.

Your senses become eagle-sharp as you realize just how much your suspicions are proving true. You think about the way he is always at your tits, as if calling forth good luck and abundance when he squeezes them every day and night. It’s almost like a ritual. Or how he tries to dress you in fine clothes, not just to show you around, but to make you feel appreciated. The way he protects and shelters you and lets you – no, demands you to – ride his horse while he exhausts himself on the road. How the selecting of the necklace now seems like a test, to prove whether you are a true goddess who favors a gift of bone and blood and amber over the pathetic shiny trinkets of men.

And the way he hasn’t touched other women all this time; no, because he doesn’t keep other goddesses...

Just you.

Only you.

…

He knows your tongue so well that you don’t practically need the translator anymore. König sends him away after you whisper in his ear that you don’t like him.

It’s another lie because what you really don’t like is how bothered he looks when forced into the company of you two. You don’t like the deep sighs and the weary looks he gives both you and your supposed lover who always insists that you sit on his lap even if there are other people in the tent. You don’t want to make the poor man uncomfortable, so you come up with a reason for König to send him away. It's quite apparent that you could ask for the moon and stars, and he’d figure out a way to give them to you.

When you ask him why, for the love of all the gods, does he even want to keep a Roman slave, he says it amuses him. You always thought it was an odd thing to do because you’ve never seen König spend time with his soldiers. He never gambles with them, never eats with them, never hunts with them. By separating himself from them he keeps up an illusion of himself as a walking, fighting myth who has forced half the world to its knees, and whose quirks are to keep a Roman slave and, now, a foreign fairy in his tent.

You start to understand that it's because he doesn’t feel like he belongs.

He doesn’t even want to belong. He doesn't make an effort to be a Roman even if, legally, you suppose he’s a citizen or at least a free man. You wonder if it’s his only weakness: being so different from everybody else.

You walk in and out of camp like a free woman with him. To the forest, to the stream, and one day, to the ocean, not too far from where you used to gather clams. If you walked the shoreline long enough, you would end up near your old village.

You spend your entire day there, collecting pink and white shells, giggling as König takes a dip in the shivering sea. He even throws the hood away before walking into the foaming waves. You have to hold your breath as he comes out because his face is the complete opposite of what you thought you would see. He has stern features and some prominent scars above his lip and crossing the bridge of his nose; there’s one above the left eye, and his nose has been broken at least two times. He looks mean and dangerous and suffering, it’s true, but you’re not scared at all. In fact, your embarrassingly wet while he furrows his brows and looks down at his feet, otherwise proud and happy in his skin but now suddenly concerned that you might not like what you see.

“Ugly?” He asks bluntly, with such distanced but sharp pain that your breath leaves you entirely. The vision of him might have frightened you on the first night, it’s true, but now, you only think he’s handsome. In a crude way, perhaps... But still handsome.

“No,” you shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him. König takes in air as if he has been granted a pardon from a horrible crime, and your heart hurts – is this the reason he has clung to that hood? To conceal some old scars and to appear more menacing to friends and enemies?

He’s stronger than ever as he walks to you, unclothed and smelling of seabreeze and salt, like he was just born from there, sired by the ocean and the wind. You ought to pray to Mother but you know it will do you no good. It’s a rotten joke to want a man who has massacred your people, the ones you used to call friend and neighbour and kin. You feel like you’re betraying the memory of your whole village by wanting to sleep with the enemy. The enemy who worships you; who looks at you like you’re a goddess when you lean back to watch the night sky come alive with indigo and stars. The enemy who teaches you their names in his own tongue...

He points you to the Head of the Serpent and the Smith’s Street, then to the Nail that holds the sky in place. You have your own names for the stars but you like it when he introduces them to you, clumsy and excited. When he shows you the long cock of the hero your people call Hunter, your cheeks heat up. You try to repeat the name in his tongue (whatever lewd, brash northern hero it may be), and it makes him happier than ever to hear you speak his words.

“König,” you ask him when he's shown you all the stars he knows. “Why do you fight…?”

He turns to look at you, perplexed, and you word the question differently.

“What do you want?”

“...What do I want?”

“Yes. In this life.”

His brows furrow as he starts to think, and your love for him only grows. Has no one ever asked him that before? Has he ever even given it a thought...?

He grabs a handful of grass and rips it from the ground, absentmindedly and deep in thought. He fiddles with it for a while, then throws it away, looking somewhere to the distant, generous sea.

“I want…children,” he says. “I want a home.”

König turns to look at you, so stern that it forces you take support from the earth beneath you.

“Home. Richtig?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “A–a home.”

But it can’t be...

It can’t.

It’s simply too crazy that the brutal, callous giant has been searching for a home all along. That the man who cuts off heads and spits out the flesh of his enemies is simply someone who has lost his home and has yearned back ever since. It’s too wild a thought that the Titan wants to raise a family and have many children.

“Don’t you have a home somewhere in Rome…?”

“It’s only a house.”

He fidgets with more grass, then turns back to you again with honest curiosity.

“Do you want children?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Fee. You would be a good mother,” he determines right then and there, saying it so casually that you have no choice but to believe it. You want to change the topic, and quickly, now tugging at the grass yourself because you're feeling shy.

“König… What is Fee?”

“Fee is… They are small women? Live in trees. Or flowers. Or everywhere,” he gestures vaguely all around you.

“You mean fairies,” you whisper, and he shrugs. If you say so. But you know you're talking about the same thing: curious little earth spirits, lively and wild.

Your heart is burning; it’s scorching until there’s nothing left but sweet molten gold. Usually, this kind of burning has stirred in your chest when some old crone has told a good story at the fire during the turn of the year. Usually, you’ve felt this kind of thrill when you’ve heard the piper play for the forest during springtime, lulling the devious spirits back to the trees so that they wouldn’t enter lambs and goats and make them sick. You’ve only felt so alive when you’ve walked at the beach during midsummer with a desperate aching between your legs because you’ve felt so alone and yet so, so alive.

“They said you were a Titan,” you whisper, another hushed question on this night of nights. You feel like you’re having a conversation of the ages, even if it’s clumsy and plain. The night sky is blooming with stars, the sea is whispering its secrets, and there are so many unsaid things between you two, finally washing up on the shore. König is ripping out more tall grass, but only because he’s searching for the right words.

“No. No titan. Just king,” he shakes his head as if sorry that he has to disappoint you. “I was the king’s son. Before Rome came…”

He’s suffered the same fate as you then, a long, long time ago. You wonder where his people are now or if they are even alive anymore, if he is the last giant standing, the last remaining man of his folk from the mountains. If the ruins of his proud house have already turned to dirt and dust and soil, if his father’s head was left to rot on a Roman spear, his riches and wealth taken back to Rome as spoils and exchanged for wine and whores and slaves.

You can only imagine the fury and despair when a tall boy’s future and dreams crumbled into dust, to blood and tears and screams, to a tale that no one ever told.

“You’d make a great king,” you say, meaning it with all your heart. His whole face lights up with a smile; the sorrow is still present in his eyes, and you know the depth of its roots now. But the Romans never managed to kill his will to live.

“If I was king… I would choose you for my queen,” he says softly, and you thank the wind for drying an escapee tear that rolls out. Fate is shaking your ribcage like a rattle; the wind steals your tears like they’re a long-withheld gift.

He tells you his tale under the safety of the vast starry sky. It's only bits and pieces, but you understand enough from his clumsy words.

He tells you how he was brought to Rome as a slave, sold to the pits and how he rose to manhood and fame there. He fought in the great arenas you’ve heard so many gruesome tales about; he fought until he could buy his freedom. He forgot his people, his revenge, that he was a king. Not knowing what else to do, he took up arms again and became the thing he hated the most: a Roman soldier.

He tells you about a woman who can see things that have not yet happened. He asked this seer if there was anything else for him in this life but death; he would give any offering that was needed if only he could find more life instead. He had already given money and offerings to all the fertility goddesses of Rome, to no avail. He had carved a statue of Venus to attract love, but it didn’t work. So many times he had wanted to throw it in the sea. Until the woman who sees told him he would find what he was looking for in his next campaign. When he promised he’d come back to kill her if she lied, the old crone had only laughed at him.

The next day, he was discharged from his old unit and separated from those who spoke the same language as him. Everyone was afraid of an uprising that would have a giant at its head, so he was offered money and whores, even a position in politics, and lastly, a place in an elite unit with a better wage. They told him the troops were about to leave for the harsh frontier: a new campaign to bring glory to Rome. He chose the latter option immediately.

He turns to look at you. Bloodless, thin-lipped, shivering you.

“She said you would be pretty. Like a fairy.”

You hear the distant rumbling of the sea, endlessly soft. You feel the wind suddenly passing through the field, filling the cloak of a northern king who came all this way just for you. Even the stars are waiting for your next move.

“I…” you start, already breathless. “The necklace… König, I’m so sorry. I had to give it to Mother.”

“Mother?”

“To the gods. So that you wouldn’t die in battle.”

Realization dawns on his face, driving away all doubt and confusion. He’s just as pleased as the day he gave you all those gifts, if not even more so.

“You make sacrifice for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You can’t help it: a sob wrenches out of your chest as the first tears fall. “I’m sorry. I really liked it... I’m so sorry–”

König rises immediately, only to come to you and fall to a crouch. He draws you against his chest, your weeping face soon held right against his heart.

“Never say sorry,” he kisses your head, over and over again. “Never say sorry…”

The wind surrounds you both, soft and warm, as he rocks you back and forth. You hug him with all the strength a little fairy can muster, then raise your chin to look at him. You’re probably the most pathetic creature he has ever seen – you could swear there is no woman alive feeling as weak as you feel now. König cups your face gently, the look in his eyes that of a hunter who has finally caught up with his prey. Warm, merciful, loving.

“Fee… I can still taste you,” he says.

“I can still feel you,” you whisper back. A deer, felled. “But I don’t… I don’t like biting.”

“Biting…?”

“Teeth.”

“Ja. I noticed.”

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You would let him bite you anywhere and everywhere now. You would actually kill for it if he only laid his mouth on you...

You laugh with leftover tears in your eyes, and your giant smiles back at you, so endearing that you feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life.

“Do you like bath?”

…

You ease into the warm, almost too warm water with a sigh.

The slaves have had to toil the better half of the evening to heat such a large body of water, and you can’t even begin to imagine where König has gotten the pretty little clay bathtub. It’s the largest pottery you have ever seen; far too small for a giant like him but just enough for a fairy woman like you.

You wash yourself languidly, feeling like the queen of the whole wide earth. Someone has even poured some of the scented oils into the bath, and you could cry from happiness as the sweet scents envelop you. You wonder if the wife of any chieftain has ever experienced such luxury and warmth.

König has the most pleased smile on his face when he sees how much you appreciate yet another gift of his. He pampers and spoils you so much that you threaten to turn into an overripe grape, too soft and sweet and juicy, unable to keep intact anymore. But there’s a price to be paid, apparently, as he watches you from across the tent, sitting in his chair and pulling back the tunic to reveal the the erection between his legs. It’s the biggest cock you've ever seen, and already standing tall and proud, like a soldier about to go to war.

