horse next to a glass of white wine that is equal in size to the horse who only has its upper half visible the horse is a rather standard looking horse but the glass is abnormally large perhaps due to a trick of perspective in which the glass is placed closer to the camera therefore appearing larger while the horse is placed farther away making it smaller or perhaps the glass is just unusually large or the horse is unusually small or maybe the gray background is a sign that the horse and wine glass are in some kind of strange alternate dimension in which everything is oddly proportioned maybe to cope with being transported to another dimension the horse has chosen to indulge in an alcoholic vice
[Image description: A tumblr text-post, edited blackout-poetry style to read, "This is your gentle encouragement: give in to sin. feel good for a moment. I love you. okay?"]
Warnings: non/dubcon, power imbalance, obsession, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Character: King!Thor (Medieval AU)
A Knights, Kings, and Knaves Story
Summary: you take a new placement without knowing the full details.
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️
The king smothers you beneath him. His large hand crawls up under your head as his tongue invades your mouth, as once he intruded upon his conquered lands. He drops his pelvis down and rolls his hips, the friction between your chafing. You gasp into his mouth as he devours you.
His other hand moves to your chest, fondling, squeezing, kneading eagerly. He groans and drags his kisses along your cheek to your temple and forehead. He breathes into your hairline.
"Sweet one, you are like honey in the desert," he rasps.
"Your Highness..." You eke out, fingertips pressing to his thick sides. "Please--"
"Please, please," he growls over your behind with his own. "Please, I must have you. I must..." He kisses along your jaw, "feel you." He exhales again. "Feel myself inside of you."
You tremble as fear courses up your spine. You push harder against his stomach and writhe. His nose traces along your neck and his teeth pinch playfully.
"I want to know every part of you. I want to hear your joy, your glee, your ecstasy," he purrs. "I want to know what it is to have you shaking with delight, I want to know how you squeal when the pleasure is too much." He slides further down and pulls apart the front of your robe. "I want you, my sweet. Only you."
Your arms are trapped as he nuzzles along the top of your chest. His fingers curl around the neckline of your shift and he tugs until the loose lace falls free. He unveils the swell of your cleavage and kisses each breast. He squeezes one and buries his face between them. He snarls and heaves a hot breath.
"My sweet..." He drawls and flicks his tongue across the curve of your chest, pulling down the fabric as it slips on your shoulder. "You taste as good as sugared pears. You melt upon the tongue."
He laps again as he uncovers your tit and gropes shamelessly. He turns his head to nip and lick your flesh. He slowly circles your nipple with his lips. He swipes the tip of his tongue and sucks. You twitch and squeak.
"Yes, my love, sing for me." He begs.
You wriggle, your nerves rolling under your skin as you clench the bedding. The heat heat of his touch is both soothing and scalding. Tears sting in your eyes from powerlessness, from shame. You cannot stop him as you could not stop his queen. It might have been her intent but it was never yours.
He tends to you. Delicately at first. Feeling, fondling, tasting. Then biting, growling, and clawing. He grows ravenous as he tears through the thin barrier of your shift. You whine as he exposes the softness of your middle.
As hungrily as before, he kisses and licks down your stomach. His beard brushes coarsely along your skin, teeth grazing as if he might gnaw on you. He tugs at your skirts as he lifts his knees and planta them between yours.
He pushes the hem up to expose you. His thumbs press on your hips as he peers down at you on the darkness. His fingertips brush over your curly hair and trace the lines of your pelvis. You quiver and whimper.
You brace yourself, arms locked, legs limp, as his touch explores your thighs. His hands rove to your knees and up again. Your shift is shorn and crumpled at your waist, barely clinging to your arms.
The air stills as carefully he bends over you. His large weight shifts as his hands scoop under your bottom. He lifts you as he lowers himself, curling your body to meet his. He bows between your thighs and drags his tongue along your cunt.
You gasp and spasm in surprise. He does it again, delving deeper, slowly tasting you. You groan as your eyes roll back in your head. Your breath traps in your chest.
He hums and it flutters through you. You shiver as his lips press against you, pinpointing on the tenderest spot. He swirls his tongue and sucks. The pressure tugs on your guts as you grab at your chest blindly. You claw at yourself like an animal as his tongue dances on your nerves.
He raises your bottom higher off the bed and purrs. You shudder at the tendrils spiralling through you. Your arch your back and feet, at mercy to the torrid waves building inside you.
His attentions only grow more furious. His growls and grunts rumble into you as his hunger overflows. His fingers curl into your flesh as he rocks his head against you, his beard grazing between your thighs and against your cunt.
Your fingers twist around each other and your chest pumps hotly. Your calves and thighs knot and your stomach tangle. The tension winds around and around until you cannot contain it.
You cry out at the sudden snap. The pressure breaks at once and courses through you, like the oceans rolling in on itself, over and over. You shake and squirm through the onslaught of carnal delight.
The king slows his tending. His tongue toys with you, tasting the last dregs of your pleasure, and he hums and lets you down softly. He leans his head on your splayed thigh as his hand caresses the outside of your other. He gently kisses the inside of your leg and rests against you again.
"Be thee the Queen of my heart," he traces along the crease of your pelvis and teases your lips. "And let me serve you as the subject I am."