Your lips part on their own; heat shoots between your legs so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He seems to love your attention and awe, because his cock gives a few pulls just from you staring at it. Pearl-white seed leaks out of the tip as he grabs it inside a strong fist and gives himself a few unhurried strokes.

“König…?”

You’re breathless, but he’s not: he’s breathing heavily in that chair, powerful thighs spread wide, stroking the thick weapon between his legs while you feel like fainting in your bath.

“When will torture end?”

He's dark, dark and done with patience, and you don't know how to answer such a question. You don't even know where to look.

“Hm? You like to torture men?”

“No,” you whisper, cheeks hot and cunt ridiculously wet.

“Yes you do. A little bully, hmm?”

“König–”

“I’ll show what happens to bullies.”

He lets himself go and rises from the chair. Your mind is of no use to you now: all you can do is stare at that thing between his legs, pointing towards you like a road sign.

He walks to you, cock and gaze equally heavy, and gets rid of his tunic. Then he gestures for you to rise from the tub. You’ve spent enough time there in his opinion, and the water is indeed turning unpleasantly cool – but if you go to him now, you won’t be able to fight him. Not when you’re in such a pleased, lax, purring state. Perhaps that was the whole idea...

You rise slowly, then step out carefully, taking support from the edge of the tub and from his shoulder – and still almost collapse all over him as you try to remain on your feet. He holds you upwards while you try to avoid the murder weapon between his legs, but your giant is not as shameful as you: he grabs your butt and guides you flush against him. You meet his chest with a gasp, the length of him now trapped between you two.

“Wait, I’m—I’m still wet,” you try to peep, but it’s no use. He sweeps you off your feet, no doubt with the intention of carrying you to the bed.

“I will lick you clean,” he looks at you like you’re already trapped, caught, and bled: such a weak little creature in his arms, trying to beg for mercy with its last dying breath. You cling to him as such, that’s for sure.

“Just... No biting. Please?” You whisper as he lays you on the bed.

“No biting,” he gives his valiant promise, accompanied with a confident flash of a smile.

Gods…

If he’d gotten rid of that stupid hood earlier, your legs would’ve been pudding. They would’ve been as far apart as the two villages east and west of here. That smile would have allowed him to infiltrate everything in between. Perhaps it’s a good thing he is not that clever…

“Oh gods–” you gasp as he shifts down and lowers himself for worship. His breath hits you first, and the next thing you feel are his lips – still smiling – then the gods-forsaken beast gives you a kiss.

“Oh–”

There is a sudden silence following your moans, then you hear soldiers bursting into laughter outside your tent. They’re warming themselves by the campfire, no doubt, sharing stories about war and women, and now they’ve heard the first mewls of surrender from their hero’s tent, after weeks of quarrelling.

Your cheeks heat up as one of the soldiers utters a hurried sentence and mentions König’s name, after which the merry crew booms to laughter again.

Gods take the Romans and their stupid, lewd jokes...

You try to concentrate on the warmly lit burgundy ceiling as König carries on without paying any attention to what’s happening outside. They could march into the tent and try their best to rip him off your cunt, but you doubt if they would get him to move an inch. He's simply that drunk on your taste.

You wonder if his chin is already covered in your juices because his kisses are open-mouthed and hungry – he even tries to push his tongue inside you. The man has absolutely no shame when he's buried down there, groaning with approval as you roll your hips. You're rutting his face as shyly as you possibly can, and it makes him purr and rumble with bliss. The noise he makes is enough to make you sing too, so filthy that it earns you a whistle from outside.

Shit... They probably think he's fucking and hurting you with his cock – a scary prospect, yes, but you'll have to cross that bridge when you get there – and they couldn't be more wrong. If they only knew what their champion is doing to his slave, lapping and sucking his disobedient woman like a starved dog...

“You like mouth?”

It’s hungry, so dark, the way he asks if you like what he’s doing to you. It’s not the mad lust of a drunken man from a few nights ago; it’s sober, fierce greed with a clear purpose behind it. Your fingers find his hair and tug at it weakly, not to cheer him on, but to take support from something relatively stable.

“Yes… Yes, just–"

“Gut,” he grins into your folds, coarse stubble scraping you deliciously raw. “I like this too. After I lick you enough, I will fuck you.”

Your fingers curl around his hair, giving him another involuntary tug.

Gods, make him stop talking... Just tie his tongue or something, make him shut up.

Please…

“I will bully you all night with cock. I know you will like. Hm?”

He prattles more nonsense in your cunt, and you can’t hear the men outside anymore. You can’t even see the lamps. You’re in a womb of pleasure, which is funny because there’s a grown man between your legs, dragging his tongue over your slit until you're shaking and crying on the bed. Yes, if this is a womb, you never want to leave...

And he’s not eloquent; you don’t even know what he is trying to do to you. He probably doesn’t know it himself. He’s not trying to fish for cues on what you like: he just does what he feels like doing, which is everything. He tries every single thing. He’s just happy to be down there, flicking and circling his tongue over your nub until you can’t take it anymore.

You're dangerously close, and rise halfway to push his head away because it’s just too much; it’s too much pleasure in one go. He gives you a husky laugh and fights your weak attempts to make him stop, the damned bastard. You’re too frail to resist him, and he knows too much already, repeating the torture until your hips buck up.

“Gut... Like that...?” He asks again, so eager to please that you have to stifle a sob.

“Yes... Yes, just like that,” you sigh while trying to stay in one piece.

“Guide me, little fairy,” he demands, excited like a young, hot recruit. Apparently it's no big deal for him to have his head tugged and shoved and dragged just for a woman's pleasure. It doesn't take away an ounce of his power to be your toy for a moment. Your sharp tongue has left you completely; it is you who is humbled as you guide him back to the right spot, jerking when he licks you just the way you wished.

It’s bad enough that you make a mess on his bed and moan like a paid woman, giving everyone in this camp a taste of what it sounds like when a giant bullies his fairy to the full. But can’t he keep his stupid, lovable mouth shut...

He’s making so much noise that you can both feel and hear him. His moans are hoarse, needy and deprived; they echo somewhere in your core, somewhere inside your most sensitive, aching place, just before he finds it, the right spot, and pushes his tongue inside you.

“Wait…” you gasp, convulsing on the bed now. What the hell does he think he’s—

“Wait—I’m…”

And then you cum, right into his mouth, with an arched back and quivering thighs, with such lewd sounds shooting out of your mouth that complete silence follows outside.

Whatever those soldiers had thought to happen here tonight, they clearly didn't expect to hear that… Nor the cries that follow, so nasty and wanton that König doesn't withdraw, not before you have clenched and cried your fill. He enjoys your peak to the last tremble, but you barely get to catch your breath before he leaves you. He doesn’t even give you a chance to caress his head as thanks for what he just did to you.

His mouth leaves you empty and cold as he rises, watching you like you're his best conquest. His cock is so hard it juts out, immovable like a rock and so intimidating that you stop breathing for a moment.

And he doesn't allow your breathless, shocked state go to waste: he grabs that horse cock and sets it on your flush, soaked lips, and pushes the head inside. More than just the head inside.

“Oh gods, oh fuck–”

Your legs are completely useless, falling to the side as he eases himself into you. He looks at you curiously, tilting his head when he hears you curse for the first time in his presence. More than just amused, he goes deeper still, delighted that he made you say a naughty word with his cock.

You can feel the stretch; you can feel every ridge, every vein, all his thickness filling you with purpose. You can do nothing but flutter your eyes as he takes you, finally, as his own.

And it must be some cruel joke of both Mother Earth and Father Sky that it prolongs whatever bliss he just gave you with his mouth. Your body won't stop having its pleasure; it welcomes him with a string of helpless whimpers. Even your cunt starts to squeeze him like it's the best thing in this world.

And he sees it. He feels it.

“Ja, little one. Time to fuck.”

He continues his journey inside, one massive palm landing on each side of your head as he leans over you.

“Einfach so… Trust me. Hmm?”

You only nod, completely silent and tame, waiting for him to give you more gifts. Mother knows this man is your downfall: your heart and soul are about to burst into flame when you look at him. You want him with your whole being; you want his love and praise so much you could cry.

“You want cock?”

“Yes,” you look up at him, eyes surely shining like stars. “Yes, yes, yes–”

“I will give you. Don’t worry.”

You sob as he withdraws, pulling the long, delicious cock almost completely out. He returns immediately when you whine from the loss. He feels so good, and so, so big… Fulfilling you entirely, every bit of you that was hollow and empty, every little space that needed loving is now his and filled with love.

“Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng,” he huffs and looks down as if to check if it’s true that he’s finally inside you. It could never fit in fully; you both probably knew that. But he’s trying his best.

“What does that mean?” You pant, impatient that he stopped moving.

“Too small... For me...” he laments. Or brags.

“Any woman is too small for you,” you mope underneath him, thinking about whether he has had women who have been able to take him fully in. Women who haven’t been “too small”.

König raises his eyes to you and smiles, revealing a row of white teeth, the scarred lip making his grin look pure and sweet even if he is a menacing man.

Stupid mountain giant… He's just proud of not being able to fit inside you. Your lower lip juts out with a pout, and the cock inside you responds immediately with a pulse. You can feel it — he's fucking excited about you getting angry at him again.

There is a flash of mischief in his eyes – darned bastard – just before he swoops down to attack your neck. Your tits get crushed under a solid chest as he nuzzles close to your ear and gives you lots of love and little bites. He starts to fuck you slowly, and there's nowhere you can escape now, nowhere you can flee his mouth or teeth or cock.

“König, you promised–”

“Aber… You are more tight this way?”

The breathless laugh that follows leaves you blinking. Of course he can feel the way you tighten around him every time he gives you a little bite.

“Gods, I hate you…” you whisper on his shoulder, thinking about biting him there in return. König laughs in your neck again – your threats of hate have long past lost their intimidating nature and are more like love confessions to him now. And perhaps that’s what they are.

He makes love to you hard and good, and it’s embarrassing, how you're about to cum again around his cock. You were supposed to have your revenge by showing him you have teeth too, but find yourself biting your lip instead, trying to tone down at least some of the filthy sounds that try to escape you.

He's not too rough, at least not yet, happy with listening to the poorly stifled whimpers that follow his every thrust. You thought he'd rail you like an animal, but he seems to settle for making love to you while biting and groping you all over. He savours every thrust like he savoured those grapes you fed him: slowly and intently, with passion instead of greed.

You're squeezing him with everything you have as he rocks you back to the edge. His grunting only make it all worse: he doesn't even try to be quiet and decent, and it's driving you to madness. Why does he have to be so noisy? Why does he have to fuck you so that everyone can hear just how good you feel?

Every soldier in this camp can hear both your moans, his hoarse ones and your weak ones, merging together until you do sound like animals in heat... You’re so wet that some of the men must hear the music of that, too. You never knew your cunt would be so hungry and needy, least of all for a man like him. You grip him as the waves approach, rich moans turning into pathetic little cries as his cock works you open.

“Again…?” He smiles a surprised laugh on your neck. The waves hit you before you can tell him to shut up.

The noise you make is even more obscene this time, and you barely catch a glimpse of his drowsy, victorious stare before your head falls back. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to take in the most powerful orgasm and the most powerful cock of your life without having to see that stupid, happy face of your lovesick giant.

“Nein,” he grabs your jaw inside a huge but gentle hand. “Eyes open.”

He won't even let you cum in peace, but you do as you’re told, finding him watching you like a stormcloud or a god. He watches your every tremble, every whimper, every sigh. He sees the full-blown love in your eyes, and you wonder… Is this what the bards sing about in their stupid songs?

…Weakness?

Because your heart hurts and your eyes sting, your thighs tremble and your cunt is far too wet and open for him to plough. If this is love, it hurts; it burns far too sweet. It leaves you utterly weak.

“Little one is needy,” he comments softly on your second downfall.

“You’re the one who’s needy–”

Your already weak argument ends in a gasp as he reminds you who you belong to with another good, deep thrust.

“I will put a child in you,” he rumbles, a threat or a promise. “If we do this every night… You will have my child.”

“Then let’s do this every night,” you whisper beneath him, your own purr of a threat. As if you didn’t know how babies were made… To your silent joy, König stops to catch his breath or your words; you’re not entirely sure which. You decide to up the stakes, just to make him fall with you.

“And every morning too?”

“Ach, du kleine–” he crumbles, voice turning to dust from your innocent suggestion.

If you thought he was a little too in love with you before, the look on his face now is worth all the gold in the world. You could swear that your kind question is the sole reason for this man cumming on the spot. Perhaps your body is to blame for it too; he couldn't keep his paws off when you were being sulky and difficult, so how could he take it when you're pleased and loving and all puffed up?

You see the brief flash of vulnerability, the mortal fragility in his eyes just before he shoots his load with a painful-sounding groan. The sound that leaves him is a mixture of desperation and release – even giants can cry, you think as you watch how beautifully he comes undone. He makes sure his seed is sent deep inside you by burying his cock into you, as far as it can go; the intention behind it is so clear that you wouldn't be surprised if you got heavy with a child after this first time.

He falls on top of you after, drained and spent and body heaving from exertion. There’s no other sound in the night but the satisfied panting of you two: the soldiers outside are rendered silent by the sounds of true lovemaking, even the wind spirits are hushed tonight.

You’re completely filled, and with his cock still inside you, he’s preventing any precious seed from escaping. You’re only glad he’s too weak to move because you’d happily keep him here forever, inside and on top of you like this.

“You are pleased…?” He turns his head a little, sounding worried enough to make you hug him tight.

“Yes. Very much,” you whisper, and he moves to rise and look you in the eyes.

“Gut.”

It’s cute to be nose to nose like this with him, eyes locked together, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. He looks so intoxicated and happy without even being drunk that you break into a small laugh, eyes brimming with happy tears, the washing away of relief. He smiles too, then laughs with you.

The soldiers outside might think it an odd business: to make a woman moan and laugh with a cock. You were brought to this tent screaming, and he made you scream again, just not the way they thought.

The sound of your mutual laughter rises in the tent, up towards the heavens, surely making even the Sky Father smile above.

…

You do it every night, and every morning, too.

Sometimes, you do it during the day after bathing in the stream. After washing and playing in the water, you rush to the shore together, but König is always faster than you. He throws your dress away or holds it up above his head, far from your reach, smiling like the most innocent man in the world. He's far from innocent, though: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, swelling just from seeing you angry and flustered and wet.

“Bully,” you accuse, utterly in love and out of breath, earning you another attack of a love-hungry giant. You forget the dress when he kneels on the grass, kisses your stomach and your thighs, keeps you in place for his mouth with two strong arms and a love that turns your whole body weak.

“Pretty,” is the only thing he breathes as an answer before he scoops up your leg and spreads you open for his mouth.

Your head rolls back with a choked sigh, the drops on your skin dry on their own. Somehow, you end up on the grass with his mouth glued on you. The sun plays in your hair; it dances on your face as he gives you more and more until you know, you just know that if you do this every night and morning and day, you will definitely have his child.

He tells you his real name, his true name, the one his mother gave him. You moan it in his ear just before you cum around his length. Sometimes, it makes him purr; other times, it makes him grunt. Once, you hear a soft, pitched whine.

He’s more rough when you’re on your knees. You’re shy and wet when he commands you to prop yourself on your elbows and show him your cunt. He licks you from front to back, feasts on you until your breaths turn to shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut from how obscene the scene must look; you hope to all the gods the Roman slave won’t come to ask his travel guides back when König finally rises and takes a wide stance behind you. He sets himself on your opening and pushes in, fat and greedy.

You can only whimper as he starts the thrusts, starved and slow, picking up the pace and holding you in place by the hips when you approach the brink of another collapse. You fear you will lose your mind if he keeps doing this to you every day. The only thing you hear are the breathless, warm grunts of encouragement behind you.

“You can take it. You can take it. Already took it, little one…”

He won’t stop, not even as you cry out loud, the cock hitting you in places that make your legs nearly give in. He won’t stop even as tears brim, not even as you start to sound like a tortured animal; no, he just tightens his grip on your waist and pounds you harder. You cum with a moan that would make Roman whores blush, but your lover doesn’t mind at all. He cums right after you, with a roar that could raise the reverend dead from their mounds.

Afterwards, he’s gentle again. He gathers you in his arms like his most valuable possession, caressing and breathing you in, giving you a soft kiss behind your ear.

“You’re... mean,” you try to remember how to breathe as he gives you more of those hungry kisses. You already know he likes it when you’re so spent you don’t have the strength to squirm or fight him.

“Ja. And you become more nice when I bully you,” he whispers in your ear. “More calm… Less difficult.”

“Well, you don’t,” you turn inside his hold, eyes shining brighter than the stars or even the sun. “Crazy man…”

“You have robbed me of my sword and shield, it’s true. Robbed my heart too. Little thief.”

“Thief? You’re the one who stole me…!”

“And I’ll never let you go.”

You wriggle a hand to cup his face, meeting his eyes with such helplessness that it’s not even funny anymore. If he’s joking or playing with you now, you’ll kill him with his own swords.

“You promise?”

“I make a vow,” he declares ceremoniously, with a hand on his heart. But you doubt that he’s playing any games; you wonder if this man is even capable of lying or deception. You hug him so tight that he has to let out a grunt – surprised and pleased – after which you have to bury your face in his neck so that he won't see your tears.

“I am in love with you, Fee,” he whispers in your ear while caressing your hair, ever poetic for such a simple man. “Tell me. Do you like me too…?”

“Yes,” you breathe a half-cry, half-laugh in his neck. “Yes, you crazy giant. I like you too.”

You rise just enough to kiss him. It’s hungry and delivers everything you can’t say. You can’t tell him you love him; you simply can’t. You’re not ready for the painful happiness it would bring forth. He stabs you full of it anyway.

“I will never let you go. Never. Not when I finally found you, little one...”

…

Summer comes.

The camp moves lazily to its next destination, but when the next battle comes, König refuses to fight.

His soldiers blame you, of course. You have bewitched him with your softness, making him soft and spineless as well. It is unheard of that a warrior like him would fall like this: out of some woman’s underhanded spell rather than dying gloriously in the field by a barbarian blade or two. Even poison is considered better than this.

No one understands that there is no hex. The war is still being fought, this time inside his soul. It’s not just you preventing him from taking up arms; it’s something else, something old and deep-rooted you've managed to stir in him. Something ferocious, something that has been asleep for a long time, something that is far from all things soft.

You two sneak out from the camp after the bulk of the army has marched away. He takes you to the seaside again, to a wild, roaring shore. You laugh and bask in the sun, swim in the sea and eat the first berries of the season. You lie on the tall grass, naked as the day you were born: it's simply too hot to wear anything except your glowing skin. König starts to ask you peculiar questions while tracing the soft line of your spine.

He asks what kind of house you would like to live in, and tries to find out in a roundabout way if you would like to live in a forest or in the hills. You treasure the sound of waves, and König likes the sound of the wind in trees, but you both love steep hills and the open view of plains. You get the idea that he may want to retire somewhere in the near future.

He tells you he is not a good fisherman but can hunt everything that moves. He is good with a spear, with traps and the bow, and he’s tired of hunting humans who only wish to live in peace. The arena he could understand, but the war on foreign lands, not. And if you begin to swell with his offspring, the Roman encampment at war is the last place for a sweet little fairy like you. He asks what kind of village you used to live in and is somewhat sad to hear all the things you tell him. He says it sounds like home, the one he was taken from many years ago.

When you return to the camp, it’s like you two are a different species altogether, two wild animals who sneak from the gates back to the flock, back to being human, back to being caged and tamed and stunted. The grumpy, tired soldiers witness your wildness and happiness with sullen distaste. To them, your appetite for freedom is the filthiest, most treacherous thing in the world.

The commander of the troops summons König at his feet and threatens to flog him if he ever skips a battle again. He’s told that only barbarians ignore orders like this: at the turn of a whim or a woman or wind. If he doesn’t remember who he is, not the reckless murderer of his youth but a man reborn, a noble Roman citizen, he will risk descending into apathy and greed again. Was this the case, Rome will guide him back to fold again by the crack of a whip if it has to.

That night, you tell him that you love him. Wherever he goes, you will go. That night, when you’re lying in his arms, sweaty and spent and thoroughly happy, he speaks words so wild it shakes the whole tent with a wind.

“If I kill the soldiers, will you come with me?”

It’s only a mutter, a murmured, careful whisper, but it makes you rise to sit and place a hand on his chest for extra support.

“Kill the soldiers? You mean… Kill the Romans?”

“Ja. All of them.”

The shock quickly makes way to disbelief. Can such a thing even be done? He’s a giant, but he’s still just one man. But König doesn’t look restless at all; he looks like a man who has finally made a decision he should have made years ago. He looks like someone who is at peace with their soul.

"Where would we go?" You whisper weakly, unsure if he has given this enough thought or thought at all. It’s now the wanderer in him who speaks, the adventurer who fears nothing because he has already lost everything – and found the most precious, essential thing.

You. Himself…

Free will.

“Wherever you want.”

“What if you get killed…?”

“You take treasure and horse and go.”

…

Your mother always said that it's useless to sway a man if he has chosen to stand up and fight. She told you that the best you could do is go grab a sword and join him.

That is why you give him your blessing – your full, ardent blessing.

It makes him stronger than ever: were he to go out there with nothing but his skin, he would be victorious. The oak that hears your magnificent spell shivers from fear above you as you call down earth, fire and wind.

You call the spirits from below to guide his feet and make them swift and silent as a feather in the wind. You call down the lightning from the sky to accompany his sword as he deals his blows. You cloak him with the fury of the dead; they will smite down his enemies when they catch even a glimpse of him. You shroud him with the Mother's blessing so that he will be untouchable, unstoppable, invincible as he deals death among the Romans.

It’s a terrible spell; even the moon withdraws into a cloud when She hears it. Not even the lady of silver twilight dares to reveal this giant to the Romans as he’s about to descend upon them.

He rises with the power of fifteen men and gives you a kiss that nearly topples you. He smiles before he leaves you, and never looks back as he goes to do the deed of a legend.

You watch the massacre up from a hill. A safe distance from the camp, but close enough to see how König destroys a whole cohort by himself. The plant you mixed into the “reconciliation wine” he gave his soldiers and the commander before nightfall makes it laughably easy because most of the men are still half asleep when they burn inside their tents. The oil spilt on the dry dirt and linen roars aflame now with the help of the wind and earth spirits as König torches the camp. The occasional few soldiers that rise to meet him with fear in their stare are already broken by your spell before his swords impale them.

The old translator is the only Roman who wasn’t given a cup of foxglove wine because he was König’s slave, and now he can see that he is blessed among men. The God of War faces him with swords pointing to the ground, fury planting his feet wide, and it takes the old Roman a while to understand that he’s the only man who gets to walk out of this camp unharmed. As grumpy and unsociable as he is, you wish him good fortune on his future journeys, even utter a quick protection spell to shroud him as he leaves towards his destiny on enemy land.

The slave women, sober, confused, and free, run amock to gather weapons, cloaks, food, and valuables before escaping the camp. König doesn’t even notice them, and they pay little mind to the enraged god ramming through puny mortals because they’re too busy getting out of the burning castra.

How fitting it is that the only people escaping the hellfire are a few beaten women and an old, weak-calved Roman – every able-bodied soldier burns inside his tent or meets their end at your lover’s blade.

The wind spirits help spread the fire so eagerly that you begin to fear that König won’t make it out in time. You whisper prayers into your fist, curled around the Mother who has already given you so much. She has also taken away everything; like seasons, she has reaped and sown, but if she reaps your lover now, you will walk into the sea.

Mother is merciful and returns him to you, unharmed and glorious. He's the same ferocious beast you saw half a moon ago, and also the same ferocious man who was inside you this very morning. You see a god of war, and he sees the mother of life and death, perhaps, because his first words to you are a ripe offering.

“I avenged them all,” he says when he reaches you, thrumming with victory and smelling of smoke and ruin and blood.

He has been born again; he has walked to a new dawn through fire and death and returns to your arms like you two have known each other since the beginning of time. You’re not sure if he talks about his fallen ones or your fallen ones, or everyone who has fallen to these particular Roman spears. You’re not sure if this is his downfall because what you’re looking at is only the downfall of the Roman campaign on your lands. You and König are very much wild and spirited and free. If this is a downfall, it feels like being lifted towards the sky. You see in his eyes that he feels the same as you.

The whole world is new as you leave towards a new life. Sun rises, and takes years off your backs. You wash him in the sea and kiss the salt away from his lips, and it feels only right that he takes you on the grass after slaughtering your enemies.

You bury the statues and the bronze sword in your old village, long abandoned and thoroughly looted. The old woman is in her hut, dead as a stone, and she finally looks happy, with a calm little smile on her face and flowers in her hand. She looks like a young girl, almost, ready to meet the spring of her life.

"Ready for adventure, little one?" König smiles as he raises you to his horse. He takes direction from the sun while you look down at his happy, golden form – your god, your life, your love.

Your new beginning.

...

Translations:

Richtig? - Right?/Correct?

Einfach so - Just like that

Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng - Damn… Gods, you are tight

Aber… - But…

Ach du kleine… - Oh you little…

Scheisse - Shit/Fuck

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x female reader #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut #könig fluff #könig imagine

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luveline · 8 months

Note

I love your writing sm!!! would you be willing to do something with Spencer where he calms reader down from a nightmare ? thank u so much!!! have a good day ❤️

thank you sm! ♡ gn!reader

cw drug use mentioned

In the dream, Spencer lives.

Surprisingly. So many of your dreams are made of his demise. In one dream he gets killed in a cemetery, crying and alone and strapped to a chair. In another, a needle stays stuck to the crook of his arms as he slips into a too-heavy sleep. Sometimes he dies bleeding out from his leg, other times he makes it to the hospital long enough to feel the building crumble beneath him.

You wouldn't want Spencer to stop telling you things, but every ragged chapter of his life acts as nightmare fuel. Every sentence, every line. Here he's lonely. Here he's afraid.

Here, despite everything, he's alive, because this is the dream where you die first.

You die like the snap of a firecracker hitting the ground and find yourself inverted, flinching up where gunpowder spilled down, your hand knocking into the soft of Spencer's stomach as you gasp for air. You're dead. You're dead, and Spencer's alone, and no one is going to look after him now.

"Y/N?" His voice. The plastic and wood scrape as he grabs his glasses and shoves them on. "What? What's hurting?"

You put your hand over your heart and will it to stop pounding so hard. It aches like a new bruise.

"Baby," Spencer says softly, curling his arm behind the small of your back. He pulls your bodies together, tucking the sheets up your legs again with the other.

"Bad dream," you say, wishing you'd woken crying. At least then you'd know what the emotion is under all your abject panic.

"Just breathe… just breathe." He takes a slow, deliberate breath for you to follow. When he speaks, it's calm as the summer sea. "Another one. I'm sorry, you've had a lot of these lately, huh?" Spencer brings the hand furthest from you to your cheek, encouraging your cheek against his chin. "You want to tell me about it?"

"I died."

It must surprise him. For once, he doesn't have anything to say immediately. He turns his face in to kiss you, not fussy about where his lips fall. A slow, steadying kiss.

"Those ones are some of the hardest," he says sympathetically.

"I didn't… it didn't even matter. I hit my head and I woke up. But I…" How to explain it? "Spence, there was this split second where I thought I left you alone."

"Don't worry about me," he says.

"But I do worry about you. I know you can look after yourself better, but– but people have let you down. I've let you down."

Spencer's smile is audible, a lilt to the dulcet murmur he presses into your hair, "You're the last person I'd say let me down... You know, nightmares aren't scientifically quantifiable, there's no statistical data on what it means to have a bad dream, but. There are hundreds of thousands of books about it, and more than you'd think tend to agree that after you've had one, the fear remains. Like a bad cell. You can't remember it and it sticks around despite it."

You wait for the silver lining.

"So?" you ask.

He chuckles quietly. "So, I know it sucks, but it's a good thing that you remembered it. Want me to tell you what the books say?"

"About what it means?" you ask.

"They say it's transitional. You're saying goodbye to something. Starting a new chapter."

Spencer turns your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. Dead morning light floods the room like a splash of milk into tea, illuminating the small apples of his cheeks, the thick triangles of his lashes behind his glasses' lenses. He looks woefully handsome considering the hour, and, to your relief, he's completely unafraid.

"Just don't say goodbye to me, okay?" he whispers.

You nod, fatigue pressing on your shoulders.

Spencer gives you a quick, dotting kiss. "Thank you. Let's go back to sleep, yeah? Lay down."

You curl up under his arm. His hand takes loop on your shoulder, drawing lazy, meandering circles until you're falling into a much quieter crop of sleep.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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navybrat817 · 8 months

Text

A Crown of Flowers

Pairing: Shifter!Bucky Barnes x Shifter!Female Reader Summary: You make Bucky a crown of flowers and he gets a little closer to the shifter quickly stealing his heart. Word Count: Over 2.2k Warnings: Shifters, flirting, slight possessive behavior, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Previous Part of AU: The Pull of Gravity A/N: More Wolfie and Little Red! I really need to give this AU a name. ❤️ Beta read by @whisperlullaby (thank you!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics! ❤️Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky considered himself to be a dangerous predator. A good man by nature, but vicious when the occasion called for it. Sam told him more than once that he didn’t look approachable even when he wasn’t in wolf form. A far cry from his younger years when he charmed most people around him with a smile. Life in the woods and seeing the things in both his human and shifter form changed him. He hoped for the better, even with his sometimes grumpy nature.

He was far from the predator he claimed to think he was thanks to the crown of flowers on his head.

“You look so pretty, Wolfie!” you smiled, reaching over to adjust the crown. Your eyes narrowed at the unmistakable growl that left his lips. “Oh, don’t you dare growl at me. That may work with your pack or family or whatever you call them, but not me.”

His lip lifted in a softer sort of snarl, but you remained unafraid as you tucked a lone flower behind your ear. You somehow convinced him to sit in the garden beside you and it felt nice. When was the last time he took a moment to appreciate the beauty of it? “And what are you gonna do about it? Bite me again?”

“Don’t tempt me,” you smirked, playfully snapping your teeth for good measure. “I don’t know why you have that look on your face. The crown looks nice. Steve’s wearing his with pride.”

“He’s just being nice to you,” he said.

But if we’re comparing crowns, mine is nicer and I refuse to let those words leave my mouth.

“Yeah, he’s a nice guy. That’s why he gave me your shirt,” you said, gesturing to the fabric that covered your skin.

Shifters ran warm, but it was starting to get darker and colder. You hadn’t had a chance to get the red cape of yours that you mentioned. Steve was kind enough to get you a long shirt of Bucky’s to wear, to both his and your disappointment when you covered yourself up. It was also smart on the blonde’s part not to give you one of his own shirts, as if he sensed that Bucky wouldn’t like anyone else’s scent on you.

I’m possessive and I’m fucked.

“We should probably head inside. I’m sure you’re starving,” he said, knowing if he dwelled for too long at the thought of his scent on you that he’d fuck you right there in the dirt.

Only if you wanted that.

“In a minute. I want to enjoy the view a little longer,” you said, leaning back on your hands to look up at the sky. While you took in the sight above you, he kept his eyes on you. “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed, taking a quick look around as he inhaled the comforting smell of his surroundings. Your fragrance in the mix added something he didn’t know was missing or longing for. “It’s home.”

“Home,” you whispered, as if the taste of the word was bittersweet. No doubt a part of your story he knew you wouldn’t tell him today. “How did you two meet? You and Steve. Did you grow up together?”

“We did. He’s been my best friend since he was a runt. We’ve always looked out for each other,” he said, taking another flower to put behind your other ear. Your hand shot out to grip his wrist before he got too close. “You’re quick.”

“And strong, but not quite as strong as you are,” you smiled, releasing his wrist and tilting your head to allow him to continue. He tried his hardest not to smile at the compliment. “Must’ve been nice to grow up with a shifter friend.”

“It was, especially since we’re both wolves. My parents were shifters, too, but not having to keep it a secret from Steve made it a little easier. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Because you understood what the other was going through. You had someone to confide in and I’m sure he did the same in return. I’m also guessing you both understood the need to keep it a secret with people outside of your circle, as well as the need to protect each other,” you mused, tilting your head to gaze at him with a wistful stare. “You weren’t alone.”

Shadows clouded your eyes as he inhaled slowly, mentally noting the subtle change in your scent. He caught shifts occasionally with Steve and the others when their moods changed, but this was something different. It was as if he could taste your tears on his tongue, but you weren’t crying on the surface. At that moment, he wanted to crawl inside your mind and heart to soothe whatever pain you tried so hard to hide.

Who hurt you? Tell me so I can deal with them.

“May I ask you a question and you don’t have to answer it?”

“Okay,” you answered.

“Why did you decide to come here?” he asked.

You breathed out when you shrugged. “Besides being wildly attracted to your rugged good looks?”

“Yeah, besides that,” he smirked, taking your hand in his. Yours was soft on the top and rougher on the palm. It suited your form. Playful and endearing, but ready and willing to fight.

His was rough all over.

“I got the sense that you’re not a bad guy. And I know if I would’ve pushed hard enough to make you go your way while I went mine, you would’ve let me,” you told him, gently running your thumb along his palm. You didn’t seem to mind his calloused touch. “My instinct said I could trust you, so I came here.”

Something warm wrapped around his heart at your admission. He wondered how long it had been since you put your trust in someone else. “I’m glad you did,” he said, his voice soft. He was glad you accepted his offer.

You smiled before you dug your nails into his hand. “I don’t trust easily, Wolfie. Don’t make me regret it,” you whispered.

A whispered threat is often more terrifying than a scream.

“I won’t, Little Red,” he promised, his voice at the same level as yours as he leaned in closer. “But while we’re on the subject of things given and earned, don’t break my heart.”

He heard the air leave your lungs as you loosened your grip and laughed, a sweet, beautiful sound. “You can’t give me your heart.”

“Why not?”.

“Because you’ve known me for a day and part of that was spent killing and burying a guy. That’s not romance. That’s a murder. What love story starts with murder?”

Ours.

Bucky tilted his head like he was actually trying to think of another couple. “Technically, it started when you came into my territory. So our story actually began with you trespassing,” he smiled.

“And it continued with you stalking me. Trespassing, stalking, murder. Just a day in the life of a shifter,” you teased before your smile fell. “Even if you’re joking, why would you give your heart to me? I haven’t done anything to earn it.”

“Because I know you don’t trust easily and you still took a chance by coming here,” he replied. You chose to walk beside me. “So if you can give me your trust, why am I not allowed to give you my heart?”

“That is different!” you said, booping his nose with your finger. “I know you’re attracted to me and I suspect you don’t open up to many people either, but wanting me and wanting me are two different things.”

He brought a hand to the nape of your neck as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I can do whatever I want with my heart,” he whispered, closing his eyes when your breath touched his lips. “I just need to hear you say you won’t break it.”

A heartbeat passed before you spoke. “I won’t break your heart, Wolfie.”

Thank you.

Bucky wanted to close the gap and kiss you. It would’ve been easy to lay you down in the dirt and indulge himself in the warm haven between your thighs. But he would let you take the first step. If you were willing to trust him, he could calm his primal urges until you allowed him to unleash them.

“I think I want to play tomorrow,” you said, leaning back slightly and breaking the temporary spell he was under. “What’s there to do around here? Besides each other?”

The deep rumble in his chest only made you smirk. “Why do you keep teasing me?”

“Because it’s fun,” you said with a lift of your shoulder. “I’m not teasing you just to tease you. I very much plan to let you wreck me and I’ll happily welcome you into my mouth and pussy.”

Fuck. She’s trying to kill me.

“I may sit on your face for good measure,” you added, resting back on your hands again. You didn’t quite open your legs, but the stance was wider than before. “You strike me as someone who gets very hungry.”

Bucky ran his teeth along his bottom lip. “And you strike me as the type who’d ride my face to indulge me.”

“Oh, I would. And I’ll make you wear a flower crown while you show me what you can do with your tongue.”

Suddenly flower crowns are my favorite thing.

“I’d say it’s time to eat, but that’s maybe the wrong choice of words!” Steve called out from the other end of the garden.

Fucking punk and his fucking-

“Why are you yelling?!” Bucky shouted back as he threw up his hands. “Why don’t you walk over like a decent human being and tell us?”

“You’re yelling back at me!” Steve pointed out as your shoulders shook with laughter. “And I’m not walking over there when you two are seconds away from going at it.”

“We won’t go at it today, Steve!” you announced, giggling still as you pushed yourself up and dusted the dirt from your legs. “We’ll wait until tomorrow before we cause more havoc. I think we caused enough for today.”

He chuckled after a moment. It had been a day. “We’ll be right there, Steve,” he said, shaking his head as he watched his friend hurry away. “Punk.”

“I like him,” you said, taking his hands to pull him up. “You never answered my question. What’s there to do around here?”

“There’s a pond not too far from here that’s pretty much ours at this point. No one else really goes there,” he said, adjusting the crown so it stayed on his head.

An amused look crossed your face, but you quickly let it fade. “Maybe we can go for a swim,” you suggested before you turned on your heel. “Maybe I’ll even let you chase me.”

“You’ll let me chase you?” he asked, taking in how good you looked in his shirt. It somehow made the curves of your body more tempting than before. “Hunt you down?”

“If you’re good,” you said over your shoulder. “If I do decide you can chase me and you catch me, you can have me then and there. On one condition.”

Bucky had to will his cock not to twitch. How could he make time go faster? “What’s that?”

“Don’t laugh,” you warned as you turned back toward him. Your finger tapped against your thigh before you lifted your chin. “I want a warm blanket when I go to sleep tonight.”

He didn’t laugh at your request. He wouldn’t dream of it. But it did surprise him. It was a simple ask, but maybe it was much more significant in your eyes. “You can have my bed and the blankets on it.”

“You’re giving me your bed?” you asked, your eyes widening as he nodded. “No, I’m not making you sleep somewhere else just because I’m staying the night. We’ll share your bed. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Thank you, Wolfie,” you said.

“You’re welcome, Little Red.”

You tapped your thigh again with a small smile. “Can you show me your bed before we eat?”

“Sure,” he smiled, motioning for you to go with him. There was a spring in your step as you walked beside him and he couldn’t wipe the smile from his face when he let you into his small hut. While everyone used the common area for living, they also had their own sanctuary for privacy and sleep. “This isn’t much, but-”

You darted past Bucky and launched yourself onto his bed. With a happy sigh, you rolled back and forth, your body eventually touching every inch of the mattress, blankets, and pillows. He didn’t ask what you were doing or why because he sensed your happiness.

He wasn’t about to interrupt that.

You sat up with a grin once you stopped. “Now that you have my scent all over your bed, we can eat,” you said, skipping over to grab his hand.

You’re possessive of me, too.

“I’ll give you the grand tour of the hut once we’re done,” he joked.

“Looking forward to it,” you said with complete sincerity.

Just like he was looking forward to having you around a little longer.

What do we think? Wolfie hunting Little Red down? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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ghouljams · 4 days

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Ranger Danger; It's only stalking if they can't see you.

NCR Ranger!Gaz follows his favorite Courier.

Most people out in the Mojave know better than to fuck with couriers. Everyone wants the mail, and no one wants to get blacklisted. You were hired because you were a good shot, and unafraid of the various perils that traversing the wasteland brings. Which is to say: You don't need an escort.

You've tried explaining it to Gaz, tried to make him understand it, but he insists on following you through your route. He's not bad company, but it makes folks nervous having a ranger watching them hand you packages. Honestly if he weren't so easy on the eyes you might have tried harder to lose him. As it stands you just manage to convince him to wait outside of eyesight while you do business. Recently he's started trying a different approach.

"All the way to New California," You clarify with a raised brow.

"All the way doll," Gaz grins, "Easiest package you'll have to deliver, I even defend myself."

You eye him with suspicion. It's a long way to go, an even longer way back. You suppose you could pick up some packages along the way... You shake your head. "Can't afford it," you tell him.

"I can pay," He reminds you, "got plenty of money."

"NCR bills," You click your tongue, "not worth the paper they're printed on."

"Good with my hands," He tries, "better with my mouth."

"Yeah, you're a real smooth talker," you roll your eyes, "Don't need a mechanic, and as previously mentioned I'm takin' care of myself just fine." You pat the pistol at your hip fondly, well oiled and ready for action. Gaz hums, there's something in his eyes that says he wants to correct you, wants to rebuke your assertion, or perhaps clarify his own. He holds his tongue.

He's good company, but not company you're willing to risk your hide over. You've never had anyone watching your back, and to be honest it can be a little unnerving at times. Knowing Gaz is stationed somewhere far off with a rifle trained on you while you pass off bullets to a raider camp doesn't stop your skin from crawling. Like you said, most folks know better than to try and stop the mail from running. Even the raiders that eye you a little too appreciatively, and open doors wider for others to give you the same once over. It's the warning shot that startles you more than the swift smack to your ass when you turn to leave. You're quick to scurry off before the raiders decide that was your idea.

Gaz finds you miles down the road and hours later. His boots are bloody. You don't ask.

His hands are clean, at least, when you hand him a gecko kabob from the fire. You sleep better that night with him on watch, and the distant knowledge that any ill will those raiders may have had is dead. It's good you're such a deeper sleeper with Gaz around. You don't know the pride it inspires, the deep seated warmth in his chest to see the gentle rise and fall of your breathing, to hold his hand by your lips and feel the soft puff.

Maybe it's a little strange, but when you're asleep is the only time he can truly speak freely. The only time he can lean back and palm his cock to the pretty picture you make. He likes looking at your face when he does it, likes to imagine what you'd do if you woke up and saw him. You have to be the densest person in the Mojave not to notice he's got you on a short leash.

He would have you on your back screaming his name. He'd have you drooling in the dirt. He'd have your sweet pussy dripping with his come every time you made a delivery. Maybe having his spend rolling down your thighs would stop you from getting ogled every time you knocked on a raider's door.

"Fuck you 'til you forgot your name," Gaz grunts, "don't need to love me to come on my cock." But it would be better if you did.

#cod x reader #x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz smut #gaz modern warfare #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #gaz call of duty #gaz garrick #gaz x reader #fallout au #I think my favorite gaz is when he's a little fucked up #he won't touch you but that doesn't mean he won't do stuff near you #very important line in the sand #courier!reader #f!reader

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intuitively-her · 8 months

Text

Why are people crushing on you?

Pile 1- (The moon, 8 of swords, 3 of cups rx, The empress rx, Queen of swords, 5 of wands rx, 4 of pentacles rx)

People can tell that you have a wall up. You never fully tell others about yourself. You give them just enough. It keeps people on their toes with you. You’re a puzzle that’s impossible to solve.🤭 Especially to people that want to befriend you. They can tell that you’re more of an introvert, but this makes you even more attractive! They like how you’re shy, but also not afraid to speak up for yourself and others. Others like how you’re always 10 steps ahead of them. It makes people wanna look up to you. I feel like you have a more dominating personality at times as well. You’re an ice queen/king.💙 Women especially love when you assert your dominance over them. Others can tell you’re feeling stuck in a situation currently and it has you feeling indecisive. They want to save you from this. You attract a lot of people with a savior complex. People can tell that you have this light energy deep inside. You have a heart of gold, but you’re ice cold on the surface. Even tho you’re stingy with your love and energy to strangers, you give plenty of it to those closest to you. People love how you hold your family/friends to a high standard. You’re actually a very generous sweetheart once people get to know the real you.🥰

Pile 2- (3 of swords, 2 of cups rx, 10 of swords rx, 8 of cups, King of pentacles rx, Page of wands, Strength, 10 of cups)

People really admire how you bounce back after a breakup. You had to walk away from a lot of bs in the past. For some, even your family. You’ve been through many betrayals in your life. You never let it break you tho. You’re like a lion/lioness.⭐️ People love how independent you are and how well you take care of yourself at your age. You’ve built a new home of happiness for yourself.🙃 For those of you that left your family, there’s someone here that’s proud of you for leaving that toxic situation behind. The things you’ve been through have fueled your lust for life. You’ve grown into such a fearless person. People love your curiosity. You’re always the one asking questions and finding the truth. People also really love how you’re not money driven. This pile gives me the vibe of someone that has a lot of money but you’re not materialistic. You could also be rich but you choose to dress down and avoid being too flashy.

Pile 3- (Queen of wands rx, Queen of cups, The star, The moon, 7 of wands, 2 of wands, 2 of swords rx, 3 of pentacles rx)

Your energy is so vivacious and intense! It’s all eyes on you anywhere you go.🤷🏽‍♀️ I’m getting strong Leo energy from this pile. You’re someone that’s well-known in your school/community, even if you don’t think so. People love how you take charge of your life. Your independence is greatly appreciated. Your teachers/professors love this especially. They can tell that you’re not one of those students that needs to be babied. People also love your balanced thinking. You never rush your plans and you have a clear vision on what you want/need. You’re fearless! You live life like you’re playing the lottery. Unafraid to gamble with yourself. 🎰 You might prefer to work alone mostly or you take the lead in group work. This is heavily admired by others. It makes them think, “wow pile 3 could teach me a thing or two.” Many people look up to you because of your amazing work ethic. People think you’re gonna blow up one day and become an overnight celebrity.🙈 Many people have been crushing on you because you’re a sweetheart!💖 For my men reading this, women especially love your aggressive nature. People love your “macho man” attitude.🤣 You hold so much compassion and care for others. Even a simple smile to a stranger can transform their whole day. Your energy is very warm and comforting. It makes people wanna open up and get close to you. You’re the perfect mix of sugar and spice.❤️‍🔥

Pile 4- (5 of pentacles, 10 of wands, Ace of pentacles rx, The emperor rx, Justice, The chariot, Judgement, 2 of cups, The Mother Star)

You’ve been through a lot of adversity in your life. It seems like you’ve had a string of bad luck recently. You’ve lost a lot financially. For some of you, you lost your job or someone stole money from you. You could’ve felt tied to your responsibilities or you do now. People love when you’re dependent on them or you need their help. It can be as simple as someone helping you carry a box. You have this “helpless and naive” vibe to you. Even if you’re not, that’s just how people perceive you. People admire you because you don’t follow the rule book of life. You love to follow your own path and figure shit out along the way. You make people realize that they don’t need to have their whole life figured out right now. You could be in high school or college currently. You could have an indie or bohemian clothing style. People really love the jewelry and accessories you add to your outfits. Especially if it’s related to your culture. People absolutely love your hair! Especially the color of it. 3 of the cards I pulled show a girl with waist-length red hair. People think your girlfriend material. They love what a great friend you are. You may be the “mom” friend of your group.

#tarot #tarot reading #pick a card #pick a pile #pick an image #paid readings

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kali-chaotic-neutral · 3 months

Text

What others see in you that you don't

Pick a plushie and let me tell you what others see in you that you don't.

Cat Axolotl Bear Cinnamoroll

Disclaimer: This tarot reading is not meant for you to make drastic choices or actions. Take this with a pinch of salt, this is just me giving advice with my sassy decks. Take the advice you want, anything that doesn't resonate, leave it.

Cat:

Others see how hard you work, how much effort and strength and will power you put into even the most mundane of tasks. They see how kind and selfless you are, eager to help others. You're not the kind of person who makes fun or gives funny looks to people who struggle in their studies or work. They see your kindness and they appreciate your effort to help anyone. You bring warmth in their hearts, knowing that they can ask you for help without you judging. They only want you to know that while they rely on you, they wish you could rely on them as well.

They also see how hard you work in trying to keep your family together, often the mediator. You always take the middle ground, alleviating the tensions to the best of your possibilities. I can see few appreciating you for this, some admiring you for your courage to stand up. They look forward to any family event you plan, knowing that whatever you have in store for them— simple or extravagant —they will always have fun. They love you for the joys and easy moments you bring into their life.

They can see how despite you being kicked down to what seems as your lowest moment, you still hold yourself high and get yourself back up with hard work and determination. You are everything they want to be, strong and brave in the face of everything crumbling. You never seem to lose hope, helping others rise along with you.

People also come to you for advice (on any matter) knowing full well that you don't sugarcoat things. You dish the truth out to them, not in a mean way, but because they deserve the truth and to face it. They know no punches will be held coming to you and they appreciate it. You don't seem to be afraid of starting projects being yet another figure of awe to those around you. Flitting from one project to another with focus and a clear vision.

They see how well in tune with your emotions you are, how intuitive. How caring you are to others, being able to be so vulnerable to those around you. Carrying your heart on your sleeve. Your childlike idealism and realism being a breath of fresh air to others. You almost seem naive to others that just meet you, but get pleasantly surprised upon getting to know you.

Axolotl:

You are passionate, you are creative, unafraid of starting a new project when your previous one isn't yet complete. Your utter and absolute confidence that it will work out and go well being an huge inspiration on others. You're not afraid to stand up for what you believe in, maybe unfair treatment of certain coworkers or teachers picking only on certain students. You're ability to stand unflinching has people looking up to you.

They see how you're not afraid to set stern and strict boundaries with everyone. How you put them in their place if they do not only to yours but others boundaries as well. You stand up for others, you're there for others and people admire you and love you for that. They just wish you could soften your walls so they can be there for you as well.

Despite being in a situation that isn't in your favor, they can see how your confident does not leave you. You still hold yourself up in high regards, demanding the same amount of respect despite your situation. The way you dress, the way you speak, anything! Shows how well maintained you are and how you're not really insecure or awkward or afraid to show it.

They can see or interpret or guess that you've had a hard past. A stressful situation after stressful situation before. They commend you as they know that it is because of that you work as hard as you do. Hold yourself as high as you do. They are in awe that you work so hard to prove something, maybe to your past self or to someone who doubted you. And you being the fierce lion that you are, took it as a challenge.

Their admiration is even more so due to the fact that maybe you've just joined a new job or a school and the fact that you're already achieving so much! It has them working harder as well. They approve of your success, your victory in a project/exam, etc. You are getting the recognition you deserve and they cannot find it in themselves to feel jealous. taking you as an example that hard work always brings in sweet fruit.

Bear:

You are emotionally intelligent, how you're able to read people quite easily. You are who they come to if they want help in shedding some light on something they are not sure of. You're also overflowing with creative passions, flitting from one to another a dozen a day. They admire how carefree you are, how unafraid of doing as you please. Seeing how you benefit from your passions.

When you are working on a project or a homework, your passion and hard work is what has others working hard as well. You are a very bright person who cannot be dimmed down by hard moments. You stand optimistic, believing wholeheartedly that things will get better. People are drawn into your orbit, your close friends are already a part of your solar system with no intention of leaving. You bring happiness and joy and light to their lives.

You work decisively to get what you want, using logic and your intuition to walk the right path. You're quick decision making and the way you don't seem to second guess your choice has others believing in you as well. You're hard work is bringing more opportunity and choices and they are happy for you. You deserve the good things in life.

You are the cause of a change in your job or at school, maybe you're changing a few rules at your work area that does not seem to care much for your colleagues or fellow students. Or perhaps you're changing to a better job/school. Either way the people close to you and around you are praising you for where you've gotten (or where you will)

You're relationship with either a lover or a close friend/family member is very deep and meaningful. Your trust in this person and this person's trust in you has created a deep spiritual connection between the two of you. This person is in absolute awe because of you, because of the great impact you have brought on their lives. If this is a romantic relationship, I can see this person thinking of taking the relationship to the next step. And if it is a platonic relationship, I can see the two of you getting even closer.

Cinnamoroll:

You have a very keen mind, you use logic and you're able to see and read between lines. In this manner, you're a very good person to go to for advice. When it comes to more tense advice, like if you have to choose a side or something similar to that, you don't. You firmly stand in the middle ground, refusing to choose when you reach a fork in the path. Despite you having no context to a few choices, you still end up with a good middle ground option. People have good things to say about you because of your perceptive skills and your ability to stand firm and strong.

People admire you because you're a survivor (in a sense). The people close to you know and have seen how hard you have worked/suffered (family issues/past betrayal, anything that really hurt you) and how deserving you are of the good things that come your way. You refuse to give up to prove to yourself that despite what you went through you can get to a better place. And you do. They commend and look up to you because of your strong and fierce, and unwavering personality.

You have taken hold of the threads of your fate and you are leading it to a better and brighter future. But while you take care to cultivate your future, you don't hesitate to help cultivate others' as well. You're friends and family all are grateful to you. You are there for them even when you are busy or stressed.

This awe and admiration they have for you is also because you have just begun. You have just begun a new project and it's already going so well. You are new to this, yet you are still doing SO GOOD! There is no jealousy here, just pure, raw admiration and inspiration.

You are a logical and analytical person, who usually follows your head and not your heart. You do not sugarcoat advice to people, almost blunt to a point it hurts, but you know that telling them the raw truth is better.

#free tarot reading #tarot spreads #free tarot #tarot community #pac tarot #tarot pac #pac reading #witchy vibes #witchy #baby witch #witchcraft #pick a pile #pick a photo

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theeoriginals · 4 months

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ok but what about werewolf!reader who is protective over tyler lockwood since mason died, and she's at senior prank night when klaus turns tyler. i imagine klaus being curious about her bc he hasn't seen or met her since she doesn't hang around elena & co. bc of what they did to mason. love u and thank you for blessing us with all these requests!!

i think i want you | klaus mikaelson

klaus mikaelson x reader (no y/n!)

author's notes; sorry this took a while!! holidays got the best of me and i've been so busy. i hope u like this!! go check out my klaus fic on wattpad for more content :) link on my masterlist

warnings; mentioned violence & death but nothing explicit. this is genuinely just a lot of fluff, and only a tiny bit of angst. I like writing klaus being straight up infatuated so enjoy

She’s heard of him. Klaus Mikaelson. Not only is he an Original, but he’s the worst of them. He’s a mystery, a myth of a man. The hybrid. The only one of his kind, and he’s trying to make more. He’s trying to become a god of his own making. He’s a terrifying beast, even in their world of monsters. He is the monster beneath your bed, he is the boogeyman that you see in the shadows of alleyways and glimpses out of the corner of your eye.

When she meets him for the first time, she expects something out of a fairytale, she supposes. It was unintentional, the image of him she had in her head, but she’s heard of this fabled man her whole life as a warning of what can happen if you grow lonely in this life.

She figured if she ever met Klaus Mikaelson, it’d be the first and only time. There weren’t many stories based on people’s personal interactions with him for a reason. If he bothered to pay you a personal visit and not just send one of his cronies out to deal with you, it probably meant you wouldn’t be seeing another day.

But instead of that, instead of meeting her demise at the hand of the infamous man for some offense she most likely didn’t even mean to do, she meets him in the high school gym in Mystic Falls, Virginia.

She meets him, and he’s just a man.

He’s a terrible man, no doubt, but just a man. She is perhaps wrongfully unafraid of him because of this. It most likely doesn’t bode well for her, because even though he looks just as human as the rest of them, she doesn’t doubt those stories about him are all real, and likely worse than the retellings.

But she was raised with a pack that taught her to be unafraid in the face of death, and even though she doesn’t have that pack anymore because of men just like Klaus Mikaelson, she wants Tyler to know the security and safety of it just as she had.

She does not flinch when he looks her way, and resists the urge to rip his head off of his shoulders when he snaps Tyler’s neck and puts Bonnie on a timer for finding a way to bring him back to life as a hybrid.

She knows she can’t win a fight against him, so she doesn’t fight back, not even as he forces Tyler to drink the doppelgänger’s blood and turns him into a hybrid. A half-dead, half-wolf thing that her pack would likely call him an abomination for. It’s a very dark, comforting thought to her that they aren’t around to condemn Tyler to the ends of the earth for something that was entirely out of his control.

She knows Tyler is frightened of her doing that, just by the way he looks at her. He learned from Mason and herself that there’s a sense of loyalty to their kind, and that vampires are an inherent enemy. Even his relationship with Caroline would be enough to get him shunned from most werewolf communities at this point. Though, even Mason himself didn’t take that into consideration considering his relationship with one of the doppelgängers.

After everything is said and done that night, she takes Tyler home without saying a single word to Klaus. Anything she wants to say will get her killed, and Tyler needs her more than ever now, so she can’t get ahead of herself.

Tyler sheds rare tears in the privacy of his home. He tells her he’s terrified right now because of the fact that a part of him is technically dead now, and that he’s never felt like a monster about being a werewolf until now.

She does her best to comfort him, but it doesn’t help much. She doesn’t know what he’s feeling right now and they both know it. If the circumstances were any different, she’d probably think he was the new enemy.

He falls asleep eventually and she leaves him be, heading to her temporary room in the Lockwood mansion. She falls asleep looking at the moon just outside her window, thinking about how she was just a little disappointed in the fact that Klaus Mikaelson is just a man.

──────

The next time she sees Klaus Mikaelson, it’s in the tea room in the Lockwood house. He somehow looks even more underwhelming in this place, despite its grandiosity. She doesn’t know why or when she’s going to stop feeling so disappointed in the fact that if she didn’t know any better, she could’ve walked past him on the street without even looking his way.

He’s there for Tyler, she knows, but Carol’s playing her role of oblivious hostess, and now she’s left to entertain him while Carol goes and handles a small, mayoral emergency.

Carol leaves them with a charming smile, winking her direction, and she ignores the older woman pointedly.

“I don’t think I got your name the other night at the school,” Klaus says, tilting his head as he looks at her. “I’m not usually so rude, but the stakes were high and I ran out of patience. You know how it is.”

She narrows her eyes, shaking her head a bit. “A thousand years old and you haven’t worked on your patience? Maybe your priorities are a little skewed,”

Klaus’s eyes flash with danger, but she swears she sees amusement in the smirk that pulls at his lips. It sparks that flint inside of her that likes to push and push, just to see the breaking point. She’d tried to deny it, but it only takes the smallest moment for that desire to set its sights on Klaus Mikaelson, even though pushing him could mean death. Her curiosity was a fatal flaw in itself, she knows.

“My only goal in life has been to break this curse,” He says, leaning forward to sit the cup of tea Carol had brought him on the table in between them, the only obstacle stopping him from lunging for her and snapping her neck before she could even blink. She wonders if he’s even aware of all the ways he could kill her, just by looking at her in this mundane setting. She doesn’t know if she actually wants an answer to that, though. “And now I’ve done that. I think a thousand years of this has proven I have nothing but patience.”

She hums, acknowledging the fact that he was right. She couldn’t imagine being in his shoes, waiting a thousand years to break a curse that kept you from being who you are. Even now, knowing that the Sun and the Moon curse was fabricated in order to help Klaus break the only curse– his curse– when it comes down to it, she can’t blame him for his insistence.

But she thinks about Tyler and how frightened he was, and she can’t stop the annoyance that builds in her all over again, so any bit of understanding washes away like sand beneath the rising tides.

She shrugs, unwilling to vocalize the depth of her understanding, as miniscule as it may be. “Still, choosing a hormonal teenage boy as your first hybrid probably wasn’t the smartest decision, wouldn’t you say?”

Klaus narrows his eyes at her and she stubbornly sits still, unwavering beneath his prolonged, burning stare. “You’re protective of him. I understand why you wouldn’t like me. But I’ve just made him the strongest creature he could ever be. He won’t need you, or any other pack he might have been clinging to before this.”

And this, she thinks, is the biggest indicator to why she’s not properly afraid of this man before her. It’s not just because he looks unfortunately normal, spare his admittedly beautiful face, or that he’s yet to truly focus any of his true capabilities of danger in her direction. It’s that, at the end of the day, Klaus Mikaelson is just as human as the rest of them are. Because no matter how long you live, or what kind of creature you are, everyone gets lonely.

“On the contrary,” She says, blinking slowly as she scans his face. “Tyler needs me now more than ever. And any pack would be lucky to have him around. That’s the whole point of a pack. You know that you’re never alone, no matter what happens.”

To a degree, she knows that’s a lie. There are plenty of packs out there that will banish Tyler and any other hybrid that is made in the coming months because of the rivalry between the creatures that the hybrids are made of. But she also knows that for every pack that will turn them away, there’s one that won’t. There’s always someone, even if it’s just one person, and she’s willing to be that person for Tyler, or for any other hybrid that goes through the loss of their pack.

“It’s a shame you’ve never known what that’s like,” She says, leaning forward to set her own cup of tea down, a mirror of his actions a moment ago. “Unwavering loyalty and trust, and a sense of family that never goes away. You may think that Tyler has no one, but I will always be here for him, just as I was his uncle.”

Something defensive passes through his face and he stands abruptly, making her tilt her head back to maintain eye contact with him.

Klaus leans down into her space, and they glare at each other with a surprising amount of vitriol that neither one of them feels is even genuine.

“You can cling to your idea of family all you want, but it won’t change the fact that Tyler isn’t just a werewolf anymore. And as much as you may want to deny it, you can’t help him anymore just like you couldn’t help his poor uncle,”

He stands upright again, looking at her almost accusingly. “But since it’s causing no harm to me, I suppose there’s no real reason to make you give up this desperate mission. I wish you the best of luck, dear, truly,”

He doesn’t wait for a response from her before he leaves, and after her initial anger and embarrassment wears off, she realizes he never even talked to Tyler like she assumed he came here to do in the first place.

──────

Mystic Falls has never felt like a smaller town. She’s never run into someone so many times when all she wants to do is avoid them.

It’s like all of the sudden, since that very first night she saw Klaus Mikaelson, he’s everywhere. He’s in Tyler’s house, because the newly-made hybrid suddenly worships him. He’s in her dreams. She can’t escape him.

Even now, sitting in a corner booth at the Mystic Grill, he’s suddenly there, sitting across from her like an old friend catching up for lunch.

Immediately, her face twists in disgust. “Klaus.”

He smiles in the face of her adversity, and says her name with a fondness of unknown origins. She almost feels insane, looking at him with any degree of civility.

“What do I owe this visit to?”

“I’m curious about something and I’m hoping you’ll humor me,”

“Interesting start,” She huffs, taking a sip of her drink beside her. “What on earth could you possibly be curious enough about that you have to ask me?”

“You, of course,”

She swallows roughly, nearly choking as she looks at him in surprise. “Me?”

The hybrid nods, smirking at her reaction.

“What… What do you want to know about me?”

He leans forward on the table, looking at her as she suddenly avoids his eyes, unwilling to admit that she’s feeling heat rise in her chest. “Why is it you aren’t banding together with those bumbling idiots to get rid of me, hm?”

“Oh,” She breathes out, face turning solemn for a moment as she looks down at the tabletop. “I don’t– I don’t have any reason to want to get rid of you, really. I don’t necessarily like you, but you haven’t hurt Tyler in any permanent way so… I guess I’m just not really worried about it.”

When she finally meets Klaus’s gaze again, there’s something shocked and unexpectedly warm in his blue eyes that makes her own soften.

“Is it really that simple?”

She falls silent for another moment, picking nonsensically at her nails. “They killed my friend.”

She looks back up at him, sighing. “Mason Lockwood. Tyler’s uncle. He came here because of Katherine– she was looking for the moonstone so she could break that stupid curse that you made up. And they killed him for it,” She shakes her head, anger seeping into her voice. “They’re irrational. And if I’ve learned anything about this life, it’s that being irrational gets people killed.”

Klaus hums lowly. “You are right about that.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, she looks up at him, eyes wide and pleading. “What do you want from me, Klaus? I’m not picking sides here– I’m going to protect Tyler until it kills me, and that’s all. So what do you want from me?”

He observes her for a moment and she doesn’t falter beneath his stare, if only out of spite.

“Perhaps,” He starts. “I just want to know you.”

Something fragile breaks on her face and she shows just a little bit more of that vulnerability to him in this new space between them. “What’s so interesting about me that Klaus Mikaelson wants to know me?”

His eyes search her face, lost. “I don’t know yet. I’m hoping you’ll let me find out,”

She lets out a breath, quiet, and admittedly flattered.

A smile pulls at her lips, bashful in a way she isn’t used to. She allows it to spread across her face and beneath Klaus’s gaze, she feels like a blooming rose being adored. It makes her feel things she’s nowhere near ready to admit to herself, or anyone else. “I think we can work something out.”

Klaus’s returning smile takes her breath away. It feels new, and wonderful.

#klaus mikaelson #elijah mikaelson #rebekah mikaelson #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #kol mikaelson #the originals #fic recs #tvd klaus #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson fanfic #damon salvatore #elena gilbert #tyler lockwood

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writing0305 · 5 months

Text

Hated and loved.

Pairing: Homelander x F!Supe!Reader.

Summary: Homelander, your boyfriend and group leader, is pissed at you after you went out drinking with friends and returned home later than you had said. But after old things come out, you turn the argument on him.

Warnings: Homelander. Heavy swering. Toxic and slightly abusive relationship. Unhinged reader.

The moment you joined the Seven as a supe with extreme telekinesis, Homelander was absolutely taken with you. You were a lot like him in some ways. People feared you and you’re powers. Not only could you move things without physical touch, but you’re incredibly strong. Indestructible, just like Homelander. You weren’t fragile, and that was what he liked about you.

You two hit it off pretty quickly. Mostly because Homelander stalked every aspect of your life, watching and learning what you liked and didn’t like and using it to his advantage. He took claim to you very quickly after you succumbed to his advances towards you.

After this, he quickly came to learn that you were not afraid of him. You couldn’t die, couldn’t really get hurt. You were nearly untouchable and you knew that. And not only untouchable because you were indestructible, but also because Homelander was fucking desperate for the love and attention you gave him.

Homelander fucking thrived on the attention you gave him. As well as the love and adoration he got from the fans for just being with you. The fans adored you and he got some love from them by just mere association with you.

He fucking loved every last bit of being with you.

But sometimes…just sometimes, he fucking hated how unafraid you were of him. You did as you pleased and it made him fucking livid. You dressed how you wanted, spoke to who you wanted, and did just what you wanted. His opinion did not matter to you.

He’s learned to live with it but by no means has he accepted it. And that in itself, causes a whole lot of fucking arguments. Arguments on arguments. Sometimes it was like the two of you got off on arguing, riling each other up, and pushing each other’s buttons.

You liked it, he was sure of it. That’s the only reason he could think of for the stunt you pulled.

It was a Sunday night when you decided to go out for a few drinks with your personal assistant and social media manager. At least you had the courtesy to tell him. Only a few drinks you had told him, you wouldn’t be that long. But he listened and watched your penthouse that was just below his, and you came home in the early Monday morning, fucking plastered.

Spitefully, Homelander called an early morning meeting with The Seven. Except, only you got the memo and everyone else was still tucked away in their beds while you got up at fucking seven in the morning to go see him.

You let out a stifled yawn as you stepped into the Seven’s meeting room. It was empty, except for Homelander who stood at the head of the table, facing the large windows with his back turned to you.

You opened your mouth to ask where the rest were as you slowly made your way toward the table, but Homelander spoke up before you got the chance. “Where were you last night?” He asked in a low voice, his back remaining turned towards you.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at him, walking around the table to get to your chair that was just next to his. It used to be Maeve’s but he made her move after you joined. “I told you yesterday, I was going out with some work friends.” You muttered, not bothering to mention names because he never cared about names. Not human names, or female names.

“You said you were going out for a few drinks, not staying out the whole fucking night.” He snapped as he spun around, his turn sharp. His eyes were cold as he glared at you. “It doesn’t take the whole fucking night to have a few drinks.” He snapped once more.

“I lost track of time.” You replied with a dismissive shrug of your shoulders as you sat down in your chair, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back.

“You don’t have a fucking watch?” He snapped again as he raised his eyebrows, taking long strides towards you. He grabbed onto the armrests of your chair and leaned down, his face inches away from yours. “Who were you with?” He questioned as his eyes squinted.

You sighed with a roll of your eyes. “Jessica and Lizzie.” You replied, pursing your lips as you stared at him with a blank look in your eyes.

There was a brief flick of red in his blue eyes as his head cocked to the side. “Lizzie? The biggest fucking whore in Vought, that Lizzie?” He asked as he quirked an eyebrow.

You knew very well of the reputation your social media manager had in Vought. She was a beautiful woman and she enjoyed the attention of men every now and then. She was still young and single and working with a bunch of superheroes. You couldn’t really blame the girl.

“Don’t call her that.” You muttered in a low voice as you shook your head, glaring at Homelander.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes as he stood up and stepped back. He clasped his hands together behind his back and inhaled slowly. “Where there men?” He questioned as his eyes squinted, knowing well how much Lizzie enjoyed the company of men. Where men were, Lizzie was.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you scoffed in disbelief. “What?” You asked as you quirked an eyebrow.

“You fucking heard me!” He snapped, his voice growing eruptedly loud as his jaw clenched so tightly, that if he was human he might have just cracked all his teeth.

“I went out with Jessica and Lizzie, we had a few drinks, that’s it.” You huffed as you dismissively waved his concerns off with your hand

“I fucking texted and I fucking called, and I got fuckall in return.” He snapped at you once again and there was another flick of red in his blue eyes. His nostrils were flaring and his fists clenched behind his back.

You rolled your eyes, remembering how your phone dinged or rang every few minutes, with Homelander asking where you were and when you were coming back. At some point, you just began ignoring your phone and even turned it off. “I answered the first few texts but after a while answering my phone every fucking five minutes grew tiring.” You snapped back at him.

“Watch your fucking tone with me.” He warned as he pointed a threatening finger in your direction and again you saw that flick of red in his eyes. You were unfazed by it but you were starting to get irritated.

With a huff you got up to your feet, crossing your arms over your chest. “Why are you acting like this?” You asked with a shake of your head as your eyebrows furrowed.

He sighed as his eyes flicked up to the ceiling for a split second. “Like fucking what?” He asked in an almost monotone voice, not liking that any of this was being turned around on him. You were in the fucking wrong here, not him.

“Suspicious of me.” You answered in a snappy tone as your arms unfolded and you pointed a hand at your chest. “Like I fucking did something.” You huffed.

"You don't answer my texts or calls, how could I not be suspicious?" He questioned as he raised his eyebrows.

"No, you just don't trust me enough!" You yelled as you pointed a finger in his direction before turning around with another huff and heading for the doors. But you only got as far as Starlight’s chair before his words made you stop in your tracks.

“Oh cut the fucking pity party crap!” He yelled back at you, his eyes burning red as you slowly turned around to face him. He knew he couldn’t kill you but he could still do at least a little damage if he really tried.

“For fucks sake…what do you want me to say here, Homelander?” You asked as you spread your arms out by your sides, shrugging your shoulders. “What do you want?” You asked as your head cocked to the side.

His jaw clenched and his eyes turned blue again. He shook his head at you. “I don’t know Y/n…maybe a fucking apology.” He snapped with a shrug of his shoulders. “You think that’s something you can fucking manage?” He asked as he squinted his eyes.

You raised your eyebrows and scoffed in a mixture of disbelief and amusement. “Apologize for what?” You asked.

“Not fucking answering your phone, staying out the whole fucking night, and going out with the biggest fucking whore known to mankind.” He replied as he listed the things on his fingers, his voice growing harsher with every word he spoke.

Your eyes squinted at him as your head cocked to the side again. “What the fuck is your problem with Lizzie?” You asked as you crossed your arms over your chest.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, a snarky smile tugging at his lips. “Oh please, everyone knows she’s banged and sucked every guy in this place.” He snapped as he waved his hand around in the air.

You silently stared at him for a second, your jaw clenching. “Oh? Every guy?” You repeated as you quirked an eyebrow, your hands trembling as you felt the power inside your veins surging through you.

“For fuck sake Y/n.” He sighed as he lowered his head, knowing his comment was a big fucking shot in the foot for himself. “It was before you even fucking joined The Seven.” He explained, confirming that he was indeed one of the guys Lizzie had been with. Your hand shot out, your fingers spreading as they tensed and you picked up Noir’s chair from across the table. With a flick of your hand, the chair launched at Homelander and he dodged it. He stared at the chair that fell behind him and then slowly turned to face you, his jaw clenching. “Do that again, I fucking dare you.” He spat as he pointed a finger at you and your arm stretched out again, hand tensing as you picked up Deep’s chair and flicked your wrist, sending the chair in Homelander’s direction.“Y/N!” He screamed as the chair whirled past him and hit the nuclear-proof window.

You shook your head and dismissively shrugged your shoulders. “I have nothing to apologize for.” You muttered softly.

He hummed softly, slowly nodding his head as he took long strides towards you. You didn’t flinch back when he reached out and grabbed onto your chin. “Oh, I think you do.” He muttered in a low voice as he nodded his head again.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Yeah well, good luck getting an apology out of me.” You muttered as you quirked an eyebrow, a challenging look in your eyes. A look that made Homelander almost go fucking farrel for you.

“Oh sweetheart, you know I always get my way, one way or another.” He replied in a soft voice, looking almost dazed as his gaze drifted over your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “The easy way, or the fucking hard way.” He gritted out as his gloved fingers started digging into your skin.

You grunted softly, shoving his hand off. “Yeah well go to Lizzie with your fucking hard-on and see if she can give you what you want.” You spat at him before turning around to walk away.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your back against his chest. He leaned into your ear, his nose brushing against it. “You don’t talk to me that way.” He reminded you in a low whisper.

“What are you going to do?” You asked in a cocky voice as you turned your head enough to look back at him. You raised your eyebrows as the slightest smirk tugged at your lips. “Can’t kill me because I can’t fucking die…can’t lock me away either because well, then you’ll go back to being a fucking sad and lonely man who is desperate for love.” You whispered in a harsh tone.

His eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head. He kept his grip on your hair and his other hand came around to cup your cheek. “I would never lock you away sweetheart.” He whispered, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and deeply inhaling your scent.

“Then let fucking go of me.” You gritted out as you took a deep breath to calm yourself, your fingers twitching as they threatened to tense once again.

Homelander sighed and rolled his eyes before he lifted his head from the crook of your neck and released your hair. You turned around to face him with a glare as your jaw clenched. He offered you his eerie brought smile. “You know…I think you’re the only person on this whole fucking green earth, who isn’t scared of me.” He said as he wiggled a finger in your direction. “That’s one of the reasons I like you so much.”

You raised your eyebrows at him as your head tilted to the side. “Like?” You repeated, your eyes squinting.

Homelander pursed his lips, catching the slip of his words. He reached out and cupped your cheek as he offered you a small smile. “Love.” He corrected himself. Even in your state of anger, you didn’t have to doubt that he loved you. That was one thing, no matter what happened between the two of you, that neither of you had to doubt. You fucking loved each other.

“No.” You huffed with a shake of your head as you pushed his hand away. “No, you don’t get to fucking touch me right now.” You snapped as you pointed a threatening finger at him.

He raised surprised eyebrows as his head cocked to the side. “What?” He questioned in a low voice.

You breathed deeply to calm yourself, clenching your tensing fingers by your side. “Did you fuck Lizzie?” You asked in a low voice. You knew Homelander had been with the woman, but in what way exactly you didn’t know. And you wanted to know. You weren’t sure why you felt so jealous, you knew this happened before you. But still, you didn’t like the thought of someone, at one point having what you have now.

He quirked an eyebrow, seeing the opportunity to piss you off even further. “Would it make you angry if I say yes?” He asked as the corner of his lips nearly tugged up into a smirk.

You inhaled sharply, twisting your neck as all the muscles in your body tensed up. “I’m already fucking angry, so just tell me the truth.” You snapped in a firm voice.

“Yes, I did.” He replied in a monotone voice as he clasped his hands together behind his back. Your hand flexed by your side and Starligth’s chair slowly rose into the air behind you. Homelander’s lip twitched into a snarl as he pointed at the chair. “I swear if you throw that fucking chair.” He warned.

You silently glared at Homelander for a second before dropping the chair behind you with a huff. “You know, I hope you’ve had your fill of fucking, because you won’t get any for a while.” You informed him before turning on your heels and walking in the direction of the door.

Homelander was taken aback by your words and he stared at you in disbelief as he raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?” He questioned.

“You fucking heard me!” You yelled, not once turning to look back at him as you continued on your path towards the doors.

“Y/n!” He called out after you, his voice harsh. “Get back here!” He screamed as his eyes flashed red while the doors slipped open and you walked out. “Y/N!” He screamed, sending two laser beams in the direction of the door, scorching the spot you had been in just mere seconds ago.

He sighed as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He fucking hated and loved these arguments. He loved and hated the thrill. But he fucking loved whenever you made it up to each other or just fucked out your anger.

He hated and loved being with you. And he wouldn’t give you up for anything. Ever.

#the boys #the boys x reader #the boys x you #homelander #the boys x y/n #homelander imagine #homelander x y/n #homelander x you #homelander x reader

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